by Faith Martin
Angela Baines spared her a quick, pitying look. ‘Oh no. She always thought I was being hard on Iris if I said anything against her. Iris had a way of making herself look liked the sinned-against, rather than the sinner. But she didn’t fool me!’
‘It sounds as if she was a very manipulative young lady,’ Clement said.
‘I’ll say she was.’
‘We’ve been hearing that she might have been seeing other men, other than David Finch I mean,’ Trudy put in.
‘Of course she was!’ Angela said scathingly, as if it could be in any doubt. ‘That dreadful man, Mortimer Crowley for one – art dealer my eye! The man’s an obvious crook. Riding around in his fancy car, with all his arty friends and so-called “celebrity” pals coming up from London to spend weekends at his country place.’ Angela shook her head. ‘In my younger day, he would have been given the cold shoulder by the whole village. Everyone was respectable in those days. Nowadays though …’ She sighed as if in regret. ‘People are so influenced by money and a flashy reputation, aren’t they? Oh, Iris thought she was being so clever, getting her fingers hooked into him. No doubt she thought he could do her some good – help her become an artist’s model or something, I have no doubt. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she didn’t take off her clothes …’ She stopped abruptly and shook her head. ‘But then, I have no proof of that. I only know I didn’t like my Janet hanging around with her. Who knows what might …’ Realising she was in danger of revealing more than she might have liked, she broke off abruptly and scowled.
‘I don’t see what any of this has to do with that poor boy David taking his own life,’ she said, glancing suspiciously at Clement.
‘We were wondering if perhaps David had spoken to Janet before he died about Iris,’ Clement repeated. ‘Do you know if David called on her after Iris was found on the village green, Mrs Baines?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ she said flatly. ‘And I wouldn’t have encouraged him if he had. No, I really don’t think that Janet can possibly be of help to you,’ she added with unmistakable finality, and stood up.
The interview was terminated.
Chapter 15
Trudy meekly followed Angela back to the front door, and only when they were clear of the house did she let her breath out in a whoosh.
‘Poor Janet!’ she muttered.
But Clement was frowning thoughtfully. ‘Yes, no wonder she was friends with someone like Iris.’
‘A free spirit, you mean?’ Trudy said with a grin. ‘Those two must have been like chalk and cheese. Did you believe her – Mrs Baines I mean – about what Iris was like?’
‘Putting aside her antipathy, I think I probably do. Look at it from Iris’s point of view. Janet was almost as pretty as her, which must have rankled, plus she was an only child and the apple of her mother’s eye. Iris had brothers, didn’t she?’
‘I think so – at least three.’
‘Right. And I don’t suppose there was much money to spare, whereas Janet clearly had a lot of money to spend on nice things. Why wouldn’t Iris resent her?’
‘How do you know Janet Baines is pretty? Her mother is bound to be biased,’ Trudy suddenly asked, distracted.
‘I saw the photographs of her on the sideboard,’ Clement said simply. ‘Didn’t you notice them?’
Trudy felt her face flush in shame. ‘No. I was too busy concentrating on what Mrs Baines was saying,’ she admitted, feeling cross with herself. ‘Did you get the impression that there was something a little … well … fanatical about her? When she was talking about Iris, I mean?’
‘Oh yes. But I think that was because she was afraid of her,’ Clement said, making Trudy, walking alongside him, stop for a moment in surprise.
‘Afraid of her? Why would she be afraid of Iris?’
Clement also stopped walking and shrugged. ‘I think she was afraid of Iris’s influence over Janet. More specifically, that she might lure Janet into getting into serious trouble.’
Trudy instantly caught on. ‘Oh! You mean with men … oh! She thought Iris might make her become … promiscuous, like herself?’
Clement smiled at the way his young friend had lowered her voice and looked rather embarrassed.
‘Yes. I think that’s very much what she was afraid of,’ Clement agreed. ‘Which would have given her a good motive for getting rid of Iris, wouldn’t it?’
Chapter 16
Trudy pondered this comment for a while and then said judiciously, ‘Yes. But she’d have no motive for getting rid of David, would she?’
Clement smiled. ‘Not unless David suspected her of killing Iris and challenged her about it.’
