Jan sighed. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said.
‘Number seven, Clarence Mews,’ Jackson said, checking in his notebook, it must be down here, then.’
They had turned off the High Street into Clarence Way, which led up to Monks’ Walk and the Minster. Three-quarters of the way along, a cobbled courtyard led off to the right, and it was here, according to Court Lane, that the third wallet-owner, Miles Cody, lived.
‘Probably won’t have any more luck here,’ Jackson grumbled. It had not been a successful afternoon. There’d been no one in at the Langley house, and the two wallet-owners they’d tried so far were not at home, either. ‘My husband doesn’t get in till six,’ they’d been told reproachfully at each house. He peered at his watch under the light of an old-fashioned street lamp which lit the entrance to the mews. ‘Quarter after five.’ He wouldn’t be back for the twins’ bath tonight.
But when they’d threaded their way over the uneven cobbles and turned the corner into the yard, the diamond-paned windows of No. 7 glowed with a soft light.
‘Somebody’s in, anyway,’ Jackson commented, his spirits rising. With any luck, they might be offered a cup of tea. It seemed a long time since lunch.
The man who came to the door was as tall as Webb, his features indistinguishable against the light behind him.
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Miles Cody?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Chief Inspector Webb, Shillingham CID. I wonder if we could have a word, sir?’
‘Good God! What about?’
‘About your wallet that was stolen a month or two ago.’
‘But I got it back. Didn’t they tell you? There’s no –’
‘If we could come inside for a minute, sir? We won’t take up much of your time.’
‘Very well.’ He stood to one side, and the two detectives went in. The door opened directly into the only main room the cottage possessed. But what a room! Jackson thought; a positive Aladdin’s cave of warmth and colour. A log fire crackled merrily in an open brick hearth, and at the far end steps led up to a railed balcony which, as far as he could see, served as the bedroom.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked Miles Cody. In the light of the huge, ornate light-fitting which hung from the ceiling, he looked to be in his late thirties, with dark, slightly long hair, thick black eyebrows and a dark shave. He was wearing a silk cravat in the neck of a coffee-coloured shirt, and brown cord trousers. An artist, Jackson told himself. No two ways about it.
‘Some tea would be very welcome, sir.’
Cody’s eyebrow went up, but he made no comment. He opened what looked like a cupboard door, to reveal a pocket-sized kitchen, complete with cooker, sink and fridge.
‘How could my returned wallet be of any interest to Shillingham?’ he asked, as he filled a kettle.
‘We’d like to hear in exactly what circumstances you came to lose it, sir, and exactly how it was recovered.’
‘Well, that’s easy enough. It was taken from the squash club changing-room, and pushed through the letter-box of the club a couple of days later. Together, as far as I remember, with others that were stolen at the same time.’
‘But not all of them,’ Webb said significantly.
‘Ah – light is dawning. I hear you’ve found Edward Langley’s.’
Webb’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know about that, sir? The full story would be in tomorrow’s papers, but no details had appeared as yet.
‘It’s quite simple. I had a call from Janis Coverdale.’
Webb relaxed. ‘I see, sir. A friend, is she?’
Of sorts. Our fathers were fellow-explorers in the dim and distant past.’
‘Is that so? I hadn’t realized. You were never bitten by the bug yourself, sir?’
‘Most definitely not. As far as I’m concerned, the very word “Peru” is a turn-off.’
‘You know, of course, that Mr Langley’s there at the moment?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Mrs Coverdale rang to tell you about his wallet.’
‘She rang, Chief Inspector, to ask me to accompany her to identify what she was given to understand was her brother’s body. I wasn’t in, but she left a message on the answer phone.’ It fitted. Bates had said the woman made a phone call. Cody poured boiling water into a stone teapot and brought it, a couple of mugs and a milk jug over to a low table. It seemed he wouldn’t be joining them.
‘Who was at the club when the wallets were taken?’
