Murder in Langley Woods

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘I had no idea … I mean, he told me about Hannah, but not …’ Melissa floundered in embarrassment. ‘There’s really no need to say any more.’

  ‘Oh, but there is.’

  ‘Can’t it keep until you’ve had a chance to calm down? You’ve had a dreadful shock … you’re traumatised … maybe you need counselling—’

  ‘Don’t quote all that modern jargon at me!’ The transformation was almost complete. The strain and the grief were for the moment cast aside; despite her ravaged face and dishevelled appearance, Madeleine’s familiar, imperious manner had returned. She got up from her chair, saying, ‘Wait here, I have something to show you.’ She strode across the room, showing barely a trace of unsteadiness. At the door she turned and said, ‘There is something you can do for me … make some strong coffee. I’ll have to sober up before …’ She left the sentence unfinished and disappeared.

  Melissa went to the kitchen. Mechanically, she set about her task, filling the kettle and searching in cupboards for coffee, cafétière, cups and saucers. She found a tin containing digestive biscuits and put several on a plate; despite Madeleine’s earlier protests, she might be ready now to have a morsel to eat. And all the time, her brain was seething over the awful possibility that presented itself.

  It was no surprise that Madeleine had known about Dudley’s relationship with Hannah Rose, but the fact that there had been other – many other – affairs was something that had not occurred to her. Until now, thanks to Madeleine’s determination to preserve the façade of her marriage, scandal had been avoided. Her husband, deluding himself that he had managed to conceal his peccadilloes, would have been equally anxious to retain the trust of his neighbours in the village community where the couple saw themselves as respected and influential figures. Dudley in particular liked to think his much-vaunted stand in favour of law and order counted for something. And then, out of the blue, Hannah had arrived on his doorstep and threatened to expose him for the pitiable old roué that he was. It made a powerful motive for murder, yet his impassioned declaration rang in Melissa’s ears above the hissing of the kettle: ‘I swear before God that I didn’t kill her!’ Was that a final, despairing act of deception?

  Overhead she could hear movements: footsteps going briskly to and fro, drawers opening and closing, taps running, a toilet being flushed. She brewed the coffee, put everything on a tray and emerged from the kitchen just as Madeleine descended the stairs. The change in her appearance was as striking as that in her manner a few minutes earlier. Her hair was drawn back into the familiar sleek knot, skilfully applied make-up disguised the worst traces of weeping and she had changed into a fashionable navy-blue and white dress and jacket with navy tights and elegant court shoes. She wore a pearl choker and earrings and carried a leather handbag and a pair of gloves in one hand. The other held a plastic supermarket carrier with something bulky inside it.

  For a moment, Melissa stood and gaped in astonishment. It was not until Madeleine said, ‘Ah, you found everything – well done!’ that she pulled herself together and went into the sitting-room. Madeleine followed her and sat down, depositing her belongings on the floor at her feet while Melissa, her thoughts still chaotic, put the tray on the table between them, poured out two cups of coffee and offered the plate of biscuits.

  ‘I feel so ashamed of myself, going to pieces like that,’ Madeleine said, taking dainty nibbles from the biscuit between sips from her cup. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to ask you not to let it go any further.’

  ‘Of course I won’t,’ Melissa assured her, doing her best to appear normal. ‘There’s no need to feel ashamed. It was a perfectly natural reaction … anyone in your situation would have—’

  ‘My situation!’ Madeleine appeared to find the expression amusing. She finished her coffee, put down her cup and saucer and reached for the carrier. ‘I told you, didn’t I, that I had something to show you? I wonder if you can guess where this came from.’ She drew out a bundle, threw aside a quantity of tissue paper wrappings and shook the folds from a scarlet shawl that was almost identical to the one that Rachel wore. ‘Exquisite, isn’t it?’ she murmured, turning it between her fingers. ‘Hand-worked, of course, and beautifully done. I buried her shoes and the rest of her clothes in the garden, but I couldn’t bring myself to destroy this. It was on the grubby side so I washed it … in any case, I had to get rid of the blood.’

  Melissa stared at the shawl in horror. Despite the hot coffee, she suddenly felt as cold as ice. Both her tongue and her brain were momentarily paralysed and it was several seconds before she managed to say, in a voice that she hardly recognised as her own, ‘Hannah … that must have belonged to Hannah!’ At last, the final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. ‘You said you’d been covering up for Dudley all these years,’ she said slowly, as if she was thinking aloud. ‘And he swore before God that he didn’t kill her – and he was telling the truth, wasn’t he? – so that means—’ She broke off, unable for the moment to continue for the constriction in her throat.

  ‘You’re quite right – for once in his life, he wasn’t lying,’ Madeleine agreed.

  Melissa found her voice. ‘Of course he wasn’t,’ she said harshly. ‘You’re the one who’s been acting the lie. You killed her, didn’t you?’

  Madeleine was rolling up the shawl, swathing it in tissue paper and returning it to the carrier. Her eyes met Melissa’s with a look of defiance. ‘It was an accident,’ she said, as if that explained everything.

  Twenty-Three

  ‘She says she didn’t mean to kill her; it was an accident,’ said Melissa.

