Witching Murder

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Witching Murder Page 18

by Jennie Melville


  Rewley did not seem disinclined for the moonlight stroll, although he had not previously taken much interest in Queen Victoria’s railway station. Charmian wondered what he could see behind Kate’s spoken words apart from what was obvious to them all: that she liked him.

  ‘Nice girl,’ he said to Charmian as Kate disappeared to get a coat. ‘But something’s tearing her apart.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve noticed?’

  ‘She’s shouting it out,’ he said simply.

  They had all eaten a happy dinner of chicken and salad in Charmian’s kitchen, washed down with draughts of sparkling white wine. Muff had crept in from the garden and quietly taken part in the meal.

  ‘I forgive you,’ said Charmian, patting her head. ‘Although many wouldn’t.’

  ‘She’s forgiving you,’ Kate said. ‘It’s that way round. Your fault.’

  Over the meal George Rewley had told them all about his visit to Cuckfield. ‘Nice little bungalow they’ve got, but what a pair. Anything crazy that happened to Vivien was partly their fault. Take my word for it. She must have had a terrible childhood, mental bullies is how I’d describe them and not much real love around. She was programmed to fall into trouble.’

  ‘She had other help,’ said Charmian sourly.

  Dolly gave a little nod of agreement. ‘Don’t be a male you-know-what.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Kate gave everyone a wide, radiant smile. Leave him to me, it said. He will be taught.

  Charmian hoped for his own preservation that Rewley could read it too. It was the sort of smile that should carry a health warning. Watch my lips, I could be dangerous.

  ‘I wanted them to go,’ Dolly said as the two departed. ‘I told Rewley to fix it.’

  Charmian laughed. ‘And he did, he’s what you said and a cunning beggar as well.’ Kate might have met her match.

  ‘Oh, Rewley’s all of that. He can be hard to work with, but I find him useful. He’ll mellow with age.’ He was about three years younger than Dolly, but had come straight into the police from school. Charmian thought that she didn’t see him mellowing exactly, but he might learn to mask his cleverness.

  ‘Now let’s talk things over,’ said Dolly. ‘ Tomorrow I have a conference with Elman and Father. I don’t think Father will give any trouble, he’s still playing politics, but Fred Elman could be awkward. He’s all at sixes and sevens since Josh Fox was killed,’ she went on gloomily. ‘And of course, he’s got that damned Peter Arbat on his back. Well, we all have, Pete can be a swine, but I can see his point. The two cases are one case and one murderer must have done both killings. I’ve got to have something, reasoned out to tell them.’

  ‘You’ve read my notes?’

  ‘I need to sort out what it means.’ Dolly shook her head, ‘I can’t see the answer. I still fancy it being one of the women, Caprice possibly, she’s beginning to look a very doubtful character. Not a record exactly but she’s sailed close to the wind in knowing drug pushers once or twice. But there’s no case, really, I see that … I’d settle for it being the man Eden myself. I think we could get evidence there.’

  Charmian said, ‘Don’t look for easy answers, there’s been too much lying.’

  ‘Arbat’s raising trouble, he’s got it in for the witches and he may be right.’

  ‘What’s Arbat’s history?’

  ‘He transferred here from the North. Newcastle, I think, but that was before my time. Not a Geordie, though, not from the way he speaks. Supposed to have said he wanted to work in the south of England, wanted to specialise in drugs. Rumour has it someone wanted to shoot him, and that was the real reason.’

  ‘Because he was too clever for them?’

  Dolly laughed. ‘No, because he was having it off with the wrong person’s wife. He got out in time. He was clever enough for that.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Of course, he is,’ said Dolly. ‘ Sometimes she lives with him and sometimes she doesn’t. You can’t blame her. I think it’s off at the moment.’

  ‘Is it drugs he has against the witches?’

  ‘Yes, Caprice and Twickers, in particular.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Charmian. She was almost sure that the little manikins dropped on her doorstep came from Caprice. Malice? Or to frighten her off? Bad psychology, if so. That was why she thought it must be Caprice, she was a stupid woman at base, whereas Birdie and Winifred were, in their own way, sharp judges of the world.

