The Problem at Two Tithes (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 7) (13 page)

‘Dordina,’ she said.

‘Does your mother know you’re here?’ said Angela.

‘Mama’s gone out,’ said the child.

‘Well, Georgina,’ said Freddy. ‘I don’t think you ought to be out by yourself, so you’d better show us where you live.’

The little girl took their hands quite happily and allowed them to swing her all the way to the bottom of the field and across the road. They appeared to be heading for Church Lane, but it took them a while, for each time Georgina spotted anyone she insisted on stopping and shouting, ‘What’s him?’ and then laughing uproariously. Eventually they arrived at what was presumably her home, which Inspector Jameson would have recognized as Alice Hopwell’s house. Georgina stopped.

‘What’s him?’ she said, pointing at Angela.

‘Him is a her,’ said Freddy, amused. ‘Is this your house?’

Just then Alice Hopwell came out, accompanied by two or three curious children.

‘Georgina!’ she snapped. ‘What have I told you about not running out? Thank you,’ she went on to Freddy and Angela. ‘I just slipped out for a moment and when I got back she was gone. She will keep wandering off.’

‘Mama! It’s the nother man!’ said Georgina, pointing at Freddy.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Hopwell. ‘Now, come indoors.’

Georgina ran to her mother without a backward glance, and the Hopwells all went inside, leaving Angela and Freddy to continue their walk.

They returned up the lane and entered the village. Angela was anxious to prevent Freddy from resuming his tormenting of her, and so she said:

‘Do you think Corky was telling the truth, then? I mean, about Tom and Margaret Tipping’s not being on the best of terms?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Freddy. ‘Normally I should say that everything that comes out of his lips is a downright lie, but he seemed so jolly pleased with himself that I shouldn’t be surprised if he was on to something.’

‘But do you really think the farm-hands would talk for money?’

‘You’d be surprised at what people will do for money,’ said Freddy darkly. ‘It never ceases to amaze me. Why, only last week I had one young lady offer to give me her views on her own parents’ divorce so long as I was prepared to stump up the ready. Naturally I declined.’

‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘Still, though, just because people are prepared to talk, it doesn’t mean that what they say is true, does it?’

‘No,’ said Freddy. ‘In fact I should say that if money is concerned in the matter then one can’t guarantee anything at all.’

‘And even if it is true, and the Tippings didn’t get on, it still doesn’t mean she killed him. As far as I know, Margaret Tipping was helping at the fête all day, up until the moment Norman came and fetched her to tell her what had happened.’

‘Ah,’ said Freddy, ‘but can we be sure she was there all the time?’

‘Well, I haven’t heard Elisabeth complaining, which I’m pretty sure she would have done if Mrs. Tipping had disappeared at any point,’ said Angela.

‘I imagine she would, yes,’ conceded Freddy.

‘Then of course there is the question of the weapon. It’s all very well saying that Mrs. Tipping might have slipped away and shot her husband, but where did she get the gun?’

‘Yes, I must admit the question of the weapon is something that has been bothering me,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course, people wander about with shotguns all the time around here, but the two people with the strongest motive don’t seem to have been anywhere near a gun at the fatal moment.’

‘No,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘And don’t you think it’s odd that there have been no reports of people with shotguns wandering around the place on Saturday?’

‘Perhaps everyone is so used to seeing them that they don’t think anything of it,’ said Freddy.

‘I dare say you’re right,’ said Angela.

They had now entered the village proper, and as they crossed the green they saw Inspector Jameson emerge from the police station. He approached them and greeted them cheerfully.

‘Aha,’ said Freddy. ‘Our man on the inside. Come on then, inspector, tell us which of the Tippings did it.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jameson, ‘and I shouldn’t tell you even if I did.’

‘I thought as much,’ said Freddy. ‘I fear my scoop must wait.’

‘Mrs. Marchmont, is your sister-in-law at home?’ said the inspector. ‘Is it too late to call on her, do you suppose? I should like to ask her one or two questions.’

‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ said Angela. ‘She was entertaining the vicar’s wife when we left. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.’

Freddy sniggered at this and Inspector Jameson looked at him suspiciously, but before he could remark they were joined by Kathie, who was carrying a basket of eggs.

