Thirteen
‘Daniel?’
‘Hi, darling.’
‘Sorry to ring you at work, but I’ve just bought a copy of the Gazette, and it says it was Rona who found that body in Chilswood!’
There was a pause, then Daniel said incredulously, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure; I’ve read it twice. Do you think your mother knows?’
‘She will if Tom does.’
‘Strange they haven’t said anything.’
‘Not really; after all, what is there to say, other than what you’ve read? And we’re seeing everyone on Saturday, so we’ll hear it first-hand then. Sorry, love, I must go – there’s a call on the other line. See you later.’
‘See you,’ Jenny echoed, and thoughtfully switched off her phone.
As Rona approached Marsborough, she became increasingly reluctant to return to the empty house. Her mind still circled round Debbie and Julia, and the tragedy that had overtaken them, and she felt in urgent need of distraction. Reaching a decision, she used her hands-free mobile to call Max.
‘I’m feeling restless. Any chance of joining you for lunch?’
He sounded abstracted. ‘It’s barely twelve o’clock, love, and I’ve just mixed some fresh colour. Can you give me an hour?’
‘OK. I’ll pass the time by looking round Netherby’s, in the hope of finding something for Catherine. I’ve been to her bungalow, so I’ve some idea of her taste.’
Guild Street when she reached it was, as usual, lined with parked cars, and she drove slowly, searching without much hope for a space. Then, just ahead of her, a car pulled away from a meter, and she slid smoothly into its place. Furthermore, there were forty minutes on the clock, which should be ample for her purpose.
‘Shan’t be long,’ she told Gus, who was asleep on the back seat, and set off in the direction of the department store. The lunch invitation had stressed ‘No presents’, but Rona had no intention of going empty-handed. On the other hand, she knew Catherine would be embarrassed by an expensive gift, and the challenge was to come up with a compromise.
The store was busier than she’d anticipated; and she realized belatedly that it was the school holidays, and children were stocking up on Easter eggs. After trying unsuccessfully to fight her way to a counter, she took the escalator to the second floor and the gift department proper.
There was the usual display of Curzon, but not, at the moment, wanting to underline her link with the firm, she moved instead to a cabinet containing a collection of crystal. And nestling at the back, she found what struck her as the perfect present: a small, delicately coloured paperweight.
The search had taken longer than expected, and time on the meter would be running out. Having paid for her purchase, Rona was relieved when the lift stopped right in front of her, and discharged a couple of people. She stepped inside and pressed the down button, her mind already moving ahead. She’d still be on the early side for Max, but she could stroll round the little garden with Gus, who would be glad of some exercise.
The lift stopped, and she was preparing to leave it when she realized they’d only reached the first floor. The doors opened, and to her consternation, Rona found herself face to face with Mrs de Salis, accompanied by two teenaged children. The woman stiffened as she recognized her, and would have let the lift go, but the children had already stepped into it and perforce she followed.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said stiffly, and Rona, equally taken aback, smiled in acknowledgment, her eyes going to the teenagers. Dressed unisexly in jeans and anoraks, they slumped against the sides of the lift, their eyes on the floor. The girl’s hair, a mousy brown, was drawn severely back and held in place by a rubber band. Her brother, tall and lanky and aged, Rona guessed, fifteen or sixteen, was, despite his spotty complexion, the better looking of the two, taking after his father rather than his mother.
Catching Rona’s glance on them, Mrs de Salis said unnecessarily, ‘My son and daughter, Aidan and Lorna.’ They looked up on hearing their names, and their mother turned to them, completing the stilted introduction. ‘And this is Miss Parish.’
Interest flared immediately on both their faces, and Lorna exclaimed, ‘The lady who found the body?’
‘Afraid so,’ Rona answered, since the other woman seemed incapable of doing so. Both children were now staring openly at her, and she was relieved when the lift reached the ground floor, the doors opened again, and they were faced with a crowd of people waiting to enter.
