Strictly Murder (11 page)

“
His wife confirmed it?” I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice. Of course his wife would have confirmed it, she would have backed him to the hilt even if she'd known he was lying through his teeth. Still, Plover and his team weren't fools. They'd have double-checked this.

“
Oh, I know what you're thinking, but we did have corroboration. A neighbour putting milk bottles out during a break in the football saw him drive up.”

“
What time would that be?”

“
Nearly nine o'clock as Hughes said.”

I hastily scribbled a note. I was still suspicious of Hughes and he would certainly serve KD's needs when she came to write the story. It would depend on how much would change; how much of the truth, if any, would be retained in the final telling of the tale. KD wrote fiction, after all, and my job was simply to gather the facts that made that fiction possible.

“
What about DNA testing?” I looked up from my writing.

“
What about it? It was in its infancy then and we didn't, thankfully, have a body against which to test it.”

I gave a defeated sigh.

"Oh, well. KD will just have to magic this one out of thin air."

"I'm sorry. I don't seem to have been much help to you, Miss Long."

His eyes smiled at me over the rim of his cup until a sudden frown appeared on his forehead. Absently, he replaced the cup on its saucer.

"You know, there is something."

"Something else about Charlotte Neal?”

I leaned forward eagerly, pen poised.

"Yes." He snapped his fingers. "Got it!"

I waited.

"It may not be much use to you, it was just a strange coincidence."

"Coincidence?"

"Yes, that's probably why it's stuck in my mind. There was another case involving a girl called Charlotte Neal at the same time."

"That is odd," I agreed. "Were you in charge of both cases?"

"No, no. This other case happened up north somewhere." The crease returned, wrinkling his brow. "A hit and run accident in which the girl was killed. I don't think that one was ever solved, either."

He gave me a rueful look.

"Well, thank you, Mr Plover. It was good of you to give up your time to see me."

I picked up my bag and rose to go.

"My pleasure, Verity. If I remember anything else about the case, I'll give you a call."

"Please."

I took one of KD's cards out of my bag and handed it over.

I said goodbye and walked to the car thinking wistfully of Wisteria Cottage's beautiful garden and longing for one of my own. Still, I now had plenty to pass on to KD on my return.

Bishop Lea was a modern house built to resemble a Palladian villa on land once owned by the Bishop of Crofterton. Constructed to satisfy the pretensions of some flash in the pan 1970s rock musician, it had been sold to pay the taxman his overdue revenues when said musician had plummeted earthwards like a latter day Icarus, along with the pilot of his private plane. It was certainly big enough to host the sprawling booze and drug fueled parties rumoured to accompany the rock star lifestyle, possessed as it was of five bedrooms, living room, drawing room, dining room, cloakrooms and more bathrooms than you could shake a stick at. The kitchen alone would have housed a shouting match of celebrity chefs, complete with camera crews and sound men, and still have room for the two fat ladies. Our office - OK, KD's office, my workplace - had been made from one of these cloakroom conversions when KD had bought the place eight years previously.

There was no sign of my employer when I walked in, though the conservatory door stood wide and, for the second time that morning, I stepped out into a flower filled garden. Two belligerent blackbirds, sitting on branches in the chestnut tree, warred against each other to see whose song could be the loudest and a chirpy robin added his sweet voice to the medley.

At my approach KD stood up from the bed where she had been dead-heading roses.

"Ah! There you are."

KD advanced towards me from the rose bed brandishing a pair of secateurs like a deadly weapon.

"Come over here and tell me how you've got on." She led me to a picnic table and bench, its gay parasol ready to shield us from the glare of the sun. It was barely midday but already the heat was intense.

"I've got some chilled wine and some sandwiches waiting."

"An alfresco lunch!" I exclaimed, delighted at the spread revealed as she removed the table cloth that had covered and protected it. "What a wonderful idea, KD. Thank you."

She really could be so thoughtful, I reflected, as I sat down. Her face, round as an apple, smiled back at me and I was conscious, not for the first time, of what a good job I had landed in working as her PA.

"Well, it's a lovely day. We should take advantage of it while we have the opportunity," she said, pouring the chilled wine into two glasses. "Now, what have you to report?"

"Naturally, I've a great deal on the police view of the case but not a lot else," I said before raising my glass. "Cheers!"

