Murder Served Cold

by Paula Williams

  “For goodness sake, Katie, don’t beat yourself up about it. I wish I hadn’t told you now. I promise you, no one’s making things any worse for Dad, other than himself. And he’s doing a pretty good job at that, I can tell you.”

  “But Will, you surely don’t think he could have done it?”

  “Of course I don’t. Even if he was blind, stinking drunk, he wouldn’t have done that. That’s what I tried to tell him. But he wouldn’t listen. Just kept saying he must have and that he was going to confess and get it over with. And there’s plenty around here who agree with him – and who won’t hesitate to tell the police so. Dad’s rubbed a fair few people up the wrong way in the last few months.”

  He wasn’t wrong there, if the talk in the Winchmoor Arms was anything to go by. But I decided against telling him about some of the crazy stories that were flying around last night. He had more than enough to worry about without that.

  “But he said Marjorie left when he told her to, remember?” I said. “That she was at the farm at half past three, because he heard the children coming out of school, which he said Marjorie commented on. And that would tie in with the fact that one of the mums was early and saw Marjorie go past the school not long after quarter past three. Somebody must have seen her after she left your dad. She couldn’t have walked all the way down the hill and back to her house without being seen, could she?”

  “You’re forgetting something, Sherlock,” Will said quietly. “Her body wasn’t found in her house but here on the farm.”

  I thought for a moment. “Yes, but maybe she met someone after she left the farm, and he lured her back here and into the farm shop, where he killed her.”

  “But why would he do that? I mean, why here? Why the farm shop? It’s taking one hell of a risk. Either Dad or I could have turned up at any moment.”

  “Well, not you,” I said. “Everyone in Mum’s salon knew you were away at the market on Wednesday, including Elsie Flintlock. And if she knew, then you can take it as read that everyone in the entire village would have done as well.”

  “True. But, even so, I was back at the farm by half past four. I think I would have noticed Marjorie and her murderer hanging about the place, don’t you?”

  “I would imagine by that time, the deed had been done and the poor soul was already in the freezer,” I said. “As to why lure her here, well, to implicate your dad, of course. Or – or maybe the murderer intended to hide her body in the freezer, but was interrupted. After all, it’s common knowledge that nobody goes in there, since your mum—” I broke off and wished I hadn’t said that.

  Will’s fists clenched and his eyes darkened. “You mean, it’s common knowledge that I’ve been such a pathetic wimp I haven’t been able to set foot inside there since Mum died. And Dad can’t find his way out of a bottle at the moment, least of all run a farm shop. Is that it?”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Will. No way does anyone think you are a wimp. I shouldn’t have said…”

  “Forget it,” Will said wearily.

  “Of course, there’s another possibility,” I said quickly. “Maybe someone—”

  “Jeez, Katie,” he cut in. “You read too many detective novels, that’s your problem. You’re making my brain ache.”

  “Even so, tonight I’ll make a point of asking everyone who comes in the pub if they saw Marjorie, or if they saw anyone else on their way to and from the farm. It was a bit difficult last night because we were really busy, and Donald was hanging around all the time.”

  “According to Dad, his ‘discussion’ with Marjorie lasted only a few minutes. If, as he says, she’d gone straight back home, she’d have been seen by at least half a dozen mums waiting by the school gate. Which, according to you, she wasn’t.”

  “No. That’s true, I’m afraid. But what about her neighbours? Surely they’d have seen her coming and going on Tuesday afternoon?”

  Will shook his head. “It’s all holiday cottages down that end of the village now, and at this time of year most of them are empty.”

  “Except for Amy’s mum. She lives just opposite. I spoke to Amy at the school this afternoon, she said she’d check.”

  “I’m not holding my breath,” he said. “Let’s face it, if anyone had seen Marjorie, they’d have come forward by now.”

  I sighed. He was right, of course. “Nevertheless, it won’t hurt to ask around, will it? Just in case.”

  “Go ahead, Sherlock. You’re going to do so anyway. But, Kat?”

