Evil Angels Among Them (18 page)

Lucy took the call, listening in amazement as Becca related the events that had unfolded in Walston since their visit a few weeks earlier. ‘I don't know,' Lucy said when Becca had finished. ‘I'll give you his number at work and you can talk to him, but I can't promise anything. You know how he is – he'll tell you to get someone better.'

‘But there isn't anyone better!'

‘You know that and I know that.' Lucy gave a wry laugh. ‘But David is so modest.'

‘You must convince him that he
has
to come!' Becca pleaded. ‘And you must come too, of course, and stay with us – both of you. Gill needs David, but I need
you
.'

Lucy read the urgency in her voice, realising that there was more to it than Becca was saying. ‘I'll do my best,' she promised.

* * *

As predicted, David was not easy to convince; it took the combined persuasive powers of Becca and Lucy to make him agree.

‘She should get someone more local,' he said to Lucy on the phone after speaking to Becca. ‘Someone from my old Norwich firm – I'd be happy to recommend someone good.'

‘She wants
you
,' stated Lucy.

‘But I keep saying – I'm not a criminal lawyer!' David argued plaintively. ‘No one ever listens to me.'

‘I think,' Lucy confided, ‘that there are personal reasons why Becca wants us to come. She said that she needs me – I'm sure she wants to talk to me about something. Remember – I thought before that she wanted to tell me something, but couldn't quite manage it. Perhaps now she's ready.'

David sighed, knowing in his heart that he couldn't hold out against Lucy. ‘That doesn't mean that I have to get involved professionally,' he pointed out. ‘We could go down for the weekend and you could have your little heart-to-heart with Becca.'

‘There's one other thing,' she said slyly, playing her trump card. ‘I completely forgot to tell you before, but Flora Newall, the woman who was killed, rang a week or ten days ago and wanted to talk to you. She wanted to ask you about her legal position as churchwarden, and hinted that she'd found out something damaging about someone important in the church. She wondered if she had a legal responsibility to inform the Bishop or the Rector.'

‘Good Lord. What did you tell her?'

‘I told her to talk to Stephen.'

‘And did she?'

‘I don't know. As I said, I just remembered it now.'

‘Well.' David tapped his pencil on his desk and took a quick look through his diary. ‘I'll need to rearrange some appointments, but if all goes well we ought to be able to go up to Walston tomorrow morning. Tomorrow's Friday – perhaps we can get it sorted over the weekend.'

‘I'll ring Becca,' offered Lucy, smiling down the phone.

And for his part, David was not as displeased as he would have liked Lucy to believe; the prospect of a few days away with her, working together with a common goal and sleeping together every night, held a certain attraction for him. Perhaps this was what they needed to cement their relationship back together once and for all.

* * *

‘Let me get this straight.' David sat at the kitchen table at Foxglove Cottage on Friday afternoon drinking black coffee; herbal tea didn't appeal to him at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times. ‘All you know for sure is that for some reason the police believe that this Flora Newall was poisoned, and they've been questioning you because you were the last person to see her alive.'

Lou had been simmering, containing herself; now she boiled over. ‘That little shit of a policeman has been treating Gill like some sort of criminal,' she fulminated. ‘Implying that she poisoned the old bag, just because she bloody gave her a cup of herbal tea.'

‘He took away my jars of tea leaves,' Gill explained. She had regained her composure and sat with her hands folded in her lap. ‘And he questioned me quite closely about what she'd eaten and drunk when she was here, so I can only assume that he suspects I poisoned her.'

‘And you don't know any more than that?'

She gave a wry smile. ‘I'm sure that everyone else in Walston knows far more about what's going on than I do, but they don't talk to us. Maybe they'll talk to you, but probably not if they know you're my solicitor.'

David laughed. ‘Maybe Lucy will be able to get something out of them. She's good at that.' He took a sip of coffee. ‘What else did the policeman ask you?'

‘Mostly about times. He wanted to know what time she came and what time she left – that sort of thing.' Gill shrugged. ‘And he wanted me to describe what she looked like when she left, and what she'd said about not feeling well. You know the sort of thing I mean.'

‘And now he wants to talk to you again?'

