The Nine Bright Shiners

by Anthea Fraser

  Julie straightened and the three of them looked at each other.

  Jan said, ‘Perhaps she’s been taken ill. You two stay here while –’

  ‘No, Mummy, please! Let us come with you!’ Their frightened eyes pleaded with her as they shivered in their snow-soaked clothes.

  ‘All right.’ She wanted to tell them to keep behind her, but that was tantamount to admitting she was frightened. They emerged from the kitchen in a bunch and made their way back to the main hall. Jan stood looking up the dark staircase.

  ‘Lily?’ she called, not really expecting an answer. ‘Are you there?’

  She switched on the landing light and they went up together, looking anxiously to right and left at the top of the stairs. The corridor stretched blandly in both directions.

  Jan said with false bravery, ‘I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but we’ll have a look to make sure. Let’s start with my room. We’ll go down to the end on this side, and back up the other.’

  With the children close behind her, they started their bizarre search. Her room and the spare guest-room next door were empty and undisturbed. Jan paused to draw the curtain across the window at the end of the passage, and they started up the other side. Another guest-room, Edward and Rowena’s room with the en suite bathroom, the old nursery where Ben slept. It was there that disquiet turned to fear. Ben said in a high voice, ‘I didn’t leave the window that wide!’

  ‘It wasn’t open at all,’ Jan answered. ‘Don’t you remember, I closed it.’

  ‘But I opened it again,’ he whispered. ‘So Lotus could get in. Only a little bit – not like that.’

  Someone had got into the house. But if the alarm wasn’t on, it must have been while Lily was still here. So where was Lily? A pulse was beating insistently at the base of Jan’s throat. Oh God, she thought, I wish Roger was here. I wish anybody was here!

  ‘We’ll just finish checking the rooms, then we’ll go down and phone Lily.’ And please let her be safely at home. Rowena had given her the number in case of emergencies.

  Bathroom and lavatory revealed nothing, and Jan breathed more easily. She’d begun to wonder if Lily, feeling unwell, had collapsed in there. Julie’s bedroom was as empty and undisturbed as the rest of the house. The last remaining room was Edward’s study next to the stairhead. As soon as they’d looked in there, she’d phone the police.

  She pushed the door open, and for several seconds her brain continued its planning. Then she lurched backwards, pulling the door shut and holding on to the handle for support. For Lily was in there, lying face down on the floor, and Jan, who had never until that week seen a dead person, knew beyond shadow of doubt that she had just seen another.

  CHAPTER 7

  The phone was ringing as Webb let himself into his flat.

  ‘A murder reported in Broadminster, Guv, but they reckon it’s your pigeon.’ It was the station sergeant. ‘Court Lane are holding the fort, and DI Bates and Sergeant Partridge are on their way.’

  ‘Who is it, did they say?’ ‘The housekeeper at the Langley house.’

  ‘What was the call timed at?’

  ‘Eighteen-thirty-nine. Half an hour ago.’

  Webb sighed. ‘OK, Andy. Thanks.’ Just as well they’d had a decent lunch at the Printers’ Ink; God knows when they’d eat again. He sighed, checked his own watch. Ken should be just about home. He dialled and Jackson’s voice sounded in his ear.

  ‘Don’t take your shoes off, Ken,’ he said heavily, ‘we’re off to Broadminster. The housekeeper’s dead.’

  It was eight o’clock by the time they reached the house. An Incident caravan was in the driveway, and two police cars parked outside, along with a couple of unmarked vehicles. Across the road, several curtains twitched as the neighbours tried to assess what was going on. Snow continued to fall, fat, cold splodges of it settling on nose and eyebrows as they went up the drive. The constable on duty saluted and opened the door for them. They were met in the hall by a uniformed sergeant.

  ‘Doc Roscoe’s up there now, sir,’ he informed Webb.

  ‘She’s in one of the bedrooms?’

  ‘Mr Langley’s study. Mrs Coverdale, his sister, found her when she got back from London.’

  ‘Has Dr Stapleton been contacted?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He was over at Heatherton, but he’s expected any minute.’

