by Simon Brett
“Gaby and I were tired too, so we were off to bed after one drink with Robert. Gaby just dropped into her mother’s room to say goodnight, and found Marie in a terrible state. Apparently, she and Phil had had some kind of row, and he’d stormed out. He wasn’t in his room or anywhere else in the hotel. Robert reckoned he’d have just gone off to the nearest pub, and went out to look for him. But I saw Robert at breakfast, and he hadn’t found him. Nobody’s seen Phil since he left his mother’s room.”
“He might just have leapt on his beloved bike and driven back home to Hoddesdon.”
“He might. But there’s no reply from there. Or from his mobile.”
“Oh, come on, it’s still pretty early on a Sunday morning, Stephen. We know Phil has a habit of going on overnight benders. He’s probably passed out in some pub car park somewhere.”
“Yes, maybe.” Her son sighed. “Sorry to bother you with this. It’s just that Gaby’s worried. She’s in such a highly strung state at the moment.”
“Who can blame her?”
“Anyway, Gaby was thinking that, wherever Phil is, he’s probably with his chum Bazza, so she was wondering when you last saw him?”
Briefly Carole detailed the timing of Bazza’s departure from the Crown and Anchor the previous night. “And he did have a call on his mobile while he was there. Said he was going to call back. Maybe that was Phil fixing up to meet?”
“Maybe.” Stephen took an almost despairing sip from his coffee.
“You are all right, are you?” Carole dared to ask. “I mean, you and Gaby?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. It’s just…well, I don’t need to tell you, Mum, this is all very stressful, particularly for Gaby. All she wants to do is to get back to the work she loves and to plan her wedding, and yet the chances of her doing that just seem to get more and more remote. Every time she thinks she can relax, something else happens to tighten up the screw of tension. I mean, Marie seems to be in a worse state than ever after her row with Phil.”
“Did you discover what that was about?”
Stephen shook his head. “Impossible to get that kind of stuff out of Marie, even when she’s in her normal state. Now she’s totally illogical.”
“Hm. Robert seems to be the only vaguely normal member of that family.” As soon as she’d spoken she realized her tactlessness. “Except for Gaby, of course, when she’s not so stressed.”
Her son smiled bleakly.
“By the way, Jude and I talked to Bazza last night.”
“That must have been an interesting conversation. I’m sure Oscar Wilde wished he could have been there, taking notes.”
“Don’t you believe it, Stephen. Bazza’s not as inarticulate as he might appear. Has some very interesting views on the definition of criminal activity.”
“Oh?”
“The main one being that if he does something, then by definition it’s not a crime.”
“Ah.”
“But, more importantly, I got the pretty firm impression that Bazza was involved in arranging the car for Howard Martin that night.”
“Really?” Stephen was shocked.
“Yes. Can’t prove it, but he virtually admitted as much.”
“No wonder Inspector Pollard’s keen to talk to him.”
“I wonder where he’s been lying low the last few days? Phil clearly had no difficulty contacting him.”
“No. I’ll give Pollard a call. He should be informed that Bazza’s down here.”
“I agree.”
“Mum, you said you thought Bazza arranged the car for Howard, but you don’t think he’s the murderer?”
“No. Murder’s way out of his league. Someone else asked him to arrange the car.”
“Who?”
“Bazza said he only did that kind of work for his mates.”
Stephen sighed wearily. “Things aren’t looking too good for Phil’s innocence, are they?”
Jude sounded excited when she summoned Carole round to Woodside Cottage later that morning, but Gita Millington looked even more excited. She was bouncing and bubbling with energy. Her clothes were not as formal as the black trouser suit, but still very smart casual. The make-up was perfectly in place, and again she looked the epitome of the successful career woman.
As soon as Carole was sat down with a pre-lunch Chardonnay, Gita launched into her routine. “Jude’s probably told you that I went to London last night. In fact, I stayed the night in my flat.” Carole was not aware of what an achievement that represented. “And Jude probably told you that I had dinner with a friend. What she didn’t tell you – because she didn’t know – was that in fact the friend I had dinner with was a solicitor called Jerome Clancy.”
“Oh.”
“I know him,” said Carole, with some surprise. “Really?”
“I used to have quite a lot of dealings with him when I worked at the Home Office. Big on human rights issues, prison reform, that kind of stuff.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I’ve consulted him before when I’ve been doing articles on legal issues or the prison service. Well, I’d talked to Jerome on the phone about the questions you’d put to me…you know, Michael Brewer’s release from prison and his subsequent movements, and last night, over dinner, he told me what he’d found out.”
So animated was Gita as she spelled this out that Carole began to wonder whether there was a romantic element in her friendship with Jerome Clancy. Or maybe it was just the excitement of achieving something concrete after her months of evident depression.
“Michael Brewer was released from Parkhurst Prison in October 2004, having served the full term of his thirty-year sentence for the murder of Janine Buckley. To the end, incidentally, protesting his innocence of the crime.”
Gita Millington left another dramatic pause, and Carole took advantage of it to ask, “But there was never any question of his guilt, was there?”
