False Accusations_Nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide...

by Cora Harrison

  There was a pink plastic kettle sitting on the cooker and the dog’s nose went to it instantly. But he didn’t, as Piper would under normal circumstances, jump up and knock the thing to the ground. No, he looked up at Alf, just as though he were a well-trained dog looking at his handler and Alf patted him on the head.

  ‘Goo’ dog, Kiger, smar’ dog,’ he said and then lifted the kettle from its hob, took off the lid and handed it to Flora without a word.

  She looked down and then started. A large wad of notes was placed on the bottom of the plastic kettle and the pearl necklace was on top of them, coiled neatly, almost as a woman would arrange her string of pearls on top of a satin cushion in her jewellery box.

  ‘God,’ said Simon, who had arrived on the scene and was now peering over her shoulder. ‘Well, this lets poor old Darren into the clear. Not even his worst enemy would think that he shoved a cool three thousand and a pearl necklace inside a kid’s plastic kettle instead of taking it straight into Brocklehurst.’

  Flora pulled herself together. Action needed to be taken immediately and a credible story needed to be formulated.

  ‘Simon,’ she said, ‘take the car and go straight home. Phone the police station in Brocklehurst. Ask to speak to Sergeant Dawkins. Tell him that your dog has just found the money and the pearl necklace on Mrs Trevor’s property. Just mention yourself and Piper. Leave me and Alf out of it. Go on, Simon, go quickly. Alf and I will look after Piper.’

  He gave her a quick, intelligent look and went instantly, long legs running down the road to the nearby forestry entrance. Piper gave one whine when he disappeared around the corner, but then seemed to recollect himself and looked obediently up at Alf who was holding the thin rope lightly in one hand.

  ‘You’d better get back to work, Alf,’ Flora said gently, nodding towards the Hi-Mac. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll talk to the police.’ She hesitated for a moment. Could a completely untrained puppy, no matter how talented, follow a four-day-old trail? She had no idea, but she was prepared to guess that Sergeant Dawkins would not know. She looked down at Piper. A lot depended upon him now.

  Decisively she took the rope from Alf’s hand. The man was used to doing as she bade him and he went instantly. She wound the rope around her wrist, determined not to let go at all costs, but to her surprise Piper made no effort to pull. He was oddly silently, oddly depressed when Simon went away without him. She had noticed that in the past. And now Alf had disappeared also. Quite soon she heard the sound of the engine of the Hi-Mac and then the clank of the bucket, rising and falling, digging out a new trench for the sewage pipes for Willowgrove Village.

  Flora, still keeping a firm hold on the rope, went in and closed the door of the little Wendy House behind them. It had been erected under the branches of an old weeping willow tree and now in the late afternoon it was pleasantly cool. Piper gave a heavy sigh, dropped his nose upon his paws and looked dismally straight ahead of him. If Simon managed to get Sergeant Dawkins instantly, he would be here within fifteen to twenty minutes time, she calculated, and wished that there were something more substantial than those tiny chairs to sit upon. She took a tissue from her handbag and cleaned a clay-stained large fingerprint from the pink handle of the kettle and then went and leaned against one of the walls, thinking so hard that she almost forgot the presence of Piper until he gave an enormous sigh of boredom.

  In the end, trusting to his now so very subdued mood, she took the panting dog out into the garden and waited there. Piper had come to the stage in every German Shepherd’s life when he had begun to distinguish between the known and beloved, and the rest of the world, and when the police car arrived he watched Sergeant Dawkins with a great air of suspicion, which was heightened by the look of dislike that the policeman bestowed up him.

  Luckily Jim Prior was with the sergeant and he took Piper’s lead and held him firmly, not playing with him or patting him, but standing very stiffly, like a model police cadet. Piper settled for keeping an eye on the sergeant while staying very close to one of his master’s friends.

  By now, Flora had her story very clear and well-rehearsed within her mind.