‘Have a good Easter!’ she said fatuously, and made her escape.
‘Mind if I join you, Ed?’
DI Barrett looked up. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited laconically.
Charlie Harris, a fellow DI, unloaded his tray on to the pub table – a brimming tankard and a plate of sausage and mash. ‘How are things?’ he asked as he sat down.
Barrett grunted and pushed away his own plate, where egg yolk was already congealing. ‘If people must get themselves killed, why can’t they have the decency to be Joe or Jane Bloggs? When the name Curzon hits the headlines, sparks fly.’
‘That, I have noticed, though I’ve been pretty tied up with my own case. Has a motive been established?’
‘Nope.’
‘Weapon?’
‘No sign of it, but Marshall says it was a flick knife. One of thousands on the market.’
‘Couldn’t be a random killing, could it?’
‘With jewellery and money untouched, and in the middle of a bloody graveyard?’
‘Perhaps not.’ Harris reached for the mustard. ‘OK, then, give us the low-down. Coming to it fresh, something might grab me.’
Barrett shrugged. ‘Any contributions, etcetera. You know who found her, don’t you?’
‘One of her relations, wasn’t it?’
‘Accompanied by that bloody Parish woman.’
‘Who’s she, when she’s at home?’
‘A journalist, if you please. She queered my pitch up in Buckford a year ago, but that wasn’t the first time she’d poked her nose into police business.’
‘And what’s she done now?’
‘Isn’t finding the body enough for you?’
Charlie Harris took a mouthful of sausage, and said indistinctly, ‘Hardly her fault, though. She wasn’t looking for it, was she?’
‘Who knows?’ Barrett returned glumly. He took a long draught of beer, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Point is, she knew the victim, even had her cosily tucked up at her mother’s, would you believe. And her account of how they met was, to say the least, unconvincing.’
He leaned forward, arms folded on the table. ‘And there’s another thing, Charlie. Julia came from Reigate, and we contacted the nearest station to go and break the news to her flatmate. Which they did. But the mention of Buckfordshire rang a bell, and they came out with some cock-and-bull story about a handbag being handed in a few weeks back, with a name and address in it and little else. Like to guess whose name it was?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘None other than Miss Flaming Parish. They contacted her, but she denied all knowledge of the bag. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Sure is. No doubt you questioned her about it?’
‘We did, though to give him his due, her husband had beaten us to it. Their account tallied with the official report, and no further light’s been shed.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And as if all that wasn’t enough, we have lover-boy.’
‘How did you unearth him?’ Harris asked with interest.
‘He was considerate enough to leave a message on her mobile. A good hour, mind you, after the estimated time of death.’
‘Well, he’d not have done that, would he, if he was the guilty party?’
‘Double bluff? No, you’re probably right; I doubt if he’s bright enough.’
‘And the message was?’
‘How about having a drink before she “headed south”?’
‘Was she about to?’
&nbs
p; Barrett nodded. ‘The next day. Pity she didn’t leave earlier, and save us all a heap of trouble.’
‘Who is this guy?’
‘Name of de Salis; he owns a china emporium in Woodbourne. He and Julia fled the coop two years ago – or the marital nest, at least. They stayed in Woodbourne, and he continued to work at the shop all the time they were shacked up together. Not surprisingly, his wife threw a wobbler and the kids went wild, so he slunk back home with his tail between his legs.’
‘And Julia?’
‘Took off down south. Though it seems that wasn’t the end of it, and they’ve continued to meet on the QT.’
‘He admitted as much?’
‘He’d no choice; we had him by the proverbial. But he was up to high doh that we’d tell his wife. Practically wet himself, begging us not to.’
Harris shook his head sadly at the perfidy of his sex. ‘But to get back to Julia, what was she doing in this neck of the woods? Did she come up to see him?’
