A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

‘But I’m interested,’ Kate defended him. ‘I was wondering how Josh was settling down.’

‘Admirably, I’d say, but there’s an open evening at half term when you’ll be meeting the staff. I’m sure you’ll find you have no problems.’

‘That’s a relief, I must say!’ Kate turned smilingly to Paul, but he wasn’t listening. He was staring across at Sylvia, and, following his gaze, Kate was in time to see her smile and give an almost imperceptible nod. Instinctively Kate looked at Madge, but she was bending to stroke a small cat that arched against her legs. Beside her, Henry was still bumbling on about maths. It seemed only she had witnessed that oddly significant exchange, and Kate was relieved when it was time to go through to dinner.

‘Have you been to Heatherton lately?’ Madge was asking as Sylvia passed her the vegetables. ‘Faversham’s have a new branch there. Kate and I went last week. In fact, it was there that we heard of the latest murder, and when we got home, we found Paul had actually been at the scene of the crime.’

‘So I believe,’ Sylvia said. ‘It must have been quite a shock.’

Madge looked at her in surprise. ‘You’d heard?’

‘Er — yes, I—’

‘Of course, Henry’d have told you. It must have been all round school.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Sylvia confirmed smoothly, and it was Kate who, not quite knowing why, breathed a small sigh of relief.

Over coffee in the sitting room, the talk was of poetry, a great interest of Henry’s. ‘It appeals to the mathematical brain,’ he announced with heavy humour. ‘I suppose you two young ladies have never heard of Hubert Rance?’

‘I have,’ Kate declared. ‘He’s one of the few modern poets I enjoy.’

‘Is that so? And did you know he was a St Benedict’s boy? In my form at one stage. I have an autographed book upstairs. I’ll look it out before you go. You might like to borrow it.’

‘I’d love to,’ Kate said sincerely, ‘and as a matter of fact I really should be going now. I don’t want to break up the party, but Lana Truscott is babysitting and she has to catch the last bus home.’

‘So soon?’ Sylvia protested.

‘In that case, I’ll see if I can lay my hands on that book,’ Henry said. As he left the room, Sylvia also rose. ‘If no one wants more coffee, I’ll clear it away.’ She lifted the tray. ‘Will you open the kitchen door for me, Paul?’

They went out together and Madge and Kate exchanged a smile.

‘Enjoy yourself?’ Madge asked.

‘Very much. It was kind of them to invite me.’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I really must go, though. I’ll tell Henry not to bother about the book.’

She went into the hall, intending to call to him. On her right the kitchen door stood open and instinctively Kate glanced inside. Paul and Sylvia were standing close together, talking in low voices. Her hand was on his arm and his head bent attentively toward her. Though Kate hadn’t made a sound, they turned at the same moment and moved swiftly apart. Sylvia came quickly to the door.

‘You really have to go, Kate? What a shame. It’s been lovely to see you.’

Kate glanced at Paul. He was watching her anxiously and gave a rather forced smile. She said clearly, ‘Thank you so much. I have enjoyed it. Will you tell Henry—’

But Henry was coming heavily down the stairs. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t seem to find it. I’ll dig it out for you and drop it in sometime.’

More thanks, more good nights, and the door opened to the cool October night. Paul suggested walking back with her, but Kate declined the offer. At that moment even the skinheads were preferable to a five-minute walk with Paul. But she was fortunate. She saw no one on the brief journey and, as she let herself into the flat, pushed all conflicting thoughts aside and went up the stairs to relieve Lana.

CHAPTER 13

I
had
to
take
them
out
again
.
I
try
not
to
,
because
of
their
effect
on
me
—
sweating
,
twitching
,
shaking
.
And
—
other
things
.

There’s
a
pile
of
cuttings
now
.
By
the
time
I’d
read
them
,
I
could
hardly
breathe
.
Yet
I’m
calm
enough
when
it
matters
.
Like
a
surgeon
cutting
out
a
cancer
.

Which
is
what
they
are
,
these
women
.
No
loyalty
,
no
morals
,
only
self
-
indulgence
.
Like
Sandra
,
and
Christine
,
and
—
no
,
don’t
think
that
.

