‘What do we do?’ Graham Shipley’s voice, little better than a croak, prodded her into action.
‘We must get help. Have you got a mobile phone?’ He shook his head and she stood up saying, ‘I’ll get mine.’ Without stopping to see whether he was following she scrambled back up the bank as fast as she could, slithering on mud, stumbling over stones, dodging brambles and ducking under low branches. At the top, she broke into a run, urged on by the faint possibility that if only expert help could reach Cissie soon enough she could somehow be revived, yet knowing in her heart that there was no hope for her.
She reached the car, made her call, sank into the driver’s seat and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Graham was standing a few feet away, staring into space. She leaned across, opened the passenger door and called his name. ‘We have to wait here until the police arrive,’ she said and without a word, like a man hypnotised, he got in and sat down.
It seemed an eternity before the first police car arrived and when it did it was Melissa who guided the two uniformed officers to the spot where Cissie’s body lay. Graham appeared to have fallen into a trance; when they got back to the car he was still sitting motionless, his breathing harsh and ragged, his eyes closed. ‘This gentleman actually found the body,’ she explained, ‘but he seems to be in deep shock. I think perhaps he should see a doctor.’
One of the officers nodded and said, ‘I’ll mention it. Do you mind staying with him until CID get here?’ He opened the driver’s door, waited while she got in and closed it behind her. At the sound, Graham started and opened his eyes.
‘What happens now?’ he asked in a weak, unsteady voice.
‘We have to wait here for a little while. You found the body so I’m afraid the police will want to ask you a few questions.’
‘Questions?’ The word seemed to frighten him. ‘What questions?’
‘About how you came to find her, and what you did after that. Don’t worry,’ she went on reassuringly, ‘I’m pretty sure they won’t press you for a full statement until you’ve calmed down a bit.’
‘Statement?’ He looked aghast. ‘What statement? I found her there … I ran to get help … I didn’t know which way …’ His voice tailed off and he buried his face in his hands. ‘I never touched her,’ he muttered as if to himself, ‘I swear before God I never touched her, never touched her, never …’
His voice had taken on a mechanical note, as if he was reciting something he had learned by heart. Melissa gave his arm a gentle shake. ‘What are you saying?’ she asked. ‘If you didn’t touch her, who pulled her out of the water?’
He shook his head and his eyes were full of tears. ‘I never touched her,’ he repeated. His voice was dull, flat, full of despair.
A siren wailed in the distance, drawing rapidly closer. The next moment, the quiet little backwater was swarming with more police, some in uniform, some in plain clothes. They disappeared into the wood carrying equipment which she knew from experience would include a tent to erect over the body to protect it from the rain which had already begun falling, gently at first but soon drumming on the car roof and blurring the windscreen. An ambulance arrived; the crew jumped out and followed the police.
‘What can they do?’ Graham mumbled. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘It’s routine. They won’t move her until a doctor arrives.’ He fell silent again, his head half-turned away as if to conceal his emotion.
Two figures in plain clothes approached. With some relief, Melissa recognised Detective Sergeant Waters and DC Savage. Matt Waters was an old friend; Audrey Savage she had met a couple of times before and knew her to be both sensitive and practical. Matt, too, could be relied on not to put undue pressure on a witness who was obviously traumatised by his gruesome discovery. They climbed into the back of the car and she introduced them to Graham Shipley as ‘My new next-door neighbour who’s renting Elder Cottage.’
‘I understand it was you who found the body, sir,’ said Matt.
‘I never touched her—’ Graham began, but the sergeant went on without giving him time to finish.
‘If you don’t mind coming with me to my car while I ask you a few questions, DC Savage will stay here and talk to Mrs Craig. Don’t worry,’ he said kindly, ‘I can see that you’re feeling pretty shocked and this won’t take long. You can give us a full statement when you’re feeling better.’
Without another word, Graham got out of the car and stood passively, oblivious to the pouring rain, until Matt, after conferring briefly in a low voice with his colleague, took him by the arm and led him away. Audrey climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.
‘So, tell me exactly what happened?’
‘I got stuck behind the bus and I decided to wait here a couple of minutes rather than crawl up the hill breathing in its exhaust,’ Melissa began. ‘I saw Graham come crashing out of the wood as though the Furies were after him.’ Briefly, she described what followed; when she came to the point where she recognised Cissie’s body her voice cracked as the full implications of the tragedy overwhelmed her. ‘She was only just sixteen … such a lovely kid … and Jean—her mother—simply doted on her. I don’t know how she’ll cope … she’s got no other family … Cissie was her whole life—’
‘Take your time.’ Audrey’s quiet voice had a calming effect. Melissa brushed a hand across her eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments.
‘There isn’t much more to tell,’ she said when she was composed again. ‘I ran back to the car and called the police on my mobile, and we just waited until they arrived.’
‘You didn’t touch the body, or see Shipley touch it?’
‘I felt for a pulse, that’s all, while Graham stood watching. I didn’t look back while I was running to the car, but he was only seconds behind me and I’ve no reason to think he interfered with it in any way. In fact, he keeps on repeating, “I never touched her”—over and over again.’
