A Medal For Murder (18 page)

He was not a good liar.

‘Where did they go when they left the theatre?’

He glanced back at his employer who was returning the telephone to its cradle. ‘You’ll lose me my job.’

‘No I won’t. I’m interested in a property . . . unless you refuse to help me find your friends. Either you’ll help me, or I’ll call the police.’

His face clouded with anxiety. ‘Lucy’s twenty-one. She can do as she pleases, I think.’

‘The police take blackmail very seriously. And your employer wouldn’t like the bad publicity of a clerk who aids and abets a crime.’

‘It’s not a crime for a person to want her own money.’

Straight away, he realised he had said too much.

‘You wanted to help her. But after what has happened, you had better tell me everything you know, and quickly.’

I guessed that he had heard about the murder. Something like that does not stay quiet long.

He glanced back into the office, where Mr Croker was watching us with great interest. ‘I gave my word to Lucy.’

‘Did you give your word to Alison?’

‘No.’

‘Then tell me where Alison is.’

‘They both went to the Geerts’ house.’

‘The truth!’

‘That is the truth. Madam Geerts, Lucy and Alison went there together.’

‘And you?’

He met my look with defiance. ‘Mr Geerts walked me back here. We had a drink, upstairs in my flat. That is the truth.’

‘Where do the Geerts live?’

‘I’m not sure. But they hold their classes in the arcade.’ He cast a worried look at his employer.

To let him off the hook, I said, ‘Let’s go inside, Dylan. You can say I am looking for a cottage to rent and write down some suggestions.’

Mr Croker greeted me warmly and stood over Dylan, suggesting various properties. Dylan wrote down the addresses. He handed me the sheet of paper, which I held by its corner before placing it carefully in my satchel. It would be useful to have Dylan Ashton’s fingerprints.

The telephone rang. Mr Croker moved to answer it, saying to me, before he picked up the receiver, ‘Would you like to be taken on a viewing?’

‘Not yet, thank you. I’ll look at some properties from the outside.’

As I made my escape, Mr Croker was saying into the mouthpiece, ‘Yes, a shocking business, shocking.’

So news of the murder was spreading.

It was now eleven o’clock. I must make my mind up what to do next.

Everything so far had taken longer than expected. Part of me wanted to simply tell the captain to call on the Geerts’s, and I would catch the first train back to Leeds. But now I was intrigued. I wanted to get to the bottom of this. Missing persons are more my special interest than missing jewellery. I would postpone Mr Moony’s business just a little while longer. In fact, I might spend one more night in Harrogate. Mr Moony would not expect any report back over the weekend.

Over the road, a cabdriver dropped off his fares. I waved to him. He brought his cab closer, and I climbed in.

‘Where to, madam?’

Not knowing any of the hotels, I said the first name that came into my head. ‘The Grand Hotel.’

It was probably extravagant, and I could not entirely justify it. Oh go on, the little voice in my head said. Live a little. It’s what Gerald would want, and he did leave you enough money not to stint.

At the Grand Hotel, I booked a room and placed a telephone call. I guessed that my housekeeper had been out for her errands and would be putting her feet up with a cup of tea and the newspaper. While I waited in the lobby for the call to come through, I pictured Meriel. She would shortly be gracing the dining room of this very hotel, preparing to enjoy a meal with her impresario, oblivious to the disappearance of her leading lady. Surely she must have had some inkling of what was going on? Would she be on a pre-lunch drink at this very moment? I had a good mind to waylay her and demand that she be the one to go marching round the town,
wearing out shoe leather in the search for Lucy Wolfendale.

The porter beckoned me to the reception desk. I took the telephone from him. ‘Your call,’ the operator announced in a nasal twang that sounded as if she had a clothes peg on her nose.

‘Hello, Mrs Sugden.’

‘Mrs Shackleton. Is everything all right?’

‘Everything is perfectly all right. I’m booked in at the Grand Hotel. I shall extend my stay. It seems a shame to be here and not take the waters.’

‘That sounds splendid. It will do you no end of good. Shall I tell your mother?’

I tried not to groan. ‘I haven’t arranged to see her this weekend.’

‘She did telephone.’

‘You might get a message to Mr Sykes for me please.’

I wondered how he was getting on with his enquiries about the pawnbroker’s stolen goods, and felt a pang of guilt that I would now be putting him to some trouble on a totally unrelated matter.

I heard a shuffling sound as Mrs Sugden reached for paper and pencil.

‘Yes? I’m ready to take the message.’

‘Please tell him to send the kit as a rail parcel on the first afternoon train. I’ll meet the train and collect it.’

The pencil scratched into silence.

‘But you said . . .’ Mrs Sugden began, and thought better of telling me off for having led her to believe I was staying on in Harrogate simply for rest and recreation.

The kit is our code for the fingerprint set. It had occurred to me that if Lucy and Alison had someone
else helping them, it was likely to be Dylan, a poor liar whose very skin burst into a giveaway red rash that betrayed guilt and anxiety. His fingerprints on the list of addresses he had given me would allow me to confirm my suspicion, or eliminate him.

But I believed he was telling me the truth when he said that Lucy and Alison had gone to the Geerts’s house. He had seemed surprised that they had gone there, and that made me think it was not the first lie that would have sprung to his lips.

