‘Certainly not.’ said Jack stiffly, who to do him justice, as Charmian sometimes did, was a great drunk and wanderer but not unfaithful. Or not lately.
The nurse came over, picked up the child and said: ‘Going for our lovely walk now … We’re going to the park, Granny.’
‘Right. I ordered the fruit you wanted, it will all be delivered.’
‘Do you want any help carrying the child down?’ This was Jack.
‘No, thank you, Mr Cooper, we have to have a wash and tidy first and I can manage beautifully in the lift.’
Jack wasn’t Grandpa to the nurse, Charmian noticed, as she thought he did too, and even Anny had seemed to use the name more as a weapon. Life was sometimes very unfair to Jack.
‘Come on then.’ ordered Anny. ‘Let’s go into the studio and have a drink. Jack can mix us a martini.’
‘It’s the middle of the afternoon,’ protested Charmian.
‘You used to drink in the afternoon.’
‘That was then.’
But Jack made no martinis, disappearing no doubt to some private toping of his own, and the two women drank tea. Anny showed Charmian her latest paintings.
‘They’re good,’ Charmian appraised. ‘Really good, and different.’ Not exactly gentler, but quieter.
‘I know.’ Anny always accepted praise without fuss. ‘For a time, I couldn’t work, but now I’ve begun again.’ She looked at her friend speculatively, wondering, as they all did, how her marriage was working and if she was happy. It was hard to associate Charmian with total, perfect happiness.
Charmian put down her cup. ‘ I’ll tell you why I wanted to ask about Margaret Drue, it’s not particularly secret, not as far as I am concerned. She had a newspaper cutting about me, tucked inside her clothing. Cut from a local paper and dating from the time I came here to give a talk just before I took up my previous position.’
‘Yes, that is strange.’ Anny poured some more tea. ‘Hidden? As if it was a secret?’
‘Something like that … she had a message asking me for help scrawled on it.’
Anny thought about it for a moment, then her real affection for her friend showed through. ‘I don’t like it for you.’
‘I don’t think I’m in any personal danger. But why my name came into her mind …’ Charmian shrugged. ‘ I suppose it could have been Jack. There was that local murder I was involved with, it would have been in his mind.’ Except who knew what was in Jack’s mind?
‘Jack had nothing to do with the death or what went on in the school.’
‘No, of course not I never thought so for a minute.’
‘Yes, you did. Passed through your mind. You looked at the idea.’
Charmian laughed. ‘You devil, Anny. Well, perhaps a notion flashed through, but no, not Jack,’
He knew something though, she had read it in his face. Not guilt but knowledge.
She finished her tea. ‘I’m off. Let me know if I can do anything. And don’t forget Rewley is the child’s father. I’m back to work.’
‘He comes round, but he couldn’t possibly look after the child.’
‘Perhaps he ought to be allowed to try.’
Anny became serious. ‘Listen to me, I know what I’m talking about. You’ve never had a child, you can’t put them out for the day like a kitten. This baby is a full-time job.’
‘For three women?’ asked Charmian.
‘I’ll ignore that. No, I won’t. Yes, he could have the nurses, Kate’s trust fund which is now for the use of her child could pay for what was needed, since I don’t suppose the salary of a serving officer could run to it, but Rewley hasn’t got the emotional strength at the moment. He’s still living in the shadows.’
Charmian was silent: she could not deny it. George Rewley had withdrawn to a world of his own.
‘What you can do,’ Anny swept on, ‘is to see he gets back to work. Work is what he needs now. Don’t worry, he can have the child when he wants.’
‘Sorry, Anny. I should have trusted you more.’
‘For my oldest friend, you make a good critic,’ said Anny without rancour. ‘Come on, I’ll see you out. Let me know how the investigation goes. As a case it makes my flesh creep.’
Mine too, thought Charmian.
Anny walked through the open courtyard of Wellington Place, of which she was now the owner, having absorbed the other apartments into her domain, ‘The nannies have to live somewhere, we can’t all pig in together,’ she had said blithely, ‘and I am constructing a small gallery for shows.’
