From Devon With Death

by Stephanie Austin

  ‘She’s asthmatic, you see,’ he told me pathetically, ‘and she has a weak heart.’

  I wouldn’t like to think what state her liver was in, either. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right,’ I told him, although she was as pallid as a corpse already. ‘Was she able to speak, to tell you anything?’

  ‘Only that she’d woken up with someone pressing a cushion down over her face. Of course, she tried to fight him off but … if I hadn’t come back when I did …’

  ‘And she didn’t manage to get a look at him?’

  He shook his head. ‘Even if she could have got the cushion off her face, she always wears a sleep mask.’ He pointed to a black velvet eye mask lying on the carpet.

  At that moment heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a uniformed policeman came in followed by the much smaller figure of Detective Sergeant Cruella DeVille. She took in the scene at a glance, although she did a double take when she saw me.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ was her first question.

  ‘I was visiting.’ I stood up. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  The violet eyes considered me for a moment.

  ‘Oh, don’t go, Juno!’ Digby entreated, grabbing my hand as if he were a little boy.

  ‘You can stay,’ Cruella agreed. ‘Just sit down and keep quiet.’

  I squeezed Digby’s hand for a moment, then did as I was told.

  ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ he asked the paramedics in an agonised voice.

  ‘She’s in shock,’ one of them told him gently. ‘We’re going to take her in to hospital, get her stable and run some checks.’

  Digby hurried to Amanda’s side while the paramedic went to fetch a wheelchair, and sat clasping her hand, murmuring, ‘Oh, my darling,’ over and over again.

  Cruella turned to me. ‘Do you know anything about what’s happened here?’

  I repeated what Digby had told me.

  ‘And you just happened to be passing?’ she demanded with obvious scepticism.

  ‘No, I was planning to drop in. I saw the ambulance and that the cottage door was open. I was concerned …’

  ‘You know Mr and Mrs Jerkin then?’ She obviously wasn’t prepared to indulge Amanda by referring to her by her professional name.

  ‘We shared a table at the ball together.’ I could have added that I’d helped Digby to cart a drunken Mandy up the stairs but didn’t.

  ‘Mr Jerkin,’ Cruella addressed him, ‘you didn’t see whoever it was who attacked your wife?’

  ‘I heard a crash. Whoever it was must have escaped through the garden.’

  ‘Do you know if anything is missing?’

  He shook his head. That was scarcely important to him now.

  I stood up and wandered to the window. The garden was as Digby had described it, almost cut in half by a high stone wall that marked out next door’s garden plot. There was just a narrow path down the side of it, which presumably led to the rest, but the wall effectively blocked the view of anyone escaping.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Cruella demanded as I headed towards the kitchen.

  ‘I thought I’d look in the garden.’

  ‘You stay where you are.’ She murmured to her colleague in uniform. ‘Get a dog handler sent over. See if we can pick up a trail.’ She glanced at the chaise longue and the scene of activity. ‘Obviously, Mr Jerkin will wish to accompany his wife to the hospital,’ she said to me. ‘We can take his statement there later. In the meantime, Juno,’ she gave that little tug of her mouth that passes for her smile, ‘I’d like you to accompany me to the station.’

  I swear the bitch only did it to wind me up. She sat me down at a table in an interview room saying she wanted to take my statement, and then went off and left me there kicking my heels for fifty-five minutes. Eventually, a police constable came in and took my statement. When she’d written it all down and I’d signed it, I asked if I could go.

  ‘If you don’t mind sitting here a little longer, Sergeant DeVille would like to speak to you.’ She offered me a cup of tea, which I’m glad I accepted, because it was another forty-five minutes before Cruella eventually strolled into the room. She was holding my statement in her hand and sat down at the table making a great performance of carefully reading every word.

  I sat back and folded my arms. ‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’

  She favoured me with a long stare before she spoke, a trick she’d learnt from Inspector Ford. ‘It’s always you, isn’t it, Juno?’ She gave her little tug of a smile.

  I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Inspector Ford might think you can do no wrong …’ she began.

