‘We’d begun to think he’d never settle down,’ Bruce’s mother confided to Melissa as the four of them sat round the tea-table watching Kirsty, enthroned in a high chair, blowing lustily on the two pink candles on her birthday cake. ‘We’d given up hope of ever having grandchildren. Penny’s such a sweet girl—it’s wonderful to see them so happy.’
When Melissa got up to leave, Bruce escorted her to the door. Once out of earshot of the others he said, ‘Any more developments in the enquiry into that girl’s death?’
‘Not that I know of. Haven’t you been in touch with your office?’
‘Of course, but all they’ve got is the initial police report of a body having been found in the woods—no details.’
‘All I’ve heard is a lot of idle speculation,’ said Melissa drily. ‘You know what people are for making up stories …’
‘Almost as bad as journalists, eh?’ said Bruce with a grin. ‘By the way, seen anything of your new neighbour since we spoke on the phone?’
‘Only to hand him his Sunday paper. He was in church this morning, but he didn’t speak to me, or to anyone else as far as I could see. What’s your interest?’
Bruce’s eyebrows lifted at the word ‘church’, but he made no comment. He picked up a manila envelope that had been tucked out of sight behind a vase of flowers on the hall table and handed it to her. ‘Have a look at that when you get home.’
‘What is it?’
‘Some faxed material I got from a friend who works in Birmingham Central Library. There’s a photograph of a man—I’d like you to tell me if you recognise him. Thanks so much for coming, and for Kirsty’s present,’ he hurried on without giving her a chance to question him. ‘I’ll give you a call in the morning, if that’s all right with you.’
He had switched from his rôle as dedicated family man to that of a professional journalist on the track of a story. It was clear that he had no intention of saying any more for the moment; with a shrug, Melissa slid the envelope into her handbag. ‘I suppose so,’ she sighed, ‘but I hope you aren’t going to involve me in another of your off-the-record investigations. I do have a book to finish, you know.’
‘Of course, don’t you always? And haven’t I given you some very useful material in the past?’
There was no sign of life in Elder Cottage when Melissa reached home shortly after six. As soon as she got indoors she opened the envelope Bruce had given her. Inside were faxed copies of a series of extracts from the Birmingham Post. She read through them with an increasing sense of shock and dismay. The first, dated some eighteen months previously, was a front-page item bearing a photograph of Graham Shipley and reporting his suspension from his post as history teacher at a local comprehensive following allegations by a girl pupil of indecent assault. Subsequent items traced the story as it unfolded: a categorical denial by Shipley; declarations of confidence by some parents; doubts expressed by others that ‘there was no smoke without fire’; an eventual statement by the police that there was insufficient evidence to bring charges; an announcement by the chairman of the school governors that they accepted the teacher’s version of events and intended to reinstate him; the formation of a pressure group of parents challenging the governors’ decision. The final item, dated almost a year ago, appeared to have been tucked away on an inside page and briefly reported that Shipley, described as ‘the teacher at the centre of the recent allegations of indecent assault at Woodfield Comprehensive’, had resigned on the grounds of ill-health.
Melissa sat for a long time deep in thought. She was torn between conflicting emotions: on the one hand, sympathy for the tortured individual who, in a state of near hysteria following the discovery of Cissie Wilcox’s body, had allowed her a brief insight into his personal tragedy; on the other, unease over the unanswered questions that had up till now lain at the back of her mind but which now began to assume an alarming significance. She was mulling them over and speculating on possible answers when there was a ring at the front door. Half expecting it to be Graham Shipley, she hastily returned the papers to the envelope and slid it into a drawer before answering, wondering as she did so what on earth she could say to him in the light of what she had just learned. However, it was not Graham but her old friend Detective Sergeant Matt Waters who was standing in the porch and she greeted him with relief.
‘Matt, how nice to see you! Come in.’
‘Thanks.’ He stepped inside after carefully wiping his shoes. ‘I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time to call.’
‘Not at all. Is it a social visit or official business?’ she asked with a glance at the notebook in his hand.
‘A little of both, actually. I’ve been a bit concerned about you after the upset of finding that poor girl’s body … knowing you haven’t got Iris or … I mean, after that kind of experience it helps to have a friend to talk things over with …’
He had, she knew, been on the point of blurting out Ken Harris’s name. He was one of the few people who knew how close her relationship with his former chief had been and she guessed that he had checked himself for fear of causing hurt or embarrassment. As much to reassure herself that the pain of parting was becoming daily less acute as to put him at his ease, she patted him on the arm and said, ‘Matt, that’s such a kind thought—and you’re right, it would have been a relief to have Iris or Ken around. But I’m okay now,’ she went on as she led the way into her cosy sitting-room and invited him to sit down. ‘Would you like a drink, or a cup of coffee?’
‘No thanks, not for the moment.’
She sat down facing him. ‘You said this was partly official business. I expect you know that I called in at the station to sign my formal statement on my way to visit some friends this afternoon. Did I leave anything out?’
‘Not that I know of. No, actually I wanted another word with Shipley, but he doesn’t seem to be in. I don’t suppose you’ve any idea when he’s likely to be back?’