‘Hallo, Kathie,’ said Freddy. ‘Where are you taking those?’

‘I said I’d take them to the vicarage,’ replied Kathie, as Inspector Jameson wondered how Freddy had managed to get on first name terms with her already. She lowered her voice. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve had to come the long way round, because I saw Mr. Norris by the church, and I thought it better not to get caught up in conversation with him, given the circumstances.’

‘Very wise,’ said Freddy. ‘I gather he’s a difficult character at the best of times, but I expect things must be even more awkward at present. Is he still waving that shotgun of his around?’

‘No, he didn’t have it with him today,’ said Kathie. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Perhaps the recent events have taught him a lesson,’ said Angela.

‘More likely he thinks he’s won the war now that Tom Tipping is dead, and so he doesn’t need to carry it any more,’ said Freddy without thinking, then caught himself as he saw Kathie’s face. ‘Oh, I say, I am sorry, Kathie. That was dreadfully crass of me. Do forgive me.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ said Kathie. ‘I was rather thinking the same thing myself.’

‘Still, if he had any finer feelings at all, he’d keep out of everybody’s way for a while,’ said Freddy. He glanced at his watch and gave an impatient click of the tongue. ‘I hate to desert you all,’ he said, ‘but I promised I’d telephone old Bickerstaffe at six o’clock and let him know of developments. He likes to keep a sharp eye on what his reporters are doing. It’s terribly provoking, but I’d better go. Angela, you might thank Lady C. for me. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the pig,’ he said as an afterthought, as he sloped off.

‘What was that about a pig?’ said the inspector.

Angela sighed, while Kathie giggled delightedly and explained. As she did so, Angela noticed that Jameson was gazing at Kathie as though slightly stunned. For a moment she was puzzled, but then the truth dawned on her and she had a similar revelation to that experienced by Freddy a few minutes earlier with regard to herself. She raised her eyebrows.

‘Well, well,’ she thought.

Had she not been personally involved in the story of the pig she might have gone off there and then and left them to it, but of course it would have looked odd if she had, so she merely stood and observed them both covertly as they smiled and talked to one another as though she were not there. Jameson’s feelings were evident enough, and although Kathie was more cautious, her glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes spoke volumes. Angela, who liked both Inspector Jameson and Kathie very much, hoped that something might come of it, but was determined to say nothing to either of them since it was quite clearly none of her business. In any case, the situation was rather delicate—firstly because of Norman, and secondly because of the murder. She would leave them to themselves, she thought.

At length, Kathie took leave of them and left. Inspector Jameson watched her go. Angela immediately forgot her resolution not to interfere and decided to give him a little encouragement.

‘She’s terribly sweet, isn’t she?’ she said.

‘Hmm?’ said Jameson, reluctantly tearing his attention away from Kathie’s retreating figure.

‘Kathie, I mean,’ said Angela.

‘Er—yes, I suppose she is,’ he said uncomfortably.

‘They’re not engaged, you know,’ went on Angela. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’

He stared at her. He had not realized he was being so obvious.

‘I see,’ he said.

There was a short silence, then she smiled at him.

‘You’d better hurry if you want to speak to Elisabeth,’ she said. ‘They dine early at Two Tithes. I’m going for a walk. I dare say I shall be late for dinner, as usual.’

And with that she walked off, leaving him standing there, deep in thought.

Lady Cardew was far too impatient to have noticed whether Margaret Tipping had been at the fête all day. As Elisabeth informed Inspector Jameson, she had stood on the cake stall for
some
of the time, but of course as the main organizer of the fête she had had other things to see to as well, and had frequently had to hurry off to resolve some difficulty or other, leaving Margaret to hold the fort alone. Mrs. Tipping’s exact whereabouts at the presumed time of the murder therefore remained a mystery—at least until someone else could be found to give her an alibi. The police had also spoken to Daniel Tyler, who swore on his oath that Norman Tipping and Kathie Montgomery had been telling the truth, and that he had met them only a matter of seconds after the gun was heard to go off. Since Tom Tipping’s body had been found about two hundred yards farther along the path, it would have been almost impossible for them to have done it then. Nothing the police could say would shake Tyler in this story, and so they were reluctantly forced to conclude that either he had made a genuine mistake or he was telling the truth.

