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

by Jill McGown

  Lloyd sat down. ‘And then you went to see Mrs Anthony.’

  She nodded. ‘But while I was there I spilled some coffee on my dress. Well,’ she said, ‘she told you that, didn’t she? I was still shaking. What if we hadn’t come back, Mr Lloyd? What would have happened to Joanna if he hadn’t stopped?’

  ‘And yet despite how you felt – and despite the weather – you went all the way to the castle first?’ said Lloyd. ‘To confirm an invitation? I almost didn’t believe Mrs Langton when she told me.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Yes – that’s what I told her. But I just wanted to . . .’ She gave a short laugh. ‘See what I was up against,’ she said. ‘She’s been taking up rather a lot of my husband’s time lately.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I wonder if you do,’ said Mrs Wheeler. ‘Anyway, I did want to confirm the invitation. I wanted to be sure she knew that it was from both of us, if you see what I mean. I went there first to get it over with.’

  ‘And then you went to Mrs Anthony’s, and from there you went home to change,’ said Lloyd. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I went upstairs,’ she said. ‘And I looked along the landing. Joanna’s bedroom door was open. I thought Graham had left. I went in, and . . . and found him,’ she said. ‘He was dead. I didn’t know what to do. I thought—’

  Lloyd stood up, and walked slowly round the room. ‘You thought your daughter had killed him,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He deserved it!’ she shouted. ‘He deserved it – he put her in hospital – did you know that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lloyd. ‘So what did you do then, Mrs Wheeler?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she said. ‘I knew Joanna must have done it. That was why she wouldn’t let her father go up to him.’

  She looked up at Lloyd. ‘I wasn’t going to let her suffer for him any more,’ she said. ‘So I . . . I made it look as if I’d done it.’

  Lloyd sat down, feeling tired and old. ‘What did you do?’ he asked.

  ‘I cleaned the handle of the poker,’ she said. ‘And I held it. But then I thought – they can tell, can’t they? They can tell how you’ve held something. I’ve read it in books. So I hit him, to make sure I was holding it right. I hit him twice.’

  Someone walked along the corridor outside. Lloyd leant on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. She hadn’t switched pokers, he thought. Other than that, his theory was pretty good. ‘And the dress?’ he said.

  ‘I burned it,’ she said. ‘I got blood on the sleeve, and I realised that if I burned it, you’d find it.’ She looked at Lloyd. ‘What difference does it make?’ she said. ‘You’ve got me – why don’t you charge me? I’d have done it – if I’d seen him hitting Jo, I’d have done it!’

  Lloyd was beginning to lose what little patience he’d had left. He counted off on his fingers. ‘One, you have wasted police time. Two, you have tampered with evidence. Three, you have made false statements. And if I can think of any more, I will, Mrs Wheeler. You can be prosecuted for these offences – perhaps that will feed your desire for martyrdom.’

  She looked at him with vague surprise. ‘I wasn’t being a martyr, Mr Lloyd. I was just—’ She obviously decided that he would never understand, and gave up with a shrug.

  Then, Lloyd realised what she had done. What she had really done, and he was assailed by something worse, much worse, than mere irritation. ‘When you left the house in the first place,’ Lloyd said, ‘you left it unlocked, as usual?’

  Marian Wheeler looked haunted for a second. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Lloyd closed his eyes. Between ten to eight and ten past nine, the doors were unlocked. And someone went in. How the hell were they supposed to find out who? Marian Wheeler was out visiting, Wheeler and his daughter were at the pub . . . Well, they could make more vigorous enquiries about all of that. But the other possibility loomed before him.

  ‘Someone could have got in,’ he said slowly, angrily. ‘Just like you said.’

  Marian Wheeler’s mouth opened, but she closed it again.

  ‘And you destroyed any evidence that there might have been,’ he went on. ‘You misdirected us, you obliterated possible fingerprints, you tampered with the scene of the crime. You have given him time to get away, to destroy his clothing – in short, Mrs Wheeler, you have made our job practically impossible.’

