In the gathering dusk, the brooding silence, the sound of voices carried, indistinct. There was a light on in the garage; the double doors stood open. Good God, Nella’s got a man in there. Stricken by the middle-class terror of being suspected of eavesdropping, Inez approached, calling, ‘Hallo — Nella — it’s me, Inez.’ The armadillo, too quick for her, scuttled forward to investigate and was at once swallowed into the garage. Then Nella, storming — or so it appeared — pulling the door to behind her. ‘Inez, I’m extremely occupied. What are you doing here?’ She was agitated to the point of panting, her voice shrill.
Uncomprehending, embarrassed, Inez found herself burbling, ‘You wanted — these — Hatchcliffe Hall … ’, thrust the papers into Nella’s hand and then retreated.
The door slipped Nella’s grasp. Through the widening gap the glimpse of a figure; then a low, vicious voice — ‘Gerroff … ’
A yelp, and the armadillo shot out, streaking down the drive. Inez turned on a reflex to follow, thinking as she marched away, poor little armadillo, he doesn’t mean any harm.
She glanced back. Nella clutched the door, closing herself behind it, her face hanging formless and pale in the fading evening, like an unlit pumpkin mask.
‘Come on, old chap, let’s take you home.’ Inez picked him up, walked on, while he pressed himself against the soft comfort of her body.
Beyond the automatic action and words lay a limitless and blighted desert of disbelief.
*
She had little recollection of returning him to Mrs Hanks, of walking back to Cremorne. Then she realised she was running down her front path, key stabbing and fumbling at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. Her neighbours’ houses were in darkness; she had been many times here alone, conscious of the obscure location, the sheltering walls, the security lights — but she never remembered being so afraid in all her life.
She could not stay in her own house, vulnerable, confused beyond thought. She grabbed her handbag, let herself out of the side door into her garage, head turning constantly, seeking for the least movement in the surrounding dark.
She roared out of Cremorne and was almost at Sam’s before she remembered he was away on a course. Where? Dora. Comforting Dora who would not think her mad. John, Dora’s husband, safe, rock solid —
She bounced along the unmade road, left her car unlocked, let herself in through the five bar gate and sprinted up the drive. For an instant she deliberately blanked out the perception that there were no welcoming lights: hall, sitting-room — anywhere. The porch light came on automatically, blinding her. No sound from within, no footsteps.
She was on her way back down the drive, half walking, half running, when she caught the flash of lights from the next house. She was at the drive entrance when Dora’s neighbour drove out, slowed, let her window down. ‘Oh, Inez, are you looking for Dora? You don’t know. Didn’t she phone?’
I don’t know anything. The only message I’ve had was from Nella Lynchet who is probably out of her mind.
Or am I?
Dora’s neighbour was talking, telling her — ‘Poor dear. Her youngest daughter — you know, Emma. She’s had a miscarriage … ’
Oh, no. The longed for grandchild … oh, no … She said the right things, somehow, sympathy briefly displacing everything else. Of course Emma would want her mother and father to be with her, of course.
‘Sorry, Inez, awful shock for you, too. But I must dash, I’m late — ’
‘Yes, yes, thanks for telling … Bye.’
Then she was alone, on the unmade road with the trees sighing and the concealing bushes and the grass verges where no footfall would sound.
Into her sense of self-preservation, her conviction she was in danger, came the thought that she was drawing danger to friends. She needed to be somewhere safe and impersonal, where there would be lights and the company of people.
The market square. She sat in her car — for how long she had no idea. Her confusion didn’t clear, but it pointed direction: she couldn’t stay there, she had to go somewhere.
There was only one place.
*
An accident caused a traffic tailback on the A54, and there were road delays in Chatfield. It was six thirty by the time she walked into Chatfield subdivisional headquarters.
‘I’m sorry, DCI Hunter isn’t in,’ the young constable at the desk informed her.
‘No, he’ll have gone home,’ Inez said sensibly.
‘Can anyone else help?’
I doubt it very much. I can trust my madness only to him. ‘No, thank you, I’ll — er — yes. Goodnight.’ If he had gone home, where was that? She had no idea. She knew no one would give her his address, even if she banged on the counter and threatened to have a fit. She did not even have a number where she could reach him, apart from his official one.
Her car was tucked into a corner of the police car park and no one seemed to mind about it being there. She left it and wandered away. It was a reasonably busy part of town, emptying after the day’s business, filling with pleasure seekers. She paused outside a cafe, said to herself, no, dammit, I need something stronger, walked on until she found a respectable-looking pub. She had some wine and, surprisingly hungry, a sandwich. She sat there for a long time, warmed by the comings and goings of people intent on an evening’s enjoyment. A flashy, middle-aged man tried to pick her up. She left, wandered about for a while, still with no idea of what to do, then went back to the car park and got into her car.
She switched the radio on and sat, not listening. After a while, the cold got to her; she pulled a travelling rug from the back seat and wriggled herself into it.
*
She woke from a terrified dream. Heavy, menacing footsteps pursued her, drawing ever closer. She was slowing, slowing, nearing paralysis …
She opened bleary eyes; she was entrapped in the rug, frozen, stiff-limbed. And Hunter was knocking on the car window.
