Suspicion Points

by Joanna Stephen-Ward

  ‘So Phoebe Harris is your top suspect?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s not your typical murderer and I don’t think she’s a danger to the public, but I think Bridget provoked her and she cracked. Her flaunting the baby when ever she had the chance was the final blow for Phoebe.’

  ‘And what does Trevelyan think?’

  ‘He disagrees.’

  ‘Mrs Bradley claims you and Trevelyan are hounding them.’

  ‘We’re not. And Mrs Bradley is also a suspect.’

  He studied the list. ‘My chief suspect would be Yves,’ he said. ‘I’d discount Phoebe Harris because she was not in the vicinity. I think your theory about her biking through the forest in the middle of the night is far fetched. Yves was there. Strong motive too. Concentrate on him.’

  ‘Sir, I – ’

  ‘You’re no further forward than you were the night the fire started. I had high hopes that you and Trevelyan would work well together. You have both disappointed me.’

  ‘Sir, if Bridget hadn’t been so hated, I think we would have put this down to a random arson attack. And it could still be the case. Our difficulty is that most of the people who hated her said they were in bed asleep. Whether they were or not is almost impossible to prove. The only people who were not in bed at the time are Margaret, Phoebe and her husband Stuart. They were all at the party at Pengelly House. No one saw anything – ’

  Robert opened the door and strolled in. Without being invited he sat down.

  ‘Where have you been, Trevelyan? Inspector Richardson has told me you are obstructing this case – I’m taking you off it,’ Superintendent Venning snapped.

  ‘Good,’ said Robert. ‘It’s solved.’

  ‘Solved?’ we said together.

  He nodded. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and placed it on the desk. ‘The confession – signed and dated.’

  Superintendent Venning read it and checked my list. ‘There’s no George Wilson on here.’

  ‘George Wilson?’ I echoed, sounding, and probably looking, stupid.

  ‘Is he under arrest?’

  ‘No, Sir, he’s in hospital in the intensive care unit. He’s had a heart attack.’ Robert took an envelope out of his pocket and put it on the desk. ‘My resignation and a summary about how I solved the case. And far from being obstructive I was working with an inspector who is an irrational bigot and was determined to persecute the wrong person, who was actually the intended victim.’ He stood up and left. He closed the door quietly.

  Reeling from Superintendent Venning’s lecture and the threat of being demoted, I got into my car shaking with rage. I drove to Robert’s cottage. The front door was open and I went inside without knocking. There was a man sitting on the sofa in the lounge with a glass of wine and a bowl of peanuts on the coffee table in front of him. Robert was about to go into the kitchen. He had his back to me and hadn’t heard me enter.

  ‘You bastard!’

  He spun round.

  ‘You stuck up, supercilious bastard. Happy are you? I bet you are now you’ve shown me up and made me look incompetent.’

  ‘You are incompetent. You’re also a bigot.’

  ‘And what are you?’ I looked at the man on the sofa who was looking stunned. ‘A queer? Or worse? Someone who likes little girls?’

  I saw an old lady standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She looked horrified. I heard someone running down the stairs. It was the blonde. She rushed at me, held me in an arm lock and dragged me outside. I tried to get out of her grasp, but it was impossible. She pulled me down the street to a blue car and opened the door.

  ‘Get in.’

  I tried to struggle free, but my self-defence techniques were futile.

  ‘I’m a karate black belt and if you don’t get in the car I’ll break your arm.’

  I got into the car.

  She slammed the door and ran to the driver’s side. ‘Put your seat belt on.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  ‘I’ll break both your arms. Try and get out of this car and I’ll break your legs as well.’

  I fastened the seat belt. ‘Who are you?’

  She ignored me and put the car into gear. She was a good driver. In spite of her aggression towards me, she drove calmly.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  She didn’t reply. Wondering if I was in danger I thought about what I could do. She didn’t look mad, but her calmness was more worrying than her anger. She drove carefully down narrow lanes and she gave way to a few other drivers and acknowledged their waves of thanks. I considered pulling frantic faces, but guessed the people in the other car wouldn’t notice. I was just feeling reassured by the knowledge that I had my mobile phone and might be able to press 999 if things got dangerous, when she turned into a church yard and turned off the engine.

  ‘Get out.’

  Thinking she was going to dump me there, I got out and waited for her to drive away, but she got out of the car, took my arm and pulled me into the church.

  ‘You’re going to look around for something specific. When you find it come outside. I’ll be in the graveyard.’

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  She went to the door. ‘You’ll know when you see it.’

  My fear evaporated. She must know I’d have a mobile phone. She wouldn’t have left me alone in the church if she meant to harm me. Even if she intended to lock me in, I could survive a night in a church. I spent five minutes wandering round trying to see something significant. I couldn’t. I went outside.

  She was looking at a lichen encrusted headstone. ‘You didn’t find it.’

  I shook my head, wondering how she had known.

  ‘Go back inside and look again. Look higher this time.’

