Brought to Book (32 page)

Then, from one moment to the next, he unaccountably released her, and, hardly believing she was free, she turned and fled back into the house, slammed the front door and slid the bolt. By now shaking uncontrollably, she retrieved her handbag from the study, locked herself in the downstairs lavatory and, having extracted her mobile, called 999.

What with the rattling of her teeth and the hoarseness of her voice, it took a while before the operator at the other end could make out what she was saying. Once he understood, he became briskly efficient, asked her to repeat the address and instructed her to stay in the locked room until help arrived. Rona slid slowly to the floor, leant her head against the wall, and closed her eyes.

Time passed in a dimension all its own. It seemed to Rona that she'd spent half her life here in Theo's study, with the photograph albums still piled on the desk and the policewoman sitting beside it. Her own presence here this morning had exempted the room from police attention, but footsteps overhead and the sound of doors opening and closing indicated that the rest of the house was being thoroughly examined.

It was her fault Meriel was dead, she told herself numbly; if she'd not insisted on continuing with the book, despite all the anonymous warnings and Meriel's own pleadings, she might be alive now.
It's dangerous to go on!
she had cried; but neither of them could have guessed how dangerous. And Rona's mind filled yet again with the horrific scene that, after all the repetitions the police had insisted on, was now permanently seared on her memory.

Early on in the interview, her mobile had rung, only to be politely but firmly removed from her hand and carried from the room by a uniformed officer.

‘Was it my husband?' she demanded, when he returned. ‘I've been trying to contact him.'

The man bent and spoke quietly to the inspector conducting the interview, who nodded and looked across at her.

‘No, Ms Parish, it was Brent's Garage about your car. They were told you'd be in touch later.'

She reached to reclaim the phone, but he shook his head. ‘It would be better if you didn't speak to anyone for the moment. It'll be returned to you before you leave.' And as she watched helplessly, he switched it off and slipped it into his pocket.

So the interview had continued – probing questions about the voices she'd heard, the time lapse before she'd emerged from the study, and exactly what she had and had not touched in her headlong flight from the house and equally headlong return to it.

They had also elicited the background to today's events: Meriel's request for the biography, the note in Gus's collar and his subsequent poisoning, the wreath, and finally the man who'd been following her, both to Edinburgh and today.

‘Why wasn't this reported?' Inspector Bullen demanded irritably.

‘It was, at the beginning, but we were told you couldn't spare anyone to look into it.'

‘But when it escalated . . .' He shook his head in frustration, and shot her a keen look. ‘Have you any idea
why
you're being subjected to this harassment?'

‘Obviously, because someone doesn't want the book written,' Rona said impatiently. ‘Which could only mean that something in it might implicate him in Theo Harvey's death.'

‘That's a serious claim, Ms Parish; I must remind you that the inquest returned an open verdict. Mr Harvey's death was thoroughly investigated, and there was nothing to suggest suspicious death.'

Rona brushed this aside. ‘What about the man at the gate?' she demanded. ‘It must have been him! I told you – he caught hold of me, and I only just managed to get away. I've given you a full description – about six foot, mousy hair, in his twenties, wearing denim jeans and jacket. Surely someone should be out there looking for him?'

‘It's being followed up,' the inspector assured her, ‘though if the sprayed gravel is an indication someone left in a hurry, why should he return and wait at the gate?'

That, Rona felt in exasperation, was for them to find out. And when she seemed to have repeated the whole story a hundred times, she was not, as she'd expected, allowed to go home, but passed into the care of PC Crowther, the sturdy, plain-faced woman who now sat opposite her.

It was almost three thirty when at last the door opened and a uniformed constable came in and handed over her phone. ‘Mr Bullen says you're free to go, miss; but he'd like you to call at Stokely police station tomorrow morning.'

Rona rose stiffly to her feet. ‘Why? I've told you all I know.'

‘Your statement will be ready to sign, and there may be some other points to clear up.'

