Murder at the Old Vicarage

by Jill McGown

  And she thought again of those cartridges, in the gun that George had pointed at her. She stood up.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said again. ‘But at least we can make sure that he doesn’t get it at the point of a gun. I’ll go and get it.’ She turned on her way to the door. ‘If that’s still all right with you,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ Eleanor said tiredly. ‘It should be out of harm’s way, whatever he was going to do with it.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Marian.

  She walked along the corridor to the front door, leaving it open as she stepped out into the icy night. There was a thick layer of frost on the car already, and for a moment, she thought that the boot lock had frozen. But it gave at last, and she took out the gun, leaving the boot open. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her jacket, she felt for the cartridges. Light streamed across the courtyard from the open door, and eventually Eleanor would come out, to see what was wrong. And she would come up to the car. Closer. Closer.

  It was a dreadful accident. Dreadful. I couldn’t leave the gun in the house, not with George behaving like he was. So I thought the best place would be the gun room at the cattle. I only ever use it there anyway, and the castle could always use an extra gun. I was so stupid, not checking it. But George had thought it wasn’t loaded – that’s what you told me, wasn’t it, George? It was dreadful. Eleanor came with me to get it; I took it out of the boot, and it just . . .

  Marian would never forgive herself for not checking the gun. But she would forgive George his lie. She would be patient, and sympathetic, and understanding.

  And he would come back to her, just like Joanna.

  They left George and Joanna with WPC Alexander. They didn’t know where Marian was, they said; they had rung everyone they could think of. And Judy had seen Joanna’s face when Lloyd had said that there were some more questions he wanted to put to her mother, if she contacted her or her father. Joanna had not been surprised.

  They were on their way to the castle for inscrutable reasons of Lloyd’s. ‘What if she’s in bed?’ Judy asked, as Lloyd carefully drove at five miles an hour through the castle grounds.

  ‘Then we’ll go away again,’ he said. ‘But you heard George – he thought that Eleanor had killed Graham Elstow, and Marian knows it.’ He glanced at her. ‘And I think Marian would be very keen to drop that snippet of information into Eleanor’s lap,’ he said.

  ‘But do you think she’s still here?’ asked Judy. ‘It’s late,’ she pointed out. ‘By most people’s standards.’

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘But Mrs Langton just might know where she’s gone. Or make a good guess,’ he added, with a laugh. His tiredness was evident in the Welshness of his accent, usually carefully controlled and measured. ‘Besides,’ he said. ‘Eleanor Langton’s been the answer to all the other puzzles, hasn’t she? Let’s see what she can do with this one.’

  The castle appeared on their left, huge and black. ‘I don’t think you should drive right in,’ said Judy. ‘It really is very late, Lloyd. We might frighten her.’

  Lloyd pulled up at the gatehouse, and they walked over the frozen, snow-covered gravel, through the massive entrance, into the castle proper, their footsteps deadened by the snow and the fourteen feet thickness of the walls.

  They heard Eleanor Langton’s voice softly calling Marian’s name.

  Marian Wheeler said something that they couldn’t catch, as she and Lloyd arrived at the turn into the courtyard. Lloyd, a yard or so to her right, couldn’t see what Judy could see.

  It happened so quickly; it happened so slowly. She had seen it in films, when they slowed the action down. She had thought it was just for effect, but that was how it was.

  Eleanor Langton, walking towards the Wheelers’ car. Marian Wheeler, hidden by the open boot, gun raised, pointed at Eleanor, her finger on the trigger.

  ‘Mrs Langton!’ Judy’s own voice, echoing round the ancient buildings. ‘Stay where you are!’

  Marian Wheeler turning. Turning instantly, turning in slow motion. Turning, her finger pulling the trigger.

  Seeing the ground rushing towards her, as the shot shattered the still night. Hearing glass break, feeling pain tearing at her leg. Running feet; Lloyd calling out. Hands touching her. ‘Get inside!’ Lloyd’s voice. Lloyd’s hands. Blackness.

  Opening her eyes. Lloyd was kneeling beside her. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Thank God.’ He pressed his forehead to hers.