  “Yes?”

  “We both know Dad didn’t kill Marjorie. So that means, there’s a murderer on the loose in this village. This isn’t a game, you know. It’s all too horribly real. Be careful.”

  I shivered as if today’s gentle breeze with its promise of spring had suddenly morphed into yesterday’s mad March wind and sliced through my clothing again.

  Will was right, of course. It wasn’t a game. His dad was still banged up in Yeovil Police Station. There was a murderer on the prowl. And nobody I had spoken to so far had seen Marjorie after she left the farm.

  I chased the shadows away and forced a smile. “You called me Kat,” I said.

  He smiled back, then reached his hand out and touched my cheek. “So I did,” he said softly.

  There was this weird, jumpy silence between us, which thankfully was broken by Tam suddenly whining and pushing against Will’s leg.

  Will cleared his throat. “Look, Katie – Kat, I, I just want to say how much I appreciate – Dad and I really – well, it’s good of you to…” He pushed his hand through his hair, something he did when he was stressed, even though I’d told him often enough that startled hedgehog was not a good look.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Will,” I said, putting him out of his misery. He’d never been one for fancy speeches.

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls or texts,” he said.

  “That’s ok.”

  “And – and I was also sorry to hear you and that – I mean, your boyfriend, have split up,” he said, his eyes never leaving my face. “Even though he was a—”

  “You don’t have to rub it in,” I said quickly and stepped away. I didn’t want him to start banging on about what a loser Ratface was, though it was the truth. “Look, I’m working this evening. Why don’t you come down to the pub and have a drink? Get out for a bit? It’ll do you good.”

  “And have everyone asking me about the murder? Or trying to hide the fact that they all think my dad did it?” He stepped away from me, his eyes hot and angry again. “I don’t think so, do you?”

  He was right, of course. But I didn’t like the thought of him spending another night in that cold, bleak farmhouse. Alone.

  ***

  As soon as I left Will, I took out the card Ben had given me and punched in the number. It was answered almost immediately.

  “Ben?” I said. “It’s Kat here.”

  “Kat?” he sounded uncertain.

  “Kat. From Much Winchmoor. Oh, all right then. Katie. Katie Latcham.”

  “Katie? I’m sorry. Not really with it today. I caught a double shift yesterday, I’m afraid. What can I do for you?”

  “You said to ring you if I thought of anything,” I said.

  “And have you?” Suddenly he sounded fully awake.

  “Well, yes and no.” There was no way I was going to tell him my attempts to find someone who’d seen Marjorie after she left the farm had drawn a blank.

  “So, which is it to be?” he said, and I could tell from his voice he was smiling.

  “It’s just that – well, Will said your colleagues were very suspicious about the fact that there’d been an attempt to clean up the kitchen in the farmhouse. But, you see, Ben, that was me. After you took John away I – I had to do something to keep my mind off things. So I washed up and tidied the kitchen a bit. It wasn’t John, I promise you. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I do,” he said.

  Relief flooded through me. “O
h, thank goodness. I was so worried I may have made things worse for him.”

  He paused. “I shouldn’t really be telling you this, Katie, but I can’t see it will do any harm. I knew the attempt to clean up the kitchen was way after we’d arrived on the scene. If you remember, I had to move a pile of dirty crockery and mouldy food before I could find somewhere to put my notebook. And, as John Manning and his son were with my colleagues at the time, it couldn’t have been them. I told the SIO that and he was ok with it. Said he didn’t really think there was anything significant in the clean-up, but they had to go through the motions.”

  “SIO?”

  “Senior Investigating Officer. He’s the guy in overall charge of the investigation. Inspector Hardy. A good man.”

  “So, does that put John in the clear, then?”

  “Hardly. There’s still the small matter of the fact that he was found within a few feet of the body. And has admitted to having a row with the victim, not to mention threatening her.”

  “But surely, if he’d been the one to do it, the first thing he’d have done would be to get as far away from the crime scene as he could?”

