Death Speaks Softly (15 page)

'A note?'

'Yes, of course I could have written, but what could I say? "I've been a naughty boy, but I won't do it again?" I'm not good with words, Hannah. Either written or spoken.' 'You're not doing too badly.'

Was she smiling? There wasn't light enough to see—the lamp was behind her and it was dark beyond the window. He said, 'Tell me your side of it.'

She bent forward to refill their cups, then sat back, swirling the liquid in her own and looking down at it thoughtfully. 'I think I expected it to happen,' she said at last. 'As soon as you told me she was here. I'd just got back from Europe —remember?'

Yes, he remembered. They'd been in bed at the time.

'But you see, David, I'd no claims on you. That was part of our agreement—we were free to see whomever we chose. I just—hadn't expected it to hurt so much.'

He made a movement towards her but she shook her head quickly and he sat back.

'When I saw you together that morning, I was sure you'd phone to explain. I waited all day and all evening, convinced you'd contact me. When you didn't, I first assumed that you and Susan were back together, and later, when I heard she'd left Shillingham, that you felt it had been as good a way as any to end our relationship.'

'You thought me capable of that?' There was pain in his voice, but she answered levelly, 'What else could I think, since you never bothered to explain?'

To which there was no reply. 'And Charles Frobisher?' he asked instead. 'Where does he fit in?'

There was a long silence. Then she said, 'He's asked me to marry him.'

Webb flinched and his heart began a slow and heavy pounding. Shock, he told himself. Stupidly, he'd not anticipated that—not seriously. But why not? He put his coffee cup down, forced himself to say lightly, 'I thought you weren't the marrying kind?'

'I thought so,
too.'

'Till Mr Right came along?' He could hear the bitterness in his voice, and hated himself for it. He added, because he had to, 'And are you going to?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you love him?' he demanded roughly.

She answered carefully, 'I'm very fond of him. He's kind, considerate, good company, interested in the same things as I am. And he loves me.'

'So do I.' Probably the first time he'd said it. He heard her indrawn breath.

'You have an odd way of showing it.'

'Where did you meet him?'

'I've known him for years—he's one of the school governors. But it was at the Christmas concert that we first— came together.'

Three months
after the fiasco with Susan.
Why
hadn't he approached her before then? Was his damn pride so important that he'd been prepared to lose her? Or had he had the gall to think she'd be waiting whenever he chose to go back? Hannah had her pride, too.

He said accusingly, out of his hurt, 'You always said you wouldn't marry.'

'Yes. Mainly because I wouldn't give up my career. But with Charles I shouldn't have to.'

'He seems well-heeled,' he said unforgivably, and was grateful that she didn't reply.

'Tell me, David,' she said after a moment, 'if we hadn't happened to meet in Steeple Bayliss, would you
ever
have contacted me? Or do you only want me now someone else is interested?'

When he didn't—because he couldn't—answer, she said in a low voice, 'I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. I'm as much to blame as you are. Yes—' she raised her voice above his protest—'I am, because I didn't keep to our bargain. The no-strings bit. I believed I was, but I was fooling myself. Not about marriage—I never thought of that. But I expected— and wanted—us to go on as we were, indefinitely. Which was extremely childish.' 'Then I was childish too.'

'It was
you who ended it. And when you did, I had to rethink everything; my life, my ambitions—my future, I suppose. Because I wasn't as independent as I'd thought.'

'Which is why, though you'd not thought of marrying me, you're considering Frobisher.'

'I suppose that's it.'

He leaned forward urgently. 'Hannah, I want you back. I'll do anything you ask, stick to any rules you care to make. Just don't—
please
don't marry Frobisher.' He paused. 'What did you tell him, when he asked you?'

'That I'd think it over. And I am doing.'

'Have you reached a decision?'

She couldn't tell him that his coming back into her life had blown wide apart any plans she'd contemplated. 'Not yet.'

'Then can't we start again? Rebuild what we had before?' He took hold of her hand. 'Please, Hannah. I know I've been a bastard, but give me another chance.'

'I'd have to consider that, too. If you're suggesting we immediately go back to where we were, the answer's no. On the other hand, if you mean literally start again, getting to know each other on a different level, then—perhaps.'

He let out his breath on a long sigh, bent his head and kissed her fingers. 'I suppose that's more than I deserve.'

'It certainly is! Now—' she gently disengaged her hand —'do you want to discuss Arlette, or not? And if so, would a brandy help?'

'I think it would.' He smiled, allowing the awkwardness between them to dissipate into less personal topics. She went to the drinks table and he heard the clink of glasses, the liquid being poured. He felt exhausted, mentally and physically, but it was a good feeling, because underlying it was an overwhelming sense of relief. The conversation he'd been dreading for eight months was behind him, and miraculously it seemed he was still in with a chance. Which, as they'd agreed, was far more than he deserved.

CHAPTER 9

'Two items of possible interest, Dave,' Chris Ledbetter greeted Webb the next morning. 'SOCO report on the going-over of Palfry's car, and a discrepancy in Duncan's statement.'

'Sounds promising. What gives?'

'There were some blonde hairs in the car which are highly likely to have come from the dead girl.'

'Wow! And he swore he hardly knew her. What about Morgan's?'

'The results aren't through on that one. As to Duncan, we checked his statement and although he
did
have a dental appointment at eleven, it was only a fifteen-minute check-up, which takes us to eleven-fifteen or so. A little early for lunch, wouldn't you say?'

