Murder in Waiting (Augustus Maltravers Mystery Book 5)

by Robert Richardson

  “Bugger Terry,” she snapped contemptuously. “He’s not worth spit. Barry was ten times the son to me, and that bitch killed him. Where is she? Hiding like a rat again?”

  “She’s upstairs,” Maltravers told her. “And I think it might sort a few things out if we get the two of you together.”

  “I’ll have her,” Maureen Kershaw threatened. “With my bare hands I’ll have her.”

  Maltravers drew a deep breath as mother love disfigured to animal fury snarled at him. Face filled with a counterbalancing menace, he stepped forward and Maureen Kershaw looked suddenly uncertain.

  “Not while I’m here,” he told her. “I have no wish to hit you again, but don’t kid yourself that I won’t. This bloody mess has got to be cleared up before it goes any further. Now get in here!”

  For a moment, she resisted as he took hold of her arm, then her body went slack as he tightened his grip. He led her into the front room and sat her on the settee. One of the dining chairs was overturned and on the floor was a Dresden figure, its head broken off. He poured a brandy from the decanter on a corner table and handed it to her.

  “Drink that and stay here.”

  She hesitated, then accepted the glass and held it in both hands. As she sipped from it, he went back into the hall, picked up the telephone receiver hanging from its wire, remade the connection and rang Insignia Motors.

  “Mr Kershaw? My name’s Augustus Maltravers. You don’t know me, but I’m calling from number twelve Cheyne Street and I think you know that address. Your mother’s here and I’d like you to come at once.”

  “What’s happened?” Kershaw sounded horrified.

  “Nothing too serious, fortunately. But there are some things that have got to be sorted out and they involve you.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “As all right as she’ll ever be. There’s no point in wasting time talking on the phone. Just get over here.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I … I’m sorry, but … No, you’re right, we’re wasting time. Are the police there?”

  “No — and I’m hoping it might not be necessary to call them. I don’t think it would do any good.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Kershaw rang off and Maltravers went back into the front room where Maureen Kershaw was still on the settee. He poured another brandy, a whisky for Tess and a gin for himself and took them all upstairs. Jenni Hilton looked better than when he had left her, colour seeping back into a face that had looked like parchment when he had first seen her.

  “Here you are.” He handed out the glasses. We all need these. Then I want you to come downstairs so we can talk.”

  “I’m going nowhere near that woman!” Jenni protested angrily. “I just want her out of this house.”

  “So she can come back?” Maltravers demanded. “Do you have any idea how much she hates you? She’s been hating you for more than twenty years because she’s convinced that you killed her son.”

  Jenni Hilton stared at him. “She’s mad.”

  “And dangerous,” he added. “And by saying she’s mad, are you also saying that she’s wrong?” There was a long silence. “Well, are you?”

  “Why did you have to start prying into this?” Jenni asked bitterly. “It was all a very long time ago. Does it really matter to you? Really?”

  “Frankly, no,” he replied. “It was none of my business, and if I hadn’t wanted to find out more about Caroline Owen’s death, I’d probably have forgotten about Barry Kershaw. But that woman downstairs wouldn’t have done.”

  “And what good will it be talking to a madwoman?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ve just rung Terry Kershaw and he’s on his way here. At the moment, it seems a better alternative than calling the police. They could rake up a lot of things which are better left alone.”

  “He’s right,” Tess said. “Louella Sinclair told us that everyone was convinced that Barry Kershaw was murdered, but that was years ago and doesn’t concern us. It might not even be true. But if the police are brought in, a lot of people could be in trouble. Including you.”

  Jenni gave Maltravers a strange smile. “Why should that worry you? Don’t you like the idea of your teenage goddess being destroyed?”

  “I stopped worshipping a long time ago,” he said. “It’s just that by chance I’m in a position to make decisions that policemen might not like but I think are for the best. Punishing Maureen Kershaw won’t help anyone and neither will reopening the file on her son’s death. Perhaps it can be avoided.”

