Strangled in the Sauna

by Oliver, Marina

  They grinned, tried once more to listen, but heard no more from any of the locals, so they finished their meal, and left.

  'I swear the woman breathed a sigh of relief when we got up to go,' Dodie said, chuckling.

  'But was he right, saying the police are close to making an arrest? I wonder who he is?'

  'Sheila will know. Let's get back.'

  *

  Little had changed back at The Crags. The tape was still across the field entrance, and a solitary police constable was there to guard it, though he was looking worried as a farmer driving a tractor was arguing with him.

  'Oh dear, they look as though they'll come to blows soon.'

  Mrs Jones's car had been taken away from the car park, presumably for closer forensic examination, though the spot where it had been parked was still taped off. Elena parked well away from it, and they went in through the front door. Sheila was standing in the hall talking to a detective, and she indicated the office as they went past. Dodie and Elena nodded and went in, going on into the sitting room where they found Joan slumped in one of the armchairs.

  'No one wants to do yoga or use the machines,' she explained, 'so I shut the gym and the exercise room. I wonder when we'll ever get back to normal. Did you hear anything useful?'

  Dodie summarised. 'Terry wasn't there. Rosie was, with Pat and two men, looking miserable. Mandy was angry, being accused of wearing designer dresses and flaunting too much money on Rolex watches and a designer handbag. All we heard was a Lady Scott's husband – we didn't discover his name – saying the police were about to arrest someone. He seemed in the know.'

  'Oh, Sir Gerald, he's one of the bigwigs. On various committees. No doubt he's been plaguing the police to find out what they are doing. He's the sort that has to have a finger in every pie.'

  'And Mr Shefford arrived,' Elena added.

  'Yes, he said he'd be here later this afternoon. I believe he has appointments tomorrow, and wants to start out early.'

  'He seems to use The Crags as an hotel,' Elena said.

  'He pays well, and there aren't many hotels nearby.'

  'But his appointments are presumably in the towns? They are some distance away, and surely there are acceptable hotels there?'

  'What our guests do doesn't affect us,' Joan said with a sigh. 'Unless they murder one another.'

  'I don't think it can be your guests who murdered Mrs Jones,' Dodie said. 'It must have been one of the men, but I can't believe any of them here would do it. I can't think of a motive. Even if she had found them out in some misbehaviour, could it have been bad enough to cause murder?'

  'They don't misbehave,' Joan said. 'At least, they never have before now.'

  Dodie was about to reply when Sheila came in, but before she had time to speak the front door bell clanged, and she went out again. The others heard her welcoming Mr Shefford, and Brian was heard as he took the keys of Mr Shefford's car and said he would bring his bags straight up to Room 307.

  'Opposite me,' Dodie commented.

  'So you can find a way of questioning him,' Sheila said. 'Actually, it's the room he always has if he can, and was fortunately free.'

  'Am I supposed to linger outside until he emerges, and trap him?'

  'No, of course not. I invited him to have tea with us.'

  Dodie groaned and clutched her stomach. 'Those roast dinners at the pub are too much after the meals here! I'm not complaining,' she added hurriedly. 'They are fine for people wanting to lose weight. It's just that after them, the lavish helpings at the pub take some dealing with.'

  'You managed remarkably well, in that case,' Elena said. 'Do you want both of us here when Mr Shefford faces the inquisition?'

  'I want you,' Dodie said. 'You often notice something I don't.'

  *

  They were in the office later when the telephone rang. Sheila picked up the receiver.

  'Hello? The Crags here...Who did you say?...Yes, he was here earlier in the week, trying to sleep in one of our garden sheds...I see...No, I haven't seen him since, but if he turns up again I'll let you know. Goodbye.'

  'That was the police. Mr Ken Jones has been annoying the local farmer, sneaking into one of his barns to find somewhere warm to sleep. His car was apparently hidden up that field track, and he drove out early and messed up the tyre marks they were so interested in at the start of the track. Oh well, I suppose they'll find him if they really want him. Come on in.'

