A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer

by Jill McGown

  Marian stared at it, transfixed by it for the second time. Oh, my God. My God. He’d said he’d been with Joanna all evening. Oh, my God.

  ‘Mrs Wheeler?’

  She blinked at the sergeant. ‘Sorry?’ she said.

  ‘What made you go up to him when you did?’

  ‘Joanna,’ Marian said, trying to drag her thoughts away from the tie. ‘She said she wanted to see if he was all right. It was Christmas Day, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Joanna felt sorry for him!’ George said angrily, interrupting her. ‘So I told her that if anyone was going to see him, it would be me, and that I would talk to him in language that he understood.’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Hill, if I’m failing to live up to your expectations of the clergy. Clearly, I disappoint my daughter – even my son-in-law, I was told tonight. But that’s how I felt.’

  ‘He’d got Joanna and George at each other’s throats,’ Marian said. ‘So I went up. Just to let him know what he was doing to us. And I found him,’ she finished.

  ‘Did you touch anything, Mrs Wheeler?’ Inspector Lloyd asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I just called George,’ she said, still barely aware of what she was saying. George had been with Eleanor Langton.

  ‘Then I phoned the police,’ George said.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ said the inspector. ‘Where did you go when you went out, Mrs Wheeler?’

  ‘I checked up on the older people in the village. Because the weather was so bad. To make sure they were all right.’

  ‘Could I possibly have a list of the people you saw?’ he asked. ‘Not now, of course. Perhaps tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Marian acknowledged their leave-taking with half of her brain. She wasn’t sure she could cope with this.

  George came back in. ‘You could go to Diana’s,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to stay here.’

  Marian shook her head, getting up slowly from the table. She looked across at her husband, her face sad.

  ‘How many commandments have you broken today, George?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, Watson?’ said Lloyd, starting the engine. ‘What do you think?’

  Judy leant back and closed her eyes. ‘I think it’s all very depressing,’ she said. ‘And he’s a very odd sort of vicar.’

  ‘Is he? I don’t know much about vicars,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘He’s not like any one I’ve ever known,’ Judy said, and yawned. ‘But then, I haven’t known very many.’

  ‘Someone tried to burn some clothing,’ Lloyd said. ‘Can’t tell what yet. But we’ll find out, as I told Mrs Elstow.’

  Judy frowned. ‘Why the business with the washing-machine?’ she asked. ‘If you’d already found the clothes?’

  Lloyd smiled. ‘Confuse the enemy,’ he said. ‘And never take anything at its face value. What’s your verdict?’

  ‘That Joanna got hit once too often, and got her own back when he fell asleep,’ Judy said. ‘And they’re covering up for her.’

  ‘Then what about the doors?’ Lloyd said. ‘Why mention that at all? It just buggers up their own intruder theory.’

  Judy was too tired, too confused, to listen to one of Lloyd’s flights of fancy. ‘You don’t seriously think it was an intruder, do you?’ she said sharply.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then can we leave it until we know what we’re talking about?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  She rubbed her forehead, where an incipient headache was forming.

  ‘Do you fancy taking on young Mrs Elstow in single combat?’ he asked.

  ‘Poor kid. Yes, I think that might work.’ She yawned again. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘By tomorrow, I take it you mean today?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ He smiled. ‘You should worry. I’ve got the post mortem.’

  Judy closed her eyes again. ‘Michael will go through the roof,’ she said. ‘He already thinks it’s the height of bad manners to get yourself murdered at Christmas time.’

  ‘Just go to Byford when you’re ready,’ Lloyd said, obviously none too interested in Michael’s problems. ‘No need to let them know you’re coming.’

  The car bumped over the snow, as a new fall came floating down.

  ‘I should be back at the station at about four,’ Lloyd said. ‘You can let me know how you’ve got on.’

  ‘Eleven hours from now,’ Judy said gloomily, her eyelids heavy.

  ‘Let Michael cook the dinner,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘Looks like I’ll have to,’ said Judy.

