by Angela Arney
‘No,’ said Niall. ‘I haven’t thought of Stibbington since I moved away.’
‘That’s true,’ Christina piped up. She seemed very pleased, and had just finished inspecting the bathroom and Tom’s cot. ‘Do you know, Mrs Matthews, he didn’t even want to come here for Christmas. But I insisted. The change will do us good, I said, and the fresh country air will certainly do Tom good.’
‘If it doesn’t give him pneumonia,’ said Niall gloomily. He’d gone to the window and drawn the curtains back. ‘Look at that. Pitch dark out there already, and it’s still afternoon. Not a sign of life. Not a light to be seen and the only sound is that of the wind howling.’
‘And a motorbike,’ said Emmy defensively. She’d just heard one in the distance. ‘That’s a sign of life.’
Niall didn’t answer, merely twitched the curtains back across the windows again.
‘Thank you, Mrs Matthews. I’ll give Tom a bath now, and half an hour’s rest. After that we’re off for supper with Niall’s parents. But we’ll be back quite early. I’ve got a girlfriend visiting me this evening. She’s coming at about nine o’clock.’
‘Not walking here on her own, I hope,’ said Emmy thinking about the murders. Should she mention something or keep quiet? She kept quiet. No point in frightening her guests off. ‘The reason I mention it,’ she said hastily, ‘is because there are only two lights at this end of the hard, and one of those isn’t working. I have reported it to the council, twice, but they’ve done nothing about it.’
Christina started undressing a wriggling Tom. ‘She won’t be walking. She’s borrowing her mother’s car. Louise is a city girl. She’d be terrified of walking along a lonely lane in the middle of the country at night.’
‘Very sensible,’ said Emmy feeling relieved. She left them to unpack and retreated back down to the kitchen where she started to prepare supper. Mrs Smithson had gone out for a walk of all things and said she’d be back at about seven for an evening meal.
‘Nothing too heavy. Something light,’ she’d said. Emmy had asked if she was feeling better, and she’d said, ‘Yes, perfectly well now, thank you,’ in a tone of voice which did not invite further comment. She made Emmy nervous so she kept silent, and forgot to give her back the red booklet. I’ll do it later, she thought, it can’t be that important.
Every time she thought about the newspaper cutting in her handbag Lizzie felt a surge of excitement. She was certain that it held the answer. This was how the police must feel when they were near to solving a case. Detective work seemed much more exciting than the medical profession, and to make matters worse, evening surgery that night was very tedious. There was nothing medically wrong with any of the patients, or at least nothing wrong that she could find.
The last patient left and she looked at her watch. There was just about enough time to do some shopping and get home before Louise arrived by taxi from Picklehurst Station.
The phone rang just as she was passing the pile of patients’ notes back to Sharon their new clerk. Tara answered it. ‘Yes, yes, don’t worry. The duty doctor will be on her way right away.’
‘No she won’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ve done my stint for today. Stephen picks up the bleep in ten minutes. He can take it now.’
‘But he’s got one more patient to see,’ said Tara.
‘Then he’ll have to be quick about it, won’t he,’ said Lizzie briskly and departed.
‘But it’s a real emergency,’ shouted Tara after her. ‘A woman in labour.’
Lizzie grinned over her shoulder. ‘Lucky Stephen. Last time I had an emergency it was murder!’
‘Oh!’ Snorting with annoyance at Lizzie’s lack of co-operation Tara went off to knock on the door of Stephen’s consulting room.
Problem patients forgotten, Lizzie charged around the local Waitrose with her trolley, almost coming to grief on the newly washed floors despite the sign saying WET FLOOR. She bought wine and cheese, and grabbed the last baguette from the bread basket, much to the annoyance of another woman who’d had her eye on it. ‘First come first served,’ said Lizzie cheerfully, before moving on to the fresh fruit and salad section where she bought some South American strawberries, a pot of clotted cream, and a bag of freshly prepared salad, then deliberated between trout or steak. Finally, settling on the trout for both of them, she felt guilty because she couldn’t remember whether Louise was a vegetarian or not.
