Wading Into Murder (13 page)

Time passed, Laura had no idea how much of it. An ambulance arrived, using a rutted service road behind the cottage, and two men rolled out a stretcher. They stood beside it, talking in low voices while they waited. One of them lit a cigarette. The acrid smell drifted unpleasantly into Laura’s nostrils.

Beside her, William flinched. At the smoke or at what he’d seen in the cottage? Laura put her hand on his knee, wishing she knew how to comfort him.

The gesture seemed to help. William glanced up at her and tried to smile. “Hate the stuff,” he explained. And then: “Hate guns worse.” His lips tightened again, and his head dropped into his hands. Laura massaged the knee gently.

Finally Violet returned. “Time to get tea, maybe something to eat,” she said gruffly. “Sounds heartless I know, but it’s no use not going on.” Laura nodded and rose, glad of Violet’s calming presence. Lady Longtree and William followed. His arm was around his grandmother’s shoulder, Laura saw, and tears threatened again. They were very close, those two.

Violet got them tea and some sandwiches that no one ate, arranged to put them in a small private room and told them the bus would take them back to the Manor house after the police had finished their questioning. A new driver had been hired, she said, and then vanished again without further explanation. Laura was aware that Violet was very much in charge. She must have been involved in investigations like this many times before. It was hard to imagine.

Her attention was diverted as the rest of the tour group was ushered into the little room. They all looked shocked and frightened. 

An elderly policeman came through the door. “I fear there has been an accident to one of the members of your group,” he told them soberly, and went on to say, briefly, that Amy had been found dead in the cottage. Laura tried to read their faces as they reacted to the news. To one of them perhaps, it was not news.

Mrs. Takara, perhaps predictably, insisted she had known something like this was going to happen. “That poor girl,” she moaned. “If only I had known she was so very unhappy perhaps I could have stopped her from doing this terrible thing.”

Even more predictably, Mr. Takara treated her to a scathing look. “My wife is easily overwhelmed,” he apologized to the policemen. “She does not always understand.”

“But I do,” Mrs. Takara responded with unexpected spirit. “About cameras, you know. About people, I know.”

The policeman listened politely to both of them; then he turned to face Mrs. Takara, subtly turning his back on her husband. He learned fast, Laura thought.

“What makes you think she was responsible?” he asked pleasantly. “Did she give you any indication that she was unhappy?”

“I am certain she was,” Mrs. Takara answered, with a nervous glance at her husband. “I have girls of my own and I know about these things.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Takara,” the policeman responded. “Now, if you will be so good, I would like to speak to each of you in turn. The manager here has kindly offered to lend us his office for that purpose.

“Lady Longtree, perhaps you would come first? In that way, you will be able to return earlier to the Manor. I am sure you would like to rest.

“William will be next,” he added, “so you can leave together.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” Lady Longtree said formally, and rose to her feet, leaning heavily on her umbrella. Despite her obvious sadness, there was a set to her jaw that told Laura she intended to get answers as well as to give them. William, on the other hand, looked ghastly. His head was still buried in his hands, and he hardly looked up even when he was called into the office.

Mrs. Takara was called as soon as William came out. She protested that her husband should come with her, since he was better at answering questions, but the policeman just smiled and guided her into the interview room, leaving a glowering Mr. Takara to fidget irritably. Laura noticed that the bus driver took Mrs. Takara back to the hotel immediately, without waiting for her husband.

The next hour passed in a blur of whispered conversations and somber faces among the tour members, the policeman escorting them one at a time to the office and everyone returning looking even more sober than before. Laura wished they would do her next so she could get it over with, but they either weren’t anxious to question her or they wanted to make her more nervous than she already was.

Her mind moved off on another tangent. Had Margaret really shot her friend? If she had, that was an odd comment to make to the policewoman. It had been so ingenious, so uncontrived that it was hard not to believe that the gun really had been in Amy’s hand and that Margaret had taken it from her. Did that mean Amy had shot herself?

