Murder at the Laurels (25 page)

‘I'm so glad I caught you,' panted Fran, skidding to a halt on some early fallen leaves.

‘What do you want now?' Redding glared at her.

‘Just to say that the police want to talk to you again. I heard this morning.'

‘And why would they tell you?' Nurse Redding's eyes narrowed under her heavy brows.

‘Because of the will.' Fran narrowed her eyes back, and hoped she wasn't squinting.

‘You're not in it,' said Redding, then looked horrified.

Fran didn't bother to conceal her triumph. ‘Exactly,' she said. ‘You had it. You read it. That's why they want to talk to you.'

‘How did they know?' The stuffing had leached out of Redding and she stood, limp, leaning against a wall.

‘It was obvious, wasn't it?' said Fran. ‘It wasn't there when they searched, so it had to have been taken off the premises, and brought back by someone. Someone who had access to the whole place – not just a visitor.' She eyed Redding thoughtfully. ‘Come on. Let's get you inside. You've had a shock.'

To her surprise, Nurse Redding didn't demur, and led Fran into a large downstairs flat that appeared scrupulously neat and tidy, and curiously soul-less. The one thing of any character was the large and rather unpleasant picture over the bricked up hearth.

‘You're into Satanism, I see,' said Fran, in a conversational tone, and trying not to look too interested.

‘Yes.' Redding sank down into a armchair. ‘So's your friend.'

Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Libby? Yes,' she said.

‘Phoned me asking about Tyne Chapel, she did. I put her off.'

‘I'm sure,' said Fran. ‘It's still used then?' Of course it was. She could see it. Torches and black robes. Tonight. Her heart banged frighteningly, and she sat up straight and tried to ignore it.

Nurse Redding shrugged. ‘Might be,' she said.

‘So tell me why you took the will,' said Fran.

‘Why should I?'

‘You're going to have to tell the police. And although I'm not a legatee in Mrs Bridges' will, I am in her late husband's,' said Fran, crossing her fingers in her lap. Well, it was almost true.

‘I don't see that it has anything to do with you.' Nurse Redding looked truculent. Any minute now she's going to ask me to leave, thought Fran, unless I can come up with something.

‘But it has to do with Charles Wade,' she said, ‘and Mr and Mrs Denver.'

To her surprise, Redding's face took on an alarmingly malevolent expression. ‘Him,' she said, a globule of spittle landing on her hand.

‘Charles?' said Fran.

‘Paul bloody Denver.' Redding's head poked forward like a snake about to strike, and Fran felt a trickle of fear down her spine and raising the hair on the back of her neck.

‘The police ought to ask him about his fucking aunt's death.' Suddenly, Redding surged up out of her chair and loomed over Fran.

Keep calm, Fran told herself, aware that her heart was banging so hard, Redding could probably see it. ‘But Paul didn't arrive until after his aunt died,' she said.

‘Oh, no? You ask that stupid bitch Warner where he was. With his auntie outside the french windows in her wheelchair.'

‘Where was
he
, then?'

‘In her room, wasn't he? With Warner. Fucking the life out of her.'

Chapter Thirty-three

F
RAN JUST STARED
. R
EDDING
flung herself back in her chair and started chewing a nail.

‘Have you told the police?' Fran was surprised that her voice came out sounding normal.

‘No.'

‘Why on earth not? It changes the whole case.'

‘I've got something on him, haven't I? And he knows it.'

‘Is that why you took the will?'

Redding's face took on a cunning expression. She's mad, thought Fran.

‘They were really worried about that will. I heard them talking.' She looked at Fran. ‘He used to tell me things when we were in bed.'

‘You?' Fran gasped.

‘Oh, yes. I know what you're thinking. Why me.' She laughed. ‘That's what they thought before.'

‘Who thought what before?'

‘At work. I was a sister.'

Fran was now finding it hard to follow this barrage of information, but this made sense. ‘This is where you lived when you worked at the hospital?' she said. ‘You said something about that the first time we met at The Laurels.'

Redding stood up again. ‘You'd better go now,' she said. ‘I've been on all night. I need sleep.'

Fran went willingly to the door.

‘Thank you,' she said, before it was slammed in her face.

She was shaking as she walked to the car. Her first thought was to phone the police, but after this morning's call, she wondered if it would be construed as pestering. Resting her head on the steering wheel after getting into Romeo, she took a calming breath and decided to call Guy.

‘I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday,' she said, ‘it must be your busiest day.'

‘Bother away,' he said. ‘I tried to call you earlier, but your phone wasn't switched on. So I called Libby.'

‘Did you?' Fran was ridiculously pleased.

‘Yes. She said you'd spoken to Murray, and you were going to see Nurse Redding.'

‘That's what I wanted to talk to you about,' said Fran, and embarked on a rather garbled version of her visit to Nurse Redding.

‘Where are you now?' asked Guy.

