Six Proud Walkers

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘In the spring. She had the op during the Easter holidays.’

  ‘But what happened? I mean, who—?’

  ‘Clive Tenby. Which is why the family warned him off.’

  Hannah struggled to absorb this new information. ‘I suppose they thought it’d be too much for her.’ She remembered the girl cradling her doll, and shivered. ‘How did she react?’

  ‘She didn’t. You know Fay. She just waited for someone else to take charge.’

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Tenby knows about it.’

  Melanie shrugged. ‘I’m not even sure Clive does. He’s never given any sign of knowing.’

  ‘Who did she tell?’

  ‘No one, I just found out. She started being sick every morning. I couldn’t believe it at first—none of us could.’

  ‘You said your grandmother wanted the abortion. How did your parents feel?’

  ‘They were stunned. And before they really knew what was happening, Grandma’d rushed it through.’

  ‘But what about Fay herself? Did she want the baby?’

  Melanie considered for a moment. ‘I got the feeling she didn’t think it would happen. The abortion, I mean. She seemed to be expecting the cavalry to gallop along at the last minute and save her.’

  ‘So she did want it?’

  ‘All I know is she cried for a week when she came home. Mummy was nearly frantic.’

  ‘And your grandmother? Did she have second thoughts?’

  ‘Of course not. She’d saved the family name from scandal, which was all she cared about. Sometimes,’ Melanie ended scornfully, ‘you’d think she was living in the eighteenth century.’

  ‘But the abortion was for Fay’s sake, not because—’ Her voice trailed off at the derision in Melanie’s eyes.’

  ‘Oh, that’s what she said, but I wasn’t deceived. My grandmother could be charming as long as she had her own way, but she could also be utterly ruthless.’

  ‘So neither your parents nor Fay made any protest. But I presume you did?’

  ‘Of course I did. I made an awful fuss, but it wasn’t any good. If Fay’d backed me up, we might have had a chance, but as it was no one took any notice. They just wanted to get it over as quickly and discreetly as possible.’

  ‘Where was Fay on Wednesday?’ Hannah asked suddenly, hardly believing what she was saying.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Melanie said explosively. ‘I thought you were on her side.’

  But Fay had seen the ‘murder’ message, and feared the power of Macbeth Prophecies. Did she, too, believe her grandmother’d murdered her child?

  Hannah shook herself. Whoever had wrought that mutilation possessed more strength than poor Fay. Unless the forcible removal of her child had pushed her beyond the brink of sanity? Manic strength could be formidable.

  Melanie stood up, breaking into her gruesome thoughts, and Hannah thankfully abandoned them.

  ‘I must be getting back. Mr Slim’s coming to read the Will at twelve, and we’re all supposed to be there. Thanks for the lemonade.’

  Hannah went through the house with her. The girl paused at the gate.

  ‘Will you tell the police all this?’

  ‘I think they should know.’

  Melanie gave a brief nod, and set off up the lane towards home.

  ***

  The stillness in the room was an additional presence, like that of the dead woman. Webb’s eyes ached from concentrating on one face after another. Jackson’s pen would, he knew, have recorded the poignant letter just read out. ‘My dearest sons,’ it had begun. By the end of it, they knew the term was not biologically correct.

  The text was much as Webb had expected: the intention to reveal the truth, continually postponed till it became impossible to do so; an assurance of her love and a pleading for forgiveness. However, his dilligent observation, and that of Nina Petrie at the back of the room, was unrewarded. The overwhelming reaction of the entire family—and indeed of the solicitor himself—was stunned disbelief.

  Mr Slim cleared his throat and, after a quick look round the room, during which no one met his eye, he embarked on the reading of the Will. As he’d told Webb, there was nothing unexpected here, which was as well, since their capacity for surprise had been exhausted. Apart from a few bequests £15,000 for each of the grandchildren, jewellery to the wives, generous sums to the secretary and maid—the estate was divided equally between the sons. There seemed little motive for murder, and as soon as the reading was finished, Webb nodded to his colleagues and they left the house.

  ‘So what now, Guv?’ Jackson asked, as they walked across the road to the hail.

