The Nine Bright Shiners

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘By George, that’s a thought,’ said the Chief Constable admiringly.

  ‘So what does one keep in a wallet or desk drawer? Money and credit cards aren’t the answer – the killer left them with the body. Driving licence? Hardly. Safe-deposit box number, valuable stamps? Private papers of some kind?’

  Webb said, ‘I’ve a strong feeling that whatever it is, is related to Mr Langley being an explorer. The bandage on the first body is a pointer. Both Mrs Coverdale and Mr Cody thought so.’ He explained the mummy theory, while the senior men listened attentively.

  ‘There were also some sequins. Any ideas on those?’

  Webb shrugged. ‘Jewels? It’s all I can think of. The trouble is, it’s a three-sided case – Langley, Marriott, the killer. So far we haven’t established any connection between them. Still, we should be receiving copies of Marriott’s papers tomorrow. There may be something in them which links him to Mr Langley.’

  ‘What we need,’ said the Chief Constable crisply, ‘is something linking him with his killer. In the meantime, we’ll stop pussy-footing about and get the lab boys to turn this place over. If they can find what the murderer was looking for, we might get somewhere. Now you’d better go and placate those newsmen outside. They’ve got a personal stake in this, remember.’

  ‘A press conference is already arranged, sir, for the morning. They know that.’

  ‘But we now have not one body, but two.’

  The Chief Constable had a distressing habit of stating the obvious, ‘Indeed, sir,’ Webb agreed blandly, and caught Fleming’s sharp-eyed glance. He got to his feet, ‘If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll go and have a word with them. As you say, they won’t like hanging round in this weather.’

  The past two hours had been a continuing nightmare. Lady Peel’s voice on the phone, faint with shock – though she’d been able to supply Lily’s surname, Carr – and the police handing down their nightclothes because, suddenly, they couldn’t go upstairs; and the ride to Cajabamba in the police car, with Lotus loudly yowling her protests from her lidded basket on Ben’s knee.

  The children, though dropping with weariness after their long day, had been difficult to settle in the strange surroundings, and finally Lady Peel offered to read them a story. ‘About Peru!’ they’d pleaded, in need of the comfort of familiar ritual, though Peru was the last thing Jan wanted to think about, reminding her as it did of Edward and his possible role in what had happened.

  And now here she was, by the resurrected fire in Lady Peel’s drawing-room, with the still-nervous cat on her lap, and the policemen, their own faces drawn with tiredness, sipping at yet more coffee and awaiting her cooperation.

  She attempted a smile. ‘How can I help you, Mr Webb?’

  He put down his coffee cup. ‘It’s possible your brother’s occupation has a bearing on the case – the mummy, perhaps also the sequins. Is there anything valuable that he could have brought back with him, which someone might want to get his hands on?’

  ‘I doubt it. Inca graves have been plundered for hundreds of years – there’s no chance of finding a Tutankhamen’s tomb. Even when my father discovered Cajabamba, it was the temple and shrines and the architecture generally which were important.’

  ‘And what exactly is Cajabamba?’

  She smiled, ‘I’m sorry – I’m so steeped in it all, I forget everyone else isn’t. It was a “lost city” of the Incas. People knew of its existence, but not its location. Several expeditions set out to look for it, and the one my father went on with Laurence Cody and Reginald Peel discovered it. The jungle growth had almost completely buried it.’

  Hannah had mentioned that. "When was this. Mrs Coverdale?’

  ‘In nineteen-fifty. It was the second of three they went on together. My father wrote a book about it, The Hidden City, which became a bestseller.’

  ‘So he was a writer as well as an explorer.’

  She smiled. ‘He could do anything he put his mind to. Before the war, he was a lecturer in Spanish at Oxford.’

  ‘Then he joined the services, I suppose?’

  ‘Till he was invalided out, in ’forty-two. After that, he went into counter-intelligence.’

  Webb raised an eyebrow. ‘Academic, spy-catcher. explorer and writer. He was certainly versatile. At what stage did your brother start going with him?’

