Murder in Langley Woods

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘I’m not overweight,’ said Melissa, feigning indignation.

  ‘Never said you were, but it wouldn’t hurt Ken to lose a bit. Healthy diet and regular yoga’d make a new man of him. You can laugh,’ Iris went on, catching Melissa’s eye. ‘Do you both the world of good. You ask Jack.’

  ‘Maybe I will. Anyway, I’ll see if I can catch Ken at the office and let you know about this evening.’

  ‘Fine.’ After a brief pause, Iris asked, ‘Decided about the cottage yet?’

  It was a question Melissa had been asked repeatedly during recent weeks and one that she was beginning to dread. Ever since Iris and Jack had announced their future plans, the fate of Elder Cottage had been the subject of considerable argument between herself and Ken. He was pressing her to agree that they jointly buy it and convert the two dwellings into one, which they would then share. Still fighting a rearguard action against making a commitment, she had mooted buying it herself and letting it as a holiday retreat. He had countered with a threat to oppose any application for change of use, to outbid her for the purchase and live there himself, saying that if she wouldn’t marry him, or at least live with him, she would have to put up with him as a next-door neighbour who might – and at this point in their discussions she became uncertain whether he was serious or not – be guilty of anti-social behaviour of the type that regularly resulted in ludicrous court cases, such as obstructing the driveway, mowing the lawn at midnight, holding noisy parties or ruining the outlook with unclipped hedges.

  ‘Well, have you?’ Iris demanded, as Melissa remained silent. She wrung out her dish-cloth, dried her hands, hung the tea-towel on a rail and sat down again. Normally undemonstrative, she reached out and touched her friend on the arm.

  Melissa stared down at the thin brown hand with its gleaming solitaire and said, ‘You used to be so cynical about marriage, Iris. What changed your mind?’

  The sharp features softened in a self-conscious smile. ‘Good question. Asked it myself a few times.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There came a moment when I realised Jack wouldn’t wait for ever. Couldn’t bear the idea of life without him … so—’ She broke off and began gently turning the ring with tapering, artist’s fingers. Then she looked Melissa directly in the eyes and said, ‘Ken won’t either, you know.’

  ‘Won’t what?’ said Melissa, although she knew perfectly well what the answer would be.

  ‘Wait for ever.’ Iris gave her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze before drawing her hand away. ‘Neither will I,’ she added. ‘So get on and think about it.’

  ‘I don’t seem to be able to think about anything else. It’s interfering with my work … I haven’t written a line worth reading for days.’ Melissa got up and began prowling restlessly round Iris’s small but beautifully appointed kitchen. ‘I’ve got this strange notion that I’m waiting for some sort of signal … something to help me decide what to do—’

  ‘What, like reading your horoscope?’ Iris jeered. She picked up the copy of the Gazette that still lay, temporarily forgotten, on the table. ‘See what it says for today, if you’re too feeble to make up your own mind.’

  ‘Don’t be so sarky.’ Melissa stood up and headed for the door. ‘Thanks for the tea. I’ll give you an answer within a week, that’s a promise.’

  Back indoors, she called Harris Investigations and told Ken about Iris’s invitation. His lack of enthusiasm came as no surprise.

  ‘Do we have to?’ he grumbled. ‘I thought we’d go to the Manoir this evening – we haven’t been for ages, and you know how I feel about rabbit food anyway.’ So far, he had managed to avoid eating anything but the odd snack from Iris’s culinary repertoire and – while admitting that she baked excellent bread and made a tasty mushroom pâté – he clung obstinately to the belief that there was no substitute for a hefty steak or a succulent roast to satisfy the appetite of a red-blooded man.

  ‘Oh Ken, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. You should give Iris’s cooking a try – it really is delicious. Jack loves it.’

  ‘That’s because he’s so besotted with her that he’d eat his hat to please her.’

  ‘Which proves that his devotion to his beloved is superior to yours.’

  ‘Not true. It’s probably just a ploy to get her to agree to marry him.’

