by Fay Sampson
‘That’s quite enough of that, sir. Or do you want me to arrest you for obstructing the police?’
Dan Truscott’s reddened face now turned towards the door, so that Hilary could see how mortified he was to find himself on the wrong side of the law. This was a man who had been accustomed to giving orders, not to receiving them, or not in such peremptory terms.
‘I was attempting to do your duty for you, officer,’ he gasped. ‘There’s a very good reason this gentleman isn’t at the meeting with your Inspector Foulks, why I found him shivering with fright because I’d got on to him. I don’t know what this secret is he was blabbering about to Dr Masters, but I can make a pretty good guess.’
‘The police deal with more than guesswork,’ came a cool observation from behind Hilary.
The daylight of the abbey ruins had been darkened again. This time it was the tall figure of Veronica in her violet rain jacket and the even taller one of DI Foulks.
Foulks stepped down past Hilary. Now that the fighting had stopped, the group of five people seemed smaller than it had been. There was just room for Foulks to stand on the chapel floor between David and Theresa. The latter stood her ground, still comforting the shivering Gavin Standforth. She looked more like a bulldog than a toad now.
David had let go of the colonel, to Hilary’s relief. Truscott now stood resentfully in the police constable’s grasp. She felt the weakness of gratitude as her husband turned to her. There were beads of sweat on the side of his nose. She wanted to reach up and wipe them away. She had feared for him many times in the past. Now the two of them moved together and he held her silently.
‘Take the colonel outside,’ the DI nodded to the constable. ‘Reinforcements are on their way.’
‘Do you want me to charge him?’
‘I’ll deal with him later.’
Even as the constable led the indignant colonel up the step past Hilary, two more officers appeared around the corner of the chapel.
Without the colonel’s flailing presence, the Lady Chapel seemed larger, lighter. The cross on the altar had become visible. It was possible to imagine this place once again as a place of prayer. There was even space to notice the bramble shoot snaking up through a hole in the corner.
‘Get up,’ DI Foulks ordered Gavin. ‘If you can.’
The author got shakily to his feet. He had to lean against the chest for support. Theresa hovered anxiously at his elbow.
‘The colonel made a very serious accusation against you. Does he have any evidence to support it?’
Gavin tried to speak, but no words came. Hilary wondered whether Dan Truscott might really have had his hands around the novelist’s throat before David pulled him off.
Theresa answered for him. ‘I suppose you have to know this, but I beg you to keep it secret. It has nothing to do with anybody’s murder, I promise you.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
Theresa was staring past him at Hilary and David and Veronica. Her intention was plain. David made to turn, but Hilary glared defiantly back. It was not going too far to say that David had risked his life to protect Gavin. She was staying.
Theresa shot a look of apology at the author. Reluctantly she spoke.
‘It was four years ago. I wasn’t working with Gavin then, so I had no idea anything was wrong when she turned up here. It appears Gavin and Melissa ran another crime-writing course like this. Jo Walters was there. Only she wasn’t Walters then. She married Harry a year or two later. Jo …’
Gavin moaned and hid his face in his hands again.
‘It seems Jo came up with a plot for a novel. A particularly good one. Gavin had been writing murder mysteries for years, and getting them published with small-time firms, but he could see that this was streets better than anything he’d ever thought of. Something that would really make the publishers sit up and take notice … I’m sorry, Gavin. They have to know. It will be much worse for you if Jo comes round and tells them herself …’
‘I didn’t try to kill her!’
‘I know that. But the inspector still needs to hear the truth. It’s best if it comes from you.’
Gavin groaned again. He had difficulty getting the words out. When he did, they were almost a whisper.
‘It’s true. It was a brilliant plot. And what little I saw of her writing showed a cracking style. The moment the course was over, I went back and got the whole thing down on my computer. I dropped everything else to write that book in record time. I was scared she would finish hers ahead of me. I’d given her as many objections as I could, to make her think she couldn’t write it up just as it was. But she could have. It was stunning. You’d never have thought she was a first-time author. So I wrote it myself, as nearly in her style as I could. It was the best thing I’d ever done. The Long Crippler.’
