Come Death and High Water (George & Molly Palmer-Jones)

by Ann Cleeves

  “All right,” she said. “ Who else is there?”

  “Jasmine Carson. A retired schoolmistress. So much the stereotyped schoolmistress that I wonder sometimes if she has anything to hide. She’s efficient. She’s the one who really runs the observatory. Doctor Derbyshire thinks that he does, but he’s a ditherer. He’s good with figures, with abstracts, but he isn’t any good at taking decisions. I can’t quite work out why he still comes to the observatory. He hardly does any ringing now, and doesn’t even go out on to the island much. I think, when he was younger, he was quite a keen ringer. I’ve seen very sound papers by him in some of the more academic natural history journals. He was always specially interested in seabirds. He used to go ringing on sea cliffs in Scotland and the Hebrides, but you can’t imagine him dangling at the end of a rope now. And today I’ve learned that he has other, rather more sinister, interests.”

  He described his meeting with Jasmine Carson, the contents of the letter she had found in the doctor’s room.

  Molly stopped. George had set a brisk pace and she was hot. She felt very exposed. They were alone. The sand and the mud stretched for miles, and no one else was on the shore. The sun was very low and reflected in the water all around them. Only the island broke the line of the horizon. They were close enough to see the detail of it, the white wall around the observatory, the fissures in the low, crum bling cliffs, the sycamores around the wooden frame of the Wendy House. She took off her rucksack and did not object when George picked it up. Then she took off her mackintosh, rolled it roughly into a sausage and tied it around her waist. She turned her face to the breeze. She was recovering her breath.

  “What’s worrying you?” she said. “ Why don’t you think that it was the boy?”

  He walked on more slowly, and she followed him.

  “Partly it’s the boy,” he said. “He’s mixed up, but he’s not a psychopath. I believe him.”

  “Would they let me see him?” she asked. She was remembering other lonely, mixed-up young people. They had been her livelihood. When she had worked as a social worker she had befriended, been hurt by so many.

  “I suppose so. I don’t expect he has many visitors.”

  “So,” she said, “partly it’s the boy. But it can’t only be that. We both know that boys can be convincing liars.”

  “No. It’s not only that. I think that Pamela Marshall was killed because of something she heard on the evening of the arson. I don’t think it was an insane, motiveless crime. I believe that Charles Todd had discovered some irregularity in his family’s business and that he was trying to exploit it. I’m not sure how that fits in, but I’m sure that it’s relevant.”

  They had reached the rocks at the base of the slipway. Molly wished that he would walk more slowly. She had a hole in one sock and the wellington was rubbing a blister. She spoke, as much as anything, to stop his relentless pace.

  “Well,” she said. “ Which of them do you think murdered Charles Todd and Pamela Marshall?”

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I should do. I’ve talked to them all. I’m afraid that the boy will be convicted. They’ve almost proof enough. He made the threats. He had the opportunity to set fire to the Wendy House, and to strangle Charlie. He knew that Mark Taylor was a deep sleeper. He knew that Charlie would be in the hide. He could have woken early, realized that Jerry would not wake in time to keep the appointment, then he could have killed Charlie and be back in bed before his alarm went off. On Saturday night his knife was used to kill Pamela and his fingerprints will be on the knife. He was found in her room, covered in blood. When we found him, his words could have been taken as an admission. If we don’t find out who is the murderer, Nick Mardle may well be convicted.”

  He stopped and turned to her. “You don’t mind?” he said. “You don’t mind coming here and helping? I didn’t really ask you, did I? The phone call last night was a bit like a royal summons.”

  She tried to concentrate on more than the blister and her aching legs.

  “I’m pleased,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I trust your judgement. If you say that the boy is innocent, then we must prove that he is.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day the sun was shining still, and there were still birds for John and George to ring. They all had breakfast together, in the kitchen. George and John were talking about the birds they had caught. Elizabeth was quiet and preoccupied. Molly listened and watched.

  “I’d like to go over to the mainland tomorrow,” George said. “ I have something to discuss with Paul Derbyshire. But I won’t need to go out until later, so I’ll be able to help with the ringing again.”

  Elizabeth looked up. “ I’m going out tomorrow, so I can give you a lift if you like.”

  “Where are you going tomorrow?” John asked sharply.

  “Just to Gillicombe.”

  “Why?”

  “To do some shopping, go to the library.”

  The bitterness in the exchange was embarrassing. There was a silence.

  Then, changing the subject, John said: “ I meant to tell you before, George. I told you that I thought somebody was up before me on Saturday morning. I remember now what made me think so. It isn’t much. There were muddy footprints on the hall floor. Just one set of wet footprints. I came in after hoisting the cone and I noticed them then.”

  “Can you visualize where the footsteps went?”

  “Oh yes. Only as far as the coat rack. They were made by that spare pair of wellies. You know, the ones which went with the duffel coat that the police took away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. The boots were lying on their sides, on the floor. I can remember quite clearly.”

  “Did the police take the wellingtons with them?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s go to see.”

