Next Door to Murder (25 page)

Under his prompting, Rona recounted what she knew about Louise, which seemed depressingly little.

Jacobs then turned to Max. ‘You wouldn't happen to have an address for their next of kin, sir?'

‘No, I'm sorry; we hardly knew them.'

‘We'll need formal identification,' Jacobs went on speculatively. ‘Would you be prepared to step in?'

Max shook his head quickly. ‘As I said, we hardly knew them. Surely there's someone more qualified—?'

‘We'll come back to that, sir. So exactly how did you come to find them?'

Max detailed the day's happenings, with periodic interruptions for clarification: the time he'd first seen the open door, where they'd been in the interim before noticing it again.

When the account had been brought up to date, Manning passed his notebook to Jacobs, who glanced at it before handing it on to Max. ‘I'd like you both to read this carefully, and if you agree it's a true record of what you've told us, please sign it.'

They did so.

‘Thank you. This will be typed out, and if you call in at the station on Monday, you can both sign that as well. In the meantime, we'll run you down there now; there's a car outside.'

Max frowned. ‘Is that necessary? You have our statement.'

‘CID need to interview you,' Jacobs explained. ‘And if you've no objection, we'll have a look round while you're gone.'

‘Here, you mean?' Max's voice rose indignantly. ‘What on earth for?'

‘Just routine, sir.' The man held his eye, and Max, remembering police series on TV, envisaged a search warrant should he refuse.

‘Feel free,' he said with a touch of bitterness. ‘It didn't occur to me that being a responsible citizen would result in being treated as a suspect. Short-sighted of me, no doubt.'

His sarcasm was wasted; Jacobs merely opened the front door, and nodded to some men waiting at the gate. ‘They'll lock up when they've finished,' he said.

Max, grim-faced, did not reply.

The next hour or so had an unreal quality. Rona, having been through similar procedures in the past, was less fazed than Max, and threw him an encouraging smile as they were led to separate interview rooms.

She took her place at a table, and minutes later two plain-clothes officers came into the room, introducing themselves as DS Curtis and DC Fowler. The sergeant was a red-faced man in his forties, with curly brown hair and a local accent. The constable, shifting about to get comfortable, was older and considerably heavier, and, from the beads of perspiration on his face, suffering the effects of the warm evening.

‘Now,' Curtis began, ‘in your own words, exactly what happened this evening?'

So Rona told him about Max having noticed the open door earlier in the day, and their concern to find it still ajar on their return hours later.

‘You left your house at what time, Mrs Allerdyce?'

‘Twelve, twelve fifteen.'

‘To go where?'

‘To my mother's, for lunch. She lives in Belmont.' At his request, she gave Avril's name and full address.

‘And you returned when?'

‘About six thirty.'

‘Right. So what action did you take?'

Bracing herself, Rona described their calling the Franks' names, receiving no reply, and going downstairs to check the garden. There she stopped, closing her eyes as, in her mind's eye, she saw Keith slump lifelessly across the table.

‘Would you like a glass of water, ma'am?'

‘Thank you, I think I should.'

Curtis nodded to Fowler, and the interview was suspended until he returned with it. Rona took a grateful sip, and continued with her account. When, having described the blood in Louise's room, she came to a halt, Curtis asked, ‘Do you remember if you or your husband touched anything in the house?'

‘Well, the front door, of course, and the bedroom doors, which were both shut.'

‘We'll need your fingerprints for elimination purposes.'

‘And my husband checked for a pulse in each case,' Rona added, remembering.

‘He didn't move the bodies?' The question came sharply.

‘Not intentionally; but when we first saw Mr Franks, Max touched him on the shoulder, which is when he fell forward.'

Curtis tapped his pen on the table. ‘You'd have known them quite well, since you were neighbours?'

‘Actually, no. The house is rented, and they've only been there a few weeks.'

‘So they arrived when?'

‘About a month ago. I don't know the exact date, but the letting agents could tell you. They came from Canada, and were looking to buy somewhere in the area.'

‘Do you know where in Canada, madam?'

