The Nine Bright Shiners

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘OK, Ken, they’ll bring his girlfriend over in the morning. Thank God it’s been cold and dry the last fortnight. That and the shelter of the tree slowed down putrefaction, for which we can all be grateful.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Nearly nine o’clock. We need our wits about us on this one, and today’s gone on long enough. Of all the Mondays I’ve ever known, this one takes the biscuit! First thing in the morning we’ll go out and look at the scene. We’ll have time before they arrive from London, and it might give us something. In the meantime, let’s call it a day.’

  CHAPTER 4

  Jan could hear the phone ringing as she fought with rubbery fingers to fit the key in the lock.

  ‘Answer it for me, Ben,’ she said breathlessly, as they all stepped inside. ‘But for heaven’s sake don’t open any doors till I’ve turned off the alarm.’

  The police car, having waited till they were safely in the house, moved away.

  ‘It’s Miles Cody,’ Ben repeated, as she emerged from the meter cupboard where the alarm was located. ‘Is it all right to go in the library now?’

  ‘Just for five minutes, then bed.’ She took the phone. ‘Hello, Miles.’

  ‘Janis! I got your message on the answer-phone and I’ve been trying to get you ever since. Wherever have you been?’

  She leaned wearily against the wall. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I thought if –’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I had to go to Shillingham to identify a body they thought was Edward’s.’ She heard her voice crack.

  ‘You what?’ Then, without giving her time to repeat it, he said quickly, ‘It wasn’t Edward, was it?’

  ‘No.’ The single word sounded inadequate, but she couldn’t think what to add.

  ‘Are you all right? You sound very shaky.’

  ‘It wasn’t a very pleasant experience.’

  ‘Look – would you like me to come round for an hour or so? We could discuss it, and perhaps you’d feel better.’

  ‘Oh Miles, would you?’ She felt weak with relief.

  ‘No problem. In half an hour’s time?’

  ‘That would be fine. I’ve just got to settle the children.’

  It was an effort to put the phone down and go through to the library. She was shaking both with cold and reaction, and her legs felt unsteady. They’d switched on the television, but only from habit. The news was of no interest to them, and they turned as she came in.

  ‘Upstairs, both of you. Mr Cody’s coming round, and I don’t want a squeak out of either of you. I’ll bring up some cocoa and a biscuit in five minutes, so don’t brush your teeth yet.’

  Without a murmur, they trooped past her and started up the stairs. The passage leading to the kitchen was dim, the light from the front hall not extending far round the corner. Jan shuddered, feeling along the wall for a switch but unable to find one, and reached the kitchen door with a sense of relief. The children’s supper plates were still on the table, their chairs pushed back as they’d hurried to get ready for the car journey. She opened the oven, glanced at her own dried-up supper, and tipped it in the bin.

  What an interminable day! she reflected, taking milk from the fridge. She thought back to that afternoon at the pantomime, the long-legged Principal Boy and the Dame in her striped petticoats. She’d had no inkling, then, that she was about to be touched by murder.

  Her hand jerked, tipping the pan and sending the frothing milk up the side of it. Murder? her brain repeated incredulously, the word registering itself for the first time. Though she’d known the man’s death wasn’t natural, subconsciously she’d refused to follow it through. Yet he’d been murdered, that man who looked like Edward, and even more frighteningly, he’d had Edward’s wallet in his pocket. Did that mean Edward himself was known to the killer?

  The milk rose in a curling white foam and she snatched up the pan and emptied it into the mugs on the table. Thank God Miles was coming. She badly needed to talk through her fears. It was good of him to have phoned back. As she carried the mugs upstairs, she tried to recall the message she’d left him. Whatever it was, she must have sounded distraught enough for him to make repeated attempts to contact her. Considering that he’d barely acknowledged her existence on Boxing Night, she was duly grateful.

  The children, unaware of the implications of their unexpected night-ride, drank their cocoa while she told them the story of Atahualpa’s Ransom. Bloodthirsty it might be, but familiarity had reduced it to the safe, acceptable horror of a fairy-tale.

  ‘A roomful of gold,’ Julie repeated dreamily, with echoes of Rumpelstiltskin. They finished their cocoa, brushed their teeth, and were saying their prayers when the doorbell announced Miles’s arrival. Jan was about to bundle them into bed, when Julie sank back to her knees, eyes squeezed tight. ‘PS,’ she added, somewhat irreverently, ‘Please keep Uncle and Auntie safe, and don’t let the Spaniards catch them!’

  Jan, steering her daughter into bed, realized that a modern history lesson was well overdue.

  The sight of Miles, tall and dark on the front step, brought a wave of relief. She was not, after all, totally alone.

  ‘It is good of you to come,’ she greeted him.

  He glanced briefly at her as he stepped inside. ‘You sounded in need of company, and I presume there’s no one else.’

  ‘It’s all been so unnerving.’

  He removed his coat and dropped it over a chair. ‘Any alcohol in the house?’

  ‘I think so – in the dining-room sideboard.’ ‘I’ll get it. Go and sit down – you’ll feel better with a drink inside you.’

