Wading Into Murder (6 page)

“Gender evolution?” Violet looked intrigued.

“Yes, how and why women and men got to be the way they are today as our species evolved. It’s a multi-disciplinary field – anthropology, pre-history and primate studies, even paleontology – the study of human-like fossils.

“The evidence shows that women were probably our first leaders, and that our first deity was a Goddess,” she added, since Violet still looked interested. “That changed when the major religions we know today were introduced by some rather nasty – and highly patriarchal - invaders from northern areas.”

Violet sighed. “And it’s been downhill ever since,” she said mournfully.

 “As well as getting worse when male-centered religions are under threat, like now,” Laura agreed. “Did you know that at the most conservative estimate, three million women and children are being held as sex slaves today, and thousands more are forced into slavery every day? I think that’s why I’m worried about what’s going on here. If it’s involved with the sex trade, things could get really nasty.

“On a lighter note,” she added, feeling guilty for imposing a diatribe on Violet, who was also on vacation, “sometimes the repression of women gets so far-fetched that it pushes believers the other direction and we finally get a break.”

“Let’s hope that happens this time,” Violet said, sounding skeptical. She looked at her watch. “I’d love to talk more about gender issues, both past and present, but I fear it’s time to join the group.”

Over dinner, Laura decided to sit beside Amy and Margaret since she hadn’t yet talked to them. They were both blond and pretty and looked a lot alike, but they turned out to have very different personalities. Amy was talkative and sentimental. Margaret was more reserved and, Laura thought, more intelligent. She gathered that they had met through their jobs and had become good friends.

Amy produced some much-thumbed photos of her two little daughters. Margaret had a son about whom she said nothing except that he was staying with her mother. She talked about her work instead, explaining that she and Amy had recently trained as nurses with special knowledge in the care of newborns. Laura sensed that Margaret was proud of this accomplishment, but that financing the necessary education hadn’t been easy for her. She also sensed a pervasive sadness in Margaret, as if something had happened to her that still caused pain. Maybe she had been through a difficult divorce, or there could be some problem with her son.

Amy and Margaret began a conversation with Hans, and Laura turned to the Japanese couple on her other side. “Is this your first trip to England?” she asked.

“Not the first, but this is the only tour we have taken here,” Mrs. Takara answered with a merry laugh, and proceeded to talk enthusiastically about everything she had seen. She also wanted to know all about Laura, where she came from and what she did, how she had come to be on this tour, and listened with keen interest to her answers.

Mr. Takara, in contrast, was glum and uncommunicative, except to berate his diminutive wife for asking too many questions. Laura’s hackles went up, but Mrs. Takara didn’t seem to mind his criticism. “I am too curious, as he says,” she agreed with a small giggle. “He is right in all things, my husband, and he is a fine photographer.”

Mr. Takara brightened, and produced a few photos to prove the point. Laura found them surprisingly fuzzy considering the excellent equipment he described at some length. She was no expert in photography but she had learned enough from her son, who was, to know that the pictures he showed her weren’t very good.

Mrs. Takara enjoyed taking pictures too and pulled out a few to show Laura, but Mr. Takara stopped her. “They are not good enough,” he told her bluntly. Meekly, his wife put them away again. Laura felt like slugging Mr. Takara. Perhaps, though, that was the way relationships were in Japan.

The next morning, she headed to the police station to sign her statement. On the way, she passed a knitting shop. Laura rummaged in her pockets and came up with the pink bootie. A bell tinkled in the back when she opened the door, and a pleasant white-haired woman appeared. Laura held out the bootie.        

“I wonder if by any chance you know who knit this, so I can return it to her,” she asked with a smile. “That’s probably a ridiculous request, considering all the people who must pass through the store, but I thought I would try anyway.”

“Usually it would be a hard question,” the woman agreed, “but in this case, I happen to know. The client who bought this wool has twins. One tends to notice when people need enough wool for four booties instead of two, and double of everything else. One remembers twins, too. They’re an adorable pair.

“There’s another reason, too… Oh dear, it isn’t right I suppose to talk about it…” She stopped, biting her lip uncertainly.

