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Authors: Clare Curzon

BOOK: The Edge
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Yeadings removed his reading glasses, rubbed at the red patch they'd left on one side of his nose and replaced them. ‘Actually, it was less of a semicircle than a horseshoe. I've wondered since how significant that was. A henge shape, connected perhaps with the primitive idea of sacrificial victims? Or some link with horses? All the family rode, of course, but only Mrs Hoad had hunted with foxhounds.'
‘That'll be a field day for the press,' Beaumont muttered. ‘They'll drag politics into it: urban vengeance on the country way of life. Further arousal of the hunting ban protests.'
‘In such a case as this, we have to consider any idea however outrageous. There's more than a hint of madness involved; and reason seems inadequate to deal with the irrational.'
‘But why was she treated differently?' Z asked. ‘Was it because by then no one was left to interfere, and the killer had time for refinements? Or had she been the main intended victim all along, with the others simply getting in the way?'
Yeadings gazed round at the others, but no one volunteered an answer. ‘Final details: the dead woman had ingested roughly the same meal as her husband, but rather less in quantity and with rather more alcohol. Her blood test showed the presence of a small amount of cocaine.
‘As to her general health, Professor Littlejohn detected the early stages of hyperthyroidism, which means she'd have suffered slightly accelerated heart rate with some sweating, a tendency to
anxiety and tremor, also weight loss, the condition being due to enlargement of the thyroid gland.
‘It's not certain she was aware of the condition, since the symptoms could have been accepted as stress-related due to personal or professional worries. The Hoad family doctor has stated he'd not seen her for over three and a half years, but she may have consulted someone privately in London.
‘As we assume from SOCO's findings in the upper rooms, the killer disturbed her sleep. It's possible she ran to her daughter's room and caught him in there with the bloodstained knife, fled barefoot downstairs, pursued by him, and so out into the night. This was before the downpour: her nightdress and robe, recovered from the floor of the barn, were quite dry, and some bloodstains could have come from the killer's hands as he dragged them off her. Unfortunately neither fabric retains palm or fingerprints. The bloodstains contained minute samples from the three earlier victims as well as her own, and neither weapon — gun nor knife — has been found subsequently.'
‘Time of death,' Beaumont prompted.
‘Earliest presumed one 1.45 a.m. Certainly not later than 2.50 when the deluge started. Blood was congealed on the body when Barton found her soon after three. Rigor had not set in.'
The internal phone on Yeadings' desk buzzed and he picked it up, listened and nodded. ‘Bring him up yourself.' He replaced the receiver and turned to Beaumont. ‘Get yourself a chair, and two more for visitors. Our profiler has arrived.'
The man DC Silver ushered in was small and rotund. His suit was crumpled and a fringe of thin black hair stood up in disarray from a pale dome as though he had been pulled backwards through a thorn hedge.
‘Dr Jolyon Abercorn,' he introduced himself breathlessly and bent over the desk to offer his hand.
Yeadings introduced himself and his team. ‘I understand you're advised of the general outline of the case. To save your time,' he suggested, producing a tape recorder from his half-open top drawer, ‘you may care to hear the point we've just reached.' He reversed to the start of their conversation.
‘Ah.' Abercorn sat, crossed his fat little legs at the ankles and closed his eyes the better to concentrate. At one point he grunted, but made no comment. When the recording stopped he stayed silent until it seemed he might have fallen asleep. Then, abruptly, he sat up and swung round to face Beaumont. ‘Displayed, you said. So this was more than a killer simply ridding himself of another human creature found bothersome. It was a deliberate demonstration. Perhaps a celebration. Tell me, was the late Jennifer Hoad a show-off herself?'
‘You might say that,' Yeadings allowed. ‘She has been variously described as “flashy”, “overbearing” and “full of herself”.'
And your observation on the arrangement of the straw bales — a connection with horses? I'm not sure I go for that. Now “henge” — that's better. I wonder was she in any way superstitious or religious?'
