Evil Angels Among Them (24 page)

With a deep sigh he turned over and looked at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘I'm listening. This had better be good.'

Succinctly she told him of her doubts. ‘I just don't understand it,' she finished. ‘I believe Gill, of course. But how could the toxicology report be wrong? Are these things ever wrong? Or is there some sort of leeway in it?'

David listened thoughtfully. ‘You're right, of course,' he admitted. ‘We were all so excited about the motive bit last night that we managed to ignore the question of opportunity – the fact that no one else seems to have had one, whereas Gill certainly did.'

‘But what can we do? Is there any way you can get a copy of the toxicology report?'

He pondered the question for a moment. ‘I think it might be possible,' he said at last. ‘John Spring is really keen for Gill to confess. I'm sure I can use that as a lever to get it out of him.'

‘I knew you'd think of something.'

‘And then we'll have to see where it goes from there.' David closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I'd hoped that we'd be able to get things cleared up this weekend, and be back in London by tonight,' he admitted. ‘But there's no chance of that. Too many loose ends. All this business with the toxicology, and the inquest opens tomorrow – not that it will be anything but a formality, but I'd better be there.'

‘What about Flora's funeral, then?' Lucy asked.

‘Stephen tells me that it will be on Wednesday. I suppose it would be a good idea for us to stay for that, if nothing else. Don't you think so?'

She nodded. ‘So, in other words, we'll be imposing on Becca's hospitality for a few more days yet.'

‘I feel badly about that,' David said.

‘I'm sure she doesn't mind, though I think the cooking is a bit of a burden for her. Perhaps I could offer to help,' Lucy thought aloud. ‘At least it would give me something useful to do. Though I'll have to be careful not to offend her with any implied criticism of her cooking.' With a contented sigh, she settled back down.

‘Just what do you think you're doing?' David demanded.

‘Trying to go back to sleep. It's too early to get up.'

‘Oh, no, you don't, Lucy love,' he said with a wicked chuckle, reaching for her and pulling her close. ‘You're the one who woke me up. And now you've got to deal with the consequences.'

That morning's church service was uneventful; much to the disappointment of the congregation, Gillian and Lou stayed away, mainly because of the excess of wine and the late night. But Enid managed to put the worst possible construction on their absence. ‘A guilty conscience,' she whispered to Doris. ‘She doesn't dare appear in the house of Almighty God with murder on her conscience. Not now that we all
know
.'

‘She came when she had perversion on her conscience,' was Doris's rejoinder. ‘
Both of
them did.'

Enid withered her sister with a look. ‘Not the same thing at all!'

Becca made a real effort with Sunday lunch and Lucy offered some discreet help, making a vegetable casserole for herself to supplement the roast chicken that the others would have, and concocting a pudding out of odds and ends in the pantry.

‘It's very kind of you to help,' Becca said gratefully. ‘I feel guilty letting a guest do so much work.'

‘It's my pleasure.' Lucy's smile conveyed sincerity. ‘I love cooking – I don't consider it work at all. And we're the ones who should feel guilty, outstaying our welcome like this. David reckons we may have to stay for a few more days at least.'

‘Oh, I don't mind!' Becca assured her. ‘It's lovely to have the company.' She smiled shyly, her eyes downcast. ‘I've never had many friends,' she admitted. ‘And I think of you as a real friend, Lucy. I wish you could stay for ever.'

Too touched for words, Lucy squeezed her arm.

Taking advantage of the lull between church and the production of the meal on the table, David rang John Spring at home.

The sergeant's voice was hopeful. ‘What can I do for you, Dave?'

‘Well, John,' David put on his heartiest tone, ‘you know what you told me yesterday? That you thought my client would be much better off if she confessed?'

‘She's agreed, then?' Spring responded eagerly.

‘Well, not exactly. Not yet, anyway.' Choosing his words with care, David went on. ‘I've explained to her what you told me – that you've got her pretty well stitched up, and that you could cut a deal for her that would get her out in a few years. But she's not convinced.'

Spring interrupted, indignant. ‘I'm a man of my word, Dave. If I say I could cut a deal, I mean it.'

