To her relief, Ken glanced at the clock, stood up and reached for his jacket, saying, ‘You must be tired, Mel. I’ll go home now, but I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’ At the door, he took her face between his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth. He drew a quick breath as if about to say more, but changed his mind and got into his car, which he had already turned and left pointing towards the road. She waited while he started the engine, slid quietly into gear and drove away before closing and bolting the door and returning to the kitchen. She put their tea mugs into the dish-washer, rinsed out the teapot and put it away before going upstairs to bed. Her brain was seething; she lay awake for a long time, reconstructing every detail of the night’s events, trying to recall the faces of the four men entering the pub as she and Bruce were leaving, thinking over Rachel’s warning and her own confident reassurances … and asking herself whether she had made a dreadful mistake. An altogether new scenario was forming in her mind; if it was anywhere near the truth, then Dudley Ford’s claim that he had no idea of his attackers’ identity was suspect. Moreover, it would mean he was still in serious danger. She fell asleep trying to figure out a way of warning him without betraying him to his wife.
In the event, the problem was solved for her. She awoke early after a restless night and took a shower to clear her head before going to her study to work on the script of Drop Dead! At half-past seven the phone rang. The caller was Dudley Ford; he spoke hurriedly and his voice was low and slightly muffled, as if he had a hand cupped over the mouthpiece.
‘Melissa? I apologise for ringing at this hour … I know you’re an early riser and I thought—’
Sensing that he was anxious to say what he had to say as quickly as possible and without Madeleine’s knowledge, she skipped the preliminaries and said, ‘What is it, Dudley?’
‘I wonder, could I call in for a word this morning? There’s something I want to …’
‘Is it about last night?’ she enquired as he seemed uncertain how to finish.
Either he did not hear, or he deliberately avoided the question. ‘If I were to pop round in an hour or so, when I come to the shop to collect the papers—’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thank you … I won’t stay long … thank you very much.’
After he had hung up, Melissa tried to return to her task, but concentration was impossible. The book was almost ready for submission to the publisher; as with all her novels, she had meticulously edited it chapter by chapter and the final run-through was little more than a safety precaution. Normally, her mind would already be clearly focused on a new plot; instead, for the past few weeks, she had found herself with half a dozen random ideas churning around in her head, each with as much direction and purpose as driftwood tossed around by rushing water. It was an uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling that had been insidiously creeping up on her over recent months. She had been trying to reassure herself that once the current book was finished, the problem would be resolved and all would become clear, but it simply hadn’t happened. This must be the dreaded phenomenon known as writer’s block, something she had never experienced since writing her first book. She forgot all about Dudley Ford and sat staring in front of her with a sense of rising panic. Then her eye fell on the calendar, on which her trip to London the following Tuesday was noted in red, and she felt comforted. Joe would help her to get back on track. He was such a rock, full of common sense and quiet wisdom.
She was startled out of her reverie by a ring at the doorbell. She glanced at the clock on her desk; almost an hour had slipped past since Dudley’s phone call. With an effort, she switched her mind back to the present and went downstairs to find him standing on the doorstep with Sinbad panting beside him. In contrast to his normally brisk, self-confident manner, he was wearing a hangdog expression that gave him an uncanny resemblance to his pet. In different circumstances, Melissa would have found it difficult not to laugh at the notion, but as it was, it merely increased her concern for him. His cheeks sagged and his skin had an unhealthy pallor; he seemed to have aged several years overnight.
‘Come in, Dudley,’ she said, trying not to show her anxiety over his appearance. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Thank you.’ He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table while Sinbad waddled over to inspect the blanket beside the Aga where Binkie often slept when Iris was away. He sniffed around eagerly for a few seconds, growling softly as if challenging the invisible cat to emerge from its folds before retreating in evident disappointment and flopping on to the floor at his master’s feet. ‘Good boy, stay!’ the Major commanded unnecessarily. He murmured a further polite ‘Thank you’ as Melissa handed him a mug of coffee and sat for several seconds without speaking while vigorously stirring it despite having declined both milk and sugar.
Melissa broke the silence by asking, ‘Was Madeleine very upset about the damage to the car?’
He shook his head. ‘Haven’t told her,’ he said. ‘She was having a bath when I got home. She’ll have to know sooner or later, of course.’ He fiddled with the handle of his coffee-mug and nervously chewed the ends of his bristly white moustache before adding, ‘There’s no need for her to know anything else. No need at all. You do understand that, don’t you, Melissa?’
‘You made it very clear last night that you wanted the whole thing hushed up,’ she replied. ‘Is that why you’re here – to make sure I don’t say anything that might rouse Madeleine’s suspicions?’ She paused for a moment to give him a chance to respond, but he only looked at her with growing unease. Thinking to give him a lead-in to what she was certain was on his mind, she said, ‘Those men who attacked you last night … they looked like gipsies.’ Still he remained silent. She drew a deep breath and took the bull by the horns. ‘Were they relations of Hannah Rose? You did know her, didn’t you?’
