by Granger, Ann
‘Apologies. I don’t suppose you did. But it’s hard to talk about anything but the murder, isn’t it? You can’t ignore something like that, not when it’s happened on your doorstep. I expect half the people in this pub are discussing it.’
‘Then it’s probably doubled the trade and is the reason our food is so long arriving. The landlord mightn’t mind but I do. I want to talk about us.’ He saw incipient alarm on his companion’s face and went on hastily, ‘Listen, please, Penny! I’ve had a letter from Karen. She’s not coming back.’
‘Not coming back?’ she stared at him, bewildered. ‘From the cruise?’
‘No, no, she’s coming back from that to the UK, at least for the time being. But not to me.’ He shrugged.
‘Oh, Andrew . . .’ Impulsively Penny put her hand over his. ‘I am so sorry.’
He seized it. ‘Don’t be sorry! I’m not. I told you, the marriage has been on the rocks for ages, over and done. It just needed one of us to say so, and now Karen has, thank goodness. To tell you the full story, I gather she’s met some elderly American widower on this cruise. Now she’s all set to cut her links with me and set up with this bloke in the States. Good luck to her, to both of them. This evening out, Penny, is by way of a celebration.’
She snatched her hand away from his. ‘You ought not to say that. It’s a sad occasion. Any marriage failing is sad. You can’t just accept it, like that! What about counselling?’
‘Give me a break, Penny! We’ve gone way past the counselling stage. Anyway, she’s met someone else, don’t you see?’
‘But your house, the furniture you bought together . . .’
‘Karen suggests we communicate henceforth through our respective solicitors. She’s got some chap in a London firm, probably a divorce specialist. I’ll have to make do with the local man I’ve always used. Anyway, what’s it to me? We can sell the house and the furniture, for all I care, and split the money down the middle. She has said that’s all she wants. It’s her idea, too. Financially she’s got her own career and now she’s also got her sugar daddy. We’ve always had separate bank accounts and she’s no intention, she says, of raiding mine.’
‘You’ll still have to meet. She’ll have to come back. What about her personal belongings?’
‘She suggests we arrange a mutually convenient time, when I’m not there, for her to come to the house and take her stuff.’
‘She might take half of yours as well,’ argued Penny. ‘You can’t just stand back and let her help herself, Andy!’
‘I shouldn’t think she’ll make off with my golf clubs or my collection of Toby jugs. She always hated those. I don’t see her taking a pair of scissors to my best suit. She doesn’t care enough about me for that! If you’re worried about it, I’ll move anything I value out of the house before she gets there. If she takes too long coming to pick up her things, I might put them in store. Then she needn’t come to the house. But I suppose she will; just to make sure I haven’t kept anything back. Oh, what the hell, the solicitors can sort that out between them. But don’t you see what it means to us? I’m free – or I will be very soon. We can get married.’
‘No!’ Penny burst out so loudly the people at the next table glanced across. ‘No,’ she repeated in loud whisper.
He was staring at her in amazement. ‘Well, I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the news but I didn’t think you’d be horrified!’
‘I’m not, I mean, I am, that is, after all I was saying this afternoon, how we were just friends . . .’
She broke off, turned a bright guilty red and clapped her hand over her mouth. But the damage was done.
‘Saying to whom? To Eli? To ruddy Inspector Campbell?’ Ferris’s own face flushed and he began to look seriously annoyed. ‘What’s going on, Pen? I thought you’d been discussing some photo with the cops, not us. I take it that’s what you do mean? You’ve been talking to Campbell about us? Why? What’s it to her? She’s supposed to be investigating the stiff in Eli’s cowshed. I don’t know why she was snooping here tonight, or why she was hanging round the stables with her photo album of deceased barmaids. I certainly don’t know why you’ve decided to confide in her, especially about something so private and between us.’
‘Don’t get mad at me, Andy, please!’ She leaned earnestly towards him.
‘I’m not angry with you!’ He drew a deep breath and made a visible attempt to calm down. ‘But I’d like to know what the hell that inspector is playing at, asking about you and me. It’s none of her bloody business and when I see her again, I’ll tell her so.’