  Obediently she went to the library. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch-time, but the thought of food made her nauseous. She knelt down and poked the fire into new life, throwing on some logs from the wicker basket on the hearth. Miles came in behind her and she heard the clink of glasses. He handed her one and sat down opposite her, his dark, brooding eyes on her face.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what the hell’s this all about?’

  Carefully, sipping the drink as she went along, she told him what had happened, and the more she recounted, the more unbelievable it seemed.

  Miles listened intently, his disconcerting eyes on her face.

  ‘Good God!’ he said softly, when she came to an end. ‘No wonder you’re shaken. What an experience.’

  ‘I’d never seen anyone dead before.’

  After a moment he said, ‘Since the police thought it was Edward till you disabused them, I presume they’ve no other ideas?’

  ‘I suppose not. Apparently he was dressed like a tramp.’

  ‘With Edward’s wallet in his pocket. I knew it had been stolen – mine was taken at the same time, but I got it back later, all intact. Was anything taken from Edward’s, did you gather?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The police said there was fifty pounds in it, which was the sum Edward mentioned at Christmas. There were a couple of other things, too. He had a bandage tightly wrapped round his arm, which according to the pathologist had been put on after death.’

  Miles frowned. ‘What the hell for?’

  Jan shrugged helplessly. ‘And his jacket had sequins on it.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘That’s what they said. Really.’

  ‘You mean he was dressed as a clown, or something?’

  ‘No, just – a few sequins, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it takes all sorts. You said he’d been drowned. Were there any details?’

  Jan shivered. ‘I didn’t ask. Miles, what frightens me is that Edward seems to be implicated. Apart from the wallet, the man even had a look of him.’

  ‘Pure coincidence. And there’ll be a logical explanation for everything else, too.’

  ‘According to the police, he’d been there some time – since before Christmas, they said.’

  ‘Then why hadn’t he been found?’

  ‘Because a tree’d blown down and covered him.
Some men went to move it this morning, and that’s when he was discovered.’

  ‘If he’d been found straight away,’ Miles said thoughtfully, ‘Edward would have been here and you wouldn’t have had to go through this. The killer must have been chewing his fingernails, waiting for the story to break. He couldn’t have known about the tree.’

  ‘Unless he went back to look.’

  Miles’s mouth twisted. ‘Revisiting the scene of crime? I doubt if he’d risk it. He’s probably miles away by now.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Jan said with a shiver.

  He frowned. ‘You’re not really worried, are you? This has nothing whatever to do with you.’

  ‘I wish he hadn’t had Edward’s wallet, that’s all.’

  ‘It could have been anyone’s.’

  Jan was silent. She was reluctant to tell Miles the theory about the bandage, wanting him to convince her all was well, rather than giving him fresh reason for doubts.

  ‘Too bad you’re alone in this barn of a house, specially in the circumstances. It was very cavalier of Edward to fly off and leave you when you’d only just arrived.’

  ‘Oh, the trip to Peru was planned long before our visit.

  It was just –’ She broke off, twisting her wedding ring round her finger. ‘My marriage has just ended, and Edward thought I’d like a change of scene.’

  Miles raised an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t have credited him with such concern. Or did they want you to housekeep in their absence?’

  Discounting her own initial surprise, Jan said reprovingly, ‘It was a very kind thought.’ She hesitated. ‘I gather you and he don’t see eye to eye?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Any specific reason?’ She recalled Rowena saying Miles had been ‘offensive’.

  He shrugged. ‘A clash of personalities, aggravated by Rowena’s resentment of my closeness to Mary.’

  Jan could accept that; there hadn’t seemed much bond between Rowena and her mother over Christmas. ‘But she was always closer to her father, wasn’t she?’ she said. ‘Going with him on his expeditions, and everything.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Miles with controlled savagery, ‘those goddamned expeditions.’

  Jan threw him a startled glance, but he straightened, forestalling any comment. ‘You say your marriage has ended. You’re divorced?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘I know.’

  The clock on the mantelpiece whirred preparatory to striking. Jan saw it was eleven o’clock. Miles followed her glance.

  ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘It’s so kind of you to have come. I did need to talk.’

  ‘Feel any better for it?’

  She smiled. ‘A bit.’

  ‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let me know if you hear any more about this mysterious corpse. Not that I suppose you will. After such a wildly improbable start, no doubt the whole thing will fizzle out into something run-of-the-mill like gang warfare.’

  ‘That’s run-of-the-mill?’ Jan asked, with raised eyebrows.

  He smiled. ‘You’ve been away a long time.’

  ‘I’m beginning to realize how long.’

  ‘Don’t let it get you down. I’m at the end of the phone if you need me.’

  She watched him walk down the drive. Then she closed the door, double-locking and bolting it as Edward had instructed. For the first time, she was grateful that he and Rowena had gone to such lengths to safeguard their home.

  The early morning was bitingly cold. The sky, only just lightening, was still streaked with red, the colour luridly reflected in the thin layer of ice which coated a pothole. The uniformed men detailed to preserve the scene stamped their feet and blew inside their gloves and the police dogs in the back of the van clouded the glass with their warm breath.

  Webb stood watching the Scenes of Crime team, already re-engaged on work which darkness had interrupted the previous night.

