by Ann Granger
‘I had a rotten night. I’ve just moved into a new place.’ Sweat trickled down my forehead, behind my ears, down my neck.
‘Thanks for coming, anyway,’ he said.
‘If you know about Nicola,’ I said, ‘you’ll know there’s nothing we can do. The police will find her eventually.’
He was shaking his head. ‘No, not necessarily. You’ve got too much faith in the law, Fran. They’re not that damn efficient.’
I opened my mouth and closed it again. What he didn’t know – and neither did Jerry and Flora – was that Mrs Marks and her daughter Linda could put the finger right on the Wildes. Somehow this wasn’t the moment to tell him.
‘Then there’s Nicola,’ I said. ‘She’s a bright kid and she knows something’s up. She might just work it out for herself.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said comfortably. ‘Even if she starts to suspect she’s adopted, she isn’t going to think the adoption isn’t legal, is she?’
He seemed so certain, and I was so hot and sticky and wanting to get out of there, I was almost ready to agree. Why not agree if it made him happier? I said cautiously, ‘It’s possible there’s a way out of this, I suppose.’
He leaned forward, moving nearer to me. ‘Of course it’s possible, Fran. We can make it possible.’
‘We can? How?’
‘Your mother isn’t going to tell anyone, is she?’ When I shook my head, he went on, ‘So it’s only you and me who know, apart from Jerry and Flora. If we don’t talk, that’s it. No one finds out.’
What with the heat and steam and the bad night my head was furring up like an old kettle. I still didn’t want to tell him about Mrs Marks; some instinct prevented me. Instead I said, ‘It can’t be that simple. We don’t know if there’s anyone else out there who knows. Anyway, the Wildes got themselves into this situation.’ I was tired now and wanted to put a stop to all this. ‘Let them get themselves out of it.’
Ben’s face twitched. ‘I won’t let anyone destroy Flora’s whole world.’ His voice was suddenly low, hoarse and filled with a terrifying passion.
‘What?’ I snapped out of my fogged state. His eyes had a wild shine to them. His whole face seemed to be trembling. Either from heat or emotion, sweat now trickled in rivulets down his cheeks. The old casual, cool, in-control Ben had totally disappeared and the reason was all too clear.
‘You’re stuck on Flora Wilde!’ I gasped. With this explanation, a host of other facts crowded into my mind, swirling about and parting, forming a pattern, a pattern of violence and death. ‘She knows it and she’s using it. She wants someone to pick the chestnuts out of the fire for her. You must be able to see that.’
‘I’m not stuck on her, as you so crudely put it!’ A tide of dull red crept from his throat up his face, and his lips were drawn back, bared animal-like. ‘I worship her, and you – you scruffy piece of street rubbish – don’t you dare say a word against the way I feel or against her! What would you know about someone like her? What would you understand about the way I feel? I’ve loved her since I was a kid. As far as I’m concerned, Flora’s perfect. She’s beautiful, loving and kind. She’s a wonderful mother. She’s devoted to Nicola. She’d never dump her like my people dumped me! She even had a place in her heart for me when I was a kid. She’s – she’s just wonderful!’
‘She’s bonkers,’ I retorted unwisely. But I was angry now and didn’t care. ‘What’s more, I don’t stand for being called rubbish. You say I know nothing about you and Flora, but you know nothing about me, you patronising git. I was dumped too as a kid, but I learned to get on with life. You, you’ve never stood on your own feet. You’ve always found someone to latch on to, someone to look after you. You know what? There are takers and givers, and you’re a taker. By the way, does Jerry have any inkling how you feel about his wife? I bet he doesn’t. He dotes on her. He’d sling you out on your ear and Flora wouldn’t raise a squeak of protest. All she cares about is Jerry, Nicola and her nice home. She’s using you, you dope! Can’t you see it? She’s fighting to preserve what she has and she doesn’t care what it costs. You’re just a handy footsoldier, running round to do her bidding. When it comes down to it, you’re expendable, cannon fodder. So get those stars out of your eyes. She doesn’t give a damn about you and she never will.’
‘I knew,’ he said softly, ‘I knew we couldn’t trust you. I told Flora we’d have to shut you up!’
That was when I noticed the knife in his hand. He saw the discovery register on my face and smiled. ‘Gardeners,’ he said, ‘carry everything in their pockets.’
‘Yes,’ I said, bracing myself, ready to leap aside if he struck out. ‘They carry bits of string to act as bootlaces or to wrap round Rennie Duke’s neck!’
The smile twisted into a sneer. ‘That pathetic little private eye? He was so damn obvious, and getting rid of him was so easy.’
‘Easy but stupid,’ I said. ‘It brought the cops into it.’ My leg muscles were tense now as I got ready to jump.
‘Will you shut up about the bloody cops?’ he snarled at me.
At that moment, voices echoed through the vegetation. At least two people had entered the Palm House through the door at the south end and were coming towards us. Ben flung up his head. I seized my chance and leapt up and away from Ben, dashing into the far aisle, twisting right and making for the door at the north end. Behind me an American voice was saying, ‘Oh, do you work here? Can you tell us—’
I blessed the unknown tourists, but Ben wouldn’t be caught up with them for long and would soon be behind me.
