The Lily-White Boys

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘There was one thing I didn’t mention at the dinner-party, because I didn’t think it important. When the van broke down outside the house, I got out of bed to have a look. The driver was out on the pavement by that time. And he looked up and saw me watching him.’

  ‘My God!’ George said softly.

  ‘What’s more, there’ve been a couple of phone calls today which I’ve not been able to take.’

  ‘Anonymous calls, you mean?’

  ‘I suppose they were, in a way. At any rate, he wouldn’t leave his name. And according to Mrs Bedale, he “didn’t sound like a gentleman”.’

  ‘You think it’s the murderer?’

  ‘I don’t know who else it could be.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘George, it’s all right, really. I have police protection – they follow me wherever I go. No one can get at me.’ Please God.

  ‘Does Justin know about this?’

  She closed her eyes briefly. ‘That the man saw me, yes. He’s away on business and Eloise told him over the phone. But not about the calls.’

  ‘He should have insisted you moved to his house straight away. I wish to God I could have you here, but Mother would promptly die, just to be difficult.’

  In spite of the strain, she gave a little laugh. ‘I wish you were here,’ she said impulsively, surprising herself by meaning it.

  ‘My darling girl.’

  ‘But as you’re not,’ she continued with deliberate lightness, ‘I shall go to my narrow bed alone.’

  ‘Shall I arrange one of our weekends? It’s a long time since we got away.’

  The eagerness in his voice touched her. ‘That would be lovely, but let’s get this business behind us first.’ She paused, then added with unusual humility, ‘Thank you for being so patient with me, George.’ And before he could call her his darling girl again, she hung up.

  When the last of her guests had gone, Hannah went up the flight of stairs to Webb’s flat. It was several days since she’d seen him, which, in their unconventional relationship, was not unusual. The demands they made on each other varied according to need, from casual friendship to passionate lovemaking. Totally relaxed with each other and content with the tacitly imposed ‘no strings’ embargo, they were aware how fortunate they were.

  He opened the door while her finger was still on the bell. ‘I thought you’d come up when they left.’

  ‘I suppose you were holding a watching brief from your eyrie,’ she commented, going past him into the flat. ‘Monica was escorted home, I take it?’

  ‘Most definitely. I watched the procession set off myself.’ Hannah walked to the window and stood looking down the hill towards the lights of Shillingham.

  ‘Is she in danger, David?’

  ‘It’s difficult to say. The man must realize she’s had ample opportunity to pass on his description. Short of fingering him in an ID parade, there’s little else she can do.’

  ‘She’s pretty jumpy. Unusual for Monica, she’s normally such a cool customer.’

  ‘She said you were old friends?’

  ‘Dating back to school, though she’s older than I am. I only got to know her well a few years ago, through Gwen, who was her contemporary.’

  ‘Who else was at your dinner-party?’ he asked, handing her a glass of brandy.

  ‘Gwen, and Dilys Hayward.’

  ‘Ah yes, you’ve mentioned her before. Didn’t they do one of her sagas on TV a couple of years back?’

  ‘That’s right, Changing Times. It’s being made into a film now.’

  ‘You make a formidable group, the four of you.’

  She smiled, but absently, looking into her glass. ‘Do you know anything about the boys who were killed?’

  ‘They were football hooligans, for a start.

  She looked up. ‘You think that’s why they died?’

  ‘Could be. Rivalry with another team – probably SB. I’ve asked Chris Ledbetter to rope in his lot and interview them.’ DI Ledbetter ran a tight ship at Steeple Bayliss and knew all the local trouble-makers.

  ‘But you don’t really think that was the motive, do you?’

  ‘Well, they were involved in other shady dealings – breaking and entering, shoplifting. Continually up before the magistrates – including Miss Tovey – but we could never make it stick. To hear them plead, you’d think they were pure as the driven snow. Lily-White Boys indeed.’

  ‘Gang warfare, then, between small-time crooks?’

  ‘A possibility if they’d been found in some back alley. But in North Park Drive?’