‘Evidence of that hasn't emerged so far.'
‘Then I shall need to talk to someone who knew her well.' He smiled amiably. At least as well as her killer.'
‘There's her son and her mother. At present both at the house where it happened.'
‘Splendid. First I'll access your incident room information, then I'd appreciate an introduction, if you would set up a meeting with them.' He beamed on them all, accepted Silver's offer to escort him to the computer room and strutted out.
‘Henge,' Beaumont said doubtfully when he and Z were clear of the office. ‘Given that all shrinks are sad freaks, he could be dragging us into the zone of Druid sacrifice and mistletoe murders.'
Anna was pouring tea in the drawing-room, for the present suspending judgment on the visitor Zyczynski had brought with her. She was suspicious of such overt amiability, reminding herself he was a professional concealing an informed attempt to assess those he confronted.
He, for his part, beamed at her through steel-rimmed spectacles, observing and approving her decision to stay on the sidelines. As yet he saw no reason to doubt that she was what she appeared to be, reliable and commonsensical — which was by no means as common as the description implied.
The young man hunched in the armchair opposite was less comfortable. And why not? — traumatised by the double blow of the savage attack on his family and his own part in the death of a girl he'd sought out for sex. As the obligatory tea ritual progressed, with the woman detective handing round filled cups, Daniel kept his gaze on the carpet, bony knuckles strained bloodless on closed knees. Defensive, in denial; certainly resentful of the psychologist's presence. So, more anxious than angry?
The answer was almost immediate. Abruptly, he stood, almost pushing Zyczynski aside as she offered the little tray with sugar, milk and lemon slices, and turned on the older woman. ‘I don't want any fucking tea. Sorry Gran, but I can't take all this faffing about. I told you, I'm not on for this counselling stuff.'
‘As you wish, Daniel. You may leave us if you'd rather.'
That had him hesitating. He looked desperately between her and the fat little man absorbed in stirring his tea. When no one spoke further he shrugged, picked his way between the chairs and left the room. ‘I'm going for a walk,' he called back from the hall.
‘Don't apologise,' Abercorn said urbanely as Anna shifted in her chair, ready to spread oil on the waters. ‘It is to be expected. Actually it's you I hoped to speak with, and preferably with only Miss Zyczynski present. If you feel able, I should like you to tell me about your daughter, Jennifer.'
Anna grimaced.
‘Nil nisi bonum,
or must I be frank? No,
whichever, I'm sure you are capable of winnowing what you require.'
He smiled. ‘Her childhood?'
‘Sadly neglected, I confess. For the greater part her father wasn't there. I had a demanding career to carve out or we'd have been penniless. In married quarters, services children tend to buckle under or form groups and run wild, grow up too fast. And by nature she was independent, over-confident; like so many young things, thought she was immortal.'
‘Took risks?'
‘Led many of the worst escapades of her little gang, but usually managed to evade the principal blame. I worried that she was manipulative, but knew no way to reverse it. My world was one where you gave orders and obeyed them. Jennifer didn't belong there, and she let everyone know it. You have to understand that, even quite young, she was remarkably beautiful, could charm the crows off the trees, as the saying goes.'
‘And grew up to become a successful businesswoman with artistic flair.'
‘At eighteen she married a modern-day Micawber of her own age, and Daniel was born four years later. They had managed up to that point, but the arrival of a baby brought problems the marriage wasn't fit to survive, nor she to cope with. Peter left her and she started to drink heavily. Social Services stepped in. I obtained compassionate leave to look after Daniel rather than have him sent to a children's home, until suitable foster parents were found. I offered Jennifer a roof but she refused it. That left her free to deal with her own problem. She had two attempts at drying out and finally mastered it. She studied decor at college and seemed to have found her feet again. Although admitting she was an alcoholic, she has since allowed herself to drink, moderately, with meals. I know that's almost unheard of, but she's unusually strong-willed.'
