Murder of Convenience

by Carrie Marsh

  “Yes,” Gilding said slowly. “I know her father recently passed. But I don't know where her mother and brother went.”

  Richard sighed. “Her mother is living on a council estate in Norwich. Her brother Matt is...I don't know. I think he's probably drunk himself to death by now.” He raised a shoulder dismissively.

  The inspector blinked. “Her brother had a problem with drink?”

  Richard inclined his head. “Drink was probably the least of it. Janet worried about him. He was always out of cash, running from his creditors and goodness knows who...but I wouldn't let her bring him here. What about Tamsyn? It's disgraceful,” he added hotly.

  Gilding said nothing. He glanced at Ginsberg and then made his own notes. He stretched his legs, getting ready to go.

  “One more thing,” Gilding said, suddenly remembering as he stood to fetch his coat. “The day I looked at the car your wife had been driving, I noticed the front seat-belt was broken. Did you know?”

  Richard looked at him. “It was broken?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I didn't know.” His voice was soft.

  Gilding watched him as he looked down at his hands, throat working. He was fairly sure Richard was not lying. Perhaps she truly did not tell him it was broken. It seemed odd. But, then again, they seemed to be quite distant with each other, so perhaps if she was having trouble with the car she would not have asked him about it.

  Ginsberg had come back and was dressed and ready to go. Gilding nodded to him.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Fleet,” he said to Richard. “We're off. If we have any further questions, we will contact you.”

  “Yes,” Richard said woodenly. “Goodbye, Inspector, Officer.” He nodded to both of them. Gilding turned towards the hallway.

  At that moment a small child appeared in the room. Her face was pale white and she swayed on her feet. “Daddy?”

  As Gilding watched, she collapsed quietly. Her small, thin form crumpled on the floor, forehead slick with sweat.

  “Tamsyn!” Richard leaped out of the chair and lifted her into his arms. He looked up at the inspector wildly. “For goodness' sake, man! Help me.”

  Gilding nodded. “I'll call the ambulance.”

  He started dialing while Ginsberg and the girl's father carried her carefully to the couch.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other side of the telephone sounded crisply alert, which was encouraging.

  “Hello. This is Inspector Gilding. There's a girl here who needs urgent treatment.” he explained. “I'm at the Fleet house. ”

  The secretary told him to hold and had a brief, whispered conversation with someone.

  “We'll send one around directly.”

  Gilding sighed. “Thank you.”

  The ambulance arrived remarkably fast. Richard went with Tamsyn, still unconscious. Gilding, sensing that Richard himself needed the support, went along with him.

  When they reached the local hospital, they were met by the doctor, Luke Marlborough. Gilding had not met the man, though he of him from Hargreaves, who had nothing good to say where he was concerned. He smiled wryly at that as looked up at the tall, dark-haired man.

  He barely greeted Richard or Gilding, but went directly to work examining the child. A minute or two later he came out from round the curtains and looked up at them both.

  “This child has a raging fever,” he said, glaring at Richard and Gilding as if it was somehow their fault. “You should have called me hours ago!”

  Gilding swallowed.

  “I didn't know,” Richard whispered.

  The doctor snorted. “It should have been obvious.”

  Watching from the door as the two men as they discussed treatment and filled in forms, Gilding thought he noticed a tension between the two men. Richard's posture was stiff and rigid, his manner cursory. While not exactly friendly by nature, Richard was never actually rude the way he was with the doctor. Gilding did not know enough about the doctor to know whether or not he was habitually a difficult person.

  When they had finished, Tamsyn staying in so that her temperature could be lowered and monitored, the doctor showed Richard out. He turned to Gilding.

  “Sorry for my manners earlier, Inspector,” he sighed. “I was just concerned. That child should have been in here hours before.”

  Gilding looked at him mildly. “Fever can strike at any time, doctor.”

  The doctor grinned at him. “You make it sound like it's lurking in the bushes, just waiting to pounce.” He chuckled.

