by P R Ellis
Petula shrank further into her mauve gown.
‘And yet, the Wedding Belles were your outlet for your love of dressing up. For years and years you put up with Vokins’ jibes, but most people aren’t saints. Eventually they tire of being put down. You felt it was about time that you took your place as the leader of the group. Time that the other Belles looked up to you. You had the special anniversary cake made and you ensured that it was brought in secretly. But how would that have gone down with Vokins?’
‘I wanted to show that he was not the only one who could organise things,’ Petula’s appeal was plaintive.
‘Perhaps it was intended as a symbol of your coup, having disposed of Vokins the day before,’ Jasmine said.
‘No,’ Petula whined, then recovered somewhat to say, ‘I didn’t kill Valerie.’
Jasmine smiled and moved on around the table, ‘Nevertheless, we have another motive, though, like the others, no evidence that it was acted upon. There was one person who declared her motive right from her arrival, indeed before the deed had been done.’ She directed her gaze at Samantha, and caught her eye.
‘What, me?’ Samantha seemed surprised to be included. Jasmine wondered if in fact she had been dozing, still recovering from the previous night’s alcoholic intake as well as what she had imbibed today.
‘Yes, Samantha. You had a public row with Vokins at the reception desk when you made clear your feelings about his role in your divorce. You accused Vokins of informing on your cross-dressing activities to your wife. Do you know why he did that?’
‘He was a vindictive little stirrer,’ Samantha said, ‘he was always having a go at me, making snide remarks about cheating on my wife and being ashamed at being a cross-dresser. He never understood that I couldn’t tell her, couldn’t bring myself to let her know what I liked doing,’ Samantha broke down into sobs.
‘What made him inform on you?’
Samantha looked with tears running through the thick foundation on her cheeks. ‘I was late paying. This weekend is bloody expensive. I had to get the money out of our joint account bit by bit without Jill noticing. I didn’t manage it by Vokins’ fucking deadline. So he wrote a letter to Jill demanding payment and explaining what the money was for. He knew what would happen. He did it for the thrill of knowing that he’d destroyed my marriage.’
‘Yet still you came.’
‘Yes. I wasn’t going to let the bugger win.’
‘In fact it gave you the chance for revenge.’
Samantha’s mouth opened, and closed. ‘If by revenge you mean showing him that it didn’t matter, that separating from Jill was actually the best thing that had happened to me. That I felt liberated to be Samantha whenever I felt like instead of sneaking into loos to change, or doing it in the car. Yes, I wanted everyone to know what he’d done and that I hated him for it – but, kill him? I wouldn’t waste my life on him.’
‘A most well-publicised bluff perhaps,’ Jasmine said, ‘and a motive, nevertheless.’
Samantha huffed and waved her hands in dismissal. There were mutterings of impatience from around the room. People wanted the denouement, some kind of resolution of the problem. But Jasmine didn’t have it. What she did have was the one confession she had received.
‘Motives, motives,’ she said, ‘lots of them. It seems that all the Wedding Belles had a motive including one who we haven’t yet examined.’ A few people turned to each other mouthing “Who?” Others looked confused. Some turned to stare at Donna.
Jasmine saw Donna turn white, her lip quivering. She knew that she was going to be revealed. Well, serve her right, Jasmine thought. It was going to come out some time, and anyway it wasn’t as if Donna had killed Vokins.
‘Donna, the treasurer of the Wedding Belles. Long-time member, entrusted with the purse strings of the group. Except that you weren’t, were you, Donna.’ Donna shook her head agreeing with Jasmine. ‘Vokins had you doing the errands, rather like Petula. Taking cheques to the bank, writing up the balance book, I suppose. But you never really had control over the finances, did you?’ Donna shook her head slowly, perhaps wondering where Jasmine was going. ‘Vokins was able to make withdrawals and transfers without your knowledge and yet he accused you of cheating the group when the figures failed to add up. He ridiculed your abilities, making you look incompetent.’
Donna nodded and tried to hide from view.
‘And then he demanded money from you, to make up the shortfall which he said you were responsible for.’
