Epitaph: a gripping murder mystery

by Anita Waller

  Wendy joined in the discussion. ‘I do have to say at this point it was a bit of a clutching-at-straws exercise, and if I hadn’t had this vast network and the knowledge to chat to these lads in their taxi offices on their level, what we did would never have happened, so if we’re in trouble for what we’re about to tell you, it’s down to me, not Doris.’

  Doris continued to look down at the map trying not to laugh at Wendy’s valiant attempt to keep her out of the Tower of London. ‘We’re not in any trouble. I’m licensed as an investigator, and this is a pro bono case for Connection. We get our information however we have to.’ She lifted her head and smiled. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Grace said. ‘Come on, carry on with this fascinating tale of how you’re trying to justify your transgressions.’

  ‘Wendy put together an email, asking for information about pickups or drop-offs in the area of the bridge where Melanie Brookes died, although we didn’t specify that obviously. We gave them the location of the bridge and the roundabout near to Melanie’s home, plus a wide six-hour window. We had lots of responses, some of them remarkably chatty towards Wendy, I might tell you, but two of them gave an indication that they had picked up and dropped off in the right area at the right time. Both these firms indicated they would have their drivers drop by the office at specific times, to tell us about it.’

  ‘So that’s where we’ve been,’ Wendy said. ‘Chatting to taxi drivers who are both expecting to speak to you. They’re both working tonight till midnight, so you might want to leave it till tomorrow. They need to earn their crust.’

  Doris reached across to her bag and took out the photographs, then picked up the bright-pink marker. ‘So… the first pick-up was here, at Calverton. A woman who cried all the time she was in the taxi and who spoke very little. He got to the roundabout near Melanie’s home and “she”, his passenger, asked to be dropped off. He took her straight across, heading towards the bridge, and she got out. He then went back to base. She paid cash.’

  Grace and Harriet looked at each other. ‘Did he describe her?’

  ‘Better than that. I took these with me,’ and Doris laid out the photographs in a line. ‘I showed him the women, as he had clearly stated his passenger was female, and he had no hesitation in pointing to this one. He’s prepared to give a statement to that effect.’ Doris’s hand remained on the photo for a few seconds. ‘But that’s not all.’

  ‘Certainly isn’t,’ Wendy said with a grin. She stood and walked to the kitchen drawer and took out two tablets. She swallowed them down with water and apologised. ‘Sorry, headache starting, so let me stop it before it worsens.’

  ‘So we have a clear suspect now, who was out and about in the vicinity of the murder on the night in question.’ Grace looked at Doris. ‘So was the second taxi company ruled out?’

  ‘Not at all. We knew the driver had been asked to go into the office specially to meet us, so when we’d finished at Sherwood Taxis, we headed off to Star Taxis. There we met the delightful Chunk Johnson, the driver who had also picked up in the area that night. He picked up in Westville, flagged down, not a booking, then dropped his client at the bridge. The bridge,’ Doris emphasised, ‘where Melanie was murdered. Again, cash was paid for the fare, so no help there, but we asked him to look at the photos anyway. Because of the identification at the first taxi place, I had no expectation that there would be one at Star, but there was. He, exactly like Walt at Sherwood, had no hesitation in pointing to this one,’ and again Doris’s finger stayed on a different photo to the first one, for a few seconds.

  There was silence around the table as they watched without seeing the actions of Wendy putting pink dots on the map, signifying everything to do with the taxi activity.

  Eventually Doris spoke. ‘The four of us round this table are the only people who know about this. Neither the taxi drivers nor their bosses know names, we simply thanked them for their time and said you would be contacting them for a statement. You’ll not have a problem with that, both men were really helpful. They showed us on their map the exact pick-up and drop-off points, so I photographed them in order for us to be accurate when we put them on this.’ Doris pointed to the multi-dotted map. ‘Now would anybody like another cup of tea, or something stronger?’

  35

  Doris, Grace and Harriet settled for tea, Wendy said she would stick with water until her headache went. They moved into the lounge to more comfortable seating, and as both officers looked in appreciation, Doris invited them to look around her home. ‘It really is a proper cottage now,’ she explained. ‘I’ve tried to furnish it to keep it compatible with how old it is, and I’m so pleased I bought it.’

  The three women headed upstairs and Wendy remained in the lounge, checking her emails to make sure no further positive responses had arrived. Two suspects was enough for one murder, she considered.

  ‘I absolutely love this,’ Harriet said, her eyes sparkling. ‘If I was given a wish list, this would be it. The whole thing. I only need to find a rich man to replace the present Mr Jameson, that’s all.’

  ‘Not worth it,’ Grace said.

  ‘Not worth it,’ Doris echoed.

  By nine o’clock, Grace had filled several pages with notes, had photographed Wendy’s map, and was standing in the front garden taking her leave of her two hosts. She had sent Harriet off an hour earlier, ever-conscious of little Adeline at home without Mummy to put her to bed.

  ‘Tessa Marsden is one lucky woman to have you on her side and not on the dark side of our police world. I hope she knows that.’