  “Journalists aren’t usually so altruistic. They prefer splashing people’s private lives all over their newspapers to helping them.”

  He shrugged. “I told you I wasn’t like that when we first met. Maybe this will finally convince you. Anyway, downstairs.”

  Tess supported Jenni Hilton as they went back to the front room. Maureen Kershaw had not moved, but her eyes flashed as she saw Jenni Hilton again.

  “Just behave yourself,” Maltravers warned her. “Terry’s on his way.”

  “Terry? What bloody good is he going to be? You should have left him out of it.”

  “He’s already in whether you like it or not. He shouldn’t be long. While we’re waiting, what happened here? As far as I can make out, you got in one slash with that bayonet, then it looks as though Jenni threw that piece of Dresden and knocked you out.”

  “Right little Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?” Maureen Kershaw said sarcastically. “Who are you two, anyway? Friends of hers?”

  “Not in the way you mean it, but it’ll take too long to explain. I know a certain amount about Barry, and — ”

  “Who from?” the old woman interrupted sharply.

  “People who knew him back in the Sixties.”

  “Filth.” Maureen Kershaw looked at Jenni Hilton. “Like her. All smooth and toffee-nosed, pretending they liked him when they needed his help then lying through their teeth when he was dead. You know nothing about him, mister. I’m his mother. I do.”

  “Did he ever take drugs?”

  She sneered. “You see? They’ve been lying to you as well. That’s what they said at the inquest and everyone believed them. They weren’t fit to clean his shoes and neither are you.”

  “But he’d been taking drugs the night he died. The police said that.”

  “That’s what they said. Money can buy anything you want. But don’t expect me to believe it, because it wasn’t true. Got it?”

  A car drew up outside and a moment later they heard someone step through the broken door and a man appeared in the front-room doorway. Thin, drawn face beneath short black hair was tense with anxiety. He ignored everyone except Maureen Kershaw.

  “Mum! Are you all right?”

  As he moved towards her, she gestured him away. “No thanks to you. I told you to forget all about this. This is just me and Barry.”

  Terry Kershaw stopped uncertainly in the centre of the room as she stared at him in revulsion, then shook his head helplessly.

  “I think you need a drink as well, Mr Kershaw.” Maltravers stood up. “Incidentally, I don’t think you’ve met Jenni Hilton.”

  Kershaw turned away from his mother. For a few moments he and Jenni looked at each other without speaking, then he indicated the sling.

  “Did she do that? I’m sorry.”

  “So you should be,” said Maltravers. “You’re the one who led her here. What do you want?”

  “Whisky. On its own.” Kershaw did not take his eyes off Jenni Hilton as he replied. “I shouldn’t have done that, but … I can’t explain it. It started so long ago and I couldn’t refuse. I don’t think anyone who hadn’t been through it could understand.”

  Jenni Hilton lowered her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly.

  “Here you are.” Maltravers gave Kershaw his whisky. “Now you three are going to listen to me because you can’t talk to each other. You’re all on the edge of very serious trouble if any of this comes out
, but it might be avoided if everybody uses some sense.”

  He went back to his chair and sat down. “In 1968 your brother — and your son — died. That’s the one fact that we know and the one fact that nothing can be done about. He may have been murdered, but nobody has any evidence to prove it and it’s not likely to appear after all this time. You, Mrs Kershaw, wanted revenge and convinced yourself that this lady killed him.

  I rather suspect you have tried to convince Terry of that as well. But you don’t know if you’re right. Today you’ve attacked her and might have killed her if we hadn’t arrived. What were you going to do after that? Do you really imagine you’d have got away with it? I’d have made bloody sure you didn’t for a start.”

  “I didn’t know anything about you.”

  “Well, you do now. And I know you. I also know that Terry found this address for you. It’s the end of the road, Mrs Kershaw, unless you want to risk going to jail … and what would Barry have thought about his mother behind bars? If he loved you as much as you obviously loved him, he’d never have wanted that. But that’s what’s going to happen if you try anything like this again. I mean it.”