‘The one that made you fame and fortune!’ Hilary exclaimed. ‘Your bestseller.’
The title which had dominated his display in the book room.
He hung his head. ‘It wasn’t entirely her work,’ he defended himself. He was struggling to prevent his voice from becoming a whine. ‘I do know a bit about characterization. How to keep up the tension, prolong the mystery. But she did too, right from the start. She had all the right instincts of a writer.’ His voice fell further. ‘She could have done it herself, without any help from me.’
‘But didn’t she get back to you?’ David asked. ‘Threaten to unmask you? She must have found out.’
‘She did try. But I’d done all the obvious things, like change the names of the characters and their personal details. Set it somewhere else. I told her there was no copyright in ideas.’
‘And that there was no such thing as honour,’ Hilary remarked.
‘She was bitter. But she seemed to accept it. At first.’
He left a silence.
‘And then,’ the inspector said, ‘she turned up again on this course.’
‘I didn’t recognize her straight away. She’d dyed her hair as well as changed her name. But Melissa …’ He choked on the name. ‘Melissa did.’
‘And you thought that now you’d reached the heights of fame on the strength of that one book, she really could do you serious harm. If she let the world know what happened, where you got the idea for that bestseller, that would have wrecked your reputation.’
‘It was getting hard to keep up sales, anyway,’ Gavin whispered. ‘The next one sold on the strength of The Long Crippler, but the reviews weren’t so good. Since then …’
‘You saw your already tottering career ending in failure and disgrace.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘She’s not dead yet. At least I very much hope she makes it through surgery. It isn’t Jo Walters who was murdered. It was your wife. Why? Did she threaten to unmask you too?’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Theresa shouted. ‘It had nothing to do with this! Melissa was doing everything she could to advance Gavin’s career. She even …’
The words died away within the chapel walls.
‘Even what?’ prompted the inspector.
Theresa looked to Gavin for help.
‘They know so much, you might as well tell them the rest. She’s dead now.’
Theresa sighed. ‘Melissa had this harebrained scheme. She desperately wanted to get Gavin back on the A-list. She thought we could use this weekend to stage a real-life murder mystery. Or something close to one. Headline publicity. Crime writer struck down on murder mystery weekend.’
‘Deliberately poisoning Dinah Halsgrove with her own medication.’ Hilary got there before her.
Theresa turned surprised eyes. ‘You knew that?’ Her eyes widened. ‘So Melissa was right! She was sure you’d guessed why she was heading for Dinah’s room while the rest of you were supposed to be in the hall.’
‘So she came to my room in the night to – put a stop to me.’ Hilary felt David’s hand close round her arm.
‘Like I said. She was highly strung. I’m sorry,’
Gavin muttered. ‘Anyway, you were right. She took the chance to steal some of Halsgrove’s medication.’
‘It seemed the only explanation,’ David said. ‘Under the circumstances.’
‘Yes. Not a fatal dose, of course.’
‘Pretty difficult to be sure of that, especially at Dinah Halsgrove’s age.’ The doctor’s condemnation was evident.
‘Do you think we didn’t realize that, Gavin and I? We were horrified that she might actually die. We did everything we could to talk Melissa out of it. That’s why Gavin insisted I should be the one to stay with her at suppertime, while Melissa and the rest of you went on the cruise.’
‘Only the drugs weren’t in her supper, were they? I’d guess they were in the whisky which Hilary tells me Melissa brought your distinguished author when she’d finished her talk and was busy signing books. There was a good chance she’d be too tired and preoccupied to notice there was anything wrong with her drink.’
Theresa’s eyes widened further. ‘So that’s how she did it! We never knew.’
‘Very likely.’
The detective inspector turned his intelligent gaze on David. There was a flash of admiration.