‘He rang up yesterday afternoon and said he had a few more questions and would like to bring a colleague along to take notes.' She sighed. ‘But then Becca and Lou convinced me that I needed a solicitor, so he said that he could wait until you got here. Tomorrow, he said. Saturday.'

David frowned, biting his thumb nail thoughtfully. ‘That doesn't sound good – it means that he intends to talk to you under caution. But none of this makes much sense to me,' he admitted. ‘I can see that if the woman was poisoned they would need to question you, since you were the last one to see her, and you did give her something to drink. But surely they can't believe that it could be anything other than an accidental poisoning? I mean, you couldn't possibly have a reason for wanting to murder Flora Newall, could you?'

‘Don't be bloody ridiculous!' snapped Lou. ‘Of course she didn't. Did you, angelface?'

‘No, of course not,' Gill said quietly, but she was unable to meet either of their eyes.

Lou didn't seem to notice. ‘So you'll sort out that little shit Sergeant Spring, won't you?' she demanded of David. ‘Tell him to go to hell?'

David had noticed Gill's reticence, but something else now caught his attention. ‘Spring, did you say?' he asked eagerly. ‘John Spring?'

‘We're not on a first-name basis,' Gill interposed with a dry smile.

‘Well-built chap? With dark hair and a moustache?'

Gill nodded.

‘And doesn't half fancy himself,' Lou put in scornfully. ‘Tight trousers and a smug grin on his stupid face.'

‘Ah.' David smiled in satisfaction. ‘This puts an entirely different complexion on things. I've known John Spring for a long time, and I can tell you that his bark is far worse than his bite.' He sat for a moment, deep in thought, then turned to Gill with a serious expression. ‘Before you speak to the police again, I must tell you not to talk to anyone, especially not the police, unless I'm present.'

‘Yes, all right.'

‘And I've got to ask you one question before I'm able to represent you. Are you absolutely sure that you've told me everything?'

‘Yes,' said Gill, a bit too quickly; once again her eyes were averted.

Lucy, meanwhile, was with Becca. In the several weeks which had elapsed since Lucy's last visit, Becca had become even more drawn and pale than before, with dark hollows under her eyes, and Lucy was resolved to get to the bottom of the problem as quickly as possible. There was more to it, she was sure, than the admitted shock of a sudden death in the village and the suspicion which had attached itself to Becca's friends in Foxglove Cottage.

Guessing that Becca wanted to talk but was unwilling to volunteer anything, she tackled the issue head on, with a bluntness that was not characteristic. ‘Something is wrong,' she said as gently as she could. ‘Don't you think you'd better tell me about it?'

Tears sprang to Becca's eyes, but she managed to keep her voice steady. ‘Not here,' she said. ‘I need to talk to you, but not at the Rectory. Let's take a walk.'

Lucy assented readily; it was a beautiful spring day and the prospect of a walk through the country lanes was an attractive one. They set off away from the village. ‘Have you seen Walston Hall?' Becca asked. ‘We'll walk in that direction. Beyond the Hall there's a good public footpath.'

The path between the church and Walston Hall, through a wooded area which served to screen the manor house from general view, was a fairly narrow one, not wide enough for two abreast, and this precluded much conversation. Coming round a bend, Becca in the lead, they met Diana Mansfield, who was as usual beautifully dressed in a fashion that seemed even more incongruous on a country path than it did in the village.

‘Hello,' said Becca, drawing aside for Diana to pass. ‘You've met my friend Lucy Kingsley, I believe.'

Diana seemed more nonplussed by the encounter than was warranted. ‘Oh – hello,' she said awkwardly. ‘Yes, of course we've met. Easter, wasn't it? Lunch at Foxglove Cottage?'

‘That's right,' Lucy affirmed.

‘I'm on my way to the church,' Diana explained in a somewhat breathless voice. ‘The flowers for Sunday, you know. This path is very handy for me, especially when the weather is fine. Saves taking the car out – it's a long way round by road.'

The mention of the church reminded Becca that she had left no note for Stephen; if he came home to find the house empty he might be worried. ‘Oh, Stephen will be in church, saying Evensong,' she said. ‘Could you please tell him when you see him that I've gone out for a walk with Lucy and supper might be a bit late?'