‘Sorry, none at all.’ She hesitated for a moment, then asked, ‘Would it be indiscreet to ask what it’s about?’
‘Well, since we’re old friends and I know I can rely on you to treat this in the strictest confidence—’
‘Of course.’
‘And it’s off the record as far as I’m concerned too.’
‘You mean, this isn’t an official interview?’
‘Right.’
‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘Well, Shipley was so distressed after finding the body that I let him go home after asking him to call at the station to make his formal statement—which he did this morning. Audrey Savage took it and although he was much more coherent it basically contained nothing he hadn’t already told me. Audrey and I talked it over and we both feel he’s hiding something. You went with him to view the body and Audrey said you brought him home after I’d spoken to him—did he say anything to you that might help us figure out exactly what happened?’
Melissa suppressed a shudder as she mentally relived the chain of events that followed her first sighting of a confused and apparently disorientated Graham Shipley. ‘He seemed totally out of it at first,’ she said. ‘I could tell there was something wrong; I thought he might be ill so I called to him … but you already know that.’
‘Yes.’ Matt flipped open his notebook. ‘You mentioned that he kept repeating, ‘I never touched her’. What did you think he meant?’
‘I assumed he meant that he had found her lying there dead, that someone else must have pulled her out of the water. In fact, he said as much—he also said he’d told you the same thing, but he didn’t think you believed him.’
‘I wonder why he should think that,’ said Matt quietly. He fixed Melissa with the steady, searching gaze that seemed to be part of every policeman’s stock-in-trade, designed to convince a witness that he or she would be well-advised to tell the whole truth.
Had the question been put to her an hour previously, Melissa would have replied frankly that she had no idea and probably gone on
to admit that it had been troubling her as well. The explosive information in the newspaper extracts that Bruce had given her would, if she handed them over to the police, change the whole course of their investigation. Coming as it did in the wake of Graham’s own personal tragedy, the consequent stress might easily cause him to suffer another breakdown, destroying—perhaps for ever—the fresh start of which he had spoken. He had not been found guilty of any offence; the complaint against him could have been entirely without foundation, even malicious. According to those reports, there had been no other evidence against him and he was entitled to be regarded as innocent. And if the story did come out in the course of the investigation into Cissie’s death, she preferred not to be the one to break it.
These thoughts flashed through her brain in a nanosecond, yet she was aware from Matt’s expression that he was waiting for her answer and had sensed that she had something to tell him. To account for any hesitation, she said, ‘He didn’t say, but he did talk a bit after I brought him home. It was very personal … he didn’t actually ask me not to tell anyone, but—’
‘If it isn’t relevant to our enquiry, it won’t go any further,’ Matt promised.
‘All right, I’ll tell you. I think the reason he was so upset is that Cissie reminded him of his own teenage daughter.’
‘He told you this?’
‘Not in so many words. He told me that he had come to live here to “make a fresh start” as he put it, after his marriage broke up and that he found “all this”—presumably meaning the shock of finding Cissie—a terrible setback.’
‘Did he talk about his wife?’
‘No. He didn’t mention her at all, only his daughter, who’s a couple of years younger than Cissie, but big for her age. He sounded really proud of the kid and reading between the lines I had the impression that seeing the body of a girl about the same build and apparently the same age as his own daughter had given him a profound shock.’
‘That’s understandable.’ Matt ran his fingers through his iron-grey hair, apparently deep in thought. After a few moments he asked, ‘Did Shipley give any indication as to why the marriage broke down?’
‘No. He did mention that he doesn’t see his daughter any more.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘No.’ That question had been niggling in Melissa’s own thoughts as well. ‘It could be the ex-wife has moved a long distance away—maybe gone back to live with her parents—and taken the child with her.’
‘Possibly.’ Matt closed his notebook and put it into his pocket. ‘Mel, is the offer of a drink still open?’
‘Of course. What shall it be?’
‘Coffee will be fine.’
‘Right. I’ll go and make it. I could do with a cup as well.’
She went into the kitchen and he followed her with the easy familiarity of an old and trusted friend. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she said, ‘Matt, you don’t really think Graham Shipley had anything to do with Cissie’s death, do you?’
‘There’s nothing at all at this stage to suggest that he had, but there are one or two things that are puzzling us. The obvious one is, if Shipley’s story that he wasn’t the one who pulled the body from the water is true, why didn’t the person who did raise the alarm right away?’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. And I’ve been wondering as well how she came to be down by the brook in the first place.’
‘All the indications are that something or someone frightened her, that she went charging into the woods to get away and either missed her footing or tripped over something before falling into the water and knocking herself out. Her skirt was torn—we found a shred of cotton caught on a bramble that might have come from it and we’ve sent that to forensics—and one of her shoes had come off. Everything points to the fact that she was in a great hurry and not looking where she was going.’
Melissa’s throat contracted at the mention of the new yellow shoes of which Cissie had been so proud. An image flashed into her mind’s eye of a terrified girl fleeing in a blind panic, not looking where she was going in her desperate attempt to escape. Escape from whom? Surely not …
Aloud, she said, ‘Graham Shipley seems to have a very good rapport with kids, especially the young ones, but I haven’t seen him show the slightest interest in teenage girls. On the contrary,’ she added, remembering his discomfiture at Becky Tanner’s brazen advances.
