by Vera Morris
‘What weren’t you happy about, Martin?’ Frank asked.
‘There was fracture dislocation between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. You’d expect to find this type of injury in a judicial hanging, usually suicide by hanging is due to asphyxia, or the jugular veins are blocked, or if a thin cord is used and it presses deep into the tissues, the arteries serving the brain are constricted. The commonest cause of death in hanging is a combination of asphyxia and constriction of the veins.’
Frank looked at Revie. ‘Interesting but no proof she didn’t take her own life.’
Revie grimaced. ‘Martin, you mentioned a bruising on the neck.’
Ansell sighed. ‘The bruising was under the knot, a slip knot by the way, under the right ear, so it could have been caused by the knot tightening as she fell from the banisters.’ He paused, scratching his neck, exactly in the spot he’d described. ‘I wasn’t happy; the shape of the bruise didn’t look right. If I was pushed in court, I’d say it looked more like a bruise you’d get if a knife-hand strike had been performed.’
‘A knife-hand strike?’ Revie asked, eyes widening.
‘The old karate chop, beloved of Bruce Lee and other martial arts gurus,’ Frank said. ‘Delivered with the side of the knuckle of the small finger.’
‘Lethal?’ Revie asked.
‘It can be,’ Ansell replied, ‘or a skilled fighter can induce unconsciousness.’
‘Long enough to string someone up and toss them over the banisters?’ Frank asked.
‘It’s possible, but I can’t provide you with enough evidence to bring a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown at the inquest.’
Chapter 15
Saturday, March 13th 1971
Frank looked at their faces as they sat round the dining room table at Greyfriars: Laurel, despite an early morning run, looked peaky, Dorothy seemed fine, Stuart self-satisfied and Mabel subdued.
‘What will you do, Frank, if Nancy doesn’t tell Revie about Sam? If they were murdered, I can see how important it is Revie knows Sam was a homosexual, but he can’t prove it was murder, can he, from what Ansell’s said?’ Laurel asked.
Frank shook his head. ‘Not at the moment.’
‘If it was murder and suicide, then what’s the point in revealing Sam’s past? It would hurt Nancy to have his reputation blackened for no good reason,’ Laurel said.
Dorothy patted Laurel’s hand. ‘Nancy’s in a state at the moment, but her son from Carlisle is staying with her for at least a week. Once she’s calmed down, if she thinks there’s anyway she can help to find out who did this to Sam and Clara, I’m sure she’ll tell Revie as much as she can.’
‘What’s next?’ Stuart asked.
Frank got up. ‘I’m phoning the Pembertons this morning; before we go to the school on Monday I need to report back to them, and also ask a few questions.’ He hesitated, then sat down again. ‘I’ll go over what I’m going to ask, and I can add any questions you think of.’
Laurel looked at him, her lips tight. ‘Yes, that’s what we usually do before one of us goes off to question someone.’
Not the usual cheery Laurel. He wasn’t in the mood for other people’s ups and downs. He wanted to go back to the Pembertons, had done all week, but at the same time he was dreading it. He wanted to see Carol, half-hoping a second meeting would not have the same effect as the first. He was still unwilling to believe what Ann Fenner had said about her, even though David’s drawing of the woman and the man making love, could be Carol with one of David’s tutors. He felt like a teenager with a crush: wanting to be near her, wanting to stroke her face, her hair, wanting to hear her voice, to hold her hand, and to look into her eyes and see his passion reflected back at him.
‘Of course. I want to know how much the fees are, better than asking the school—’
‘It’s nearly two years since David was there; they’ll have gone up by now,’ Laurel interrupted.
Frank grimaced. ‘Yes, I realise that, but it’ll give me some idea of the yearly income of the school. As I said the other day, the upkeep of the school, staff salaries, heating and lighting and all the other expenses, don’t add up. They’d need to be charging a hefty annual fee to cover the costs. It may be functioning as a charity, but even so.’
‘OK,’ Laurel said, still stony-faced.
What’s the matter with the woman? All that stuff with the fainting Director of Easterspring seems to have upset her. Not like Laurel. ‘I also want to find out more about Peter. Mrs Pemberton did mention his name, so hopefully I can find out more about him before Monday.’
