She watched from the rear-view mirror as he started his car. A walker stepped off the kerb in front of him suddenly. Charmian drew in her breath. But Peter Sherry stopped and waited as the walker got clear. Reassured, Charmian drove on. He was in control of himself, after all. No killing.
The two cars followed each other in slow procession to the pathology building.
Dr Lily received them with quiet good manners. Charmian was grateful for his tact in handling Peter Sherry. He spoke no more than was necessary but Charmian was aware that he was observing Sherry closely.
It’s always better not to say much on occasions like this, she said to herself, and Lily’s got it right.
Peter Sherry stared long at his daughter’s body, then nodded to Charmian. ‘It’s Louise.’
Dr Lily drew a soft white cover over Louise’s body; he did so carefully. Her father watched.
After a moment of silence, he said: ‘I hope you find the killer soon.’
‘We are getting on. We are getting lots of help from outsiders, some anonymous, telephoning in, or in letters. Sometimes naming names, sometimes just offering the odd detail. It all helps, Connections begin to build up surprisingly, and a face begins to come through. Then we start looking for the name.’
‘My wife is offering a name.’
Charmian shook her head. ‘Leave it to us.’
Dr Lily stood behind them waiting. Charmian thanked him, and drew Peter Sherry to the door. It was time for an exit.
Jamey Lily looked tired. ‘Busy?’ she said. A telephone was already ringing.
‘Pretty busy … I must tell you that Professor Estler, who is working on the skeleton, rang to tell me that he was probably an eleventh-century felon, hanged for some crime, but one who had friends who gave him a proper burial so he wasn’t just thrown into a common pit … He’s working on the skull to see if he can build up the face. Interesting, eh?’
Peter Sherry had moved ahead, perhaps just as well not to hear how the professional mind worked.
Lily saw them out with a modest half smile, following them quietly and shutting the swinging doors behind them.
Charmian turned round to see him looking after them. An arresting little monkey face, she thought, but a man at ease with death. Just as well in his job.
Peter Sherry refused a drink of any sort, said a polite farewell and prepared to depart, the formal identification was over.
He stopped outside, his hand on the door of his car. ‘You’ve got another suspect in mind, haven’t you? Apart from the witches.’
Charmian just shrugged.
‘A local because you won’t say anything in case I guess.’
‘Don’t try.’
‘That confirms it. Well, I am going into the library to read all the local newspapers from the last year to see if I can make a guess.’
Charmian shook her head. ‘Better leave it to us.’ He laughed, not with good cheer, and got into his car. Charmian watched it pass out of sight before getting into her own car.
All experienced detectives recognize that the uneasy feeling that at times creeps into them should be listened to.
Troubled now, Charmian sat in her car thinking. Was she worried about Peter Sherry and his wife and what they would do?
Yes, she was. Something and nothing, she thought. Grief took people in different ways. Anger was certainly one, but they calmed down in the end.
But she found herself still thinking about the scene behind her. Then she shook her head, and drove off. With luck, time would give her a helping hand.
Driving back to her own office, hoping to find George Rewley there so that she could talk things over with him – she valued his calm and sometimes destructive logic – she received a call from Dolly Barstow on her mobile.
The first few words were lost as she sped under a bridge. ‘… not there …’
‘Repeat that, I missed it.’
‘Birdie and Winifred are not at home, I hung about waiting to see if they came back but no.’
‘Go to the shop in Gallows Passage to see if they are there.’
‘On my way,’ said Dolly.
By the time that Charmian had reached her office, there was a message from Dolly to say that the two women were not at the shop and never had been.
‘Gone to London for the day,’ said George Rewley, providing his own modicum of masculine assurance. ‘Ask Dolly if she saw or heard the dog.’
When Dolly was asked, she answered that no, there was no sign of the dog. No barking either.
‘That’s it then,’ said Rewley. ‘ Where do you take a dog?’
‘Well, the best place …’ began Charmian slowly.
‘Yes, there,’ said Rewley.
Birdie and Winifred had taken a picnic as well as their neighbour’s dog because it was good to walk in the Great Park and one did not want to hurry back.
‘We need the fresh air,’ said Winifred. ‘ We need to get away from it all, into this wonderful green world with the beautiful trees.’
‘I thought you were off trees,’ Birdie reminded her. ‘Did you no good.’
Winifred ignored this. ‘And the lake …’ The dog had run into the lake, returning now (having been frightened by a swan) to shake himself all over her. ‘Dear boy,’ said Winifred menacingly.
They had their picnic in a quiet spot. The day was not warm, but they had rugs to sit on, and the wine and smoked salmon with potted shrimps were good.
‘A treat,’ said Winifred, who did the housekeeping and was careful with the money. ‘We deserve a treat.’
Through the trees was a small row of houses in which workers in the park lived. Distantly, they heard barking.
‘I can hear the dog,’ said Winifred.
Birdie pointed. ‘ Over there; he’s barking at something in the house.’
‘Drat him. We’d better get him.’
They advanced towards the house, which was the last in the
row.
‘What’s he barking at?’ said Birdie. ‘Can’t see anything. Looks
empty.’
