A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer Page 10

  Lloyd smiled broadly at Sandwell. ‘When did this thought hit you?’ he asked.

  ‘Just now sir. I was saying to Sergeant Watson about how the town had changed, and I just remembered. Do you think he could be there?’

  Judy walked in.

  ‘Don’t take your coat off, Sergeant, you’re not stopping.’ Lloyd stood up. ‘Come on, Sherlock – get weaving. You can drive us there – if you’re right, the arrest’s down to you. You’ll get your name in the papers.’

  Sandwell, delighted, went off to get the car, and Lloyd explained to Judy, who was looking slightly startled at the sudden burst of action.

  ‘So,’ Lloyd said. ‘Perhaps we can wrap it up now.’

  Judy didn’t look so sure. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But I’ve a feeling we don’t know the half of it yet.’

  Lloyd hesitated, then laughed at himself. ‘He’ll just give up,’ he said. ‘You’ll see. He’ll tell us the lot.’

  The bird that was lying in wait for a rash worm to be drawn to the surface by the intermittent rain flew off as the car drew up. From the safety of a tree, he watched the group of people cross the muddy grass towards the pine wood.

  Another figure appeared, bearded and limping, walking towards the group with the aid of a stick. He tried to run, but he couldn’t, and he stumbled as he did so. One of the other people helped him, and they took him to the car.

  With difficulty, they put him in the back, and then they all got back in again, and drove off. Once they had turned in the road, and were on their way back where they came from, the bird flew down again, and continued his wait for a worm.

  If he was very patient, one would turn up sooner or later, like buses.

  Like policemen.

  Chapter Seven

  Judy finished eating, and looked reflectively at Lloyd, then at the room. ‘You look after yourself all right, don’t you?’

  ‘What did you expect?’ He laughed. ‘Beer cans on the bare floorboards?’

  ‘No – just less comfort.’

  Lloyd looked round at the shabby old furniture, shown up even more by the reclining chair in which Judy was doing just that. ‘I got all this lot from a second hand shop,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the only comfortable chair there is.’

  She smiled. ‘But it looks so nice – it reminds me of when I was small. It’s the sort of furniture my mum had.’

  ‘It probably is your mum’s.’

  She laughed, and stretched luxuriously. ‘I could fall asleep,’ she said. ‘You’d better engage me in sparkling conversation.’

  ‘Do you think Helen Mitchell’s told you everything now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Judy said drowsily, and sat up. ‘I really am falling asleep. She could have, but I feel as though she’s still holding something back.’ She yawned.

  ‘Why do I feel as though everyone’s lying to us?’ Lloyd got up to make coffee.

  ‘Automatic reaction,’ Judy said, as he went off to the kitchen. ‘We’re the fuzz.’

  ‘The enemy?’ Lloyd said, raising his voice. ‘Not usually of sober, white collar, middle-income bracket citizens, we’re not. Unless we’ve got them on a motoring offence.’

  He didn’t hear what she said, as he ground up the coffee. When the coffee maker was going about its business, he went back in, to find Judy lighting a cigarette.

  ‘I thought you’d given up?’

  ‘I still smoke occasionally,’ she said.

  ‘And this is an occasion?’ He sat down, then thought he’d better clear away the debris of the Chinese meal that they had eaten picnic style out of the tinfoil containers.

  ‘Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen your flat,’ she said, piling things up for him. ‘That makes it an occasion.’

  It certainly did for him, he thought, as he tipped his load into the swingbin.

  ‘Who else do you think is lying?’ she asked, suddenly at his elbow.

  ‘I spoke to Mitchell about the key – he says she asked for it, and he gave it to her. He had no idea why.’ He got mugs out of the cupboard. ‘I suppose he did. But I got the feeling that the question –’ he searched for the word. ‘Discommoded him,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think they’re covering up for Wade – they know something damaging that they’re not telling us?’

  ‘Could be.’ Lloyd poured the coffee, and handed Judy hers. They would insist on sending Wade to hospital for a check-up. He was beginning to think that the doctor did it on purpose to give the patients time to think up a good story. ‘I’ll be glad when I can talk to Wade himself.’

  They carried their coffee back through to the living room.

  ‘Do you want the comfortable chair?’ Judy asked.

  ‘No, no. You’re the guest – you have it.’ He sat down again on the unyielding sofa. ‘You’re having a go at Mrs Short after lunch?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When you’re becoming a star of the silver screen.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea – it was Randall. “You’re better at that sort of thing, Inspector.” How does he know? I’ve never been on television.’

  Judy grinned. ‘Only because of some grave oversight. Could it be he thinks you like the sound of your own voice? Surely not.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  They finished their coffee, and got up to go. Lloyd picked up Judy’s coat and held it for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, slipping her arm in. ‘By the way, I took a phone call for you this morning while you were with Mitchell.’ She turned to face him. ‘They wanted to know why you hadn’t picked your car up on Friday as arranged.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘So do I.’

  Lloyd thought fast, but no plausible excuse presented itself. The truth, then. ‘You know why,’ he said.

