THREE SILENT THINGS a cozy murder mystery (Village Mysteries Book 2)

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘Projector, Infantry, Anti-Tank,’ the colonel translated, not about to mince his words. ‘Used in the Second World War. High explosive anti-tank projectile. Spring-loaded but only effective up to two hundred yards. Handy for close combat and urban warfare. Makes a hole in the tank and the fragments go everywhere. Not too good for the chaps inside it. Nowadays, the American A-10 Thunderbolt plane fires massive uranium armour-piercing shells from an Avenger Gatling gun. High muzzle velocity. Deadly accurate. Six direct hits and the tank’s completely destroyed.’

  They blew away the German tanks with the PIAT gun and the colonel’s grandson beamed up at him. ‘Mummy wouldn’t let me do any of this. She’d say it was much too dangerous.’

  ‘Then we won’t tell her, will we?’

  ‘No, we won’t, Grandfather.’

  The colonel looked down at the boy’s flushed face and shining eyes and felt a sudden and quite unexpected bond of male solidarity. United they stood against the stupid fussing of women.

  After two happy hours they went to the museum restaurant for lunch.

  They ate fish and chips with bright green frozen peas and dollops of tomato ketchup, and afterwards, Eric had chocolate ice-cream. He also had two Fantas to drink.

  ‘We won’t tell Mummy about this either, Eric, will we?’ His grandson beamed at him again. ‘No, we won’t.’ Back at the cottage, the colonel unearthed the Clarks’ shoebox that contained the old toy soldiers that he had played with as a child.

  He and Eric lined them up in battle formations on the sitting room carpet and the colonel talked tactics and manoeuvres, outflanking and encirclement. Surprise attack, counter-attack, advance, retreat, capture and surrender. Later on, they had chicken nuggets with tinned baked beans and more chips, and then some more ice-cream – bright pink strawberry flavour this time.

  At the end of a week, Marcus returned to collect Eric. Susan had been allowed home and the baby had been saved. ‘By the way, they told me it’s a girl,’ Marcus whispered aside. ‘But don’t say anything to Susan, whatever you do. She wants it to be a surprise.’

  The colonel stood at the cottage gate and waved as they drove off. He could see that his grandson had twisted around in his car seat and was waving happily to him through the back window.

  Twelve

  The snow was beginning to melt away quite fast. From her attic window, Jeanette could see patches of green appearing on the lawn and spreading.

  The plate she was working on – a composition of willow warblers flying about – wasn’t going very well. The shrubby background wasn’t right and the birds looked as though they were stuffed. Furthermore, she was finding it hard to concentrate; her mind kept wandering and she kept getting up and walking around and staring out of the window.

  The photo albums and the framed portraits were still hidden under her bed because Rex, the swine, seemed to have vanished into thin air. She had tried the London phone number he had given her and, after listening to his voice speaking on an answer machine, she had left a guarded message that said nothing except would he please get in touch. She’d tried twice more and left two more short, sharp messages and then given up. It was ironic that having spent the past months not wanting to see him at all, it was now urgent that she did.

  Two days ago a removal van had arrived and Flat 2 had been cleared. She had watched the men carrying out Lois’s furniture – the couches, the cushions, the tables, the lamps, the mirrors – all gone, lock, stock and barrel. The helicopter had not returned and Mrs Barnes had made no comment about any missing photos. If she had noticed, she probably thought that Bruce had taken them himself. Bruce himself would surely not be interested in them, except – as Rex had said – to throw them away. There was really nothing to worry about. Even so, she’d be relieved when they were out of her flat.

  She had made a mug of coffee and settled down to work again when the flat bell rang suddenly, making her jump. Her heart was thumping as she went to open the door, but it was only the nice military man who had come to collect for the donkeys. The colonel who had found Lois.

