Lizzie thought she ought to do that before she left, and looking around the kitchen she found a large plastic bin with the word DOG written on it. It was full of biscuits plus a scoop, so she put one scoop into each of the two bowls. The dogs leaped forward and began crunching their way enthusiastically through the biscuits, and Lizzie, assuming it was the correct food, left them to it after refilling their other bowls with fresh water.
Glancing at her watch she decided that she had enough time to pop back to Honeysuckle Cottage, have a quick coffee and a piece of toast before making her way to the surgery for her Tuesday clinic . Shutting the kitchen door, she left Avon Hall. At least that was what she intended doing, but as she was about to unlock her car, another car drove up the drive and stopped beside her.
Amelia Villiers stepped out. Lizzie noticed she was her usual immaculately groomed self, and felt scruffy in her own tee-shirt and jeans, all she’d had time to throw on after she’d received the early morning phone call. Amelia was wearing a black and white check jacket over a pair of tailored black trousers, and had on black patent shoes with very high heels. Lizzie wondered how she was able to walk in them; she normally stuck to flat shoes herself, and couldn’t help noticing how the heels sank into the gravel of the drive; not doing the wearer or the shoes much good. It gave her a frisson of satisfaction, unworthy she knew, but comforting all the same. Amelia’s greeting was not friendly. ‘What are you doing here?’
Lizzie hesitated. What should she say? Should she blurt out that her husband was dead, and that Maguire suspected him of murdering Jemima? Or should she keep quiet and refer her to Maguire at the police station?
Amelia solved her immediate problem. ‘I’m going upstairs to speak to Harold,’ she announced. ‘All this nonsense from Janet Hastings about him not being well. She always exaggerates everything where Harold is concerned. She’s in love with him, you know. More fool her,’ she added savagely. She dragged a small case from the backseat and slammed the car door shut.
‘I’m afraid you can’t speak to Mr Villiers,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’s not here.’
‘He’s gone out? Good God! Janet intimated to me that he was at death’s door last night. Not that I believed her of course. She always exaggerates.’
What should she do? How could she tell her? Lizzie hesitated, but only for a moment. There was nothing for it; Amelia Villiers had to be told that her husband was dead.
‘I’m afraid Mr Villiers is dead,’ said Lizzie, and left it at that. Better to let Maguire tell her the circumstance of his death was suspicious, and that he’d died in a hut beside the river.
‘Dead?’ repeated Amelia in a disbelieving tone of voice.
Their conversation was interrupted at that moment by Fiona Welby coming around the corner and handing Lizzie an envelope. ‘We’ve finished loading the equipment back on to the van and you’ll find both of our reports in the envelope,’ she said. ‘The invoice from Urgent Care Co will be following later.’ Nick Tanner then appeared driving the van around the corner, he stopped and Fiona climbed in.
‘Is Harold in that van?’ asked Amelia faintly, tottering backwards and clutching the side of her car.
‘No. He’s in the mortuary down in Stibbington under the care of Dr Phineas Merryweather.’ Lizzie didn’t want to elaborate and much to her relief Amelia didn’t ask why.
‘I suppose I’d better go there. Or should I wait for Simon to come back from London?’
Lizzie didn’t reply. She had no idea of whether or not Simon had been informed of his father’s death, and didn’t want to get any more involved than she had to. Besides, Maguire was the one who had all the facts, at least she supposed that by now he had managed to unravel some of the mystery concerning Harold’s death. Amelia Villiers, looking pale and shaky, and was rummaging feverishly through her handbag. ‘I can’t find my car keys,’ she kept repeating. ‘I can’t find my car keys.’
‘They are in your hand,’ said Lizzie, beginning to feel sorry for the woman. ‘And yes. I think you should go down to Stibbington police station now. Detective Chief Inspector Adam Maguire will tell you everything.’ Amelia’s hands were shaking. ‘But maybe I should drive you there? You’ve had quite a shock.’