  ‘I notice you haven’t tried any comparable ploy on me.’

  ‘Certainly not, I prefer the direct approach.’ A gravelly chuckle rumbled along the wire as he went on, ‘Wait till those two have been married and living in France for six months … he’ll be sneaking off to the local auberge for a coq au vin or a boeuf bourguignon whenever her back’s turned.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. She maintains he’s a lot healthier … and slimmer,’ Melissa added, aiming a sly barb at her lover’s tendency to overweight. ‘Please say yes, Ken,’ she coaxed. ‘It’s only another couple of months before she leaves … we can go to the Manoir any time. If you’re still hungry when we get home, I’ll cook you some bacon and eggs.’

  ‘I might require a greater inducement than that,’ he said, lowering his voice to an erotic whisper that kindled within her a spontaneous, glowing surge of desire. Iris’s words flashed into her mind. He won’t wait for ever, she had warned, and the recollection was swiftly followed by the stark question, Can I bear the thought of losing him?

  It was an effort to keep her own voice normal as she responded, ‘Do I take it that means yes?’

  ‘All right,’ he conceded with a sigh. ‘See you about six, then.’

  She was on the point of hanging up when she thought of something else. ‘By the way, have you seen the front-page report in today’s Gazette?’

  ‘About the body in the freezer? Yes – why?’

  ‘See if you can get any more details out of one of your ex-chums at the nick, will you?’

  ‘What’s your interest?’

  ‘Tell you this evening. Bye.’

  She had barely put the phone down when it rang. Madeleine Ford was on the line.

  ‘Have you seen the local paper, Melissa?’ Her voice, normally strong and autocratic, was a petulant squeak. ‘That freezer … the one with the body in it … the police think it may be the one Dudley reported stolen. He’s gone with them to see if he can identify it. Isn’t it terrible? What can it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know … perhaps someone happened to have a body to dispose of and your freezer was just what they were looking for.’

  ‘Melissa, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound flippant. Of course it’s serious when someone’s been murdered, but I don’t see why you should be so worried.’

  ‘But don’t you see, if that freezer is the one that was taken from outside our house, the papers will get hold of it … and there’ll be reporters on the doorstep … and gossip … it isn’t very nice to be connected with …’ In her agitation, Madeleine’s voice hit an even higher frequency before tailing off altogether.

  How typical, thought Melissa, that she should consider the effect of the tragedy on her own social standing before the comparatively minor problem of tracking down a killer. She tried to think of something anodyne to say that would not reveal her contempt for such a selfish attitude, but failed. Meanwhile, Madeleine recovered her voice.

  ‘I told Dudley it was pointless dragging the police into it, but he wouldn’t listen,’ she complained. ‘You know what he’s like about crime.’

  Don’t I just, thought Melissa, recalling countless tirades on the subject. Aloud, she said ‘There must be more than one clapped-out freezer kicking around on rubbish tips. Maybe it isn’t yours at all.’

  ‘But supposing it is, what should we do?’

  ‘Just say you know nothing if the reporters bother you, but I doubt if they’ll be particularly interested in where the thing came from. They’re more likely to concentrate on the victim.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so.’ Melissa was uncertain whether
the change in tone indicated relief or disappointment.

  ‘And possible suspects … they’ll be looking for witnesses who saw the thing being taken. Dudley said it happened when you were out, so they can’t expect you to be able to tell them anything more than he has done already.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ There was a pause before Madeleine said, in something like her normal voice, ‘Well, thank you for putting my mind at rest, Melissa,’ and rang off.

  ‘I can’t tell you much about the victim,’ said Ken Harris, ‘except that it was a young woman – about eighteen or twenty according to the doctor who certified her dead. She was naked, there was no sign of her clothing and she hasn’t yet been identified. They’re waiting for the result of the post-mortem to establish the cause of death.’

  ‘What about the freezer?’ Iris wanted to know. ‘Is it the one Dudley Ford was having apoplexy about?’