  ‘So that I’d chauffeur you around.’

  ‘It’s not a chauffeur I’m looking for.’ He could have phrased it better, but it didn’t seem to matter. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before lunch?’

  ‘Same reason,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure it’s a very good reason.’

  Lloyd took her hands in his. ‘You once said you couldn’t have anything to do with me because I was married.’

  ‘So I did.’ She smiled.

  ‘I’m not married now.’

  ‘I am.’ But it was just a statement of fact, not a protest. She took a step towards him, and her lips touched his as the phone rang. She stepped back, leaving the way clear to the phone.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Lloyd said to it, and picked it up.

  ‘Rogers here, sir. They’ve found her underwear – bra, pants and tights.’

  ‘Great. Where?’

  ‘A long way from either the body or the rest of her clothes, I’m told. The lab’s got them now. Can we call off the search?’

  ‘Er – yes. Yes. I think so. But keep the area roped off – and have someone keeping an eye on it. I don’t want sightseers.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Lloyd replaced the receiver and relayed the call to Judy.

  ‘Well,’ she said, good humouredly. ‘Is that the end of the seduction scene?’

  Lloyd laughed, and opened the front door. Lunch, a laugh, and a stillborn kiss. It was better than nothing.

  They were in Charles Mitchell’s tasteful drawing room, not speaking much. Donald had something to say, but he had not yet fully worked out how he was going to say it.

  Maria smiled; he just smiled back, like a stranger, like someone in a waiting room. He touched her to prove that he wasn’t.

  ‘It takes a bit of getting used to,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, taking her hand in his. It was cold – he rubbed it gently. ‘I can’t stay,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘You said.’ She took her hand away and stood up. ‘I’ll get your photograph. It’s in the bedroom.’

  Donald walked round the room, touching the delicate furniture. He ran his hand over the smooth polished wood of the table.

  ‘It’s yours now,’ she sai
d, reappearing at the door. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit complicated, as I said.’ He took the photograph, and glanced at its general amateur fuzziness. ‘There aren’t any others?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Won’t that one do?’ She came over to him, and looked at it over his shoulder, pushing the fair hair away from her face.

  ‘It’ll have to, I suppose.’ He gave her a proprietorial peck on the cheek, and put the photograph down. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Donald,’ she said, with a touch of sarcasm. ‘You’ve got more than enough on your plate.’

  He’d have to tell her. Donald crossed his fingers for luck – not, for once, because he was lying. ‘I’ve told Helen,’ he said.

  ‘About me?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘No, of course not. I told you – it’s a point of honour. But I have told her I’m leaving. I can’t just now, not with all this. But I’ve told her I will be going.’

  ‘Well, well. And I thought now you’d got all this money, you’d just pension me off.’ She smiled.

  He could have, of course. But Maria had lasted longer than anyone, and he hadn’t outgrown her yet. They were holding each other, and the waiting room atmosphere had gone. Maria had been waiting for the blow to fall, and it hadn’t. But Donald’s fingers were still crossed. ‘There is one thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve told her she’ll have half the money.’

  ‘Half of the money from the will?’ She looked horrified.

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry – it leaves more than enough for anyone. How much do you suppose this place is worth, for instance?’

  ‘Too much,’ she said. ‘But even at that. Aren’t you being a little over-generous?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I’d say it was the least I could do. Helen’s had a rough deal.’

  ‘Oh well, you know me. I wouldn’t have known what he was worth – too many noughts for me to understand.’

  ‘I could have lied to you,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather you knew the position.’ He put his arms round her. ‘It was just that I thought she’d have Chris Wade, but God knows what’ll happen now. It was the only thing I thought might make up for everything.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to leave her?’ It was a serious question, and she was waiting for an answer.

  Donald had never had to face the truth so much in his life, and he found it exhausting. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said with an honesty that took her aback. ‘But I do want you, and she doesn’t want me any more. All this money,’ he said. ‘It forces you to look at what’s happening, and think about the future. You can’t just pocket it and get on with your life.’

  ‘This friend of yours has done everyone a favour, then,’ she said.

  ‘I wish to God he hadn’t,’ Donald said.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, Donald.’

  ‘No.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have got to go – I’ll try to phone you. I probably won’t be able to get back for a little while.’ He looked round. ‘Where did I put the photograph?’

  ‘On the table. Oh – I got that address. It might not be much good.’ Maria took a sheet of paper from a drawer. ‘It’s the firm’s travel agent – her father might have used them. I can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He took out his wallet. ‘You’re sure there isn’t another photograph?’ He put it in his wallet as he spoke.

  ‘Quite sure – at least, I can’t find any more. She wasn’t keen on having her photograph taken, funnily enough.’

  ‘She was probably wanted on three continents,’ Donald said, and made her laugh for the first time.

  She gave him a kiss. ‘Hurry back,’ she said.

