‘I take it you mean Suzy Duff?’
Like the arcing strokes of his oars in relation to the trajectory of the boat, his reply to this question is oblique.
‘My guess – Will Liddell – will leave instructions – for Derek’s Duff’s business – to be looked after. He’s a very old – friend. A very good – friend.’
That he repeats verbatim Suzy Duff’s words – and hears her plaintive voice in his head as he does so – cannot be apparent to DS Jones – but the nature of his delivery supports her own, not uninformed, suspicions.
‘Guv – do you think the wives will file complaints?’
Skelgill has been squinting across the surface of the lake, and now his eyes flash as they fix on his colleague. He understands that she is closer to his thinking than he has given her credit for.
‘Not a cat in hell’s chance. Besides – we’ve cleaned up their mess for them.’
Skelgill has already employed the provocative phrase “suicide dressed-up as murder” – and now this equally controversial hint. And perhaps DS Jones detects a slackening in his stroke rate, as though to postpone their arrival at Greenmire Castle’s landing stage. She decides to follow her intuition.
‘Guv – the way I see it – putting it bluntly – my guess is that Will Liddell basically created a latter-day harem.’ She watches closely for Skelgill’s reaction – he scowls but does not demur. ‘Financially, he’d got the husbands in his grip – and their wives knew it – and their lifestyles depended on it. He treated them to luxurious trips – and had his pick of whomsoever took his fancy. Whether the men knew they were being cuckolded – who knows – but the females felt there was no choice but to comply – close their eyes and think of the school fees.’
DS Jones clamps her hands between her thighs and leans back, lifting her feet and balancing at her centre of gravity, but her gaze remains locked upon Skelgill’s narrowed grey-green eyes, challenging him to contradict her. It is a few moments before he speaks.
‘Carry on.’
DS Jones releases the breath she has been holding – it seems with relief – and now she looks away across the water.
‘When you think about it, Guv – with the possible exception of Suzy Duff, as you say – the females involved in the close circle are far more independent than, say, five years ago. Muriel Liddell – she probably has a hefty divorce settlement – and, jail or not, Will Liddell can afford his maintenance. The Lukers may now be insulated – I know Mike Luker’s firm depends on Will Liddell – but he’ll have banked profits in seven figures. And Felicity Belvedere – her fortunes are no longer tied to Kevin Makepeace – her architectural business is expanding – and she stands to inherit from a wealthy family. Put that all together – Will Liddell’s control has been weakened.’ She glances at Skelgill to see that he is nodding. ‘What if it had run its course – and they were about to take matters into their own hands?’
Though her words constitute a question, her inflexion conveys a good deal more certainty. Skelgill is regarding her keenly – for she seems to have fathomed his cryptic logic with some ease. As if to confirm this, she pinpoints the crux of the matter.
‘Guv – what exactly did you mean – when you just said we cleaned up their mess?’
Skelgill feathers his oars mid stroke but does not return the blades to the water; instead he draws the shafts into the boat, and they glide smoothly to a halt. The light south-westerly breeze pushes ripples against the hull, creating a gentle rocking motion. They have stopped in more or less the position from which Skelgill, from beneath the anonymity of his wide-brimmed Tilley hat, had viewed Will Liddell’s party, several of them becoming inebriated perhaps for anaesthetic purposes. How little could he have guessed what thoughts, what agonies, what schemes were going through the minds of the passengers in Abel Thurnwyke’s crowded launch? Yet – ironically – Scarlett Liddell had seemed among the most carefree of them; but perhaps it was her way, rarely middling. Skelgill sighs and then inhales more deeply, his arms akimbo, his palms pressing down on his thighs – it is an indication of a forthcoming statement.
‘We saw it with Catriona Brodie – she was our stroke of luck –’ He pauses as if to check that DS Jones is nodding her agreement. ‘It must feel nigh on impossible – for a lone woman to come out against someone like Will Liddell. Never mind the financial stranglehold – when it’s one person’s word against another’s – you need cast-iron proof – and a concrete witness.’