  ‘Ah, but that was a mistake, wasn’t it? The van broke down.’

  ‘True. But what was it doing there in the first place? We’ve had reports of it being seen out by the Mulberry Bush on the Chipping Claydon road and again in the Wood Green lay-by. From there, there’s a direct road back to Shillingham without looping round North Park.’

  ‘You don’t think it was deliberately left at Monica’s house?’ Hannah’s eyes were troubled.

  ‘It seems to have been a genuine breakdown. According to Miss Tovey, he tried several times to restart it, but it was out of petrol. All the same, it’s the devil of a coincidence that she knew the twins.’

  He looked at her grave face and the tawny hair that fell forward as she stared frowningly into her glass. Gently he removed it from her hand. ‘Still, it’s nearly midnight, and no time to be thinking of vans and bodies and football hooligans. I’ve something much more interesting in mind.’

  She smiled and moved into his arms. ‘Really?’

  He laid his cheek against her hair. ‘Have you turned off the lights downstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And put the leftovers in the fridge so the cat can’t get at them?’

  She smiled into his shoulder. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really, Miss James, anyone might be forgiven for thinking you came up here to seduce me!’

  And he effectively cut off any reply she might have made.

  Across the town, Harry and Claudia Marlow were lying side by side in the big canopied bed. When she heard her husband sigh and turn over for the third time in as many minutes, Claudia reached up and switched on the light.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’

  ‘No, I keep going over the arrangements for the Private View.’ He owned a small but prestigious art gallery in Carlton Road.

  ‘No problems, are there?’

  ‘Not as long as someone turns up. We’ve had hardly any replies so far.’

  ‘Everyone leaves it to the last minute.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but how many do we cater for? We’re laying on canapés and wine, you know.’

  ‘Just order the same as last time. I’ve mentioned it to several people – I’m sure there’ll be a respectable number.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘I’m even wondering if Mrs Jones posted the invitations – she’s missed things before. With working only part-time, it seems as if only half her mind’s on the job.’

  ‘Get rid of her, then,’ Claudia said.

  ‘Oh, she’s all right really. I’m just being paranoid.’

  They lay in silence for a while, busy with their own thoughts. He’d not asked what was keeping her awake, but if he had, she could not have told him. Ever since Abbie’s casual remark, she’d tormented herself with the thought that he might still be attracted to Eloise. To her shame, she’d even set little traps for him, hidden, innocent-seeming pitfalls that, whether intentionally or not, he’d adroitly managed to dodge.

  Still watching him as he lay staring at the ceiling, she consciously stripped away the intimacy of twenty-odd years, looking at him as she would a stranger. And what she saw disconcerted her: a man no longer young, tense – how long had that pulse beat at his temple? – disillusioned, perhaps, since there were shadows on his face that familiarity had hidden from her. His hair was greyer than she’d realized, and his jawline slacker. She said softly, ‘Oh, Harry!’

  ‘Um?’ He turned
to her, and her focus shifted, returning him to her as the man she had married.

  ‘You look worn out,’ she said.

  ‘Well, things have been fairly hectic, as you know. The price of success, my love.’

  ‘Then perhaps the price is too high. Is it getting too much for you? You spend more and more time at the Gallery –’ Or was he in fact seeing Eloise? She hurried on: ‘Why not leave it to Tony for a few months and we can take a long cruise or something. It would do us both good to get away.’ Away from Eloise.

  ‘Claudia, for God’s sake! I mention we haven’t had many replies for the Private View, and the next thing you have me throwing up the Gallery and careering off on a world cruise! What’s got into you?’

  ‘You looked so tired, darling. I suddenly panicked.’

  ‘Well, there’s no need to. That Gallery’s my baby and I’m not handing it over to anyone. Anyway, there’s no hassle; Tony looks after the everyday running of the place. I just have the fun part, buying, borrowing, showing.’ And the financial responsibility, she thought.

  She turned off the light and leant over to kiss him. ‘All right, Mr Tycoon, just as long as you can switch off when you come home and let your wife get some sleep!’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  She turned on her side, tucking the duvet under her chin. As she was dropping off to sleep, she murmured drowsily, ‘But we can go on a cruise sometime, can’t we?’

