Ann Granger (18 page)
Authors: That Way Murder Lies
‘Where’s Smythe now?’ Markby asked her.
‘I don’t know for sure, sir. He said he was going for a walk along by the Festival Hall. I think he’s probably gone somewhere to drown his sorrows.’
‘Well,’ Markby said,‘things are certainly happening on all fronts. Fiona’s red hair scrunchy has turned up.’
‘Where?’ He had to smile at her startled tone.
‘Near a copse on Jenner’s land. I was just in time to stop Stebbings burning it on his bonfire. We’ll have to get a team down searching the wood. Oh, and his son had been snapping the police at work by the lake. He took a good picture of you.’
‘what?’
Markby chuckled and put down the phone.
‘What did Stebbings say?’ asked Meredith, moving her head on Markby’s shoulder so that she could look up at him.
‘He said he hadn’t noticed it. He’d been clearing out the undergrowth by the edge of the wood. It might have been in that, or it might have been on the ground where he built his fire. Or perhaps somewhere between the edge of the copse and the place where the bonfire was. It could have been caught up in branches as he dragged across the stuff to burn. After a long and, I might say, quite lively discussion about this, he decided it had probably been lying on the track which runs by the wood and got caught up in the rubbish as he dragged it across.’
They were reclining on the old sofa in Meredith’s living room before a blank television screen. When Meredith and I move into our house together, Markby thought, the television is going into some sort of cabinet with doors, so it can be shut away. Why should the thing dominate the room even when no one is watching anything? It’s like being always under the eye of a petulant elderly relative, demanding attention, emanating waves of reproach at being ignored.
Having arranged for the scrunchy to be sent for forensic examination and for a team to start combing the woods, Markby had informed everyone that he was now going out for a very late lunch. But as soon as he’d got in the car, he’d made up his mind to skip lunch and drop by Meredith’s place instead. Jeremy Jenner, Toby Smythe, Jess Campbell, Harry Stebbings and young Darren,
they all besieged his mind. He needed to distance himself from them for an hour or so. He wanted to get what they’d had to say into some kind of perspective. Perhaps talking to Meredith would help.
they all besieged his mind. He needed to distance himself from them for an hour or so. He wanted to get what they’d had to say into some kind of perspective. Perhaps talking to Meredith would help.
‘You believe him, then? That he wasn’t burning it on purpose?’ Her voice, by his ear, sounded incredulous.
Well she might find the whole thing hard to believe. Markby shrugged, which was injudicious because it jolted her head. ‘Sorry,’ he said and bent his head to kiss the top of hers. ‘I have no reason to disbelieve him.’
He sensed scepticism emanating from her and sighed. ‘Look, if he’d wanted to destroy it, he’d have made a point of doing so before now and not kept it only to chuck it on a fire with a lot of other stuff. That’s what he did with the photographs. He destroyed them at once. It’s still a very important discovery. We’ve now seriously to consider that Fiona died there on that track. There were already indications she hadn’t died at the lakeside. We’ve got people searching the woods now. They’re looking for Fiona’s mobile phone, among other things. If they find that we’d be pretty sure that is where she was attacked. So far, no luck. Stebbings swears he’s found no mobile down there. He showed me his own battered old model, as if to prove he hadn’t nicked Fiona’s. He’s a strange man. I fancy he chooses to work and live out in the country like that, on his own, because basically he doesn’t like being with people. Being a loner doesn’t make you a crook and I don’t think Stebbings is of a criminal mind.’
But what is a criminal mind? he asked himself. When does being uncooperative, or thoughtless, or just plain stupid, turn into wilful obstruction? Stebbings didn’t want the police at Overvale any more than his employer wanted them there. Jenner reluctantly accepted them because he wanted something from them: the identity of his daughter’s killer and that of the writer of abusive letters to his wife. Stebbings, on the other hand, saw Fiona’s death as no reason to welcome the police. They remained
strangers on his patch, snoopers into private matters. Did most people see them like that?
strangers on his patch, snoopers into private matters. Did most people see them like that?
Meredith’s voice recalled him to his surroundings.
‘So she died in or near the woods? It makes sense. Her killer wouldn’t attack her out in the open where someone might see.’
‘Yet look at the risk he took taking the body to the lake and spending time arranging it in the water.’ It wasn’t right. The actions contradicted one another. What kind of killer behaved so erratically? Or had he changed his mind? What had caused the change? Was there, after all, some macabre purpose in arranging the body as it had been found? Or was it found exactly so? Who found it? Stebbings. And Stebbings, by his own admission, had moved it, pulling Fiona from the water and attempting resuscitation.
