A Snapshot of Murder

by Frances Brody

  Carine pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll come up with you. I need to powder my nose. I must look a fright.’

  ‘You look no such thing.’

  When they had gone, I tapped on the parlour door. Marcus, Sykes, and a man I had not seen before stood as I entered. They had been looking at a pile of papers on a low table that was set between them.

  Marcus introduced Cyril Hayes, a plain-clothes CID man.

  ‘Mr Charles, we three, Carine, Rita and I are going into Haworth. Carine wishes to lay a flower where Tobias fell. Rita has a ceremony in mind.’ I hesitated to say this. I did not want to say it. ‘I think we should be followed.’

  I expected to be asked why.

  Marcus turned to the plain-clothes man. ‘Job for you, Hayes.’

  ‘Right-o, sir.’

  I glanced at the papers that were on the table. Marcus said, ‘Sykes, tell Mrs Shackleton what you’ve told me.’

  As always, Sykes gave a crisp and precise report.

  ‘You asked me to look into Rita’s remark that Mr Murchison was seeing a woman at the Leeds Club – a cook – on a regular basis. According to my contact at the Leeds Club, there is no Molly the cook or any other woman working there. The chef has male assistants.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘On Saturday when Mrs Sugden was taking care of the studio, a property agent called to take particulars. I spoke to his clerk. Mr Murchison had put Carine’s studio up for sale, with a view to buying larger premises in Boar Lane. As an afterthought, I went back to see the clerk, asking which solicitor Mr Murchison instructed, and I went to see him, as a friend of the family. He was tight-lipped, as you might expect, but I waited until his clerk came out on an errand and had a word. It seems that Mr Murchison was having his wife followed.’

  At first, this seemed preposterous. True, there would be a child that wasn’t his, but Tobias was quite capable of pretending that it was, if only for the rounds of drinks that would follow.

  ‘Tobias would be mad to divorce Carine. She kept that business going. And everyone adores her.’

  ‘Well not quite,’ Sykes said. ‘It could be an intention to start proceedings, or he may have simply wanted to know, or have something to hold over her as a threat.’

  That made sense. She would not want to harm Edward, or have information come out that might risk his being dismissed from his job.

  ‘Did he name a correspondent?’ I asked.

  Sykes shook his head. ‘Couldn’t get that out of the clerk. He wouldn’t expand without I parted with more cash than I had on me.’

  Marcus said, ‘I’ve put someone on it.’

  I looked at my watch. Carine and Rita would take a little while to get ready for going out, but Rita would be keen to reach Haworth before the shops closed. ‘Did any more letters turn up, from Carine to Derek?’

  Sykes allowed himself a smile. ‘A search of Derek Blondell’s desk and locker revealed only that he spends work’s time writing speculative articles for submission to The Mole of the World and Amateur Photographer Monthly, oh and a novel and stories.’

  Marcus intervened. ‘Don’t forget this little lot.’ He indicated the newspapers on the table.

  Sykes cleared his throat. ‘When I cleared the old film from the studio cellar, I put all the rubbish in sacks and thought nothing of it. Credit where it’s due, Mrs Sugden rescued these newspapers. She said it was a waste. She could make the newspaper into those twisty little cobs for the fire.’

  Marcus said quietly, ‘There are thirty-five cuttings about the Thompson and Bywater case.’

  The newspaper items were dog-eared and creased. I did not look, not needing to. I remembered the case only too well.

  ‘I’d better go. Carine and Rita must be ready by now.’

  Marcus gave a nod to his plain-clothes man, Cyril Hayes.

  Mr Hayes said, ‘I’ll stick close, Mrs Shackleton, but I’ll give you a few minutes’ start. Don’t look back for me. I’ll be there.’

  Harriet had been so good. She was on the bench outside, with the dog.

  ‘Have Carine and Rita come down yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Where are you going? Can I come?’

  ‘Not this time. See if Elisa needs help.’

  ‘I like Elisa, and I think that she’s upset that Edward left without saying goodbye.’

  ‘That’s what I think, too. I have a feeling he will be back.’

