Murder in Langley Woods

by Betty Rowlands

  On leaving Tanners Cottage, Melissa crossed the road and made for Ash Close, a development of four houses built a few years previously on a piece of land that was once part of the garden of a neighbouring property. The application for planning consent had met with considerable opposition from certain local residents, notably the Fords, who claimed that the value of their genuine Queen Anne property would be adversely affected by the proximity of such modern monstrosities. Once the houses were a fait accompli, however, they had not – as might have been expected – treated the incomers with hostility. On the contrary, they had been most hospitable and welcoming, inviting them to drinks parties and showing as much interest in their private affairs as they did in those of everyone else in the village. Indeed, the consensus among the other inhabitants of Upper Benbury was that they were not altogether displeased at the opportunity to observe the comings and goings of four additional families.

  The new houses were built in a semicircle round a green and the one occupied by Harriet Yorke and her husband Ted, a director of a manufacturing company in Gloucester, faced directly towards Tanners Cottage. Although she did not glance back after saying goodbye to the Fords, Melissa had no doubt that they had her under observation as she walked up to the Yorkes’ front door and rang the bell. There was no reply, but as she was about to give up and head for home, a red Fiat turned out of the lane and pulled up on the drive beside her.

  ‘Oh Melissa!’ Harriet exclaimed as she got out of the car. ‘I’m so glad to see you. Something rather upsetting has happened and I’d be grateful for someone to talk to about it. Do come in.’ Normally confident and self-possessed, she appeared anxious, almost agitated. As soon as they were inside the house she turned to Melissa and asked, ‘Have you seen the picture in the Gazette? The one of Hannah Rose – the girl who was murdered?’

  ‘The Fords drew my attention to it. They confirm it’s the girl who came to their door selling lace … or “peddling some rubbish or other”, as Madeleine so charmingly put it. That’s why I came over to have a word with you … I remembered your mentioning you’d bought something from a gipsy who called at your house. Was it Hannah?’

  ‘Yes, it was. She came to me first … at least, before she went to the Fords. I don’t know how many houses she’d already been to. Melissa, it was such a shock to see that picture. I feel awful … just think, I may have been one of the last people to see her alive.’

  ‘That’s enough to shake anyone … anyone with normal feelings, that is,’ agreed Melissa.

  While she was speaking, Harriet was hurriedly shedding her outdoor things and almost throwing them into a cupboard in the hall. Her smooth forehead was creased in a frown; she peered into a mirror on the inside of the door and combed back her mane of reddish-gold hair with hands that moved jerkily, as if they were only just under control. Making an obvious effort to pull herself together she said, ‘Do forgive me, Melissa … shall I take your jacket? Would you like some coffee, or are you in a dash to get home?’

  ‘I’m not in any particular dash, but I’ve just had coffee with Madeleine and Dudley, thanks.’

  ‘A sherry, then?’

  ‘That would be lovely … it would help to take away the taste of the Fords.’ Melissa pulled a face. ‘I called round to pick Madeleine’s brains about her years as an army nurse, but immediately the subject of the murder came up and I had to listen to her whingeing about how unpleasant it was for them to be involved in such a distasteful affair. She doesn’t see the point of Dudley telling the police he saw the girl when they had no idea where the creature, as she called her, went next. Talk about passing by on the other side—’

  ‘That’s Madeleine all over,’ said Harriet scornfully. ‘She’ll happily poke and pry into everyone else’s business so long as she doesn’t get her own hands mucky. Dudley’s just as bad.’

  ‘You’re right. He had the cheek to ask me not to mention it to anyone in case the “old gossips” in the village spread it around and their name gets into the papers.’

  ‘Old gossips? He’s a fine one to talk! Now, let’s have this drink.’ Harriet led Melissa into the sitting-room, which – in striking contrast to the Fords’ – was prettily furnished in a bright, modern style with simple but skilfully crafted furniture, a few original modern paintings on the walls and flowering plants in hand-thrown pottery containers on the window-sill. She opened a corner cupboard and took out two sherry glasses. ‘Sweet or dry?’