‘Sitting outside her flat. She lives in one of those big houses near the hospital in Canterbury.'

‘And she used to work there?'

‘Yes, and there's obviously something funny about that, too. It sounds as if she might have had an affair there, but I could be wrong.'

‘How could you find out?'

‘I couldn't. I don't know anyone who works there. Anyway, what does it matter? The thing is she seems to have had an affair with Paul Denver.' Fran shuddered. ‘Awful.'

‘And with this other one, too, Sophie's friend.'

‘Yes.' Fran shuddered again. ‘You should have heard her. It was horrible.'

‘Look, we can't talk about this on the phone. Why don't you go home and I'll come over.'

‘Oh, no. You can't leave your shop on a Saturday. Anyway, I've got to take the car back to Libby. I'll talk to her.'

‘I'll come over later, then. Ring me if there are any developments.'

Soothed and slightly happier, Fran put Romeo in gear, and with an ominous grinding turned him homewards.

Once or twice on the way back to Steeple Martin, Fran found herself wondering whether she'd actually jumped any red lights, her mind was so full of what she'd learned from Nurse Redding. She arrived safely outside 17, Allhallow's Lane, and was relieved to find Libby still at home, although making preparations to go and meet Ben for a Saturday lunchtime drink.

‘Doesn't matter about that,' she said, sitting Fran down and dumping Sidney on her lap. ‘I'll ring him and put him off. You look awful.'

‘Gee, thanks.' Fran leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. ‘I was terrified.'

‘What happened?'

Once again, Fran recounted the morning's events, while Libby's eyes grew wider and wider and her jaw dropped lower and lower.

‘Go to the police.' Libby was firm. ‘This is no time to worry about what they're going to think. She's got to be the murderer.'

‘I still don't know what to think about her hiding the will, though. What on earth for? And what about Paul and Nurse Warner?'

‘Goodness knows. Just phone the police. It doesn't have to be Murray, it can be anyone.' Libby handed over the phone. ‘Here.'

It wasn't Murray, it was, in fact, DS Cole, who listened with obvious impatience, then informed Fran that DCI Murray and DC Bulstrode were on their way to interview Nurse Redding as he spoke. No doubt she would give them the information herself.

‘I wouldn't bet on it,' said Fran, ringing off. ‘Did I tell you she admitted to belonging to come sort of coven? Horrible picture over her mantelpiece. And I'm sure she's going to a meeting tonight.'

‘At the chapel?' said Libby.

‘It seemed like it.'

‘Is it worth asking how you know?'

‘No.'

‘I thought not. I went to have a look at it the other day. I forgot to tell you.' Libby recounted her un-nerving experience at the chapel. ‘Do you think it was members of the coven, or whatever it is?'

‘Sounds like it,' said Fran. ‘Good job they only saw you from a distance.'

‘So what do we do now?' asked Libby. ‘I don't trust Redding to tell them anything.'

‘I think she might drop Paul in it, now. I can't understand why she didn't do it before. She was obviously furious with Warner. And that explains why Warner seemed so scared when I met them both the day after the death.'

‘Funny that she's still living where she used to when she worked in Canterbury,' said Libby. ‘I would have thought those flats were reserved for their own nurses.'

‘That's another thing,' said Fran, ‘she said “that's what they thought before”. When I was surprised about her and Paul. ‘

‘She must have had some sort of affair while she was there, then,' said Libby. ‘How could we find out?'

‘We can't, Lib. There's nothing we can do now. Leave it to the police. That's what you advised me to do, isn't it?'

Libby looked at her thoughtfully. ‘OK. Until I think of something. Come on, come and have a drink with Ben and me.'

Before they could leave, Fran's mobile rang.

‘Fran, it's Charles. You'll never believe this, but I've had a letter from a development company. They think they're buying this house.'

‘What?'

‘You remember that the houses either side have been bought up and they wanted this one as well? Well, apparently, bloody Paul Denver approached them on the basis of being Eleanor's beneficiary and somehow convinced them that I could sell it to them.'

Fran sat down with a thump. Libby followed suit.

‘I don't believe it. When's the letter dated?'

‘Beginning of the week. They obviously didn't know she'd died.'

‘No, because you certainly can't do it now, until her estate's sorted out. Bloody Paul. What a cheek!'

‘I bet Barbara was behind it,' said Charles. ‘Anyway, do you think I should tell the police? It probably gives Paul a motive.'

Fran thought for a moment. ‘On the contrary, it removes it,' she said. ‘You could only sell it with power of attorney, not after she was dead.'

‘I could. Or we could. Once probate is granted.'

‘Oh, yes.' Fran sighed. ‘And do we know if that's held up in a case of murder?'

‘Probably,' said Charles gloomily. ‘I could do with the money.'

‘Obviously, so could Barbara and Paul,' said Fran. ‘Oh, well, tell the police anyway. DCI Murray's gone to see Nurse Redding now, I happen to know, so you'll have to talk to someone else.'