Donna nodded again drawing gasps from other members around the table.
‘You felt trapped, hated Vokins for what he was doing to you.’ Jasmine paused, ‘So you decided to do something.’ Donna closed her eyes, trembling slightly. Jasmine could see she was waiting to be exposed.
‘You’re not a violent person, are you Donna?’
Donna opened her eyes, looking at Jasmine in confusion. She shook her head warily.
‘Planning a murder is outside your area of expertise. Stabbing or strangling not quite your forte. But your wife takes sleeping tablets. You knew an overdose could be fatal. You dissolved what you thought was enough, a weekend’s supply, in a bottle of wine.’
‘That’s what happened to my tablets,’ Emma Preston exclaimed. Donna shrank away from her.
‘You took the bottle to Vokins’ room. He let you in, accepted a glass of wine from you – as what? A sign of your acquiescence?’
‘He thought he’d beaten me,’ Donna whined.
‘You let him think so. He dismissed you and you left him with the bottle of wine.’
A collective gasp filled the room.
Petula rose to her feet and glared across the table at Donna. ‘It was you, Donna. You killed Valerie.’
‘Sit down please, Petula,’ Jasmine said adopting her little-used voice of authority. Petula sat down with a thud.
‘No, it wasn’t Donna,’ Jasmine said quietly. ‘She had the opportunity, the motive and perhaps even the intention, but she didn’t kill Vokins. You see, she didn’t wait to see if her plan was successful. It would have taken more than one glass of spiked wine to have killed Vokins and Valerie didn’t have more than one. Donna’s full glass and a two-third’s full bottle of wine were found in Vokins’ suite. He drank enough to make him feel dozy, if not actually fall fast asleep. It wasn’t the drug that killed Vokins. Donna is guilty. The nature of the crime will be up to the prosecution service to decide but it won’t be murder.’
There was silence. Expressions of faces revealed to Jasmine that people struggled to take in what she had said. Yes, Donna had tried to kill Valerie Vokins or at least knock her out, but had not done the deed.
Geraldine coughed and spoke ‘But you say that Valerie was murdered.’
‘Yes,’ Jasmine said. ‘She was drowned in her bath, her lungs filled with bathwater scented with rose.’
‘But couldn’t it have been an accident?’ Melody said.
Jasmine nodded. ‘It could have been made to look like that. Vokins in his drugged state, climbs into the bath, becomes unconscious and slips beneath the water and drowns.’
There were nods from the high table and from around the room.
Petula was the first to express an idea that was surely entering many minds. ‘That sounds very likely. Donna caused Vokins’ death but didn’t actually do it. That would be manslaughter, wouldn’t it?’
‘That sounds plausible,’ Jasmine agreed, ‘But it wasn’t what happened. Donna was not responsible for Vokins’ demise.’
‘But why not?’ Petula said with a note of annoyance that her theory had been dismissed.
‘Because someone else entered Vokins’ room while he was dozing in the bath, and pushed him under. Then when they were certain he was dead, and in order to make it look like suicide, they cut his wrists. Those cut wrists rule out accidental drowning.’
Samantha stirred. ‘Perhaps he did commit suicide then, after Donna had visited him. He cut his own wrists.’
; ‘No. Samantha.’ Jasmine said with the patient tone she might have used to speak to a child. ‘When you cut the arteries in your wrists your heart pumps the blood out until your blood pressure falls and you die. The bath water would have turned a dark shade of red. Vokins was already dead from drowning. His heart had already stopped. The cut wrists barely bled at all. The bath water was a pale pink.’
A collective “ah!” went around the room. Jasmine’s eyes caught a glimpse of Tom in the far corner nodding and smiling appreciatively.
‘So Donna had an accomplice,’ Flamboyancé announced with apparent glee at her own cleverness.
Jasmine turned to her and gave her a pitying look. ‘Freddie. Think about it. If the actual murderer had been in league with Donna they would know that Vokins had been drugged. They could have just pushed him under the water until he drowned and left him. In that case the police might have accepted the accident theory. An accomplice would have known not to cut Vokins’ wrists.’