  Donald would be back in about an hour. Helen made herself a cup of tea, and settled down to her hourly ritual of waiting for the news. Now that their marriage was officially over, now that the words had actually been spoken, she could worry as openly as she liked. Donald would be all right; he’d got money enough to satisfy any ambition that had previously been frustrated. She wondered what he would do – go to London, she suspected, to set up in style. He might even live in Charles’s house – it was his kind of place. And there would be no shortage in London of a girl or two to keep him company. But, please God, not one like Julia.

  If Donald had to stray, why did he have to have such bad taste in women? And why was it so easy for him to have affairs, when she couldn’t bring herself to have even one? Chris thought it was because of the age difference, but it wasn’t. She was of the old school, and she had promised to keep only unto Donald. Two wrongs didn’t make a right. But now that Donald was going, and she might lose Chris, the promise began to seem futile. She regretted and resented her fidelity, if you called it fidelity. Feelings were more important than physical acts, and her feelings were with Chris, and no one else.

  The news dealt with what it considered to be the most important matters first, and then the word Stansfield came. ‘Stansfield police confirmed this afternoon that the man they wish to interview in connection with the death of thirty-five year old Julia Mitchell on Saturday night has given himself up to the police.

  ‘No charges have yet been brought, and it is believed that the man is in hospital recovering from an injury.’

  Relief, despair, fear, worry – Helen didn’t know which one to feel first. He was hurt. He was caught, but then he always was going to be. He was safe, and that was the main thing.

  Chris had broken a small bone in his foot, he was informed. They would be giving him a crutch, and teaching him how to use it, and then he could be released to the police. In the few moments that he had to wait, he could relax.

  The bed was heaven, and he lay back on the pillow, cut off from the rest of the ward by screens, but listening to his fellow patients indulging in verbal slap and tickle with the nurses. At least he was clean and warm and shaved; at least he wasn’t hiding any more. Although he was in a ward, he was fully clothed, in the new clothes that Elaine had brought, because the police took away his others. He lay on a bed where they had put him, out of the way. They hadn’t let him see Elaine, which was a pity.

  But it would be all right. He hadn’t killed her, so he had nothing to be afraid of, or so everyone said. He would have liked to have seen Elaine, though, to tell her that he was all right, and that she hadn’t got to worry.

  They were a long time coming with this crutch. He’d close his eyes. The warmth and comfort claimed him, and he fell sound asleep.

  Judy tried to comfort Elaine Short, who paced up and down the room as she spoke.

  ‘He’s quite well, Mrs Short.’

  She stopped in mid-pace. ‘He didn’t kill her,’ she said. ‘He had no reason to!’

  ‘He’s not been charged yet. Are you absolutely sure that he didn’t know Julia? From some time in the past, perhaps?’

  ‘He didn’t know her,’ she said helplessly. ‘I can’t prove it – I can only tell you. Martin knew her, though.’

  ‘Could Chris have met her through your husband?’

  ‘No – Martin had met her at meetings and things, but he didn’t know her, not the way you mean. And Chris certainly didn’t.’

  Judy waited until her pacing brought her level. ‘How can you be so sure? Did you know everyone your brother knew? You lived a long way away from him for years.’

  The rain coursed down the patio window, obscuring the view, closing everything in. ‘He’d have said,’ she explained, with exaggerated patience. ‘He knew she was coming – he’d have mentioned it.’

  ‘Not if he had some reason not to.’

  ‘You mean if he was going to murder her?’ Elaine threw up her hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘But you’re going round in circles – and he didn’t know her.’

  ‘But you will accept that it’s a possibility?’

  ‘It’s a possibility that he knows Glenda Jackson, but I know he doesn’t!’

  Judy smiled. ‘All right – you’re right, we
’re going round in circles.’

  ‘Why is he in hospital – why is he being kept in, if he’s quite all right?’

  Judy took a deep breath, this being the third time she had answered that particular question. ‘Because he has an ankle injury. They’ll be releasing him this afternoon. He is honestly all right. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  Elaine stopped pacing. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all. You’re just going to say that he murdered someone. That’s nothing to worry about—’ she held the back of her hand to her mouth, and tried to stop the tears.

  Great, thought Judy, that’s great. Well done, that’s the second one you’ve reduced to tears today. What a lovely job.

  ‘Please, Mrs Short. Don’t distress yourself – sit down.’

  ‘I am not distressing myself! This business is distressing me,’ she shouted, but she sat down, beside Judy on the sofa.

  Judy nodded in what she hoped was an understanding manner. It certainly ought to be, because this business wasn’t doing her much good either.

  ‘She came in here,’ Elaine said, angrily, ‘She came in here, looking for a fight with someone. Maybe she just picked on Chris, and . . .’ She shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t believe it. He didn’t kill her.’ She blew her nose.

  Judy patted her shoulder. ‘I can’t pretend that it looks good for your brother,’ she said. ‘But it could have been something like that – if he was provoked, it’s possible that they—’

  ‘I don’t think she had the least intention of staying,’ Elaine said suddenly, interrupting Judy and saving her from having to finish the sentence. ‘She didn’t look as though she was staying.’ She paused for a moment, and considered carefully before she spoke. ‘Have you ever done any acting?’ she asked.

  ‘Acting?’ Judy said. ‘No—’