by Lou Peters
‘No, I left some, didn’t want to appear too greedy.’
Twenty minutes later, the policemen arrived at their next destination. The house wasn’t far from Hoylake Marina. The expanse of water shimmered in the weakening afternoon sun, before a further covering of cloud eclipsed it from the sky. The iron grey water, reflecting the dense formation appearing above their heads, re-established the season.
The door was opened by a portly, little woman who Walters guessed by her appearance was in her seventies. It later transpired he was well wide of the mark, by about ten years, and the woman was in actuality sixty three. Walters also assumed, again incorrectly, by the grandeur of the place the person must be the aged housekeeper. However, she was introduced as Charles Coventry’s wife, Lucinda. Once the policemen had finally been allowed to cross over the threshold and gain admittance to the house.
‘Really, detective inspector, what a time to call, we’re just about to sit down to luncheon.’
‘I’m really sorry about that.’ Walters insincerely announced. ‘Is Mr. Coventry at home?’
‘Why, what do you want with him?’ Before Walters had a chance to answer, the woman added. ‘Can’t you come back at a more reasonable time? Maybe phone up first and make an appointment.’
This woman might not look anything like Rowena Harrison, but she had the same annoying traits. Walters could feel his temper rising, rather like the Incredible Hulk before he splits his shirt and turns green. ‘I really have to insist madam. We’ve come a long way and I’m not moving off this step until I’ve seen Mr. Coventry.’
‘Oh alright, you’d better come in,’ the woman eventually said, exasperated. It was clear she wasn’t used to having her authority overruled. ‘You can wait in the drawing room, it’s through there.’ She motioned with her head to a door the other side of the large rectangular entrance hall. ‘I’ll see if Mr. Coventry will see you.’
He’d better. Walters thought to himself.
The woman waddled away, green paisley skirt swishing angrily behind her. She opened the door to what Walters presumed was the kitchen, immediately releasing a delicious smell of cooking meat and vegetables to waft across the hallway and assail the officers’ senses. The men stepped into the side room, where they’d been instructed to wait like naughty schoolchildren for the headmaster’s to mete out his punishment.
‘Mmm the smell coming out of that kitchen certainly gets the old juices going. Do you think we’ll be asked to stay for lunch? Cooper ventured, rubbing a hand across his stomach.
‘Not if that old bag has anything to do with it. Does she remind you of anybody detective sergeant?’ Before Cooper had the chance to respond, the drawing room door burst open. A man with a sprightly gait and warm smile entered. He was of below average height with a wiry build, but ramrod straight. The scarcity of grey hair upon his head was compensated by the full set of whiskers he wore on his lower face. He put Walters in mind of the stereotypical image of a retired sea captain. The man bounded across the room hand extended, to grasp first Walters’ hand and then that of the detective sergeant’s, shaking them up and down enthusiastically. ‘Charlie Coventry,’ he announced by way of introduction. He had a twang to his voice which Walters couldn’t quite put his finger on.
‘Good afternoon sir, sorry to bother you at this inauspicious time, I realise you’re about to eat. I’m Detective Inspector Walters and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Cooper, we’re from Boynton CID, from the South West of England.’
‘Boynton,’ it felt like Charlie should know the name, but he couldn’t at that moment recall why. ‘You’re a bit off track then detective inspector. What can I do for you?’ Coventry smiled, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes.
Walters judged Charlie Coventry to be a few years older than Ruth Montgomery, so, presumed he was about seventy eight.
‘Please take a seat. Can I offer either of you gentleman an aperitif? Coventry had gone to stand next to a rosewood cabinet. He pulled down the door resting on dual silver chains, revealing a selection of spirits. Reflected in the diamond patterned mirror situated at the rear of the cabinet, the various bottles appeared to double in quantity.
‘Not while we’re on duty sir, thanks all the same.’ Walters was amazed at his self control.
‘You don’t mind if I do?’
‘No, not at all, sir.’
Coventry measured out a generous helping of gin. Unscrewing a small glass bottle he splashed in an equal amount of tonic. Coming over to join the police officers, who were seated on opposite cream leather sofas, he took a position next to Cooper, and looked enquiringly across at the obviously more senior officer, ready to hear what he had to say.
