David Webb 2 - A Necessary End

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘I’m aware of that, miss. But it’s been confirmed that a call was placed from this number at nineteen forty-three — nearly quarter to eight — that evening. It shouldn’t be too difficult to — ’

  She raised both hands to her mouth, fingers splayed across her cheeks. Above them, her huge eyes were stricken.

  ‘Perhaps if I ask your father or — ’

  ‘No!’ Without warning she crumpled to the floor, hugging herself tightly and rocking backwards and forwards in an agony of despair. The policemen exchanged a startled glance. Then Webb motioned Jackson to the table and, bending down, lifted Rose to her feet. She collapsed against him, holding on to his lapels for support.

  ‘Oh God, God, God!’ she said rapidly.

  ‘Now, now, miss. Suppose you calm down and tell me what it’s all about.’

  ‘I killed her!’ she said into his overcoat.

  ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to! I never thought he’d hurt her. It didn’t enter my head — ’

  ‘Who are we talking about, Miss Pendrick?’

  She raised her ravaged face. ‘Danny. Danny Dean.’

  ‘Let’s sit down, then, and you can tell me about it.’ He prised her fingers off his coat and led her to the sofa, manoeuvring her so that she was half-turned to face him, her back to Jackson. The Sergeant had taken out his pocket book. Rose seized Webb’s hand and held on to it tightly.

  ‘It was all so silly,’ she began, talking quickly in a low voice. ‘It started with Julian. Julian Bayliss. He was a boy I went round with for a while. Then he — he got a thing about Nancy. It was disgusting — she was old enough to be his mother. And she encouraged him.’ She broke off, then added honestly, ‘Well, I thought she did. It came to a head when I found them in here, kissing.’

  ‘Mrs Pendrick and the boy?’ Webb’s surprise sounded in his voice.

  ‘He probably took her by surprise. She looked rather startled. But you can imagine how I felt.’

  ‘You were fond of him?’

  ‘Lord, no, but that’s not the point. He was supposed to be in love with me. Nancy and I had a flaming row later. She said she hadn’t encouraged him, but if anything that made it worse. So I accused her of cheating on my father, as well as spoiling my love-life.’

  ‘And what happened?’ Webb prompted, as she came to a halt.

  ‘A few days later, I overheard her talking to Father. Her ex-husband had showed up at the hotel — as a barman, if you please! My hoity-toity stepmother and a barman! I’d been wondering how to get back at her, and it seemed too good to be true. So I went to have a look at him.’

  Her fingers tightened on his hand. ‘I told him who I was, and he thought it as funny as I did. “Nance’s stepdaughter!” he said. “How do you like that?” And he asked me out for a drink.’

  Jackson rustled a paper, and Webb sent him a quick frown. But Rose was too absorbed with her story to notice. ‘We started going out. I liked him — he was amusing and quite attractive, really. It got more serious than I’d intended, but I thought I could finish it when I wanted to. We used to go to his room when he was off duty. He had one of the cottages in the grounds, so it was quite safe.’

  Webb waited patiently, his eyes on her lovely, downcast face. ‘Then something went wrong and he got the sack. I think he pinched some money, but I didn’t hear the details. Actually, I was quite relieved. I’d been wondering how to end it, and it seemed the perfect solution. But he said he was looking for a job and digs in Shillingham, to be near me. It was a shock, I can tell you. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He was getting more intense all the time and I began to feel frightened. Then it was Christmas, and he sent me a gorgeous cashmere sweater. It must have cost a bomb — unless he pinched it. Anyway, I couldn’t let it go on any longer. So I sent it back with quite a nice little note saying — well, you know — it had been fun while it lasted, but it was time he moved on. But he started ringing here, which he’d never done before. He didn’t leave his name, but every time I came in, there were messages that someone had phoned. And when he couldn’t get hold of me, he sent a letter, saying he’d never let me go.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I threw it away. I thought he’d get the message and give up. But on the Tuesday after New Year, he was waiting for me at the gate. He was all wild-eyed and pale, and he grabbed hold of me and asked me to marry him. I was completely shattered. I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t let go. Then he started slobbering over me. It was horrible, revolting. I was terrified someone would see us, but Danny said he’d go and tell Father we were engaged. I — well, I lost my head — screamed at him that he was an old man, and I wasn’t going to marry my stepmother’s cast-off. Honestly, I thought he was going to kill me.’