  There was no reply.

  CHAPTER 6

  Webb said reflectively, ‘The Whites were window-cleaners, you know.’

  Crombie didn’t look up. ‘So?’

  ‘I was just wondering if they might have seen something they shouldn’t have.’

  ‘“While cleanin’ winders?”’ Crombie asked with a grin.

  ‘Could be. We’ll have to see all their customers. Come to that, they could have found something incriminating at the house they burgled.’

  ‘And tried blackmail?’

  ‘It’s well within their province. Pike tried to phone the owners last night about the recovery of their goods, but there was no reply. Rather than ring back, Jackson and I’ll go along and see if we come up with anything.’

  It was a lovely day for a drive, and Webb felt his spirits lift as they drove out of town. If only he had his paintbox with him to record the summer countryside: waist-high cow parsley under hedges festooned with hawthorn; heavy-laden chestnuts, their green canopies studded with waxy candles; rounded hills spiked with steeples and fields brilliant with rapeseed. In such surroundings it was hard to believe that murder had brought them here.

  The Heronry, some miles outside Marlton, was an isolated house standing just above the road. Its intricate gates, closed now, had been left open on the night of the robbery, as had the doors of the garage, which Webb noted were clearly visible from the road.

  Jackson went to open the gates and they drove up the immaculately gravelled driveway. In the centre of the lawn to their left a stone heron stood sentinel over an ornamental pond. Very plush, Jackson conceded, though he preferred a less formal approach himself. As he drew up in front of the house, the door opened and a woman came hurrying down the steps. She stopped short on seeing them and frowned, watching as the two men climbed out of the car.

  ‘Is it important?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve an appointment at the hairdresser’s in twenty minutes.’

  ‘We believe it’s important, yes, ma’am. Chief Inspector Webb, Shillingham CID.’

  ‘Oh.’ She hesitated, glanced pointedly at her watch. ‘Well, all right. You’d better come in.’

  The hall was wide and bright, sunlight flooding down the staircase from a window half way up it. A woman appeared from a rear door and their hostess said, ‘It’s all right, Molly, these gentlemen want a word with me.’

  She led them into a room full of beautiful, highly polished furniture, where every surface was covered with Dresden, Meissen, crystal and silver. You’d think with this lot they’d have more than a tuppeny-ha’penny alarm system, Jackson marvelled. All in all, he considered the Whites had been very abstemious.

  ‘Now, what is it? Have you caught the men who broke in?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. They’re both dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ she repeated, her voice rising.

  ‘Not as a result of the burglary,’ Webb assured her, his mouth twitching at her apparent mental picture of a shoot-out to recover her belongings. He went on to give her a brief outline of what had happened, while Jackson looked her over with a jaundiced eye. Aged around fifty, she was one of those lean, tanned women with muscular arms and legs and a discontented expression. She was wearing a silk dress splashed with poppies and high-heeled sandals, and her toenails were the same vermilion as her fingernails.

  ‘I know you spoke to the local police, Mrs Badderley,’ Webb was saying, ‘but I’d be grateful if you could tell me again just what was taken.’

  ‘Do I really have to go through that now?’ she exclaimed pettishly. ‘If I don’t leave soon, I’ll miss my appointment.’

  Webb’s eyes moved dispassionately over the frizzy head.

  ‘We won’t keep you any longer than necessary. The list, Mrs Badderley.’

  She gave an exasperated sigh and recited rapidly, like a child with its twice-times tables, ‘Silver cigarette-box, case of fish-eaters, jade statue, jade necklace, two coral brooches, two strands of pearls.’

  ‘That was all?’ Webb asked in surprise as she came to a halt. In that case, the twins hadn’t shifted anything and they’d recovered the lot.

  ‘All? Isn’t it enough?’