  At that moment, Carine and Rita appeared.

  We were ready to go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Click of the Shutter

  We walked back to where we had stood on Saturday. The Parsonage Museum had not yet opened to the public. The little lane and the garden were as deserted as a church on a weekday. A paint-spattered sheet lay on the ground outside the front door. A decorator came from the house, bringing out a can of paint, putting it down and picking up another. He glanced at us.

  We must have been a curious sight. Rita had wound her white sari around her silk pantaloons and top, and above that sported the Selfridges cardigan. Carine wore her too-tight black dress. Thanks to my encounter with the stream, and the choice of items brought from my trunk by Elisa, I was dressed for afternoon tea in good company.

  We stood in a circle on the path where Tobias had breathed his last. Carine had brought three gladioli from Ponden Hall garden.

  ‘I lay these flowers in memory of my husband, Tobias. We did not say goodbye, Toby. I say it now. I hope and pray you are in a better place.’

  Rita murmured an incantation in Hindustani. She hummed in a rising crescendo, followed by a Monteverdi madrigal, so beautifully sung that three decorators came to listen, and gave a round of applause.

  It was my turn. ‘Farewell, Tobias. Justice will be done, and seen to be done.’

  As we turned away, Carine said, ‘Edward should have been here.’

  After that, we walked down the main street. ‘This is the way Mrs Hudson brought me,’ Carine said, looking about her. ‘She took me into the park to sit on a bench. I believe she thought I might faint. I didn’t.’

  Rita concentrated on the shops. We failed to find a suitable black dress. Rita took this personally. ‘You’d think that in a place famous for untimely deaths, they would be a little more prepared for people who mourn.’

  The one shop that might have stocked such an item had a sign on the door: CLOSED DUE TO BEREAVEMENT.

  Carine did not seem to mind, though Rita minded very much.

  I caught a glimpse of the man who was following us, but was careful to show no sign of having noticed him.

  Part way down the hill, Carine came to an abrupt halt. ‘I’m going buy a bunch of flowers and something for the children.’

  Rita said, ‘What children?’

  ‘Mrs Hudson, the police sergeant’s wife, was so kind to me.’

  Rita entered into the spirit of this. ‘Carine, you are so thoughtful. That is a lovely idea. Buy chocolate.’

  ‘The children slept with their parents, so that I could have a quiet room.’

  I wondered whether Mr and Mrs Hudson took the children into their bed to keep them safe from Carine.

  At the flower shop, Carine again favoured gladioli. In the Co-op, she bought three bars of milk chocolate.

  We continued down the hill.

  A pair of wrought-iron gates, dated 1927, led to the park. Whoever forged the gates had been given an optimistic date. The park was as yet incomplete, with digging still going on, and men working on an additional path. Some beds were in bloom, with irises and delphiniums, and there was a small rose garden.

  Carine thought she might not remember the way once she reached the other side of the park. ‘I was in such a state of shock on Saturday.’

  It was then that the thought occurred to me. She is precisely retracing her steps from Saturday.

  ‘We can always ask,’ Rita said.

  But Carine did remember.

  As we came closer to the police house, Carine said, ‘Let me do this o
n my own. I don’t want Mrs Hudson to think I have come with a delegation.’

  Rita readily agreed. ‘Look, there’s a parade of shops. Come and find us when you’re ready. There may even be a dress shop.’

  Carine carried on walking.

  The man following us dogged Carine’s footsteps, keeping closer now than previously. He took something from his pocket. I guessed that it might be a tiny camera.

  Rita and I looked in the draper’s shop window. A translucent yellow blind created a golden glow, and more prosaically kept the items on display from fading. We went inside, inspected hooks and eyes, replacement suspenders, fancy buttons, and balls of wool.

  We walked about the hardware store with its sharp scent of metal and mops. We admired enamel basins and galvanised steel buckets.

  We were in the newsagent’s when Rita said, ‘Carine is taking an awfully long time. She must have been invited in for tea.’

  Slowly, we walked along the road.

