[DCI Neil Paget 01] - Fatal Flaw

by Frank Smith

  She was right, of course. Tregalles had put on wellingtons before getting out of the car.

  As they walked across the yard, the two dogs insinuated themselves between Tregalles and their mistress. ‘Good guard dogs,’ he observed. ‘I shouldn’t think you’d have much to worry about with them around.’

  ‘They do their job,’ she said cryptically.

  They went in the back way, through a porch where Kate Ferris kicked off her boots. Tregalles did the same before stepping into a large, warm and pleasant room. The sun had broken through the clouds and was casting patterned shadows from the windows across the polished floor. It was a comfortable room, with bookshelves lining two sides, four big armchairs, and a dining-table and chairs set off to one side.

  Sarah McMillan knelt on one of the chairs at the table, surrounded by colouring books and crayons. There was no doubt she was the same girl that Tregalles had seen in the photograph they’d found in Palmer’s room.

  ‘I’ve finished the house. Aunt Kate,’ she said. ‘I’m going to do the garden next.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Kate. ‘Say hello to Mr Tregalles, Sarah.’

  The girl eyed him solemnly. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, Sarah. Did Father Christmas bring you that book?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, Mummy brought it, didn’t she. Aunt Kate?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Kate Ferris.

  ‘Would you like to colour with me?’ Sarah asked Tregalles.

  ‘Mr Tregalles and I have to talk first,’ said Kate, then surprised Tregalles by asking: ‘Have you had lunch?’

  He admitted he hadn’t, but said he thought he might stop in the village on the way back.

  ‘You’re welcome to have something with us,’ she said, ‘if it’s not too early for you. You see, we have breakfast just after six, so I was about to make lunch.’

  ‘Thank you. To tell you the truth, I am a bit hungry, but don’t go to any trouble. Can I help?’

  She shook her head. Sarah, who had been watching them, said: ‘He can help me colour, then, can’t he. Aunt Kate?’

  ‘Do you mind?’ said Kate.

  ‘Not a bit,’ Tregalles said. ‘I have two children of my own at home.’ He shrugged out of his coat and sat down at the table.

  ‘But no questions, mind,’ Kate warned him. ‘I’ll not have you asking her a lot of questions. Understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘Now, Sarah, do you want to do the big flowers or the small ones?’

  ‘Andrea and I were at school together,’ Kate explained. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time.’

  Lunch, consisting of several good-sized sandwiches, herb tea, and a mixture of fruit and nuts, was over, and they were sitting facing one another in the big armchairs. Relaxed, Kate Ferris was a good-looking woman, and she positively glowed with health.

  ‘When Andrea learned from her mother that Victor had taken the photograph of her and Sarah, she brought Sarah here to me to keep her out of harm’s way. Sarah was born here, you know, and I was only too happy to have her. I shall miss her very much when she’s gone.’

  Kate had given Sarah a basket and sent her out to look for eggs. ‘She’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘The dogs will look after her.’

  Tregalles didn’t doubt it.

  ‘Dr McMillan has been visiting her here since November?’ Tregalles asked.

  ‘Yes. She comes down whenever she can, but her hours at the hospital make it difficult.’

  ‘But she did come down on Friday night? The night of New Year’s Day.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you remember what time it was when she arrived?’

  Kate Ferris pursed her lips and regarded him levelly. ‘She was here by eleven; I know that,’ she said. ‘Exactly how long before. I’m afraid I can’t say.’

  ‘You’re sure it couldn’t have been later than that?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  It had taken Tregalles two hours and seven minutes to cover the distance from Dr McMillan’s flat to Kate Ferris’s gate. Take ten minutes off for the Severn Bridge, and five minutes more while he sought directions in the village, and he was left with one hour and fifty-two minutes. And he’d driven fast. Even at night, with less traffic, he doubted whether the doctor could have done it in much less.

  Which meant that she had no more than eight minutes to get out to Glenacres, meet Palmer, kill him, then come back through town and head south. And that was assuming that Palmer had been killed at nine, which was the very earliest he could have died, according to Starkie. There was no way she could have done all that in eight minutes.