  He walked out of the room, resisting the temptation to slam the door. Bloody woman. Bloody stupid interfering woman. Who the hell could have got in and murdered the man? Why? Someone he knew? It had to be. Someone he didn’t know? Lloyd’s heart sank. Someone who might do it again. There had to be a coat, something, that the murderer had jettisoned. He’d get men looking tomorrow. Thank God they had taken the intruder suggestion seriously enough to issue a warning. But now an intruder wasn’t just a desperate explanation thought up by the Wheelers. It was a real possibility. And they would have to start looking into Elstow’s background.

  He met someone in the pub. He’d ignored that. Now, he’d have to talk to the villagers, find out if they had seen a stranger hanging round. Oh, God, this should have been done days ago!

  But some of it had, he reminded himself. Elstow had been alone in the pub, according to the barmaid. He had come in alone, and remained alone. And they only had his wife’s word for it that he had ever mentioned meeting anyone. He calmed himself down, and walked back to the office. Joanna Elstow still seemed the likeliest candidate, even to her mother. Lloyd sighed. He’d taken her word for it that her row with her husband started at five. He was going to have to rub out anything that that damn family had told him, and start again.

  Judy came in. ‘I’m driving Mrs Wheeler home,’ she said, then closed the door. ‘Should I come back?’ she asked him.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘There isn’t much we can do tonight.’ He looked up from the desk. ‘Is there?’ he asked, and he sounded bitter.

  ‘I thought perhaps there might be,’ she said quietly.

  ‘No.’

  Her direct brown gaze held his for a moment. ‘Don’t do this to me,’ she said, almost under her breath.

  ‘I’m not the one who’s doing it,’ he replied.

  He watched as she slipped on the dark grey leather coat that Michael had given her for Christmas. He’d like to have given her something like that. As it was, they had to be content with the sort of thing that wouldn’t be remarked on. Suddenly, he understood why long-standing mistresses would deliberately get pregnant. It wasn’t vindictiveness. It was desperation of a sort.

  He watched out of the window as she drove off with the would-be martyr, and darkly formulated the charges against Mrs Wheeler. Because he would prosecute, and Judy would tell him he was being uncharitable.

  But maybe not, he thought, sitting down again. Not if she was busy being a DI in Barton, and he’d made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. Damn it, she was more than welcome, she was necessary. He needed her, and his bloody pride would have to take a back seat. Sharing her might not be ideal, but it was better than feeling like this. He just hoped he hadn’t blown his last chance.

  He picked up Eleanor Langton’s statement. He’d better apologise – be really had been a bit high-handed with her. Perhaps he should go now, he thought, glancing at his watch. Why not? It would keep him out of the flat for another hour or two. And apologising to her might rid him of this nagging notion that he ought to be apologising to someone.

  He was getting heartily sick of the journey into Byford, rendered utterly monotonous by the snow. In spring, the fields would shade from pale yellow to dark green, relieved here and there by the dark brown of a ploughed acre. Crows would rise noisily from the treetops, flapping across the road, and rabbits would dart from the fields, bobbing along the verges, occasionally coming to grief. But the snow deadened everything; no colour, no sound.

  Up Castle Road, reluctantly past the pub, and on to the top, where he turned into the castle gates, the car bumping over the cattl
e grids. In the unlit castle grounds, he drove cautiously, only knowing he was on a road by the regular 5 m.p.h. speed-limit signs. On his left, suddenly looming into the night sky, was the castle, a dark, forbidding fortress. A reminder that there had once been worse things to worry about than muggers and vandals. Or even the odd murderer. He’d brought the kids here once or twice, when they were younger.

  It had never made him shiver before.

  Through the huge gatehouse, into the protected heart of the castle, lit by the odd wall-light where there once had been flaming torches. Turn left as you come out of the gatehouse, and left again at the end of the gatehouse walls, he’d been told.

  He turned left, into a large, moonlit courtyard. Stables, whatever their function now, ran along the whole of one side, and Lloyd could practically hear the horses’ hooves on the frosted cobbles, now broken up here and there by flower-beds. He pulled up beside two other cars and got out, walking past the shop which sold books and bric-à-brac, looking for Eleanor Langton’s door. Beside the souvenir shop, the ever-knowledgeable Constable Sandwell had told him, and beside the souvenir shop it was.