  “Not if he’d passed out. And judging from the blood sample we took from him, his blood alcohol level would suggest that is a distinct possibility.”

  “There’s something else I’ve thought of, too,” I went on. “When I saw Marjorie in the salon that morning, she was saying something about how she was going to have it out with someone, once and for all. It sounded pretty serious to me.”

  “Did she say who she was talking about?”

  “If she had, I’d have told you,” I said crisply. “All I remember is that she said it was about time someone stood up to him and that now she’d got her dander up, she was going to be the one to do it.”

  “You’ve already told me that, Katie,” he said. “Is there anything else you’d like to add to your statement?”

  “Not really. Except to say that I was pretty sure it wasn’t John Manning she was talking about. She’d already been talking about him, you see, and had moved on to someone else.”

  “I see. Did she mention a name?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t really listening. The salon was very busy at that time and there was a lot of chatter going on…” and I’d zoned out, I should have said, but didn’t. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I could not bring to mind any more details of that conversation, as I’d rinsed the perm lotion off Marjorie’s blue cauliflower head.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve wasted your time, haven’t I?”

  “Not at all. If you think of it, just let me know, ok?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Katie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not always on duty,” he said. “You can waste my time as much as you like then.”

  I frowned as he ended the call. Was PC Ben Newton coming on to me? I shook my head. No, of course he wasn’t. What was I thinking of? That sort of thing didn’t happen to me. While I might well come across as someone with bags of confidence who didn’t give a toss what people thought, the truth was, it was all a bit of a front. That was why I loved the anonymity of city life where I could be whoever I wanted to be – though much good it had done me. Back here, everyone knew me as little Katie Latcham, with crooked teeth and glasses, though the glasses had been replaced by contacts and the teeth had been straightened.

  But even the ‘new me’, the one I’d left behind in Bristol, hadn’t been one of those girls with a string of guys all begging for my favours. Not like Jules used to be, before she and Ed got together. When we were still at school, she collected hoards of admiring boys the way other people collect bottle tops. Whereas I was the overweight, geeky friend who blushed scarlet if a boy so much as looked in my direction, which wasn’t very often.

  “Take your time, sweetheart,” Gran Latcham used to say. “You don’t have to sample all the chocolates in the box to find the one that’s right for you. He’ll come along soon enough.”

  Trouble is, Gran, I wanted to say, I didn’t want all the chocolates in the box. Just one would do very nicely. In the meantime, my friend Jules was having a whole heap of a better time than me, with her pick ’n’ mix.

  I wondered what Gran would say, if she were still around now. If I told her how I’d thought I’d found that one special ‘chocolate’ she’d promised me – only to find he’d turned out to be more self-centred than soft centred, and had put me off chocolates for life?

  ***

  The Winchmoor Arms was not as crowded as it had been the night before. The roast lamb was now shepherd’s pie and the talk had gone back to potholes, recycling collection dates and England’s poor showing in the rugby/football/tiddlywinks or whatever. Things felt a bit more normal and a little less frantic, for which I was thankful.

  Nevertheless, I remembered my promise to Will and, whenever I got the chance, I asked almost every person I served that night if they’d seen Marjorie after half past three on Tuesday afternoon. Every time I got the same negative answer. Nobody, it appeared, had seen her after she’d stopped to lecture Amy about the state of her child’s teeth.

  Nobody except John Manning. And the murderer, of course.

  “So, where were you on Tuesday afternoon, Shane?” I asked in desperation as Big Shane Freeman shambled up to the bar.

  He stared at me blankly for a second. Then, “Pass,” he said with a broad grin, like we were doing Mastermind.

  “As in you don’t remember, or as in you don’t want to tell me?” I asked.

  “Pass,” he said again, this time accompanied by a snort of laughter. “Hey, my offer of a ride in my cab is still open, Katie.”

  “And I’ll pass on that too, if you don’t mind, Shane,” I grinned back at him as I handed him his pint. “Seriously though, were you here in the village on Tuesday afternoon? I know you were here in the evening because I served you. If so, did you see Marjorie Hampton?”