Michael
Romilly
.
Quite
a
coincidence
,
when
he
writes
so
much
about
me
.
Does
he
guess
we’ve
met
?

I’ve
decided
who’ll
be
the
next
one
.

My
hands
aren’t
shaking
anymore
.
I
must
put
the
cuttings
away
.

CHAPTER 14

Paul’s unaccountable behaviour filled Kate’s thoughts the next morning and she didn’t care for the direction they were taking. She was still brooding about it when she went out at lunchtime, and only realized Martin was behind her when he caught her arm.

‘Hey, wait for me! You are in a brown study this morning!’

She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, did you want me?’

‘Just wondered what you were doing for lunch?’

‘I’ll have a sandwich when I get back. I’ve a lot of shopping—’

‘Nonsense, you can’t keep going on a sandwich. Come and eat with me.’

Despite her shopping list, Kate was easily persuaded, glad of the chance to be distracted from her worries. Martin took her to the Coach and Horses, where they’d lunched her first day at Pennyfarthings. Now, in mid-October, a fire was burning, its red gleam reflected in the horse brasses that framed the brick hearth.

They were halfway through their meal and Kate was pleasantly relaxed when the door opened with a rush of cold air and four men came in. One of them, large and red-faced, glanced in their direction, hesitated, and came over.

‘Cheers, Martin old lad. Had your fingerprints taken?’

‘Hi, Bill.’

‘Thought I might have seen you at the nick, “helping with inquiries.” How did it go?’

Kate glanced inquiringly at Martin and was startled to see the colour drain from his face. He said jerkily, ‘I don’t know what you mean, but my food’s getting cold, so if you don’t mind—’

‘You owned up, surely? It’d be pretty damn risky not to.’

Martin moistened his lips. ‘Bill, I told you. I haven’t the faintest idea—’

‘I’m talking, my lad,’ the other man cut in with heavy emphasis, ‘about the Otterford murder. Everyone who was there was asked—’

‘But I
wasn’t
there, for God’s sake! What is this?’

The man called Bill stared at him. ‘Now look, friend, I
saw
you! You were right beside me at the traffic lights, as close as you are now.’

There was a taut, prickly silence. Martin sat unmoving, still gripping his fork, while

the other man stared down at him. Then Bill gave a shrug. ‘OK, suit yourself. You’ve got a bloody double then.’ And he turned away to join his friends at the bar. Kate saw him say something and they all turned and looked across. Martin still hadn’t moved.

‘What was all that about?’ she asked uneasily.

‘Search me.’ As if her voice had dispelled his paralysis, he reached for his glass and drained it.

‘You weren’t really there, were you?’

‘Of course I wasn’t. What would I be doing in a dump like Otterford?’

If a reason occurred to Kate, it was one she could hardly put forward.

Martin said abruptly, ‘I need another drink. Will you have one?’

She shook her head as he lumbered to his feet and made for the end of the bar farthest from Bill and his friends. When he returned it was with neat whisky instead of his usual pint, and he tossed it back in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked ghastly, Kate thought with concern. A muscle was jerking at his eye and his face had the unhealthy tinge she’d noticed—

Her thoughts broke off in disarray and her mouth went dry. That morning when he’d looked so ill and dismissed it as a hangover — hadn’t that been the day after the Otterford murder?

They were avoiding each other’s eyes and it was a relief when Martin pushed back his chair. ‘I’ve got to go and see someone,’ he mumbled as they reached the pavement. ‘I might not be back by closing time.’

‘All right.’ Kate watched him hurry away up the street, trying to make sense of what had happened. Unless Bill had made a genuine mistake — and from Martin’s reactions, she didn’t think he had — Martin had indeed been in Otterford that afternoon and was patently anxious to conceal the fact. Why?

Somewhere a clock struck two and she started hastily back to Monks’ Walk. No time now to do her shopping, which meant braving the Saturday crowds tomorrow. A pity she hadn’t stuck to her plan, thereby saving herself not only the disquieting incident over lunch but the doubts and questions it left in its wake.