  Lloyd lapsed into an unnatural silence then. Lloyd loved speaking. Judy sometimes loved to listen. But this time she was grateful for the silence, as he concentrated on his driving, through conditions which had worsened still further.

  ‘At least the road’s not blocked,’ she murmured, closing her eyes again. Just for a moment.

  ‘We’re here,’ Lloyd said, and she was startled to find herself in the police station car park. ‘Oh, Lloyd, I’m sorry,’ she said.

  The heating had, of course, broken down, and Judy began writing up her notebook until her hands became too numb. Lloyd left instructions for the day-shift, and at last decreed that they could leave.

  She flopped into the car. ‘Home, driver,’ she said.

  ‘Come to the flat first.’

  Judy turned to him. ‘Lloyd, I’ve got Michael and his parents expecting a jolly Christmas Day, and it’s almost six in the morning!’

  ‘That’s why you need to unwind. Come to the flat.’

  Unwinding would be nice, she thought.

  ‘Just for a cup of coffee,’ he persisted.

  Lloyd’s quiet, restful flat, or Mrs Hill banging on about Christmas being for the kiddies, really. ‘All right,’ she said. Though even Mrs Hill would not be banging on about Christmas at six o’clock in the morning, she reflected, as Lloyd drove off. She curled into a cold, uncomfortable heap, until at last she was in Lloyd’s flat, in the exquisite, centrally-heated warmth. She took off her coat for the first time since she’d left home.

  ‘I’ll get the coffee on,’ he said, stopping at the kitchen door. ‘You go through.’

  She opened the door to find the living room in darkness, except for a tiny tree, its coloured lights filling the room with exotic shadows. She smiled. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, going in.

  Lloyd came in after her, and her present to him joined the one under the tree. ‘I thought it was pretty good,’ he said, catching her hands. ‘Happy Christmas, Sergeant Hill.’

  He was kissing her, holding her close, and it was so peaceful, so good to have him to herself. Too good. ‘Put the light on,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you said just a cup of coffee, not kisses by coloured lights.’

  He smiled, and reached over to a table lamp, which filled the room with a soft glow.

  ‘That isn’t much better,’ Judy complained, her hands still clasped behind his neck.

  ‘What do you expect in a bachelor flat?’ he said. ‘I’ve only got seduction lighting.’

  Judy laughed. ‘It would take more than lighting,’ she said. ‘A few pep-pills and some rhinoceros horn, maybe.’ She kissed him. ‘When did you get the new lamp?’ she asked.

  ‘About six weeks ago,’ he said.

  Now Judy felt guilty. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been here,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll go and really put the coffee on.’

  Judy loved Lloyd’s flat, which bit by bit was being made the way he wanted it. It was quiet, and tranquil, and not at all like him.

  He came back in. ‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘And Santa’s been.’

  He sat on the sofa; she sat on the floor, and opened her present to find the little ebony cat that she’d seen months ago, and told Lloyd about. ‘Lloyd,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean you to buy it.’

  ‘I know you can’t take it home,’ he said. ‘B
efore you tell me. But you can keep it here, can’t you? Or at work, I suppose.’

  She smiled. ‘Where do I need the most luck?’ she asked.

  He didn’t reply, but picked up his present.

  ‘It isn’t as romantic as yours,’ she warned him. ‘I’d be disappointed if it was,’ he said. ‘One romantic is enough in any relationship.’

  She watched anxiously as he opened it, and his smile seemed genuine. ‘The new one,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for this.’ He opened it. ‘It’s signed! How did you manage that?’

  ‘I queued for two hours,’ she said.

  ‘That’s romantic,’ he pointed out. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Like someone who’d been signing books for two hours.’

  She joined him on the sofa for the rest of the five minutes, which stretched to ten. ‘Coffee,’ she said, pushing him away.

  ‘Coffee.’

  He came back with a tray on which were set two mugs, the coffee jug, cream, and a bottle of brandy. ‘Right out of pep-pills and rhinoceros horn,’ he said.

