Webb grunted. ‘I’m still not happy about young Gavin; another word wouldn’t do any harm. Still, before we go down, we’ll drop in on the family solicitors. Parke, Ledbury & Slim—an old-established firm. They’re probably not used to their clients getting the chop.’
The solicitors’ offices were like something out of Dickens. The overriding impression was of highly polished wood, and in the hushed atmosphere, young clerks bent studiously’ over-their papers. The detectives were ushered into what Webb privately thought of as ‘the inner chamber’, and the presence of Mr Meredith Slim.
He rose to greet them, looking suitably grave. ‘Sit down, please, gentlemen. Can I offer you some coffee?’
‘Thank you, no, sir, we’ve just had some.’
‘I need hardly tell you how distressed we all are by this terrible news. Naturally, if we can help in any way—?’
‘Had you seen Mrs Walker lately, sir?’
‘No, she wasn’t a frequent visitor. She was content to leave everything in my hands.’
‘You hold her Will, of course?’
Mr Slim inclined his head.
‘And any other documents for disclosure after her death?’
The man hesitated, and Webb said quietly, ‘I must remind you, sir, that this is a murder inquiry.’
‘My client lodged a letter with me some years ago, with instructions that its contents should be divulged to the assembled family immediately before the reading of the Will.’
‘Have you any idea what it contains?’
‘None whatsoever.’ Mr Slim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have you, Chief Inspector?’
‘Yes, sir, I believe I have.’ The other man would have spoken, but Webb continued, ‘What about the rest of the family? How well do you know them?’
‘Not well. We acted for Mr Neville Walker when he bought his present house ten years ago. And for his mother, when she sold hers on the death of her husband and went to live with him. But as a family they’ve never been—’ he permitted himself a slight smile ‘litigious.’
‘When do you propose to read the Will?’
Mr Slim pursed his lips. ‘I was wondering about that. Normally, of course, it’s done after the funeral, but I suppose we don’t know at this stage when that will be?’
‘Not until the investigation’s complete, I’m afraid.’
‘Quite. But I’d be lacking in my duty to postpone the Will-reading indefinitely, and when Mrs Walker left her instructions, she naturally assumed they’d be carried out immediately following her death. In the case of the letter, that might be important?’ Despite himself, his voice rose interrogatively.
If the adoptions had been kept secret for forty-odd years, another week or two would make little difference, Webb thought. However, the Will itself was of paramount importance, and he was anxious to know what it contained.
‘I think it would be wise to go ahead as soon as possible,’ he said smoothly. ‘And in the circumstances, I’d be grateful if arrangements could be made for me to be present.’
Mr Slim looked taken aback. ‘Oh, but I don’t know—’
‘It’s a legitimate request, sir, in murder investigations. Wills, as I’m sure you know, often provide motives. We might get a lead from it.’
‘But I can assure you there are no unusual legacies. The vast majority of Mrs Walker’s estate is tied up in the family.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Webb said implacably, and the man sighed.
‘Very well, Chief Inspector, I’ll speak to the family. Provided they’re agreeable, I shall, of course, be happy to comply.’
‘Dried-up old stick,’ Jackson commented, when they were safely outside. ‘Talked like a textbook.’
‘He’s probably affected by his surroundings,’ Webb said with a grin. ‘Right, Ken. Back to Honeyford, and we’ll see what’s been happening down there.’
CHAPTER 9
The post fell with a plop on to the hall mat, and Hannah went to collect it: a couple of bills forwarded as requested by the post office, and a garishly coloured postcard from Lanzarote. She flipped it over. Paula had written: ‘Weather, food and drink perfect. Could get used to this! Hope the boys are behaving themselves, and that you’re not bored out of your mind in sleepy little Honeyford.’
Hannah propped the card on the hall shelf, wondering whether ‘sleepy little Honeyford’ would ever be the same. But of course it would. Memories were phenomenally short; probably even by the time Paula returned, the worst of the horror would have receded, and its inhabitants settled back into their normal obscurity.
