‘Was Mrs Gaynor still with you in the house then?’
‘Yes, she was here. She must have gone off after Joanna. Looking for her, I suppose.’
‘She may have found her.’
Brian Gaynor spoke sharply: ‘Joanna didn’t do this.’
‘Someone did, Mr Gaynor.’
‘I don’t think I like this conversation very much,’ he said. ‘I am not going to continue it.’ Shock had pierced his self-control and loosened his tongue. He knew he would say something he regretted if they went on. Tell your wife, Mrs Justice Anstruther, had said, she hadn’t said tell the world.
But no doubt she had had it in mind. There were, after all, some things that didn’t stay quiet. And who knew that better than a barrister? And now he was awash in events that were about to sweep all control of the situation out of his power.
He went over to Annabel, took her hand, and spoke to her, although she showed no sign of hearing him. ‘ We’re going to look for Joanna, we’ve got to find her.’ It was necessary to find Joanna. He didn’t say to lay his hands on her, although he both wished he could do that and yet vowed never to do it again.
‘Do you think the girl has been attacked by whoever attacked Annabel,’ whispered Tommy Bingham to Charmian. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it? Perhaps Annabel was defending her.’
So he too had noticed Annabel’s torn hands, thought Charmian.
‘Do you suppose the girl has been abducted? That’s bad, isn’t it?’
‘I have no idea, Mr Bingham,’ said Charmian.
‘Call me Tommy,’ he said mechanically. She was Humphrey Kent’s girl, one must be friendly.
Dr Killick came over. ‘There’s the ambulance now.’
They watched as Annabel was lifted into the ambulance and driven away with the doctor and her husband.
Before he climbed into the ambulance, Brian Gaynor said, ‘Find Joanna. I don’t know what’s happened, but find her.’
‘We’ll be trying.’
Wimpey said, ‘I hope he knows what we might find.’
Charmian said slowly, ‘I think he knows something we don’t know. We’ve missed a bit of the picture, a fact, a fiction, or an emotion. There’s a hole. He’s hiding something.’
Ulrika said, ‘I told you right at the beginning that the trouble was in the family, and the father is the obvious source.’
‘I don’t see that,’ said Wimpey.
‘He is an object of love and attraction to both mother and daughter.’
Wimpey frowned.
‘And possibly to other people as well,’ she went on.
‘What does that mean?’ said Charmian.
‘I think he ought to be questioned.’
‘I was going to do that, anyway.’
‘He has something to say.’
‘Good,’ said Wimpey ironically.
‘But he may not be willing to say it.’
‘Are you saying he has a guilty conscience?’ asked Charmian.
‘About the girl? I think so, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Charmian. She introduced Wimpey and Ulrika. ‘Dr Seeley.’
‘We’ve met before,’ said Wimpey. He gave Ulrika a cool nod. ‘I know some of your clients. We have shared a common workload in some young delinquents that the courts didn’t know what to do with.’
‘Old sparring partners,’ Ulrika was deliberately light. She knew Wimpey did not like her and had not enjoyed working with her. Also, he violently rejected her way of thinking.
‘Well, I didn’t always think them as lovable and innocent as you did.’
‘Not lovable,’ said Ulrika firmly. ‘Not that. I never said lovable. Horribly unattractive in most cases.’
‘And was that the trouble?’ asked Charmian, interested in spite of herself.
‘Oh no, just born to evil in most cases,’ said Ulrika. ‘Inherited it mostly. Not a chance in the world.’
‘But you try?’
‘It’s my job,’ said Ulrika.
‘But not hopefully?’
Ulrika shrugged.
‘Is that how you see Joanna?’
‘I cannot answer that yet.’
A uniformed constable appeared at the door and beckoned to Wimpey.
‘They’ve found something.’ He led the way out. ‘In the area where Mrs Gaynor was found. Signs of a struggle there. The lady must have put up a fight. But you’d better see for yourself, sir.’ He gave Charmian a sideways look. ‘Ma’am,’ he added politely, remembering who she was and whom she knew. Her reputation had gone before her.
He led the way through the stable-yard and out through a white painted wicket-gate into the Great Park, then along a bridle-path between trees. In the distance a uniformed policeman stood talking to Fred.