‘Well spotted, doctor.’
‘I wasn’t there. But Hilary was.’
Was that the merest flush on the inspector’s cheeks?
‘I may have underestimated Miss Marple.’
‘But Melissa is dead,’ Hilary stated the obvious. ‘I hardly think it likely that it was Dinah Halsgrove’s revenge. She was still recovering in hospital. So if it wasn’t you two, trying to cover up, who could it have been?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Gavin said in a small voice. ‘And after all that, all Dinah’s illness got was a small column on the inside pages. And she could have died.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘I suggest you leave it to us to find the culprit,’ said Inspector Foulks, not for the first time.
They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of DS Blunt. He looked flustered.
‘It’s that crowd in Lady Jane’s Chamber, sir. They’re getting mutinous. You can see their point. Some of them have got trains to catch. They’ve booked taxis. Begging your pardon, but we gave them to understand we’d be finished with them by three.’
A shadow of annoyance passed over the inspector’s face. ‘I was investigating a murder then. I didn’t know there was going to be another attempted murder today. And that’s even supposing she pulls round. They’re writers. You’d think a group of intelligent people could understand that.’ Then the creases in his face sagged. ‘I suppose you’re right. We can’t keep them here indefinitely. They’ve cleared their rooms and checked out. We have to let them go. Just make sure you’ve got all their contact details and that everyone’s accounted for their movements this morning. Tell them I’ll be along in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant set off, almost at a run.
Theresa broke the silence in the chapel. ‘You’re not going to charge us, are you? And please, please, don’t say a word about what we’ve told you.’ Her usually impassive face creased into an expression of pleading.
‘I can’t promise that. It may be relevant evidence. But no. I’ve no hard grounds to arrest you for Mrs Standforth’s murder, and I think we have to see what Mrs Walters says about her assailant when she comes round. If she does.’
Hilary was pulled up short by the realization again that Jo’s life was hanging in the balance. She remembered vividly their first meeting over tea in the garden. That sense of a sharp intelligence beneath the white-blonde hair. The spark of ambition as she told Hilary of the novels she intended to write. Hilary’s own perception that, of all the course members she had talked to, Jo was the one most likely to succeed.
And she would have … if Gavin had not stolen the story that should have launched her career.
She could still write another one. She had it in her. But still … Hilary grieved for the younger woman’s loss.
And then there was that memory of Harry, bewildered and in tears.
Her mind was a confusion of possibilities. None of them she wanted to confront.
The inspector was already striding out into the graveyard. Sunshine was bejewelling the raindrops on the grass. With a sag of her emotions, as the drama in the chapel receded from her, Hilary followed him. Veronica was still standing on the threshold.
‘That was a pretty heartbreaking story, wasn’t it? Poor Jo. And you even have to feel for Gavin. He got the success he always longed for, but ever since, he’s been desperately afraid she could take it away from him.’
‘There’s one thing that puzzles me,’ Hilary said, feeling the sun warm on her face after the chill inside the chapel. ‘With all this social media stuff, Twitter, Facebook, you name it, why didn’t she just spread the word around before now? She could have told the whole world he’s a cheat and thief. Why come back here on another course?’
David fell into step behind them. ‘I think perhaps that may have been too vague for her to get real satisfaction. There are so many false rumours bandied about on social media. Who would have believed her? She may still have been planning to do that, but I think what she wanted was to see him face to face. From all accounts, she’s a clever woman. I don’t know what she was plotting in the way of revenge, but she may have wanted to see the expression in his eyes when she told him.’
‘Do you think she was planning something for this afternoon?’ Veronica asked. ‘The final session of our crime-writing course. Like the classic dénouement, when the detective surveys the case and points his or her finger at the guilty party. Was she going to unmask him in front of us all?’
‘If so, then she couldn’t have planned for Melissa’s murder to put a stop to the course,’ Hilary pointed out. ‘That final session isn’t going to happen now.’