On Thursday morning, frowning over the latest entries in his notebook, Inspector Jameson set off along Dead Man’s Path. He was going to speak to Norman Tipping—by arrangement this time. In the absence of any better theories Tipping was still the main suspect, even though Daniel Tyler’s evidence seemed to let him out. Still, Jameson wanted to follow up every lead, and he was determined to find out more about the relationship between Norman and his father.

As Jameson walked, he mulled over the case. The timing of the gunshot was a stumbling-block, certainly, and seemed to throw the field wide open. Of course, there was
one
possibility, a certain interpretation of events, that would put Norman firmly back into the picture, but Jameson pushed it to the back of his mind and told himself that the absence of a weapon made that possibility highly unlikely. He was uncomfortably aware that he was willing Norman Tipping to be innocent—since Norman’s guilt would, of course, implicate Kathie Montgomery in the murder—but even so, he was not prepared to investigate that particular avenue until he was forced to. Being as he was a man of the utmost integrity, Jameson was starting to think that he ought to withdraw from the case, since it was becoming abundantly clear to him that he could not be totally impartial. It would be difficult, however, since he had promised Sergeant Primm that he would do what he could, and he was not one to break a promise. Very well, he should go through the motions of the job as conscientiously as possible, present Primm with the evidence he had collected, and then retire to London and let Primm do what he would with it.

He arrived at Norman Tipping’s house and was admitted by Alice Hopwell. Inside, the place was fitted out in accordance with the taste of a man who had no time for fripperies, and Jameson could not help wondering whether Kathie Montgomery would feel at home here. Mrs. Hopwell showed him into a large sitting-room, where he found Norman Tipping standing by the window, engaged in watching two dogs fighting outside. Tipping turned round and greeted him as he entered.

‘Will there be anything else, Mr. Tipping?’ said Alice Hopwell.

‘No, thank you, Mrs. Hopwell,’ he said distantly, and she nodded and went out. Jameson shortly afterwards heard the front door shut as she left.

‘So then, inspector,’ said Norman Tipping. ‘I gather the police are no further forward in discovering who carried out this appalling crime.’

By the tone of his voice he might have been talking about some story he had read in the newspapers rather than his own father’s murder, but Inspector Jameson had been a policeman for many years and had seen all kinds of reactions to death from bereaved families in that time, and so he knew that nothing could be inferred from it.

‘I shouldn’t quite say that,’ he said, ‘although of course the case does present a number of difficulties, such as the apparently short interval in which the murder must have been committed, and the fact that neither you, Mrs. Montgomery nor Daniel Tyler saw anybody else in the vicinity at the time.’

‘Well, presumably that must mean that the killer was hiding, lying in wait,’ said Norman. ‘How terrible, to think that my father’s murderer was probably within a few yards of us when we passed him. If only we had asked him to come to the fête with us, then this could not have happened!’

Jameson made no comment, but instead said:

‘I should just like to be absolutely clear on this point. Are you quite sure that you and Mrs. Montgomery were together the whole time? She didn’t walk ahead of you at any point, for example? Were you out of sight of each other at any time?’

‘No, we walked together all the way,’ said Norman. ‘And I don’t quite like what you’re suggesting. I assure you that Mrs. Montgomery had no motive at all to murder anyone.’

Jameson wondered whether he was being wilfully obtuse, but did not rise to this.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Tipping,’ he said, ‘but I have no choice but to ask questions of this kind. This is a murder investigation, and I’m afraid personal feelings must not be allowed to come into it.’

He was fully aware of his own failings in this respect, but ignored them.

‘Very well, then,’ said Norman reluctantly. ‘I suppose you must do your duty, but I can’t say I like it.’

Jameson smiled in acknowledgment, and went on, ‘Apart from Andrew Norris, are you aware of anyone else who might have had a motive to kill your father? Did he have any other enemies that you know of?’

‘No, none at all,’ said Norman.

‘I understand he had rather a particular sense of humour, which might not have gone down too well with some people,’ said Jameson carefully.