A Cure for Dying

by Jennie Melville

  ‘Thank you. It’s nice to be understood.’

  ‘Oh come on, Charmian, don’t be sarcastic. I’m only talking. And I suppose that dishy policeman thinks the same.’

  ‘I’m not answering that.’

  ‘Well, you just have,’ said Kate, showing she had learnt something in questioning technique from her godmother. She was adding the last touches to her confection in the pan.

  ‘That’s an enormous omelette for two people.’

  ‘Look at the table,’ suggested Kate.

  Charmian did so, fending off an anxious cat. ‘ Three places? Who else is coming?’

  ‘Dr Seeley. She seemed so anxious, I invited her round.’ As if to underline her invitation, the doorbell rang. ‘And that must be her now. You feed Muff and I’ll answer the door.’

  She came back with Ulrika looking cool and elegant in a natural silk suit with a transparent raincoat over it. ‘The storm is over, thank goodness. I don’t like thunder. Irrational but true.’ She smiled at Charmian, but included Kate in the smile.

  ‘I’m not sure if we ought to arrive at this interview like a team,’ said Charmian, flustered.

  ‘Not at all. The way to do it, a good thing. Exactly as I want it.’ She smiled at Charmian and now the smile did not include Kate.

  Kate, gazing with interest from one to the other, thought, That woman loves this woman. And how was it that her godmother, with all her training and expertise did not seem aware of it? My godmother doesn’t know she’s born, thought Kate. And what about Humphrey Kent, that enigmatic figure waiting in the wings, in whom Kate took a sharp interest? Kate had her own method of rating a man’s attractiveness, and she rated Humphrey at several megawatts.

  Charmian bent down to give Muff her bowl of food, offering to Kate, as she did so, a sharp look that said, Watch your thoughts and cover them up better. Aloud, all she said was, ‘Is supper ready, Kate?’

  Kate divided the omelette into three equal portions, placed the salad bowl in the middle of the table and produced a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.

  ‘Is this child discreet?’ asked Ulrika, between mouthfuls of omelette. ‘Can we talk in front of her?’

  ‘No,’ replied Charmian, ‘probably not. Nevertheless we will talk.’

  ‘We have two women and a girl who have been killed, in the same manner and certainly by the same killer.’

  ‘Or it’s a copycat crime.’

  ‘But I think not.’

  ‘I understand the investigating team here agree with that,’ said Charmian.

  ‘And at the very beginning we have the slaying of the pony.’

  ‘I wonder if that is the beginning?’

  ‘It is where you and I have to start. Then we go forward from there.’ Ulrika sounded sure of herself. Charmian wished she felt the same. ‘You know I think that the female is as capable of Ripper-style killings as men. What I have always wondered is whether such a person would kill women or men. And my answer is coming to be that it depends what kind of hole inside themselves they are filling.’

  ‘Oh, those bloody holes,’ said Charmian.

  For a few minutes, while Kate made some coffee they talked over the problems that faced them tonight and how they would approach the Gaynor family, whom they both believed to be at the heart of it.

  Kate poured coffee, acting out the domestic house-person, her current rôle, happily assumed.

  ‘And you’ve not had any trouble here then?’ asked Ulrika.

  ‘No attack on me, if that’s what you mean. In spite of the threat that I was next. Nothing. And that puzzles me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ulrika. ‘I can think of several reasons. None of which I like.’

  ‘I don’t like anything about it,’ said Charmian. ‘It’s giving me a bit of thought, I can tell you.’

  Kate suddenly realised they were talking over her head. Drat them, she thought, and drank some more coffee. ‘Coffee all right? Strong enough?’ she asked hopefully, but got no answer. ‘Right,’ she said aloud. ‘ You’re enjoying it, Kate aren’t you? Thank you, Kate.’ Sometimes she didn’t mind being treated like a kid and sometimes she did.

  Brian Gaynor returned to what was now his temporary home just as the last blast from the storm died away, and the clouds began to lift. There was still a sun out there somewhere, and soon it would begin to shine.