Laura shook her head. Impossible. Amy wouldn’t do that.  She probably didn’t know one end of a gun from the other and she hadn’t a shred of violence in her, against herself or anyone else. Besides, she really had been happy again, as Margaret had said. But if neither Amy nor Margaret had done it, who had?

Almost anyone, she thought despairingly - except for Claudine. She at least knew Claudine had not. Laura was obscurely glad. Dr. Bernstein could have done it, though, or any of the others who had been at Stourhead. Mr. Takara could have done it too. Was that why he had been in such a hurry to get back to the gardens? The list of suspects wasn’t confined to tour members, either. Any member of the criminal organization could have done it - except Abdul, who was presumably in custody.

She was the last to be called. All the others had returned to the hotel, ferried there one at a time or in pairs by the new bus driver. After each trip, he returned to the small office to wait for the next person. Laura wondered if he was really a policeman. Perhaps he had been told to listen to any private conversations among them while they waited.

The interview was exhausting, especially after her already eventful day. The police were polite but wanted to know about everything that had happened to her, what she had discovered, more about her reasons for being on the tour and even what she thought of the other participants.

Dutifully, she related her story again and included her perceptions of each person on the tour. They listened patiently, inserting a question now and again, especially about her aborted conversation with Amy and her perceptions of Amy’s mental state.

Laura repeated the conversation she had overheard between Amy and Margaret about the babies. “There’s no doubt that had been bothering Amy,” she finished, “but she really did seem happy again in the last few days. I can’t believe she shot herself, or, for that matter, that Margaret shot her. It’s all wrong somehow.”

And it was, she realized. Exactly what was wrong, she wasn’t sure except that it was too… too pat, was the only word she could think of.

“It’s too contrived,” she said suddenly.

“Ah,” the policeman said, nodding as if he understood, and went on to ask her to tell them everything she could think of about where everyone in the tour group was from the time they reached the base of King Alfred’s tower until Laura had arrived at the cottage and seen the tragedy.

“Claudine was with me,” Laura answered. “She and I and Violet and the Takaras climbed the tower; the others were in the gardens as far as I know. Violet came down before me; I don’t think Dr. Bernstein ever attempted the climb. I don’t know what he did instead. Claudine and I saw him below us as we were walking back from the tower. He seemed out of breath, as if he had been running, but he is not in very good shape.

“The Takaras came down behind me from the tower and then took a shortcut to the gardens. Mr. Takara seemed in a hurry, either to get away from us or to get back to the gardens. I think he could have got there in time to shoot Amy but of course I can’t be sure. Claudine came down behind the Takaras. We talked together for a while, and then she saw her husband and went to join him.”

 “You have spoken to Mrs. Bernstein privately, then,” the policeman asked pleasantly. Laura hesitated, not wanting to break her promise to Claudine.

The policeman cleared his throat. “I assure you, Mrs. Morland, that you will not be telling any secrets,” he said confidentially. “We are aware of the full background of everyone on the tour. Please keep in mind that these are very serious circumstances, and it is not the time to withhold information.”

Laura nodded and gave them a brief account of her conversation with Claudine, beginning with her skeptical remarks about Mrs. Takara’s confession and her opinion that Mr. Takara was responsible instead for both near-accidents. Reluctantly, she included Claudine’s suspicions of some kind of mafia involvement and her fears for her husband in this regard. She also included the remark about Dr. Bernstein’s liking for boys. After all, this case involved children so it could be important.

By the time Laura left she was ready to drop with exhaustion and the strain of keeping her shock and grief under tight control. She wondered where Violet was, and wished she could talk to her, but that was obviously even less possible now.

The new bus driver wasn’t in the waiting room. Wearily, Laura went outside to look for him, but he wasn’t in sight. The bus was standing nearby, though, so she went up to it. Maybe he was inside, waiting for her.

A man was suddenly behind her, pressing her forcefully into the bus. “You can get in now,” he said unpleasantly. “I will drive you.”

Laura whirled and saw Abdul.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Laura opened her eyes to total darkness. She blinked, trying to make her vision work. Then she realized that night must have come. There was nothing wrong with her eyes, only her head, which hurt abominably.