She opened the door, half fell out, her legs rigid. He hauled her up, supported her, began to unwind her from the rug. She heard her voice rushing on: ‘Last night — I know it’s silly — but what happened — I didn’t feel safe — anywhere. After.’
‘All right, take it easy. Let’s lock your car.’
‘After Ferns — ’
‘You’ve been at Ferns?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you.’ Her voice rose.
‘Yes, steady … ’
She was talking, being soothed, led into the police station. Corridors, doors; people. If they looked at her oddly she had no time to notice, or care. ‘It was yesterday.’
‘Yes, yes. What time, Inez?’
‘Does the sodding time matter?’ Loud again. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind. Sit down — ’
‘Time? Time … Early evening, getting dark.’ She sat down, immediately stood up again. ‘I saw him, I saw him. He’s dead'
‘Who is? Who did you see?’
‘I know his voice — but — a beard … He always hated dogs. Nella pushed me out of the way — ’
‘Who did you see?’
She could not look at him, turned her face away, whispered.
‘Inez, you’ve got confused. You mean Benjamin, don’t you?’
She shouted, ‘No, I don’t, I don’t!’
He put his arms around her, held her, shaking.
She said, ‘I’m sorry, Sheldon. But he was there. At Ferns. Alfred.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was extraordinary how such a commonplace activity as drinking tea restored order. Somebody — an unregistered, reassuringly physical presence — had brought in the tray, set it down on Hunter’s desk.
She had a cup in her hand and was recounting, with some degree of sanity, what had occurred at Ferns.
‘I was so sure I was in danger, that he’d follow me and find me. So I came here, to see you — ’
‘You’ve been here all night?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t think wha
t to do when you weren’t here. I just fell asleep.’
‘I was here, but I had to go back to Clerehaven yesterday, early evening. I was at Ferns. Because Nella had telephoned the Clerehaven police — ’
She could feel only relief at this confirmation of something terribly awry.
‘ — she said that Benjamin Wright had suddenly turned up. He threatened her life. She killed him in self-defence.’
*
This conundrum had begun, for Hunter, on the evening of the previous day. A telephone call from Clerehaven reported the bare details: Miss Nella Lynchet had killed, in self-defence, an intruder who was threatening her life.
In view of her confession, Nella was arrested and cautioned. By the time Hunter got to Ferns, in the wake of all the scene of crime paraphernalia, she had been taken to Clerehaven police station where she had been interviewed on tape; her account of events was now a matter of record. It did not entirely make sense, in fact, what she did say was so disjointed and contradictory Hunter was in a quandary about whether to call in medical attention. But he persevered and eventually worked out a sequence.
Benjamin Wright, a one-time house-guest, had turned up without any warning as she was putting her car away in the garage. When she stepped out of the car he was there, obviously in a stressed condition. He began to make wild accusations which she did not understand. She tried to soothe him but, unable to do so, eventually threatened to call the police. He then said he would kill her as he had killed ‘that woman’ and got hold of her. She wrestled with him, managed to distract his attention, which gave her time to snatch up the nearest object from the workbench beside her — a four-pound lump hammer. She struck him with it and he fell to the ground instantly. She waited, too shocked to do anything; she could not bring herself to touch him but after a while, as he did not move and she could not see him breathing, she realised he was dead. She went into the house, became faint and sat down, she had no idea how long for. She then felt compelled to take off her clothes, feeling ‘soiled’. She went upstairs and made a complete change. After that she telephoned Clerehaven police.
Hunter, accompanied by Annette, went gently but thoroughly through her statement. Nella was composed, subdued and had the faintly distant manner he had seen so often in people in shock. He asked her several times about Benjamin’s accusations; every time she said she didn’t know what they were, she couldn’t understand them. Was he speaking English? Yes. Was he incoherent? Yes. Could she not distinguish any words at all? Not one.
When she was asked who he meant by ‘that woman’ she said she had no idea.
She had struggled with him? Yes. How did she account for the fact that the clothes she had removed showed no signs of damage, no tears, missing buttons etc.? She could not.
She claimed to have snatched up the hammer from the workbench beside her but the body was found near the garage door, on the side opposite the workbench, and the blow was to the back of the head. She was confused, their struggle had carried them back and forth.
He would form a clearer picture when he had the scene of crime report and when the search of Ferns had been completed. Meanwhile, in the face of Inez’s evidence, more contradictions and inaccuracies surfaced.
At no time had Nella mentioned anyone had called whilst ‘Benjamin’ was with her.
She had said that once she had gone into the house she had not returned to the garage. But why were the papers Inez had delivered to her not found in the garage?
‘Inez, you gave her these papers? Put them in her hands?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many? A lot?’
‘Oh, no. Three sheets of biog, one of the suggested programme.’
‘And she didn’t go at once into the house with them? She went back into the garage, you said. And closed the door.’
‘Yes. She was doing that when I looked back.’
It was impossible to credit that after struggling for her life, committing an act of unparalleled violence, Nella had tidily picked up the scattered papers and taken them away. Inez didn’t ask why he wanted to know; she sat pale and tired and bemused, drinking her tea in a quietly trustful way. No harm could come to her here.
