‘Thank you,’ the woman said, before blowing her nose.
‘I should introduce myself,’ Judith said. ‘I’m Judith Potts.’
‘I know. You live in that big house on the river.’
‘Oh. Have we met before?’
‘Once, actually,’ the woman said, smiling at the memory. ‘I was being hassled by some boys outside the pub a couple of years ago. You stepped in and scared them off.’
‘I did?’ Judith had no recollection of the event, although it sounded very much like the sort of thing she’d do. She couldn’t bear how men seemed to operate in packs at times, picking on young women on their own.
‘I’m Antonia,’ the woman said. ‘Antonia Webster. And thanks for helping me that time. You were totally amazing.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t need any help, you look capable enough.’
Judith rootled in her bag again and pulled out an old-fashioned tin of travel sweets.
‘Would you like a sweet?’
Antonia didn’t quite know what to say to the question.
‘No?’ Judith asked. ‘Then do you mind if I have one?’
Judith popped the lid of the tin, plucked a boiled sweet from within the icing sugar, put it in her mouth and sucked on it for a few seconds.
‘Lime,’ she pronounced with satisfaction. ‘My favourite. Now, I hope you don’t mind me coming here, but if I helped you in the past, then maybe you could help me this time. You see, I’m Stefan’s neighbour and I’m trying to work out what happened to him. It’s so terribly sad. I take it you work here?’
‘I do,’ Antonia said. ‘And of course I’ll help. I’m Mr Dunwoody’s assistant. Just for the summer. Before I go to uni.’
‘So you’ve not been here long?’
‘No. But Mr Dunwoody was so kind, I can’t believe he’s gone.’
‘I’d agree with you there. But how was he kind, would you say?’
‘Well, he was interested in me. You know? About what I thought. About politics. Or the environment. Or what I was going to do at uni.’
‘He was interested in you?’
‘Not in that way,’ Antonia said, picking up on Judith’s tone. ‘He wasn’t a creep. He was just an old man. That’s how he described himself. An old man. Who lived on his own with all of his art. I liked him.’
This description certainly chimed with Judith’s limited wave-to-her-neighbour-once-a-fortnight relationship with Stefan. He always seemed happy enough to see her, and always had something to call across the river. ‘Beautiful morning!’ Or, ‘Lovely day!’ he’d shout. Judith smiled sadly at the memory.
‘He was a good man I think,’ she said.
‘He was,’ Antonia agreed.
The two women sat in companionable silence for a while, Judith contentedly sucking on her boiled sweet.
‘And somebody killed him,’ she said.
Antonia’s eyes widened. ‘What’s that?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. The guy on the phone said he’d had an accident.’
Judith’s handbag on her lap was still open and she closed the clasp with a snap.
‘I’m sorry to say that’s not what happened at all. He was shot dead.’
‘No way?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it. So I suggest I help you shut up shop. You can’t possibly be expected to do a day’s work after a shock like this.’
‘You think that’s what I should do?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’d help me?’
‘I’ve got nowhere else to be. Now how do we do it?’
Antonia got a set of keys, explained how the alarm system worked, and together the two women locked up the gallery, turning over the sign at the front so it said it was closed. As Judith had suspected, the simple act of doing something physical seemed to give Antonia the space to process all that had happened.
Judith picked her moment with care.
‘You know, he can’t have been as perfect as all that,’ she said, as though the thought had only just that moment occurred to her.
‘What’s that?’
‘Mr Dunwoody. Logic suggests he was either not as blameless as he appeared, or he had at least one friend or acquaintance who was very much a wrong ’un. Seeing as someone did this to him.’
‘Oh. I see what you mean. But that’s not possible. He really was a nice guy. And there was no one bad in his life, either.’
Judith saw Antonia frown.
‘What is it?’ Judith asked.
Antonia didn’t say anything.
‘Go on,’ Judith cajoled. And then she waited. She knew that sometimes the best way to get someone to talk was to stay silent yourself.
‘Well, it’s just,’ Antonia eventually said, ‘if you’re going to suggest there was someone who was around here who was maybe a bit of a “wrong ’un”, well, you put a person in my mind. That’s all.’
‘And who is this “someone”?’
‘No idea. I don’t know his name.’
‘Then why don’t you tell me about him, and let’s see if we can work it out together?’
‘He’s an older gentleman. With grey hair. Or silver. It went down to his shoulders. He was very tall and grand.’
‘And this was a friend of Mr Dunwoody’s?’
‘I don’t think so. He came into the gallery last week.’
‘What day last week?’
‘Monday.’
‘Okay, so this man came into the gallery last Monday.’
‘That’s right. And whoever he was, Mr Dunwoody took him straight to his office. It was like he was embarrassed that this guy had visited.’
‘I see. How very interesting. Then what happened?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. They were in Mr Dunwoody’s office. But it wasn’t long before I heard raised voices. I didn’t know what to do. You see, it’s my job to make coffees for Mr Dunwoody if he ever has any guests, and I was in such a panic. I didn’t know if I should make them coffee or not.’