  When he smiled, Gilding thought, his face had a sudden boyish appeal that he had not expected. Luke Marlborough had his own special charm – he had forgotten it through all the years of Hargreaves and his harsh approach.

  “Not at all,” he said affably.

  Gilding turned to look at Richard as they walked down the long corridor to the car-park. Tamsyn, still unconscious, had been wheeled off to the ward. The man had his lower lip clamped in his teeth and was clearly trying very hard not to cry.

  Whatever his relationship with his wife, he certainly loves his daughter.

  “Shall I go?”

  “Yes, please. I need to stay here. I want to be here when she comes round.”

  “Of course,” Gilding agreed. He squeezed his shoulder and wandered out. In the car-park he called Ginsberg to come and fetch him. He arrived ten minutes or so later.

  The two of them drove to the station in near-silence, leaving a shattered Richard behind at the hospital.

  As he drove back, Gilding mused about the current situation. Richard clearly loved his daughter and hated the way his wife was treating him. Did he hate it enough to murder? He seemed to hate Marlborough, too, though how much and why he could only guess. And what about her family – Janet's family? Her brother? The fact that he was having problems with finances was interesting.

  Especially since, Gilding thought as he pulled into the main street, her wallet was found, abandoned and almost empty, in the street behind the shop.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PAYING A VISIT

  PAYING A VISIT

  When Marcie entered the library that morning, three guilty heads whipped round. The talking stopped.

  “...and did you hear that she was seeing Grant as well?”

  “...he was some strange cult, you know. And they used to go down to the river and do rituals, I heard...”

  Marcie tried to keep a distant manner, but she found herself surprisingly angry. The ladies from the sewing group were all there, waiting to return books or look through the sewing catalogs. Their latest topic of discussion was obvious. And scandalous. Marcie swallowed and felt the burn of bile.

  “I hope you were not discussing Janet Fleet?” she said frostily, joining the queue next to them, her books that needed returning in hand.

  Sheryl was there and she had the grace to look away. “Marcie, you know we were,” she said haltingly. “It was idle gossip, I know. But so interesting, to have a murder here in our village...” her eyes brightened and her voice lifted again. “And not just one, now, but two!”

  Marcie sighed. “It is certainly big news,” she agreed, and three faces relaxed, visibly relieved.

  “It's terrible for Tamsyn,” Audrey remarked sadly. “The funeral must have been hard for her.”

  “I know,” Marcie agreed. “I wanted to organize the sandwiches and things – meals for the family,” she added briskly. “I know no one feels like cooking after there has been a death. Will you bring a pie, Audrey?” she asked to start the system going. Audrey was known for her savory pies and could be relied on to bring something for almost every occasion.

  “Of course, Marcie,” the older woman nodded. “Of course. You are right. We should all get together. I should take them something for the week ahead, too,” she added sagely. “No one wants to cook after something like this...”

  “Indeed,” Marcie agreed. “Sheryl? You'll do the rest? And pass the word on?”

  “Of cour
se,” Sheryl nodded vigorously. “I should have thought of it, Marcie,” she said, clearly embarrassed.

  “You were shocked too, Sheryl. Like all of us,” Marcie said gently. “If you could make a roster for the ladies to take food round? It would help, I'm sure.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sheryl nodded. “I went to the grocer today, but Richard wasn't there. The youngsters are filling in for him at the shop.”

  “Good,” Marcie sighed. “How is Richard? Did anyone see him after yesterday?”

  “I saw him yesterday morning,” Audrey mentioned. “He was coming here to fetch books for Tamsyn. He looks awful,” she added, looking down. “Poor man. I had no idea how broken he would be. And, did you hear?”

  “No,” Marcie said cautiously. “Hear what?”

  “Tamsyn!” Audrey said. “She was taken to hospital yesterday with a terrible temperature! It's awful...”

  Marcie covered her mouth with her hand. “That's terrible! Is she okay?”

  The younger two exchanged glances but Audrey stared them down. “She's better, Marcie. No need to worry. She's recovering at home.”

