‘It’s surprising how all kinds of peripheral details can add to the overall picture,’ Hunter said, at his most gnomic, making the kind of movement indicative of leaving. Before it came to anything, he sat down again. Keen to be rid of him, she had followed suit and was left, awkwardly, half in and half out of the big armchair.
‘Do you recall, shortly before you went away, your grandmother had a visitor. A middle-aged woman, plump, very blonde — ’
‘Really, why you all persist in badgering me about this person … I have only the vaguest recollection of some common-looking woman.’ Her exasperation appeared to him perfectly genuine.
‘Your grandmother didn’t say anything to you about her afterwards, explain who she was?’
A faint surprise rapidly passed across Nella’s face — he could only presume it was at the notion of her grandmother bothering to explain anything. ‘I certainly didn’t concern myself. I have given it some thought since your — er — people were here. I recall I was not at all well, I’d had to come home with a migraine. And the next day I was suddenly so busy organising myself to go to Cousin Audrey’s … ’
Suddenly. ‘Yes, it always takes more arranging than you expect — doing something at short notice,’ he said chattily, getting up to go. ‘Seeing to domestic matters, cancelling appointments — and you’d have had to let your office know you wouldn’t be going in.’
She was too intent ushering him through the hall to bother to answer. ‘I trust I shan’t be pestered with more irrelevant enquiries. This woman can have no significance whatsoever.’
‘That’s something we haven’t yet evaluated.’
‘Do you expect to?’ she asked ironically. ‘Hard to say, now she’s dead,’ Hunter said cheerfully.
*
Dora telephoned Inez. ‘I’ve had the police round again.’
‘Lucky you. Some of them are smashing. I think Sam’s fallen in love with young Sergeant Collier.’
‘Really? How nice. Is it reciprocated?’ They gossiped for a while, then Dora said, ‘There’s something I think I remember, but I’m not sure if I ought to … ’
‘What is it, old love?’
Dora reminded her of their evening in the One-eyed Rat. ‘It never entered my head then, and even when the police were here just now, asking. They wanted to know if anyone had means of access to Jaynie’s. Well, that translates as a key, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it must.’
‘It wasn’t until after they’d gone, I remembered how we’d talked about Nella’s accident. Somebody — at the time it happened, I can’t for the life of me think who — said something about the big thing Jaynie made about an arrangement — between friends … You don’t remember, I suppose?’
‘I don’t know what you’re bloody talking about, darling.’
‘Oh, no, I keep forgetting. You were away, panning for gold in — ’
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘Yes, well. As they were such chums — then — Jaynie told Nella where she hid the spare key to the bungalow.’
‘I can’t imagine Nella tripping around there and letting herself in.’
‘No, of course not. It was supposed to be for emergencies.’
‘In case Jaynie fell down the back steps, evening the score, so to speak.’
‘Something like that — and I don’t even … It was just talk that was going around at the time. But now I think about it, it’s so embarrassing. I can’t say something is true when I’m not even sure. What do you think I should do? Should I say something to the police?’
‘Well, it’s a bit muddled and, I agree, awkward … I don’t know. Shall we think about it, Door?’
‘Yes. You think, they’re your pals. You decide.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ Inez sighed.
It was because Dora spoke to her at a time when she was occupied, her mind on other matters, that reaction was delayed, liked a depth charge. She sat at her kitchen table, rather bewildered, with a sense that she might have blundered. After a while she pulled herself together and did what she always did in times of stress: she went round to Mrs Hanks, collected the armadillo and took him for a walk.
They went to the Jubilee Gardens where the ground sloped and there were networks of up and down paths, brisk walking on the bitter day. She told him all about it: I value your advice, old chap.
When she had made up her mind, she went down into the town, to the police station.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Inez lingered about the front yard of the police station, while the armadillo inspected everything within reach of his nose. ‘I feel a bit of an ass, now,’ she whispered to him. They edged a little farther, then the door opened and a big man, moving so quickly he almost collided with her, came out, side-stepped briskly. She smiled happily. ‘Sheldon.’