Outside the wet air hit me with the force of a cold shower. I began to run along the front of the Palm House, past the heraldic creatures, their paws raised as if in dismay. Then Ben burst out of the main doors, forcing me to double back. The pond now lay between me and the exit and I had to work my way round it. I ran like the clappers down the paths, circling the water, towards the Victoria Gate exit. I could see it – and escape – ahead of me. But then I saw something else, a diminutive figure in a red showerproof jacket with the hood pulled up, standing between me and the way out. Flora, looking like Little Red Riding Hood and preparing to act like the wolf.
I glanced back. Ben was striding my way. He broke into a run. I was sandwiched between them. I could have taken a chance and barged straight at Flora, bowling her over, but in the first place, I didn’t know if she was armed in any way – I suspected she probably was – and in the second place, I didn’t know if Jerry Wilde was stationed somewhere, about to arrive on the scene. I couldn’t take on the three of them united.
I wheeled left and found myself running down the path which leads past the grassy mound on top of which stands the Temple of Aeolus. The grass on the mound had been left to grow wild, and even at this time of the year stood in tall, blackened wet ranks. I leapt up the mound and threw myself full length amongst it. I’d left my puffa jacket in the Palm House, which was a good thing, because its bulk and its bright colour would’ve betrayed me. I was panting and sweat-drenched. The cold, wet ground came as a shock, water permeating my clothing, the wet grass dripping on to my head. I heard running feet passing by. After a moment I raised my head cautiously and peered between the grass stalks. I couldn’t see anyone below. Beyond the Temple of Aeolus, the path split, one fork turning to the right, into the Order Beds, the other leading straight on towards the Princess of Wales Conservatory. I guessed Ben and Flora had taken one direction each. But they’d soon realise I hadn’t gone either way and would double back.
I skidded down the mound and made for the pond and the Victoria Gate. But I’d calculated wrongly. Flora stood at the top of the path, outside the museum. I whirled and doubled back, and as I did so, she began to run forward. I wheeled right down a path at the end of which I had an idea there was a smaller gate. It was there, but disused and locked. I was trapped in a dead end.
I plunged into the bushes by the path, crashed my way past the rear of the gents’ loo, and ran across the grass
towards the museum block. Flora had realised her mistake in quitting her post by the museum, where she could have cut me off. She had doubled back too, and was close behind me. I could hear the thud of her feet and a hissing noise she was making. Then Ben appeared on the right and slightly ahead of me. They had me in a pincer movement. I had nowhere to go but up the high, unscalable wall.
And then Heaven took pity on me. Out of the gents’ loo came the dignified uniformed figure of a park constable. I shot between Ben and Flora towards him.
‘Help!’ I yelled.
He stopped, startled. ‘Whazzamatter?’
If I told him that Ben – whom he probably knew – and dinky little Flora were a pair of murderers hellbent on adding me to their list of victims, he wouldn’t believe it. So I said the only other thing I could.
‘I’ve been mugged!’ I wailed. I’m an actor. I sounded good.
‘What?’ he exclaimed. ‘Where? When? Who by?’
I pointed dramatically at Flora. ‘Her!’
He peered doubtfully past me at the tiny red-clad figure. That was when Flora blew it. She should have stayed put and told him I was a druggie, out of my skull. Instead, frightened by the uniform, she turned and ran. To any kind of policeman a running figure means only one thing: Guilt.
Ben too realised she’d done the wrong thing. I heard him call out to her, ‘No!’ But the constable was pounding after her, and with a final glare of hatred at me, Ben took to his heels, disappearing through the Victoria Gate. He might think Flora wonderful, but saving his own skin came first. Left alone, I sank down on the ground and rested my head on my knees. It had been altogether too close for comfort.
‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Janice Morgan. ‘You weren’t mugged.’
‘No, of course I wasn’t!’ I snapped. Honestly, the police mind is beyond me. Even Morgan, who I’d always thought of as bright, had turned into PC Plod. What makes them so pernickety? They must read the rule book morning, noon and night.
‘You made a false report of a crime.’ She looked just like my old headmistress, beady-eyed, disapproving, rigid with moral outrage. Carpeted again, Francesca Varady. ‘That’s a serious offence.’
‘It’s not as serious as attempted murder!’ I howled.
‘Certainly not as serious as that, which is why it seems very odd to me that you told the officer only that you were mugged. Which, it turns out, wasn’t true. I can’t understand why, if you believed an attempt had been made on your life, you didn’t say so at the time. Why didn’t you tell the park constable the truth, if that’s what it is?’
If that’s what it is. They didn’t believe me. They just didn’t believe me. Was this possible? Oh yes, most definitely. People like me can’t be believed, but people like Ben and Flora – nice people, who live in nice places – everyone accepts their word.
‘I didn’t tell him then because – ’ I gazed at her in bafflement ‘ – if I’d told him they were trying to kill me, he’d just think I was a lunatic.’
‘If he thought you were a lunatic, he’d escort you out of the park. Isn’t that what you wanted?’
