Murder Served Cold

by Paula Williams

  Jules’s eyes widened. “Hey, if they hadn’t arrested John Manning, it would almost make you think he’d done it, wouldn’t it?”

  “John was released without charge yesterday. And Gerald didn’t look too pleased when I told him that, I can tell you.” Suddenly, all my doubts from my sleepless night came flooding back. “He could have done it, you know,” I said slowly.

  “No way.” Jules gave a shriek of laughter. “I was just joking when I said that. He’s all mouth and trousers, that one. Say boo to him and he’ll run a mile. Come on, Katie…”

  “Kat.”

  “Sorry. Keep forgetting. Come on, Kat. This is Gerald Crabshaw we’re talking about. We’ve known him all our lives. And whilst he’s a right pain in the proverbial, particularly since getting himself elected councillor (and that was only because no one else wanted to do it) he’s no murderer. Think about it.”

  “No. Of course he isn’t. You’re quite right. He hasn’t got the bottle, for a start.” I decided against telling her how I’d seen him up in Compton Woods with Doreen. I didn’t want to tell anyone. At least, not until I’d talked it through with Liam. Instead, I said, “It’s just that I saw him yesterday afternoon, about 4 o’clock. He came out of the pub and threatened me. Said if I didn’t stop poking my nose into his business, I’d come to a very sticky end, or words to that effect. And the thing that spooked me was not only the look on his face as he said it – I’ve never seen him so angry – but the fact that he’d said the same thing to me before, almost word for word. Only then he’d been talking about Marjorie. And it was the day before Will and I found her body.”

  Jules chewed her fingernail as she thought about what I’d just said. “Ok, yeah. That’s a bit weird,” she acknowledged. “But even so, he was only mouthing off, surely? You know what he’s like. He was always going on about Marjorie, particularly since he got done for drunk driving and reckoned it was her who’d tipped the police off. Which, knowing Marjorie, it probably was.”

  “But if it wasn’t Gerald, then who was it?” I said, completely forgetting that an hour or so ago, I’d decided the killer was a total stranger. “Hey, what about Shane Freeman? He was hanging around the pub, looking as shifty as you like. And the other night in the pub, when I asked him if he had an alibi for the time Marjorie was murdered, he looked even shiftier than usual. In fact, he told me later that he was doing local drops that day so would have been in the area.”

  Jules’s snort of laughter sent digestive crumbs arcing across the kitchen. “For goodness sake, what are you on, girl? Shane-the-Pain? Much Winchmoor’s answer to Reggie Kray? He was born looking shifty. That doesn’t mean a thing. Although I have to say, he was flashing the cash in the pub on Saturday. And he’s bought himself a new motor, so they were saying.”

  “Has he now?” I frowned. “Well, what if…?”

  “What if nothing,” she cut in. “You’ve been watching too many Midsomer Murders, that’s your trouble. You need to get out more. If it wasn’t John Manning who killed Marjorie, then my money’s on some passing tramp. Maybe he was dossing down in the farm shop, she disturbed him, he lashed out, not meaning to kill her, but when he realised what he’d done, he dumped her in the freezer and legged it.”

  Jules’ common sense approach had just lifted a huge weight from my shoulders, particularly as I’d come to a similar conclusion earlier that morning. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” I admitted.

  “Aren’t I always?” she smirked.

  Not always. She’d got it totally wrong about Will and me. But not, I reckoned, about Gerald. I decided against saying anything to Ben, because I might then have to explain to him what I’d been doing up in Compton Woods yesterday afternoon, which could lead to some awkwardness. “I expect I just caught Gerald on a bad day,” I said.

  “You’re not kidding, he was having a bad day. According to Elsie Flintlock, he’d had a right go at poor old Donald, as well,” Jules said. “Gave it to him ‘hot and holy’ was how she put it.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Donald had sent me out to the store room and when I came back Gerald had gone and Elsie said that he’d yelled at Donald and stormed out.”