That he employs a somewhat peculiar adjective owes itself to the image that momentarily occupies his mind’s eye – the oblong stone tablet above the portico of St Salvator’s – with its motto, Iuncta sororibus – ‘Sisters side by side’. The thought seems to distract him, and it is left to DS Jones to insert a prompt into his nascent but stalled soliloquy.
‘Are you saying they were going to set him up – a sting?’
‘You know I don’t go in for speculation.’ Skelgill produces an ironic laugh that could also sound just slightly mad. ‘But it’s all over now. Both cases closed. So bear with me.’
DS Jones tilts her head, almost imperceptibly, as if over-exuberance might deter him. Skelgill continues.
‘Suzy Duff will be best placed – despite that she’s got most to lose and that she’s not one of the ‘sorority’ – that’s what they call it, aye?’ (Now DS Jones nods obediently.) ‘But her lass will give Will Liddell a get-out-of-jail card. He could just claim they’ve been having a consenting relationship for the past fifteen years. So, maybe the four of them get together – including Muriel – and agree their roles – they convince Suzy she must be part of it – there would be the shame of not acting. And though it will be a kind of deceit, entrapment, if you like – perhaps for her it will be easiest. A swansong – hah!’ Now he looks rather sheepishly at DS Jones. ‘So she won’t pull any punches with her choice of outfit.’
DS Jones is listening attentively, her expression implacable – though Skelgill sees that she swallows. It seems he need not enter into any salacious detail. He moves on.
‘After that – it will just be a matter of picking their moment. Now it’s Felicity Belvedere’s turn. She makes sure she and Will Liddell are simultaneously out of sight of the rest of the group. The Murder Mystery probably means they’ll split up and search the castle for clues. Belinda Luker will draw attention to their absence – and perhaps she’ll casually go looking for her friend Felicity. And what will she ‘find’? She’ll ‘find’ Felicity being assaulted by Will Liddell. He might be nowhere near – but that doesn’t matter. They may not even tell him – they’ll just call 999. And when we investigate, what do we find? There’s his DNA on Felicity’s clothing. There’s traces of his skin under her nails – matching scratches on his arm. And there’s a concrete witness. As Leyton would say, he’s bang to rights.’
‘But, Guv – that was Scarlett Liddell – the nails?’
Skelgill raises a silencing palm.
‘So – the time comes – Suzy Duff grits her teeth and sets off upstairs with Will Liddell – remember Tom Montagu-Browne saw her smile to her pals as they left the library. She knows what he’ll want to do with her – and she’s right. The first act is almost complete. But then they discover Scarlett Liddell hanging – and she’s dead. All hell breaks loose. Plan A flies out of the window.’
DS Jones inhales to ask a question; Skelgill pre-empts her.
‘Belinda Luker and Felicity Belvedere think quickly. Scarlett Liddell may well have committed suicide – but as they come on the scene it looks just as much like she could have been murdered – there’s Will Liddell bent over her lifeless corpse on the bed – and he’s probably the only person to have been with her – and in fact that’s more or less correct. Suddenly they’re presented with Plan B. Let’s make it look like murder – if it works – problem solved – no need for them to testify – no humiliation for their partners. It’s a wacky idea – but – hey – it’s a Murder Mystery Weekend!
‘In the c
ommotion Belinda Luker goes into the bathroom. There’s Scarlett Liddell’s mobile lying on the floor. The screen had cracked – when she dropped it. She’d taken a picture of herself – tried to send it to Kevin Makepeace – to get him to come to her room – to find her feigning death – to scare the living daylights out of him. But she slipped on the wet tiles – and choked.’ Skelgill pauses for a moment, as though he feels he ought to insert a respectful interlude. ‘Belinda Luker checks the phone – whether she realises what has happened – your guess is as good as mine – but she deletes the photo and the failed text – and leaves the handset beside the bed.’
DS Jones is now regarding Skelgill with a mixture of consternation and bewilderment.
‘Has she admitted this, Guv?’