  ‘We have a great deal of respect for Tessa and Hannah and their whole team, and Tessa uses us as a sounding board. She knows she can trust us with anything, and it will go no further. This that’s happened today is somewhat unusual, and I’ll be honest, if this had been a Connection case we would not have had the same result because we wouldn’t have had Wendy’s knowledge. She’s the one who’s made this happen, not me. I’m only the driver.’

  ‘Is she okay? She looked a bit pale.’

  ‘She’s fine. A headache. It’s been a long and exciting day, she enjoys her role as Miss Marple. It’s going to seem really mundane when she goes back home after this holiday.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Doris. I’ll keep you informed as to what is happening tomorrow, although I don’t doubt you’ll find out from Hucknall anyway. We’ll get the statements from the drivers first, then we’ll be picking these two up for questioning. It’ll be interesting to hear what they say.’

  Grace slid into the driver seat and wound down her window. ‘Take care, Doris. I’ll hopefully speak to you at some time tomorrow. And thank you for feeding us, you’re a star.’

  Doris smiled and waved as Grace dropped down the hill and out of sight.

  Now to see how Wendy was.

  After the excitement of the previous day, feeding the ducks felt anticlimactic. It wasn’t to the ducks; they loved every mouthful of the bread Doris and Wendy cast their way.

  ‘I want a tartan throw,’ Wendy announced. ‘When we’ve given this lot their breakfast, shall we go and get one?’

  ‘We’ll do whatever you feel like doing. Why a tartan throw?’

  ‘Because I love yours. It’s lovely to snuggle under on a cold evening. I want one of my own.’

  ‘Okay, it’s easily arranged. I actually got mine here in Bakewell, and when I got it they had several different tartans in, so we’ll go straight there if these ducks will let us go.’ Doris threw the last of the bread behind them, and the crowd of ducks moved as one to get to it. ‘Right, let’s go while they’re distracted.’

  They slipped down the path that led into the town centre, called in at the bookshop simply for a browse, and bought three books each, then wandered a little further on to the shop selling high-class woollen things.

  Wendy chose a red tartan, paid an extortionate amount for it, and swapped it from arm to arm for the rest of the Bakewell visit, so awkward was it to carry.

  T
hey had lunch in a pub, then headed back to the car park, primarily to get rid of the throw and the weight of the books. Doris’s phone pinged as they sat back in their seats. She took it out and read the message from Grace, then turned to Wendy.

  ‘Grace has statements from both drivers, they have confirmed everything we said and she’s sent two teams out to bring the suspects in for questioning.’ Doris paused for a moment. ‘Why do I feel so down about this?’

  ‘Because they’ve become your extended family, and this is going to be a terrible time for everybody. In that little circle of people, three have already died, and two more are going to be questioned and, in time, probably convicted. You’re a caring woman, Doris, it’s going to affect you. They’re not even my family, I merely tagged along, but it’s definitely affecting me. Let’s give Chatsworth a miss and go home. We can wait for news there in comfort.’

  Doris nodded, put the car into drive, and left the car park.

  ‘DS Jameson and DC Ellis,’ Harriet called through the closed door, responding to the feeble ‘who’s there’ that had followed their knock.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To speak with you. Can you open the door, please, Mrs Ledger?’

  Shirley turned the key, but left the chain on as she slowly opened it. They both held up their warrant cards.

  Shirley closed the door, removed the chain and allowed them entry. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit nervous. What can I do for you?’

  ‘We’d like you to accompany us to the station, please, Mrs Ledger. Are your children here?’

  The colour drained from Shirley’s face. ‘No, they’re not. They’ve gone over to my sister’s to have a couple of hours with my niece. She’s taking them to the park…’ Shirley was aware she was babbling, and took a deep breath.

  ‘Would you like to ring her and tell her what’s happening? She can keep the children safe, I’m sure.’

  Shirley appeared lost. She picked up her phone and rang Rosie, explaining the police wanted to ask her some questions, and Rosie was clearly heard to say Don’t worry. Text me when you’re back home.

  Harriet dropped the mobile phone into an evidence bag, and Shirley picked up a cardigan as they left Fuchsia Cottage. Tears filled her eyes.

  Grace took PC Fiona Harte with her, and they pulled up outside the property, looking at the impressiveness of it.

  ‘Wow. This is massive!’

  ‘Come on then, let’s go and bring them back down to earth where the common people live,’ Grace said, trying to stop a smile.

  They walked up the path to the front door, and listened as the doorbell played a Mozart concerto. A disembodied voice said Can I help you and Grace held up her warrant card to the small camera above the door.

  ‘DCI Grace Stamford and PC Fiona Harte. We’d like a word, please.’

  Footsteps approached the door, and slowly it opened. It was clearly one of considerable weight.

  A man stood there, elderly, grey hair that hadn’t started thinning, but with a well-lined face. ‘What do you want? We don’t deal with people at the door.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Grace said, and stepped inside. Fiona wanted to explode with laughter at the man’s shocked face, but held it back.

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘I need to speak to your daughter, please.’

  ‘Juliet? Why?’

  ‘Can you get Juliet for me, please, sir.’

  He stared at the two officers for a moment, then turned away. ‘Wait here.’ He went to the end of the hallway and disappeared.