Some of Amelia’s haughty spirit returned. ‘No, no,’ she said emphatically. ‘That won’t be necessary. I know the way.’ Fumbling with the car keys, she unlocked the car and climbed in, and then made a rather jerky three-point turn before driving off towards the main gates to the road.
Lizzie watched her leave, before getting into her own car. There was nothing more she could do, but she felt uneasy. It wasn’t wise for Amelia Villiers to drive off alone, but she’d been determined. That was the second time in the last twenty-four hours that Lizzie had been ignored by a member of the Villiers family, and there’d been nothing she could do.
Now, she was leaving, and the house was not locked. Again, there was nothing she could do. There was no sign yet of the old gardener, Bert Grayer. She supposed he’d be in soon. However, she texted Maguire telling him that she had left Avon Hall unsecured as she didn’t have a key, and was going to the surgery. The responsibility was his now, she reasoned, not hers. Driving off towards the Honeywell Health Centre she wondered what Maguire and his team had managed to find out from Janet Hastings.
*
When Maguire arrived at the police station PC Millie Jones took immediate charge of Janet Hastings, for which he was extremely thankful. There was also a message from Fergus Garrick saying that he understood DCI Maguire wished to speak to him, and that he’d be available at the office of The Salisbury Playhouse from 9.30 am until 12 noon the following day.
‘Very hoity toity young man he was,’ the desk Sergeant informed him. ‘Said he didn’t like personal messages being left at his place of work for all to read.’ He handed him the piece of paper on which he’d written the details.
‘Fergus Garrick, oh, I left messages for him all over the place,’ said Kevin, ‘at the Nottingham Theatre, and The Grand Theatre York. But then I’m afraid I forgot all about him.’
‘Fine detective you’re turning out to be,’ grunted Maguire, not mentioning that he’d forgotten as well.
Fergus Garrick! Of course, he left Kevin Harrison to track him down, and had then forgotten about him. God! He thought, I’m getting old and senile. I really can’t function properly without my proper ration of sleep. ‘Thanks,’ he said, pocketing the paper.
‘Another suspect to add to your list,’ said the sergeant, leaning across the desk.
‘Everyone is a suspect,’ said Maguire slowly. ‘Yes, everyone.’ He handed the piece of paper back. ‘We’ve got rather a lot on our plate at the moment,’ he said. ‘Would you do me a favour and contact him and tell him to present himself here, at Stibbington Station, tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.’
‘Glad to be of service sir.’
Maguire suddenly felt more positive. Yes, everyone in the frame was still a suspect, maybe this Fergus fellow would supply the vital piece of information he needed.
He watched now as Millie Jones briskly took one look at the bloodstained weeping woman and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Now you come with me,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll get you washed and changed and give you a cup of tea and a piece of toast. I don’t suppose you’ve had any breakfast yet, have you?’
Janet shook her head, and obediently fell into step beside Millie. Her tears began to subside a little before they’d even gained entrance into the station he noticed.
‘What’s she got that we haven’t?’ said Kevin, as the two women disappeared through the station doors.
‘Obviously the magic touch,’ said Steve, adding gloomily, ‘and I haven’t had any breakfast either, but no one is going to get me a piece of toast.’
Maguire’s stomach was playing up again, a combination of alcohol, a sleepless night, an early start and no food for hours. He needed to eat as well. ‘It’s the canteen for all of us,’ he said. ‘Then Steve and I wil
l talk to Miss Hastings in the interview room.’
‘What about me?’ asked Kevin.
‘You can be chasing up forensics for me, as well as making sure the desk sergeant has managed to get hold of Fergus Garrick, and that he will be coming here tomorrow morning. We need to know what they’ve found on that burnt out car. There must be something important otherwise whoever used it wouldn’t have burnt it. There must be a mountain of forensic evidence there. Then get on with that list of the casual helpers you’ve chased up for me. I want to know the time they arrived that Thursday night at the Country House Hotel, how they met up, if they knew each other, what they travelled in, and most importantly, when they left. Then you can start phoning them; make appointments for them to come in as well. I want to talk to all of them.’
‘All of them?’ repeated Kevin. ‘But they don’t all live near, and some of them didn’t even know Jemima.’
