Murder Among Us (7 page)

This time she reacted, nodding. "Yes." It was a whisper.

"I'm sorry to ask you questions now. I realise you're shocked. But I understand you discovered the body."

"Yes/* She seemed to realise she must be almost inaudible, cleared her throat and repeated more loudly and firmly, ''Yes, I did."

4 'And . . ." he glanced briefly at his scribbled notes taken down on the first thing to hand, a menu card. "You are a member of the historical society and came here today to help mount a protest. Isn't it a bit late for all that? the hotel is now a fact of life."

She shook her head violently. "No, no! It wasn't like that! We weren't all here to protest. It was only Hope who wanted to do something so that our campaign shouldn't just come to a sort of soggy end. We know we're beaten—or at least, the rest of us do. But Hope still wanted to make some kind of statement. The rest of us came rather hoping we could put her off, but we didn't."

"No, quite. Are you the young lady who runs the animal sanctuary, by the way? My niece helps out there occasionally, I believe. She's talked about you. I dare say she gets under your feet."

The girl perked up. "You mean Emma, don't you? Yes, and she's really a great help. It's the Alice Batt Rest Home for Horses and Donkeys." Her manner became dejected again. "Only Schuhmacher wants to throw us off the land. He's our landlord and the lease is up. The animals make a disturbance, he says, and our old barn spoils the view."

"I see." Markby eyed her thoughtfully. "Was that your reason for joining the campaign against turning the Hall into a hotel?"

"Yes," she said frankly. "But it didn't work and I

suppose we'll have to go." She looked at him, her eyes

filled with misery. "But we don't have anywhere to

~~ *'

go-

Markby doodled on the back of his menu card for a moment. "May I ask your age?" "Twenty-four."

"And do you live out there at the rest home alone?" She flushed deeply and her eyes sparkled defiance at

him. "Yes! I can run the place! I'm not incapable!"

"I wasn't suggesting—" he began but she swept on in a burst of indignation which, just for the moment, wiped the murder from her mind. He let her run on, hoping the outburst of emotion might act as a safety valve and help her come to terms with the recent horror.

"I know the place is as much a mess as Schuhmacher says. But the animals are all of them looked after properly! I do have some help, not just Emma. There's Rob, too. Robin Harding, I mean. He's a clerk at the estate agents in the High Street and he belongs to the historical society. He's been a great support to the Horses' Home in lots of practical ways. Perhaps he's at a loose end, I don't know. I don't think he has much family, if any. Maybe he's just filling time. But he's always willing to come out and do the heavy jobs I can't manage. So you see, I cope very well, thank you!"

Markby, overwhelmed, retreated to the real matter. "I see. So tell me how you came to be in the cellar."

Her lively manner evaporated at the reminder and the pinched look returned to her face. "I ran after Hope, trying to catch up and stop her. But then everyone else started running and I just followed. She was making a fool of herself and looked so—so silly! When we all piled down the cellar steps and I saw you and someone else trying to cover her up, and you gave her your jacket, it was so embarrassing. I wanted to get away. I was afraid Hope might call out to me and I'd be dragged into the row. That cameraman was there."

"Yes, he was!" said Markby sourly. Getting rid of the TV crew once they'd realised they were on the scene of a murder, hadn't been easy.

"I couldn't get back up the cellar steps so I retreated into the back and as I thought, empty, part of the cellars. It wasn't empty, Ellen was there—dead."

Her voice came to a clipped halt. What she was saying tied in with what Meredith had just had time to gabble in his ear. The story raised one immediate question.

"The person to arrive next on the scene saw you

emerge from behind a wine rack where you'd apparently been hiding."

She nodded. "I realised someone was coming and I thought the murderer might be coming back. I was scared and crouched down behind the rack because it was the nearest thing."

"All right. Now think carefully, did you see or hear any sign of anyone else before that person, Miss Mitchell, came round the corner?"

"No. I was alone with Ellen. There was a commotion from the cellar steps, of course, and the people round Hope. But I think I would have seen or heard anyone else there by Ellen."

"You didn't glimpse even a shadow or get an impression of another presence?" he persisted gently. "You are quite sure you were alone with the body?"