She started towards the door, then hesitated. ‘My car's at the garage; could—?'

The doorbell clarioned through the house, and almost immediately the front door was flung open to the accompaniment of raised voices, among which, in an enervating wave of relief, Rona recognized that of her husband.

‘I believe my wife is here,' he was saying loudly above the remonstrations. ‘What the hell's going on?'

She ran past the constable and straight into Max's arms, feeling them come tightly round her.

‘Oh Max!' she said in a rush. ‘Meriel's been murdered – this morning, while I was here! I—'

‘Your wife is free to go, sir,' someone was saying, ‘but we'll expect her at the station in the morning.'

With his arm still round her, Max led her at last out of the house she hoped never to enter again. The policeman on duty at the door glared at him as they passed, and Max moved a few paces down the drive before drawing to a halt and turning Rona to face him.

‘Now,' he said, ‘tell me exactly what happened. Meriel Harvey's
dead,
you said? Just now?'

‘Yes.' She drew a steadying breath. ‘When I arrived, we had coffee and I told her about the books. She took it better than I expected, though she said she wanted the diaries back. Then I went to the study and spent a couple of hours looking through photograph albums. At one stage I thought I heard voices, but when I listened, they'd stopped.'

‘Go on.'

‘Well, at about one o'clock I went to see if there was any lunch on offer. And when I opened the kitchen door—' She closed her eyes.

‘You found her?' Max prompted.

‘Yes, she'd been stabbed with the bread knife. I – panicked and ran outside. But Max, it started even before that; I was followed on the way here.'

‘Rona—'

‘I saw his face in the mirror, and it was the man who'd been on the plane and at the hotel! It
can't
have been coincidence! And then, when I ran out of the house, he—'

‘Rona!' He shook her into silence. ‘Listen, sweetie, there's something I must tell you.'

He looked towards the gate, and, following his glance, she gazed in total disbelief at the man standing there. Grabbing hold of Max's arm, she tugged it frantically.

‘Max, that's him! Go back and tell them – quickly! He's the one I—'

‘No, darling, no.' He was restraining her struggles. ‘I'm afraid I owe you an apology. Dave has been keeping an eye on you for me.'

She went still.
‘You
had me followed? Without telling me?'

‘I was worried about you, and when Archie said the police couldn't help, I phoned Dave. He's also one of my students, out of work at the moment, and he was glad to help. In particular, I wanted him to keep an eye on you in Edinburgh.'

As her heartbeats slowed, she said accusingly, ‘He didn't prevent the wreath being delivered. Max, you'd no
right
—'

‘I'd every right, darling. I love you.'

Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her down the remainder of the drive to the young man waiting in obvious embarrassment to meet her.

‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Allerdyce,' he began quickly, as soon as she was in earshot. ‘I never meant to frighten you – that's why I overtook when I realized you'd spotted me. I knew you were going to The Grange, so I parked at the Golden Feather and waited for you to drive past; but you never came. So I drove to the house, thinking I must have missed you, but your car wasn't there, either. That really threw me – I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you – and I went haring back, looking down all the lanes and side turnings, but without any luck. I tried ringing Max at home but got the answer-phone, and I couldn't reach him on his mobile.'

‘It needs recharging,' Max admitted shamefacedly, ‘and I'd been later leaving home than I expected, which is why I still wasn't back.'

‘So as a last resort,' Dave continued, ‘I left the car at the restaurant and set off on foot for The Grange. I was going to ring the bell – pretend to be a salesman or something – and try to find out if you were there; but of course you came hurtling out, and I couldn't make you understand who I was. Not that I blame you, in the circumstances.'

‘They're worse than you think, Dave,' Max said grimly. ‘Someone's been murdered, that's what all the panic was about. The woman Rona went to see was stabbed while she was in another room.'

