Amendment of Life (15 page)

‘That's all very fine and large,' said Sloan trenchantly, ‘but a little hard evidence wouldn't come amiss.' Nor, in his view, would another word with Miss Daphne Pedlinge, which was why they were heading for Aumerle Court now at a ridiculous speed.

‘The Super is always saying that most murderers are widowers', said Crosby, putting his foot down practically to the floorboard, ‘because they've killed their wives.'

‘All right, then,' sighed Sloan, caught as ever between the unthinking and the unknowing, but not ignoring the Superintendent's mantra either, ‘tell me how the husband did it. And why,' he added, although this didn't seem the moment to lecture Crosby on the legal irrelevance of motive, murder once being done.

‘With mirrors, I expect,' grinned the Detective Constable, overtaking the startled rider of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, a man not accustomed in the normal course of events to travelling behind other vehicles. ‘As to why, I couldn't say, sir, not being married myself.'

The motorcyclist was not the only person to be surprised that afternoon. In the Long Gallery, talking earnestly to Miss Daphne Pedlinge, was a thickset young man with tow-coloured hair whom she introduced as ‘M'great-nephew, Bevis.'

Detective Inspector Sloan advanced with interest. ‘And we thought you were still in London…'

‘I thought I'd better come down,' he said briefly.

‘Ah,' Sloan nodded. The old lady had been quick off the mark, all right. ‘A word with you, if we may, would be very helpful at this juncture, sir.'

He found himself being regarded with a calculating look by a man whose appearance was a faint echo of that of Miss Pedlinge with overtones of the rugby field. ‘You, too, Inspector? I've just been grilled by my great-aunt.'

‘Take no notice, Inspector,' snorted Daphne Pedlinge, all animation. ‘Bevis here doesn't even know the meaning of the word. He'd have been no good under proper interrogation, I can tell you.'

‘I say—' protested Bevis.

‘Wouldn't have lasted five minutes without giving way,' pronounced the old lady. ‘The young don't have any stamina these days.'

That was another of Superintendent Leeyes's mantras, too, but Sloan did not echo it now: in his experience what the young always did have was an ample supply of passion, if sometimes misguided. He wasn't sure, though, whether whoever had killed Mrs Margaret Collins had been exercising passion – coldblooded calculation, more like. Getting her to take an overdose, manoeuvring a comatose woman to the centre of the maze in the dark – after Miss Pedlinge had turned her attention to her tea, anyway – and making an unobserved withdrawal bespoke of much careful planning to him.

But passion could have come into the equation, too. So, it seemed to him, could Bevis and Amanda Pedlinge – that lady could well be playing for high stakes in the matter of a matrimonial settlement.

‘So,' said Sloan, ‘what exactly did Miss Pedlinge extract from you, sir, if I might ask?'

Bevis Pedlinge ran his hand through his hair and said ruefully, ‘The fact that I was in the maze yesterday afternoon with Jeremy Prosser and David Collins, although I still don't see—'

‘And was there any reason why you shouldn't have been?' enquired Sloan silkily. The possibility that any two – or even three – of the men had been acting in concert was something else that he mustn't overlook. A chant to do with the starting of horse races drifted unbidden into his mind. How did it go? ‘One to make ready, And two to prepare; good luck to the rider and away goes the mare…' Had Margaret Collins been the mare?

‘Not a reason exactly…' Bevis Pedlinge was squirming under his great-aunt's gaze.

‘They were plotting against me,' said a voice from the wheelchair. ‘All of them – to say nothing about acting against my express wishes.' She stopped and added with icy precision, ‘Against my wishes clearly expressed, too.'

‘But Aunt Daphne—'

‘Aumerle Court isn't going to be turned into a theme park while I'm alive, Inspector…'

Detective Inspector Sloan had heard artificial arguments before – some staged entirely for his benefit. He waited until this one had been played out before him: this, after all, was not an official questioning under caution.

‘But Aunt Daphne—'

‘By my great-nephew or Captain Prosser, more gate money or not. I have told them before that that was my last word on the subject.' She twisted the wheelchair until she was staring out of the window again. ‘Amateur dramatics with sound and light at Aumerle Court indeed! Whatever next?'

