David Webb 13 - One Is One and All Alone

by Anthea Fraser

  She said aloud, ‘Una’s moving back home today, did I tell you?’

  Neil merely grunted.

  ‘I thought I’d go round this evening and see how she is. Take her some flowers, perhaps.’

  ‘Bit of a change of heart, isn’t it?’

  ‘Like it or not, we’re all she’s got now. Anyway, Dad would have wanted me to.’

  ‘Why not go this morning, then, and get it over, instead of disrupting our evening?’

  ‘Because she’ll be at work; she went back on Monday.’ He looked up then. ‘Monday? My God, she’s as hard as nails, that one.’

  ‘It probably helped take her mind off things. I do wish we could hold the funeral,’ she added unsteadily. ‘This waiting around is horrible, like being in limbo.’

  ‘I suppose they need to find out who did it, before they can release the body.’

  Sally shuddered. ‘Who could have done it, Neil? Who’d want to hurt Dad?’

  ‘Some yobbo with a grudge against him, no doubt.’

  ‘But in that case, surely he’d have been attacked outside somewhere? Why at home?’

  ‘Because he was quite literally a sitting target.’

  ‘But no one could have known that in advance. And how did whoever it was get into the house?’

  Neil folded his paper. ‘I still think he must have met someone on the way home.’

  ‘He’d never have invited a “yobbo” into the house.’

  ‘He could have forced his way in.’

  ‘In which case, Dad wouldn’t have given him the opportunity to creep up on him.’

  ‘Hell, Sally, I don’t know; I’m not a detective. Go and ask your pal Webb.’ With which he pushed back his chair and left the room.

  The baby was beginning to grizzle and, bending down, Sally lifted him out of his bouncer. With her mother and father dead and her husband increasingly unapproachable, this tiny child was becoming her only anchor. She held him close, laying her face against his soft cheek. Together, she promised him silently, they would survive.

  In fact, had Sally gone to Lethbridge straight away, she would have found Una at home. After an early breakfast she had packed her suitcase, thanked Barbara for her hospitality, and driven over, ostensibly to let in Mrs Jones. However, she was also anxious that her first return to the house should not be in darkness; it would have been too reminiscent of the last time she’d come home.

  Even so, she had to brace herself as she turned into Westwood Avenue and drew up outside the house. It looked so exactly the same, with no hint of the horrendous event that had taken place there. The grass that Malcolm had given its first cut only last week lay as he had left it, its edges neatly trimmed. She remembered him whistling as he worked, the ease with which he wielded the heavy implements. If his killer had faced him squarely, it would have taken a strong man to fell him.

  Una stopped suddenly on the path, aware with a slight sense of shock that it had never occurred to her to wonder who that killer was. Malcolm’s working life had been a closed book to her, and she’d merely assumed that something connected with it had led to his death.

  Now, she registered for the first time that the killer had known where he lived; was that because he knew Malcolm socially, or simply that he’d followed him home? Neither alternative was particularly palatable.

  She let herself into the house and stood in the square hallway, shivering. Then, steeling herself, she went into the sitting-room. It looked strangely alien, its furniture slightly out of alignment and odd signs here and there of the four-day police presence. Icy cold, she walked, as she had the last time, round Malcolm’s chair, still in its usual position, and forced herself to stare down at it, while memory painted in the slumped figure of her dead husband. The back cushions seemed slightly damp; no doubt they’d been scrubbed to remove traces of blood.

  She said aloud, ‘Oh Malcolm, who did this to you?’ — and started violently as a knock sounded on the back door.

  She went through to the kitchen. The glass pane in the door had not yet been replaced, and a piece of hardboard was nailed across the gap, making the room unusually dark. With hands that shook, she unlocked the door and stepped aside as Mrs Jones came into the house.

  The woman darted a furtive look at her. ‘Oh, Mrs Bennett, I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Jones. By the way, please don’t worry about the — the sitting-room. The police cleared everything up, it only needs its usual clean.’