  ‘He doesn’t like you,’ Fiona whispered.

  ‘Not many people do, especially when I’m here to take their daughter away, and they’re going to be left with the kids,’ Grace whispered back.

  They waited five minutes and Grace was about to go to the end of the hallway to track down the irascible old man, when Juliet Vickers appeared in front of them.

  ‘Apologies,’ she said. ‘You should have rung to make an appointment and I wouldn’t have been in the shower when you arrived.’

  ‘Are your children here?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Are they safe with your parents?’

  ‘Of course they are.’

  ‘Then we’d like you to accompany us to the station, please, Mrs Vickers. PC Harte, will you go and find someone and tell them what’s happening?’

  Fiona moved to go around Juliet, who also moved. ‘I’ll tell them,’ she said, snapping at the two officers.

  ‘No. You remain with me,’ Grace said.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ The look was delivered to Grace with precision. Juliet was obviously used to getting her own way.

  ‘Mrs Vickers, if you take one step from me I will place handcuffs on your wrists and send for a squad car to transport you. If you remain here without moving a step while PC Harte does as instructed, you will travel with us unfettered and in an unmarked car. Your choice.’

  Fiona continued her journey down the hallway, aware of virtual daggers sinking into her back. She tried desperately not to smile. This Juliet Vickers bird didn’t know DCI Grace Stamford at all.

  Fiona’s conversation with Juliet’s parents told her why Juliet was so up herself; she was definitely a carbon copy of both parents. They didn’t seem too happy to be lumbered with the children, but as Juliet’s father said, ‘It’s only for the afternoon, darling.’ Eventually his wife nodded her agreement, and Fiona returned to report to Grace.

  Fiona sat in the back with Juliet while Grace drove them to headquarters. Grace had had text confirmation from Harriet that Shirley was in the interview room, that a solicitor hadn’t been requested, and she seemed in a state of shock.

  She didn’t expect the same reaction from the feisty Juliet. She could almost guarantee that the first words out of her mouth would be get me a solicitor. It was only as they approached the station that the hitherto-silent Juliet showed visible and audible signs of stress.

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘We have a few questions for you, Mrs Vickers.’ Fiona was polite.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I would advise you not to say anything, Mrs Vickers, until you’re speaking for the tape.’

  Grace grinned at the audible gasp from Juliet Vickers, as the PC’s words finally sank in. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘Have you done something wrong?’

  ‘No, of course I bloody haven’t.’

  ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’ Fiona turned her head to look out of the car window, effectively closing down the conversation.

  Juliet Vickers was placed in interview room three, next door to interview room four, occupied by a trembling Shirley Ledger. Neither woman had asked for a legal representative, and neither woman was admitting to knowing why their presence was required.

  Grace knew it was only a matter of time before one of them explained why they were both in the same place, on the same night that Melanie Brookes had been murdered, and why they felt she had to die.

  Grace took out her phone and messaged Doris for the second time.

  Both in custody, not interviewed yet. Shirley shocked, Juliet cocky. Things will change.

  Doris and Wendy were at home, the new tartan throw spread across Wendy’s legs; she wasn’t cold, she wanted the luxury of it wrapped around her.

  Doris’s phone pinged, and she read out the message to Wendy.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Doris said. ‘As soon as Chunk picked out her photo, I felt sick. And I must admit, I thought he was going to pick out a man at first, but no, he hovered over Shirley then picked it up. Those poor boys. This isn’t going to end well, is it, Wendy?’

  36

  ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Mrs Ledger, do you understand the caution?’

  A look of horror had settled on Shirley’s face. ‘You’re arresting me?’
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  ‘We need to question you under caution, Shirley,’ DS Harriet Jameson said. ‘Please confirm you understand everything I’ve said to you.’

  Shirley’s shoulders dropped, and she nodded, before saying she understood. She looked somewhat wildly around the room as if searching for an exit marked ‘escape hatch’, but finally she slumped into her chair and waited.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harriet said. ‘Can you please confirm where you were on the evening of Thursday, the second of May, 2019, between twenty and twenty-two hundred hours.’

  ‘I was in bed at Oleander House. I’m sure Trudy Dawson, the owner of the Bed and Breakfast, will confirm that.’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Did you, at any time that evening, leave your room to go back downstairs.’

  ‘No, I stayed in my room till breakfast the next morning.’

  ‘So you didn’t see the owner at any point that night?’

  Shirley froze; she’d walked into her own mousetrap, and it showed on her face. ‘Er… no.’

  ‘So in actual fact, Trudy Dawson can’t alibi you for that evening because she didn’t actually see you. Is that right?’

  ‘I slept. I’d had an emotional day, and as soon as I got into bed I fell asleep.’

  ‘You see, Shirley, we have a bit of a problem. We have a witness who has identified you as being out and about that night. In fact, so much out and about that it necessitated you flagging down a black cab for your trip between Westville, where coincidentally Oleander House is situated, and the little bridge where Melanie Brookes was murdered.’

  There was silence in the room, and significant blood loss from Shirley’s face. Harriet waited, guessing what was coming next. She felt Sam Ellis tense by her side.