Twenty-Five
Tommy Judd’s bed was in a cubicle off a corridor in the intensive therapy unit. At first, Melissa hardly recognised him; his hair had been neatly trimmed, his face—which habitually sported two or three days’ growth of stubble—had been freshly shaved and his hands, lying still and relaxed on top of the covers, had an almost manicured appearance. His colour was healthy, the monitor at his side showed a steady pulse and, apart from the drip attached to one arm, the swollen lip and the fading bruise on the side of his face, he showed little sign of his ordeal.
A young man was sitting in a chair beside the bed and when Melissa appeared he got up and approached her with a smile, saying, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Craig. Remember me? DC Bob Danville—we met in the Grey Goose a few days ago.’
‘So we did. I take it you’re here to question Mr Judd when he wakes up?’
‘He’s awake, has been since six o’clock this morning so they say. I’ve been here since midday, trying to get him to talk.’
‘Has he said anything at all?’
The constable gave a rueful grin. ‘Only to repeat that he hurt himself falling over, which according to the medics is totally inconsistent with his injuries.’
‘It’s inconsistent with what he said when I found him,’ said Melissa. ‘He quite definitely said he’d been kicked and beaten.’
‘Well, that’s his story now and he’s sticking to it. He’s had plenty to say about the people who brought him here, though. Been telling everyone in no uncertain terms that he wants to go home. Let’s go outside a minute,’ Danville added with a glance over his shoulder. They moved out of earshot and he pulled out his notebook. ‘Before he came round properly he was heard mumbling to himself. Half of it was unintelligible, but he did say something that sounded like “yellow shoe in the lane”, and then, “spotted it too late”. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Yes, I think it does,’ said Melissa eagerly. ‘Cissie Wilcox was wearing yellow shoes the day she died, and one of them had come off. It wasn’t in the lane, though—it was lying beside her body when she was found. ‘Spotted it too late’,’ she mused. ‘I wonder what he meant by that. Have you asked him?’
Danville shook his head. ‘Never thought to—it didn’t seem to be relevant.’
‘I take it you haven’t been working on the Cissie Wilcox case?’
‘I was on leave when it happened. I know a bit about it, of course. Do you think there might be a connection with the attack on old Judd?’
‘It occurred to me once that there might be, but …’ Melissa closed her eyes for a moment, trying to re-enact in her memory the rapid sequence of events from the moment she first saw a distraught Graham Shipley at the scene of the tragedy. The spot where Cissie’s body lay was a good fifty yards from the lane at the bottom of a steep bank and, so far as she could remember, completely out of sight from both the lane and the track leading to Brookside Cottage. How could Tommy Judd, in the normal course of events, have seen Cissie’s shoe? Unless it had been lying somewhere else, somewhere visible from the path he normally took—which would indicate that someone had moved it. And then another possibility occurred to her, one that at first thought seemed so far-fetched as to be unthinkable and yet, if it were true, could explain almost everything. She opened her eyes and found Danville regarding her with a puzzled expression.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine, I was thinking. Look, could you leave me alone with him for a minute or two? There’s something I’d like to ask him—nothing to do with the attack on him. It’d be a waste of time trying to get him to talk about that.’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll go and find myself a cup of tea.’
Melissa approached the bed and pulled up the chair the detective had been sitting on. ‘Hullo, Mr Judd, how are you feeling?’ she asked.
The old man’s eyes half-opened. ‘Who’re you?’ he mumbled, peering vaguely in her direction. He appeared to have difficulty in focusing.
‘I’m Mrs Craig. I’ve come to see how you are. Everyone in the village has been very worried about you.’
At the sound of her name, his eyes opened fully and he glared at her. ‘I told you to keep quiet!’ he said and his voice, though weak, held an angry rasp. ‘Why d’you have to interfere? I’d have been all right …’
‘It wasn’t me who called the ambulance, it was Nurse Simonds. You were in a bad way when she found you and you’d have been dead by now if she hadn’t got you to hospital.’