  You could have fooled me, I thought. He threatened to arrest me only a little while ago.

  ‘—but I see you rather differently.’

  ‘I bet you do.’

  She fixed me with her glacial stare. ‘You found the effigy in the Ashburn. You found the body of Jessie Mole. It was you who discovered Verbena Clarke’s body, you who found Luke Rowlands on the moor, and this morning when Amanda Waft was nearly murdered, you’re there on the scene almost immediately.’

  ‘I told you, I was just—’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ She silenced me with a wave of her hand. ‘You were just visiting.’

  ‘I was invited. You can ask Digby.’

  ‘Oh, we will.’

  I took a very deep breath. ‘Exactly what are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s a lot of coincidence.’

  I could feel my temper rising inside like a steadily ascending skyrocket. I struggled to keep my tone level. Cruella had never liked me and I could sense that she was enjoying herself. ‘Well, for a start,’ I said, ‘it wasn’t me who discovered the effigy, it was Hayley.’

  ‘Hayley?’ Her dark brows drew together. ‘Who’s Hayley?’

  ‘She’s about four years old. She and her sister were playing in the Ashburn and got frightened when they saw the dummy under the bridge. You can ask her mother,’ I added, ‘that is, if you can find the feckless young hag.’

  ‘None of this was in your statement,’ Cruella objected, ‘at the time.’

  ‘I didn’t make a formal statement at the time,’ I responded with heavy emphasis, ‘because, at the time, no one seemed to think it was important. Your desk sergeant thought it was such a joke he nearly wet himself. It was only considered of any importance when Jessie’s body was found with the same postcard attached.’

  ‘Jessie’s body,’ Cruella leant forward intently, ‘which you found, with your friend Rowlands.’

  ‘She was lying there in plain view,’ I protested. ‘Anyone could have found the poor woman.’

  Again, Cruella smiled. ‘But it just happened to be you, just as it was you found Verbena’s body.’ She studied me reflectively for a moment. ‘When did you last see Verbena alive?’

  ‘At the ball,’ I retorted. ‘You should know, you were there!’

  She ignored this. ‘And you didn’t see her afterwards?’

  ‘No, I was too busy helping Digby Jerkin carry his drunken wife out of the ballroom and home into her bed. And I’ve got three witnesses to that, not counting Digby himself.’

  ‘And afterwards you returned to Druid Lodge, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you found Ms Clarke’s body floating in the lake.’

  I sighed. She knew all this. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The lake where Luke Rowlands had been working,’ she went on. ‘How many people do you suppose know of that lake’s existence?’

  ‘Hundreds, I should think. Ricky and Morris have thrown an awful lot of garden parties.’

  Cruella’s little mouth was working, as if she’d suddenly discovered a lump of gristle in something she was eating. She leant forward, intently holding my gaze. ‘Who got him the job working on their property?’

  She must know the answer or she wouldn’t be asking. I leant forward too. ‘I did. Now, do you want to tell me what the
hell you’re getting at?’

  ‘Funny, isn’t it, that you could find Luke Rowlands up on the moor when no one else − not even his own family − knew where to look.’

  ‘The clue was in his sketchbook.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ she smiled. ‘The sketchbook.’ She leant back, looking smug. ‘Containing his drawings of you. There’s one common factor in all of this, Juno. It’s you.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting the murder of Dave Bryant?’ I asked, folding my arms.

  She shrugged. ‘That’s a separate investigation.’

  ‘So, you think I killed Verbena?’

  ‘No,’ she answered quietly. ‘I think Luke Rowlands killed her while you were with your friends at Druid Lodge. I think you told him to do it, and how, and where to dump her body.’

  I gave a laugh of contempt that sounded perilously like a snort. ‘And do I have a motive for all this?’

  ‘She sacked you last year. She accused you of theft.’

  ‘And afterwards she was forced to admit she’d been wrong, to offer me my job back. It’s hardly a motive for murder.’

  ‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ I admitted frankly. ‘And why would Luke Rowlands agree to kill her?’