  “Did she say what he’d yelled?”

  “She may have done. I wasn’t really paying attention. You know how she goes on. I find the best thing is just to tune it out. Here, for goodness sake have another of these,” she pushed the packet of biscuits across the table. “Otherwise I’ll eat the lot.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t eat a thing?” I said.

  “Anything except chocolate digestives.”

  I reached across for another biscuit but, before I could take one, my phone rang. It was Liam.

  “Sorry,” I said to Jules. “I’ve got to take this. Hi, Liam. Thanks for ringing back.”

  “No problem. Sorry it took so long but things have been pretty hectic here this morning. What’s up?”

  I glanced across at Jules, who was straining to hear every word, while at the same time pretending she wasn’t. “Can we meet sometime today? So that I can give you… the, um, results of that research I did for you yesterday. I’ve had some further thoughts on it I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Today could be tricky,” he said. “Tomorrow’s better.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine.”

  “Then how about we – look, sorry. Kat, I’ve got to go. Mike’s making frantic signals at me. Looks like something big may have come in. I’ll call you.”

  “Great. See you then. Bye.”

  Jules was grinning at me as I ended the call. “Research, eh? Is that what they call it now?”

  “That was a guy from The Chronicle,” I said primly. “It’s purely business.”

  “Now, would this be the dishy Irishman who was asking after you in the pub the other day?”

  “You think he’s dishy? I can’t say I’d noticed,” I said in what I hoped was a casual voice.

  “Hah, not much you hadn’t. I can tell from the way your cheeks have turned the colour of beetroot. You never could keep a secret from me, Kat Latcham. It was him, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, and Dad gave him my mobile number, can you believe it? He could have been an axe murderer for all Dad knew.”

  “What did he want you for?”

  “My body. What else?” I laughed.

  “Yeah, well. That goes without saying. But you know he’s got a bit of a reputation, don’t you?”

  “For what?” I knew I shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t help myself.

  “For loving and leaving them. You remember Ginny Mason in the year below us at school? Curly hair and freckles. Had a thing about Johnny Depp. She went out with him for a while, things were really serious between them, or so she thought. Then he dropped her like a stone for no apparent reason. Then there was the girl who works in Dintscombe Library, and after that…”

  “Ok. Ok. I get the picture,” I said, more rattled than I wanted to let on. “There’s nothing between me and Liam. Nor likely to be. Yes, I did meet him on Friday night, but it was strictly business. As a matter of fact, he offered me a job.”

  “On The Chronicle?” Jules looked impressed. “Doing what?”

  “Well, it’s just helping out with the odd bit of background research at the moment, which is what I wanted to talk to him about. But who knows where it might lead?”

  “With Liam O’Connor, I think I can probably guess,” Jules said, her face suddenly serious. “You will be careful, Kat, won’t you?”

  “What, like you’re my mother all of a sudden?” I said, trying, but failing, to hide my annoyance.

  “No. But I am your friend. And I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. You know he’s going around asking all sorts of questions about the murder, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course he is,” I said. “He’s a journalist. Asking questions is what he does.”

  “That, and making up the answers if he doesn’t get the right ones,” Jule
s said.

  “Well, don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself,” I said as I gathered up my things and stood up.

  “Oh no. Now I’ve upset you again. Me and my big mouth. Oh, for pity’s sake, Kat, don’t go off in a strop again.”

  “I’m not in a strop, honest,” I said. “But I really do have to go. Mum will have steam coming out of her ears if I’m not back soon.”

  “So how did you come to prang her car? I’ll bet she gave you grief. That car’s her pride and joy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it. If you must know, I reversed into a gate.” Again, I decided not to tell her where the gate was or what I was doing when I reversed into it. “But you know how Mum is about that wretched car. I’ll never be able to borrow it again and will have to spend the rest of my life apologising to her. Thanks for the coffee and biscuits. I’ll see you soon, ok?’

