Murder at the Gorge (The Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries)

by Frances Evesham

  He stopped talking for a moment, as though remembering.

  ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, he was crying, snivelling, going on about his poor mother – and she hadn’t even left him her money! I told him, straight out, it was me what topped her.’ He whistled. ‘Whew, was he mad. Ran at me. I reckon he’d have killed me, except I was quicker than him, see. I’d done it before, hadn’t I? Grabbed a dead branch, just like before, and swung it at him. One blow on the side of the head, that’s all it took, and that was the end of Cousin Maurice.’

  Ollie’s teeth gleamed in the darkness. He was laughing. ‘Oh, my, what a feeling. Two dead, and all Exham running around, wondering who was sending them nursery rhymes, and what did it all mean? I thought I was going to die laughing, mate, thinking about you and your precious Libby, trying to work out who was sending them. Didn’t have a clue, did you? Not so clever as you thought, eh, Ramshore.’ Abruptly, the laughter stopped. ‘Now, that’s enough chat. One of these ladies is going to fly. But which one?’

  And then, the floodlights sprang into life on the bridge, highlighting the four of them in a tableau against the surrounding darkness.

  ‘Is something wrong, here?’ A uniformed figure appeared from the toll booth, walking towards the group.

  ‘Keep back!’ Ollie leapt up on to the wall, still gripping Stella’s arm.

  Max hissed at the bridge keeper, ‘Don’t come too close. He’ll throw her over.’

  ‘Keep him talking,’ the attendant murmured. He raised his voice against the wind. ‘Do you need to talk? Maybe I can help you.’

  Ollie laughed, his voice harsh. ‘Too late for that.’

  Max racked his brains. What to talk about that wouldn’t infuriate Ollie further? ‘What about Bert? Why’s he mixed up with this? How did he get involved?’

  ‘Bert here was going to be a bouncer in the new arcade. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, our Bert. Useful muscle, though.’

  Bert opened his mouth as if about to object to the insult, but Max said, ‘Come on, Bert. See sense. We know this is all Ollie’s idea. You weren’t even there when he hit his aunt, or when he topped his cousin in the woods. He’ll be in prison for years for two murders, but you’re the junior partner. You haven’t killed anyone. They’ll let you off lightly if you end all this nonsense.’

  It was unlikely, Max knew, but Bert might be convinced.

  ‘I dunno.’ The big man looked from Max to Ollie, as if unsure, although he kept his grip on Libby’s arm.

  The wind dropped, and for a moment, Max thought things would end peacefully. He took a small step forward, but that was too much for Ollie.

  He hauled on Stella’s arm, forcing her to scramble up with him on the wall as he shouted, ‘Shut up, the lot of you. It’s time to get rid of one of these tarts. Which one, Max? This one, the old wife? Or the new?’

  Libby said. ‘The police will know it’s you. There’s a witness, now.’

  Max said, ‘Ollie, there’s a way out of this. Let the women go and we’ll talk about clearing it all up.’

  Ollie’s voice was shrill. ‘Choose, Max, which one?’

  For the first time, Stella spoke, her voice soft, but clear. ‘Me. Throw me. I don’t care.’

  Ollie took a half-step back, stunned. ‘What?’

  ‘In fact, I’ll jump by myself. I tried to end it all last week. I know you didn’t believe I meant it, Max, but I did. So, you all stay there and I’ll jump.’

  ‘No.’ Max and Libby shouted together.

  Stella leaned out over the gorge.

  ‘Not yet.’ Ollie grabbed at her. ‘Not—’

  Stella twisted away, Ollie’s grip still tight on her arm. For a moment, the pair of them hovered over the edge, suspended between death and safety. But Ollie’s momentum took him too far.

  He dropped Stella’s arm and rocked, flailing, hands grasping at the air, for moments that seemed to Max to last for hours. At last, he lost his balance, and with a scream that echoed around the Avon Gorge, dropped into the darkness below, leaving Stella on her knees on top of the wall, staring down into the abyss.

  Shivering, frightened and suffering from the exhausting after-effects of a monumental adrenalin rush, Max drove with Stella and Libby to the Avon Gorge Hotel, followed by a couple of police officers. Alerted first by the security guard, and then by the bridge keeper, they’d arrived seconds after Ollie had fallen.