‘That's not the problem,' David assured him. ‘She's just not sure how much you've got on her. I told her that the toxicology report was what did it – no room to manoeuvre round that one.'

‘Damn right,' Spring confirmed.

‘But she's not convinced – she says she wants me to have a look at it. Just to be sure. I'm sorry to have to ask you this, John.' David's voice became apologetic and chummy. ‘You know how clients can be. They've got minds of their own, that's the trouble.'

Spring chuckled. ‘I understand, Dave. A bit like chief inspectors.' He laughed again, then went on thoughtfully. ‘So you'll want to see the toxicology report, then. On the q.t. and straightaway.'

‘If it's not too much trouble, John. I think it will make all the difference.'

‘No problem, Dave.' There was a brief pause while Spring worked out the logistics. ‘I'll have to go by the station and make a copy. Just as well it's a Sunday – not so many nosy parkers hanging round the photocopier. How about if I meet you at the Queen's Head for a quick one in – say – an hour? Half past twelve? Then I can slip you the goods.'

‘Thanks, John.' David grinned into the phone. ‘I'll look forward to seeing you then.'

David was back just in time for lunch, with only a brief opportunity to peruse the crucial document. ‘It doesn't look good at all,' he whispered to Lucy as they went into the dining room. ‘There doesn't seem to be any room for doubt.'

‘What will you do?'

‘I'm not sure,' he admitted.

Naturally enough, he was preoccupied during lunch as he puzzled about what he might do next. Becca, too, was silent, dreading the visit of the police officer which was promised for that afternoon; that left the burden of conversation on Lucy and Stephen. They managed to struggle through the meal, but everyone was almost relieved when the doorbell rang during coffee in the sitting room.

Becca jumped. ‘Oh! That must be the police!'

‘I'll get it,' Stephen said firmly, pausing to give Becca's hand a comforting squeeze. ‘It will be all right, love,' he whispered to her.

The WPC, when she was ushered in, had a reassuringly normal appearance, dressed in a colourful jumper and a pair of faded blue jeans. ‘Plain clothes, you said.' She grinned, indicating the jeans. ‘So I've made the most of it.' Belatedly, she introduced herself. ‘WPC Karen Stimpson, Norfolk CID.' Her voice had a hint of Norfolk in it, reinforcing the open face of a country girl. She was young, with an unruly mop of sandy-coloured curls defying the efforts of a pair of hair-slides to keep it under control.

‘You're Mrs Thorncroft?' she addressed Becca.

‘Yes, that's right.' Becca summoned up the ghost of a smile which WPC Stimpson returned in the form of an infectious grin.

David identified himself. ‘And I'm Mrs Thorncroft's solicitor, David Middleton-Brown.'

Realising suddenly that she was the one person without a right to be there, Lucy said awkwardly, ‘Would you like some coffee, officer? Or tea?'

‘Thanks, I'd love a cup of tea,' Karen Stimpson declared. ‘If it's no trouble.' She took some papers and a notebook out of her handbag and sat down. ‘I'll try to make this painless,' she promised.

‘Thanks.' Now that the moment had come, Becca was outwardly calm, but she looked down at her hands and realised they were shaking. Stephen sat beside her on the sofa, taking her hand firmly in his.

‘Here is a copy of your complaint, as filed by your solicitor,' WPC Stimpson said, passing a paper across to Becca. ‘If you wouldn't mind reading through it, I'd appreciate it.'

Hiding her distaste, Becca read the statement. David had done a wonderful job of rendering the horrible unpleasantness into almost antiseptic language, but Becca knew that she would have to relate the specifics to this nice woman. ‘Yes,' she said when she'd finished. ‘It's quite accurate.'

‘Poor old you,' Karen Stimpson said warmly, with real sympathy. ‘How awful. It's never happened to me, but my Auntie Jean had some loony ringing her every day for months, and she was in a right state about it.'

‘Did they catch him, then?'

‘Oh, yes. It was some dirty-minded old bugger across the road. Don't worry, love,' she added. ‘We'll catch this one too.'

Becca relaxed a bit, cheered by the young woman's openness and warmth. ‘Do I have to tell you what he said? So that you can write it all down?'

The policewoman tapped the paper. ‘It's all here, isn't it? No need to go through it all again – it will only get you upset.'