  She tried to get up, but she felt dizzy, and leant back against the wall.

  ‘Wait,’ said Lloyd. ‘Take it easy. You were out for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Was I?’ She frowned. ‘My leg,’ she said. ‘It hurts.’

  Lloyd looked down. ‘It’s cut,’ he said. ‘Quite badly. You must have caught it on one of those spikes when you went down.’

  Judy looked at the wrought iron, foot-high spikes which carried an ornamental chain round a flower bed.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Marian Wheeler’s voice, afraid; it came out of the darkness. She was close, but Judy couldn’t see her.

  ‘I’m all right, Mrs Wheeler,’ she said, grunting with the effort of getting to her feet. She leant on Lloyd. ‘I think you got one of the castle windows,’ she said, trying to sound positively jolly.

  ‘I didn’t mean to shoot at you,’ said Mrs Wheeler. ‘It was her. It was her.’

  Lloyd put his arm round Judy’s waist. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Sit down in the car.’ He led her to the Wheelers’ car, and opened the door for her. From there, Judy could see Eleanor, inside the house, framed in the light from the doorway.

  ‘She was going to take George away from me,’ Marian said. ‘I couldn’t let her do that. I let Graham Elstow take Joanna, and look what happened.’

  Judy looked at Lloyd, who shrugged. ‘Let her go on talking, I suppose,’ he said quietly, in answer to her unvoiced question. ‘Can you see her?’

  Judy peered into the deep shadow of the castle, and shook her head.

  ‘It should be all right as long as Eleanor stays in the house,’ Lloyd said, crouching down. He gently lifted the torn cloth away from Judy’s leg. ‘I think I should rip it some more,’ he said. ‘Keep it away from the wound.’

  Judy nodded, and closed her eyes while he dealt with it.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked doubtfully.

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced down unwillingly, and looked away again. ‘I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks,’ she said. ‘It hurts like hell – isn’t that a good sign?’

  He smiled, and stood up. ‘Mrs Wheeler?’ he said. ‘The sergeant’s hurt. I think she should go to hospital.’

  ‘Then take her. I didn’t mean to hurt her.’

  Lloyd sighed quietly. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think we can leave without you.’

  There was silence.

  ‘We know what happened, Mrs Wheeler,’ he said.

  ‘But I had to kill him,’ she said. ‘We’d never have got rid of him. I had to. I had two hours to work out what to do. It was quite clever, don’t you think?’

  Judy shivered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lloyd. ‘It was quite clever.’

  ‘Joanna’s having Graham Elstow’s baby,’ Marian said. ‘She thinks I don’t know. But I was washing her poor face, and I heard her. I heard her. Let the baby be all right. I heard her. A baby. A baby! He’d have rights. Even if she left him, he’d have rights. Over my grandchild. We’d never have got rid of him. I had to kill him.’

  Judy closed her eyes, as the pain throbbed through her leg.

  ‘Mrs Wheeler,’ Lloyd said, his voice soothing. ‘Why don’t you come out where I can see you? And you don’t need the gun, do you?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘It’s all over. Don’t you see? It’s over. I just wanted to explain.’

  The throbbing increased with Judy’s heartbeat, as she looked at Lloyd. She put her hand on his, where it rested on the car door.
>
  ‘No, Mrs Wheeler,’ he said. ‘It’s not all over. People will listen. They’ll help you.’

  ‘They’ll send me to prison.’

  Practical, sensible, thought Judy. But then Marian Wheeler was a realist.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lloyd. ‘They might. But even if they do, they’ll still help. You know that.’ He paused. ‘You’ve helped people, Mrs Wheeler. So now they’ll help you.’

  She moved then, and they could just see her shape standing out from the shadow of the castle walls. Judy patted Lloyd’s hand.

  ‘Mrs Wheeler,’ he said. ‘I really think that Sergeant Hill should go to hospital. Will you come with us?’

  The sirens were faint at first; they grew louder, until the sound filled the air, punctuated by a shotgun blast.

