Person or Persons Unknown Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House

  The Rona Parish Mysteries

  (in order of appearance)

  BROUGHT TO BOOK

  JIGSAW

  PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN

  A FAMILY CONCERN

  ROGUE IN PORCELAIN

  NEXT DOOR TO MURDER

  UNFINISHED PORTRAIT

  A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

  JUSTICE POSTPONED

  Other Titles

  PAST SHADOWS

  FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS

  THICKER THAN WATER

  SHIFTING SANDS

  THE UNBURIED PAST

  PERSON OR

  PERSONS UNKNOWN

  Anthea Fraser

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in 2005 in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  This eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2005 by Anthea Fraser.

  The right of Anthea Fraser to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Fraser, Anthea

  Person or persons unknown

  1. Genealogy – Research – Fiction

  2. Murder – Investigation – Fiction

  3. Detective and mystery stories

  I. Title

  823.9’14 [F]

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6205-1 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-9135-8 (paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-686-1 (ePUB)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  One

  ‘I loathe drinks parties,’ Max Allerdyce said irritably, as he slowed for a red light. ‘All you do is stand around for hours in a crowded room, drinking inferior wine and making conversation with people you hope never to see again.’

  Rona laughed. ‘Come on, it won’t be that bad. Not at Magda and Gavin’s.’

  ‘Oh, but it will; even good friends metamorphose into frenzied hosts and break up any promising conversation by introducing you to someone else.’

  ‘Well, we could hardly turn it down, could we? It’s Gavin’s birthday, after all.’

  ‘Then why couldn’t they have a civilized lunch or dinner? Or a series of them, if numbers dictated? Drinks parties are a cop-out, a means of writing off outstanding invitations in one fell swoop. No one enjoys them, but duty is seen to be done.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to be in this mood all evening,’ Rona commented.

  He made some reply, but she barely heard him. As they turned into Barrington Road, her thoughts had swung to the last occasion she’d visited the Ridgeways, when she’d seen her father walking along here with Catherine Bishop, a customer at the bank whom he’d professed to know only slightly. That had been a couple of months ago, and she still wasn’t sure if he’d seen her drive past. The incident had never been referred to, but it had left a nebulous barrier between them. Lindsey, her twin sister, kept nagging at her to broach the subject, but she’d refused, feeling it an unwarranted intrusion.

  Pushing the worry aside, she saw that a line of cars stretched beyond the Ridgeways’ gateway in both directions. Max, swearing under his breath, parked at the end of it.

  ‘How long do we have to stay?’ he demanded, as they walked up the path.

  ‘You’ll enjoy it once you’re there,’ Rona told him rallyingly, and was spared any further comment by Magda opening the door.

  Half an hour later, she was prepared to concede he might have a point; most of the people in the room were unknown to her. Magda, though she and Rona had been close since childhood, did not make friends easily, and Rona suspected the guests were mostly Gavin’s colleagues drawn from work and the various sports clubs to which he belonged.

  Having extricated herself from a man whose breath smelt of garlic and who kept invading her space, she looked round, wondering whom to approach. Max, she noted with irritation, seemed to be enjoying himself more than she was; obviously in charm mode, his prematurely silver head was bent attentively to a short woman who was talking earnestly up at him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a voice behind her, ‘are you Rona Parish?’

  She turned to see a young woman regarding her with interest. ‘I am, yes. And you’re …?’

  ‘Zara Crane. This is my husband, Tony.’

  The man beside her held out a damp hand. They seemed younger than the other guests, and Rona wondered at their connection with the Ridgeways. The girl was a few months pregnant and wore her hair, a pale red-gold, in a thick plait over one shoulder. Her husband, who just escaped being plump, had an incipient double chin, and his face was made the rounder by his curiously semicircular hairline, behind which his dark hair lay short and sleek as a seal’s pelt.

  ‘I work with Gavin,’ he volunteered, confirming Rona’s guess. ‘And you’re a friend of Magda’s, I believe?’

  ‘Of them both, I hope.’ No need to add she’d nearly married Gavin.

  ‘She was speaking about you last week,’ Zara explained. ‘At the office do.’

  Rona smilingly raised an eyebrow. ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘That you don’t live with your husband and haven’t taken his name, and that you’ve been instrumental in catching two murderers.’

  The words had come out pat and the girl, suddenly doubting the wisdom of them, flushed, her eyes falling to the glass of orange juice in her hand.

  Rona’s instant annoyance was tinged with a sense of betrayal. She would have words with Magda. The fact that the summing-up was more or less accurate was of little comfort.

