Jackson made a noncommittal reply. Sometimes the Governor seemed to think him penny-wanting. This wasn’t the first case Miss James had been involved with, and he’d bet it’d not be the last. And what had the old man been doing here last Saturday, if not visiting his lady friend? Still, it was no skin off his nose, and if the Guy imagined he was being discreet, Jackson hadn’t the heart to disillusion him.
***
At their uncle’s house, the Walker girls were preparing for bed. Or rather, Melanie was. Fay sat trembling, fully dressed, on the edge of her bed, and her sister threw her an impatient glance.
‘Come on, Fay, hurry up. I’ve had quite enough of today.’ Fay’s eyes filled again. ‘Poor Grandma! I just can’t believe it. Who could possibly do that to her?’
‘What makes it worse is that I keep thinking “An eye for an eye—”’
‘Melanie, don’t!’ Fay put her hands over her ears.
‘Sorry. I’m as upset as you are, really.’
Through the pale curtain of her hair, Fay watched her sister undress. Then, speaking quickly while her courage held, she asked the question that had been haunting her. ‘You don’t think it was those flowers that made it happen? A kind of self-fulfilling prophecy?’
‘For pity’s sake, Fay! We’ve enough trouble without bringing in the supernatural!’
‘But suppose someone saw them, and got the idea? Daddy said they were seen, when the tower was open.’
It was an uncomfortable thought, and Melanie thrust it aside. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said stoutly. ‘You might just as well say someone could read about a murder in the paper, and go off and commit one.’
‘Some people do.’
‘Well, I can’t be held responsible for loonies.’ She’d had enough grilling from the police without this, she thought resentfully, and changed the subject. ‘I haven’t heard Gavin come in yet.’
‘It’ll be a shock for him when he does.’ With a sigh, Fay at last got to her feet. ‘I wish Daddy was here,’ she said.
***
Hannah opened the door wearing her dressing-gown. Stepping inside, Webb took her in his arms, feeling her tremble. ‘Poor love,’ he said softly. ‘I’m very sorry that had to happen.’
‘I’ll never forget it, David. Isn’t that an appalling thought? It’ll be part of my memory forever.’
He steered her gently into the living-room. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.’
The low-ceilinged room, with Hannah’s book face-down on a chair, looked cosy and comfortable. Webb settled into the soft cushions of the sofa, accepted the glass she offered, and patted the seat beside him. She joined him with her own drink, moving close against him.
‘Can you stay? I’d rather not be alone tonight.’
‘Not nervous, are you?’
‘Only of my thoughts.’
‘Sorry, love, I have to be on call, but I’ll stay for a while. And Doc Pringle sent you these sleeping pills.’
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks, I never touch them.’ ‘This is exceptional. They’d guarantee a good night.’ He bent forward and put a small paper envelope on the table.
Hannah said: ‘Do you want me to go through it all again?’
‘No, I’ve seen your statement. What I would be glad of are any impressions you formed about the Walkers. You did go to that coffee morning?’
‘Yes, but I only saw the old lady for a moment; she looked in with a message for her grandson.’
‘What message was that?’ Webb asked quietly.
‘She invited him to tea. This afternoon!’ She spun to face him. ‘I’d forgotten that.’
‘He never showed up. Or so his mother would have me believe. Was any time mentioned?’
Hannah thought back. ‘Mrs Walker said she’d an appointment, but would be back by four.’
So that hadn’t been a fabrication. ‘Who else was there at the time?’
‘Ashley, Pamela Tenby, and the vicar’s and doctor’s wives.’
‘Names?’
‘The doctor’s wife was Inez—Inez Pratt. And—Barbara Mallow.’
Webb noted them down. And they all heard the invitation?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
He considered for a moment. ‘Was the atmosphere friendly, or did you detect undercurrents?’
‘Actually I did, and Pamela Tenby told me later that Gavin had had a row with his grandmother in front of them all.
‘So I heard. It would have made him a useful scapegoat, wouldn’t it?’
