by Alan Hunter
‘We had lunch earlier on Saturdays ... because of his sailing, you know.’
‘When?’
‘About twenty to one. I dare say it was over by ten past.’
‘Your husband was dressed for sailing?’
‘Yes. He was dressed in the way he was ... found. His sailing jacket and waterproof trousers. He kept a pair of Magisters on the yacht.’
‘After your daughter left, he said nothing?’
In a small voice she said: ‘Nothing.’
‘He gave no indication of what he was thinking?’
Hastily she shook her head.
‘Who was first to leave the table?’
‘He looked round for an ashtray to scrape out his pipe. There wasn’t one. So he got up and went through to the kitchen, where there is a swing-bin.’
‘And then?’
‘I could hear him in there ... the kitchen is just across the hall. I wanted him out of the way before I began clearing the table. But for some reason, he hung around in the kitchen for several minutes.’
‘Did you see him again?’
‘No.’ She was trying hard to keep it matter-of-fact. ‘I heard him come out again and go down the hall into the study. Then I began to clear away. I heard his car leaving ten minutes later. I was in a hurry too, you understand ...’
Her mouth puckered. ‘I was glad when he had gone.’
‘Who was in the kitchen just before lunch?’
‘Me. I was carrying things through. Then Freddy washed his hands at the sink. I was the last person in there.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘I didn’t see her. She came down from her room, I think.’
‘Then your husband left when?’
‘I can’t be certain, but it would be somewhere about one-thirty.’
From a pocket in her skirt she tugged a handkerchief and dabbed it to her eyes. Eyke looked uncomfortable; he shifted his feet. Ruth Quennell stuffed the handkerchief away and blinked rapidly.
‘I’m sorry.’
Gently shrugged. ‘Take your time, Mrs Quennell.’
‘Believe me, I want to help you ...’
Why did he suddenly think of the Major?
In a moment she gave a little sigh. ‘I was still washing up when Julie got here. I like Julie, she’s a nice person really. But the way she dresses makes me feel dowdy.’
‘Julie is Mrs Tallis.’
‘Yes. Julie always had a soft spot for Ray. His first wife was rather horsy, in fact she was killed in a riding accident. It surprised no one when Julie and Ray joined up. Julie’s a woman who needs a man.’
‘What time did she arrive?’
‘It would be about a quarter to two. She was in a hurry as well. She and Fiona were going into town to buy clothes. I offered her a cup of coffee, but she said she couldn’t wait, so I called Fiona from her room and they went off straight away.’
‘Did she say why she was in a hurry?’
Ruth Quennell shook her head. ‘She perhaps had people she was meeting in town. Julie gets about, she has lots of friends.’
‘Your daughter would be excited, going to buy clothes?’
‘One would have thought so, but she wasn’t.’ Her eyes were distant for an instant. ‘My daughter is a strange girl.’
‘Did she say anything to you?’
‘No. She walked straight past me out to the car.’
‘Perhaps she would rather have gone to the football.’
Ruth Quennell was silent. Then she shrugged feebly.
‘At what time was your assignation?’
She started, then drew herself a little straighter. ‘No particular time. I would simply get to the cottage as soon as I could.’ Her hands were active once more. ‘Sometimes I couldn’t get away promptly – when Freddy had a later race. Andrew would wait until I came.’
‘But on Saturday?’
‘Then I was early. I got to the cottage soon after two.’
‘How soon after?’
‘I don’t know! Andrew had only just arrived.’
‘You drove straight there?’
‘Yes.’
‘How far?’
It’s only about two miles. At the top of the street you turn left. It couldn’t have taken me more than five minutes.’
‘And Mr Reymerston was waiting.’
‘Yes, I said so.’
‘When you arrived his car was parked and he was in the cottage?’
‘He came out – he always comes out, to help me park out of sight. He was there before me, I swear it. He had opened two of the windows.’
Now she was staring at him, eyes wide: this she must make him believe, somehow! Her cheeks were burning. Even the hands had drawn apart, clenched into fists.
And it wasn’t the Major he was thinking of now: it was Gabrielle who sat facing him so anguishedly.
‘What was the latest time you could have got there?’
Terror flared in her eyes. And he knew what she was thinking: though she might be innocent, wasn’t it possible that he ...?
‘Listen! At the most I was there by ten minutes past two. I rushed everything, I was early. Usually, I’m not there till half-past.’
‘You surprised him.’
‘Yes – listen. Always when I get there he has a kettle boiling. The first thing we do is make a pot of tea. And the kettle was on – it was simmering.’
‘Then he had been there at least since two?’
‘Yes – oh yes!’
But mustn’t she realize that it didn’t cover him? On her own showing he’d had half an hour to deal with Quennell and set the scene at the cottage ...
‘Please believe me. Everything was normal. It was just another of our meetings. Andy was normal. We made love. Do you think I would have noticed nothing?’
Perhaps it was a good point: and one she’d have gone over again and again. If Reymerston were guilty, could he really have concealed it through the searching moments of that afternoon?
And yet ... Reymerston?
‘What time did you leave again?’