  He was very apologetic about disturbing her. He had tried to telephone first but been unable to find her number – no wonder since it was ex-directory, like Lois’s. So, he had decided to walk over from his cottage on the green and Mrs Barnes had kindly let him in.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he went on, ‘if you might be able to do a plate for me. A special commission.’

  ‘I can certainly try.’ She invited him to sit down. Studied him surreptitiously. He’d make a marvellous subject for a portrait: strong features, clear blue eyes, thick silver hair. Pretty old, of course, but still a handsome man. ‘What sort of plate did you have in mind? Is it for someone particular, or for some occasion?’

  ‘Both,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I have a second grandchild due to be born in May and I thought a plate might be a nice idea as a gift.’

  ‘Do you happen to know if it’s a boy or girl?’

  ‘Girl.’

  ‘Anything special in mind for her?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not really. I rather hoped you’d come up with some ideas.’

  ‘Well . . .’ she said slowly. ‘With a new baby, it’s often more a case of what would the parents like? It’s really to please them. Fairies are very popular for little girls, of course. Small animals – field mice and hedgehogs and rabbits – all that sort of thing. And I did a very pretty plate for America recently, called “Gathering Violets” with a little girl picking wild violets in the spring. Flowers are always a safe bet.’

  ‘How about not being quite so safe?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I could do a kingfisher, perhaps. Have him swooping along a grassy river bank. Make it a May scene with a mass of bluebells in a wood behind. Not quite so pretty-pretty.’

  ‘That’s sounds very attractive.’

  ‘I’ll rough out some sketches for you. I expect you’ll want her name and date of birth to go on it, won’t you?’

  He smiled. ‘When I know them.’ There was a pause. ‘I have a grandson too, fifth birthday coming up soon. I wouldn’t want him to feel left out of things.’

  ‘Well, I could do one for him as well, if you like. What about an owl, or owls? Boys usually like those, especially if they’re catching something. You know, a dead mouse hanging out of the beak, or skewered in the talons.’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of something rather different,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you could do a tank?’

  She was taken aback. ‘An army tank, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right. A British Army tank: a Challenger.’

  She’d seen squadron commemoration plates featuring old Second World War planes – Lancasters, Spitfires, Hurricanes

  . . . all that sort of thing – but never tanks. Machines of any kind were a very different matter. You had to understand how they worked and moved, and the engineering behind them, or they’d look as stuffed and soulless as the willow warblers.

  ‘I’m not sure I could cope with that, Colonel.’

  ‘I could let you have some photos and drawings if it would help.’

  Truth to tell, she was getting awfully bored with pretty flowers and tweeting birds. ‘Well, I’ll give it a try . . . but I can’t promise it’ll be any good.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  As he was leaving, he said, ‘Mrs Barnes told me that Miss Delaney’s flat has been cleared out and that it’s up for sale.’

  ‘Yes. Bruce King didn’t waste any time.’

  ‘It’s all been very sad, hasn’t it? I remember you saying at the inquest what high spirits Miss Delaney was in when you saw her at Christmas.’

  ‘That’s right. She was very chuffed about the idea of working again.’

  ‘You’d think that would have given her a good enough reason to live.’

  ‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? But she was a bit of a nut case.’

  ‘You knew her rather well, I gather.’

  ‘Yes, I did. And she often got
very down – sometimes for no logical reason. Of course, the drink didn’t help. It never really cheers people up, does it? Just makes them even more miserable.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s quite true.’

  She closed the door after him and went back to her trestle table and the willow warblers and picked up her paint brush again. A tank, for heaven’s sake!

  As the colonel reached the landing and was about to go down the main staircase, a door opened behind him. He turned to see Miss Quinn.

  ‘Are you collecting for something again?’

  ‘No, madam. I was calling on Miss Hayes.’

  ‘They shouldn’t let you in. Especially after what happened to that woman. The security’s here’s a disgrace.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear from me and I am about to leave.’

  She came closer and he looked at the thin, turned-down mouth, the sour expression. Poor woman, he thought, whatever happened to make her so bitter?

