Deadly Practice

by Christine Green

  I smiled in what I hoped was a casual fashion. ‘Ravishing,’ I said, ‘but just a boy. I find older men more attractive.’ As the words came out I realized with horror they were all listening and watching me and their faces mirrored anxiety and suspicion. ‘Strangely,’ I said more loudly than usual, ‘I don't actually like medicos very much. They're so one-track. Far more interested in their work than the average man. I prefer … adventurers.’

  Ros laughed. ‘So do I, but I married a GP. Still we manage, don't we, girls?’

  The others laughed lightly in unison. I sensed there was an undercurrent of antipathy towards me. Hostility in the air, rising like the smell of damp compost.

  ‘We appear to manage,’ said Sara, ‘those that are left.’

  ‘Come off it, Sara, it's not that bad,’ said Caroline smiling pleasantly. ‘You have a secure life, a good standard of living, children at boarding school doing well. Some people would be very envious.’

  ‘Meaning you?’

  ‘I didn't say that. Alan may not be a doctor but he is very involved in the practice. His being so involved wasn't the cause of our break-up but it certainly didn't help. I had to make a life for myself even before the divorce.’

  Sara obviously couldn't drop the subject. Sitting forward, tiny head jutting aggressively, she said, ‘You are just so content, aren't you? A cow in a field could learn from you.’

  Caroline looked more crestfallen than angry and it was Ros whose eyes narrowed and from whose lips hissed, ‘You bitch! Just because your husband—’

  ‘My husband what? What! Anyway, you're a fine one to talk, you lost your best friend, dipso that she was, and you've never been the same since—’

  ‘Please don't argue,’ interrupted Debs nervously. ‘This isn't how we usually behave; what will Kate think of us?’

  There was a protracted silence whilst they stared at me as if I were somehow responsible for their bitchiness and that they couldn't give a toss anyway. I emptied my glass quickly guessing that the wine was the only thing that was going to make this lunch bearable.

  When lunch did come it was definitely calorie counted. We ate in the dining-room on a splendid mahogany table with a bunch of white lilies in the middle which I thought very funereal. There were prawns and salad, no dressing, no mayonnaise, just lime juice. There was dry French bread and fruit salad and some ghastly low-fat cheese with crisp-breads. It was Sara who explained their policy on keeping slim. ‘It's just so awful being fat, isn't it? Every day I check my weight, I mean one has to, doesn't one?’

  ‘One does,’ I said, po-faced.

  Gradually as the lunch wore on the conversation turned to Jenny's murder and Helena's disappearance. The wine which was being drunk quite freely now loosened tongues and they seemed to forget I was there at all. I nodded and smiled and listened. Helena Amroth, it seemed, had left four years ago, very suddenly. The general consensus was that Jenny and Charles Amroth had started an affair some time before and when Helena found out she had left him.

  ‘I know she was drinking heavily,’ said Rosalind. ‘Vodka, but she'd been doing that for years and keeping it quite well under control.’

  ‘Merely under wraps, Ros,’ said Sara. ‘How Charles could have let it go on I don't know.’

  ‘I don't think he'd paid her any real attention for years—’

  ‘Come off it, Ros. You're not trying to say he didn't know!’

  Ros shrugged. ‘It's just that I don't think he noticed until it was brought to his attention.’

  ‘And who did that, I wonder?’

  Someone tittered, I think it was Caroline but I couldn't be sure. ‘So you think Jenny may have told him?’ I asked. Ros glanced at the others as if for agreement and then said, ‘Yes. We're pretty sure she did. After he found out he was very bad-tempered for some time, the others were on the verge of trying to buy him out, but then he seemed to pull himself together and he and Jenny were often seen huddled together having meaningful talks.’

  ‘But that doesn't mean she was having an affair,’ I said.

  Anna gave a slight sneer. ‘Of course they were having an affair. The awful thing is, we should have seen what was happening and done something …’

  ‘Even after his wife had gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Why not?’

  ‘What would you have done?’ I asked softly.

  Sara caught my drift immediately. ‘We didn't kill her, if that's what you're implying! But perhaps we would have persuaded her to resign.’