  They drank the coffee with liberal helpings of brandy, which seemed to have the opposite effect to pep-pills, and this rather counteracted any similarities it may have had to rhinoceros horn. They sat on the sofa, arms round one another, eyes half-closed. Judy squinted at her watch. ‘It’s after seven,’ she said, ‘I have to go.’ But she didn’t move.

  ‘What’s wrong, Judy?’ Lloyd asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Everything. I don’t know.’

  ‘Michael’s parents getting you down?’

  ‘Yes. And Michael’s getting me down. And the weather. It took almost an hour just to get here from Byford.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I was driving.’

  ‘Sorry I fell asleep on you.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, squeezing her. ‘It was better than being ignored.’ He looked at her. ‘Have you had a row with Michael?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No – it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It might help if you get it off your chest.’

  She sighed. ‘He said he wanted us to have a baby,’ she said, her eyes closed. She felt Lloyd pull away from her.

  ‘What did you say to him?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, Lloyd! What do you think I said?’

  He sat for a long time without speaking. Just looking at her.

  ‘Lloyd – I’ve got no intention—’

  ‘Judy,’ he said, talking through her. ‘Judy, I don’t think I can go on sharing you.’

  Oh, God. She felt like one of those rubber dolls that bounced back to get knocked over again. ‘Not now, Lloyd,’ she said. ‘Please, not now.’

  ‘It’s how I feel now,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve already had one row with Michael,’ she said, running a hand through her hair. ‘I’ve been up all night, I’ve had to look at a man with his brains bashed in. I’ve got my in-laws expecting Christmas dinner – I don’t need this, Lloyd!’

  ‘No,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘And it’s what you need that matters, isn’t it? Always.’

  ‘I don’t want a row,’ she said, wearily.

  ‘It’s not a row. It’s just the truth. I can’t bear thinking of you and him—’

  ‘Then don’t think about it!’ she shouted.

  ‘I can’t ignore it any longer – don’t you see? That’s the whole problem!’

  She stared at him. ‘I’ve been straight with you from the start,’ she said, almost in tears. ‘I’ve never pretended it would be any other way.’

  Lloyd poured brandy into his empty cup. ‘Things change,’ he said. ‘I don’t want it to be like that. Not now.’

  ‘If you’re driving me home, you can leave that until you come back,’ she said hotly.

  He put the cup down. ‘You’re afraid to leave him,’ he said. ‘Because he asks nothing of you, and I would.’

  Judy’s head was spinning. ‘This isn’t fair,’ she said. ‘It isn’t how this is meant to be.’

  ‘No. You were meant to carry on with your nice safe marriage, and I was meant to sit around like a bottle of bloody aspirin, waiting for you to have a headache.’

  Judy didn’t know if this was an unprovoked attack, or simple home-truths. She’d have to sort it out later, when she’d had some sleep. It seemed like an unprovoked attack.

  ‘I don’t want that any more,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘Will you take me home, please?’

  He drove her home in silence, and this time she didn’t enjoy it. She had always been aware that she was walking a tightrope between triumph and disaster. And now she had fallen off.

  ‘You’d better stop here,’ she said, as she saw the side road, worse than it had been when they left. She got out of the car, and took a deep breath of sharp, cold air before looking back in. ‘Is it all over?’ she asked.

  Lloyd reached over to the open door. ‘No, you silly bitch! I want to marry you!’ And he slammed the door and drove off, his back wheel spinning in the deep snow at the edge of the road.

  She’d fallen off the tightrope all right. But she was damned if she knew which way.

  Chapter Four

  Eleanor opened the door, and let out a sigh. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘The radio just said—’ She stepped out into the frosty courtyard.

  ‘You’ve heard, then,’ said George.

  ‘My mother-in-law did. I didn’t know what to do – thank God you’re all right.’

  ‘It’s Elstow,’ George said. ‘Elstow’s dead.’

  She nodded. ‘How? What on earth happened?’

