Rogue in Porcelain (24 page)

A dull flush spread over Debbie's cheeks. ‘I think she did, yes.'

‘How?'

‘Through Nigel – the man she was in love with.'

‘They were still in touch?'

‘Oh yes; they met at every opportunity. He belonged to a London club and used that as an excuse for going there. Julia would meet him, and they'd spend the night together.'

It was Rona's turn to look confused. ‘If they were still so fond of each other, why did they split up?'

‘Because of the effect it was having on his family. The children were at an impressionable age and his wife couldn't cope. I believe she's a very nervy individual.'

‘But how did
Nigel
know my address and phone number, and why ask Julia to contact me? At that stage, I'd never even met him.'

‘I'm not too clear on that. She was very vague when I asked her, but I think it had to do with the family. The Curzons, I mean. Are you connected with them at all?'

‘I'm writing an article on the firm, yes.'

‘That must be it, then.'

‘They're launching a revolutionary new line in the autumn. Perhaps he thought I'd know about it and be prepared to tell a friend; though what use it would be to him, I've no idea. It's not as though he's a competitor – he only sells the stuff.'

Debbie fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I'm afraid I can't help you.'

‘No wonder it knocked the stuffing out of him, when I appeared in his shop as large as life,' Rona went on, thinking aloud. ‘It must have been like the mountain coming to Mahomet.' She drew a deep sigh. ‘Well, I wasn't much use to either him or Julia. I've no idea what the product is.'

Debbie said awkwardly, ‘I don't blame you for being annoyed, but although admittedly she set out to meet you, she really did like you. Very much.'

‘I liked her, too, and so did my mother.'

‘Yes; Julia said she was very kind to her.' Debbie took a gulp of coffee. ‘Have you any idea who could have killed her?'

‘None at all.'

‘I did wonder, if she was poking her nose where she wasn't wanted, if someone might have decided to stop her.'

Rona's mouth went dry. Not the Curzons, surely? ‘I can't think who,' she said.

‘What was she doing in the cemetery, anyway? It just doesn't make sense.'

‘Actually, it's an ideal place to meet secretly. There's a high hedge round it, so except at the entrance, no one can see inside.'

Debbie stared at her. ‘You know it? You've been there?'

Rona bit her lip. So after all her pleas to Tess, she'd given herself away. ‘I was with Finlay Curzon when he found her,' she said.

‘Oh God, no!'

‘As I said, I'm writing about the firm and had been studying the family tree. He thought I might be interested to see where all the people I'd been reading about were buried.' She looked at her visitor's distraught face. ‘If it's any comfort, I'm sure death was instantaneous,' she added.

Debbie didn't reply, and Rona saw she was struggling to compose herself.

‘When did you last speak to her?' she asked gently.

Debbie fished in her handbag for a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘She phoned on Friday morning. Then I rang back later, to ask her to collect something on the way home, but her phone was switched off.'

‘How did she seem, when you spoke to her?'

‘Fine. She said she'd be back in time for lunch the next day. I was expecting her, when the police arrived. I just couldn't—'

‘How did they know to contact you?'

‘From my message on her mobile – I'd rung from the flat. The police up here saw it was a Reigate code, and got on to the local station. They were very kind, the two who came to tell me, but then other officers arrived and went through the flat with a fine-tooth comb. They looked under her mattress, pulled out drawers, and went through all our books, cassettes and CDs, looking inside the covers in case anything was hidden there. I suppose they had to, in case there were any clues as to who might have killed her, but it was horrible.'

‘It must have been.' Rona paused. ‘Are you alone in the flat now?'

‘For the moment, but as soon as the police give their permission, my cousin's coming to join me. She's been looking for somewhere, and I'm only too glad to have the company.' She put down her mug. ‘Well, it's no use putting it off any longer. Let's get this over with.'

Rona led the way upstairs and motioned her into the guest room. ‘There are a few things in the wardrobe,' she said, opening its door.