‘No, you mustn’t! It wasn’t like that. She didn’t ask me anything about you, believe me. It was me, I wanted to explain to her. I didn’t want her to get the wrong end of the stick. She didn’t want to listen at first but I insisted. I stressed we were just very good friends . . .’ Penny’s face fell. ‘But now it seems I was the one misreading the situation. I feel such a fool. Oh, Andy, I am pleased you feel that the situation between you and Karen is being resolved. But I have always tried to make it clear to you that we can’t be more than pals. Karen has her tour guide job and it didn’t help your marriage. I’ve got the stables. I spend all day every day there. What kind of marriage would that be? You’d be out of the frying pan and into the fire if you and I married. Lindsey’s husband makes unkind remarks about her spending so much time with the horses, even though he’s away a lot on business, or he says it’s business. I think Lindsey is getting suspicions he’s got a lady friend in London. She, Lindsey, has been trying to establish where all the money is, just in case. That makes her sound mercenary and she isn’t, really, not in normal circumstances. But Mark’s got all the cash; she hasn’t a bean of her own and she doesn’t trust him an inch. If she does divorce him, well, she’s not letting him off the hook! That’s why you should take your split from Karen much more seriously. People get awfully money-grabbing when it comes to divorce.’
‘I don’t have any hidden assets,’ Ferris said promptly. ‘That’s why I don’t give a damn. Harper now, well, I wouldn’t put it past him to have money stashed in offshore accounts. If Lindsey divorces him, she’ll take him to the cleaners. But I’m not his accountant, so I don’t care. You’re doing it again, Penny, worrying about other people.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m talking about us. You work from home. Every morning I’d disappear and not return until the evening, weekends included. It would be the same situation as you’ve been in with Karen.’
‘No, it wouldn’t!’ he argued. ‘Karen and I had other differences. Really, we had absolutely nothing in common. But you and I do. I’d still come down to the stables and help out. I know you’ve got to spend most of your time there. Although between us we could afford to employ a full-time groom . . .’
‘You see? You’re already looking for a way round the problem. A way for me to spend more time with you, somewhere else, and doing something other than look after horses.’
He began to look annoyed again. ‘Look here, what are you going to do for the rest of your life, apart from care for the nags? What kind of quality of life do you want? Do you mean to live in that ramshackle cottage you rent from Eli for ever?’
Penny flushed. ‘I’m glad to have it. It means I can be near the stables. Looking after animals isn’t like any other job! I have to be there, on the spot. Don’t disparage it. It’s what I want to do and what I’m happy doing. I told Inspector Campbell that.’
‘You can’t give them your whole life!’ he exploded. ‘And since you’re so keen to bare your soul to Campbell, does it occur to you, you might have been franker with me? Don’t say you had no idea how I feel. You must have.’
A short silence fell. Andrew looked down at his hands.
‘I can’t explain it, Andy, I’m sorry,’ Penny said. ‘I wish I could. I never meant to mislead you. I – I really cherish what we have. Our friendship means a lot to me. It works, or I thought it was working, and I don’t want to gamble changing it for something that
might not work. I was in a relationship before, in London. It broke down, as yours and Karen’s has broken down. It would be wrong for you to rush into another relationship right away. I know it isn’t right for me. So at the moment, and for the foreseeable future, I am prepared to give the stables my life. I’m happy, Andy, and I’m afraid of losing that happiness.’
‘Not afraid of losing me, though?’ He looked up into her face.
‘I don’t want to lose you, Andy,’ she said wretchedly. ‘Perhaps I am being unfair. But I can’t marry you.’
‘Then I won’t mention it again,’ he said stiffly. ‘Would you like another drink?’
A shadow fell across their table and they both looked up. An unknown woman stood there, heavily made up and clad in skintight jeans and a Lurex top. Her mascara-ed eyes fixed Penny avidly.
‘Here,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘Don’t you run the stables? You’re right next to the farm where the girl was found dead! You must have had the police all over the place. Did you see anything? Did you hear any screams?’
