Ann Granger (3 page)
Authors: That Way Murder Lies
The camera clicked and at the same time the flash exploded. ‘There you are!’ said Jess.
‘At last!’ The young man climbed down from the stile and watched her pack away the camera in her canvas bag and then sling the bag over her shoulder. ‘Send me a copy?’ he asked.
‘Of course I will. I’ll send one to Mum and Dad as well.’
The setting sun touched their heads and made their hair glow with the same deep red fire. They’d always been alike. No one took them for anything other than what they were. ‘What’s it like, being a twin?’ people had asked them since infancy.
Jess had often replied, ‘I don’t know what it’s like not being a twin, so I can’t tell you.’
But sometimes being a twin was quite a painful business. They fell into step now, walking down the rough track towards the spot where they’d parked Jess’s car.
‘I’m glad you were able to come and spend a couple of days,’ she said. ‘Before you go away again.’
The words ‘go away’ hung in the quiet evening air. In the bushes to their right, something rustled and then, almost at their feet, a small rabbit bounced up and fled before them, leaping over hillocks, its white tail disappearing at last into a ditch.
‘There were no rabbits in England before the Norman Conquest,’ said Simon. ‘Did you know that?’
‘It sounds like one of those facts people bring out when there’s a lull in a dinner-party conversation,’ she said. ‘Did the rabbits stow away on William the Conqueror’s ships?’
‘They were brought over to be bred for the table. The Norman knights fancied a bit of rabbit stew. They were a rich man’s meat. There were severe penalties for stealing them.’ Simon grinned. ‘I’m full of useless information like that.’
‘You never know,’ his sister said. ‘You never know when it might come in handy.’
‘Not when you’re sitting in a sweltering tent, swatting flies and trying your best to inoculate howling babies,’ he said. The silence fell again.
‘I’m not going to say I wish you weren’t going,’ Jess said at last. ‘Because I know what a necessary job you do and how difficult it is to do it. I see harrowing sights as a police officer. You, dealing with refugees, you see every sight multiplied by hundreds.’
‘Of course it’s distressing,’ he agreed. ‘I hope I never cease to find it distressing. But I don’t have time to worry about how I feel, when I’m there. I’ve too much to do and emergencies take place every few minutes so that you’re constantly having to make decisions or improvise. I’ve never wished myself somewhere else or not doing it. I feel guilty when I grab a couple of weeks’ leave. But it gives me a chance to talk to people here, explain to them what we’re up against.’
‘I saw you on that television breakfast show. You made a good job of that.’
He grinned wryly. ‘Thanks. I think I’m more afraid of the TV cameras than I am that a bunch of machete-wielding so-called soldiers will come bursting out of the undergrowth, demanding we give them our drugs.’
She shivered. ‘That’s one of the many things I’m afraid will happen to you.’
‘Look,’ he said. ‘If I really spent my time thinking about that, I wouldn’t be able to work.You must feel the same way.’He grinned. ‘Especially when you’re stuck in a police car on a Saturday night, watching yobs smash windows and beat one another up!’
‘That’s not what I do. Not now, anyway. I did my turn at that when I joined up.’
‘I know! You’re after the big boys now, the real criminals. Mum and Dad are really proud of you, Jess.’
‘Are they? I don’t want them to be proud, just satisfied would do. But I know Dad wishes I did something “less dangerous” and Mum just doesn’t understand why I want to be in the police force at all. Dad doesn’t mind the police as a career; he just wishes I sat in a back room somewhere rattling the keys of a computer.’ Jess sighed. ‘Mind you, some days that’s just all I do.’
‘Believe me,’ he insisted. ‘They are proud of you.’ After a moment he added, ‘And so, at times, am I.’
‘Only at times?’ She gave him a look of mock dismay.
‘Wouldn’t want you to get swollen-headed!’ He reached out and ruffled her cropped red hair.
‘Some chance of that!’ she said ruefully. ‘In the police force.’
Simon frowned. ‘Ah, I detect a note of dissatisfaction. You don’t think you’re going to like this new job of yours?’
‘I like my job. I think I’m going to like the rest of the team, providing they don’t keep telling me how my predecessor did things. You know how it is when a woman turns up to replace a popular male colleague. The chap I’m replacing, Dave Pearce, is being quoted to me at every turn. He seems to have been the best-liked officer in the history of the police and he was, in addition, a local man. He couldn’t go wrong!’