  Post-Mortem

  Exhaust fumes hung in the cold, still air; sirens whined down as the cars’ engines were switched off. Lights flashed, and the winking colour on the pale, ancient stone seemed almost festive. Judy stood watching, supported by the car door, unable to help.

  Lloyd, grim-faced, walked through the chaos towards her, shaking his head.

  ‘All right, what’s going on here?’ A torch played on their faces. ‘Inspector Lloyd?’ said the voice, disbelievingly.

  ‘A woman’s just shot herself here,’ Lloyd said angrily. ‘She’s dead, I’m sure, but I want the doctor here. Now.’

  The sergeant ran back to his car, and reached in for his radio. After a few minutes, he came back, still looking confused. ‘I’ve to tell you that Freddie’s at the station, and he’s on his way,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ barked Lloyd. ‘Now you can tell me what this circus is doing here!’

  The sergeant looked offended. ‘The burglar alarm went off in the station,’ he said. ‘We were using it as an exercise.’

  ‘The burglar alarm?’ Lloyd repeated, then sighed. ‘The window,’ he said to Judy. ‘She broke a window.’ He took a short, calming breath, and explained in more detail to the bemused sergeant.

  He turned back to Judy. ‘Do you think you can walk to the house?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sure I can.’ She limped to the doorway, her arm round Lloyd. Eleanor Langton stood just inside, shivering.

  ‘Do you mind if we . . .?’ Lloyd began.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  ‘Mrs Langton,’ he said gently. ‘You’ll get pneumonia if you don’t get dressed.’

  She looked down at herself almost in surprise. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I will. Then I’ll make you a hot drink, Sergeant Hill. I don’t think you should have anything stronger – they say it isn’t . . .’ She foundered. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring it.’

  Judy smiled. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘You get dressed.’

  Lloyd helped her to the sofa. ‘I think your leg should be up,’ he said, easing off her shoe, and pulling the coffee table towards her.

  ‘I’m not dripping blood all over the carpet, am I?’ she asked. She wouldn’t look.

  He smiled, shaking his head, then sat down beside her. ‘Some coward you turned out to be,’ he said.

  ‘She was going to shoot her, Lloyd!’ Judy said, springing to her own defence.

  ‘And you thought it would be a much better idea if she shot you,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I didn’t think anything! I just warned her.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Lloyd said. ‘You’re frightened to change the way you live, but you’re quite happy to get in the way of a deranged woman with a double-barrelled shotgun.’ He stood up. ‘I have to get over to the vicarage,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘Break the news.’

  Judy nodded. Poor George, she thought. Poor Joanna. ‘Lloyd? Tell Joanna I’m sorry I couldn’t come myself.’

  ‘Sure.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said.

  She caught his hand, and squeezed it. ‘So did I,’ she replied.

  Joanna gave her father a little encouraging smile as he went off with the inspector. She had wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t, because her father must never know the terrible thing she had thought, when she had finally rung the police.

  Her poor, gentle father.

  The inescapable truth, which should have been shattering, had come almost as a relief. Almost as though she had known all along. Perhaps she had. And perhaps so had her father, who may have convinced himself that Eleanor Langton had killed Graham, but had failed to convince his stomach. And now, her mother was dead. But she couldn’t take that in. Not yet.

  She waited until the sound of the police car’s powerful engine had dwindled to nothing before she closed the door.

  ‘I’ve made a big pot of tea,’ said the policewoman. ‘You come and have a cup of tea with me, love.’

  Joanna allowed herself to be steered into the kitchen, where the fire burned brightly and WPC Alexander bustled plumply round her. She had offered to go with her father to the castle, but he had said she should stay. Two hours ago, he couldn’t have summoned up the will to make such a decision, but he could now.

  Because with the inspector’s terrible news had come a reawakening of her father’s spirit.

  At least she hadn’t lost him.

  Eleanor found as many containers as she could for coffee, which she was providing on a conveyor-belt system for the people who were working out in the bitter cold. It seemed ridiculous that just across the courtyard there were dozens of cups and saucers in the café, and she couldn’t get into it. She found herself thinking that she would have to speak to her employers about that, as though this happened every week; she almost made herself laugh.