  Maltravers kept his face very stern as Maureen Kershaw began to weep angry tears. “You don’t know how much I loved him. He was all that mattered and they took him away from me.”

  “And nothing’s going to bring him back. All you’ve got are memories, but I’m sure they’re good ones.”

  She stared into her glass as Terry Kershaw looked at her pleadingly. “Listen to him, Mum. You’ve still got me.”

  Maltravers half rose from his chair as Maureen Kershaw sobbed violently and threw her glass on the carpet as she stood up.

  “I don’t want you! Why wasn’t it you who died?”

  Terry Kershaw stared blankly at his mother before she walked out of the room. Then he stood up and shouted after her desperately.

  “Mum!”

  There was no response as they heard her leave the house. He was about to follow her when Maltravers stopped him.

  “She’ll manage,” he said. “She found her way here, she’ll find her way home. She’s certainly not going to talk to you at the moment.”

  Kershaw gazed at him, anguished and bewildered. “She’s my mother.”

  “No. She’s Barry’s mother.” Kershaw stared at him uncomprehendingly, then accepted everything he meant.

  “Yes, she is,” he said sadly. “I expect I’ve always known that.” He turned to Jenni Hilton. “I can imagine what you think of me, but I never wanted to hurt you, however it looks. I won’t insult you by trying to apologise again. I’m just grateful that it was nothing worse. Goodbye.”

  Maltravers went with him to the front door. Kershaw looked up and down Cheyne Street, but there was no sign of anyone.

  “I don’t think she’ll come here again,” Maltravers assured him.

  “No,” he agreed. “You hit her hard in there. I should have done that a long time ago.”

  “It must be almost impossible when it’s your mother.”

  “Not almost. Totally. I’ve spent a fortune on counselling over this and I still couldn’t break free.” Kershaw glanced at him. “Are you really not going to tell the police?”

  “You heard what I said. There’s no need and there’s no point. Your mother’s just going to have to live with a few things.”

  “So am I.” Terry Kershaw turned abruptly, got into his car and drove away.

  Tess was pouring more drinks as Maltravers returned to the front room.

  “That woman is very bad news,” she said feelingly. “Are you sure she took in what you told her?”

  “I think the message got home. Ending up in jail was never part of her plan of revenge and it should eventually sink in that that’s what will happen if she tries anything again.” He smiled at Jenni Hilton. “Try not to worry about it.”

  “I won’t. She’ll hardly chase me to California.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  “It’s what I should have done in the first place. There’s work there if I want it and I’ll feel safer than in London.”

  “At least think it over,” he said. “This isn’t a good time to make decisions. What will Russell think?”

  “He told me while I was in Exeter that he was giving me my freedom back. I’ll take him up on it.”

  “Pity. It would have been good to see you perform here again.” Maltravers picked up his glass. “How’s the arm? You really should go to hospital with it, but they might start asking difficult questions.”

  “Tess said it wasn’t too bad and I think it’s nearly stopped bleeding. I’ll go and see my private doctor. There shouldn’t be any problems.”

  “That reminds me,” said Maltravers. “There’s a bayonet around here somewhere which ought to be got rid of. Where is it?”

  “On the floor upstairs,” Tess told him. “I terrified Jenni by carrying it into the bedroom when I was looking for her.”

  “We’ll take it with us,” Maltravers said. “Perhaps I’ll drop it in the Thames one night. That’ll be a suitably dramatic gesture.”

  Jenni Hilton accepted her refilled glass from Tess. “I forgot to say thank you somewhere. I went to pieces when she attacked me and was like a gibbering idiot in that bedroom. I didn’t even have the sense to run out of the house or climb through the window. All I could think about was that the telephone was downstairs and I’d never got around to having an upstairs extension installed. Stupid.”

  “Not the sort of time when people necessarily think straight.” Maltravers paused for a moment. “Look, you don’t have to answer this and if you do it goes no further than us three. It’s just that I’d like to know if — ”

  “If I murdered Barry?” she finished as he hesitated uncertainly. “You said that his death was none of your business.”