The last vestige of colour drained from Dudley Ford’s haggard cheeks and he bowed his head. ‘Yes, I knew her,’ he admitted. Almost unconsciously, she felt, he had emphasised the word ‘knew’ as if admitting that he was using it in its old-fashioned sense of carnal knowledge. ‘Those men,’ he went on, ‘I’d seen them before … at least, I saw two of them only yesterday morning. I happened to be at the front gate putting the dustbin out when they drove past very slowly as if they were looking for something. When they saw me, they turned their faces away and drove off. It struck me as suspicious and I took the number of their car and circulated it to the Neighbourhood Watch Committee, just as a precaution.’
‘You’re absolutely sure they were among the gang who attacked you?’
‘Oh yes, and you’re quite right, they are members of Hannah’s family. They must have been watching me … following me. They think I killed her and I suspect they were going to kill me in revenge. But how do you know all this?’
‘Some weeks ago Hannah was seen getting into a car of the same make as yours outside the Lamb and Shearling. There was a man with her, described as elderly. Was that you?’
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘And I saw four men who looked like gipsies entering the pub shortly after you arrived. I couldn’t be sure they were the ones who attacked you – not sure enough to pick them out in an identity parade, that is – but there doesn’t seem much doubt.’
‘I suppose they waited for me to leave and then followed me. If only I’d spotted them in time, maybe none of this would have happened.’
‘They’d have waited for a chance to try again. Dudley, why in the world didn’t you tell the police that you recognised them?’ Even as she asked the question, Melissa guessed what the answer would be.
‘Don’t you see … it would all have to come out … Madeleine would know about it … my relationship with Hannah … everything!’ He shut his eyes and hid his head in his hands, no longer the swaggering, arrogant retired army officer, but a foolish old man caught in a trap as old as time.
‘Then why are you telling me?’ Melissa persisted.
He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I need your advice … don’t you see, these people know where I live and of course you’re right, they’ll try again. I need protection … you have friends in the police and you know how they handle these things. Is there any way I can ask for their help without all this getting back to Madeleine?’
‘To be absolutely frank, Dudley, I don’t think there is. Once you tell them what you’ve just told me—’
‘I know, I know!’ he groaned. ‘I had a very strong motive and the poor girl’s body was found in my old freezer, but I didn’t kill her and they can’t possibly prove that I did.’
‘Just the same, you’re bound to be a prime suspect, unless in the meantime they can find enough evidence to charge someone else. And even then, there’s no guarantee that Madeleine wouldn’t find out one way or another. If you really want my advice, Dudley, it’s a risk you have to take, otherwise you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.’
‘I know,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve been an utter fool. It all happened so … naturally. She was outside the pub one night after one of our meetings. I left a bit later than the others … I had some business to attend to … and there she was, crying her eyes out, saying someone had stolen her purse and she had no money to get home.’
‘“Home” being the Crossed Keys near Stow, I suppose?’
‘That’s right. She was working there as a chambermaid and selling lace to make a little extra. I don’t know what came over me … I could have given her money, but instead I found myself offering her a lift. She was so young and pretty and vulnerable … I couldn’t just leave her there on her own at that time of night, with possibly undesirable characters hanging around.’
‘That was nice of you,’ Melissa said gently. The man might have acted like a gullible fool, but she could only admire him for his old-fashioned chivalry.
‘I was never one to leave a defenceless woman unprotected,’ he said with a flash of his familiar, exaggerated gallantry. ‘On the way she told me how she’d run away from her family with a truck driver who’d promised to take her to Hungary, where her people originally came from.’
‘Rocky Wilkins,’ Melissa interposed.
He looked at her in surprise. ‘You know about that?’
‘Yes, and so do the police. He was picked up yesterday. I understand he’ll be facing a number of charges.’
‘Do they think he killed Hannah?’
‘He’s certainly a suspect, but it’s early days yet. Look, I’m sorry I interrupted. Please go on.’
‘Yes, well, this fellow – Wilkins, you say his name is? – was supposed to bring her back, but she said he abandoned her there and it took her weeks to find someone else to give her a lift back to England, by which time her family had moved on. She found this job in Stow and was waiting for them to show up for the horse fair so that she could rejoin them. When we got near the hotel, she asked me to pull off the road a short distance away … she said she didn’t want anyone to see her arrive in a car and start asking questions. She offered me some of her lace by way of thanks, but I wouldn’t take it because of Madeleine … she’d have wanted to know where it came from. Then Hannah said it was against Romany custom to accept a favour from – some word she used that I took to mean a non-Romany – without giving something in return.’
‘Gadgy?’
‘That’s right. You know about their customs?’
‘A little. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that one,’ said Melissa drily. ‘So she offered to repay you in kind, I suppose?’
He nodded. His ashen cheeks turned a dull red and he began fiddling with Sinbad’s lead, which was lying across his lap. Evidently taking this as a sign that it was time to be moving on, the dog stirred, whined and began hoisting itself to its feet, but flopped back on to its belly on receiving the muttered command, ‘Sit!’
