Murder Among Us

by Ann Granger

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  to speak to women's groups about food and wine. He had everything to lose and the story he told me leaks like an old lilo."

  "This chap, Merle, he doesn't want to press charges against Fulton for assault?"

  "No, he assures me it was all a misunderstanding. You know the sort of thing. He doesn't want that kind of publicity."

  "Pity. It would give us an extra reason for taking Fulton in. Think Merle really was having an affair with Mrs. F.?"

  Markby hunched his shoulders. "Leah Fulton is very attractive and wealthy. She married Denis very quickly after her second husband died. Perhaps too quickly. She may have decided she made a mistake and have found someone else.

  "Merle is anxious to deny he's the man and give himself alibis for the clandestine trysts with Mrs. F. Denis accused him of having. If Merle's telling the truth and he wasn't meeting with Mrs. F. on the dates in question, where was she and with whom? She must have been with someone and she doesn't want to say who because she's been lying to Denis about that, claiming to be with her daughter when she wasn't. I owe all this information to Miss Mitchell. It was Denis finding out from the daughter that Leah's story was false which precipitated the attack on Merle, This brings us to Schuhmacher, another frequent caller at the house. Eric's recently fallen for a girl in gumboots but he could have been having an affair with Leah before that.

  "Suppose Denis originally thought the lover was Schuhmacher? What a chance to kill two birds with one stone! Get rid of Ellen and do it at Springwood Hall, ruining Eric's opening gala and leaving him with an embarrassing corpse on the premises? Denis's been under near intolerable pressure. It would be little wonder if he was driven to the extreme action in an attempt to extricate himself. All the more so if he knew there were other men, or at least one other man, in Leah's life and that

  if she'd found out about the bigamy, she didn't lack consoling arms to run to."

  McVeigh sighed. "That Remington is covered in fingerprints, I suppose?"

  "Every print in the household except the cat's. Plus Merle's, plus mine and Chirk's. Plus the maid dusted it once a week and wiped off a dozen others."

  "Okay, pull him in. But don't come to me to authorise an extension after that because I won't. I don't even like this. I am overseeing this investigation and it's I who'll take the flak if nothing comes out of it."

  "I wouldn't suggest it, if I didn't think it was necessary," Markby said quietly.

  McVeigh muttered, "Just bear in mind that if you can't make anything stick at the end of it, the civil liberties lot, Fulton's lawyers and the press will all have a field day."

  "Don't they always?" returned Markby.

  McVeigh sighed again. Then he sat back and placed his hands on his desk. "Let's turn to another matter."

  "I can guess!" Markby said sharply. "I don't want to leave Bamford. I'm not bothered about promotion. But I do want to know who leaked the possibility! They're passing the hat round already for my goodbye present! They think I don't know."

  "Alan, we need good senior men taking overall control. I don't need to tell you that morale is pretty low in some quarters of the force. Too many scandals recently. It makes my blood boil. Don't these idiots realise the harm their stupidity does the image of the police?"

  "I feel as strongly as you do. But the crime rate in and around Bamford is rising. Town's expanded in the last few years. Villages are losing their old social cohesion. We're understrength. This isn't the moment for me to walk out on it all!" said Markby stubbornly.

  McVeigh glared. "There'll never be a good moment! Like it or not, decision time comes and we can't duck and dive for ever, hoping to avoid it! I retire in three years' time. Approaching retirement has the effect that

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  Dr. Johnson said the knowledge of being about to be hanged did: it concentrates the mind wonderfully! I'd like to think that you'll be sitting at this desk one day. If you take a transfer now it could set you up for just that. I've worked hard during my time here. I want to hand it all on to a safe pair of hands. Think it over from that point of view. It could be that you're being selfish as well as short-sighted!"

  There was a silence. Markby said, "I appreciate what you've said. It's not a question of dodging the issue. I'm just not ready for that particular change in my life yet. I don't like sitting at desks. I do more than enough of that already. The higher you go the fewer the opportunities for getting away from paperwork and chairs. That's life. In a couple of years' time, maybe, I'll feel differently."

