by Fay Sampson
‘He didn’t tell me.’
She went clattering back over the cobbles, wishing she had not chosen to wear heeled shoes to church, in a vain gesture towards respectability.
As she turned on to the drive, she was aware of David just behind her shoulder.
‘I’m a doctor. But there’s nothing you can do,’ he said. ‘They won’t let you anywhere near her.’
‘I know. But I have to do something.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Veronica was following them at a little distance.
They rounded the bend and saw the reason for the wailing sirens that had fallen silent now.
The drive bent sharply past the lowest of the abbey’s surrounding complex of modern buildings. A police car was drawn up at the side of the road.
‘Look!’ Veronica pointed. ‘Down there.’
A meadow sloped down to where the River Dart was hidden among the trees. A wide footpath had been mown through the tall grass and clover. Just where the wood began, a flash of green and yellow was visible. The ambulance. Two more white and blue police cars were parked alongside it. Someone had opened the wide field gate for them, alongside the smaller one for walkers.
Hilary strode through. The ground was soft beneath the wet grass. As she plunged on down, she cursed her inappropriate heels more than ever.
‘This is as far as they could drive,’ David said as they neared the vehicles.
Ahead, the track mown through the grass ended in a narrow footpath disappearing into the trees.
Hilary hurried on past the vehicles into the little wood. There was a shout from the path in front of her. A policeman had turned.
‘You can’t come down here, missus. They’ll have closed it off.’
She strode past him, though she could hear David apologizing. She was in the little wood now. There were autumn leaves underfoot. Still she could not see the water or the riverside path.
A very few minutes of swift walking brought her through a wicket gate and out on to the bank. The River Dart was wider here than she had expected. A moorhen scurried among overhanging branches. There was a narrow footpath along the edge in either direction.
Hilary stopped, as the other two caught up with her.
‘Which way?’ she asked.
‘I can hear voices,’ Veronica said, turning left, upstream.
‘And there are a lot more footprints going that way.’ David was examining the muddy path. ‘CID won’t be too pleased with us. There might have been clues, but the damage is already done.’
They turned that way at the water’s edge, trying to keep away from the footprints. The earth underfoot was puddled with rain. Hilary’s court shoes were not coping well.
There were trees and bushes on either side of the path, obscuring their view. They rounded a bend and the foliage opened out to reveal a wider stretch of river. There seemed to be a crowd of people bent over something. Uniforms. Green for the paramedics, black for the police. A small, solitary figure stood beside them: Lin Bell.
‘Are you sure you want to see this?’ David said at Hilary’s elbow. ‘You won’t be able to do any good.’
She did not answer. She hardly knew herself what was driving her. Guilt? She had almost convinced herself that it was Jo, not Gavin, who had killed Melissa. Jo, the athletic one, running through the grounds in the early morning. Jo, who might well have brought a tracksuit with her. Jo, with that sharp intelligence and determination behind those dark-rimmed glasses. Yet now Jo was the victim.
A policewoman was beginning to stake out the area with plastic tape saying: Police. Do not cross. But Hilary’s eyes were going beyond it. What was happening in that huddle of figures bent over something on the riverside path?
As they watched, a steam train pulling cream-and-brown coaches chugged its way incongruously along the opposite bank. Holidaymakers were leaning from the windows, pointing in excitement across the water.
David went forward to the tape. ‘I’m a doctor. Can I help?’
The police officer straightened up. ‘The ambulance crew’s with her now, sir. They’ve given her emergency first aid. I think they want to get her to hospital as soon as they can.’
‘She’s still alive then?’ Hilary burst out.
The policewoman’s eyes went to her shrewdly. ‘Why? What do you know about this? Name?’
‘Hilary Masters. I heard Jo Walters had been attacked. I’m on the course with her, at Morland Abbey.’
‘Guvnor!’ the woman called.
An older sergeant came striding out of the wet bushes. Had he been searching for something there?
‘More of them, Sarge.’ The policewoman indicated Hilary, David and Veronica. ‘From the same lot as that woman who found her.’