‘Did you hear what they were arguing about?’
‘Not while I was outside the office, but in the end I got up my courage, knocked on the door and asked if they’d like a coffee. It was like thunder in there. The tall man, the silver-haired man, he didn’t want anything, and he was kind of rude about it. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.’
Antonia lapsed into thoughtful silence.
‘How interesting,’ Judith said. ‘But you say you didn’t hear what they said while you were outside?’
Antonia wasn’t able to follow the line of Judith’s reasoning.
‘What’s that?’
‘You said you didn’t hear what was said while you were outside. That suggests to me that maybe there was something you heard while you were inside.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Sorry. Anyway, after the silver-haired gentleman waved me off, I left, but as I was closing the door, I heard Mr Dunwoody say to him, “I could go to the police right now.”’
‘And what did the silver-haired man have to say about that?’
‘I don’t know. I left before I could hear his reply.’
‘I see. But Mr Dunwoody definitely said that he could “go to the police right now”?’
‘He did.’
‘And you’ve really no idea what he was referring to?’
‘None at all. I’m so sorry.’
‘You didn’t perhaps raise the matter with Mr Dunwoody later on?’
‘No way. But he did, now you mention it. We were locking up for the night and Mr Dunwoody apologised that I’d had to witness the argument.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘Well, I could see he was really uncomfortable about it all, so I just told him it was fine, I’d not really seen or heard anything. And then he said something weird. He said, “Desperation drives people to do stupid things.”’
‘What on earth was he referring to?’
‘No idea. But it’s what he said.’
Judith felt
a buzz of excitement. Who was this silver-haired man who was in dispute with Stefan? Remembering how Stefan had got into an argument with Elliot Howard at the Henley Regatta, she had an idea.
‘Is your computer connected to the internet?’ she asked.
Antonia nodded.
‘Then can you do a quick search for me?’
‘Of course. What do you want to know?’
‘Could you look up the name Elliot Howard?’
‘You think he might be the man who was in here?’
‘It’s a possibility. But let’s see if we can find a picture of him online.’
‘Okay,’ Antonia said, going over to her desk and firing up the browser on her computer. She typed ‘Elliot Howard’ into the search field.
‘That’s the one,’ Judith said, pointing at the top hit.
Antonia clicked the link that opened the website for the Marlow Auction House. Next she found a ‘Who we are’ tab on the home page, and they were soon looking at the names and photos of the key members of staff.
The very first image was of a handsome man in his late fifties with silver hair that swept down to his shoulders. The caption said that his name was Elliot Howard and that he was chairman of the Marlow Auction House.
‘That’s him!’ Antonia said in surprise. ‘That’s the man who was here last Monday.’
Judith bent down to the screen so she could better see the photo.
‘Got you!’ she whispered to the man on the screen.
Chapter 5
A few minutes after her meeting with Antonia, Judith found herself leaning her bicycle against the wall of the Marlow Auction House, a creaking timber-framed building that always reminded her of the old barns she’d played in as a girl growing up on her parents’ farm on the Isle of Wight: full of cobwebs, creaky floorboards, and damp hay bales that smelled of must.
As she straightened her cape on her shoulders, Judith realised that she didn’t have any specific plan for what she should do next. All she knew was that she had to see Elliot Howard. She wanted to see the cut of his jib.
As for the wisdom of approaching a man she thought might be a murderer, she decided to ignore any such concerns. After all, she’d never met the man before, so what on earth was stopping her from visiting his place of work? She could pretend she was interested in selling a painting. Or some other ruse. Something would occur to her.
As Judith entered the building, she saw a woman sitting at a desk working at a computer. She was in her fifties, with dark wavy hair, bright red lipstick and smiley eyes.
‘Good morning, and how can I help you?’ the woman said in a friendly Irish accent.
‘Good morning,’ Judith asked brightly. ‘Are you open?’
‘I’m sorry but we don’t have any viewings until tomorrow.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I can give you a catalogue? This week it’s coins and medals, which I can’t imagine is what you’re here for. It’ll be mostly men who really should get out more,’ she added with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Although don’t tell Elliot I said that. However, we’ve a fine art auction at the end of the month. That might be more your style.’
‘Actually, it’s Mr Howard I was hoping to see.’
‘It is?’
‘That’s right.’
‘May I ask why you would like to see him?’
‘That’s a very good question.’
Judith was about to think of her excuse when a man’s voice spoke from directly behind her.
‘Yes, why do you want to see me?’
Judith was so startled that her mind instantly went blank. To buy herself time, she turned and saw the man from the online photo leaning nonchalantly in a doorway behind her. He was in his late fifties with long-flowing grey hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore brogues, tan corduroy trousers, and an old checked-shirt under a tatty grey cardigan.
It was Elliot Howard.
There was an easeful, almost amused superiority to his manner, and Judith had a sudden insight that Elliot was inordinately proud of having a full head of hair at his age, which is why he kept it so long. And for all that Elliot was looking so relaxed, there was something about him that Judith found a touch unsettling.
‘Well, wouldn’t you like to know,’ Judith said, in lieu of knowing what else to say.
