And None Shall Sleep

by Priscilla Masters

  Their attention was diverted by the child who was holding up her arms and tugging impatiently at her grandmother’s coat. Sheila Selkirk swept her up and hugged her tight. ‘My little darling,’ she cooed. She looked up. ‘Teresa came round this morning with little Lucy, to cheer me up. Wasn’t that kind?’

  She set the child down on the path and turned to face the inviting yellow lights of the house. ‘Teresa’s inside now, talking to Tony. Please, do come in, both of you. I’m ready for a cup of tea anyway ... And you, my little princess,’ she said to the child, ‘could do with some orange juice.’

  The child chuckled and skipped along the path, calling after her, ‘Grandma ... Grandma ...’

  Mike gave Joanna a swift, puzzled glance as they entered the house through the back door and she knew what he was thinking. The ugly murder of Jonathan Selkirk seemed not to have touched his family. Could someone really be so unlovable? Could a family be so unfeeling? This was wrong. It was indecent. They should be showing some appearance of grief, however superficial.

  Even so, she touched Mike’s shoulder. ‘Don’t judge her too harshly,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps she’s just a stoic.’

  Mike shrugged. ‘I don’t know what she bloody well is,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to think my wife would have a bit more feeling if my brains had been splattered all over a local wood.’

  Inside the kitchen Sheila was peeling off Lucy’s wellies. She set them side by side near the Aga before putting pink slippers on the small feet. ‘Now then, my little darling,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find Mummy and Grandpa Tony.’ The child disappeared through the door and the adults followed.

  The sitting room had been transformed. The room was warm, bright and cosy. Photographs now covered the surface of the piano. A quick glance and Joanna saw baby photographs, wedding photographs, couples, old people. She saw Justin Selkirk with his arm round a black-haired young woman and plenty of little Lucy. It was as though Sheila Selkirk had suddenly come alive and found depth and background, family and friends. She peered closer but failed to find oven one of Jonathan Selkirk with his humourless face and toothbrush moustache.

  There were two people in the room, sitting either side of a bright gas fire. Their conversation stopped as the police walked in. One was a middle-aged man with thick white hair. The other was the pale-faced woman with black hair from the photograph. She gave them a sharp, hostile glance as they entered, then she leaned forward and stubbed out a cigarette in a saucer.

  ‘I shall have to buy some ashtrays,’ Sheila Selkirk said happily before sitting down on the sofa. ‘These are the police, my dears, investigating what happened to poor old Jonathan.’

  ‘Poor old Jonathan.’ It sounded as though he had had a minor prang in his car.

  ‘This is my daughter-in-law, Teresa,’ she said, ‘and this is my old friend Tony Pritchard. And you already know Lucy.’

  The child scrambled on to her mother’s lap and burrowed her head into her breast.

  The black-haired woman was heavily pregnant. Her dark eyes were fixed on Sheila Selkirk. ‘Mother?’ she said anxiously.

  The older woman was quick to reassure her. ‘It’s all right, Teresa, my dear,’ she said.

  Joanna felt an outsider, looking in – not on grief but on a family celebration.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ she said to the seated pair. ‘But I do need to speak to Mrs Selkirk alone.’

  The man stood up, moved swiftly across the room and put a protective arm around Sheila Selkirk’s shoulders. ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘do you want me to stay?’

  She laughed. ‘No, Grandpa Tony.’ The name seemed a private joke between them. ‘Of course not.’ She turned and gave him an affectionate glance. ‘I’m a big girly now.’

  The man looked dubious. ‘Anything you want to say to Sheila,’ he said to the two police officers, ‘can be said in front of me.’

  ‘Oh, no, it bloody well can’t!’ Mike said. ‘Look, Mr ...’

  ‘Pritchard,’ the man said tightly. ‘Sheila did tell you my name.’

  ‘Jonathan Selkirk was murdered two nights ago,’ Mike said. ‘He was dragged from his hospital bed, his hands were tied behind his back and’ – he glanced at the child still watching her mother – ‘well, I think you know the rest.’ And he jabbed two fingers into the back of his neck as if to illustrate. ‘Bang. Finito.’

