A Village Murder

by Frances Evesham

  Imogen squinted at the sky. ‘At least the weather’s fine so far.’

  She tried to breathe slowly, fighting an attack of nervous excitement. Today’s plans reached far beyond hosting a village event.

  Her phone trilled. Emily sounded uncharacteristically panicky. ‘Michael’s called in sick.’

  One of the serving staff, he’d agreed to pick up the star tenor from Cardiff. The man would now be arriving at the railway station in Camilton at midday, ready for final rehearsals.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Imogen said, soothingly. ‘If there’s no one else around, I’ll collect him. Everything’s under control.’ Funny, to hear Emily in a state over something so simple.

  That call was the first of many. Cool, calm members of staff had taken leave of their senses, struggling with the simplest decision.

  Imogen hid her turmoil with a display of calm. Tonight, she would find out if her worst fears were realised.

  She checked the list of ticket holders. Everyone she wanted to be there had bought a ticket. So long as they all arrived…

  She immersed herself in the final details.

  She hadn’t anticipated such enthusiasm for Mozart among the staff. Everyone planned to be there tonight, whether on duty or not. She’d even heard the youngest waitress humming excerpts from The Marriage of Figaro in the kitchens.

  Harley, picking up the mood of tension and expectation, galloped in overexcited circles in the foyer until Imogen banished him to her rooms for the morning. ‘The last thing we need is a guest tripping over and breaking a leg.’

  Halfway down the main stairs, she stopped. The walls were covered with photos of VIPs shaking hands with her father. A lump formed in Imogen’s throat. How he would have loved tonight’s event.

  Sentimentality flew out of the window when the old grandfather clock chimed ten. Time for the daily staff meeting.

  Breaking crockery crashed in the dining room. Someone shrieked. Imogen put her head round the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Bishop.’ The tiny waitress’s face crumpled. ‘They slipped out of my hands.’

  ‘Never mind. Clear it up and join the meeting.’

  She looked at the row of staff faces, all scrubbed and fresh. Anticipation electrified the air.

  She cleared her throat and summoned the spirit of her father. ‘I want to thank you all for your hard work. It hasn’t been easy at The Streamside Hotel recently.’

  She looked into each face. Many nodded.

  ‘My father would be proud of the way you’ve all worked together. The hotel looks wonderful. The bunting around the front is a triumph.’

  She hated bunting, but the staff had begged.

  ‘Now, some things are bound to go wrong today, no matter how carefully we’ve planned.’

  The butterfingered waitress blushed scarlet.

  ‘Whatever happens, you’ll cope, and the evening will be a roaring success. Just remember that our job is to make sure everyone enjoys themselves – sensibly.’

  They laughed. The barmen, army veterans who’d been in Afghanistan, flexed their muscles.

  ‘We’ll be busy, but I hope you’ll all enjoy the music, even if you’re at the other end of the hotel. Emily and I will be here all day. Bring any problems you can’t manage to us – any you can’t solve with ingenuity and common sense, I mean.’

  Another ripple of laughter.

  She decided to stop while she was winning. ‘Have a wonderful day.’

  The round of applause took her by surprise.

  ‘I didn’t know you were such a competent public speaker.’ Adam had arrived, unseen. ‘Now, are you sure this is going to work?’

  He didn’t mean the concert.

  ‘Everything will be fine. Stop worrying.’

  The day passed in a whirl of activity. Adam offered to collect the celebrity tenor from the station.

  ‘Never again,’ he grumbled. ‘The man “warmed up the voice” all the way, right in my ear.’

  By the time Imogen released Harley from quarantine in her room, the select group of VIPs had finished their pre-concert meals and were gathered in the lounge.

  Maria held court, surrounded by local men. ‘Yes, I arranged this evening, although Mr Hennessy helped. Oh,’ she caught sight of Imogen. ‘Mrs Bishop has so kindly offered the hotel as a venue. We thought to use the garden of The Plough – such lovely views to Ham Hill – but there was something about licences…’

  Imogen hurried outside as, from all over Somerset, the rest of the audience arrived, dressed in their best evening clothes, carrying wicker baskets and rugs, ready to picnic in the hotel grounds.