Trudy sighed and clutched her head. ‘Oh don’t! This is all giving me a headache, and I doubt she’d have the strength to … Oh no!’ she broke off, groaning out loud. ‘This is just what I need right now.’
‘What?’ Clement asked, glancing at her then quickly following her gaze to where a good-looking young constable was striding purposefully towards them, grinning hugely. Fair-haired, square-jawed and with bright blue eyes, he was probably used to setting feminine hearts fluttering. But Clement’s young friend looked merely exasperated.
‘Friend of yours?’ he couldn’t help but tease.
Trudy rolled her eyes. ‘No, he isn’t. PC Rodney Broadbent – I knew he was working the Carmody case with Sergeant O’Grady but I’d hoped I wouldn’t run into him. The silly idiot is going to ruin my cover! I don’t want anybody knowing I’m with the police just yet.’
So saying, she began to walk forward to intercept him, a grim look on her face. Before he could speak, and no doubt ask her something inane in his loud and carrying voice, she said, ‘Hello Constable. You’re still making inquiries about Miss Carmody, I see?’ and thrust her hand out to be shaken.
For a moment Trudy wondered if the big clot was going to ask her what on earth she was going on about, and she noticed two middle-aged women, standing on the pavement on the opposite side of the road, watching them with interest.
Then, with a sigh of relief, she saw comprehension dawn in Rodney’s blue eyes just in time and his grin faltered a bit. No doubt, the Inspector had had to tell his team about the confidential nature of Trudy’s own assignment, and the golden boy couldn’t have been pleased to see her, a mere ‘girl’, be given yet another plum job working with the coroner.
Reminded of this, he nodded curtly at Dr Ryder, but at least lowered his voice somewhat as he said, ‘Hello Miss, yes we’re still asking people if they can tell us anything relevant about Miss Carmody’s death.’ He turned to look pointedly at the two women who had the grace to look uncomfortable and carry on walking. Albeit rather slowly.
‘I thought most of the door-to-door interviews were over now,’ Trudy said quietly, when she was sure that they couldn’t be overheard.
Rodney shrugged indolently. ‘They are. But the Sarge wanted to keep a police presence in the village. You know, reassure people their daughters were safe, and make myself available in case someone saw me and thought of something new they wanted to say.’
By that, Trudy translated, Rodney was hanging out at the pub and seeing if he could pick up any gossip.
‘And have they?’ she asked curiously.
‘Not yet but … Hey! I thought you were supposed to keep your nose out of our case? Isn’t David Finch your main priority?’ he challenged her territorially, his impressive chin jutting out.
Trudy sighed. ‘Yes, it is,’ she was forced to admit. ‘We’ve just been talking to Mrs Baines. Oh, by the way, you don’t know where her daughter might be found when she’s not at home, do you?’ If she knew Rodney Broadbent (and, alas, she did, only too well) he would have found a way of ferreting out all the pretty girls the village had to offer and ‘interviewing’ them personally. She wondered, cynically, how many of them had been foolish enough to go out on a date with him.
‘Ah, the lovely Janet. Yeah, she’s probably at work. Well, I say work,’ he added with a smile, ‘it�
��s not what you or I would think of as work. She helps out at some charity thing in Oxford. You know, one of those places selling jumble and bric-a-brac to feed some starving kids somewhere.’
Clement felt his lips twitch as Trudy sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I do know what a charity shop is Rodney. Where in Oxford, do you know?’
‘Some shop off St Ebbe’s I think,’ he answered vaguely.
Trudy nodded. They’d be able to find it, she was sure. ‘Well, thanks. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything that could help us? About David Finch, I mean? Anyone see him on the day he died, maybe going towards the Dewberry Farm?’
‘Nah, nothing like that,’ Rodney said, obviously happy to be of no use whatsoever.
‘What are the villagers saying about him?’ Trudy persisted, but again he just shrugged, not in the least interested in doing her any favours.
‘Half of ’em think he did it then did away with himself, the other half seem to think some arty bloke might have done it.’
This was not the first time that people had mentioned the artistic man who had been rather closely associated with the dead girl, and therefore might have had a possible reason to kill David. Trudy and Clement already had him firmly on their ‘to be interviewed’ list.