‘I’m afraid I may have some bad news for you, Mr. Coventry.’
‘Why what’s happened?’ Charlie immediately placed his glass down on the occasional table, untouched. ‘It’s not one of my sons is it?’ Half rising from his seat, the smile had left his eyes.
‘No sir, not your sons.’
‘Thank the lord for that. He sank back against the leather.
‘I believe you were a friend of Mrs. Ruth Montgomery?’
‘Ruth, oh my God what’s happened to Ruth? She’s not dead is she? What was it, a heart attack?’ Charlie’s eyes immediately filled with tears, as though the policeman had indeed said one of his sons had been involved. It now came back to Charlie where he’d heard the place name before.
‘I’m afraid Ruth Montgomery is dead, yes sir, but it wasn’t a heart attack.’
‘What then, has she been knocked down, or had some other kind of accident? Tell me, please,’ he urged.
‘Mrs. Montgomery, I’m sorry to tell you, has been found murdered.’
‘Murdered, you can’t mean that? ... Murdered!’ He repeated the word, to see if it made any more sense the second time he’d said it, but it hadn’t.‘Ruth murdered.’ He sat dazed, head in hands, trying to ingest the information.
The drawing room door opened. The rotund woman with the bad temper stood fuming in the doorway. ‘Are you nearly finished, the lunch will be ruined? I asked them Charles to come back later, but they wouldn’t.’ She glowered across at Walters.
‘Lucy, come in. Let me introduce you to my wife, detective inspector.’ All the joy had left the man’s voice.
Walters stood up for the introduction, however, promptly resumed his seat, when the woman pronounced, ‘but the food Charlie. The beef will be overcooked and you know how I hate it too well done.’
‘Don’t worry about the food, old girl. I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing now, anyway.’
She hated it when he referred to her, as old girl; she was fifteen years younger than he was. ‘Why, what’s happened?’ She asked, unable to contain her irritability.
The men remained silent, each one waiting for the other to speak. ‘Is somebody going to tell me?’ Lucinda Coventry demanded, getting crosser, almost stamping her foot like a spoilt child.
‘Mrs. Montgomery has been murdered.’ Walters advised after a time, realising Charlie Coventry at that moment was incapable of speech.
‘Montgomery?’ Lucinda screwed up her face, as if she’d never heard the name before.
‘Ruth,’ Charlie uttered, finally finding his voice. The word sounded more like an exhalation of breath. He looked as though he’d aged before the policemen’s eyes. The previous healthy glow, visible despite the man’s beard, replaced with a pale, sallow pallor.
‘Oh, that woman... the one you knew before you met me. The one that came to our wedding and hardly spoke to me, is that the one?’ It appeared from the elderly woman’s expression she had a nasty taste in her mouth. ‘Well, if you have no intentions of eating the meal I have spent all morning preparing, I’ll leave you to it, while I go and eat mine. I don’t intend to put it all in the dustbin.’ The woman turned to flounce out of the room. However, Walters called her back.
‘Before you leave Mrs. Coventry, can you confirm your whereabouts last Wednesday the ninth of Dece
mber?’
‘I was here all day.’
Most people would’ve had to think about their answer, before replying, Walters considered. ‘And in the evening?’
‘The same,’ the reply was again abrupt.
‘And you, Mr. Coventry, were you here with your wife all that day and evening?’
‘I...’
‘Yes he was, all day and all night. The woman rudely answered for her husband. ‘Now detective inspector, can I be allowed to go and eat my ruined meal?’ She turned on her heel without waiting for his response slamming the door behind her. Walters was left with the opinion, that this woman was even more ill mannered than Rowena Harrison. Something he thought he’d never encounter.
‘Was that true sir? Did you remain with your wife during all of that period?’ Cooper enquired.