‘Whoa!’ exclaimed Simon.
‘I know I sound grumpy but it’s only because I’m nervous. Not that I’ll let any of them see it.’
‘They probably know it,’ said Simon. ‘What about your boss, Superintendent, whatsit? Maltby?’
‘Markby? I haven’t seen much of him. But he’s another one everyone seems to credit with superhuman powers, even more than Pearce. I get Markby quoted at me, too. I’ve only met him briefly when he welcomed me. He seemed all right, not quite the usual sort of copper.’
‘Oh? How? Not broken-nosed from playing rugger and with a suspicious squint in his eye?’
‘I don’t know if he played rugby. He hasn’t got a broken nose. He’s quite a good-looking chap, tall, fair hair, remarkable blue eyes. No squint.’
‘Blimey,’ said Simon. ‘You haven’t fallen for this guy, have you? That’ll stir things up.’
‘It certainly would, if I had, because he’s about to get married. But I haven’t. It’s just that when I met him, it rather threw me. I expected to be given the usual welcome talk combined with a
lecture about clearing up the crime rate and turning in my reports on time. But it was more like being granted an interview with the headmaster of a rather good school. I gather, by the way, that he did go to a rather good school. But although he was very nice, I wouldn’t like to cross him. I got the impression that behind the expressed hopes that I’ll be happy here and that I’ve got somewhere to live, he was summing me up pretty accurately. I reckon he’s as tough as boiled boots, but he doesn’t let it show.’ Jess paused. ‘In fact, he rather scared me.’
lecture about clearing up the crime rate and turning in my reports on time. But it was more like being granted an interview with the headmaster of a rather good school. I gather, by the way, that he did go to a rather good school. But although he was very nice, I wouldn’t like to cross him. I got the impression that behind the expressed hopes that I’ll be happy here and that I’ve got somewhere to live, he was summing me up pretty accurately. I reckon he’s as tough as boiled boots, but he doesn’t let it show.’ Jess paused. ‘In fact, he rather scared me.’
‘You’ll be all right, Jess,’ Simon said. He touched her arm. ‘And so shall I.’
Above them the sky darkened for an instant as a flock of swarming starlings passed over them, heading for nearby trees. Jess, looking at her brother, saw that he had turned his face upwards to watch the birds.
‘Sometimes, though,’ he said quietly, ‘I do feel I’ve been in too many places where wheeling birds mean dead bodies on the ground beneath.’
Jess bit her lip. They reached with car without further conversation and bumped away down the track. At the turning into the surfaced road, they saw a pub on the other side. It looked welcoming with a row of coloured lights draped along the façade beneath its slate-tiled roof.
‘A drink?’ Simon suggested. ‘I know you coppers don’t drink on duty but you’re not on duty now.’
‘No, but I am at the wheel of a car!’
‘Oh, come on, one drink. Or sit there supping tomato juice and watch me, if you prefer.’
She grinned and turned into the car park, but as they were about to get out of the car, she suddenly exclaimed, ‘No, not here!’
‘What not here?’
‘We can’t, or I’d prefer not to drink here. Look, see the BMW? That’s Markby’s car.’
‘Are you sure?’ Simon peered through the windscreen.
‘I recognize the number plate. One thing we coppers are trained to do is remember number plates. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not drink my tomato juice under the eye of the superintendent.’
‘Perhaps he’s in there with this woman he’s going to marry? Aren’t you curious to see her?’
‘No,’ Jess said. ‘I’m not. And I didn’t think you were such an old busybody! We’ll stop at the next decent pub, I promise.’
‘I didn’t know,’ her brother complained, ‘that being a copper made life so difficult.’
There’s a lot you don’t know about being a copper,
Jess thought, but didn’t say aloud.
Jess thought, but didn’t say aloud.
Meredith wasn’t prepared for her first sight of Overvale House. They drove up hill and down dale through wooded countryside before suddenly emerging at the top of a steep rise to find an open panorama spread out below them in a flat-bottomed valley. Here and there the landscape was dotted with the virulent yellow patches of rape fields. The rape seeds had escaped and established themselves by the roadside, where they nodded lemon flower heads at passing cars. In a sheltered low-lying spot an orchard of cherry or plum trees was a riot of pink blossom. But they turned aside from all this, following Toby’s pencilled road map, on to a badly surfaced lane which was little more than a track. This took them away from the bright open vista back into the shadows of overhanging trees.
