‘Phoebe were jealous – the rest of them – ’
‘Bridget,’ I cut in. ‘This is serious. You are still alive, which means the person who tried to kill you might try again. Who else knows this address?’
‘Phoebe.’
‘Anyone else?’ Robert asked. ‘Does Elaine know?’
‘Yeah.’ Bridget burst into tears.
Mrs Bradley flung open the kitchen door. ‘What are you doing? I’m going to complain about you to the papers. We’re victims! Stop treating us like we done it.’
Robert stood up.
‘Mum,’ wailed Bridget. ‘They think Elaine could of done it.’
‘If you think of anything else you’d like to tell us, just send us an e-mail,’ I said to Bridget.
‘Why did you say Phoebe had been eliminated as a suspect?’ Robert asked as we went back to the car.
‘I had to say something to shut Mrs Bradley up.’
‘Is Phoebe still top of your list?’
I sighed. ‘Near the top with Yves. Instead of eliminating suspects were getting more and more.’
‘Do you think Elaine is a serious suspect?’
‘Unfortunately I do now.’
‘So do I,’ he said. ‘In my estimation she’s possessive and lonely, which makes things worse, and when crossed she turns vicious. And her house – it belonged to her parents – she’s lived there all her life, but it’s totally devoid of anything personal like photos – you’d think she’d have at least some photos of her parents.’
‘Yes, that struck me too. They could have all been in her bedroom, but I doubt it. Do you think she just lacks sentiment or is it something deeper?’
He didn’t reply till we got to the car. ‘It could be something sinister . . . ’
‘Such as?’
‘They might have been abusive. They might have been like Mrs Bradley and objected to any boy she bought home. She’s attractive – when she was young she would have been even more so. Elaine said she was interested in men – did her parents object to her boyfriends?’
‘If she was a bully that would have turned most men off,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘She either lacks empathy and always has, or her parents might have made her the way she is.’
‘Robert, do you think it’s possible that she might have murdered one, or even both, her parents? I know Bridget said one died of cancer, but that’s what Elaine told her. Do you think we ought to check and make sure they died of natural causes?’
‘Yes,’ he said. He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt. ‘We’re not only getting more suspects – we might have uncovered even more victims.’
‘It’s interesting that she was romantically interested in the man whose nervous breakdown she caused.’
He frowned. ‘Do you think it’s true or is Bridget twisting the truth?’
‘We’ll have to check up on it – perhaps ask Margaret Fox. And the messages she was getting about Bridget – well she must have suspected they were true.’
When I got home I went into my study and thought about the way Robert did things. He said he always wrote by hand because it helped him concentrate. I took a clean sheet of paper out of the printer began to write.
Elaine – an obsessive bully with no friends or family. No one we’ve spoken to likes her. No it’s worse than that. They hate her. How important are the anonymous messages she was getting? Although she was older than Bridget she was more attractive to look at. Was she jealous because Bridget was married and had a baby?
Bridget – variable behaviour depending on the circumstances. At best she’s a friendly outgoing person with lots of friends. At worst she’s a schemer who takes any advantage on offer with no thought for anyone else. She only became friendly with Elaine to further her chances.
Mrs Bradley – Possessive, demanding and a bully – a bit like Elaine. Unpopular.
Phoebe – Obsessive about clothes. Every time we’ve seen her she’s been well dressed, except the day she was gardening, but even then the clothes she wore were good, just old and worn. Shirts and jumpers for every day of the fortnight. Is that excessive or is it just me? Is her passion for clothes even relevant?
I went to my wardrobe and chest of drawers and counted my shirts and jumpers. I had seven shirts and six jumpers. Was Phoebe’s interest in clothes abnormal or was my lack of interest abnormal? Was one shirt and jumper for everyday of the fortnight obsessive or practical? The elbows of my jumpers wore thin quickly. Phoebe’s would last a lot longer. Since seeing how clothes improved my appearance I chose them more carefully, thinking about how I would look as well as their suitability for the job.
I went back to my desk and thought about Yves.
Yves – Secret homosexual. Desperate to keep it from his parents. Bridget was a threat. Even though he’d stopped going to the same church as Bridget, she could have told his parents when they came to visit. She would have known when they were there, because she spies on people.
I threw down the pen. This was going nowhere useful. Nothing new had occurred to me when I was writing.
The next morning I went into a bookshop in St Austell to look at Phoebe’s book. I’d only wanted to read the blurb and the first page to see if Bridget’s allegation that it was rubbish and full of long words was true. The blurb was compelling and the first page was written in clear prose. If Bridget had failed to understand it then she was even more unintelligent than I had thought.
By page three I was hooked. I took the book to the counter and bought it. I read another two chapters in bed that night. The plot was complex, but easy to follow. Bridget was the name of the nasty protagonist. Was that the extent of Phoebe’s revenge?
The next day Robert and I went to the hospital and asked Margaret Fox if she thought that Elaine had been romantically interested in any of the male staff.
