Troubled Waters

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  ‘All clear for your pebble hunt then, Pollard,’ Robert Gregg said. ‘You’d better have a spot of help to speed things up... Meanwhile, see if you can get our fire people to send an engine out with the chap on board who says he saw somebody behind that wall, Martin. Deeds, you’d better go along and check for yourself, and take an official statement from the chap.’

  Shortly afterwards Pollard and Toye left for Woodcombe. In the back of the Rover was a young constable barely able to conceal his gratification at being chosen to accompany them, and in charge of spades and rakes. Toye parked the car at the pull-in at Upper Bridge and the trio made its way up the path to the clearing. On arrival there Pollard looked around more thoroughly than on his earlier visit when he had been concentrating on Old Grim. The clearing was roughly circular with a diameter of about thirty feet, and looked as though its ragged grass and other plant growth was roughly cut down at intervals. Probably as a result of pressure from the County Archaeological Society, he thought, to make access to the longstone easier.

  ‘Do you reckon we’ll find any of those pebbles after all this time, sir?’ the constable ventured.

  ‘With luck, my lad,’ Pollard replied. ‘Fortunately it is not a bare slope where rain could have washed them downhill. Now then, we’ll divide the place into three and work outwards from the stone.’

  It was already hot and they hung their jackets on branches and raked energetically in shirtsleeves. The search was easier than Pollard had expected as the soil was thin and the plant cover mainly short-rooted. Robin Westbridge had apparently been a good shot with his catapult. Within a comparatively short time a dozen smooth rounded flints and other pebbles had been unearthed near the base of the longstone. As these were discovered Pollard paused to make a rough sketch map and plot the approximate positions of the finds. They moved outwards and located a few more which had considerably overshot or fallen short of the mark, and he decided to call off the operation.

  ‘Let’s have a breather in the shade,’ he said, subsiding under the oak tree and dusting off his knees. ‘We’d be justified in putting in for the price of new trousers, don’t you think, Toye?’

  After a few minutes the sound of a heavy vehicle starting up and driving off reached them from the road below.

  ‘Could be the fire engine,’ Toye suggested. ‘Inspector Deeds should be along.’

  Footsteps on the path announced the latter’s approach soon afterwards. He appeared mopping his brow and asked anxiously if they had had any luck. On being shown the haul of pebbles he raised his eyebrows and gave Pollard a look of unqualified admiration.

  ‘What about you?’ Pollard asked. ‘Did you get any further with the fireman chap?’

  ‘I did, sir. Very satisfactory. He was a lot more definite seeing the place by daylight. He took up the position behind the wall where he thought he’d spotted somebody, and I got up on the fire engine where he’d been positioned that night. The wall wasn’t high enough to give complete cover from anybody at that height.’

  Pollard looked up and saw the unspoken question in the younger man’s face. The moment of decision appeared to have arrived.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘on the strength of that bit of evidence and our bag of pebbles I’m prepared to tackle Mrs Fordyce on her statement about the alleged fight in Mrs Rawlings’s cottage on the night of the fire. Would you like to put Superintendent Martin in the picture first?’

  ‘No need, sir. Before I came away he told me to make a decision based on the fireman’s evidence and go ahead if you were prepared to. We both feel as you do that Mrs Fordyce is the weak fink in the chain. Bust it there, and we’ll pull in Rawlings.’

  ‘Right, then, Deeds. Let’s go.’

  The column started on the descent. Pollard reflected that Deeds would have to take the initiative with Eileen Fordyce as Bolling’s death was officially Littlechester’s case. He himself must be at the ready to make the right contribution at the psychological moment. He became aware that his spine had begun to tingle slightly as it always did just before an irrevocable move was impending.

  When they arrived in the road it was decided that Toye and Smeaton should stay with the cars. Pollard and Deeds crossed Upper Bridge and walked towards the Woodcombe turning. A woman carrying a basket was coming from the direction of Wynford. They bore left, arrived at the gate of the Fordyces’ bungalow, went up the short path and rang the front door bell. There was no sound from within and Pollard was suddenly seized with foreboding.

  ‘Excuse me.’ The woman with the basket had reached the gate and paused. She had a pleasant middle-aged face, sunburnt and very sketchily made-up. ‘If you’re looking for the Fordyces I’m afraid they’re both out. Mr Fordyce is away on one of his searches and won’t be back till tonight. And Mrs Fordyce has gone on a picnic to Great Birdcliff with Mrs Rawlings. I happened to be in the shop earlier on when they came in to buy things for their lunch.’

  ‘Mrs Rawlings isn’t working today, then?’ Pollard queried with outward composure. ‘I thought Monday was one of her library days.’