“The other reason?” Laura prompted.

The words came out in a rush. “It was only this morning, and it did upset me so. Her poor face was so bruised, and one of her eyes was almost shut. As soon as she came in here, her brute of a husband lunged in after her and hauled her out again. I can’t get over the feeling that she wanted me to help her, that maybe she didn’t know anyone else to turn to, but what could I do? In that culture, the men can do what they like.”

Laura winced. It seemed impossible to escape the issues that took so much of her time and attention. Everywhere she turned some poor woman was being abused, which spoke volumes about the extent of the problem.

“Spousal abuse is a terrible problem,” she agreed, “and not just in that culture. It’s everywhere, I’m afraid. I’m a researcher in the field, so I understand.”

Relief flooded the woman’s face. “Oh, I am glad I told you, then. You’ll know what to do, how to help her. Poor woman, she looks so exhausted all the time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Laura promised, but she left the store feeling oppressed. She had no idea what resources were available to the mother in England. Then she realized that the police would know. She could report the spousal abuse problem when she signed her statement, and leave the rest to them.

***************

Feeling a little lighter in spirit when she had accomplished that unpleasant task, Laura hurried to rejoin the group. She found them gazing up at Bath’s most famous buildings, a crescent of impressive white homes that overlooked the city. Once again, she tried to concentrate as Elise provided background, but even as she surveyed the gleaming facades, Laura was conscious of a slight prickling in her back, as if someone were watching her. Twice, she turned to look behind her, but no one was visible.

Angry with herself for being so easily distracted, Laura pulled out her camera to take pictures of the various sights Elise was describing. Mrs. Takara seemed amused by her belated desire for a photo and snapped a picture of her taking a picture. No doubt she would giggle over it as she showed it to relatives, Laura thought indulgently. The silly American lady who never remembered to bring out her camera must be quite a novelty.

Still giggling, Mrs. Takara turned her camera on other members of the group who were taking pictures. Laura shook her head, wondering what could possibly be so funny about other people taking pictures. Violet seemed less amused, and turned her back as the ubiquitous camera pointed in her direction.

“Rather an idiot, isn’t she?” she grumbled to Laura. “I hate having my picture taken, and I can’t help wondering what they get out of all this. How can anyone
see
anything when they only look through a lens?”

Laura looked at her in surprise. Violet had struck her as imperturbable. Perhaps, though, the ever-present cameras and jostling hordes of visitors who kept snapping away at them got on the nerves of English people.

“Where do you come from, Violet?” she asked, aware that she knew very little about Violet except her name and occupation.

“Oh, here and there,” Violet responded casually. Laura gave her an exasperated look and waited.

Violet laughed, her good humor restored. “Actually, that’s true,” she replied. “I grew up in Scotland in a town no one has ever heard of, but I’ve moved about a lot since then. France for a while, then London and a few other European cities – all too busy and noisy for me. I’ve done stints in Ireland and, as I said, Saudi Arabia.”

“Is all the travel job-related?” Laura asked curiously.

“Almost all job related,” Violet replied. “My field is languages – I just have an ear for them I guess - and I can get along in quite a few. A lot of what I do is translating at conferences. Basically, I go wherever people will hire me.”

Laura was fascinated and wanted to know more, but just then a sleek minibus pulled up and Alan Mansfield jumped out.

“Off to Glastonbury,” he announced. “All bags loaded, never fear,” he reassured the worried looking Japanese couple. “Our fine driver, Abdul, takes care of the baggage.  First, we will go to the Glastonbury Tor, a local landmark, then into the town. It’s a place you have to take in through all your senses – ears and nostrils as well as eyes.”

“All that pot swirling around,” Violet quipped, and everyone laughed.

Alan laughed with them. “Could be,” he agreed. “Still, there’s a more serious side to the town. It is reputed to be the birthplace of Christianity, and those marvelous Avalon and Arthur legends may be based on more than fantasy. I like to think so, anyway.”