‘How do you know that,’ said Maguire sharply. ‘They may have told you they didn’t know her, but that doesn’t mean they’re telling the truth. This damned case has been turned on its head by the death of Harold Villiers.’
‘But at least we’ve got this Fergus chap to add to the list.’
‘But it means that we have to go back to square one, and examine everything again. And that means everyone involved in the perfume event that evening, down to the last cook and bottle washer.’
Kevin didn’t reply, but Steve could tell from his expression that he was not happy. He knew Kevin hated paperwork, and sifting through lists of people was an arduous and sometimes boring occupation. However, it had to be done.
The three of them walked across to the staff canteen, Kevin trailing morosely at the rear.
*
Tom hummed happily to himself as he made sandwiches. He’d already been out to the Co-op shop on the corner of their road and bought a fresh sliced loaf, some ham, cheese and cucumber. Now he spread a generous amount of butter on the bread, before filling the sandwiches with a triple deck of ham, cheese and cucumber. He liked his sandwiches big and juicy. He looked in the fridge to see what else he could take for the picnic. There was an eight pack of organic yoghurts, all fruity flavours. Jem bought those he thought, and she wasn’t going to need them to now. No point in letting them go to waste, and they were all in date so he took two and added them to the pile of sandwiches. Then he looked in Jem’s half of the cupboard. There was a pile of assorted chocolate bars so he took two of those as well. He wouldn’t tell Ruth who they belonged to. No point in upsetting her more than necessary.
Outside the sun was shining, and the wind of the previous days had died down; and the air was balmy. A perfect day for a picnic by the sea. He decided they’d drive down to Mudeford, and take the little ferry across to Hengistbury Head. If that didn’t cheer Ruth, then nothing would. He made a cafetiere of coffee, and washed a couple of coffee mugs from amongst the detritus on the table, toasted some bread then put the whole lot on a tray to take up to Ruth, who was still in bed.
‘Thanks.’ Ruth sat up in bed and took the tray from Tom. She smiled at him. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.’
‘I wanted to,’ he said. ‘I want you to cheer up and have a good day. I want us both to have a good day.’
Ruth slowly munched her toast. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked.
‘Today I’m going to drive us down to Mudeford,’ said Tom. ‘So hurry up and get showered and ready, then we’ll get the old banger out. I’ll need to take it to the Shell garage, as that’s the nearest. It must only have about a teacupful of petrol in it; it won’t be able to go far on that.’
Ruth flung her arms around Tom’s neck and kissed him. ‘You’re so good to me,’ she said. ‘I do love you.’
‘And I love you,’ said Tom. ‘So come on, let’s get going. It’s going to be a lovely day.’
Chapter 15
At Stibbington Station, Millie Jones fetched her clean tracksuit from her locker. She had intended having a run that evening, but now she lent it to Janet Hastings. Janet was a little smaller than Millie, and the tracksuit rather swamped her, but it was better than nothing and certainly better than her own bloodstained clothes. They were all put in a black plastic bag and sent over to forensics, then once Millie was satisfied that Janet had calmed down, had eaten something and drunk a little tea, she rang through to Maguire.
‘We’re ready for the interview room, sir,’ she said.
*
Maguire and Steve, now replenished with eggs, bacon, fried bread and coffee, sat on one side of the interview room table, and Millie and Janet Hastings sat on the other.
‘Do I need a lawyer?’ asked Janet nervously.
‘I don’t think you need one at this stage,’ said Maguire. He didn’t want to hang around waiting for a solicitor to arrive, but he was a fair man and told Janet her rights. ‘However, if you want one you can demand it and we’ll have to wait until your chosen one arrives, or failing that the duty solicitor.’
‘I want to get this over and done with. I don’t think I need a solicitor, it won’t change what I’ve got to say,’ said Janet, and sank back down into her chair. The tracksuit makes her look very small, thought Maguire, feeling sorry for her.
