Night Fall (30 page)

He looked around, and was about to ask Amanda if she wished to add anything, but she had already risen and was making her way to the door. ‘That's it, then,' he said, ‘so let's get on with it.'

Eleven o'clock, and Molly was back in the office typing up notes. She felt drained after spending more than an hour in the house with the Redgraves. Tregalles had done his best to keep both father and son occupied while she talked with Mrs Redgrave, but it had been difficult. Iris Redgrave had been cooperative to a point, but she'd made it clear that she did not appreciate the fact that her son was a suspect in the series of killings that had shaken the entire town.

‘The whole idea is ludicrous,' she'd said. ‘When Edwin is here he rarely leaves the house. He's here to give me a break, and it's a full-time job looking after his father. As you can see for yourself, Arthur can't be left for a moment.'

At least that part was true. Molly had expected to see a bedridden man, but Arthur Redgrave was up and dressed, and very, very active. ‘Arthur can be as quiet as a mouse one minute,' Iris Redgrave explained, ‘but the next he would be out the door if we didn't stop him. And he's strong. Sometimes it's all I can do to handle him, and I'm not getting any younger. So, when Edwin's here, he takes over to give me a break, and there's no way he would even have time to do whatever it is you're suggesting.'

The trouble was, on the nights that her son was there, Iris Redgrave had said that the one thing she really looked forward to more than anything else, was going to bed early and getting a full night's rest, so she wouldn't know if her son had left the house or not. Earlier in their conversation, Iris had mentioned that there were times when the only way to handle her husband was to sedate him. ‘I don't like to do it, but sometimes it's necessary,' she'd said, so if she was in bed and Arthur was sedated Edwin Redgrave could be out all night and no one would be the wiser.

Molly looked at the clock and picked up the phone. Time to ring Peter Jones again. Three rings, then voice mail again.
Please leave a message.
It was no good; she would have to try to get in touch with Fairfield herself. She put the phone down, but had barely taken her hand away when it rang.

She picked it up again and said, ‘DS Forsythe.'

‘Got a woman on the line says her name's Bainbridge, Sergeant,' a young male voice announced. ‘She says you left a message for her to ring you. Want me to put her through?'

Bainbridge?
It took a moment to register. ‘Oh, yes . . . right. Thank you. Put her through.'

‘Detective Sergeant Forsythe? Meg Bainbridge,' the woman said as soon as they were connected. ‘You left a couple of messages asking me to ring you when I got back, but are you sure you have the right Bainbridge?'

‘If you're a member of the All Saints choir, then it's you I'd like to talk to,' said Molly.

‘I am,' Meg said cautiously, ‘but what's it about?'

‘I just need some information,' Molly said, ‘and I'm told that you might be able to help me. To begin with, do you recall a boy by the name of Dennis Moreland being in the choir back some fifteen or so years ago?'

‘Moreland . . .? Doesn't ring a bell,' said Meg, ‘but I could look it up if it's important.'

‘Look it up?'

‘In the register. If I can remember where it is. Can I get back to you? I've only just got in, and I've got a few errands to run.'

Molly gripped the phone tighter. ‘Are you saying you have a register of the names of everyone in the choir, going back all those years?'

‘Yes, I've got it,' Meg said. ‘We had a burst pipe in the vestry three years ago and some of the books got wet, and the register was one of them. So I took it home to dry it out, and it's still here. It was around the time Adam Fairfield left, and we were without a choirmaster for a while before Peter Jones took over, so I'm afraid it was overlooked. I should have brought it back ages ago, but we needed a new one anyway, so . . .'

‘Look, Mrs Bainbridge, I know you've just returned, but I would very much like to see the register for myself. Do you mind if I come round?'

‘It would have to be later this afternoon,' Meg said. ‘I have an appointment I can't break, but I should be back around two thirty or three. Why do you want to look at it?'

‘It's part of an ongoing enquiry,' Molly said, being deliberately vague. ‘Shall we say two thirty, then?'

‘Make it three,' Meg said firmly. ‘Wouldn't want you waiting on the doorstep for half an hour.'