Ferris gave a bark of laughter.
‘Do you know, Penny? You’re a celebrity! You’ll be able to sell your story to the tabloids soon. Only leave me out of it next time, won’t you?’
Chapter 11
‘Well?’ asked Phil Morton. ‘Which piece of news do you want first?’
He was replacing the phone on its rest as Jess entered the room. His appearance was rumpled. That wasn’t unusual but he looked more dishevelled than normal today. Jess knew he was working hard on this murder. Morton was always reliable, despite the litany of grumbling that accompanied everything he did. This time, however, she suspected he was taking a personal interest in the case and was therefore prepared to go the extra mile. Whatever the reason behind his diligence, she meant to let Ian Carter know how much time and effort Morton was investing. But it was a week now since the discovery of the body, and time was slipping away from them. From now on, witnesses’ memory would fade; other events would crowd the murder from public consciousness. They badly needed a break.
‘I take it this is good news, Phil? We’re making progress?’
‘Oh, we’re making progress, all right. Of course, it depends how you look at it, how good you think it is. On the phone just now,’ Morton nodded at the silent instrument, ‘was a solicitor by the name of Fairbrother.’
‘Should I know him? Is he local?’
‘You’ll get the chance to meet him if we want to interview David Jones again. It seems that young David’s family is very concerned that our questions might upset the boy and bring on another bout of his nervous trouble. So, if we want to talk to him again, Mr Fairbrother would like to be present.’
Jess pulled out a chair from the next-door desk, currently tenantless while DS Nugent hauled his golf trolley round the fairways of southern Portugal.
‘Let me get this straight, Phil. Fairbrother rang us at whose request? David Jones’s or his father’s?’
‘I think it must be his father’s, but I couldn’t be sure. Fairbrother was a little evasive about that.’ Morton himself looked cautious.
‘You can bet he was,’ Jess said grimly. ‘David Jones is an adult. He is, of course, entitled to have his solicitor with him if we question him. Though why he thinks he should need him is curious! But it would be his choice. His father can’t request it on his behalf. If he were under-age, it would be different. A minor has to have an interested adult with him. But he’s at least in his middle twenties, although admittedly he looks younger.’
‘He didn’t exactly say it was old man Jones who asked him to phone us,’ Morton told her. ‘But he didn’t say it was David’s idea, either. He did say they had a statement from the family doctor attesting that the young man’s mental state is fragile.’
‘Good grief!’ exploded Jess. ‘What are they trying to do? Pin it on David? The family rushes to get a medical statement saying their son’s unstable. They don’t want him questioned without the family watchdog present. Don’t they realise that both those things serve to point the finger at him? I’m surprised Barney Jones, who is a barrister, has handled things so badly.’
‘It might not be him,’ said Morton doubtfully.
Jess clicked her fingers in triumph. ‘Got it, Phil! It’s not Barney who has got on to Fairbrother and the doctor. It’s Mrs Jones, David’s mother. Selina Foscott warned me she intended to talk to Julia Jones. She did – and this is the result. I bet, when her husband finds out what his wife’s done, he’ll hit the roof!’
‘As yet,’ Morton went on, pulling a notepad towards him, ‘we have no grounds to bring in young David for questioning. I rang the garage where the forensic team are stripping down the pub’s van. So far they’ve found no sign of either blood or body fluids, or any incriminating object. Nor does the interior appear to have been cleaned recently. They have retrieved some long strands of hair, of a colour matching Eva’s, from the headrest of the passenger seat.’
Jess gave an impatient hiss. ‘That’s not going to do us much good, even if we can identify it as Eva’s hair. Why shouldn’t it be in the van belonging to the pub where she worked? All Jones will need to say is that he gave her several lifts into Cheltenham or elsewhere. It would probably be true. Westcott said the two girls were always cadging lifts. What we need is evidence that Eva’s dead body was in it.’
‘Nor is Jones the only one to drive it,’ Morton pointed out. ‘Westcott drives it. He must have taken Eva into town in it umpteen times. So does Mrs Westcott. She’s very good about asking the girls if they want a lift, so Milada says.’
