Ann Granger (5 page)
Authors: That Way Murder Lies
‘There is another point,’ Jenner interrupted again. ‘A number of people hire holiday cottages in the West Country. It’s necessary that they feel safe in lonely properties. The local police needed to solve the crime quickly and, if possible, show it to be the result of something like a family dispute, an in-house crime, if you like. No hint of a lone prowler, nothing like that.’
‘Hum,’ said Markby. ‘Nevertheless, I’m surprised they went to trial on such evidence. However, twenty-five years ago, things were done differently, I know.’
‘One thing about being known in the city and having money,’ Alison said. ‘I could hire a good lawyer. He’s still around. Now he’s Sir Montague Ling. Then he was plain Monty Ling but going places.’
‘Montague Ling!’ Markby exclaimed. ‘I bet he knocked all their circumstantial evidence into a cocked hat!’
‘Yes, he did. But even so, I mightn’t have squeaked through had not, quite unexpectedly, a pair of witnesses turned up. They were a young couple on a cycling holiday. They read about the trial in the papers and in one paper there was a picture of the cottage. They remembered it. They’d cycled past it at one o’clock that Sunday afternoon and stopped to ask the elderly woman in the garden if they were on the right road. She said they were and they remembered her clearly, could identify her photo. Well, at one o‘clock I was nearly a hundred miles away, buying petrol, with a timed and dated receipt to prove it. The garage didn’t have a security camera at the till. It was before they became standard equipment. But they were shown a photograph of me and the young man at the till recognized me. He said yes, I’d definitely been in on that Sunday.’ Alison blushed faintly. ‘He remembered me because I was what he called a looker. So that was that. I was cleared or, as Mrs Travis probably told everyone, got away with it.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Jenner told her. ‘You were rightly cleared. The case should never have gone to court, as Markby indicated.’
‘Tell me,’ Markby asked Alison, ‘what do you think happened to your aunt?’
She met his gaze frankly. ‘I’ve spent a long time puzzling over that and I have got a theory, though I can’t prove it. It was such a lovely day and Aunt Freda loved the garden. She would stay out in it until teatime, I’m sure, just popping into the house for the odd thing. The cyclists saw her there. There were no rocks around the pool, but much further away there was a rockery. I think my aunt, who was frail and unsteady on her feet, stumbled and fell near the rockery. She hit her head, probably knocked herself out. She came round sufficiently to get to her feet. But she was disorientated. She wanted to go back to the cottage but she went in the other direction, towards the pond. There she collapsed and died, falling face forwards into the water.’
‘The local police didn’t search round the garden to see if there was anywhere like that where she could have struck her head?’ Meredith asked.
‘Apparently not.’
‘You bet they didn’t,’ said Fiona unexpectedly. ‘They wanted to stitch Alison up.’ She stared defiantly at Markby. ‘Clearing up the crime rate, that’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Closing the file?’
‘Darling …’ murmured her father, looking slightly shocked.
If he was shocked, thought Meredith, it was because his daughter had been rude to a guest. He had suggested much the same thing earlier himself, albeit in a rather more circumspect manner.
Markby met Fiona’s challenging stare with an easy smile. ‘I couldn’t say. I don’t have the details of the investigations the police carried out.’
Fiona flushed and retorted, ‘Nor do I. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Well, I don’t. But one hears about these things. You heard what Alison said about this guy, Barnes-Wakefield. He had a mean disposition and he wanted to pin it on Alison’
Jenner stepped into the situation smoothly. ‘So that’s the story, Markby. As you say, the writer of the letter could have learned the facts anywhere.’
‘Yes, especially if the case was an early success for Sir Montague Ling. Whenever he has another triumph the papers usually refer to his earlier exploits.’
‘But,’ saidToby obstinately, ‘whoever read it still would have no reason to link it to Alison.’
‘That’s something we’re going to have to look into, isn’t it? Well,’ Markby said, ‘we’ll do our best to trace the writer quickly. But, as I hope you’ll have understood, it could take time. If you get another letter bring it to me at once together with the envelope.’ He smiled at Alison. ‘In the meantime,
nil desperandum
, eh?’
nil desperandum
, eh?’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘I wonder,’ Markby said to Jeremy Jenner, ‘if, before we go, we might take a look at your gardens? Meredith would like to see the boating lake.’
‘Yes, of course!’ Jenner said, getting to his feet.
