Pretty Maids All In A Row (6 page)

Carrie came into the staff-room with a pile of magazines. 'Mrs Pemberton's finished with these. She says we can have them.' She glanced at Delia, hesitated, then added, 'Mrs Hathaway's ready, when you are.'

'I was asking Jane about the rape, but she's playing dumb.'

Carrie said in a low voice, 'We don't want to talk about it, Delia. Not here.'

Jane Ellis looked from one to the other. The resemblance between them was only superficial, and of the two, Delia was the more attractive. She was taller than Carrie, and though her hair was the same colour, it was curly and her eyes were blue. But she hadn't Carrie's gentle willingness, and Jane much preferred her sister.

'All right, keep your secrets,' Delia said briskly. 'Mrs

Hathaway, here I come! What will it be today, I wonder— highlighting? Perm? Afro cut?' Mrs Hathaway, at ninety, had hardly any hair at all. With a laugh at her sally, Delia went out of the room.

Jane said awkwardly, 'There's no reason why she shouldn't know, of course. Everyone will, soon enough.' She hesitated, looking at Carrie's averted head as she flicked through the magazines. 'She was just rather bright and breezy, for the way I feel at the moment.'

Carrie nodded without turning, and after a moment, with a shrug, Jane Ellis followed Delia out of the room.

Jessica said, 'You've been at The Willows today? We were wondering what all the fuss was about.'

Carrie said quietly, 'One of the nurses was raped last night.' It was the first time she'd stated the fact plainly, either out loud or to herself, and doing so instantly established it. No further euphemisms would be possible.

Jessica was staring at her in horror. 'Oh God, no! Where?'

'In the garden.'

'Just across the road there? But that's monstrous! We could almost have seen it!'

Matthew said drily, 'Hardly, darling, in the dark, over a wall and from a distance of a good hundred feet.'

Jessica barely spared him a glance. 'When did it happen?'

'About eight o'clock, I think.'

'And is she all right?'

'She seems to be. She was on duty today, as usual.'

'I suppose they haven't caught him?' Carrie shook her head. 'My God, and I thought it was so peaceful in the country!'

Carrie said carefully, 'I've brought you some eggs. We keep chickens—I can bring you as many as you like.'

'Thank you,' Jessica said with an effort. She waited till the kitchen door had closed behind Carrie, then turned to Matthew. 'What do you think of that? Just across the road!

If there's a rapist in the village, I could scarcely be more of a sitting duck!'

Matthew took her hand and shook it gently. 'Now don't start thinking like that. It was probably a silly girl who led a man on and then got frightened. There's no question of any danger to you. And you've a knight in shining armour, don't forget, prepared to defend your honour!'

'Not last night, I hadn't,' Jessica said shortly. 'You weren't in, were you? Suppose he'd come down here, afterwards?'

Matthew dropped her hand. 'The whole reason for coming here was to give me unlimited access to the Hall. If I'm made to feel guilty each time I leave you, I'll get no work done at all.'

Jessica stared at him, a sick feeling in her stomach. They were on the edge of their first quarrel and she wondered, panic-stricken, how to draw back from it. Matthew, too, seemed to sense the widening gulf, for he went on, 'Look, a rapist is by nature an opportunist. If he sees a woman alone he strikes. But he seldom breaks into houses to achieve his ends. You'd be perfectly safe here, with the doors locked.'

He waited for her to speak, and when she didn't, said abruptly, 'We both need a drink.'

She watched him pour them, her hands tightly clenched. She made herself say, 'Yes, of course. I'm sure you're right' and saw some of the tension go out of his shoulders. He came back with her glass and dropped a kiss on top of her head.

'I didn't mean to snap, darling, I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to dramatize things.' 'I can't help it—it's in my blood.'

He gave a short laugh. 'Of course it is! I was forgetting.' He raised his glass. 'To us—and damnation to all rapists!'

'I'll drink to that!' And as they smiled at each other, harmony was restored again.

CHAPTER 4

Webb's phone was ringing as he returned from lunch, and Inspector Crombie had just lifted it. 'The Lab for you.'

'Thanks, Alan.' He slid behind the desk, reaching automatically for pen and paper. 'Webb here.'

'Bad news, I'm afraid, Dave. Your lad's not a secretor. Blood tests won't help.'

Webb swore under his breath. 'Wouldn't you know it? One of the bloody fourteen per cent! Anything else you can give us?'

'You didn't exactly give
us
much,' the scientist returned drily. 'Thank God the local GP knew his stuff. Laun
dered clothes aren't the most in
formative of clues.'

'So short of examining the wardrobe of half Westridge and Oxbury, we've nothing to go on?'

'Sweet FA. Sorry. You got the report on the burnt-out car?'

'Yes, thanks. We traced the owner, but she's away on holiday. Quite a coincidence—she's from Westridge, too.'

'Hope she's enjoying herself without her suitcase. It was in the car.'

Webb frowned. 'We can only suppose it wasn't hers. No doubt the car was nicked from the drive. We heard it was never in the garage.'

'I read the report on your desk,' Crombie said, as Webb replaced the phone. 'Nursery rhymes, forsooth! What do you make of that?'

Webb grinned. 'Oedipus complex? God knows. Just a warped sense of humour, I'd say. Adds fuel to the drunk theory.'

'You reckon it was someone from the pub?' 'Oh, I think so. Access was almost certainly from the front, through one of the side gates. There's a high wall on both sides dividing the garden from those next door, and no evidence of either being scaled. The wall at the far end beyond the annexe is quite low, but because of the angle and the way the ground slopes away at that point, it would be difficult to climb from the other side. By way of shutting the stable door, I've advised Matron to lock the gates after dark, and let nurses returning from their nights out go through the house.'

