by Anne Morice
On the third day the official search party had been augmented by teams of amateurs. The largest of these consisted of local farm workers, but there was also an assortment of hikers, campers and weekend visitors. This group had included a party of scout cubs and it was they who, on Sunday evening, made what the newsreader now described as the breakthrough.
The territory which had been assigned to them had doubtless been regarded by the authorities as among the least likely to yield any reward. It bordered the edge of a private estate, this part of which consisted of half an acre of recently planted larch trees and magnolias, so situated as to be clearly seen from the house, and it was just inside the boundary that the boys had made their great discovery.
It had come about while they were taking their tea break and had noticed that one of the young trees had wilted and looked near to the point of expiring. With the kindly intention of reviving it, they had climbed over the fence and doused it with a mixture of lemonade and Coca Cola and, in doing so, their attention had been caught by something else. This was a rectangular patch of turf, of a different shade from the rest, giving the appearance of having been removed at some point and later replaced. An hour and a half later, panting with exertion and excitement, they had arrived at headquarters to report on their findings.
It was by then too late in the day for excavations to be started, but the area was cordoned off and at first light on Monday the spades and shovels had gone into action. Their work had still to be completed, however, when it became clear that orders to call off the search for the missing child would be premature. This was because the makeshift grave did not contain a seven-year-old boy, but a woman five times his age who, as the post mortem revealed, had been dead for over a month.
The telephone number which Robin had written down for me consisted only of numerals, but the first four had a familiar look about them and my guess was verified when I looked up Dedley in the code book.
This, of course, removed the last remaining doubt as to the identity of the dead woman and also explained why Robin had been picked for the job. He had started his career at Dedley as a constable on the beat and had remained there for several years after his promotion to sergeant and subsequent transfer to the C.I.D. So he possessed an intimate knowledge of the local scene, which had resulted more than once in his being in special demand when the regional branch found itself landed with some crime which it had neither the experience nor the resources to deal with on its own.
As it happened, I too possessed some intimate knowledge concerning this case, but I saw no obligation to pass it on. Presumably, now that he was cornered, James McGrath would tell the police the same story he had told me. If not, I should not help either side by doing so myself.
However, sensible decisions reached by logical processes do not always exert any more control over the emotions than those arrived at by the toss of a coin. The temptation to ignore them in favour of the opposite course is just as strong and, having persuaded myself that there was nothing I could do to help or hinder, I found that I could not sleep for thinking about it and wondering how the investigation was proceeding. Needless to say, the knowledge that my alarm had been set to go off at five-thirty, and that a minimum of seven hours’ sleep was needed for facing the cameras in the morning, only made the insomnia worse. When the seven hours had been whittled down to six, I gave up the struggle and lifted the telephone.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you, Elsa?”
“No, I hadn’t gone to bed. Is anything wrong?”
“Could be. Did you watch the nine o’clock news, by any chance?”
“No, Marc’s here and we were talking. Have they found that poor child yet?”
“Not yet. What’s Marc doing there on a Monday?”
“You may well ask! He came for the weekend and decided to stay on for an extra night. Something on his mind, apparently, but, as he won’t tell me what it is, we’re not making much headway.”
“Had a tiff with his young lady, do you suppose?”
“Or perhaps just nothing because she’s gone away for a few days.”
“Has she? Where to?”
“Some friends somewhere in the wilds of Scotland, I gather. It seems the fire and then the inquest on top of it have been too much for her. She had gone into a depression and her father thought it might buck her up to have a change of scene. But listen, my child, you haven’t rung me up at this hour to discuss Marc’s love life. What’s the trouble?”
“I was wondering whether there’d been any developments in the McGrath affair. Whether you or Louise had been able to come up with any suggestions for him?”
“No, complete blank, I regret to say. It’s quite obvious from everything we’ve learnt about Rosamund in the last few weeks that she would never have confided in us about anything of that kind.”
“Have you broken it to him?”
“I tried to. No point in letting him live on false hopes for longer than was necessary, but I can’t get hold of him.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s away on some job, according to Mrs. Baker, who does the cleaning. He’d left a note for her, saying he’d be back some time this week.”
“That’s bad news.”
“Well, it’s a nuisance, but it will just have to wait until he does get back.”
“I feel I should warn you, Elsa, that you may have rather a long wait.”
“I don’t see why. He doesn’t usually stay away for more than two or three days when he’s on some job.”
“In the meantime, any reactions from the police?”
“Not a murmur. I find that strange, don’t you? Specially in view of what Isobel Ferguson wrote in her letter. Still, I’m not complaining. Just thankful to be left in peace.”
“I doubt if it will last. My guess is that they’ll soon be buzzing round like flies.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. For all we know, they may have found out where she is.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s just what they have done and I think this job he’s on is quite likely to be in Peru.”