She gave a soft sigh and sat back. ‘At half-past four. We could never have long. To me it always seems like five minutes.’
Yes . . . as with Gabrielle! ‘Were you first to arrive home?’
‘I met Julie there, dropping off Fiona. So of course I had to make an excuse. Frank arrived back while Julie was there.’
‘What time would you have expected your husband to get back?’
It depended on the conditions. But when he wasn’t back by seven, Frank gave the yacht club a ring. So then we knew he hadn’t been there and hadn’t gone somewhere with his ... friend. At nine, Frank rang her too. She was just as concerned as we were.’
Also Frank Quennell had rung the works, but the night-watchman could tell him nothing. And finally the police, the call being timed at nine fifty-eight.
‘During the evening, where was your daughter?’
‘Fiona went up to her room.’
‘Did she seem disturbed then?’
‘Perhaps she was quiet.’ Ruth Quennell gave her weak shrug.
‘And ... since yesterday?’
Her mouth quivered afresh. ‘She’s the way she was before ... at first, a complete blank, not even recognizing people.’
‘How long did it continue then?’
‘Two or three weeks. We kept her at home for a term.’
Nevertheless he would have to talk to her. Something she knew, that was evident. In that disturbed brain there lurked a hint he needed his hand on. But not now. He stared at the woman, whose eyes were hazed again with tears.
‘Then that’s all, Mrs Quennell.’
‘You do believe me ... and Andy?’
‘I would like you to make an amended statement covering the fresh points we’ve brought out.’
‘I must go to the police station again?’
Gently shot Eyke a look.
‘I’ll arrange for someone to come here, ma’am,’ Eyke said quickly.
‘No need for you to be inconvenienced just now.’
She saw them out and stood watching from the porch as Gently turned to drive away. He could see her in his mirror, a forlorn figure, still watching as they passed out of sight. Then he had to brake sharply to avoid a coffee-coloured TR7: the TR7 braked also and its driver scrambled out.
‘Look here – I thought I warned you not to come harassing mother!’
He was a heavily-built young man with fleshy features and indignant eyes; he’d come running round to Eyke’s window and thumped for Eyke to wind it down.
‘I won’t have you coming here when she’s alone – this morning I’ve been in touch with our lawyers! They’re making an appointment and, in any case, I’m the person you should be talking to ...’
Gently said: ‘Are you Frank Quennell?’
‘I’m Frank Quennell – who are you?’
Gently told him. Frank Quennell stared at him challengingly, his mouth agape.
‘So they’ve got you on it! Well, perhaps now there’ll be some progress round here. And what I’m telling you straight away is to have a chat with Uncle Raymond. This morning I saw him for the first time and his behaviour to me was highly suspicious. And he’s got reasons! Listen, I can tell you some funny business about a certain inquest ...’
It was the card that Reymerston hadn’t played, but left Gently to discover for himself. Frank Quennell too had heard the inside story and from his father’s own lips. Proof positive: but if he’d had it from Reymerston, might he not have suspected collusion?
‘What precisely are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that father knew too much! I mean, look what happened. Would Uncle Raymond have handed over out of goodness of heart? It was all his, and when he married Aunt Julia ... doesn’t it stand out a mile? And Uncle Raymond wasn’t sailing on Saturday, neither was he at the house.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I called there. He’d asked me to pick up a set of estimates. When I called there at four the house was deserted, and just as I was leaving he drove up.’
‘Didn’t he say where he’d been?’
‘No, he didn’t, and it would have been some cock-and-bull story. And today he was going out of his way to avoid me, not even wanting to catch my eye ...’
Presumably Frank Quennell took after his father, since his features bore little resemblance to Ruth Quennell’s; also from that direction must have come his build, his clumsy movements, perhaps his aggression. Double his age, and that would have been his father standing in the drive and laying down the law.
‘I’ll bear in mind what you say.’
‘Yes, you’d better. And let me tell you—’
‘Meanwhile, it would be better not to bother your mother with this foolishness.’
‘I – what?’
He stood gaping at Gently, who let in his clutch and drove away.
FOUR
HE DROVE DOWN to the green and, parking by a phone box, sat for some moments scowling at the scene. Beside him Eyke sat straight-faced and silent, but you could feel his disapproval like the touch of frost. Gently had been too soft! Instead of wading in he had used the soft pedal all the time, treating Ruth Quennell like an innocent witness: always hesitating to turn the screw. And wasn’t there some truth in it? For a moment back there it had seemed to him as though he were badgering Gabrielle ... his objectivity was slipping. From now on, was that what he had to expect?
Doggedly he stuffed his pipe in his mouth and chewed at it cold. So she was innocent, was she? Then explain how Quennell got the letter without her involvement – remembering that the critical time was between when he changed his gear and when he went to the study, no doubt to phone. You could narrow it further. He had probably had lunch with no other thought than of the afternoon’s sailing. Then he had been alone with her; then he’d spent longer in the kitchen than was at all necessary to scrape out a pipe ...
Almost you could see him slipping across there and feverishly ripping open the envelope, glaring at the contents, shoving them away in the big pocket of his sailing jacket. The bitch! 1 But he’d show her. He’d hastened to the study to ring the yacht club. Then he’d jumped in his car and driven to the spot to await her arrival.