‘I know these details might seem unimportant, but I promise you they’re not, they could be vital. I’d like you to make a statement about everything that happened at Ferns, Annette or Collier will help you through it.’
She nodded. ‘OK. Now?’
‘We’ll go down to Clerehaven and see to it there. For the moment, I’d like you to think back.’ She pulled a wry face: I’d rather not. ‘Can you be sure there was only one man in the garage?’
She looked uncertain. ‘Not absolutely. It’s big … and it was shadowy, dark corners … ’
‘Both the doors were open?’
‘Yes, but I called out before I reached them and as soon as Nella appeared she pulled one of the doors closed behind her.’
‘Was there a light on?’
‘No … no, I’m sure not.’
Open doors and no interior light squared with Nella’s claim that she had reversed into the garage, using her reversing lights, and been accosted as she got out of her car.
‘So there could have been another man there — someone you couldn’t see.’
‘Well, if there was he had nothing to say for himself. As I got near I heard only two voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but I knew one was Nella’s, the other, a man’s.’
‘You didn’t recognise it then as Alfred’s?’
‘No,’ she said unhappily. ‘I didn’t because — obviously — it wasn’t what I expected to hear.
But there was something … and then he shouted at the armadillo … Then I couldn’t believe my ears. And he kicked him. Alfred would, I’ve seen him do it in the past, he couldn’t bear dogs anywhere near him. Besides, I just somehow knew there were only two people there. Don’t ask me how.’
‘Right. Now I’m going to tell you something. Probably I shouldn’t, but I trust you. And I have a very special reason.’
She smiled, gave a small shrug, as if to say What next?
‘Nella claims that man was Benjamin. You say he was Alfred. I’m going to tell you something about Alfred’s death … ’
He kept it brief, because he was dealing in the barest essentials and because she had suffered a shock and must shortly endure another.
She stared at him wordlessly for a while, then said, ‘How could she — how could anyone — do such a dreadful thing?’
‘I think I know why, but I have to be sure. In the meantime, will you rely on my judgement?’
‘There’s damn all else I can rely on,’ she said wearily.
‘OK. It’s a great deal to ask of you, but in view of what I’ve just told you, you’ll understand why. Will you identify the man Nella claims is Benjamin?’
*
She stood close to him, to the reassurance of his calm, warmed by his humanity. He prepared her: ‘Sometimes people look so different in death it’s difficult to recognise them. Don’t be upset if you can’t be sure.’
‘I know.’ Her face had lost all its colour. Her hand touched his, he held it, icily cold. She said. ‘All right.’
The attendant rolled the body out. She looked steadily, then swallowed, whispered, ‘Yes, yes, it is.’
‘Right. Come along.’
An incident room had been set up overnight in Clerehaven police station. Hunter had commandeered a cubby hole of an office; at least it was private. He produced a bottle of whisky and two glasses. ‘Here. Medicinal. You need it.’
He put the glass securely into her shaking hand. After some sips she began to talk, hesitant but composed. ‘He must have had some identification on him. Driving licence, whatever.’
‘Nothing. Banknotes in his wallet. No credit cards, not a scrap of anything in writing to say who he was or where he came from.’
‘Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d find odd?’
‘It happens more often
than you’d think. People have their own reasons for remaining anonymous. If he’d had a fatal accident — road, train — before he got to Clerehaven, it would have been virtually impossible to find out who he was. So far there’s only you to say he’s Alfred. You are sure?’
‘He’s different — older. Of course. And the beard changes — him. He had — it was a childhood accident, I believe — a white scar on his left temple. You noticed it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll tell you, Sheldon, I’m sure. That is Alfred, not Benjamin.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Inez had seldom had occasion to enter Clerehaven police station; she began to feel, during the endless day, that she would never get out of it.
James Collier helped her with her statement; he was friendly and kind and she marvelled at his patience. It was early afternoon when at last they finished. ‘You must be hungry,’ he said. Surprisingly, she was. ‘The canteen’s not cordon bleu, but it’s good solid food, that’s what you need.’
‘How’s Nella?’
His only previous acquaintance with Nella being unpleasant and humiliating, he was not kindly disposed to her. But he had his orders. ‘She seems to be coping. She isn’t an easy person, is she?’
Inez smiled wryly. ‘Not a characteristic the Lynchets are noted for. She’s in a frightful situation, and she doesn’t have any relatives, not accessible, anyway
‘You can see her, if you’d like to.’
‘Well … has anyone? Friends … ’
He shook his head.
‘No, there aren’t many of those. Yes, all right. For all the good I’ll be.’
‘Come and have something to eat first. Then have a word with Mr Hunter.’
Substantial, if basic, food, made her feel more capable of coping with whatever the day might throw at her. She would far rather just go home, even though there were friendly faces around her here: James, Annette, Hunter; but Nella, embattled and alone, was on her conscience.
James took her through some corridors, where there seemed to be a lot of activity — change of shift, he told her. ‘If you’ll just hang on I’ll find — ah, here he is.’ He murmured something unheard to Hunter and at once disappeared.
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