  George licked dry lips. ‘Someone battered him to death,’ he said.

  ‘Someone?’ The wind that had once again begun to bluster across the fields suddenly swirled round the courtyard, lifting a stinging flurry of hard snow. Eleanor stood like a statue, just staring at him, blinking as her hair blew across her eyes.

  ‘Eleanor?’ Her mother-in-law, George presumed, appeared at the door, an Instamatic in her hand. ‘Is it all right if I take photographs? The castle looks lovely with the snow.’ Mrs Langton senior smiled at George expectantly, but Eleanor was too preoccupied to satisfy the curiosity that had prompted the photographic urge.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness.’ Mrs Langton shivered. ‘Don’t stay out here too long, will you? You’ll catch your death.’ Then, perhaps just a little reluctant to begin her quest, she set off with her camera.

  Eleanor waited until she had disappeared round the thick castle wall. ‘Come in,’ she said.

  He followed her into the living room, and saw Tessa, engrossed in a cartoon.

  ‘Is it good?’ he asked, crouching down beside her.

  She nodded, laughing delightedly as Bugs Bunny emerged unscathed from a crippling fall.

  George smiled, ‘At least that’s all she’s got to worry about,’ he said.

  ‘Look!’ Tessa demanded. ‘Look, Mummy, look!’

  ‘I can see,’ Eleanor said.

  George stood up straight. ‘I thought you ought to know,’ he said, plunging in at the deep end. ‘I’ve told the police that I was with Joanna all evening.’

  Eleanor, still obediently watching Bugs Bunny, looked slowly away from the screen, towards him. ‘Was that wise?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said wearily. ‘Wisdom didn’t seem to come into it.’ He looked away from her. ‘It’s entirely up to you what you do about it,’ he said.

  ‘Watch, look! He’s flat!’

  ‘Do about it?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Why should I do anything about it?’

  George sat down. ‘We think it was an intruder,’ he said. ‘But the police aren’t inclined to believe us.’

  Eleanor sank down on to the sofa, her worried eyes not leaving his. ‘What are they doing?’ she asked. ‘The police?’

  ‘The usual things,’ he sai
d. ‘They’re asking questions. All over the place – checking up on where we were, what we were doing. Even what we were wearing.’

  Tessa’s laughter made George look at the screen. It was easy there. If you got bent out of shape you just shook yourself, and everything was all right again.

  ‘They’ll find out,’ Eleanor said. ‘If they’re asking questions they’ll find out that you—’ She glanced at Tessa, obviously trying to think of words that would mean nothing to her, but she clearly wasn’t listening anyway. ‘That you weren’t entirely straight with them,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ George said. ‘The pub was very busy – they wouldn’t necessarily know how long we were there. But yes,’ he sighed. ‘They’ll probably find out.’

  ‘More?’ Tessa enquired as the credits came up.

  ‘I don’t know, Tess,’ said Eleanor. ‘Wait and see.’

  There was more, and Tessa turned her attention once more to the television.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Eleanor asked.

  ‘Whatever you think is right,’ he said. ‘I had no right to lie. So if you want to tell them the truth, then you must.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘I won’t go to them,’ she said. ‘But if they ask – I don’t know, George. Why did you lie?’

  ‘Are they going to ask you?’ he said. He hadn’t answered her question, and she didn’t answer his.

  There were good reasons for his lie, but he didn’t offer them to Eleanor.

  ‘George,’ she said quietly, ‘do you know what really happened?’

  Judy was having Christmas dinner with the Hills. That’s what it felt like – not like her own house at all. She hadn’t even produced the meal.

  She had arrived home, tip-toeing upstairs to find Michael getting dressed.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he had said.

  Judy, cross and confused, had tried hard not to take it out on Michael, whose fault it certainly wasn’t. The realisation that the whole mess was entirely her own fault had made her slightly less confused, but even more cross. So when Michael had touched on the subject of Christmas dinner, she had bitten his head off.