“I knew Vera was interested in the well dressing decoration. That’s how I think she met Reed,” she added. “I said I had an idea about that year’s well dressing festival. I wanted to use a spring in the wood as a fourth site for a well dressing panel. I wanted to ask what she thought of it, if it would be too difficult for people to get to.”
“Vera didn’t think it odd that you would look at this site at night? Why not in the daylight, when you could see properly?”
“I told her it was secret, that I wanted to surprise Reed with the idea, if it was feasible. I wanted to go to the spot at night so that no one from the village would see us walking around in the wood and learn about the fourth well dressing site before we had worked out the details and surprised Reed. It may sound daft now, but Vera was excited. She wanted to be part of village history, when we created a new, fourth well dressing panel. If she was suspicious, she didn’t show it. She didn’t say anything to me when I picked her up. I drove to the spot, we got out of the car and walked into the wood. Then I killed her. Just plunged the knife into her. It was easy, you know. It usually is when people trust you.”
The statement came so quickly, so unemotionally, that I gasped.
Graham asked Marian how she had killed Vera.
Marian shrugged. “Easy, as I said. We got out of the car and I led the way to the spot where I buried her. Vera kept talking, asking questions about the spring—how big was it, could some of this vegetation be cleared so people could more easily get to the brook, was there an easier route to get here. Quite annoying. I had my torch and shone the beam low toward the ground to eliminate it being seen by anyone in the vicinity. That was my only real worry, you know.” She flashed a smile, as though it were a joke or she was proud she had circumnavigated that problem. “But Vera had no suspicions. She was concentrating on the new well dressing panel and the work that went with it. She didn’t even think it odd when I walked around in front of her. I think she smiled just before I stabbed her.”
Neither Graham nor I said a word. The silence grew thick in the room and I tried not to imagine the scene and Marian’s knife flashing in the light from the torch. Finally, Graham asked what Marian had done with the knife.
“You can find it quite easily enough. I buried it near my shirt. There is a plant in the front garden—I don’t know its name—that sheds white, downy fibers. Some kind of creeping thistle, I think. It may have died; it may have multiplied. I buried the knife there, separate from the shirt. I thought that if one was found the other item might not necessarily be found.”
I refrained from saying that had proved true.
“Even if that plant’s no longer there, you can dig about and find it. It’s about five feet away from where you found the shirt, on the opposite side of the front walk. You’ll know it’s the murder weapon, Mr. Graham—the knife has a mother of pearl handle and the blade is engraved with some sort of twining vine and hearts.”
Graham looked relieved. Those details helped with our case…details of the murder and murder weapon known only to the killer or the victim.
“I needed to eliminate her,” Marian continued, her voice taking the tone she might use to tell her best friend about her day. “I needed to protect my marriage. Reed loved her type—late teens, early twenties. Not a dazzling beauty, but cute. Intelligent. Nice figure.” She drew a deep breath, searching Graham’s face, perhaps wanting to find understanding and sympathy in his eyes. “Are you married, Mr. Graham?”
“No.” His voice held no emotion—no regret, no relief, no desire.
Marian nodded, her gaze steady. “Cheating spouses cause more damage than they think. They believe the problems occur just between the persons in the triangle.” She glanced at the waiting police car, perhaps envisioning the upcoming trial and the years she would have to endure in prison. “But it’s a ripple effect, Mr. Graham. Affairs color other lives as well, even unto other generations.”
* * * *
Graham had gone off with the police car to see to the booking in process. Margo sat at a table in the pub’s outdoor seating section, wanting to drown her emotions in a glass of wine. Mark and I wandered into his room upstairs at the pub. Without giving it any thought, I collapsed onto his bed and he put the electric kettle on for tea. I couldn’t have moved if the call of ‘Fire’ rang out. I was suddenly exhausted, the result of the day and the arrest.
“You don’t have to worry, Bren,” Mark said as he poured the boiling water into the mugs. He glanced at his watch, timing the tea brewing. “I’ve got it all thought out. You’ll take the bed, of course. Never mind my, uh…other idea,” he added as thunder rumbled in the west.