  He looked into the sitting-room where he found Tommy Bingham asleep in a chair; he did not disturb him. Instead he went into the kitchen hoping to see his wife and daughter. The boy, he knew, was at school for the week. ‘And thank goodness,’ he thought. ‘At least he’s out of it.’ Mark always would escape, it was one of his skills, as his father dimly recognised.

  Joanna and Annabel must be upstairs, he decided. He hesitated for a minute then went to the telephone on the wall. But before dialling he closed the kitchen door.

  ‘Serena?’ When talking privately, he did not call Mrs Justice Anstruther ma’am. ‘Are you on your own? Can I talk?’

  Serena Anstruther said something tartly to the effect that he usually did, and she was in the habit of listening to him. They both got paid for it.

  Brian’s hand on the telephone trembled, he recognised that Serena Anstruther was still in the teaching mode, not to mention the punishing one as well.

  ‘Serena, I have been thinking about what you told me to do, and I can’t. I can’t do it. I know I should, but I cannot.’

  Serena gave him a stern speech about the wisdom of her advice. Hard to do, she said, but the best thing. Indeed, the only thing. And of course, he must speak to his wife first. This was her opinion. He had asked, and she had told him. It was Serena at her toughest.

  ‘Don’t give me up, Serena,’ he pleaded. ‘I am going to need you.’

  He knew his situation was parlous.

  Your solicitor first, then your wife, was the command. Confess. She did not offer him a choice.

  ‘I don’t think I can do it, Serena. I know I should, but I can’t. Give me time,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Remember sex can be a killer,’ said Serena in a soft, quiet voice. ‘Don’t let it kill you. You are worth saving.’

  He felt sick inside, unwilling to take Serena’s advice while aware that he had asked for it and must follow it. He could see his face reflected in a mirror on the wall. ‘That’s your face there,’ he told himself. ‘And that’s you behind it, thinking all those thoughts you know about. Can you bear to look at you?’

  The kitchen door moved in the wind, there was no one to be seen, a door to the garden must be open somewhere. He moved towards it. Whatever response he made to Serena Anstruther’s demand, and he had an idea it was going to be No, he had better find Annabel. He thought she would rather die than have him do what he might have to do.

  Brian stood at the door to the stable-yard and looked out. It was empty and rainswept, with only the sound of a television set, turned loud, coining across from the head lad’s house where he lived with his wife. He could see the TV screen shining green and red through the uncurtained window.

  Tommy touched his shoulder. ‘What’s up, Brian? Sorry I was asleep when you got in. Meant to stay awake.’ He did a lot of sleeping lately which he resented since it seemed a waste of his life.

  Brian swung round. ‘ Nothing, Tommy,’ he said quickly. ‘Just looking out.’

  ‘Come and have a drink.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’d like to find Annabel first.’ By way of some explanation, he said, ‘We’ve got that policewoman and Dr Seeley coming tonight. I’d like to talk to Annabel before she comes.’

  ‘She was around,’ said Tommy vaguely. ‘Before I dropped off.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Been out some time.’

  ‘You go and have a drink, Tommy. I’ll join you later. Perhaps Annabel would like one as well. Wherever she is.’

  ‘Looked upstairs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bound to be there.’

  But she was not. Nor was Joanna. There was no sign of either of them. Bri
an came down and stood in the hall, he didn’t know where to look next. His imagination stopped there.

  Slowly he went out into the stable-yard. The door to it had been open; that meant someone had gone that way. Joanna first, then Annabel?

  Or maybe Annabel and then Joanna after her, who knew?

  He walked across the cobbles to the polo pit which was the only structure to attract his attention. It was there, that was why. The door opened to a touch, but it was empty. Which was about what he had expected. He had not expected Annabel to be there. She didn’t like horses, they made her sneeze.

  But it was possible she had been there. He thought he could smell her scent, an especially strong floral blend imported from America.

  As he stood there considering, realising he was emotionally unbalanced and not thinking straight tonight, Tommy came out and joined him.

  ‘She’s not here, Brian. No point in standing looking. They’ve gone for a walk or something.’

  Some people might go for a walk in the situation in which the Gaynors found themselves, but not Annabel. And not with Joanna.

