The Dead Girl's Shoes

by Arney, Angela

  The phone rang, interrupting her plans for supper. It was Maguire. ‘Thought I’d let you know,’ he said, ‘that I think we’ve found that red car you saw.’

  Lizzie groaned. ‘You don’t want me to come and look at it now, do you?’

  ‘You sound like I feel,’ he said. ‘No, of course I don’t want you to come now. It’s much too late, and anyway there’s no rush, tomorrow will do. Tomorrow, with a bit of luck I think we will be able to wrap this case up. Possibly in the morning, or at the very least by the end of the day.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lizzie, ‘because if I had to go out again now I think I’d drop dead from starvation. I’m absolutely famished. What I need is a nice juicy steak pie.’

  ‘Where are you going to get something like that at this time of night?’ Maguire sounded envious.

  ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I’m having soggy tomatoes, old cheese, wholemeal biscuits and some radishes.’

  ‘Sounds very healthy. Mine will be a liquid supper,’ replied Maguire, unscrewing the Laphraig bottle as he spoke. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well. Tomorrow will be a busy day. I’ll get Steve to update you in the morning so that we can tick all the boxes and finish this case.’

  Chapter 13

  Maguire did not sleep well. Malt whiskey accompanied by cheese and biscuits was not conducive to a calm stomach and a peaceful night. At half past four in the morning, when it was beginning to get light, and the heartburn was crippling, he went into the bathroom, looking for something to cure indigestion. But his search yielded nothing. He thought that he’d bought a packet, not long ago, of the stuff always being advertised on TV. He could see the picture clearly in his mind’s eye. Cartoons of a little jelly man rubbing soothing gel on the inside of an inflamed gut, but the name of the liquid escaped him.

  The shelves of the medicine cabinet were empty. Elsie Clackett had recently had a good “do”, as she always called it when she turned out the cupboards, and now the shelves were sparkling clean and empty. That was her trouble, thought Maguire gloomily; she was too good at cleaning sometimes! She was ruthless, now there was not a single crumpled packet or out of date bottle of anything left. In fact, apart from a new tube of toothpaste and a spray deodorant there was nothing at all. Not even a single loose aspirin.

  Maguire groaned and started downstairs, tripping over Tess on the way down because she was sleeping on the landing. In the kitchen, he was thankful to find that he had an unopened two litre plastic bottle of milk. Better than nothing, he decided, retrieving it from the fridge.

  Tess followed him downstairs and sat at his feet while her master poured himself a tall glass of ice-cold milk and sat down at the kitchen table to drink it. ‘It’s no use looking expectant,’ he told her. ‘It’s much too early to go out, and when I’ve finished this I’m going back to bed to try and catch up on some sleep. I shall need all my wits about me today.’

  Tess snuffled, and settled herself more comfortably while Maguire drank the milk. The cold liquid soothed his fiery guts a little, but rather than feeling like getting back into bed, he now felt wide-awake.

  He started thinking about the Villiers family. What a devious lot they were. Harold had lied to both his wife, and his birth daughter, Jemima. In addition, Jemima was in turn blackmailing her own father. Although perhaps, thought Maguire, she couldn’t really be blamed for that because, apparently, she’d been treated as a second class citizen by the rest of the family all her life, despite telling him what a close loving family they were. A penniless cousin, that was how they’d thought of her. Then there was Harold’s wife, Amelia. She was no paragon of virtue, and had lied to her husband about the paternity of their daughter Ruth, who Harold had always thought was his daughter as well as Jemima. Did Ruth know she was not a blood relative of the Villiers family, Maguire wondered? He doubted it; she seemed the most normal and well-balanced one of the whole family. She was certainly the one person who had showed any real feelings of sorrow at the death of Jemima. Then there was Simon the son, who drank too much and carried a permanent black cloud around on his shoulders. He seemed to think that life owed him something, although why he should Maguire couldn’t imagine. He had plenty of money, and a comfortable life. What more did he want? Now, it appeared from the results of the DNA, that Simon was the only one who was a legitimate heir. Jemima would have inherited as well, but she’d been murdered. This gave Simon a motive to get rid of Jemima, of course, but somehow Maguire didn’t think he was involved in her death. True he was moody and bad tempered, but was he a murderer? Maguire’s gut feeling told him no. Besides, others had confirmed his alibi on the night in question, apart from the half hour when he drove himself back to the hall, which meant that he couldn’t be ruled out completely. Except that Simon had been seen by other people at the function getting into his car which was a black 4 x 4, not the small red car Lizzie had seen. Anyway, half an hour wasn’t much time to murder someone, then move the body and put it in the icehouse. All the same, Simon would have to stay in the frame, albeit it on the periphery, until Harold was confirmed positively as the murderer.

