A Season for Murder

by Ann Granger

  The sad look had faded and the vicious one returned. ‘But I had to go to the inquest, even so, Markby knew I was Pardy’s solicitor. People would ask where I was. I got to the door of the courtroom. I was a little late and when I looked in I saw you all waiting there. I realised the delay meant they had found Pardy’s body. Then I saw Frances! She was directly in my line of sight talking to the doctor. She was all dressed up in black like a great Black Widow spider. I couldn’t face her. I knew she’d recognise me, start shouting abuse, accusations about Caroline. Markby isn’t a fool. He’d put two and two together. He’s never liked me. I couldn’t risk facing F-Frances – ’ Deanes began to stutter in his agitation. ‘I t-turned and ran before she saw me. I knew it would look odd, my not being there to represent Pardy. I thought I could phone and say I was sick or something . . .’

  ‘Had you forgotten this?’ Meredith asked, lifting up the book in her hands.

  ‘Oh, yes, I had. I was so anxious to get away as soon as I saw she’d swallowed the food with the pills that I clean forgot to ask her to return my book. It was a direct link between us. I knew that if someone intelligent such as Frances or yourself saw it, or Markby, they’d know at once she could only have got it directly from me, yet without it Markby didn’t know I’d ever met her. So I had to get it back. I came across the common last night. A dreadful night, pouring with rain and I got wet through!’ Deanes scowled. ‘But you stayed up so late! Your light was on! I thought if I started searching in here there was a chance you’d look out and see my torch. I stood about in the rain getting drenched waiting for your light to go out and in the end I went home!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Meredith apologised. ‘I didn’t know you were outside in the rain!’ Absurd though the apology was, it seemed quite logical in these bizarre circumstances.

  ‘So I came this morning. I saw your car had gone and I was pleased because I thought you’d gone to Bamford I thought I wouldn’t be disturbed, but you were here, waiting for me! It was a trap!’

  ‘No!’ Meredith cried out. ‘It was just a bit of bad luck like yours! My car broke down or I should have gone away for the day! I came over here to pack up the books for the Cottage Hospital, Frances asked me to do it.’

  ‘Meddling,’ Deanes said morosely. ‘Meddling women, all of you! I’m sorry that you’ve become involved, Miss Mitchell, because you are a nice woman. But you see, you came under her influence, the Needham woman’s. It was always the same. She was a wicked woman and she poisoned everyone’s ears!’

  ‘She never spoke to me of you, Mr Deanes, I swear!’

  ‘It makes no difference,’ he said. ‘You found the book. You understood. I have to kill you, Miss Mitchell.’ He sounded apologetic but quite decided. ‘It’s a pity, Pardy was a pity. All this has been forced on me. You do understand?’

  She had to make a break for it. She had no choice left. Meredith had been gripping Revolutionary Youth and now she hurled it full in his face with all the strength she could summon. His spectacles were struck from his nose to the floor and as he threw up his hands to protect himself, Meredith leapt up and dashed past him.

  She reached the front door, had even managed to wrench it open, before he reached her. His hands gripped her throat. She had no idea he would be so strong. She tried to thrust him away, pushing at his chest, clawing at his face and then kicking out with her feet. But all the time he was exerting relentless pressure on her windpipe. Blood roared in her ears. She could no longer see, no longer distinguish direction. She was choking, her tongue swelling in her mouth and pressing against her teeth. Stars sparkled and exploded before her and then blackness came, swirling up to engulf her.

  ‘Ruddy Deanes!’ muttered Markby as they drove at some speed along the B road towards the turning off to Pook’s Common. ‘You know, when you spoke about the overcoat the man was wearing, the man who attacked you, you said it smelled damp and old. I thought at first of Pardy but after Pardys death I had another think about it. I actually thought of Deanes and then dismissed him because he always seemed to be wearing that fur-trimmed parka. But that old place he lived in out on the common, that must be damp. Anything stored in a cupboard there would smell pretty fusty. But I couldn’t see why Deanes should want to harm his protégé, Pardy, and I crossed him off my mental list! It just goes to show!’