I made no comment, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable.
“I’ll stretch out in the chair, here.”
Glancing across the room, I was aware of the upholstered chair nearly buried under the gym bag, pair of jeans, sweaty tee shirt, assorted shirt ties and bathrobe. His used socks, I noticed, were wadded into two balls beside the chair.
“You’ll never fit,” I said, aware my voice was strained.
“Sure I will. I can stretch my legs out and rest my heels on the floor. Or on the gym bag,” he added quickly, as though he had already felt the strain from the unusual sleeping position. “It’ll work. I’ll be fine.”
I looked at the bag, envisioning it as a footstool. It wasn’t even a foot tall. “You won’t be fit for anything tomorrow if you sleep like that, Mark. You need as much sleep as I do.” I sat up, determined to bring a semblance of sense to this craziness. “I think I better sleep in my bed and you sleep in yours. Graham will have your guts for garters tomorrow if you can’t keep awake.”
“You’re staying here, Bren. I’m not going to be kept awake all night, worried some git’s trying to find you. We’ve not solved Reed’s murder yet, and there’s also the bloke who broke into the incident room to worry about. If someone was following you Sunday night and is eager to find out something about this case, I don’t want you found. I also don’t want to lose you.” He face flushed slightly and he turned, busying himself with preparing the tea.
When I got over the shock of his declaration, I said, “How about I stay here and you sleep in my bed? We’ll both get some sleep and you won’t have to worry that the killer is sneaking into my room. He won’t know where to find me.”
Perhaps to hide the embarrassment caused by his last statement, he laughed. “Oh, super. You’re here nice and safe, dreaming fine dreams, and I’m being mistaken for you in your bed, hit on the head and tied up. Thanks so much.” He handed me my tea and swept the clothes and gym bag from the chair. Picking up his tea, he said, “Do me a favor—no, do us a favor. Just stay here tonight and let me worry about my bad back in the morning. I’ll deal with Graham if I have to.”
“Why don’t I sleep in Margo’s room?” I countered, the idea appearing to be a perfect solution. “She and I can share a bed, you’ll be spared a bad back for the morning, and I’ll be hidden away.”
Mark looked as though he’d missed winning the pools by one number. “Nothing against you or Margo, but are you both up to snuff on defensive tactics? What if this bloke sneaks up on you, grabs you by the throat—”
“You’re watching too much tellie, Mark. I’ll be fine. I’ll stay with Margo.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why risk your safety? You need a strong, muscular bloke to look after you. Two women won’t.”
“I appreciate the offer, but Margo and I will survive. I’ll just go get my things.“
He exhaled heavily, perhaps knowing he had lost. “All right. You can stay with Margo. But we’ll go together to get your clothes. I’m not letting you out of my sight. No telling where that bloke— Yeah? Just a minute.” This he yelled to the door, as someone pounded insistently. He put his mug on the floor, went over to the door, and cracked it open. On seeing who stood in the hallway, he eased it open. “Fitzgerald! Uh, well, come in.” Mark remained with his hand on the edge of the open
door, his body blocking Adam’s entry. He glanced at me, probably wondering what I wanted to do.
I still debated between diving beneath the bed and jumping out the window. It didn’t matter that the window was closed or that we were on the second story of the building. Either alternative seemed better than being discovered in Mark’s room after hours.
Adam pushed the door open and strode into the room. His gaze shifted from Mark to me as he took in my position on the bed and what appeared to be Mark’s castoff clothing on the chair.
My face reddened as I slowly rose from the bed. A flash of lightning lit up the room, throwing our faces into startlingly bright relief.
Adam stood between the door and the bed, his face no doubt matching mine in hue. But where I’m certain I looked surprised, Adam looked angry. His hands doubled into fists but he fought to keep his voice even. “What the bloody hell are you doing here, Brenna?” He ignored Mark as he moved to the chair. “I stopped by your room. I knocked. Several times. When I didn’t get an answer I walked down the hall. Margo was coming up the stairs from the bar area. She figured I had been looking for you and, being a friendly, helpful person, she volunteered that you were in Mark’s room. Spending the night.” This last bit was barely audible, nearly bitten off between his clenched teeth.