  ‘It’s over there,’ Rita said, seeing the blue lamp. ‘Had we better ask?’

  She did not wait for me to answer but hurried across the road in front of a Ringtons Tea van causing the driver to swerve and give a blast on his horn.

  Slowly, I followed her. Normally, a privet hedge would not arouse interest. This one did. On the ground by the gate lay a scattering of leaves. There was a gap, where someone might have thrust an arm, while searching. So this was where Carine had dropped the knife – a place where no one would come to look. If she had not tried to retrieve it, it may have remained unnoticed for years. But she could not take that chance with the murder weapon.

  I waited by the gate.

  Rita was ringing the doorbell.

  Mrs Hudson came to the door. She glanced at Rita, and then at me. Her look was grim and sorrowful. Perhaps she had shed a few tears. There would never be another time in her life when a polite young woman would bring flowers and chocolates, and seconds later be asked to account for her movements and held in custody.

  She waited for Rita to ask her question. ‘Is Mrs Murchison here?’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. You can’t see Mrs Murchison. She has an appointment with the chief inspector from Scotland Yard.’

  If my guess was correct, Carine Murchison was in serious need of a solicitor.

  The door to the police house closed.

  Rita turned to me. ‘Did you see that, Kate? She just shut the door on me.’

  ‘Rita, go back to Ponden Hall. There’s nothing you can do here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I turned and began to hurry back in the direction we had come, feeling sure the police house was now closed to us. I must find another telephone.

  Rita came hurrying after me. ‘Kate, what do you know that I don’t?’

  ‘I know that Carine needs a solicitor. I’m going to make a telephone call.’

  ‘I have a solicitor friend. I told you about him. He likes Carine. He’s sympathetic.’

  ‘She doesn’t need sympathy, Rita.’

  The person Carine needed was Mr Cohen. I got to know him well a few years earlier. He was the man to go to if you needed a good defence, and an impressive barrister.

  Rita grabbed my arm. ‘I’m not going away, Kate. We mustn’t abandon Carine. Stay with me and we’ll take her home.’

  ‘She’ll need you, but not like this.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I believe that Carine will have questions to answer about Tobias’s death.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. She wasn’t even there. They’ve charged Derek. I couldn’t have believed it of him, but it must be true. Carine wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  I walked away, not giving voice to my thought that Carine had no reason to hurt a fly. She had reasons to hurt Tobias.

  Very occasionally, I break into a run. I used to run a lot when I was a girl because I was often late. Or I’d run if someone had annoyed or upset me and I just wanted to be home as fast as I could.

  I told myself that I was running in case the post office closed before I reached it, but really I was running from that house where Carine was being held along with whatever she had taken from the bush. The knife, I felt sure. I remembered, too, that on Saturday she had worn cream lace gloves. She did not have them with her when I collected her from the hospital. I stopped running, took some deep breaths and made myself calm down. There was a post office right here on Mill Hey. We had passed it earlier.

  At the post office, I asked for the directories. My hands shook as I looked for Mr Cohen’s telegraphic address. The hands on the post office clock ticked towards closing time. I would make a telephone call, that would be quicker and it would save me having to write a long explanation on a short form.

  While the operator tried to connect me, I willed Mrs Sugden to be at home, and took deep breaths as I waited. Thankfully, Mrs Sugden answered. I spoke so calmly that it was as if someone else had taken over this task.

  ‘Mrs Sugden, we have the telephone number and address of Mr Cohen the solicitor, both his office and his home. Find out where he is. Tell him you are coming to see him. Give him the name of my friend whose shop you have been taking care of. Say that person is being held at Keighley station on a very serious charge and I want him to arrange her defence.’

  ‘I’ll do that right away.’ Practical as ever, she added, ‘He’ll charge a bob or two.’

  ‘Tell him it will be taken care of.’

  ‘I’ll do it now.’

  I hung up the telephone. Mrs Sugden was right that a good defence for Carine would cost dear. By rights, she ought to be entitled to the proceeds of her studio premises and business, but her father had made Tobias his beneficiary. I suspected that the law may not allow a person accused of murdering her husband to inherit his estate.