Steve Grayson drew a pad of notepaper nearer and picked up a pen, and Maguire turned on the recording machine. ‘Interview commencing at 10.30am,’ he said, leaning forward as he spoke. This caused Janet Hastings to shrink back even further into her chair. Damn! thought Maguire. I didn’t mean to frighten her, I was only getting myself comfortable! To play for time he took a couple of pens from his top pocket, and the small notepad he always carried there and laid them out tidily in front of him on the table. Then he leaned back. ‘I know I’m a fusspot,’ he said, with a smile. ‘But I always like to have my pens and pencils in place before I start. Silly little habit, isn’t it?’ He leaned further back in his chair, trying to put a bit of a distance between himself and the frightened woman before him, and folded his arms. ‘Right, now we can start,’ he said gently.
‘I don’t know where to start.’ Janet’s voice quavered.
‘At the beginning,’ said Maguire. ‘From the moment you got out of bed.’
‘Well,’ Janet drew a deep breath. ‘I woke up in the night. I don’t know what time it was because I didn’t look. It was dark and everything was quiet. I decided to go and look in on Harold. I wanted to make sure he was all right, but when I got to his bedroom, his bed was empty. He wasn’t in the bathroom either, so I thought he must be in the house somewhere.’
‘What about the two medics?’ asked Steve. ‘What were they doing?’
‘They were both asleep. One beside the empty bed, the man, and the other, the nurse, was asleep in the side room outside the bedroom.’
‘Why didn’t you wake them?’ asked Adam.
Janet shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. All I could think of was that I must find Harold. That he was ill. That I must find him.’
‘You weren’t angry with him? You didn’t want to kill him?’
Janet turned towards Steve angrily. ‘Of course not. I never wanted to kill him. Never, never.’
‘So tell us what you did next.’ Maguire shot Steve a warning glance. He didn’t want Janet upset. He wanted her to be able to keep a clear head. ‘How did you find him? How did you know where to look?’
Janet hung her head. ‘I was pretty sure that he would go back down to the eel trap lodge. It’s where he always goes when he’s suffering from depression, and it’s our secret place to meet. Besides, that’s where he’s been hiding since Jemima’s murder. He didn’t go to London, China or to France as everyone thought, and like he told you. He was there all the time and I’ve been taking food and drink down to him.’
Maguire made a note. That explained Harold’s disappearance from the radar screen. No tickets needed for the lodge by the river, and easy for Janet to slip down there with food and drink; yes, it explained the how, but not t
he reason why. If anything, it added to the mystery. ‘Do you know why he went into hiding after Jemima’s murder?’
Janet shook her head slowly. ‘No. I don’t know. Not for sure. He wouldn’t tell me. He was terribly depressed again, and I’m positive it was something to do with the quarrel he had with Jemima the night of that perfume launch.’
Maguire remembered Lizzie’s evidence for the end of that evening. She’d said that she’d overhead voices in the car park, and thought it was a quarrel. A man’s voice, and a girl’s voice, maybe Jemima she said, but she couldn’t be certain.
‘Did he quarrel with Jemima in the car park that night?’
Janet nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Do you think he killed Jemima?’
‘No, no,’ the answer came swiftly. ‘I know, I just know he didn’t. Harold couldn’t kill anyone. He’s not that kind of man.’ She burst into tears. ‘And now I’ve killed him. Oh,’ she groaned, tears flooding again. ‘But I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.’
Maguire waited a moment, passed her some paper tissues and then said very quietly, ‘Tell me exactly what happened in the eel lodge when the gun went off. Who had the gun, why, and how it came to be fired.’
‘When I arrived at the eel lodge,’ said Janet between hiccups, ‘Harold was there. He was still wearing his pyjamas, and he looked ghastly, his face was a sort of grey, and his lips were a blue colour. I thought that he might die any moment. He had the gun in his hand. He’d always kept the gun there in the lodge, I don’t know why. I suppose it should have been locked away, but it was an old one from the war. It had belonged to his father; he’d kept it as a souvenir, because he’d taken it from a German officer in the Italian campaign. It was an Astra 900. I remember the name,’ she added, ‘because years ago I used Astra cream for my face.’
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