  ‘Dry, please.’

  As the two settled in armchairs with generous measures of Tio Pepe, Melissa asked, ‘How did you get on at the dentist’s?’

  ‘Oh fine. It was just for a check-up … no problems.’

  ‘Good. So, tell me what happened when Hannah called on you.’

  Harriet fingered the stem of her glass and thought for a moment before replying. ‘She rang the bell one evening at about half-past five,’ she said slowly. ‘I was in the kitchen, starting to prepare the supper. I opened the door and there was this girl toting a hold-all and saying, “Will you buy some lace from a Romany gipsy, kind lady?” I was on the point of sending her away; I don’t normally buy things at the door, but she was only a little thing, thin and rather tired-looking, and her hold-all seemed too heavy for her.’ Harriet’s eyes filmed over at the memory and she brushed them with the back of her hand. ‘So I took pity on her and let her show me her stuff.’

  ‘I believe you bought something?’

  ‘Yes, some little mats. She said she’d made them herself, but whether that was true or not I’ve no idea. I thought they’d come in for a Christmas present.’

  ‘Could I see them?’

  ‘Of course.’ Harriet left the room and returned a minute or two later with a plastic bag containing half a dozen circles of lace a few inches across.

  Melissa examined them for a moment and then said, ‘She almost certainly did make them herself – the police found lace-making equipment in her room at the hotel. I recognise the pattern, too … there’s a picture of a mat like these in the Gazette.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed it while I was reading the paper in the dentist’s waiting-room. I didn’t realise the pattern was the same … as a matter of fact, I went upstairs and put them away as soon as the girl left and then went back to my cooking. This is the first time I’ve looked at them since that afternoon.’

  ‘Which afternoon was this, by the way?’

  Harriet looked troubled. ‘I’ve been trying to work it out … it was either Monday or Tuesday last week, but I can’t remember which. I’d forgotten all about it until I read about the murder, and even then it didn’t occur to me that there was any connection.’

  ‘You mentioned that Hannah went to the Fords’ after she came to you. Did you see where she went after that?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘So what exactly did you see?’

  ‘I saw the girl cross the road and go up to the Fords’ front gate just as Dudley was driving out. I saw him wind down the window to speak to her … I couldn’t hear what he said, of course … and then he drove away. She stood and stared after the car for a moment and I got the impression that he hadn’t been exactly polite to her.’

  ‘That figures!’ said Melissa with a grimace.

  ‘After that, I drew the curtains and came back downstairs.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea which way she went after leaving the Fords’ house?’

  Harriet shook her head. ‘None at all, I’m afraid. On the face of it, I’m not going to be able to give the police much help, am I?’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ Melissa assured her. ‘Every tiny scrap of evidence is important. Miss Brightwell said she called on her, but I don’t know what time, or what other houses she went to. That’s something for the police to check. I take it you haven’t been in touch with them yet?’

  ‘Not yet. I did think about going straight to the station after leaving the dentist, but seeing that picture gave me such a shock, I decided to come home and give myself a cha
nce to calm down and get things straight in my mind first. I’m so grateful to you for coming in … I feel better already.’

  ‘Good!’ Melissa raised her glass in acknowledgement. ‘It’s just occurred to me,’ she went on. ‘Hannah was living at a hotel near Stow. That’s quite a long way from here – I wonder how she was planning to get back.’

  ‘Isn’t there a bus to Stow from Dartley Pike at a little after six?’

  ‘So there is. She was probably aiming to catch it … unless …’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless there was someone waiting nearby with a car.’ Melissa recounted Gloria’s story of what her Stanley had seen. ‘There’s a strong possibility that when Hannah left her family some months ago she went abroad with a long-distance truck driver. The man she was seen with might have been him.’

  ‘Yes, I caught that on the TV news last night. I wonder if he knows what’s happened to her,’ said Harriet thoughtfully. ‘If he’s away a lot, he might not have seen the papers. What a shock for him when he finds out!’