  The woman nodded, hanging up her coat to reveal the flowered apron.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it, when I saw it in the papers! I only saw Mr Bennett on Friday! There he was’ — she gestured at the kitchen table — ‘as large as life, eating his breakfast! And to think,’ she added with morbid relish, ‘that he had only one more day left to him!’

  Una said hastily, ‘I must be on my way, Mrs Jones. I’ve moved back here now, so I’ll see you on Friday as usual.’

  The woman hesitated. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Perhaps I should mention that as soon as the legal formalities are complete, I’ll be putting the house on the market — it’s too big for me to stay here alone. However, I’d be very grateful if you’d stay on till the sale goes through.’

  Mrs Jones twisted her apron in her hands. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Bennett. I don’t feel — comfortable working here any more. In fact — I won’t lie to you — I was going to give in my notice today.’ She darted another quick glance at Una’s graven face. ‘How — how long would it be, like, before you sell the house?’

  ‘Several months, I suppose. But if I find somewhere that suits me in the meantime, I should probably move out then.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like to let you down, like, in your present state and all. Say I stay on for a few weeks, and see how it goes?’

  ‘I’d appreciate that. Thank you. Now, I really must be going.’ Una picked up her handbag and, with a brief smile, hurried from the house.

  On the way back to Shillingham, she was perturbed to discover tears raining down her face. She made no attempt to analyse them, simply kept brushing them away so that she could see clearly enough to drive. But she was realizing that when she returned home this evening there would be no warm smell of dinner to greet her, no one to come forward with a smile and a kiss to ask how her day had gone. Oh Malcolm, she thought desolately, why didn’t I value you when I had you?

  *

  Carter said, ‘Sir, you know the name “Kev” came up on that shop raid?’

  Webb nodded, remembering his conversation with Malcolm in the pub.

  ‘Well, we might have a lead there. Routine inquiries have come up with one Kevin Baker. Couple of convictions for burglary. He’s moved from the address we had, but word is he frequents the Oliver Cromwell in Market Street. I thought me and Frear could go along this evening, see if we can sniff him out.’

  ‘Good idea, Jeff. Any known associates?’

  ‘He used to hang round with Gary Higgs. Don’t know if they’re still mates.’

  ‘We’re looking for a foursome; still, gangs break up and re-form, as we know. Any history of violence?’

  ‘Not on record, sir.’

  ‘I suppose there’s always a first time. It would be good to nab them for the raids, but I doubt if there’s any connection with the murder; if Baker used a knife at the shop, he’d have gone for the same method again. Still, no harm in giving them a once-over. You heard about the two lads we collared yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Did they cough?’

  ‘I didn’t stay for the interviews, but I’ve asked DS Partridge to keep us informed. In fact, we’d gone to see Clark in connection with Mr Bennett’s death; the discovery of the loot was a bonus.’

  Carter said diffidently, ‘Isn’t he Jane Bennett’s boyfriend?’

  ‘He was; we wondered if he blamed the DCI for Jane leaving. Having met him, I doubt if he’s a killer, but we’re going through all the motions.’

  Noting the sergean
t’s anxious expression, he added, ‘She ditched him because she suspected something wasn’t kosher. Don’t worry, Jeff, nothing can rub off on Jane.’

  ‘That’s a relief. She’s got enough to cope with at the moment.’

  ‘It’s just possible,’ Webb continued, ‘that if Clark and his buddy mix in shady company, they might have heard something about the raids. That’s what we’re hoping, anyway. They couldn’t have been personally involved, because they both work full time at Savemore’s. At least, they were doing up to now; I doubt if they’ll be there much longer, once the management gets wind of their racket.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, you could give Partridge a ring and see if anything useful came up.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘You’ve not had any more thoughts about who might have a grudge against Mr Bennett?’

  ‘Not really, no. We’ve been through all his cases for the last two or three months, and I shouldn’t think anything older would be relevant.’