In the meantime, Friday was market day, and she’d decided it was time she went out. Apart from David, she’d seen no one since she was driven home in the police car, and her thoughts, continually dwelling on that afternoon, were not pleasant company.
It was a glorious morning, and as she closed the front door behind her, her spirits rose. Oswald was sitting on the gate and, refusing to jump down, hung on as she carefully opened it and slid through the gap. She set off down the lane, swinging her basket.
But as soon as she reached the High Street, Hannah realised there was no escape. The story was out now, shrieking from headlines in newsagents’ racks, black-lettered on billboards, and shocked groups of women had gathered on street corners, their marketing forgotten. As she passed them, the name ‘Walker’ repeatedly followed her.
Swerving away from the clutter of stalls ahead, she turned down one of the side streets and consciously slowed her pace. Here, the pavements were almost deserted and as she strolled along, exploring narrow cobbled lanes, pausing to peer in mullioned shop windows, she felt herself begin at last to relax.
This was a village of delightful backwaters and charming, unexpected corners. Rounding a bend, she came across an ancient inn, tall-chimneyed and oak-beamed, basking in the sunshine. Further along, a steep little staircase wound its way up the side of a cottage, its treads worn from centuries of use. Thankfully, Hannah let the peace soak into her, strengthening her for the necessary return to the world of gossip. At the bottom of the hill, she turned and began to make her way back. The respite was over, and her postponed marketing must now be done.
***
At the Incident Room, Webb learned that Forensics had finished at the house, and the family was free to return. Little more had come to light. Despite the considerable amount of blood, the only trace of it outside the murder room was a faint imprint of the sole of a training shoe on the hall carpet. A cast had been made of it, and the long process of checking shoes had begun.
As Webb left the church hall with Jackson, he said suddenly, ‘Before we go on to Dormers, we’ll have a word with the vicar. He’s a family friend, after all.’
They walked down Church Lane to the unpretentious house immediately opposite the Old Rectory. The uniformed constable across the road straightened as he recognised them, and Webb hid a smile. Poor fad must be fed up, hanging around like that. Still, his stint was almost over.
Mrs Mallow, small and colourless, ushered them into the vicar’s study and he rose to greet them. The Reverend George Mallow was a mild-mannered man with a permanently surprised expression, whether at the iniquities of this world, or the disinclination of the next to put a stop to them, Webb couldn’t decide. He had round eyes behind round spectacles, mid-brown hair growing low on his forehead, and a habit, more appropriate to music-hall policemen, of rising up and down on the balls of his feet.
‘Well now, gentlemen, this is a very sad business. Yes, indeed, very sad. How can I help you?’
‘In your job, sir, you must keep your ear pretty close to the ground. We wondered if you knew of any vendetta against Mrs Walker?’
‘Vendetta? Oh dear me! That does sound sinister.’
‘Anyone bearing grudges, ill-will, anything like that?’
‘Well now, far be it from me to cast the first stone, but poor Dick Ridley does come to mind. I hear there was some trouble at the fete, though I didn’t see it myself.’
‘We�
��ve been told about Mr Ridley. Anyone else you can think of?’
‘I don’t think so. The Walkers do a lot for the parish, loaning their garden for the fete each year and making generous donations when we have need of them. Other than poor Dick, I can’t think of anyone who’d wish them ill.
‘You’ve known the family long?’
‘Since they came to the Old Rectory ten years ago. Mrs Dorothy joined them some time later.’
‘And they all seemed to get on well together?’
The vicar smiled. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Inspector: most murders are domestic. Isn’t that what they say? Well, I can assure you, you can discount that here. The Walkers are the closest and most affectionate family I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.’
‘Very well, sir. Thank you for your time. We’ll have a word with your wife on our way out.’
‘My wife?’ The vicar looked alarmed.
‘I believe she was at the Old Rectory on Tuesday. She may have noticed something significant to our inquiries.’
‘You’re free to ask her, of course, but I doubt if she can help you.’ It was said, Webb felt, with covert satisfaction, but to his relief the vicar showed no wish to be present at his wife’s interview.