  ‘I went out into the forestry walks with my son and his dog,’ she said. ‘A fox ran across the path of the dog and he chased it. We followed and saw him sniff the ground outside the French window leading to Mrs Trevor’s bedroom and then he went across the lawn to the door of the little Wendy House which Mrs Trevor’s mother had bought for her two granddaughters. I turned the handle and the dog went straight in and sniffed at the pink plastic kettle. Come with me, Sergeant, and I’ll show you what was within.’

  Flora, without a backward glance, led the way to the Wendy House. Keeping a very straight face, she took the lid from the pink plastic kettle and showed him its contents. By now, she could see through the little window that Simon had arrived and had taken Piper, still attached to Alf’s piece of rope, and was walking towards their car with him. Jim Prior came across to the Wendy House and joined them. Kneeling on the floor in front of the small table he carefully and with a very straight face took dictation from his chief about the finding of the sum of three thousand pounds and one pearl necklace. Flora wondered whether he remembered playing in that Wendy House when he was in the infant class with Jenny and Rosie.

  Chapter 22

  As they turned in through her gate, Flora saw a blonde-haired girl sitting on the bench under the chestnut tree, gazing up into its leafy heights. For a moment Flora thought it was Rosie, but then the bright face turned around and greeted her and she saw that it was Jenny.

  ‘Sorry to be making myself at home, Mrs Morgan,’ said Jenny. ‘I left my car up at the house and then walked down to find you. Hello, Piper, hello, Simon.’ She bent in through the car window and tickled Piper’s chest.

  ‘Come and help me make some coffee while Simon sees to the car and the dog,’ said Flora. She hoped that her son would have the sense to keep himself and Piper out of the way. Nothing should be said about this discovery of the money and the necklace until the police released that information.

  In any case, Jenny’s face was still very white and her eyes looked strained and worried. There must be some reason for the visit. ‘There’s a quiche in the fridge, would you like a slice?’ Flora asked. Jenny didn’t look well, Flora thought with a pang of pity. Somehow her air of competence seemed to have deserted her and she had a slightly bewildered, worried look that made her look more like her sister.

  ‘I wanted to ask your advice.’ Jenny crumbled a bit of cold quiche with her fork, but didn’t eat it.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Flora asked and thought what a stupid question that was to put to a girl whose mother had been murdered and whose sister was in prison.

  She gave a weary sigh and then a slight smile. ‘It’s stupid, really, I just can’t seem to make up my mind about anything today.’

  Delayed shock. She had been coping too competently all week.

  ‘I was going to see Rosie so I came out to Mum’s house to get her some fresh clothes,’ Jenny began. She looked at her former teacher resolutely. ‘You’ve been to see Rosie almost every day, haven’t you, Mrs Morgan?’

  ‘Yes, though not yesterday.’

  ‘Well, have you noticed the way that she’s given up washing.’ Jenny flushed slightly with embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, I noticed that.’ Even over the smell of blood on that Friday she had observed the heavy adolescent odour.

  ‘Well, I went out yesterday, when I came back from the police station, and I bought her a gorgeous bathrobe. It’s a really luxurious one, pale pink with little gold trimmings on the pocket and the cuffs. I know that she’ll love it. I planned when I went in today that I would bring her fresh clothes and then I would give her the bathrobe. She’s got a shower there in the cell, you know. I’ve been in, with a policewoman in attendance. I thought once she saw the bathrobe she wouldn’t be able to resist using it and I also bought a bottle of really nice chamomile shampoo and some shower gel fr
om The Body Shop — Rosie loves that sort of thing.’

  ‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Flora said enthusiastically.

  ‘But now, you see, I don’t quite know if I am doing the right thing or not. Sergeant Dawkins told me that the two detectives will be interviewing Rosie tomorrow morning — he said that you will be there, is that right?’

  Flora nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll be there and so will Mr Bradley, the solicitor.’

  ‘Well, I just wondered … I wondered if it would be best to have her looking all unkempt and with her wrist bandaged and everything — would she look more innocent if she looked a mess — I’m explaining this badly. I’ve such a headache.’

  ‘Take this. Are you all right with paracetamol?’ Flora went to the cupboard, held up a packet of Solpadeine and when Jenny nodded, dissolved two in a glass of water, feeling deeply ashamed while she stirred vigorously; she was the one who should be taking the burden of Rosie.