  ‘Nothing promising?’

  ‘Well, obviously several villains went to jail during that time, and could have held the governor responsible. There was Blackie Moore, for instance, but he seemed to take his sentencing quite philosophically. And the Smithson gang. They muttered various imprecations, but that’s par for the course. All the same, their associates are being rounded up. And the chap who topped himself in jail — he was one of the guv’s collars, too, but he was a loner. No one to avenge him.’

  Carter hesitated. ‘Personally, sir, I’m beginning to doubt if it was anything to do with the job. If it was, why didn’t they lie in wait for him somewhere? Why hit him at home? Seems much more likely to be a civilian matter, to me.’

  ‘They could have followed him when he left the station. He always walked home — they could easily have found out where he lived.’

  ‘But on a Saturday afternoon? Surely everyone would expect his family to be at home?’

  Webb sat back, staring down at the desk reflectively. ‘What are you saying, Jeff? That you think it was a spur-of-the-moment thing? Unpremeditated, by someone he knew socially?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, at least.’

  ‘Well, the family have already given us a list of all the friends and acquaintances they could think of. I’ll get on to them again, see if they can come up with any more.’

  Carter said hesitantly, ‘There’s always the family themselves.’

  ‘Most murders being domestic?’ Webb asked with a wry grin.

  Carter flushed. ‘Sorry, sir, I’m not trying to teach you to suck eggs. It’s just that that son-in-law’s an odd bloke. Like I said, he was in here seeing Mr Bennett, and the guy was quite upset when he left, snapping at everyone, which wasn’t like him.’

  ‘He was after a loan, apparently. I’ve seen him, of course, but I did make a note to go back.’

  ‘There’s no possibility the wife could have done it?’

  ‘Oh, there’s a possibility, all right; the timing is crucial, and it did take her a long time to get to SB. She said it was because of hold-ups on the way, but she’s not been entirely ruled out.’

  He looked up at Carter under his brows. ‘Nor has anyone here, in the station. There could be someone who didn’t see eye to eye with Mr Bennett, resented his popularity.’

  The sergeant was silent, but Webb could feel the wall of his resistance, his refusal even to consider that one of his colleagues might be responsible. Webb understood, but it was imperative to keep an open mind.

  ‘OK, Jeff, you go and ring Don Partridge and I’ll see if I can jog the family’s memories a bit more.’

  Carter nodded and left the room. Webb rubbed his hands over his face. This was proving the devil of a case, as was only to be expected. Still, it wouldn’t be solved by sitting here brooding about it. He pushed back his chair and went in search of Jackson.

  *

  Unlike Una, Barbara wondered constantly about the murderer’s identity. Malcolm had sometimes spoken to her of cases he was involved with, sensing her genuine interest in his work, which, she suspected, Una did not share. Was the attack something she should have foreseen? Could she, if she’d intervened somehow, have prevented it?

  Lying awake night after night, there were few people of her acquaintance whom she had not tried out in the guise of murderer, though by the light of day such suppositions seemed ludicrous.

  Nevertheless, she was aware that this constant worrying at the problem helped keep at bay the agony of loss which, in public, she was forced to conceal. She’d discovered, though, that Malcolm’s death had in some way removed the restraints which, even in private, she’d always imposed on her thoughts of him. In her mind, she talked to him constantly, claiming him as her love as she could never have done while he lived.

  My darling! she thought now in a wave of anguish. Oh, my darling! Did you know, in that last moment, what was happening? And why?

  Out in the corridor, a bell sounded for the end of break. Barbara realized she’d been sitting here since the last lesson ended, and had missed her coffee. She must be more careful; Miss James had been understanding about her breakdown, and to her shame she’d offered the reminder of Carol’s death as an explanation. She did not, however, wish her conduct to become a matter of comment in the staff-room.

  She straightened her back, sorted out the papers in front of her, and by the time the next class arrived, was fully in control again. Life, she thought bitterly, must go on.