Geraniums in great pots and a fuschia tree stood about; Anny patted them as she walked past. The entrance to the court now had an iron grille for security and privacy, but Charmian had parked round the corner, probably illegally, but her car was known and it was one of the few ways in which she exploited her position.
Jack was sitting in her car in the passenger seat. ‘ You ought to have locked your car.’
‘I know.’ She got in the car to sit beside him, ‘Come on, Jack, what is it? Want me to drive you anywhere?’
‘I wanted to say that I did tell Margaret Drue about you. I did not give her the cutting or even tell her about it, I didn’t see her after the child’s body was found, she disappeared, this was before.’
‘You talked about me. Why, Jack? Any special reason? Not just because you liked my face?’
‘Always admired you, Charmian.’ Jack stared straight ahead. ‘But the woman was worried. She was trying to drop her past, be good, not easy, you know.’ Jack knew all about struggling to mend your ways. ‘She knew something about the school that she didn’t like.’
‘She was suspected of killing the child.’
‘I know, and when she disappeared, then I was worried too. Didn’t know what to think or what to say. You weren’t here then or I might have talked to you. Anny and I were having one of our non-talkers. You know …’
‘I know.’ Non-talkers were when Jack cleared off, disappeared you could say, and drank his way into oblivion before returning, when life between Anny and Jack would resume. It seemed a terrible kind of therapy for him. He hadn’t behaved like this lately.
‘So I decided Margaret had done in the kid and cleared off. She was a strange lady. Of course, I didn’t know about her record, no one did, the school should have done, but didn’t.’
‘You’re talking too much, Jack.’
‘The rumour going round the town is that she was murdered herself. Which makes her innocent.’ He sounded troubled.
‘That seems to be what happened. But we don’t know how or why, Jack. She may have been killed in revenge because she did kill the child.’
He looked even more troubled. ‘Do you believe that?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Proper copper, aren’t you?’ There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. ‘Dead, killed, murdered, and still you’re measuring her up for a crime.’
Charmian was silent, then: ‘ Say what you have to say, Jack, and get on with it.’
‘All I know is, she said something rotten was going on in that school.’
‘Any details? Names? What she meant?’
‘Sex,’ he said. ‘Had to be from the way she spoke and the look in her eyes. She wasn’t a totally nice woman, but better than they say, and I’d learnt to read her. She knew something, and I reckon she was killed because of it.’ He started to get out of the car. ‘ I feel I owe her.’
‘If she didn’t do the killing first. She had a record. What was it she said to you?’
‘She said: there’s some sex game going on among those kids.’
‘Exact words, Jack?’
‘Exact words.’
‘And was this before or after you talked about me?’
‘Kind of in the middle. What she had to say came out in dribs and drabs. Until that last sentence, and she said that quick and fast.’
‘Were you in bed with her at the time, Jack?’
‘I was not,’ he said with some
dignity.
He stood on the kerb’s edge watching as Charmian started the car. ‘All right, Jack, you’ve said it.’
‘Sorry I mentioned your name to her.’
‘Forget it. You may have done the right thing.’
She began to drive, leaving him standing on the kerb looking lost. It was his badge, that look. He had been born with it but years of marriage to Anny had put a polish on it. The marriage held, though, and was even enjoyed in its odd way by both parties.
As she gave one last look behind her, she saw his face; it was full of pain. The thought came to her: Jack is in this murk deeper than you think. Damn you, Jack. I like you, you are married to my oldest friend, and the father of my godchild, I want you in the clear.
She stopped the car, wound down the window and called out over her shoulder: ‘ I’ll be in touch, Jack.’ Then drove off. Let him make of that what he liked.
It looked as though Jack was responsible for introducing her name to Margaret Drue. Oh Margaret Drue, she apotheosized as she drove away. What were you and why did you use my name? Or did you? Perhaps someone else, your killer maybe, put that piece of paper in your bra. In that case, whose was the cry for help?