  “Tuesday? Let’s see.” His round, good-natured face creased in concentration. “I’d been doing local drops that day. Nothing further than Bristol. So, yes, I was in the village and no, I didn’t see Marjorie Hampton, thank goodness. She was forever banging on at me for parking my lorry in the back lane. Here, you’re surely not putting me in the frame for doing her in, are you? Should I be sorting out my alibi?”

  “You have an alibi?” I asked. But at that moment, Donald came up to the bar with some empty glasses and his glare, which he’d directed at me every time I’d stopped to chat to anyone, went from stormy to full-on hurricane.

  “I pay you to work, not stand around gossiping all day,” he hissed, his pale grey face looking quite animated for once. “If you want to do that, maybe you’d be better off working in your mother’s salon.”

  Shane pulled a face behind Donald’s back, winked at me and went off to take his customary two places on the settle in the corner, where his elderly black Labrador was waiting anxiously for the crisps that Shane had bought with his pint. I began loading the glass washer.

  When Gerald Crabshaw came in a little later, I waited until Donald had gone down to the cellar to change a barrel, and beckoned Gerald to come closer.

  He bounced across the bar towards me, looking like Shane Freeman’s Labrador on the scent of another packet of crisps.

  “You’re looking stunning again tonight, sweet Katie. I have to say you brighten up the old place no end,” Gerald said with his usual leery grin as he leaned across the bar towards me, moving in so close I could see each individual pore on his mottled red nose. “You’re certainly easier on the eye than old Donald, and that’s a pretty top you’re almost wearing. What was it before? A handkerchief?”

  I pulled back to a safe distance, yanked at the hem of my favourite stretchy blue top and wished I was wearing last night’s zip-up-to-the neck sweatshirt instead. I’d chosen the top because (a) it was cooler than the sweatshirt and (b) it also had a high collar. I hadn’t given a thought about ho
w it flashed a bit of bare midriff every time I moved, something that had never bothered me until that moment. But the way Creepy Crabshaw looked at me, his piggy little eyes gleaming like he was famished and I was the main course, made my flesh crawl.

  Still, I reminded herself, this was not the time for the snarky put down, tempting though it was. Instead, I forced myself to give a little giggle, as if he’d just said something incredibly witty, and handed him his pint. “There you are, Gerald. Enjoy. By the way, did you happen to see Marjorie Hampton any time after half past three on Tuesday afternoon?” I asked.

  His smile vanished as abruptly as if I’d just spat in his beer. He went from smarmy to snarly in an instant, his fleshy upper lip curled in a sneer. “Me? Of course I didn’t. Why on earth would I? Fancy yourself as an amateur sleuth, do you? With me as suspect number one? Here, Donald, I’ve just been interrogated by one of your staff,” he called out as Donald appeared, soft-footed as ever, behind me.

  “What’s the problem?” Donald asked as he placed a glass under one of the beer pumps, pulled on the handle, then held up the contents of the glass to the light to test the new barrel.

  “Young Katie here reckons it was me and not poor mad John Manning who did for Marjorie Hampton. Can you believe it? Me? The master criminal?”

  Although he laughed as he said it, I could see from the spots of colour high on his already red cheeks that he didn’t find it terribly funny. And Donald looked ready to blow a head gasket as he put the glass down and glared at me.

  “Don’t take it personally, Councillor Crabshaw, and have that one on the house,” he said in a low voice that was not meant to be overheard, in case it started a stampede of people demanding free drinks because they too had been ‘interrogated’. It was a clear indication of how rattled he was, as Donald was well known for his aversion to handing out anything, particularly drinks. “Our Miss Marple here has been asking everyone who comes in the same question. She even had the cheek to ask me if I had an alibi for Tuesday afternoon, and of course I told her that you and I had a site meeting about a possible new playing fields for the village out on that bit of waste ground on the by-pass, didn’t we? And that it took the best part of the afternoon.”