The path was of hard beaten-down earth, marked with hoof-prints as if there was a constant traffic of horses from the stable and out into the Park. Even the recent heavy rain had not done more than make the path muddy, but here and there were great puddles through which first Fred and then Brian and Tommy carrying Annabel had trodden. The police had tried to avoid the tracks already made, stepping carefully onto the grass surrounds. They were anxious to avoid disturbing any evidence that might be left. But, as the constable now talking to Fred was just saying, unless you had wings, you could hardly avoid doing some damage. He was rather conscious of the mud on his own boots, messy testimony to the fact that he had tried and failed.
The path divided, one fork taking a sharp left-hand turn and the other dwindling away into a narrow path between the trees. It was here, in a thicket, where the bushes and undergrowth made a kind of natural hideaway, that Annabel had been found.
The constable stood aside and Wimpey pushed his way in. ‘I’m in charge,’ he said. ‘Chief Inspector Merry will be over later.’ This was not quite the case, the Chief Inspector was not going to leave the dinner which he was giving at home unless assured the attack on Annabel Gaynor related to the string of murders. At the moment, this was something no one knew.
You could guess, and Wimpey was guessing it was so, but he had to have more than that to bring out Bert Merry.
He turned to the man who had brought them here. ‘ What is it that you’ve got?’
‘Mrs Gaynor was found here.’
Fred nodded. ‘ By me. I found her. The boss sent me out to look. I saw a foot sticking out from the bushes. She was in here, lying on her face. She had blood on her head and her hair looked as if she’d been hit with something like a bit of tree.’
‘And we think we’ve found the weapon.’ The policeman pointed to a small but thick piece of bough, shaped like a natural cudgel. ‘Someone pulled this down and used it to hit her. You can see where it came from that tree,’ he pointed. ‘The wound on the tree is still fresh.’
Wimpey knelt down to study the lump of wood on which blood and hairs were clearly visible. ‘That’s it, then. We’ll have to get the forensics to take a look and make sure, but I don’t think there’s any doubt. Might not be any fingerprints, though, not on that bark.’
‘Could be. I’ve known them get them off a piece of toast. Might be other traces, too,’ said Charmian. ‘Skin, blood, other than Annabel Gaynor’s, shreds of clothing.’ She was used to the magic ways of the forensic scientists, producing evidence from what you could not see.
‘Sure. We have to hope so.’
Ulrika asked, ‘May I look?’ She bent down and measured her fingers against the narrow waist of the bit of wood. ‘A small hand probably held this.’
‘Could have,’ said Wimpey cautiously.
‘No, I’d put it stronger than that. He or she stood there clutching it and digging in the fingernails. You can see the marks where the nails went in, and they make it a small hand.’
‘You could be right. They could be nail-marks, but we’ll have to see.’ He produced plastic gloves and a plastic bag into which he slid the branch. ‘So far, good.’
But he still did not have enough to call Chief Inspector M
erry from his brandy and port.
‘And we found this hidden in a tree. A natural hollow with this in it. Come over and look. We left it where it was.’
They had found a small travelling case, a light-weight affair of gaily striped canvas, complete with straps to throw over the shoulder.
Still using his plastic gloves, Wimpey drew it out carefully. ‘I think we’d better take it inside the house. The rain is beginning again. You two stay here.’
Fred took his cue, and gratefully followed Wimpey and the two women back into the house, leaving the two uniformed men in the trees.
Outside, Charmian had kept in the background, letting Wimpey take charge, but now she wanted to study the case.
‘Open it, please,’ she said.
The resourceful Wimpey produced yet another plastic bag, spread it out on the table in the sitting-room and pressed the lock. The bag sprang open.
Inside it was neatly packed with clothes, a pair of jeans, a jersey, several soft cotton shirts, and underclothes. A toilet bag held a toothbrush and some soap.
On top of everything was a model pony, made of wood with a flowing mane of real hair. The paint was wearing off where it had been handled over the years. It was a treasured old toy, that its owner could not bear to leave behind.
‘This case must belong to Joanna Gaynor,’ said Charmian. ‘She had it all packed, ready to be off.’
Wimpey posed the obvious question: ‘And why did she leave it behind?’
‘Who knows?’