‘Perhaps', Sloan invited him, ‘you would care to tell us exactly what you did do in the maze.' His concern was with whoever had arranged the making ‘away with the mare', not the takings of Aumerle Court.

‘Help with the measuring up for the lighting,' said Bevis Pedlinge shortly. ‘Since my aunt chooses to keep the plan of the maze under lock and key we had to do it all by hand, so to speak, so that Double Felix could get on with working out the circuits for the performance.'

‘And after that?'

Bevis Pedlinge's face took on a dull red flush, which belied the casual way in which he said, ‘I visited a friend in the hospital at Berebury and then I went home.'

‘Which ward?'

‘Not a ward,' he said thickly. ‘A department. Accident and Emergency.' He rose to his feet. ‘And that's where I'm going now, whatever anyone says. Good day to you all.'

The wheelchair reversed noiselessly back to face the room as he left. ‘There now,' said Miss Daphne with satisfaction. ‘What did I tell you, Inspector? He's no good under questioning. No good at all.'

‘What I would really like to know, Miss Pedlinge,' said Sloan quietly, ‘is how to go round the maze on my own.'

Her lips twitched. ‘I thought you'd never ask, Inspector. It's easy. Go in and don't backtrack until you get to a dead end.'

‘And then?' Hitting the buffers was all very well, but usually it didn't help.

‘Then only come back as far as the next opening and take that.'

‘Right or left?'

The half-smile was still there. ‘Whichever comes first. You won't get lost that way, Inspector, I promise you.'

Chapter Fifteen

‘Of course I'll see the police, Sharon,' said Eric Paterson testily. ‘Show them straight in.'

‘Just a few questions, sir,' began Detective Inspector Sloan as the two policemen settled themselves down in the partners' room at the offices of Double Felix back in Berebury and Sharon speedily withdrew to her own room.

‘That's what they always say, isn't it?' said Paterson, lifting a stack of files off a chair. He stood with them in his hands for a moment, looking for somewhere else to put them down. Finding nowhere at the right level, he eventually lowered the whole lot to the floor, where the individual files gradually canted over, ending up in a disordered heap.

‘It's as good a beginning as any,' said Sloan philosophically.

‘It's what Socrates said,' said Paterson grimly, ‘and look where it got him. Now, what's this all about?'

‘A missing goat—'

‘You're joking, surely.' Paterson's expression was quite comical.

‘No, sir. I'm quite serious. Did your partner happen to mention having heard it bleating when he was at the Minster last night?'

Paterson's brow went into deep furrows. ‘Yes, he did, as it happens—'

‘And did he mention it when he came in first thing?'

‘Oh, yes.' Paterson nodded. ‘To our secretary as well. That was before he went off to the hospital but I don't see what on earth—'

‘And he also spoke of having seen two of the clergy over there…'

‘That's right. The Bishop and the Dean,' said Paterson readily. ‘Tell me, what has all this got to do with the police?'

‘Just checking,' said Detective Inspector Sloan.

‘That's something else they always say, isn't it?' said Paterson with twisted lips.

‘It's something we always do,' said Detective Inspector Sloan with emphasis. ‘Now I understand that your firm is about to do some work at Aumerle Court.'

‘We are. My partner's been handling that, though.'

‘If I might see the file…'

Eric Paterson pointed to the floor. ‘We had it out this morning so it's one of those down on the dog shelf.' He stooped and started pulling the heap about. ‘Here you are … Aumerle Court, marked for immediate action…'

‘Plenty of that over there today,' said Crosby chattily.

Paterson gave the Constable a long, considering look. ‘So I understand. All that Double Felix is meant to be doing at this stage is giving the owners the layout for installing the lighting for their project.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I daresay I'll have to go over myself now that David is out of action.'

‘Thank you, sir,' said Sloan, ‘you've been very helpful. And if we might take the file away with us…'

Crosby clambered back into the driving seat of the police car and said ‘Where to, now, sir?'

‘The hospital,' said Sloan wearily. ‘Let's go and see if we can make any sense out of whoever Master Bevis said he was with over there yesterday evening when he should have been at home with his missus.'

‘Funny place to be carrying on with anyone,' said the Constable.