She closed her eyes again, wanting only to rest. Her nose wouldn’t let her. It told her that if it was night she was in the wrong place. This place smelled dank and musty, and it was cold. Definitely not the hotel.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again. Nothing was visible; she couldn’t even see her hand. That was wrong too. There were street lights outside the hotel that let in some light. Where was she then?

Laura shivered. Somewhere chilly and damp and utterly dark. The floor felt cold under her fingers, and the stone wall behind her was clammy. But why was she sleeping propped up against a stone wall?

Snippets of memory slowly returned. She had turned, seen Abdul behind her, but after that she remembered nothing. He must have hit her and dumped her on the bus, and brought her here. But where was here?

Images from old horror movies and lurid novels poured into her mind, of ancient stone crypts and filthy pits in the ground where people were buried alive, fed only if their captor bothered to remember.

Laura hugged her arms around her chest and shuddered convulsively, trying to ward off panic. This place felt like a hole or a crypt, with that unmistakable dank scent of wet earth and stone.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she worked up enough courage to stretch her arms out in all directions. If she was in a pit in the ground she wouldn’t be able to stretch them very far. She had to try, had to know at least.

Her hands felt only emptiness, and the relief brought tears to Laura’s eyes. She must be in a bigger space. An old cellar perhaps? It smelled like that.

Opening her eyes, she stared into the blackness, hoping her vision would adjust. It did, a little. She made out a large lump not far away. It was just a bit lighter than the floor, which her fingers told her wasn’t a floor but packed earth.

The lump started to squirm in her direction. She could hear it slithering across the ground. Laura scrabbled away in terror.

“Steady,” a masculine voice said. “It’s just me.”

“Me?” Laura’s voice was a squeak.

“Richard. It’s Richard.”

 “Richard?” she breathed. How had he got here?

“Of course, you never saw me! Sorry. I forgot. Someone dealt me a fearful whack and I fear my brain isn’t working too well at the moment.”

“But what are you doing here? And where are we?”

Richard crept closer, gave a muted yelp and abruptly stopped moving. His voice sounded weak and strained when he answered. 

“I came to Stourhead as promised to tell you what I’d found out, but realized something was wrong when I saw police cars and tour members filing into an office looking upset. So I asked some questions, found out what had happened to Amy and Margaret, and decided to wait outside until the police had finished interviewing you.”

He stopped to catch his breath, which sounded wheezy. “I think your bus driver, if that’s who he was, gave me a kick in the ribs as well as a knock on the head. At any rate, I saw the man I thought was your bus driver and explained that I was looking for you. He said, very politely as I recall, that I should get on the bus, that he was waiting to drive you to your hotel and you would join us in a moment. I had no reason to disbelieve him so I did. After that I don’t remember a great deal except that he tossed you on the seat beside me, which temporarily woke me. Then I must have passed out again.

“I haven’t a clue as to where we are, though,” he added. “More to the point, how are we to get out of wherever we are?”

“Yes, that is the point,” Laura agreed, cheered by his presence if not his condition. He sounded awful, but at least she wasn’t in this ghastly place alone.

“I think I can stand or at least crawl,” she offered. “Maybe I could feel around for a door or a window, or a weapon in case Abdul comes back.”

“I gather that Abdul is the bus driver and that he has joined the list of possible suspects,” Richard commented dryly.

“Yes. Abdul is one of the men who have been following me,” Laura explained, “but like an idiot I never really looked at him while he was driving the bus, so I didn’t know that until yesterday. He may be the person who pushed me into the street in Glastonbury – he has hair that matches what we found on the wig - and the person who tried to drop the rock on my head. That happened in the Abbey ruins, just after I left you. I thought he’d been taken into custody but I guess he wasn’t, since he’s abducted us.”

“Both conclusions seem logical,” Richard agreed in the same wry tone.

 “A lot has happened since we last talked,” Laura went on thoughtfully, struggling to remember what it all was.