‘Not primarily, though no doubt it was a fringe benefit. Believe it or not, she was on business. We went through her briefcase, and she’d had a clutch of interviews with banks and offices around Marsborough. According to her diary, she also met up with a couple of guys after office hours, which we’re looking into.’
Charlie Harris wiped a piece of sausage round his plate to retrieve the last of the gravy. ‘So if she was working in Marsborough, and de Salis was in Woodbourne, what the hell was she doing in Chilswood?’
‘A very good question. Her car was found in the Brook Street multi-storey; ticket having expired 5.10 p.m. Friday – much the same time as she did. What we don’t know, of course, is when she arrived and what she did before going to the cemetery. We’ve put out the usual request for info, but no joy so far.’
He straightened and finished the last of his beer. ‘So there you have it, Charlie-boy. Something will emerge, if we keep hammering away. At least one person knows more than he’s saying, that’s for sure; so once we’ve seen them all, we’ll bring them in a second time, and a third if necessary, till one of them cracks.’
‘The best of British,’ said Charlie Harris.
Having told Max about her meeting with Debbie, Rona reported her encounter at Netherby’s.
‘She looked ghastly,’ she ended, helping herself to more cheese. ‘Heaven knows, she was like a tightly coiled spring last time I saw her, but today she looked positively grey, and her eyes had sunk right into her skull.’
‘That’s what a philandering husband does to you,’ Max remarked. ‘Be thankful you haven’t that problem.’
‘Debbie says he and Julia never really split up, and met regularly in London. Maybe his wife knew. Even if she didn’t, the mere fact that she was killed up here, in de Salis terrain, as it were, must have aroused her suspicions.’
‘Perhaps she thinks hubby killed her.’
‘He might have done, for all we know. For that matter, so might she.’
Max sighed. ‘Oh, my love, why is it that you’re constantly tied up with murders?’
‘Well, you can’t say it was my fault this time; I certainly didn’t go looking.’
‘You don’t have to; murders seem to seek you out.’
Rona gave a little shudder. ‘What a horrible thought! Especially when I came to be cheered up.’
Max laughed. ‘Sorry. What are your plans for this afternoon?’
‘I might try to make some appointments for next week. The Charles Curzons, for instance; Finlay said they’re prepared to see me now.’
‘You’re still intending to go through those papers for them?’
‘Given the chance, yes. But I must let you get back to your painting.’ She leant across the table to kiss him. ‘See you this evening.’
‘Yes, here’s to a long weekend. I could do with a break, and I’m sure you could too.’
When Rona finally reached home, it was to find a message asking her to ring Finlay.
‘Just to say I’ve spoken to Uncle Charles,’ he told her, when she returned the call, ‘and he’s sending the family papers over to the factory. We’re proposing to allocate you a room there, so you can spread them all out.’
‘Thanks.’ She hesitated. ‘Finn, there’s something you ought to know.’ And she went on to relate the story of Julia’s handbag.
‘What an extraordinary thing!’ he exclaimed, when she’d finished. ‘So that’s why you reacted to the mention of Reigate. Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Because although I immediately guessed it must have been hers, I’d no proof till I met her flatmate this morning.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Not that I’ve proof.’
‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘Quite probably.’
‘We always thought it strange, you know, that you just happened to meet her in the street. This confirms that she planned it, though God knows why.’
Rona paused, then asked indirectly, ‘As a matter of interest, what terms are you all on with Nigel de Salis?’
‘Terms? Business ones, that’s all.’
‘Nick too?’
‘Fortunately, Nick doesn’t have anything to do with him. De Salis is a good customer, though, and shifts a lot of our stuff. It was tricky for a while, but after he’d gone back to his wife, things gradually settled down. Naturally, we’d no idea he and Julia were still in touch, but in any case Nick had divorced her by then. Why do you ask?’
‘I was wondering why the police questioned you about him, right at the beginning.’
‘Perhaps his phone number was on her mobile.’
‘Could be. Well, speaking of the police, I’d better ring them before I get into any more hot water.’