Laura saw the silhouette of the Glastonbury Tor, a steep conical hill above the town, long before they reached it. Smooth and green, it rose against the blue backdrop of the sky like a child’s drawing of a hill. All the land around it was flat – the Somerset Levels, Alan called them, which had long ago been flooded. That was why the area was known as the Isle of Avalon. It really had been an island in the past, and the legends that had built up around it were based on that reality. Avalon was the Celtic paradise, where fruits and vegetables grew in abundance, and fairies lived.

Arthur, king of the Celts, was brought here on a barge as he lay dying from a mortal wound, Laura remembered. She could imagine the boat making its way through the mists to the island while the women wept and called upon the Lady of the Lakes to help them in their time of need. Arthur had been buried in Glastonbury, believers said, though other more cynical historians thought the monks had started the rumor to attract pilgrims and money so they could rebuild their Abbey, which had been gutted by fire. Whatever their motives, they succeeded, and the resulting edifice was reputed to have been one of the finest in the medieval world.

The bus came to a stop half-way up the Tor, and they climbed the rest of the way. Laura lingered to study the intricate terracing on its steep sides, which was thought by many scholars to be the remains of a three-dimensional labyrinth created by Neolithic people to honor the Goddess. It seemed to her that she could almost see the long lines of worshippers stepping carefully along the sacred ceremonial way, their arms raised in reverence. It made a haunting picture.

They went into Glastonbury next. Laura didn’t notice an unusual scent, but the town did have a looser, more flowing feeling than other English towns she had visited, which showed most in the women’s clothing. Instead of the jeans or neat suits favored elsewhere, many women here wore layers of dingy and rather bedraggled skirts topped by shawls, and had clogs on their feet. Their hair was part well-tangled dread-lock, part braids so fat and heavy they looked unreal.

Either they all had exceptionally thick hair or they had hairpieces woven in, Laura thought skeptically. Still, they looked healthy and happy. Many had a plump, contented baby on their chest or back, African style, and another trotting beside them; often a third skipped ahead. The small groups made their way haphazardly along the street, stopping every few moments to chat with acquaintances or shopkeepers.

It was refreshing, she mused, this gathering of women who had reverted to an almost tribal way of life. Far better than so many of the women she knew, segregated in their separate suburban houses or dashing frantically from house to job.

“Maybe I should get a long skirt and a pair of clogs, too,” she remarked to Violet as they sat down at a sidewalk cafe table and ordered lunch. “My hair would do that all on its own if I let it.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Violet confessed, “until I looked over there.”

Laura followed her gaze and saw two young people slumped against the side of a building, each holding a begging cup. Their eyes were lifeless, glazed over with an absence of emotion she couldn’t imagine. Was this the fate of the happy, rosy-cheeked kids she had just seen?

“At least there’s a cure here for every ailment, of the mind as well as the body,” she murmured to Violet as she ran her eyes along the row of tiny stores across the street. Crystal shops and psychics abounded; other shops offered treatments from herbs and scents to yoga, to more esoteric practices of which Laura had never heard.

Her attention was diverted by Dr. Bernstein and Claudine, who were arguing in front of a sign that advertised a psychic called Elena. Dr. Bernstein started up the stairs to the psychic’s room, but Claudine pulled at his arm to keep him from going. Dr. Bernstein shrugged her off and went up anyway.

Claudine stared after him angrily; then she stomped into a nearby store. When she came out again about half an hour later clutching a big shopping bag, her face was so downcast that Laura felt sorry for her. The least she could do was to ask Claudine to join them for some tea or coffee.

Laura rose and hovered at the edge of the narrow street, waiting for a car to pass so she could cross. At just that moment, she felt a strong push on her shoulder, and she was propelled into the path of the approaching car.

She stumbled, fighting for balance, lost the fight and fell heavily just as the car reached her. She saw the driver’s terrified eyes staring at her through the windscreen, but it was too late for him to stop, too late for her to crawl away.

Lurching into a tight, defensive ball, Laura tucked her head under her arms and tried to remember how to pray.