  ‘There’s some doubt about that.’ Ken took a deep draught of Iris’s elderflower cordial and gave a nod of approval. ‘That’s pretty good,’ he remarked. ‘So are these,’ he added, helping himself to a handful of home-made cheese balls and popping one into his mouth with evident relish. Melissa shot him a What did I tell you? smirk which he studiously ignored.

  The four friends were enjoying their apéritifs on the small, secluded patio of Elder Cottage, surrounded by beds of old-fashioned roses, phlox and night-scented stock whose perfume sweetened the cool evening air. Birds twittered in the hedgerows or hopped around in the undergrowth. From somewhere on the other side of the valley, washed golden by the setting sun, came the regular throb of a combine harvester, beating out the message that summer was nearly over. Melissa found herself thinking wistfully that with Iris and Jack gone, such pleasant gatherings would soon be a thing of the past.

  Her thoughts were switched back to the present by Jack, who asked, ‘What sort of doubt?’ as he reached for the bottle to top up their glasses.

  ‘The old boy – Major Ford – said he couldn’t be sure if it was the one he’d reported stolen or not,’ Ken explained. ‘It was the same make and model, but there was damage on it that he didn’t recognise. That could have been caused by the thieves stripping out the electrics – I don’t know any more details.’

  ‘If it is the same one, Dudley’s prints will be on it,’ Melissa pointed out. ‘I presume he’s had them taken for comparison?’

  ‘Naturally. I gather he was a bit put out by that at first. Seemed to think he was being treated as a suspect.’ There were chuckles all round at the picture of affronted innocence that the ex-policeman’s words conjured up. ‘Still, if it does turn out to be the one he reported missing it’ll be a very useful lead.’ For a few seconds he appeared lost in thought; then he picked up his glass, drained it and said, almost regretfully, ‘Not my problem, of course.’

  Three

  On Saturday, twenty-four hours after the story first appeared in the Gazette, a further report – claiming to be exclusive – speculated that the body in the freezer might be that of a young woman who had been working since early June as a chambermaid in a hotel near Stow-on-the-Wold. When she failed to report for duty on Wednesday morning one of her colleagues, thinking she must have overslept, knocked on her bedroom door. Receiving no reply, she went in and found the room empty and the bed apparently not slept in. Tuesday had been her day off and at first it was assumed that she had spent it with friends and stayed with them overnight, but when by the evening she had still not reappeared, a search of the hotel and its grounds was carried out. No trace of the girl was found and eventually the police were notified that she was missing. The reporter had evidently put two and two together and made five.

  Melissa Craig was still reading the report when the telephone rang. ‘Bruce Ingram here,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Well, what a coincidence,’ she responded drily. ‘I was just reading your latest scoop.’

  ‘You mean about the body in the freezer?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘How did you know I’d written it – there’s no by-line. Of course,’ he added, without giving her time to reply, ‘you obviously recognised my crisp, punchy style.’

  ‘I recognised your gift for jumping to conclusions – and your uncanny nose for tracking down a story,’ Melissa retorted. ‘What’s your secret – a girlfriend in every village in the county, keeping you supplied with tip-offs?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Anyway, the Bill haven’t released many details so it’s obvious the freezer victim hasn’t been formally identified yet. I’ll bet you ten to one it was that girl, though. The interesting thing is, no one at the hotel seems to know who she really was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She called herself Hilda Rice, but my informant doesn’t think that was her real name.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Seems she was very cagey about herself and her past. Never mixed with the others off duty, never spoke about her family or where she came from. The consensus was that she had something to hide.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Melissa, ‘but why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘Because I thought you might be able to give me a bit of help in writing the next bit of the saga.’

  ‘And there was I, thinking that out of the goodness of your heart you were offering a struggling crime writer an idea for a good meaty plot,’ said Melissa drily. ‘All right, Mister Ace Reporter, how can I help you?’