It comes to something when I don’t know what my own daughter eats, she thought. How long was it since she and Louise had sat down quietly to eat together? Years. Not properly since Louise was eighteen, and had left home to go to university.
Absent-mindedly she picked up a pack of potatoes. Then realizing what she was doing put them back. There was no time to peel potatoes; she’d get some tinned ones. Making her way towards the tinned food she had second thoughts. Damn! She would do things properly for a change; she’d peel the damned things and mash them. Grim-faced with determination she put them in her trolley and marched off to the checkout, where the girl whizzed her purchases hurriedly past the electronic eye. Lizzie’s fierce expression was daunting, especially to a check-out girl in her first week.
‘Why, Mum, the cottage is lovely.’ Louise sailed past Lizzie at the door, discarding her bag in the hall while she rushed from room to room eventually ending up in the kitchen. ‘It’s much bigger than I expected. I thought you said it was tiny. Compared to my flat in London it is enormous.’
It was a sharp reminder of their separate lives. ‘I’ve never seen your flat in London.’
‘I know. Not for lack of invitations on my part.’
‘I know,’ said Lizzie unhappily. ‘I’m always so busy. I’m a rotten mother.’
Louise turned and smiled at her. ‘Why the sackcloth and ashes? You’ve always done the best you could. It must be hell being a clever woman, having a career and a family, and always being torn between the two. And don’t think that I didn’t realize that you funded practically everything when I was growing up. Even now you’ve come out worst on the financial side of the break-up. Dad has had an easy ride. Although I think that in future he might find he’s got to work a little harder now he’s the only breadwinner and will soon be a father again. Amanda has given up work.’
‘Do you mind?’ asked Lizzie. ‘The fact that you’ll soon be having a stepbrother or sister?’
Louise shrugged. ‘Why should I mind? I doubt that I’ll see much of him or her. Anyway, there’s no point in worrying about things you can’t change. Worry about important things. Oh, talking about important things, my friend Alice rang me yesterday and told me not to come down here because of some murder.’
‘What did she say?’ Lizzie asked carefully. She took a bottle of chilled Sancerre from the fridge and poured out two glasses. ‘Just one for you,’ she said. ‘You’ll be driving later.’
‘Oh, not much,’ said Louise taking the wine. ‘Cheers.’ She raised the glass. ‘We got to talking about other things. Anyway I already knew. I’d read in the weekend papers about a drug addict, Darren something, being murdered at Stibbington. It was only a small piece, but I noticed it. To listen to Alice anyone would think that there was a serial killer on the loose. I pointed out to her that in London someone is murdered every day, it’s no big deal, unless one happens to be involved. And then, I imagine, it’s a very big deal indeed!’
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie. Was finding a murder victim in your back garden being involved? She sipped her wine and smiled at Louise while her mind raced over the pros and cons. Why tell her now and spoil her first evening? She’d be safe enough in the car and she had her own mobile phone. And if her theory was right the murders had nothing to do with anyone else in Stibbington. The one person left in the equation had moved away. She knew that because Tarquin had told her. We were inseparable until he moved away, he’d said, and he’d been talking about Niall Walsh.
‘Mother, you’re not with me. What are you thinking about?’ Lizzie was suddenly jolted out of her
reverie. Louise was regarding her intently. ‘You look as if you got the troubles of the world on your shoulders,’ she said.
‘My only worry is starting the supper,’ said Lizzie, firmly putting Stibbington and its problems out of her mind. There was only one satisfactory way to live life and that was to concentrate on the moment. And at this particular moment supper took the priority. ‘I’ve been rash enough to buy potatoes,’ she said. ‘Someone’s got to peel them.’
‘Me,’ said Louise, with a giggle. ‘I’m feeling domesticated.’
‘I’m glad that someone is you, because I hate the job.’ She smiled back at Louise. It was good to have her daughter in her new home, even it if was only for a few days. They must both make the most of the time. She passed the potatoes across to Louise, and started unwrapping and preparing the trout herself. ‘Now, tell me,’ she said. ‘Who is it you’re going to see this evening?’