CHAPTER SIX

The car slammed on its brakes, slid sideways with a screech of tires, and missed her by inches. The driver’s face was a mask of horror. Then, as he watched Laura get shakily to her feet, apparently unharmed, his fear turned to anger.

“Look where you’re going! You’ll get yourself killed!” he yelled at her, and drove slowly away, shaking his head.

Laura looked down at her arms and legs, astonished that they were still there and that she could move them without pain. Maybe even an attempt to pray helped.

Alan Mansfield was suddenly beside her. He looked appalled, which wasn’t surprising. Having his customers run over wasn’t good for business. And then a large group of people was standing around her, gaping. Where had they all come from? Laura struggled to think coherently. Who had been nearby when she was pushed – or had she been pushed? Maybe someone had stumbled into her and sent her sprawling. The streets were thronged with people.

“Are you all right?” Alan asked.

 “I’m fine,” Laura assured Alan. “Just a bit shaken.”

Mrs. Tamara’s wails distracted her. “It is my fault,” she moaned in her accented English. “My fault… I did not mean to bump into her only I was pushed and I could not stop…”  She staggered to her husband and leaned miserably against him, but he shoved her away in disgust. 

“Foolish woman,” he expostulated. “Foolish woman, to say such things!” He looked as if he was about to shake her or even slap her, and Alan Mansfield intervened.

“No harm done,” he assured Mrs. Takara, insinuating his tall body deftly between her and her husband. “I expect someone must have jostled you. Not your fault at all, I am sure. The streets are very crowded.”

Lady Longtree, who had been watching the scene with interest once her initial alarm faded, came over to Laura. “Are you all right, my dear? If you are, I shall take Mrs. Takara back to the bus and sit with her until the rest of you come. I might get her to talk, you know. Besides, my legs need a rest.”

Laura nodded, and the indomitable old lady gathered up the still moaning Mrs. Takara, to Alan’s obvious relief, and escorted her to the bus. Mr. Takara stared after them stoically, and then disappeared down a side street. Everyone watched him go, and in most faces Laura read disgust. Margaret’s face, however, twisted with intense loathing, and her eyes were almost murderous. Laura was astonished. She wouldn’t have thought Margaret capable of such hatred.

Violet touched her elbow. “How about another dose of the restorative cup before we head out?” she asked, her voice gruff with anxiety. “Or maybe I need one this time. You do have a way of attracting trouble.”

Laura agreed with relief. She badly wanted to sit down. “I can’t figure it out,” she grumbled to Violet. “Mrs. Takara isn’t tall enough to bump into my shoulder, so why did she say it was her fault? And anyway, it felt more like a shove.”

Violet paled. “Are you saying that it wasn’t an accident, that someone pushed you into the street deliberately?”

“It felt like that,” Laura conceded reluctantly, “although someone the right height could have bumped my shoulder by mistake. Did you see anything?”

“No, worse luck,” Violet replied gloomily. “A woman came and stood right in front of me exactly when you fell into the street and I couldn’t see past her. Still, what I did see was rather interesting.”

“What was that?”

“The person in front of me was one of the women with the long skirts and all those beads, except I got the distinct impression that she wasn’t a woman. I wish I knew who it was,” Violet went on in frustration, “but I couldn’t see the person’s face. He or she could easily have pushed you, though, and then melted back into the crowds.”

Laura stared at her. “But that is incredible! A man dressed like a woman? Why would anyone do that? And why push
me
?”

Violet raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty obvious, I should think. Finding a baby in the Baths and taking it to the police has made you
persona non gratis
to someone.”

William appeared and took a seat beside them. “I saw her too, or him, I guess,” he announced laconically.  “It was Dr. Bernstein. Or his lady double.”

“But that’s impossible,” Laura sputtered. “I saw him going up the stairs over there to visit that psychic.” She pointed to the doorway.

As if on cue, Dr. Bernstein emerged. His gloomy face looked less harrowed than it normally did, and Laura wondered what the psychic had told him until she remembered that according to William, Dr. Bernstein hadn’t talked to the woman at all. He had been busy attacking her. He might even have borrowed the psychic’s clothes for that purpose. He could have come back down the stairs as a woman, given her a shove, gone back up and put his own clothes on again, and reappeared exactly as he had. 