  ‘Almost as charming as Glyndebourne,’ announced Jonathan Hampton.

  Helen Pickles and her mild-mannered accountant husband talked ghoulish shop with Adam’s pathologist friend.

  ‘Bodies fished out of the River Parrett are the worst,’ James explained.

  Imogen hurried past, took a deep breath, straightened her emerald green dress, checked no wayward strands of hair had escaped their moorings, and greeted her special guests.

  Steph arrived, alone. No Daniel? They were a couple, weren’t they?

  Toni and Kate arrived together with Mrs Hall.

  Imogen chatted about the weather, trying to sound relaxed, but her nerves jangled. Would he come?

  The owner of Haselbury House stood with the Jenkins and Hamptons, reliving last year’s pheasant shoot.

  Councillor Smith and the mayor gushed over Imogen with reminiscences of her father.

  Daniel appeared, looking sensational in evening dress. Imogen counted to ten and greeted him with a demure handshake, afraid he might hear the pounding of her heart. She longed to stay, catch up with him, talk over old times, but there was no time.

  At the very last moment, her final guest appeared.

  She glanced across at Adam, their eyes met, and she nodded.

  Everything was falling into place. The stage was set.

  The chattering parties broke up, the audience finding their seats as the time arrived for the concert to begin. Adam sank down next to Imogen at the back of the lawn.

  Maria stepped forward. Spectacular in an ice-blue column dress that showed off every scintillating curve, she enjoyed every second of her time in the spotlight. She thanked the audience for coming, her charming accent only a little exaggerated, and swept into her seat in the front row of the choir.

  Adam’s mouth was half open. Imogen nudged him and he closed it with a snap.

  At last, the concert began.

  The conductor bounded to the music stand, beamed at the audience, smiled at the orchestra, glared at the bass player scrabbling on the floor for a sheet of missing music, and tapped his baton.

  Even Adam enjoyed the cheerful excerpts from Mozart operas and Strauss waltzes. He whispered, ‘If only the fat lady wouldn’t sing.’

  Imogen shushed him.

  He checked his watch, counting down the minutes. Would their plan work?

  Right on cue, a convoy of cars drew up, engines roaring, shattering the silence that fell at the end of the first half.

  Their timing was perfect.

  The audience turned as one to watch Chief Inspector Andrews stroll to the dais.

  The conductor blinked, lost for words, and backed away.

  The DCI asked everyone to remain seated. Uniformed officers arranged themselves behind the audience, faces expressionless, eyes roaming ceaselessly across the rows.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, ladies and gentlemen, but a serious crime has been committed,’ DCI Andrews announced.

  A murmur rose from the audience.

  Councillor Smith half rose, thought better of it, and subsided.

  The DCI continued. ‘My colleague, Adam Hennessy, will tell you more.’

  Adam made his way to the front and took a moment to scan the rows of puzzled faces. ‘As some of you know, I was a detective with the Birmingham police,’ he began, in a conversational tone. ‘I retired last yea
r, after a long and difficult case. Several members of a local gang were arrested and charged as a result of that case and their trials are due to begin very soon.’

  The audience murmured, restless.

  ‘You’re wondering what that has to do with Lower Hembrow, or with any part of Somerset. Be patient, and I’ll explain.’ He leaned on the music stand. ‘This gang, mostly Cypriots, made alliances with criminals across the West Midlands and the South West of England. Many of their allies are not, on the face of it, thugs or bandits.’

  The memory of his dead cat, its blood soaked into the rug on his living room floor, flashed into his head, and for a second, he lost his thread.

  He recovered quickly. ‘It pains me, very much, to tell you that the previous owner of this hotel was involved with some of their fraudulent activities.’

  Several of the audience gasped.

  ‘Some of his activities were illegal, while others were charitable and designed to benefit this community, one he loved.’

  Here and there, a head nodded agreement.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Andrews has been investigation Councillor Jones’ death and he’s come to a disturbing conclusion.’