‘No,’ Veronica sighed. ‘I suppose not.’
Hilary felt a pang of nostalgia, retracing the path along the back of the East Cloister with its tall medieval chimneys. She let her eyes range along the line of bedroom windows. She had already expressed her doubts to Veronica about whether she would ever be able to come back here. Would she? Might there be some time in the future when she could forget the look and feel of Melissa’s cold flesh, could stop remembering the living woman, with her long patterned skirts and flowing hair. The woman who had bumped into her in the corridor that led to Dinah Halsgrove’s room, on her way to steal her medication, the same corridor they were passing now? She did not think so.
She did not realize she had slowed her pace to look, perhaps for the last time, at the buildings she had loved for years. She was startled by Veronica’s call, and saw that she and David were standing on the path some way ahead.
‘Come on, Hilary,’ Veronica said as she caught up with them. ‘We’re supposed to be at the inspector’s meeting. He disappeared round the corner minutes ago.’
‘What’s the point?’ Hilary said. ‘We know what he’s going to say. He’ll give us one last warning to tell him everything we know, however insignificant, and then he’ll let us go. We might as well head straight for the car park from here.’
‘Hilary!’ Veronica’s voice trembled with laughter. ‘Why do you always think you’re a special case and the normal rules don’t apply to you?’
‘I don’t!’
‘Hilary, I love you dearly, but that remark shows a certain lack of self-knowledge.’
‘I don’t, do I?’ she appealed to David. ‘Think I’m above the law?’
‘Well …’ His own lips quivered. ‘Let’s just say your interpretation of the rules can be a little flexible.’
‘Oh.’
They had almost reached the drive. All they needed to do now was to walk downhill a little way and double back under the archway into the courtyard. Unless they did the obvious thing, from Hilary’s point of view, and simply crossed the drive to their cars.
The afternoon peace was shattered by the grinding of gears, as one of the parked cars
was thrown into violent life by its driver. There were stuttering bursts of an engine firing, then silence. The noise started again. It was violent enough to stop the three in their tracks. Hilary thought that in that brief silence she might have heard a faint shout of authority from further down the hill.
‘Someone’s in too much of a hurry to get away,’ David observed. ‘More haste, less speed.’
As he spoke, a dark green Range Rover hurtled its way round the corner of the car park, careering off the kerb as it did so. It came charging towards them, ignoring the one-way signs, out on to the drive right in front of them.
David threw out a protective arm, forcing them back against the wall. The Range Rover took the turn at a reckless speed that threatened to overturn it.
Hilary glimpsed the driver’s face as the vehicle lurched past her. Dark red, mottled, under a tweed cap jammed over grey hair. For a moment, she thought it was Dan Truscott. Then she remembered she had last seen him in the custody of a police constable.
‘That’s Harry!’ Veronica exclaimed at her side.
Grit spattered against Hilary’s legs from the spinning wheels. Her mind was racing.
‘Do you think they’ve told him Jo’s come round? Is he going to see her?’
‘If he drives like that, he’ll be dead before he gets to the hospital,’ said David.
‘What’s up now?’
There were more shouts from lower down the car park. Police officers running. A WPC shot out on to the drive, frantically flagging down the hurtling Range Rover. It swept past her, making her leap back.
‘Or Jo’s dead,’ Veronica said quietly. ‘And poor Harry’s out of his mind.’
A police car flew out of one of the lower exits and raced in pursuit. It switched on its siren. The blue light flashed. The three of them gasped as it swerved past the careering Harry, who was steering an erratic course down the hill. For heart-catching seconds, it seemed as though the two vehicles, one dark green, the other white with chequered bands, must collide. But the police car drove expertly past.
It came to an abrupt halt, just before the road bent out of sight. An officer leaped out of the passenger seat. He seemed to throw something out across the road. For a bizarre moment, Hilary thought he was casting a fishing net. The Range Rover charged on. The officer sprang out of its way.