Everyone else stood up and the atmosphere was suddenly lighter. There was a sense of palpable relief as if a disagreeable chore had been done and minds could be turned to more pleasant matters.
‘If you’re going down to the lake,’ said Fiona. ‘Count me out. I don’t like that bird. It’s vicious. I’m going to see the horses.’
Meredith saw Toby hesitate. He clearly wanted to go with Fiona. But he must have decided quickly that, as she and Alan were here at his instigation, he could hardly abandon them. He watched Fiona walk quickly away, his expression wistful.
A complication, thought Meredith.
‘We’ll have to shut in Betsy,’ Alison said. ‘He goes for her.’
These ominous references were not explained.
‘I remember these gardens,’ Markby said to Jeremy Jenner as they walked down a well-raked path, ‘from when the Grays lived here.’
The route led them steeply downhill between banks of shrubs. Gardening on this slope must present problems. Birds fluttered up at their passage but it was very quiet, a place of peace.
‘We’ve made a few changes,’ Jenner replied. ‘Alison’s a keen gardener. She’s got a lot of ideas.’
They were passing by an arrangement of rustic chairs and a table as he spoke.
‘Those are nice,’ Meredith observed.
‘Yes, well made.’ Jenner nodded approvingly. ‘A couple of fellows run a small business turning them out, down on the Watersmeet industrial estate.The firm’s called “Rusticity”.’ Jenner snorted. ‘Sort of name that appeals to people, I suppose.’
‘We’re taking over a run-down garden at the vicarage,’ Meredith said. ‘When we get it cleared up, something like those chairs would be nice.’
‘Ted and Steve,’ Alison said, overhearing. ‘Those are their names.Their prices are quite reasonable and they’ll make anything you like to order.’
They had reached the bottom of the slope where it flattened into a shallow valley floor. Here a stream trickled its way through and fed the lake ahead of them. Not only was it bigger than Meredith had expected, but its whole appearance was surprising. She had imagined from Alan’s casual description, and the distant view she had had of it, that close to hand the lake would present quite a formal appearance. But this was a more irregularly shaped patch of water than appeared from across the valley, ringed with trees, willow and birch, and clumps of large ornamental shrubs. Rushes grew in banks at the water’s edge and further out she could see the large flat dark green pads of waterlily plants. All of this had been carefully laid out by the Victorian gardener who had created it to look natural and romantic. There was even a small island in the centre of the lake. To reach this, or just to amuse oneself out on the water, there was a rowing boat moored to a wooden jetty. The boat rocked gently as the breeze rippled the water and whispered in the rushes. It was an idyllic spot.
Between the visitors and the lake, however, was an obstacle, not a large one, admittedly, but a determined one.
A Canada goose stood by the water’s edge facing them. It spread out its wings and hissed warningly.
‘Allow me to introduce Spike,’ said Jenner. ‘He started by being something of a pet and has now turned into a first-rate nuisance.’
‘What happened to the rest of his flock?’ Meredith asked.
‘He was injured,’ Alison told her. ‘We found him with a damaged wing. We’re not sure how it happened. The others had flown on and he was waddling up and down by the edge of the water looking very sorry for himself. So we took him to the wildlife sanctuary down the road and they patched him up. But when they released him, he made his way back here. He’d decided he liked it here. Our mistake was to make a bit of a fuss of him. Now he thinks he owns the lake and the approaches to it. He accepts Jeremy and me in a grudging sort of way, but he’s tricky with strangers. We have tried taking him away and releasing him in suitable spots but he always turns up back here again. Stop that, Spike, go on, shoo!’
Alison clapped her hands. Spike responded by flapping his wings but shuffled a short distance away from where he kept a baleful watch on them.
‘That bird,’ said Toby, ‘is the avian equivalent of crazy.’
‘Poor Toby.’ Alison smiled at him as she addressed Meredith and Alan. ‘He tried to take the boat out on the lake with Fiona. Spike attacked them and they both had to run for it. It was such a pity. They’d wanted to row over to the island.’
‘Bloody bird! If I had my way I’d take my gun and scatter his feathers. I suppose you want me to catch him again, take him well away and release him,’ said a harsh voice behind them. ‘Lot of good that does.’