  A black door, with a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Through the window at the side, a light showed faintly from the rear. He knocked.

  Mrs Langton let him in with a courtesy that he felt he didn’t deserve. He followed her down the hallway to find an older woman sitting at the table in the small dining room.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m interrupting—’

  ‘We’ve finished,’ Mrs Langton said, and the other woman smiled. ‘This is Chief Inspector Lloyd, Penny,’ she went on.

  ‘Acting,’ said Lloyd, conscientiously.

  ‘Some might say over-acting,’ said Eleanor Langton in a quiet aside, as she began clearing away.

  Lloyd was surprised, and smiled, pleased to discover that at least he’d been picking on someone his own size.

  ‘This is my mother-in-law, Inspector. Penny Langton.’

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Langton,’ he said, shaking hands. ‘It’s a bit confusing,’ he added. ‘Two Mrs Langtons.’

  ‘Then you’d better stick to Eleanor and Penny,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Right.’ He felt a little awkward now that he was on Eleanor Langton’s home ground. She was in command here. She was enjoying herself.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, and Lloyd leapt to open the door to the kitchen as she made for it with both hands full. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and he was relieved to be left alone with her mother-in-law.

  ‘You’ll be here about the business at the vicarage?’ said Penny, her eyes worried.

  ‘Connected with it,’ Lloyd said. ‘Mrs . . . er . . . Eleanor has been very helpful.’

  ‘Have I?’

  He hadn’t heard her come back, and he turned to see her in the doorway, flicking her long blonde hair back from her face. She was very good-looking, in a Scandinavian way. But there was something about her that reminded Lloyd of the snow-scene outside.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m here to thank you for coming in, and to confirm that I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of your statement.’ He paused. ‘And to apologise if I . . .’ He searched for the appropriate words. ‘If I offended you in any way,’ he said.

  Her eyes held his, and there was a hint of amusement in them that he didn’t like.

  ‘Why the change of mind?’ she asked.

  Lloyd thought for a moment. ‘Further evidence has come to light that . . . casts a new light on the incident,’ he said, annoyed with himself as soon as the words were spoken, because they had been clumsy. She unnerved him.

  ‘Thank you for the apology,’ she said. ‘Will you join us for coffee?’

  He hesitated, because he wished he’d never come at all. But it was a tedious drive back, and if she was prepared to offer him coffee, the least he could do was to accept it. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Over the coffee, Mrs Langton senior did most of the talking. Lloyd learned that her son had died in a motor accident, that Eleanor had coped wonderfully, and that Tessa was the most delightful grandchild anyone could ever want.

  ‘I’ll just look in on her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Help yourselves to more coffee.’

  Penny Langton waited until she closed the door. ‘It’s very difficult for her,’ she said. ‘Bringing up Tessa on her own.’

  ‘It must be,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘It’s not money – she got some compensation after the accident. She doesn’t need to work here, if you know what I mean. It’s more for something to do – but I wish she’d move back to Stansfield. It’s lonely here, don’t you think?’

  Lloyd couldn’t but agree.

  ‘But she says she really likes the job, and of course, another kind of job might be difficult, with Tessa, but . . .’

  Lloyd waited.

  ‘But the thing is, I’m worried about her being here,’ she said. ‘Is she safe?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I mean – is she in danger, Mr Lloyd? If she’s got some sort of evidence . . . if she’s mixed up in it somehow.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lloyd. ‘No – she isn’t involved in it. She’s in no danger. Eleanor just cleared up a small mystery for us.’

  She looked slightly less anxious. ‘I was so worried, you see. Because Eleanor rang on Christmas Eve to say that the snow would probably block the road into the village, and I’d better listen for the road reports before I set out. So I put on Radio Barton in the morning, and the first thing I heard was that someone had been murdered in the village. I just got into my car, and thank God, the road had been cleared.’ She paused for breath.

  Lloyd nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be saying.

  ‘What’s happening about it, Mr Lloyd? The radio didn’t even say who was killed. A man, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sure Inspector Lloyd has better things to do than gossip,’ Eleanor said.