‘If she said I was, then I must have been. You may have noticed detective inspector, detective sergeant, Lucy is rather straight talking, and for that I apologise.’ The man picked up his virgin drink with a shaking hand, he took a large gulp. ‘Why do woman change once the ring is placed on their finger?’ Charlie asked in a small voice. Not addressing his comment to either one of the officers, he wasn’t expecting a reply. He continued, ‘Ruth wouldn’t have. I asked her you know, asked her to marry me, on several occasions. She always refused. Said she didn’t want change, wanted to live in that big house of hers, on her own with her cat. But she’d moved away in the end. Why did she do that? It’s something I’ve been trying to come to terms with. We would’ve been happy. I would have made sure she was happy.’ The tears had left the man’s eyes; they now coursed down his face in twin streams, becoming trapped in his beard. He wiped them away with a neatly laundered handkerchief, pulled from his trouser pocket. Once he’d shaken the square of material from out of its folds.
‘How long had you known Mrs. Montgomery?’ Cooper asked the old man gently.
‘Since we were young son, we would have been in our late teens, I suppose, a lifetime ago. I’d been her husband, Reggie’s friend, first. Was his best man at the couple’s wedding. I knew I loved Ruth before she married Reg. But what could I have said that would’ve made any difference? It was him she loved, always did. Even after he’d been dead for thirty odd years, she couldn’t forget the man, didn’t want to replace him. I wished someone had loved me that much,’ he said wistfully. The man took another sip from his glass.
The room remained silent. Neither policeman wished to break the old man’s reverie, listened quietly as he continued his monologue.
‘After Ruth had married Reggie, I took myself off to South Africa.’
Of course, Walters could now place the accent the man must have garnered, while living on that continent and which had earlier eluded him.
‘Met a decent girl over there, married her. I was lucky enough to have sired three strapping sons. But Ruth had always had prior claim to my heart, even if she didn’t want it. When poor old Rita had passed away and my sons had carved out lives for themselves, had their own destinies to follow, I thought I could come back. Maybe have a chance to fulfil my dreams, before it was too late. And now... now I can’t believe I’ll never see Ruthie again.’
Charlie Coventry looked up, his eyes moist. ‘She’d told me I was being an old fool to remarry. I should have listened to her. Perhaps, if I’d have been content to just be her friend. To see her occasionally, then she might have remained in Chester and still be alive today... may even have changed her mind, if I’d just given her the chance... and the time.’
‘We can’t live our life on what may have been Mr. Coventry. I believe our path is preordained and we just have to go with the flow, without regrets to encumber us.’ The utterance was said with sincerity, Walters meant every word. Then why was the detective inspector having so much difficulty in believing the honesty of that statement, himself? And why was he unable to let go of the past, without experiencing these crippling feelings of guilt?
After showing the policemen out Charlie, reluctantly made his way into the kitchen.
‘Have those awful policemen, finally gone? Thank goodness for that, I don’t know why they were here for so long. Whatever did you have to talk about? You haven’t seen the woman for years… Your dinner is in the bin, by the way. I told you that was where it would end up, if you didn’t come and eat it while it was still warm.’
‘I could have put it in the microwave.’
‘Well, it’s in the bin now, so too late.’
Charlie wondered why Lucinda had to be so nasty to him all the time. He’d brought her to this lovely old house. Rescued her from that run down terrace, on the estate that she’d hated so much and still she wasn’t happy. Everything he said, or did, appeared to annoy her. It hadn’t been like that while he’d been stepping out with her. Lucinda, he’d thought that had been such a pretty name and at that time it had suited the woman very well. She’d taken a pride in her appearance then. Worn a little make and had regular hairdressing appointments. She hadn’t been quite so heavy. Not that her weight gain bothered him that much; it just seemed to be everything else. In those days, before she’d moved in, she’d always been smiling and attentive. Laughing at his jokes and seemingly interested in what he’d had to say. There had even been a shared intimacy between them. One he thought he would never again experience, after the death of his wife. But all that had come to a brusque end, more rapidly than he’d thought possible not long after they were married. Charlie realised with a heavy heart, he must be a great disappointment to his younger wife.