  ‘I saw that girl go down to Flat Two that evening. She was ringing the doorbell.’

  ‘Yes. Miss Hayes has confirmed that she did.’

  ‘And there was another woman on the terrace, looking in windows, I said so to the police.’

  ‘Whoever she was, they seem quite satisfied that she had nothing whatever to do with Miss Delaney’s death.’

  ‘How do they know that?’

  ‘I expect they have their reasons.’

  ‘I see everything that goes on here.’

  He said politely, ‘And I’m sure you were a great help to the police.’

  ‘Mr King made a lot of noise when he arrived. He was angry about the front doorbell not working. I heard him swearing loudly. Disgusting language.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ He turned to go down the stairs.

  ‘When I saw him leaving after the news, I said to myself, Miss Delaney will be well rid of him. No wonder she wanted a divorce.’

  The colonel’s foot stopped on the third stair. He turned around.

  ‘The news?’

  ‘The BBC six o’clock news. I always watch it on my television.

  ‘But you said after the news. You mean you saw him leaving when the six o’clock news had finished?’

  ‘I just told you I did. I waited to see the weather forecast then I went to put the kettle on for a cup of tea, like I always do, and then I happened to take a look out on the landing, to make sure there was no more trouble going on. That’s when I saw Mr King going.’

  ‘Are you quite sure it was him?’

  ‘Of course I am. I’ve got eyes in my head. I saw him open the front door and slip out. You can open it from the inside easily. It doesn’t take a second.’

  He stared up at her. Her eyes were glittering and he wondered if she was actually deranged.

  ‘But you would only have seen his back, isn’t that so? You wouldn’t have seen his face.’

  She glared. ‘You’re just like the police; you don’t believe me. It was Mr King. He was wearing the same overcoat I’d seen when he came in. Expensive tweed. I suppose he hoped it would make him look like a country gentleman.’

  ‘Did you go to the inquest on Miss Delaney’s death, by any chance, Miss Quinn?’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time.’

  ‘Mrs Barnes testified in court that Mr King left just after six. Her husband corroborates that. They both saw him out.’

  ‘Well, they’re both wrong. Or they’re lying. He was alone and it was more like a quarter to seven.’

  He walked on down the stairs. Miss Quinn was the one who must be lying. She and the Barnes’s couldn’t both be right and if he had to choose between them, he knew which version he’d go for.

  In the hall, he hesitated uneasily for a moment. The matter needed some investigation but he could hardly go interrogating Mr and Mrs Barnes, like Inspector Squibb. He needed to think up an excuse for ringing at their door and bringing up the subject. After a while, one came to him.

  He had a friend who was looking for a flat in a country house like the Hall, he told Mrs Barnes unblushingly when she opened her door. It was just possible that Flat 2 might suit him. Would it be possible to have a quick look so he could report back to him?

  Mrs Barnes was willing to oblige, though, as she confessed to him when she unlocked the door, it still gave her the shivers to go in there.

  She stood just inside the sitting-room doorway, waiting while he looked around. The room was completely bare, stripped of anything that had belonged to Lois Delaney – except for the now very faint scent of her French perfume. He went over to the French windows and peered out on to the terrace.

  ‘My friend’s quite concerned about security. He’s away a lot – that’s why he needs a place like this. Are the locks reliable?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Mr King insisted on the best quality.’

  ‘How do these French windows work?’

  ‘There’s a key for the door handle and a separate one to undo the bolts at the top and bottom. You just push them up or down from the inside to make them lock again. The keys are kept on that hook there, by the door. Would you like me to show you, sir?’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary, thank you, Mrs Barnes.’ She hesitated. ‘They were all there on the hooks after Miss Delaney died, sir. And all the bolts in place. Nobody could have got in without breaking in, or gone out that way without leaving the door bolts undone behind them. You can only work those from the inside. That’s what I’ve been thinking to myself.’