The journalist shook her head. “No. Brewer’s lawyers made two appeals against the conviction, but both claims were rejected. The amount of evidence against Michael Brewer was overwhelming.”
“All right,” said Jude excitedly. “So where is he now?”
“This is the bizarre bit.” Gita Millington frowned at the incongruity of what she was about to say. “Since his release, Michael Brewer has vanished off the face of the earth.”
“I heard that,” said Carole, “but do you have any detail on what happened to him?”
“From the moment he left Parkhurst, there’s been no sighting of Michael Brewer anywhere.”
“Well,” said Jude reasonably, “after what he’d been through, you could hardly blame him if he just wanted to slip off the radar, settle down somewhere quiet with a new identity or…surely it’s up to him.”
“Yes, it’s up to him, but there are still obligations he has, as an ex-prisoner. He has to keep in touch with the authorities, turn up for appointments with his probation officer. Weekly at first, then at greater intervals.”
“And has he not turned up for any of them?”
“Not a single one, Jude.”
“But surely he can’t just get away with that? Aren’t the police looking for him?”
“Oh yes. There’s been a warrant out for him for some time. But I’m not sure that finding him was that high up the police’s priorities – until recently.”
“So, as you say, he’s vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Yes, he has.”
There was a silence while the two women took in the implications of this news. Then Carole said, “Which could mean one of two things. Either he’s lying low, for reasons of his own – possibly plotting revenge on the people who he believes to have done him wrong…”
“Or?” asked Jude.
“Or he’s lying even lower.”
“How do you mean?”
“In a shallow grave, perhaps? Maybe somebody wanted revenge on Michael Brewer?”
Carole heard it on the early evening news. A man’s body had been found in
a burnt-out car on a lonely part of the South Downs near Fedborough.
∨ The Witness at the Wedding ∧
Twenty-One
“That’s all they said, Jude. I’ve been listening to other bulletins and watching the local news, but there’s been no more detail. Certainly no indication of who the victim might be.”
It was Monday morning, and the two women were sitting over coffee in the kitchen of High Tor.
“Of course, it’s entirely possible,” said Jude thoughtfully, “that this death has absolutely nothing to do with Howard Martin’s.”
“But the modus operandi – ”
“Oh, come on. Villains who want to get rid of other villains have been using that method for years. The same modus operandi doesn’t necessarily mean the same perpetrator. You can’t patent a murder method.” Carole looked so cast down that Jude grinned and said, “But we mustn’t allow boring old logic to get in the way of our conjectures. Let us assume that there is a link between the two deaths.”
“And if that is the case, the victim’s identity does become rather pivotal. But,” Carole continued glumly, “we have no means of finding that out until there’s an announcement from the police.”
“Perhaps we should put Gita on the case? No doubt she’s got a convenient friend in the police force, just as she had a convenient friend who knows about prisons.”
This was said with a little mischief, because, although Gita’s researches had already proved so useful, Jude knew Carole was still unhappy about having got her involved.
“I don’t think that’ll help.” Carole was predictably huffy. “We’ll have to wait till it’s on the news.”
“Well, just running with the logic of our conjecture for a moment – If this latest body is connected with the Martins, who might it be? Who’s missing?”
“Phil…Bazza, I suppose.”
“Or what about the mysterious Michael Brewer?”
“As victim, are you suggesting?”
“Why, Carole? Were you thinking of him more as perpetrator?”
“That had been the way my mind was moving, yes. If he was behind Howard’s murder, then he must have had contact with Phil and Bazza.”
“Assuming that Phil gave Bazza the order to steal the car in which Howard was driven off?”
“Yes. So either Phil or Bazza might know too much about Michael Brewer’s activities – or indeed whereabouts – and might need silencing.”
“Mm. So if one of them does turn out to be the victim, you’d reckon Michael Brewer was responsible for both murders?”
Carole nodded, then gave a little shudder. “I get this feeling that Michael Brewer is not far away. Worthing was his old haunt thirty years ago. I think he could be hiding out round here again. And I feel he represents a real threat.”
“To whom?”
“To Gaby.”
But Gaby didn’t look threatened when she met Carole at the Crown and Anchor later that morning. In fact, she looked better than she had at any time since her father’s death. Because it was a nice morning, she had walked from the Dauncey Hotel, over the road bridge which crossed the Fether. The mile’s stroll in the fresh air had brought colour to her cheeks and restored the sparkle to her eye. Though her protectors had gone – Robert Coleman back to Essex, and Stephen Seddon to his work crisis – she looked relaxed.
She didn’t mention the latest body in a burnt-out car, and Carole reckoned, after some casual probing, that the girl hadn’t yet heard the news. Carole wasn’t about to tell her, either. The longer Gaby remained in ignorance, the longer her sunny mood might be preserved.
Because the day was sunny too, they sat at one of the pub’s outside tables, looking over a stretch of rough grass to Fethering Beach. Early holiday-makers – mostly couples with pre-school children – added splashes of colour to the sandy expanse.
Having unwittingly established that she didn’t know about the new murder, Gaby proceeded to eliminate one of its potential victims. “We’ve heard from Phil.”
