The Killer in the Choir

by Simon Brett

  TEN

  Jude’s desire to tell her co-investigator what she had just witnessed was pre-empted. Carole still stood at the edge of the pub car park, stamping her feet against the cold with ill-disguised impatience. As soon as her neighbour was in earshot, she repeated her earlier question with the same urgency. ‘Jude, did you notice?’

  ‘Notice what?’

  ‘What Roddy Skelton said.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘In the pub just now. About GCHQ.’

  Again, Jude could only look puzzled. The headlights of a BMW, leaving the car park far too fast, illuminated the two women briefly. As a streetlight caught the driver’s face, Jude realized it was the deeply affronted Heather Mallett, on her way back to the Shorelands Estate.

  ‘Roddy,’ Carole explained patiently, ‘said he’d gone on a week’s course at GCHQ …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘… but then he’d had to come back down here before the course ended, because he heard about the death of his father-in-law-to-be.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jude agreed again, beginning to wonder whether her neighbour was going to move on from just repeating the conversation they had both heard.

  Carole did. ‘Alice Mallett’s alibi for the time of her father’s death was that she was in London, choosing table decorations for the wedding …’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘With Roddy.’

  Light dawned. ‘Ah. I see what you mean.’

  ‘Except, of course …’ Carole filled in the details. ‘Roddy wasn’t in London. He was at GCHQ in Cheltenham. Which means …’ She paused portentously ‘that Alice Mallett has no alibi for the time of her father’s death.’

  Carole accepted the offer of a ‘nightcap’ at Woodside Cottage. It was partly that she wanted to talk further about what she was again thinking of as ‘the case’, but also that she wanted to put off as long as possible the moment when she had to return to an empty, Gulliver-less, High Tor.

  She murmured something about just needing a cup of tea but did not protest too much when Jude produced a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge. The fire had nearly died down while Jude had been at her choir rehearsal, but she quickly resuscitated it with kindling and vigorous use of the poker. The glow of flames flickering across the ceiling soon augmented the subdued lighting of the sitting room.

  When they’d both got full glasses, Jude told her neighbour what she had heard from outside the Crown & Anchor’s Function Room.

  ‘What do you think it means? That Heather was ending their affair?’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Carole. We don’t know that there was any affair.’

  ‘Oh, there must have been. Heather claiming she was having singing lessons with KK – I’ve never heard a more blatant cover-up. There must have been something going on between them.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure. Anyway, what I heard doesn’t definitely mean she was ending an affair.’

  ‘So what else could it mean?’ asked Carole sceptically.

  ‘It could mean that tonight was the first time KK had come on to Heather, and she didn’t want their relationship to move in that direction. She wanted them just to stay friends.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Carole, we don’t have enough information to reach any conclusion about it.’

  ‘Oh, really, Jude! And I thought I was meant to be the wet blanket in this partnership.’

  ‘In this case, I am happy to take over the role.’ Jude had her own reasons for keeping a curb on their speculations.

  ‘If you insist.’ Carole sighed in frustration. ‘What we do have enough information about, though, is Alice Mallett’s alibi – or rather lack of alibi – for the time of her father’s death.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jude conceded.

  ‘We must investigate that further.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Talk to Roddy. Talk to Heather. Talk to Alice herself, for God’s sake! Do what investigators normally do.’

  ‘But that would be virtually making an accusation of murder.’

  ‘If a murder’s been committed, it’s quite common for the perpetrator to be accused of the crime,’ said Carole sniffily.

  Jude still dragged her heels. ‘We don’t know that a murder has been committed.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jude.’

  ‘Anyway, what right have we to investigate? It’s normally the police who do that sort of thing.’

  ‘Maybe. But the police have been particularly useless in this case, haven’t they?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They never showed much interest, did they? They seem to have been convinced from the start that there was nothing suspicious about Leonard Mallett’s death. If they hadn’t thought that, they would have put some time into detailed checking of the alibis they were given. And they would have found out how easily broken Alice’s was. They just didn’t bother.’

  Jude couldn’t deny the probable truth of this.

  ‘If a crime’s been committed, and the police just sit on their hands,’ Carole stated categorically, ‘then it’s our duty, as citizens, to investigate it.’

  Carole could sometimes get very Home Office about issues like this, demanding that the right thing should be done. Jude, on the other hand, had always had a much more fluid interpretation of what was meant by the word ‘justice’.

  Carole did not sleep well that night. She berated herself for excessive drinking late in the evening, but knew that was not the real reason for her agitation.

  So, she was hugely relieved when, sharp at eight thirty the following morning, she received a call to say that Gulliver was absolutely fine and could be picked up from the vet’s as soon as she wished.

  Driving there in her trim Renault, Carole thought about the state she had been in overnight. She had been genuinely worried that she would never see Gulliver again. However hard a carapace she tried to construct around herself, her feelings were still vulnerable to the many unforeseeable accidents of life. And now she had the two granddaughters, the list of her hostages to fortune had increased.