‘OK. Well, thanks Rodney, you’ve been very helpful,’ she said ironically.
The big idiot just beamed at her and strolled on – no doubt to find a shady spot to sit and lounge the day away.
‘A lovely specimen,’ Clement remarked drolly, watching the golden-haired youth saunter off.
At this, Trudy had to smile.
Chapter 17
As Trudy had expected, it wasn’t that hard to find the charity shop where Janet Baines sometimes volunteered to work. Tucked away in one of Oxford’s many little medieval (or older) alleyways, it did indeed offer the jumble, bric-a-brac and other assorted and unwanted items that Rodney had predicted.
When they went in, a smartly dressed woman with white hair and sharp, pale grey eyes glanced up from behind the counter. Such was the force of her personality that Trudy instantly felt compelled to check on the bookshelves of second-hand books so that she might find something to purchase, for there was no way she would feel comfortable without spending some of her hard-earned pennies in here.
Luckily, she spotted an Agatha Christie that she hadn’t read yet, and as Clement approached the counter, she hastily snatched it and scuttled after him to pay for it.
‘I was wondering if you could help us,’ Clement said with a charming smile that unfortunately had no effect whatsoever on the guardian of the counter. ‘We’re looking for a Miss Janet Baines?’
The older woman’s eyelids flickered in some surprise as she eyed first Clement with such an openly speculative glance that Trudy almost blushed for him, and then, with more puzzlement, Trudy.
‘We don’t encourage our gels to have male visitors when they’re in the shop,’ the woman said, her cut-glass accent so acute Trudy almost had trouble understanding what she was saying.
Clement, who could do a good range in haughty looks himself when he wanted, gave one now. ‘I’m Dr Clement Ryder, city coroner. I need to speak to Miss Baines on a professional manner. This is my assistant,’ he added vaguely, gesturing at Trudy.
She didn’t mind being relegated and ignored, as she understood at once what he was doing, and why. People like this always reacted to authority. And, right on cue, the dragon lady relaxed slightly. But only slightly.
‘She’s in the office sorting through some crockery that was dropped off. We don’t sell chipped or cracked cups and saucers here,’ she added severely. ‘I’ll just inform her that she’s needed.’ And so saying, she opened a door and called briskly upwards, ‘Janet, would you come down for a moment please?’
Clearly, she was not about to leave the shop unattended, and Trudy couldn’t help but wonder if she and Clement looked like her idea of shoplifters. But perhaps they did? Trudy knew from her own patrols and bitter experience, that shoplifters came in all shapes and disguises. Once, a woman dressed as a nun—
Her trip down memory lane abruptly ended as she heard light footfalls coming down a set of uncarpeted wooden stairs, and a moment later, Janet appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Miss Boisier?’ she asked meekly.
She was a tall girl, with a figure that a fashion editor would no doubt have described as ‘willowy’. She was dressed elegantly but simply in a pale blue summer frock, and had long, very thick and slightly wavy dark brown hair. Her eyes were large and velvet-brown, and set in a perfectly oval and very pale face. Her features looked serene and interesting rather than pretty, and it took you a moment or two to realise just how beautiful it was – in total contrast to Iris Carmody’s more conventional beauty of fair hair, heart-shaped face and blue eyes, Trudy could nevertheless understand how Janet’s more subtle beauty would give her dead friend cause for jealousy.
‘This is Dr Ryder. He says he has business with you,’ the inimitable Miss Boisier said, her voice totally neutral but somehow endeavouring to make it clear that she didn’t believe a word of it.
‘Oh?’ Janet turned her large brown, deer-like eyes onto Clement.
‘I’d like to talk to you about your friends, Iris and David,’ Clement said, determined not to satisfy the older woman’s curiosity any more than he could help, and which he could sense was bubbling away beneath her tightly contained surface.
Janet blinked slightly at this, then nodded. ‘I see. Perhaps we should talk outside? We wouldn’t want to inconvenience any customers,’ Janet said, with just the smallest hint of a smile in her voice that told them that she, too, was determined to deny her co-worker the satisfaction of overhearing their conversation.
Once outside, she led them a little way down the narrow alleyway to a bus stop on a wider road that had the benefit of a wooden bench. Luckily, the seat was currently empty. She sat down in the sun with a sigh, and pushed back a long lock of hair behind her ear.