  ‘Another word with Dick Ridley. He’s still about the only lead we’ve got.’

  Behind them, a car emerged from the Old Rectory and drove quickly down the hill. The solicitor, too, had made his escape. Webb wished he could hear what was being said at the house, now the family was alone.

  At the Incident Room, there was a message from Hannah. ‘She’d like you to call as soon as possible,’ the telephonist told him. ‘She has some fresh information.’ More than he had, he thought gloomily. Still, it was getting on for one o’clock. Perhaps Hannah’s news could be divulged over lunch.

  ‘I’ll see you back here at two,’ he told Jackson.

  ***

  The story Hannah repeated took Webb completely by surprise. He could have sworn the Tenby boy was telling the truth when he denied having slept with Fay. On the other hand, it seemed the most obvious reason for the Walkers ending their friendship.

  ‘I suppose it is true?’ he asked. ‘You don’t think Melanie made it up?’

  ‘Why should she? Anyway, it provides a plausible explanation for the flowers.’

  And a plausible motive for murder,’ Webb said grimly. ‘If, that is, the father felt sufficiently strongly about it.’

  ‘But it happened three months ago. Why would he wait so long?’

  ‘Perhaps he’d only just found out. Clive and Fay had had no contact till the party, but they were together there; several people mentioned it. Suppose she finally told him why they’d been kept apart?’

  ‘Would a boy of eighteen feel so strongly about an illegitimate child?’

  ‘Who can tell? He seems a sensitive lad. And it might have been more on Fay’s behalf than his own: if, for instance, he thought she’d wanted the baby.’

  ‘Discounting the moral issues, I think the grandmother had a point. Fay isn’t mature enough to be a mother. Who knows what psychological damage it might have done?’

  ‘Be that as it may, for a seemingly innocent old lady, Dorothy Walker roused some pretty strong feelings. Of three possible suspects—Gavin, Ridley and Clive—two of them could hold her responsible for a death.’

  Hannah shivered. ‘I even wondered about Fay. She’s been so withdrawn lately, and she was fantasising over the doll. Also, she’s superstitious about the flowers; she thinks they could have caused the murder.’

  ‘They might have given someone the idea.’

  ‘Herself?’ Hannah asked fearfully.

  Webb shrugged. ‘At this stage, we can’t eliminate anyone.’

  ‘But hardly anybody saw them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. The church tower was crowded, remember. Any number of people could have peered down as we did.’

  ‘And thought: “That’s a good idea—I’ll murder someone!”? It hardly seems feasible.’

  Webb pushed his chair back. ‘Stranger things have happened. Thanks for lunch, love, and the info. We’ll have another word with the boy, and see where that gets us.’

  But Clive Tenby wasn’t at home. Webb fielded questions from his anxious mother and returned to the car. It was being a frustrating day; no discernible reaction at the Will-reading, and now a tantalising snippet he was prevented from pursuing.

  ‘We’ll go back to Ridley, then, and hope he’s available,’ he told Jackson.

  Dick Ridley was in his grubby, overgrown little garden, dozing in a dec
kchair. Sleeping off a lunch-time session, Webb suspected. The garden had a depressing air. No one had troubled to water it during the heatwave, and limp leaves hung dispiritedly over scorched grass. The stench from the dustbin with its dancing halo of flies brought the bile to his throat.

  Ridley was belligerent at being woken, but sufficiently aware of his circumstances to answer their questions with civility. Seen in broad daylight, he was younger than Webb’d thought—mid-thirties, probably, though the pouches under his eyes gave him a debauched look, and the whiteness of his skin was in stark contrast to the bright orange hair.

  No, he said after a pause, he hadn’t remembered any more.

  ‘Mr Ridley,’ Webb said pleasantly, ‘I feel I should warn you that things don’t look too good. You had a grudge against the Walkers, you were heard to threaten them, and you were seen not far from their house on the afternoon of the murder.’

  The man stared up at him, his jaw gaping. Then, as if aware of being at a disadvantage, he manoeuvred himself to his feet. Webb waited impassively. He didn’t really believe Ridley was the killer; threaten he might, but he was unlikely to have either the sureness or purpose or the coldbloodedness to put those threats to effect.