His jaw set in a stubborn line. ‘I’m not saying nothing,’ he insisted. ‘I told that interfering young copper I weren’t saying nothing.’
‘You’re talking about … your fall?’ Just in time, Melissa checked herself from saying ‘the attack.’
‘Kept on about someone beating me up. Told him it were a load of rubbish. Fell down the stairs, that’s all.’
‘That’s all right. I just wanted you to answer one question about something else.’ On learning that she was not going to press him on the cause of his injuries, he appeared to relax and even showed a mild interest. ‘What’s that then?’ he asked.
‘You remember the day Cissie Wilcox fell in the brook and drowned?’
‘What of it?’ At the mention of Cissie’s name, his expression became once more wary and suspicious.
Convinced that she was on the verge of a breakthrough, Melissa had some difficulty in keeping her voice calm and casual as she put her question. From the way his hands clenched, she knew she had scored yet another bulls-eye.
‘Get out of here. You’re talking crap!’ he snarled.
‘All right, I’m going now,’ she said soothingly. ‘I hope you’ll soon be better.’
He gave a surly grunt and closed his eyes. A glance at the monitor showed an increase in the pulse rate and she hastily got up and went outside. A nurse hovering nearby came over. ‘He’s getting a little excited. I hope I haven’t tired him,’ she said.
The nurse nodded knowingly. ‘It doesn’t take much to get him going,’ she said as she went to the bedside. ‘He’s doing okay, though.’
‘That’s good.’
Melissa found DC Danville alone in the day room, clutching a polystyrene cup of tea and watching a football match on the television in the company of a somnolent gentleman in a wheelchair. ‘Any joy?’ he asked.
‘Plenty. Can you get an urgent message to DS Waters for me?’
‘No problem.’
She sat down, scribbled a few lines on a sheet torn from the notebook she invariably carried with her, and handed it to him. He glanced at it and whistled. ‘Are you sure about this? Did he admit it?’
‘Only by looking guilty and ordering me out, but I’m positive I’m on the right track.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
After a brief visit to a supermarket for a few items that Mrs Foster did not stock, Melissa set off for home with a sense of achievement, at the same time conscious that her nerves had been stretched to somewhere near their limit by the events of the day. As soon as she got indoors, she told herself, she would unwind with a nice quiet cup of tea.
The weather had steadily deteriorated during the afternoon and by the time she reached home soon after four o’clock sheets of rain were being driven across the Cotswolds by a blustery gale. She stopped the car outside the front door of Hawthorn Cottage and hurried indoors with her shopping; she would put the car in the garage later, when—as promised on the local weather forecast—the rain would ease. She put away her purchases, filled the kettle for the longed-for cup of tea and while waiting for it to boil went to her study to check her answering machine.
There were two messages, the first from Bruce. ‘I’ve just heard from a contact in the ambulance service that they picked up an attempted suicide from your village,’ he said. ‘I was wondering whether there’s any tie-in with your case. Give me a bell when you’ve got a moment.’
‘Not now I won’t,’ she muttered as she noted the call on her pad. �
��There’s no way I’m going to go over that lot again just yet.’
The second message, from the Reverend John Hamley, was more disturbing. ‘Melissa, I’m sorry to trouble you,’ he apologised. ‘I have Becky Tanner here and the poor child is in very great distress. She’s run away from home because she claims her father will, to use her words, “half-kill her when he finds out”. Knowing that you see her regularly for her French lessons, Alice and I are wondering whether you might have some idea what it’s about.’
So much for my peaceful afternoon, Melissa thought as, having called back to check that Becky was still taking refuge with the Hamleys, she went downstairs, switched off the kettle, put on her coat, collected her keys, turned the car round and set off for the rectory.
‘It’s so good of you to turn out in this awful weather,’ said Alice as she opened the door. ‘Becky’s in the playroom with the children and she seems a lot calmer, but we’re really very concerned about her. Go in the study for a moment and talk to John while I make a cup of tea.’