  ‘So it is as a rule. But she’s starting a week’s holiday today — Would it help if I ran over here this evening and gave Mrs Fordyce a message?’

  Pollard thanked her politely but said that he would ring later in the day. As she moved on he started for the gate with Deeds.

  ‘Christ, that’s torn it,’ the latter said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘They’ll have seen the bloody cars at the bridge. Everybody in the village knows ’em by heart by now.’

  ‘Over and above which,’ Pollard said grimly, ‘the odds are that Rawlings spotted us crawling all over the clearing through her binoculars. She’d got a high-powered pair on her desk, and her sitting room window looks straight across to the woods. Was this picnic a snap decision as a result? Where and what is this Birdcliff place?’

  He learnt that it was a stretch of coast formed of high cliffs about fifteen miles north of Littlechester.

  ‘If I get your meaning, sir,’ Deeds added, ‘it’s the sort of place where accidents can happen.’

  ‘Does it mean going back to Littlechester to get there?’

  ‘No need. There’s a decent B road branching off from this one which cuts off the corner.’

  ‘You’d better lead.’

  Toye and Constable Smeaton, deep in an inspection of the Rover’s engine, swung round in astonishment at their superiors’ speedy return and dived into their respective cars.

  ‘Tail Deeds,’ Pollard told Toye. ‘I’ll explain as we go along. Where’s the map?’

  After outlining the situation he studied the route of the B road. It rose gently but steadily to within a short distance of the coast, and then rose sharply to a level platform about fifty yards wide which ran parallel to the shoreline. On the seaward side this ran down steeply to the edge of the cliffs.

  Both Toye and Deeds were superb drivers who seemed to have slipped effortlessly into perfect synchronisation. There was little traffic on the road and the distance was covered in what seemed an incredibly short time. As they approached the final rise Deeds flicked out his nearside indicator and drew in to a layby. A few moments later Toye pulled in behind him. Deeds appeared at the passenger window of the Rover as the car came to a halt.

  ‘There’s quite good cover, sir,’ he told Pollard. ‘Clumps of big gorse bushes. As Smeaton’s the only one of us those women wouldn’t recognise, how about sending him up on a recce? Pity we don’t know the car.’

  ‘Grey Mini. 88Z 123,’ Toye contributed.

  Deeds stared at him dumbfounded.

  ‘Cars are his thing,’ Pollard told him with a grin. ‘We’ll never know what he suffered playing second fiddle on this run... Yes, you’re dead right. Let’s brief Smeaton and send him up...’

  Smeaton, pink with excitement at the company he was keeping and the importance of his mission, set off briskly up the hill.

  ‘Try to look like a ruddy birdwatcher,’ Deeds called after him.

  The
y locked the cars and followed, stopping just short of the top of the rise in the lee of a hedge and waited.

  After what seemed an eternity, Smeaton returned.

  ‘They’ve driven along the top to the right,’ he reported to Deeds. ‘The car’s between two big gorse clumps: I didn’t spot it at first. Then I saw nobody was in it and slipped round to have a look. The brake’s on, but she’s in neutral, although the ground’s started falling away down to the cliffs. No other cars anywhere near, and two women are walking back towards the car from further along like as if they’d been for a stroll.’

  ‘O.K. Good work.’

  There was a short consultation at the end of which Pollard started off with Smeaton. On reaching the top they stood contemplating the sea for a few moments.

  ‘Push on now,’ Pollard said.

  Guided by Smeaton they wandered in a leisurely way through the gorse, finally arriving behind the large clump concealing the Mini. The sun beat down powerfully, and the fragrance from the mass of golden flowers was almost overpowering. With the surface layer of his mind Pollard identified it with the aroma of Jane’s coconut buns just out of the oven...

  Women’s voices, distant at first, became audible. He could hear Eileen Fordyce saying something about being hungry.

  ‘Better to eat in the car. More comfortable, and cooler, too, with all the windows open. There’s quite a breeze. You get in and I’ll fetch the basket out of the boot...’

  A car door opened. Someone, presumably Eileen Fordyce, could be heard getting in and releasing a deep breath of satisfaction. Pollard was aware of Deeds and Toye arriving close to him.

  Another car door opened.

  ‘Take the thermos, will you, while I get out the eats?’ Ella Rawlings said.

  There was an interval, surprisingly protracted, and unidentifiable sounds of things being moved in the boot.

  Without warning a terrified scream rent the air.

  ‘The car’s moving downhill! Stop it! Stop it!’