  The hotel management, gripped by Max’s modified version of their adventures on the bridge, offered their best rooms. Max ordered an extravagant amount of room-service food, which they chewed steadily as Libby and Stella recounted their separate stories.

  Stella, Max thought, seemed unnaturally calm. Had the stress of watching a man fall to his death been too much for her?

  When the police left at last, Libby said, ‘For a moment, I thought you’d managed to save Ollie.’

  Stella shrugged. ‘It was his own fault. He nearly took me with him.’

  ‘You weren’t really thinking of jumping, were you?’ Libby asked.

  Stella just raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Well, he deserved it.’ Max was shaking his head. ‘I thought he was an old friend. I can hardly believe it. I thought we could talk him down, that he’d see sense. But I was wrong. He was too full of hate. He hated Exham for the way they treated his grandmother, hated Carys and Maurice/Ivor for not helping him out with money, hated you and me, Libby, for putting him out of work.’ He shook his head. ‘If only he’d come to me, told me he needed a backer. He was my old friend. I would have tried to help.’

  Libby said, ‘Max, I’m afraid he hated you most of all. I suppose, for your success in life, your money and your big house…’

  ‘And, I’m about to get married to you. Jealousy and hate. He really wanted me to suffer – be reviled, like his grandmother was, even blamed for the murders. He was a sad, twisted man.’ He looked at Stella and Libby, so different from each other, both such strong women. ‘What about that business with the pills?’ he asked Stella. ‘Were you faking, then?’

  ‘Well,’ she drawled. ‘You’ll never know that for sure, will you? But it won’t happen again.’ She shuddered. ‘Standing on that wall, looking down into the gorge, taught me a lesson; I’m not ready to go yet. I’m in my prime, like you two. Maybe there’s even someone out there for me.’ She gave one of her tinkly laughs. ‘I’ll stick to someone my own age, next time. No more gold-diggers for me. Although, I have to admit, it was fun with Ivor, while it lasted.’

  37

  Aftermath

  Libby, exhausted by events, spent the next day with her feet up, recovering. ‘I’m going to sit around drinking tea and eating cake. Although,’ thinking of the dress hanging on the back of her bedroom door, ‘not too much cake.’

  ‘We need a post-mortem,’ Max pointed out.

  Libby groaned. ‘Unfortunate phrase, in the circumstances.’

  ‘Sorry, but everyone in town was so worried when you disappeared, and confused, as well. Mandy, of course, is desperate to know the details. After all, her father’s in police custody at the moment.’

  ‘Well, let’s ask a few people over. Just Mandy, Robert – he’s terribly proud of helping with the family trees – Ali and Angela. They’ll be able to pass the facts on to everyone else, and knock any last rumours on the head. I’d rather tell the story once than keep going over bits of it.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s going to be the main topic of conversation in the café for a long while,’ Max pointed out. ‘Still, let’s talk it all through. Drinks at my place?’

  ‘Of course. Bear and Shipley will want to be there.’

  Libby’s phone rang. Reluctantly, for she longed to sleep, she answered.

  ‘Mrs Forest?’ The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to it. ‘This is Mary Atkins.’

  Atkins, Atkins? Did she know an Atkins? Dazed by yesterday’s events, she shook her head. Then, she remembered Mrs Atkins – the woman with five children from the Santa Special,
in whom Shipley had taken such an interest. What on earth did she want? Libby had offended her, and the last thing Libby needed now was an argument.

  ‘I’m ringing to thank you. After we spoke about your dog, I began to wonder – you know, I’ve heard about dogs sniffing out medical problems, and I’ve been very tired lately, so I went to see Dr Sheffield.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, and he was so kind. He thinks I might have something wrong – he doesn’t know what, but he’s getting me a hospital appointment in less than two weeks.’

  Libby hardly knew what to say, but Mrs Atkins was still talking.

  ‘Of course, it’s all very worrying, but he said dogs like Shipley have saved people’s lives, and he was glad I’d called in, and I just wanted to say thank you, and to apologise for being so rude.’

  ‘No problem at all – it must have sounded so strange to you.’ Libby was stammering. ‘But I hope whatever it is…’ she ran out of words.

  Mary Atkins helped her out. ‘Whatever it is, I’m better off knowing about it.’