‘The usual Saturday crowd. The courts had been booked all morning, and we were the last four to play. But the bar was full, and anyone could have slipped through without being noticed. There was an overlap of about ten minutes when we were all on court. Then Cassidy and I finished, showered, and went through to the bar.’
‘Without having missed your wallets?’
‘Yes. I only realized when I reached in my pocket to pay for some drinks.’
‘So you were the first to discover the loss?’
‘It was more or less simultaneous. Cassidy immediately felt for his, and we were just registering what must have happened when the others burst in from the changing-room with the news that theirs had gone, too.’ He paused. ‘With respect, Chief Inspector, you can get all these details from your colleagues here.’
‘We have consulted with them, naturally,’ said Webb blandly, ‘but a first-hand account is always useful.’ He looked up and met the faintly mocking eyes. ‘You do realize, sir, in the light of the latest developments, that the thief could also be a murderer?’
There was a brief pause, then Cody said softly, ‘Touché. I see what you mean.’
‘Have you ever heard of a man called Guy Marriott, sir?’
‘Is that the chap that was killed? No, I can’t say I have.’
‘He was a journalist from London. We have reason to believe he came to Broadminster to interview someone.’
‘Broadminster? I thought he was found near Shillingham?’
‘As a matter of routine, sir, where were you on Thursday the eighteenth of December?’
‘I?’ Cody stared at him. ‘What has this to do with me?’
‘Just routine, sir. We’ll be asking everyone we interview about the wallets. They had a link with the deceased, after all.’
‘A very tenuous one. In any case, I can’t possibly remember after all this time. And why the eighteenth of December?’
‘That was the date he came over.’
‘Oh yes – Janis said it was before Christmas.’
‘If you could try to remember, sir,’ Webb prompted gently.
‘I work from home, Chief Inspector, and one day is much like another. Just before Christmas, I was extremely busy and made several visits to London, but I can’t recall the dates.’
‘Wouldn’t your diary help?’
Cody smiled. ‘Unfortunately, I threw it out on the first of January.’
Webb sighed. ‘To come back to the wallets, then. There was no note, or any word of explanation when they were returned?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘And the contents were intact?’
‘As far as any of us could recall, absolutely.’
Webb sipped his tea and looked round the ornate room. There were low tables with large lamps on them, and magazines piled haphazardly on the lower shelves. There was a marble bust on a plinth at the foot of the stairs to the balcony, and a very interesting oil painting above the fireplace. Quite a number of antiques, he’d say, but in the general clutter it was hard to be sure. At the end of the room, under the balcony, was a curtained window and beneath it a large desk and a series of bookcases.
‘You say you work at home, sir?’
‘Most of the time. I’m an illustrator, for what are known as coffee-table books. Theatrical décor mostly.’
Webb’s interest quickened. ‘So you’re an artist?’ A common interest might establish contact with what he felt to be an elusive character.
‘
I paint, yes, but I spend a fair proportion of my time taking photographs.’
Reluctantly Webb abandoned an interesting discussion and returned to more relevant matters. ‘To come back to the squash club, was there anyone you didn’t know there that day, anyone who hadn’t been before?’
‘Not that I recall. Again, I’d refer you to your colleagues. They went into that very exhaustively.’
‘Then I don’t think we need keep you any longer, Mr Cody.’ Webb rose to his feet. ‘Oh, one last point, since your father was an explorer. Would a tightly wrapped bandage put on after death have any significance to you?’
‘Put on where? What part of the body?’
‘Round an arm.’
Cody shrugged, if it had been all over, it would have suggested a mummy, but other than that, I couldn’t say. Is that any help?’
‘It might well be, Mr Cody,’ Webb said slowly, ‘it might well be.’
‘Miles! What a lovely surprise!’
Jan turned, to see him standing in the doorway in his overcoat, his shoulders glistening with drops of moisture.
‘I didn’t know you had company.’