‘Are you really the coroner?’ Janet asked listlessly, looking up at him.
‘Yes. I resided over David’s inquest, but not Iris’s,’ Clement answered truthfully.
The girl nodded, but without any apparent curiosity. She looked even more pale than before, but still composed.
Trudy sat beside her and decided this time it was up to her to take the lead. They were the same age and she had a feeling that this witness would respond more readily to herself than to a middle-aged authority figure. ‘I’m really sorry about Iris. I can’t image what it’s like, to lose your best friend,’ she began gently.
Janet nodded, managing to give a small smile so lacking in any feeling at all that it was utterly meaningless. ‘I still can’t believe it. Not really. I keep expecting Iris to call around and ask me to go out with her somewhere.’
‘To a nightclub, you mean?’ Trudy asked, then smiled as Janet shot her a quick, assessing look. ‘It’s all right – I hear they’re very exciting. I’ve never been to one myself though.’ She hoped she’d managed to inject some envy into her tone. ‘My dad would kill me if he found out.’
‘My mum would kill me too, if she knew we’d been to one,’ Janet admitted.
‘But Iris was brave.’ Trudy nodded, making it a statement, and Janet nodded back.
‘Yes she was. That’s what Mum doesn’t really understand. Life was exciting with her. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I can imagine,’ Trudy said quietly.
‘I really miss her. I just can’t believe somebody did that to her,’ Janet said, for the first time showing some real emotion. ‘Just … strangling her then tying her to the maypole on the village green like that, where everyone would see her. As if he was mocking her. It was so … horrible!’
‘Yes it was awful,’ Trudy agreed grimly. ‘Do you think David Finch was capable of doing something like that? From what we’ve been hearing about him, he seemed a nice enough boy.’ Trudy spoke bluntly, encouraged by having broken through the other girl’s previous ca
lm dullness.
Janet cogitated this for a while, obviously giving it some serious thought and in no hurry to rush to speech. It puzzled Trudy a little, for surely this girl must have already thought long and hard this past week or so about who it was that might have murdered her friend. And David was the village’s favourite chief suspect.
Finally she stirred. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so. But I don’t know. How can I?’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I always liked David well enough, and like you said, he seemed a nice boy,’ she said wearily. ‘But on the other hand, he really had it bad over Iris. Maybe, if he found out about Mort … some bad things that she was doing, he might have … I don’t know …’ She shrugged again. ‘Gone mad for a moment or two and killed her before he got himself back under control? Men do do that, don’t they?’ She looked at Trudy earnestly. ‘You read about it sometimes in the papers, men going berserk.’
‘It’s been known to happen,’ Trudy agreed. As if losing your temper gave a man a right to hurt their loved ones. And yet how many times had she heard wife-beaters say self-pityingly that it was all the woman’s fault for rousing his ire? ‘Did David have a bad temper?’ she asked curiously.
‘Not that I saw,’ Janet was compelled to admit. ‘But when Iris was with David, I didn’t hang around much. I mean, you don’t like to, do you? Feel like you’re playing gooseberry?’
Trudy smiled understandingly. ‘You said before that Iris was into some bad things. What did you mean by that?’
But this was obviously a question too far, for Janet shifted uncomfortably on the bench and her mouth set in a stubborn line. Oddly, it only enhanced her beauty. ‘Oh, I don’t know specifically,’ she said, clearly lying.
Wisely, Trudy remained silent, and let Janet stare down at her hands, giving her time to feel more and more guilty for holding back. At last, the other girl shrugged listlessly again. ‘I know that Iris was up to something, because she was boasting about going to London to become a model. I mean for real, this time,’ she added, biting her lip. ‘Before, when we were still at school, she was always threatening to run away from school and get away from this silly little village and go to London and become famous. But that was, you know, just a dream. We all knew that, because of course, you don’t really intend to do it, do you? How can you? Even if you had the money – and Iris’s family didn’t have much spare money – how would you go about finding somewhere to live, in a big city, all on your own? But lately, she was really excited. I could just tell that something had happened to make her believe that it was suddenly all actually possible. She was all … gleeful and bubbling over.’