  ‘D’you reckon it’s true?’ said Iris.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s true all right.’

  Having made her extraordinary confession, Madeleine Ford had asked Melissa to drive her to police headquarters, where she demanded, in characteristically imperious fashion, to speak to the officer in charge of the Hannah Rose murder enquiry. In response to the receptionist’s courteous request for information, she had brandished her plastic bag and announced that she had important information and new evidence. As soon as DCI Holloway appeared she turned to Melissa with a gracious smile and said, ‘Thank you for the lift. You may leave me now, I shall be quite all right.’

  Melissa had half expected to hear some oblique and possibly sarcastic reference from the detective to the frequency of her appearances in connection with the case, but although he gave her a long, hard look before escorting his unexpected witness to an interview-room, he gave no sign of recognition. Perhaps he considered her presence on this occasion as irrelevant, in which case it was unlikely to reach the ears of Ken Harris. This thought was swiftly followed by another: So what if it does?

  She could recall little of the drive home. She had arrived on her friend’s doorstep in a state of emotional exhaustion. After hearing her almost incoherent account of Madeleine’s confession, Iris insisted on putting her through a series of yoga exercises. She then covered her with a blanket and left her lying on the sitting-room floor in a state of deep relaxation from which she drifted off to sleep. Now, over an hour later, she was seated in a comfortable armchair, sipping appreciatively from the glass of home-made elderberry wine that Iris had just given her. Some minutes ago she had been drowsily aware of sounds from the kitchen suggestive of a meal being prepared, but for the moment Iris was sitting cross-legged on the hearth-rug with Binkie on her lap and a full glass in her hand, demanding to know the whole story.

  ‘It’s all pretty sordid,’ Melissa began sadly. ‘Madeleine must be hurting like hell, but you’d never think so. She was very distressed when I got to the house, but once she’d had a good howl she pulled herself together and when I left her at the nick she was virtually back to normal.’

  ‘Always thought she was the tougher of those two,’ Iris commented. ‘So what’s her version?’

  ‘She says that on the day Hannah called at their house, Dudley was just going out and he waylaid her on the drive and ordered her to leave. T
here was some altercation between them, enough to rouse Madeleine’s suspicions. She was closing the garage door behind Dudley – who, she insists, had no idea she was listening. She couldn’t hear everything that was said, but the minute he drove off she invited the girl into the house on the pretext of being interested in what she had to sell, and started questioning her. To use her own words, Hannah was “extremely impertinent” and refused at first to answer, but Madeleine insisted.’

  ‘She was always good at insisting,’ Iris interposed with a sardonic cackle.

  ‘Reading between the lines, I’d say the girl took exception to Madeleine’s tone and began taunting her with hints about sexual romps in the back of the car. Then she got bolder and threatened to “tell a tale or two” around the neighbourhood if Madeleine didn’t cross her palm with a considerable amount of silver.’

  ‘Blackmail, eh? That wouldn’t have pleased her ladyship.’

  ‘It didn’t. She lost her rag and slapped Hannah across the face – which would account for the bruising the pathologist found on the body.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘The girl started screaming obscenities and went for her like a tigress. She had to fight her off and in the struggle Hannah tripped, fell backwards and hit her head a fearful crack on the corner of the Aga. She lost consciousness immediately; Madeleine swears she did everything she could to revive her, but she soon realised the girl was dead.’

  ‘She never thought of calling a doctor?’

  ‘She claims her army experience taught her to recognise death when she saw it. Besides, she realised right away that if she reported the accident, all sorts of questions would be asked and Dudley’s secret life exposed. That prospect seemed unthinkable … and there seemed to be the ideal solution to hand. The old freezer Dudley had already arranged for the council people to collect was still in the garage, waiting for the Woodbridge brothers to help manhandle it to the gate. She stripped the body, put it into the freezer, locked it and “lost” the key.’

  ‘Must have been a struggle on her own.’

  ‘Her nursing training would have taught her how to lift patients. She’s remarkably fit for her age and being desperate would have given her added strength.’

  ‘But didn’t it occur to her that the freezer might be dismantled?’

  ‘Apparently not. She believed it would simply be dumped at a tip along with a hundred others and if by an unlucky chance the body was ever found, it would be virtually impossible to establish where it had come from. She must have had kittens when she realised it had been stolen.’

  ‘And more kittens when it turned up, complete with corpse,’ said Iris drily. ‘Why strip the body, by the way?’

  ‘To make it look like a sexual attack, I suppose. I was so gobsmacked, I never thought to ask.’

  ‘Kept her wits about her, didn’t she?’ said Iris scornfully.

  ‘She’s been amazingly cool and calculating throughout … until now. It’s Dudley’s death that has broken her.’

  ‘But why confess?’ Iris wondered. ‘Now the old boy’s popped his clogs there’s no reason why his fling with Hannah should ever come out.’

  ‘She doesn’t care about that, not any more. What’s been tormenting her all these years, more even than the knowledge of Dudley’s infidelity, is the lie she’s had to act, not just to him but to the outside world.’

  ‘All these years? You’re saying Hannah wasn’t the first?’