Now that she knew a register existed, Molly was anxious to see it, but she supposed another half hour wouldn't make any difference, and it didn't sound as if Mrs Bainbridge was about to give ground on the time. ‘Three o'clock it is, then,' she said. ‘And thank you very much, Mrs Bainbridge.'

‘No trouble,' the woman said, ‘and the name's Meg. You know where I am, I presume?'

‘Marlborough Place . . .?'

‘That's right. Number ten. We're on the very end next to the fairgrounds.'

T
en Marlborough Place was a neat and obviously well-cared-for semi-detached house. As Meg Bainbridge had said, it was on the end of the row, next to an open field that everyone referred to as the fairgrounds because that was where the fair used to set up every year. The fair itself had been gone for a number of years, but the name of the field remained, a reminder of days gone by.

‘Can't say I miss it,' said Meg when Molly mentioned it. ‘Dirty, smelly old thing, and the noise used to drive me up the wall. Five solid days of it every year. Seemed more like fifty. Nobody mentioned that when we bought the house. Anyway, come on in and I'll get that book for you.' She thrust out her hand. ‘And as I said on the phone, the name's Meg. Do I call you Sergeant . . . Sorry, what was the name again?'

‘Forsythe,' said Molly, ‘but Molly will do for now.'

‘Right. So what's this all about?' Meg asked as she led the way to a small room off the hallway. ‘This is my office,' she explained before Molly could answer. ‘I'm an independent insurance adjuster. I work for several companies on contract, and working from home allows me to set my own hours.' She walked over to her desk and picked up an old-fashioned ledger. ‘So, what
is
this all about?' she asked again.

‘So what you're saying,' said Meg, when Molly had finished her explanation, ‘is that you think these murders we've been hearing about have something to do with the choir?' She shook her head. ‘Can't see it,' she said flatly. ‘It's got to be a coincidence. Still, I suppose you have your job to do, so what was the name again? Moreland, was it?' She opened the book. ‘Do you know the year?'

‘Nineteen ninety-four or five,' said Molly, and showed Meg the picture. ‘I'm not exactly sure when this was taken, but Billy Travis and Gavin Whitelaw are in it, and so are you.'

‘Right. There's me,' Meg said, pointing to a dark-haired girl in the second row. ‘I must have been about fifteen then. God! Look at that. I had big knockers even then. See? Stuck out like doorknobs under the surplice.' She chuckled. ‘Very proud of them back then, I was. None of the other girls my age even came close, and I never had any trouble attracting boys. Oh, yes, there's Mike Fulbright – he was one of them, boys, I mean – and there's Mr Trasler,' she pointed to a much older man – ‘he wasn't, of course.' Meg went on to name several others before Molly was able to get her attention again.

‘Right. Moreland,' she said briskly as she started flipping through the pages of the book. ‘Here we are. 'Ninety-four.' Meg ran her finger down the list of names. ‘No, no Moreland there, so let's try 'ninety-five.' She hummed a little tune as she turned the page. ‘Moreland, Dennis,' she announced triumphantly. ‘January 'ninety-five.' She frowned. ‘Funny, but I don't remember him at all. Anyway, does that help?'

‘It certainly does,' Molly said. ‘What about Connie Rice? Is she in there? According to her mother, Connie must have joined about the same time, but she didn't stay very long.'

‘Yes, she's here. Joined in May. Come to think of it, I remember her. Chubby girl, boy mad. Anything else you need to know?'

‘I'd like to confirm that all those who have been killed were there at the same time,' said Molly. ‘Can we take a look?'

‘That won't show up here,' Meg told her. ‘This registers when they first joined, and they didn't all join in the same year. What you want is the attendance record for that year.' She grinned when she saw the look of concern on Molly's face. ‘Fortunately, it's in the same book,' she said, lifting a tab and turning to another section. ‘So let's see if they were all there that year.'

‘Tell me,' said Molly, ‘would the Reverend Fulbright have known about the register, and that you'd taken it home after the pipe burst in the vestry?'

‘Of course he would. In fact he was the one who said that the church wasn't the best place to dry the book out, so I volunteered to take it home. The trouble was, it took months to dry properly – you can't rush something like that – so we started a new one.'

‘I wonder why he didn't mention it when we spoke to him,' said Molly, more to herself than to Meg.