  ‘There’s an old war-horse in your village, ex-army, white hair and moustache, face like a squashed beetroot, right?’

  ‘You mean, Major …’ Just in time, Melissa remembered Madeleine Ford’s horror of publicity. ‘Yes, I know who you mean. What about him?’

  ‘What did you say his name was?’

  ‘I didn’t. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I was down at the nick yesterday afternoon, trying to winkle some more info from the desk sergeant. He claimed he didn’t know any more than what was in the press release, but I’ve heard that one before. Anyway, I happened to glance out of the window and I saw this old gaffer walking across the yard, accompanied by a detective. I knew I’d seen him before but I couldn’t place him at first and I didn’t pay much attention. Now I’ve remembered – I saw him once in Upper Benbury. You whispered in my ear that he was an old busybody.’

  ‘So he is, but why the interest?’

  ‘It didn’t occur to me at the time that his being there had anything to do with the murder, but it so happens that the DS with him was the same one I saw this morning talking to the proprietor of the Crossed Keys.’

  ‘The hotel where the murdered girl used to work?’

  ‘Right. I reckon that was more than a coincidence, don’t you? Come on, Mel,’ he coaxed, as she made no reply. ‘You do know something, don’t you?’

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘You didn’t sound a bit surprised when I told you where I’d seen your neighbour. That suggests you already have a shrewd idea.’

  ‘Quite the little mind-reader, aren’t we?’ During the conversation, Melissa had been doing some rapid thinking. ‘Look Bruce, I know the Major has some information which might – only might – be relevant to the case, because he told me before either of us knew about the murder. If I tell you, will you promise not to go after him … or print anything that might identify the village? The last thing we want is a crowd of reporters swarming all over the place.’

  ‘Okay, it’s a deal.’

  Briefly, Melissa told him about the broken-down freezer that had been spirited away, presumably by people described by the police as ‘cherry pickers’.

  ‘As far as I know, it hasn’t been established yet whether it’s the one the body was found in or not,’ she finished.

  ‘Find out for me, there’s a love.’

  ‘And then what? There’s no point in your tracking the Major down and pestering him or his wife for information. They’ve no time for the press.’

>   ‘I’m not interested in them, but I think I know who their “cherry pickers” might be. Now, if the freezer that was pinched from outside his house and the one the girl was found in are one and the same, I’ll have a good idea who the police will be questioning next. And once again, Bloodhound Bruce will be ahead of the pack.’

  ‘I can almost see your nose to the ground and your tail wagging,’ Melissa told him. ‘And it’s an unedifying spectacle,’ she added as he gave an appreciative chuckle.

  ‘At the moment I’m sitting up and begging. You will help me, won’t you?’ This was Bruce at his most persuasive. ‘Please,’ he wheedled.

  ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do,’ she said after a moment’s further hesitation. ‘I’ll let you know what I find out – if anything.’ She hung up, cutting short his thanks and asking herself for the umpteenth time why she allowed herself to become involved in his periodic bouts of sleuthing.

  At six o’clock Ken Harris appeared bearing a box of her favourite chocolates and two tickets for a concert in Cheltenham Town Hall.

  ‘Present from a client,’ he explained.

  ‘The chocolates?’

  ‘No, the tickets. The lady bought them several weeks ago as a surprise treat for hubby. That was before she began suspecting him of being up to no good with his secretary and engaged me to keep tabs on him. I got the evidence and she gave me the tickets along with my fee.’ He had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie while he was speaking, his demeanour that of a man completely at ease in his surroundings. ‘Any chance of a beer, love?’

  ‘Of course – you know where it’s kept. Help yourself.’

  He took a can from the fridge and a glass from a cupboard and sat down with them at the kitchen table. ‘I imagine my client had planned a different sort of surprise for hubby,’ he went on with a hoarse chuckle, ‘and she won’t have waited for his birthday, either.’ He glanced at Melissa as he spoke, but received no answering smile. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Not exactly, but … I don’t see anything to laugh at in a broken marriage.’