‘Oh, I don't know,' mused Sloan. ‘There's so much coming and going at hospitals that I should have thought you could have got away with murder without anyone noticing.' He fell silent for a moment. ‘I dare say they're doing it all the time.'

‘I shouldn't have wanted to have been at home myself with that Mrs Pedlinge anyway,' said Crosby frankly. ‘All skin and bone and complaints.'

‘An uncomfortable mixture,' agreed Sloan. ‘Now, tell me what you made of the goat business—'

They were interrupted by a nasal voice on the car radio. ‘Calling DI Sloan, calling DI Sloan of “F” Division…'

Sloan reached for the microphone and responded ‘Go ahead.'

‘A message, sir,' said the nasal voice, ‘from the Superintendent. He said you were to be told at once that there is a Captain Jeremy Prosser here at the station wanting to make a statement in connection with the death of Margaret Collins.'

*   *   *

‘Now, Miss Daphne, what have you been up to?' Milly Smithers came into the Long Gallery with a tea tray and took one look at her animated charge.

Daphne Pedlinge gave her a wolf-like smile. ‘Sorting out Master Bevis, Milly, that's what I've been doing.'

‘I can always tell when you've been up to something,' said Milly, setting down the tray on a long sideboard used for that purpose at the Court through many generations.

‘Been wanting to do that for a long time,' cackled the old lady gleefully.

‘It needed doing,' said Milly Smithers, who knew the Pedlinge family almost better than they knew themselves.

‘Badly,' said Daphne Pedlinge. ‘And', she said with considerable satisfaction, ‘now I've done it.'

‘Will it do any good, though?' asked Milly, who also had things riding on a substantial portion of the Pedlinge family money not being hived off to a disaffected wife. As jobs went these days, looking after Miss Daphne suited her down to the ground.

‘Too soon to say, Milly,' she said, ‘but he didn't like the idea of the police going off and talking to that Sister in the hospital who he says makes him feel better.' She gave a snort. ‘Feel better! Where's his backbone? If Amanda won't act like a loving wife, then he should put his arms round her and give her a kiss and, if that doesn't work, then he should beat her.'

‘I don't know why men play rugby,' said Milly with seeming irrelevance.

‘Makes 'em feel bigger and stronger,' opined Miss Pedlinge. ‘And it gave him a good excuse to go to the hospital. And keep going up there.'

‘And she did kiss him better, I suppose,' said Milly cynically.

‘The uniform helps,' said Daphne Pedlinge sagely. A distant look came into her eyes. ‘Does a lot for a woman, a uniform.'

‘And a man,' agreed Milly. ‘Take my hubby, now. He's nothing in his old suit, but put him back in a uniform and he's a real man again.'

Daphne Pedlinge still had a faraway look in her eyes. ‘An old wound…' She bit her lip and stopped. ‘I mean an old injury … would have been the only excuse he needed.'

‘What Master Bevis needs', said Milly Smithers firmly, ‘is home comforts.'

‘Which he hasn't got,' said Daphne Pedlinge. ‘Not with Amanda.'

‘He's let her get the upper hand,' said Milly, ‘that's his trouble.' There had never been any such trouble in the Smithers household. And while, had she known about it, Milly Smithers would undoubtedly have been all in favour of the Married Women's Property Act, she didn't hold with the idea of her son's wife getting a half-share in the bits and pieces she'd given him if the couple ever split up. Especially the pretty little china clock which had come to Milly from her own mother …

‘I've sent him away with a flea in his ear,' said Daphne Pedlinge. ‘No, not away. Home. And told him to stay there. The police can do their own detecting.' A shadow came over her face. ‘Turns out, though, Milly, that Bevis knew this dead woman in the maze. And her husband. Worrying, that.'

‘Don't you let that bother you, Miss Daphne,' said Milly Smithers robustly. ‘There's more people know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows.'

‘That, Milly,' said Miss Daphne Pedlinge with some acerbity, ‘is a great help, I must say.'

‘There now,' said the woman, exercising the displacement skills shared by all carers, ‘we're letting our egg get cold, aren't we?'

‘Pah!' said Daphne Pedlinge.