To her astonishment, Dr. Bernstein came toward them with an expression that resembled eagerness. “Those people are really quite good,” he reported, sitting down beside Laura and turning his penetrating eyes full on her face. “She told me a number of things she could not have known except through some mystical source.”

“A crystal ball, no doubt?” Violet contributed sarcastically.

Dr. Bernstein shot her a hostile look. “Yes, she did have one as I recall,” he answered stiffly. “I don’t think they actually use them, except to help concentrate their attention on another reality they are seeing.

“More is out there than we understand,” he added portentously. “Yes, the world is filled with mysteries.”

Laura tried not to laugh. His German accent got stronger as the gravity of his words increased. It made him sound impossibly pompous – and gullible. Could a man like that really have attacked her only ten minutes ago?

“Has anyone seen my lovely wife?” Dr. Bernstein craned his neck up and down the streets, looking for her. “I must find her. The bus is in five minutes. She always forgets her watch, though I bought her a beautiful one last year.”

“I saw her in that shop some time ago,” Laura answered, pointing across the street. “She came out just before I tried to cross the street.” She said no more, wanting to test Dr. Bernstein. If he had been with the psychic all this time, he shouldn’t know anything about her near-accident.

Apparently he didn’t, since his only reaction was dismay at Claudine’s whereabouts. “I was certain she would be in one of those shops,” he lamented. “She is angry with me because I went to see that psychic, so now she will spend money, a good deal of money. It is her way. I do not try to stop her. That is a small price to pay for marital harmony, is it not?”

Quite a big price in this case, Laura suspected. The shopping bag in Claudine’s hand when she emerged from the shop had been very large.

Dr. Bernstein leaned closer. His balding head was right in front of Laura, and she noticed that it shone with perspiration, which was surprising since it was a cool day. Perhaps, after all, William was right. A wig might have made his head perspire like that.

“Do you not agree?” he demanded, turning his eyes full on her face again and stroking his beard rhythmically. Mesmerized by his intense gaze and the monotonous strokes, she could only nod mutely.

With a sigh, Dr. Bernstein rose to his feet. “Well, I shall start in that shop then. Goodbye, ladies. And William.” He nodded politely and trotted away.

Laura grimaced. That little interchange hadn’t told her much – except that Dr. Bernstein was either a superb actor as well as an expert liar, or that William hadn’t seen him, or her, properly. But which version was correct?

She glanced at William. He seemed puzzled but not convinced by Dr. Bernstein’s performance. He also looked different today, she realized. His neatly combed hair was brown instead of purple, and his dark pants and striped shirt were quite conventional. The results were startling. He no longer looked like a teen-ager, but like a young professional. He seemed vaguely familiar like this, which Laura concluded was due to the fact that he now bore some resemblance to most other people.

He noticed her stare and grinned. “Don’t like to look like everyone else.” Laura laughed. In Bath, he went hippie; in Glastonbury, he did the opposite.

 “I still think it was him,” William insisted. “I couldn’t see if he was the one who pushed you, but he was there. Or someone who looked just like him.”

“What I want to know,” Violet contributed, “is how he managed to disguise his beard.”

William regarded her in stupefaction. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “I knew something was missing; I just couldn’t think what it was. But it still looked just like him without the beard. Do you suppose it could be a fake, and he can take it off? I wear one sometimes. Prickles like crazy.”

“That’s possible,” Violet agreed, “though as you know, it takes a bit of time to clean up the face.”

“Yeah,” William agreed fervently. “That glue stuff is a pain to get off.”

“We still don’t know if anyone actually did push me, at least on purpose,” Laura reminded them. “Did either of you happen to notice who was nearby?”

William nodded and rattled off an answer. “Most of the tour members were. The Japanese couple was pretty close to you, though I don’t think she was close enough to do the job. That confession is nonsense. I’m pretty sure he was in front of her, so it could have been him - which may explain the confession, though why she would want to protect that creep is beyond me.”