  He slammed his foot on the brakes and Fran made a grab for the dashboard to steady herself. ‘Watch out, Alan! I’m all for driving with a bit of style but we do want to get there in one piece!’

  ‘Meredith’s car!’ came the taut reply. They had reached Fenniwick’s garage. Markby drove into the forecourt with a flourish and jumped out.

  The car stood at the back of the work area. The bonnet was propped open and a wiry man with gingery hair and blue overalls was peering into the engine.

  ‘’Ullo,’ he said amiably as Markby strode up. He wiped his hands on a rag.

  ‘Where’s the lady who owns this car?’ Markby asked him brusquely.

  ‘She’ll be down Pook’s Common waiting for me to bring it back,’ said Mr Fenniwick. ‘Most like. Wanted it back as soon as possible, she did. Well, you need a bit of transport living out here. It’s her battery got damp though what she really needs is a new one, but I got jump leads on this ’un . . .’

  ‘Thank you!’ Markby said hurriedly and strode back to rejoin Fran in his car, ‘She should be at home. I hope to goodness she hasn’t taken it into her head to go out for a walk on the common!’

  ‘Unlikely, too wet underfoot after all that rain last night,’ pointed out Fran practically as they turned off into the lane which led to the cottages.

  They drove slowly down. ‘Here we are!’ Markby said. They got out before Rose Cottage and stood back to allow Fran to precede him to the door. At that moment, as he afterwards described it to Pearce, all hell broke loose.

  The door of Ivy Cottage opposite flew open. Meredith appeared briefly in the doorway and then was abruptly jerked back. When she reappeared it was as part of a struggling pair of bodies which stumbled writhing into view. Her congested face, eyes bulging, stared towards his unseeingly.

  ‘Meredith!’ yelled Markby leaping towards the cottage. Fran dashed after him and they both became temporarily entangled in the narrow gateway to Ivy Cottage. Belatedly Deanes became aware of the arrival of others. He suddenly released Meredith who slumped back against the doorjamb making grotesque gurgles and clawing at her bruised throat. Deanes stared wildly at the two newcomers and then bolted across the front of the cottage.

  Fran dived towards Meredith and Markby raced after Deanes. With an athleticism his general appearance belied, Deanes vaulted the low stone wall into the next garden and ran across the front lawn past the wishing well and jumped over another low wall into the lane. He was making for Markby’s car in which the chief inspector realised he had left the keys. He pelted after Deanes with desperate determination. The fugitive had managed to get into the driving seat and was fumbling with the starter when Markby reached it. He wrenched open the door, grabbed Deanes by the shoulder and hauled him out into the roadway. ‘No you don’t!’ he gasped.

  Deanes let out an animal squeal and twisted in the chief inspector’s grip. He slipped out of the parka like a trapped grey squirrel shedding its furry tail, and raced away down the lane towards the common, leaving Markby holding the abandoned coat. Markby swore, hurled it to one side and set off in pursuit again.

  Quite where Deanes thought he was going was unclear. An animal instinct led him to bolt towards his own territory and it was possible that out there on the common with its wealth of ditches and shrubs he might have given Markby the slip. But Deanes was not to reach the common.

  Ahead of them, round a bend in the lane appeared a rider on a grey horse. Tom Fearon. ‘Tom!’ yelled Markby.

  But Tom had already seen and understood. Markby read it on his swarthy features. Read too, something else. Again Markby bellowed, ‘Tom!’ adding an agonised, ‘Tom, no! Don’t!’

 
The grey swung across the fleeing Deanes’ path. Deanes at full pelt could not apply the muscular brakes in time. The horse reared up and Deanes found himself beneath the flailing hooves. An unearthly scream split the damp cold air of Pook’s Common.

  ‘It was a nasty moment,’ said Markby with deep feeling. ‘Well, the nastiest was seeing Deanes throttling you in the doorway of Ivy Cottage, Meredith. But I really thought Tom was going to ride Deanes down.’ He got up and obligingly adjusted the gas fire.