  “Oh..?” Marcie looked at the three women. “Do you think she is well enough for a visit?” she checked her watch briefly but saw she had plenty of time before her appointment later that afternoon.

  “I think so, Marcie,” Audrey confirmed.

  “Good. Poor girl! And poor Richard! He must be horrified...he adores his daughter.”

  Once again, one of the other women looked about to say something, but Audrey stepped in again.

  “Marcie is right,” she said stiffly. “Richard thought the world of Janet. You know he did. And when she gave him their daughter, I thought he would actually die from smiling too much!” she chuckled warmly.

  Marcie nodded. Richard had been fond of his wife. They were just so ill-matched. He was so serious and concerned with appearances and how people thought of him in the village. Janet had been...different. A free spirited woman, lighthearted and carefree, she had always been buoyant and always looking for the best in everything. Striving for happiness and laughing often.

  “...and we'll take it up later this afternoon,” Audrey was saying. She was looking at Marcie and Marcie realized they all expected some comment.

  “Sorry?”

  “We were saying,” Audrey replied, “that we would all prepare something for the freezer this afternoon and take it up to the Fleet house this evening,” she said.

  “That's good,” Marcie said encouragingly.

  They talked a while longer, fortunately not more gossip, and then Marcie left to visit Tamsyn.

  Poor girl, she thought as she drove up the hill toward the Fleet house.

  She wondered what could have happened. Probably a result of all the stress of the week. The thought of poison had slipped into her mind – after two deaths in the village, anything seemed likely – but she dismissed it at once. If someone had killed Janet and Grant, why would the same person feel any need to poison her daughter with Richard?

  She stopped outside the gracious white-washed house at the top of the hill and walked slowly up the path to the door.

  When she rang the doorbell, she heard booted feet walk slowly to the door. Richard.

  He opened the door and Marcie almost dropped the trays of sandwiches she carried. She was shocked. She had expected him to look different but was not prepared for the transformation.

  His hair, usually impeccably brushed, was disheveled, his temples peppered with white. He had swollen eyelids and had been crying, his face gaunt and new lines already etched there. He looked exhausted, drained, and miserable but that was the least of it. His eyes were empty windows as if he'd died.

  “Richard,” Marcie said gently.

  “Marcie,” he said softly. He barely seemed to know her, but he gave her an uncertain smile.

  “I brought some things for...later,” she said. She heard a soft in-drawn breath then, and looked down. She found herself staring to where bright brown eyes looked at her. She smiled. Tamsyn had come to join them in the hallway.

  The little girl who stepped hesitantly to stand with Richard was wearing a peach robe and her feet were covered by slippers, her chestnut-brown hair was chin-length and glowing. She had a heart-shaped face and a turned-up nose, angelic and innocent. She had her thumb in her mouth. It was the eyes that stabbed Marcie like physical blow. Brown and shiny, they were the image of Janet. And like her father's, they were voids to nowhere.

  “Hello, Tamsyn”, she said warmly.

  “Hello,” the girl said quietly. “Marcie?”

  “Yes, that's right,” Marcie agreed. “I'm Marcie.” She smiled. The little girl was eight, but she was as bright as a penny and into everything. Marcie was quietly impressed that she remembered who she was: she had seen her at the spring fair last, at least six months ago.

  “You coming to visit us? We just had a funeral,” she informed Marcie wisely.

  Marcie swallowed. She knew from her own experience how little – and how much – children understood death. She wanted to go down on her knees and embrace the child, offer any comfort she could.

  “I know, dear,” she said instead. “I thought you and your father might like some sandwiches,” she added, nodding at the trays which she still carried in front of her. “I heard you had been sick?”

  The little girl looked up and was a glimmer of interest on her face. “Sandwiches?”

  Her father answered instead. “Thank you, Marcie,” he said, his voice raw. “We appreciate it. Come inside?”

  “Thank you, Richard,” she replied. He led the way into the impeccable, modern house and she followed, noting that Tamsyn lingered in the hallway before following them quietly into the dining room. “How has Tamsyn been? She was sick, I heard?”