  In my garage, there is a white Rolls-Royce, kindly bequeathed to me by a grateful Indian princess. That splendid car sits there, waiting for the day when I might employ a chauffeur. Someone else would love it, I’m sure.

  Rita was sitting on the wall of the police house. A familiar Alvis car was by the kerb, its driver at the wheel. So Carine was still inside. Out of breath from hurrying back from the post office, I sat down beside Rita.

  ‘Where have you been? What’s going on?’

  ‘Something I needed to do. Who is inside now?’

  ‘That Scotland Yard chap and a policewoman.’

  The driver opened the car door. ‘Off you go, ladies. No spectators please.’

  I had no intention of moving. ‘We’re friends of Mrs Hudson, officer, invited for tea.’

  Rita whispered, ‘Kate, when they come out, we grab Carine and we run.’

  ‘Rita, we have nowhere to run. And when Carine comes out, for heaven’s sake, keep quiet. I have something to tell her. I don’t want it to be lost in a commotion. The best thing you could do is start walking back.’

  ‘And let her think I’ve deserted her? Never!’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘Besides, I’ve lost my sense of direction.’

  ‘After I’ve spoken to her, do whatever you please but just keep out of the way for now. Walk down the road. Give me a chance to speak to Carine.’

  ‘All right. If you say so. As they set off, I’ll throw myself under the wheels. That’ll stop them.’

  Rita moved a few yards off. I went into the garden, out of sight of the driver. A moment later, the house door opened. Carine was brought out, the woman constable gripping her arm, Marcus following.

  I dashed across and spoke to her. ‘Carine, a solicitor, Mr Cohen will act for you.’ She turned to look at me as the policewoman hurried her to the car. ‘Until Mr Cohen comes, say nothing except your name, address and date of birth. Not another word!’

  The driver shut the door.

  Marcus glared at me. ‘Thank you, Mrs Shackleton.’

  The car swerved to avoid Rita. She ran alongside the car, banging on the window. When it left her behind, she and I fell into step.

  ‘Kate, if
she did it Tobias drove her to it. But she can’t have killed him, can she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She wasn’t there.’

  ‘We need to go back to Ponden Hall, Rita.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Harriet’s Umbrella

  On arriving back at Ponden, I was greeted by Sergeant Dog. He was delighted to see me and did much slobbering and tail wagging. Rita said that she would go sit under a tree in the walled garden, to chant. Would somebody join her? When Harriet heard that Carine had been arrested, she decided to join Rita, just in case the chanting helped. She took Sergeant Dog with her. He seemed happy to go, perhaps regarding Harriet and me as interchangeable.

  It was the most beautiful mild evening, with a pale sun and a light breeze. The thought of Carine being locked up in a cell was almost unbearable. Sykes and I sat in the courtyard.

  ‘Mr Sykes, I wish you had taken Harriet home on Sunday.’

  ‘She insisted. She didn’t want to leave you in the lurch. Besides, that dickey seat was a bit of a squeeze for her and your dog.’

  ‘He’s not my dog, and it’s past time for Harriet to go home.’

  ‘I’ll take her back. But what will you do?’

  ‘I want to be in the magistrates’ court tomorrow when Carine is indicted. Rita will want to be there too. I’ve arranged for Mr Cohen to see Carine and arrange for her defence.’

  He was silent for a while, but I guessed that, like Mrs Sugden, he would be thinking of the cost. Finally, he said, ‘I’m glad. Would you have done that for Derek, or Edward?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Mr Charles said Derek will be released this evening.’

  ‘Why so late?’

  ‘I said I’d see that he got to his train. He’s the age of my kids.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’

  ‘He’s friends with Harriet, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. She sees him at the pictures. He walks her home sometimes.’

  ‘Then how about if I suggest she comes with me to pick him up? I’ll see Derek onto the train, and drive Harriet home.’

  ‘You’d better take the dog, too. He won’t be allowed in the magistrates’ court, and I’m going straight home after that.’