‘Yes, she was. So much has happened since, I’d forgotten. She was particularly interested in the chap she bullied so much he had a breakdown. Bridget helped her torment him. They’d both appear and order him into Elaine’s office and shut the door. He’d come out half an hour later distressed and humiliated. They’d stand over him when he was working and said he was too slow or doing it incorrectly. I guess that was her way of paying him back for rejecting her.
‘And I suspect Elaine fancied Leslie Hooper too, but she was more subtle about it that time.’ Margaret looked scornful. ‘When ever a male doctor came into the department she went all girly – it was comical, but also repulsive. She had no idea how she looked. It gave us satisfaction to think of her as a frustrated and repressed old maid who lived alone. If we hadn’t hated her so much we might have felt sorry for her.’
‘Why do you think she made you wear uniforms?’ Robert asked.
‘So we’d all look plain – there are some very attractive, single girls in the department and she didn’t want any competition. And that’s why she wore a different uniform – it was royal blue, in a good fabric and her blouses were silk.’
‘Bridget wore the same uniform as Elaine?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and it was an improvement on the clothes she used to wear.’ Margaret grinned. ‘Bridget’s so plain that Elaine didn’t look on her as a rival. Elaine, although she’s middle-aged, is quite attractive – shame she’s so vile.’
The death certificates showed that Elaine’s father had died from a stroke and her mother had cancer. If our list of suspects was getting longer at least we didn’t have any more victims.
15
ROBERT
The e-mail from Elaine was sent only to me and she had called me Inspector. Sharon smiled when I showed her. I was expecting her to be furious, so I was relieved.
‘She fancies you, Robert.’
‘What?’
‘She’s man mad. You’re a man and not bad looking.’
‘Good God. Just what I need.’
‘The way she’s addressed you is deliberate – she’s trying to flatter you.’ Sharon grinned. ‘Perhaps
you could visit her alone and coax a confession out of her.’
‘No thank you.’ I turned my attention to the e-mail.
Bridget changed after having her baby. She was no longer dedicated. She took full maternity leave and when she finally came back she took lots of sick-leave. Running the department without her was arduous. The staff were more uncooperative than ever. They would talk when they were working and I had forbidden this. How can they concentrate on what they are doing if they are talking?
When I first made Bridget my deputy I told her we should stop friends going to lunch breaks together, because lunch breaks were where they could plan their revolts, and she agreed. Phoebe and Margaret and others disobeyed and I had to have them disciplined. They got the union involved, but the man who tried to defend them had a stammer. Bridget and I saw him in private first so we could put our side of the case to him without Phoebe and the others butting in. I told him I hoped he never had to make long distance calls and that made his stammer worse – he couldn’t wait to get away from me. Bridget and I told him that when friends went to lunch together they always came back late, and he agreed that work, not pleasure, came first. Of course, they all denied they came back late, but it was Bridget’s and my word against theirs.
Sharon expelled her breath. ‘She’s so spiteful. And Bridget encouraged her. Stopping people going to lunch together! She’s almost admitted she lied about them coming back late. No wonder someone lost their temper and thumped her.’
When Bridget was on maternity and sick-leave the staff went on whatever lunch breaks they wanted. Without Bridget to back me up I was powerless to do anything. The staff became increasingly cocky and insolent. So yes, I was angry with her. Yes, I did reprimand her in front of the staff because I wanted to teach her a lesson. She had to know that if she defied me she would be punished.
As far as the anonymous letters were concerned, I’m certain that either Phoebe or Margaret sent them, or knew who sent them.
The rest of her e-mail was rambling and contained nothing else that was relevant. Sharon and I composed a reply. We asked her if the letters had affected her relationship with Bridget and did she think they were true.
We received her reply an hour later.
I showed Bridget the first anonymous letter and she told me it wasn’t true. She was upset and I believed her. When the others arrived I began to wonder. She looked guilty as well as upset.
A long rant against Bridget followed.
‘Not once has she expressed any sympathy for Bridget’s tragic loss of not only her home, but her son and husband,’ said Sharon.
‘Elaine used her,’ I said. ‘She promoted an unintelligent, ignorant girl to a position of power so she had someone to unquestioningly support her nasty schemes and back her up with the management when the staff protested.’
Now Olivia was friends again with Phoebe and Margaret, and neither she or George were suspects, I assumed Vanessa would stop going to the writers’ group. I was surprised when she said she had to visit our grandmother to get more poems.
‘Robbie, I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said when I queried her. ‘There’s a chap there that I like.’
I was pleased. Vanessa hadn’t had a boyfriend since the break-up of a five year relationship eighteen months ago. The break-up had come at the time when everyone in the family was expecting them to announce their engagement. He had met and fallen for someone else, and Vanessa had been distraught. I’d liked him and we’d got on well. I hoped this new man would be good for her and not hurt her.
‘What does he write?’ I asked.
‘Science Fiction. It’s very good and even though it’s not a genre I like, I’ve really enjoyed the parts he’s read out. Last week he told us that he’d finally got a publisher interested. He’s had an agent for about six months and just when the agent said she didn’t think she could place it, a publisher said they enjoyed his novel so much they were willing to take a chance on an unknown writer.’