  ‘That’s a point. So far, the police have no idea who or where he is.’ Melissa put down her glass and stood up. ‘Thank you very much for the drink. If you’re feeling okay now, I ought to get back and do some work.’

  ‘I’m fine now, thanks. As soon as you’ve gone, I’ll call the police and tell them what little I know.’

  On her way home, Melissa found herself thinking about the man in the Golden Bell, the man who had given her a come-hither wink, who had turned lascivious eyes on the barmaid … and who had just returned home after a week’s absence. She recalled how something in the newspaper he was reading appeared to bring about an abrupt change of mood, and how shortly afterwards she had glimpsed him – she was positive now that it was the same man – leaning on a gate and staring moodily at the ground. It set her wondering.

  Thirteen

  It was almost midday by the time Melissa reached home. She found Gloria bustling about the kitchen, giving a final polish to the sink and draining-board before hanging up the teacloth and stowing away her cleaning materials and equipment. As always, after her weekly three-hour stint, the place shone; as always, Melissa was generous in her praise and was rewarded by the pleasure that glowed in the beaming, rosy face. There were times when she found herself wishing that she too could derive so much enjoyment from simple household tasks, instead of having to earn her living as a mystery writer constantly driven to spinning ever more complex plots.

  As she took her money and put on her jacket, Gloria said, ‘I were listening to Cotswold Sound earlier on an’ they said lots of people was calling the police to say they seen that gippo girl. “A number of sightings” they said.’

  ‘I wonder if any of the calls came from round here. It seems she was in the village one day last week.’

  Gloria’s eyes saucered. ‘In Upper Benbury? No kiddin’!’

  ‘She was selling lace, like she was in the pub where your Stanley saw her. She called on several people … Miss Brightwell, Mrs Yorke …’ Melissa was on the point of adding, ‘and Major and Mrs Ford’, but remembered her promise just in time. Not that she had a great deal of sympathy for Madeleine’s purely selfish reasons for wishing to avoid publicity. It would probably get around anyway; since at least one person had seen Hannah go up to their house it was likely that others had done so as well. Keeping a secret in a village was well-nigh impossible. Still, a promise was a promise and to tell Gloria anything was as good as putting it on the Internet, as her next words confirmed.

  ‘Where else did she go?’ Without waiting for a reply, she went on, ‘I’ll ask around among my ladies. Coo, wait till I tells my Stanley he ain’t the only one what’s got something to report!’ Her mobile face clouded as she added, ‘None of them said nothin’ to me, though, so maybe they never saw her after all.’

  She looked so crestfallen that Melissa hastened to console her. ‘They might have done, but thought nothing of it at the time,’ she pointed out. ‘There’s always someone coming round selling something these days … you know, frozen foods, double glazing … if Hannah did call on them they probably said, “Not today, thank you,” and forgot all about her the minute she’d gone. But once they saw last night’s Gazette – and Mrs Yorke said it was on the late TV news as well – you said just now the police have reported several sightings.’

  ‘S’pose so,’ Gloria admitted, without enthusiasm. It was plain that she felt cheated at not having had the chance to speculate with some of her “ladies” on the possible significance of a gipsy girl’s presence in Upper Benbury. ‘Just the same,’ she added with a hint of resentment, ‘someone might have told me—’

  ‘Oh come on,’ Melissa coaxed. ‘Did your Stanley say anything to you about the gipsy girl in the pub at the time it happened?’ Reluctantly, Gloria shook her head. ‘Well, there you are then. It simply didn’t seem important … but I’ll bet plenty of people will remember her now and be talking about it. Oh, by the way, that man your Stanley saw with the girl … the one in the car park … will you ask him if it was a youngish man, say in his mid-thirties, well set up, might have been wearing a leather jacket?’

  ‘You reckon you know who he were?’ Gloria’s expression brightened and her eyes sparkled at the prospect of a titbit that no one else had yet had a chance to nibble.

  ‘It’s only a hunch. I was in a pub yesterday evening and I noticed a man reading the Gazette. He’d been quite cheerful up to then, chatting up the barmaid and so on.’ Melissa decided not to mention the pass he’d made at her.