  ‘Am I looking for divine intervention or forgiveness?’ I asked unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  She went back to looking at the headstone. I went inside and resumed my search. There were brass plaques in memory of people I’ve never heard of. There was a roll of honour covering the two world wars. Most of the windows were clear glass with diamond panes. Apart from around the altar, there were only a few stained glass windows. One looked newer than the rest. I looked at it and read the plaque underneath.

  In memory of Judith Trevelyan 1975 – 2005

  And her daughter Hannah Trevelyan 2000 – 2005

  Killed in an avalanche in Switzerland.

  Beloved wife and daughter of Robert.

  There was more, but unable to read further I sank to my knees. I don’t know how long I’d been like that when I heard the door creak open. A cool wind gusted in.

  ‘You found it.’

  I managed to speak. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll drive you back.’

  We had almost reached Robert’s village, when I spoke. ‘Please will you tell Robert how sorry I am?’ The words were trite, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘You should tell him yourself.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll ever want to see me again.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Are you his girlfriend?’ I asked.

  ‘No. His cousin. Judith was my friend. The man you saw on the sofa is my boyfriend.’

  ‘I’m sorry I wrecked your evening.’

  ‘His name’s Leslie Hooper.’

  It took a moment to register, and if she hadn’t sounded so challenging I would have missed it, I was so wrapped up in shame and misery. ‘Oh. Ah – ’

  ‘Yes, that Leslie Hooper. Elaine told him he looked as if he’d had a sex change that hadn’t worked – she said it in front of everyone. So are you going to arrest him?’

  ‘And have you break my legs?’

  ‘Are you going to report him and get someone else to arrest him?’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Because he wants to give himself up. He hates skulking about, worried that one day they’re going to fin
d him. He thinks there’s a chance that if it goes to court he’ll get a fine or a suspended sentence. Margaret told him that while he’ll have lots of character witnesses, Elaine won’t have any. Well she’ll have character witnesses, but they’ll be there to say how vile she is and how she wanted him to hit her so she could sack him. I don’t think anyone will say anything good about her. So, Leslie’s at Dolphin Cottage if you want to arrest him now, or he lives at Pengelly House if you want to do it later.’

  ‘Why? What’s he done?’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you, Sharon.’

  ‘I’ll write to Robert. I owe him that at least.’

  ‘A face to face apology would be better – but not just yet.’

  She dropped me in the village and I went back to my car. On the way home I decided to call in at Elaine’s and tell her where Leslie Hooper was.

  She answered the door and gestured for me to go inside.

  ‘No thanks, Elaine. I just wanted to tell you that we’ve found out where Leslie Hooper is. He’s gone to Australia.’

  At home I looked at the card I’d bought. On the computer I drafted the letter I wanted to write. After six attempts I found my gel pen and copied what I written onto the card.

  Dear Robert,

  My profound apologies for my appalling behaviour and vile accusations. I do not expect you to forgive me, but I am asking you not to resign. You are a far better detective than I am and your resignation would be a terrible loss.

  I am going to Australia. In view of my failure I am giving up police work. Please apply for my job. You deserve it. It should have gone to you in the first place.

  My sincere sympathy for the tragic deaths of your wife and daughter. I hope you will find happiness one day.

  Sharon

  I addressed it, put a stamp on it and ran to the letter-box. When I got home I e-mailed my brothers. Then I applied for an Australian visa.

  17

  ROBERT

  For a long time I wished I’d been with Judith and Hannah that day. Sometimes I still do. The last time I saw them they were sitting on a ski lift. As the lift took off up the mountain they turned and waved. Judith in a blue ski-suit. Hannah in a red one with her blonde curls lifting in the breeze. We had arranged to meet at the top for lunch. The only reason I hadn’t been with them was that I had hit a patch of ice the day before, skied into a tree and dislocated my shoulder. Judith, skiing behind me, had watched in horror.

  ‘Thank God it wasn’t worse,’ Judith said that evening when the shoulder had been put back and my badly bruised arm had been supported in a sling. ‘You could have been killed.’

  Remembering her words at their funeral service I thought, I wish I had been killed, Judith. I wish I had been.

  After Vanessa had stormed off with Sharon, my grandmother, shocked by Sharon’s allegations, set about trying to get our evening back to normal. She began by pouring a large brandy and telling me to drink it. So she could fill us in on the progress of her move to Pengelly House and meet Leslie, I had invited them all round to dinner.

  Vanessa had been away for just over an hour when she returned. Leslie was in the bathroom. She told my grandmother and me where she had taken Sharon. ‘She is very upset.’

  ‘So she should be,’ said my grandmother.

  ‘She asked me to tell you how sorry she is.’

  Considering the dreadful start to the evening the dinner went well and I managed to relax. In retrospect I knew that I should have told Sharon I was sure who had set fire to the house and asked her to meet me at George’s address. She might have refused, but I hadn’t given her the chance. There had also been times when we had discussed the case without friction between us and I should have let her know what I suspected.

