by Agatha Frost
Julia did not stop herself from pulling out her notepad while Johnny had been talking. She jotted down all the key points on a page titled ‘Yolanda Turner’. Ever since Amy had brought her up during their macaron tasting session in the café, she had been itching to learn more about Emily’s predecessor.
“Do you think she’s important to solving these murders?” Johnny asked after Shelby brought them their beers. “I haven’t given her much thought.”
“I’m not sure yet,” Julia said. “It might be part of the bigger picture. If it’s only the founding members that are being targeted, there might be some devil in the detail. It might not seem important, but it could be the one thing that cracks the whole case open. The more we know about all of them, the better.”
A grin spread across Johnny’s face as he leaned forward in his chair. He stared at Julia for a while, so much so that she turned around, wondering if there was something happening that she was not aware of.
“You’re a brilliant woman,” he said after a moment of silence. “Barker is a lucky man, even if he isn’t the best detective inspector the force has to offer.”
“He’s not so bad,” Julia said. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he convinced the men upstairs not to make you an official suspect. He knows you’re only trying to help, but he needs to do his job.”
Johnny appeared to think about what Julia had just said. He opened his mouth more than once to speak, but he stopped himself. When the fish and chips arrived, they ate in silence. It was not until they were finished that Julia decided to talk.
“Have you thought any more about how the obituaries turned up at the office?” Julia asked as she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “That’s something that is puzzling me.”
“We only have one camera on the front door,” Johnny said with a defeated sigh. “I’ve checked through the footage, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I’ve got the interns looking for every person who walked through the front door, but there’s every chance we’re looking for a cat burglar who climbed up the wall and through the window.”
“Or they just walked through the front door?” Julia suggested. “Hiding in plain sight.”
“It’s crossed my mind,” Johnny said, reluctantly. “I just don’t understand why anyone who works at the paper would want to murder three old gardeners and go to the lengths of leaving behind clues.”
Julia thought about it for a moment. She slid back in her chair, replaying Johnny’s words over and over in her mind until something clicked into place. She suddenly bolted up, her knees hitting the table, jostling the plates.
“It’s a fear tactic,” Julia said. “A message. We were supposed to figure out that the Peridale Green Fingers are being targeted, or else it’s no fun for them. Whoever is doing this has a vendetta against certain members. They want those members to fear that they’ll be next.”
“But why make the deaths look like accidents?” Johnny asked with a crinkled brow. “Why not stab them, or suffocate them in their sleep?”
Julia thought for a moment, her mind playing out every scenario at lightning speed until something made sense.
“It’s easy,” Julia said. “It looks like an accident, but the obituaries are a message, so we know the truth, without leaving behind any obvious evidence.”
“But they left behind those pink footprints,” Johnny said. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Julia admitted. “Barker doesn’t know either, or he isn’t telling me.”
“So, he’s not telling you the finer details of the case during your pillow talk?”
“He’s already been suspended once for that,” Julia said, feeling herself growing defensive of Barker. “He tells me as much as he can, but he doesn’t want me looking into this.”
“Why are you?”
Julia thought about her reasons for a moment. She knew she craved the truth when she felt like there was injustice, but that was not the only reason this time. There was something deeper at play, and she was only just coming to realise it.
“When you asked me if I believed you, I didn’t answer,” Julia said softly. “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t, not entirely. I trusted your judgement, but I had my doubts. When Edgar died, I realised the shoe was on the other foot for once, and I should have taken your word for it from the start.”
Johnny smiled his appreciation of her admission. Julia was glad her acknowledgment of her scepticism had not upset or offended him. After they paid their bill, they walked towards the door, neither of them closer to figuring out the truth behind the Green Fingers’ spike in deaths.
“What next?” Johnny asked.
“I wanted to speak to Malcolm Johnson about his dismissal from the group,” Julia said. “Emily seems to think he’s not capable of murder, but it’s as good a motive as any.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“From the little I know about Malcolm, I don’t think me turning up unannounced will go down well.”
Johnny pulled his car keys from his pocket as they walked out of the pub. He clicked the keys, and his car beeped and flashed on the edge of the road.
“If you can take another half an hour away from your café, I have an idea,” Johnny said with a twinkle in his eye.
Julia did not question him. She followed Johnny to his car, promising she would never doubt the man she had known for over thirty years again.
Malcolm Johnson’s cottage lay down a winding dirt track on the outskirts of Peridale. It was reclusive and isolated from the rest of the village, and as Johnny and Julia drove down the lane, she came to the conclusion that it was a purposeful choice.
When they reached the cottage, the beauty of his garden took Julia’s breath away. The garden was not contained by a fence, the flowers and plants looking like they had naturally sprouted from the ground with no helping hands. Green ivy covered the walls of the small cottage, with only the windows and door visible to the outside world. If it had been dark, Julia might have missed the cottage entirely.
The dirt track faded into the grass so Johnny pulled up. They walked the rest of the way. They both looked at each other as they walked towards the unknown. During their journey, Julia had told Johnny what she knew about Malcolm, none of it being particularly positive. Malcolm had a reputation for petty crime. She did not know of any crimes he had committed recently, but that did not mean the reputation had not stuck. She had heard villagers joke on more than one occasion about making sure to lock your front door in case Malcolm Johnson donned his balaclava again.
