by Emily Selby
This must have been the mysterious call Mrs Dunbar made. Was it about her will? Katie was dying of curiosity to ask, but she didn't want the matter of Mrs Dunbar's will to come up. Too close to home for Katie.
'And then Vera Bower came to visit,' Linda carried on. 'I met her this morning at the bakery. She must have just received a call from the police station. They wanted to interview her. Did they?'
Katie ignored the question, keen to push on with her gentle interrogation.
'That's what I'm baffled by. Why would Vera go to someone like Phyllis Dunbar for advice on quilling? Phyllis hadn't done it for ages. She complained of arthritis.'
'It doesn't surprise me. Phyllis might have had arthritis, but to be fair, she liked being asked. She liked feeling special.'
'But why would Vera ask her for help? Why not anyone else?'
'I taught Vera for most of her secondary school. She might have changed since then, but... some people never change. She's always been impatient and liked being the centre of attention.'
'Like that night she got quilling paper glued to her finger tips?'
'Good example. To her credit, Vera's always been artsy and wanted to learn from the best. She liked showing off her skills, too. Phyllis might have not been the best in the world, but she was pretty good and craved the recognition.'
'And Vera was good at giving recognition?' Katie asked incredulously.
'Vera was good at reading what people needed and giving it to them, and I guess, she still may be. She’d use it to get what she wanted from them.'
'Do you think Vera had manipulated Phyllis into giving away her best quilling moves?'
'I wouldn't be surprised.'
'But what for?'
'I think Vera’s trying to worm her way back into the Sunnyvale community. And even more - her father's heart.'
Katie sucked in a breath. Was she onto something?
'Why so?'
Linda shifted in her chair.
'Vera's always been temperamental. She takes after her mother, Margaret, who by the way, also liked men too much. But as far as I know, Margaret wasn't particularly artsy, unless you consider drama-creating an art. Anyhow, Vera's father, Harold, and his side of the family are all sober, business people. Rather successful, from what I understand.'
Katie nodded. Harold Bower and his son, Michael's company had been in operation since the 1950s and was building the housing estate where she'd love to live. One day.
'Harold has always been a sound businessman and accumulated a nice fortune, and'—Linda paused with her index finger slightly trembling in front of her nose—'as you can imagine, with Harold being quite ill of late, the matter of inheritance has come into play. I mean, it's always been there, but just now it's more pressing. Everyone thinks Michael will take over the business, but it's more complicated with Vera. She lived away from her family for many years. The Bowers have never been particularly forthcoming regarding Vera's life, but my own little sources tell me that she isn't very well loved in the family.'
'Why so?'
'There was a big fallout between her and her parents and Vera ran away from home. She was sixteen at the time, I think. Harold was quite happy she was gone, because, honestly, she was a difficult child. She did return for a while when Margaret was diagnosed with cancer and looked after her in her last months. But she left shortly after the funeral.'
'Is she now back to look after Harold?'
Linda chuckled. 'Oh, well, one may think so. Or maybe rather, this is what Vera wants people to think. Personally, the old cynic in me thinks, she just wants to make sure her name is on that piece of paper stored at their solicitor's office."'
'But what has it got to do with quilling, and church fete?'
'I think it may be Vera's way of showing she's grown up and ready to settle down. Be a responsible member of the community.'
Katie thought about this for a while.
'That's all good stuff, actually. It doesn't sound like a motive for murder at all.'
'No. Not really. Although,' Linda paused again. 'No, forget it. It's not really relevant. And why would Vera murder Phyllis? Other than the quilling, there was no connection between them whatsoever.'
'What about Phyllis' nephew?'
'Roy? No way. I taught Roy at school. He was a bit of a softie... No, he wouldn't hurt a fly.'
'So, who might have done it? Did Phyllis have any enemies?'
Linda cocked her head.
'Katherine Redford, is this a rhetorical question, or are you really that naive?'
'No, I'm not naive. I know people didn't like her, but to murder her?'