‘She must be. And Daniel?'
‘Stayed with the foster parents who hoped eventually to adopt him. He was a beautiful child, sweet-tempered and always laughing. Later, when Jennifer took Freddie Hoad to see him she
fell in love with the little golden cherub. He'd have been almost five by then, and I believe that Daniel was the main reason she agreed to marry a man fifteen years older than she was. Frederick had offered to adopt him.'
‘The main reason?'
Anna paused. ‘He was also wealthy. She'd lived hand-to-mouth long enough to see the advantages of that. He could afford nursemaids, leaving her free to follow her artistic interests and return home to the child as a plaything. She had persuaded Freddie to finance the design firm she runs in London, Miradec Interiors.'
‘And young Angela?'
‘Born later. Was only ten years old when …this happened. It's unthinkable.'
‘You know that her blood group is different from that of both parents?'
‘She's not Freddie's, certainly. He was unable to have children. I don't know which of Jennifer's men friends would be the father. I didn't see it as my business to ask.'
‘She was still running wild, as she did as a child?'
Anna nodded. ‘Poor Freddie accepted the baby, seemed even to love her, as he did Daniel and their mother. If not passionate, at least it was an amicable marriage.'
‘And your daughter found passion elsewhere?'
Anna bowed her head. ‘I saw very little of them. At first Freddie insisted I spent my leaves with them, but naturally Jennifer found it unpleasant, associating me with so much that had gone wrong in her life before. And then grandmothers are suspect, the generation gap producing such opposing cultures.'
‘You didn't approve of the way she was bringing up her children?'
‘I was fearful that she was making a harem child out of her son, always including him in her girlie group meetings. I know as he grew older she encouraged him to dress up in her most exotic clothes, use make-up and wear a wig. She acted sometimes as if he were her spoilt little sister.'
‘You didn't protest?'
‘Once. After that it was made clear I should only put in a rare appearance, on sufferance.'
‘And her relations with young Angela?'
‘Cooler, on both sides. She was Daddy's girl, for all that they weren't related. Jennifer and she stepped gingerly round each other. As though they were afraid the other might encroach on private ground. She was old for her years. I suppose they were a lot alike, and unconsciously felt in competition.'
‘Your daughter never wanted to become an actress?'
‘She was an actress, in everything she did, but she'd no time for the hard graft required by theatre. You could say she was stagy, I suppose.'
‘Superstitious?'
Anna looked hard at him. ‘Why do you ask that?'
‘Some women read their horoscopes, won't walk under ladders, cross their fingers when they lie, consult mediums, believe in magic.'
‘If she did believe in magic, it would be in her own magic. Not anyone else's. I know she used to organise great parties at Hallowe'en and dressed up as a black witch. Maybe that's what was behind the local superstitions about the hanging wood. An old poacher round here called Huggett tried to persuade me there were “goings-on” at full moon up there; a coven operating, so that locals were afraid of the place.'
‘And did he persuade you?'
‘I assumed he'd spread the rumours himself, to keep everyone clear of his traps.'
‘Have you ever been there?' Zyczynski asked, at last stepping in.
‘Maybe we should go and take a look.' Abercorn grinned, Puck-like.
‘Actually,' Anna admitted, ‘I had thought of dropping in on the folks down at the farm and seeing what they had to say about it. I could say I wanted to see the new calf.'
‘Why not?' beamed the little man. ‘But I like the idea of a woodland walk, perhaps tomorrow, if you could find some commission to occupy your grandson. Joining us wouldn't be in his best interests at the moment.'
‘You want me to send him away somewhere?' Anna asked bluntly. ‘I'm not sure he'd go. He steers clear of the village; naturally is keeping his head well down until he hears further from the police about the girl's death.'
‘Yes. Perhaps an invitation from outside the family? Surely he has friends of his own age he can trust, and whom you can conspire with?' His face was impish, cajoling her into a fun thing and, although suspicious, she had to agree that it might be expedient.