  Tony Crane hastily intervened. ‘Please don’t think we’ve been discussing you,’ he said – though they clearly had. ‘It’s just that someone mentioned your articles in Chiltern Life; Magda told us she knew you, and that while writing them, you’d solved a murder and the killer proved to be someone she knew.’

  Over the last months, Rona had been researching the history of Buckford, the county town, whose octocentenary was imminent. When she made no comment, Crane added, ‘There’s a souvenir binder for them with this month’s edition. How many are you planning to do?’
<
br />   ‘About half a dozen, I think.’

  ‘Each on a different aspect?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve done most of the research now, it’s just a question of writing it up.’

  ‘I enjoyed the one on the town’s earliest beginnings. It must be absorbing, digging out all the facts and so on.’

  ‘It is, yes.’

  He hesitated. ‘Will the murder feature in any of them?’

  ‘No,’ Rona said shortly. ‘It isn’t relevant.’

  Zara moved impatiently, and they both turned to her. Her eyes were on Rona and there was sudden tension in them. ‘Do you ever do research just for interest, with no thought of publication?’

  Rona gave a short laugh. ‘I’m not that high-minded! As any journalist will tell you, everything’s grist to the mill. It’s how we make our living, after all.’

  ‘But say you were paid for it?’ Zara persisted. ‘Then you wouldn’t be out of pocket, but it would remain a – a private commission?’

  Tony Crane said smoothly, ‘There’s something we’d like to find out, and we were wondering if, with all your contacts and so on, you might be able to help.’

  Rona shook her head. ‘That’s not my brief, I’m afraid, but there are agencies you can approach.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t help unless you could publish the results?’ Zara pressed.

  ‘That’s not quite—’ Rona began, but Zara was pursuing her line of thought.

  ‘I hadn’t thought it through, but I suppose … Look, we can’t discuss it here. Could we meet somewhere, so I can explain more fully?’

  Rona hesitated, not wanting to become involved, and Zara, possibly misinterpreting her reluctance, added contritely, ‘I’m sorry if I was tactless just now – about your lifestyle. You asked what Magda had said, but it came out wrong, not at all the way she put it.’

  Rona smiled. ‘It was fair comment,’ she conceded.

  ‘Then could we meet for coffee? I really think our project would interest you.’

  ‘It sounds most mysterious.’

  ‘What does?’ Gavin had come up and slipped an arm round Rona’s shoulders. In his other hand he held a bottle of wine, from which he topped up Tony and Rona’s glasses.

  Zara flushed again. ‘Just something I want to discuss with her.’

  ‘Well, any mystery you need solving, Rona’s definitely your girl!’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Now, if these two will excuse us, I’d like you to meet someone who’d make an ideal subject for one of your biographies.’

  Zara said quickly, ‘Oh, but we …’

  Rona extracted a card from her bag and handed it over. ‘Give me a ring,’ she invited, and allowed herself to be piloted across the room in the circle of Gavin’s arm.

  ‘So, who do you want me to meet?’ she asked him.

  He laughed. ‘That was just an excuse – I thought you needed rescuing.’

  ‘And there I was, thinking you’d found a new subject for me!’

  ‘Are you considering another biography? Seriously? I thought your last experience might have put you off.’

  Rona’s recent venture in that field had resulted in murder.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure what to do next,’ she admitted. ‘I’m coming to the end of the Buckford articles, and though Barnie has put forward a few ideas, nothing really grabs me. Immersing myself in a biography might be the answer, if I can find the right subject.’

  A shrill of laughter reached them, emanating from the short woman with whom Max was still conversing. ‘Max seems in good form,’ Gavin commented. ‘It’s an age since we saw him; what’s he doing with himself these days?’

  ‘Actually, he’s working on a portrait – his first for years. The local constituency has commissioned one of our MP.’

  ‘James Latymer? Well, well, he is going up in the world! Where will they hang it? The Palace of Westminster?’

  Rona smiled. ‘More likely the Association office.’

  The conversation was ended by Magda’s announcing the food was ready, and Rona moved with everyone else into the dining room, where the table was spread with a delectable selection of savouries. It was half an hour later that, in search of a glass of water, she came across Magda alone in the kitchen, removing some minute pastries from the oven. At just under six foot, she was an imposing figure with her jet-black hair and large, heavy-lidded eyes, inherited from her Italian mother.

  ‘Hi,’ she greeted Rona. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Now that you mention it,’ Rona answered lightly, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink, ‘I’ve a bone to pick with you.’

  ‘Why, what have I done?’ Magda asked with scant interest, sliding the pastries from the oven tray on to a plate.

  ‘Divulged my marital arrangements, apparently, to total strangers.’