His occupied air vanished, he looked pleased, then knowing. ‘What are you and that dog doing lurking out here?’
‘Waiting for you.’ She had an inspiration. ‘It’s lunchtime. I’ve made a chicken and mushroom pie.’
An unmistakable longing. ‘Inez, I can’t think of anything … but … ’ The armadillo began an enthusiastic welcome at ground level.
‘Of course, you’re busy, I understand. But, also, there is something I’d like to talk to you about — when — when you have time.’
‘It must be important, or you wouldn’t be here, would you? Or you … ’ He bent down to give the armadillo a friendly ruffling. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’ve been in two minds … I might be falsely accusing … ’ How feeble she must sound to this nicest of men, who had put aside his haste and waited patiently in the cold, smiling encouragingly at her. ‘One evening,’ she said sensibly, ‘I was taking the armadillo home from the One-eyed Rat. It was the night Dora told me that Jaynie was missing. On the way to Mrs Hanks’ — I can’t be sure — I think Nella came out of Jaynie’s bungalow.’
‘Did she?’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Right. One minute.’ He went back into the police station, emerged rapidly. ‘OK. Take me and show me, we’ll talk as we go.’
They went along Riverside where the massive old trees leaned towards the river, their stripped, bleached branches scooping over the grass like skeletal hands. They passed closed cafés, boats roped into their tarpaulin shrouds. Shuttered shops behind which lurked Toddy souvenirs. Clerehaven sleeping out of season. The hard sunlight had faded to gloom, making the day stealthy, mysterious.
Hunter said, ‘You were on your way from the One-eyed Rat. So it was Monday.’
‘Yes. I hadn’t realised till then that no one had seen Jaynie since I saw her the Friday before.’ They were climbing steadily, up from the river, skirting the Jubilee Gardens. ‘I can go three or four different ways to Mrs Hanks’, I just happened to choose The Avenue, no reason … ’
She described what had happened and, when they reached the house before Jaynie’s, she halted, showed him how she’d had to go into the entrance to the driveway to retrieve the armadillo. ‘As I was leading him out, putting his lead on, I was partly aware of a light going on and off somewhere on my right; then I heard a gate closing — a quiet clangy sound. When I stood up and looked along the road — that was Nella walking away … I think.’
His gaze took in the low stone wall that ran from the driveway to the high beech hedge separating the two properties, then the ornamental fence of Jaynie’s garden. They walked slowly along it towards the wrought-iron gates. Inez could hardly feel furtive in broad daylight, but she certainly felt conspicuous, although nobody lingered on such an unpleasant day, they could be seen from windows. Supposing a friend saw her: What were you doing hanging around Jaynie’s with that policeman? Oh, nothing, only shopping Nella …
‘It was dark, though, and I couldn’t — ’
‘But the street lights were on, weren’t they? And someone you are familiar with has a distinctive outline, walk … Their clothes, the way they wear their clothes … there are a dozen points of recognition you don’t even
take into account. Come on, Inez.’
‘Well, yes. I think it was Nella. But when I asked her — ’
‘You asked her?’
‘Yes, on the Wednesday morning. Well, not asked straight out, I didn’t want her to think I’d been spying on her, so I said someone thought they’d seen her calling on Jaynie. Silly me. I should know better. She’d rather clean out the drains. Anyway, she just dismissed the idea, pretty rudely I might say, and then — I didn’t know about the key.’
‘Key?’
She told him about Dora’s phone call, about her recollection being unreliable. ‘And it’s not to say that since then, Jaynie didn’t move the key, put it in another hiding place.’
‘And you — or Dora — have no idea where it might have been?’
‘Gosh, no.’
They had looked in all the likely places people trustingly conceal spare keys — but perhaps their search had not been thorough enough. Before beginning another one, they could take a short cut, ask Jaynie’s cleaning lady.