  ‘He never did. Edward only became interested after his marriage, because Rowena was so keen. She’d been accompanying her father since she was seventeen.’

  ‘But didn’t your father go with them?’

  ‘No, he only went those three times.’

  ‘And Laurence Cody?’

  ‘Oh, he’d been visiting Peru for years – it was he who persuaded the others. But after ’fifty-five, he never went back, either. Only Sir Reginald did, with Rowena when she was old enough, then with both her and Edward.’

  ‘But isn’t that rather strange? Why did the other two drop out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jan said slowly, it’s something I’ve thought about recently. Admittedly, that third expedition was traumatic for my father. He caught some virulent disease and was in hospital in Lima almost the whole trip. But after some ups and downs, the other two achieved their objective.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘To trace Manco Inca’s surviving descendant.’

  Webb forebore from asking who Manco Inca was. ‘Am I right in assuming this is Sir Reginald’s house?’ Jan nodded.

  ‘And he died only recently, I believe?’

  ‘Last October, yes.’

  ‘Last October,’ repeated Webb thoughtfully. And the wallets had been stolen on the first of November. His mind went back over what she had told him. ‘Was it pure coincidence that all three men lived in Broadminster?’

  ‘I’d wondered about that, too, and asked Lady Peel. She said they and the Codys moved down to be near my father, to make for easier planning.’

  ‘When was that?’

  Jan paused. Then she said slowly, ‘After the third expedition.’

  ‘So there wasn’t any more planning, not with all three of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That third expedition had long-lasting consequences. I wonder what really happened on it.’

  Jan looked down at the sleeping cat, gently caressing its silken brown ears. The Chief Inspector had put into words her own doubts, which everyone else she’d questioned had discounted. But surely nothing that had happened over thirty years ago could have caused these two recent deaths?

  Wanting to dispel his doubts as well as her own, she began, ‘But surely –’ and broke off as a shrill scream rang through the house. She leapt to her feet, spilling the startled cat on to the rug, and rushed to the door with the two policemen behind her. This terrible, endless day was still not over.

  CHAPTER 8

  The noise was coming from the children’s room. As Jan reached the top of the stairs, she met Lady Peel in her dressing-gown, a plait of grey hair over one shoulder, hurrying along the passage.

  ‘Whatever is it?’ she quavered, a hand to her throat. Without stopping to answer, Jan pushed open the bedroom door. Julie was sitting up in bed, still screaming, and Ben, pale with shock, was shaking her by the arm and shouting at her.

  The sudden acute relief made Jan go limp. A nightmare – only a nightmare, and hardly surprising. Having assured himself it was nothing serious, Webb said quietly, ‘We’ll wait downstairs.’ Lady Peel, too, had melted away.

  Jan hurried to the bed, catching the shaking child in her arms. ‘Hush, darling, Mummy’s here. It was only a dream.’

  ‘But it wasn’t.’ Julie’s pyjamas were damp with sweat. ‘I saw her! In the wardrobe, with the jewels!’

  ‘The wardrobe?’ Jan looked in bewilderment at the old oak cupboard against the wall.

  ‘Ben saw her too!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Ben said quickly. ‘How could I see your dream?’

  ‘She tried to pull me inside!’ Julie colla
psed against her mother, sobbing hysterically.

  ‘She’s talking rubbish!’ There was relief in Ben’s voice.

  Jan stroked the damp hair soothingly. ‘Tell me about it, then. It will make the badness go away.’

  ‘No, don’t!’ Ben’s voice was a shout. Seeing her surprise, he added more quietly, ‘I don’t want to have nightmares.’

  ‘But if she describes it, she’ll see how silly it is. Dreams are frightening when we’re half-asleep, because then, anything seems possible. If you look at them when you’re awake, you know there’s no way they can be true.’

  ‘But I wasn’t asleep,’ Julie said against her chest. ‘Not the first time.’

  ‘You’ve dreamt this before?’

  ‘Shut up, Julie!’ Ben said fiercely, ‘It’s OK, now just shut up!’

  Julie raised her head, meeting his warning gaze. Jan felt a tremor go through her, then she freed herself from her mother’s arms, ‘I’m all right,’ she said unconvincingly.