  ‘I see,’ I muttered.

  ‘Do you?’ she replied.

  ‘Hey, come on you two. It's in the past now,’ said Caroline, ‘Charles and Neil have suffered quite enough. The first year was the worst and till … all this happened, they really seemed to be making headway.’

  ‘What happened in the first year?’ I asked, unable to control my curiosity. No one spoke at first; Ros began filling wine glasses. I refused any more. I didn't want to forget anything that was said today. Eventually Caroline answered. ‘It was all pretty ghastly really. The police thought … they thought Helena's disappearance was suspicious. At one point they even considered digging up the garden …’

  ‘Only because someone gave them the idea that Charles was having an affair and therefore had a motive,’ said Anna.

  ‘One thing puzzles me,’ I said.

  ‘Only one?’ replied Sara. ‘My, we are a clever clogs.’

  ‘If you suspected Jenny of having an affair and you disapproved, why did you still invite her to your lunches and still appear to be her friend?’

  Sara fixed me with a steady glare. ‘Because we really are witches. Perhaps we did cause Jenny's death indirectly. I personally stuck more than enough pins into my voodoo doll.’

  Ros laughed. ‘Take no notice of Sara. For witches read bitches. No one disliked Jenny. Charles and her were good friends but we're only guessing that they were having an affair. Helena was my best friend and I still miss her dreadfully, and I'll admit at first we did think something had happened to her. But our first thought was suicide and not murder. Then after that first year we heard … well, vague whispers, and that she was well and happy. We were sad but we accepted it. She'd made a new life for herself and according to rumour she was off the vodka and not at all worried that Charles had found a “friend”.’

  Ros stood up then and began to clear the table and I saw this as a good time to go. I began to make my excuses. ‘Do stay a bit longer,’ Debs begged me. ‘No one leaves before four. Stay for coffee at least.’

  ‘Just for a short time then,’ I agreed.

  We all went back into the conservatory. Sara sat next to me and asked in her rather loud voice, ‘Do you have a man, Kate? Adventurous or otherwise?’

  I smiled, seething inwardly. ‘Sort of,’ I said. ‘He's older than me, heavily into good works.’

  ‘A social worker?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘His job does have social and environmental value.’ Sara wouldn't let it drop, I could see by the way her mouth moved slightly she had already formed another question in her mind. Before she could speak I said, ‘He's director of a waste-disposal company.’ I could read the disappointment in her face. There was no answer to such a job.

  Shortly after that I took my leave. I noticed that Debs Holland, apart from asking me to stay, had hardly spoken. She seemed depressed or worried or both. Of course she was younger and newer to the practice than the others but even so I could sense all was not well with her. I'd hardly spoken to Ian, mainly because he seemed to avoid me but also because I hadn't made an effort to talk to him. Perhaps husband and wife were both shy or unhappy. Or maybe they were Morris dancers, only happy when their leg bells were ringing.

  About the others I was even more confused. I had assumed doctors' wives incapable of murder but it was an assumption I'd have to rethink. A coven of witches or a band of bitches? Whichever they were I decided I mustn't allow my dislike of Sara and her exaggerations to colour my judgement of the others. Per
haps they had liked Jenny in spite of their suspicions. And of course Jenny did have a penchant for older men. Was it common knowledge in the town, I wondered, that she was extra friendly with Charles Amroth? Maybe Helena Amroth, dried out and recovered, wanted to return home. Was Rosalind prepared to go any lengths to get her friend back? Or more to the point did Jenny want a deeper relationship with Charles Amroth? And if there was a chance his wife was coming back – cured – could he have decided he preferred Helena? But why kill Teresa?

  Another niggle at the back of my mind was how it could be proved Helena was still alive. Were there letters? Were father and son in collusion? Maybe Helena did indeed lie dead somewhere beneath the soil.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Sunday I felt at a loss; the day facing me seemed as barren as a sack of sand. I decided to ring Hubert and ask him to share assorted chops from my freezer.