They rattled and shook their progress over potholes until, suddenly, they burst out into the open again and an equally arresting sight. Overvale House was before them, on rising land on the other side of the valley, a square white Georgian building among steep green fields and dark patches of woodland. In one field horses grazed peacefully and on the valley floor an irregular oval patch glittered in the sunlight, sending out flashes of bright light. Meredith gasped. Alan drew into the side of the track and they both got out, crossing the road to stand on the narrow verge, overlooking the scene.
‘That’s the lake,’ said Alan, pointing down at the oval of dancing lights. ‘It’s not very large, as you can see, and it’s artificial. It was
created early in the nineteenth century as a boating lake, to amuse guests, I suppose.’
created early in the nineteenth century as a boating lake, to amuse guests, I suppose.’
‘You know the house and grounds, of course. I’m longing to see them.’The wind whipped up her hair as she spoke and she put up a hand to smooth it down.
‘Ask the Jenners. I’m sure they’d be delighted to show you the property.’There was a dry note in his voice.
She glanced at him. ‘I’m sorry, Alan. I shouldn’t have landed you with this.’
He shook his head and grinned at her. ‘Don’t, please, apologize. It isn’t like you and makes me nervous. Anyway, it’s not necessary. If this turns out to be blackmail, then it would probably end up on my desk. In a sense, I’m quite pleased to be in on the action early. As I was saying to you last night, we usually get called in far too late.’
She was gazing at the view again. ‘It’s such a lovely house, the whole setting, everything. It’s – it’s like coming on an enchanted palace in a fairy tale.’
Markby asked gently, ‘Is it a good or an evil enchantment?’ Then, when she turned a surprised face towards him, he smiled and added teasingly, ‘It’s not like Bamford vicarage.’
‘No, we couldn’t afford this – or afford to keep it up if we had it. Nor would it be suitable for us. Wildly over the top. But his cousin’s made a lot of money, Toby says. If I were a millionaire, which I gather is Jenner is, I’d buy this. Wouldn’t you? Anyway, when we’ve finished with the vicarage, it will be pretty good too. Though not, I admit, in this league!’
They returned to the car and Markby drove on. They were going downhill now, down into the valley bottom and back into trees. They lost sight of the house. Then they began to climb again. The trees thinned out. They passed a cottage of reddish stone and then came to high gates which had been opened, presumably to let them in. Markby drove through the tall stone gateposts. They were committed to whatever lay ahead.
The drive had been laid out perhaps two hundred years earlier with the clear intent that visitors arriving in carriages should be impressed. At first only part of the house facade was glimpsed through the straight lines of chestnut trees standing as sentries to either side of the drive. But at the last moment the view was cleared and they had unimpeded sight of a graceful, perfectly proportioned mansion, not overlarge, its long, narrow windows reflecting the spring sunshine.
‘I feel,’ Meredith said to Alan, pointing at the porch with its white pillars, ‘that the door should open and the Bennet sisters come out.’
The semi-circle before the house was gravelled. Markby drew up in a swirl of small stones. As he did, the front door of the house opened and two figures appeared, but both, as it happened, male. The younger of the two, easily recognizable, ran forward and greeted them as they emerged from the car.
‘This really is good of you!’ Toby pumped Alan’s hand. ‘We’re just so grateful, the whole family.’
‘Alan’s only come to listen!’ Meredith said quickly as she could see the beginnings of exasperation already on Markby’s face.
‘That’s what we want, someone to listen!’ declared Toby.
‘I’m sure,’ Alan said stiffly, ‘that Inspector Winter at Bamford listened. Nice to see you again,’ he added politely.
‘Oh, that chap, Winter,’ Toby dismissed doughty Inspector Winter. ‘Good chap but swallowed the rule book. Let me introduce my cousin, Jeremy.’
Jenner had arrived during this brief exchange. He was, Meredith was amused to note, rather as she’d imagined he would be. A tall man, he’d kept a trim figure probably by visits to an expensive private health club. His thick grey hair was neatly trimmed and beneath bushy eyebrows deep-set eyes treated them to a sharp scrutiny. His deep voice, however, was affable and his manner smooth.