My call to Mrs Sugden was a kind of insurance, a superstitious feeling that if I had the fingerprint kit, I would not need to use it. With a bit of luck, a single visit to Monsieur and Madam Geerts would solve the mystery. Having given my own theatre programme to Inspector Charles, I had taken the precaution of borrowing Lucy’s. I opened the programme at the half page advertisement for the Geerts’ dancing school.

Monsieur and Madam Loy Geerts
Dancing School
Ballroom Ballet Tap
Classes and private tuition
Tea dances

(Professional partners)

7 Arcade Buildings, High Harrogate
Telephone 312

 
 

The hours dragged. Lucy had done her health and beauty exercises on the battlements. Now she came back down to the floor below. Light filtered through the narrow slit of window. A blackbird perched on the sill. Tilting its head as though showing off its bright yellow beak, it peered at her. She stared up at the cobwebbed beams and into the corners of the tower’s ceiling. She counted four nests, three above the beams and one between a beam and the wall.

The floor had grown harder during the night. She had slept in her clothes. Her face felt hot and dry. She reached into the depths of her tapestry bag and took out the small mirror. Looking glass in hand, she ran fingers through her hair, smoothing it into place. Lucy smiled at her reflection. No one would ever suspect her of anything wicked or underhand. She lowered her eyelashes for the demure, angelic look. ‘Oh you,’ she said aloud. ‘You are such a monster, Lucy Wolfendale.’

What time must it be?

She reached for her watch. Eleven o’clock. The romance of the tower had entirely worn off. This place
was damp, smelly and very uncomfortable. Only the thought of her brilliant future would keep her here two more nights. Two more nights! I must have been mad, Lucy thought. There should have been another way. I shouldn’t have been so quick to make a move the minute we brought down the curtain on
Anna of the Five Towns
. But once you made up your mind, it was best just to do it. The RADA term loomed. A letter had come to Lucy’s invented parent, asking for payment of her first fee.

If Granddad was to believe she had been kidnapped, it had to look real. If the plan went madly wrong, then she would look the part, dishevelled and unwashed. Acting distressed would not be difficult. If this scheme went awry she would be more than distressed, she would be furious, thwarted, frustrated, murderous.

Granddad would have had her ransom note by the first post this morning, just after seven. Perhaps even the second note would have arrived by now. The wheels of her future had begun to turn. Soon they would spin and take her far from here.

She yawned, stretched and slowly unfurled herself. Slipping on her shoes against the splinters of the ancient floorboards, she stood. She shook out her blankets, folded them carefully, set them down on the ground sheet and covered them with that. If this was to be her home for two days, she must make the most of it.

Seated on her folded blankets, she drank from her bottle of water, emptying it. Perhaps later she might risk a walk to the stream for a refill. From her Oxo tin she took the last of her bread and cheese. This would have to do, until Dylan brought her more food. He would not come yet. Saturday was a working day for him.

The thought of work reminded Lucy of another annoying attitude of her grandfather’s. He did not believe that girls and young women of their station in life should work. It was no use telling him that Alison had a job in a solicitor’s office. As far as Granddad was concerned, Lucy should marry, settle down, and soon.

A knocking on the door of the tower disturbed her thoughts. Her heart began to thump. She had been so sure no one came here. For a moment she hardly dared breathe. Then she hurried up to the battlements and looked down. Dylan. He took a couple of steps back and waved up at her. ‘Let me in!’

She threw down the key. It fell into the long grass. She watched as he bobbed down and searched for it.

Moments later, he bounded up the stairs, empty-handed. She hoped he would have chocolate in his pocket.

He spoke all in a rush. ‘I haven’t got long. Everything’s changed, Lucy. Someone has been asking for you.’

‘Who?’

‘That woman, that friend of Meriel’s.’

‘Mrs Shackleton?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well what about it? Let her ask.’

‘She knows.’

‘What?’

‘She knows I’ve helped you.’

‘Dylan you didn’t . . .’

‘No. But I could tell. She made it plain. Your grandfather must have set her on to look for you.’

Lucy’s eyes widened. She had thought only of the police, and that he would not contact them because of
the threat in the note. And now this. ‘How dare he send someone looking for me? It could be dangerous. For all he knows I’m in the hands of horrible . . . I don’t know, bloodthirsty bandits or something.’

‘Well, Mrs Shackleton has worked it out somehow.’

‘Oh Lord.’ Lucy put a hand to her mouth. ‘If they’ve been in my room he’ll have found the magazine I cut the note from. But he never goes in my room.’

‘I suppose today was a bit different.’

Lucy stamped her foot. ‘Dash and bletheration. I won’t give up.’ She sat down heavily on the folded blankets. ‘Have you brought food?’

He opened his hands and with a stricken look said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve brought nothing. I came as soon as I could, and I don’t have long.’ He looked around the tower room. ‘I must have been mad to agree. You shouldn’t have spent the night here. A tramp could have broken in. Anything could happen. Come back with me now, on the bike.’

‘No!’

As he spoke, a distant church bell tolled noon. ‘Go home. Say you managed to escape. Anything. Say it was a joke.’

Lucy wound her fob watch thoughtfully as the chimes died away. ‘Are you mad? I should have had my inheritance on my twenty-first birthday, just like Anna did in the play. Granddad won’t give it to me because he knows I shall leave, but I’ll make him.’

Dylan shivered. ‘It’s so cold in here. It’s lovely and warm outside.’

‘I don’t want a weather report.’ She patted the space beside her on the blanket. ‘Come and sit beside me, Dylan.’