And that afternoon she’d plenty of time to consider them. Hardly anyone called at the shop and eventually, determined to occupy her mind more fruitfully, Kate took out a book on porcelain which she’d been reading the previous week. Her place was marked with a slip of paper, hastily torn from the phone pad when the shop bell had interrupted her, and it was this improvised bookmark which now catapulted her into a new dimension of fear. For at the top of the sheet was a scrawl in Martin’s writing. ‘Mrs Percival, 2.30,’ it read, and, underneath: ‘3 Westfield Close, Otterford.’ Rose Percival, the youngest ‘Delilah’ victim.

For long minutes Kate stood staring at it, till the writing blurred and ran together, obscuring the message. Bill’s voice said in her head, ‘You owned up, surely?’ And Martin’s: ‘
I
wasn’t
there
!’

Oh God! she thought numbly. And again: Oh God! Though aware of urgency, she was incapable of speedy reactions. It was an effort to lift the phone book, to search through the flimsy pages for the number of the police station. She still hadn’t found it when a sound made her look up to see Martin standing in the doorway.

Frantically she marshalled her defences. ‘I’ve phoned the police. They’ll be here any minute.’

He said heavily, ‘I’ve just left them. You can check, but they’ll confirm it.’

‘And they—?’

‘Let me go?’ He smiled, a travesty of his usual charming grin. ‘God, Kate, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go through this.’ And as she still sat frozen, he added baldly, ‘You can relax. I didn’t kill her.’

Her eyes hadn’t left him. ‘It wasn’t only the man in the pub. I found this.’ She pushed the incriminating note across the desk towards him.

‘Hell, yes. I’d forgotten I wrote it down. But it was Tuesday, Kate. Lana’ll confirm that. She was here when I took the call. The name rang a bell and she remembered the divorce had been in the papers. The husband had a nervous breakdown or something. I did go to see her, but on the Tuesday. Two days before she was killed.’

‘Yet that man—’

‘Saw me on the Thursday.’ He seemed to have taken on himself the ending of sentences she couldn’t finish. ‘That’s true. I was there, but I didn’t kill her.’

He came forward and slumped into a chair, fumbling for a cigarette. It took several attempts to light it. ‘She rang here last Monday,’ he said, then: ‘Just a routine call. Had a bit of silver she wanted me to look at. So I jotted down her address and went along.’ He swallowed. ‘She — God, she was dynamite! Something just flared between us — I could hardly keep my hands off her. It was mutual — she didn’t try to hide it. If it hadn’t been that her bloke was in the kitchen writing some report—’ He broke off, drawing avidly on his cigarette and swallowing the smoke. ‘Anyway, as I was leaving she told me he’d be away on Thursday and suggested I went back then.’

Kate sat motionless, watching him. He leaned forward and tapped some ash into a tin lid on the desk. ‘I’m not proud of myself, Kate. I was a bloody fool and I know it, but well, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. She really got me going. So I thought, what the hell? And I did go back. I went back and no doubt Bill Findlay saw me, but that was all, I swear it. Because I suddenly got cold feet, qualms of conscience, call it what you like. The upshot was I didn’t even get out of the car. Turned round and hightailed it back home. But I can’t prove it.’

He bent forward suddenly, his head in his hands. ‘I keep imagining it all. She’d hear the bell and think it was me, because she was expecting me.’ His shoulders heaved and Kate watched him with uncomprehending pity. Then he sat up and ran a hand across his face.

‘Of course I should have told the police, but since I couldn’t prove anything, I thought they might keep me in for questioning. Then what would I tell Nella? All right, I should have thought of that before. Of course I should; I just lost my head. But God, Kate, if I
had
gone, if I’d kept the appointment, she mightn’t have been killed. I can never forget that.’ After a moment he added flatly, ‘Lord knows if the cops believed me. They wrote it all down and I signed the statement. It’s anyone’s guess what happens now.’

Out in the shop the doorbell chimed and Josh’s voice called, ‘Mum? Are you there?’

He seemed to come from another world. Kate tried to rouse herself. ‘Yes, darling. Come through.’

Martin heaved himself to his feet and passed Josh in the doorway. Kate remained sitting at her desk, listening to Josh’s rush of chatter. She was remembering that Paul had also been in Otterford that Thursday afternoon.

***

‘What do you make of Bailey’s statement?’

Sergeant Jackson looked up. ‘He could have done it. He had the opportunity. But according to him, his only reason for going back was to have it off with her, and there’s no evidence of that.’

