The Marlow Murder Club

by Robert Thorogood

  Once she’d got her breathing back under control, Judith found the light switch to the room and turned it on. Wall lights in sconces lit up and Judith whistled under her breath in quiet wonder. The burgundy walls were covered in dozens of paintings in golden frames, all hung with gallery precision. The pictures were mostly modern, but there was also a fair smattering of older oil paintings.

  Judith shuddered involuntarily, her body continuing to expel tension as she tried to feel the bones in her right wrist. It didn’t appear that anything was broken, and already some feeling was coming back to her hand. She’d be all right. But what should she do now?

  She heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. A few seconds later, DS Malik ran into the room.

  ‘Mrs Potts, are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Judith said feeling bashful.

  DS Malik could see that Judith was holding her right wrist with her left hand.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ she asked as she went over to the older woman.

  ‘Just took a bit of a tumble. That’s all.’

  ‘Are you sure? Let me look at that.’

  DS Malik checked over Judith’s wrist, asked her to wriggle her fingers, and even though she said there probably wasn’t any major damage, Judith should still get it checked out at the Minor Injuries Unit in High Wycombe in the morning.

  ‘Now, are you up to telling me what happened? Or do you want me to get you home, and we can do this in the morning?’

  For once, Judith wasn’t offended by DS Malik’s concern.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Judith said. ‘I’ll be okay.’

  There was the sound of another car arriving outside, and both women looked at the door as they heard a person approach.

  Becks entered in a rush.

  ‘Judith, are you okay? What happened?’

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re sure?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘I’ve been worried sick. I called the police, but you were punting across the river, that’s the last I saw of you. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Well, thank heavens for that. And you’re sure you’re okay?’

  Recognising that Becks had got stuck in a loop of panic, DS Malik decided to cut in.

  ‘It’s Mrs Starling, isn’t it?’ DS Malik said.

  Becks looked over and saw the policewoman for the first time.

  ‘Oh hello!’ she said, delight in her voice. ‘You’re Shanti’s mum, aren’t you?’

  DS Malik smiled warmly.

  ‘I am. You’ve got a trumpeter, haven’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ Becks said proudly. ‘Although Sam’s threatening to give it up. He’s reached that age.’

  Judith looked from one woman to the other as though they were speaking a foreign language, which, in many respects, they were.

  ‘What on earth are the pair of you talking about?’

  ‘Oh sorry!’ Becks said, realising she needed to explain. ‘Our children both play musical instruments with the Chiltern Music Academy on Friday nights.’

  ‘Mrs Starling’s son is in the symphony orchestra,’ DS Malik said, wanting to be fair. ‘My Shanti’s only a Strings Springer.’

  ‘But the little ones make such a wonderful sound, don’t they?’ Becks said.

  ‘They do,’ DS Malik agreed. ‘Nothing like the symphony orchestra, though.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Becks said with a modesty that nonetheless seemed to suggest that it was in fact her who played in the orchestra rather than her son. ‘Anyway,’ she said, turning back to Judith to explain. ‘We’ve chatted a few times over the tea urn before. Haven’t we?’

  ‘We have,’ DS Malik said. ‘But what are you doing here?’

  ‘Becks was with me when we saw the intruder,’ Judith said, wanting to bring the conversation back to a reality she felt was a touch more pressing.

  ‘That’s right,’ Becks said. ‘It was me who phoned the police.’

  ‘Then you’d better stay, if you’re a witness, Mrs Starling. But Mrs Potts, I’d very much like to know how you ended up inside Mr Dunwoody’s house. And why the door back there has been forced?’

  ‘Of course,’ Judith said. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what happened.’

  Judith explained how she and Becks had been in her home, had seen someone moving in Stefan’s house, how she’d punted over, and how the intruder had thrown his torch at her head before scarpering. DS Malik took notes as Judith spoke.

  ‘I see,’ she said once Judith had finished. ‘Perhaps you could show me where this torch is.’