‘Has he shown any interest in you?’
‘Sort of. Tentative. He’s not the sort to rush into things – and that’s okay because neither am I. He sat next to me in the pub and seemed a bit, well, flirty. He lives at Pengelly House, so you might have seen him when you went there. He and Phoebe have been friends for years.’ She smiled. ‘So I need some more poems.’
We visited our grandmother on Sunday for lunch. After giving Vanessa a whole folder of poems, she said, ‘I need your advice. This house is too big for me now. I’m lonely. I’m thinking of moving. I know exactly where I want to move to, but there’s a problem.’
I thought she was going to say she wanted to move to Italy – she’d never stopped talking about her trip, so her next words surprised me.
‘I want to move into Pengelly House.’
I was relieved. ‘Perfect. Ethel said there might be an apartment coming up – is there competition for it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Vanessa.
‘Me.’
‘Why? It’s ideal,’ I said.
Vanessa nodded. ‘Much better than a retirement village. And Ethel’s there.’
My grandmother sighed. ‘We all had the preconception about communes. Hippies, drugs, orgies. When we heard the plans for Pengelly House the whole village was of the same opinion. I led the movement against them. But we were powerless to stop their arrival. It was all there for me to see if only I hadn’t been so narrow-minded. The house was restored before they moved in. It had to be. No one, not even hippies high on drugs, could have lived there with the dry rot and the damp and squalor. Part of the roof had caved in.
‘But instead of being delighted that it wasn’t being pulled down and replaced by a housing development that squashed as many houses onto the site as possible, I became fixated about the ruin hippies would bring to the area. It was a year before they could move in. Busybody and trespasser that I was I went regularly to look around. I was blind to the sensitive restoration. Blind to the . . . everything.
‘When they all moved in, people’s attitudes changed. I was blind to that too. One by one the villagers who’d vowed to campaign against them, changed their minds. The antique dealer said they’d come into his shop and spent more money in a day than he usually takes in a month. They’d bought a lot of the furniture in Pengelly House and they had it restored. The organic shops and free range butcher reported soaring profits. Even the vicar liked them. Ethel took the trouble to call on them and told me she liked them. That they were decent and hardworking and respectable.
‘But me? Oh no, I had to go stomping up to the house. What did I see? Seven people working in the garden . . . digging, hoeing, pruning. No psychedelic Rolls Royces or tatty caravans. No wild orgy. No unruly children. One little girl was earnestly raking up leaves with a miniature rake. A boy was wheeling a barrow. There was a pram on the lawn. From the house I could hear music. The Beatles? No. Heavy rock? No. Reggae? No. It was Chopin.
‘Oh, I’m so ashamed about what I did next. One of the young women greeted me and asked me if I needed help. I told her that she needed help if she thought we were going to sit by and watch degenerates like her ruin our village. They all looked at me. They were bemused. They could have been abusive and told me to clear off. They could have had a wonderful time making fun of me. But they were polite. They invited me up to the house and showed me around. They introduced themselves. They explained why they’d all joined together to buy the house. They told me what they wanted for the future. I slunk away in shame.
‘The next day I made a cake and picked roses from my garden and visited them. A little girl answered the door. Her mother, the same women I had been so obnoxious to, came up behind her. I held out the flowers and said, ‘I neither deserve or expect your forgiveness, but I hope you will accept an apology from a foolish old woman.’
She smiled and said, ‘Come in and have a cup of tea.’
‘At the next church meeting I
made a speech saying how wrong I had been. I resigned as chairman. They refused to let me go. The vicar made a speech supporting me and thanking me for my apology. They all applauded. I felt very grateful. Again their forgiveness and understanding was more than I deserved.’
‘Everyone’s forgiven you, but you can’t forgive yourself,’ I said.
‘Pengelly House is perfect,’ said Vanessa. ‘It’s full of life. You’d never be lonely. You’ve got a lot to give.’
‘Such as?’
‘Knowledge. Wisdom. Good advice. Experience,’ I said.
Vanessa had been out with her new boyfriend twice when I met him. She arranged for us to meet in The Crown pub one evening. I was late and apologized.
‘That’s okay.’ He stood up and shook my hand. ‘Leslie Hooper. Vanessa told me about your work. Guess your time’s not your own.’
Disguising my shock, I sat down. My thoughts were chaotic. While previously I had sympathized with his plight, I now worried that my cousin was going out with a man who had lost his temper and resorted to violence. He didn’t look aggressive. His face was sensitive and his voice was cultured.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Vanessa asked when Leslie went to the bar to get more drinks.
Telling Vanessa first would have been unfair. I suddenly had the thought that perhaps this was a different Leslie Hooper.
‘Don’t you like him?’
‘It’s okay, Vanessa. I’m sorry.’
‘Sharon been giving you hell?’
I nodded. ‘And so has her boss.’ This was true. The superintendent had summoned us and made us go through every aspect of the case. He agreed that it was difficult, but still demanded a result, which made Sharon start harping on about Phoebe again.
Suspicion Points Page 20