Hunter thought of the missing file and address book, of a short, busy figure trotting away in the darkness. Ms Nella had some talking to do.
‘Right.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I should be on my way to Chatfield, but it’ll keep a little longer. What about this chicken and mushroom pie?’
*
Her cottage was warm, shadowy till she put on lamps. She left him in the sitting-room, tactfully closing the door — ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’ He phoned through to Clerehaven, gave instructions to the murder team to call on Jaynie’s cleaning lady, then he followed Inez.
She had been baking, the kitchen worktops were lined with pies and quiches ready for the freezer. Hunter knew himself, briefly, to be in heaven. They ate at the kitchen table, the pie’s golden crust fragrant and melting; potatoes and peas. The armadillo had his own bowls, one for water, one containing biscuits that looked like cardboard and which he ate with relish before curling up on Hunter’s feet.
Hunter said, ‘I spoke to Nella this morning. She’s pretty difficult, isn’t she?’
‘I think she’s getting worse.’
‘Do you mean that?’
She considered. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. Perhaps having to handle Alfred’s affairs is too much for her and she can’t admit it to herself. She does sound quite manic at times. And living alone doesn’t suit everyone.’
‘Especially in a mausoleum.’
‘You think it’s … You should have seen it when Grandmother was running the show, it was ghastly. I know it’s not exactly the house beautiful but it’s a dickens of an improvement. Nella’s made it, well, liveable. She’d never had a say in anything until old Mrs Lynchet died, then she was quite alone. Before that there’d always been her and Alfred — and Benjamin until Alfred died — but I don’t suppose he counts.’
Hunter put down his knife and fork. ‘Hang on, Benjamin left years before that.’
She looked puzzled. ‘No he didn’t.’
‘I understood he’d been gone about eight years.’
‘Whatever makes you think that?’
I didn’t think. Nella told me …
The kettle boiled. Inez got up to pour water into the cafetière; the fragrance of fresh coffee filled the room. She sat down again. ‘I spoke to him just a few days before Alfred’s death — a week at most. I remember thinking after the accident that at least Nella and the old girl would have a man about the place — company, support … you know. Although really, I can’t see him ever being much of either. He always made me think of that weird poem:
‘As I was going up the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d stay away.’
‘But he already had. When?’ It had now become important to know. Why had he simply taken Nella’s word for it? Because there was no reason for her to misrepresent the time — perhaps she hadn’t, perhaps it was a momentary mental aberration; he knew it was important to find out.
Inez thought, shook her head. ‘It must have been between the time I saw him and Alfred’s funeral. He wasn’t the sort of person you’d miss unless there was something else to remember.’
‘And he wasn’t at Alfred’s funeral? I assume you went.’
‘Oh, yes. I was there, but — um — no, Benjamin wasn’t. That didn’t surprise anyone — anyone who knew him, that is. He was hopeless mixing with people. He could have been around, somewhere, he enjoyed pottering in the garden at Ferns, but he was pretty well out of sight there. And if anyone called, he just went in the house. Faded away. That was Benjamin.’
Thoughtful, Hunter finished his pie, made no resistance to a second helping. ‘But I thought you said — when I was talking to you and Dora — that he used to go about with Alfred to all these societies and things where Alfred bored everyone rigid.’
‘Oh, God, don’t remind me. It was when Benjamin first came to stay with them, Alfred tried to get him involved, give him an interest — but it was no good, Benjamin was so odd and awkward. Frankly, whenever he didn’t turn up with Alfred, everyone sighed with relief. Eventually he stopped turning up altogether. Of course, Alfred patronised Benjamin — but then he patronised everyone — and he might just have been out to add to the boredom potential. He could do that single-handed, anyway, on a good day, with a following wind.’