  It was nine o’clock when the telephone rang in Woodside Cottage.

  ‘Hello, Jude. This is Heather Mallett.’

  ‘Oh, hi. Good to see you yesterday. All the wedding planning in place?’

  ‘Yes. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I wanted to talk about something Roddy said last night.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I wonder … would you be free to come round here for a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, sure. When?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘Fine.’ Jude was still in her dressing gown and fleecy slippers, enjoying a cup of instant in the kitchen. ‘Just got to put some clothes on, twenty-minute walk … be with you in half an hour.’

  ‘I could come and pick you up.’ There was an urgency in Heather’s voice.

  ‘No, the walk’ll do me good.’

  ‘You know where we are?’ The common widow’s mistake of using the first person plural.

  ‘I’ve got the name of the house, and I know the Shorelands Estate.’

  ‘See you shortly then.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Jude had been to other houses on the estate, but never before to the Malletts’. As she passed the open main gates of the compound, she felt the customary shudder at the sight of the regulations board … all about how dogs must be kept on leads and washing be hung out only on certain days of the week. Not for the first time, she wondered who the noticeboard was actually there for. The residents must all know the rules by now. Which meant that the regulations were on display simply to impress on visitors the level of exclusivity of the estate they were about to enter.

  Heather’s house was called ‘Sorrento’. Its style was 1950s Georgian, and it was on the more expensive side of the estate, boasting a garden at whose end a gate gave access to the dunes of Fethering Beach.

  Heather ushered her in from the cold, through a
rather old-fashioned, wood-panelled hall. Vases of fresh flowers brought a bit of colour but failed to lift the ambient gloom. Jude tried not to look too overtly at the staircase, but presumed she actually was at a Scene of Crime. It was there that Leonard Mallett must have breathed his last.

  Her hostess led the way into a sitting room, whose chintzy armchairs and sofas also dated from a previous era. Heather seemed to acknowledge this, waving a hand airily and saying, ‘Once I get the wedding out of the way, I’m going to give the house a complete makeover.’

  In the bay window that looked out towards the sea stood a baby grand piano. Heather seemed ineluctably drawn towards it. She brushed her hand over the keys, then picked out the opening notes of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March”. ‘My new baby,’ she said. ‘I always grew up with a piano in the house. When I was a student at Manchester, they were always readily accessible. But after I got married …’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence. ‘I’ve just taken delivery of this. Already, I love it.’ She moved reluctantly away from the keyboard.

  On a low table was a tray, bearing a cafetière, two National Trust mugs and a matching milk jug. Sugar was not even on offer. So few people took it these days.

  Gesturing Jude to an armchair, Heather pushed down the plunger and asked, ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘Just with milk, please.’

  When they were both equipped with coffee, Heather also sat down and began, very directly, ‘The fact that you agreed to come here suggests that you did hear Roddy say something odd last night.’

  Jude gave a cautious grin. ‘Not necessarily. It could just be the prevailing vice of Fethering, curiosity to see the inside of another resident’s house …?’

  Heather swept aside such triviality. ‘Just to make sure I’m not barking up the wrong tree, what was it you heard that you thought was odd?’ She was covering herself, not giving away any information till she knew how much her guest knew.

  ‘I didn’t actually pick it up immediately,’ Jude confessed. ‘My neighbour Carole drew my attention to it.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. That doesn’t really surprise me. Got sharp eyes, that one.’ Then she said, urgently, ‘So what did Carole draw your attention to?’

  ‘The fact that Roddy was on a course at GCHQ in Cheltenham at the time of your husband’s death.’

  Heather Mallett nodded, accepting the extinction of a hope. But she moved briskly on. ‘So, Carole – and indeed you – are aware of the implications of that?’

  ‘Yes. It means Roddy was lying about being in London choosing table decorations with Alice on the day your husband died.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘And the alibi for your stepdaughter which he gave to the police doesn’t hold up.’

  ‘How do you know what alibi he gave?’ asked Heather sharply. ‘Do the police confide in you?’

  ‘No such luck. Surely you remember? It was you who told us about Alice’s alibi.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Heather wearily. ‘I’m afraid I’ve talked to so many people in the last few weeks about Leonard’s death, that I forget who I said what to.’ She looked directly at Jude, her brown eyes probing. ‘So, what – if anything – are you planning to do?’

  ‘Do?’ asked Jude, tactically obtuse.

  ‘Yes. You now know that Roddy was lying about being with Alice on the day Leonard died. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I think Carole and I would probably give different answers to that question.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Carole used to work at the Home Office. Her attitude to public duty is non-negotiable.’

  ‘Whereas yours …’

  ‘I think I’m able to see more sides to an argument than she is.’ This was said with no self-congratulation. It was simply a statement of fact.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Right, in this particular argument, what sides do you see?’

  ‘I see, I think, Heather, a lot of unhappiness in your family.’

  ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’

  ‘And, given the way that you have … come out of your shell … since your husband’s death, I might leap to the obvious conclusion that he was the cause of at least part of that unhappiness.’