  ‘I'm going on a picnic. Would you like to come?’ As I began to look forward to it, he added, ‘Danielle will be there.’

  ‘What's happened to Dorothy Tweedle by the way?’

  ‘She's on holiday. Are you coming?’

  ‘Sorry, Hubert, I would have, only I've made other arrangements.’

  ‘Not with that Neil, I hope,’ said Hubert as if Neil were Rasputin and Vlad the Impaler all rolled into one.

  ‘No, actually. Someone else.’

  He grunted and put down the phone.

  Over Sunday lunch, a packet of crisps and a cheese sandwich, I once more listed my suspects. Was there anyone I didn't suspect? Hubert was right, of course, I did need a client, and I steeled myself to see Geoff Martin again. It was one way of spending a lonely Sunday and I might learn something useful.

  Driving over to Dunsmore I rehearsed some sort of sales pitch together with a few more questions, questions that I hoped would do more than merely exercise my tongue.

  I paused at the front door. There was a Sunday afternoon sleepiness in Dunsmore, a silence about the Martin home. The door knocker made an echoing sound that reverberated as though the house was empty of carpets or furniture. I knocked again. And once more. The thought struck me that he was either away or he'd … topped himself. He hadn't mentioned suicide but he had seemed naturally depressed and defeated and he'd actually welcomed being a police suspect. If Jenny had been having an affair with Dr Amroth it was quite possible the gossip had reached Geoff. It was a small place and he'd have to be blind and deaf not to have heard … something. Perhaps he had an alibi for the time Teresa was murdered – perhaps. Trust the police, Hubert had said. Maybe, though, it wasn't a man Geoff was jealous of, but a woman. Teresa, who had suffered, and who shared Jenny's interest in calligraphy.

  I turned to walk away. He wasn't in, I decided. Then the door opened and he was standing there, smiling. ‘You've come. I knew you would. Have you been knocking long? I was in the garden.’

  Without the horse-blanket dressing-gown he looked quite different. Today he wore a navy shirt, with short sleeves showing well-muscled arms, and navy shorts. His legs were of the hairy variety, just beginning to tan. The hair on his head was now neatly groomed and he looked younger, more rested.

  In the garden a lounger was placed under an apple tree, the lawn had been freshly mowed and a small mound of weeds had been carefully piled on newspaper. High stone walls surrounded the garden and the trees, bushes and numerous tubbed plants gave it a cool, shady feel – a secluded bower.

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ he said eagerly. ‘I've got another lounger in there.’ He disappeared into a shed by the farthest wall and came back moments later with a floral-covered sun-bed. They were almost impossible to sit on so we both stretched out and soaked up the sun for a while. It was unusually hot and still.

  ‘We'll have a storm tonight,’ he said.

  I lay on my back and the glare of the sun made me close my eyes. ‘Mr Martin …’

  ‘Call me Geoff.’

  ‘Geoff. Are you satisfied with the police investigation?’

  ‘I'm not dissatisfied, why?’

  ‘Bluntly I'm looking for a client. Nick Fenny as you know was once my client, or rather his mother was, but he's … had an accident and I want to maintain my interest in the case.’

  ‘I see.’

  Silence then and I felt like some predatory bird that hovers over a poor worm. I explained my terms and he didn't even blink, he merely nodded. ‘OK, then. You're on. I've got nothing to hide and I want the bastard who killed my wife caught sooner rather than later.’

  ‘I still need to ask you a few questions, Geoff.’

  ‘Fire away. And of course, Kate, if you're now working for me I shall expect to see you every couple of days at least.’ I muttered in a noncommittal way and then asked how well he knew Teresa.

  ‘I didn't know her well at all. I knew of her. I knew she had lost a child too.’

  ‘Were you jealous of her?’ I opened one eye and leant on my elbow to watch his reaction. There wasn't much. He lay still, eyes closed.

  ‘Of whom?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Your wife? Teresa?’

  ‘She didn't see her that often. It wasn't a problem.’

  ‘I don't think you're telling me the whole truth, Geoff.’

  ‘What is this truth that has to be told?’ he asked coldly. ‘I'm guilty of only one thing and that is loving my wife.’