Indeed it did. The curtains were drawn in every room.
‘Has been for some time, too. Look at the garden.’ Winifred was
a keen gardener. ‘Neglected.’
The dog having barked loudly at the front of the house had now
turned his attention to the side. He was getting a very satisfactory
whooping noise into his bark and was enjoying himself a lot.
Birdie advanced, collared the dog, and dragged him away. ‘No
one there, you fool.’
‘Probably seen a rat. Or a fox.’ Winifred looked down at the
sandy coloured mongrel.
‘Or a rabbit.’
‘If it was a rabbit, he’d have that in his mouth by now. No, it
was the house. Something there he didn’t like’.
They began to walk through the park to their car.
In the distance, one of the cars that policed the park listened to
a telephone request and turned in its route.
‘Right, looking, looking. OK.’
From the window of the house, well hidden, the Horseman was
staring out. The empty house, which had been his den, his hideaway,
was no longer so safe. He knew the pair, the white witches of
Windsor.
He stared out at the retreating Birdie and Winifred. Hate in his
eyes.
Pack up, leave his den, and find another. But there was time for
one call.
‘Listen, friend, false friend, double faced friend, I believe you
have betrayed me. You alone knew where I was. I shall have to
come to find you.’
Hate can be a very satisfying feeling.
Birdie and Winifred telephoned Charmian when they got home. ‘Imagine! We were picked up by a police patrol car in the park and given a lift home,’ Birdie said in wonderment. ‘They were looking for us.’<
br />
Chapter Ten
Charmian said firmly to Birdie and Winifred that they must go home, stay there and not go on the wander again. ‘ Mind what I say, I have enough on my hands without you two.’
‘We were only out for a little fresh air.’ Winifred was anxious to put their point of view. ‘No one’s going to harm us, surely.’
‘That depends.’
‘I find that rather a threatening remark.’
‘Good.’
Charmian had dropped by to visit Birdie and Winifred, and was now issuing her orders.
‘You might attract more attention than you cared for.’
Birdie gave her a bright look. ‘Something to do with that new body you’ve found?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Heard the police radio in the car that found us in the park.’
Trust Birdie to pick something up. ‘Just stay home.’
Frostie, who had arrived at the house almost as soon as the other two women were brought back, said: ‘Thought you two had been arrested after all.’ Did she sound regretful? ‘ I was watching for you.’
She smiled at Charmian. ‘Living across the road I see everything.’
‘She does,’ said Winifred with feeling.
‘Well, see they stay home,’ ordered Charmian.
She drove back to her office where paper was accumulating on her desk as usual: reports, statements, files, and as she sometimes suspected, a degree of fiction. Not all she was required to deal with at SRADIC was either real or reasonable.
And now there was the serial killer. Three bodies found: Amanda Warren, Daisy Winner and Louise Sherry, and two still missing: Lily Green and Mary Jersey.
She thought about these women: were they chosen at random, or did they have anything in common? Were they all lured into a car and then killed, as it seemed as though Birdie might have been? (You had to bear in mind here that some people did not believe Birdie but thought her as likely to be the killer as a victim.) Or were other seduction techniques used? Did they know their killer?
More questions than answers.
Was it worthwhile asking questions which you might never know the answer to, or was that too fine a philosophical point?
But she found herself still thinking about these five women. If they had all been gathered together in one room would they have been a group? They hadn’t looked like each other. Different ages, different heights, different colouring. He wasn’t after blondes, this killer.
If they had been known and selected as victims for some reason she could not as yet know, then how had they been tracked down? The method of picking them up, as experienced by Birdie, seemed to make it a chance affair. The murderer toured around when in the mood and found a vulnerable woman. Surely that was how it went?
If they hadn’t known the killer, had the women known each other? Questions could be asked of the families but they might not know. She did know that Ellen said she felt her sister wasn’t worried.
She could ask Birdie, the one who got away.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her telephone ringing; it was on her private line, which made the call seem important.
‘Hello, Birdie here.’
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ said Charmian, surprised.
‘Oh good-oh.’ Birdie sometimes reverted to the earnest schoolgirl, good at games, that she had been once. ‘But what I wanted to say was—’
‘Birdie,’ Charmian interrupted. ‘ Do you know any of the missing women?’
‘It would have to be did I know them, wouldn’t it?’ said Birdie, carefully, judicially. ‘Since they are probably dead.’
‘Did, do,’ said Charmian briskly. ‘ Did you?’
There was silence. ‘ I’m thinking,’ said Birdie at last. ‘The answer is no, not as far as I know, but I might have passed them in a crowd.’
In the background, Charmian could hear Winifred telling Birdie that she was a solitary soul and hardly ever in a crowd, and Birdie answering robustly that this was not so, she had been in a crowd at the royal funeral, and the time she had to go to hospital with her bad foot …
Charmian called: ‘Birdie!’
Triumphantly, Birdie said: ‘What I wanted to say to you was: you ought to talk to the dog.’
Charmian took a deep breath, counted to ten, then said: ‘Could you explain that, please?’