‘Lin Bell, yes.’ Hilary looked ahead at the little elderly woman with the knapsack. Was it just coincidence that she had been walking along the path at the same time as the more athletic Jo? Found her did not suggest that the two of them had gone for a walk together.
‘Is Jo’s husband here?’ she asked.
‘We’re the ones who ask the questions,’ the sergeant interrupted.
But Hilary’s eyes already told her that there was only one other person in civilian dress in that attendant group beside the victim. The lean figure of DI Foulks.
There was sudden movement now. The paramedics were lifting a stretcher. Two police officers lent a hand. The little procession began to retrace their steps beside the tranquil water, heading for the path which led up to the meadow. The policewoman lifted the tape aside to allow them through. David, Hilary and Veronica pressed back among the foliage. Hilary felt a bramble snag her tights.
The first thing she looked for as the stretcher party passed them brought an overwhelming relief. The bandaged head was not covered with the blanket. Jo was still alive.
Hilary did not have long to savour that moment of relief. Another figure came into view, emerging swiftly from the screening trees further upstream. He was studying the ground around him, even peering over into the water. It was the shorter, sturdier form of Detective Sergeant Blunt. He joined his inspector and seemed to be reporting something.
The inspector looked up to where the stretcher party was still making its way towards the field path and the ambulance. He visibly stiffened as he saw, between the green uniforms of paramedics and the black of police, the civilian clothes of Hilary, Veronica and David. Hilary’s insides knotted as he quickened his pace and strode along the muddy, leaf-strewn path towards them. But David, at least, had a very good reason to be here, didn’t he?
Foulks towered over her. ‘You again! How many times do I need to tell you that this a police matter? We do not need your well-intentioned help.’ His eyes swivelled to David. ‘I don’t believe I’ve interviewed you yet, have I? You’re not on the course.’
David put out a hand, which the inspector ignored. ‘David Masters. Doctor Masters. Husband of the lady who appears to be causing you so much aggro. I know the feeling.’ His lips twitched in a half-smile.
Hilary’s back stiffened, in an attempt to regain her dignity. ‘What did you expect me to do? Emergency vehicles go screeching past us, and then come to a halt. We’ve already had one murder and an attempted one. Did you not expect us to be the least little bit curious? Apprehensive even? And not without reason by the look of it. How bad is Jo? There was blood on that head dressing.’
DS Blunt intervened. ‘We could have done without three more people adding their footprints to the unholy mess we have here already. We’ve given clear instructions for everyone from Gavin Standforth’s course to assemble in Lady Jane’s Chamber this afternoon. Yes, I know you’re all hoping to get away soon, but this is going to mean another round of questioning.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Veronica said, in her gentle, reasonable tones. ‘We understand. I’m sorry if we’re being a nuisance. We did try to keep away from the footprints.’
‘We’re not the only ones who were out this morning and miss
ed your orders,’ Hilary countered. She decided she would conveniently ignore the fact that the rest of the group had told her about them. ‘And besides, Ceri was in church with us. She was scheduled to have Sunday lunch with the rest of us here, but under the circumstances, will she come back to the abbey? She’s not living in.’
‘She knows very well that we want her to stay until this afternoon,’ Blunt pointed out.
‘And then there’s poor Harry,’ Veronica said. ‘He was already in tears this morning. What will he be like when he learns about this? Poor man!’
Hilary could not miss the sudden alertness of Inspector Foulks. ‘Harry Walters was upset, you say? When was this?’
‘At the parish church this morning,’ Veronica told him. ‘St Mary’s in Totnes. We went to speak to him afterwards and … well, the tears were rolling down his cheeks.’
‘What time was the service?’
‘Sung Eucharist at eleven fifteen.’
‘So, while his wife was lying injured on the footpath,’ David mused. ‘Inspector, do you have any estimate yet of the time she was attacked? No, silly.’ He threw up his hands. ‘You wouldn’t tell me, even if you knew. You must forgive a medical man’s natural curiosity.’