  ‘He was already a killer,’ she answered, holding my gaze, ‘and he was fixated on you, as evidenced by his drawings of you in his sketchbook. I reckon he would have done anything you asked him to.’

  I have to admit, that made me pause for a moment. ‘What about Jessie?’ I asked. ‘Did I tell Luke to kill her too?’

  ‘Did you?’ she asked softly.

  I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. I’d had enough of this farce. ‘Right, you’ve had your fun,’ I said, kicking back my chair and standing up. ‘Can I go now?’

  She hunched a shoulder in the tiniest of shrugs. ‘You’ve been free to leave at any time, you know that.’

  ‘Fine!’ I headed for the door.

  ‘Unless there’s anything else you’d like to tell me, Juno,’ she added smoothly.

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ I told her, my teeth gritted as I grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. ‘And it’s Miss Browne to you,’ I flung at her as I departed, ‘with an “e”!’

  I stomped out into the corridor just in time to see Dean Collins walking towards me. Before I could open my mouth to tell him what I thought about his superior officer, he opened the door to another interview room and stood back to show someone else inside. It was Daniel Thorncroft, looking pale and troubled. He glanced in my direction but he didn’t have time to speak. Inspector Ford followed him into the room and quickly shut the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Possibly Dean Collins could tell that Godmother wasn’t happy. I had bent and possibly burnt his ear with what I thought of Detective Sergeant DeVille. It was a wonder the phone didn’t burst into flames. He was quick to distance himself. She had been pursuing her own line of enquiry, he told me.

  ‘Well, she was out of order,’ I told him frankly. ‘I hope Inspector Ford is going to rein her in.’

  He muttered something inaudible. I decided not to pursue it. I had more important questions to ask. ‘What was Daniel Thorncroft doing at the station?’

  ‘He came in voluntarily.’

  ‘To assist you with your enquiries?’ I asked acidly.

  ‘To volunteer a sample of his DNA.’

  ‘Shit!’ I was shocked. ‘Is he really a suspect?’ Somehow, I still didn’t like that idea.

  Dean sighed heavily. ‘We’ve got no evidence against him and no motive, but he’s the only person of interest who had opportunity.’

  ‘What about Verbena’s ex?’

  ‘The has-been rock singer?’ Dean gave a grunt of laughter. ‘He might have a sound motive for bumping Verbena off, but he also has a splendid alibi – performing a concert in front of thousands of adoring fans.’

  ‘Blimey! I wonder what the average age was.’

  Dean laughed again. ‘There might have been a few Zimmer frames amongst the crowd.’

  ‘He could have put out a contract on her.’

  This frivolous suggestion was actually given a moment’s consideration.

  ‘D’you know, Juno,’ Dean said slowly, ‘Verbena’s murder is almost like the work of a hitman. I mean, there were signs of a struggle at her place – a table knocked over, a few things scattered on the floor − but no forensic evidence. No fibres from clothing, not a hair, things you might expect to find after a fight.’

  ‘And nothing on Verbena’s body, I suppose?’

  ‘It had been in the water too long,’ he responded gloomily. ‘There were just a few blades of grass stuck in her skirts, which must have happened when she was dragged across that field.’

  ‘Have you worked out on what yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, trouble was that the marks across the field disappeared from the grass as soon as the sun dried off the dew. We think it might have been something like a waterboard, you know, or a surfboard.’

  ‘Not a lot of help,’ I said. We were only a half-hour drive from the coast. ‘An awful lot of people round here would own one of those.’

  ‘True,’ he sighed.

  ‘But I don’t,’ I added firmly.

  ‘How is Amanda now?’ Morris asked, blinking at me anxiously. ‘Do we know?’

  I was kneeling on the hall floor, surrounded by hampers full of costumes returned from School for Scandal, trying to match up shoes that apparently had been tossed in from a great height, with no attempt to keep the pairs together. This was not the way they had been sent and the theatre company in question would be receiving a complaint. I tried not to be overwhelmed by the smell of old shoe leather and sweaty feet.