‘If we could talk to Peter we might be able to find out why David ran away,’ Stuart said.
‘It’ll depend on how well he can communicate, or even understand your questions,’ Dorothy said.
‘Just because he’s got Down’s syndrome, if indeed he has, doesn’t mean he’s an idiot!’ Laurel fumed, shaking her head and glaring at Dorothy., who looked shocked.
Frank ignore Laurel’s outburst. ‘I’ll try and get the names and addresses of David’s last two tutors; they may be able to throw some light on his personality, although the last one left when David first went to Chillingworth.’
Stuart sniggered. ‘Are you going to ask Mrs Pemberton about her relationship with them?’
This time he got the benefit of Laurel’s glare.
Frank decided it was a good time to make a phone call.
The call was answered by Ann Fenner, but Carol was obviously nearby, for as soon Miss Fenner said, ‘I’ll see if—’ Carol Pemberton’s voice was in his ear.
‘Mr Diamond, good to hear from you. Any news? Any developments?’ Her voice was low, almost a whisper, as though she didn’t want Ann Fenner to hear their conversation.
‘Mrs Pemberton. No, nothing new yet.’ Nothing he could tell her. ‘Would it be possible to see you and your husband either today, or tomorrow? We’re going to Chillingworth on Monday and there’s information you may be able to give me that would be useful before we interview some of the staff and pupils.’
There was no immediate answer; they hadn’t been cut off as he could hear her breathing. ‘Is it just you?’
‘Yes, unless you’d like to meet some other agency members?’
‘No. Come over this afternoon, about three. Is that suitable?’
Frank walked back to his car which was parked in front of the fishermen’s huts near Aldeburgh’s beach front. He’d walked to Thorpeness and back, killing time before his appointment with the Pembertons. He’d escaped from Greyfriars before lunch, returned to his cottage, had a shower, changed his clothes and headed for Aldeburgh. He’d treated himself to a pint and a fisherman’s pie in the Cross Keys, but he was regretting this as his stomach was contracting with nervousness, and he felt light-headed and slightly breathless. This was ridiculous.
He switched on the ignition, took a deep breath, and tried to put not only the car into gear, but his mind as well. Turn off the emotions, turn on a professional attitude. Treat all words said with analytical acuity, get rid of the mushy brain.
Ann Fenner opened the door. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Diamond.’ Her smile was wide and friendly; Stuart had worked his magic. ‘Mrs Pemberton is in the sitting room. Can I take your coat?’
‘No thank you. Mr Pemberton?’
‘I’m afraid Mr Pemberton had a long-standing engagement. He’ll be back tomorrow evening.’ Her voice seemed to hold a warning. She must know he’d been told about Carol and the tutors. She led him to the sitting room.
‘Mr Diamond, madam.’
‘Thank you, Ann.’ She turned to him. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Diamond. It’s a little early but I fancy a drink. Ann, would you bring me a gin and tonic?’ She looked stunningly different. Her hair was loose, floating like a black cloud round her beautiful face. Her short, patterned dress, with long flaring sleeves and low V neck line made her look young, girlish. Frank swallowed.
‘Ice as usual, madam?’
‘Yes. Mr Di
amond, will you join me?’
This wasn’t what he’d expected. No Mr Pemberton and the offer of an alcoholic drink. Gin wasn’t his favourite tipple. ‘I wouldn’t mind a whisky, thank you.’
‘Ann, please see to that, and when you’ve finished in the kitchen you may take the rest of the day off. I won’t need dinner tonight.’
‘Are you sure, madam? Tomorrow’s my day off, but I don’t mind working tomorrow if you need me. Mr Pemberton might want a hot meal when he gets back, rather than the cold buffet I usually leave.’
Carol waved her hand impatiently. ‘No. I’d like some time by myself. Please don’t disturb me for the rest of the weekend.’
Ann Fenner nodded and left the room.
Carol approached Frank, holding out her hand. ‘Sorry about that, Ann is such a fusspot at times. As you gathered my husband isn’t here, however I’ll try and answer all your questions. Please sit down.’ She pointed to an armchair.