  ‘I think so myself. Oh well, we’ll get to know, I suppose, if we look hard enough … Arbat thinks that’s why her place was broken into. Someone looking for drugs.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Charmian.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Dolly. ‘About Josh Fox’s records … Hard to know what to call him, isn’t it? I hate these double identity tricks. Yes, he did keep records, in his own way, of course. I don’t think they would have won him any prizes in a literature class but they served his purpose. Brief and concise. And there were a few photographs. He kept everything in one old filing cabinet and that had been searched, and several files removed. Must be what his killer came for.’ Dolly’s voice was quiet. It was amazing, and sad, how the figure of Josh Fox diminished as he was investigated. Not so much to admire there, after all. Just a bonny face and perhaps a seedy spirit behind it. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, but it looked like it.

  Charmian cut across her thoughts. ‘Fingerprints?’

  ‘Nothing useful at the moment, but it’s early days.’

  Charmian considered: Forensics give you a lead, could get you into court with a proveable case, but it was the face-to-face contact with all those in the case that counted in the long run.

  She poured some coffee for them both while Dolly studied her notes again.

  ‘Where are you having your conference with Fred Elman and Father?’

  ‘In Father’s room, I believe. He hates to stir unless he has to.’

  ‘While this is happening, I want to set up an interview with Leonard Eden in Alexandria Road. I want someone with me. Who can I have?’

  Dolly considered. ‘You might as well have Rewley.’

  ‘He could have quite a future, that young man.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dolly, who hoped she had a distinguished professional career ahead of her herself, but who felt she was having a downturn at the moment. ‘You can’t tell though, can you? People burn out …’

  They looked at each other. ‘Women more than men?’ Dolly was asking. ‘ Come on, you’re the expert on women and their sufferings.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Charmian said. ‘Not us.’

  ‘I feel it sometimes.’

  ‘But that’s just when you mustn’t say it aloud.’

  Next day, the hall in Alexandria Road seemed quiet as Charmian waited for Leonard Eden to arrive. She was prepared for him.

  An early call from Dolly Barstow had confirmed what she already knew.

  ‘Eden did not come back on that flight from Geneva as he said he did. He had the booking and it was not cancelled, but he was not on the plane. We believe he caught a late-night flight. He had another booking as a stand-by passenger. No evidence where he went from Heathrow, but he was around and could have done the killing. So he lied,’ Dolly said.

  ‘I knew he’d lied,’ said Charmian. ‘ Think about the scene in which Vivien was found, the set-up around, the vomit in the sink, and you will see why I knew.’

  George Rewley was there before her in Alexandria Road, standing, arms folded, studying the room. Listening in to conversations, she had to believe. No wonder his colleagues were nervous with him.

  ‘Every time I’m with you I feel as though I know what reading between the lines means.’

  ‘You mustn’t believe all you hear,’ he said with a serious face.

  She laughed, it was a good riposte. He was a comic as well as an observer. ‘You’re not telling me you don’t lip read?’

  ‘The stories don’t lose in the telling … but ye
s, I do it without thinking. Habit. But for the rest, well, it’s a question of looking closely at the face, watching the muscles move. Everyone does it to some extent, you do yourself. I just do it more. I’ve had the practice.’

  ‘Keep it up,’ said Charmian, ‘and tell me what you see. But leave my face out of it.’

  ‘This Leonard Eden who’s coming in, he’s prime suspect for the murder?’

  ‘You could say so.’ Leonard Eden had certainly lied to her, and lied again.

  Rewley let his eyes dwell on her face and drew his own conclusions. ‘But you’re not saying so.’

  Charmian did not answer. She was beginning to feel that Rewley inhibited speech. She compromised. Head down, looking at her notes.

  ‘He’s coming in with his solicitor.’

  From his place by the window with its view into the junction of Alexandria Road and King Street, Rewley said: ‘Tallish, balding chap, is he?’