  In the meantime, she had to give Jenny advice. For a moment she thought of ringing Ted Bradley, but then pulled herself together.

  ‘I suppose it’s the psychology of the thing that we have to think of,’ Flora said slowly, watching Jenny’s face. ‘The thing is that these detectives are used to dealing with distraught young criminals. I don’t think we want her to look like one of them, hopefully she won’t take it upon herself to sound like …’ Flora stopped. There was a ring on her doorbell. ‘I’ll only be a minute, Jenny; I’m not expecting anyone.’

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to come around and share Sunday lunch with me?’ It was Paula on the doorstep. ‘Dave has just rung. There was a mix up about the golf times and he and his partner are beginning their game in ten minutes..’

  Flora hesitated. ‘I don’t think so, Paula. I’ve Jenny here. And then I’m going out.’ But seeing Paula’s disappointed face she said, ‘But come in for a minute. You can advise us. We’re wondering how to stage manage Rosie’s appearance in front of the two new detectives who will be interviewing her tomorrow morning. Jenny, Paula will help us decide.’

  Flora could see Paula’s kindly eyes examining Jenny carefully and with a worried air. She had always thought it had been a shame that Paula and Dave had no children. It would have been his decision more than hers, Flora thought. Paula had never confided in her that she had any medical problems that would have prevented her from conceiving, but every child in Willowgrove School had benefited from her motherly nature.

  ‘Tell Paula our dilemma,’ she said to Jenny. Jenny explained the problem in a matter-of-fact way and Paula nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Your mum probably got her into a routine of: get up, shower, clean teeth and then dress,’ she said understandingly. ‘Now that she’s in a different place, the routine has broken down. I think the new bathrobe is a great idea.’

  ‘And what about tomorrow?’ Flora enquired.

  ‘I’d dress her up,’ said Paula decisively. ‘Dress her up, have her look like an angel, like a Madonna, get them saying to themselves, “a girl like this couldn’t have done a terrible deed like that” — that’s what I would do.’

  ‘What should she wear?’ supplemented Jenny. She was looking better, whether that was the couple of Solpadeine tablets kicking in, or whether she was glad to have something practical to do, Flora didn’t know.

  ‘Jeans or dress?’

  ‘Dress, definitely,’ said Paula without hesitation.

  ‘What colour?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘Blue, I’d say,’ said Paula after a moment’s thought. ‘Her eyes are so beautiful. Has she a good blue dress, you know, a well-made dress?’

  ‘The sort of dress that would distance her in their minds from young ne’er-do-wells,’ Flora put in, airing her knowledge of the criminal class.

  ‘She has a very nice blue dress, one that Granny bought her,’ said Jenny after a moment’s thought. ‘It was one of the last things that Granny did before Mum got her put in a home.’

  ‘That should be nice then,’ Paula nodded approval. ‘Your grandmother had great taste. I always admired her clothes.’

  ‘How is your grandmother now, Jenny?’ Flora asked.

  Jenny didn’t answer for a moment and there was a glint of tears in her eyes. Flora suddenly realised that this grandmother, bringing toys, clothes, buying a Wendy House, opening a bank account for both girls, taking them on little holidays, had been an important part of their lives.

  ‘She’s not well at all,’ Jenny said after a while. ‘I hate going to see her; it’s a terrible place. It smells of urine and I don’t think Granny is very happy there. Every time I go, she seems to have got a lot worse.’ She brushed her tears away and muttered something about going to the loo and left Flora and Paula looking at each other.

  ‘Well, I’d better get back,’ said Paula after a few moments. She looked quite distressed and Flora accompanied her to the gate. Paula went through it, closed it behind her, turned back, hesitated and then said, ‘It’s a terrible thing, but I would say that poor Jenny will be arranging another funeral soon. A nurse at the home — I know her from my Yoga class — told me that Mrs Herskins hasn’t long to go. Don’t say anything to Jenny, though, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t. Though, I’d say that she probably knows in any case. Is Mrs Herskins completely…’ Flora hesitated. There was no polite way of saying ‘gaga’.