“Oh, what’d he been up to?”
“God knows. Out drinking somewhere, I imagine. Anyway, he was back in his flat yesterday evening, and said he was going in to work today.”
“Did he say anything about Bazza?”
“No.”
“And you haven’t seen or heard anything of him?” Gaby shook her head, puzzled by the question. “Why should I?”
“No reason. I must say, you’re looking so much better.”
“Thanks.” Gaby ran her hands through her bubbly curls, and grinned. “It was good to see Steve at the weekend, got things in proportion. I feel a lot more relaxed about everything, as though it’s possible that normal life can, one day, continue.”
“And how’s Marie?”
“She’s much better too.”
“Did you find out what her row with Phil was about?”
“No. I should think probably just him saying something insensitive. He does rather lumber into things with big hobnail boots on. And Mum’s still so upset about Dad. Probably Phil just said something thoughtless about him.”
“Mm.”
“No, Mum is a lot better. Much more relaxed. That’s actually why I wanted to see you, Carole.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking of trying an experiment tomorrow.”
“That sounds intriguing.”
“Actually going back to work.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’ve got to do it soon. Work’ll get me back to sanity. So I was thinking of trying a few days commuting.”
“From here?”
“Mm. I don’t think Mum’s up to being back in Harlow quite yet.” (Carole didn’t think she herself would ever be up to being back in Harlow.) “But if I’m away during the days, and she has the security of knowing that I’ll be back in the evenings – well, it could be a good start, weaning her back on to the idea of life getting back to normal.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“And what I wanted to ask you, Carole, is would you mind vaguely keeping an eye on Mum? I don’t necessarily mean going to see her, but, you know, being at the end of a phone if she gets a panic attack or anything like that.”
“I’d be delighted to do that for her. And, if it turns out she does want company, then I’d be happy to oblige.” This was not total altruism. Carole had been thinking that there were further questions she’d like to put to Marie Martin.
“Thanks so much. Then maybe soon we’ll be able to get on with some of our other plans.”
“For the wedding?”
“Yes. And just getting back some kind of social life?” Gaby hesitated for a moment, before she said, “Youknow David wants us all to have dinner together one evening?”
“What?”
“He said he’d mentioned it to you.”
“As a vague idea. He mentioned it just after we’d heard about your father’s death. Sensitive timing was never one of David’s skills.”
“No. Well, he’s mentioned the idea again to Steve.”
“Has he?”
Gaby looked awkward. She was moving on to territory where her professional poise deserted her. “Carole, it would mean a lot to Steve just to feel that you and David could have some kind of workable relationship.”
“The fact that we got divorced, I would have thought, showed just how impossible it is for us to have any kind of workable relationship,” Carole said tartly.
“Yes, I know you find it difficult, but – well, Steve would really appreciate it if you two could get more used to being together again. I mean, not on a permanent basis…”
“There’s not a chance of it being on a permanent basis!” But then Carole moderated her tone. Gaby was after all only trying to please Stephen, to show her love for him. In working to that end, the two women should be on the same side. “Look, Gaby, I’m sure David and I will get much more used to seeing each other again. There won’t be any problems, I promise.”
“And you w
ould maybe accept his invitation to dinner with us?”
Carole could not think of a prospect that she found less appealing. But then again, it wasn’t her comfort she should be thinking about. Her priority should be the happiness of her son and his bride-to-be. “I’m sure that’d be possible at some point.”
“David was going to ring Steve with some possible dates,” said Gaby eagerly.
“Yes, well, there’s time enough for that. The most important thing is getting your life back to normal.”
“You’re right, Carole. Oh, I feel so much better already, just at the thought of getting back to work – of life settling down a bit – with no more traumas.”
Carole hoped it would be as long as possible before Gaby finally heard about the body in the burnt-out car on the Downs. Or, maybe, by the time she did hear, the police would have identified the victim as someone with no connection to the Martin family. To ensure Gaby’s peace of mind, shattering Carole and Jude’s conspiracy theory would be a small price to pay.
At that moment a mobile phone trilled. “Excuse me while I get this,” said Gaby, reaching into her pocket. “It’s probably from work.”
She grinned at the prospect and pressed a button to put the call through. She listened. Whatever she heard had a devastating effect. The colour drained from her face and she snatched the phone away from her ear, as if it was scalding hot. She put it on the table and shuddered, her eyes staring.
“What on earth’s the matter?”
Instinctively, Carole picked up the phone and held it gingerly to her ear.
“Are you still there?” she heard. The voice was rough and male. “I thought you’d hung up on me. Listen, Gaby, my name’s Mick Brewer.”
∨ The Witness at the Wedding ∧
Twenty-Two
Carole’s first thought was that another potential identity for the body in the car on the Downs had been eliminated. Her second thought, after a look at Gaby, was to rush to the bar and buy a large brandy from a slightly bewildered Ted Crisp. He wasn’t used to her ordering brandy, least of all before lunch.
But she’d done the right thing. The alcohol did at least stop Gaby’s trembling, and soon she was able to talk again.