  ‘Sounds like him.’ She looked at the clock. On time. As she would have expected with Leonard Eden.

  ‘I have news for you: no solicitor. He’s on his own.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It would have been better. I’m going to ask sensitive questions. Don’t want to be accused of bullying a witness. Never mind, he’s here now.’

  Leonard Eden, who looked as though he had not slept and might never sleep again, came straight up to her. ‘ I want to say this now before we start: I gather you’ve seen my wife. You spoke to her last night?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I don’t want her …’ he hesitated, ‘more disturbed than she has been already.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that, Mr Eden.’

  He remained silent. Possibly Rewley could read something in his face, she herself could not.

  ‘Why didn’t you bring a solicitor with you? I advised you to.’

  ‘I didn’t want him here. Later will do.’

  ‘I think you need all the help you can get.’

  In a low voice he said, ‘I accept responsibility for everything.’

  ‘You lied to me yesterday.’

  ‘I admit it. I killed Vivien.’

  ‘That isn’t the lie I meant.’

  He looked at her warily, caught off his guard.

  ‘There was another lie. You went not once but twice to Dulcet Road, the first time you found her lying there dead. That was when you cut your hand, when you moved various objects placed around her, and then vomited in the sink.’

  Len Eden moved his gaze towards the window.

  ‘You always leave a carte de visite of your presence, Mr Eden. You left one in the shop, Twickers.’

  ‘Twickers?’

  ‘If it was your blood in Dulcet Road, it was also you in Twickers,’ said Charmian bluntly. ‘What were you doing there? Those women had nothing to do with killing Vivien.’

  ‘Around her body …’ he murmured. ‘ Those horrible objects, it spoke of them. I wanted to find out.’

  Charmian shook her head. ‘No, think about the other lie you told me and face the truth.’

  ‘What lie?’

  No doubt about the wariness now. Was he regretting the lack of a lawyer? He seemed to be bracing himself for what was to come.

  Charmian forced herself on, it was like cutting into bleeding flesh. ‘ The other lie was about why you hired Josh Fox. It was not to prevent Vivien having an abortion, that wasn’t going to happen, but to find out if she herself was being followed. You wanted to protect her. And I know from whom.’

  She stood up. ‘DC Rewley will take your statement. I think you’d better call your lawyer. You may be here some time.’

  Rewley followed her to the door. ‘Supposing he asks to call his wife?’

  ‘Tell him he can’t.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And keep him here.’

  ‘You don’t think he’d kill his wife, do you?’

  ‘I think she may be dead already.’

  A sub-conversation was going on between them. You’ve dropped me in it, he was saying. This is something more than I’ve ever handled.

  Do you good, Charmian was saying back.

  ‘He’s dead himself to my eyes,’ Rewley said. ‘Dead from the inside out.’ ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Charmian drove at once to the Eden house near Ascot. She knew she must speak to Laura Eden. The woman was in a most dangerous position. The question was, Charmian thought, whether she cared. She knew all right, but perhaps no longer minded.

  Yes, she must care, the need to survive was demonstrably strong. She had lied for her husband, had fought for him, she would certainly fight for herself.

  What shall I say to her? Shall I begin by saying: Do you know a woman with curly dark hair called Denise Flaxon?

  The house, when she got there, was silent. No one answered her bell. She walked round the house, looking into the ground-floor windows. Nothing to be seen.

  She left the house behind her and searched the garden, noticing once again the beautiful order in which it was kept. Even today the lawns were close-cropped and immaculately tidy with not a leaf spoiling their sheen.

  She went back to the house for one last look round. Nothing had changed. She could see through to the kitchen which was empty. If anyone had eaten breakfast there today then they had been tidy eaters and had cleared away neatly. She tried to look through the letterbox but her vision was blocked by a pile of letters.

  Was Laura Eden in there, but keeping silent?

  Or dead? Dead already.

  Charmian sat in her car debating what to do. She had noticed a telephone box down the road; she went to it and made a call.