‘Toronto, I think.'

‘Even so, you must have seen quite a lot of them, living so close?'

‘They were very reserved. I knew their daughter better.' But not that well, she reflected sadly.

‘Ah yes, the daughter. What can you tell us about her?'

A little reluctantly, Rona repeated what she'd already told Jacobs, of Louise's accident and subsequent loss of memory, her uncertainty about her identity, and Rona's own research up in Harrogate, while the detectives listened attentively.

She went on to tell them of the mysterious stranger who'd stared in at her, and who Louise had claimed followed her round the town last Tuesday, finishing her account with the receipt of the note and phone call.

‘My husband did have a word with DS Duncan,' she ended, half-accusingly, ‘but he didn't think there was anything to worry about.'

Curtis frowned. ‘Do you still have the note, Mrs Allerdyce?'

‘Yes, I kept it. I'm not sure why.'

‘Would you hand it to the officer who drives you home? We might get something from it, though no doubt his mobile will be Pay As You Go and untraceable.' He thought for a minute. ‘He didn't give his name?'

‘No. He said it wouldn't mean anything, and he'd prefer us to meet face to face.'

‘Can you describe him?'

‘Thirties, medium height, brown hair. He was wearing a pink shirt when I saw him.'

‘And he claimed, both on the phone and in the note, to know something about the Franks?'

She shook her head. ‘Not on the phone; he'd no time to claim anything. I hung up straight away.'

‘How about his voice? Any kind of accent? Canadian, for instance?'

‘No, nothing unusual.'

There were more questions, but to Rona it seemed they were going round in circles.

‘What's happening about Louise?' she interrupted at one stage. ‘She's very vulnerable; she won't be able to stand up for herself.'

‘Your husband gave her description when he phoned in. It's been circulated, and a search is under way.' Curtis paused. ‘When was the last time you saw or heard any of the Franks?'

Rona bit her lip. ‘Tuesday. I was expecting Louise to come round to discuss the stalker, but she didn't.'

‘Did you try to contact her?'

‘No; I had to drive a friend to Farnbridge hospital, and it put everything else out of my head. I feel guilty now.'

You're the only thing keeping me sane,
Louise had said. How could she have let her down so badly?

Curtis pursed his lips. ‘It's important to establish when they were last seen alive. We're conducting a house-to-house, but if you remember seeing even a brief glimpse of them, it would be helpful to know where and when.'

He stood up. ‘That's all for the moment, Mrs Allerdyce. Your fingerprints will be taken, then as soon as your husband's interview's over, you'll be driven home. And it goes without saying that if this man contacts you again, you report it immediately.'

‘Of course.' Rona hesitated. ‘If there's any news of Louise, could you let us know?'

But the sergeant wasn't to be drawn on that. He made some vague reply, and, motioning to the constable, left the room. A woman officer came to take Rona for her fingerprinting, then conducted her back to the foyer.

‘Can I get you a cup of coffee while you're waiting?' she offered.

‘That would be welcome,' Rona said. She wondered how Max was faring, and hoped he was keeping his temper.

His interview, as she learned later, had followed similar lines, and he emerged from it as she was finishing her coffee. Once he too had been fingerprinted, they were driven home. A van and two police cars were still there, and a contraption like a tent had been set up, screening the front door of number seventeen. As they pulled in to the kerb, a couple of men shrouded in white hooded boiler suits emerged from it, and came down the path carrying what looked like black bin-liners, which they proceeded to load into the back of a van. Rona turned hastily away, closing her mind to what they might contain.

Their keys had been returned at the police station, and she ran up to the study for the note, handing it to one of the men who'd driven them home. He took it, she noticed, in a gloved hand, and dropped it into a transparent envelope, though her own prints would have been all over it. Then, with a nod of thanks, he went back down the path to the car.

As soon as they were alone, Max lost no time in checking the whole house to see if the police had left evidence of their presence, and, seeing none, was slightly mollified.

‘God knows what they thought they'd find,' he said.

Rona shrugged. ‘For all they know, we could have killed them ourselves.'