  He shrugged. “Fair enough. Sorry, forget it.”

  “I’d like to be able to do that.” She swallowed half her drink, then stared at the fireplace as she continued. “All right. You probably just saved my life and deserve some answers. I think I can trust you enough to keep it to yourself. Before the party, I told Barry I’d go to bed with him and put on one hell of an act that I was looking forward to it. After everyone left, he was half drunk and got excited when I said I had something we could take that would make it even better. All he could talk about as he took the LSD was what he was going to do to me and it nearly made me sick just listening to him. He was laughing and crying and mauling me. I told him I wanted to look at the moon and opened the French doors on to the balcony. We stood there and I said wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to fly … and he said that he could.”

  She finished the drink. “He was giggling when he jumped, but then he went quiet. I didn’t look down until I heard him hit the ground. Before I went home, the phone rang and it was some journalist. I shouldn’t have answered it, but it made no difference. For some reason, I was one of the first people the police came to see and they mentioned they’d found the LSD in his body. I told them I’d suspected he took drugs. It was a lie of course, but they believed it, perhaps they wanted to. They were as responsible as anyone for the story getting around. Anyway, other people backed it up and even said so at the inquest. We never plotted it, it just happened.”

  She gestured towards where Maureen Kershaw had been sitting. “Of course I’d seen her before. At the inquest. But she was younger then and I didn’t recognise her today. She’s changed.”

  She looked up at Maltravers. “So now you know. I’ve never told anyone before.”

  “And you haven’t now,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

  “I think I already do. I went to Porlock and talked to Jack Buxton at the weekend. I also understand why you ran away.”

  “Oh, Gus Maltravers.” Sarcastic appreciation filled her voice. “What a clever journalist you are.”

  “And not the sort you’re used to,” he re
minded her. “Just one other thing — and this is certainly not my business but it crossed my mind — is Jack Russell’s father? I don’t think he can be.”

  “Oh, no. I met Desmond in New York about a year after I quit. I was very fond of him — we still keep in touch — but I didn’t want to marry him. Russell was our nice accident. He’s the most important thing in my life.” Tears suddenly glistened at the corners of her eyes. “Like Barry was for his mother. Dear God, which of us is the more guilty?”

  “That’s another thing which isn’t my business,” Maltravers said.

  *

  Daphne Gillie was charged with the murder of Caroline Owen, but was released on bail through the skill of her lawyer. In the interval before the trial, she and Ted Owen married. Matt Hoffman managed to arrange a place for Maltravers on the Old Bailey Press bench for what had become a major media event, as she faced a charge of murder with her now husband as an accessory. After the prosecution had finished, one of London’s leading QCs asked the judge that the jury be sent out of the court then ripped the case to pieces in their absence. The police had not found a single witness who had seen Daphne anywhere near Tottenham Court Road Tube station, let alone on the platform, on the night Caroline had died. Mr Owen was a wealthy man, earning in excess of a quarter of a million pounds a year; his wife’s salary was a hundred thousand pounds. Neither of the accused had ever lied to the police and could only be criticised for keeping quiet about Daphne’s legacy; this was regrettable, but they had been understandably concerned that the police would jump to the wrong conclusion — which had now happened. Both his clients were highly respectable people and, if required, the defence would call witnesses who would vouch for their probity. There was not one scrap of evidence, nothing more than supposition which did not amount to … As elegant, persuasive phrases filled the courtroom, Maltravers grudgingly admired the barrister’s performance and could see exactly where it was leading. The jury were recalled and the judge instructed them to return verdicts of not guilty.

  Outside, Maltravers and Hoffman watched a posse of photographers shouting excitedly at Ted and Daphne Owen as they stood smiling with their arms around each other, facing a constant broadside of dazzling flashlights. They repeatedly kissed when they were asked to as a group of their friends cheered and shouted congratulations. One waved a bottle of champagne, a bow of silver ribbon tied round the neck.