  ‘Where’s Mrs Coverdale?’

  The sergeant nodded to a door on the left. ‘She and the kids are in the library, with WDS Lucas.’

  ‘And Inspector Bates?’

  The man hesitated, ‘I’m not sure, sir. He came downstairs, but he might have gone back up.’

  ‘Are Scenes of Crime here?’

  ‘Yes, they’re upstairs.’

  Webb nodded and started up the stairs, glancing admiringly at the handsome stained-glass window. The police surgeon was at the top of the stairs, talking to Dick Hodges. Don Partridge hovered behind them.

  ‘Ah, Chief Inspector. We’ve met before, I believe. Roscoe’s the name.’

  ‘That’s right, Doctor – the Delilah case. You’ve confirmed death?’

  He nodded. ‘It was only a cursory examination, so I can’t tell you much; but I’d say the cause was a blow to the back of the head.’

  ‘Any idea of time?’

  ‘Hard to say, in a centrally heated house. Probably six or eight hours. Mrs Coverdale says she left the house at ten.’

  ‘Entry seems to have been through the room on the far left,’ Hodges volunteered. ‘Window open, and flat roof below.’

  Webb turned, scanning the men in the corridor. ‘Where’s Inspector Bates?’ he asked Partridge.

  ‘He went downstairs, Guv – wanted to take a look outside.’

  ‘See if you can find him, will you? I want to know what Mrs Coverdale told him before I see her.’

  Partridge ran back down the stairs and Webb moved to the open door immediately on the right. A photographer stood just inside and Webb waited till he moved to a different angle before stepping inside.

  It was a small room – barely ten feet square – and the woman was lying face down in the middle of it, her head towards the door. Dark, ugly stains matted the grey hair and smeared the heavy glass ashtray lying beside her. Webb registered every detail, then, with practised detachment, turned his attention to her surroundings.

  Along the left-hand wall, bookshelves and filing cabinets had been emptied and their contents littered the floor. The drawers of a desk beneath the window were open, and on the wall, a set of magnificent photographs of mountain peaks had been pushed askew. There was little space to move, and he decided to leave a more detailed inspection till the SOCOs had finished.

  He rejoined the group on the landing in time to see Partridge rushing up the stairs two at a time, it’s the DI, Guv!’ he gasped, catching sight of Webb. ‘He’s lying out there in the snow, and he’s not moving!’

  Webb pushed the nearest man out of his way and started down the stairs, aware of the doctor, Jackson and Partridge close behind him. The front door stood open, with the startled constable beside it, staring up at them.

  ‘Round the side of the house,’ Partridge directed between gasps. The cold air seized their breath, and the snow almost blinded them. Webb could feel his shoes sinking deep into it as he ran, and cursed himself for not having stopped to put on his boots. A black shape was lying sprawled at the back corner of the house, with the uniformed sergeant kneeling beside it. He looked up as they arrived.

  ‘There is a pulse, but it’s pretty faint.’

  ‘How long has he been out here?’ Webb snapped, as the doctor took charge.

  ‘I don’t know, Guv.’ It was Partridge who answered. ‘Not long before you arrived – ten minutes at most.’

  ‘You didn’t hear any sounds? A shot or anything?’

  The man shook his head, his startled eyes meeting Webb’s.

  ‘Radio for an ambulance,’ the doctor said over his shoulder. ‘We can’t get him to a
car without a stretcher.’

  ‘What is it, Doc?’ Webb asked urgently. ‘Has he been attacked?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell.’ The sergeant was already using his pocket radio. ‘The Royal Broadshire’s only just down the road. In the meantime, get some rugs and blankets, and something to keep the snow off him.’

  The two sergeants went stumbling back across the snow and Webb said tensely, ‘How bad is he?’

  ‘Not good. We’ll know more when we can examine him properly. I’ve finished upstairs, so I’ll go with him. There’s nothing you can do.’

  But Webb still hesitated, his anxiety underlaid by a feeling of guilt. He hadn’t particularly liked Bates, had been abrupt with him this last week. Now, he’d be glad of the chance to make amends.