  Everyone in the room winced.

  ‘Whether you like it or not,’ he continued, ‘it’s our job to find out who did it ... or, more to the point, who picked up the tab. None of you lot seems to care who it was. We get here today and find you playing Happy Families ... Grandpa Tony,’ he finished in disgust.

  Sheila Selkirk was pale. ‘What do you mean? Picked up the tab?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Mike said slowly, looking at each of them in turn, ‘that someone paid to have Jonathan Selkirk murdered. His death shows signs of a professional job. Now, what’s going on?’

  The two women looked stunned. Sheila Selkirk opened her mouth but said nothing. The child looked up from playing with her mother’s long string of beads, her eyes large and shrewd.

  It was left to Anthony Pritchard to take a step forward and he too was pale. He cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘You didn’t know Jonathan Selkirk,’ he said in a low, controlled voice. ‘He was a bastard. A bastard of the first order. Ask anyone who knew him. In his professional life as well as in his home he was an utter bastard. He spread misery. The world,’ he said decisively, ‘is a better place without him. Ask anyone.’

  ‘We will,’ Joanna said crisply. ‘We will.’

  She looked around the room. The venom in everyone’s faces seemed to taint the air.

  ‘Are you trying to tell us it was you who paid to have him shot?’ Joanna asked smoothly, staring at the eagle face in front of her. She smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Or, failing that, that you shot him yourself, Mr Pritchard?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. So you needn’t think you can force some sort of confession out of me. But I can tell you, Inspector, you won’t have to look very far at all to find many people who would have given money to have Selkirk out of the way.’ He paused for breath.

  ‘Anyone in particular, Mr Pritchard?’

  ‘Two or three. Try speaking to Wilde to start with.’

  Joanna drew out her notebook. Sheila Selkirk shot Pritchard a swift, warning look.

  He ignored it. ‘Rufus Wilde, Solicitor,’ he said. ‘Partners in crime. You can start by finding out what they were up to.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  Pritchard made a mock bow.

  Joanna watched the pregnant woman cuddling the child, then she focused her attention back on the widow. ‘We’re still waiting to interview you alone,’ she said.

  Sheila Selkirk’s fine, dark eyes mocked Joanna. ‘Do I have any choice about this, Inspector?’

  Joanna fixed her face into a smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course you do. You have the choice of talking to us here or at the station. I really don’t mind where but we will speak to you, Mrs Selkirk, or charge you with obstruction’

  Sheila Selkirk glared at Joanna for a while then bowed her head. ‘There’s no need for that,’ she said quietly and with dignity before turning to the white-haired man. ‘Anthony, darling, put the kettle on.’

  Tony Pritchard disappeared, muttering. Selkirk’s widow crossed the room, bent and kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much for coming, my dear, and for bringing this little ray of sunshine with you.’ She tweaked the child’s cheek. ‘And of course I’ll be delighted to look after her when you go into hospital.’

  Teresa Selkirk smiled vague thanks and set the child on the floor, her pregnancy more obviously cumbersome when she stood up. A thought flashed through Joanna’s mind. How ugly and ungainly pregnancy was. Never for her. Never for her, whatever Matthew thought.

  Sheila Selkirk seemed to think her daughter-in-law needed
more reassurance. ‘You’re not to worry. Everything is going to be quite all right.’ She hugged her.

  Teresa gave a faint smile. The child was standing still, watching them both with round, noticing eyes. Sheila Selkirk bent and kissed her too. ‘Goodbye, my darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow.’

  Lucy slipped her hand in her mother’s and then they were gone, leaving Mike, Joanna and Sheila Selkirk sitting alone.

  Sheila faced them brightly. ‘As I said, Inspector, I will not be a hypocrite. My life with Jonathan was not happy.’ She paused. ‘It was – a cross I had to bear.’

  Mike’s face was puce. Sheila sank back down on the sofa, frowning. ‘Is it true,’ she asked, ‘that his hands were tied behind his back?’ Without waiting for an answer she muttered, ‘They didn’t tell me that... They didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘So tight, Mrs Selkirk, the rope bit his flesh.’

