She heard Janet’s intake of breath. ‘I didn’t know. How could I have done? He told us you were his daughter.’
‘I tried to tell you. I thought you might have surmised by the expression on my face that I was terrified. He’d bought me from my family. Bought me! Do you understand that? Now. Put this on.’
Honey heard the rustling of many layers of net and silk, the sound only a wedding dress or a ball gown could make.
‘Get out of my way!’
‘Put this dress on.’
‘No!’
There was a strangulated sound. Honey dared to peer out from behind the stone pillar.
The other voice she recognised belonged to a tall figure that moved like a gymnast, was much taller than Janet Glencannon, and had a firm, finely muscled body. She was holding Janet in what Honey recognised from a wrestling match as a headlock. Janet was resisting, but no amount of tugging could pull Carolina Sherise’s strong brown arms from around her neck.
‘I read it all,’ Carolina was saying, her voice alternating between emotional trembling and vengeful anger. ‘You and Mrs Flynn were involved in wedding arrangements for foreigners wanting to acquire a British passport. Mrs Flynn made the arrangements. You were the bride, always with a different name and sporting a slightly different look. Including that scar. I will always remember that scar,’ she said her voice breaking with anguish. ‘I didn’t realise it wasn’t real, but then I wouldn’t. I was only a kid and I’d never got to play at dressing up. I was a child bride. I suffered badly for it, sharing his bed, cooking his food, giving him his injections. Oh yes. He was a diabetic you know. That’s how I learned how to administer injections. It would have been the perfect crime; she wouldn’t have been discovered until the following day and by then the insulin would have been absorbed into the blood stream. Just an old woman who had lived her time. But you had to come along and hit her on the back of the head. Why did you do that? Why? You were partners.’
Janet was struggling to answer, choking against the tightness of Carolina’s arms against her throat.
Honey stepped out from behind the pillar. ‘Yes. I’d like to know that too.’
Carolina’s slate grey eyes widened, but she held on. Janet Glencannon was going nowhere.
‘Do you think you might loosen your grip just enough so she can tell us why they fell out?’
Carolina, her piercing eyes shining with violent intent, shook her head.
Carolina almost spit her response. ‘No. I don’t really need to hear it. I already know. They fell out over money. That was all they cared about. Money. Harold used to talk to me about the characters in this village. I recognised the people he was talking about and the photos he showed me. It didn’t take too much encouragement for him to bring me here and go rollicking in his bed. Stupid sod.’
‘Well if you know, then what’s the point of choking her? You’ve got your answer so you might as well let her go.’
‘No.’
‘I think you should. I’ve already phoned the police. They’re on their way.’
Carolina threw back her head and laughed. It struck Honey that it was a high, lonely laugh, full of bitterness and regret for a childhood that had ended too early.
‘I don’t care,’ said Carolina, her eyes looking upwards to the towering rafters overhead. ‘I really don’t care.’
‘So what next?’
Carolina’s eyes seemed to glow from the shadows that lengthened and shortened by virtue of the storm still whirling outside. ‘I might kill you,’ she said, her lush lips stretching over ultra white teeth.
‘I don’t think so.’
Honey began heading for the door, striding quickly and showing no sign of fear. Inside she wobbled like a jelly.
Carolina spun her victim round to face her. ‘Stop right there! If you don’t stop she dies!’
Honey didn’t stop until the door was within arm’s length.
She turned round adopting a defiant stance that bore no resemblance to how she was feeling inside.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Carolina’s eyes glittered. Janet’s bulged. Honey was horrified. One swift flick and Janet’s neck would be broken, her breath squeezed from her body like so much toothpaste.
Some foolhardy streak kicked in propelling Honey down the aisle at a speed she’d never thought herself capable of.
Janet Glencannon was thrown aside like a broken rag doll. Honey ducked low, her head colliding with Carolina’s ribs.
Any normal woman would have been bowled over, but Carolina worked out. Honey realised this the moment those arms were around her own ribs, squeezing her tightly until she thought her lungs would pop up out of her mouth. It was the first time she wished she’d done the same, but hey, she led a full life, and anyway, she had Doherty, her kind of exercise.
Honey didn’t know quite how she did it, but using her weight as a lever, she ended up almost standing on her head, her legs kicking upright into the face of the taller woman.
In a skirmish use your weight.
She hadn’t a clue where she’d got that little saying from; probably a self-defence article in a weekend magazine, the sort included with Sunday newspapers.
Using all her strength she kicked and kicked again. One more kick knocked Carolina off balance. First she tottered, and then she fell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
There was no way Doherty could let Geraldine Evans off the hook and she must have known that. She hung around in the background whilst Alice Flynn had given the account of her grandmother’s life. By the time Alice had poured out everything about her grandmother, Geraldine was gone.
Doherty wasn’t overly perturbed. Like a bad penny she would most likely turn up. In the meantime he had a few things to check.
Back at Manvers Street he got his team in motion, ordering them to contact the immigration authorities with regard to one Gladys Flynn and a wedding racket.