Flamboyancé appeared annoyed at having her theory overturned. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Who was it then? You’ve been through everyone. Everyone had a motive. We all hated the bugger. But we all knew about his phobias and his control-freakery.’
They all knew. It was like receiving a text message full of emojis, abbreviations and predictive spelling and at last realising what it meant. The whole weekend flashed through Jasmine’s mind – her conversations with all the Wedding Belles, the ceremonies, the meals, the drinks, the dancing – and she understood. She looked at Freddie in his shiny yellow, skin-tight frock with Robbie, his sober partner beside him. She turned and took in all the top table. The two brides, Melody and Geraldine, the four bridesmaids, Petula, Donna, Samantha, and Tammy, Sally Edwards in her wheelchair and Emma Preston.
‘Of course,’ Jasmine said with all eyes now on her with renewed intensity, ‘You all knew. A small group with a shared, somewhat weird, pastime – dressing up as brides. You’ve all been part of the group for years; you’re bound to be close. You’re not all the same, you may not actually like each and every one of your fellow members but you know each other well. You banded together in the face of Vokins’ bigotry and manipulation. As you all have told me often enough, you put up with Vokins because you loved what you do. ‘
Belinda spoke up. ‘Are you suggesting they all did it, Jasmine. Like Murder On The Orient Express?’
‘No, Belinda, no,’ Jasmine replied, ‘None of them did it because they had each other.’
Jasmine paused. She thought she knew the answer. Was she certain? She looked at the characters around the table. Yes, she was sure.
The door in the far corner opened and the large, grey-suited figure of DCI Sloane entered. Tom took the unusual step of holding him back, whispering in his ear. The trio of police officers stood passive at the exit.
‘What is a motive if everyone else knows and sympathises?’ Jasmine went on, ‘No motive at all. None of the Belles wanted Vokins dead, not even Donna really and truly. They all wanted these weekends to continue and were content that Vokins should carry out the lion’s share of the organising, so that they could get on with enjoying their fantasies of being young, beautiful brides. But someone killed him. The murderer was here, part of the weekend, but outside the tight-knit circle that is the Wedding Belles. Someone who felt no long-standing appreciation of what he had done. Someone who Vokins threatened not realising that he was preparing his own death.’
‘What do you mean “who Vokins threatened”?’ Petula said.
‘Vokins was short of cash,’ Jasmine explained. ‘The return on his investments had been low since the crash of two thousand and eight. He needed money to pay for his addictions – the clothes – and, yes, they can be an addiction.’ A few of the Belles nodded. ‘We have heard how he was ripping each of you off by taking money from the club accounts and blaming Donna’s accountancy skills, and indeed he was attempting to extort money from Donna. But it wasn’t enough. He needed another source. Someone who he had a handle on.’
Guests looked at one another mouthing “who is it?”
Jasmine approached the table where Donna and Emma were sitting side by side. She looked across at Geraldine.
‘Geraldine, you told me that after the breakup of your marriage and before you and Melody got together there was a period when you had a couple of “affairs”, as you called them.’
Geraldine’s made-up face turned pink as she began to see where Jasmine was leading.
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘One of those affairs was with Emma Preston, wasn’t it?’
Gasps, cries of “no!” and “what?”. Emma Preston tried to rise from her chair. Jasmine placed her hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down.
‘Emma!’ Donna said, ‘What? Why? How? . . .’
Emma turned to her bridesmaid husband, ‘Oh, shut up you fool.’ Then she looked across the table. ‘Gerald, don’t say anything more.’
‘Are you going to tell us?’ Jasmine said quietly. The room turned silent.
‘Yes, Gerald and I had an affair,’ Emma said, ‘So what. Lots of people have affairs.’
‘Why?’ Donna said.
‘Why? Why do you think? I was bored. Bored of you. Bored of your head stuck in screens of figures. Bored of your dressing up.’
‘But Gerald dresses up,’ Donna complained.
‘Not in bed he doesn’t. He was different. He was single again, on the lookout for sex. I wanted it. I gave it to him. It was fun.’
