A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) Read online

  They turned down a cobbled lane leading to the High Street. ‘We’ll go to the Coach and Horses. It’s near the market and you can do your shopping after we’ve eaten.’

  As he lounged at the counter awaiting their order, Kate studied her employer critically. His thick, curly hair, prematurely grey, had the paradoxical effect of making his face boyish. He smiled frequently, showing even white teeth in a tanned face, and she suspected uncharitably that he’d been told he was charming and couldn’t forget it. Of average height, his figure already showed the first signs of too many pub lunches. Wryly, she wondered what opinion he had formed of her.

  ‘Here we are, then. I’m quite hungry — we slept in this morning and hadn’t time for breakfast.’

  Kate wondered if she was supposed to know his domestic arrangements but he solved the problem for her.

  ‘My girlfriend’s a model and lives largely on air, so she had no sympathy. Said it would do me good to skip a few meals!’ He patted his thickening waist ruefully and Kate found herself warming to him.

  ‘What does she model?’

  ‘Nella? Herself, mostly. That is, not specifically clothes, though she does on occasion. You’ve probably seen her in the glossies - in the latest car, the most modern kitchen, the nattiest cruiser.’

  ‘Doesn’t it give her expensive tastes?’

  ‘Yes, but also the means to indulge them.’

  He glanced across at her. ‘I’m sorry about your marriage.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Mrs Netherby wasn’t specific. Is it a temporary separation?’

  ‘I rather doubt it.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of it about. Divorce, I mean. One reason why I’m not anxious to take the plunge. I saw what it did to Richard.’

  ‘Your partner?’

  He nodded. ‘He and his wife split up a couple of years ago. She resented his being away so much, there were no children to complicate things, so she upped and left. It knocked him sideways for a while.’

  Kate said drily, ‘Yes, children do complicate things.’

  ‘I was impressed by your son. Bright kid, I should say.’

  ‘Bright enough.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘Thank you, Mr Bailey. I enjoyed that.’

  ‘I think we might stretch to first names, don’t you? It makes it easier working together. I answer to Martin.’

  ‘Kate.’

  ‘It suits you. Lana, of course, persists in calling me “Mr Bailey,” so I’ve given up on that. She’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways. Unmarried, of course.’

  ‘Like you!’ Kate said wickedly, and he gave a shout of laughter.

  ‘Touché! A chauvinistic remark, if I ever heard one! Like Nella too, come to that, but there the resemblance ends. Still, Lana’s worth her weight in gold. She has a way with children, too. Yours took to her, didn’t he? Classic case of a mother manqué.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Well, if you want to buy some groceries we’d better make a move. I’m expecting a long-distance call at two.’

  There were still a large number of tourists in Broadminster, and American voices echoed through the narrow streets. The indoor market was very rewarding. Kate filled her basket with cheeses and herbs, freshly baked bread and glowing fruit while Martin moved round inspecting the second-hand bookstall and chatting with the stall-holders. He seemed to know them all.

  During the course of the afternoon Kate made her first sale, a seventeenth-century map of Broadshire.

  ‘Your customer was so excited, he forgot his paper,’ Martin said, picking it up from the counter. ‘The evening one, too — he must only just have bought it.’ His voice changed as he unfolded it. ‘My God, another murder! Did you bring your Shillingham killer with you?’

  He spread the paper on the counter and Kate leaned over his shoulder. ‘Delilah killer in Broadminster?’ she read, and her eyes raced down the columns. ‘Granted a divorce only last week — killed yesterday afternoon — lipstick writing on the mirror.’

  ‘How horrible,’ she said softly.

  ‘A bit close to home, certainly.’

  ‘Michael had met the other woman.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘My husband.’

  Martin turned to look at her. ‘Michael — Romilly? Michael Romilly’s your husband? Of course — it never struck me. I always read his articles — first-class stuff. Quite brilliant.’

  Oh, he’s brilliant, Kate agreed silently. And cynical, and sarcastic, and impatient of other people’s opinions, which didn’t make him easy to live with. Nonetheless, she was missing the stimulus of his conversation, his lightning assessment of political figures, his thumbnail sketches which brought a scene or person instantly to life. Whatever else life had been with Michael, it was never dull.

  ‘You say he knew the first victim?’

  ‘Not well, but he’d met her once or twice. In pubs, I think.’

  ‘I wonder if there’s any connection between her and this latest one. Sunday afternoon. It sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it, especially in your own home. You’re relaxing with the papers after lunch, there’s a knock at the door and — finito. Curtains.’

  Kate shivered. ‘You wouldn’t think she’d let anyone in, with the papers full of the other case.’