  "You're getting older too, Alan," McVeigh said brutally, "whether you like it or not! You may still be mentally alert but you must be physically slower and less tolerant of irregular hours. Not to mention lack of sleep and missed meals! Take the step now!"

  "That's probably what the hangman said to Dr. Johnson's man on the gallows!" Markby retorted. "But I'm like the condemned man. I'll only go when I'm pushed!"

  Twenty-One

  When Markby returned to Springwood Hall to inquire again after Denis Fulton, he received the same answer: that Mr. Fulton was at the swimming pool. But this time the information was accompanied by a beaming smile from the elegant receptionist which, in view of his mission, troubled his conscience.

  In another respect, his luck was out. Denis was not alone at the pool. Both Leah and Meredith were with him and Markby cursed silently. All three of them lounged in the poolside recliners chatting. They looked quite relaxed and happy which surprised him a little. Surely news of his visit to the Fultons' town house and the removal of the typewriter had reached them? And if Denis had confessed his bigamy, Leah was taking it remarkably well. Markby's heart sank. Somebody, somewhere, was playing games. He glowered at Denis's round, pink, shiny face, as innocent as a plaster cherub's.

  Apart from that, the smell of chlorine was stronger today. The water must have been treated that morning. It reminded him of the formaldehyde smell of forensic laboratories. The music tape had been switched off. Subsurface light still rippled through the pool's turquoise depths and led to the distracting trompe I'oeil effects he had noticed on his previous visit. There was altogether a baroque feel to this place, as if one ought to be able to raise one's eyes to the ceiling and behold a painted heaven of cloud-borne saints. He found himself looking up and was oddly disconcerted only to see plain white paint across which grotesque shapes gyrated, caused by the undulating water below.

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  He looked down and saw Meredith, her short brown hair wet and clinging to her scalp like a glossy cap. "Hullo," he said, his guilt returning.

  They all chorused delighted greetings rendering him in his own eyes a complete Judas. But he saw that a slightly wary look had entered Denis's expression.

  "Coming in for a swim?" Leah invited.

  "Sorry, not today. Business call. I'd rather like a word with you, Denis."

  "Then Meredith and I will take the plunge," said Leah amiably. "And leave you to it!" She twisted her long hair into a rope and coiling it on top of her head stuck in a couple of pins to secure it. 4 'Come on, Meredith."

  The two men watched the women descend into the pool and swim slowly away towards the far end. Meredith looked as though she might be a strong swimmer and Markby wished he had the time to sit and watch her. Leah had a leisurely, elegant stroke which conserved energy and suggested she found the exercise basically boring.

  He asked bluntly, "Have you told her yet?"

  Denis looked sullen, his lower lip jutting petulantly. "No! And I've been thinking it over. Why should I? Ellen's dead! Whether or not I married Leah bigamously doesn't matter tuppence now. It's no one's business, not even yours!"

  4 'You're deluding yourself!" Markby told him unkindly.

  Denis scowled. "If I'm deceiving anyone, it's Leah. Surely that's a matter between her and me? I think I'm doing right. Sometimes deception is kinder than truth."

  "I'm only interested in truth!" Markby said. 'That's the way police
investigations operate, for better or worse! And this is, I ought to remind you. still a murder investigation."

  "And searching for truth leads you to invade our London home and make off with my typewriter, does it?" Denis demanded nastily.

  "I realised you'd have heard about that. Your wife seems pretty calm despite it."

  "That's because she doesn't know."

  "I thought either Merle or the cook, Raul, would have telephoned the news through to you?"

  "Both did, as it happens. By pure chance I took the call from Raul and Victor phoned me personally, so Leah is still in blissful ignorance of your uncouth behaviour! Pinching my typewriter and who knows what else! Frightening Raul and Dolores into fits, also, I might add. Merle said you were damn high-handed and had brought along a heavy from the Met, presumably to kick in my front door if need be."