  However, Webb’s tight mouth and unwavering gaze gave no hint of this opinion and Ridley began to bluster.

  ‘I’ve told you all. I know, Officer. I had a kip outside the pub, then—’

  ‘You made your way to Church Lane. You were seen, remember.’

  ‘But I could hardly stand, governor! It would have taken me all my time to swat a fly! And I don’t remember no more till I woke up on the sofa in the front room.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  Ridley shrugged. ‘Five-thirty. Six. Not long before the wife came in from work.’

  ‘Last time we were here, you said five Walkers were still too many.’

  The man scuffed his feet. ‘Yes—well—’

  ‘Do I take it you’re still out to avenge your father?’

  ‘I still think he was badly done by,’ Ridley said with miserable defiance.

  ‘Are you proposing to do anything about it?’

  After a moment, the man shook his head.

  ‘Well, I don’t want any more reports of—’

  ‘Chief Inspector!’

  They all turned as Mrs Ridley came hurrying out of the back door. Over her shoulder, Webb caught sight of Nina Petrie.

  ‘This young lady wants a word with you, sir.’

  Nina’s face was white. Webb said tersely, ‘In the front room, Inspector,’ and, gesturing her ahead of him, followed her down the dark passage, his eyes half-blinded after the brightness outside.

  The room smelt sour and musty. He pushed the door shut as she turned to face him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘There’s been another murder, sir. Robin Walker.

  They’ve just found him in the garden.’

  Webb swore softly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘His—head was almost severed. An axe, I think.’

  ‘Very well.’ He felt in his pocket and handed her some keys. ‘Go and wait in the car while I get Sergeant Jackson.’

  He hurried from the room and turned towards the back door. And then, he thought grimly, there were four.

  CHAPTER 11

  The uniformed constable was back on gate duty when Jackson turned into the drive of the Old Rectory. Webb could see another across the lawn, presumably preserving the scene. A second murder, and only a hundred yards from the Incident Room for the first one!

  ‘Better take a look before we go in,’ Webb said to Jackson. ‘Inspector, would you wait for us inside, please.’

  Nina opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. She stood for a moment on the sunlit gravel, watching the two men striding across the grass to the figure by the clump of trees. Then, with a shrug, she went into the house.

  PC Hobson, older and wiser than he’d been on Wednesday, nodded at their approach. ‘Dr Stapleton’s not arrived yet, sir.’

  ‘All right, Constable, I’ll go carefully.’

  ‘We taped the route.’

  Webb grunted and, keeping to the prescribed path, went into the trees, leaving Jackson with the constable. The trees were sparsely planted, slim-boled birch and ash, with some thick undergrowth between them. After a few yards they petered out, and against the high garden wall stood a wooden shed with its door open. Robin Walker was lying in front of it, and Webb’s stomach gave an apprehensive heave.

  Like his mother, he’d died a messy death. He was sprawled on his back, arms flung wide, one leg bent under him, with his head at a sickening angle from his body. It was all but completely severed, and the surrounding area was drenched in blood. Over to the right was a large portion of tree-trunk which had been used as a chopping block. Splinters of wood lay beside it, together with a neat pile of freshly chopped logs. The axe, seemingly carelessly tossed aside, lay in the grass, the red stains on its blade drying in the summer sunshine. The scent of warm creosote mingled with the sickly smell of blood.

  ‘Ah, Chief Inspector,’ said a dry voice behind him. ‘Viewing the evidence, I see.’

  Webb turned as Dr Stapleton came into the clearing, the police surgeon beside him.

  ‘We must stop meeting like this,’ Pringle said cheerfully.

  ‘What have we this time?’ He peered over Webb’s shoulder at the body. ‘Oh dearie me. You don’t need me to feel his pulse, I take it?’

  Webb gave him a wry smile. Alec’s macabre humour at least provided a foil to the taciturn pathologist. ‘As you say. Whoever attacks the Walkers makes a thorough job of it.’ He took out his pocket-book and did a quick sketch of the position of the body while Stapleton, taking a wide arc, moved round, examining it from all angles.