Charmian covered her hand with a piece of tissue and slid it carefully into one of the side pockets and drew out a small purse, heavy with coins, and a packet of sanitary towels. She put them both on the table, without comment.
Then she felt in the bigger pocket in the lid and lifted out a blood-stained white T-shirt in which something was wrapped.
Inside, carefully covered with paper tissues was a knife.
Wimpey clicked his fingers. Now he had something with which to summon Chief Inspector Merry from his drinks.
Chapter Thirteen
There was no interviewing Annabel, whom the hospital had put into intensive care, not to mention the protective cordon set up by Brian Gaynor who was beginning to throw off his shock and act like a lawyer again. A policewoman sat by her bed, but no one was allowed to question her.
But the knife was public property for speculation. It was an impersonal, hard fact to digest.
What was it doing in Joanna’s bag? There was a quick, easy answer to that one. She had it because she had used it, and she was hiding it for the same reason.
From this the argument could follow that she had been planning to run away, that Annabel had tried to prevent her and been attacked by her daughter.
There was, of course, another scenario which said that Annabel had attacked her daughter who had defended herself and then run away, leaving behind her case. The reasons for Annabel’s attack, if it had happened, could only be speculated upon while she remained unquestioned, but it might have been connected with Joanna’s obviously planned departure.
Chief Inspector Merry had arrived, smelling of cigar smoke and after-shave, neither customary fragrances with him, together with a team of assistants, and the full force of police activity had now moved from the Gaynors’ house to Fletcher’s Cottage. It had ceased to be Tommy Bingham’s home and become the scene of a crime.
Merry had put his head round the door. ‘Talk to you later,’ he had said to Wimpey. Then remembering his manners, ‘If you don’t mind waiting, Miss Daniels?’ He had taken in the person of Ulrika Seeley, whom he knew, without pleasure. He had familiarised himself with her reason for being there, Merry always did his homework, but he found her an alien presence and would get rid of her as soon as he could. Charmian, of course, was another matter. No getting rid of her.
Tommy himself withdrew to a small, inner sanctum where he did his accounts and kept the stable papers. He was probably regretting having invited the Gaynors to stay.
‘I’m sloping off,’ he said to Charmian. ‘ Give me a call if you want me. I suppose you’re staying around?’
‘I intend to.’
‘Make yourself some coffee. You’ll find everything there. Lesley keeps an eye on things for me. Gets things in. You know her, don’t you?’
Charmian nodded. ‘Neighbours. I knew she worked with your ponies.’
‘More of a kind of housekeeper these days. Runs me a bit.’ He sounded not sure if he liked this. ‘Best of motives, of course. Anyway, help yourself to the coffee. Whisky in the cupboard. But I don’t suppose you’ll drink that on the job.’ He seemed to have an idealised view of coppers, Charmian thought. She knew plenty who would.
Presently, from the kitchen window where she was sitting with Wimpey and Ulrika Seeley, Charmian saw her neighbours, headed by Johnny and Lesley, arrive as if they had swarmed in to protect their boss. They must love the man very much, she thought, and wondered if the Sunday lunch party with polo to follow would go ahead. Since Humphrey was a guest, she imagined it would. Things he wanted to happen had a way of doing so.
In a corner of the kitchen on a stand of its own was an Italian coffee machine, which both ground the bean, then delivered the drink. Charmian put in water, pressed a button and stood back. A row of bone china mugs with the initial B painted on them in gold, hung by the coffee machine, flanked by a tin of beans from Fortnum and Mason. A tin of chocolate Bath Olivers was underneath. Everything was polished and the spoons were silver. It was a bachelor’s house with everything laid out for the owner’s comfort. Tommy was a rich man, of course. A polo string was not run on nothing a year.
‘I don’t think Tommy would mind us having a chocolate biscuit, do you?’ She got down the tin and put it on the table with their coffee.
Merry reappeared. ‘Oh coffee, good. I think I need some. Not sure I’m as sober as I ought to be.’ He was not a drinker, but liked his wine.
He seemed more cheerful. ‘Well, I’ve had a look at the hideaway and it’s certainly where the attack took place.’ He took a chocolate biscuit. ‘ We’ll soon pick up the girl.’