And were you an innocent victim of the person who had killed the child? Or were you the child killer yourself, executed for your crime? And if so, who was your executioner?
And the head of the child? What did that mean? Too many questions.
The head had been found, and then placed between the knees of a dead woman.
I don’t like this introduction of the head. It’s like a terrible parody of a virgin and child. She drove on smartly. I’ll put that to Jim Towers to see what he thinks … ‘Jim,’ she might say, ‘how does the head of Alana fit into your catalogue of heads? A memento mori, a symbol of revenge, or a present from the past?’
There was one other person who had known Charmian in those early days in Windsor when Margaret Drue had heard her name, a person moreover who took a professional interest in heads. This was Beryl Andrea Barker, Baby to her friends, of whom Charmian must now be counted as one, although she had at one time been responsible for sending Baby to prison for a long term.
And would again, if required, she told herself firmly. But Baby had reformed, and now ran a successful hair-dressing establishment in Meadow Street, Windsor, as well as another in Merrywick. The days when she had been an active member of a gang of women criminals were long past. Not regretted by her. ‘And it was not like they make it out on the telly, dear,’ she had once explained to Charmian, ‘it was drear.’
Meadow Street was on the edge of Windsor in an area once unsmart but steadily becoming gentrified and more expensive. Miss Barker (she refused to be Ms, saying her unmarried state was important to her) had moved her establishment here within the last year because it offered her larger premises and excellent parking. Charmian saw that the outside had been repainted a brighter pink (Baby loved pink) since her last visit and deduced that confidence was high.
The door was opened by Baby herself, a crest of golden curls in which a blue chiffon scarf was artfully twined topped her head; a minimal blue silk skirt and a matching shirt gave Charmian an idea of her mood: upbeat. Baby in a bad low state wore distressed jeans and a cotton shirt.
Over the years a quiet friendship had grown up between the two women, together with a certain respect. Charmian valued Baby’s sharp view of the world and Baby for her part trusted the honesty of her friend. On the matter of fashion, the differences were stronger, with Baby shrugging her shoulders at her friend’s conservative taste while she herself liked to wear strong, bright, expendable clothes. Buy today, wear tomorrow, throw away the day after, that was her credo.
‘There you are, and not before time.’ She ran her fingers through Charmian’s hair. ‘Let me get my razor.’
‘Just trimmed and washed,’ pleaded Charmian.
Baby gave another appraising look: ‘And you could do with a tint. The roots are showing.’
‘Thanks. You are making me feel good.’
‘The truth is always best,’ said Baby virtuously. Then she caught sight of her friend’s raised eyebrows. ‘As far as looks are concerned, I’m not saying of life in general.’
Baby had been a fluent and unembarrassed liar to the police and in court in what she called ‘the old days’, and had not lost the gift.
‘Well, that was business,’ she said, reading Charmian’s face. ‘And you’re a friend, I don’t lie to you.’
Charmian sat down. ‘I’ll have a blow dry if you will do it yourself.’ Baby only attended to the hair of favoured clients, who were charged twice the normal rate for the privilege.
‘Want to talk, do you?’ asked Baby, handing over a robe, and seating Charmian.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I can read you like a book.’
The razor appeared and was sent swooping over Charmian’s head. ‘Don’t take too much off,’ she pleaded. ‘ Humphrey doesn’t like it shorn.’
‘Oh yes,’ Baby’s hand hovered. ‘ How’s that going?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Tricky business being married, especially for the second time. It is your second, and not the third?’ said Baby sagely. ‘Wouldn’t risk it myself.’ She lowered the razor ‘ Nasty business you’ve got down in Flanders Street. An unlucky name, I’ve said so before. I nearly bought a house there when I first came to Windsor, but no, I said, that name is associated with death. And I wasn’t wrong, was I?’
Charmian would have answered but Baby had her head pressed down like a dog she was grooming.
‘No,’ she managed, as she got her head up and could breathe again. ‘You were living here when the child Alana was missing.’