There was a long silence. Melissa offered more coffee, which Dudley refused with a shake of the head. Eventually, she said, ‘I get the picture … there’s no need to say any more. Just one question: exactly what happened on the evening Hannah called at your cottage selling lace?’
‘I was furious with her … I thought for a minute she’d come on purpose to make trouble, but she denied it, said it was pure chance … she had no idea where I lived. Then she said something like, “But you wouldn’t like your wife to know about us, would you?” and she had a sly look that told me straight away that she was after more money to keep her mouth shut.’
‘You’d paid her before, I take it?’
‘Oh yes … I gave her something every time we …’ Once again, he flushed scarlet and hung his head.
‘Did you give her money this time … when she called at your house?’
‘No. I was too angry … I told her to clear off and I’d see her later. I assumed she’d be catching the six o’clock bus back to Stow and I told her I’d wait for her in a lay-by near the bus stop.’
‘Ah, so it was your car that was there,’ said Melissa half to herself, wondering whether this new piece of the jigsaw would put Rocky in the clear as far as the murder was concerned.
Dudley looked at her in horror. ‘I was seen?’ he faltered. ‘By someone in the village?’
‘Not as far as I know. It was mentioned on the radio that Rocky drove off in a BMW and I heard that several people have reported seeing one parked on the Stow road that evening.’
‘Oh, dear God, what have I got myself into? If it’s all going to come out anyway, perhaps I should tell Madeleine after all … make a clean breast of the whole thing.’
‘It doesn’t look as if there’s much chance of keeping it from her, does it?’ Dudley shook his head in evident despair. Melissa waited a moment, then said, ‘I take it Hannah never showed up?’
‘No. I was there well before the bus came, but there was no sign of her. I supposed she’d gone on to more houses, trying to sell her damned lace, and was planning to catch a later one. I couldn’t sit there indefinitely and I assumed I’d see her as usual after our next club meeting.’
‘So Monday afternoon was the last time you saw her?’
‘Yes.’ He raised his head and looked her directly in the eye. ‘I swear before God that I didn’t kill her. You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Dudley, I believe you.’
With the air of a man who has come to a decision, the Major got to his feet and straightened his bowed shoulders. ‘Melissa,’ he said and this time his voice was firm and strong. ‘I apologise for burdening you with my troubles. It’s been a great help talking to you.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘And you do understand, all this is in the strictest confidence?’
‘Of course.’
At the door, he held out his hand. ‘Thank you for giving up your time to listen to me.’ For the first time in their acquaintance, he spoke with a quiet dignity that was entirely without affectation. ‘I see now what I have to do,’ he went on. ‘I’ve got myself into this pickle and I must take the consequences like a man.’
He set off along the track, walking slowly but with a firm tread and an upright bearing, the dog trailing at his heels. Melissa watched until they were out of sight before she went inside and closed the door.
Twenty-Two
After Dudley Ford’s departure, Melissa went back to her study and tried to resume work on the draft of Drop Dead!, but in a very short time her attention began wandering. She found herself trying to foresee the probable course of events that would flow from the confession Dudley intended to make to his wife, and to imagine how the proud, conventional Madeleine would receive it. Ever ready to disparage someone who fell short of her own loudly-expressed standards of probity and morality, what would be her reaction to the knowledge of how far below those standards her own husband had fallen? Would it come as a devastating shock … or was it possible that she had already detected something in his recent behaviour that had aroused her suspicions? She was a shrewd,
intelligent woman and she had been married to Dudley for many years. Did the beautifully made-up, carefully controlled features conceal a knowledge that she would have died rather than reveal to the world? One could never be certain what lay below the surface of an apparently rock-solid relationship. Accepting the futility of further speculation, Melissa forced her mind back to the task in hand.
It was not long, however, before her concentration was broken by another, more disquieting thought. By jumping to the conclusion that Rocky Wilkins was the man on whom the Romanys were seeking revenge, she had not only put the unfortunate Major’s life in danger, she had also given a false reassurance to Rachel. The fact that she had spoken and acted in good faith would count for nothing with the gipsy; once the police raided the Romany camp and made their arrests – as they undoubtedly would once they knew the whole story of Ford’s relationship with Hannah Rose – she was certain to feel betrayed. Melissa’s imagination, over-active as usual, conjured up a vision of Rachel turning up on her doorstep, dark eyes smouldering with fury at the treachery of the gadgy she had misguidedly trusted, a virago seeking revenge. She might even threaten violence, carry a concealed dagger or – less lethal but, in Melissa’s present over-wrought state of mind, none the less disturbing – call down some ancient Romany curse on her head. At this point, common sense took charge, prompting her to clap her hands to her forehead and exclaim aloud, ‘Now you’re being melodramatic and ridiculous!’ From then on, she applied herself to her reading with renewed determination until an awareness that it was after twelve o’clock and she was feeling hungry turned her thoughts to lunch.
Murder in Langley Woods Page 21