Linda pursed her narrow lips and nodded a few times. 'No, you're right. Sorry about that comment. Although many people in town disliked Phyllis, it would be too much to say she had any real enemies.'
'She argued with a lot of people,' Katie offered cautiously. 'Maybe she seriously rubbed someone up the wrong way? She could get a bee in her bonnet about things.'
Linda pursed her lips again.
Katie tucked the unruly strand of hair behind her ear and started curling it on her finger. Another thing bugged her.
'Remember the club meeting in summer?' she asked. 'It was scorching hot. We had to leave all the windows open, so it was noisier than usual. Miriam was in a really foul mood and kept snapping at Phyllis all the time. What was that about?'
'Ah, yes. That was an awful day. Adam junior had been cranky from the moment he woke. I'd left him with Adam, I mean my husband, and I was really torn. Wanted to have a little break, but then I had this gut feeling little Adam might have been poorly. I was quite distracted and left earlier than normal. In the end, it turned out to be teething. But yes, there was something going on between Miriam and Phyllis. It wasn't until that evening when I spoke to Adam that I realised what it might have been about.' Linda said, looking away. She paused and glanced at Katie. 'You see, Adam senior used to work with Julian, Miriam's husband. Julian has been quite sensitive lately. Apparently, there have been some arguments between him and Phyllis. She criticised him for something he had or hadn't done for the parish council. He's the treasurer, you know?'
'Ah! That makes sense now. I thought it strange, because Miriam is usually quite calm and friendly. Particularly when she's in the role.'
'She is good as the president, and in their tearoom. But when it comes to her husband, it's a different kettle of fish. Particularly, if someone is criticising his professional capacity. Which is, sadly, deteriorating.'
Katie nodded. At the beginning of the year, she had sought Julian's advice over the financial implications of her divorce. Unfortunately, she had to agree the town gossip had it right - Julian's memory was deteriorating, regardless of how much Miriam tried to pretend it wasn't.
'Anyway,' Linda carried on. 'Once I knew what it was about, it didn't surprise me. And what's more, I'm not sure if you're aware, but Phyllis used to keep the books for her husband's business. She always fancied herself a business-savvy woman. She must have found some problems in Julian's work and told him, as she would.'
'But that was back in July. Miriam doesn't bear grudges. Besides, I could never imagine her hurting anyone.'
'Do you think Miriam or Julian could have...?' Linda's eyes widened.
'No, I don't think Miriam's capable of murder. When it comes to Julian - he would have forgotten before he got there, I'm afraid. I think we can cross them both off our list.'
Linda nodded slowly, looking away.
'Who else do you think could have done it?'
Katie shuddered under Linda's piercing gaze. "Our list?" What was she doing here? Creating a list of suspects with one of the town's biggest gossips?
'I've no idea.' She shuddered again. 'Actually, can we stop talking about it? I can still see poor Phyllis' body.'
'Oh, I'm so sorry, darling. I promise, I won't talk any more about this awful thing.'
Katie dabbed her eyes with a tissue. A baby's cry cut through the awkward silence.
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'I think I'd better go,' Katie said and picked up her handbag.
'Thank you for popping in. Sorry if I’ve upset you. I hope it all settles down and they find who killed Phyllis quickly. Let me know if you have any more information.'
Linda ushered Katie to the hallway.
Katie gave a quick wave and rushed out of the door. She wasn't going to respond to Linda's request. Katie didn't mind white lies, but her politeness stopped when it got serious.
On the way home, Katie considered the wealth of information she learnt from Linda. Was it of enough value to ring DI Heaton? She wouldn't mind hearing his velvety voice on the phone. Then again, he was probably already busy, and she needed time to process all the info. Tomorrow was another day.
6
On Thursday morning, for the first time this week, Katie felt as though she was in charge of her own timetable. Proper grocery shopping completed yesterday afternoon, including Ziploc bags, following the payday definitely helped. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Even Julia got up without grumbling and combed her hair in a way that actually made it look combed.