  ‘Joanna might have gone off with one of the lads,’ said Tommy. ‘Very pally. Try Fred.’

  Tommy Bingham’s head stable lads were always called Fred. But Fred, summoned from the television to his front door, denied any knowledge of Joanna.

  ‘She didn’t go off with the lads. They all piled into the car and went home.’

  Tommy pulled himself together, overrode his own pains, and took charge. It was, after all, his house.

  ‘Come and have a drink. Give it half an hour, and if they haven’t turned up by then, telephone that policewoman Daniels.’

  Brian Gaynor went white. ‘I think I’ll just have a look round. They might be in the Great Park.’

  Tommy gripped his friend’s arm firmly. ‘Inside with you. We’ll have that drink.’

  He caught his stableman’s eye, and as Brian went ahead into the house, gave a nod towards the Park. ‘Have a look round, Fred. See what you can find.’

  Brian sat for about fifteen minutes, clutching a glass of whisky, then stood up. ‘ I’m going out to look for myself.’

  ‘Leave it to Fred. His father was a gamekeeper, he’s marvellous at reading the signs in woodland, he’ll know if anyone went that way.’ He added a reassuring tot to his friend’s glass. ‘Drink up. I’m sure they just went for a walk, maybe to Ascot or down to Virginia Water to see the ducks. They’ll be back soon.’

  Fred Walker, adept at marking all the small signs of passage through woodland and undergrowth, walked slowly forward scanning the trees, bushes and grass. Not many people came this way except on horseback, it was too far from the spots the average visitor wanted to see. He looked about him in his usual slow, quiet manner. He would rather have been watching his favourite television programme, but the boss had spoken and you did not ignore the boss.

  Bruised leaves, broken twigs, he could see that one person had come this way. Possibly two, he was not an Indian scout and could not say for sure.

  He moved on through a thicket: he was certainly following someone, but it might have been a large dog.

  Charmian and Ulrika were just getting themselves ready to set out for Fletcher’s Cottage, Brian Gaynor was resisting the nip of whisky, and Fred was plodding on.

  Then he became aware he was looking down at a human foot.

  Chapter Twelve

  The telephone rang in the house in Maid of Honour Row just as Charmian and Ulrika Seeley were on the point of leaving for Fletcher’s Cottage, Charmian paused on the threshold.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ said Kate. ‘Leave it.’

  Ulrika, who was behind Charmian, said, ‘Answer it. Coming just now, it has to be important one way or another.’ Sometimes she measured significance in ways Charmian did not fully comprehend, giving a kind of poetic or symbolic importance to things that Charmian rated unimportant or, at best, completely out of her control.

  Charmian picked up the telephone. She listened quietly, her face looking more and more serious. ‘ Yes, yes. Try and calm down, Mr Gaynor. Have you called a doctor? You must do that. Good. You must telephone Chief Inspector Merry at the Alexandria Road Station. If you haven’t got the number, use the 999 code and let them cope. Dr Seeley and I will come right over.’

  Ulrika and Kate looked at her questioningly. ‘ Well?’ said Ulrika.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Kate.

  ‘You can wait for the papers in the morning.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  As they got into Ulrika’s old but speedy car, Ulrika said, ‘You were hard on her.’

  ‘She shouldn’t ask questions.’

  ‘So what has happened?’

  ‘Joanna Gaynor and her mother were missing. A search was made and a body found.’

  ‘Then you don’t have to tell me whose body. It was the mother’s.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charmian. ‘ They have found Annabel Gaynor.’ She said it evenly without inflexion.

  As they were driving into the Great Park, she said, ‘How did you know? That it was the mother, I mean?’

  Ulrika shrugged. ‘In the circumstances, she was the most likely victim.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘She was alone with her daughter. I would not have given much for her chances.’ Ulrika stopped the car outside Fletcher’s Cottage. Tommy Bingham was at the door. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I didn’t see it like that,’ said Charmian, rather sourly. ‘And we don’t know yet what has happened.’ She felt muddled and confused.

  ‘I think we do,’ said Ulrika, getting out and marching forward.