‘Christina Mallory. She’s married now but I can never remember her married name. Anyway it doesn’t matter; she’s the one I’m going to see. She said she’d get rid of her husband. To tell you the truth I think she’s got problems with him and wants to talk about it. We’ve been trying to fix up a meeting in London, but neither of us is ever free at the same time. Anyway, when she told me she was coming down here for Christmas, and coming early, it seemed a good idea to take time off and kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I take it I’m the other bird,’ said Lizzie wryly.
‘Exactly,’ said Louise with a grin. ‘And not a bad old bird at that, for your age.’ She ducked as Lizzie threw a dishcloth at her. ‘Shall I put the potatoes on to boil?’
‘We should do this more often,’ said Lizzie. They’d finished their meal. Mozzarella, tomato, and basil salad to start with, followed by pan-fried trout in butter and almonds, mashed potatoes and mixed green salad, and for dessert the South American strawberries and clotted cream. All washed down with the rest of the Sancerre, although Lizzie was strict with Louise’s ration.
‘I’m glad I came,’ said Louise. She reached over and took her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve been worried about you down here, all on your own.’
‘I’m not on my own any more than I was in London,’ Lizzie replied. It was the truth. There was nothing as lonely as an unhappy marriage, and no one knew that better than she did. ‘True I’ve got to make new friends, but my friends in London were few and far between, and in medicine one’s friends always tend to be other doctors and then they all go off and work in other places.’
‘I know,’ said Louise. ‘Your friends used to frighten me to death. All so clever. I always felt a failure because I couldn’t understand chemistry and physics.’
Lizzie felt guilty. She had, when Louise was younger, tried to steer her towards the sciences, but had eventually given up. ‘You’re clever too but in a different way. You’re artistic. Like your father,’ she added. It was only fair to give Mike some credit.
‘Anyway, I’m pleased that you’ve settled down well here,’ said Louise. ‘I was a bit worried about that.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Afraid of having to assume a degree of responsibility, I suppose.’ Louise looked at her watch. ‘Heavens, I’d better dash, otherwise Christina will think I’m not coming. Don’t do the washing up. I’ll help you do it when I get back. I shan’t be late.’
Lizzie gave her the keys to the Alfa and her A to Z of Stibbington and district. She’d already marked the route down to the House on the Hard. ‘Take care; there’s no lighting in the lanes around here, and there’s some lunatic who rides a motorbike without lights. I’ve come across him twice.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll find my way.’ Louise hunched her shoulders into her trendy long black overcoat. Why was it the young always liked to look so funereal? Lizzie wondered.
‘Got your mobile?’
‘Of course,’ Louise waved it. ‘It’s welded to my side. I’m in touch with the whole world with this thing.’
Louise had left well before Adam Maguire arrived with Tess in attendance. Lizzie was glad. She didn’t want her daughter jumping to all the wrong conclusions, but all the same she felt quite pleased to see the two of them, and couldn’t wait for Maguire’s reaction to her news. Tess made for her spot in front of the boiler and Maguire took the Laphroaig she proffered. ‘I mustn’t make this a habit,’ he said.
Lizzie didn’t reply, but pushed the newspaper cutting across the table towards him. Maguire read it, his face impassive, and when he’d reached the end he carefully folded it up and placed it on the table before him.
‘Well?’ Lizzie demanded, impatient to know. ‘What do you think?’
Maguire sipped his malt thoughtfully. ‘I think it warrants thorough investigation,’ he said slowly. ‘But I’m not convinced it’s the answer. It all happened such a long time ago.’
Lizzie wanted to scream with frustration. How could the damned man remain so calm? He should be rushing off to follow the clue she’d just handed him on a plate.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘There’s an advantage to living in one place a long time,’ said Maguire.
‘Pardon?’ Grayson, struggling to boot up a computer, which seemed determined not to function that morning, looked up. Maguire smothered a smile. So much for IT, he thought feeling justified in his dislike of computers. It was obvious that Grayson, who loved the things, was glad of the interruption.
Without another word he spread the newspaper cutting Lizzie had given him out on the desk and indicated to Grayson that he should read it.
Grayson obediently pulled up a chair and leaned over, peering down at the faint print on paper which was yellowed with age.