  Markby felt his annoyance growing and his feeling of being a snake in the grass distinctly lessening. "For crying out loud, how many more secrets are you going to try and keep from your wife indefinitely? It can't be done, man! The whole bally edifice is about to come crashing down and the more your wife has to discover when the collapse comes, the tougher it will be on her! You should have told her about Ellen by now. I gave you fair warning and plenty of time! As for our visit to your London address, she'll find that out as soon as she gets back."

  Across Denis's face had come the obstinate expression of a wilful child, refusing to admit that to adult eyes his infant behaviour is unacceptable. "Well, it can wait then, can't it? What did you want the wretched typewriter for, anyway?"

  "That, Denis, is among several things I'd like to discuss at the station. I've come here to ask if you'd accompany me there. I believe you can help us with our inquiries and I don't believe you've been entirely frank with me up till now."

  Denis's face was a picture. Shock, anger and wounded vanity all appeared on it in quick succession. "You've got a nerve! Suppose I refuse? I've told you everything I know. Told you freely!"

  "Come off it!" Markby returned brutally. "You've

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  been anything but forthcoming. The only things you've admitted are things I'd already found out and you couldn't deny. Your marriage to Ellen. The blackmail. The break-in and damage at Ellen's flat. I could charge you with that if I wanted to hold you officially, remember! You may have been reasonably successful deceiving Leah to date, but you're not going to be anything like as successful if you try and hoodwink the police! The game's up, Denis!"

  The reflection from the disturbed water of the pool caused a weird effect of light and shade to play across Denis's face. But behind this, he had changed colour. The angry turkey-cock red had drained away to a sickly pallor.

  "Are you, then, charging me?"

  "No. I'm asking you to come in with me. I'm trying to make it easy, or as easy on you as I can. I could have sent a police car and a couple of uniformed men."

  "And you will, I suppose, if I refuse to accompany you now?" Denis said spitefully.

  "Spot on, I will."

  "Am I allowed to express my personal opinion of your behaviour or would that go on the charge sheet with everything else?" Fulton snarled.

  "What everything else?" Markby countered coolly.

  There was silence, broken by a splash from the two swimmers at the far end of the pool. Their voices echoed around the walls.

  "What do I tell Leah?" Denis asked, suddenly deflated.

  "Sooner or later you'll have to tell her everything. For the time being, I suggest you simply say you're leaving with me."

  "She won't leave it at that! She's not stupid! She'll ask—"

  "And if you'd told her the truth before, she'd be better prepared now!" Markby snapped. "It's your ruddy problem, not mine! Go and put some clothes on."

  Leah and Meredith were holding on to the bar running around the edge of the pool and treading water.

  "I'm not the sporty type," Leah was saying. "I take a dip occasionally like this, indoors. I never swim in the sea. When Marcus was alive we went to the Cote d'Azur every year. He loved the place. But lying around on the beach or poolside has always bored me stiff, all those bronzed bodies cooking in suntan oil like rows of sardines. I'm a city girl. I like to shop or go to restaurants, theatres, exhibitions. Marcus had a yacht for a while and I'd make him go down the coast to Monaco so I could visit the casino. I am, I admit, a bit of a gambler so I enjoyed that."

  "I like the south of France," Meredith said. "But I'd rather go inland than stay along the coast, although I do like to swim."

  Leah turned her back to the edge of the pool and rested her outstretched arms along the rail. She allowed her feet to float out straight ahead of her. From the new position she was looking directly down the pool towards the two men.

  "What are they talking about?" Her voice was suddenly sharp.

  Meredith took a look in the same direction. Markby and Fulton certainly seemed to be arguing. A twinge of unpleasant apprehension seized her. "I don't know."

  "Well, I'm going to find out!" Leah pushed herself away from the rail and began to swim back to the further end with far greater determination than she had shown on her leisurely breast-stroke progress down. Meredith followed her.