  The boots were still there. George looked at them carefully, without touching them. The size number had been worn from the inside and from the tread, but they were big. He could have worn them, and he had larger than average feet. The boots were lying on their sides, so he could see the soles. They were worn smooth and nothing clung to the rubber but the red sand of the track.

  “At least the murderer had the decency to take his boots off here,” John said, with an attempt at humour, “which is more than Doctor Derbyshire bothers to do. On the morning of Charlie’s death he walked up the stairs and left half the garden on the floor.”

  “Did he? I wonder where he had been. There’s not a lot of open ground on the island. What time was it?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. It was when I was on the way back to phone the police.”

  “Did you tell Superintendent Savage about the wellingtons?”

  “No. I only remembered this morning. Do you think I should?”

  “Yes. You see, nobody admitted to being up before you. So it is important. The boots were probably worn by the murderer.”

  The men wandered, through habit, into the ringing room. Molly followed them. They did not explain what happened there, but she had been in observatories with George before. She walked around reading the notices of ringing recovery pinned on to the notice board, the old school timetables, the rotas for washing up and cleaning. She was not bored. She was listening. John was showing George some photographs of birds in the hand.

  “I suppose Savage asked you about chloroform,” George said.

  “Yes. He made me feel a bit guilty that it was here, but I didn’t bring it on to the island. The teacher of last term’s A-level group was using it, I think. The schools have the run of the place while they’re here. I’ve seen the jar in the cupboard, but it never occurred to me that it might be dangerous. People here are usually responsible.”

  “Did you know what was in the jar? Was it labelled?”

  “I knew what was in it because the teacher told me. I can’t remember if it was labelled. I suppose it must have been.”

  “Would everyone hav
e known that it was in the cupboard?”

  “Everyone would have seen it. It was on the shelf with the bird bags. But unless it was marked, no one would have known what it was.”

  There was a silence, comfortable now, as John spread out more photographs, then George said: “You knew Charlie as well as anyone. You’ve been his neighbour for nearly five years. Would he be capable of blackmail, do you think?”

  John was not surprised by the question, but he hesitated while he thought.

  “Not blackmail. Not really blackmail,” he said. “ Charlie would never have tried to make money out of other people’s problems, but he enjoyed finding out about them. He was really nosy, a bit like a kid. He was childish in lots of ways. He’d throw incredible tantrums if he didn’t get his own way. And I suppose he might try to use the information he’d discovered to get his own way. It didn’t always work, but he usually managed to persuade people to his point of view.”

  “And what was his point of view? What did he persuade people to do for him?”

  “Oh, there were silly things. He wanted to have an observatory New Year’s Eve party. No one else was very keen. I suppose the lads wanted to be out with their own friends, and Pam wanted to be with her family, but everyone turned up for the party in the end. I don’t know how he managed it. But he wasn’t always selfish. Once he conned the doctor and Jasmine to allow a bunch of deprived kids from Birmingham to have a free holiday here.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “I don’t know. He was very clever, quite subtle. He probably just appealed to Jasmine’s better nature. She’s so fond of the island that she’s quite happy to share it with everyone. Doctor Derbyshire would have been more difficult to persuade, but there are probably some skeletons in his cupboard.”

  “Any idea what they might be?”

  “No. I don’t know him very well. I only ever see him here.”

  “Did he try his form of blackmail on you?”

  “He didn’t get any opportunity. I made it quite clear before we came that Elizabeth and I weren’t married. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t at all prudish. It wasn’t immorality that attracted him as much as secrecy. He tried to find out all about Elizabeth and Frank, Elizabeth’s ex-husband. Frank’s quite famous in his own field. You see his name on the credits of TV documentary programmes, but again there was nothing to find out. Besides, Charlie was rather frightened by Elizabeth. She intimidated him.”

  It occurred to Molly that John was speaking rather glibly about the lack of secrecy in his relationship with Elizabeth. From the short conversation at breakfast, it seemed that Elizabeth, at least, had secrets from him. Had Charlie been aware of that?

  The men were still standing by the table. They were looking up an identification feature in a field guide. Molly was aware of a movement outside the open door. Elizabeth was standing there. She was, to Molly, still a girl. She looked almost Mediterranean in colouring and features. Her hair was thick and very curly. She made no attempt to hide, but she was standing quite still. She must have heard what John had said. She caught Molly’s eye. Molly smiled, was about to speak, when Elizabeth turned quickly and walked away. Her face had been impassive, but it seemed to Molly that she had been pleased by what she had heard.

  After lunch Elizabeth found herself talking to Molly in the kitchen. She was not sure, exactly, how it came about. The older woman did not ask questions, hardly spoke at all. With her shabby, ill-fitting clothes, her round spectacles held together with sticky tape, she looked like a grownup, rather jolly schoolboy. She listened intently, occasionally offered an opinion which was different from Elizabeth’s, but there was no element of judgement in her comments. Her opinion was different, not right or better.

  She never talked about Frank. She would never have discussed him with John, and there was no one else here with whom she had any intimate conversation. Except perhaps Mark, but somehow he did not count. Yet now she was explaining about Frank. She supposed that George’s wife had said something which reminded her of Frank, and which had prompted the discussion, but she could not remember exactly how the conversation had started.

