by Diane Janes
‘It’s less than a dozen miles from Furnival Towers, and the police are saying that the body could have been on the track for most of the weekend. Apparently there are no trains running along that line between just before midnight on Friday and quite early on Monday morning, which fits with the timing of her vanishing act. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Do you take an evening paper?’
‘I have the Post delivered but I haven’t read it yet. I’ll check it now and call you back.’
She found the story on an inside page. A blazing Talbot 105 found in a country lane in the early hours of Saturday morning was thought to be linked with a body which had been discovered that morning alongside the railway line, only fifty yards or so away. The remains had not been formally identified and the police were refusing to confirm the identity of the car owner, or whether the two incidents were linked. They had not ruled out foul play.
Tom answered the telephone so quickly that he must have been standing over it.
‘It could be Linda Dexter,’ she said. ‘It does fit. The car was found in the early hours of Saturday morning and Linda was last seen in the bar late on Friday night.’
‘If it is her, then someone ought to telephone the police and let them know that she was at the conference. Shall I do it?’
‘I don’t know. If someone else has seen the news, they may have called already. Hugh Allonby or someone might have done.’
‘Actually,’ it sounded as though Tom was thinking aloud, ‘we ought to mention it to the old boy first, as a courtesy if nothing else. He is the national chairman, after all.’
Fran agreed immediately. ‘He will probably want to tell the whole committee. Better people hear it sooner rather than later. It’s going to come as a bit of a shock and the police may want to take statements from people. You’d better telephone the High Priest.’
‘Right-ho. I’ll ring Allonby first, then the Old Bill.’
Fran spent a few more minutes searching through the paper, but there was nothing else about the story. Then another thought struck her. Suppose they were wrong and it wasn’t Linda? She pulled her diary out of her handbag, dialled up the operator and asked for Linda Dexter’s number again but, just as before, the operator was unable to connect her. The thought of a telephone bell echoing through an empty house sent a goosey chill from her shoulders to her wrists.
A moment later, her own telephone rang again and she picked it up full of hope, but it wasn’t Linda Dexter saying that she hadn’t got to the phone in time, it was Tom again, sounding more than slightly angry. ‘I’ve just spoken to the High Priest and Grand Panjandrum himself, Mr Hugh Allonby. Apparently he believes that it is up to him to ring the police on behalf of the society, as and when he has satisfied himself that it’s necessary to do so.’
‘But that’s ridiculous!’ exclaimed Fran.
‘Not according to Allonby. He says that we must not start rumours leading to the society’s involvement in a police enquiry based on nothing more than guesswork and supposition. Apparently he intends to alert the rest of the committee to the situation as soon as possible and sound everyone out before he does anything which might associate Robert Barnaby’s name with an unknown body on a railway line.’
Fran hesitated. ‘I can see what he means but I think he’s wrong. If it is Linda Dexter, then the police need to know as soon as possible what she was doing in the area that weekend.’
‘I agree, but he’s the chairman, so it’s his call up to a point.’ Tom sounded doubtful. ‘And we don’t know for certain that it is Linda Dexter. If it is, I suppose a few hours’ delay in calling the police won’t make any difference. The police might already be in touch with her family and know that she was attending the conference. We could be worrying about telling them something that they already know.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘Anyway, I’ll get off the line, in case Allonby is trying to get through to you.’
‘All right. When he speaks with me, I’ll vote for contacting the police straight away, just in case it is Linda.’
After replacing the telephone she went into the kitchen, but the idea of supper had little appeal. It was impossible to settle to anything while she waited for Hugh Allonby to call, and one scenario after another presented itself. She thought of the body lying undiscovered for two nights at the side of the track. Supposing Linda hadn’t been dead? Suppose she had fallen down and injured herself and cried out for help and no one came? It was too horrible to contemplate.
Every so often she glanced up at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was taking Hugh Allonby an awfully long time to call everyone. She thought of ringing Tom again, but of course that would block any incoming call. Eventually, when the clock had struck ten, she checked her membership list for his number, then called the operator and asked for the number herself. She half expected his line to be engaged, but there was no problem in getting connected.
‘Good evening, Mr Allonby,’ she began, feeling absurdly nervous. ‘I have been expecting you to call me about Linda Dexter, but I began to think that perhaps you had experienced some difficulty in getting through.’
‘Mrs Black? I would not have dreamed of disturbing you at such a late hour.’ The tone was reproving. ‘I have written a note to go in tomorrow’s post, but you have pre-empted me.’
As he seemed disinclined to elaborate further, Fran said, trying to keep it light, ‘Perhaps you could save the stamp by telling me what the note says.’
‘Certainly. It is a general note and reads as follows: Dear Fellow Committee Member, a suggestion has been made that a body found near Clitheroe today is that of Mrs Linda Dexter. It has been decided that members of the committee should under no circumstances contact the police in connection with this matter until confirmation of identity has been established and the committee has had the opportunity to discuss the matter further. Hugh Allonby, Chairman.’