  Where was she, when that poor woman was killed? She and Josh had gone for a walk — they might even have passed the murderer! The idea was absurd, impossible. Yet not impossible. She realized suddenly that the murder would have brought Michael to Broadminster. Had he been round to Madge’s and found Josh?

  ‘Five o’clock.’ Martin’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Lock up, will you, Kate? And here’s the passage door key, you might as well take charge of it. If your doorbell rings, for God’s sake don’t answer it!’ He was only half-joking, and Kate’s mouth was dry.

  When he’d gone, she went out to the courtyard to check that the gate was locked. There was no key, but it was secured with bolts top and bottom. She looked up at the wall. No one could climb that, and since the house was attached to its neighbours, only the front was unprotected.

  With an effort she pulled herself together. People were murdered all the time, unfortunately, and she hadn’t been neurotic about it before. But nor had she been alone before, or had a link, however tenuous, with one of the victims.

  Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she went to Mead Way to collect Josh. Madge opened the door.

  ‘Have you seen the evening paper?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Was Michael here?’

  ‘No, I was half-expecting him, but he never appeared.’

  ‘And he hasn’t phoned?’

  ‘Not a peep.’

  Kate should have felt relieved, but perversely she didn’t. Wasn’t he anxious about her, alone in the town where a woman had been murdered? Or had he completely washed his hands of her?

  ‘The children are watching telly. Have you time for a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  The familiar kitchen again, with the Monday pile of ironing and a smell of stew coming from the oven.

  ‘Where’s Paul?’

  ‘He had a staff meeting this afternoon. Tying up loose ends before term starts on Thursday.’

  Lucky Madge, to be expecting her husband home and the prospect of a safe, normal evening ahead. A shared meal, desultory conversation, bed. And if she woke in the night dreaming of murder, she could nestle against Paul and go back to sleep.

  As I could with Michael, Kate reminded herself. If she was beginning to think that way after two days, there was nothing to stop her crawling back — if he’d have her.

  She could even keep the job: drive down with Josh every morning, work at Penny-farthings, and take him back in the evening. ‘Kate?’

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘I was asking how work went?’

  ‘Oh, I actually made a sale. One of those lovely, yellowing old maps. I’d have liked it myself.’

  ‘That’s a good start.’ Madge poured the tea from the
comfortable brown pot. Safe — normal — comfortable. Why were these the adjectives that kept occurring to her? Kate wondered impatiently.

  ‘Josh can come tomorrow too, if it helps.’

  Kate roused herself. ‘Wouldn’t he be a nuisance?’

  ‘Of course not. Tim’s delighted to have him so near, and I’ve had the least interrupted day I can remember.’

  ‘Then bless you. Miss Truscott was very kind, but her patience might wear thin after a whole day of him. We can reciprocate at the weekend.’

  Madge looked at her quickly. ‘Won’t Michael be down?’

  ‘Perhaps. If he’s not too busy.’ She was ashamed of the bitterness in her voice.

  ‘We’ll see how it goes,’ Madge said placatingly.

  ***

  Accordingly, Josh was collected again the next morning, and soon after, Martin left to keep an appointment. The steady typing from the office advised against interruption, so Kate took a duster and busied herself with some cleaning.

  The sound of the door brought her round some shelves face to face with an unusual customer. The girl who had entered would have made an impact anywhere; in the rarefied atmosphere of Pennyfarthings, the effect was startling. Her hair was gold and her eyes deep violet, lustrously, and probably falsely, lashed. She wore parrot-green cords, high-heeled gold sandals, and a turquoise blouse of pure silk with the sleeves carelessly rolled up. An assortment of gold chains hung round her neck, her wrists, and both ankles.

  Kate said tentatively, ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

  ‘You’re Kate,’ the girl stated. ‘I’m Nella Cavendish.’

  ‘Ah — yes, of course.’ Martin’s girlfriend. She took the hand thrust towards her and met the assessing violet eyes, adding awkwardly, ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Martin told me he’d taken you to lunch, so I thought I’d better come and inspect you.’

  ‘Do I pass muster?’

  To her surprise, Nella took the question seriously. ‘I think he fancies you. Should I feel threatened?’

  Kate stared at her. ‘I’m — not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Well, you’ve left your husband, haven’t you, and Martin seems interested. I wondered if you’d any designs on him.’

  Kate drew in her breath. ‘You don’t mince words, do you?’

  ‘I like to clear the air.’

  ‘Apparently. Well, you can rest assured. I’ve no plans to get my hooks into Martin.’

  ‘You see, there’s nothing I could do about it, if he wanted to be hooked. That’s the trouble with this no-strings arrangement. You’re never quite sure how permanent you are.’