‘Come in, darling, and take your coat off. Janis and I are just having a chat, and the children, as you see, have been amusing themselves. Is it too early to offer you a drink?’
‘Oh, I think not,’ he said with a smile. ‘Can I get one for anyone else?’
‘Janis?’ invited Lady Peel.
‘I think it’s time we were going home,’ Jan said. Miles hadn’t expected to find them here; no doubt he wanted Lady Peel to himself.
But it was he who replied. ‘Nonsense; it’s early yet. I’ll walk you back later.’
‘That isn’t necessary, I –’
‘Don’t argue, woman, and state your poison.’
She subsided, smiling, and requested a gin and tonic.
‘I thought you were working to a deadline,’ Lady Peel remarked. ‘Have you finished what you’d set yourself?’
Miles turned and carried the glasses across. ‘Not quite, but there was an interruption and it broke the thread. A visit from the police, no less.’
‘The police?’
‘Janis’s friends, from Shillingham. They wanted to hear about my stolen wallet.’
‘Oh, of course – they must be linking it with Edward’s. How unpleasant for you.’
‘It didn’t worry me, Mary. If they enjoy sitting in their big boots drinking tea, who am I to deny them? But I’m afraid I wasn’t much help.’
‘It was a strange business, about those wallets,’ Lady Peel said reflectively, i thought so at the time. There was no point in it. If they were taken for a joke, you’d expect the joker to declare himself. And if it was genuine, why was nothing taken from them?’
Jan stirred, suddenly chilled. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘it was only Edward’s he wanted, and the others were taken as a blind.’
Lady Peel looked worried. Miles thought for a moment, then said, ‘But why take them at the beginning of November, when Edward’s didn’t show up till January?’
Jan shook her head, it was only a thought. I hope I’m wrong.’
‘Have the police any theories?’ Lady Peel asked Miles.
‘If they have, they didn’t favour me with them. The only information they volunteered was that there’d been a bandage on the body, which I already knew from Janis. Not that I told them so.’
‘That’s curious, isn’t it? We were just discussing it.’
‘They asked if it suggested anything to me.’ His eyes held Jan’s.
‘And what did you tell them?’ she asked.
‘Well, I’d had time to think about it since last night, so I said that had it been all over, it might have symbolized a mummy.’ Lady Peel’s hand went to her throat, but Miles kept his eyes on Jan. ‘Did that also occur to you, by any chance?’
So despite not having voiced her fears the previous evening, Miles had arrived at the same conclusion.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘it did.’
‘I was waiting for them to tell me about the sequins, but they didn’t mention them.’
‘What sequins?’ Lady Peel looked from one to the other. ‘What are you talking about?’
Jan said, ‘I’m sorry, Lady Peel, I didn’t go into details. The fact was that the jacket the – the body was wearing had sequins sewn on it. And I’m wondering whether, if the bandage was supposed to make the police think of mummies, the sequins also had a meaning.’
Lady Peel made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘I don’t care for this at all,’ she said emphatically. ‘A murder’s bad enough, goodness knows, but I object most strongly when the murderer plays games with the police. Bandages and sequins, indeed. It’s – grotesque.’
The children, hearing raised voices and in any case tiring of their games, came across to the fire, their eyes going from one intent adult face to the other.
God, Jan thought guiltily, I hope they didn’t hear anything. She put an arm round each of them, drawing them to her sides, it really is time we were going,’ she said firmly. ‘Thank Lady Peel for your tea, and for taking the trouble to find you things to play with.’
‘I’ll walk home with you,’ Miles said again. He bent and kissed the older woman. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mary. It’ll sort itself out. I’ll be in touch again soon.’
It was dank and cold outside, with no moon. Despite herself, Jan was glad of Miles’s company, though it was only an eight-minute walk. At the gate of Rylands, she said, ‘That was kind of you. Thank you.’
He hesitated. ‘How would it be if I came in for a while, rather than both of us sitting alone? Or am I intruding?’