  Lloyd wished the damn woman wouldn’t creep about. ‘We have advised people in the area to keep their doors and windows locked, of course,’ he said, thankful that that was the truth. ‘And not to open the door to anyone they’re not sure about—’

  ‘Did someone get in?’ asked Penny Langton. ‘I haven’t even seen an evening paper since I’ve been here.’ She looked accusingly at Eleanor.

  ‘I’ve told you, Penny. I’m not in any more danger than anyone else. I just told the police something I thought they ought to know.’

  ‘But you won’t talk about it.’ She turned to Lloyd. ‘Have you caught anyone?’ she asked.

  Lloyd took a breath. ‘Our enquiries are proceeding,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure there’s no cause for general alarm.’ He was sure, he told himself. He was sure.

  He suddenly felt sorry for Penny, stuck in the middle of nowhere with her enigmatic daughter-in-law, frightened to leave her alone. ‘The facts are that the vicar’s son-in-law was the victim, and that we are following a number of lines of enquiry, including the possibility of a break-in of some sort. And that’s about as much as it said in the paper.’ He smiled. ‘We have no reason to think that the incident was anything other than a one-off,’ he said.

  ‘Do you mean it was someone in the vicarage?’ she asked.

  Lloyd refrained from glancing over at Eleanor. She had obviously told her mother-in-law nothing at all.

  ‘Our enquiries are proceeding,’ he said again, and rose.

  Eleanor came out with him, almost closing the door, so that the only light was from the ghostly moon, full and low in the misty sky. ‘Have you let Mrs Wheeler go?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He pulled on his gloves. ‘You haven’t told your mother-in-law about it?’

  ‘No. I’ve tried to play it down,’ she explained. ‘Penny gets very nervous.’ She shivered slightly in the cold air.

  ‘I’d have thought that a village this size would know every detail,’ said Lloyd. ‘She’d hardly need the evening paper.’

  ‘It’s a very l
arge village,’ Eleanor said, proprietorially.

  ‘By area,’ Lloyd agreed. ‘But most of that’s farmland. There aren’t so many people, are there? It can’t be easy to keep a secret.’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Eleanor.

  And you probably have one to keep, thought Lloyd, thinking about George.

  ‘But we’re sort of cut off from the rest of the village here.’ Eleanor smiled. ‘And I’m a newcomer.’

  Lloyd glanced round at the stone walls of the castle. ‘Is the family here?’ he asked.

  ‘No. They winter somewhere exotic.’

  He frowned. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.

  ‘For the moment,’ she said. ‘They do have a couple of staff who live in, but they’re on holiday too, just now.’ She smiled her cold smile. ‘The place is riddled with burglar alarms connected to the police station,’ she said. ‘I’m perfectly safe. I just wish they’d hurry up with the phone.’

  ‘Aren’t there any pay-phones?’

  ‘One, would you believe? In the café, which is closed until Easter.’

  ‘Well,’ said Lloyd, slightly diffidently. ‘I know the telephone manager – do you want me to put in a word?’

  ‘It’s not British Telecom who are dragging their feet,’ she said, and smiled suddenly. A real smile. ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she said. ‘This place has survived Cromwell, hasn’t it? I’m as safe here as I could be.’

  Lloyd said goodnight, and got back to the car. He glared back at the snow when he turned on his headlights, and regretted bringing his own car back into service as he steered it gently over the icy ground back to the untreated estate road. He wondered, as he slowly made his way out, why Eleanor Langton was so unwilling to share her knowledge with her mother-in-law. Because of George? But it was idle curiosity, more than anything else. It was none of his business.

  And apologising hadn’t made him feel better in the slightest degree.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Did you manage to see the kids?’ Judy asked.

  They were in the lounge bar of the Duke’s Arms in Castle Road, where the Reverend Mr Wheeler and his daughter had spent some time on Christmas Eve. That much had been established; what they wanted now was a clearer indication of when they left the pub, but so far all they had done was wait. Voices floated in from the public bar, but she and Lloyd were alone in the lounge, except for the landlady, who couldn’t help. Some of the regulars might, she had said. But they wouldn’t be in until lunch time, and what with people taking the whole week between Christmas and New Year, there might not be many of them.