“I can explain, Adam,” I started when Mark placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder.
“It’s really not what you think, Fitzgerald.”
“Yeah?” Adam shrugged off Mark’s touch but kept focused on me. “I came over to apologize. I realized I had overreacted at breakfast and I wanted to tell you I was sorry. Well, maybe I didn’t overreact. Maybe what I thought was real.”
“Really, it’s nothing like that.” Mark moved around so he faced Adam. “You see, I think there’s some berk around here who might be watching Brenna. At night, I mean. We’ve had a spot of trouble here and I’m afraid this bloke is after her. He knows her room number here at the pub, and—”
“How convenient for you, Salt.” Adam uttered it in a mixture of boredom and disbelief. “How long did it take to convince Brenna of your story? I assume you practiced it in front of your mirror, working out the weak spots.”
Mark grabbed Adam’s upper arms and spun him around so they stood face to face. Keeping a hand on Adam, Mark fairly yelled, “You bloody bastard. It’s the truth. If you have no more faith in your fiancée than this, if you don’t care about her safety—”
Adam took a swing at Mark and landed a punch on Mark’s jaw as thunder cracked overhead. Mark staggered back and slammed into the wall. Adam faced me. “That’s another fantasy element of your story, Salt. If she still is my fiancée.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room. The door slammed into the quiet.
My tears started immediately. I was too stunned to feel anything, too bewildered to react. My fingers slid over the diamond of my engagement ring, my thumb rubbed the back of the gold band. Much as worry beads or rubbing Aladdin’s lamp…anything to ward off this unbearable event. Mark’s left hand went to his jaw, massaging the pain that must have been magnifying with every second. He pushed himself up with his right hand, shook his head as though clearing the stars from his vision, and shuffled over to me. By this time I had thrown my head back, stared at the ceiling and sobbed. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and placed his right arm around my shoulders.
“Bren, it’s okay. Really. We’ll let Adam cool down. I’ll phone him tomorrow. I’ll explain the whole thing. He’ll understand the situation. I’ll make him.” He let me cry and cradled my head on his chest.
I half heard his words. I ached for myself, for my dashed dreams; I ached for Adam, for his fragile faith in me and for his own pain; I cried for Mark, that he had become an accessory to this; I cried for the apparent long years waiting for me that would be filled with loneliness and thoughts of ‘what if.’ And I cried for Sam, shifted to another prison because Roper was threatening his life.
As Mark lifted my face and dabbed my cheeks with his handkerchief, I pushed against him and struggled to my feet.
“Bren…”
“I’ve got to find Adam.” I sniffed back another sob. “I can’t wait until tomorrow or let you explain this to him. It’ll only get worse if he has hours to stew over it. He’ll concoct any and every situation he can and it’ll be more difficult to convince him of the truth in the morning. He has to know right now that it’s not what it looked like, Mark. He’ll never sleep tonight if he thinks I’ve betrayed him. He needs to know I’d never do that, that I love him, that I want him…if he’ll still have me.”
I had yanked open the door by the time Mark got to his feet. “Bren, wait! I’ll go with you.”
“It’ll take too long. You don’t even have your shoes on.” I was out of the room and had slammed the door before he could reply.
Rushing down the steps, I tried to think where Adam might go. Would he stop at the bar for a drink, trying to calm down? Would he stamp off to his car and roar away, driving recklessly? Would he sit in his car and mope, perhaps phone a mate and ask to meet somewhere for a beer? I had no idea. Not only was I fearful about Adam’s state of mind and what he might do, but also I was desperate to explain the situation with Mark. The fright that he might actually call off the wedding drove me to near panic.
I paused just long enough to weave through the crowd in the bar area. Adam wasn’t there.
I dashed outside, the heavy door thudding behind me. The cooler air of night might have startled me if I had really been aware of anything else but locating Adam, but I didn’t feel it. Nor did I feel the sprinkle of rain that had already dampened the outdoor tables and chairs. A handful of young people stood hear a large container of annuals, bottles and glasses in their hands. I rushed up to them and asked if they had seen a tall blond man leave.