  Tommy came down the path towards them. Even in his agitation his good manners did not desert him. ‘Miss Daniels, Dr Seeley, I am so glad you are here. Thank you for coming so quickly.’

  ‘Where is she? Show us, will you, please?’

  ‘I left Brian there with his wife. He telephoned to you and to Alexandria Road while I stayed with her. And the doctor, and he’s on his way.’

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ said Ulrika. ‘I too am a doctor.’

  Tommy motioned them to the sitting-room, in here.’ He opened the door.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Charmian. ‘Where did you find Mrs Gaynor?’

  ‘In a coppice in the Park, partly hidden. Fred saw her feet and found her lying there.’

  ‘And you moved her?’

  ‘We couldn’t leave her there,’ said Tommy simply. ‘We all three of us carried her in.’ He hadn’t been physically strong enough to be much help himself, but he had held her limp hand, and pushed back the scratching branches from her face.

  Brian Gaynor was sitting on the sofa with his wife’s head in his lap. He was stroking the bloodstained fair hair. ‘Did you expect me to leave my wife out there in the rain and the mud?’ he said.

  But there was not as much blood as Charmian had expected. Annabel’s jeans and shirt, although muddy and grass-stained were not torn or red with blood.

  Ulrika knelt by Annabel and felt her pulse. ‘She’s not dead.’ She looked up. Tommy answered:

  ‘I told Brian that, but he wouldn’t believe me.’

  The killer was interrupted, thought Charmian, before the job could be finished off. Or else Annabel had put up a fight.

  She could see Annabel’s left hand which was dangling towards the floor. Several beautiful nails were broken, and the back of the hands scratched. Yes, Annabel had fought her attacker.

  They heard the sound of a car stopping, a door banging. Tommy went out and then they heard his voice greeting his own doctor. Brisk footsteps in the hall and Tommy’s voice talking again, with a strange man’s voice interrupting. ‘Let me get in there, Tommy, and take a look for myself,’ they heard him say. Then more cars, the police had arrived.

  Ulrika sat back on her heels. I don’t know. It’s some time since I did general medicine, but I would say the blow on the head is relatively unimporta
nt. But she is in a state of deep shock.’

  ‘Is she going to die?’ said Brian Gaynor. He seemed in shock himself.

  ‘Hospital is indicated.’

  ‘No chance of questioning her?’ asked Charmian.

  ‘Judge for yourself.’ Ulrika stood up as first the doctor, accompanied by Tommy, and then three policemen, one of them Wimpey, came into the room. Dr Killick at once gently pushed Brian aside and began to examine Annabel. Charmian addressed herself to Brian Gaynor. ‘We have to find out what has happened to your wife.’

  ‘All I know is that I came home and found Tommy asleep and Annabel and Joanna gone.’

  Charmian looked round the room. ‘And where is Joanna now?’

  Dr Killick was concluding his examination, speedily and neatly accomplished and accompanied by a soft mutter of comment to Ulrika, the only person present whom he seemed to recognise as worthy of comment. She nodded and he went to the telephone where he could be heard speaking to the hospital and ordering an ambulance. Yes, he would be coming with his patient.

  So will the police, thought Charmian.

  Two of the police officers had disappeared, led by Tommy to where Annabel had been found. He had left Fred on guard. Wimpey remained in the room with them. Charmian realised he was unobtrusively directing his attention at Annabel and Brian Gaynor.

  Tommy came back into the room with the air of one sent away, dismissed. He felt homeless in his own home.

  ‘Where is Joanna?’ Charmian asked again.

  ‘Joanna?’

  ‘Come on, Mr Gaynor,’ said Charmian, in a falsely soft voice, since she felt quite tough. ‘Where is your daughter?’

  Brian Gaynor turned his gaze back to his wife. Annabel had opened her eyes for a moment, but seemed to see nothing, then closed them again. He wanted to get back to her. Until this moment, he had not known how much he loved her. For the time being he could hardly remember the existence of Joanna. Yet she was always there, at the back of his mind, a silent accusing presence. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’

  Tommy had been listening. ‘I think Joanna went out for a look at the stables, she went before I dropped off, I remember.’