  Jan looked from one to the other of them, but they avoided her eyes, ‘It’s all the upset, darling, that made you dream, and the Crown Jewels got jumbled up in your mind and became part of it. There’s nothing to be frightened about.’

  Julie nodded, lying back on her pillow, and after a minute Ben climbed into his own bed.

  ‘All right now?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Lady Peel and I are here, and the policemen too. You’re quite sale, so go back to sleep.’

  But the mention of jewels reminded her that she’d meant to question Julie about her remark at the Tower.

  ‘All well?’ Webb asked, when she reached the drawing-room.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘As it’s after midnight, we’ll be on our way and let you get some sleep. We’ll be in touch later.’

  So they still hadn’t finished with her. Jan forced her tired brain to practicalities. ‘When can we go back to Rylands?’

  ‘It’ll be several days, I’m afraid. The Chief Constable’s calling in the lab, and they’ll be going over the whole house.’

  ‘But all our things are there!’

  ‘We’ll get out what we can, once it’s been cleared.’

  And with that, she had to be content. Wearily she locked up alter the policemen and went at last to bed.

  Bates’s empty desk the next morning was a guilty reminder. Webb pulled his phone across and dialled the hospital. I he patient had had a comfortable night – that was as much as he could glean. But he’d be down for the PM this afternoon, and would look in then. His conscience slightly appeased, he turned to the bulky packet on his desk. It contained photocopies of the documents taken from Marriott’s Hat, together with a transcription of the shorthand pads.

  Skipping through the latter, with their racy colloquial style, the man began to come alive for him, but as expected there was nothing relating to December. Dates on various sets of notes were given as October and November. No doubt the killer had destroyed the December pad. Webb put them on one side and turned to the diary. And it was then that a name leapt out of the page. He reached for the phone.

  ‘Ken? In here, at the double, and bring your notes on the wallet-owners.’

  Jackson arrived, breathless, within seconds. ‘On to something, Guv?’

  ‘We could be. Can you find the interview with Rollo?’

  ‘Right – got it.’

  ‘What did he say when we asked about Marriott?’

  ‘Question: “Have you ever come across a man called Guy Marriott?” Reply: “Sorry, never heard of him.”’

  ‘As I thought. He wasn’t telling the truth. Look at this.’

  Jackson came round the desk and bent over Webb’s shoulder. The diary page was open at the week beginning November 3rd, and under Thursday 6th was scribbled ‘The Commodore: A. J. Rollo 12.15-4 p.m.’

  Jackson gave a low whistle. ‘Reckon it’s the same chap?’

  ‘Not that many people called Rollo. What was his full name?’

  ‘Anthony James.’

  ‘There you are. Funny the duration of the appointment being noted. I wonder if it’s significant – and what Mr Rollo was up to yesterday.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘The press conference is almost due. Once that’s over, we’ll detail actions from the diary and address book, then back to Broadminster for the PM. Too bad Stan’s laid up – we’re under pressure now, and a man short.’

  ‘Telephone for Mrs Coverdale, my lady.’ The uniformed maid – Jan couldn’t remember her name – stood in the doorway. They were in the drawing-room, which to Jan still wore its persona of the previous night, with the policemen’s questions heavy on the air. The games table had been set up, but so far the children hadn’t looked at it. They were heavy-eyed and subdued, Julie in particular following Jan like a puppy every time she left the room.

  ‘For me?’ It could only be the police, she thought with a feeling of dread, following the maid to where the instrument, laid on polished wood, awaited her. But the voice that greeted her was, if anything, even less welcome.

  ‘Janis? Thank God I’ve found you! What on earth is going on?’

  It was Roger’s mother. ‘Hello, Dora,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I tried to ring you yesterday, but the woman who answered said you’d gone to London. Then this morning, I heard on the news –’

  ‘What time did you phone?’ Jan interrupted urgently, only as the words were spoken reflecting wryly that she was beginning to think like the police.

  ‘What? Oh, I don’t know. About lunch-time, I suppose. Why?’ Horror crept into her voice. ‘You don’t mean it was – that I actually spoke to –? Oh my God!’