‘What happened to stop it?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Vernon happened that’s what,’ Emma said ‘You all know how he watched everyone all the time looking for little titbits he could use to torment us. Well, he caught Gerald and I having a chat at one of these dos. Being Vernon he put two and two together and got the right answer. He started pestering both of us.’
‘Asking for money?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Not then. This was a few years ago. But it took all the pleasure out of our affair. It was as if Vernon was there every time we tried to have sex.’
Jasmine could imagine how off-putting that could be. ‘So. What did you do?’ Jasmine pushed.
‘We decided to give up meeting,’ Emma said with sadness. ‘We both agreed that it had been fun but the time had come to move on, as they say, except we weren’t going anywhere. Those acts of lovemaking were the most memorable in my life and I often relive them in my daydreams, but I’m delighted that Gerald has found happiness with Melody.’
Geraldine’s smile beamed gratitude across the table. A half-smile appeared on Melody’s face showing that she wasn’t sure whether what she had heard was good news or bad.
26
‘That wasn’t the end of the story, though, was it Emma?’ Jasmine said. She inserted herself between Emma and Donna’s chair, with her bottom against the table. She looked down at Emma.
‘Don’t say I had anything to do with killing Vernon,’ Emma said, glaring back at Jasmine.
‘Let’s go on with the story, shall we?’ Jasmine said. Sloane, Tom and Sasha Patel had moved into the gathering and had spread out amongst the smaller tables.
‘Although your affair with Gerald was over, Vokins had it recorded in his notes,’ Jasmine continued. ‘He knew you were still fond of Gerald so when he was short of money he saw you as source of cash. He guessed that you would be prepared to surrender to blackmail rather than have Donna find out about your affair and so as not to disrupt Gerald and Melody’s nuptials.’
Emma looked away but said nothing.
‘But you weren’t the pushover that Vokins expected. He was used to dealing with the pliant Belles not a determined real woman. You strung him along until you were all due to meet here, but you were not going to hand over the money were you.’
Emma glared at Jasmine. ‘You’re making all this up.’
Jasmine smiled. Some more squeezing and the balloon might burst. ‘You decided to visit Vokins to have it out with him. You hated him, hated what he di
d to your husband however weak and ineffectual he might be. You hated what he threatened to do to your former lover, and you hated him for all the other nasty behaviour that you had witnessed over the years. But your hate was secret. You weren’t a Belle. You were on the side-lines, watching the pretend brides have their fun but playing little or no part in it.’ Jasmine paused for breath then continued, ‘Before Donna left you on Friday afternoon, you said you were going for a swim. You waited a while, unpacked perhaps, changed into your bathing costume.’ Jasmine looked at Emma for confirmation.
‘I did go for a swim,’ she said.
‘But not straight away.’
Susan called out from the table she shared with her husband Belinda and two other guests. ‘I saw her at the pool. Just as I was leaving, but I saw her again as she passed through the foyer while I was greeting people. Belinda had gone off to meet Vernon. She can’t have spent five minutes in the pool.’
‘Thank you, Susan,’ Jasmine replied, ‘Yes, you did go to the swimming pool briefly, Emma, after you had visited Vokins suite.’ She paused, looking for guilt in Emma’s face but only saw defiance. ‘Now this is where a little bit of luck happened. Somehow you avoided bumping into Donna. You might have expected the door to the suite to be locked. Vokins would have made sure of that while he bathed and turned himself into Valerie.’ Jasmine saw nods of agreement from around the table and from Belinda. ‘But Donna had already visited and put Vokins into a sleepy state. Donna left and took herself off to calm down and Vokins failed to re-lock the door. Perhaps you knocked, got no answer, tried the handle and found it unlocked. You entered the suite and discovered Vokins in his bath perhaps asleep or semi-awake.’
Emma shook her head, trying to deny what she was hearing.
‘I don’t know whether murder had been on your mind when you entered the suite but seeing Vokins defenceless was irresistible for you. Here was your chance to get rid of your tormentor. You pushed his head down under the water and held it there. There may have been some reflexive struggle on his part which splashed water onto the floor but despite him being a stronger, if elderly male you were easily able to hold him under until he was dead.’