He’d gone to see Ruth to tell her she was right, he had been an old fool, but she’d already left. Charlie had thought it strange the woman hadn’t let him know of her departure. After some detective work, he’d found her new address. He’d been keen to go and visit her. Charlie wasn’t sure how, but Rowena had got wind of the proposed visit and he’d been warned off. Her niece’s husband had told it to him straight. Charlie was the reason Ruth had left her old home and to prevent her further anguish, it was strongly suggested he should leave her alone. So he had… until recently. Charlie Coventry hadn’t confided to the police officers where he’d been on Wednesday. At that moment he’d felt too ashamed. The damage had been done; there would be no going back. In some ways he felt quite relieved.
‘And where were you on Wednesday?’ No don’t bother to tell me. I don’t really want to know.’ Lucinda waved her hand in the air as if to silence him, even though her husband hadn’t started to speak. She placed a further large spoonful of sticky toffee pudding into her mouth, caramel sauce dribbling down her three chins.
‘Thank you for saying I was here with you all day.’ He turned away from the obese woman, the almost stranger, sitting at his kitchen table. He was sickened by the sight of her yet again stuffing her gross face.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t say it for your benefit,’ the woman sneered, through a mouthful of food. ‘Being here on my own wasn’t much of an alibi, so I thought if I said we were here together, it would sound better for me.’
‘Thank you anyway,’ Charlie Coventry said politely, on his way out of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Sunday Afternoon 13 December 2009
‘Hello Mrs. Willoughby, its Joyce here. Are you okay, dear? Had your lunch? That’s good, dear. Listen I… um, have two police officers here with me. No dear nothing’s wrong, no need to panic. They would just like to ask you a few questions about a former neighbour of yours, Ruth Montgomery. Do you remember her, dear?’
Walters wondered how long this telephone conversation was going to last. Why couldn’t the warder get off her arse and show them over to the Willoughby woman’s bungalow, explain to her face to face, what they wanted. He exchanged a frustrated look with Cooper, who no doubt was thinking along the same lines.
‘Oh you do, that’s great, dear and will you be happy to talk to the policemen, then? Do you want me to come over as well, for a bit of moral support? You’re sure? Alright, I’ll send them ove
r, dear. I’m not going anywhere, so just buzz me if you need me and I’ll be straight across. Okay, I’ll send them over now, goodbye, dear.’ The woman replaced the receiver onto its cradle. Beaming at the seated officers, her lips parted revealing prominent teeth only serving to enhance her equine features. ‘You’re okay to go over to number nineteen. Mrs. Willoughby will be waiting for you. Door should be unlocked, just knock and go straight in. Any problems come back and I’ll come over with you, dears.’
Walters hoped to God that wouldn’t be necessary. He didn’t know how much more of the sugary, artificial sweetness he could stand. The woman was like a tube of saccharin.
‘I think I preferred Lucinda Coventry, sir. At least you knew where you were with her. That one in there, the horse in a dress,’ the sergeant nodded his head in the direction from which they’d just come. ‘I’d a feeling she could turn at any moment and go for your jugular.’
‘Not a job I’d like Cooper, pandering to the old and infirm. It’s possibly a prerequisite that you need to be a bit barmy, before you take on that sort of role.’
‘That can’t be true in the majority of cases, sir.’
‘No, you’re right of course, Cooper.’ Walters immediately regretted his off the cuff remark. Thinking of the care his mother was receiving, which neither he nor his sister had any possibility to provide.
The brick built bungalows, were arranged in a square and faced out onto a quadrangle. An enormous Norwegian Spruce had been erected in the centre of the quad and was covered in coloured Christmas lights the size of golf balls. Giving the residents something to gaze at from their glass fronted homes. To gain access to the accommodation, the policemen had had to pass through a further electronic security gate.
‘It’s rather an elaborate set up for sheltered accommodation. I wonder if it’s to keep visitors out, or to keep the residents in.’
‘I was thinking the same thing myself, sir. I hope the woman doesn’t turn out to be completely dotty.’
‘You and me both Cooper. This trip has been so bloody depressing. I’ll be glad to get back home. I expect we’ll get more tears from this old girl. You do realise, I should be having dinner with my sister and her family at this very moment, tucking into roast beef and Yorkshires, with roasted spuds and lashings of onion gravy.’