  Dodie took an instant dislike to Mr Shefford. He had changed and was a poem in cream, beautifully dressed in close-fitting cream corduroy trousers, a pristine white open-necked silk shirt, and a cashmere sweater the exact same shade as his trousers. He had fawn moccasins which she was sure came from some expensive designer shop. His watch, she decided, was really a Rolex, and he wore a heavy gold signet ring. He carried a man's handbag, also cream leather, and she suppressed a shudder. Men who carried handbags were, she always felt, either wimps or too pernickety to spoil the set of their clothes by using pockets.

  He disposed himself in an armchair, languid and attentive, and gracefully accepted a cup of tea, though he refused the small cakes Joan offered him. 'You have been having an unfortunate time, Miss Sheila, Miss Joan,' he said.

  His voice, Dodie felt, did not go with the image. It was not smooth enough, and it had just a tinge of Scots about it. She had a sudden vision of him as a Highland warrior in kilt and all the trappings, and had to smother her sudden laugh as a cough. Shefford was not a Scottish name, and he lived in London and travelled a good deal.

  He looked at Dodie, her face buried in a handkerchief. 'Dear lady, I do hope you are not ill? If you are, you should go home, this place is far too rugged for an invalid.'

  In other words, get away from me in case I catch it, Dodie thought. 'I'm quite fit, Mr Shefford. Just a crumb I swallowed the wrong way.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry, these cakes are not up to standard,' Sheila apologised. 'But I haven't introduced you. This is Dodie Fanshaw, and her daughter Elena da Rocha. Elena is a great friend of our cousin Jamie. He's – '

  'Delighted to meet you, Mr Shefford,' Dodie cut in. She did not want Sheila mentioning Jamie's job. 'I recently met a friend of yours, Lady Carter.'

  Sheila was looking at her with raised eyebrows, then she nodded in comprehension and turned away.

  'Lady Carter? Oh yes, I remember, wasn't she here the last time I stayed?'

  'She seemed to know you well,' Dodie said. 'She told me you are a gemologist, and travel all over the world buying gemstones.'

  'Amongst other things. I'm actually a geologist, and I buy specimens, mainly for museums. The gemstones are for that, not for jewellery. I'm afraid Lady Carter misheard. She struck me as a somewhat scatterbrained woman.'

  'Oh, how disappointing,' Elena said. 'I was hoping, when I heard you were coming here, that you might have some to show us.'

  'I'm sorry to disappoint you, my dear lady.'

  'Then I assume Lady Carter was mistaken when she told me you were going to have a necklace copied for her?'

  'A what? She told you that? Utter nonsense! I wouldn't have the slightest notion of how to get a copy made of anything, let alone a necklace. Was it that garish thing she was wearing while she was here?'

  'Yes, the one that was stolen.'

  He looked startled. 'Stolen? But how is this? Stolen while she was here? She said nothing to me.'

  'You both left the following day, Mr Shefford,' Sheila said, 'and Lady Carter was adamant we did not broadcast news of the theft.'

  'Really? But how did she hope to get it back if she did not tell anyone it had been stolen?'

  'There were reasons,' Dodie said. 'So you have nothing to do with jewellery? Are there enough museums wanting geological specimens to keep you busy?'

  He laughed. 'By no means, and actually that is rather a sideline. I do geological surveys, boring things like that, often for governments or corporations wanting to build, anxious to explore the possibilities. They would not have interested Lady
Carter if I told her of them.'

  'I understood from her you were good friends in London.'

  He frowned as he looked at Dodie. 'Lady Carter struck me as the sort of woman who claimed friendship with anyone and everyone. I think I have met her a couple of times at charity events, but that is all.' His tone was dismissive, even contemptuous. 'And that week we were both here, of course.'

  'I see. So you are not here to sell all these fabulous gems she mentioned? What a shame.'

  'Oh no, I am visiting various universities in the area. I act as a sort of consultant, with information from my last trips. Information that can be shared, you know, not private information that only the people I'm working for have. Commercial secrets, you know,' he added, and laughed. 'Now, do tell me about this shocking murder. I've heard it on the TV, but you know how they so seldom get the facts right.'