Her eyes widened in horrified comprehension. "I didn't kill her!"

"Now take it easy," he soothed. "I'm only trying to get a picture in my own mind. Did you touch the body or the weapon?"

She shuddered and shook her head.

"All right, that will do for now. Sergeant Pearce will be along in a moment to take a proper statement from you. You won't be leaving the Bamford area, going on holiday or anything like that?"

"I don't go on holiday," she said flatly. "Ever. I've got to look after the animals. There's no one else." With a burst of energy and a return of that defiant look, she added, "I don't mind! Thev are my whole life, after all!"

At twenty-four years of age, Markby thought, what a very sad little statement that was.

"That was awful," said Laura later, summing it all up. Three of them were collapsed in various attitudes in the Danbys' drawing room. It was after midnight and the quiet of the world outside seemed to underline the chaotic and macabre experiences of the day. Paul was

MURDER AMOhQ U5 53

slumped in an armchair. His untied black tie hung round his neck like a piece of misshapen ribbon. Laura had taken off her high-heeled shoes and propped her stockinged feet up on a coffee table. Meredith sat with feet curled under her on the sofa. Mugs which had contained coffee stood on the floor. They were waiting for Alan.

"He could be ages yet," Meredith said. "He mightn't come."

"He said he'd come. If Alan says he'll come, he'll turn up—even if it's at three in the morning."

"Hope bloody not," said Paul gloomily.

"Go to bed, then!" snapped his wife.

"It's no use getting narked with me! I didn't bung a corpse down in poor old Schuhmacher's cellars!"

"You didn't find it, either!" said Meredith bitterly.

The Danbys regarded her with commiseration. "Bad luck," said Laura.

"Teach me to go wandering off. I should have stayed with the mob."

"That woman ..." said Paul in an awe-struck voice. "The streaker, what a sight."

"I thought she looked rather splendid," Meredith opined.

"I thought she looked ghastly!" said Laura firmly. "And it was Hope Mapple, too. I suppose that banner was something to do with her society but I'm still surprised." Laura turned in explanation to Meredith. "Hope gives art lessons at adult classes and special groups and so on. Despite what happened today, I've always thought her quite reasonable, just a bit colourful. I can't think what possessed her."

The doorbell rang. "Alan. I'll let him in." Paul hauled himself to his feet.

"Sorry to keep you so late," said Markby, coming in. "If there's any coffee left, I could do with a cup— black, please. I should have told you to go on to bed and not wait for me."

"As if we could!" said his sister.

"I can't tell you anything. Anyway, the whole thing's

54 Ann Granger

probably out of my hands now. It's extremely unlikely I'll be in charge of the investigation, given that I was a guest of Eric's."

"'You can tell us if you've cast poor Hope into gaol."

"No. good Lord! She'll be up before the magistrates in the morning. She'll probably be bound over to keep the peace. I gave her a lecture and sent her home. Serve her right if she catches cold after her escapade." said Markby sententiously.

Paul had gone into the kitchen to make more coffee. Laura got up. "I might as well go on to bed, then. See you in the morning."

Alone with Meredith. Markby gave her a hunted look. "Sorry—I thought the weekend would be fur.

"Can't be helped."

"I shall be busy tomorrow, too. I'm in the unenviable position of being a copper who chanced to be at the scene of a crime and so everyone assumes I must have a photographic memory—which I haven't! And on top of that we have a child molester who's been seen hanging around. So we're already stretched to breaking point.'' He sighed. "I had hoped we'd be able to go for a nice long country- walk and talk about things."

Meredith untangled her feet and stretched. "Oh? What thing

"Urn, well..." He leaned forward, hands clasped, hair falling untidily over his forehead. "This and that."

"Alan—you're not planning to move from Bamford. are you?"

He gave her a suspicious look. "No. I'm not. Has someone been talking to you? Where did you get the idea

"Nowhere in particular. I just wondered. You've been here a few years, haven't you?"

"Yes. I like it here."

"If you got promoted—"

"Promoted 0 I don't want promotion!" He glared at her. "You sound just like mv ex-wife!"

"Hey! That's unfair!"