  Adam’s eyes sought Imogen in the back row.

  Satisfied by her tentative smile, he dropped the bombshell. ‘Councillor Jones’ car crash was not, as previously thought, an unexpected accident.’

  More gasps.

  ‘No, I’m afraid the councillor was the victim of a particularly devious and unpleasant killer.’ He looked round the audience. ‘One of you here today was responsible. DCI Andrews and his men wish to question several members of this audience.’ He swept his hand in an arc, encompassing the rows of wide-eyed spectators. ‘Police officers will take your names, whereupon those of you not needed will be free to leave.’ He ended, ‘I apologise for spoiling this evening’s event.’

  An excited babble began, slowly at first, building, and rising to a climax as police blocked the row where Councillor Smith and the mayor sat, shock contorting their features.

  Adam tapped the music stand and the babble died. ‘By the way, we have an important clue.’ He held up the pearl earring in a white-gloved hand. It glinted in the orange glow of the evening sun. ‘This is a piece of valuable evidence. Our forensic team,’ he nodded towards James, who stood to offer a ridiculous little bow, ‘have undertaken many tests that yielded vital information. This earring was found in the grounds of this very hotel, near to where Mr Gregory Bishop died. The police will be grateful for any information as to how it found its way there.’

  If the police had not been in attendance, there would have been bedlam in the hotel garden. DCI Andrews’ officers kept the situation under control, standing at the ends of the rows of seats, holding clipboards, organising an orderly exodus, and taking names.

  The audience, far more excited than dismayed at the sudden end of their evening’s entertainment, filed obediently past and gathered in chattering groups. A series of gasps put an end to the conversation.

  A silence fell, as the entire audience turned to watch the mayor and Councillor Smith, their heads lowered, eyes averted, escorted from the garden into one of the police cars and driven away.

  At the back of the audience, Imogen’s eyes remained fixed on her old school friends.

  37

  David

  The police finally persuaded most of the audience to go home, but Imogen’s friends remained, in a tight huddle.

  She studied their expressions, searching for clues. Who had recognised the earring? Their faces gave little away.

  ‘Well, that was spectacular,’ Steph said.

  Adam took a position next to Imogen.

  Daniel looked from one to the other. ‘What happens now? None of us know anything about this earring, or Greg’s death, so I suppose we can all go home?’

  He made to move away, but James, bulky and grinning, enjoying every moment of the evening, blocked his path. ‘Not so fast. Adam and Imogen have something to say.’

  ‘Something else?’ Toni sniggered. ‘Haven’t you had enough of the limelight?’

  Adam said, ‘I think you should all come inside if you want to know who killed Gregory Bishop.’

  ‘Of course, we want to know.’ Steph sounded indignant.

  ‘Well, listen and learn.’

  Imogen ushered them all into the empty lounge. They sat, silent, in a circle, watching Adam, but it was Imogen who spoke.

  ‘There’s one more person here who’s keen to join us. None of you recognised him when he arrived, because it’s a long time since you’ve met. Here he is…’

  A tall, slim figure in horn-rimmed glasses appeared from the dining room, where he’d sat out the evening, waiting for Imogen’s signal.

  Steph broke the puzzled silence. ‘I know who you are. You’re David. David Canberra.’

  The others muttered to each other, but Daniel stood up and held out a hand, surprising them all. ‘David. It’s been a long time.’

  Kate said, ‘What are you doing here?’

  The new arrival ducked his head, looking nervous, and took Daniel’s outstretched hand. ‘Good to see you all again,’ he said. ‘Imogen tracked me down.’

  ‘It wasn’t hard. Canberra’s not a common name in Cornwall.’

  David slid into a chair.

  Adam handed round cups of coffee, but most of the group waved it away, their eyes fixed firmly on Imogen.

  She took a deep breath and began. ‘One of you already knows everything I’m about to tell you, but the rest have no idea. I’m going to take you all back to the evening in the tunnel under our school – the picnic we’ve all tried so hard to forget.’