They all jumped and turned to face the speaker. None of them had heard his approach across the grass and Markby and Meredith were certainly unprepared for the actual sight of him. The man was tall and angular and gave the impression of great strength without muscular bulk. His greying hair was long and tangled and his beard also long and untrimmed. His nose jutted between
deep-set eyes which glittered in his sunburned face. He wore an old baggy waxed jacket and strong workboots. The sleeves of the jacket had ridden up, or else his arms were unusually long. His bony wrists and huge knotted hands hung from them like the dangling arms of marionette at rest. He raised one now, rather as though it had been activated by an unseen puppet-master, and pointed at Spike who appeared, Meredith thought, understandably disconcerted. The goose managed only a token flap of its wings and backed further away. From this safe distance, it gave a derisive honk.
deep-set eyes which glittered in his sunburned face. He wore an old baggy waxed jacket and strong workboots. The sleeves of the jacket had ridden up, or else his arms were unusually long. His bony wrists and huge knotted hands hung from them like the dangling arms of marionette at rest. He raised one now, rather as though it had been activated by an unseen puppet-master, and pointed at Spike who appeared, Meredith thought, understandably disconcerted. The goose managed only a token flap of its wings and backed further away. From this safe distance, it gave a derisive honk.
‘I know we’ve had no luck removing him, Harry,’ said Alison. ‘But it’s the only way. I’ll ring the RSPCA in the morning and see if they have any ideas.’
‘I still think you ought to let me shoot him,’ offered the man.
‘No, Harry! Certainly not! We’ll think of something.’
Spike’s would-be Nemesis snorted and, turning, shambled off, his long arms swinging by his sides.
‘That’s Stebbings,’ said Jenner. ‘He’s got a quaint way with him but he’s a good chap.’
His listeners made no reply to this, and they all began to walk back to the house, leaving Spike in triumphant possession. Alan, Toby and Jeremy had forged ahead and Alison slowed her step so that she and Meredith fell back out of earshot of the three men.
‘Some things I can’t say in front of Jeremy,’ she said a low urgent voice. ‘But I’m so worried about the effect this business is having on him. I know he gives the appearance of being in control, but he’s had years of practice at that. He’s really very, very angry. It will come out, won’t it? It will all get in the papers now?’
They had reached the arrangement of rustic table and chairs. Alison made a gesture towards them and she and Meredith sat down. The other members of the party were now out of sight.
‘It’s always so difficult,’ Alison said, ‘to explain family matters.’ Her hands smoothed her skirt nervously. She was looking down and her fair hair fell forwards, obscuring her face. ‘Being accused
of killing my aunt was horrible. Worse than anything I can describe.’
of killing my aunt was horrible. Worse than anything I can describe.’
‘I can imagine it,’ Meredith said sympathetically.
Alison looked up sharply. ‘No, you can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. But quite simply, you can’t.You haven’t been in that situation and I hope you never are. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. The trial was a nightmare. Afterwards, living with what had happened, was almost unbearable. Dirt sticks. The papers had painted me as a fortune-hunting, hard-hearted, scheming woman. It’s true my aunt had given me money on several occasions. But she didn’t mind. She liked to help me. She would have been hurt if I’d turned her offers down. Barnes-Wakefield couldn’t understand that. Over and over again, he kept asking me about the money Aunt Freda had given me over the years and about her will. Had I known she’d made me her sole heiress?Yes, I had to tell him, I did know. So, he kept asking, what did I feel about that? What kind of reply could I give him?’
‘You’re quite right,’ Meredith told her. ‘I have no idea what I would have replied in your situation.’
‘But I carried on. I still had my job. People there were kind and supportive. But I’d still catch one or two or them watching me when they thought I was busy. There would be a question in their eyes, a sort of prurient curiosity. They got a sort of kick out of working with someone who’d been accused of murder. Eventually, in the natural process of staff turnover, they left. I stayed. I thought it was forgotten. Then I met Jeremy. Our firm handled an advertising campaign for him. When he proposed to me, I told him all about the trial. Fifteen years had gone by and I really, stupidly, believed I had, at last, left it behind me. Or so I thought. But I had to tell Jeremy. It was only fair. He was splendid about it. From then until just the other day when he found I’d received another letter, we didn’t speak of it again, not once in ten years of marriage. Now it’s as if we can’t speak of anything else. Jeremy wants it all cleared up quickly, so that we can get back to normal. But will we ever be able to do that? Get back to normal?’
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