Barbara Mallow received them in the living-room. It was small and neat, rather like herself, but now that he looked at her more closely, Webb realised she wasn’t as colourless a personality as he’d assumed. Here, he felt, was a woman who had an existence of her own apart from that of vicar’s wife. He treated her to one of his confiding smiles.
‘Mrs Mallow, your husband hasn’t been able to help us much, but you ladies are much better able to gauge atmosphere. It would be a great help if you could tell us of any underlying tensions you might have noticed between the Walkers over the last few weeks.’
She opened up at once, frankly and without any show of reluctance. So much for Love Thy Neighbour, Webb thought.
‘Yes, now that you mention it, there were one or two things. No doubt you heard about the scene with Gavin last Saturday?’
‘We did, yes.’
‘And that wasn’t the only source of friction that evening. For one thing, the Tenby boy was commandeering Fay, and I could tell Neville and Lydia didn’t like it. In the end, Neville asked my son to go and break it up.’
‘What’s their objection, do you know?’
‘I couldn’t say. It’s not as though she was too young, and Clive’s a nice enough boy. In fact, having a boyfriend might give her some confidence. She’s a timid little thing—spends most of her time round here with my daughter.’
‘Any other undercurrents?’
‘Eleanor Darby,’ she said promptly.
Webb raised his eyebrows. ‘The newsreader, you mean?’
‘Yes, she’s engaged to Robin, and Dorothy doesn’t like it. Didn’t,’ she corrected herself after a pause.
‘Let me get this straight. Eleanor Darby, the TV personality, is going to marry Robin Walker?’
‘That’s right. You were at the fete, weren’t you? Didn’t you see her?’
‘I can’t say I did.’
‘They’re afraid she’ll talk Robin into living in London. She’s got a child, too, and you know how they are about family.’ She paused again. ‘Or perhaps you don’t.’
‘Suppose you tell me.’
‘Well, they’re positively neurotic about it, I’ve always thought so. The idea of a little outsider, someone else’s son, coming into the line of inheritance would really put the wind up them.’
Which, Webb thought, was irony indeed, knowing what he did.
‘Did they discuss this with you?’
‘Not in so many words, but Lydia hinted that Dorothy was upset. They daren’t say too much, though, because they’ve been trying for years to get Robin to settle down.’
‘And he’s resisted their efforts?’
‘Up to now, yes. Between you and me, I think he’s been a bit of a worry to them. Always getting his name linked with some girl or other, and nothing ever coming of it. It wasn’t so bad when he was younger, but he must be nearly forty now.’
‘There wasn’t open opposition to the marriage, though?
‘His mother didn’t try to stop him, as she did with Gavin?’
‘Threaten to cut him off, you mean? Oh, I shouldn’t think so. That would be very Victorian, wouldn’t it? And Eleanor stayed at the house and everything. I think they’d accepted it.’
Webb thought for a moment. ‘Was Miss Darby at the coffee morning on Tuesday?’ He was sure Hannah hadn’t mentioned her.
‘No, she only came for the weekend. She’ll know about the murder by now, though. Wouldn’t it have been awful if she’d had to read it out? On TV, I mean. But someone else would have taken over, wouldn’t they?’
She’d little else to contribute, but as Webb took his leave, he reflected he’d learnt more than he expected from his visit to the vicarage.
***
It was pure coincidence, in view of the foregoing, that on their arrival at Dormers it was Eleanor herself who opened the door to them. Her triangular face, with its high cheekbones and slanting eyes, was instantly recognisable, and Webb prayed that Ken wouldn’t, on Millie’s behalf, blurt out a request for her autograph.
‘I’m afraid I’m the only one at home,’ she greeted them. ‘The others have gone for a drive, to get out of the house for a while.’
‘Miss Darby, isn’t it?”
‘Mrs, actually.’
Webb remembered her son. ‘Of course—my apologies. Chief Inspector Webb and Sergeant Jackson. We’d be grateful for a few minutes of your time.’
‘Mine?’ Her eyes widened. ‘By all means, but I can’t help you. I wasn’t even here.’