  Without conscious thought Pollard found himself seizing the woman at the back of the car who was pushing it forward with all her strength. He wrenched her away from it and swung her round. His heart missed a beat. He was looking down into an horrific face — frenzied, ravenous, sprouting greenery from eyes and mouth...

  With uncharacteristic violence he tore off the mask Ella Rawlings was wearing, and knew what had happened to Robin Westbridge.

  As she slumped to the ground he was aware that the car had stopped moving but that the screaming was still going on: an hysterical insistence that alibis had been given in all innocence out of loyalty to a friend.

  ‘She must have managed to take the brake off when she passed in the thermos,’ Toye was remarking prosaically at his side.

  When the legal preliminaries in the Rawlings and Fordyce cases had been completed Pollard and Toye returned to the Yard. Pollard finished his lengthy report on the Woodcombe investigation as a whole and sent it in to his Assistant Commissioner. After a few days had elapsed he was notified of an appointment with the latter, and duly presented himself.

  ‘Morning, Pollard,’ the A.C. said, giving him a searching and slightly sardonic look. ‘So you’ve pulled it off, apparently. The best feature to my mind is that the Rawlings woman has been pronounced unfit to plead, so you won’t be tied up in a trial dragging out for God knows how long. What’s going to happen to the other one?’

  ‘Eileen Fordyce, sir? I gather that in the light of the evidence she’s been advised to plead guilty.’

  ‘Good. That’ll cut down the length of the trial... I suppose you’re kicking yourself for not getting on to Rawlings sooner?’

  ‘Yes, I am, sir,’ Pollard replied frankly. ‘On the other hand I don’t see how I could have taken a different course. As I said to you earlier on, the whole affair was stiff with motives: Kenway-Potter back history, Bolling’s anti-Kenway-Potter obsession, Eileen Fordyce’s fixation on social status, and her husband’s frustration. In the midst of all this gaggle Rawlings seemed to be a cultural nut with no personal involvement with anybody. But I admit, of course, that I made a fatal mistake over not spotting how inadequately her alibi for the evening of Tuke’s death was supported.’

  ‘Hardly a fatal mistake,’ the A.C. commented. ‘Don’t dramatize yourself, Pollard. At least an insane woman with homicidal tendencies is under lock and key. Eileen Fordyce will get a short stretch, I imagine. What will happen to her when she comes out?’

  ‘My guess is that her husband will get a divorce, but continue to provide for her, being the sort of chap who takes his commitments seriously. I think he might have swallowed the anonymous letters to the police and even to the Press, but not the ones she sent to Amaryllis Kenway-Potter.’

  The A.C. sniffed. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be... By the way, the Registrar-General doesn’t propose to take any action in connection with Amaryllis Kenway-Potter’s bigamy in 1950, in view of the death of the chap involved twenty-eight years ago... And you’ve doubtless seen the recent headlines in the Press? “Archaeological Outrage”, “Doom Stone Disappears”, “Grim Goings-On”. No prize is offered for allotting them to their respective newspapers.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve seen them,’ Pollard replied guardedly.

  ‘I can’t wait for the impassioned correspondence that will break out in The Times... You know where the damned thing is, I suppose?’

  ‘I can hazard a guess, sir. Somewhere where, according to a Woodcombe local, “us won’t niver ’ave any more trouble with ’ee”?’

  ‘It’s Kenway-Potter’s legal property. How’s he reacting to its disappearance?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, sir. He and his wife are on holiday in British Columbia.’

  The A.C. gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Well, if you’re determined to compound a felony Pollard, for God’s sake keep your mouth shut... That’s about all, I think.’

  *****

  Want to discover more with Pollard & Toye? Download THE WHEEL TURNS, Book Fourteen in the Pollard & Toye series.

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  ALSO IN THE POLLARD & TOYE INVESTIGATIONS SERIES

  DEATH OF AN OLD GIRL

  THE AFFACOMBE AFFAIR

  ALIBI FOR A CORPSE

  DEATH ON DOOMSDAY

  CYANIDE WITH COMPLIMENTS

  NO VACATION FROM MURDER

  BURIED IN THE PAST

  STEP IN THE DARK

  UNHAPPY RETURNS

  SUDDENLY WHILE GARDENING

  CHANGE FOR THE WORSE

  NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CASE

  THE WHEEL TURNS

  LIGHT THROUGH GLASS

  WHO GOES HOME?

  THE GLADE MANOR MURDERS

  Published by Sapere Books.

  11 Bank Chambers, Hornsey, London, N8 7NN,

  United Kingdom

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  Copyright © Elizabeth Lemarchand, 1982

  The Estate of Elizabeth Lemarchand has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN: 9781913028084

 

 

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