The sight of the familiar clothes was, finally, too much for Debbie, and she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Rona held her, letting her cry. She wasn't far from tears herself.
Who did this
? she kept asking herself.
Who in the name of heaven could have killed her
?

After a few minutes Debbie straightened and Rona, hastily concealing the lipstick-smudged tissue, passed her the box.

‘Sorry,' Debbie said shakily. ‘I've been dreading this.'

‘I'm sure. Would you like me to help?'

At her nod, Rona wheeled the neat little suitcase out of its corner, lifted it on to the bed, and opened it. It was empty; if it had ever held anything of note, the police would have taken it. Between them and in silence, they laid the clothes carefully in the case, together with the items on the dressing table and the sponge bag Rona retrieved from the bathroom.

‘What will happen to all her things?' Rona asked, as Debbie finally closed the case.

‘She hadn't made a will, so as next of kin, her brother will be the benefactor. But he made it clear he doesn't want her personal effects, so most of them will go to charity shops. I'll probably keep something as a memento – an ornament, or something like that.'

They went down the stairs together and Gus, who was asleep on the front doormat, looked up hopefully and wagged his tail. Debbie was too upset to notice him.

She handed Rona a card. ‘My phone and mobile numbers,' she said. ‘You'll let me know what's going on, won't you?'

‘Of course I will.'

Brought together by the shared tragedy, they reached for and held each other's hand. Then Debbie went swiftly down the path, put the case in the boot, and got into her car. Two minutes later, the sound of her engine had died away.

Rona returned to the kitchen, washed up the cafetière and mugs, and put them away. Then she, too, left, hoping that the house was now sufficiently purged to welcome the new lodger the following week.

Thirteen

‘
D
aniel?'

‘Hi, darling.'

‘Sorry to ring you at work, but I've just bought a copy of the
Gazette
, and it says it was
Rona
who found that body in Chilswood!'

There was a pause, then Daniel said incredulously, ‘Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure; I've read it twice. Do you think your mother knows?'

‘She will if Tom does.'

‘Strange they haven't said anything.'

‘Not really; after all, what is there to say, other than what you've read? And we're seeing everyone on Saturday, so we'll hear it first-hand then. Sorry, love, I must go – there's a call on the other line. See you later.'

‘See you,' Jenny echoed, and thoughtfully switched off her phone.

As Rona approached Marsborough, she became increasingly reluctant to return to the empty house. Her mind still circled round Debbie and Julia, and the tragedy that had overtaken them, and she felt in urgent need of distraction. Reaching a decision, she used her hands-free mobile to call Max.

‘I'm feeling restless. Any chance of joining you for lunch?'

He sounded abstracted. ‘It's barely twelve o'clock, love, and I've just mixed some fresh colour. Can you give me an hour?'

‘OK. I'll pass the time by looking round Netherby's, in the hope of finding something for Catherine. I've been to her bungalow, so I've some idea of her taste.'

Guild Street when she reached it was, as usual, lined with parked cars, and she drove slowly, searching without much hope for a space. Then, just ahead of her, a car pulled away from a meter, and she slid smoothly into its place. Furthermore, there were forty minutes on the clock, which should be ample for her purpose.

‘Shan't be long,' she told Gus, who was asleep on the back seat, and set off in the direction of the department store. The lunch invitation had stressed ‘No presents', but Rona had no intention of going empty-handed. On the other hand, she knew Catherine would be embarrassed by an expensive gift, and the challenge was to come up with a compromise.

The store was busier than she'd anticipated; and she realized belatedly that it was the school holidays, and children were stocking up on Easter eggs. After trying unsuccessfully to fight her way to a counter, she took the escalator to the second floor and the gift department proper.

There was the usual display of Curzon, but not, at the moment, wanting to underline her link with the firm, she moved instead to a cabinet containing a collection of crystal. And nestling at the back, she found what struck her as the perfect present: a small, delicately coloured paperweight.

The search had taken longer than expected, and time on the meter would be running out. Having paid for her purchase, Rona was relieved when the lift stopped right in front of her, and discharged a couple of people. She stepped inside and pressed the down button, her mind already moving ahead. She'd still be on the early side for Max, but she could stroll round the little garden with Gus, who would be glad of some exercise.