‘Do you think so?’ Ulrika sounded doubtful. ‘I hope so.’
‘Be surprised if we don’t.’ Merry did not like Ulrika whom he regarded as a kind of witch doctor, dealing in spells and incantations which he did not understand. ‘ I don’t agree with you though, that the girl did the killings. I don’t go along with that. No kid did them.’
‘I have never actually claimed that,’ observed Ulrika mildly.
‘It’s in the air, though.’
‘What about the knife?’ Charmian asked.
It lay on the table between them.
‘This is my first look at it.’ Merry did not touch it. ‘Good old kitchen knife, isn’t it? Sure it’s got blood on it?’
‘Not sure of anything.’
‘It looks like blood on the T-shirt.’ Wimpey had kept silent until then.
Tommy Bingham put his head round the door. ‘Just had a’phone call from the hospital. Mrs Gaynor has been X-rayed and so on. She has a contusion of the skull with lacerations – that was the message – and is coming out of the shock.’
Merry thanked him for the information.
‘Any news of Joanna?’ asked Tommy anxiously.
‘She’s probably still in the Park; we’ll pick her up in the morning.’
Charmian turned to Tommy. ‘Are all the gates locked at night?’
‘It’s not quite night yet, is it?’ Tommy looked out of the window. He saw that night was coming on fast, but there was still light in the sky. ‘But no, most gates are locked but the Bishopsgate entrance is always open. You can get out that way.’
‘But she’d be seen going through?’
Tommy shook his head. ‘ Doubt it. Be lucky if she was. Not usually anyone around.’
‘I wonder about the railway stations?’
‘Quite a walk, both of them. Could be done if she knew the way.’
‘Are the
re signposts?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would she take a horse?’
‘No, she’d never do that. She respects horses too much.’
‘Have you checked?’ The question came out sharply, more sharply than she had intended.
Without a word, Tommy got up and left the room. Very soon, Charmian saw Lesley go running across the stable-yard. Then he came back to stand by the door, waiting.
Presently Lesley hurried into the room. ‘ Hoplite’s gone.’
‘So much for that,’ said Tommy. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Lesley put a hand lightly, protectively on his shoulder, then removed it.
‘You get back to the stables now, Lesley. Have a word with Fred. See what he knows. Not much, I don’t suppose,’ Tommy added thoughtfully as the girl disappeared. He knew his Fred.
‘We’d better get in touch with the local railway station,’ said Charmian.
‘Why?’
‘She can’t ride a pony all the way to London.’
‘She could have a damn good try,’ said Tommy, without pleasure. ‘And why London?’
Charmian shrugged. London was the place to hide in. It was where she would go herself if on the run.
‘Yes, I agree about London,’ said Ulrika. ‘It is the place a girl of her age would think of, it is possible she has heard of somewhere there where she can stay. Word of mouth. Teen-age culture works that way. London, I think.’
‘And so do I.’ Merry stood up, his good humour gone. ‘ I’ll see about the local railway station. Better try Ascot as well, although it’s more of a ride.’ He disappeared.
In a short time he was back, looking annoyed. ‘One railway station has no one in the ticket office because of shortage of staff. Passengers are buying tickets on the train. The next nearest station says it had two hundred young Italian tourists pouring through and couldn’t tell one kid from another. She could have been there. And the third station claims to have seen no girl in jeans or any girl at all. In fact, they haven’t seen anything. Professional non-witnesses to a man.’
‘That’s probably the station she used,’ said Wimpey.
‘If she used any station at all.’ Merry sat down heavily. He was a big man and in this hot weather he suffered from his weight. ‘I’ll feel happier when we find her. Not that I necessarily go along with you lot in thinking she attacked her mother. Nor had anything to do with the killings. We’ve had three murders of a particularly nasty type: two adult women and one girl, and I don’t see the kid doing them. It’s a man, a Ripper-style serial killer, and I expect we’ll be surprised when we see his face. Probably an ordinary looking bloke whose mates think he wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Not the kid. In my book she’s as likely to be a victim.’ For him it was a long speech, but the presence of Ulrika Seeley and Charmian Daniels in one room dragged it out of him. ‘ I had to say it,’ he reported later to his wife. ‘I owed it to myself.’
A Cure for Dying Page 16