KD munched away as I filled her in on my visit to Mr Plover, nodding her head from time to time in recognition of salient points. When I'd finished and helped myself to another smoked salmon sandwich she thought for a moment two.

"What's your gut feeling, Verity?"

"Oh, the friend's father," I replied without hesitation. "And yours?"

"I'm not so sure that this was murder. From our point of view, the disappearance itself is far more interesting."

As was KD's use of the word 'our'. It made the finished story sound more of a collaboration than I felt it warranted though it was nice to think she valued my contribution. I loved these sessions at the start of a new book where we thrashed things out between us, throwing ideas around like confetti. Though in the end, much as I might like to think I'd been helpful, it was KD who wrote it.

She was twirling the stem of the glass round and round between her fingers. Fiddling with something, anything - a pencil, paper clip or a wine glass - is a sure sign of deep thought and concentration on KD's part. I didn't interrupt her.

"You know," she said finally," I've a feeling that female sergeant's comment about the friend is going to turn out to be worth its weight in gold."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, I'm a great believer, as you know, in women's intuition. I think that she picked up on something her male colleagues missed."

"To be fair, George Plover did acknowledge that," I pointed out. "Besides even she," I glanced down at my book, "Delia Rees, couldn't discover what the girl was hiding."

KD waved this aside.

"Yes, yes, I know, but what I mean is, if the female suspected something, it would be a female thing."

"Eh?"

She had lost me completely.

"Look, the friend was hiding something feminine, something girly. Like make-up, a boyfriend, that sort of thing. That's what the sergeant was subconsciously getting."

"Oh, I see! You could be right."

"And it's perfect for our purposes, of course. Instead of the sergeant we have Agnes Merryweather to divine the girls' secret.

I let the outrageous pun go.

"Clever. That's really very clever."

I sat back, surveying my boss with admiration.

"I'll bet it's not far from the truth. In any case it will do for our purposes. After all, we aren't intending to solve the original case."

Well, maybe not. Nevertheless I was intrigued now and wanted to know what had become of Charlotte Neal.

"Do you still want me to go out to Darrington?"

"Oh yes. Tomorrow morning, if that's OK with you?"

"Yes, fine."

I grabbed another sandwich before she could whisk the plate off the table. She had started to gather the remains of our meal together.

"I'll go and wash up. You type up your notes from this morning,"

She was halfway to the conservatory door, a tray full of used plates and cutlery in her hands, when she dropped her bombshell.

"Oh, and don't worry about coming in tomorrow after you've been to Darrington. Whatever you find can wait until Monday and I'm going to be working on the dodgy financier story all day. I shan't need you for that."

I was slumped on the settee mulling over KD's words and wondering whether I would soon be out of a job when the door bell rang. What now? I was in no mood for visitors, I decided, walking through to the kitchen, the high heeled black mules I used as slippers clacking on the slabs in the passage that linked it to the living room. This had better not be my landlord demanding his rent a week early. It wasn't.

"Good evening, Miss Long. Sorry to call so late but I wonder if you could spare me a minute?"

"Come in."

Detective Inspector Farish smiled his thanks and followed me into the kitchen. There was no sign of his sidekick.

"I was just enjoying a glass of wine." I indicated the three-quarters full bottle on the table. "Would you care to join me?"

"No, thanks."

"Are you on duty? Is this an official visit? Perhaps you'd prefer coffee?"

"No, sort of, and no thank you," he answered my Spanish Inquisition with a soft smile that reached his eyes as well as curving his mouth. The smile definitely improved him.

"Well, come on through, then."

I led the way into the living room offering him a chair as I sat back down on the settee. This time I perched rather than lounged.

"So what can I do for you, Inspector?"

"Well, firstly, I've come to apologise."

A pink tinge crept up his cheeks. He looked remarkably uncomfortable.

"For what?"

"For being so abrupt with you on Monday. You must have had a considerable shock …"

I bowed my head in agreement for a moment. It's not every day you find a dead body.

"… and my sergeant tells me I was fairly brutal with you."

His sergeant told him? Hell's teeth! If he needed his sidekick to point out his appalling treatment then the man was a machine. I took a sip of wine and waited. I wasn't going to let him off that easily. I watched with malicious pleasure as the man squirmed on his chair.