Frank was glad it wasn’t the settee. Ann Fenner’s remarks, Adam Pemberton’s absence, the suggestion they might be in for an alcoholic session, all sent alarm bells ringing; the trouble was the music was enticing and former good resolutions were slipping away.
Carol seemed composed and made small talk until Ann Fenner appeared complete with silver tray, glasses, an ice bucket, a bottle of Gordon’ gin, one of tonic, and a bottle of Laphroaig, which she placed on a coffee table near Carol. He looked at the bottle of Scotch; two doubles and all his inhibitions would disappear. Carol passed him a good three fingers of Scotch and gave herself an equal measure of gin, two cubes of ice, and not too much tonic.
He opened his briefcase. If he’d known about this situation, what would he have done? Run a mile? Or not bothered with the briefcase at all?
He opened a notebook and tried to speak in a normal tone. ‘Mrs Pemberton, would you mind telling me the annual fee you paid Chillingworth School?’
She frowned. ‘I can’t see that’s important. Let me see … Adam dealt with that side. I think it was about fifteen hundred a year. I’ll check, if you like.’
Frank scribbled in his notebook. ‘No, that’s fine, just trying to get as much background as possible. You mentioned David had one particular friend at the school, Peter. I got the impression, although I may be quite wrong, it wasn’t a friendship you approved of. Could you tell me more about Peter? Did he ever come here? Did David ever go to his home?’
Carol was sitting on the settee; she edged closer to him. ‘I knew you were astute as soon as I met you, I said so to Adam. You’re able to read people, aren’t you? Just from a tiny inflexion in my voice you knew I didn’t approve of Peter.’ She leant towards him and a rich, flowery perfume drifted up from her body. The skin of her face, neck and the swell of her breasts above the v neckline of her dress was smooth and creamy.
Frank looked down at his notebook, not seeing what he’d written. ‘Can you give me more details, please.’
She leant back, smiling. ‘Certainly. I didn’t think Peter was a suitable friend. I didn’t invite him here, and as Peter was an orphan, there was no way I was going to let David visit him in the holidays, even if it was possible. I didn’t ask.’
Frank’s professional antennae came back into action. ‘An orphan? I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Oh, yes. The governors of the school are philanthropic. They reserve a few places each year for children from orphanages, those who have no relatives, and are boys with disabilities, like Peter.’
‘What was wrong with Peter?’
‘He’s a mongol. Very low IQ, you know. I didn’t think it was good for David, with his problems, to mix with boys like that. The whole point of sending him to school was so he’d make friends with boys like himself. I know all the boys have problems, but Peter’s are …’ The pitch of her voice had risen, it was sharp and edgy. He was glad Laurel wasn’t here; she wouldn’t have been able to control herself, especially in her present mood.
‘Do you know why David liked him?’
She shook her head, black hair falling like a velvet curtain. ‘No, I don’t.’
Frank frowned. He didn’t remember any reference to Peter in either the police report or the one from the detective agency. ‘That’s fine, I’ll see if I can speak to Peter at the school.’ He took another sip of his drink. Carol was one-third down hers.
‘What on earth do you hope he’ll be able to tell you?’
Frank smiled then shrugged. ‘Probably very little, but we need to explore every lead.’
She relaxed, crossing her legs; her skirt riding up showing elegant thighs encased in sheer tights. ‘Any other questions, Frank? Is it all right to call you Frank? Do call me Carol.’
His throat was tightening again. He decided to ignore the last question and ploughed on. ‘One piece of information which would be useful. Could you give me the names and addresses of David’s last two tutors? We may need to interview them.’
Her eyes widened and her right hand moved to her throat. ‘Why? Why do you want to know that? What could they possibly tell you about David’s disappearance?’
His heart constricted, disappointment and jealousy welled up, blocking his throat. Ann Fenner had told the truth. Carol was frightened at the thought of the tutors revealing … he coughed, trying to regain speech. ‘It’s possible if David was fond of one of his tutors he might have got in touch with him; they might have some snippets of information that might give us a clue to where he is, or what happened to him. Believe me it’s surprising how sometimes the smallest fact can lead to other more important clues being revealed.’
Carol looked at him, her eyes shimmering, as though she was about to cry; she looked young and vulnerable.