“You’re being very tiresome and enigmatic, Tessa! What’s it all about?”
When I had told her she was at first too horrified to utter a word, then rallied and began scolding me for believing that anyone we knew could be so wicked. She became so incensed about it that I was afraid it would end with our quarrelling, which would certainly not have improved my chances of a good night’s sleep. So I calmed her down by pretending to agree that the woman in the Herefordshire grave was someone neither of us had ever heard of, but I was irritated enough to be unable to resist saying, before I rang off:
“Shall I tell you what I believe is really worrying Marc at the moment?”
“Yes, if you like, but try not to make it too sensational this time. I am not sure I could stand any more.”
“I think his trouble is that he does not enjoy seeing the law made an ass of, or himself either, and he is wondering what to do about it.”
FIFTEEN
The dead woman had been formally identified by Mrs. Isobel Ferguson, who was then surrounded by television reporters, eager to know how she had felt on learning that her cousin had been brutally murdered. Unfortunately for the viewing millions, her reply had been indistinct.
The owners of the big house and newly planted larch grove were abroad, but their head gardener had been interviewed and, armed with the information he had given them, three detectives arrived at Orchard House on Tuesday morning, with a warrant for James McGrath’s arrest on suspicion of murder, only to find that the bird watcher had flown.
“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he?” I said to Robin, who had come over from Dedley to have dinner with Toby and myself. “Presumably, he realised what was liable to happen as soon they started searching for the boy last Thursday evening and he didn’t waste any time. How high do you rate the chances of catching him?”
“Oh, eventually we shall, I daresay. It might take years, but the c
ase won’t be closed until we do.”
“In that case, Robin, there is something you ought to know and the time has now come to tell you.”
“Yes, I thought there might be.”
“Oh, how could you have?”
“That faraway look in your eye, I suppose, whenever the subject of Rosamund McGrath came up, and also the fact that you didn’t dazzle us with theories about what had happened to her.”
“I’m afraid I was the one to be dazzled this time.”
“By what?”
“Blarney, I suppose you’d call it.”
“Okay, so what is it I ought to know?”
“Can you believe that anyone could be so gullible?” I asked at the conclusion. “I bet you wouldn’t have been fooled for a single minute?”
“Yes, I think I might. The D.P.R. probably wouldn’t agree, but I don’t find it altogether incredible.”
“Well, that cheers me up, but do tell me why?”
“Chiefly because I can’t see what advantage there would be in inventing such a tale purely for your benefit. Why take such an unnecessary risk?”
“Not much risk, really. He could always have denied every word, if I’d passed it on.”
“Yes, but why go to such lengths to enlist your help in finding out more about his wife’s real or fictitious lover? Surely, any background information you were able to ferret out, such as you tried to get from Alan, for instance, could only have worked against him, if he is guilty? Which reminds me of something else you were going to tell me. How did you make out with Alan?”
“Not very well. He’s separated from his wife now, so he hadn’t seen Rosamund for over a year. That was a blow, of course, but it also had its interesting side.”
“Really? What was that?”
“Well, according to Isobel’s letter, it was he who encouraged her to go to the police, but he made no mention of that.”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he, to a virtual stranger?”
“You don’t find it odd that while we were talking about Rosamund he did not refer to her disappearance, or to the fact that his wife was desperately worried?”
“Not if she happens to be the kind of woman who becomes desperate with worry about something or other three times a week.”
“And there was a hint of that, I must admit.”
“I expect he thought she was making one hell of a fuss about nothing and preferred her to nag the police about it, rather than him.”
“I daresay you’re right.”
“I am sorry your one small balloon was so easily pricked.”
“Not quite the only one, as it happens. Something else which puzzled me was that he said the McGraths had very few friends in Sowerley. He attributed this to the fact that they, James in particular, considered themselves to be a cut above most people and tended to look down on them. Well, you know, Robin, from what I hear, this is simply not true. Rosamund was considered to be shy and reserved, but it was never suggested that she was snooty and, in fact, she and Louise got on very well. Even Elsa would admit that there’s nothing socially or intellectually grand about the Macadams, so that can’t have been the attraction.”
“Oh well, you can’t expect people to be meticulous in casual conversation, particularly Alan, who doesn’t find it easy to express himself. He was probably thinking mainly of James, and Rosamund got tarred with the same brush.”
“Then he was even further off the mark. James was unpopular because of being so pushy and boastful, but there was no arrogance in it. He wanted to be accepted and he seized on every chance that came his way. When you had to back out of Millie’s party and Elsa needed an extra man in a hurry, James was the first one she thought of. He accepted with alacrity, despite the fact that he must have realised he’d only been invited because someone else had dropped out. What’s more, Elsa never had a qualm about his taking offence, or turning her down. So how do you account for your friend getting it so wrong?”