  ‘It’s over here,’ Judith said, and led the two women to where the torch lay on the carpet.

  ‘Do you think the intruder could have been the auburn-haired woman?’ Becks asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Judith said.

  ‘What auburn-haired woman?’ DS Malik asked.

  Judith explained how she’d seen an auburn-haired woman in Stefan’s garden, how she’d seen the same woman on the Thames Path the following day, and how the woman had run away from her both times.

  ‘Do you know who she is?’ DS Malik asked.

  ‘No, infuriatingly. But I think I’ve seen her before. In fact, I’m sure I have. But I can’t place her. I need to keep thinking. Hopefully it will come to me.’

  ‘But you don’t think it was her?’ Becks asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Judith said. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Whoever it was had their hair hidden underneath a balaclava.’

  ‘Can you tell me where the intruder was standing when you entered the room?’ DS Malik asked.

  ‘Over by that far wall,’ Judith said, pointing.

  The three women went over to look.

  ‘Someone’s left a terrible mess,’ Becks said, indicating some wood shavings that were spread across a walnut writing table. There was also an old cloth and a hammer and a chisel.

  ‘Yes, this was about where they were standing,’ Judith said. ‘By this desk.’

  ‘There’s no way the owner of this house left this mess here,’ Becks said, suddenly animated. ‘Because I’m telling you, there’s not a spot of dust anywhere, and these paintings are all perfectly spaced. I mean, look at them.’

  Becks indicated the walls, and the other women could see that she was right. The fifty or so paintings were all placed at perfect right angles to each other.

  Becks was almost wistful as she spoke.

  ‘Your neighbour was very tidy, I can tell you.’

  ‘You’re right about these tools,’ DS Malik said. ‘I checked over the house after Mr Dunwoody’s death, and there were no wood shavings on this table, and no chisel or hammer, either.’

  ‘Apart from that painting,’ Becks said, puzzled.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Becks indicated a painting on the wall a few feet away.

  ‘That painting’s not quite straight.’

  ‘It isn’t?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  DS Malik and Judith shared a look.

  ‘It is,’ Judith said.

  ‘It’s nearly straight, but it’s a bit off. Believe me.’

  ‘You’re at a crime scene,’ Judith said. ‘A scene where someone has been using a chisel, throwing a torch at me, and you notice that a painting is a bit skewiff?’

  ‘I prefer it when things are nice and straight,’ Becks said with a tight smile. ‘Do you mind if I …?’

  Becks went over to straighten the picture.

  ‘You mustn’t straighten the picture,’ DS Malik said kindly. ‘This is a crime scene.’

  Becks stopped, her hand hovering over the corner of the picture.

  ‘But … it’s not straight.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you can’t interfere with the scene.’

  ‘I mean, who’d even know?’

  ‘Me. And I’m the Acting Senior Invest
igating Officer here.’

  ‘But I’ll hardly touch it. Just a nudge.’

  ‘Becks!’ Judith barked. ‘Step away from the painting right now.’

  ‘I was only going to straighten it.’

  ‘But I think you’ve uncovered what the intruder was doing in here.’

  Becks was stunned.

  ‘I have?’

  But then, so was DS Malik.

  ‘She has?’

  ‘I think so,’ Judith said as she went over to look at the painting.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Becks said.

  ‘You’ll see it when you see it,’ Judith said.

  DS Malik went over and joined the other two women looking at the painting. It was mid-twentieth century, she guessed. Just three thick bands of colour. A deep red across the bottom third, a light grey in the middle, and a warm yellow covering the top third of the picture. The effect was calming, she thought.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ DS Malik said, ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘Of course!’ Becks said, stepping back and looking at the other paintings hanging on the wall. ‘All the pictures in the room have frames, but this is the only one that doesn’t.’

  ‘Bingo!’ Judith said.

  Becks leant in closer to look at the edges of the frameless painting.