  *

  A few streets away, Jane was having less success in hiding her feelings. Her lengthy absence from her computer having been noted, one of the girls was dispatched to look for her, and found her in floods of tears in the cloakroom.

  Mary Telford, a motherly young woman, put her arms round her and Jane continued to sob helplessly in her arms. The whole office knew about Jane’s father, and the manager had asked them to give her as much support as possible. Helplessly, Mary wondered what she should do.

  ‘I want him back!’ Jane sobbed. ‘I just want him back!’

  ‘I know, love. You cry, if it helps.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’ Jane raised her head and fumbled for her sodden handkerchief. ‘First Mum, now Dad. I haven’t even got Steve any more,’ she added desolately.

  ‘Well,’ Mary said, casting round for comfort and privy to office gossip, ‘that was your doing, wasn’t it, and he’s no great loss.’

  Jane blew her nose. ‘But I might have got him into trouble. I didn’t mean to, but the police seemed suspicious of him. They even thought’ — she half-choked with indignation — ‘that he might have killed Dad!’

  Mary gazed at her in shock. ‘Steve? He didn’t, did he?’

  ‘Of course he didn’t. But he was involved in other things, and if they catch him, he’ll blame me. He always said I was a real copper’s daughter.’

  ‘If he was doing wrong, he was bound to be found out sooner or later,’ Mary said severely, ‘so don’t waste your sympathy on him. Now, if you’re feeling a bit better, come back to the office and I’ll make a nice cup of coffee. How about that?’

  Jane nodded. ‘OK. Thanks.’

  And, drained by her tears, she meekly followed Mary back to her desk.

  11

  It was turning out to be a longer lunch break than Una normally allowed herself. Having eaten, she’d called in to see her solicitor, and it was as she was walking back to the office that she paused on impulse at an estate agent’s window to study the properties for sale.

  Her attention was caught by an attractive-looking cottage on the northern edge of town, and she hesitated. It was farther out than her flat had been, but would not be more than ten minutes’ drive at most from the office.

  Without any clear-cut intention, she went inside and was immediately ushered to a chair opposite an eager young man.

  ‘Could you give me some details about the cottage in the window?’ she asked diffidently. ‘The one in North Park?’

  ‘Ah yes, Ginger’s.’ He flicked thro
ugh a file on his desk and withdrew a sheet of particulars. ‘It only came in yesterday, and I don’t think it’ll be on the books long — it’s a very good price, considering the position.’

  No doubt a standard response, Una thought as she noted the accommodation on offer, and since it was still a buyer’s market she was not wholly convinced. Meanwhile, the young man — ‘Danny’, according to the name-plate on his desk — had taken out a card and was asking her exactly what kind of property she was interested in.

  Una listed her preferences, finding they crystallized as she considered them, and watched with interest as he withdrew several more sheets from a drawer and passed them across. One or two seemed possibilities, and some were in the centre of town, which she’d really prefer.

  ‘If you’re free this afternoon, Mrs Bennett, I could run you over to Ginger’s. The owners are away, but we have the key to the property. And if any of the others appeal to you, I can phone and arrange an appointment to view.’

  Una felt a lift of excitement, her first positive emotion in four days. The restlessness which had been growing all week made the prospect of an afternoon at her desk suddenly unappealing, and there was nothing urgent awaiting her attention. The brief excursion would do her good, she told herself, as well as giving her some idea of the type of property on sale in her price range.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I’d like to see Ginger’s, and perhaps the flat in Hampton Rise, if it’s possible.’

  ‘Fine, that one comes with vacant possession — the owner can move out any time. I’ll give her a call and see when would be convenient.’

  Vacant possession. The words rang temptingly in Una’s ears. Perhaps after all she wouldn’t have to spend too long alone in Westwood Avenue. All at once, the afternoon ahead seemed full of promise, and, feeling like a truant, she determined guiltily to enjoy it.