  Maguire slowly drained the last of the cold milk, and was by now fully awake. What would happen to the estate he wondered, when Harold was arrested for the murder of his own daughter? He supposed the lawyers would march in and sort out the inheritance, and there might be other, more distant, relatives. Whatever happened though, it would almost certainly cause even more bad blood, as well as delight for Danny Bayley. Maguire could imagine the headlines he’d be writing for the Stibbington Times, and he’d probably get a piece into the national papers as well. Everyone liked complicated murders, especially if it involved the aristocracy, or minor country gentry like the Villiers.

  He sighed, and looked down at Tess, now sound asleep, and envied her. There was no chance now that he’d be able to get back to sleep. Might as well shower and really wake up, then get an early start to the day.

  His mobile phone rang as he was stepping out of the shower. The clock beside the bed showed that it was just gone five in the morning. Outside, the first fingers of the sunrise were creeping over the lawn, sparkling on the dew. It was going to be a hot summer’s day.

  *

  At Avon Hall Fiona Welby’s alarm trilled into life at 2.00 am. Sleepily she reached out an arm and fumbled for the clock, found it, and switched it off. For a few moments she lay still where she was. Her back felt stiff and there was a sharp pain in her left shoulder where something beneath her was digging into her flesh. For an instant, she couldn’t collect her thoughts, and wondered why she felt so uncomfortable. Then she realized. She wasn’t in her own comfortable bed; she was on a couch at Avon Hall in the room next to where her patient was sleeping.

  She lay still, listening. There was no sound from the room next door. That was good. Outside the birds were beginning to stir. It was too early for the dawn chorus, but one or two were chirruping sleepily as the early morning light gradually began to throw the trees and bushes into relief. It was no longer dark, yet neither was it light. It was that in-between time when the world was waking slowly, and everything was still and peaceful, before creatures great and small began the working day.

  Fiona hauled herself up from the couch and stood in front of the window looking out into the misty garden. She did some gentle stretching exercises and breathed in deeply. There was still no sound from the patient’s bedroom. Nick must be asleep now as well; all must be fine, he would have called her in the night if there’d been a problem. She decided to go down to the kitchen and make some tea, then bring it up for all of them. She looked at her watch. By the time she’d made the tea, Mr Villiers would be due his next dose of medication. She felt pleased with herself. The cocktail she’d made up the previous night had really established his heart rhythm very well. He’d settled down to a peaceful sleep very quickly, and obviously had had an excellent night.

  She made her way down the stairs. The big old house was quiet, apart from the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather cl
ock at the back of the hall. She remembered where the kitchen was and crept along the stone-flagged passageway, which led to it. The dogs got up, wagging their tails to greet her. Their night baskets were in the passage outside the kitchen, and they stood before her looking expectant. But when they found out that she wasn’t opening the front door to let them into the garden, or feeding them, they clambered back into their baskets and settled down to sleep.

  In the kitchen, Janet Hasting had left out several packets of different types of tea, a teapot, cups and a tray. Fiona chose Breakfast Tea, thinking Nick would probably prefer that to Earl Grey or the other fancy teas out on the table. It didn’t take long to make the tea, and carry the tray upstairs to Harold Villiers’ room. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open with her foot and entered the room. Nick was slouched in the chair beside the bed, sound sleep, with his mouth open. The bed was empty; the heart monitors all unplugged showing just green straight lines. Harold Villiers must have unhooked himself and gone to the bathroom. Fiona clicked her tongue in annoyance. Nick should not have let him move without assistance. He could have slipped, or collapsed on the floor. Any manner of dire possibilities crossed her mind.