  ‘Please try to think, Dora. It might be important.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t till I got back from the shops that I looked at the paper, and read about that body being mistaken for Edward. The main surprise was that it was you who identified it. Or didn’t, if you see what I mean. I’d no idea you were over. Why on earth didn’t you tell us you were coming? Are Roger and the children with you?’

  It was just like Roger to put off telling his parents, Jan thought resignedly. Julie had crept up behind her, and she reached out an arm and drew her close.

  ‘Roger and I have separated,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you hadn’t heard.’

  There was a brief pause. Then: ‘You’re not serious, surely?’

  ‘Very serious.’

  ‘But you were always so happy! Whatever happened?’

  Jan looked down at Julie, noting with concern that she was sucking her thumb, a habit broken more than two years ago. ‘I can’t go into it now, Dora. I’ll explain when I see you.’

  ‘But that’s why I’m phoning – when will we see you? You’d better come straight over – you can’t stay there, with people being killed all the time!’

  ‘We’re with Lady Peel, and we’re – quite safe.’ She prayed the tremor in her voice hadn’t reached Julie. ‘The police need me here at the moment, but we’ll come as soon as we can.’

  ‘At least send the children to us. They shouldn’t be exposed to all that.’

  ‘But they don’t know you, Dora. It’s kind of you, but they need to be with me.’

  Mrs Coverdale said stiffly, ‘Very well, if you think that’s best. And where’s Roger, while all this is going on?’

  ‘In Sydney.’

  ‘All by himself at home?’

  ‘Not at home, and not by himself.’

  ‘You’re not saying he –? I mean, since you’re over here, I assumed –’

  ‘It was he who left, Dora.’

  There was a silence, and when Dora Coverdale spoke again, her voice was unsteady. ‘This is terrible. I just can’t take it in. Still, I realize we can’t discuss it now. Please do remember, though, that we’re your family too. Don’t cut us off, just because Roger –’

  ‘Of course I won’t.’

  ‘We’re longing to see you, and our grandchildren. Now more than ever. As soon as you can get away,
just give us a ring.’

  ‘I will, Dora. And – thank you.’

  Jan turned from the phone, fighting down tears. Julie slipped her hand with its wet thumb inside her mother’s.

  ‘What did Granny Dora want?’

  ‘Just to give us her love.’ She ought to tell Mr Webb about that phone call, but he’d said he’d be contacting her. It could wait till then.

  Miles arrived half an hour later. Lady Peel had phoned him after breakfast.

  ‘Two bodies in three days!’ he commented. ‘Do the police think they’re connected?’

  ‘Edward seems to be the link,’ Jan said unwillingly.

  ‘But why poor, harmless Lily?’

  ‘Because she took him by surprise,’ Lady Peel said briskly. ‘She’d have come across him searching the house, so he killed her in a panic – he mightn’t even have meant to.’

  ‘But it wasn’t just a burglary that went wrong,’ Jan objected. ‘No casual thief would have gone to the study. He’d have taken the TV or video or something.’

  ‘A point,’ Miles conceded. ‘So what do you think he was looking for?’

  ‘Perhaps something he’d expected Mr Marriott to have. Though what the connection is with Edward –’

  ‘If you’re assuming it’s the same killer,’ Lady Peel broke in, ‘I have to disagree. Lily’s death is a tragedy, but in these violent times, not unusual. The first murder was quite different. The killer was playing games, dressing up the body and so on. There was even a touch of macabre humour with the sequins. But there’s nothing remotely amusing about knocking an elderly woman on the head.’

  ‘In an emergency,’ Miles said drily, ‘he wouldn’t have time to be inventive. Still –’ with a glance at the children, seated at the games table but possibly within earshot – ‘that’s enough of death and disaster. May I lighten the proceedings by suggesting a day out tomorrow? You too, Mary, if you’d care to join us. The Wildfowl Trust is open all year – the children might like to go there. We could round the day off with supper at Clarence Mews – a takeaway or something. It would at least give you a day away from it all.’