  Dodie sat back and watched him closely as Sheila told him what had happened. He listened attentively, nodding and frowning as Sheila gave him the details, and when she finished he shook his head.

  'Poor woman! What on earth could she have done to merit such a ghastly end? She always seemed so efficient, though rather insignificant, creeping about her work like a small mouse.'

  'She wasn't exactly small, Mr Shefford,' Elena said. 'It would have taken a strong woman, or more likely a man, to move her from her car into the sauna. And both getting her from the car and into the sauna would have been awkward movements.'

  'I suppose that is so, I haven't thought of it as you clearly have. But as far as I recall, there are several trolleys around, in the kitchens and dining rooms, even in some of the therapy rooms. Could not one of them have been used?'

  'I wonder if the police thought of that? Oh no, if they do they'll be sure to want to examine all of them!' Sheila said, groaning. 'Just so long as they don't want to confiscate them all!'

  'If they have been used since Friday night, there will be no point, no clues,' Elena said. 'Sheila, I have an appointment for a manicure, so please excuse me. Good to meet you, Mr Shefford.'

  Elena, Joan and Mr Shefford departed.

  'I must leave you too,' Dodie said, standing up. She went out into the office, just as a policeman came in from the hall.

  'Is Miss Sheila Sankey here?' he asked.

  'Yes,' Dodie replied just as Sheila came out of the sitting room.

  'Can I help you, officer?'

  'I just came to tell you, Ma'am, that Terry Braithewaite has been arrested, charged with the murder of Mrs Elizabeth Jones.'

  *

  CHAPTER 11

  Dodie quickly retreated to the sitting room, leaving the door slightly ajar. To her annoyance someone, presumably the policeman, crossed over and closed it. Impatiently she waited for the policeman to leave and Sheila to come back. When she did she was looking devastated.

  'I can't believe it! I know Terry has always had a quick temper, but he's not violent! Not now!'

  'Not now? What do you mean?'

  Sheila sighed. 'When we was a teenager, about fifteen, he was charged with assault. It was no more than a lad's fight getting out of hand, but the other boy broke his arm and had concussion. His father went for Terry.'

  'What happened?'

  'Nothing too bad. He was fined and put on probation, but it soured him. Afterwards he found it difficult to keep a job. Not through violence, just general cussedness and being rude to the boss. I was quite friendly with his mother when she was alive, and she begged me to give Terry a chance. He swore he would keep his temper, and he's been fine for nearly four years. I know he seems surly, and he's not above skiving and leaving things to Darren, but he's not a murderer!'

  Dodie was thinking back to the discovery of Mrs Jones's body. 'Terry was white as a sheet when he saw the body,' she said slowly. 'He couldn't have faked that if he'd put her there himself.'

  'No.'

  'What did the police have on him?'

  'First, his fingerprints on the door of Mrs Jones's car.'

  'That could be explained away. It's not conclusive. He might easily have touched it while he was talking to her.'

  'Second, they found a note from Mrs Jones in his pocket, screwed up. I didn't see it, but apparently she had told him to behave or he'd lose his job here, like he'd lost all the others he'd had.'

  'How could she know that? He's worked here longer than she has, I think? And as she didn't socialise with the rest of the staff, or apparently frequent the pub, how could she find out?'

  'I don't know. Then he has no alibi for Friday night.'

  'Where does he say he was?'

  'In Middlesborough. He sometimes goes there. He claims he was in a pub, but he doesn't know the name, or even which street it's in.'

  'Do you always recall the names of pubs where you stop to eat? I don't. Then what happened?'

  'He picked up a girl and spent the night with her.'

  'Can't she give him an alibi?'

  'He never knew her name or where she lived. I imagine he was dead drunk.'

  'Wouldn't he have some recollection of the address, or at least the area, the next morning, or whenever he left her?

  'Apparently she kicked him out quite early next morning, and he booked into a small hotel and slept it off until Sunday evening, when he drove back home. The police find it suspicious that he can remember that address.'

  'But if he didn't leave there until Sunday, when he was sober, that's reasonable. It all looks highly circumstantial to me. There's no real proof.'

  'I know. But what can we do? My support won't help him.'