The lift stopped, and she was preparing to leave it when she realized they'd only reached the first floor. The doors opened, and to her consternation, Rona found herself face to face with Mrs de Salis, accompanied by two teenaged children. The woman stiffened as she recognized her, and would have let the lift go, but the children had already stepped into it and perforce she followed.

‘Good afternoon,' she said stiffly, and Rona, equally taken aback, smiled in acknowledgment, her eyes going to the teenagers. Dressed unisexly in jeans and anoraks, they slumped against the sides of the lift, their eyes on the floor. The girl's hair, a mousy brown, was drawn severely back and held in place by a rubber band. Her brother, tall and lanky and aged, Rona guessed, fifteen or sixteen, was, despite his spotty complexion, the better looking of the two, taking after his father rather than his mother.

Catching Rona's glance on them, Mrs de Salis said unnecessarily, ‘My son and daughter, Aidan and Lorna.' They looked up on hearing their names, and their mother turned to them, completing the stilted introduction. ‘And this is Miss Parish.'

Interest flared immediately on both their faces, and Lorna exclaimed, ‘The lady who found the body?'

‘Afraid so,' Rona answered, since the other woman seemed incapable of doing so. Both children were now staring openly at her, and she was relieved when the lift reached the ground floor, the doors opened again, and they were faced with a crowd of people waiting to enter.

‘Have a good Easter!' she said fatuously, and made her escape.

‘Mind if I join you, Ed?'

DI Barrett looked up. ‘Be my guest,' he invited laconically.

Charlie Harris, a fellow DI, unloaded his tray on to the pub table – a brimming tankard and a plate of sausage and mash. ‘How are things?' he asked as he sat down.

Barrett grunted and pushed away his own plate, where egg yolk was already congealing. ‘If people
must
get themselves killed, why can't they have the decency to be Joe or Jane Bloggs? When the name Curzon hits the headlines, sparks fly.'

‘That, I have noticed, though I've been pretty tied up with my own case. Has a motive been established?'

‘Nope.'

‘Weapon?'

‘No sign of it, but Marshall says it was a flick knife. One of thousands on the market.'

‘Couldn't be a random killing, could it?'

‘With jewellery and money untouched, and in the middle of a bloody graveyard?'

‘Perhaps not.' Harris reached for the mustard. ‘OK, then, give us the low-down. Coming to it fresh, something might grab me.'

Barrett shrugged. ‘Any contributions, etcetera. You know who found her, don't you?'

‘One of her relations, wasn't it?'

‘Accompanied by that bloody Parish woman.'

‘Who's she, when she's at home?'

‘A journalist, if you please. She queered my pitch up in Buckford a year ago, but that wasn't the first time she'd poked her nose into police business.'

‘And what's she done now?'

‘Isn't finding the body enough for you?'

Charlie Harris took a mouthful of sausage, and said indistinctly, ‘Hardly her fault, though. She wasn't
looking
for it, was she?'

‘Who knows?' Barrett returned glumly. He took a long draught of beer, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Point is, she knew the victim, even had her cosily tucked up at her mother's, would you believe. And her account of how they met was, to say the least, unconvincing.'

He leaned forward, arms folded on the table. ‘And there's another thing, Charlie. Julia came from Reigate, and we contacted the nearest station to go and break the news to her flatmate. Which they did. But the mention of Buckfordshire rang a bell, and they came out with some cock-and-bull story about a handbag being handed in a few weeks back, with a name and address in it and little else. Like to guess whose name it was?'

‘Surprise me.'

‘None other than Miss Flaming Parish. They contacted her, but she denied all knowledge of the bag. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?'

‘Sure is. No doubt you questioned her about it?'

‘We did, though to give him his due, her husband had beaten us to it. Their account tallied with the official report, and no further light's been shed.' He sighed heavily. ‘And as if all that wasn't enough, we have lover-boy.'