  Assuming, of course, that both the doctor and Kate Ferris were telling the truth.

  21

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ormside disgustedly. ‘They’re a proper dozy lot out here. No one saw anything, went anywhere, or did anything the night after New Year’s Eve. Too thick-headed after the night before, most likely.’

  Paget skimmed through the reports, but Ormside was right. It seemed that hardly anyone had been abroad that night. And no one could be found who had seen a car being driven into or out of the trees across the road from the entrance to the stables.

  He tossed the reports back to Ormside. ‘It’s early days, yet,’ he said. ‘Give it time.’

  Ormside grunted something unintelligible. ‘There was one other thing, but I don’t know if you’re still interested. Forensic sent over a report on the Shaw girl, and a copy of it came out here. Isn’t that case closed?’

  ‘That’s right, it is,’ said Paget. ‘Why? Is there anything of interest in the report?’

  The sergeant shrugged. ‘Hard for me to say, sir,’ he said, ‘not having worked on it. Shall I send it in to Records?’

  ‘No, I’ll take it,’ Paget said. ‘I’d like to look it over before it goes back. Which reminds me; I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask Miss Wolsey. I think I’ll take a walk over to the school before I talk to Lucas.’

  Ormside cocked an enquiring eye at the chief inspector, but no explanation was forthcoming.

  Paget followed the path that began behind the red barn. It went along the back of the horse stalls, past the end of the schooling ring, and down the hill to a small bridge. The snow was melting fast, and tiny rivulets criss-crossed the hillside as they made their way to the stream below. The sun was warm against his face, and he found himself squinting against the ever-shifting light reflecting off the water and surrounding snow.

  He paused at the bridge to listen to the sound of rushing water and the raucous squabbling of far-off crows. There was the illusion of spring in the air, but a glance towards the west, where clouds were banked beyond the hills, reminded him that winter was still far from over.

  Paget climbed the slope on the other side of the bridge to a gate in the fence marking the boundary of the school grounds and went inside. From there he followed the path through a narrow band of trees and came out beside the greenhouses.

  ‘Chief Inspector.’

  He’d thought himself alone, and the voice surprised him. He turned to find Jane Wolsey watching him from the doorway of one of the greenhouses. She wore an old brown parka over a heavy pullover and long brown skirt. Her feet were encased in wellingtons, and she wore thin cotton gardening gloves.

  She didn’t look well at all. Her eyes were bleak, and her face looked pinched and grey. But at least, he thought, she had come out of that dreadful little room of hers and was getting some fresh air.

  ‘I was on my way to see you,’ he said. ‘Getting ready for spring, are you?’

  She glanced down at the tray of seedlings in her hands. ‘Yes. I simply couldn’t resist coming out here on such a lovely day. Will you come inside while I see to these?’

  Paget followed her into the greenhouse. It was an old iron-framed building, probably dating back to when the school itself was built, and it was in desperate need of repair. Jane Wolsey correctly judged his appraising glance.

  ‘Pity to
see the old place falling apart like this,’ she said, ‘but there’s no money for repairs these days. I’m afraid. I don’t know where it’s all going to end.’ She set the seedlings down and pulled off her gloves. The left one, covering her deformed hand, came off easily, but removing the glove from her right hand was more difficult. It was an awkward manoeuvre that involved tucking the hand beneath her arm and more or less wriggling it out of the tight-fitting glove. In the process, the glove fell to the floor, and Paget quickly bent to retrieve it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as he handed it to her. She pushed hair out of her eyes and wiped her brow. ‘It’s quite warm in here, isn’t it? Surprising what a little sun and glass will do even in January.’ She shrugged out of the parka and set it aside, folding it neatly and placing the gloves just so on top of it.