Aloud he said carefully, ‘There are alternative scenarios. Was she waylaid at the woods by someone who had driven down the track to that point and waited for her, knowing perhaps that she ran in the morning? Or was it a pre-arranged rendezvous? She knew her attacker and had agreed to meet him or her at a spot familiar to both of them. Does that mean they’d met there before? This time there was some kind of quarrel. Whoever it was stabbed her, put her body in his vehicle, drove back along to the track to where it joined the main drive, up the main drive a short way and then across the grass to the lake. Unfortunately for us, only when he got to the lake was the ground soft enough to take an impression of his tyres. There’s been so little rain lately that everywhere else is rock hard. Even more unfortunately, Stebbings and his son pretty well obliterated the impression in chasing after Spike. The search team isn’t only looking for the mobile in the woods; they’re looking for a possible murder weapon.’ Markby ended with some emotion, ‘I just hope Stebbings hasn’t found and zealously removed that!’
‘Stebbings might not be a criminal, as you say,’ Meredith observed. ‘But he seems to have been a thorough nuisance and
got rid of quite a bit of evidence, accidentally or on purpose, including his son’s photos of Fiona.’
got rid of quite a bit of evidence, accidentally or on purpose, including his son’s photos of Fiona.’
‘There are people like Stebbings in every walk of life,’ Markby returned gloomily. ‘As if things aren’t complicated enough, they seem to go out of their way to make them worse. Incidentally, your chum Toby is perilously near being in that category, too!’
Meredith sighed. ‘He didn’t mean any harm. All right, all right! He shouldn’t have gone to Fiona’s flat. It was so stupid of Jeremy Jenner not to have told Inspector Campbell that he suspected his daughter had a partner living at the flat. It was inexcusable not to tell Toby and to persuade poor Toby to go up there. I don’t know what Toby was meant to do. Just look around and come back and confirm Jeremy’s suspicions, or not, as the case might be. If Toby didn’t find anything, Jeremy would have kept quiet about his guess that Fiona had a partner. What a mess. It’s a good job your Inspector Campbell found him pretty quick before he turned everything upside down and was caught red-handed by Tara Seale! At least Campbell could wave her ID at Ms Seale and give Toby a chance to get out of there.’
‘It was a good job he was caught by Campbell for his own sake and ours, never mind Tara Seale. It’s only because Jess turned up before he started turning out cupboards and drawers that he’s not facing a charge of obstructing our inquiries! Campbell wants to talk to you tomorrow morning by the way,’ Markby added, as if by an afterthought. ‘She’d like your impression of Fiona. She’s interested that you think Fiona might have written the poison pen letters. You’re still taking the rest of the week off?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Obviously Toby’s not safe left unsupervised. Perhaps I can keep an eye on him.’
‘Hey, you are not his keeper! He’s a grown man. A grown man with very little common sense, but still old enough not to have to keep hold of nurse!’ Markby couldn’t help sounding annoyed.
‘I’m not nursemaiding him,’ she retorted defensively, just a little too defensively, he thought. ‘I just want to be around so he can come and talk things over with me. He’s been knocked
sideways by all this. He’d never have agreed to oblige Jeremy by going up to the flat in London, if he’d been thinking straight. Poor Toby, he must be feeling really low.’
sideways by all this. He’d never have agreed to oblige Jeremy by going up to the flat in London, if he’d been thinking straight. Poor Toby, he must be feeling really low.’
After a moment, Markby said, ‘You feel you need to watch out for Toby. I’m watching out for Jeremy Jenner who, like Smythe, seems to have left common sense behind somewhere. What a family. It must be genetic.’
‘I suppose,’ Meredith defended the Jenners, ‘that at a time like this, they can’t be expected to think reasonably.’ She reached up and touched his face. ‘Like you, I had hoped we’d get some time together over the Easter break and the way things have turned out we’ve hardly had any. That’s partly my fault. I agreed to talk you to about Toby’s cousin’s wife and her problem and let us in for going to lunch there.’
‘It’s just sod’s law,’ said Markby, catching her fingers and kissing them. ‘What did you do this morning?’
‘I went to the vicarage and found poor James Holland up to his eyes in packing cases and newspaper. He’s decided to start clearing out ahead of his removal. The new vicarage is ready and he can move in. That means we can start early on renovating the present vicarage. I long to get my hands on that kitchen. It will all have to be torn out and everything done new. There’s loads of space. There’s also a Victorian kitchen range. At least Mrs Harmer didn’t use that, but she did use the gas cooker which is a sixties model and I doubt that it’s now safe. Honestly, Alan, you never saw so much junk. He’s got to get rid of it all. I advised him to just put it all in a special jumble sale.’