‘I want to know if they have anything about her on record – my instinct tells me they will have – and also any record of the identity of her partner. Let’s say a woman in her thirties, although I’m flexible on that score.’
He tried ringing Honey from the landline in his office but got no answer. On seeing the Wizard passing his office door he asked if there was any chance of a cup of tea.
‘Sorry guv. Can’t stop. I’m off to a wedding,’ he said, his body seemingly jammed in the doorway.
‘Oh sorry. I forgot. Hope all goes well.’
‘So do I. Oh, before I forget. You know I said about seeing that leggy piece in an underwear catalogue?’
‘You’ll get a reputation, you know.’
‘I was wrong. It wasn’t underwear. It was in a wedding magazine, one of those full of dresses. She was modelling the dresses. I think there were other models of course, but she was the one that stood out, I suppose because of the contrast between a pearl studded veil and the colour of her skin.’
Doherty’s head jerked up. ‘Brides dresses?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You mean the dark girl, Carolina Sherise?’
‘That’s the one.’
A quick phone call to Lindsey, Honey’s daughter, and Doherty knew where she’d gone.
‘Her car is in the garage. She’s gone in Mary Jane’s car. I think she wanted to look in at the church, and then see the vicar. Are you two really going to get married?’
‘Why not?’
‘You both take your time getting round to it.’
Doherty was ready to leave his office, when Agnes Mackenzie waylaid him.
‘Sir. I’ve been doing some research on some of the people involved in the wedding dress murders. Two people, one of them the first victim, are recorded by the immigration authorities as being suspected of arranging passport marriages. I’ve listed the details. Another woman is also of interest. Her real name is Anesha Pukir. We believe her to be of Somalian origin and to have been brought into this country illegally as the bride of an older man. It
also appears that the name on her passport is that of an infant who died before her first birthday. One, Anne Steadman. This is her photograph.’
Doherty took the details, read them through. He recognised Anne Steadman as Carolina Sherise.
‘ Her husband died, presumably of natural causes. He was a diabetic.’
They had a warrant. They knew whom they wanted. The sirens screamed all the way there.
The vicar looked stunned when she answered the door, Mary Jane standing behind her.
The Reverend Constance Paxton almost pounced on him. ‘I remembered something about that night,’ she said excitedly. ‘There was a chisel sticking up from between the flagstones, as though there was something buried under there. Mary Jane here helped me to remember it. She put me under.’
Doherty looked puzzled. ‘Under?’
‘I hypnotised her. Remembered as easy as that.’ Mary Jane clicked her fingers.
‘I was very upset that night. You see I’d had a glass of sherry with Mrs Flynn and something she said upset me. She said she kept tabs on everyone in the village. She said she knew secrets about everyone and kept the notebook hidden in the church. I told her it was wrong, but she only laughed and said, I’ve found out about you, vicar. I found out about your husband. The woman was a witch. Wicked. My husband died in a car crash. I was driving. I was drunk you see. I think that was why she kept plying me with that awful sherry. She was playing with me. She played with everybody.’
‘Where’s Honey? I thought she’d be here.’
‘Down at the church.’
Phone messages came through to say that the woman whose professional name was Carolina Sherise was not at her known address and neither was she in the company of Harold Clinker. There was another message regarding the serial bride, Janet Glencannon. She too was not at home.
‘Her kennel maid said she’d gone to the church to check the flower arrangements.’
‘Everything leads to the church,’ muttered Doherty.
It was a short drive, but on the way he calculated what had happened and put it into some kind of cohesive order.
It was Mrs Flynn who had arranged the passport marriage between Carolina’s husband and Janet Brooks – latterly known as Janet Glencannon. He guessed that it was also Mrs Flynn who had provided Harold Clinker with the old deeds relating to the disputed land in front of the church. She spent a lot of time in that church, sitting there by herself in her wedding dress. And her notebook, he guessed that had been there too.
Carolina was athletic and strong. On finding Mrs Flynn in the church, she overpowered her, administered the injection and left her there in a daze, slouched forward onto the pew in front.
The vicar had disturbed whatever else she’d been doing, possibly looking for Mrs Flynn’s notebook even though she hadn’t been in the village that long and wasn’t well known. Unfortunately Harold was just getting out of his car so she knocked him out too. It was possible she’d already drugged Marietta and some of Marietta’s perfume had rubbed off in the course of getting close to her.
It suited her to make it look as though Marietta had taken revenge on her husband.
Carolina panicked. The only way to avert suspicion as far as she could see was to fabricate a second killing pointing to death by a severe blow to the head. She didn’t realise the true cause had already been discovered.
Getting a wedding dress was no problem; she had carved out a career modelling wedding dresses for catalogues and specialist bridal magazines. They liked her because she was tall, slender and had very high cheekbones and slate grey eyes. Sometimes she was offered the dresses she’d modelled. Most of them she sold on, but one or two she still had hanging around.
Ahmed gave her all the details about the car that she thought would be a nice touch. She’d seen the car whilst delivering a dress to cross dresser who lived in a house overlooking where Ahmed kept it. She had been going to hire it, but instead decided to steal it. Ahmed had struck her as the sort who was sometimes unfocused. Her guess proved correct. He had left the key in the car.