‘He was barking, all the time we were having our picnic he was barking.’
Charmian summoned up her memories of the ragged mongrel. ‘It’s what dogs do.’
‘Now, you aren’t being your usual intelligent self. What was he barking at?’
Charmian began to see what she was getting at.
‘You had people looking for the Horseman, didn’t you? They were going on about it on the police radio when we were picked up. We thought the dog was barking at a fox or another dog, the house was empty, we couldn’t see anything, but the dog could tell. He was barking at the house. I think the Horseman is in that house.’
I wish you’d said so at the time, Charmian thought. ‘If the house is empty, I’m sure it’s been checked,’ she said defensively. ‘And there are the neigbhours.’
‘He’s clever,’ said Birdie with conviction. ‘ He wouldn’t sit in the window waving.’
Winifred Eagle took over the telephone. ‘She’s right, I know Birdie gets mad ideas sometimes, but dogs don’t; I am not saying the dog saw someone, but he smelled someone, and he didn’t like the smell.’
‘Explain to me exactly where this house is.’
Winifred did so, in her usual precise way, pointing out that it was where the patrol car had found them.
From behind Winifred, she could hear Birdie saying chirpily: ‘ I think we ought to pop round ourselves.’
‘No, don’t,’ Charmian spoke up at once. ‘Leave it to me.’ And I won’t be going alone. The man is dangerous.
It was early afternoon. Although it was not raining, the air felt damp. Charmian drove in a convoy of two police cars as well as the park patrol car. She had George Rewley beside her, with Dolly Barstow following in her own car. Superintendent Hallows had sent several uniformed officers to support them and provide muscle. He had advised her not to go in but to let the uniformed men do the job. At the same time, he managed to instil a note of doubt that she would find anyone. He did not believe in dog power.
They were travelling down a wide road through the park, from which, if they had Winifred’s directions correctly, they would find the row of houses. The park wardens who were accompanying them had agreed there were such houses. Faint note of scepticism there too. After all, they had looked around, had they not?
I have reliable information, Charmian told herself savagely. And if she ended up looking a fool, then she would savage Birdie. Or the dog.
As arranged, they stopped well short of the row of houses so that they did not alert the Horseman if he was there. Charmian parked the car on a slight dip in the road which hid it from the house while police observers filtered through the trees.
‘That gap in the trees must be where Birdie and Winifred had their picnic … you can see the house and the lake.’ The lake looked peaceful and beautiful in the sunshine.
‘The dog could have been barking at the ducks,’ said Rewley.
‘Birdie said he was barking at the house – he was quite close. No, whatever he was interested in, it was not the lake.’
Rewley was studying the house through his binoculars. ‘ No one living in it?’
‘No. The owner has gone to Australia for two months to study the animals and fauna in and around Perth,’ said Charmian. ‘Don’t ask me why he chose that area, he has his reasons, I suppose. He is part of an environment protection team.’
‘Nothing to be seen from here.’ Rewley was out of the car and moving slowly through the trees. ‘Try to see if anything is going on at the back.’
Won’t be anything there, Charmian thought as she sat waiting, with the other cars lined up behind her. The
dog had been barking at the front of the house.
Rewley was moving back towards her. ‘No sign of life, but I wouldn’t expect there to be. I think we should take a look inside. Have we got keys or do we have to break in?’
Charmian got out of the car. ‘We have keys, they were left in the care of one of the park policemen. You think he’s there then?’
‘Yes, I do as a matter of fact. Or has been. Or someone has. Those bushes at the back have some broken branches just where there is a gap in the fence. It could be an exit or an entrance. Couldn’t say if he’s in there now or not. We’ll have to go in.’
Charmian was studying his face. ‘ There’s something else, isn’t there?’
‘Yes. The ground slopes away at the back and there is a basement to the house. With a window. If you wanted to get in and hide, it would be the place.’ He looked around him. ‘ I’m not quite sure why he’d want to hide there, just a hole in the ground really, but he’s not normal.’
‘No, he’s not normal at all.’
Charmian was already out of the car. ‘I’ll go in the front with the key and two of the uniformed men and you go round the back with two others. If he’s in there, that may be where he tries to get out.’
‘You’ll take Dolly with you?’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes, but she ought to be back minding the shop. Someone should be.’
‘You’ve got a couple of good assistants as I remember.’
‘They are good but not up to Dolly’s standard and there is other stuff pressing on us. The Macclesdom fraud case to begin with.’
Rewley nodded. I’m protective of Charmian he thought. It’s growing on me, which is slightly bad news, and if anyone’s capable of looking after herself my boss is. Women like Charmian Daniels have a profound effect on you, on me, anyway, and although I have fought it off for years, it is beginning to influence me now. But the good thing is, she has no idea.
He’s looking after me, Charmian thought, that’s not like Rewley. All brain, muscle and no nerves. Not quite true, because he has tender sensitivity to the world, as I have long understood. Part of the reason I like him, and which makes him a good, if eccentric, detective.
The front door of the house was heavy, and there were two locks. The park warden took the keys from her and opened the door. It swung back easily.
Stone Dead Page 15