  She broke off with a shiver, realizing what she’d said. ‘He grabbed my arm and held it so tightly it hurt. He said he’d give me till the next evening, but if I didn’t come to my senses by then, he’d come and get me. He said he knew I loved him, and was just playing hard to get.’

  She was silent for long seconds, staring at her fingers gripping Webb’s hand. When she started again, her voice was shaking. ‘I was frantic — I didn’t see how I could get through to him, and I knew he meant what he said. I daren’t go to Father — he’d have gone mad if he knew what we’d been up to. Then it suddenly came to me. The one person Danny might listen to was Nancy. She was my last hope.

  ‘I waited till she was home from work, then I phoned and told her the whole story. She was super — ’ Her voice broke. ‘The nicest she’s ever been to me. Not a word about what I’d done, or that it served me right, or anything. She said not to worry, she’d speak to Danny at the weekend. But I told her the weekend wouldn’t do — he’d only given me till the next evening. So at last, to calm me down, she said, all right, she’d come back the next day and see him.’

  A tear plopped on his hand before he realized she was crying. ‘So I waited, all tensed up, for her to phone and tell me what had happened. She wasn’t coming here, because we didn’t want anyone to know about it. But when the phone went, it — it wasn’t Nancy, it was Danny. Oh God!’ she ended, on a little gasp.

  Webb said steadily, ‘What time did he ring?’

  She brushed her eyes with her hand. ‘About six, I suppose. Before dinner, anyway. His voice was all funny — I could hardly make out what he said. And when I did, I wished I hadn’t. He said he’d been wrong about me, that I was a spiteful little whore, and if he ever caught up with me, he’d give me a dose of what he’d given Nancy.’ She was crying openly now, like a child, her face piteously crumpled. ‘I waited and waited for her to phone, and I tried to ring her several times. I couldn’t think what had happened. Then when you came with Father to say she was dead — well, you can guess how I felt. And I didn’t dare say anything, in case he killed me, too.’

  She collapsed against Webb, sobbing hysterically, her silky hair tickling his chin. The sexkitten image had disintegrated and she was just a badly frightened young girl. He’d no reservations about putting his arm round her and patting her shoulder.

  ‘All right, Rose, all right,’ he said at last, and none of them noticed he had used her first name. ‘You’re a silly girl not to have trusted us, but we’ll find him and nothing is going to happen to you. You’ve no idea where he’s gone?’ She sniffed, shaking her head. Webb felt for a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. She blew her nose and sat up, pushing her hair back. Even in the aftermath of tears, she still looked lovely. Webb guessed not many women were so fortunate.

  ‘London, I should think.’

  ‘You know what part?’

  ‘He told me he came from Clapham.’

  ‘Right. We’ll get on to the local Force.’ He didn’t mention Crombie’s theory; he was sure himself that Dean was alive, specially after that phone call. ‘Are you all right now?’

  Rose nodded. Then she reached for his hand and held it
against her cheek. ‘Thank you for being so nice.’

  Carefully he freed himself. ‘That’s all right, miss. Now go and wash your face and try not to worry.’

  Jackson pushed back his chair and she turned sharply. As Webb had intended, she’d forgotten about the Sergeant, speaking freely on a one-to-one basis. But it was all safely down in Jackson’s notebook, and after only a second’s hesitation she obediently left the room.

  CHAPTER 13

  That Jackson too had been struck by the girl’s youth was reflected in his comment as they drove away. ‘Poor kid, her family doesn’t seem to take much interest in her. No wonder she went off the rails.’ He paused. ‘Seems to put the lid on Dean’s coffin, doesn’t it? And you were right about Nancy’s character doing for her. She must have gone at him hammer and tongs — well, we know that, from Mrs Tallow — and he just snapped. Not wanting to foul his own nest, he followed her when she left, saw her turn down the alley, and — bingo!’

  ‘And how did he get her to Chedbury without a car?’

  Jackson grinned. ‘Come on now, Guv, I’ve solved most of it for you. Surely you can work that out!’