MURDER AMOMQ U5 55

"It's true!" He threw himself back in the chair and folded his arms grimly. "I don't want promotion and I don't want to leave here."

"Which means, I take it, that both things have been suggested? Is that what you wanted to talk over with me?"

"I was . . . yes, it's been suggested. I'd still like to know who put the idea in your noddle!" He scowled. "I've got a feeling I'm entering some rotten star-sign or whatever. Not that I go in for that sort of guff. But just recently, everything is going wrong." He leaned across impulsively. "But we can forget it for what's left of tonight, can't we? Why don't—"

"Coffee!" said Paul cheerfully, kicking the door open and marching in with a tray. "And I've brought my special cognac. I thought you needed cheering up, Alan, old son!" He sat down and began to busy himself pouring coffee and brandy. He'd brought three glasses.

"See what I mean?" Markby muttered to Meredith. "Everything is jinxed!"

Five

Superintendent McVeigh slapped his broad hands with their spatulate fingers on the desk and made a hissing noise reminiscent of a steam engine coming to a halt.

"It's a tricky situation. I ought, of course, to take you off the case immediately. You're far too close to it. But on the other hand, that party was like Noah's ark, something of everything there, and no one could argue that you're not the person best placed to deal with such a variety of people." He looked meaningfully at Markby. "You understand the local viewpoint, which could turn out significant. The dead woman belonged to that protest group. You get along with these celebrity types who were all over the place at the time. You know the owner, Schuhmacher. And that's our real problem. How well do you know him?" McVeigh's sharp grey eyes rested on Markby's face.

"Hardly at all!" returned Markby promptly. "I met him a few times literally years ago and hadn't seen him again since until the other day. I was still married when I first met him. Rachel liked going out and having fun. She also collected acquaintances. Schuhmacher at that time had a small riverside restaurant with a fast-growing reputation, and Rachel took it into her head it was her favourite place. We were all younger then. Schuhmacher used to appear on the party circuit himself, probably doing what Rachel was doing, collecting useful names. He'd played ice hockey professionally, either in the States or in Canada, but I can't swear to which. Some of that sportstar aura still clung to him and he hadn't altogether given up the lifestyle. Nowadays, as far as I

can judge, he's sobered down completely and it's business first, foremost and all the time with him."

McVeigh grunted. "He seems to have made money." His fingers thudded a tattoo on the desk. "There's nothing on record known against him. Have you knowledge of any scandal in those far-off days you're talking about?"

"No, none. But I repeat I hardly knew him. Rachel would have known if there were any spicy stories and she never spoke of anything. She would have done! I honestly hadn't expected him to remember me," Markby went on doggedly. "I ran into him by chance and he acted as pleased as punch and invited me along to this party to inaugurate the new business venture. I knew about the hotel because of the fuss locally about it. As to his character as I recall it, even years ago he was basically a bit dour. The strong, silent type but with a shrewd business brain. I don't mean he wasn't likeable enough, always very polite, very professional. But some might find him cold."

"Would he," McVeigh asked slowly, "be more likely to talk freely to you than to an investigating officer he didn't know personally?"

"The honest answer to that is, yes, he would," Markby returned.

"And the same goes for these others, these celebrity guests, Merle, the Fultons and the others?"

"It's possible."

"More to the point," went on McVeigh gloomily, "the area major investigation group hasn't anyone else available or no one as suitable, to put in charge at the moment. One man is on leave touring Europe with a caravan, can't even find him at short notice. Two people are sick. Two have gone up North on that lorry-driver case. That's about to break and I can't call them back. Several others are looking into the sub-post office robbery. And I don't want to ask for anyone to come in from outside because I feel local knowledge may be very important." McVeigh stared out of the window.

"How busy are you with that child molester business? Any more sightings?"

"No, none. He may have moved on out of the district or he may be lying low. I've got a good man in charge of it, Harris. I'm not involved myself."

"Good. You're reasonably free, then. I shall oversee the Spring wood Hall murder inquiry myself. But I've too much on my plate to go foot-slogging round interviewing witnesses and all the rest of it. You'll have to carry on for the time being, Alan. Report everything to me and don't initiate any action without my sayso, all right?"