  ‘Quite.’ He’d been thinking the same thing. ‘Are there any security lights on the terrace– the kind that go on automatically if tripped?’

  ‘Well, there used to be but Miss Delaney complained about them because they were so bright. We get a lot of foxes and badgers round here at night and they were always making the lights go on. She said it woke her up and frightened her. And Mr Avery in Flat One complained too. He said it was like living in a German POW camp. Just like Colditz, he said. The residents upstairs didn’t care for them either. So, they were disconnected.’

  ‘On Mr King’s order?’

  ‘It must have been. Or one of his people.’

  He moved away from the windows. ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you, Mrs Barnes. I’m sure you’re very busy.’

  ‘There’s always plenty to do, sir.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I hope you can sit down in the evenings and have some time to yourself.’

  ‘I try to, sir.’

  ‘I remember your mentioning that your husband always likes to watch the BBC six o’clock news.’

  ‘That’s quite right, sir. It’s a real habit with him. I don’t watch it myself. There’s always too much bad news for my liking.’

  ‘Didn’t you say he had just started to watch it on New Year’s Eve when Mr King came to complain about Miss Delaney’s bell not working?’

  ‘Yes. That’s how we knew exactly what time he left. Stanley was sitting down, watching the headlines, when Mr King rang at our door and he had to get up again. Mr King gave him a real ticking-off and we were a bit worried he might give us the sack, truth to tell. He’s always so particular about everything.’

  ‘And your husband went on watching the news after Mr King had left?’

  ‘That’s right. He’d missed quite a lot, of course, by the time we’d seen Mr King out. Then, later on, around seven, Mr Avery came to the door with his Anglepoise lamp, wanting to know if Stanley could mend it. Like I said, there’s always something needing doing.’

  ‘I expect your husband’s often asked to do odd jobs like that.’

  ‘Oh, yes. He got the lamp going in a jiffy. It was only one of the wires loose. Nothing difficult.’

  ‘Miss Delaney must have been very glad to have him around.’

  ‘Yes, she was, sir. He was always helping her out.’

  The colonel thanked Mrs Barnes for showing him the flat and promised to report to his imaginary friend. As she let him out of the front door, he
noticed that it opened easily from the inside, without any sort of key or hidden tricks – just like Miss Quinn had told him.

  ‘That Colonel bloke’s been snooping about again. I can see him going off down the drive.’

  ‘You’re getting positively paranoid, Craig. Anyone would think you had a guilty conscience about something.’

  ‘Well, what’s he doing here?’

  ‘Perhaps he came to view Flat Two. It might suit him.’ Craig shuddered. ‘I don’t know how anyone would want to live there – not after what happened. It’s bad enough it’s only next door to us.’

  ‘My dear boy, people are always dying in houses and have done for hundreds of years. You mustn’t be so squeamish.’

  ‘Upstairs, though. In bed.’

  ‘Not necessarily. They don’t always go meekly up the stairs, lie down and die. They conk out all over the place quite probably in this very room.’

  Craig gave another shudder. It gave him the creeps, just thinking about it. She’d gone and topped herself in the bath. He wondered if they’d change it for the next person, or not bother.

  He watched the bloke going out of the gate.

  ‘Well, I wish that stupid woman had never come to live here. She’s spoiled everything.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re being dramatic, Craig, as well as paranoid. And Lois Delaney was far from stupid.’

  ‘And I still don’t see why you didn’t tell me you knew her.’

  ‘As I have already remarked on a number of occasions, I don’t tell you everything about my past.’

  Craig swung round from the window. ‘Did you go and see her – that evening?’

  ‘What evening?’

  ‘New Year’s Eve. When she snuffed it. You said you were going to see Mr Barnes about the lamp, but you took a bloody long time about it.’

  Neville had stopped work, needle lifted in one hand, and he was staring at him.

  ‘Why Craig, I do believe you suspect me of doing her in.’

  He kicked at the carpet. ‘Well, I think it’s odd you took so long.’