  ‘She’s OK. I called Digby this morning. She spent last night in hospital but he was going to fetch her home. No real damage done except for nearly being frightened to death.’

  ‘We must go round and see them,’ Morris said.

  Ricky looked up from the hamper of wigs he was unpacking. ‘Do the police think she was a target?’

  I sat back on my heels. ‘No. They think an opportunist burglar broke in and panicked when he saw her lying on the chaise longue. Perhaps she’d started to wake up.’

  I couldn’t have sounded convinced. He raised an eyebrow. ‘But you don’t think so?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I rubbed a hand through the tangle of my hair. ‘Digby says nothing was taken except for a silver photograph frame.’ I smiled. ‘The police found it later in the garden, broken. They think the thief just grabbed the first thing he could carry but discarded it as he fled.’

  ‘No fingerprints, I suppose?’

  I pulled a face. ‘Nothing so useful, I’m afraid. Sadly, the photograph was nowhere to be seen. It probably blew away.’

  I passed a matched pair of shoes up to Morris. He put a thick elastic band around them to keep them together and placed them on the stairs. ‘Didn’t the police dog find anything?’ he asked.

  I’d got my information from Dean. The dog had followed a scent until he reached the wall at the far end of the garden. The culprit had obviously climbed over the wall into the neighbouring garden, and then over into another, probably then escaping down an adjacent lane. Whoever he was, he must have been fit. The boundaries of several gardens come together in a knot at this point. The handler couldn’t haul the dog over all the walls and had to find different ways into the gardens, which meant knocking up each of the householders. By which time the culprit was long gone and the trail had become muddled and confused.

  I handed Morris another pair of shoes and he placed them on the next step up. This was part of his system. Different sizes were placed on different steps. Then, when we’d got them all sorted, they would be carried up to the storeroom.

  Ricky was inspecting an elaborate wig for damage. He blew on it and white powder came off in a cloud. ‘What about your friend, Mr Thorncroft?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s not my friend,’ I objected, a
nd getting information about him had proved a lot more difficult. I’d only managed to prise it out of Dean because I threatened to try to get it directly from Inspector Ford. ‘They’ve no evidence against him. Forensics went over his car but all they found was a hair of Verbena’s on the passenger head rest, which they couldn’t count as suspicious because Thorncroft had admitted to giving her a lift home. There was nothing on the back seat or in the boot − no hairs or fibres from her clothing, which was what they would have liked to have found − or blood, which they would have liked even better.’

  I’d just started telling them all this when the phone rang and Ricky wandered off into the living room to answer it. He came back quickly.

  ‘That was the police station,’ he told me. ‘The burglar alarm is going off in Chloe Berkeley-Smythe’s place, and they say you’re listed as the keyholder. They tried the shop and Sophie told them you were here. Can you go down to her cottage? There’s a copper waiting there apparently.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth!’ I grunted, struggling up off my knees. I glanced at my watch. It was only three o’clock. What a time to go burgling. ‘I might see you later. With any luck it’ll only be a false alarm and I won’t be long.’

  Unfortunately, my luck was out. I unlocked the front door, letting in the uniformed officer who was waiting on the doorstep, and switched off the flashing alarm. It was a silent alarm linked directly to a monitoring service who would contact the police if an intruder was detected. By the time I arrived it had been going off too long for me to reset it by keying the code in the box in the hall and I had to phone the monitoring company and quote a long string of obscure digits before they agreed to reset it remotely. While all this was going on, the uniformed officer was enjoying himself poking around Chloe’s house. He came back to tell me that a window in the kitchen had been forced and the lock broken. He seemed as pleased as Punch.

  I walked around the house with him to see if anything had been taken. Chloe always took most of her jewellery away with her in a secure case. What she left behind was locked in a small safe in the spare bedroom. It seemed the intruder hadn’t tried to tamper with it. In fact, apart from opening her wardrobes and pulling out a few boxes, he hadn’t done much. Most of her clothes were still hanging tidily on hangers. The drawers of her chest and dressing table had been pulled open and the contents rifled, but at least they hadn’t been tipped out onto the floor.