‘Will Tuesday suit you, to make a start on the papers?’
‘I was hoping to see your uncle and aunt then, but if I call at the factory first, you could show me where the room is, and everything.’
‘Fine. See you then, and have a good weekend.’
As he rang off, Rona steeled herself to phone DI Barrett. No point in handing him an excuse to criticize her, she reflected, as she waited to be connected.
‘Ms Parish.’ The familiar, sarcastic voice. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I have concrete evidence for you, Inspector, that the handbag with my address in it belonged to Julia Teale.’
A pause, then, ‘And that evidence is?’
‘Her flatmate told me today that Julia had her bag stolen the week before she came here.’
‘So why do you suppose she wanted to meet you?’
‘I’ve no idea. Ask Nigel de Salis.’
Barrett’s voice sharpened. ‘We don’t need your advice on conducting our enquiries. Mr de Salis has been questioned, and we’re quite satisfied with his statement.’
‘Fair enough; but if you’re thinking she wanted to pump me about the Curzons, that doesn’t make sense, since she obviously knew much more about them than I do.’
That appeared to silence him, at least for the moment. ‘Very well,’ he said at last, adding grudgingly, ‘thanks for the information about the bag.’
‘Always ready to help the police, Inspector,’ Rona said crisply, and put down the phone.
Next, she rang the Charles Curzons and made an appointment for eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning, allowing her time beforehand to familiarize herself with her temporary accommodation at the pottery.
And now, she thought, stretching, she would try to put the Curzons, one and all, out of her mind and enjoy the Easter weekend. Although, with the family lunch in prospect, there was likely to be, at the very least, some interested questioning.
‘Is that Mrs Parish?’
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘It’s Sarah Lacey. I’ve just seen the local paper. Is it – I was wondering – is the Rona Parish who discovered that body any relation?’
Avril’s heart sank. Ever since she’d been able to think beyond Julia’s death, she’d
been worrying about how much to tell Sarah. How would she react, if she discovered the dead girl had been using her room? Suppose she cancelled their arrangement? She’d expected to have until Tuesday to work out the best approach, and the phone call caught her off-guard.
‘She’s my daughter,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘What a terrible experience for her! Is she all right?’
‘Yes, she’s fine, thank you.’ Avril hesitated, then, lest she’d made Rona sound callous, added, ‘She’s a journalist, you see, so she’s seen such things before.’
‘A crime reporter, you mean?’
‘No, just – a journalist,’ Avril said lamely. This was the moment to admit her own acquaintance with Julia, but the words stuck in her throat. Perhaps, she thought cravenly, she’d wait till Sarah had arrived and settled in. Then she mightn’t be as likely to pack her bags again.
‘You’re all set for Tuesday?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s the other reason I’m ringing; I expect to be there late afternoon, if that’s all right?’
‘Fine. I look forward to seeing you.’
Avril replaced the phone with a feeling of reprieve. Before Tuesday, though, she must work out the best way to apprise Sarah of the facts.
‘Lindsey Parish?’
Lindsey went still. ‘Yes?’
‘Dominic Frayne.’
‘Hello,’ she said weakly.
‘Hello.’ A pause. ‘I tried to get you earlier in the week.’
No apology, Lindsey reminded herself. ‘I was at my mother’s.’
She closed her eyes, measuring her heartbeats and praying her sister’s strategy was the right one.
‘Well,’ he continued after a moment, ‘it’s now rather short notice, but I wondered if you’d like to spend Saturday in Paris?’
‘Paris?’ she repeated uncertainly.
‘I have a small plane and go over whenever I can; it’s no more hassle than flying to Birmingham. We could have lunch, look at some galleries if you like, or walk in the Bois de Boulogne. Then have dinner, and fly home. What do you say?’
Oh, damn! Damn, damn, damn!
With an effort she concealed the depth of her disappointment. ‘It sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I can’t. We have a family lunch on Saturday.’
Rogue in Porcelain Page 19