'He probably went home and read the paper for an hour.'

'That's what we thought. But as luck would have it, Happy got corroboration from a neighbour, who saw him drive up at a quarter to one. She was sure of the time because she'd just opened the door for her husband, who comes home for lunch every day. "You can set your clock by him," she said.'

'So that's an hour and a half unaccounted for. And he had his car with him; he could get quite a way in that time.'

'Only thing is, Campbell said Arlette was hurrying to meet someone at ten-thirty, which is on the early side.'

'Unless she met Duncan afterwards. Where is the dentist, and where's Duncan's house?'

'The surgery's on the main Gloucester roa
d, and the Duncans live just off
it.'

'Which is the direction Campbell said she was going in. OK, Chris, we'll chase up Duncan and Palfry, and see where that gets us.'

Alastair Duncan greeted them with his usual truculence. 'I'm sorry the girl's dead,' he said brusquely, 'but I've already told you all I know.'

'As it happens, sir, we know more than you told us,' Webb said smoothly.

The man glowered at him. 'What, exactly?'

'That although you left the dentist at eleven-twenty, you didn't get home till twelve forty-five.'

A wave of heat suffused his face and his eyes flickered. Gotcha! Jackson thought exultantly. He'd always suspected this was the rotten egg.

'I'm sure my wife would tell you—'

'I'm sure she would. But we have an independent witness who saw you return home. So I ask you again, sir. Where were you between eleven-twenty and twelve-forty-five last Tuesday?'

Duncan hesitated, then lowered his head, clasping his hands tightly on the top of the desk. After a moment he said gruffly, 'If I swore to you on oath that it was a purely personal matter and has nothing to do with Arlette Picard, would you accept that?'

'In the circumstances, I'm afraid not.'

'What'll happen if I refuse to answer?'

'It's your right, sir. But we may have to ask you to accompany us to the station, to help with our inquiries.'

T
he man's head shot up, his startl
ed eyes meeting Webb's. 'Man, I've
told
you—'

'We need proof, s
ir.'

Another pause. Then, 'Very well. But I'm not proud of this, and I'm telling you in the strictest confidence. Is that understood?'

'We'll have to use our discretion on that. If as you say it has nothing to do with the inquiry, there should be no need for it to go further.'

'Then I have to tell you that I
did
meet a young lady, but not Miss Picard.' The man's face was burning, but he held Webb's eye with angry defiance.

Damn! thought Jackson. Still, so much for that pompous, 'I'm-a-married-man.'

'The lady's name?'

'Must I say?'

'She'll be asked to corroborate, sir.' 'Anna Martin. She's—one of my students.' 'And where did you meet?'

'She rents a house with three other girls. We—use it sometimes, when the others are out.'

'She didn't attend lectures that day?'

'She'd none in the forenoon, so she studied at home, waiting for me.'

'Her address?' Webb waited while Jackson wrote it down. 'It would have saved time, sir,' he said mildly, 'if you'd told us this when we first called. We don't appreciate wasting our time.'

'I'm sorry,' Duncan said grudgingly. 'I couldn't see that it had any relevance, and if my wife—' 'Quite. Where is Miss Martin now?'

'On the campus somewhere, in a classroom or the library.' 'She's in your department?' A brief nod.

'And there really is nothing more you can tell us?' 'Nothing, except to repeat this mustn't get out.' 'We'll do our best,' Webb said enigmatically.

Mrs Palfry advised them, alarm in her voice, that her husband was manager of a bank in the High Street. 'There's nothing wrong, is there?' she added anxiously.

'Just following up our inquiries,' Jackson told her, and replaced the phone, adding to Webb, 'It could have been him as easy as Morgan, outside the digs.'

'That's immaterial now, Ken. What we need is to pinpoint whoever met her last Tuesday, and he—or she—could be any age. Pity there was no diary in that shoulder-bag.'

On giving their names at the bank, they were led discreetly to Palfry's office behind its mahogany door. The man rose to greet them, noticeably nervous. In formal rather than casual clothes, he was an imposing figure, used, no doubt, to handing out reassurance or remonstrance as called for to his clients.

'Yes, Chief Inspector? Please, sit down.'

Webb and Jackson settled themselves in the comfortable chairs. 'It's about your car, sir.'

Palfry half-smiled, more an involuntary tic than an expression of amusement. 'So I assumed.'

'Some long, blonde hairs were found in it. And since no one in your family has that colouring, and they very closely match the hair of Arlette Picard—'

'Yes, yes. You don't need to spell it out.'

'Something you missed with the brush and dustpan,' Webb said impassively. 'Amazing, what these chaps come up with.'

'I can explain, of course, but it won't be any help to you.'

'Suppose you let us decide that, sir.'

Palfry had much more assurance here than at home, Webb reflected, but it was a borrowed persona, part of the job. Which was why he preferred to see people in their own homes. It was there you found the true character, augmented by the surroundings he had himself created.

'I didn't lie to you,' Palfrey went on, 'simply bent the truth a little. I see now it was foolish, but to explain in front of my wife and daughters, when I hadn't mentioned the incident—' He spread his hands expressively.

'If you could start at the beginning, sir?'

'Yes. Well, the point was I found the girl attractive, and that worried me. After all, I'm happily married and I love my family. But—well, everything's pretty much routine. The excitement's gone, I'm getting older, and so on.' He put a hand to his thinning hair, then leant forward earnestly.