  In Woodstock Close, Flo Jessamon was saying goodbye to Denise Flaxon. She had an idea that Denise would have slipped away without a word, but naturally Flo wasn’t having any of that.

  If you didn’t say goodbye a relationship was never really closed as it should be. Moreover, in the case of the flat on the top floor, it left her with the uneasy feeling that the flat was never truly empty. Not quite inhabited but not quite clear, either. As it happened, it was that sort of flat.

  So she waited for Denise on the stairs. Caught her, you could say. She could see on Denise’s face the feeling that she had been captured.

  ‘You off, dear?’

  ‘Yes. I’m moving away.’

  Flo waited hopefully to be told where but no such information was forthcoming. I’d have said if it was me, she told herself. It’s good manners. But people can be very hurtful.

  ‘What about the post?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve arranged that,’ said Denise. ‘I’ll leave my keys with you.’

  ‘Oh, there was a message for you, dear. I nearly forgot to mention it.’ Not true at all, she had been saving it up. ‘That policewoman. I don’t believe you met her, the nice one called Daniels, she wants to see you. I suppose it’s about that body you found, you poor thing. Yes, I know about that, we all do but didn’t like to say. There’s still got to be an inquest, hasn’t there? You’ll be a witness. Do let me know if I can help.’ Let her see you’ve got good manners, even if she hasn’t, Flo told herself. ‘Miss Daniels asked if you were here, I told her you weren’t. You weren’t just then, dear. I have the address and the telephone number.’ She had remembered them for herself too as a matter of interest. Alexandria Road and a Windsor number. ‘Or she’d come here.’

  ‘I won’t make her do that,’ said Denise, wishing that there had been nobody in her life. People did make trouble, alive or dead. She was a witness to a death, always had been and always would be. She should have missed that encounter. Why hadn’t she? Somehow life had pushed her into it.

  It was a horrible thing, being a witness to a death.

  ‘Look after yourself, dear,’ said Flo Jessamon. ‘I’ve always felt nervous for you.’ The woman who saw too much, she said to herself, with a delicious shiver.

  I could die and no one would miss me, thought Denise as she drove a
way towards Slough. But I believe that woman would. A faint feeling of friendliness stirred inside. Very faint and it soon faded away. I wish I could have done more for her skin, she thought. Too late now.

  Denise drove herself to a small motel on the outskirts of Windsor where she booked a room. She had not been there before but she could see it was the sort of quiet, boring place where no one took much interest in you. She wanted to be part of a company where the company she kept did not notice she was there.

  She made herself some tea from the equipment in one corner of the room. In truth the room seemed all corners, but it may just have been the way she was feeling.

  Cornered.

  She admired herself for being able to make that joke.

  After the tea, she found her mind had cleared: she must see this detective. Some situations will not go away and clearly this was one.

  She washed her face and hands, attended to her hair and make-up, debated how she should look, made a decision, then set out.

  More time had passed than she had taken in, it was getting dusky, but she would find Charmian Daniels in Alexandria Road or somewhere and get it all over.

  She felt brave, but exceedingly cold. Odd considering how hot the day had been. Somewhere in this journey of hers, her bones had been taken out and something else put in their place. The cold bit.

  Tomorrow, she told herself, I shall be a new person and drive away for ever.

  Charmian went back to Alexandria Road where she talked to Dolly. Rewley had gone. She learnt that Leonard Eden was being held at the best protected police station in Prince Consort Road. There were plenty of press around and several TV teams, Dolly reported soberly, hence the need for protection.

  ‘How were Elman and Father?’

  ‘Manageable. Both got other things on their minds. Unspecified, but I could tell. They hate the thought of dealing with Leonard Eden, he seems to have wires leading to all high-powered centres.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll try and use them.’

  ‘No,’ said Dolly. ‘ I feel that too. Except you can’t tell. He’s not making a fuss, but he’s holding his own … And he did try to get in touch with his wife, but no answer.’

 

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