‘No, of course not. I’d be glad of the company.’
‘Tell you what, then. I’ll go and buy a bottle of wine while you put the children to bed, and we can continue our discussion over it.’
So Jan and Miles spent a second evening together, but the bandaged, besequined body wasn’t mentioned again. Instead, as they ate supper by the library fire, Jan asked about his work, listening, fascinated, to his account of books he’d worked on and authors he’d met. He’d done the illustrations for a series of books on Stately Homes, and told some amusing anecdotes about their occupants; and he’d been abroad on several photographic assignments.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘this year looks like being particularly rewarding. I’ve been put in overall charge of all the artwork involved in the tercentennial celebrations of Buckhurst Grange.’
‘That sounds fantastic. What does it involve?’
‘Just about everything. Designing posters, coordinating press releases, television advertisements, arranging exhibitions – even designing a set of commemorative stamps for the Post Office. It’s by far the most exciting project I’ve ever worked on, and a tremendous responsibility. But if I handle it well – and I think I can – then my future’s pretty well assured.’
‘That’s wonderful, Miles,’ Jan said warmly. ‘What a fascinating life! No wonder you’ve not had time to get married!’
He laughed. ‘There’s still time, if the mood takes me. I’d be a demanding husband, though. Perhaps no one would have me.’
‘You’ve never been tempted?’
‘Once or twice, but I’ve managed to withstand it!’ He glanced at her. ‘Would you recommend marriage?’
She sobered abruptly. ‘I’m not the best person to ask at the moment.’
‘Do you want to talk about it.’
‘Not really. I’m still in a state of shock. You see, it never entered my head anything would go wrong. We were always so happy together.’
‘And what did go wrong?’
She grimaced. ‘The old, old story. A younger woman.’
‘My God, girl, you’re not in your dotage!’
She smiled unwillingly. ‘Nevertheless, she’s ten years younger than I am.’
‘But that couldn’t have been the attraction, surely?’
‘It was probabl
y part of it. She hadn’t two children to look after, and she was bubbly and full of life. She might even have reminded him of me when we first met. But I hadn’t an inkling anything was wrong – possibly because for a long time Roger fought it, tried to stop it happening.’
‘And eventually he just upped and left?’
‘Pretty well.’ She paused. ‘He phoned on Christmas Day. It was – weird to hear him again, and it upset the children, too.’
‘Are you still in love with him?’
‘I suppose so, underneath. But on top is a lot of hurt and anger and resentment, which makes things very complicated.’
‘Poor Janis.’
She said, ‘Could you call me “Jan”? That’s what I’m used to.’
‘Of course.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time I was on my way.’
‘I suppose so. I’ve a full day ahead tomorrow; I’m taking the children to London, sight-seeing.’
‘Rather you than me.’ He stood up and stretched, his face going into the shadows above the fire. ‘Well, good night, Jan-not-Janis. Enjoy your trip to London. And thank you for supper.’
‘A pleasure,’ she said.
CHAPTER 6
Webb opened his eyes to see her setting the tray down on the table.
‘Hannah, I’m sorry! It’s been the hell of a day.’
‘No need to apologize – sorry I woke you. Are you ready to eat, or would you rather snooze a bit longer?’
‘But you must be ravenous. What time is it?’
‘Nearly ten. It has dried up a bit, but nothing drastic. I’ve learnt to stick to casseroles when you’re working on a case.’
He reached out a hand and she took it, smiling. Oh, thank God! he thought. Thank God they were back together again. There’d been a time, last summer, when he was sure he’d lost her, but it had come right in the end. And one thing was certain – he’d never again take her for granted. The shadow of Charles Frobisher, who’d had the nerve to ask her to marry him, was still an ever-present threat.
‘Come on, then, sleeping beauty,’ she said, withdrawing her hand. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’
‘And this was meant to be a celebration,’ he said ruefully, ‘after not seeing each other for two weeks.’
The Nine Bright Shiners Page 7