“I can’t and neither, I’m afraid, can I see that it has any relevance to the present situation.”
“Nor can I, as it happens, but you know my motto? There is a place for everything and everything in its place, if only you can find out where it is.”
“Well, you had better apply yourself to it, but please don’t expect any help from me.”
“Perhaps I will, when I get time. The fact that you’d have been inclined to believe James’s story has lighted new fires. Still, I’ll be up against it, won’t I? No use asking, for instance, who designed that larch grove?”
“None at all. It was done by the East Grinstead firm during the time when McGrath was a partner.”
“So, come to think of it, it was an odd place for him to have chosen?”
“Though not so odd, you mean, if it had been chosen by someone else for the express purpose of incriminating him? That’s true, but unfortunately, it is also the kind of stupid mistake which any judge will tell you even the most calculating murderer is prone to.”
“All the same, I may not give up just yet. Having backed an outsider, it would be nice to see him come romping home. Perhaps I’ll begin by nobbling Louise.”
SIXTEEN
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Louise, but I’ve brought some odds and ends for your jumble sale.”
“How kind of you!”
“Not really. Toby has masses of stuff stored away which he’ll never use and Mrs. Parkes did the sorting and packing. I’m just the delivery person.”
“I see! Well, thank them both for me, will you? Every little bit helps.”
“If Tim’s around, perhaps he could give us a hand with the boxes? Some of them are rather heavy.”
“No, I’m afraid not. There’s a Parish Council Meeting this evening.”
I was aware of this and had my next line ready:
“Oh well, I expect we can manage between us, if we take it slowly, I’ll take this one and you lead the way.”
There was nothing she could do about it and when we had each made three trips and I had ostentatiously brushed the dust from my skirt on to my hands, she had no option but to offer me the use of her downstairs cloakroom.
I spent a good five minutes in there, giving her the opportunity to take a peep inside some of the boxes and when I emerged it was a safe bet that she had used it, because she unbent so far as to offer me some coffee.
“Just what I need,” I said, following her into the kitchen. “Don’t go to any trouble, though. Instant would be fine.”
“It was going to be instant, anyway,” she said, switching on the electric kettle.
“Oh, lovely! All right if I sit here?”
“Anywhere you please, my dear.”
“And what about James McGrath? Were you as knocked out as the rest of us by the news?”
“No, I always said he was a scoundrel. Has he been arrested?”
“As far as I know, they haven’t caught up with him yet. It can only be a question of time, though, and then the sparks will fly, won’t they?”
“Doesn’t bother me. All I want is to see him get what he deserves.”
“I know, but Elsa tells me his wife was a friend of yours, so it’s bound to be painful for you when all the gory details are being bandied about.”
“I still find that preferable to living with the knowledge that her murderer has got away with it.”
“And of course you’ll be able to help things along when you give your evidence.”
The boiling water was coming out of the kettle rather fast and Louise set it back on the stove before replying:
“What makes you think I shall have to give evidence?”
“No getting out of it, I imagine. Having handed that forged letter over to the police, you can hardly expect the prosecution not to make use of it, so it follows that you’ll be called as a witness.”
“Here’s your coffee. I hope it’s as you like it,” she said, not sounding as though she meant it.
“Oh, thanks awfully, it looks marv
ellous. Some people would be scared into a dither by the prospect of being cross-examined and I am one of them, but I gather you’re not?”
“I suppose I am capable of answering a few simple questions.”
“Even if one of them takes the form of suggesting that you wrote the letter yourself?”
“My dear girl, what on earth are you talking about? Why should anyone suggest a thing like that? I never heard such rubbish in my life.”
“Oh well, that’s all right then.”
“What do you mean ‘that’s all right, then’? You sit there, making these absurd accusations and then you airily say it’s all right. It is far from being all right, let me tell you.”
“Then I apologise, but, you see, Louise, I’ve been convinced for a long time that it could only have been you who wrote that letter. All the same, I must have been mistaken, otherwise you would never be so stupid as to deny it.”
Getting through her defences had been easier than I had anticipated and I could see that she was now wavering. Putting on a brave show, she said: “It’s too ridiculous for words, but I’d be interested to hear how you came by such an idea. Did Elsa . . . ?”
“Heavens, no. Elsa has never made an absurd accusation in her life. No, this was based solely on my own deductions.”
“What deductions, may one ask?”
“Certainly one may and I’ll begin by reminding you of a few facts which cannot be disputed. The first is that when you discovered by accident that Rosamund was not with her cousin in London, you went to see James, hauled him over the coals for telling a pack of lies and demanded to know where she was and why she had gone away without a word to anyone. Correct?”
“Perfectly.”
“James eventually admitted that she had left him for another man and gave you the text of a note he claimed she had written to him. Right again?”