  ‘You should have let him do it!’ said Fran belligerently. ‘I wouldn’t have shouted out for him to stop.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Needham-Burrell, I have enough fatalities connected with this case to sort out! Anyway, fortunately at the very last moment Tom pulled the grey’s head round and avoided him. But Deanes thought his last moment had come. Frightened him out of his remaining wits. He was ready to beg me to arrest him for his own protection after he’d read what was in Tom’s eyes. We’ll put Tom’s efforts down as a laudable contribution on the part of an honest citizen towards preventing the escape of a fugitive from arrest. The court will probably thank him and award him fifty quid.’

  ‘Hah!’ said Fran darkly and Meredith gurgled.

  Markby regarded them both with bewilderment and some exasperation. The three of them sat around the fire in the living room of Rose Cottage on Sunday afternoon and had just finished tea and toasted muffins. Or rather, the two guests had finished the muffins. Meredith had enough trouble swallowing the tea and faced living on yoghurt and scrambled eggs for some time.

  ‘I don’t know what you two have against poor Tom!’ Markby went on. ‘What on earth has he done to offend you? He’s a rough diamond, I’ll grant you, but after his own fashion quite a chivalrous chap. Deanes was more of a threat to womanhood than Tom!’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand!’ Fran told him coldly. Meredith uttered a corroborative croak.

  ‘Well, he was a loyal friend to Harriet!’ said Markby obstinately. ‘He knew about her affair with Green, of course. He’s told me so now. He wouldn’t name names before. That’s what I mean about Tom. He’s got his own notion of honour. Anyway, he tried to warn Harriet to stay clear of Green but she wasn’t taking any advice from him or anyone else. They had a few quarrels over it. You heard a snippet of one of them, Meredith. Tom had had an affair with Harriet himself when she first came to Pook’s Common. It was all over and finished but they stayed friends. They had quite a lot of shared interests, horses and so forth. It wasn’t sour grapes on Tom’s part which made him try to persuade her to ditch Green. He really thought she’d get hurt. He was trying to protect her. He even had a barney with Green himself over it, but the Master stepped in and asked him not to sow dissension among the followers of the hunt.’

  Meredith said huskily, ‘So they all knew more than they were telling!’

  ‘People generally do,’ said Markby gloomily. ‘Any policeman will tell you that!’ He regarded her with some concern. ‘I think you’re mad even to think of going up to London tomorrow.’

  ‘Here, here!’ said Fran forcibly. ‘You’re injured, for crying out loud! You can’t work! Jack Pringle’s all against it!’

  ‘They expect me . . .’ croak.

  ‘What does the Foreign Office want, your blood? Let me ring ’em up and tell ’em what’s happened.’

  ‘I must just go up and explain and then I’ll go sick, promise.’

  ‘Did Jack write you a sick note?’ Markby asked her. ‘Ill give you a police report that will make their hair curl. After all, you were the object of an attempted murder!’

  Meredith stretched out her hand and picked up a sheet of closely written paper. ‘Pringle’s medical report . . .’ she wheezed.

  ‘Jack says,’ Fran observed, ‘you’re lucky no permanent damage was done! Deanes released you in the nick of time!’ She sighed. ‘Poor old Jack. He’s very down in the dumps.’

  ‘Well, at least we have Deanes,’ Markby consoled her. ‘Smart of Deanes, you know, to realise he was so well known about here in that fur-trimmed parka and to change it for an old overcoat he had before setting out to break into your hotel room. We’ve found the overcoat out at his house, by the way, and matched threads from it with some found at Jubilee Road. But proof isn’t hard to get. Deanes is confessing to Pardy’s murder with a wealth of lurid detail. It’s on his conscience and he can’t stop talking about it. He’s decided to be a bit cagy about his feeding of pills to Harriet, though. He’s now saying he only meant her to have an accident, not be killed. But the murder charge against him over Pardy is quite clear-cut.’

  ‘Do you think,’ Fran asked, ‘that he also killed Caroline, his wife, all those years ago? As an expert, what’s your opinion? Harriet and I always thought he did.’