  Paget watched, fascinated by the care she took of such obviously well-worn clothes. The collar of the parka was frayed; both sleeves were almost threadbare, and one was badly stained. And the gloves. Just ordinary, well-used gardening gloves worth no more than a pound or two at most, yet the one he’d picked up had been mended carefully. But then, he reminded himself, a pound might mean a lot to Miss Wolsey; she probably wasn’t paid all that much, especially living in as she did.

  ‘You said you were on your way to see me. Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘What was it about?’

  ‘It has to do with something you mentioned when I spoke to you shortly after Monica died,’ he said. ‘I wanted to be sure I had it right.’

  ‘Monica?’ Jane Wolsey caught her breath. She looked surprised. ‘But you said that the investigation was closed. Has something happened to open it again?’ She picked up some geranium cuttings and began to trim them.

  She was remarkably adept, considering the fact that her left hand was devoid of proper fingers. The index finger ended at the first joint, while the rest, including the thumb, were merely stubs, yet she managed to grasp the plants in the V formed between the forefinger and thumb and hold them while she trimmed.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I can’t help wondering why Monica got dressed and went out again that evening. It puzzles me. And, since I happened to be out here investigating the death of Victor Palmer - you may have known him as Prescott - over at Glenacres, I thought I’d just check a couple of points with you.’

  Jane Wolsey made a grimace of distaste. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘there were a couple of policemen round asking if we’d seen or heard anything unusual that night, but of course no one had. I believe they even asked the head to give some sort of statement.’

  The housemistress looked up from what she was doing. ‘But you wanted to know something about Monica. What was it, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘You mentioned that Monica wore a white anorak to the party Christmas Eve,’ he said. ‘She spilled wine on it, and you took it to your room to try to do something about the stain. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked puzzled.

  ‘And the coat we found on the floor at the foot of the bed; you said it was new. In fact I believe you said it had never been worn before.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You’re quite sure about that? Could Monica have shown it to someone? Someone who came to see her at the school, for example?’

  The housemistress looked mystified, but she shook her head. ‘No. You see, it only arrived that morning. I was with Monica when she bought it - it must have been a good two weeks before Christmas - and it had to be altered. They promised to send it out to the school within the week, but it still hadn’t come by the Tuesday before Christmas, so Monica rang them and said if it wasn’t there by Thursday morning at the latest, they could keep the coat, alterations and all.’ Miss Wolsey shot Paget an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid she wasn’t very polite about it, either,’ she confessed, ‘but they brought it out just before noon on Thursday.’

  ‘How did she get to Glenacres that day? Did anyone pick her up?’

  ‘No. She walked over. Why? Is it important?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘but I think it might be. Thank you. Miss Wolsey.’ He paused. ‘I must admit I’m curious,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the cuttings. ‘What is it you are doing with those cuttings?’

  Jane Wolsey brushed hair away from her face with the back of her hand. Her features softened and the worry lines all but disappeared as she glanced around the greenhouse. For a moment it made her look years younger, and he realized it was the first time he had seen the housemistress really smile. ‘Actually, I’m committing a crime,’ she confided. ‘It’s one of the few times the gardeners are away, so I come in here, steal some of their cuttings, and pot them up for myself and some of the staff. If I don’t do it now, they’ll all end up in the flower beds, and we’ll have no plants inside at all. Is that a crime. Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he told her with mock gravity. ‘You could be in serious trouble. Miss Wolsey.’

  The housemistress looked down at the cutting she was holding in her hand, and the worry lines creased her face once more. ‘Yes,’ she said absently as if her mind had gone on to something else. ‘I suppose I could, couldn’t I?’

  Returning to the stables, Paget met Jack Lucas in the yard, and tackled him about the time he’d left the Coach and Horses Friday evening.

  Lucas shrugged it off. ‘It seemed the simplest thing to say at the time,’ he said blithely. ‘I wasn’t out here at the time you say Prescott, or whatever his name was, was killed, so what does it matter where I was?’

  ‘I think you know better than that, Mr Lucas,’ said Paget. ‘Especially as you may be asked to swear to what you said under oath. According to our information, your darts match finished about eight o’clock, and you left shortly after that.’