‘Who knows?' Meg said offhandedly. ‘Always has been a bit of an oddball, has Theo. He builds doll's houses. Did you know?'

‘Yes, I've seen them,' Molly said, then pointed to the book. ‘But could we . . .?'

‘Of course. Sorry.' Meg began searching through the pages. ‘Ah! Here it is.'

According to the attendance record, Dennis Moreland joined the choir in January and left it at the end of October. Connie Rice joined in May of that year and left in September. ‘Of course, the two boys in your picture, Billy Travis and Gavin Whitelaw, were there that year as well. So, for what it's worth, all four were there at the same time,' Meg concluded, ‘but I don't see what that has to do with them getting killed. Mind you, I can't say I'm all that surprised about Whitelaw. I remember him. Couldn't keep his hands to himself. Tried it on with all the girls. Not that it got him very far, not with Mike around. They all wanted to be like Mike – the boys, I mean, because he knew how to pull the girls, and I think they thought some of the attraction might rub off on them. He had quite the little gang there for a while. Oh, but he was a handsome boy, Molly. That picture doesn't do him justice at all.' Meg sighed. ‘Brings back memories, this does,' she said wistfully.

Molly stared at the open book. ‘Speaking of memories,' she said, ‘do you recall if anything significant happened that year?'

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know . . . Something involving the boys? You said there was quite a gang of them.'

Meg shook her head. ‘I didn't mean a gang in that sense,' she said. ‘I just meant they trailed around after Mike. I mean he was
the
man at that time, both for the boys and the girls, and he made the most of it. He was always a bit of a show-off, still is for that matter.'

‘I'd like to take that book with me,' Molly said. ‘I'll give you a receipt.'

‘Just as long as I get it back,' Meg said. ‘It's an official record, so it really should go back to the church.'

‘Nineteen ninety-five,' Meg said pensively as she accompanied Molly to the door. ‘You know, there was something happened that year,' she said slowly. ‘At least I
think
it was that year, but not the sort of thing you were talking about. I'm almost sure that was the year the girl who was visiting committed suicide. Jumped off the tower. God! That was awful. It was her last day with us. Nobody had an inkling. Shook her poor aunt Edith up. I don't think she ever got over it. Edith Compton had been in the choir forever, but she never came back after that. She's dead as well. She used to have the Hillside llama trekking farm out at Monksford Cross. It's gone now. She worked very hard to make a go of it, but she couldn't compete with the one in Hereford. Died while she was feeding the animals, they said. Just dropped dead, and she was only in her early sixties.'

‘The girl who committed suicide,' Molly said. ‘Would she be in this book? What was her name?'

‘No, she's not in the book because she was never a regular member of the choir,' said Meg. ‘She was staying with Edith during the summer holidays, helping her on the farm. I don't think Edith was her actual aunt, but the girl called her Aunt Edith. Anyway, Edith brought her along to choir practice, and when she told Fairfield that the girl was training to be a singer – she was only sixteen – Fairfield said she could sing with us while she was here. Nice kid, too. Pretty, blonde, blue eyes, and a voice like an angel, so pure and clear.' Meg looked off into the distance. ‘Funny in a way,' she said quietly. ‘I haven't thought about her in years, but I remember thinking at the time how appropriate her name was. Angelica. That was her name.'

‘No one in the street saw or heard anything on those nights,' Tregalles was saying when Molly entered the incident room. He was speaking to Paget and Ormside. ‘I spoke to a Mrs Bagshott, who lives two doors down, and sometimes sits with Arthur Redgrave when Mrs Redgrave has to go out to the shops, and she told me that she's a very light sleeper and she would have heard if Redgrave had started his car in the night.' He made a face. ‘In fact, she was pretty annoyed with me for even asking questions about him. She said he's wonderfully patient with his father, and he's been a great help to his mother in trying to get a place for his father, and she wouldn't hear a word said against him.'

‘Perhaps he's exactly what he says he is and just happened to be in the Red Lion the night Connie Rice disappeared,' Paget said. ‘We'll have to see what turns up at the Oxford end.' He turned his attention to Molly as she approached. ‘You're looking rather pleased with yourself,' he said. ‘Did you hear back from Jones?'