‘How do you know?'

‘It's a long story, Charles,' said Fran wearily. ‘I'll tell you all about it another time.'

‘So what was that all about?' asked Libby, after Fran had rung off. Fran told her.

‘Did he ask about the codicil?' said Libby.

‘Oh, no. I didn't think to mention it. He must know, surely?'

‘The police will have told him. Funny he didn't mention it, though. He really needs to know, doesn't he?'

‘He's bound to phone me again. I'll ask him then.'

‘I say, it's all happening, isn't it?' Libby beamed. ‘Let's go and tell Ben.'

Fran allowed herself to be persuaded into one drink, then returned to the flat to think things through. She still couldn't understand why Redding had concealed the will, unless it was a purely childish reaction in order to hurt him after what she saw as his betrayal with Nurse Warner.

Fran lay on her back on the sofa and gazed at the ceiling. So who now became the most likely suspect? Paul, because he was there before he said he was? No, because he would have left after Redding burst in. Warner? Highly unlikely. Redding, after the other two had left?

No, it had to be Barbara. She was on her own in the room for several minutes before calling for help, during which time she said she hadn't realised that Eleanor was dead. Phooey, thought Fran, and tried to focus her mind on the suffocating blackness she'd felt that day on the train, and then again in Eleanor's room. But it was no good. Nothing was coming through.

And, she asked herself, sitting up, what about the witnesses? Both killed in road accidents. Could Barbara have done that? She realised that she had no idea whether or not Barbara drove, but surely, these days, everyone drove, especially if you lived as far out of town as Blagstock House. So Barbara could have bumped off the two witnesses to prevent them being called upon to prove there had been a codicil, then it would be just her word against Marion Headlam's. And then, Nurse Redding's position became clear. She knew a codicil had been written. She might not have seen it, but she knew it existed, and she was obviously aware that Paul and Barbara knew it, too, and were unhappy about it. So first, she took it, in order to frustrate them, then planted it to confound them. It would also make the police look more closely at the Denvers, who had every reason to want the codicil suppressed.

Her mobile rang again.

‘Charles again,' he said. ‘You'll never guess what. I just called the developers.'

‘On a Saturday?'

‘I thought I'd give it a try. And sure enough there was somebody there, apparently to take enquiries from prospective purchasers.'

‘And did they know anything?'

‘Oh, yes. They were able to look up the file immediately.'

‘And?'

‘They've only paid Paul a deposit.'

‘No!' Fran was stunned. ‘No wonder he wanted to find that will.'

‘Anyway, I've just called him and told him he has to return it. The house will have to be sold to divide up the estate and give The Laurels its share, so they can still have it, but they'll have to buy it from the estate.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘I wouldn't repeat it, but I got the impression that the deposit was no more.'

‘There'll be hell to pay. No wonder Barbara was so scared. But surely, then, she and Paul wouldn't have wanted her to die any more than you would, as all this would come out?'

‘I would think so,' said Charles. ‘I wonder how many more shocks we're going to get?'

‘Well, you obviously know about the codicil. How much of her estate goes to The Laurels?'

‘Two thirds,' said Charles, gloomily. ‘No wonder it – er – got lost. Paul and Barbara wouldn't want to lose out on that.'

‘Neither would you. How much would that be, do you suppose?'

‘Well, the house is probably all there is in the estate, and don't forget it'll be over the inheritance tax limit, so anything above that will be taxed at forty percent, but even so, I expect we're talking a lot of money after the solicitors have taken their cut.'

After Charles had rung off, Fran sat thinking for a while longer, then took a deep breath and called Blagstock House.

‘I'm afraid he's not here, Frances,' said Barbara. ‘He's gone to the office.'

‘Oh?'

‘He usually does on a Saturday. It's the one day people come out house hunting here, it seems.'

‘I see.' Fran frowned. ‘Could I have the office number, do you think?'

‘Why? Can't you talk to me?' Barbara's voice was sharp.

‘It was something he said to Charles,' said Fran.

‘Charles? When?'

‘This morning, I think. Charles just phoned me.'

‘What was it about?'

‘Legal stuff,' said Fran. ‘Nothing to do with you.'

‘If it's to do with Aunt Eleanor it's very definitely to do with me.'

‘I'm afraid not,' said Fran sweetly. ‘I've already told you about my trust. Don't bother with the number. I'll find it.'

And now Barbara will ring Paul to find out what's going on, thought Fran. And maybe by now, the police have talked to Nurse Redding and they've been in touch with Paul.

But within five minutes, her phone rang again, and this time it was DCI Murray.

‘How did you get this number?' asked Fran indignantly.

‘From your cousin Charles,' said Murray abruptly, ‘and now would you tell me what this nonsense was you were telling DS Cole earlier on? I've just been talking to Nurse Redding and she denied every word.'