  ‘Far from it. There were others – lots of them – but she never let on to Dudley that she knew about them. All she wants now is to clear her own conscience. She was brought up very strictly and telling the truth was something that was dinned into her from babyhood. Now he’s dead there’s no further need to sacrifice her principles on his behalf. She’s prepared to face up to the scandal, even to a prison sentence, rather than keep up the deception any longer.’

  ‘Extraordinary,’ Iris muttered into her glass. ‘Always thought she was a bit holier than thou … but … who’d have believed it of Dudley? Not my idea of a sex-pot.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ Melissa agreed. The two lapsed into a thoughtful silence, mulling over the events of the past few hours. Iris continued to stroke Binkie with her free hand while Melissa absent-mindedly contemplated the effect of firelight glowing through the deep crimson of elderberry wine. Presently, she said, ‘I’ve just thought of something. When I was talking to the two of them a couple of days ago about Hannah’s visit to their house, I happened to ask Madeleine whether she’d seen the girl herself.’

  ‘And she denied it, of course.’

  ‘As far as I can remember, what she actually said was, “I was in the garage … Dudley told me about it afterwards”. That was perfectly true … not the whole truth, of course—’

  ‘Best she could do without telling an actual porky,’ said Iris. ‘All the same, she must have been forced to tell a good few over the years.’

  ‘And now she wants to wipe the slate clean. I advised her to talk to her solicitor before giving herself up, but she wouldn’t hear of it. You know Madeleine … once she sets her mind to anything, you can’t shift her.’

  ‘Beats me,’ said Iris with a shrug.

  ‘You never know what goes on in people’s heads, do you?’ A bell sounded in the kitchen. Iris gently removed Binkie from her lap and got to her feet with the supple movement that always made Melissa envious. ‘Supper’s ready. Come and eat.’

  On returning home, Melissa checked her answering machine. She found two messages from Ken Harris, the first left at four o’clock – around the time when she was listening in a stunned silence to Madeleine Ford’s bizarre confession – and the second three hours later, wanting to know where she was and why she hadn’t returned his earlier call. There was also a message from Bruce Ingram, enquiring about the identity of ‘that very posh-looking old bird’ in whose company he had spotted her at police headquarters.

  She was trying to decide whether to respond to either caller right away or wait until the morning when the phone rang. As she half expected, Ken Harris was on the line.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you since this afternoon. Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing. Why do you ask?’ She felt like adding, And why do you have to get so testy if I don’t happen to be available the minute you want me? but refrained. It would only make him even grumpier.

  ‘I wondered where you were. You’re not usually out for such a long time. Are you sure everything’s all right? You sound strange.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me where you’ve been?’

  ‘Not now, Ken, I’m tired. Let’s leave it till tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s what I want to talk to you about … remember you agreed—’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ The day of decision. Well, I’ve made up my mind. I hope I’m doing the right thing, that’s all. Aloud, she said, ‘Do you want to come here, or shall we meet out?’

  ‘Perhaps I could come to your place first. We have a lot to discuss.’

  ‘All right. About six?’

  ‘Fine, see you then.’ His tone had softened; he sounded cordial, yet somehow vaguely impersonal. He might have been talking to a friend or colleague rather than a lover. Melissa frowned thoughtfully as she replaced the receiver before dialling Bruce’s home number.

  ‘Sorry I’ve been so long getting back to you,’ she said. ‘I had rather a trying afternoon and Iris has been restoring me with yoga and elderberry wine.’

  ‘Sounds a fascinating form of therapy. So, who was the lady and is there a story in it?’

  ‘There certainly is, and I’ll give it you in return for a favour.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not going to tell you the lady’s name, but she claims to have important information and evidence in the Hannah Rose case. It’s almost certain to mean that someone will shortly be charged.’ />
  Bruce whistled. ‘No kidding! What information and evidence?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you, but I’m pretty sure it’s authentic.’

  ‘So how did you get involved?’

  ‘She told me her story and then asked me to go with her to police headquarters, so I did.’

  ‘She’s a friend of yours, then?’

  ‘I’ve known her for some time.’

  ‘Quite the diplomat, aren’t we? Well, thanks for the tip. I can get this into the early editions … ahead of the nationals. Brilliant!’

  ‘By the way, what news of Rocky?’

  ‘Still being questioned in connection with “certain serious matters” – doubtless relating to the merchandise he’s been trading in. I understand he had a briefcase full of samples when they picked him up.’

  ‘No wonder he did a runner. How’s Julie coping?’

  ‘Pretty well, all things considered. Penny’s being very supportive. That girl,’ – Bruce’s voice acquired a note of tenderness that Melissa had never heard before – ‘is a jewel, one in a million.’

  ‘Do I gather you and she are what is known as an item?’

  ‘Well … yes, you could say that.’

  ‘You don’t waste much time, do you?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that as well,’ he admitted with a chuckle. ‘Now, you said something about a favour.’

  ‘Yes. Do you know where the Romanys are camped at present?’

  ‘Sure, not far from Chipping Campden. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘You remember Rachel … the woman we saw making lace that day, when they were camped at Upton?’

  ‘I remember. What about her?’