‘Thank you.' Becca sighed with profound relief.

‘What is the procedure, then?' Stephen asked.

‘We'll need to put a tap on your phone, Mr Thorncroft,' WPC Stimpson explained. ‘It's quite straightforward. Then your calls can be traced, and we just wait for the bugger to ring. I know it's unpleasant for you, Mrs Thorncroft, but the longer you can keep him on the line, the better chance we have to trace him.'

Stephen frowned. ‘I'm afraid that's out of the question,' he said. ‘This is a Rectory. It's essential that all calls should be completely confidential. My parishioners often ring with matters of a private nature, and it just wouldn't do to have the police listening in. It would be unethical.'

Leaning forward, David intervened. ‘I can certainly understand your concern, Stephen, but don't you see how important this is? It's your wife we're talking about – her peace of mind, even her sanity. My God, man, you've seen what this has done to her. You've got to let them do it.'

‘Please, Stephen,' Becca begged; it was as if she'd suddenly seen a light at the end of the tunnel, only to have the darkness descend again.

‘With any luck it won't be for long,' Karen Stimpson added. ‘Just a day or two, and we should have him.'

He wrestled with his conscience, but only for a moment; of course Becca was the most important thing, he told himself. And besides, the man might not stop with Becca: every woman in the village was a potential victim. He owed it to all of them to ensure that the man was caught. ‘Yes, all right,' he agreed. ‘But only for as long as it's absolutely necessary.'

‘Thank you,' Becca murmured.

WPC Stimpson nodded. ‘And I need to ask you,' she went on, ‘if either of you has any idea who might be behind this. Mr Thorncroft?' She turned to Stephen. ‘Do you know of any parishioners who bear a grudge against you? Or have you noticed anyone taking an unnatural interest in your wife?'

He considered the question; it was something he'd thought about quite a lot since David first posed the query on the previous afternoon. ‘No,' he said at last. ‘I can't think of anyone. I've had my differences with one or two of my parishioners, but nothing that could even be remotely construed as a grudge. In fact,' he added with a wry smile, ‘I'm the one who's come out rather the worse from my skirmishes with my difficult parishioners. If anyone has a grudge, it should be me.'

Lucy reappeared with a mug of tea, which the WPC acknowledged with a nod. ‘Ta ever so much.' She turned to Becca. ‘Mrs Thorncroft? Do you have any thoughts? Is there anyone in the village who makes you uncomfortable – who stares at you or says things that bother you?'

‘No,' Becca stated, though without a great deal of conviction. ‘Everyone has been very nice to me.'

‘And is there anything at all you can think of that you haven't told us?' She took a gulp of tea. ‘Ah, that's magic. Cheers.'

Becca handed back the statement. ‘It's all there. I can't tell you any more than that.'

‘If you do happen to think of anything, Mrs Thorncroft, don't hesitate to give me a call.' She passed across a business card. ‘And I'll arrange to have everything done tomorrow. Then we'll have him in no time at all – I promise you.'

‘That wasn't so bad, was it?' Stephen said a few minutes later when the WPC had gone.

‘I liked her,' Becca responded. ‘She was nice. And I believed her when she said they'd catch him.' She sighed. ‘I'll just be glad when it's all over.'

‘So will we all,' Lucy put in. ‘There's something very wrong in this village, you know. Nasty phone calls, murder – someone who's very disturbed is on the loose, and the sooner he's caught the better.'

David looked thoughtful. ‘But what I wonder,' he said quietly, ‘is what he'll do next?'

The idea came to David as they all shared a cup of tea. Suddenly he remembered his firm's Christmas dinner, an event he'd not enjoyed and had managed to put out of his mind. Lucy had been busy that night so he'd been on his own; at the dinner he'd been seated next to the wife of one of the junior partners, a rather dull, plain woman who had been extraordinarily taciturn through most of the evening. All David's conversational gambits had fallen flat – it had been jolly hard work, he recalled. And then she'd begun talking about her job and she'd become a different person. Poison: it was a subject she'd seemed able to talk about indefinitely, with animation and profound interest and in mind-numbing detail. She was, he recalled now, an assistant in the toxicology department of a major London hospital. Just the person he needed.