  “It seemed so exciting when we first met,” she said. “ I was a mousy little student at teacher’s training college, and he was a lecturer. He wasn’t a lecturer for very long. It wasn’t his scene at all. He hated having to face all the students.”

  It was hard to believe Elizabeth was ever mousy, but she continued:

  “He was working in the BBC by the time we were married. We had to move to Bristol, so I never had the opportunity to finish my course. I didn’t mind. Not at the time. Frank came from Northern Ireland, and had a very conventional idea of what he wanted a wife to be. He didn’t mean to be unkind. My dad was a real waster. He moved from job to job, drank too much. Then there weren’t any more jobs to get. So the security of a nice house, and money in the bank, and a husband who came home every night, was a real treat. But I started to get so bored.”

  She stressed the last word dramatically, and stretched to emphasize the yawning tedium of married life.

  “He was doing very well at the BBC and for a while that was fun. But he didn’t really want me to be involved. He was a very strong character, very organized, a bit rigid. Then I got pregnant. Frank started taking a bit of notice of me then. He was thrilled to bits. He wanted a daughter, to be a doll and to love him. He would have hated it really if there had been a baby. He would have hated the mess, the disruption to his routine. But I had a miscarriage. He was very kind. He said that he was sure that next time everything would be all right, but I knew that I’d never have his baby. I didn’t leave him then. I didn’t have the energy somehow. He went to Bardsey to do some filming and I persuaded him to take me with him. He wouldn’t have taken me usually, but he was still feeling sorry for me.”

  “I’ve been to Bardsey,” Molly said. “I did enjoy it there.”

  “It was wonderful,” she said, with a naïve and joyful intensity. “I was born and brought up in the city. I’d never been on an island. We stayed at the observatory. Frank was out all day, filming. He thought that I would be bored, but just being there was enough for me.

  “John was assistant warden there. It was early summer. He showed me round. He was shy, but he did love the place. When the time came for the film unit to go, I asked John if I could stay.”

  She laughed affectionately. “ He was so surprised. I could tell that he liked me, but he would never have had the nerve to ask me to leave Frank. It was a real pleasure to make him happy. I’d never had that effect on anyone before.”

  “And now you’re pregnant again,” Molly said. “Are you pleased?”

  “Oh yes. Very pleased, But of course it does make a difference.”

  “Yes. It must do.”

  “For one thing, I’ve started worrying about money for the first time. And then John has certain expectations. Of me. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “You won’t disappoint him.”

  “No? He doesn’t disappoint me, though he believes that he does. We seem to have lost touch with each other lately. Even after five years there still seem to be misunderstandings. “

  “There will always be misunderstandings. The investigation will have made things worse.”

  “I suppose so. I wonder …”

  She broke off. She had been going to explain. The woman was so easy to talk to. She would have to be more careful.

  “Yes?” Molly asked.

  “Oh nothing,” she said. “Would you like some tea? John and George will be coming in for some soon, I expect.”

  The men did come in then. The afternoon was a quiet time for ringing. Most of the migrant birds came through in the early morning. John was asking George’s opinion of a paper he was preparing on seabird passage. George made a number of suggestions and John was excited. He wanted to go, right away, to look up the references in the books. Elizabeth said that she would go to rest for a while, and went to the flat. Molly and George were
left alone in the kitchen.

  “I don’t think that Elizabeth has a lover,” Molly said. George found the term old-fashioned, amusing, but let Molly continue. “ I think she’s hiding something from John, though.”

  “Do you? Any idea what it might be?”

  She shook her head.

  “I want to go to have another look at the Wendy House,” George said. “I’ve still got the key. I only went in, once before, to get an idea of the place. I didn’t do a proper search. There were some papers, some correspondence. There may be something which would give us a clue to Charlie’s interest in the family business. It seems that Paul Derbyshire has already found whatever Charlie had which frightened him, but there may still be something there.”

  The Wendy House was as it had been, when he had last visited it, though in the kitchen the glasses and mugs had been put away. Presumably Elizabeth had been in to clean.

  They went into the bedroom first, and George looked carefully through the pine chest of drawers. There was nothing to see. Each drawer contained a messy and random pile of clothes. Checked shirts and fair-isle sweaters were mixed with odd socks and grey underwear.

  “It’s almost as untidy as yours,” George said. Molly ignored him. She was looking at a framed photograph which hung beside the bed. It was a posed wedding photograph, a family grouping around the bride.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  George joined her to look at the picture. “The bride is Pamela Marshall,” he said. “I should think it was taken sixteen or seventeen years ago, but she hadn’t changed much. The old man must be Albert, Charlie’s father. He’s still alive. I’d like to meet him, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make the opportunity. The two couples are Ernest and Laurence, and their wives.” The women were wearing the unbecoming short skirts of the late sixties. One of them was carrying a plump baby. “I suppose that’s Jonathan, the other beneficiary of the will,” George said. At the edge of the group, looking bemused but grinning widely, was a round-faced, middle-aged man.