'Mum, don't forget that I'm going to Ines' after school,' Julia called out from her bedroom.
'I remember. Do you have the text?'
'What text?'
'I thought you and Ines would be practicing for the Halloween play?'
'How many times do I need to tell you it's not the play yet. We're practicing for the casting audition.'
'I keep forgetting, sorry, darling. Anyway, do you have the text?'
'Yes, of course I have.' Julia appeared in the hallway and dropped the schoolbag on the floor.
'Can you check your schoolbag?'
'Mum! I can manage my things.' If thunder could materialise on someone's face, Julia's expression was a good example of what it would looked like.
Katie took a deep breath. Parenting books were wrong - the "me do it" phase didn't end at age of three.
'I'm just trying to make sure you have all you need to truly enjoy the time spent with your friends.'
'All right, then,' Julia said with the thunder still rolling over her face. 'I can check, just to make you happy.' Julia unzipped her schoolbag and started rummaging inside. 'Oh, I can't see it now, but I'm sure I've got it somewhere.'
Katie pressed her lips. Pick your battles, Katie!
'Check your desk,' she said as calmly and neutrally as possible. 'Just in case, you know,'
Julia squinted at her and stormed off to her bedroom. A few seconds later, she emerged from her bedroom clutching a plastic folder.
'Don't say anything!' she snapped, pushed the folder into her schoolbag and zipped the bag with so much force it would have been a window-rattling slam if it were a door.
'And don't smile!' Julia threw the schoolbag over her shoulder and marched out of the door.
'Thank you, mum,' Katie mouthed to herself. Now, it felt more normal. What major disaster did the world have up its sleeve for her today?
When Katie strolled into the police station, DI Jack Heaton, as impeccably dressed as the day before, was sitting in the otherwise empty staff room, already on the phone, despite the early hour.
Katie greeted him with a nod.
'Are they all out?' she asked heading for the coffee maker. Her colleagues would welcome a pot of freshly brewed coffee when they returned.
'There’s been an accident off the A66. Two lorries, and right at the peak traffic hour, too.' The DI’s deep, velvet voice cut through Katie's quiet pondering regarding which of the two brands of coffee she should choose. Her knees turned into cotton-candy.
'Who's manning the phone in the meantime?' Katie asked without turning her head to face him. 'Do you need any help?'
'I think I can handle a phone call or two.'
'I'm sure you can, Inspector,' she said smoothly. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?' She turned around, a professional smile in place. Well, as much as she could make it look professional.
'That would be nice, thank you.'
'Any progress on the investigations?' Katie asked, handing over a steaming cup.
'I’ve had the preliminary autopsy report. In a nutshell, Mrs Dunbar died of exsanguination... sorry, she bled to death.'
'Have you found the weapon?'
'No. It looks as though the killer used two types of instrument. One was thin, smooth, sharp and left round wounds - like a thick needle. The medical examiner couldn’t tell what the other was. He'd never seen anything like it. He'll fax me the photos together with the typed report later.”
'Interesting,' Katie said keen to move on and talk about her findings. "I've got some stuff for you, too. '
'Yes?'
Katie gave him a concise summary of her conversation with Linda MacKay.
'You managed to get more information about the victim in half an hour than I have over the past thirty-six. I suppose it's the advantage of being an insider.'
'Insider?'
'You're a local, aren't you?'
'Not quite. I've lived here for about thirteen years, but many people still consider me an outsider.'
'Better than me. I'm not even from Cumbria.'
'Where are you from? Your accent is quite neutral. I'm struggling to place it.'
'My mother is a retired English teacher. I was forced to speak with the BBC accent. But I'm from next door. Berwick. The Scottish Borders.'
Katie smiled. 'Now, I can hear a slight Scottish accent.'
'Aye. And where are you from originally?'
'Also around the corner. The Yorkshire Dales.'
'A beautiful part of the country. What brought you here?'
Katie hesitated. She didn't want to lie, but if she told him the truth, she'd need to add quickly her husband was now an ex-husband. Just in case. But the information felt a little too personal to share at this stage.