  Webb grunted, then said suddenly, ‘Pull in here, Ken, will you.’ They were approaching the village centre. On their right, beyond the green, the little church sat atop its mound, its dark stone contrasting with the snow still lying in its shadow. On the left was the cobbled square with its specialist shops of which Webb disapproved.

  ‘What is it, Guv? Fancy a bit of caviar?’

  Webb sent him a withering look. ‘What was the name of the lad that fancied Nancy? Sounded like Bailey, but more highfalutin.’

  Jackson felt for his notebook and leafed through it. ‘Here we are. Bayliss. Julian Bayliss.’

  ‘Lord love us! Well, there’s a phone-box over there, and by the look of it it’s intact. Even has directories on the shelf. Nip in and look up his address, will you? Might as well see if he’s home while we’re in the area.’

  Minutes later, Jackson scrambled back into the car. ‘Only one lot locally, James R. Bayliss, The Fairway, Beckett’s Lane. Must be further along from the Fraynes.’

  They drove slowly over the bridge, where an old lady was throwing bread to the ducks, passed the surgery with its two brass plates, and turned into Beckett’s Lane. The Fairway was the last house on the right, backing on the golf course. A young man was in the driveway, washing a car. He straightened as they drew up and came slowly down the path to meet them.

  Webb got out of the car. The wind, skimming across the fields, stung his face. ‘Mr Julian Bayliss?’

  ‘Yes. You’re the police, I suppose. I’ve been expecting you.’ He was stockily built, with neat reddish hair and hazel eyes reflecting the green of his sweater.

  Webb looked past him at the house. ‘Is anyone at home?’

  ‘My mother.’ The young man held his gaze.

  ‘Would you prefer to talk out here?’

  ‘Thanks. Yes, I would. Shall we walk down the road a bit?’

  ‘Suits me.’

  Resignedly Jackson turned up his collar and fell in behind them as they walked in silence past the entrance to the golf club and along the cinder track into which Beckett’s Lane had now degenerated. To their left a farm road, its deep ruts caked with ice, wound back in the direction of the village, while ahead a five-barred gate set in a hedge effectively blocked their way.

  Webb rested his arms on it, eyes narrowed in the searing wind. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘this’ll do.’ High overhead, a flock of rooks flew noisily towards some trees, and in the distance, borne towards them on the wind, came the whistle of a train. Jackson wondered fancifully if young Bayliss wished he were on it. The boy was staring out across the fields, but his shoulders were braced for the imminent questioning.

  It began. ‘What do you do for a living, Mr Bayliss?’

  ‘I work for my father, sir. J. R. Bayliss and Son, Estate Agents. In Marlton.’

  ‘But not today?’

  ‘I’ve been off this week, with flu, but I’ll be back on Monday.’

  ‘You weren’t ill on Wednesday the fourth?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The boy shuddered, whether from cold or the significance of the date, Jackson couldn’t be sure. ‘I was in the office all day. You can check,’ he added with a touch of defiance.

  ‘We will, Mr Bayliss, we will. Now, what do you know about Mrs Nancy Pendrick?’

  ‘That she was the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever met.’ Here was a turn-up for the books. ‘Sweet’ was a new adjective to be applied to Nancy.

  ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘Not well enough. We’d very little time alone.’

  The implication that they’d both regretted this, Webb let pass for the moment. ‘You met through her stepdaughter?’

  ‘Yes. I was besotted with Rose. You’ll have met her, so you’ll understand. It was completely one-sided, of course, but it amused her to have me hanging around. “My willing slave,” she called me. Well, Nancy — Mrs Pendrick — saw what was happening. She was sorry for me, and went out of her way to be friendly. But then, to the surprise of all of us, I think, I — I fell in love with her. Everything I’d felt for Rose, and much, much more. Of course she was older in years, but her personality wasn’t. She was bright and amusing and — and such good fun.’ He bit his lip.

  Webb said woodenly, ‘Was your affection returned?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. It might have been, in time. But Rose made an awful scene when she found us together. I think that’s why Nancy withdrew. She didn’t want anyone hurt — and there was also Mr Pendrick to consider. I wrote her dozens of letters, but I tore them all up. It seemed so hopeless. God, how I wish I’d posted them — let her know I was serious about her. If we’d been together, none of this would have happened.’