‘I do apologise for troubling you,’ the rector repeated as he offered Melissa a chair in his cosy, book-lined den. ‘We feel Becky’s father should know where she is and that she’s safe, but every time I suggest speaking to him she becomes almost hysterical.’
‘Hasn’t she given you any idea at all what it’s about?’
‘Not the slightest. All she would say is what I told you on the phone—she daren’t go home because she’s terrified her father will get violent. We can’t understand it—we know he’s an irascible sort, but Becky’s always been the apple of his eye and it seems unthinkable that he’d hurt her.’
‘It depends on how much he’s found out about what she gets up to behind his back,’ said Melissa drily.
The rector gave her a searching glance. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I’ve thought for a long time that Becky is—potentially at least—sexually active, and I know for a fact that she’s attracted to older men, partly because she once told me so and partly because I’ve actually seen her flaunting her charms at Graham Shipley. I expect you heard about what happened this morning, by the way?’
‘Yes, Sam Rogers told me. I understand that he’s out of danger.’
‘That’s right. I saw him this afternoon and he’s had some good news about his daughter so he’s more cheerful than I’ve seen him since he came to the village.’
‘Excellent. Now, about Becky—you were saying?’
‘I’m convinced she’s in serious moral danger. I actually saw her yesterday, coming out of a bank in Stowbridge looking very pleased with herself.’
At this point Alice entered with a tray. While she poured tea and offered biscuits, she and her husband listened in a shocked silence as Melissa explained her anxiety over an apparent association between Becky Tanner and Gideon Lane. ‘I had absolutely no idea of all this,’ John exclaimed when she had finished. ‘Do you suppose Mr Lane’s sisters are aware of what went on at Warefield?’
‘Oh, I’m perfectly certain they are, and so far they have been protecting him.’
‘Perhaps they suspect him of having bad intentions towards Becky and threatened to have a word with her father,’ Alice suggested. ‘But surely, knowing Jake, he’d be more likely to go storming round to have it out with their brother than take it out on Becky.’
‘Unless there was some reason for him to be equally angry with her,’ said John, frowning. ‘What do you think, Melissa?’
Melissa gave a start, realising that she had completely missed the last remark. Her mind had been racing off at a tangent as one more piece of the puzzle seemed to be falling into place. ‘I’m sorry?’ she said in embarrassment.
‘I was thinking that perhaps, in the light of what you were saying a moment ago, Becky isn’t entirely innocent of blame. Perhaps that’s why she refuses to say anything.’
‘Well, she can’t stay here indefinitely,’ said Alice as she inspected the contents of the teapot. ‘Would anyone like a refill?’
Melissa shook her head. ‘Not for me, thank you, that was lovely.’ She got to her feet and the others did the same. ‘Shall I have a word with her now?’
‘We’d be very grateful,’ said John. ‘If she continues to refuse to go home, I shall have to contact the social services.’
‘Knowing Becky, she’d probably prefer to face her father’s wrath than be taken into care,’ said Melissa.
‘I’ll go and get her. You can talk to her in here.’
It was obvious when the rector returned with the runaway that she had not expected to see Melissa. A startled look crossed her face and she glanced nervously from one to the other. ‘I’ll leave you two to have a little chat,’ he said and left them alone. The moment the door closed, the girl burst into tears.
‘Don’t let them send me home to Dad, he’ll kill me!’ she begged through her sobs.
Melissa put an arm round her shoulders, eased her into a chair and sat down beside her. ‘Don’t cry, just tell me all about it,’ she coaxed. She found a clean handkerchief in her pocket and pushed it into Becky’s hand. ‘Was it something that happened after you got out of Mr Lane’s car yesterday?’
Abruptly, Becky stopped crying. ‘How d’you know about that?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You been spying on me?’
‘Of course I haven’t. I just happened to be behind his car in the lane. And I saw you earlier yesterday in Stowbridge,’ Melissa reminded her. ‘Coming out of the bank, remember? I think you had some money to pay in.’
The girl’s expression turned sullen. ‘What if I did?’
‘Did Mr Lane give it to you?’