She left him to his thoughts while she put a raspberry gateau and creamy, crumbly Cheshire cheese and biscuits on the table. Hunter contemplated how wonderfully good food aided mental processes. He said, eventually, ‘It’s a fox and hedgehog thing.’
Inez searched her memory, found what she was looking for and quoted, ‘The fox knows many things … ’
‘But the hedgehog knows one big thing.’
‘Nella’s the hedgehog.’
‘I think so. I think she knows something that involves Alfred, Grandmother and Benjamin.’
‘She very well could, they were always secretive and odd. She was the only one who came anywhere near normal and pleasant.’
‘That’s not something anyone could say about her now.’
‘No. That’s what I mean. After Alfred’s death, there were just her and Grandmother — who took over Alfred’s concerns — ’
‘The sacred trust.’
‘You said it. But she was very old and she could have begun to fail long before it was evident — to outsiders, I mean. She was so incredibly forceful, she’d make sure everything was arranged beforehand — before it was too late for her to cope. That would mean, maybe, telling Nella things she hadn’t known or didn’t really want to know … ’ She spoke more and more slowly while he watched her with interest.
‘What is it?’ he asked after a while.
She was fed up with not telling him things, she would tell him everything, whether it had any significance or not.
‘Some time before Grandmother became really ill, incapable, I was walking up on the Stray … ’ She told him about coming upon Nella, sitting in her car; her manner so strange she had felt compelled to walk to Ferns afterwards, to see everything was all right. ‘It was. I felt rather a fool. It was after that Nella began to change — not drastically, but she wasn’t her ordinary self; we all put it down to her having to cope with an increasingly gaga old lady. But it was after Grandmother’s death that she became noticeably different — even her appearance … ’
She told him about the shopping orgy at Blossom’s department store, Nella having her hair styled.
He said, doubtfully, ‘She certainly wears terrific clothes — ’
‘Oh, she’s outgrown Blossom’s now. Buys them in London — ’
‘Yes, but with all due respect, Inez, I don’t know what she was like before, but she’s hardly … ’
‘Course she’s not. But she was a sight. I mean it. Just take a look at the old photos in Jaynie’s “research” file — if you can bear to.’
I wouldn’t mind the chance. The whole lot have disappeared
.
‘Grandmother bullied her into looking like some ghastly overgrown 1930s moppet. It never occurred to her she could look half-way presentable.’
‘Until you showed her.’
‘Well, anyone would have done, she was just waiting for someone to give her a shove. She needed to be noticeably different. And she is. Increasingly confident — read aggressive. Decisive — read domineering, need I go on?’
*
Fortified by the best meal he’d had in a long time, Hunter walked through the silent gardens of Cremorne cursing himself. Why had nobody checked up exactly when Benjamin went away? He was the one who’d taken Nella’s word for it and everyone else followed suit. It was his fault, entirely.
He needed to give himself time for quiet thought. To prepare himself for two questions he could not yet make sense of at all.
Could it possibly have been Benjamin who murdered Tracy Lyons? After all, when Queenie went to Ferns she saw only the old lady and Nella; not the punter who called himself John.
And if Nella knew the family secret — had Jaynie found out, too? Was that why she had been murdered?
*
Inez had resolutely ignored her answering machine all day. She knew there was a message there, she knew it was from Nella. When the short day moved towards evening she wrapped up warmly, collected the notes she’d made for Nella, said to the armadillo, ‘Come on, old chap, we’ll take you home and drop these off on the way.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The thought came to Inez of how many times she had walked between the dark conifers, the trees unchanging season by season, year in, year out, growing more dense and obscuring.
Ferns itself stood offset at the end of the drive; slightly back from it and to the side there was the large double garage-cum-workshop. Inez had been in there on one or two previous occasions. She knew the workbench lining one side, was fascinated by the neatly laid out tools, equipment arranged, hanging on precisely labelled boards. An obsessive tidiness — nothing to do with Nella, she left all practicalities to the handyman — that made Inez’s garage look as if an orgy had taken place.
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