  ‘And that,’ Libby said to Max, as they waited for their friends to arrive that evening, ‘means Shipley is a star.’

  Mandy arrived first. ‘It’s quiet in the cottage without you Mrs F,’ she said as Libby hugged her. ‘I suppose I need to get used to it.’ Her face looked paler than ever, but at least she’d dialled down the purple lipstick.

  ‘I miss it a bit, too,’ Libby admitted. ‘That cooker…’

  ‘Don’t pine too much. You’ll be back in the New Year, designing new chocolates.’ Mandy sighed. ‘I’ve known Dad was a loser for a long time, but I can’t believe he’s, like, a proper criminal,’ she said. ‘Mum’s pretty upset.’

  ‘Ollie was the real villain,’ Max said. ‘We were friends at school. He didn’t care for much except sports until he discovered computer games. They were unsophisticated, in those days, but it was the start of a golden age for computing and Ollie found he was good at it.’

  Libby agreed. ‘Meanwhile, Maurice/Ivor was the black sheep of the family. In and out of prison, then preying on older women, conning them into funding a series of a comfortable lives in Surrey.’

  ‘Always thought Surrey was full of shady characters from London,’ Mandy put in.

  Max laughed. ‘Some charmers like Maurice/Ivor have a knack of worming their way into women’s lives and cadging money off them, and he was a good-looking guy.’

  Libby said, ‘That’s what he did with Stella?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. She’s admitted to giving him expensive presents; that watch he was wearing when I met him at the hospital, for example.’

  ‘Well,’ Libby said, ‘your ex-wife might be a bit gullible when it comes to toy boys, but she’s no wilting flower. She did a great job at the bridge.’

  Max said, ‘She tells me she’s learned her lesson when it comes to men. Not sure I believe her, but so long as she’s happy. She’s looking out for a decent, kind man of her own age.’

  ‘And no more suicide attempts, either real or manufactured.’

  ‘So she says. Besides, Joe and Claire are planning to keep a close eye on her in future. However, you’ll be pleased to know she has no intention of living anywhere near Exham. “Too quiet,” she says.’

  Angela said, ‘I don’t understand why Ollie killed Maurice/Ivor. It doesn’t make sense to me.’

  Libby replied, ‘Claire told me that sons very rarely murder their mothers, but aunts are a different matter. Ollie didn’t care about Carys. He’d already ingratiated himself with her and used her credit cards. She found out, and threatened to tell the police unless he gave the money back – and if he returned it, he’d be broke again. He was in a dilemma, and that was when he had the idea of killing her. She was happy to walk in the woods with her nephew. He apologised, said he’d pay it all back. And then, the moment she turned away from him, he hit her on the head.’

  Mandy was nodding, taking in the details. ‘He’d thought the money would go to Maurice/Ivor, but Carys left her money to her sister. I suppose she knew, deep down, that Maurice was a bad lot. That’s why Ollie went round to Gladys’ shop, wanting to work his charms on her as he had with Carys. Luckily for Gladys, she was away. He lost his temper and trashed the place.’

  Robert said, ‘Quite a crime spree. But, hold on a minute. You’re losing me. That still doesn’t explain why he killed Maurice/Ivor. They were on good terms, weren’t they?’

  Max said, ‘He made the mistake of telling Maurice/Ivor what he’d done, not realising his cousin, who he thought of as a hard man, would be shocked and horrified. But Maurice/Ivor had left burglary behind. He’d changed his name and made a new life, even if it was as a con artist. Ollie had already killed once. It had been easy and no one had suspected him. Killing Maurice/Ivor didn’t bother him at all, and it meant he wouldn’t talk to the police.’

  Libby shuddered. ‘It’s often like that, I’ve heard. Once you’ve killed one person, the next is easier.’

  Mandy said, ‘And my dad got caught up in it all. But why did they send those emails, and kidnap Libby and Stella?’

  Max sighed. ‘Out of hatred for me, I’m afraid, and for Ramshore and Forest, Private Investigators. I should have realised, when I talked to Ollie that day in Watchet, that he blamed us for putting Pritchards – and him – out of business. He lost his main source of income, his business collapsed, he went bankrupt and his wife left him. He laid all that bad luck at our door. I always thought he was a friend, but he forgot all that. He just wanted to ruin my life, the way he thought I’d ruined his. The emails and the fake social media accounts were all part of his elaborate game. He never grew up beyond playing Dungeons and Dragons, if you ask me.’