‘Yes, I heard him say that. I take it you waited together in the car?’
‘Yes. As you saw for yourself, he’s obviously in deep shock.’
‘You said he’s your new neighbour, so you can’t have known him long?’
‘Just a few days. He seems a pretty solitary sort of man and he doesn’t welcome what one might call “neighbourly advances”.’
‘D’you know what he does for a living?’
‘He’s a teacher. From what little I’ve seen of him, I think he gets on better with kids than adults.’
‘When he said, “I never touched her”, have you any idea what he meant?’
‘I assumed he meant he found her like that—’ Melissa broke off, frowning, casting around for alternative explanations. The obvious one raised potentially ominous questions.
‘If that’s the case, someone else pulled her out of the water, saw that she was dead and left her there without reporting it,’ Audrey said thoughtfully, echoing Melissa’s thoughts. ‘We’ll have to see what Graham’s got to say. In the meantime, can you remember seeing anyone else while you were waiting for the bus to go, or after it left?’
‘About half a dozen people got off. As far as I know, they all live in Lower Benbury—anyway, they all headed in that direction. And while I was waiting I was chatting to Alice Hamley—our rector’s wife—who was driving that way as well.’
Audrey made a note of the name. ‘I’ll have a word with her, just in case she noticed anyone after she left you. By the way, where does that track go—the one leading to the spot where you saw the body?’
‘It’s a public right of way that follows the brook for a couple of miles and then links up with other footpaths, one leading to Carston and the other to Stowbridge.’
‘It looks quite wide and well used. Does anyone live along there?’
‘Old Tommy Judd. He’s a widower, an ex-employee of Benbury Park Estates. He’s got a cottage about half a mile along the track. It’s a dreadful old hovel really, but he’s lived there so long I don’t think
he notices it.’
‘We’d better have a word with him. He might have seen something.’ Audrey wrote in her notebook, closed it and tucked it into her pocket. ‘Well, thanks Melissa.’ She got out of the car, then popped her head back in and said, ‘I see Matt Waters has finished talking to your neighbour. He’s heading back this way—I daresay he’d appreciate a lift home.’ Melissa nodded resignedly. ‘All right, leave him to me. Look, I’m sure Jean Wilcox has friends and neighbours who’ll look after her, but if she needs someone to go with her to identify the body and there’s no one else …’
Audrey gave a grateful nod. ‘Thanks, I’ll tell her.’
Seven
By the time they got back the rain had almost stopped and a watery sun was breaking through. Melissa parked the Golf outside her garage door and said to Graham, ‘You look all in. How about a cup of tea … or maybe a drop of brandy?’
‘I’d appreciate a cup of tea, thank you.’ His voice was still quiet, but it had grown firmer and he had stopped trembling. To her surprise he got out of the car and hurried round to hold open the driver’s door. She stepped out, unlocked the boot and began unloading her shopping.
‘Let me take those,’ he said, reaching out a hand.
‘Thank you.’ He stood patiently holding the packages while she closed the boot and fished in her handbag for her house keys. He followed her indoors and waited while she slipped off her coat, hung it up in the passage and led the way into the kitchen.
‘Just dump it all down there,’ she said, indicating a spot behind the door. ‘There’s nothing breakable; I’ll unpack it later. Your jacket’s damp,’ she went on. ‘Why don’t you take it off and I’ll hang it near the Aga to dry off a bit.’ He hesitated for a moment and then complied.
It was a heavy tweed jacket, of good quality but by no means new. His shirt was clean but had plainly not been ironed. ‘It’s pretty old, but it’s still serviceable,’ he remarked as he handed over the jacket and smoothed the front of the shirt with his hands, as if he could read her thoughts.
It was a relief to hear him speaking more openly. In their previous encounters he had shown every sign of wanting to keep her at arm’s length. She recalled how she had mentally likened him to a timid animal and the comparison still seemed appropriate, only now he was beginning to gain the confidence to allow himself to be approached. Perhaps the dreadful experience they had so recently shared had in some way encouraged him to trust her.
She filled a kettle, put it to boil and took a teapot from a cupboard. ‘Do sit down,’ she said and for the second time he did as she suggested, this time without hesitation. He watched without speaking as she made the tea and poured it out, following her every move with close attention as if it was something he was seeing for the first time. She put two cups of tea on the table together with a bowl of sugar and an open tin of biscuits, and then sat down opposite him.
The silence was becoming oppressive and she was casting around in her mind for something suitable to say when he suddenly asked, ‘Who was she?’
‘You mean the dead girl?’
‘Yes.’
‘Her name’s Cissie Wilcox. She lives—lived—in Lower Benbury. I hate to think what her mother’s going through,’ Melissa went on, biting her lip. ‘Jean’s a single parent with no other family that I know of.’
‘I’m so very sorry. It’s a dreadful thing to have happened.’
‘Terrible.’ She thought for a moment, then asked, ‘How did you come to be there?’