‘There's Camilla, a badminton partner,' she said. ‘Four or five years older than Daniel, but then most of his friends are. She's a self-employed manicurist, so she could probably take time off if I paid her expenses.'
‘Would you ring her? Emphasise how badly Daniel needs taking out of himself in cheerful company.'
Reluctantly Anna rose. ‘I'd find it easier if I do this bit on my own.
‘But of course.'
While she withdrew to phone from the study, Zyczynski went across to look out of the window. ‘He's going down the fields to the river.'
Abercorn was lying back, cup in hand and staring at the ceiling. He grunted. ‘She's embarrassed,' he decided. ‘Not being secretive, just not accustomed to acting deviously. That implies distaste for manipulation. I tend to share your opinion of the lady: she's not subversive. The boy has nothing to fear from her.'
‘I never said what I thought of her.'
‘You disagreed when your fellow sergeant suggested she'd need watching.'
Zyczynski stared back blank-faced. She'd need to be careful with this one. Too observant by half. But maybe he was what this complicated case needed. So long as he didn't let his cleverness run away with him.
‘So you thought you'd warn me I'm transparent?' she accused.
‘We're both on the same side.'
Just as well, she thought. I wouldn't give him the right to poke about in my brain.
‘There's one little puzzle. I understood she hasn't visited for some years. How then does she know of Daniel's current friends?'
‘Maybe this girl's more than a friend. He may have talked to Anna about her.'
‘I don't imagine he's that open with her.' He said no more as they heard Anna's heels on the hall tiles.
She returned impassive, nodded and sat down again to drink her cooling tea. ‘Camilla will ring him this evening, invite him out for lunch somewhere, maybe Oxford or Henley. I will ring later and let Rosemary know what time she'll be picking him up. That should leave us plenty of time to investigate Huggett's claims about the woods.'
She regarded the psychologist squarely. Actually Camilla sounded very keen. I'm afraid she may have a morbid taste for the sensational. I warned her to keep off the dreaded subject, and not to question Daniel. We don't need him further upset.'
‘Unless the dam bursts and gives him relief.'
‘I'd rather that happened here, where we can get the right sort of help.'
‘You've been very helpful yourself, Mrs Plumley. Thank you. But now I'm expected by Superintendent Yeadings, so I must leave you.'
He handed back his cup and saucer, smiled at Anna and let Z lead him back to her car. Anna watched them drive off, saw Daniel in the distance walk out from a line of trees above the water meadows to stare after them.
When he returned she wandered in as he shed his boots at the gun room door. ‘Someone called Camilla phoned, wanting you. She'll try again this evening. An invitation of some kind, I think.'
He looked aghast. ‘I'm not up to clubbing.'
‘Of course not. Something rather different, as I understood it. Just a drive and some lunch. Away somewhere. Make a bit of a break.'
He considered this, pulling on his slippers. It would be a relief to be free of this damnable house. Swap the grim grandmother for Camilla and her giggles. Provocative Camilla, teasing yet
sexually barring him. Just the two of them. Maybe this time he'd get lucky. It was more than time something went right for him.
 
Dr Abercorn walked into Yeadings' office to find his desk covered in crumpled pieces of paper. A WPC, kneeling on the floor, had separated others into five piles and was now gathering them up in bundles.
‘Historical archivist?' he asked benevolently.
‘In a way. Not without profit. SOCO had examined bins in the house. This lot had travelled a stage further but, thanks to the recycling system, hadn't joined the stinkier stuff.'
Abercorn hovered over the desk, after more detail.
‘Some interesting results. Hoad was having problems at work,' Yeadings informed him. ‘A whistle-blower had written to him, suggesting a review of the list of employees at the Bristol foundry. There have been recent sackings, and fictional names have been substituted on the wages lists. If that's true, Fallon, the partner, could be feathering his nest.'

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