  As they climbed, dripping wet, out on to the tiled surround, Markby and Fulton got to their feet.

  "What's going on?" Leah asked in a clipped voice. She took the pins from the coil of hair and shook it loose about her face.

  "It's okay," Denis said quickly. "I'm just going to change and then I'm going with the chief inspector here."

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  "Going where?" Leah glared suspiciously at Markby. "Why do you need my husband?"

  "Don't be alarmed," Markby said soothingly. "Your husband has agreed to come down to the station so that we can discuss certain matters in more suitable surroundings than here."

  "What matters?" She stepped forward aggressively. "Denis, what on earth is going on? Why can't you talk here? Why must you go to a police station of all places?" She switched her head to Meredith, hair flying. "Did you know about this?"

  "No, nothing." Silently Meredith cursed Alan. She didn't know what was going on and she didn't like being landed in the middle of whatever it was without the slightest hint to guide her. She treated Markby to a furious glare of her own.

  "You're not going anywhere, Denis!" said Leah furiously. She snatched up a towel. "I'm going to get changed and we're all going up to the Hall where we'll telephone our solicitor and take advice on this! He can't make you go with him, can he? I mean, you're not arrested, for pity's sake, are you?"

  "No," said Markby. "But I think it would be better if your husband were to be positive about this."

  "Positive!" Leah shouted. "I'm being positive! Positive he's not going! What do you want him for?"

  Denis spoke, his voice loud and echoing above the gentle splish-splash of the water. "It's about Ellen, Leah, the murdered woman, Ellen Bryant. I didn't tell you this before, and I'm sorry, but she and I—we knew each other, long ago." He glanced at Markby. "It's complicated. I'd rather tell you later, in private."

  Leah was obviously dismayed but was adept at thinking on her feet. "But if it was so long ago, why does it matter? So you knew her? I have a nodding acquaintance with hundreds of people. If anything happened to any one of them, would the police haul me off just because of that?"

  "I'd been in touch with her recently!" Denis's voice

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  became pleading. "Please, Leah. I'll explain it all later. I'm just going with Markby now. Meredith, take care of my wife, won't you?"

  The two men turned and walked away. With exquisite bad timing the canned music suddenly burst into life amongst the potted palms. Soupily the crooning voice informed them all that once, the singer had had a secret love . . .

  Zoe straightened up with a sigh as she eased the crick in her neck. She put down her pen. Trying to balance the books of the Alice Batt Rest Home was diffi
cult at the best of times. "A challenge" was how some might charitably have described the task. "Hopeless" others might have said. Zoe's emotions generally veered between the two views. Usually she sat down filled with determination to make the Home come out on the credit side and by the end of half an hour's grim calculations, ended up with a substantial sum firmly in the debit column. However she juggled the figures, their outgoings always exceeded their income.

  To make things worse, she was so tired. The truth was that she missed Robin's practical help about the place. Not that he had come regularly or for long hours, but he had turned up whenever he could and always pitched in willingly no matter how disagreeable the task. Thus in the past it had always been possible to leave a heavy or awkward job "till Robin came" But since their quarrel it seemed fairly certain Rob would appear no more. At least, not in friendship.

  "Drat!" said Zoe miserably, erasing a set of pencilled numbers and beginning to add up her columns of figures again.

  It was getting dark in the caravan and she could hardly see what she did. She got up and lit the oil lamp which provided her lighting. The home was nearing the end of its existence. She had to admit it. They could no longer afford to take in any more animals and yet, if another sad case appeared on their threshold, there would be no

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  way she could refuse. But how to pay for it all? Costs couldn't be pared down any further and her own lifestyle could not be simpler. She was sorry, on reflection, that she had marched out of the luncheon with Schuhmacher before they'd eaten. She could have done with the free meal. Thoughts of the hotelier added to her gloom and filled her with mixed emotions of anger, frustration and regret.