  ‘Nick,’ she said sharply.

  He awoke with a start. ‘What…Oh…it’s you Fiona,’ he struggled to a sitting position and looked over at the bed. ‘Where’s Mr Villiers?’

  Fiona put the tray down on the dressing table top with a bang. ‘He must be in the bathroom. Catnapping is one thing, Nick, but sleeping so deeply that you don’t hear the patient take himself off to the bathroom is another. Get in there straight away and make sure he is all right.’

  Nick didn’t need telling twice. Leaping to his feet, he opened the bathroom door, took a step inside then let out a yell of alarm. ‘Fiona, he’s not here.’

  *

  Afterwards, Fiona couldn’t remember exactly what happened next. All she could remember was absolute panic on both her part and Nick’s. How can a patient, at death’s door, (Nick’s words, although she was inclined to agree) go walkabout? They both tried to be methodical and clear-headed; at least that was what they told Maguire and Lizzie later. They decided not to call the police immediately, or tell Janet, whom they assumed was still asleep, although neither of them checked on this fact straight away.

  They searched the house, starting upstairs. All the rooms, the store cupboards, of which there were many, the dogs joined in, but far from sniffing out Harold Villiers, they seemed to think it was a game.

  ‘Useless things, dogs,’ said Fiona as they finished searching the bedrooms apart from the one where Janet still slept. There were fifteen in all, and it had taken them more than thirty minutes. ‘This is too slow,’ she told Nick, ‘if he has collapsed somewhere he’ll be dead by the time we find him at this rate. We’ll have to wake Janet Hastings and get her to help us. Maybe she’ll have some idea of where he might have wandered off to. I’m thinking that he must be in a confused state and not really know where he’s going.’

  It was gone 4.00 am when they went to awake Janet Hastings only to find that her room was also empty. Her nightdress was lying on top of the bed in a crumpled heap. Nick picked it up. ‘She must have dressed and gone out with Mr Villiers. But where?’

  ‘And why?’ said Fiona.

  ‘We’d better call 999.’

  ‘No,’ said Fiona brusquely. ‘We don’t know where they’ve gone. We don’t even know if Janet Hastings is with him. We must carry on looking. Harold Villiers is the one we need to find. I don’t care about Janet Hastings.’

  She didn’t mention that she was worrying about being blamed for losing the patient they were supposed to be caring for. ‘Maybe if we can find him and get him back to bed, then no one would even know,’ she muttered.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ shouted Nick, losing his temper. ‘I’ve had enough of searching this damned house, and now we find that Janet whatever her name is has disappeared as well. It’s getting stupid, and you’re not thinking straight. I’m going to call the police now, 999 first to get a search team out for Harold Villiers, our patient may I remind you, and the missing woman, and then I’m calling DCI Maguire. We must inform him. It’s a police matter. He was relying on us to keep him in custody.’

  ‘We weren’t keeping him in custody,’ said Fiona. ‘We were caring for him, and Dr Browne is his doctor.’

  ‘Yes, we need to call her as well,’ said Nick. ‘I’m dialling 999 now. Fiona, you get on and inform DCI Maguire and Dr Browne.’

  *

  Lizzie had had no problem at all with getting to sleep that night. She was exhausted and had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep only to be awoken by Fiona Welby’s bizarre phone call.

  Sitting bolt upright in bed, she tried to collect her scrambled thoughts. ‘What?’ she demanded.

  ‘He’s gone.’ Fiona’s anxiety transmitted itself down the phone line. ‘Nick was asleep by the side of the bed. He didn’t hear anything.’

  ‘How can a man, as ill as Harold Villiers, disappear?’ demanded Lizzie. ‘How can he walk far enough to actually disappear? The last time I saw him he was struggling for every breath.’

  A very subdued Fiona assured her they’d searched the whole house, so he must be outside somewhere. ‘Nick is calling 999 now,’ she said.

  Lizzie scrambled out of bed. ‘I’m on my way. For God’s sake, just keep looking.’