‘You can’t suspect Harry!’ Veronica exclaimed. ‘He doted on Jo. The tears were because of what happened to Melissa. He and Jo were in the Snake group. Melissa was their leader. He knew her better than we did. He said she’d been kind to him. He’d come to pray for her, and her family. For Gavin. And then I suppose it all got too much for him. He seems a kind-hearted soul.’
‘I’ll still want to talk to him. To all of you.’ The inspector had recovered his impassive calm. The canine features were sharp and watchful again. He was giving nothing more away.
Hilary’s mind struggled with the tangle of events. What could the attack on Jo possibly have to do with what had happened, first to Dinah Halsgrove and then to Melissa?
An involuntary shudder ran through Hilary. All of a sudden, she wanted nothing more than to be back in the medieval Chapter House of Morland Abbey, enjoying the chef’s no doubt excellent Sunday lunch. Comfort food.
This was the third and final day of Gavin’s course. This afternoon, he should have been bringing together setting, character and plot, and sending them home eager to write it up as a novel. Instead they’d had one violent death, two near fatalities. It was a long time since it had seemed amusing that they had come here to learn about writing crime novels. Would any of them finish their stories now? The murderer among them might have killed more than flesh and blood.
She thought of Tania and Rob’s early theory that Dinah Halsgrove’s collapse might be nothing more than a publicity-grabbing hoax.
It had gone far beyond that possibility.
‘OK, folks,’ David said. He was looking along the path to where police officers were still busy on the river bank. The spot where Jo had fallen was now screened by a white tent. ‘It’s clear we’re not wanted here. They’ll be going over the area with a fine-tooth comb, looking for evidence. We’re only muddying the water. Let’s get back to the abbey and see if we can work up an appetite for lunch.’ He turned back to the inspector. ‘You won’t have me on your list of writers. I only arrived yesterday evening. Though I did have a run-in with one of your men last night. But you’ll know about that already. If you think there’s anything to be gained by questioning me, I’ll be glad to make myself available.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Inspector Foulks said stiffly. ‘I may need to take you up on that. You seem to have forgotten the reason for that “run-in”, as you call it. My officer found you and your lady wife returning from the Lady Chapel to the East Cloister late last night.’
Hilary turned to her husband. His mouth had fallen open. Could the inspector really think there was anything suspicious about the story of the two of them following that torch to the chapel?
The three of them walked slowly up the grassy slope towards the abbey. Sheep munched their way incuriously across the hillside. No one had much to say. Hilary led the way through the archway that gave that iconic view of the cloister garth and the Great Barn opposite the Chapter House. She stopped dead. There, in front of that stunning backdrop, a large wedding party was posing for photographs.
The incongruity of this scene of hope and happiness, in the midst of all the dark and dreadful things that had been happening, silenced her normally ready tongue.
Veronica caught her up. ‘Doesn’t the bride look ravishing? Mind you, she must be getting goose bumps in that strapless dress, but still …’
‘Do you think we can tiptoe round them?’ David asked. ‘I need the bar before lunch.’
They threaded their way around the cobbled courtyard, until they could reach the outdoor tables of the Chapter House’s beer garden. Hilary subsided on to a seat and waited for David to return with a pint of local beer for himself and glasses of sherry for her and Veronica. Some of the others from the course were there, but the mood was subdued. Ben raised a half-hearted glass to them. The mocking laughter had gone from Jake’s face. No one could pretend any longer this was a joke.
‘Well,’ Hilary said, as the golden liquid warmed her. ‘What do we think of this?’
‘Why would anyone want to attack Jo?’ Veronica asked. ‘And what could she possibly have to do with Dinah Halsgrove going into a coma? Still less murdering Melissa.’
David twisted his tankard in his hands. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It bothers me. Yes, it’s quite possible to go into a coma if you overdose on diabetes medication. But from all accounts, your novelist was a very intelligent woman who knew about multiple ways to poison people. It seems highly unlikely that she would do it by accident, and it’s hardly the method you would choose for a suicide. But if someone else administered the drugs to her, it would be a chancy thing to judge the effective dose. You said she joked that she was rattling with tablets.’ He glanced at Hilary for confirmation, and she nodded. ‘From what I remember of the standard medication, those tablets wouldn’t readily dissolve in water. I’d expect a woman as bright as her to notice something wrong.’