Webb grunted. ‘We’ve only his word that they fancied each other. If he
is
Chummie, there wouldn’t have been any hanky-panky, there never is. He’s in the house less than ten minutes — maybe less than five. In Mrs Forbes’s case her boyfriend was talking to her on the phone at two-fifteen and she was found at two-forty. Yet she was sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of tea in front of her. God, Ken, these murders are really getting to me. It’s as though the bugger’s sitting back thumbing his nose at us, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.’ He snapped the folder shut on Martin Bailey’s statement. ‘Anyway, file this for now, but we’ll continue to bear him in mind. Don’t forget he’d never have come in if he hadn’t met someone who saw him there. Despite his glib explanations, that’s not the action of an honest man.’

***

The following morning Michael collected Josh as usual and at lunchtime Kate went out to do her shopping. As she’d expected, the streets were crowded with weekend shoppers who strolled leisurely along the pavements and constantly slowed her progress. It was as she skirted one such group that Josh’s indignant shout recalled her attention and she turned to see him standing with a red-haired girl who looked faintly familiar.

‘Didn’t you see me, Mummy?’ he demanded in an aggrieved tone.

‘I’m sorry, darling, I was too busy thinking what to buy for supper.’ Her eyes moved from her son’s upturned face to that of the girl beside him. She had coloured but her eyes, large and brown, met Kate’s steadily.

‘Hello, Mrs Romilly,’ she said. ‘I’m Jill Halliday. I work with your husband.’

Kate drew in her breath, but before she could reply Michael emerged from a doorway, slipping a packet of cigarettes into his pocket. He looked swiftly from Jill to Kate. ‘I don’t believe you’ve been introduced. Jill works—’

‘Yes — I know.’

Unaware of his elders’ embarrassment, Josh said eagerly, ‘We’re just going for some Chinese, Mum. Would you like to come?’

‘I can’t, Josh. I must do my shopping. See you later, darling,’ and with a jerky little nod in the direction of the other two, Kate went quickly up the road. So that was ‘Auntie Jill’ who was so much at home in Kate’s kitchen. Perhaps she’d actually moved in with Michael.

The disquiet caused by the chance meeting gnawed at Kate all afternoon. It was not that Jill was with her husband and son that upset her, so much as the girl herself. The brief glimpse in Shillingham had left Kate with the impression of a cheap little flirt. She saw now that it was mistaken. Today she had met an attractive, serious-faced young woman, and Michael’s association with her took on a new and disturbing significance.

In fact, the week had proved a watershed for Kate. During the course of it the people who surrounded her had subtly altered, throwing her assessment of them out of focus. Martin, still pale and withdrawn, was no longer the easy-going man he’d seemed. Paul, whom she’d thought she knew so well, had behaved out of character, and now Jill Halliday loomed as a serious contender for Michael’s affections, casting Michael himself in a different light. Kate felt she was looking at them through distorting mirrors, no longer sure of any of them.

‘Does Auntie Jill always come down with Daddy?’ she asked with studied casualness as she and Josh were having supper. He shook his head.

‘Just sometimes?’ Kate persisted.

‘First time,’ corrected Josh with his mouth full.

‘You didn’t mind sharing Daddy with her?’

He looked up at her innocently. ‘She asked me that too. No, I didn’t mind. I like her. She’s nice.’

‘Yes, she — seemed to be.’

Later that evening Kate received the first anonymous phone call. Her mind still on Michael, she illogically assumed it was he who was calling and hurried to answer it.

‘Hello — yes?’

Total silence greeted her, but it was a living silence. Someone was on the end of the line.

‘Hello?’ Kate said again, and after a moment gave her number. There was no response, just a palpable lack of sound. Kate stood waiting and eventually there was a little click as someone, somewhere, replaced the receiver. Shakily she followed suit. A wrong number, she told herself, returning to the kitchen, but the thought carried no conviction. If it had been, the caller would have realized at once, and either apologized or rung off. That deliberate waiting, the refusal to answer, implied a specific intention of — what? Intimidation? Was this the next phase of harassment from, presumably, those strangely persistent skinheads? Or had someone dialled completely at random, from sheer mischievousness? That must be the explanation. Nothing else made sense.