A flush of anger spread through her chest as she listened. Who exactly had decided this and why hadn’t she been consulted? She was on the committee, after all. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘Really? Isn’t it self-explanatory?’
‘What I mean is that I want to ask how you can say that a decision has been made? I am on the committee and I haven’t even been consulted.’
Hugh Allonby’s voice was smooth as syrup. ‘The general view was that until such time as there was a definite link between this tragic affair and Mrs Dexter, any suggestion of involving the society was utterly mistaken – little more than wasting police time. As the executive committee, we have to consider any possible adverse impact on both the society itself and the reputation of Robert Barnaby in everything we do. Starting a wild goose chase which associates the society with a sordid police enquiry would be thoroughly irresponsible. There is absolutely nothing to connect a member of the society to this incident, apart from some very wild speculation.’
‘I tried to telephone Mrs Dexter’s number again tonight,’ Fran said. ‘There’s still no answer.’
‘That is neither here nor there.’
‘I don’t see how you can say that a decision has been reached when we haven’t had the chance to discuss it. You didn’t telephone me, and I have been at home all evening.’
‘One doesn’t have to consult every member in order to reach a consensus. Once more than half the members of our committee have assented to something, that’s a majority.’
‘I feel that we should all have been given the opportunity to discuss it,’ Fran persisted. ‘I happen to believe that someone should inform the police that Linda Dexter disappeared from the conference—’
‘I think disappeared is an overdramatic way of expressing it.’
‘—and so does Tom Dod.’
‘You’ve discussed it with Mr Dod, then?’
Fran felt a sudden need to defend herself. ‘He rang me to ask what I thought he should do.’
‘And why did he ring you in parti
cular?’ The tone was unmistakably nasty.
Up to that moment, it hadn’t occurred to Fran to question why. The obvious answer was that perhaps as Jean Robertson had done at the weekend, Tom had inferred a stronger link between herself and Linda Dexter than actually existed, probably thanks to her suggesting Linda for the conference programme, but since she didn’t want to remind Hugh Allonby of that particular connection just then, she said lamely, ‘I don’t know.’
‘There are proper channels of communication when something as important as the society’s reputation is at stake. Serious matters like this need to go through the elected chairman, and that is me.’
‘Yes, of course. I suggested to Mr Dod that he ring you,’ Fran said, and instantly despised herself for a suck-up.
‘Well, he did ring me and I have dealt with the matter. Now, it is really very late. I was on my way to bed when you rang.’
‘Which other committee members did you talk to? Did Miss Robertson think we ought to go to the police?’
‘It is very late,’ he repeated. ‘And I do not propose to discuss the matter any further. Goodnight, Mrs Black.’ A loud click in her ear indicated that the chairman had hung up.
SEVEN
Dear Fellow Committee Member,
Now that the body of Mrs Dexter has been formally identified, I have notified the authorities of her involvement in our annual conference. It is possible that some of you may be contacted by the police in furtherance of their enquiries. Should this occur, I would appreciate your keeping me informed. In the meantime, may I remind you that any enquiries from the press should be directed to me. It is most important that the society speaks with one voice at a time like this and avoids any negative publicity.
Hugh Allonby,
Chairman
The letter was waiting for Fran on Wednesday, when she arrived home after spending the day at Kendal market. Absolutely no expression of regret, she noted. Nothing about sympathy for Linda Dexter’s family. She did not care for the tone of the letter at all and wondered whether or not to phone Tom Dod. She decided against and called Mo instead.
‘So, my dear, what’s up with you?’
‘To tell you the truth, I’ve had a bit of a shock. Are you busy?’
‘You know I’m never too busy for you. Actually, I’m lying with my feet up on the sofa, drinking whiskey and lemonade.’
‘Why? Have you caught a chill?’
‘Of course not, I’ve just run out of gin. What’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing’s happened to me; it’s someone else. Have you heard about the woman who’s been found dead on a railway line in Lancashire, close to a burned-out motorcar?’
‘Can’t say that I have. You’re not going to tell me … don’t say it’s that woman who disappeared at your conference?’
‘It is. It’s Linda Dexter.’
‘Good heavens! How on earth did she get there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, Fran. You must have a theory. It’s got to be murder or suicide. You don’t end up on a railway line by accident.’
‘I don’t know. It’s very peculiar.’
‘Was she depressed? The type to kill herself?’
‘Is there a type? I don’t know what to think. Maybe she did kill herself …’
‘But you don’t really think so.’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know her all that well. It’s a funny time to choose, don’t you think? We all spent the evening chatting together in the hotel bar and she seemed happy enough. I got the impression that she was really looking forward to giving her talk the next day. And if you’re about to top yourself, why on earth set your car on fire first?’
‘What sort of place is it?’
‘What do you mean, Mo?’
‘Where she was found. Is it busy? Easy to get to?’
‘Neither. After I read about it in the paper, I checked on the map, and basically it’s at the back of beyond. She would have had to set fire to her car, then climb up the railway embankment by the bridge, and then walk a few yards along the line. It’s not even a proper railway line – just this funny old single track railway which serves a quarry.’