  ‘Pretty far gone, I understand,’ said Paula calmly. ‘My friend says that the only sensible thing she says is that she has made provision for the girls after their mother dies. Apparently she keeps on and on saying that.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ Flora said and walked back into the house with a heavy heart.

  Chapter 23

  Flora could see that Jenny was bubbling with excitement when she met her at the door of the police station. ‘Come and see her — make sure you admire her,’ was all that she said when they were in the corridor.

  Rosie was easy to admire. The dress was gorgeous, beautifully cut, with a tightly fitted waist and a flowing skirt, the bodice demurely low in the neck and softly moulded around her breasts. Rosie’s blonde hair was expertly styled. It was still slightly damp, but had been brushed into soft curls that clustered around her forehead and were fastened with a velvet bow at the nape of her neck. She smelled delicious, like a bowl of fruit. Even P.C. Collins had suddenly become girlish as she examined the hem of the pretty dress and felt the silk between her fingers.

  ‘I’m going to take it off straight away after you’ve seen it,’ said Rosie with the solemnity of a small child showing off her party frock. ‘And then I’m going to wear it again for my audition with the two gentlemen tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Flora said encouragingly. ‘I’ll be here with you tomorrow. Did Jenny tell you that?’

  ‘Yes, she said that you would be my chaperone,’ said Rosie, the inveterate reader of Hollywood magazines.

  Even P.C. Collins was smiling as Flora said goodbye and withdrew.

  ‘Come and see my flat, Mrs Morgan; it’s not far from here.’ Jenny was chatting with Jim Prior when Flora came out. ‘Bye, Badger,’ she called out loudly with a wicked grin and laughed to see him blush.

  Flora would have liked to go home, but knew that Jenny wanted to tell her something. She had that air of suppressed excitement about her. Obediently she got into Jenny’s car, saying, ‘I suppose my car should be safe here. It’s unlikely to be vandalised outside the police station.’

  Jenny drove with competence and care, taking short cuts down lanes and small streets and neatly avoiding the holiday traffic making for the beach with the persistence of a stream of lemmings. ‘Here’s my place,’ she said as she drew up in front of a small Victorian house. ‘It’s been divided into two. I have the top half and four lads have the bottom half. They run a catering business from that converted garage next door, so instead of them calling on me to do some home cooking, they’re always bringing me leftovers.’ She was laughing as she inserted her key in the door. It was easy to see why she
was so attractive to men.

  The flat was small, just one bedroom, a spotlessly clean bathroom, a living room with a galley kitchen — no sign of Anthony, but a rather large pair of shoes were tucked under the sofa.

  ‘I put a friend up here on that sofa, occasionally,’ said Jenny airily as her eyes went to the shoes.

  ‘I won’t stay long, Jenny, so don’t bother with any coffee or anything,’ said Flora. ‘I’m just anxious to know how you got on with Rosie.’

  There was still an air of suppressed excitement about Jenny and it exploded now into a giggle.

  ‘Well, when Rosie came out of the shower that pathetic little towel they give them was soaking wet — you know Rosie! She had stood on it and dripped down on to it without any thought of what she was going to use to dry herself — she was wearing her bathrobe, but she didn’t want her hair to drip on that so she was holding her head down and letting it drip all over the floor. It was like a river.’ Jenny giggled again and Flora laughed, too, though she did not feel like it. ‘So I quickly said to P.C. Collins, “Could you possibly get another towel?” She sort of hesitated a bit, but the floor was running with water and then she said, “Watch her carefully” and she went flying off. As soon as she had gone, I said to Rosie, “Listen, Rosie, this is top secret. Tomorrow two men are coming to audition you and you might get a job as a film actress if you’re good. You must tell them that you had nothing to do with Mum’s death and that she was just lying there when you found her, will you remember that? They won’t give you the job if they think you did anything to Mum.” I kept on shaking her to and fro while I was whispering and she kept nodding and saying “Yes, I will, Jenny” and just when I heard P.C. Collins coming stumping down the corridor I managed to whisper “Top secret, Rosie, cross your heart and hope to die”. I used to say that to her when were little and I didn’t want Mum to find out something.’