‘Are you all right?’ He got up and sat next to her on the settee.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, taking his hand. ‘I find it all too much, sometimes. Where is my boy?’ she sobbed, and rested her head on his shoulder.
Her hand was small, fluttering like a trapped bird in his hand, and the heady perfume was overpowering. He wanted to hold her tight, tell her he’d find David. She looked up at him, her mouth close to his, lips slightly parted, her pupils dark pools in her blue eyes. He bent his head and gently kissed her. Her mouth opened and her tongue, flickering like a lizard’s, tried to enter his mouth. Frank drew back. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. Please forgive me,’ he said.
She smiled up at him. ‘We’ll pretend it didn’t happen, shall we? I’m afraid I do get upset sometimes. All these questions bring back the pain and worry. You’ve been so kind.’ She moved away and put a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel well, a horrid headache. I need to lie down.’
Frank didn’t know what to do or say. He wasn’t in full control of himself. First she’d seemed frightened, then vulnerable; when he’d kissed her, her reaction had shocked and thrilled him. Why he’d reacted as he did he couldn’t understand.
‘I haven’t answered your question about the tutors, have I?’
‘No, you haven’t.’
She leant towards him again, smiling, in spite of her headache. ‘I’ll look up the addresses. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow? Not here. Where do you live? I have the car.’
No. This was not wise. ‘Near Dunwich.’
‘Tomorrow afternoon?’
His chest tightened. He hesitated. ‘Do you know the National Trust car park above Minsmere beach?’
She nodded, her eyes sparkling.
‘Park there at two. I’ll find you.’
‘Do you live near there or at Dunwich?’
‘Dunwich,’ he lied. ‘Our agency is based there, as you know.’
There was a knock on the door. After a delay of several seconds Ann Fenner came in. ‘Sorry to bother you, madam. I’m going out, now. I won’t be back until late. Is that all right?’
Carol got up, pulling her dress down. ‘I told you to take the rest of the day off, Ann. Please don’t bother me again.’
&nbs
p; Ann Fenner looked at Frank anxiously. Was she afraid he was about to join the tutors and maybe other men, who had fallen for Carol? She could be right. He also got up, put his notebook and biro into the briefcase and walked towards the door.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Pemberton. If you’d look up the addresses, I’d be grateful.’
Ann Fenner went into the hall.
‘Tomorrow?’ Carol whispered.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
Chapter 16
Laurel stopped on her way to her car and looked at the front garden. Everything at Greyfriars was spring-like: the sunny day had opened the crocus flowers, bees were diving in for nectar and pollen, and a soft sea breeze moved the daffodils in the grass. All this should have lifted her spirits. It didn’t. She tried to analyse her feelings. She didn’t have to look far: Frank. Something was wrong. It was after he’d been to the Pembertons on Monday. Something happened there. What? On Wednesday evening when Stuart told them about Ann Fenner’s discovery of Carol Pemberton having sex with one of David’s tutors, she’d seen different emotions flicker over his face: he looked hurt and . angry? … jealous? She wasn’t sure. David’s drawing of Carol showed she was beautiful. She’d thought Frank was too professional to become involved with a client, but how much did she know about him as a man? She knew him as a policeman, a private detective and a friend and colleague. She’d first met him as the detective sergeant investigating the murder of her younger sister, Angela; then as a detective inspector on the Nicholson case, now they were partners. But as a man? He was attractive; not only his good looks and green eyes, but his sense of humour, his intelligence and the ability to make leaps of imagination, tying one fact with another.
There’d been times when his magnetism made her wish their relationship would take a different direction, usually when she’d been in danger, or more prosaically after a few whiskies. She didn’t want to go down that road, she preferred his friendship and their relationship as working colleagues. She’d learnt how shallow a bond built on sexual attraction could be: deeply consuming and important for a time, but then bitter disappointment when you realise the man you desired and gave yourself to, was not the man you thought he was, and deep chasms of shame and anger opened up. She cherished all her relationships with the team, but especially those with Frank and Dorothy. These last few days she hadn’t felt their normal easy camaraderie, he didn’t hold her gaze like he used to, didn’t explain his thoughts.