“Yeah,” One of the drinkers nodded and pointed with his beer bottle toward the road. “About maybe a minute ago.”
One of the group shook his head and said it was more like two minutes ago.
“Can’t be,” the first man said. “I just started talking to Cindy about—”
“Please,” I interrupted. “It doesn’t have to be that precise. He was here quite recently, then. Where did he go? Did he get into a car, walk somewhere?”
“Didn’t get into a car, I shouldn’t think. I wasn’t particularly looking. He just kinda walked into the night, like. Across the road, here. Did you hear a car motor start, Dan?”
I thanked them and sprinted across the road.
The night seemed to grab me here. The light from the pub fell off close to the curb, leaving the road and the stretch of shops opposite the pub in darkness. I had no plan in mind—fright and near hysteria had made logical thinking impossible. My only conscious thought was to find Adam, so I ran down the road, toward the village pond, glancing at the cars as I passed and calling his name.
The rain fell heavier by the time I had reached the pond. I had heard no answer to my frantic call, no roar of a car motor, no footsteps approaching me. I was hardly aware of the rain soaking my clothes and hair, and my shoes stepping into puddles. The tunnel-vision that claims many police officers when in dire situations seemed to envelope me; I saw only the road curving ahead and the line of cars. The night closed in, leaving only a channel that I ran through.
Having reached the pond and finding nothing, I ran back to the pub on the other side of the road. The group of drinkers was no longer outside, the rain having driven them indoors. If I had been thinking, or smart, I would have ducked inside and tried getting Adam on his mobile. But I was neither thinking nor smart. I raced up the hill, still calling for him, still ignoring the rain that streamed down my hair and plastered my shirt to my back.
I must have passed the wood and Cauldham Hall because I suddenly saw the church. Maybe the black night and rain and mass of trees combined to mask the bulk of the building. I just remember the steeple and bell tower abruptly illuminated by a flash of lightning and my startled yelp echoi
ng off the church’s stones.
I paused at the lych gate, certain someone moved just within the churchyard. But who would be outside, standing around on such a night? Me, I thought, keenly aware of my stupidity and the situation and my sodden clothing. And Adam. Was it he I saw? I called his name, cupping my hands around my mouth so the sound would carry. But I heard no response. Adam did not rush up to me. Several more seconds ticked past as I waited and watched, wishing he would materialize out of the waving tree branches. But he didn’t. And I knew he wouldn’t. I hurriedly claimed the shelter of the roofed gate and drew my mobile from my pocket. Punching in Adam’s phone number, I hopped to keep warm, much as a jogger keeps in motion when waiting for the signal to turn at a zebra crossing. The call went unanswered. Ignoring me, I thought as I repocketed the phone.
Thunder rumbled overhead, pulling a blink of lightning from the western clouds. The growl rolled across the sky and faded somewhere on the other side of the village. In the following stillness the steady plop of raindrops hit the lych gate’s slate roof and the soaked earth. Copper downspouts gurgled as they discharged their channels of water. A tree bough thudded against something solid, the damp, baritone thuds underlining the sharp, soprano pings of water falling on stone. And something more…
A movement beyond the juniper.
Heavier, more carefully laid thumps than the drop of water onto wet ground resonated through the air. Like a heartbeat or a swinging pendulum, the dull clump measured the distance between the blackness behind the tree and the gate. I strained to identify it, tried to single it out from the other sounds of the storm.
The rain lessened for several seconds, perhaps gathering its strength for a new onslaught. In that transitory respite another sound floated over the precise thuds. A rasp, like an emphatic breath. Like something living that stalked in the dark and panted in its eagerness over sought-after prey.
My hand slid down the wet wood of the gatepost. In the sky-splitting flash of lightning the diamond of my engagement ring blinked at me. Was I so desperate to find Adam that I jumped and started at every sound? Was I going to pieces, losing my sanity?
A Well Dressed Corpse Page 27