  ‘And then what?’ Gloria asked eagerly.

  ‘He suddenly got up and left, and I thought he looked put out about something … maybe something he’d seen in the paper.’

  ‘Oooh!’ Gloria clapped a hand to her mouth as her fertile imagination set to work. ‘I’ll bet it were that picture! D’you s’pose he’s the murderer? But I thought someone’d been arrested already … two other gippos, weren’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, but it’s just possible he’s the man she ran away with. If he is, the police would like to talk to him.’ Momentarily, Melissa considered confiding her fears for the man’s safety, but decided against it. Apart from the fact that it would take too long to explain the complexities of the situation, she had already resolved to make some discreet inquiries of her own. The fewer people who knew about her continuing interest in the case, the less chance there was of it reaching the ears of Ken Harris and Matt Waters.

  ‘My, innit exciting!’ Gloria exclaimed, her pique completely forgotten in the light of this new information. ‘My Stanley comes home for his dinner at one o’clock … I’ll ask him then an’ let you know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t make too much of it … it might have been something quite different that upset the man I noticed.’

  ‘You mean, if his team lost or he backed a loser? Nah!’ It was plain from her tone that Gloria was reluctant to consider such mundane possibilities. ‘I reckons it were more than that.’ She appeared to be about to enlarge on this assertion when her eyes fell on Melissa’s kitchen clock. ‘My, look at the time! I must fly, or we won’t get no dinner.’ She grabbed her handbag and made for the door. ‘See you next week!’ And she left the house in a swirl of pungent scent and tossing blonde curls.

  After she had gone, Melissa fetched cheese and salad from the fridge and made herself a sandwich. As she ate, she switched her mind back to the scene in the Golden Bell the previous evening. She had no doubt that something in the evening paper had had an effect on the man she had been covertly observing, but whether it was Hannah’s picture or something totally irrelevant it was impossible to say. The picture was on the centre page – that much she knew for certain – but she had no way of telling which page the man had been looking at when his mood suddenly changed. All she knew was that he had tossed the newspaper on the bar with a perfunctory word of thanks and left with barely a glance at the woman with whom he’d been happily flirting not ten minutes before. The more sh
e thought about it, the more worthwhile it seemed to probe a little deeper.

  She dismissed out of hand the notion of mentioning it to Matt, who would accuse her of letting an over-heated imagination run away with her and as likely as not mention it to Ken, who would then get all officious and tell her to stop meddling in things that didn’t concern her. But Bruce Ingram would undoubtedly be interested … and highly miffed if she were to pursue a new line of enquiry without putting him in the picture. She picked up the phone and called his office number.

  ‘Hi,’ he said when he answered. ‘I was just on my way out. What news?’

  ‘Nothing definite … just a hunch.’ Briefly, she gave him the details. ‘I’m thinking of going back to the Golden Bell to see if anyone there knows this guy and I wondered if you—’

  ‘Sorry,’ he interrupted with evident regret. ‘I’d love to join you, but I’ve got to interview a council official about a suspect planning consent … something about alterations to a listed cowshed.’

  Melissa made no attempt to hide her exasperation. ‘Of course, drop the donkey for a listed cowshed any day … I quite understand.’

  ‘Yeah, well you know how it is,’ said Bruce apologetically. ‘Someone complains because Joe Bloggs has been refused permission to paint his front door a different colour while some wealthy landowner has got away with diverting a footpath. My editor thinks it could be the thin end of the wedge – corruption in the Town Hall and all that. She’s particularly anxious for me to follow it up because I have a reputation for—’

  ‘I know, Bloodhound Bruce, the getter of results!’ Melissa interrupted, impatient at the note of self-satisfaction that was creeping into his voice. ‘Okay, leave it to me.’

  ‘You will let me know if you turn up anything interesting?’

  ‘Of course, if you’re available, but supposing you’re still out discussing cowsheds when I call? I suppose I could leave a message with a colleague,’ she added mischievously, knowing that to let someone else in on what he regarded as ‘his’ story would be the last thing he wanted.