“So I gather.” Improbably, Richard sounded as if he were laughing now. Better that than weeping, Laura decided. She was really glad he was here.

“You better tell me about it,” he reminded her when she said nothing further. “I think we’re both a bit fuzzy, but I do need to know.”

Laura made a vast effort to collect her scattered thoughts, and managed to provide a rambling but reasonably coherent summary of everything that had happened since she had seen him last. She finished with her near-fall down the tower steps and her suspicion that Mr. Takara had done it, possibly the push into the street as well.

Recalling her promise, she said nothing about Violet’s identity or her confirmation of an international baby-stealing ring. That thought made her remember that Violet had also asked her not to discuss the case with anyone for the time being. Guilt surfaced immediately. Would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Still, it was hard to believe that Richard was involved. If he was part of the plot, why was he lying here with a sore head like hers?

Richard’s voice brought her back to the present. “You certainly lead an adventurous life,” he commented.

“I actually thought I enjoyed it that way, too, before all this happened,” Laura replied glumly. “It doesn’t seem like much fun now, not after Amy.”

Grief abruptly overcame her. “Why Amy?” she wailed. “She seemed so utterly innocent, so unlikely to get killed, and she has two little girls…It’s just all wrong and it doesn’t make any sense…” To her horror, she felt tears slide down her face. Richard touched her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just stroked her gently.

Hiccupping, Laura struggled to regain control. Pulling a crumpled Kleenex out of her pocket, she wiped her eyes. The gesture brought her up short.

“My hands aren’t tied!” she exclaimed.

“Excellent,” Richard replied imperturbably. “In that case, perhaps you could untie mine. They are damned uncomfortable.”

“I’ll try.” Laura crawled closer and reached out to grasp the first part of him she encountered, which turned out to be an ear. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’ll work my way down.” Her exploring fingers found first what felt like a cheek, then a chin and a neck and finally some clothing.

“Are your hands tied in front or in back?” she asked.

Richard couldn’t answer. He was squirming and gasping for breath. Appalled, Laura pulled her hands away and tried to remember how to do artificial respiration or some other kind of revival technique.

The gasping slowly eased. “Sorry,” Richard apologized. “I’m ticklish. A light touch always sets me off.”

“You were laughing!” Laura protested indignantly. “And I thought you might be having a heart attack.”

“I might, too, if you kept that up. At any rate, my hands are behind me. Damned inconvenient at the moment as well as uncomfortable. If I had the use of them I…”

 “Well, never mind that now. You’ll be able to tell from the jacket I have on whether you are in the front or the back. Pockets and a zipper in the front.”

“All right,” Laura agreed. “I’ll try not to touch anything sensitive.”

“Oh, I don’t know that I’d go that far.”

Laura ignored this innuendo and worked her way slowly down his jacket, which fortunately was thick, and then around to the back. There she found his hands, bound tightly together. They felt cold to the touch, and she suspected he wasn’t getting much circulation. She massaged them vigorously.

 “There are compensations to this business of being rescued,” Richard joked. “I do love a good massage. Anywhere.”

“Do be serious,” Laura objected. “I’ll be laughing myself soon, and then where will we be?”

“Feeling more cheerful than before?” Richard suggested.

Against her will, Laura did laugh. “You are in remarkably good spirits considering our circumstances,” she commented.

Richard sighed. “I shall be even cheerier when you’ve finished tormenting my wrists,” he said lightly as Laura pulled and pried at the tough strands. It was surprisingly hard to untie knots with just her fingers to guide her, and she got dizzy every time she put her head down too far.

“Look on the bright side,” she quipped. “You still have feeling in your hands.” 

“Indeed I do,” he agreed with a sigh of pleasure. She heard him chuckle, and she smiled to herself. Richard was the right sort of companion to have in a difficult situation. As Thomas had been, she mused, remembering last summer’s adventures. Despite a dislocated shoulder he too had managed to joke in a tight spot. Was it coincidence that she had recently come across two men of that type, or did she attract them? Or did they attract her, and if so, what did that say about her choice of an ultra-conservative man like Donald as her now ex-husband?