‘I do. Which is why I asked. Why do you want to see me?’
‘Aha!’
Inside, Judith cringed. Aha? Was that really the best she could do?
The woman at the computer came to her rescue.
‘I know, why don’t you both go into Elliot’s office? You can have a nice chat there.’
‘Okay, darling,’ Elliot said to the woman with a smile. ‘You’re the boss,’ he added, although it was clear from his patrician tone that she wasn’t.
Elliot led the way into his office and Judith had no choice but to follow. Her mind was scrabbling for something to say, anything to say.
‘That’s Daisy,’ Elliot said as he went and sat behind a large office desk. ‘A wonderful woman. My wife. Don’t know why she puts up with me. Anyway, how can I help you?’
Judith’s mind was still a whirling blank, but she could see a number of photos in frames on the walls, so she went over to look at them. They were faded with age and mostly showed teenage boys rowing on the river, or wearing blazers while holding various silver cups and medals. The shield above each photo was of one of the local school’s, Sir William Borlase’s Grammar School, and she could see the hand-written names of the boys underneath always included an ‘A. Howard’.
‘Oh, you’re a rower?’ Judith said, just to fill the dead air, but it was as she was looking at the photos that inspiration finally came to her.
‘You owe me money!’ she blurted.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Yes, I should have said sooner. My name’s Mrs Judith Potts, and you owe me money. From Henley Regatta. When you really didn’t behave very well at all.’
This got Elliot’s attention.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he said, but Judith got the impression that he’d maybe been rattled by her allegation.
‘As far as I’m concerned, you were a disgrace. In the Royal Enclosure. The way you carried on in that argument with that man.’
‘What man would this be?’
‘Stefan whatever-his-name-is. He runs the art gallery in Marlow. I thought you were very rude to him. But then you pushed past me when you left and made me spill my red wine down my dress. It’s cost over seventy pounds to dry clean, and I expect you to pay the bill.’
Elliot considered Judith for a long moment.
‘I don’t remember spilling anyone’s drink,’ he said.
‘But you don’t deny the argument, do you?’
‘It’s true Mr Dunwoody and I had a difference of opinion that day. But I don’t remember you at all.’
‘I’m not surprised. You were in such a state I can well imagine you don’t remember anything from that day. That poor man you were shouting at, he’d done nothing wrong.’
‘Oh he’d done wrong all right.’
‘It can’t have been anything worth losing your temper over like that.’
‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘That’s as well as may be, but even so—’
‘He was a fraud,’ Elliot said, interrupting Judith.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘In fact, I’d go further. Stefan Dunwoody was a fraud and a liar. And a cheat and a crook. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man. I’d like you to leave.’
With a cold smile that said the meeting was over, Elliot picked up some papers on his desk and started reading.
‘But what about my dress?’ Judith spluttered.
‘If you ask me,’ Elliot said without looking up, ‘you’ve invented the whole thing. God knows why. Because I have an excellent memory for faces and I’m sure we’ve not met before. What’s more, I definitely didn’t spill any wine on any
one’s dress at Henley. And if I had, I’m sure that person wouldn’t have waited nearly two months before approaching me. Now, I must ask you to leave my office.’
Judith opened her mouth a couple of times, rearranged her hold on her handbag, and then realised she still had nothing further to add.
She turned to leave, but stopped as she was about to open the door.
‘What do you mean he “was” a fraud?’ she asked.
‘Are you still here?’ Elliot said with a sigh as he looked up again.
‘Yes, and I want to know why you’re talking about Stefan in the past tense.’
Elliot shrugged as if it was of no concern to him.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘But how do you know that?’
‘It’s all over the office this morning. How the doyen of the art world Stefan Dunwoody has had a tragic accident and been gathered up to God. But let me ask you a question. How do you know?’
‘How do I know?’
‘Yes. This auction house knows Stefan well. But what’s your connection to him?’
‘That’s rather an impertinent question.’
‘Hardly, considering,’ Elliot said and leant back in his chair, looking at Judith levelly. Once again, Judith couldn’t quite place Elliot’s manner. What was it he was reminding her of?
‘So what’s your connection?’ he asked again.
‘As it happens, I’m his neighbour,’ Judith said, unable to keep up the subterfuge any longer. ‘The police interviewed me this morning, and if you ask me, it wasn’t an accident, someone killed him.’
‘Oh I see!’ Elliot said, delight lighting his face.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You seriously believe someone killed him?’
‘Shot him dead. Yes.’
‘How interesting. This was never about the dress, was it?’
Elliot’s smile didn’t waver, but the light seemed to die from his eyes and Judith felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
‘Of course it was about the dress,’ she said, knowing that Elliot could see through her lie.
‘No, I don’t think so. Because I think you’re a nosy neighbour, aren’t you? A nosy neighbour who’s got it into her head that just because I argued with Stefan at Henley a few weeks ago, and now he’s dead, you wanted to have a poke around here, thinking yourself the amateur sleuth. I’m right, aren’t I?’
The Marlow Murder Club Page 3