  Her gaze roamed around the room, but no one seemed willing to meet her eyes.

  ‘We kept away from each other after we left school. Not surprising, was it? Julian had died, and we all felt terrible. At least, I know I did.’ She sighed, wishing she didn’t have to continue. ‘I have a confession to make. An act of cruelty that I’ve bitterly regretted for all these years. You see, that night in the tunnel, Julian asked me out.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Instead of thanking him for the compliment, selfish beast that I was, I laughed at him.’ There, it was out. Would they all hate her?

  To her surprise, no one moved.

  She turned to David. ‘You were his friend, and you were watching. You saw it, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did.’ David’s expression was unreadable.

  Several people shifted in their chairs.

  Toni stood up, pointing at David. ‘You pushed Julian. We all know that. You had a stand-up fight and he fell over, hit his head, and died.’

  Imogen waved at her to sit. ‘That’s the story, but is it true? How did you hear it? Hearsay? Rumour? Some of the gossip you love so much?’

  Toni glowered and sat down, her mouth clamped shut.

  Imogen continued, ‘David has a different story to tell.’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Of course, he does.’ Kate said, scornfully. ‘He killed his friend. He won’t admit that.’

  Imogen ignored the interruption. ‘Julian’s death was no more an accident than that of my father.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ This time, Steph leapt up. ‘You can’t believe that. Why would anyone kill Julian? He was so… so harmless.’

  Adam intervened. ‘Let Imogen speak.’

  ‘Motive,’ Imogen said. ‘That was one of the problems facing us, as Adam and I puzzled over Julian’s death. It’s been so long since he died that the truth was hidden under layers of confusion. You’re quite right, Steph. At first sight, no one had any reason to hurt him; we were so self-absorbed, we hardly noticed when he was around. The same was true with you, I’m afraid.’ She smiled an apology at David.

  ‘I’m over it,’ he said. ‘I was never memorable. It used to hurt, but now I’m happily married with three grown children, it seems so far in the past. If we’d known how things would turn out, it w
ould have saved so much teenage angst.’

  ‘If only,’ Imogen agreed, from her heart. ‘Here we are, all these years later, with all those teenage anxieties and jealousies in the past. It seems to me David is about the only one of us who’s been truly successful.’ She flicked a hand in the air. ‘I don’t mean, successful in business. I mean, in life.’

  Daniel spoke, slowly, as though thinking his words through, ‘Do you think the events of that night may have something to do with our disappointing lives? Look at us – mostly divorced, avoiding each other, shutting ourselves into our own prisons. The burden we’ve carried, all these years – Julian’s tragic death and our parts in it – has cast a shadow over everything we’ve done.’

  Steph said, ‘Or, perhaps we’re just losers. We can’t blame Julian for the mess we’ve made of our own lives.’

  Imogen admired Steph’s blunt honesty. She’d always been like that. Telling the truth had led to her expulsion from school. She’d confessed to drinking and taking LSD that night, while the rest of them had lied, insisting they’d had soft drinks and didn’t know they’d been spiked.

  But one awkward fact remained – her earring had appeared beside the orangery.

  ‘This is all very well,’ Steph said, ‘but you haven’t answered the big question. Why would anyone kill Julian?’

  ‘I’ll come to that in a moment.’ Imogen paused, keeping her thoughts in order. ‘As you’ll know from tonight’s events—’

  ‘And, wasn’t that quite a show?’ Toni, recovered from her minor humiliation, joined in again, holding out her cup for a refill, leaning back against the squashy cushions of her armchair.

  Adam spoke up. ‘Effective, I’d say. All the players in one place.’

  Imogen raised her voice. ‘Before we tell you our conclusions, I’d like to talk about my husband. You see, his murder is connected to Julian’s.’ She looked around their shocked faces. ‘Indulge me a moment. Why would anyone want to kill Greg? True, he was never a dream husband. I knew he was unfaithful – that was why I wouldn’t take him back after he left – but there was one thing I didn’t know, and it’s important. Some of you are already aware of this.’