There was a fractional hesitation before Diana nodded. ‘Yes, of course, I'll tell him.'

‘Thanks awfully.'

Diana edged round them, wafting a delicate and expensive scent. ‘Are you going to be staying in Walston for long, Miss Kingsley?' she asked.

‘Possibly a few days.'

‘Perhaps the two of you might come and have tea with me one afternoon.' She offered the suggestion tentatively, with a shy smile. ‘Tomorrow?'

Lucy looked at Becca, who nodded. ‘How kind – I'd like that,' Lucy said, returning the smile.

‘I'll expect you about four then.' Diana, hurrying on her way, waved at them over her shoulder.

In a few minutes they were out of the trees and in view of Walston Hall: mellow brick, towering chimneys and leaded-glass windows glittering like diamonds in the afternoon sunshine. ‘It's beautiful,' Lucy observed enthusiastically. ‘I can't wait to see the interior.'

‘It's very nice,' admitted Becca, adding, ‘the footpath is over here.' It was a wider path, bounded by grasses and early wildflowers rather than trees; soon they were walking side by side.

‘Now tell me what's bothering you,' Lucy prompted after a few minutes of silence.

Becca, striding along with her head down, sighed deeply. ‘It's very difficult,' she said softly. ‘I hardly know how to tell you.'

For weeks Lucy had been trying to imagine what it was that had caused such a change in her friend; Becca had never been the most assertive or self-confident person Lucy had known, but her current state of nervous agitation defied explanation. ‘Does it have anything to do with that woman's . . . death?'

There was a sharp indrawn breath. ‘I don't know. That is, I'm not sure. I think that it must do. There can't be that much . . . evil . . . in one village unless it's all connected.'

‘Tell me.'

It all came out then, in a rush, related in Becca's quiet voice: the telephone calls, their general content, their frequency, their escalating degree of intimacy and the corresponding horror.

Lucy listened in silence until Becca had finished; all of her imaginings had produced nothing like the truth. ‘But what about Stephen?' she asked at last. ‘What does he say?'

Again an indrawn breath. ‘Oh, I couldn't possibly tell Stephen. Don't you see? It would spoil everything – our marriage, and his relationship with his parishioners. To know that one of them . . .'

‘Yes, I see.' Lucy understood Becca's thinking, though she thought that she was wrong, and her heart went out to the young girl who had borne such a burden alone, and for such selfless reasons. ‘But wasn't there anyone else you could talk to? Gill and Lou, for instance?'

Becca shuddered. ‘Not after the things he said. About . . . well, you know. All of us doing it together. I thought at one time that I might be able to tell them, but not after that. And I don't have any other friends, not in Walston. You were the only one I could talk to – I wanted to tell you at Easter, but I just couldn't. And now Flora is dead, and I feel so terrible.'

‘What do you mean?'

For the first time she turned to look at Lucy. ‘What if Flora found out who it was? And what if he killed her to keep her from exposing him? If that were true, it would be all my fault.'

Lucy put a hand on Becca's arm. ‘That seems very unlikely. How would Flora have found out, if she didn't even know about the phone calls?'

‘She might have caught him in the act or something. I don't know.'

‘I don't think that seems likely,' Lucy repeated reassuringly, but in her mind she was replaying her telephone conversation with Flora: the woman
had
known something, it was clear, and perhaps Becca was right. She looked forward to talking it over with David.

Walking back towards the Rectory, Becca was silent again. After a while Lucy said, ‘You must tell Stephen, you know.'

‘But I can't!'

‘You must.' Her voice was reasonable but firm. ‘I know it's difficult, Becca, but you must let him help you through this. That's what he's there for, not just as a priest but also as a husband. That's what marriage is all about – sharing the painful things as well as the good things.'

‘But I told you – it would spoil everything!'

‘Listen to me, Becca.' Lucy stopped and once again put her hand on Becca's arm. ‘I understand what you're saying, but don't you think that it's spoiling things between you already? Keeping that kind of a secret to yourself is bound to poison your relationship. Surely Stephen must have noticed how upset you've been. Surely it's made a difference to the way you behave towards him?'