  Richard shook his head. “I don't know. I don't know what to believe. That Doctor Marlborough,” he almost spat the word, “he said she will be fine now. That it was an ear infection and all it needed was antibiotics. I don't trust him.”

  “Oh?” Marcie blinked. That was news to her. “Why?”

  “I just don't like him,” Richard said stiffly. “Snoopy bastard, if you'll pardon my language. Sent me a letter once to say Tamsyn had a spinal curvature. Said she shouldn't carry a school bag. Cheeky bastard,” he said again. “And he was here too often. Visiting the house next door, apparently.” He shrugged.

  Marcie was surprised. “She had a spinal curvature?”

  Richard breathed out through his nose. “I doubt it. He was too interested in the goings-on in this house, is all.”

  Marcie looked around, seeking to change the subject. “How's the shop?”

  He sighed. “It's...normal, Marcie. It's just...it doesn't mean anything to me. Nothing does, anymore.”

  Marcie nodded. “I understand. You need time, Richard,” she said gently. “You saw Harry?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “He said you offered to take Tamsyn for a few days?”

  “Yes,” Marcie nodded. “It would be our pleasure, Richard, you know it would.”

  She heard footsteps and turned round to see Tamsyn smiling uncertainly up at her. She smiled back. The little girl wrung her hands in the toweling-fabric gown and looked embarrassed. Marcie grinned back and the little girl hid, peeping out behind the door at her again.

  “I appreciate it, Marcie,” Richard said. “This is no place for a girl just now. I'm a mess.”

  “You're her father and she loves you,” Marcie said firmly. “But I understand she needs to see some different scenery for a while. We can fetch her tomorrow evening?”

  “Thank you, Marcie,” Richard nodded weakly. “That would be a help. I've had a rough time,” he sighed. “Starting from when Janet's brother came visiting on Thursday, and then...everything.”

  Marcie bit her lip. He looked as if he would cry and she didn't want to have to make him speak, so she held out her hand. “See you tomorrow then, Richard.”

  He nodded and shook
her hand, throat working.

  “Goodbye, Tamsyn,” Marcie called round the door as she left.

  “Goodbye.”

  In her car, driving back up toward the other end of the village, Marcie shook her head. Whatever anyone said, however obvious it seemed to be, she could not believe Richard did it. One look into those empty eyes convinced her he could not have done it. And the memory of the little bright eyes looking up at her, confused and sad, hardened her resolve. Whatever she could do to find the truth, she would do it. For Tamsyn and the memory of Janet.

  They both deserved the freedom of that.

  As she drove, she remembered something. Janet's brother had visited. That was something no one else had mentioned. He had not been seen visiting with Janet for years.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DINNER AND CLUES

  DINNER AND CLUES

  “...and you asked him about Tamsyn?”

  “Yes, Harry.”

  The click of forks on plates made a staccato rhythm, rising and falling in the still air of the dining room. Marcie and Harry were sitting at the table, the light warm and shining on the silk-figured wallpaper. They had come back from the funeral about an hour ago and they were both feeling exhausted. A hot meal and a bath was all Marcie wanted at that moment.

  “Good,” Harry said to her earlier comment “So she'll be here tomorrow?” He reached for the salver of bread rolls in the center of the table.

  “Yes. Harry, dear?”

  “Mm?”

  “You know Joshua was here?”

  “Janet's brother?” Harry frowned deeply. “No, I didn't know. I thought he lived in the city.”

  “So did I,” Marcie agreed. She lifted a spoon and dipped it delicately into the mushroom soup, blowing on it to cool it.

  “Wasn't he...”

  “Having some trouble with the legal sector? Yes.” Marcie said quietly. She lessened it, and they both knew it.

  Joshua had also escaped his family, only he had escaped to Norwich where, many considered, he had joined the drug scene. He had returned to the village only once in the last five years, as far as anyone knew, and the word was that he was hiding from the police. Or a gang, or both. Marcie did not believe the local gossip, but Gilding had confirmed it to her and Harry on a visit once and so she knew it was true.