  Lucas scowled. ‘So, you’ve been grubbing around, then, have you?’ he said. ‘I should have thought you’d have better things to do with your time.’ Paget remained silent, waiting. Lucas gave an elaborate sigh of resignation. ‘All right, so I left,’ he said. ‘I let the side down. I wasn’t going to hang about after that, so I left the Coach and went up to the George and had a few drinks there. Got talking and stayed there till chucking out time, then came home. That’s it.’

  ‘This person you were talking to. Friend of yours?’

  ‘Never saw him before,’ said Lucas. His eyes challenged Paget to dispute it.

  ‘So you met no one who can verify your story?’

  ‘Story? I’m telling you it’s what I did. Are you calling me a liar?’

  Paget eyed him. ‘You lied before,’ he said. ‘Why should I believe you now, Mr Lucas?’

  Paget called in to see Ormside before leaving for home, recounting for the record the story Lucas had told him.

  ‘I’ll lay odds that no one at the George remembers him,’ said Ormside.

  ‘Have someone check it out, anyway,’ said Paget. ‘I don’t believe him either, but we’d better make sure.’

  He was about to leave when there was a knock on the door. One of the WPCs opened it and there was a brief exchange of words. She turned to Ormside with a grin on her face.

  ‘There’s a young gentleman here to see you, sir,’ she said. Behind her, James Lucas poked his head through the door. ‘He wants to know if he can come in.’

  ‘Does he, now?’ said Ormside, heavily. He cocked an enquiring eye at Paget, and the chief inspector grinned and nodded. ‘All right, then,’ Ormside said. ‘Tell him he can come in if he behaves himself.’

  James scrambled up the steps and stood looking round, wide-eyed and breathless. He didn’t speak for a moment, then advanced towards the two men. ‘Hello,’ he said to Paget, then looked at Ormside, imposing in his uniform behind the desk. ‘I’m James Lucas,’ he said, and thrust out his hand. Paget smothered a grin. The boy might not look like his father, but the mannerisms were the same - except the boy was more polite.

  Ormside half rose in his seat and took the outstretched hand and shook it. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ja
mie,’ he said solemnly. ‘My name is Sergeant Ormside.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, sir, it’s James, not Jamie.’

  Ormside’s mouth twitched. ‘Sorry,’ he said as he sat down again. ‘James.’ He looked sternly at the boy. ‘Now then, lad, what can I do for you?’

  James looked down at the floor. ‘Sally said I wasn’t to bother you, but I just wanted to have a look inside so I could tell the other boys at school.’ He looked up. ‘I thought you would ask me questions like you asked Sally and Penny and Mummy, because I live here, too, but you didn’t.’

  ‘Ah, well, you see,’ said Ormside, ‘that’s because what happened was late at night, and you’d be in your bed by then. Besides, I don’t think this sort of thing is something that...’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  Ormside frowned. ‘You wasn’t - weren’t what, James?’

  ‘I wasn’t in bed.’

  The sergeant leaned back in his chair and eyed the boy. ‘What time did you go to bed, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Nine o’clock. I always go to bed at nine, except when it’s Christmas or my birthday or special things like that.’

  ‘Well, there you are, then. You were in your bed like I said.’

  James was shaking his head vigorously. ‘I wasn’t in bed,’ he said. ‘I sat up at the window for ever such a long time.’

  Ormside caught Paget’s eye. Questioning a child without one of his parents being present was a dicey thing. ‘Did you, now?’ he said. ‘And what can you see from your window?’

  ‘Not much,’ James said candidly. ‘Just the back gate and the sheds and trees and things.’

  ‘You can’t see the stables?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’ Ormside persisted.

  The boy furrowed his brow in concentration. ‘Like what?’ he said at last.

  ‘Did you hear any cars come up the drive or over by the stables? Or people talking - anything at all?’

  The boy slowly shook his head, and Ormside settled back in his chair again. For a moment he had thought the boy might have seen or heard something, but if his room overlooked the back of the house he would be facing away from the stables. He was about to send the boy on his way when Paget spoke up.