The question seemed to trouble him and it was some time before he answered. When he did, he spoke very slowly between mouthfuls of tea as if his memory was uncertain and he was trying to be sure of getting it right. ‘I was out for a walk. I’d been into Stowbridge this morning and bought a bird book and the man in the shop was a keen birder. We got talking and when I mentioned where I lived he said that stretch of water was a good place to see kingfishers.’ He put his free hand to his brow. ‘Oh God, if only I hadn’t …’ he began, then broke off, set down his cup, snatched his spectacles from his nose and began furiously polishing them with a handkerchief.
‘If only you hadn’t what?’ Melissa asked cautiously. He shook his head, put the glasses back on, blew his nose and returned the handkerchief to his pocket.
‘Nothing,’ he said, and then after another long pause, ‘I suppose someone had to find her.’
Seeing how much calmer and more rational he seemed, Melissa ventured to raise the question that had been troubling her during the drive home. ‘Graham,’ she said quietly, ‘you said you never touched her, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it couldn’t have been you who pulled her out of the water, could it?’
He stared down into his empty teacup. ‘No, it wasn’t. I told the policeman, but I don’t know if he believed me.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
‘He might think I had something to do with her death.’
‘But why? I don’t understand—’ she began.
‘No, of course you don’t.’ His mouth compressed and for a moment she thought he was going to break down, but with an effort he steadied himself and said, ‘Could I have some more tea, please?’
‘Of course, but are you sure you wouldn’t like something stronger?’
He shook his head; she poured out the tea and he drained his cup a second time before saying in a voice full of quiet despair, ‘I came here to make a fresh start, you see.’
‘You’ve had some trouble?’
‘My marriage fell apart and I’m not … I don’t see my daughter any more. I thought, if I moved somewhere far away, I could forget what happened and start again. And now this—’
‘Oh, poor you!’ It was, Melissa thought, a pretty feeble expression of sympathy, but it seemed that no words could express the sorrow and indignation she felt on his behalf at such a cruel trick of fate. ‘How old is your daughter?’
‘Thirteen. She’s very clever … and tall for her age. You could take her for fourteen or fifteen,’ he added, paternal pride and distress struggling for the upper hand.
And Cissie Wilcox was barely sixteen and small for her age, Melissa thought with compassion. Anyone finding her body would have felt a sense of shock, but to someone in Graham’s situation it must have been especially poignant. She was casting around for something comforting to say when he stood up and said, ‘Thank you very much for the tea, Mrs Craig—’
‘Oh please, call me Melissa.’
‘Thank you, Melissa. I’ll be going now, you must have other things to do.’
‘Not especially, if you’d like to stay and chat a little longer.’ He shook his head and she took down his jacket and handed it to him, saying, ‘It’s still a bit damp, but at least it feels warm.’ He gave a vague nod, but made no comment as he put it on. ‘By the way,’ she went on, ‘have you ordered a Sunday paper?’
‘Yes, The Independent. Why do you ask?’
‘I’ll be going into the village in the morning to pick mine up. I could bring yours if you like.’
‘That’s kind.’
‘We could take it in turns to fetch our daily papers,’ she suggested. ‘That’s what Iris and I used to do.’
Again, he nodded without replying. He was already edging past her on his way to the front door; his manner had become formal and distant, but the unnatural brightness of his eyes betrayed the pain he was suffering. The thought of him going back to an empty house and eating a solitary meal—or possibly, not eating at all—prompted her to say, ‘I’ll have to think about some supper presently. Would you care to—?’
‘I have plenty of food in the house,’ he interposed hurriedly, ‘and I’m used to looking after myself. Thank you all the same,’ he added as if aware that his response had been less than gracious.
From her own point of view Melissa felt relieved at his refusal. Mention of Iris had brought home to her just how much she missed her friend, how good it would have been to unwind in her company aft
er the stress of the afternoon. There would have been little opportunity for relaxation with Graham; a quiet evening on her own with a book would be far more therapeutic. He’s not your problem, but at least you made the offer, she told herself as she closed the door behind him and began unpacking her shopping.
She cooked a light supper, but her appetite was poor; haunted by the memory of Cissie’s pathetic little drowned body she pushed the food around her plate and ended by throwing half of it away. She took a cup of coffee into the sitting room and tried to settle down with her many times reread copy of Emma, but found it impossible to drive the tragedy from her mind. When at about eight o’clock the telephone rang she picked it up with a sense of foreboding.
‘Hullo,’ she said cautiously.
‘Hi Mel, Bruce Ingram here.’
The sound of his cheery voice was like the touch of a soothing hand. ‘Bruce, how nice to hear from you! Are you still on duty?’ Besides being a friend of several years’ standing, Bruce was the Gloucestershire Gazette’s ace reporter.
‘No, what makes you think that?’
‘You mean, you aren’t calling about the accident?’
‘What accident?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Not a thing. Penny and I have been out all day with Kirsty.’ Bruce had recently acquired not only a wife, but an adorable baby step-daughter as well. ‘What’s happened?’
Murder at Benbury Brook: An absolutely gripping English cozy mystery (A Melissa Craig Mystery Book 9) Page 5