  ‘It’s an uncomfortable thought – to be hated so much.’

  ‘Joe would say, from a policeman’s perspective, it goes with the job. For Ollie, the coincidence of my finding Carys Evans’ body hidden in the woods was a gift that gave him the idea for revenge on me that would, at the same time, divert attention from him and the real reason for Carys’ death.’

  ‘Nice family,’ Mandy said.

  Max went on with the story. ‘The timing of the emails had puzzled us for a while. Why would the killer send one to Carys when she was already dead? That was a clever move by Ollie. He wasn’t stupid, after all. In one stroke, he moved the focus of the investigation to the emails, and began to lay hints that I was the Rhymer. That’s why he sent emails to Stella – to point the finger at me. It was a macabre kind of game for Ollie – remember, here was a real-life game all of his own. I bet he followed me to Watchet that day, planning to talk to me, see what I knew. He found I knew nothing. So much for my investigative skills.’

  He looked at Mandy. ‘Ollie just recruited your father for the kidnap. Bert probably thought it was all a bit of a joke. He’s not – well…’ he caught a warning glance from Libby, ‘let’s just say you get your brains from your mother. There’s been no love lost between Bert and Libby since the day you and Libby and Bear stopped him attacking your mum. But he was only interested in the kidnap. When he realised Ollie was serious, and about to kill Libby, he was horrified. He’s told everything he knows to the police.’

  ‘So, Dad is stupid, rather than wicked? That’s something, I suppose. Though, not much.’

  Libby was thinking aloud. ‘When I was in Bristol, shopping, Bear growled, as though there was someone around he knew was a threat. I reckon that could have been Bert. He lives in Bristol.’

  Angela said, ‘He won’t be living there for a while. Your mum will be relieved, Mandy.’

  Libby said, ‘So, much of this goes right back to that business with Pritchards. I thought that was finished and all in the past, but the repercussions just keep coming. There are a few people still in prison, and I suppose they won’t be there for ever. Should we be worried?’

  Max looked grim. ‘Unfortunately, Chesterton Wendlebury – one of the directors of Pritchards – is due to leave prison next year.�
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  Libby gave a little gasp. How would she feel if she saw that man again? She took a steadying breath. ‘He wasn’t the mastermind of the Pritchards scams. In any case, I don’t expect he’ll be coming back to Exham any time soon.’

  38

  Wedding Day

  The morning of Libby’s wedding dawned calm and cold. A watery sun sat low on the horizon, in a sky of startling wintry blue. Libby felt perfectly calm and more relaxed than she would have believed possible.

  Yesterday, she’d talked far into the night with Max before he left, determined not to tempt fate by catching sight of the bride on the morning of the wedding. ‘Although,’ he’d pointed out, ‘it’s not so much luck we need as a little peace and quiet for a while. Thank goodness my ex-wife is safely back at home in Surrey, where she’s apparently become some sort of celebrity, after that business on the bridge.’ He’d confessed, ‘I thought I was going to lose you, Libby, and if that happened, I don’t know what I would do. So, please, take care of yourself. Maybe you could stay indoors for the next year?’

  Libby opened her bedroom window a crack. The air was still, the scent of wood fires lingering, as sparrows and goldfinches gathered to feast on fat balls at the bird feeder. Blackbirds hopped across the grass – she couldn’t dignify it with the term ‘lawn’ – pecking for worms. Just as she was about to turn away, a robin alighted on the windowsill, looked her in the eye, and flew into a nearby tree.

  Ali, who’d stayed last night, arrived bearing a tray stacked high with toast and marmalade, a pot of tea and a vase of nodding, pink winter hellebores from the garden. ‘About the only plants Bear hasn’t destroyed.’

  Libby’s dress hung behind her bedroom door. She’d changed her mind so many times, discarding and returning two dresses she’d bought that weren’t quite right. Finally, two days ago, Angela had taken her in hand. Together, they’d scoured Bristol’s shops and markets, finally deciding on rose-pink velvet. Ali’s gorgeous dark blue, expertly taken in, would complement it beautifully. One day, Libby would get her daughter to teach her to sew.