  He really believed that, Jackson thought wonderingly. Poor, stupid little sod. Small wonder my Lady Rose had no time for him.

  The boy said in a low voice, ‘You haven’t found out yet, who — ?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I wish to God they could still hang him!’ He hit his forehead with his fist and held it there, eyes closed. When he opened them they were watering, but it could have been the wind.

  Webb cleared his throat. ‘You’ve no idea who might have a grudge against her, want her out of the way?’

  ‘How could anyone? It must be a madman.’

  ‘You weren’t at the Pendricks’ on New Year’s Eve, Mr Bayliss. Were you invited?’

  ‘No. I didn’t expect to be.’

  ‘So when did you last see Mrs Pendrick?’

  ‘At one of the parties over Christmas — the Pipers’. But we didn’t get a chance to talk.’

  Webb sighed. They hadn’t got anywhere, but then he hadn’t expected to. They’d check with his office as a matter of routine, then one more possibility could be scored through.

  ‘Very well, Mr Bayliss, that’s all for the moment.’

  They turned and started to walk back to the house. Although snow lingered in the crevices, there was a steady dripping from the hedgerows as the sun grew stronger. Out on the golf course a group moved in slow motion, actors in a time-honoured ritual.

  Jackson glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Nearly midday. A bite of lunch would warm him nicely, he thought, brightening. At the gate of The Fairway they came to a halt.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Bayliss,’ Webb said formally. ‘We’ll be in touch if we need you again.’

  ‘Yes. Right.’ The boy hesitated, then thrust out his hand, which Webb solemnly shook. He turned to Jackson, who did the same. The two men got into the car, Jackson reversed in the driveway, and they drove back down the road. He could see the boy in the rearview mirror, standing looking after them.

  ‘Reckon he really had flu, Guv?’

  ‘Or something like it. Delayed shock. Often happens, that, after a death. Known medical fact.’

  ‘You mean he really was serious
about her? At his age?’

  ‘Come on, Ken. You’re never more serious in your life than you are at twenty.’

  They had reached the main road and turned up the hill. ‘What now, then? Lunch?’

  Webb smiled. ‘Yes, but not The Dog and Gun. Let’s find somewhere more in keeping with our pockets.’

  As they crested the hill and began to drop down the other side, leaving Frecklemarsh behind them, both men relaxed.

  ‘Any plans for the rest of the day?’ Jackson inquired.

  ‘We must get on to Clapham about Dean, then there’s a pile of paperwork needing my attention. Why?’

  ‘Just that it’s my lad’s birthday. I’d like to get home early, if there’s no panic on.’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘Why don’t you drop in yourself? Young Paul’s a great fan of yours. It’d make his day, and Millie’d be pleased to see you.’

  ‘OK, Ken, thanks. I’ll do that. And this looks a likely place for lunch.’

  *

  Webb was an hour behind Jackson leaving Carrington Street, having stayed to read the reports. Not that there was much in them. They were in the doldrum stage which bedevilled most investigations, when nothing seemed to be happening. He wanted Dean and he wanted Sharon, and so far both had eluded him.

  Still, it was Friday evening and he’d earned a breather. He drew up outside the neat semi-detached on the Broadminster Road, smiling as he saw the balloons tied to the gate. How old would the kid be now? Six, seven? He was no good at judging children’s ages — no experience.

  The pavements glittered with frost and a new moon swung in the sky. The sound of children’s voices floated down the path, and Mrs Jackson opened the door, face flushed and hair dishevelled.

  ‘Hello, Mr Webb. It’s good of you to come.’

  As he stepped inside, the door on the left burst open, enveloping them in noise, and Jackson stood there, holding a cake with smoking candles.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Guv. Come on in. The cake’s ready for cutting, love.’ He handed the plate to his wife and led Webb into the dining-room. The table down the centre was crowded with small boys, the sole exception being the host’s five-year-old sister at one end. Distributed along it was a medley of cracker debris, abandoned sandwiches, plates of sausages on sticks.