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” Jules said as she opened the front door to see me out. As she did so, we saw Will coming down the road towards us. I had to stop myself turning round and bolting back into Jules’s kitchen.

  “Kat, listen. What I said yesterday, about Will having a thing for you?” Jules said quickly, putting a hand on my arm. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. That Will’s some sad loser, pining away for you.”

  “No, of course I didn’t think that.” I forced a laugh. “I didn’t think that for a nanosecond. You forget, Jules, I know Will a lot better than you do.”

  Jules took her hand away and waved at Will. She lowered her voice and went on, “In fact, according to Eddie, he’s seeing this vet who works in the practice in Dintscombe. Name of Anneka, or something like that. She’s Swedish, Eddie says.”

  “That’s great. I’m pleased for him.”

  Of course I was pleased for him. But why, then, did I have this weird feeling, the sort you get when you put your foot on a step that isn’t there?

  It was my disturbed night catching up on me. That was all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hi Will,” Jules called out. “What are you doing hanging around here on a Monday morning? Have you been given time off for good behaviour as well?”

  “Something like that,” he grinned.

  “Got time for a coffee?”

  “Sorry, I can’t stop. I came to find Katie. Her mum said she was down here.”

  I shot him a worried glance. “You were looking for me?” It would have to be something pretty heavy to drag him away from the farm on a Monday morning. “What for?” My heart missed a beat. “It’s not your dad, is it? They haven’t…?”

  “No. He’s fine.” He looked across at Jules then back to me. I’d always been able to read the expressions on his face. This one was saying that whatever he had to say to me, he’d prefer not to do so in front of Jules. I gave a small nod to show I’d got the message.

  “Are you on your way back?” he went on. “Only if you are, I’ll walk with you.”

  “And I’ve got a million things to do,” Jules said as she turned to go back indoors. “See you both.”

  As we walked off, I looked back in time to see a curtain twitch inside the house. Jules might well have a million things to do, but watching Will and me was obviously right up there at the top of that list.

  “So come on, out with it.” I asked once we were safely out of earshot. “What was so important that you had to come and seek me out, rather than phone? You haven’t lost it again, have you? Honestly, Will, you’re the limit.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then where is it? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. On the dresser in your kitchen?”

  “Something like that. If you must know I was coming down to see your mum anyway. I had a nice leg of lamb I thought she might like. I know how your dad enjoys his roast lamb and, after what happened the last time I went to find a piece of meat for your mum…”

  “Oh no, please, Will. Don’t remind me. As you say,” I went on quickly before the flashback to that moment could take hold. “Dad’s certainly very partial to roast lamb. And if it gets Mum off her current diet and back on to real food, you’ll have done us all a favour. So, does that mean the police have let you back in the farm shop, then?”

  “No. It’s still taped off. This one comes from the freezer in the barn. The police were rooting around again this morning. From the little bit they let slip, it doesn’t look like they’ve found the murder weapon yet. They’ve now been able to rule out Dad’s shotgun, which is a huge relief.”

  “I can imagine. And your dad is ok, isn’t he? I mean, you weren’t just saying that because Jules was there?”

  “No, honest. He’s a lot better. He’s still very shaken by it all, of course. Well, we both are.”

  “Yes, I know how you feel.”

  I never used to have a problem over what to say to Will. In fact, he used to complain that I never stopped talking. But for the moment, I couldn’t think of a thing to talk about. Well, not strictly true. I had plenty to say. My problem was, where to start? We walked on in awkward silence for a while. Then we both spoke at once.

  “Look, I’m sorry about—” I said.

  “You see, the thing is—” he said. We both stopped, and he gestured to me to carry on.

  “I just wanted to explain about Friday night,” I said. “In the pub. With Liam.”

  “Liam?” His eyes darkened.