20 December
JOY RIDE TO DEATH
Four teenagers from Stibbington in Hampshire, all aged sixteen, out on a drunken spree in a stolen car ended their evening by crashing into a family saloon driven by Mrs Molly Lessing. Mrs Lessing was killed outright, as were her two daughters Jackie and Chloe. The father, Giles Lessing was not with his family, but is now being treated for shock at Stibbington Infirmary. The four teenagers, Niall Walsh, who was driving his father’s Rover without permission and without a driving licence or insurance, Tarquin Girling, Darren Evans, and Melinda Brockett-Smythe, all sustained injuries and were admitted to Southampton General Hospital. Police inquiries are ensuing. The chief constable of Hampshire commented, ‘This tragic accident was fuelled by alcohol. These young people had been to a party. Someone should have stopped them from driving away from it. The message is now, as at every Christmas. Don’t drink and drive.’
‘Bloody hell!’ said Grayson inelegantly. ‘Why hasn’t anyone here said something? Someone in Stibbington must have put two and two together long ago.’
‘You didn’t,’ said Maguire.
‘I wasn’t living here eleven years ago, I was working away. Eleven years ago,’ he repeated. ‘That’s when this happened.’ He looked at Maguire. ‘And, of course, you weren’t here either.’
‘And I suppose most people forget,’ said Maguire.
Grayson studied the cutting again, then said, ‘Surely it must be more than a coincidence.’
‘My sentiments entirely, Steve,’ said Maguire, and immediately felt guilty that he hadn’t conceded as much to Lizzie Browne. Misplaced pride, something he should have grown out of at his age. He frowned. ‘Except that it suddenly seems too simple. We have to remember that two and two don’t necessarily make four in this game. Sometimes they make a confusing five.’ He waved the forensic report from Melinda’s room, which Grayson had just handed over with many profuse apologies for its late appearance. ‘And what, I wonder, has the relatively harmless occupation of smoking pot, which apparently all three indulged in, got to do with any of this?’
‘You approve of pot?’ Grayson sounded surprised.
‘I said relatively harmless,’ Maguire reminded him. ‘I’m not recommending it.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t pass it over to you yesterday.’ Gr
ayson hung his head sheepishly. ‘But Ann’s emergency, or what I thought was an emergency, made me forget.’
‘Could have happened to anyone,’ said Maguire, sounding surprisingly genial. ‘What was it, by the way? Anything serious?’
‘No.’ Grayson looked embarrassed. ‘Terrible indigestion and wind, that’s all. I told her not to eat that steak and kidney pie at lunch time, but she insisted. Dr Walters was not best pleased with her.’
Maguire laughed. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘In more ways than one.’
‘Sir?’
‘You’re wondering why I’m cheerful when we’ve got no suspects to show to the press and public and nothing but an old newspaper cutting to go on?’ Grayson nodded, and Maguire rocked back in his chair, tapping a biro against his teeth. ‘It’s because I don’t think we’ll have any more murders in Stibbington. If this is the key, and I’m inclined to think it is, the killer must have moved off our patch by now. For one simple reason. There’s no one left to murder.’
‘There’s Niall Walsh,’ said Grayson, adding, ‘always supposing that this theory is right.’
‘We’ve got to suppose it’s right. It’s the only damned thing which ties these murders together. But Niall Walsh has moved away from here. So what we’ve got to do is find out where he went. If this is a revenge killing, then he’s still in danger.’
‘What about the father of the dead family, Giles Lessing? Is he still here?’
Maguire shook his head, still tapping his teeth with the biro and rocking back. ‘No, I’ve already made inquiries on that score. According to the Stibbington Times he left soon after the inquest and the court case, and he’s not on the electoral register here. And that’s another interesting point. The court case. As the four were not yet seventeen they were not charged with manslaughter; the case came up in a magistrates’ court and they got away with probation for two years. According to Danny Bayley, who remembers the case, Giles Lessing was beside himself with grief and fury. Mr Walsh, an ex-councillor and a freemason had considerable clout, and apparently used it, in conjunction with Major Brockett-Smythe, to stifle the case. Everyone knew the magistrate was in their pockets and that the case had been fixed. The four of them got off scot free.’