“He certainly has an eye for design,” Johnny whispered as they approached his front door. “This place is amazing.”
“Genetically modified, if Emily is to be believed,” Julia whispered back as Johnny knocked on the door. “Although we might not want to mention that.”
Julia did not like to think she was judging a man based on rumour, but even she had held her handbag closer to her body on the rare occasions she had seen him in the street. Seeing his garden and obvious talent made her feel silly for buying into local paranoia.
When the door opened, Julia let out a small gasp as she looked up at Malcolm’s grand stature. She knew he was tall, but seeing him in his tiny cottage made him look like he was about to burst through the ceiling at any moment.
“What?” he growled. “Whatever it is, I’m not donating.”
He went to close his door, but Johnny crammed his foot in the way, forcing Malcolm to open it again.
“Johnny Watson,” he said with an outstretched hand. “I’m from The Peridale Post. This is my colleague, Julia South.”
“Don’t you work in the café?” he growled, his piercing eyes seeing right through Julia. “I’ve seen you.”
Julia opened her mouth to reply, but Johnny shot her a quick look that silenced her.
“We’re here to ask you some questions about the Peridale Green Fingers,” Johnny said. “We’re writing an exposé about the shocking way the club is
run, and we thought you might have quite a lot to say, considering your unfair dismissal from the group over unfounded accusations?”
Julia gawked at Johnny, unsure if his approach was foolish or genius. From the look on Malcolm’s face, he did not know what to think either.
“An exposé?” he replied with narrowed eyes. “In the paper?”
“That’s right, sir,” Johnny said as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
Malcolm thought about it for a moment before stepping to the side to swing the door open. Julia was too stunned to move, so she let Johnny lead the way.
Malcolm’s cottage was nothing like she had expected considering his reputation. It was immaculately clean, with a light and airy feeling. The décor was tasteful, and had a definite woman’s touch to it. She wondered if Malcolm’s daughter, Chloe, had had a hand in the choices of patterns and colours.
He walked them through to the sitting room, which was small but not overcrowded with furniture. There was a dresser with a few framed photographs on top, a sofa and an armchair, a coffee table, and a freestanding lamp. There was no TV or any other signs of modern technology. The coffee table was completely clear, aside from a single copy of the most recent edition of The Peridale Post, which had been perfectly lined up with the edge of the table. Despite its already apparent perfection, Malcolm adjusted the newspaper a millimetre before sitting in the arm chair. He motioned for them to take up the sofa, which they did. Johnny reached into his canvas bag and pulled out a tape recorder before handing Julia a notepad and a pen.
“You don’t mind if we record this, do you?” Johnny asked, already clicking the recorder, and placing it on top of the newspaper.
Malcolm stared wide-eyed at the tape recorder, his nails digging into the armchair. Julia could not decide if it was because it was a piece of technology, or because Johnny had tossed it on top of the newspaper so haphazardly. Malcolm nodded all the same and gulped away whatever he was feeling before turning to look Johnny dead in the eyes.
“I want whatever I say to be taken word for word,” he said. “I don’t want you twisting my words.”
“That is not what we are about at The Peridale Post,” Johnny said as he leaned on his knees. “But of course, as one of our readers, you know we’re all about bringing the people honesty.”
Malcolm glanced down at the newspaper again, but this time he seemed to relax a little. The way Johnny had won over the man’s trust with a few well-worded sentences impressed Julia. She had never seen this side of Johnny before, but it explained how he had risen in the ranks of the newspaper over the years.
“In your own words, Mr Johnson, how would you describe the running of the Green Fingers?” Johnny asked, obviously starting off easy. “Don’t think too hard about the answers. Just say what you feel.”
“Do you want to know about before Yolanda died, or after?” Malcolm replied, a sneer forming on his thin lips. “Because you will get very different answers.”
“It only feels natural to start at the beginning,” Johnny said with a soft smile. “In your own time.”
Malcolm thought about his response for a moment before resting his arms on his knees. His giant frame filled the chair, making it look half the size. His thinning hair was slicked neatly back, his face was well shaven, and his shirt and trousers were spotlessly clean without a single crease or piece of lint. He looked nothing like the object of fear the villagers of Peridale saw him as.
“Yolanda was the best of the best,” Malcolm started, pointing a finger at Julia, who instantly started scribbling down what he was saying. “I want that noted before anything else. She was a talented gardener and a great woman. We were good friends. I never married, but I always said if I had my time again, Peter might have had a fight on his hands if I had met her back then. He knew I was joking. He’s a top bloke too. He loved the bones of that woman, and rightly so. She would give you the clothes off her back if you needed them, even when people in this village weren’t kind to her. A woman from Trinidad arriving in the seventies didn’t sit right with a lot of people back then. It wasn’t like today. Things weren’t as accepted. She was up against it from the start. Nobody would give her a job, and people would say she wasn’t trustworthy. It was wrong. Plain wrong. She was wasted in that factory, which was why I was the first to join her when she talked about setting up a gardening club. I even came up with the name.