‘Murdered, you mean.’ She was finishing the cut with scissors which gave a sharp snip. ‘ Say what you mean. Yes, I was.’ The scissors hovered. ‘But I can’t help you there. I did Miss Bailey’s hair once or twice but that was all. Lovely hair, she had, but neglected. Not what I’d call a looker but she could have made something of herself if she’d tried. Other things on her mind, I suppose.’ After a while she stood back. ‘I think I’ve got you right. Just lightened you a touch. You need lightening … Of course, she never came back after the murder.’ Baby was brushing the hair from Charmian’s neck and shoulders. ‘And I remember not being surprised about the murder.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder why that was? Someone must have told me something. You hear all sorts of gossip here from under the dryer. Sometimes not true.’
‘Was there talk about the school?’
Baby looked thoughtful as she led Charmian to a wash basin, motioning to an assistant to come forward. There was a class structure in her salon by which only juniors washed hair.
‘Talk about the school as such or about people?’
‘Can’t remember.’ Baby had her eye on the girl assistant. ‘ Not too much shampoo and only one wash, then conditioner,’ she ordered. Your hair is so dry. Out of condition, you ought to watch it … You can’t separate the school from the people, can you?’
A shower of water and strong hands rubbing her scalp kept Charmian quiet for a minute until she could escape. Dabbing her eyes, she saw that Baby was still by her side.
‘That’s enough, Julie. Madam’s done now. Towel, please.’
‘Did you know one of the teachers, Margaret Drue?’
Baby paused. ‘That’s quite a question, isn’t it? She was the one who was supposed to have done it, wasn’t she? And now her body has been found in the house. It was on the TV news. Pictures as well. Yes, she came here sometimes. Her hair wasn’t much and she didn’t take care of it.’
‘What did you make of her?’
‘I’ll have to think about that,’ said Baby. ‘Why?’
‘Did you ever mention my name to her?’
‘I don’t talk about you all the time,’ said Baby smartly. ‘ In fact, come to think of it, hardly any of the time.’
Charmian knew that evasive
talk. ‘Did you?’
Baby drew a breath. ‘I recognized her, I’d seen her before, we were in the same nick for a bit.’
‘I see.’ Presumably the police had discovered this fact, and thought it not significant. ‘And did she recognize you?’
‘No. And I can tell you we didn’t talk about the police in any shape or form. In fact, I kept out of her way.’
‘You didn’t want to be claimed as a friend?’
‘I knew what she’d been in for: touching up a kid. More than one, probably.’
‘Weren’t you surprised that she was teaching in a school?’
‘No, it’s the sort of place a person like her would head for … anyway, I didn’t know then where she was working, not till afterwards. What is all this?’
‘She used my name … she seemed to think I could help her.’
‘She’d have been wrong then, wouldn’t she? You’re not into helping that sort.’
Charmian did not answer but Baby went on talking. ‘She’s dead now, and innocent of the killing.’
Did she really believe this? Possibly, Charmian thought, but I am reserving judgement.
‘But I’ll tell you about her: she was S.I.M. – that’s the phrase, isn’t it? – Strange in Manner. Not all the time but now and then. Flashes of oddness. I suppose she controlled it at the school but she let it get out sometimes.’
Like an animal that had to be fed, thought Charmian with a shudder.
‘And that’s when she was having bad thoughts,’ said Baby ‘You know what I mean.’
Charmian looked at her reflection in the looking-glass above the basin and saw Baby’s expression.
‘If I’d been a child and I’d seen that look, I’d have run a mile. Perhaps that kid did. Only not fast enough.’
As Charmian paid her bill, she could hear herself saying to Jim Towers: I’ve tracked several people who knew me and from whom Margaret Drue might have got the idea of calling on me for help. She didn’t have to know, or even see me, but she knew my name and general character. I can be sure of that. And I have the idea that she was killed because she had abused and murdered Alana. So you will have to look for a revenge killer.
The Morbid Kitchen Page 6