She led the way to the sitting-room, and a boy scrambled to his feet and stood looking at them.
‘My son, Jake,’ Eleanor said. He came forward arid gravely shook hands with each of them in turn. Webb was impressed. Youngsters didn’t often behave like that these days.
‘Mrs Darby, I believe you spent last weekend at the Old Rectory. We’ve been asking everyone if they noticed anything unusual—anything which, in the light of later events, might seem significant. I’ve already seen members of the family, but perhaps you, as an outsider—’ He broke off, eyeing the diamond on her finger. ‘That is—’
‘Oh, you’re quite right, Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘I’m certainly an outsider.’
‘What I meant was that somebody coming into the household might see things with fresh eyes.’
Eleanor thought for a moment and he watched her face, framed by the sleek dark hair with its exaggerated widow’s peak. Then she shook her head. ‘There’s nothing I can think of except the scene at the party, which everyone must have mentioned.’
‘No one seemed under any kind of strain?’
She gave a surprisingly harsh laugh. ‘Chief Inspector, everyone seemed under strain.’
His eyes narrowed. This was something new. ‘How, exactly?’
She glanced at the boy, curled up on the sofa reading. ‘Darling, this is of no interest to you. Why not take your book into the garden while I talk to these gentlemen?’
The boy obediently unfurled himself, nodded politely to the two men, and left the room without a word. If this was prep school manners, Webb thought, he took back what he’d said about them.
Eleanor had begun to speak. ‘You asked about strain, Chief Inspector. It’s hard for me to be explicit, because I’m never sure how much of the tension I sense every time I come is caused by my own presence. They resent me, you see, because I’m not a typical Walker woman.’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘Oh yes. The chief requirement is unswerving devotion to the family and firm. Either you work for it yourself, or you support your husband, never complaining at the demands made and cheerfully entertaining boring people who might be potential customers.’ She paused. ‘At least, that’s the theory. The fact is somewhat differ
ent.’
‘How so?’
Eleanor met his eye. ‘You realise, I hope, that I’m answering your questions because this is a murder inquiry and not through vindictiveness. Though when you come down to it, my only real loyalty is to my fiancé. Having made that clear, I’ve found they’re not nearly as suave and self-assured as they seem. In fact, I’d say they were riddled with complexes, the lot of them.’
Seeing his surprise, she smiled crookedly. ‘Lydia, for instance. Robin told me she had a nervous breakdown years ago, when her second child was born, and ever since she’s been subject to periods of intense depression. She has it pretty well under control, but every now and then you catch glimpses—and I caught one last weekend. Nothing dramatic, just a look of bone-weary sadness. It gave me quite a shock.’
She was silent for some minutes, and Webb prompted gently, ‘You say they’re all under strain?’
‘Well, that might have been an overstatement, but I don’t think all’s as it should be between Howard and Ashley. Admittedly they were embarrassed by the scene with Gavin, but it goes deeper than that. They’re too—careful with each other.’
‘And Mr Neville?’
‘According to Robin, he’s had a lot of worry lately—some big customer threatening to cancel an order. Because of that, he’s been sleeping badly. And as for Dorothy—well, it’s hard to be objective about her. She so obviously didn’t approve of me, and the rest of them took their lead from her, which I resented.’
‘Forgive me,’ Webb broke in, remembering Barbara Mallow’s comment, ‘but will your son inherit a share of the business?’
‘Good heavens no—that was made plain from the start. Robin’s made personal provision for Jake, but the firm remains sacrosanct to the Walkers.’
Did she resent that? It was hard to tell. ‘I interrupted—I’m sorry. You were going through the family.’
‘Yes. Well, then there’s Fay. Honestly, I think her name should be spelt with an “e”. She creeps about the place, pale and dreamy, and you hardly notice her most of the time. But on Sunday I looked up to find her staring directly at me with an expression of—’ She broke off and shuddered. ‘I don’t know how to describe it, but it was most unpleasant. Honestly, apart from Robin, Melanie seems the only one who’s normal.’
Six Proud Walkers Page 10