  ‘From the position of the body, I’d say he was simply tipped out of a car,’ commented Inspector Hodges. ‘Not much attempt at concealment. If it hadn’t been for the tree, he’d have been spotted straight away.’

  ‘Which the murderer might have intended for some reason, or simply not given a damn about.’ Webb turned to look at the road. They were two miles short of the village of Chedbury, whose woods had yielded another murder victim some years previously. This part of the road lay between open fields, and the back of the lay-by could only be seen from directly opposite. Late at night, there wouldn’t be much passing traffic. Now, however, a few early commuters were already driving in the direction of Shillingham, slowing down as they passed to stare curiously at the police activity.

  ‘When did the gales start, anyone remember?’

  ‘Night of the eighteenth,’ volunteered Jackson. ‘I know, because the twins were teething and Millie had to get up to them. The wind was howling round the house, and I thought, “This time next week, Christmas’ll be all over.”’

  ‘And it was the eighteenth that this London journalist was due. Looks as though he could be our man.’

  ‘But it couldn’t have been him that took the wallets, back in November.’

  ‘Unless he came over regularly. I hope to God this girl knows who he was coming to see.’ Webb turned to the dog-handlers. ‘OK, give them the scent and let them go. What we’re looking for is anything which might be buried nearby – clothes, even – please God – a diary or notebook.’

  ‘Right, Guv.’ The van door was opened and the two dogs jumped down. As they moved away, the animals straining eagerly at the leash, a uniformed constable approached.

  ‘Excuse me, Guv, there’s still some coffee in the Thermos, if you’d like some.’

  ‘That would be very welcome, thank you. PC Linton, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. We were on a case together a few years back.’

  ‘Yes, I was just thinking of it. Comes of Chedbury being the nearest bit of open countryside hereabouts.’ They moved over to one of the Panda cars and stood with their hands cupped round polystyrene cups, sipping the scalding liquid.

  Suddenly, over the frosty fields, came the sound of a dog’s excited barking. They all looked at each other expectantly.

  ‘That was quick!’ Linton exclaimed.

  ‘If he’d been in a hurry, he wouldn’t have had time to dig deep. Get the spades and let’s see what they’ve found.’

  Twenty minutes later, a pile of clothes, clogged with earth and mould, lay on a plastic sheet on the frozen ground. At first sight, there appeared to be no identifying papers among them. Webb glanced at his watch. ‘We must get back – these people from London are due. Let me know what the lab makes of this lot, Dick. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.’

  Webb’s heart sank as soon as he saw the girl. Not the type to make a reliable witness, he thought gloomily. Still, she must know something, and at least she’d positively identified the body. The WDS from London led her over to a chair and stood protectively beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Webb said irritably, ‘All right, Sergeant, you can take a seat. We’ll go easy with her. Now, Miss Potts, have a sip of tea and then we’d like you to answer some questions.’

  The girl gulped, sniffed and nodded.

  ‘How well did you know Mr Marriott?’

  Her eyes brimmed again. ‘We were living together, weren’t we?’

  ‘For how long?’

  She shrugged. ‘Three months – maybe four.’

  ‘And he was a journalist?’

  ‘Yeh – freelance. That means not for any particular paper,’ she added helpfully.

  ‘Quite. If you could tell us some of the ones who published him?’

  She mentioned three or four, and Jackson noted them down.

  ‘And did he use a notebook, or pocket recorder?’

  ‘Both. He always had both on him.’ There’d been neither with the body. ‘Sometimes he’d tease me by leaving the rec
order switched on at the flat, and then playing it back.’ She bit her lip and looked away.

  ‘Tell me about the last time you saw him.’

  ‘Well, it was before Christmas, and we were going to buy my present the next day during my lunch-hour. But then Guy says he can’t meet me after all, because he’s got to go to Broadshire.’ She gave a hiccuping little sob at the memory.

  ‘He didn’t say where in Broadshire?’

  She looked vague. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Webb sighed, and tried another tack. ‘Presumably he’d have come by car?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Well, if you could give us the make and number –’ He broke off at her blank look.

  ‘It was a blue one, two-door,’ she said. ‘I don’t know the number.’

  ‘Or the make?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That’s not much help, then.’ Webb felt rather than saw the woman sergeant stiffen defensively. Obviously considered him a clumsy bumpkin, he thought resentfully.

  He tried again. ‘If he broke a date to come over, surely he explained why?’

  She looked stricken. ‘He did start to tell me, but I was watching telly and told him to shut up.’

  Webb held in his frustration. ‘Tell me what you do remember.’

  ‘It was about the story he was working on.’

  ‘And what story was that?’

  Shirley Potts gazed at him desperately. Her anxiety to help was palpable, as was her inability to do so. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

  Webb kept his voice steady. ‘Can you think of any stories he’d been working on recently? Please, Miss Potts, this could be very important.’

  She frowned and the tip of her tongue appeared, like a child trying to concentrate. ‘There was one about a film star who’d come to London.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, during the summer, I suppose. I think he’d finished that one. And there was something about the Government, but I wasn’t interested, so he didn’t bother telling me.’