‘Meaning?’
She explained, and for a moment Matt’s serious expression relaxed in a smile of amusement. It was not the first time she had entertained him with stories of Becky’s antics. ‘Of course, I’ve only known him a very short time,’ she admitted, ‘but no one could have behaved more properly in that situation. Becky went off in a paddy at being given the brush-off.’
‘What we can’t be sure of,’ said Matt as Melissa put two mugs of coffee on the table and they both sat down, ‘is, did that bang on the head—we’re pretty sure it was caused by a nasty jagged piece of rock on the bed of the stream—knock Cissie out for long enough for her to drown?’
Melissa stared at the detective in horror as the significance of his words sank in. ‘Matt, are you suggesting that someone—’
‘Held her down to make sure she did drown?’ Matt said as she broke off, unable to bring herself to voice the thought. ‘I’m afraid it’s a possibility we have to consider. The pathologist wouldn’t commit himself, except to say that drowning in fresh water can occur pretty quickly, but equally that she might have been only momentarily stunned and quite capable of picking herself up again within a couple of seconds.’
‘But surely, if someone did that, there’d be marks—on the neck, for instance?’
‘The flat of a hand on top of her head would have done the trick, and with that mop of hair no one would be any the wiser.’
‘You’re suggesting that someone may have threatened her or made sexual advances, that she ran away from him and fell into the brook, that he followed and when he saw what had happened took the opportunity of making sure she wouldn’t be able to give him away?’ Melissa felt her stomach churning at the picture her own words had conjured up and she covered her eyes in a futile effort to shut it out. ‘It’s monstrous. How could anyone do that to a lovely girl like Cissie?’
‘We don’t know that anyone did, but we have to consider all the possibilities,’ said Matt gently. ‘We know that she’d been dead for approximately three to four hours when her body was found, but she hadn’t been in the water for the whole of that time because her clothes had begun to dry out. We also know that she delivered a box of eggs to the old man who lives along that track, presumably ten to fifteen minutes after she left the shop at around one o’clock. We interviewed him, but he wasn’t much help. He’s very deaf and he said he never heard her call—he said the eggs were on his kitchen table and he didn’t even realise he hadn’t brought them home himself with his other shopping. He ate one for his lunch and then spent the afternoon working in his vegetable plot behind the cottage and never saw anyone.’
‘So she met whoever she was running away from after leaving Tommy’s cottage and was presumably on her way home?’
‘That’s how it looks. Whether or not that person actually killed her, he must have done something that scared her pretty badly and we want to find him before he does it again. Shipley insists he was nowhere near the spot at the time and we’ve no reason to think he’s lying, but—’ Matt stared moodily into his empty mug, plainly frustrated. ‘We’re appealing for witnesses and so far no one has come forward, but of course, it’s early days yet. Look, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time—I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the coffee.’
After he had gone Melissa prepared a light supper, but the possibility, however remote, that Cissie’s death might not have been accidental weighed on her mind and destroyed her appetite. The notion that Graham Shipley was a murderer seemed unthinkable, yet there was the evidence, still lying hidden in her kitchen drawer, that he had at
least once before been involved in some kind of confrontation with a teenage girl. She began to wonder whether she had done the right thing in withholding the information from Matt, then told herself that it was there in the public domain and if the police felt it necessary to probe into Graham’s past they would quickly turn it up for themselves. There remained the possibility that Bruce Ingram might consider it his duty to release it. He had promised to call her in the morning and she resolved to tell him enough of Graham’s sad history to persuade him not to do anything precipitate that might jeopardise the fresh start that he so desperately needed.
With that resolve, she went to bed, comforting herself with the thought that it wouldn’t be her fault if it all came out.
Ten
It was Monday afternoon. There were still ten days to go before the start of the new term, but a trip to a special performance of Romeo and Juliet had been organised by Mr Jeremy Evans, who taught English and sport at Stowbridge Comprehensive. Gary and Becky Tanner, Billy Daniels and Dave Potter had—encouraged and subsidised by their parents—joined the party. After the bus chartered for the occasion dropped them off the three boys had, by tacit consent, made for the bridge spanning the stream a couple of hundred yards or so from the spot where, only two days before, Cissie Wilcox had met her death. It had long been one of their favourite places; more often than not during term time they would wander over there after getting off the school bus to lean their elbows on the parapet, puff a forbidden cigarette and exchange idle gossip on whatever currently exercised their minds. Favourite topics were sport and the world of pop music, more often than not some spectacular event on the football field or the latest bizarre antics of a group renowned—and admired—as much for their outrageous behaviour as for the quality of their performances. Today, affected as much by the recent tragedy in their own small community as by the fate of Shakespeare’s doomed young lovers, they were unusually silent. They stared morosely down at the swiftly flowing water that had taken the life of their pretty young neighbour.
Murder at Benbury Brook: An absolutely gripping English cozy mystery (A Melissa Craig Mystery Book 9) Page 7