Hannah regarded him incredulously. ‘You surely don’t suspect those women?’
He shrugged. ‘Had Mrs Tenby any other comments on the Walkers?’
‘She was a bit caustic about their family tree. They go back a long way, apparently, and are inordinately proud of it.’
‘To come back to today, then; you’d been at the pool about half an hour?’
‘A little longer. I left home about three-fifteen.’
‘And you didn’t hear any kind of noise till the cry for help.’
‘That’s right. But as you know, the pool’s at the back of the house and the French windows are at the side.’
He nodded. ‘I tested it myself. You’d have been even less likely to hear a car at the front door.’
‘David, do you think this has anything to do with those flowers?’
‘I wish I knew. It’s the hell of a coincidence. I went for another look, but they’d been dug up. Walker didn’t waste much time.’
‘But surely if they had any meaning, whatever it was must have already happened. He reacted when he realised they’d been planted in April. Could that be a clue?’
‘There’s nothing relevant on the books. I checked back, just to make sure.’
‘Have you spoken to the girl?’
‘Yes, but she was no help. Said she chose the word at random. Strong-minded little madam—I couldn’t shake her.’
‘And Fay?’
‘Fay,’ Webb said slowly, ‘fainted dead away:’
Hannah gave a murmur of distress. ‘So you weren’t able to question her?’
‘Eventually I was, but it didn’t get me anywhere. And when I mentioned the flowers, she all but passed out again. She’s very highly-strung, isn’t she?’
‘She’s always been quiet, but lately she has seemed on edge. I noticed it particularly last term.’
‘Exams?’
‘No, they never worry her. She excels at them.’
‘Is she popular?’
Hannah considered. ‘Relatively. She has one or two close friends, but she doesn’t join in much. She’s not interested in sport, for example.’
‘I’m not surprised. She looks as though a puff of wind would blow her away.’
They were silent for a while. The clock, lost in the shadows on the mantel, ticked steadily. On a comfortably sagging chair, two of the cats slept snuggled against each other. The third had jumped on Hannah’s lap, and her fingers absently caressed its ears. There was a lot to be said for domestic bliss, Webb thought ironically. But he was only sampling it now because of murder most foul.
He roused himself and looked at his watch. ‘I must be on my way. Still, I’m booked in at the Horse and Groom from tomorrow.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘This is what I get for wishing I could spend the week in Honeyford.’
‘Have you any ideas at all at this stage?’
‘None. Though I’ll be interested to hear what the boy has to say for himself.’
‘It could have been a burglary that went wrong.’
‘So wrong nothing appears to be missing.’
‘You think she knew her killer?’
‘There’s no way of knowing. We can’t even assume she admitted him—the door was on the latch. On the other hand, he might have come back with her. We need to find out where she went this afternoon and how she got home.’ He stood up and stretched. Hannah gently tipped the cat off her lap and rose as well. His arms went round her and he laid his face against
her hair. Too bad they couldn’t just go upstairs together.
‘Now, be a good girl and take those pills. You don’t want to lie awake half the night.’ He kissed her gently. ‘And try not to worry,’ he said.
***
‘That man,’ Nina Petrie said tightly, ‘is insufferable.’
Her mother tutted sympathetically. ‘Drink your tea, dear, before it gets cold.’
‘Anyone with the most basic good manners would have waited till I finished the interview, but not Mr High-and-Mighty Webb. “I’ll take over,” he says, as though, I didn’t know what I was doing. Quite apart from making the poor woman go through it all twice, I felt such a fool.’
‘Don’t let him get your back up,’ her mother advised. ‘It’s early days yet, and you want to stay in Shillingham, don’t you?’
‘If I could move to another office it’d help, but Lord knows when there’ll be a space. I just hope I can hang on without blowing my top.’
The phone rang shrilly in the corner, making both women jump.
‘Whoever can it be at this hour?’ Mrs Paxton exclaimed. Nina lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘Inspector Petrie?’
Talk of the devil, she thought. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Just to let you know the PM’s at noon tomorrow. I’ve notified Constable Hobson. Normally, I’d attend myself, but in the circumstances it’s more important to be at the factory when Neville Walker returns.’ A pause. ‘I presume you’ve attended a PM before?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well, I’ll leave it to you, then. Oh, and Inspector—’
‘Yes, sir?’ For Pete’s sake! Was that all she could say?
‘About this afternoon; I shouldn’t have bulldozed you aside like that, and I apologise. It won’t happen again.’ He paused, but she was incapable of comment. ‘Good night,’ he said.
‘Good night, sir,’ Nina echoed weakly.
‘What is it?’ Mrs Paxton asked, as she turned from the phone.
‘He apologised. The DCI.’
‘Well, then,’ her mother said comfortably.
‘It must have taken a bit of doing. Perhaps he’s human after all.’
***
It was one o’clock when Gavin’s key sounded in the door. His parents were awaiting him in the sitting-room. Their relatives had long since retired to the rooms allotted them, but Howard and Ashley, in unspoken agreement, acknowledged that they would not sleep till they’d spoken to their son. He’d been this late before, but tonight every half-hour of his non-appearance had increased their anxiety. Now he was here, and Howard rose to his feet as his wife tensed, their eyes fastened on the open doorway.
The front door closed softly, there was a quiet footfall in the hall. Then Gavin stood there, staring at them.
‘What on earth are you doing down here?’ He sounded breathless, his voice slightly off-key. ‘Not waiting up for me, surely?’
‘Where have you been?’ Howard asked hoarsely.
‘To the disco. I said at lunch-time I was going.’
‘You were expected at the Old Rectory for tea.’
Gavin swallowed and his eyes flickered away. ‘Yes, well, I decided I’d had enough of that on Saturday.’
‘You didn’t go?’
‘I just said, didn’t I?’ He stood looking at them, palely defiant, his hands balled into fists at his side.
‘Your grandmother—’ Howard began, and choked into silence.
Ashley said, ‘Gavin, your grandmother’s dead. She was killed this afternoon.’
‘Killed? You mean run over or something?’
‘I mean murdered. At the Old Rectory.’
He said drily, ‘Oh God.’ His knees buckled and he leant against the door frame. There was a brief silence, and he added, ‘Poor old Grandma.’
‘The disco was this evening,’ Ashley said with an effort. ‘Where were you this afternoon?’
‘Round at Kevin’s, watching a video. Then, when I decided not to go to Grandma’s, I went into Shillingham, had a pizza and met the gang at the Jolly Waggoner, and we went on from there.’ He frowned. ‘Why the third degree?’
‘We’ve been worried out of our minds about you. You were supposed to be at the Old Rectory at four, your grandmother was murdered just about then, and there’s been no sign of you since.’
‘You don’t imagine I’d anything to do with it?’
‘Of course we don’t.’ Howard’s voice shook. ‘But the police are bound to hear what happened on Saturday.’
‘And that’s reason enough to suspect me? Is that what you’re saying?’ Gavin’s voice rose. ‘Good grief, just because I had a slanging match with her doesn’t mean I’d lay into her with a poker!’
He broke off as his mother came slowly to her feet, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘How do you know that’s what happened?’ she whispered.
Gavin’s eyes went wildly from her to his father. Then his face crumpled, his arms went over his head, and he slid down the doorjamb to the carpet, crouching there as an onslaught of harsh sobs racked his body.
CHAPTER 6
Howard had lain awake most of the night, and he knew, from the level of her breathing, that Ashley wasn’t sleeping either. Almost in equal proportions were his grief for his mother and his worry about his son, but underlying them was the old, self-castigating frustration over his relationship with his wife. It would have been of enormous comfort to them both had he been able, tonight of all nights, to hold her in his arms and make love to her; but it was over a year since that had been possible, and he knew she no longer expected it.