  Markby shrugged. ‘Who can tell, now? He’ll never admit it. But he certainly believed he had a right to her money for his work. If she had divorced him and changed her will, the small amount she proposed giving him to tide him over until he found new funding would have been nothing compared to what he would have lost. There are similarities between her death and Harriet’s. Both women threatened his work. Both their deaths came about as a result of misuse of medicines. In both cases Deanes contrived either to be well away from the scene at the moment of death or to have witnesses to swear that he was. Multiple murderers do tend to use a successful method again. And he was a violent man, Deanes, for all his mild appearance. His wife had spoken to Harriet and to you, Fran, of being scared of him. Nor did he let finer emotions stand in the way of his killing. He wanted to be a friend to Pardy but he slugged him and pushed him down the staircase and he tried to throttle Meredith, although he liked her.’

  ‘He was very strong,’ said Meredith hoarsely.

  ‘Yes, and I’m not so sure you are, my girl. Take it easy!’

  ‘I’m fine . . . tell me, who let Tom’s horses out on Christmas Eve?’

  ‘Deanes did. He’d persuaded himself that Fearon and Harriet were in a plot together to persecute him. Tom says not, he didn’t know anything about it. Anyhow, Deanes tramped over the common at dead of night with the letter Pardy had made up in his pocket, shoved it through Tom’s door and chased the horses out into the lane. Imagine if that had come out at the inquest! To protect Deanes, Pardy had to go, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Fran stood up. ‘I’ll be back next week and fix up the funeral. You’ll both come, won’t you? And I hope I can sell Ivy Cottage but there are now three for sale in Pook’s Common!’

  ‘Three?’ Markby asked.

  ‘Yes, the one next door to Harriet was already on the market. But now the Haynes have put theirs up for sale, didn’t you know? Lucy will be pleased but Geoffrey it was who made the decision, as always! Nothing to do with poor Lucy’s wishes. It seems Geoffrey had not realised the rural crime rate was so high! They’re now looking for a bungalow on the South Coast.’

  ‘Some benefit’s come out of it all, then,’ Meredith muttered.

  ‘Don’t come to the door!’ Fran ordered. ‘Too cold! Alan will see me out, won’t you?’

  He followed her out into Rose Cottage’s tiny hallway and helped her into her coat. ‘See you next week, sometime, then. I’ll be at the funeral if I can. Police duties can always interfere, alas. But I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Sure,’ she delved into her pocket. ‘Here, it’s my card. It’s got my London phone number on it. If you’re ever up in Town, come up and see me, as Mae West put it. We can have lunch – or something!’ She winked at him audaciously.

  ‘Er – yes,’ he said hastily. He thrust the little oblong of card into the pocket of his green weatherproof hanging in the hall and glanced guiltily towards the open living-room door.

  Fran grinned at him and departed. Markby returned to the living room to find Meredith with her back to him standing by the windowsill.

  ‘She’s – gone . . .’ he said lamely.

  ‘I must be unobservant . . .’ came in Meredith’s present croak. ‘
I hadn’t realised . . .’

  ‘Look, it’s nothing!’ he burst out. ‘She’s only fooling around! She doesn’t mean it! By this time next week she’ll have forgotten all about me!’

  ‘What?’ Meredith turned round and stared at him with puzzled hazel eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

  With horror he realised they were at cross-purposes. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I misunderstood you . . . what were you talking about?’

  ‘The plant . . .’ she pointed at the windowsill. ‘The Christmas cactus you gave me, it’s flowered. I hadn’t noticed with all the comings and goings and excitement!’

  ‘So it has.’ He crossed the room to look at it and then looked at her. ‘Oughtn’t that to be symbolic of something?’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t, Alan!’

  ‘New Year is a time for resolutions, isn’t it?’

  ‘I never make them. Can’t keep them. My resolution is, don’t make any. Leave things as they are, Alan, please, can’t we?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we can,’ he said after a pause. ‘I’ll be in touch. Take care. Especially if you do decide to go up to London.’

  ‘I must. Got to show myself.’

  ‘You can post them Jack’s report and mine, you know.’

  ‘They’d only get filed away. I’ll go and croak at people.’