  ‘It’s all right for her to say just keep looking,’ said Fiona as she put down the phone. ‘But where? Where?

  Nick had already slipped on a light cotton fleece and picked up a blanket. ‘I’m going down along by the river in case he’s gone down there and fallen in. You can tell the police that when they arrive. You’d better wait for them here.’

  ‘But how long will they take?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Nick. ‘All the calls are directed from the Isle of Wight at night. The operator didn’t even know where Avinton or Avon Hall was. She had to look everything up on the computer. I’m not going to waste any more time. I’m going now.’ He ran down the main stairs and out through the big front door, which he left open.

  *

  By the time Steve Grayson called Maguire, it was gone five in the morning. Already the heavy dew was burning off, showing that it was going to be a hot day, just the day for a long cool walk through the forest thought Maguire, but knowing that was not to be his lot. He regarded the ringing phone suspiciously. A call at this time of the morning, an unexpected call, definitely did not bode well. Maguire answered cautiously.

  ‘Maguire here.’

  Steve Grayson came straight to the point. ‘Sir, there’s been a 999 call to the station.’ He sounded breathless, and Maguire was about to say what has that got to do with us, when Steve got his breath back and gasped, ‘Harold Villiers has disappeared.’

  ‘Harold Villiers has disappeared.’

  ‘That’s what I said, sir,’ said Steve. ‘Nick Tanner, the paramedic up at the Hall rang 999 because he didn’t know what else to do. He thinks we should put out a search party. They’ve spoken to Doctor Browne, and she’s on her way there. And oh, by the way, that woman, Janet Hastings, has disappeared as well.’

  ‘Right,’ said Maguire, ‘I’ll meet you up at Avon Hall asap. See if you can rouse Kevin and get him up there as well.’

  What the hell was going on? Lizzie had assured him that the wretched man was near death’s door, so how come he had enough energy to disappear? Or had someone kidnapped him! Janet Hastings? No, impossible. That was too ridiculous for words.

  *

  Maguire arrived at Avon Hall before Steve or Kevin, and Lizzie arrived about two minutes behind him, looking harassed. ‘He’ll drop dead somewhere,’ she said. ‘He’s not in a fit state to go anywhere.’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ snapped Maguire. ‘But the fact of the matter is that your patient has disappeared and legged it somewhere. And God knows what the two people who were supposed to be caring for him were doing. A fa
t lot of use they were. And what has Janet Hastings got to do with all this?’

  ‘She loves him,’ said Lizzie.

  Maguire threw his arms in the air. ‘Spare me the romantic details.’

  *

  A distraught Nurse Welby stood before Adam Maguire and Lizzie. ‘Nick was asleep, but he was right beside him, in the chair at the side of the bed. And I was lying on the couch in the next room,’ she said. ‘I’d checked him over at midnight. His heart rhythm was good, normal in fact, and he was breathing well. He didn’t need any more medication, so I set my alarm for 2.00 am and told Nick to stay beside him, while I lay down on the couch. When my alarm went off I got up, and as everything was quiet I went downstairs and made some tea, brought it up to the bedroom, and that was when we found that he’d gone.’

  Maguire met Steve and Kevin in the hall downstairs. ‘I’ve got Lizzie and those two incompetent nurses ready to start searching again,’ he said. ‘We’d better start searching the grounds. He could be lying dead anywhere, and as far as I’m aware he’s still wearing his pyjamas.’

  ‘Danny Bayley will have a field day with headlines in the Stibbington Times,’ said Steve gloomily. ‘He loves to make out that we’re an incompetent lot.’

  ‘In this case he will be proved right if we don’t find Harold Villiers soon,’ grunted Maguire. ‘So let’s get going. Split up and start searching the grounds, especially near the river. And for heaven’s sake keep in contact with me and each other.’ He turned towards Fiona Welby. ‘You have another look through the house, but keep in touch in case we need your medical services. You’d better ring Nick Tanner and tell him the search party is out in the grounds as well now.’

  She nodded mutely and watched the police team start towards the river. Lizzie, of course, went with Maguire and his team. There was no way she was going to be excluded from looking for her patient. Adam knew that, and didn’t attempt to give her any instructions.