His phone rang again. 'Front office here, sir. There's a lady to see you. Says it's urgent. A Mrs Susan Farrow.'

Crombie looked up at Webb's indrawn breath, saw his hands tighten on the receiver.

'Could I have that name again, Sergeant?'

'Farrow, sir. Mrs Susan Farrow.'

Several seconds elapsed before Webb said flatly, 'Very well, Sergeant. Get someone to show her up, would you?'

His eyes met Crombie's, and the Inspector was puzzled by the expression in them. Something had knocked old Spiderman for six. 'Want me to make myself scarce?'

'I'd be grateful, Alan. Thanks.'

Crombie passed the Governor's visitor in the outer office, and glanced at her curiously. Tall and slim, casually but well dressed, she seemed as much on edge as the old man. Curiouser and curiouser. He'd suss it out, though. No point being a detective if he couldn't manage that.

PC Dacre knocked on Webb's door and, opening it, stood to one side. Webb said, 'Thank you, Constable.' And, as the door closed behind him, 'Hello, Susan.'

'Dave, I'm sorry to burst in on you like this, but I'vejust heard about the rape. Have you found out who did it?'

He stared at her blankly. 'The rape?'

'I can't believe it. Fran, of all people. It's so—'

'Fran. Frances Daly—of course. You trained together.'

She looked at him in surprise. 'You mean you didn't realize?'

'During the last five years,' he said heavily, 'I've done my best to forget everything about you. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? The last I heard you were up in Stratford or somewhere.' He gestured to a chair. -I'm sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. Please sit down.'

She did so, crossing one slim leg over the other. 'I'm temping at the moment. I've signed on at the Nursing Agency.'

'But why here?'

'Why not? You don't own this bloody town, do you? I've as many friends here as you have.'

'Yes, of course.' He couldn't believe this was happening. The bitterness of their divorce had left deep scars. Certainly he'd never expected to be chatting to her over his desk—or anywhere else—ever again. He added with an effort, 'How's Tony?'

Her hands clenched. He saw she was wearing on her little finger the amethyst he'd given her for their fifth anniversary. The sight of it was like a douche of cold water.

'It didn't work out,' she said quietly, her defiance gone. 'He left me a year ago.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Are you?' Her voice was bitter. 'Or do you think it served me right, since he left his first wife for me?'

She looked so exactly the same—he'd never anticipated that. Still the firm, athlete's body, with small high breasts and long legs. Even her hairstyle was unchanged, chin-length in a soft bob, and the clear blue eyes under their straight brows looked as candid and honest as ever. But he'd discovered they could lie. As always, her mouth was the most striking thing about her. Though he knew it was simply that her even, well-shaped teeth were crowded too far forward, when her lips closed over them, they looked full and disconcertingly sensual.

He rubbed a hand over his face. 'Susan, forgive me, but I haven't time for social calls. I've a hell of a lot on.'

'Still the same old Dave!' He was, too. She'd been assessing herself the changes five years had wrought in him, and they were surprisingly few. His thick brown hair was as plentiful as ever and his lean, rangy body hadn't gained an ounce. Possibly his mouth was harder and his eyes more cynical—but she was to blame for that. Interestingly-enough, he still attracted her—and she felt it was mutual. Why else was he showing her the door? He hadn't remarried, either. She'd checked on that. 'It wasn't a social call, anyway,' she added. 'If you remember, I asked about the rape.'

'Oh yes. Well, I'm afraid I've no more to tell you than you doubtless read in the papers—or heard from Frances herself.' He'd the uncomfortable feeling she was using it as an excuse. She must have known when she came to Shillingham that she'd bump into him; specially if she was temping at the General, next door to the police station.

She said, not looking at him, 'Could we meet for a drink?'

He forced his voice to remain level. 'I don't think there'd be much point, do you?'

'I won't eat you, you know. It's just that I'd like to think we were still friends.'

'Friends!'

She stood up abruptly. 'All right, you've made your point. Sorry to have taken up your time.'

His chair grated as he too got to his feet. 'Look, Susan, I'm sorry. You caught me on the hop, I don't mind telling you.'

'Then you will meet me?' 'I didn't mean—' 'For old times' sake?'

His phone rang. 'All right, just a drink, if you insist. Now you really must excuse me.' He reached for the phone. 'When?'

'God knows. Give me a ring.' With luck, her pride would prevent her. He put a hand over the mouthpiece. 'Can you find your own way down?'

She nodded. 'Goodbye, Dave.'

He did not reply. Throughout the brief conversation with his superior, his stomach was churning as it had during the days of his marriage. Old times' sake, my eye! They'd been hellish and he'd thought they were behind him. Ridiculous to let her get under his skin again. She'd no claims on him now.

So that creep had left her. Webb hoped he was paying maintenance. Bloody hell, as if he hadn't enough to worry about! He made an angry movement and the draught of it wafted her scent towards him. While she was with him, he'd been unaware of it; now, after her going, it lingered behind to stir old memories.

Somehow, while his mind raced, he'd answered the questions demanded of him. As the Chief Superintendent rang off, he depressed the button and dialled again.

It was against all his rules, phoning from the office, but he had to speak to Hannah. Now. He hadn't seen her for six weeks; she'd been touring Europe with her parents, who were over from Canada. But she'd been due back last night. Surely she'd be—?

'Hello?'

'Hannah! Thank God!'

'Hello, David! Are you home this afternoon?' 'No, I'm at the station.'

'Is anything wrong? You sound a bit strung up.' 'Can I see you this evening?'