  The sergeants came floundering back, laden with blankets pulled off one of the beds. As they were draped round the prone body, Partridge put up a large black umbrella and held it over the group on the ground. Suddenly, in the cold silence, came the welcome wail of a siren, and minutes later blue, flashing lights could be seen at the gate.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, then,’ Webb said gruffly. ‘You’ll keep me informed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  With an effort he wrenched his mind off the injured man and returned to more immediate duties. ‘I want the grounds searched immediately. It seems unlikely any attacker would be hanging about in this weather, but we have to make sure. Tracks in the snow might help, but it’s coming down so hard they wouldn’t last more than a few minutes. I’ll send out some reinforcements. In the meantime, Sergeant Jackson, we’ll have a word with Mrs Coverdale. No knowing, now, what she told Inspector Bates.’

  Had that information led to an attack? Back in the warm house, he crisply detailed more men to join in the search. Then he tapped on the library door and went inside. The woman detective rose to her feet, but Janis Coverdale and her children, huddled together on the sofa, simply looked up at him mutely.

  ‘Detective-Sergeant Lucas, sir.’

  ‘I remember you, Miss Lucas. I noticed the Incident caravan outside; would you be kind enough to organize coffee and sandwiches all round?’

  Jan said automatically, ‘Could the children have milk, please?’

  Mary Lucas nodded and left the room. Webb would have preferred not to have them there at all, but there was no way they would leave their mother at the moment. The little boy, pale beneath his fading tan, asked anxiously, ‘Is Lily really dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sonny.’

  ‘Then it’s my fault!’ The child looked stricken, and Webb raised his eyebrows at the woman.

  ‘Ben left his window open, because the cat was outside. It had been pushed farther up, so presumably –’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself, Ben,’ Webb said gently. ‘If someone was set on getting in, he’d soon have broken a window.’

  ‘There’s an alarm,’ Jan said. ‘Lily would have put it on before she left.’

  ‘I’m sure she would.’ She was as much in need of reassurance as the children. ‘Now, I know this is painful for you, Mrs Coverdale, but I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened when you got back from London.’

  She looked bewildered. ‘But I’ve been through it all with Inspector Bates.’

  ‘He’s – been called away,’ Webb said. No point in adding to her alarm, if you wouldn’t mind telling me?’

  This particular result of murder hadn’t occurred to her before, the endless repetition of it all, with everyone needing to be told the same story over and over. That’s how it had been last time, with the other body. God, how many of them was she to be called upon to see?

  Fighting down imminent hysteria, she forced herself to meet Webb’s eyes and their calm, patient gaze steadied her. Slowly and carefully, omitting nothing, she repeated her story.

  ‘And Mrs – I’m sorry, I don’t know her name?’

  Jan stared at him, her hand to her mouth. ‘How awful! Neither do I! Rowena never mentioned it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find out. Lily, then. She didn’t say how long she’d be here?’

  ‘No, just that she’d one or two things to finish.’

  ‘And she didn’t seem worried or on edge?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Mary Lucas came back with a tray. Jan realized, with a sense of guilt, that she was ravenously hungry. She watched with a growing sense of detachment as the woman officer set out food and drink and quietly left the room.

  It was bizarre, unreal, to be eating sandwiches with the detectives, while Lily lay upstairs with her head bashed in. With an intensity that disturbed her, Jan longed to be taken in someone’s arms and held very closely, as she had held the children. But Roger was twelve thousand miles away, and no longer cared for her anyway.

  Sensing that her control was faltering, Webb said, ‘The Scenes of Crime officers will be here for some time, Mrs Coverdale. Is there anywhere you and the children could go?’

  ‘I’m sure Lady Peel would have us – my brother’s mother-in-law.’ So she needn’t sleep in this house after all. Oh, thank God!

  A knock on the door interrupted them, and one of the police officers put his head round the door.

  ‘Telephone for you, sir.’

  Bates! Webb hurried to the phone in the hall. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Roscoe here, Chief Inspector. There’s no need to look for an assailant; your man’s suffering from a perforated ulcer.’

  ‘Good God! Is he all right?’

  ‘It’s a messy one. He’s still in the operating theatre.’