‘Relax!’ Leslie Pratt had told him. ‘Many men go through this at your age—it’ll pass if you’re patient.’ But he had not been patient, had demanded to see consultants, have tests, and the answers had always been the same. Nothing physically wrong—it will come right in time.
But Ashley was a passionate woman, and time might be running out. For all he knew, she had already found outlets elsewhere.
Trying not to disturb her, he turned on his side, plumping up the flattened pillow. His normal remedy for sleeplessness was to let his mind drift back over the long line of Walkers —father, grandfather, great-grandfather, stretching back in unbroken line over two hundred years. The knowledge that he was part of that line and had himself fathered a son to continue it, comforted and sustained him, shrinking problems to their proper perspective.
But tonight, thoughts of Gavin evoked the traumatic half-hour when he’d returned home, the tortured confession that he had indeed visited the Old Rectory and found his grandmother dead.
Howard sighed, turning over yet again. Ashley was misguided, he was sure, in her determination to keep this from the police. ‘He didn’t touch anything—what’s the point of dragging him into it?’ she’d demanded heatedly.
‘Since he’s innocent, he’s nothing to fear,’ Howard had reasoned.
‘How can you be so naïve? Once Neville’s been told, it’ll be national news and the police will need a suspect quickly. They already know what happened on Saturday; if we give them half a chance, they’ll try to pin it on Gavin.’
She’d been distraught, of course. Perhaps in the morning she’d be more reasonable, and he could advise the boy to tell the truth. Naïve he might be, but he was an inveterate believer in British justice: since Gavin was innocent, the truth couldn’t hurt him.
And, as the remorseless wheel of his thoughts came full circle, his mother’s death again overwhelmed him, and he wept silently in the dark.
***
The next morning, Howard and Robin left for work as usual, but the rest of the family was still at breakfast when Webb and Jackson arrived at the house.
‘Dormers’, according to the plaque on the gate, was what estate agents described as ‘a house of character’. To Webb, it looked as if it had been put together in separate portions. The walls were white and the thatched roof swept down almost to the top of the ground-floor window ahead of them. A large dormer peer
ed through the thatch, while to the right of the door the wall was rounded into a mock tower topped by its own conical thatch, beneath which a long, three-paned window gave on to a staircase. Beyond the curved wall, another, set-back, portion jutted out into the garden, again with dormer window in the thatch.
‘Looks like a sugar-loaf, doesn’t it?’ Jackson commented, as they waited to be admitted. ‘Wouldn’t mind living here myself. Bit different from Fifteen, Broadminster Road!’
Webb grinned. ‘You’d need a team of gardeners to keep that lot in trim.’ He nodded to the smooth lawn leading round the side of the house and the immaculate rockery alongside the drive.
Their inspection was interrupted as the door opened, and Ashley Walker stood before them. She was wearing a coral shirt and the pale linen trousers she’d worn at the fete, as casually chic as she’d been then; but there was about her a new vulnerability, betrayed by shadows under her eyes and the almost fearful defensiveness with which she stared at them.
Webb said evenly, ‘Good morning, Mrs Walker. Is your son at home?’
‘Of course he is,’ she returned sharply. ‘We’re still having breakfast.’
‘Sorry to disturb you, but we’d like a word with him.’
‘Very well. If you’ll wait in the study, I’ll send him in
The study overlooked the sweeping back lawns. A mahogany desk stood at right-angles to the window, there were bookshelves and comfortable leather armchairs. Gavin Walker came hesitantly into the room, a youth with his father’s height and his mother’s good features. And also her defensiveness. Instinctively, Webb thought: He knows more than he’s going to tell us. It was a gut reaction, illogical, but, he felt, sound.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Webb and this is Sergeant Jackson,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Please sit down, Mr Walker.’
Unused to this form of address and apparently gratified by it, Gavin did so. He clasped his hands tightly together and looked up at Webb expectantly. There was silence, measured by the low ticking of the clock. Jackson flashed a quick look at the boy. This was a common ploy of the Governor’s, and it invariably worked. As it did now.
Six Proud Walkers Page 6