‘I can only repeat what Toby has said. We are extremely grateful to you. This is a wretched business. I want to see it cleared up, as
you’ll understand. I agree, Inspector Winter is a solid sort of chap but I don’t know that he quite appreciates the ramifications which could follow from this.’
you’ll understand. I agree, Inspector Winter is a solid sort of chap but I don’t know that he quite appreciates the ramifications which could follow from this.’
Alan’s right! Meredith thought. Jenner, too, fears this is a prelude to a blackmail demand.
They were ushered into a spacious hall where they were greeted first by an elderly black Labrador and then by a pretty woman of middle height. Her thick fair hair was streaked with the first signs of grey but they blended well with the rest, and as she grew older she wouldn’t probably change much in appearance. She gave them a ready, if slightly nervous, smile.
‘My wife, Alison,’ Jenner said and, as he said it, something, an echo in his tone, a softening in his glance combined with a sudden and brief warm glow in his otherwise hawkish gaze, told Meredith all she needed to know about this relationship. She guessed Jenner loved his wife deeply. She was perhaps more than a partner; she was the centre of his existence. If so, he would be determined nothing would harm her, both because of his love and because, in harming her, the unknown letter-writer had shaken that cherished domestic stability which must mean so much to Jeremy himself.
On the threshold of marriage herself, there was something both endearing and slightly frightening about this dependency. Agatha Christie, she thought, in one of her Mary Westmacott novels, wrote of the burden of being loved. You were a shrewd woman, Agatha! And then Meredith remembered that in that particular novel the burden of love had led to murder.
They moved into an airy drawing room and there a fourth person turned to acknowledge their arrival.
Meredith had not expected anyone else. Toby hadn’t referred to another person. But when she saw the girl standing by the Adam-style fireplace she guessed that this, originally, was the reason that Toby had phoned his cousin to wangle an invitation to stay.
Alison was attractive and as a younger woman had probably been distractingly pretty, but this girl was beautiful in the classic
mould. Meredith supposed her about twenty. She had a flawless skin, straight nose and rounded chin with full, slightly pouting lips. Her long, thick, ash-blond hair was braided at each temple in two narrow plaits which were drawn back and joined at the rear of her head. The rest of her hair hung straight as a waterfall from a central parting. The effect was to suggest the female subject of some painting of the Italian Renaissance. This impression was furthered by the scoop-necked loose blouse of some floating material with smocking at the bust and upper arms which she wore with her jeans. The mixture struck Meredith as successful even if oddly matched. There was something of the same effect in the girl herself. She seemed both to be at home in this comfortable room and yet wary of the newcomers. Her clear, steady gaze held either defiance or arrogance and Meredith wasn’t sure which.
mould. Meredith supposed her about twenty. She had a flawless skin, straight nose and rounded chin with full, slightly pouting lips. Her long, thick, ash-blond hair was braided at each temple in two narrow plaits which were drawn back and joined at the rear of her head. The rest of her hair hung straight as a waterfall from a central parting. The effect was to suggest the female subject of some painting of the Italian Renaissance. This impression was furthered by the scoop-necked loose blouse of some floating material with smocking at the bust and upper arms which she wore with her jeans. The mixture struck Meredith as successful even if oddly matched. There was something of the same effect in the girl herself. She seemed both to be at home in this comfortable room and yet wary of the newcomers. Her clear, steady gaze held either defiance or arrogance and Meredith wasn’t sure which.
‘Hi,’ she said in low throaty voice, ‘I’m Fiona.’
‘My daughter,’ Jenner said with some pride.
Yet it was a pride, Meredith thought, without that fierceness of emotion she had sensed in his previous introduction of ‘my wife’. It should be obvious this was Jenner’s daughter. She had something of her father’s way of assessing newcomers directly without troubling to disguise the fact. Beautiful, wealthy, confident, indulged. Trouble in top-of-the-range trainers, thought Meredith.
It answered another question, however. Yes, he had been married before. Toby, during their conversation in the Chinese restaurant, had said that Alison and Jeremy had been married only ten years. So, Meredith asked herself. Where is wife number one and did the marriage end in death or divorce?