He turned back to Rona. ‘When I finally got home, there was a clutch of messages from both of you. Your first one, about being followed, I discounted, but then came a couple from Dave, reporting that he'd lost you and gone back to look for you, so far without success. That was bad enough, but then you came on again, speaking so quietly and so fast that I couldn't unscramble it. All that was clear was that you were frightened – and when I found your phone had been switched off, so was I. At which point Dave rang again, saying you'd come flying out of the house like a bat out of hell, calling for the police, and then gone flying back inside again. Believe me, I broke every known speed record getting here.'

Rona drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘You're right about my being frightened, and at least part of it was down to you two. Don't
ever
do anything like that again.' Then she frowned. ‘But if Dave didn't kill Meriel, who did?'

The three of them stood silently, the question hanging unanswered between them. Rona turned to Dave.

‘The reason you didn't see me go past,' she told him, ‘was because my car was playing up. I had to leave it at the garage, and a mechanic drove me to The Grange. The killer must have thought no one was home, made his way round the back and broken in. Meriel would have heard something and gone to investigate. God, if only Gus had been with me! His barking would have frightened him off.'

‘Looked at another way,' Max said grimly, ‘if the murderer had known you were in the house, he'd have killed you, too. It makes me cold even to think of it.'

Another police car turned into the drive, and as they moved aside for it, they saw a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered on the opposite pavement.

‘No point hanging round here,' Max muttered. ‘You say your car's at the garage? What's wrong with it?'

‘I don't know; they rang to tell me, but I wasn't allowed to speak to them.'

‘They won't have touched it without giving you an estimate. We'll call in and see what the damage is, but we're not hanging about; I want to get you home as soon as possible.'

Max's own car was parked at the roadside. Having taken her leave of Dave, Rona got in while Max had a final word with him. And the thought came to her that, with Dave exonerated, Rob was back in the frame. Where, she wondered fearfully, had he been today?

T
he garage informed them that the car's stuttering was due to a breakdown in the ignition. They'd have to obtain the parts, and, with the weekend ahead, it would be Monday before they could make a start on it.

‘It must have finally gone just as I got there,' Rona observed, as they drove off. ‘The car came to a sudden halt as I reached the shed. Thank God it didn't give out when I was miles from anywhere.'

‘And thank God they haven't yet heard what happened up the road,' Max said feelingly.

Rona's intention of keeping the day's happenings from her father was overtaken by the evening news bulletin, which reported the murder of Meriel Harvey, widow of thriller-writer Theo Harvey. The television vans must have arrived soon after they'd left, a fact for which they could only be grateful.

‘As you can see, I escaped unscathed,' Rona assured her parents, having admitted she'd been in the house at the time.

‘
Anything
could have happened!' her mother declared theatrically.

‘But thankfully it didn't,' her father rejoined, holding tightly on to her hand. ‘I must say, I hadn't realized writing biographies was such a dangerous profession.'

‘So far, Rona's name has been kept out of it,' Max told them. ‘The report merely says the alarm was raised by a phone call.'

‘The press will have it soon enough,' Lindsey predicted. ‘And since she was there at the time, she'll be regarded as prime suspect. I'm surprised the police let her go.'

They all stared at her.

‘I'm only being realistic,' she defended herself. ‘The person who finds the body is always the first to be suspected.'

‘Well, thanks very much,' Rona said shakily. ‘Perhaps that's the real reason they want me to clock in tomorrow.'

‘Look at it from their viewpoint,' Lindsey continued. ‘If you'd fallen out with Meriel, you could have faked a “break-in” as cover, smashing the glass from the outside so it would fall inwards, and scouring grooves in the gravel. You'd have had a clear field.'

‘Are you specializing in criminal law now, Lindsey?' Max spoke lightly, but his anger was apparent. ‘If that were the scenario, why would she have phoned the police, instead of getting the hell out?'

‘Double bluff,' said Lindsey triumphantly.

‘You're a great comfort, I must say,' Rona commented. ‘Remind me to do the same for you sometime.'