  ‘But he will make it?’

  ‘Stands a fair chance. Any idea of his next of kin?’

  Shame flooded over Webb. He’d never bothered to inquire. Come to think of it, he’d never had any kind of personal conversation with Stan.

  ‘I can find out.’

  ‘Better get on to them.’

  Webb depressed the receiver rest, lifted his hand and dialled again, leaving instructions with Carrington Street. Then he turned to the constable on the door.

  ‘Call off the search, would you? It was a false alarm.’

  What bloody timing! he thought, as he went back to the library. But the man hadn’t been well since he joined them; all those pills he’d kept taking.

  Jackson looked up quickly as he entered the room. Webb gave him a quick nod. Ken would have to wonder a bit longer; he didn’t want to add more drama to the interview.

  ‘Now, Mrs Coverdale, will you cast your mind back to before Christmas – the eighteenth of December, in fact. Can you remember how you spent the day?’

  ‘As it happens, I can. It was our first day here.’

  ‘Was your brother at home?’

  ‘No, he was making the final arrangements for his trip.’

  ‘Here, or in London?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Is it important?’

  ‘It could be.’ So it was technically possible for Langley to have murdered Marriott. But since there was no doubt he’d left the country – Passport Control having confirmed it – he couldn’t have killed his housekeeper.

  Webb nodded towards a photograph on the bureau, is that him?’

  ‘It’s their wedding photo, yes.’

  He walked over and studied it with interest. Though the face of a younger man, it wouldn’t have changed that much; and there was indeed a resemblance to Marriott in the broad, slightly protuberant forehead, the low-growing hair and deepset eyes. Webb wondered again how significant that similarity was.

  He said, ‘Have you heard from him since he left?’

  ‘No, but I wouldn’t expect to. There’s no postal service in the jungle.’

  ‘So there’s no way of contacting him?’

  ‘Do you need to?’ Alarm sounded in her voice. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ he said gently, ‘this is the second death directly connected with him. The wallet could have been coincidence, but not this.’

  She stared at him, her blue eyes brilliant with
fear, and the little girl, sensing her mother’s tension, pressed closer against her and began to whimper. There was another knock on the door.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, the Chief Constable and Detective Chief Superintendent Fleming have arrived.’

  He’d been expecting the top brass. In the light of a second murder, police authority would have to be in evidence.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Constable.’ He turned back to the woman, ‘I must report to my senior officers, Mrs Coverdale, but I still have some questions for you. Miss Lucas will drive you round to – Lady Feel, did you say?’ (As if he’d not enough on his plate, without a bloody handle to contend with.) ‘Then, in a couple of hours or so, when you’ve had time to settle in and the children are in bed, we can resume our talk.’

  Chief Constable Sir Frederick Arthur Soames was, Jackson thought, very much as one would expect him to be. Which is to say he was tall, stout, and prosperous-looking, his size now emphasized still further by a cashmere overcoat with beaver collar. Beneath it, Jackson caught sight of a bow tie, which explained his late arrival. An interrupted function, no doubt. He had a protruding stomach, a couple of chins, and a pale and piercing eye. Beside him, the Detective Super looked as small and dapper as a sparrow, but Jackson knew Fleming and was more comfortable with him. Not, thank goodness, that either of them took any notice of him. He watched sympathetically as Webb went with them into the now empty library.

  ‘Devil of it is, Webb,’ the Chief Constable was rumbling, ‘the connections of this particular family. No chance of playing it down. The press were arriving in droves as we came in. Damn it, I used to play golf with Reggie Peel, and his daughter’s married to Langley.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Was anything taken, Spider?’ Fleming cut in.

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing, sir. Mrs Coverdale isn’t familiar with the house any longer, so the only person who could have told us is the victim. The silver hasn’t been touched, though.’

  ‘Since she was found in the study, she must have caught him in there. In which case, it wasn’t silver he was after.’

  ‘Then what, Phil? Have you anything in mind?’

  ‘Nothing specific, sir. But since we must assume these deaths are connected, perhaps he was looking for whatever he’d hoped to find in the wallet.’