  'We need to talk to his friends, and find the real murderer. I'm going to go down to the village. Can you give me Mandy's address? She was complaining about him the other day, and I'd like to know why. Also, perhaps I can talk to some of his friends in the pub. Who would know them? Darren? I'll talk to him before I go and maybe get some names. And Pat lives in the village, she won't have started to come here yet. What's her address? I'll see her first.'

  'Let me write them down. They both live on the Bull estate, it's easy to find. Go up the lane at the side of the pub. Will Elena go with you? Isn't she having a massage?'

  'I think Mandy might be more open with me if I'm on my own. I have keys to the car, will you please tell Elena when she finishes that her car hasn't been stolen?'

  *

  Pat was shocked when Dodie told her of Terry's arrest. 'I don't believe it!' was her instant reaction.'Oh, I know he was a surly beggar, and often had rows, and he hated Mrs Jones for some reason, but he wasn't violent. It was all shouting and slamming away with Terry. Then the next time you saw him he was back to normal.'

  'He was in Middlesborough. Did he often go there?'

  'Not every weekend, but most. That was one of the reasons Mandy quarrelled with him, when they were together. She knew he'd be on a bender, and suspected he picked up women or went with a hooker.'

  'What were the other reasons? For their quarrels?'

  'Her extravagance. This was just the past few months, after they broke up and she had this new chap in Middlesborough. She said he bought her things, but Terry swore he was paying her for sex and called her a hooker. She was furious.'

  'How did she get to Middlesborough? She doesn't have a car, does she?'

  'No, nor her mother. And he never came to pick her up. The new chap, I mean. None of us ever saw him, and she didn't ever mention his name. She tried to get Terry to give her a lift, but he wouldn't. She had to go on the bus.'

  Pat gave Dodie the names of three of Terry's best mates, saying they had been at school together, and all played for the village cricket team. 'Ask Geoff, the landlord, and he'll point them out to you.'

  Mandy's mother, a faded little woman in her fifties, let Dodie into the small semi-detached house a few doors away from Pat's house. Then, saying she knew Dodie would want to be alone with Mandy, said she'd promised to go next door to help her neighbour with some sewing.

  Mandy, curled up on a huge settee which dominated the
room, was reading a film magazine. She was surly and uncooperative, openly asking what business it was of Dodie's to question her. When Dodie told her of Terry's arrest she merely shrugged and said it served him right.

  'Do you believe he could have strangled Mrs Jones?'

  'Why not? He hated her, was always saying he'd like to see her shoved in a vat of boiling oil.'

  'That's not the sort of wild talk he'd indulge in if he was really planning her murder. And whoever did it must have made careful plans. Is that like Terry? From all I've been told he was impulsive.'

  'Well, why shouldn't he have lost his temper and done it on impulse? He could have strangled her in her car, and gone back later to shift her into that sauna. He'd be able to get into the pool room better than anyone.'

  'Not if the door was locked. And why should he bother to move her?'

  'Most of the time nobody bothered to lock the door. As for moving her, how can I know? He had some mad ideas. Perhaps he thought it would make people believe it couldn't be him, as it was so obvious.'

  Dodie nodded. This was believable, if Terry had indeed murdered her. She changed tack.

  'You and he quarrelled about money, I'm told. Did your new boy friend really give you expensive presents?'

  Mandy glowered at her. 'Why shouldn't he? He's rich, he can afford them. And what is it to you? It's nobody's business but mine!'

  She refused to answer any more questions, but she did give Dodie the names of Terry's best friends, the same three Pat had mentioned. Dodie must go to the pub next.

  *

  Geoff, along with Terry's three friends, all expressed disbelief at Terry's arrest.

  'He's no killer,' they said. 'Yes, he loses his rag often enough, but it's all shouting.'

  'What about that fight when he must still have been at school?'

  'That? A put-up job from old Williams. His lad was a right daddy's boy, always running to complain if anyone so much as bumped into hm in the corridor at school. He started that fight, calling Terry's mom a slag. But in court he denied it, and as only Terry had heard him it was his word against Terry's, and Terry didn't help himself, he was too angry to be polite to the beak.'