‘Milada?’ Jess raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, Milada!’ Morton flushed. ‘Her last name gets me flummoxed. It’s easier to call her by her first name.’
‘The point is, what does she call you?’
Morton grew even redder. ‘She calls me “Sergeant”. If you heard the way she says it, you’d think she was the superintendent here and not Carter!’
‘Good,’ said Jess unkindly. ‘Just remember, if you fancy getting up close and personal, to wait until all this is over. At present Milada is a valuable witness.’
‘Don’t tell me my job!’ snapped Phil, adding icily, ‘Inspector, ma’am!’
‘Don’t get on your high horse, Phil. I’m not telling you your job which you do very well, as we both know. I’m not interfering unduly in your private life. But we’ve got a new superintendent here and you being discovered canoodling with a witness is just what we don’t need.’
Morton’s anger faded to be replaced by his usual doleful expression. ‘A chance would be a fine thing. Don’t worry, I won’t be stupid. Anyhow, about the pub van, if you’re interested. The handyman who’s off sick also drives it. His name is Robert, known as “Bert”, Lawson.’
‘Ah!’ Jess brightened. ‘A possible?’
Morton took a clear malicious pleasure in being able to disappoint her. ‘No, the bloke’s got a slipped disc. He hasn’t been able to move for the past ten days. I’ve seen him and he looked genuine to me. He’s hobbling round at home getting under his wife’s feet and she’s pretty fed up about it. He also gave Westcott a note from his doctor, explaining why he wasn’t at work.’
‘What about Westcott?’ Jess asked thoughtfully. ‘Did you speak to him when you went out to the pub, as well as to his wife?’
‘I spoke to both of them. His missus’s name is Bronwen and she’s Welsh, you won’t be surprised to hear. She’s also the cook. The waitresses help out in the kitchen, before the restaurant clientèle turns up. They chop up vegetables and keep an eye on the stove, that sort of thing. Once there are paying punters sitting at the tables then it’s their business to get out there and take orders and ferry the food back and forth. Bronwen Westcott seems to have been fond of both girls. She’s very upset about Eva being dead.’
‘Being dead or being murdered?’
‘Both!’ said Phil promptly. ‘She says she means to make sure nothing bad happens to Milada.’
‘Do you think she might be feeling guilty? Because something bad did happen to Eva?’
Morton showed an unexpected awareness of psychology. ‘People always do feel guilty after a death. If it’s someone near to you, you feel you ought to have been able to prevent it. Bronwen Westcott says now she wishes she’d taken more trouble to find out where Eva went in her free time. But both girls were adults and, as she says, she’s their employer, not their guardian angel.’
‘Hm, how about the regulars? Did you get to talk to any of them?’
Morton smiled. ‘Westcott didn’t like the idea of that. I was tactful, or tried to be. I went out into the bar and bought a tomato juice and mingled. I intended to introduce the subject of the missing barmaid casually, but I was stymied.’
‘Oh, how?’ Jess raised her eyebrows.
‘Because Harper turned up. He immediately started going on about the police wasting their efforts and the ratepayers’ money. “Who knows what the damn girl did in her free time?” he said. Charming fellow.’
‘Ah,’ Jess said, ‘Mark Harper.’
‘He reckons we’re hounding him. If we show up again, he’ll be off to make an official complaint,’ Morton informed her. ‘Anyway, he seemed to take the feeling of the meeting with him. After he’d weighed in, no one wanted to talk to me.’
‘Blast Harper!’ said Jess crossly. ‘I’m not taking my eye off him. Perhaps he persuaded his “old friend” in London to give him that alibi.’
‘All his drinking cronies sang the same tune. Yes, they were regulars. No, they didn’t take much notice of the girls who worked there. The girls were always foreign and one was much like another, they couldn’t tell them apart. No, they hadn’t noticed one was missing. Well, old Jake did mention something but they couldn’t remember exactly what. All were very shocked to hear she’d been murdered. Rural areas not safe these days . . . Police slow to act . . . Government not interested in the countryside . . . You can imagine the rest of it.’