I tried hard to keep my cool. ‘Listen, perhaps you keep your head when all around are losing theirs. I just panic like an ordinary person. If I’m being chased by a pair of nutters with knives—’
She interrupted me. ‘Mrs Wilde was not armed.’
‘Wasn’t she heck! She managed to throw it away in the bushes or the pond.’
‘Did you actually see her with a knife?’
I had to admit, I hadn’t. ‘But she was in with him, why else was she there? Why else was she trying to cut me off from the gate? Why did she run when I called up the park police?’
Janice Morgan sighed. ‘Fran, Mrs Wilde lives in Kew, a stone’s throw from the Gardens. She walks there nearly every day, rain or shine. It’s her way of keeping fit. The regular staff there know her well. As soon as the constable reached her and saw who it was, he realised there must have been a mistake. Flora didn’t even know you were meeting Ben Cornish there. When she saw you running towards her like a wild creature, of course she ran away.’
‘You can’t believe this?’ I gasped.
‘The trouble with you, Fran,’ said Morgan, ‘is that you see everything from your own perspective.’
I clenched both fists and thumped the desk. ‘I know what I see – saw. I saw Ben Cornish threatening me with a knife, and that’s a fact, right? I didn’t imagine it. Look, he phoned and invited me to go out there and look around. Does he deny that?’
‘No, he says he asked you to come there, offered to buy you lunch and then drive you to Egham to see your mother. It sounds very nice of him.’
‘Yes, he did all that!’ I wailed in growing despair. ‘But the reason he wanted me there was to talk about the Wildes. Then he threatened me. If he’s innocent, why did he run when the copper went after Flora? Have you picked him up? If you’d searched him at the time, you’d have found a knife on him!’
‘Mr Cornish left the Gardens to run and tell Mr Wilde, who happened to be at home that day, what had happened – that is, that you’d accused his wife of mugging you. We’ve talked to him and he denies your account completely. He admits he did have a pruning knife on him, quite a small knife. That’s understandable. He’s a gardener, engaged at the time on gardening work.’
‘He’s also a murderer. He killed Rennie Duke. He throttled him with garden twine.’
‘Proof?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Well, was garden twine used?’ I challenged.
She didn’t bite. ‘I ask the questions, Fran.’
I thought for a moment, then stooped and hastily unlaced my boot. ‘Here, Ben gave me this for a bootlace. Is it the same string as you found round Duke’s neck? Send it over to forensics.’ I offered up a quick prayer of thanks that I’d not bought a replacement pair of laces from Hari, largely because I’d been so cross with Ganesh for trailing me to Oxford Circus Tube.
She took the string. ‘I will. But what I want to know is what else you think you have against Cornish.’
I sighed. ‘One or both of them also killed LeeAnne Cooper, the missing nurse.’
‘Fran. . .’ she began warningly. ‘This is getting totally out of hand, as if it wasn’t already bad enough. You seem just to be flinging accusations of all kinds, anything that comes into your head. I admit we’re looking for LeeAnne Cooper, but nothing so far has suggested either that she’s dead or that she has the slightest connection with Ben Cornish or Flora Wilde.’
‘There’s a connection,’ I said. She waited. I couldn’t go on. In the end I said dully, ‘I can’t be the one to tell you. Perhaps you should have another talk with Mrs Marks. Tell her you’ve talked to me and I said you should ask her.’
Morgan was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, ‘What gives you the idea she’s dead?’
‘She has to be.’
‘No, she doesn’t. She’s missing. No more than that. People sometimes go missing for years and turn up safe and sound.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I said. ‘My mother was missing for fourteen years. But I know—’
‘How do you know?’ she asked gently, but there was steel inside that low-pitched calm voice.
I forced myself to match her self-control but it wasn’t easy. What I was going to say would stir up a hornet’s nest. Yet it had to be said even though, as a result, yet another person’s life would tumble in ruins.
‘I think,’ I said, ‘I know where her body is.’
Morgan expelled her breath in a long sigh. ‘Where? And how long have you known it?’
‘Not long. Not consciously. Maybe it’s been bothering me a while, but I only just put it all together when Ben pulled the knife on me in the Palm House.’ I met her gaze as firmly as I could. ‘If you go out to Wimbledon,’ I said, ‘you will find LeeAnne Cooper’s body in a raised flower bed Ben Cornish built for his great-aunt, Mrs Dorothy Mackenzie, while she was away visiting her sister. I haven’t go
t any money, but if I had, I’d wager every last red cent on it.’
Morgan had paled. ‘You wouldn’t mess me around on this, Fran? You know what you’re saying?’
I nodded. ‘I’m sticking with it.’
Morgan rose to her feet. ‘I’ll have to request a warrant. Fran, if you’re wrong, you are in more trouble than you’ve ever been in in your life!’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Do you have any idea how many times I’ve bent the rules for you, Fran?’ Inspector Morgan asked.
It was over a week since our previous conversation. I had expected Morgan might have stopped off at the shop, as she’d been so keen to do before, and let me know what was happening. But not a word.