Mrs Flynn was gone. Marietta had merely been a convenience. Janet, the woman who had played the ‘bride’ was next because she had inadvertently upset the scene. It would have been assumed that Mrs Flynn had died from natural causes if only Janet Glencannon had not hit the old woman over the back of the head. Unfortunately Carolina had not allowed for Janet recognising her. Janet had dashed out of the village store. Somehow she had to get her alone. She’d prefer it to be in church. She would also prefer if Janet were wearing a wedding dress. It would be so perfect, so fitting that the second woman who had caused her so much suffering with her sham marriage, should be wearing a wedding dress when she killed her.
The car tyres of three police cars screeched to a halt outside the church.
Followed by a whole flock of uniformed police, Doherty dashed into the church. He feared what he might find, but also had a sneaking suspicion that Honey, whose unorthodox methods he sometimes despaired of, would have come out on top.
He hadn’t expected to literally find her on top of Carolina Sherise who looked to have been knocked unconscious.
They were both lying on top of a mass of broken bits of wood and what looked like pieces of parchment.
The vicar, having hitched a lift in Mary Jane’s car, came rushing in but was held back at the church door by one of the uniformed constables.
‘Oh my goodness.’
Her eyes were out on stalks.
‘We’ve called for an ambulance,’ said one of the constables.
Honey was helped to her feet. So was Carolina Sherise, her lips tightly shut, her eyes dark with hate. Only Janet Glencannon remained lying flat on the floor.
Doherty gave the nod for the vicar to come forward.
‘Sorry about the mess. Still, I suppose the insurance will pay out for a new one.’
‘It’s a thousand years old. What happened?’
Doherty looked at Honey. Honey looked right back.
‘I landed on it. Still, look on the bright side, there’s a whole lot of old parchments for you to add to the archives. Lots of plans and deeds and things you didn’t even know were there.’
The vicar’s face brightened. ‘Yes,’ she said with sudden and inspired interest. ‘You could be right.’
‘So there is such a thing as coincidences.’
The air stewardess interrupted them. ‘Champagne. I believe you’re on honeymoon?’
Honey and Doherty exchanged smiles. ‘Why not?’
The champagne was cold and crisp.
‘Amazing how they do it on board an aircraft,’ said Doherty as he poured his second glass.
Once her glass was refilled, Honey expressed her opinion on the smaller problems she’d had to deal with of late, all of them alluding to the Green River Hotel.
‘Coincidences. There are such things. It was Doris who did it?’
‘Doctored the punch?’ Doherty looked surprised. Doris was addicted to food not drugs of any description – not even alcohol.
‘No. It was the worm. My, but was she embarrassed. The worm turned out to be an elastic band she’d wound around her little finger to remind her to buy carrots on the way home. It slipped off into the porridge. So no malice aforethought there! On reflection I came to the conclusion that one of the wedding guests had doctored the punch. You know how it is somebody sneaks it in just for a laugh – or an act of revenge. I’m sure it’s already reported in one of the tabloid newspapers that the marriage is already over. The bride was courting fame; the bridegroom was just another step up the ladder. On to pastures new and all that. Anyway,’ she went on, warming to her subject, which had a lot to do with the champagne she was knocking back, ‘my number two conclusion was that the frog was left in the Scotsman’s bed by his wife. They’d had a row and she’d stormed off. Goodness knows where she got the frog, but does it really matter. The Scotsman had drunk himself stupid and wouldn’t have noticed it.’
‘Coincid
ences, not malicious.’
‘No. The dog was a different matter. Nigel was not so daft. The dog was his little message to me. He wouldn’t actually betray his wife, but found out where I was based and guessed I would use the dog as an excuse to speak to his wife. If she was in enough trouble, she might come back to him.’
‘He went out to the kennels...’
‘Animal Sanctuary...’
‘OK. Animal Sanctuary, and stole the dog.’
‘Janet said he was always harassing her.’
Doherty refrained from mentioning the supposed kidnapping of her mother because that would mean bringing up the subject of his daughter and the series of nasty letters. She could be such a little cow at times.
‘All coincidences, though they hadn’t seemed that way at the time.’
Hawaii. Palm trees, sand, sea and pina colada. Doherty swirled his glass just for the pleasure of hearing the ice cubes clink together.
He sighed, took a sip then shook his head. ‘Shame we didn’t get around to getting married.’
Honey sighed too, stretched her legs and pushed her sunglasses up onto the bridge of her nose. ‘We can always do that again.’
‘I suppose so. I think the vicar was disappointed she couldn’t fit us in.’
‘Never mind,’ she said, stroking his arm affectionately. ‘At least the wedding cars can park outside now the church has reached an agreement with Harold Clinker.’
Doherty pulled an ice cube out of his drink and popped it into his mouth, scrunching it thoughtfully as he considered all that had happened.
‘Good job Mary Jane found the rest of the old documents.’
Honey looked embarrassed. ‘It would have been better if I hadn’t landed on top of it, though I have to say, the woodworm did a lot of damage before I did.’
Marriage is Murder Page 23