‘People don’t go to railway lines to commit suicide, unless they want to throw themselves under a train,’ observed Mo. ‘Did she actually throw herself under a train?’
‘I suppose so. The paper doesn’t really say how she died, but that’s the obvious assumption.’
‘Well, I agree that it all sounds jolly off-key. Why climb up an embankment in the dark? Had she got a torch with her – and what sort of shoes was she wearing? If you wanted to chuck yourself in front of a train, wouldn’t you do better to drive to a mainline station, leave your car in the station yard and wait on the platform? I told you so, didn’t I? I said she’d been kidnapped and murdered, right from the start. What does your Tom chap think?’
‘He’s not my Tom chap. I don’t know – I haven’t asked him.’
‘Well, call him. Perfect excuse.’
‘Honestly, Mo!’
‘Seems reasonable enough to me. The whole Robert Barnaby Society is going to be agog with it. Only natural to get in touch, I’d say.’
Fran was still contemplating this advice when the question was resolved by Tom ringing her. ‘You’ve seen Allonby’s note?’ he asked. Having received her affirmation, he went on, ‘I know this probably seems like a strange question, but do you happen to know what Linda Dexter was planning to say at the conference?’
‘Not really. The lecture title was The Magic Chair: Fact or Fiction, and she was going to speak about some research that she had just finished.’
‘Did she tell you anything about this research?’
‘Just that it was something completely new – information which had never been published before. She said the members would find it very interesting – as if, well, I don’t know – she thought it might create a bit of a stir.’ Fran hesitated, because she knew it sounded crazy, but then she said it anyway. ‘Do you think that perhaps someone wanted to stop her from making that speech?’
Tom gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘Sounds pretty melodramatic, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Fran said slowly. ‘I do find it hard to believe that Linda Dexter killed herself. Surely you don’t go from being jolly in the bar to chucking yourself under a train in the space of a couple of hours?’
‘Funny time to choose to kill yourself.’
‘Funny way to go about it as well. I was talking to a friend earlier and she said she couldn’t imagine why anyone would set fire to their car, then struggle up a railway embankment, when you could far more easily drive to a mainline station and simply walk out on to the platform. My friend thinks that she must have been abducted from the hotel and murdered.’
‘I would say that there’s a lot of sense in that,’ Tom said.
‘But you can’t just walk into the Furnival Towers Hotel and attack someone. The doors are locked at night and surely Marcus Dryden would have said something if there had been any sign of a break-in.’
‘So the chances are that no one broke in.’
‘Do you really think that someone killed her? A member of the society?’
‘Do you think I’m absolutely barking to suggest it?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t. Do you think it might be something to do with Linda’s research?’
‘It doesn’t seem very likely, does it? I mean, what could possibly be that important about the Robert Barnaby Society?’
‘Would the police take it seriously?’
‘I’m not planning to suggest it to them,’ said Tom. ‘In a sense, I’m with old Allonby inasmuch that we do have a responsibility to protect the society from wild rumours, and I do appreciate that it won’t do the public image of Robert Barnaby any good to be at the centre of a police investigation. Besides which, the idea sounds so farfetched that the person who put it forward would look like a prize idiot, particularly
when it turned out to be a load of tosh. I mean, it can’t be much better than a million-to-one shot.’
‘But what if your million-to-one shot is right?’
‘If we could somehow get hold of a copy of Linda Dexter’s lecture, or better still, see her research notes, the two of us know enough about Robert Barnaby to see whether or not the idea is a runner. If it turns out that there is something in it, well, that would be the time to involve the police. Though quite honestly I can’t imagine what anyone could possibly discover about a dead author which would be worth committing a murder to keep it quiet.’
Fran thought for a moment before she said, ‘Linda’s family might be willing to give a copy of her research papers to the Robert Barnaby Society.’
‘They might, but an official approach from the committee wouldn’t be the best way to go about this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Think about it,’ said Tom.
‘Because if your million-to-one shot comes in, the person who killed Linda is probably someone who is at the heart of the society.’
‘Precisely.’
EIGHT
It was around eleven o’clock the following morning when Ada answered a knock at the front door and then hesitantly announced, ‘It’s a policeman to see you, Mum.’
Police Sergeant Godfrey seemed anxious to put her at her ease. Just routine enquiries, he said, on behalf of the coroner. He supposed that she was aware of the recent demise of Mrs Linda Dexter?
‘I read about it in the paper,’ Fran said. ‘Please, do come in and take a seat.’ She extended a hand in the direction of the sofa while simultaneously nodding in the direction of the kitchen, by way of dismissing Ada, who was lurking in the doorway with her mouth open.
‘The police in Cumberland have received information from one of their local telephone exchanges that a call had recently been placed from a telephone listed at this address, asking for the number belonging to Mrs Linda Dexter of Ivegill, and it was thought possible that, as a friend or relative of the deceased, you might be able to throw some light on her state of mind.’