He stopped for breath and then went on at the same rapid clip. “The guy from Switzerland was beside the Takaras, so he could have done it too. Violet was sitting here, of course, and our well-prepared tour conductor was hovering nearby. The two nurses were on their way to join you; I heard them say so, but I don’t think they had made it yet. Mrs. Bernstein was watching from across the street. Dr. Bernstein - well, I think he was Violet’s beaded lady, but he says he was with a psychic. Did I miss anyone?”

 “You didn’t miss a thing,” Violet answered. “Which might become a problem for you,” she added. “For goodness sake, be careful. You could be the next target. ”

William grinned again. “Don’t worry. I’ve had some practice at making myself invisible.”

That was an ambiguous statement, Laura thought, and filed the information away for future contemplation.

“I’ll make a diagram showing where everyone was,” William went on. “It’ll be fun, and it might help us to see who could have done it.”

He unfolded his lanky frame. “I think I’ll see how my grandmother is managing with Mrs. Takara. She’s a weird one. Repressed anger, I’d say. That husband of hers is a real shit-head.” He ambled off, and Laura was glad to note that he looked carefully in both directions before he crossed the street.

“I wish he would leave the whole thing alone,” she lamented, “his grandmother too. You’d think seeing a second person almost run down would convince them that the situation could get dangerous, but I don’t think it has. I can’t imagine why they are so determined to get involved.”

Violet’s forehead creased with worry. “Nor can I,” she agreed. “It doesn’t make any sense, especially since William is the most likely person to be hurt.”

Laura’s mouth tightened. Violet was right. William really might become the next victim unless she found out what was going on soon. She had said she would leave the investigation to the police, but that didn’t seem to be working. Besides, she was tired of being a target. She didn’t have any practice at making herself invisible, but she did know a few things about disguise after her experiences last year.

Claudine joined her as she walked back to the bus, and Laura saw with surprise that she no longer had her shopping bag. “What happened to the things you bought?” Laura asked impulsively.

Claudine looked flustered, almost frightened. She seemed to be casting around for an answer. Then she spotted her husband, who was already standing beside the bus, and pointed at him. “He told me to take them all back,” she hissed, and the underlying fury in her tone made Laura wince. “He said they were too extravagant.” 

Claudine’s lips closed tightly after the outburst, as if she regretted the words, and Laura didn’t have the heart to question her further.

Who was lying? Laura performed a quick mental calculation and decided it had to be Claudine. There hadn’t been time for Dr. Bernstein to find her and for her to return the clothes. Returning items often took longer than buying them.

Another thought popped into her mind. Claudine might not have bought anything at all. Maybe what had been in the missing bag was her husband’s disguise.

Laura watched carefully as the bus negotiated the narrow street past the psychic’s shop and the next one, where Claudine had lingered. When the bus turned, she saw that there was an alley behind the shops where owners put out their trash, and each had a back door that led to it. Maybe Claudine had gone out the back door of her shop, he out of his, and they had met in that alley. The shopping bag could have contained first his disguise, then his own clothes, then the revealing disguise again, which had been left behind, probably in a rubbish bin.

Tonight, she would go to the alley and see what she could find.

***************

Getting away without arousing suspicion proved harder than Laura had anticipated. People lingered over dinner, chatting compulsively, and Alan insisted on escorting her to her room and checking it once they got there. “I want to make sure there are no intruders in your closet,” he joked, but he didn’t go to the door once he had looked into them, only half humorously, but stood looking at her thoughtfully.

“You are an unusual woman,” he commented in a soft tone that made Laura wonder if he had other motives besides a security check. She had pegged him as a man who wouldn’t be averse to a brief romance if one came his way, but surely he didn’t have her in mind?

“And a weary one,” she countered, standing rather stiffly by the door.

 “You are sure you will be all right?” Alan persisted. “I shall be just down the hall, in number fifteen.”

“I will be fine,” she assured him, wondering if that had been a veiled invitation to join him if she wanted. “Violet should be here later, too.”