Fortunately, the fax machine buzzed into life, and Katie hurried towards the machine keen to extricate herself from the uncomfortable situation.
She reached to retrieve the message, but he beat her to it.
'Sorry,' he said, clutching the piece of paper that just landed on the fax. 'Post-mortem photos are usually pretty gruesome.'
'I know. I normally pick up faxes and pass them onto the officers in charge, so I've seen my share of gore. It's never a pleasant sight.
He read through the pages, catching the next ones as the machine spat it out.
Katie sipped her coffee. She had the same pile of reports to go through, waiting in her little windowless cube, but the opportunity of getting some extra info, hot-off-the-press, was too tempting.
'Interesting,' he said to himself rubbing his forehead with his thumb.
Katie waited in silence, watching the clock on the wall. If he didn't say anything else, she'd go to her office.
'Did you say you’re good at arts and crafts?' Heaton's voice cut through the silence.
A glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon.
'It depends. What crafts do you mean?'
'Knitting, crocheting, or whatever this thing is called. Maybe sewing?'
'Yes. Although, I prefer paper crafts. Why?'
'The forensics think Mrs Dunbar was attacked with a thin knitting needle, and something very unusual. I'll draw it for you. Maybe you'll recognise the tool.' He picked up a pen and a piece of paper from the nearby desk. 'This is the trace the instrument left,' he said while drawing a nearly closed letter C. 'It's quite small-about 3mm in diameter. Have you seen anything like this?'
Katie looked at the sketch. The shape looked familiar, definitely familiar.
'It looks like a slotted quilling tool.'
'A what?'
'An instrument used to roll strips of paper. This craft is called quilling or paper filigree,' she continued automatically. A chill rippled down her spine.
'Have you even used one?'
'Not for years. It's generally used by beginners, or when doing something difficult for the first time. I tend to use a plain qu
illing tool, which looks...' she paused and looked at him. Her mouth turned dry as paper. 'Like a very thin knitting needle.'
'I see...' he said slowly. 'About 1mm in diameter, you'd say?'
Katie nodded.
He returned the pen and paper to the desk. 'It looks as though we’ve identified the assault weapon.'
'The murder weapon, you mean?'
'That's a little more complicated. From what I understand, Mrs Dunbar fell and hit her head before she was stabbed to death. Some of the stab wounds probably preceded the blow to her head. The forensic team needs more time to figure that out, if they ever will. They have also found traces of'—he consulted the faxed document-'a commonly used anti-anxiety medication. Some people use it to fall asleep easier. Did she take anything like that?'
Katie thought back to the bottles she'd seen in Mrs Dunbar's en-suite bathroom.
'I think I've seen something like that around the house. Maybe that’s why she sounded sleepy on the phone.'
'Possibly. But the question is why she took it.' He fished his phone from his jacket pocket. 'I think we need to go back and check a couple of things.'
'The weapon?'
'That as well, although we didn't find anything like it at the scene. The killer probably took it with him or her. But I'd be interested to check Mrs Dunbar’s medicine cabinet and look for anything else that may be useful. Like her diary. Did she keep a diary?'
'Yes. She kept it in the kitchen. I think somewhere above the hob.'
Katie wiggled in her chair. A thought kept bugging her.
'Do you think a quilling tool could have killed her?'
'I'd prefer to have the final say from the forensics, but theoretically speaking it's possible. How long is it?'
'They vary in length depending on need. But it can be'—she spread her index finger and her thumb to show—'even this long.'
'That's about four inches, some ten centimetres. If it's sharp and sturdy, it's as murderous a weapon as a knitting needle.'
'Sunita was right then.'
'Sorry?'
'It may be nothing,' she said, confusion fog gathering in her head. 'A while ago, in summer, we somehow ended up talking about using craft tools as murder weapons. Sunita Patel, one of our club members, insisted that a quilling tool was as dangerous as a knitting needle, but simply underestimated.'