They were offered drinks in a comfortable drawing room and then led out to eat lunch in a large Edwardian conservatory. The house must have a formal dining room so Meredith guessed this informality was not without its purpose. It made people more relaxed and chatty. At the end of the meal they retired to the drawing room again and coffee was brought there by a middle-aged cook-housekeeper of ultra-respectable appearance.
‘People do still live like this!’ she managed to whisper to Alan.
‘Oh, yes, they do …’ he murmured and she glanced at him. His attitude was deceptively relaxed. She could see that he was assessing the surroundings and the people in the room every bit as keenly as Jenner had assessed them on their arrival.
‘Right,’ said Jenner briskly when they’d finished their coffee. He set down his own cup on a small polished table and pushed the delicate porcelain away from him. ‘To business.’
This was the chairman of the board speaking but he was being honest. They were here, after all, for a specific reason, not just to enjoy what had been an excellent lunch. Meredith was interested to see that Fiona had settled back in her chair with a slightly bored expression. So she was to remain and hear everything and, from her attitude, had heard it all before. Whatever Jeremy and Alison had to say, it would spring no surprises on her, yet Toby had claimed that ‘nobody knew’ of Alison’s past history. At least four out of the six people in this room did. How many people, thought Meredith uneasily, do actually know about this?
‘You know the details, Alan? Toby’s told you?’ Jeremy was impatient to cut to what he saw as the important part of the discussion: what the police were going to do about it.
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ Markby said, refusing to be rushed. ‘I know about the threatening letter. I’ve not had time to do much other than exchange a few words with Inspector Winter on the phone. I understand that examination of the letter you gave him has not revealed anything very helpful. The writer is literate and motivated by considerable ill will.’
Alison winced and looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
Fiona said in her husky drawl, ‘Can’t they tell things from the print and all that?’
Alan smiled at her. ‘Alas, not since the demise of the typewritten letter. I take it that’s what you mean. The old typewriters grew worn with use and were often quite distinctive in what they produced. And, of course, if it was a question of cuttings from
newspapers glued on to a sheet, then the newsprint of individual papers could be distinguished. But we live in the computer age and this writer has access to a computer and an ink-jet printer. The paper is a standard sort such as you buy in one of those stores which supply office necessities. The envelope is of the self-sealing type, probably from the same kind of store. The postage stamp is also of the self-sticking variety. No saliva to go on like the older standard do-it-yourself stamps. The Post Office has a lot to answer for. Besides no trace of DNA material, there are no distinguishing marks of any kind, no fingerprints, nothing.’
newspapers glued on to a sheet, then the newsprint of individual papers could be distinguished. But we live in the computer age and this writer has access to a computer and an ink-jet printer. The paper is a standard sort such as you buy in one of those stores which supply office necessities. The envelope is of the self-sealing type, probably from the same kind of store. The postage stamp is also of the self-sticking variety. No saliva to go on like the older standard do-it-yourself stamps. The Post Office has a lot to answer for. Besides no trace of DNA material, there are no distinguishing marks of any kind, no fingerprints, nothing.’
‘There’s one of those office supply places on the outskirts of Bamford,’ Jenner said.
‘Quite. They’re everywhere these days. He could have bought it there or anywhere in the country. Even if it turns out to be the sort supplied to a particular chain, such stores sell thousands of packs a week, often in big boxes of two and half thousand sheets. I’ve got a box of the stuff at home myself.’
‘He was very careful, though, wasn’t he?’ Meredith said thoughtfully. ‘To leave no trace at all like that? He thought about it all before he did it. He bought the self-sealing envelopes and the self-sticking stamps. He bought general purpose paper of the bulk sale type. He’s methodical, isn’t he? A planner.’
Alison, who had been watching her as she spoke, shuddered at the last words.
Alan was nodding. ‘Yes, he’s careful. He isn’t going to help us.’
‘You think it is a man, then?’ Jenner demanded, his bushy eyebrows meeting in a frown.
‘I wouldn’t like to say. We’ll say “he” for convenience’s sake.’
Fiona was twisting a finger in her long blond hair. She said unexpectedly, ‘What does he want?’
Yes, she was her father’s daughter, all right, Meredith thought. Behind the sharp gaze lay a sharp brain. She guessed that more than spite lay behind this campaign against her stepmother. Did she also suspect blackmail?
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