  ‘Any immediate thoughts, Doctor?’

  The pathologist frowned. ‘You know I don’t like being rushed, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Just something to be going on with?’ Webb persisted hopefully.

  The older man considered, frowning at the body. ‘At first glance, I’d say he was knocked to the ground before his throat was hacked.’

  ‘Which means less blood on the murderer? Just our luck.’ Webb turned as voices coming through the trees announced the Scenes of Crime officers.

  ‘OK, lads, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll be at the house for some time, so keep me posted.’

  He retraced his steps, nodded to Jackson, and strode towards the house. The little sergeant gave a quick skip to catch up with him.

  ‘Not a pretty sight, eh, Guv?’

  ‘You could say that, Ken, but it’s the least of our worries. This second murder throws the whole thing wide open.’

  Bob Dawson and Nina were waiting in the hall. ‘The family’s in the library, Guv,’ Dawson informed him. ‘All but the youngest lass and her mother.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Upstairs. It was the kid that found him.’

  ‘What happened, do you know?’

  ‘They heard bloodcurdling yells, rushed outside, and there she was, with the body at her feet.’

  Hannah’s faint suspicions brushed across Webb’s mind. ‘I’ll see her first,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s the door on the right,’ Dawson called after them, as they started up the stairs.

  There was no reply to Webb’s tap and he pushed the door open. Fay was lying face down across the bed, threshing about and keening like an animal while her mother tried ineffectually to calm her. Motioning Nina to wait by the door, Webb went into the room and Lydia spun round, staring up at him accusingly.

  ‘A lot of help you’ve been!’ she said bitterly. ‘How could you let this happen? First Mother, now Robin. Are you just going to stand back while we’re all killed, one after another?’

  Webb said quietly, ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Walker. I hear your daughter found him. What happened, exactly?’

  ‘She found him. With his head hanging off. How much more do
you want?’

  Fay’s hands started tearing convulsively at her long fair hair. To his horror, Webb saw that thick tufts of it were falling to the floor. He motioned to Nina and she came forward, gently easing away the clawing hands and holding them, struggling, in her own.

  ‘Have you phoned the doctor?’ he asked Lydia.

  ‘He doesn’t need a doctor! He’s dead!’ Her voice rose hysterically.

  Tor your daughter.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, the police surgeon’s here. He’ll give her something.’

  He stood for a moment, helplessly looking down at the writhing girl. It was obvious there’d be no sense out of her for some time.

  ‘Inspector Petrie will stay with you,’ he told them, adding to Nina, ‘I’ll send for Sally Pierce to relieve you.’ Thankfully, he went out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Downstairs, he left a message for Pringle to see the girl, and sent Dawson to fetch Sally Pierce. Then, bracing himself, he went into the library, Jackson at his heels. The atmosphere was little better than in the room upstairs. Fear hung in the air. There was no question, this time, of a chance intruder, nor that their mother’d aroused specific enmity. This time, the threat was widespread and they were all in danger.

  Webb’s eyes went slowly round the room. It was barely two hours since he’d left it. Then, Robin Walker had been lounging at ease on the sofa, his fiancée beside him. Now, she sat there alone, her son on the arm above her, clutching her hand. She met Webb’s gaze wide-eyed, betraying no expression whatever.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I need hardly say how much we regret this second tragedy. The only consolation I can offer is that the murderer has doubled his chances of being caught.’

  ‘And when the next of us gets clobbered, they’ll be three times greater?’ Gavin’s voice cracked, and his father flashed him a warning glance.

  Ignoring him, Webb continued, ‘Once again, I’ll need a statement from each of you. Your memories might differ slightly, and we can’t afford to miss any detail. We’ll use the dining-room again, and begin, please, with Mr Neville Walker.’

  As they were crossing the hail, Sally Pierce arrived from the church hall.

  ‘Relieve Inspector Petrie, would you, Sally,’ Webb said, adding in a low voice, ‘Stay with the girl till she calms down—she might say something important. And ask the Inspector to start interviewing the women. She can use the drawing-room.’