  Magda turned to stare at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘A young couple through there, who were at Gavin’s office do.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her face cleared. ‘We were discussing your articles and they seemed interested in you, for some reason, and asked a few questions. I didn’t betray any secrets, though; everything I told them was common knowledge.’

  ‘That Max and I don’t live together?’ Rona challenged her.

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t put it like that, but you don’t, do you, all the time?’

  Rona didn’t argue the point. ‘Anyway,’ she said, leaning against the counter and sipping her water, ‘do you know anything about them?’

  ‘The Cranes? Nothing. I’ve only met them the once, at Palmer & Faraday’s silver jubilee. Gavin says the man, whatever-his-name-is, is quite promising, and since he’d invited the rest of his team, he didn’t want this guy to feel left out. What did they want with you, anyway?’

  ‘From what I gathered, they’d like me to undertake some investigation or other. I declined, but the girl – Zara – still wants us to meet, to discuss whatever it is.’

  Gavin put his head round the door. ‘Sorry to break up the tête-à-tête, but I thought you were bringing the sausage rolls?’

  Magda picked up the plate. ‘Just coming,’ she said.

  ‘So, what’s the verdict?’ Rona asked Max as they drove home.

  ‘Not bad as these things go; but give me a dinner party any day, where you can sit down in comfort instead of standing around all night like a spare part. Not to mention having to cope with a glass while balancing food on those flimsy plates.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you seemed to be enjoying yourself,’ she said drily. ‘Did you by any chance speak to that young couple?’

  ‘No, I didn’t come across them. Why?’

  ‘They want me to look into something for them. I was pretty discouraging, though; with luck, I shan’t hear from them again. Incidentally, Magda told them we don’t live together.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘There’s friendship for you! Did you disabuse them?’

  ‘No; I didn’t see why I should explain myself to strangers. Anyway, as Magda pointed out when I tackled her, it’s partially true. You do sleep at Farthings three nights a week, after your classes.’

  ‘Because when I didn’t, you’d either gone to bed by the time I came home or were burning the midnight oil meeting deadlines.’

  ‘I know that, and you know that, and so does everyone else that matters.’ And, Rona reflected privately, the space given by the arrangement made their marriage all the stronger.

  Max grunted and drew in to the kerb, thankful to find a space almost opposite the gate. The tall Georgian houses in Lightbourne Avenue were not blessed with garages, and Rona’s car was kept in one of a custom-built row in an adjacent street. Being so near the centre of town, she seldom used it anyway.

  Although the day had been warm, the night air felt chill as they walked together up the short path to the door. Gus, their long-haired retriever, was awaiting them in the hall, and Max resignedly took down his lead.

  ‘I won’t be more than ten minutes,’
he said, and went back down the steps, the dancing dog at his side.

  Rona went down to the basement kitchen and laid the table for breakfast. The clock on the wall showed eleven thirty but she felt wide awake. Beyond the glass door the patio garden lay hidden beneath the reflection of the kitchen, its bright yellow walls giving the impression of sunlight.

  She leaned her head on the glass, watching her doppelganger copy her. Discussion of the Buckford articles, together with a return to Barrington Road, had brought Catherine Bishop sharply to mind, and instead of banishing the thought of her, as she usually did, she let her mind drift back.

  It had been the vicar, Gordon Breen, who, on Rona and Max’s first visit to Buckford, had mentioned Mrs Bishop as someone who might be of help, since she’d researched the history of several local schools. She’d been headmistress of one of them, but had since retired to Marsborough, Rona’s home town, and was, it later transpired, a customer at her father’s bank.

  ‘What’s she like?’ she had asked him eagerly.

  ‘I’ve hardly spoken to her,’ her father replied, ‘but she seemed quiet and unassuming.’

  It was a sentence Rona had mentally replayed many times over the last couple of months.

  Considering how large Mrs Bishop loomed in her mind, it was hard to realize that they’d met only once, when, at her invitation, Rona had called at her bungalow. And she’d liked her so much, Rona reflected bitterly. Though not conventionally attractive, the older woman had an air of stillness, of being at home in her skin, that was both charming and reassuring. Rona had felt relaxed with her, and looked forward to a continuing acquaintance. Seeing her with Pops had put paid to that.

  I’ve hardly spoken to her, he had said. How could it be, then, that barely three weeks later, she had seen them strolling together near the bungalow, obviously enjoying each other’s company?

  Perhaps, she thought now, she should have brought up the matter the next time she saw him. If he realized she’d seen them, he would have been expecting her to comment. For that matter, even if he’d not noticed her car, surely the natural thing, in view of Rona’s interest, would have been to mention having seen Mrs Bishop? The fact that neither of them had referred to it had lent the incident added – and probably unwarranted – importance.