It was still only eight thirty. She had seldom known a longer evening. She thought back to lunch at her mother's, and Lindsey's account of the Yarborough party. How normal life had seemed then, yet the Franks must already have been dead. Oh,
why
hadn't she contacted Louise, as she'd promised?

‘This will be public news tomorrow,' Max remarked. ‘It might be as well to warn Lindsey and your parents.'

‘I suppose so. The subject never came up with Mum, but we were discussing it at Catherine's.'

‘Better get it over.' He brought the cordless phone from the hall, and dropped it in her lap.

Her parents each expressed shock and concern, but it was Lindsey who pinpointed a fact that, in all the upset, Rona hadn't appreciated.

‘If it
was
this man,' she said, ‘he'll know you can identify him, won't he?'

Rona felt suddenly cold. ‘He might even think you could; he mistook you for me, remember.'

‘God, you're right.'

‘But he won't realize there are two of us,' Rona hurried on, ‘and even if he does, he can't possibly know your name, or where you live. You don't need to worry, Linz.'

‘But you do,' Lindsey said starkly. ‘For God's sake be careful, Ro.'

Rona broke the connection and looked at Max, who'd been listening.

‘She's got a point, hasn't she?'

Max shrugged. ‘If he thinks you can identify him, he's going to make damn sure you don't have the opportunity. My guess is he'll have put as much distance as possible between you.'

‘With Louise?'

Max was silent.

‘You think he's already disposed of her?' Her voice rocked.

Max said gently, ‘All I think is that he won't want any – encumbrances – that will slow him down.'

‘Then why take her with him? Why didn't he kill her on the spot, like her parents?'

‘Perhaps because she could be useful to him. In which case, he won't have harmed her.'

‘And the blood?'

‘There might have been an initial struggle. Perhaps she saw what he'd done to her parents, or—'

‘We're just hypothesising, aren't we?' Rona broke in impatiently. ‘We haven't a clue what happened, and I bet the police haven't, either.'

‘At least they've the means to find out, so let's leave it to them, shall we?'

By the next morning, the fine weather had broken, and a steady rain set in. This had not, however, deterred the first of what Max feared would be a growing number of sensation-seekers, come to gawp at the scene of the murder and, by default, those nearest to it. Feeling it imperative to get away, both from them and the continuing activity next door, he phoned the Ridgeways and suggested they spend the day together.

‘I admit I've a special reason for asking,' he said, ‘but we'll explain when we see you.'

‘Fine, but it's not much fun trudging round the countryside in this weather,' Gavin replied. ‘Come over here. We can chill out for a while, then go for a pub lunch. Bring the hound.'

‘It must have been traumatic, discovering the bodies,' Magda commented, when Max had given them a synopsis of events. ‘Especially coming so soon after that girl.'

Rona, having no wish to revert to her previous assignment, cut in quickly. ‘Ironically, it was her parents Louise seemed afraid of. I wonder if she knows what's happened to them.'

Magda replenished their coffee. ‘Do you think she really is their daughter?'

‘I don't know. It's weird, that there's no record of her.'

‘She must have a passport, if they've just arrived from Canada,' Gavin put in. ‘Surely that would prove something?'

‘That's another thing,' Rona told him. ‘Her parents put it in the bank with their valuables. If you ask me, it was to stop her finding it.'

‘Come to think of it,' Magda mused, ‘it's a moot point which of you this stranger's interested in. He followed you home before he tailed Louise.'

It was an uncomfortable thought.

‘On the other hand, he could simply be a weirdo, stalking any woman who takes his fancy,' Gavin offered. ‘You do hear of such people.'

After a disturbed night, there was something therapeutic about relaxing in the Ridgeways' familiar room, listening to the rain pattering against the windows and thrashing out with them the intricacies of the last few days. They continued to toss various theories around until, at twelve thirty, they drove out to the Watermill, an attractive little pub just out of town. On this wet Sunday, it was filled with a noisy, chattering throng, and they had to wait for some time before a table became vacant and they were able to squeeze round it.