  “Liam O’Connor. He’s…”

  “A reporter on The Chronicle.” His eyes darkened even further, his face creased into a scowl. “I know who he is. He’s been plaguing the life out of me and Dad, asking us for an interview. Wanting all the gory details and…”

  “Ok. Ok. Chill,” I cut in as I could see him building up a good head of steam. “But I just wanted to tell you that the meeting I had with him that night was business, not pleasure, ok?”

  “Oh, really?” One eyebrow shot up. “From where I was standing, it looked like you were enjoying a whole heap of pleasure.”

  “And if you’d looked a little more carefully, birdbrain, you’d have seen that I was drinking mineral water and had a file full of my work with me. Hardly the stuff of a hot date, is it?” I glared at him. “Besides, what were you doing in there? You always said you hated that hippy, drippy folksy music. Your words, not mine.”

  He grinned at me as we crossed the road and in to the village’s main street. “I do. But they serve a good pint in there.”

  “Yes, that’s what Liam said.” And, of course, the niggly little voice inside my head went on, Anneka or whatever her name was, probably liked hippy, drippy folksy music. They went for that kind of stuff in Sweden, didn’t they? So where had she been on Friday night? Had she stood him up? Was that why he’d been in such a foul mood?

  We walked on in awkward silence for a few more minutes. “Well, I’m glad your dad’s ok,” I said eventually. “I was worried about him.”

  Will stopped and turned to face me. His face was serious and he looked like he’d just made up his mind about something. “As a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, not about him, as such. But what you and Dad were talking about yesterday.” He looked down at his hands. “He – he told me, you know.”

  I felt a rush of heat travel up my face. So John had told Will that Sally had always hoped he and I would ‘make a go of it’, as he’d put it, had he? Great. Absolutely great. How was I going to get out of this one? Talk about embarrassing.

  “Oh, well, that’s parents for you, isn’t it?” I mumbled, scuffing the edge of the pavement with the toe of my boot. “Always making plans whether you want them to or not.”

  “Plans about what?” He stared at me blankly. “Sorry. You’ve lost me.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “I was just wittering. You know what I’m like. Forget it. What – what were you saying?”

  “Dad said you’d told him how I hadn’t been able to face going in the shop since – since Mum died.” He plucked at the fastening o
f his coat with restless fingers. “He, he also said you’d told him that he and I should talk. About how we felt about losing Mum. And all that.”

  “And did you?” I asked gently.

  He nodded. “Sort of. He said he thought I blamed him for being so wrapped up in the farm that he hadn’t noticed Mum’s illness. Can you believe that? As if I would.”

  “Maybe he blames himself?”

  “That’s just as daft. And I told him so. He then said he’d no idea about the strain I’d been under and that he felt really bad about it. Promised to make it up to me. He’s sober, you know. Hasn’t touched a drop since he was arrested.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, his expression serious. “You’re a star, Katie Latcham, that’s what you are.”

  “I didn’t do anything…”

  “You believed in him when no one else did. And you cared enough to talk some sense into him. Into both of us, for that matter. And for that we’re both really grateful. Thanks to you, we’ve cleared the air a bit. Dad and I are both as bad as each other when it comes to talking about how we feel about things. And people.”

  I opened my mouth to make some light-hearted remark, in an effort to break the tension that had sprung up between us, but nothing came out. Instead, I stood as if frozen, staring up at him, and wondering why I’d never noticed before how, in this bright spring sunlight, his eyes were the colour of cornflowers and how he had a little fan of white lines in the corner of each eye, made, no doubt, by screwing up his eyes against the sun when he was working.

  “Th-that’s blokes for you,” I finally managed to say, in a voice that didn’t sound remotely like my own.

  “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and raked his fingers through his hair. “So this morning, good as his word, Dad said he’d handle things on the farm today and that I was to take you somewhere for lunch. As a thank you. From us both.”

  “Oh, there’s no need,” I said quickly, relieved that the moment of weirdness between us, whatever it was, had passed. “I only did what any mate would have done. Besides, I’m just on my way to see Elsie Flintlock.”