‘Be careful. Sometimes quite valuable items get thrown away in the rush to clear out!’
‘Not this time,’ said Meredith firmly. ‘I know junk when I see it. James will never be able to put it all in the new vicarage. I stayed for an hour and helped him wrap up some of it and put it in boxes. I went outside and walked round the garden. It’s a bit of jungle but it could be made really nice. I’ve been thinking again about that garden furniture those two guys make. I thought, while
I’m home, I’ll go down and ask them to make some for us, like Alison’s only a little simpler.’
I’m home, I’ll go down and ask them to make some for us, like Alison’s only a little simpler.’
At this point Markby’s stomach gave an aggressive rumble announcing it felt it had been empty long enough. Meredith sat up with a start.
‘Oh, poor Alan! Haven’t you eaten? Why didn’t you say? I could at least have made you a sandwich! Let me make you one now.’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother. My fault entirely. I should have picked up something on my way over here.’
‘Don’t be noble, please,’ she pleaded. ‘This doesn’t say much for my domestic skills, does it?’ Her expression of dismay was quite comical.
Markby grinned at her. ‘Funnily enough, I’m not marrying you for your domestic skills. If I wanted a cook-housekeeper, I’d find someone like Mrs Harman.’
‘You wouldn’t want a Mrs Harman. I don’t know how poor James survived all that time under her regime. She boiled all the green vegetables for fifteen minutes by the clock and made him a milk pudding every day.’
‘I survived for seven years at boarding school on a diet like that,’ he reminisced. ‘Look, I know what we’ll do. We’ll walk up to the Crown. They do an all-day breakfast. I’ll have that and you can have a cup of tea or whatever you fancy.’
‘The Crown?’ Meredith asked. ‘It’s grim.’
‘Isn’t it under new management? I don’t care if it’s grim. It can fry up bacon and eggs. I know it’s not the sort of place I’d normally invite you to join me at, but we’re midway between lunch and dinner now and everywhere decent isn’t serving.’
The Crown was an old hotel in the town’s centre. The occasional tourist strayed into it but mostly it catered for travelling reps and people who found themselves unexpectedly stranded in the town overnight. They didn’t ask questions at the Crown. They signed in whoever turned up and then pretty well left guests to their own
devices. The bar was usually busy in the evenings with trade which came in off the street. The restaurant had always been a dark, half-deserted room presided over by an elderly waitress. Diners settled the bill at reception on the way out, if they weren’t staying there, or on leaving, if they were.
devices. The bar was usually busy in the evenings with trade which came in off the street. The restaurant had always been a dark, half-deserted room presided over by an elderly waitress. Diners settled the bill at reception on the way out, if they weren’t staying there, or on leaving, if they were.
Markby had more than a passing acquaintance with the Crown because it was here that the police had from time to time lodged witnesses or temporary staff. He was therefore greeted as an old friend by the receptionist, a chirpy young woman in a tight black sweater.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You again, then, Superintendent?’ She treated Meredith to a rapid up-and-down assessment. ‘You want us to put this lady up?’
‘Er, no,’ he said. ‘We just dropped in for something to eat. The restaurant’s open?’
‘It’s always open,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But it depends what you want. Three-course meal is from six o’clock. Chef’s got some haddock.’
‘Nothing like that. Just a snack.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ she said, waving them through to the dining room with a flash of her gold-painted nails.
‘Hey,’ said Meredith, as they took their seats in an otherwise untenanted restaurant.‘How many women do you lodge in here?’
‘You’d be surprised! Hello, Florrie.’
‘Nice to see you, Mr Markby,’ said Florrie, who had come plodding across the room to their table, notebook in hand. ‘You want the all-day breakfast again?’
‘I don’t,’ said Meredith hastily. ‘I’ll just have a cup of tea.’
Florrie dismissed her with a glance and concentrated on Markby. ‘Bacon, two eggs, black pudding and fried bread?’
‘Alan,’ said Meredith when Florrie had taken her bunions off to the kitchen with the order. ‘You come in here regularly!’
‘Quite often,’ he admitted.
‘And you always eat that fry-up? It’s a heart attack on a plate, you do realize that?’
‘I don’t care,’ he said mutinously. ‘I like it. Anyway, I only eat it here.’ And in the police canteen, but there was no need to tell Meredith that.
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