Hilary frowned. ‘Once they’d given the kitchen a clean bill of health, we thought it must have been Theresa. Apparently, she was the one who took the tray from the waiter in Dinah Halsgrove’s room. She was the only one who had the opportunity.’
‘Dinah had a cup of tea in the garden with us,’ Veronica reflected. ‘But she refused the cake.’
‘Hard to see how anyone could slip her a serious dose of non-soluble tablets between collecting a cup from the tea urn and giving it to her, let alone persuade her to drink it.’
‘It was Gavin who brought her the tea,’ Veronica recalled.
‘And there was no other opportunity, between the tea and the supper tray?’ David asked.
The other two sat silent.
‘There was a jug of water on the table in the Great Barn when she gave her talk,’ Veronica ventured. ‘But powdered tablets would show up in that, wouldn’t they?’
‘If she took the trouble to look,’ Hilary ventured. ‘If it was me, I might have been so caught up in what I was going to say that I might not notice.’
She sat in silence, pondering this scenario. Suddenly she brought her fist down on the table with a thump. She felt a quiver of excitement run through her. ‘There was something else. I was standing in the book room afterwards, wondering whether it was worth queuing up for her signature, when Melissa pushed past me. She seemed to be acting as Dinah’s minder from the time she picked her up at the station. While Dinah was signing books after her talk, Melissa gave her what looked very much like a glass of whisky.’
David’s head went up. ‘A strong enough taste to disguise the flavour. A situation where she was under pressure from people to answer questions and sign their books. She just might not have noticed … But … well, I’d have expected some of the residue to remain at the bottom of the glass. It’s a highly imprecise way of ensuring that she
took the necessary overdose.’
‘And how would Melissa have known what the necessary overdose was?’
‘Necessary for what? To kill her? Or something less than that?’
No one would ever be able to ask Melissa now.
‘We’re assuming it was Melissa,’ Hilary said into the pause which followed. ‘Only Melissa’s dead.’
‘And it makes sense to assume that both attacks – and now the one on Jo this morning – are all part of the same plot. That certainly rules Melissa out.’
They sat in the thin sunshine, hearing the sounds of merriment from the wedding party outside the Great Barn.
‘Unless …’ Veronica said after a long interval. ‘Do you remember The Name of the Rose?’
‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?’
‘What I’ve always loved about that book is that there are a string of bizarre murders conducted in this labyrinthine monastery up in the mountains, and we’re desperately trying to think who could be behind them all. The answer is … no one. Every murder is committed by a different person for a different reason.’
Hilary and David stared at her.
‘You mean,’ David began, ‘it doesn’t have to be the same person who poisoned Dinah Halsgrove, killed Melissa Standforth and bludgeoned Jo Walters this morning? We could be looking for three different people?’
‘Or two,’ Hilary corrected him. ‘It’s possible there’s a connection between two of them, but not the other one.’
They sat back, looking out over the grassy slopes of the grounds, thinking through the implications.
Hilary broke into their thoughts. ‘I always did have my suspicions that Melissa was behind what happened to Dinah Halsgrove. For a while, it seemed unlikely, because she was on the boat with us and it was Theresa who stayed behind to look after our distinguished guest and give her supper, but I’ve not got over that time I met her in the corridor just before Dinah Halsgrove’s talk. I could swear she was on her way to do something and was angry to run into me. She thought we were all safely in the Great Barn.’ In spite of the sunshine Hilary felt a small shudder. ‘I did have a theory that she might have been on her way to steal some tablets from Dinah Halsgrove’s room. Only then, of course, I thought it couldn’t be her, because she was dead. I didn’t stop to think that her killer might not have been the same person as the poisoner. Well, it seemed logical. Two murderers, or would-be murderers, loose in the same place on the same weekend. But as you say, it could happen.’