Skelgill casts a strange look to the heavens, his features momentarily contorted in some agony.
‘Jones I can’t remember what they might have said and what I might have invented. This is a mystery, remember.’
He looks back at DS Jones, and they seem to come to some unspoken accord. She blinks her continued consent to his hypothesis.
‘Let’s say they’re all crowding around the body on the bed. Suzy Duff’s giving CPR. Felicity Belvedere takes Scarlett’s hand. She scrapes the underside of their nails together. Nobody would notice – it would look like she was trying to offer comfort. But now the match for the scratches on Will Liddell’s arm has been transferred – aye – you were right – but remember it was Felicity Belvedere that was in his team for the assault course. She scratched him in the first place.
‘Let nature – and CID – take their course. If there was foul play – aye, Will Liddell’s a prime candidate. And when interviewed, the women drop subtle hints about him being controlling – about conflict between him and Scarlett – about the idea that she was a gold-digger. But nature and CID can’t find any clear evidence to charge Will Liddell. The death has all the hallmarks of a suicide. We try to investigate a murder – and at best we find other equally plausible suspects. All along – it doesn’t feel right. Aye – folk are being evasive – but they’re not being evasive in the direction that we’re looking! But because they’re being evasive, we’re trying to see something that isn’t there. The truth is – we’re looking at a tragic accident.’
DS Jones has been nodding reflectively, sympathetic to his complaint. But now she is compelled to interject.
‘The truth is, Guv – a dangerous predator who’s been committing despicable acts and getting away with it for years has been caught.’ Her face becomes stern. Her dark eyes engage those of Skelgill. ‘And the truth is – these women have suffered more than enough.’
Forcefully Skelgill slaps his palms down onto his thighs. She rests his case! His colleague understands – indeed concurs – that even if there were some alcohol-fuelled ham-fisted obstruction of justice on behalf of the women – firstly, that to pursue such fantastic conjecture would be futile – and, secondly, that their ordeal needs to have ended.
The pair settle in silence – maybe for as long as half a minute. Now DS Jones’s gaze slips past Skelgill – and she finds a focus upon Greenmire Castle. The open day event appears to be in full swing; good numbers of visitors mill around stalls set out on the alluvial pasture between the castle and the shoreline. She sits up determinedly – and her countenance brightens – as though the sun has emerged from behind a cloud.
‘Well – I suppose we solved one of the mysteries of the Murder Mystery weekend.’
‘Aye?’
‘The ghost, Guv – or rather – that there is no ghost that locks the door of Lady Anne’s chamber!’ She shakes her head ruefully. ‘That was a proper red herring!’
Skelgill grins sardonically.
‘Lavinia Montagu-Browne’s probably already come up with another ruse to attract visitors.’
DS Jones smiles, flashing her even white teeth. She half-swivels, bringing up her feet to sit sideways upon the thwart, and hugging her knees. Skelgill regards her, admiring the athletic ease of her movements.
‘Sure you’re up for a shift in charge of the bouncy castle?’
‘Just try to stop me, Guv – if I’m in charge, that means I get to have a shot. Besides – it sounds like I need to work up an appetite.’
She glances pointedly at his rustic crate. Skelgill shrugs nonchalantly.
‘Just don’t try and get me on the thing.’
‘I think you’ll have your hands full with the fishing, Guv.’ She raises a palm in a mariner’s salute – to shade her eyes. ‘If I’m not mistaken that’s DS Leyton’s kids running rings round Tom Montagu-Browne.’
Skelgill grunts and heaves the boat back into action.
‘Well – I taught Tom to cast – happen I’d better introduce him to the technique known as the skelp round the lug.’
***
Next in the series
‘Murder on the Run is scheduled for publication in January 2019. In the meantime, books 1-10 in the Inspector Skelgill series can be found on Amazon. Each comprises a stand-alone mystery, and may be read out of sequence. All DI Skelgill books can be borrowed free with Kindle Unlimited, and also by Amazon Prime members on a Kindle device.
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