  ‘What about Charles Amroth?’

  He opened his eyes, squinted at the light, closed them again. I hadn't rattled him. This time his voice was measured and calm when he replied. ‘If you must know, I had heard the rumours. The man was troubled and unhappy. Jenny would have felt needed by him. There was nothing sexual in it. I mean he's even older than me.’

  ‘You're sure?’

  ‘Sure as I can be without Jenny here to ask. She was always truthful. Although the more I think about it the more I'm sure she was looking for someone. Man or woman, I don't think it mattered. Just someone who needed her. When in reality the person who needed her most was right here.’

  ‘Was there anyone else whose problems she mentioned?’

  ‘Alan Dakers. Now he is a womanizer. Jenny mentioned him a few times. She felt sorry for his wife Caroline too, they went through a bad patch during the divorce period but Jenny seemed to think they had worked out an amicable agreement. If anything I think Jenny thought she was partly responsible for that.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘You've had a little time to get over the shock, Geoff. Have you any suspects?’

  He laughed drily. ‘Hey, you're supposed to be the private dick. Don't you think I've gone over this time and time again? I can't help thinking that Teresa's associates from the hotel are far more likely suspects.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she told Jenny quite a few of them were “on the prowl”.’

  ‘But Jenny died first. Did they have anyone in common at the hotel?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  I felt then a certain weariness of body and mind. The sun was beginning to fry my brain. I asked the question perhaps I should have asked at the start. ‘Who will benefit financially from your wife's death?’

  There was a long pause. Then he looked at me sadly. ‘She was insured for ten thousand pounds. Would anybody kill their wife for such a small amount?’

  ‘Only if they were desperate.’

  ‘I've got no money worries. I get regular work and now there's only myself to support.’

  ‘I had to ask.’

  ‘Shall we have a drink? Gin?’

  I shook my head. ‘I really must go.’

  ‘Why? Do you have some man waiting for you?’ Again I shook my head. ‘Stay then.’

  So I stayed and drank lager shandies and let him talk about Jenny. After a while I asked, ‘When your son was killed did you resent the police for not finding the driver?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ he said slowly. ‘I felt guilty that I hadn't been here. I was working on an article in Spain – just a few days. The police phoned me, I flew back. I
couldn't believe it. I just expected the little lad to run through the door. Jenny was sedated for days. She hardly left her bedroom for two weeks.’

  He stared up at the branches of the apple tree for a while and tears glistened in his eyes. I felt like a surgeon who'd just done an amputation with no anaesthetic. To ease the awkwardness of the moment I asked if I could see their bedroom and did she have a diary. He said yes to both and then stood up, stretched his arms, patted me on the back lightly and walked into the house. I followed.

  It was cool indoors, quite chilly in contrast to outside. We were both temporarily blinded and for a moment had to let our eyes adjust to the comparative gloom after the glare of the sun.

  Their bedroom was large, a four-poster bed with a white lacy coverlet dominating it.

  ‘I've still got all her clothes,’ he informed me as he opened the fitted cupboards. Inside were row after row of dresses, skirts, blouses and jackets. It was almost like seeing her. I wandered across to her dressing table and gazed at her perfumes still in position.

  ‘I can't move anything of hers,’ said Geoff. ‘Whilst everything tangible here remains the same I can think as the poem says that she's merely “in another room”.’

  Jenny's diary lay on the bedside table. It had a cheap plain cover, the sort of diary that the pages start coming out of halfway through the year. Geoff saw me looking. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. I flicked through it. Mostly empty. When there was an entry it was merely about the weather. ‘Rain today, cold.’ Her son's birthday was written in and on that day the weather was more fully described. There was no mention of his death. There were no names, no initials. A diary so private, so bleak. Yet her clothes and the four-poster bed gave me different messages. A nurse yes, practical and down to earth, but that masked what she really was – a romantic. And a romantic has to find romance. And a calligrapher needs to practise. She hadn't practised in her diary. As I put it down I said, ‘Tell me about the row with Jenny.’