‘Might have done.’
‘What was it for?’ The girl’s cheeks turned a dull red and she stared at her feet while twisting the soaked handkerchief between her fingers, but she ignored the question. ‘Old men like Mr Lane don’t usually give money to pretty girls without wanting something in return,’ Melissa persisted. ‘What did you do for him?’
‘Nothing much,’ Becky muttered.
‘What does that mean?’ No reply. ‘Look, Becky, I have to tell you something about Mr Lane. He’s been in trouble in the past for indecent assault on young girls. You know what that means, don’t you?’ Becky nodded, her eyes still lowered. ‘Did he want to do anything like that to you?’
‘Just a little. I let him,’ the girl added with a flash of defiance.
‘You let him?’ Melissa felt her stomach turn over. This, she thought in horror, is worse than I thought.
‘Why not?’ Becky gave a little smirk, as if the experience had not been unpleasant. ‘There weren’t no harm—it isn’t as if he wanted to go the whole way.’
‘I see.’ Determined not to betray how shocked she felt, Melissa asked quietly, ‘And I suppose your father knows about it and is very angry with you—is that it?’
Mention of her father produced a startling change in the girl’s demeanour. From being crestfallen and defensive, she flew into a rage. ‘He’d never have found out if it hadn’t been for that interfering old cow Miss Lane coming to the house. Dad were out, but she said, “Don’t you think you’re getting away with your wickedness, my girl. I’ll see him and show him this as soon as he gets back”.’ She primped up her mouth as she gave a typical adolescent girl’s contemptuous impression of an elderly spinster. ‘Bloody dried-up old hag, she meant it, too. That was when I took off.’
Melissa listened in a stunned silence as Becky, her reticence blasted away by fury, blurted out the rest of the story.
Twenty-Six
‘It’s such good news about Mr Shipley being able to see his daughter, isn’t it?’ said Alice Hamley. ‘I’m sure it will make all the difference to him.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ agreed her husband. ‘He has been constantly in my thoughts—I would have visited him myself this evening if young Becky hadn’t turned up on the doorstep begging for sanctuary.’ John Hamley’s face was troubled. ‘I was so shocked when Sam Rogers phoned to tell me
what had happened. The poor chap must have been carrying a far heavier burden than we ever imagined.’
‘It has been pretty ghastly for him,’ Melissa agreed.
‘The shock of finding Cissie’s body must have been dreadful. I tried to have a word with him after morning service the following Sunday, but he slipped away before I had a chance and I had a feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. I really feel I should have given him more support.’
‘You can’t force people to confide in you if they don’t want to, dear,’ said Alice gently. ‘How about you, Melissa? You were with him on that awful day and I know you’ve done your best to scotch the rumours that have been flying about.’
‘He did confide in me quite a lot and I suggested he think about having some counselling, but he didn’t seem very receptive to the idea. Maybe I should have pushed it a bit harder.’ As she spoke Melissa found herself sharing John Hamley’s doubts about the extent of her own support. ‘He had a breakdown some time ago because of the failure of his marriage and there were other problems as well. He was pinning everything on starting a new life in a new environment. Losing the job at St Monica’s on account of his involvement with the police was the last straw.’
The rector nodded. ‘Sam told me about that—it must have been a devastating blow. As you know, Alice and I were away with the children for a few days, but somehow I feel I could have done more for him. I’ll check with the hospital and visit him either there or at home tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you, dear,’ said Alice. ‘Such a nice man, I’ll never believe he did anything to harm Cissie.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ said Melissa with a grateful smile. ‘I was beginning to think I was the only one convinced of his innocence. As a matter of fact. I’ve been ferreting around a little on his behalf and I really think … no, perhaps I’d better not say any more for the moment,’ she finished, aware of two pairs of interested and questioning eyes turned towards her. ‘All I can tell you is that if my theory is right, it should be cleared up very quickly.’
Murder at Benbury Brook: An absolutely gripping English cozy mystery (A Melissa Craig Mystery Book 9) Page 21