The Nine Bright Shiners (7 page)

‘Oh yes,' said Miles with controlled savagery, ‘those goddamned expeditions.'

Jan threw him a startled glance, but he straightened, forestalling any comment. ‘You say your marriage has ended. You're divorced?'

‘Not yet.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.'

‘I know.'

The clock on the mantelpiece whirred preparatory to striking. Jan saw it was eleven o'clock. Miles followed her glance.

‘I'd better be going.'

‘It's so kind of you to have come. I did need to talk.'

‘Feel any better for it?'

She smiled. ‘A bit.'

‘Good.' He got to his feet. ‘Let me know if you hear any more about this mysterious corpse. Not that I suppose you will. After such a wildly improbable start, no doubt the whole thing will fizzle out into something run-of-the-mill like gang warfare.'

‘That's run-of-the-mill?' Jan asked, with raised eyebrows.

He smiled. ‘You've been away a long time.'

‘I'm beginning to realize how long.'

‘Don't let it get you down. I'm at the end of the phone if you need me.'

She watched him walk down the drive. Then she closed the door, double-locking and bolting it as Edward had instructed. For the first time, she was grateful that he and Rowena had gone to such lengths to safeguard their home.

The early morning was bitingly cold. The sky, only just lightening, was still streaked with red, the colour luridly reflected in the thin layer of ice which coated a pothole. The uniformed men detailed to preserve the scene stamped their feet and blew inside their gloves and the police dogs in the back of the van clouded the glass with their warm breath.

Webb stood watching the Scenes of Crime team, already re-engaged on work which darkness had interrupted the previous night.

‘From the position of the body, I'd say he was simply tipped out of a car,' commented Inspector Hodges. ‘Not much attempt at concealment. If it hadn't been for the tree, he'd have been spotted straight away.'

‘Which the murderer might have intended for some reason, or simply not given a damn about.' Webb turned to look at the road. They were two miles short of the village of Chedbury, whose woods had yielded another murder victim some years previously. This part of the road lay between open fields, and the back of the lay-by could only be seen from directly opposite. Late at night, there wouldn't be much passing traffic. Now, however, a few early commuters were already driving in the direction of Shillingham, slowing down as they passed to stare curiously at the police activity.

‘When did the gales start, anyone remember?'

‘Night of the eighteenth,' volunteered Jackson. ‘I know, because the twins were teething and Millie had to get up to them. The wind was howling round the house, and I thought, “This time next week, Christmas'll be all over.”'

‘And it was the eighteenth that this London journalist was due. Looks as though he could be our man.'

‘But it couldn't have been him that took the wallets, back in November.'

‘Unless he came over regularly. I hope to God this girl knows who he was coming to see.' Webb turned to the dog-handlers. ‘OK, give them the scent and let them go. What we're looking for is anything which might be buried nearby – clothes, even – please God – a diary or notebook.'

‘Right, Guv.' The van door was opened and the two dogs jumped down. As they moved away, the animals straining eagerly at the leash, a uniformed constable approached.

‘Excuse me, Guv, there's still some coffee in the Thermos, if you'd like some.'

‘That would be very welcome, thank you. PC Linton, isn't it?'

‘That's right, sir. We were on a case together a few years back.'

‘Yes, I was just thinking of it. Comes of Chedbury being the nearest bit of open countryside hereabouts.' They moved over to one of the Panda cars and stood with their hands cupped round polystyrene cups, sipping the scalding liquid.

Suddenly, over the frosty fields, came the sound of a dog's excited barking. They all looked at each other expectantly.

‘That was quick!' Linton exclaimed.

‘If he'd been in a hurry, he wouldn't have had time to dig deep. Get the spades and let's see what they've found.'

Twenty minutes later, a pile of clothes, clogged with earth and mould, lay on a plastic sheet on the frozen ground. At first sight, there appeared to be no identifying papers among them. Webb glanced at his watch. ‘We must get back – these people from London are due. Let me know what the lab makes of this lot, Dick. I'll be waiting with bated breath.'