  He looked expressively at the laden tables and mantelshelf, and she flushed a little. ‘Well, yes, I suppose we were lucky they didn’t take more. But it’s not only the things missing, Chief Inspector. It’s the feeling that strangers have been poking about among one’s personal possessions.’

  Webb glanced at the antique bureau against the wall. ‘Is that desk locked?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘You’re sure nothing was taken from there?’

  She lifted her eyebrows. ‘There’s nothing in it worth taking.’

  ‘What exactly is in it, Mrs Badderley?’

  ‘Share certificates, passports –’ She broke off and, rising, walked quickly to the desk and lowered the front, rifling through the pigeonholes. Then she turned back. ‘You had me worried for a moment, but everything seems to be in order.’

  ‘You’re not missing any personal papers, letters or anything.’

  ‘No. But why should burglars be interested in that kind of thing?’

  ‘Blackmail, perhaps?’

  Oh-oh! Jackson thought, as Mrs Badderley drew herself up, an ugly colour flooding face and neck. ‘Would you please explain that remark? It sounds very much as though you’re suggesting we’ve done something to be ashamed of.’

  Webb spread his hands. ‘Most people have secrets of some sort. It needn’t be anything very –’

  ‘I think you’d better go, Chief Inspector. In any case, I really can’t spare you any more time at the moment. If you want to discuss this further, I suggest you return when my husband is here.’

  She was obviously used to dealing with recalcitrant tradesmen, Webb thought. Signalling to Jackson, he too rose to his feet. As she gestured him imperiously towards the door, he said slowly, ‘There was one other reason for our coming; to let you know we’ve recovered everything that was taken.’

  ‘Oh.’ Looking slightly discomfited, she added, ‘Good, I’m very glad to hear it. When may we claim them?’

  ‘You can call in at Carrington Street Police Station at your convenience. Good day, Mrs Badderley. I hope you’re in time for your hair appointment.’

  ‘Old bat!’ Jackson commented, starting up the engine as Mrs Badderley hurried down the steps and round to the garage.

  ‘It’s a wonder they realized anything was missing,’ Webb said. ‘A real Aladdin’s cave in there.’

  ‘I’m surprised the la
ds didn’t help themselves to more.’

  ‘Well, a lot of that stuff is easily identifiable. I’d guess their fence is pretty cagey about what he handles. Nothing heavy – just easily portable knick-knacks that fetch a good price and no questions asked.’

  ‘Lucky for us they hadn’t got shot of it.’

  ‘Yes, but according to their landlady they’ve left stuff lying around before. My guess is their fence isn’t local.’

  ‘Do you reckon Mrs High-and-Mighty was being blackmailed?’

  ‘I’d like to see anybody try!’ Webb said.

  The White twins had belonged to a section of society that was not at home with a pen. Though required to keep basic records of their work for tax purposes, these were minimal indeed, nor were any notes of a more personal nature found in their room. It seemed to Crombie that whatever they’d seen, or learned, or guessed, which had caused their deaths had gone with them to the grave – as doubtless their murderer had intended.

  At least such records as there were, were all in one place, since they had no business premises. An odd paper or two might have been stuffed in the dashboard of the van but they’d have to wait till the SOCOs had finished with it to check.

  The phone sounded on his desk and as he lifted it, there was the sound of money dropping into a machine. A timid female voice said in his ear, ‘Could I speak to the gentleman in charge of the White murders, please?’

  Crombie straightened, looking at Webb’s empty desk. ‘He isn’t here at the moment, but I’m working on the case. Can I help you?’

  ‘Well ...’ Obviously she was doubtful of his qualifications.

  ‘I'm Detective-Inspector Crombie,’ he added, hoping his full rank would impress her. It did.

  ‘I suppose that’s all right, then. Only –’ Her voice shook. ‘I’m their aunt, you see.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Crombie’s surprise rang in his voice. 'We were under the impression they had no relatives.’

  ‘I know, I saw it in the paper. That’s why I'm ringing.’

  ‘And your name is – ?’

  ‘Mrs Hargreaves.’

  ‘And your address, Mrs Hargreaves?’

  ‘Two, River Close. Oxburv.’