  Joanna gave Mike an angry glance. Whatever his private thoughts, there was no need for this.

  ‘Mrs Selkirk,’ she began. ‘Your husband was killed, murdered. There is no doubt about that.’ She stopped. ‘We think he was almost certainly murdered by a professional. We believe someone was paid to shoot him.’

  Sheila Selkirk looked startled. ‘I see.’ She sat waiting, her hands folded on her lap, eyes fixed on Joanna’s face.

  ‘Mrs Selkirk.’ Joanna moved along the sofa, a little closer. ‘Who would have wanted your husband dead?’ She paused to let her words take effect. ‘Or let’s put it another way. Who would have paid money to have your husband killed?’

  For a long time Sheila Selkirk was silent, biting her lips. Neither Joanna nor Mike could be sure whether the pause was for effect or because she really was pondering the point.

  Eventually she spoke, in a calm, controlled voice. ‘Lots of people had reason to dislike Jonathan. He was that sort of person, a rough-edged man. People didn’t like him. He rubbed them up the wrong way. You see, inspector ...’

  Joanna reflected that she being was addressed rather than Mike because as a woman she might show more sympathy.

  If that was what Sheila Selkirk believed, she was wrong.

  ‘Jonathan liked to control people. He was a bully.’ She stopped and thought for a minute. ‘He was abrasive, opinionated. He always had to be right. But people aren’t killed for that, are they?’ There was something uneasy about her look now. Difficult to read. ‘Maybe ... maybe someone to do with his work? He met some very unpleasant types, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Selkirk?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked confused. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t discuss his work with me, although ...’ Her voice faltered, her confidence ebbing like the tide.

  ‘Although he might have done?’

  Sheila Selkirk grimaced.

  ‘After all, you have a law degree too, don’t you?’ Joanna must have touched a raw nerve.

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’ the woman snapped. ‘It’s irrelevant. Anyway, I think we can discount the local villains, can’t we?’ She looked at Mike this time. ‘They wouldn’t have needed to pay someone else, would they?’ she asked with a touch of black humour. ‘I mean, they could have done it themselves. He did defend murderers.’

  ‘Please think,’ Joanna said, struck with an idea of her own. ‘Was your husband ever involved in defending someone who used firearms?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I seem to remember reading something and asking him whether he was involved in the defence. I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember the man’s name.’

  Mike looked interested. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Eight, ten years ago. I can’t remember. The man was put away for life.’

  Both Mike and Joanna were thinking exactly the same thought. Put away – for eight to ten years.

  ‘And Wilde?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Sometimes, Inspector, solicitors are worse crooks than the villains they’re defending.’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Do you know anyone who has a handgun?’

  ‘No’

  ‘Do you have a handgun?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was that damned letter!’ she said, in the first display of emotion. ‘If it hadn’t been for that damned letter nothing would have happened.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Joanna said. ‘Back to the letter.’

  Sheila Selkirk stared. ‘Are you trying to tell me you think that letter was genuine?’ She paused. ‘That it’s connected with his death?’

  ‘It might be,’ Joanna said cautiously. ‘It would be rather a coincidence otherwise, wouldn’t it?’

  Sheila Selkirk blinked rapidly. ‘I see what you mean.’ She was visibly shaken. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘How horrible.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘So when he was upset that morning ... ?’

  ‘It would seem that your husband had an inkling of what was in store. Please think, Mrs Selkirk. Did he say who he thought had sent it?’

  She looked away. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Mike was staring at her.

  She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He didn’t know who had sent it.’

  ‘He didn’t even have an idea?’

  ‘I said not.’ She was beginning to look annoyed.

  ‘And you said that he had never received anything like that before?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ And she fixed her eyes on Joanna’s face as though pleading to be believed.

  Mike looked at her in the car. ‘What a household,’ he said. ‘That poor beggar.’