  The best time to tell her would have been when we were having lunch in the pub in Blissland. George was still in my frame as a suspect and I should have told her then. It wasn’t her fault that I hadn’t. It was mine. I don’t know what she would have said, but she might have taken the suggestion seriously. We had been discussing psychology and I should have used George’s distressed manner to at least convince her that he was worth investigating. When I discovered how the houses were numbered I should have tested my theory on Sharon not Vanessa.

  Because I had refused to tell her where I was going, and she had no idea when I was coming back, she was justified in telling Superintendent Venning that I was being obstructive. I was less justified in claiming all the credit for solving the case and had effectively jeopardized her career. Her fury, but not her accusations, had been understandable.

  That night I dreamt that I was back in St Margarets with Judith and Hannah. When I woke up I felt the excruciating pain of loss. Having resigned I faced an empty day. I rang Vanessa and asked if she was free for lunch.

  ‘Aren’t you at work?’

  ‘No. I’ve resigned.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m coming in with you.’

  ‘Oh, hell! Go and unresign.’

  ‘What’s wrong?

  ‘Oh, no . . . I’ve – ’

  ‘You asked me, remember? Have you changed your mind? I thought – is it because of Leslie?’

  ‘No. It’s all gone wrong.’

  ‘What, you and Leslie? You were okay last night.’

  ‘I’m coming over.’ The line went dead.

  When she arrived at Dolphin Cottage she looked upset. ‘I’m sorry. I was going to tell you – the credit crunch has caught up with me. The woman I went to The National Archives for, e-mailed me a few days after I got back from London. She’s being made redundant and told me to cancel the investigation. I hadn’t started to write the report, thank goodness, but I wasted money on the trip to London. She said if she gets another job she’ll be able to go on with the investigation, but – I don’t know. I can’t see things getting any better soon. And normally I’ve got quite a few enquiries, but I’ve had nothing for a month. I’m sorry, Robbie.’

  ‘Are you okay for money?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m cutting down a lot. It’s amazing how much little things add up. I’ve stopped buying the papers, and I go to the supermarkets late and get lots of things near their sell-by dates cheap – and no, don’t even offer to help – I got myself into this mess – I’ll have to get myself out of it.’

  ‘The credit crunch and collapsing banks aren’t your fault.’

  ‘But I should have listened to my parents advice and got a proper job in the civil service or NHS or something.’

  ‘You did what you wanted to do – it was the right choice.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like the right choice now.’

  I knew that, apart from her mortgage, Vanessa didn’t have any debts. That was one thing we’d both listened to our parents about. We’d heeded their advice, ‘If you can’t afford it – go without. If you really want it – save up for it.’ Neither of us had any credit cards – just debit cards.

  ‘Have you got enough money to pay your mortgage?’

  ‘At the moment.’

  ‘You can always rent out your house and move in with me.’

  ‘If things get really bad, I might have to do that. I was going to tell you. I didn’t expect things to happen so quickly.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  I wondered what to do. I didn’t need a job financially. I’d paid off the mortgage on our house in St Margarets with Judith’s life insurance money. Dolphin Cottage had been far cheaper, which meant I had plenty of money, most of which I’d invested. I could live off the interest, but I wanted a job.

  The following morning Sharon’s card arrived.

  18

  SHARON

  The newspapers were full of the story about George’s arrest. He was in hospital, under guard and out of intensive care. Mercifully they were more interested in the personalities and motive involved than the time it had taken the police to find the murderer. If they had known about my bungling of the investigation they would have torn me to pieces. As it was the
team was praised for solving, what the papers called, a complicated case.

  Phoebe and Stuart were hounded by reporters demanding statements and full stories, which they refused to give in spite of being offered substantial sums of money by several papers for exclusive rights to the story.

  Bridget and her mother made the most of it, but Phoebe, a beautiful novelist and Stuart a handsome artist, were more interesting subjects and their pictures appeared more often than Bridget’s who looked even worse in the photos than she did in real life. In one of her statements she blamed Phoebe for the murder of her husband and baby.

  ‘She never lit the fire, but if she hadn’t made enemies my family would still be alive and happy,’ she said, ignoring the fact that she had made far more enemies than Phoebe.

  When all the staff in the medical records department defended Phoebe and condemned Bridget, the story died.

  Shaking with nerves I walked down the hill to Dolphin Cottage, just in time to see Robert come out. I watched him walk to the beach. Keeping some distance between us I followed. The tide was out so far the boats were sitting on the sand. He went to one of the boats and climbed inside. I stood with my heart thumping, tempted to just leave. I didn’t know if he’d received my card or not. I hoped he had as he would know my intentions were not aggressive. I had no idea what his cousin had told him. Apart from Robert the beach was deserted.

  Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible I went to his boat. ‘Robert.’

  He looked up. His expression was surprised when he saw me, but not hostile.