  ‘I’m still not arguing.’

  ‘So, you wouldn’t argue if I were to say that yours was an unhappy marriage?’

  Heather shook her head, tense, uncertain how to respond till she heard what came next.

  ‘The question that raises for me is: if your husband made you unhappy, did he make his daughter unhappy too?’

  There was a silence. Then Heather said slowly, ‘You’re a very perceptive woman, Jude. It must be down to all that healing you do.’

  ‘It’s hard to do the job without accumulating some knowledge of human psychology.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s true.’ Heather sighed. ‘No, I wasn’t happy with Leonard. I have to say that was partly my fault. I was very wide-eyed and naïve when we met, and I was attracted by the idea of a well-established, wealthy man taking an interest in me. Leonard was never going to be the life and soul of any party, but he seemed honest and reliable. People were deferential to him at social occasions; he seemed to command a lot of respect. Basically, he offered me stability, after a series of unsatisfactory relationships with younger, irresponsible men.’

  Jude said nothing, happy to let Heather control the narrative in her own way.

  ‘So, I thought, by marrying Leonard, I would be shoring up my own security for the rest of my life. It was only after we were married that I realized how controlling his personality was.’

  Jude still kept silent, thinking how many of her clients had described their marriages in almost identical words.

  ‘He was a bully and, having done me the hugest of favours by marrying me, he then proceeded to abuse and humiliate me.’

  ‘When you use the word “abuse” …’ Jude began tentatively.

  ‘I use it in the fullest sense of the word. Domestic violence, sexual assaults. As the years went by, Leonard’s potency declined. He would never have considered blaming himself for that, so he blamed me. As a result …’ For the first time in the conversation, Heather’s face expressed the revulsion for what she was describing ‘… he demanded ever more extreme actions from me to stimulate his failing libido.’

  ‘And what about his first wife?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Heather sharply.

  ‘I meant, do you know if there was any history of abuse while he was married to her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Leonard was the only person of our acquaintance who would know the answer to that. And he wouldn’t have been about to tell me, would he?’

  ‘No. Probably not. Just that, in my experience of clients who’ve suffered sexual abuse from their partners …’ Jude had dealt with a distressingly large number of such cases over the years ‘… it rarely comes from nowhere. There’s usually some history.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what happened with his first wife. And I wasn’t about to ask. It would only have made Leonard angrier. And who would his anger have been taken out on? No, I wasn’t going to deliberately antagonize him.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Alice, though, was fascinated by her mother, and how she’d died.’

  ‘How old was she when it happened?

  ‘Round twelve, I think. Leonard would never talk to her about it. She kept asking, but …’

  ‘Was your husband in sole charge of her after her mother’s death?’

  ‘Technically, I suppose, yes. But she was packed off to boarding school very soon after, I think. Didn’t see much of her father from then on … which suited Alice very well, because she loathed him.’

  The two women looked at each other for a long, slow moment. Then Heather said, ‘Look, all I want at the moment is for Alice to have the most perfect wedding possible. And I believe there are things you think, Jude, things you know, actions you might take … which could threaten that outcome.’
<
br />   ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be faux naïve! You know what I mean. You were about to ask me whether Alice too was abused by Leonard.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say—’

  ‘Yes, you would. I don’t know you well, but I know your type, Jude. Once you have a suspicion about something, you worry away at it, like a dog with a piece of rag, and you won’t let it go until you’ve got some kind of explanation.’

  ‘That would probably be a more accurate description of Carole than me.’

  ‘It fits both of you. The only difference is a matter of degree. But I’m not criticizing you for it. Seeking out injustice, righting wrongs, they’re admirable ambitions … so long as they don’t concern my family.’

  Jude thought she now understood the direction in which Heather’s thoughts were moving, but she waited until they were spelt out for her.

  ‘I get the impression that if I told your friend Carole what I’m about to tell you, she’d go straight to the police with the information.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re going to tell me, but that is an accurate assessment of Carole’s character.’

  ‘OK.’ Heather looked down at the cafetière. ‘I could make some fresh coffee if you—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine.’ Tell me what you have to tell me, Jude urged inwardly.

  ‘Right.’ Heather sighed and looked down over the garden fence to the English Channel. ‘Very well. Yes, Leonard did abuse Alice. And she was at a much more vulnerable age than I was when it started. It had a devastating effect on her. I talked of myself having dreadful relationships with men, but that’s nothing on the scale of what Alice went through.’

  ‘But now she’s through all that, and about to get married.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Heather positively. And then, with less certainty, ‘Yes …’

  ‘Did Alice tell you about what had been happening?’

  ‘No. I found out. It wasn’t an easy time, for either of us. It took years for me to actually talk to her about the subject.’ She looked ashamed. ‘Once again, I was too afraid of Leonard to …’

  ‘But when you did talk to her about it …?’

  ‘At first she denied everything. But gradually, very slowly … I think it took her a long time to realize that we had both suffered in the same way. And that I might be on her side. Once she did start talking, though, there was no stopping her.’