  ‘Selkirk was no beggar,’ Joanna said. And he was not poor. But I agree. It would be nice to think someone would mourn you.’

  He grinned at her. ‘How’s the arm?’

  She picked it up experimentally. ‘A bit sore,’ she said. ‘But nothing too bad.’

  ‘That plaster looks like a deadly weapon, Jo.’

  She nodded. ‘So mind your Ps and Qs, Sergeant!

  ‘So where now?’

  ‘I think back to the hospital,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to the other nurses on duty on Monday night. If he made a phone call I want to know who to.’ She gave a swift glance at the radio telephone. ‘I suppose we’d better call in first.’

  But Colclough had other ideas.

  ‘I want you in here within half an hour, Piercy.’ His determination was unmistakable.

  She rolled her eyes at Mike. ‘Typical,’ she raged. ‘I’m just opening enquiries. I don’t want to lose this case, Mike.’

  ‘You want a bit of advice, Inspector?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’ve got no bloody option,’ he said grimly.

  Colclough’s face was grim. ‘I don’t expect you to like this,’ he warned, ‘but the Regional Crime Squad will be taking over the case from tomorrow morning.’

  She found it hard to keep her temper. He read the disappointment as well as the anger in her face. ‘I’m sorry, Piercy,’ he said, ‘but this isn’t a job for us local bobbies. It might be part of something quite big. A racket. The person who shot Selkirk might even be an international killer. We can’t take the risk.’

  ‘Of messing it up?’

  ‘Don’t be awkward, Piercy. This is a policy decision made above your head.’

  She sat down heavily. Her arm ached. ‘But, sir,’ she pleaded. ‘This is a local case. He was a local man. Already I’m beginning to make inroads. My investigations are unearthing things, possible motives. The family, sir ...’

  ‘Good God, Piercy,’ Colclough exclaimed. ‘I thought you understood. This isn’t some poxy little family squabble. I’ve read the pathologist’s report – twice. This was almost certainly an organized professional contract killing.’

  ‘Sir ... That may be. But it was still someone local, with a personal motive, who forked out the cash. There’s more to this than just a bullet in the brain. Someone wanted him dead and very badly. The reasons, sir, are not international. They are local.’

  ‘We have to get the Regi
onal Crime Squad. They’ll be here in the morning. Joanna, hasn’t it occurred to you? We want someone from outside the area – a stranger. We don’t want there to be a possibility of retaliation.’

  Chapter Seven

  Mike watched her walk back into the office.

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘The worst.’ She made a face. ‘We’ve lost the case. He’s handing over to the Regional Crime Squad.’ She spat the words out.

  He said nothing.

  ‘Honestly, Mike. All this crap about internal security. Given time, we’d easily have cracked it.’

  ‘Would we?’

  She sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘Well, we might have had trouble actually finding the gunman,’ she conceded, ‘but we’d have made good inroads.’ Her frustration surfaced again. ‘Damn! Now I’ve got to hand over all our notes, all the interviews. The bloody lot.’ She scowled. ‘All that hard work. It simply isn’t fair.’

  Mike sat back in his chair. ‘So what now?’

  She looked at his glum face and knew he felt it every bit as badly as she did.

  ‘We could just visit the hospital,’ she suggested. ‘Talk to the other night nurses again. Just in case there’s something we’ve missed.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then I’m going to drown my sorrows with Matthew,’ she said. ‘He says he’s bought me a present, and I could do with something to cheer me up. Now, let’s get back to the hospital.’

  They were in luck. Two of the three nurses were on duty in the coronary ward. Only Yolande Prince was missing.

  The nursing officer looked at them. ‘Not surprisingly the poor girl has phoned in sick. Such a shock,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘I told her mother she mustn’t rush back. She needs time.’

  Then she stared at Joanna. ‘Don’t go giving the poor child hassle, unless you absolutely have to. She’s very vulnerable ... very upset. She had a bad experience last year – upset her terribly. I had great trouble persuading her to continue working here at all. And now this.’ She shook her head. ‘The poor girl seems dogged by ill luck. Such a shame ... such a shame. An excellent nurse.’