“It was great in the beginning. We were all retired and getting on in life, so it gave us something to focus on. We’d go to garden centres, and meet up for social events. It wasn’t always about the gardening. Yolanda made sure of that. I could tell this was her second chance at a life in this village. Times had caught up with her skin colour. People eventually realised she was just like the rest of us. There was nothing to it. If the entire village were filled with women like Yolanda, there wouldn’t be a single thing to complain about. She liked a drink, but who doesn’t? She wasn’t addicted or anything. I wouldn’t even call her a drinker, she just liked her rum. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? But people talked. Made up stories. I know what that’s like. They still call me a criminal! I haven’t stolen a car since 1973! Mud sticks in this village, that’s why I stay out of it. If it wasn’t for Yolanda, I wouldn’t have left my house. She made sure I was looked after. She was my rock. Now I just have my daughter, Chloe. She’s all I have now. I still have my garden, but it’s not the same.”
Malcolm paused for breath as Julia came to the end of her third page. She did not know shorthand, so she was trying her best to write everything word for word, even though the tape recorder was still whirring. She did not want to risk a single syllable of his statement being misinterpreted.
“And what about after Yolanda died?” Johnny asked carefully, glancing at Julia, his eyes widening when he saw how much she had written. “Did things change?”
“The poor woman wasn’t even cold before Emily was prying the pin from her fingers. She went to the morgue and requested it! The silly beggars gave it to her too. Can you believe that? The group apparently held a vote, but I wasn’t part of it. I would never have voted her in as the president. Yolanda always joked that if a bus hit her, I should take over. Of course, everyone knew that, which is why Emily got rid of me.
“Genetic modification? It was all nonsense. Lies! They had no proof. Emily started the rumour and it stuck. She mentioned my criminal past, and it scared everyone. They took another vote when I wasn’t there. Got a letter in the post the next day saying I was no longer welcome in the group.
“Chloe wanted to quit on principle, but I made her stay. This garden is as much hers as mine. She’s put in just as much work, and she loves the flowers. I’m surprised they haven’t taken another vote to get rid of the girl considering her connection to me. Emily will do anything to hold onto power.”
“Anything?” Johnny asked, edging forward.
“Anything!” he cried. “Margaret and Elsie were on my side. They were talking about boycotting Emily and making me president, and then they had to go and fall down the stairs. I didn’t care about it for myself, but I promised Yolanda, and that meant something to me.”
“And Edgar?”
“What about him?”
“How did Edgar feel about Emily before he died?”
“Edgar is dead?” Malcolm asked, the shock obvious on his face as he sat back in the armchair. “Are you sure?”
“I found his body,” Julia added with a sympathetic smile. “I saw somebody fleeing the scene.”
“He was murdered?”
“Just like Margaret and Elsie,” Johnny said. “They didn’t fall by accident. They were pushed. Somebody has been sending warnings to the paper before the murders happened to taunt us.”
Just from the look of shock on Malcolm’s face, Julia knew Malcolm had nothing to do with the murders. He had been frank with them, and his reaction looked nothing but honest and true.
“So, you’re
saying you think Emily killed them, so her power wasn’t challenged?” Johnny asked, barely able to hold the excitement in his voice.
Malcolm frowned and turned to Johnny before nodding furiously.
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying!” he cried. “She must have. She’s wanted that pin since day one, and has been waiting for her chance to snatch it for herself.”
Julia sighed and closed the pad. Johnny had been doing so well, but she felt like he had just put his foot right in it, and from the look on Malcolm’s face, he had just given away his true intentions.
“You’re not writing an exposé!” he barked, suddenly standing up. “You’re just here to use me for information. Get out of my house!”
Johnny did not object. He scooped up the tape recorder and shoved it back into his bag along with the reams and reams of notes Julia had taken. They hurried to the front door before Malcom threw them out. When the door slammed behind them, Julia pinched between her brows, wondering how things could have turned so quickly.
“That could have gone better,” Julia said as they set off back towards the car.
“What do you mean?” Johnny replied with a laugh. “We got exactly what we came for. You heard the man. He thinks Emily did it and he’s just given us her motive.”
“You led him,” Julia said with a sigh. “You practically put the words in his mouth, and he just agreed to them.”
“It’s as good as!”
“It’s unreliable,” Julia snapped. “You should have just let him keep talking.”
“Why does it matter?” Johnny asked, the laughter in his voice making it clear he did not understand what Julia was trying to say. “We finally have some information about how the club works.”
“What if it’s not the right information?” Julia replied as she ducked into the car. “If you had let him continue telling us his story in his own words, he could have told us so much more.”
They sat in the car for a moment and stared at the cottage in silence, which was only broken when a car teetered down the dirt track, slowing down to a crawl as it passed them. Malcolm’s daughter, Chloe, stared at them through her rolled down window, a mixture of confusion and anger written across her face. Julia could not escape her guilt for using the woman’s father for information as she watched the car drive towards the cottage.