  Thank God Tessa wasn’t here, though in truth, the events of the night had barely affected Eleanor herself. A shout, a shot. Another shot.

  Now that they had told her what had happened, she knew how close she had come. But at the time, it had just been a confused sequence of sights and sounds, like a scene from a badly directed play.

  She handed the tray to a grateful policeman, and picked up the first aid kit. Sergeant Hill had refused several offers of medical assistance, but Eleanor thought she really ought to do something.

  ‘Ah, just the job!’ A tall, thin man with an unexpected smile appeared in her kitchen and took the box from her. ‘Doctor,’ he explained.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t be very good at it.’

  ‘Neither will I,’ he said. ‘But you have to give the public what they want.’

  *

  George had nodded his confirmation that it was Marian, then had walked away, feeling detached from it all. Perhaps it was the pills. For a long time, he stood unnoticed in the shadow, watching as the numbers dwindled, and only Chief Inspector Lloyd and the officer who had driven him remained. When the ambulance came, bumping over the frozen ground to Marian, he slipped into the courtyard.

  The door was open; he walked in, and could see Eleanor at the end of the corridor, sitting in the dining room. She stood up as he went in, her face pale.

  ‘The police are waiting for me,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to be sure you were all right.’

  She nodded, but her eyes were worried. ‘George?’ she said. ‘Did I cause all this?’

  ‘You?’ He took her hand. ‘Oh, Eleanor. No.’ He shook his head. ‘No.’ he said again.

  They were putting Marian in the ambulance; they asked if he wanted to wait until it left, but he shook his head. It was odd, he thought, as he was driven back home. Now that everyone else was feeling sick, he didn’t.

  Not any more.

  Lloyd watched as the ambulance drove away with Marian Wheeler’s body, and rubbed his eyes. Would she have come with them if the damn squad cars hadn’t arrived? He passed the shattered window that had brought them, and shrugged. He’d never know now. All he knew was that his immediate future would be filled with enquiries and questions and statements, and the depressing likelihood that the file would quietly be closed on Graham Elstow’s
murder.

  He shivered, and arrived at the cottage as Freddie was leaving.

  ‘Bloody cold out here,’ said Freddie, his breath streaming out as he spoke. He smiled. ‘I never thought I’d get that close to Sergeant Hill’s legs,’ he said.

  Lloyd rubbed cold hands together. ‘Isn’t there something about medical ethics?’ he said.

  ‘I have to take my pleasures where I find them,’ said Freddie. ‘Most of my patients are past their best.’ He opened the car door and threw in his bag. ‘Like Mrs Wheeler,’ he said.

  ‘Must you be so cheerful?’ Lloyd said. ‘The woman has just blown her brains out.’

  Freddie grinned. ‘I’d sooner look at Mrs Wheeler’s brains and Judy Hill’s legs than the other way round,’ he said.

  Lloyd smiled reluctantly.

  ‘The leg’s not bad,’ said Freddie. ‘The wound, I mean. I’ve bandaged it up – but she should get an anti-tetanus injection.’

  ‘Now?’ asked Lloyd.

  ‘Now would be best.’ He got into the car. ‘And she should take it easy for a few days,’ he added. ‘But they’ll tell her all that at the hospital.’

  Lloyd lifted a tired hand as Freddie reversed out of the courtyard, and roared off into the night. He knocked quietly at the door.

  Eleanor Langton gave him a little smile as she opened it. A real smile. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of coffee – you look frozen.’

  ‘Great,’ said Lloyd. ‘Thank you. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really know what was happening until it was all over.’ She walked down the corridor a little way, then turned back. ‘Your sergeant saved my life,’ she said.

  Lloyd nodded briefly, and walked into the sitting room, where Judy sat, her now bandaged leg still resting on the coffee table. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘A quick cup of coffee and then we have to get you to hospital.’

  ‘Hospital?’ she said.

  ‘Freddie’s orders. Besides, I want a real doctor to look at it.’

  She laughed. ‘Freddie is a real doctor,’ she said.

  Lloyd raised his eyebrows. ‘Laugh-a-minute Freddie?’ he said.