  ‘And if you look closely,’ she said, like a doctor describing a particularly fascinating X-ray, ‘you can see how the wall is a darker colour around the painting. Where a frame has been stopping any sunlight from bleaching the paint on the wall.’

  ‘Okay that’s thorough,’ DS Malik said.

  ‘So this picture’s lost its frame very recently,’ Judith said, thinking the chain of events through for all of them. ‘Which explains the chisel, hammer and wood shavings on the desk over there. Don’t you think? The intruder broke in and was removing the frame from the painting when I interrupted him.’

  ‘Was he holding anything like a picture frame in his hand when he attacked you?’ DS Malik asked.

  ‘I couldn’t see,’ Judith said, frustrated. ‘It was too dark.’

  ‘Or maybe you noticed something in his hands as he fled?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’d dropped to the floor by then. I didn’t see anything in his hands.’

  ‘But it makes no sense!’ Becks blurted. ‘The art in this room must be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. Maybe millions. Who’d break in, ignore everything else and instead make off with a picture frame?’

  Judith peered at the painting, and at the space where the frame had been. She then took a step back and looked at all of the paintings in the room.

  ‘It’s like a crossword clue,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Becks said, frowning.

  ‘A crossword clue never makes any sense when you read the surface meaning, but that’s because you haven’t decoded it yet.’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ DS Malik said.

  ‘Each cryptic crossword clue is made up of two parts. Generally. One half of the clue is the wordplay, and the other half is the basic definition. Unless it’s the sort of clue where the whole thing is both the wordplay and the definition. But let’s not get bogged down. The point being, when you know how to decode the clue, it makes perfect sense. But until that point, the clue appears nonsensical. Take “Two girls, one on each knee”, seven letters.’

  ‘Take what?’ Becks asked, struggling to keep up with Judith’s logic.

  ‘“Two girls, one on each knee”.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Not literally, just take the clue.’

  ‘What clue?’

  ‘“Two girls, one on each knee”.’

  ‘I have to be honest, I’m not really following this.’

  ‘It couldn’t be any simpler! “Two girls, one on each knee” is about the most famous crossword clue there’s ever been. Compiled by a splendid setter called Roger Squires. It was his two millionth clue. Imagine that!’

  ‘At the moment, I’m busy trying to imagine a famous clue,’ DS Malik offered with a wry smile.

  ‘Well, this one’s a delight. Because if you look at the surface meaning of “Two girls, one on each knee”, it maybe conjures up an image of a bawdy nightclub with lewd strippers on a businessman’s lap. Or a loving parent with young daughters in a homely domestic setting. But the answer’s got nothing to do with what it appears to be about.’

  ‘Okay, so what’s the answer?’ DS Malik asked.

  ‘In this instance, the first half of the clue is the wordplay. You’re looking for the names of two girls, each short enough that when you put them together you get a seven-letter word for something that you have one of on each knee.’

  ‘Just so you know,’ Becks said, ‘I’m still not following any of this.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m only saying there has to be a logical explanation for why the intruder broke into Stefan’s house. We’ve got the surface meaning. He chiselled away a picture frame and then ran off with it. But let’s not worry too much that it appears to make no sense, we simply need to break it down. Work out what the rules were that he was following, and I’m sure we can work out what the answer is. For example, maybe it connects with Stefan being a conman.’

  ‘What’s that?’ DS Malik asked.

  Judith explained how Becks had started a thread on an online forum and garnered a response that said that while people liked Elliot, his father had been in cahoots with Stefan, who’d apparently been something of a crook.

  ‘How was Stefan a crook?’ DS Malik asked.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Becks said. ‘The person online didn’t say. They just said he ran scams with Elliot’s father.’

  ‘Okay, that’s something I can get my team to check out.’

  A silence descended on the women as they looked at the frameless painting. Why on earth had the intruder stolen the frame but not the picture?

  DS Malik’s face suddenly lit up.