Webb's heart sank as soon as he saw the girl. Not the type to make a reliable witness, he thought gloomily. Still, she must know
something,
and at least she'd positively identified the body. The WDS from London led her over to a chair and stood protectively beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Webb said irritably, ‘All right, Sergeant, you can take a seat. We'll go easy with her. Now, Miss Potts, have a sip of tea and then we'd like you to answer some questions.'

The girl gulped, sniffed and nodded.

‘How well did you know Mr Marriott?'

Her eyes brimmed again. ‘We were living together, weren't we?'

‘For how long?'

She shrugged. ‘Three months – maybe four.'

‘And he was a journalist?'

‘Yeh – freelance. That means not for any particular paper,' she added helpfully.

‘Quite. If you could tell us some of the ones who published him?'

She mentioned three or four, and Jackson noted them down.

‘And did he use a notebook, or pocket recorder?'

‘Both. He always had both on him.' There'd been neither with the body. ‘Sometimes he'd tease me by leaving the recorder switched on at the flat, and then playing it back.' She bit her lip and looked away.

‘Tell me about the last time you saw him.'

‘Well, it was before Christmas, and we were going to buy my present the next day during my lunch-hour. But then Guy says he can't meet me after all, because he's got to go to Broadshire.' She gave a hiccuping little sob at the memory.

‘He didn't say where in Broadshire?'

She looked vague. ‘I don't think so.'

Webb sighed, and tried another tack. ‘Presumably he'd have come by car?'

‘Oh yes.'

‘Well, if you could give us the make and number –' He broke off at her blank look.

‘It was a blue one, two-door,' she said. ‘I don't know the number.'

‘Or the make?'

She shook her head.

‘That's not much help, then.' Webb felt rather than saw the woman sergeant stiffen defensively. Obviously considered him a clumsy bumpkin, he thought resentfully.

He tried again. ‘If he broke a date to come over, surely he explained why?'

She looked stricken. ‘He did start to tell me, but I was watching telly and told him to shut up.'

Webb held in his frustration. ‘Tell me what you do remember.'

‘It was about the story he was working on.'

‘And what story was that?'

Shirley Potts gazed at him desperately. Her anxiety to help was palpable, as was her inability to do so. ‘I don't know,' she whispered.

Webb kept his voice steady. ‘Can you think of
any
stories he'd been working on recently? Please, Miss Potts, this could be very important.'

She frowned and the tip of her tongue appeared, like a child trying to concentrate. ‘There was one about a film star who'd come to London.'

‘When was that?'

‘Oh, during the summer, I suppose. I think he'd finished that one. And there was something about the Government, but I wasn't interested, so he didn't bother telling me.'

‘Was he still working on it?'

‘I don't think so. And there was
something
–' She strained desperately after an elusive memory. ‘About famous people, he said.'

‘What kind of famous people?'

‘Who'd done something wrong.'

Investigative journalism, Webb thought heavily. That, he could do without. No knowing what you might stir up, and no thanks for it, either, as likely as not.

‘A series of articles, about different people?'

‘I think so.'

‘How many had he done?'

‘I don't know.' Sensing his frustration, she burst out, ‘Oh, I'm sorry! I do want to help, honest! Of
course
I want you to get whoever did this to Guy, but I just didn't
listen,
see! How did I know he was going to get himself killed?' And she broke into noisy sobs. With a black look in his direction, the woman sergeant rose and went to her, murmuring comfort.

Webb, wiping his hand over his face, conceded defeat. ‘All right, Miss Potts. Now, is there anywhere you can stay for the next few days? Scenes of Crime officers will want to examine your flat – they'll be waiting there when you get back.'

She looked bewildered. ‘I suppose I could stay with Amy. You mean I have to move out?'

‘Just for a few days. If you'll give us the address and phone number where you can be contacted, there's no need to keep you any longer. Thank you for your help.'