Laura set this uncomfortable question aside. “What persuaded you to move from London to Glastonbury?” she asked.

“I was fed up with the pressures of my job and small town life sounded peaceful,” Richard answered ruefully. “Unfortunately, it is also quite bland. That’s why I have enjoyed working on the mysteries surrounding your tour so much. I like the challenge.

 “Which reminds me that I came here to give you information about the tour members,” he added. “First, my contacts in London tell me, in strict confidence, that an international group set up to steal babies for wealthy clients really does exist, though they don’t know who’s running the organization or when it began.”

Laura nodded. “I had the same information. It’s good to know but hardly reassuring, since I assume those are the people holding us captive.”

“You’re right about that, so I’d best get my hands free before they come back,” Richard agreed, and wriggled his fingers hard in an effort to loosen the ropes.

“Tell me about the tour members,” Laura reminded him, redoubling her effort to untie the ropes.

“Margaret and Amy are nurses, as they say,” Richard began. “Amy seemed happily married; Margaret, as you suspected, has a less pleasant history. She’s had an abusive husband and an abusive boyfriend. Dr. Bernstein is a child psychiatrist but there isn’t much more about him, which suggests he stays out of the public eye, possibly because he has something to hide. Claudine’s come up in the world - she was a waitress and dancer before she married him.”

“If Ludwig qualifies as a step up,” Laura remarked.

Richard laughed. “He may not. But on with the list: Mr. Takara is a business man involved in a lot of complicated deals, not all of them above board but also not illegal. However, he’s the most likely of the tour members to run an international criminal group, which would give him an excellent reason for wanting you out of the way. I haven’t got much on Mrs. Takara since she’s been a housewife and they don’t leave records. Hans is more interesting. He’s the head of a children’s relief agency in Switzerland. I find it suggestive that his job is international and involves children. Even people with lofty credentials and idealistic views can be corrupted.”

“True,” Laura agreed, recalling the gloating look on Hans’s face when he left Lady Longtree’s room. “He’s gone back to Switzerland,” she added. “No one seems to know why.”

“I’ll try to find out,” Richard promised. “The most intriguing fact I’ve uncovered so far,” he went on, “is that Alan Mansfield has never run a tour group before, though he has been involved with the travel industry from time to time. This tour is a new venture and it is surprisingly well financed. I’m not yet sure by whom. Alan seems a bit of a mystery, or perhaps I should say there are mysterious gaps in his life when I can’t find records of what he has done.”

 “That
is
a surprise.” Laura sat back on her heels to give her fingers and Richard’s wrists a rest. “He seems so practiced at the job. He also helped Violet and the police when Amy was found.

“Is he married by any chance?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know but I can probably find out. Why do you ask?”

“Because of the lady with the long red hair,” Laura admitted. “I got the feeling they knew each other well and could be in this together. That could be why she carried two babies into his room in the middle of the night, and why there are inexplicable gaps in his history.”

“Perhaps,” Richard agreed, “but I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions on the basis of the information we have so far. He may yet be a good guy.”

“Or a mole – an insider in the police force or the tour who is a member of this gang,” Laura countered. “If I ever get out of here, I’ll watch him more carefully.”

“I have a fair amount on Lady Longtree and William, too,” Richard continued. “They are who they say they are, more or less. Lady Longtree lives in Yorkshire and does a lot of gardening and charity work. She is well liked but is known as an eccentric who does as she pleases and has a particular fondness for unusual hats.”

Laura laughed. “Both are certainly true.”

“As for William,” Richard went on, “I realized why he was familiar the next day, though you may already have discovered that for yourself.”

“Yes. I heard him playing a piano concerto one afternoon. I gather that he and his grandmother have personal reasons for involving themselves in this investigation despite the dangers, and I can’t help thinking that if I knew exactly what those reasons were, I might also know a lot more about what is going on in the tour.”

“You could be right,” Richard agreed. “The solution to that conundrum might unlock the clues we need to solve the rest.