Yet ... how could she credibly have worked the trick while they were sitting together at table – making him believe that he’d found a letter which she’d supposed had been delivered? Through Fiona Quennell? By some sly manoeuvre as the latter left the room? Between the two of them the letter had been planted, because there was no other explanation: and so innocence went out of the window. However you looked at it, guilty knowledge ...
Gently frowned: he was beginning to get a headache! And suddenly he found himself blaming Reymerston. If he were leaning over backwards for Ruth Quennell, wasn’t it just because she was Reymerston’s woman? It was, he knew, and the knowledge irked him. Irritably he turned on the stone-faced Eyke.
‘Use that phone box. I want the address of the property Raymond Tallis went to view.’
He could see Eyke’s mouth tighten. ‘Are we checking on Tallis, sir?’
‘Can you think of any good reason not to?’
Either Eyke couldn’t or he kept it to himself.
He sat fretting in the overwarm car while Eyke applied himself to the phone box. Finally the door of the box clunked and Eyke climbed back into the car.
‘It’s a house called Heatherings, sir, and it belongs to a US Airforce Colonel. He’s been promoted and sent back to Washington, but his wife had stayed behind to sell the property.’
Well: it made for colour. ‘Can she see us?’
‘Yes, sir, the agent rang her. It seems that Tallis made an appointment to view earlier, but cancelled it and had to make another. Saturday afternoon was the soonest. The lady had been away in London with her husband.’
Gently gnawed his pipe: it sounded innocent. ‘He must have been keen, to give up his sailing.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, sir. From what I hear, line duty isn’t very popular.’
Put at its meatiest, there was half a chance that Tallis had worked the appointment to give himself an alibi ... but much more likely that he’d grabbed an excuse to avoid a tiresome afternoon. Gently grunted as he fired the engine. Yes, they would check on Raymond Tallis! But because he was playing Reymerston’s game was no reason why he should lose sight of Reymerston.
‘First, we’ll take a look at that cottage.’
‘It’s a turn by the church, sir.’
‘As we pass by The Uplands, check your watch.’
Eyke was beginning to look almost cheerful.
Platten’s Loke was a narrow road that quickly took them away from the village. It skirted a low, marshy valley lying beneath a ridge darkly crested with pines. Followed a stretch of bracken heath where foot and bridle-paths were posted; then they could see, nested in trees, a solitary, low-roofed cottage.
‘That’s it, sir ... Warren Lodge.’
They parked and Eyke read his watch. From the turning to The Uplands to Reymerston’s love-nest the driving time was six minutes. They got out. A gap in a hedge was all that apologized for an entry; nevertheless it was wide enough for a car, and car tracks showed in the rough grass. Gently followed them round the back of the cottage. Yes: room for two cars, beside a derelict well. Impulsively he looked down the well, to see his head mirrored, as though in black enamel, at a huge depth.
‘Not many mod cons.’
‘None at all, sir,’ Eyke said, behind him. ‘An old country boy used to live here. I doubt if they’ve done much to it since he went.’
Yet the cottage wasn’t entirely neglected. Newish curtains hung in the windows, and, peering through them, one saw tidy rooms and inexpensive modern furniture. Lamps and a stove used bottled gas, in one room was a portable shower and a chemical toilet. Outside the structure looked sound, though moss and wall-leek clung to the tiles.
And here they had come, Reymerston and she, on the weekend
s when the London bloke had stayed in London, when Quennell had been occupied with his yacht and his mistress, and Fiona Quennell had been . . . where? A couple of snatched, hasty hours: you almost smiled at such innocence. A pair of true lovers. Reymerston and all, how could you believe they had plotted murder?
‘She would have been here by ten past two.’
‘That would have given him time enough,’ Eyke said quickly. ‘On the lady’s own account Quennell left his house not later than half one. Give him quarter of an hour to get there and park his car – he could have been dead five minutes later. Then chummie had got twenty minutes to drive round here and put the kettle on.’
It’s a tight schedule.’
‘But time enough, sir.’
‘Killing people is hard on the nerves.’
Eyke snorted. ‘I don’t know about you, sir, but I don’t reckon that chummie has got many nerves.’
‘Yet he did neglect to search the body.’
‘Well, that was our bit of luck, sir.’
‘Still . . . though he was provident enough to bring away the weapon, mightn’t he have been in a hurry to dispose of it later?’
Eyke checked, his eyes suddenly wary. Then colour crept into his cheek.
‘You mean the well, sir?’
‘Has anyone been down?’
Unhappily Eyke shook his head. ‘We were concentrating on the scene, sir, and Reymerston’s place. I hadn’t got round to a check here.’
‘Better get a team out.’
‘I’ll do it at once, sir. If I may use your RT.’
He hurried away to the car, leaving Gently to contemplate the cottage. A little breeze was stirring the leaves overhead, leaves dark at the end of summer. A place so quiet and seeming-remote ... the only other sound was an undertone of birds. Even on Saturday, at around two there couldn’t have been much chance of any eyes on the cottage ...
Eyke returned.