  ‘Patella!’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Becks said.

  ‘I’ve got it. The names of two girls. Pat and Ella. And when you put them together, you get “patella”. You have one of those on each knee. “Two girls, one each knee.” Patella.’

  ‘Bravo!’ Judith exclaimed, delighted.

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Becks said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain later.’

  ‘That’s very clever,’ DS Malik said as she got a pair of evidence gloves from her pocket and put them on. ‘Anyway, I think it’s time we looked at this painting more closely. Don’t you?’

  DS Malik lifted the frameless painting from the wall and angled it so they could see it better in the light.

  ‘It’s not signed by the artist,’ Becks observed.

  ‘Which maybe explains why the intruder didn’t take it,’ Judith offered. ‘If it’s not valuable.’

  DS Malik turned the painting over and together they looked at the simple wooden backing and metal twine from which it had been hanging. It was dusty, but there still wasn’t anything in particular of interest to see.

  ‘I’m not saying you should dust the backs of pictures,’ Becks said in a tone that suggested that she very much was, ‘but they are such terrible dust collectors. Once a year, at the very least, you have to take them down for a thorough clean. What’s that?’ she added, indicating a smudge of something on the inside of the frame.

  It was a small, faded sticker with spidery handwriting on it.

  DS Malik bent down to look at it.

  ‘It says “Sold by Marlow Auction House, fifteenth December 1988”.’

  ‘I was right!’ Judith said. ‘This proves Elliot Howard is involved, it’s from his auction house. Elliot killed Stefan, and now he’s broken into his house and stolen the frame from this painting he sold Stefan back in 1988. Don’t you think, DS Malik?’

  DS Malik looked at the short, passionate woman in front of her, and the tall, somewhat bewildered woman who was standing to her side, a woman she’d last seen trying to make a cup of herbal t
ea for herself while holding a trumpet case under one arm and a pile of sheet music under the other.

  ‘You know what I think? I think you should call me Tanika.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Judith agreed. ‘And none of this Mrs Potts nonsense. I’m Judith.’

  ‘And I’ve never introduced myself properly to you, have I? I’m Becks Starling, I mean Becky Starling, Rebecca really. Most people call me Becks.’

  Judith looked at Tanika with a feeling of real warmth. Tanika looked back at the two women with a similar understanding, although both she and Judith could see that Becks still wasn’t sure if she should have introduced herself as ‘Becky’ or ‘Becks’.

  ‘So this is what I’m thinking,’ Judith said. ‘Elliot argued with Stefan at Henley. We know that. Not that we know what it was about.’

  ‘He told me it was because Stefan was blocking his view of the races,’ Tanika said.

  ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

  ‘I agree with you.’

  ‘So they had their argument, and I bet it was about this picture. Then, a week later, there’s a break-in at Stefan’s house. But Stefan reported that nothing had been stolen. Which is interesting, don’t you think? Because I think that was Elliot’s first attempt to get hold of the picture frame. And it didn’t work out for him on that occasion. But Stefan eventually worked out that Elliot had been behind the break-in. So he organised a meeting with Elliot at his gallery. Which is why it was such an angry encounter. And why, afterwards, Stefan told his assistant Antonia that he could “go to the police right now”, and “desperation drives people to do stupid things”.’

  ‘You remember all that?’ Becks asked.

  ‘But it clearly suggests Stefan knew that Elliot was desperate. Desperate to argue with him at Henley. Desperate to break in a week later. But what Stefan didn’t know was just how desperate Elliot was. Because Elliot decides to try one more time.’

  ‘He must have really wanted the frame to this picture,’ Becks said.

  ‘It would seem he wanted it so much he was prepared to kill for it. But this time, God knows how, Stefan once again discovers what Elliot is up to. Or maybe Elliot always planned to kill Stefan. I don’t see how we’ll know for sure. But either way, Stefan was down by the little dam at the end of his millpond. Although that doesn’t make sense, does it?’