Jan hadn't said anything to Lily about the previous evening. She didn't know the woman well, and there was no point in alarming her. If the connection with Edward was mentioned in the press, that would be time enough. But remembering last night's fears, she resolved to familiarize herself with the position of light switches, and since the children had complained the house was ‘spooky', they could accompany her and set their own fears at rest.

Accordingly they set off after breakfast on a tour of inspection, and by the end of it, Jan was forced to concede that there were indeed a lot of dark passages and, though she made no comment on the fact, a disproportionate number of exits and entrances. Mentally she listed them: front and back door, french windows in drawing-room (which Edward had assured her were sealed), side door to the garden from the dining-room, cellar door accessible from the back garden, and even a coal shute, long disused. The bolts looked rusty, but Jan doubted they were covered by the burglar alarm. And Ben was right, there
were
spooky bits, down the back hall and around the cellar steps. The cellars themselves, lit by bare electric bulbs, were merely depressing, with their rows of empty Kilner jars gathering dust. Jan remembered her mother's pride in filling them each year with jams, pickles and chutneys.

‘It's not like the basement at home, is it, Mummy?' Julie said, with a wobble in her voice, and Jan could only agree it was not.

Something brushed against her and she jumped, looking down to see the cat's sinuous body winding itself round her legs. In the absence of her owners, Lotus was acting as hostess on their tour. She was a beautiful animal and seemed to have accepted their presence, but Jan would have been happier with a guard dog.

With an effort, she pulled herself together. There was no point in being neurotic about this. She had doubted the need for Edward's precautions when he'd explained them – why should the body of an unknown man have changed anything?

Leaving the children to explore the attics alone, Jan stopped off at the kitchen, where Lily was about to make some coffee. The cat, purring loudly, transferred its attentions to her. Lily laughed. ‘Ready for your top-of-the-milk, are you? I'll bring your coffee to the library, Mrs Coverdale.'

‘I'll have it here, Lily, if you don't mind.'

‘Oh, of course not.' The woman's evident surprise, and the haste with which she cleared a space on the table, led Jan to suspect that Rowena didn't engage in such democratic practices.

‘Have you been working here long?' she asked conversationally, accepting the cup of coffee.

‘Several years now. I never knew your parents, though.'

‘And you always come in every day when my brother and his wife are away?'

‘Oh yes. Mr Langley's very particular about that. Says it makes the house look occupied. That's why he was so glad you decided to come.'

Perhaps Miles had been right, Jan reflected a little sadly. At very least, it seemed the arrangement was of mutual benefit.

‘You usually have to go to your breeders, don't you, my lady?' Lily was continuing, setting down a saucer of milk which the cat began to lap at daintily. ‘It suits you very nicely, too, having the family here.'

‘So you have to manoeuvre the burglar alarm every day?'

The woman smiled. ‘That's right. Scared me silly at first, but I'm used to it now.'

‘How long has it been in?' Jan asked casually, wondering why it mattered.

‘We've only had this one about three years. Mr Langley says it's more sophisticated than the last one.'

‘I can understand his taking precautions, but surely there's nothing exceptionally valuable in the house?'

‘As to that, I couldn't say, ma'am. Lots of nice things, there are, but as to value, I've no idea. And of course there's a lot more crime about than you probably remember.'

‘So I've discovered,' Jan acknowledged with a shudder, and ignored the woman's interrogatively raised eyebrows.

She finished her coffee and went through to the library. Knowing Edward was actually in Peru had reawakened her interest, and she was skimming her way through the collection of books on it, some of which, having belonged to her father, she remembered from her own childhood.

Lost in the intricacies of the Quitan Campaign, she had no idea how much later it was that Julie's voice, high-pitched and excited, sounded from upstairs.

‘Mummy!
Mummy!
'

Jan ran out into the hall as Lily appeared at the entrance to the passage.

‘What is it? What's the matter?'

Both children were standing at the top of the stairs, Ben's hand gripping his sister's arm. Their faces were flushed and their eyes wide and bright. Jan stared up at them.