  Kate, who hadn’t realized the word permanent could be qualified, felt a stirring of pity. For all her brazenness and her dramatic appearance, there was something insecure about Nella. She wondered if the girl really loved Martin, would have welcomed a more conventional setup. But as though answering her thought, Nella added carelessly, ‘Of course, it works both ways. He’s not too happy when I spend the weekend with a crowd of randy photographers, but there’s nothing he can do, either.’ She gave a laugh. ‘At least we never take each other for granted.’

  There was a pause. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ Kate inquired.

  ‘Not if I have to face the old bat. She thinks I’m a bad lot. Not Martin, of course. Men can do as they like in her eyes. She doesn’t seem to realize they need girls to do it with! Still, I approve of her. I wish all Martin’s acquaintances looked like Miss Truscott!’

  ‘I’m sure you needn’t worry,’ Kate reassured her. ‘He seems very proud of you.’

  The lovely face brightened. ‘Does he? Good. Sorry to grill you like this, but it’s better to know from the beginning where you stand. You must come round for supper one evening.’

  ‘A lettuce leaf?’ queried Kate, and Nella laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m a good cook when I bother, even if of the “dash of that and handful of this” variety. I have flair.’

  ‘I can believe it.’

  ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time. I’ve a booking at eleven, anyway. Glad to have met you, Kate.’ And she swung round and left as suddenly as she’d appeared.

  Thoughtfully Kate went into the office. ‘Shall I make some coffee?’

  Lana looked up. ‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized it was so late. I’ll get it now.’

  Ignoring her offer, Kate filled the kettle and plugged it in. ‘I’ve just met Miss Nella Cavendish.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ A flush spread over her pale skin. ‘She’s very colourful, isn’t she?’

  ‘Flamboyant would be a better word. Still, it’s not my place to criticize.’ She sounded like a Victorian housekeeper, born, perhaps, a century too late. Waiting for the kettle, Kate studied the scraped-back hair and unadorned face. If she’d only take an interest in herself, Miss Truscott might well surprise people. Her bone structure was delicate, her skin flawless, and her eyes, when they could be tricked into meeting yours, were hauntingly beautiful.

  The kettle whistled shrilly and she poured the water into the mugs. As she set Lana’s down by the typewriter, the woman said, ‘I was telling my father about your little boy. He’d so like to meet him. Do you think — I mean, would you mind if I took him home one afternoon, for tea? I’d bring him back well before bedtime.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ Kate said slowly, and Lana, misinterpreting her hesitation, added quickly, ‘There’s nothing unpleasant in Father’s appearance. Nothing that could frighten Josh. And the little boy next door has rabbits — I’m sure he’d enjoy playing with them. I could bake a cake and make some sandwiches—’ She looked up, eyes pleading now. Her breath smelt, disconcertingly, of bread and butter — or perhaps it was association of ideas.

  ‘I’m sure he’d love to come,’ Kate said.

  ‘Really?’ Lana let out her held breath.

  ‘But he starts school on Thursday, and the weekends—’

  ‘Tomorrow, then? He could come back with me at lunchtime and I’ll have him home whenever you say.’

  Kate wondered uneasily how Josh would react to this pressing invitation, but he got on well with Lana and it would give Madge a break.

  ‘Then thank you. I’m sure he’ll be delighted,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lana Truscott lived in the village of Littlemarsh, off the Shillingham to Broadminster road. The bus ride took half an hour, and it was this that swung the balance in persuading Josh of the desirability of the visit. He had a passion for buses, particularly if he could sit on the top deck.

  ‘It’s very kind of Miss Truscott to invite you, and you must behave well and not make too much noise, because her father isn’t well.’ The child had never seen an invalid and Kate was grateful for Lana’s reassurance, which she couldn’t have elicited herself.

  ‘I can still go to Tim’s in the morning, can’t I? We’ve made a den in a tree and it’s the last day we can play there before school.’

  The next morning a police constable called at the shop. He looked young and ponderous, reminding Kate irresistibly of Mr Plod in Josh’s old colouring book.

  ‘Good morning, madam. New here, aren’t you?’

  ‘I started this week. Can I help you?’

  ‘Mr Bailey or Mr Mowbray about?’

  ‘Mr Bailey’s on the phone. Can I give him a message?’

  ‘I’ll wait till he’s free, if that’s all right. We’re inquiring about any strangers you may have noticed, in connection with the recent murder.’

  ‘There are always strangers. The town’s full of tourists all year round.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, but there are strangers and strangers. The gentlemen will know what we have in mind.’ He paused. ‘Where do you come from yourself, ma’am?’

  ‘Shillingham.’ Kate said briefly.

  ‘Then you’ll be aware of the other incident.’

  ‘Of course, by the same man.’

  ‘Too early to say that, ma’am.’

  The cautio
n in his voice irritated her. ‘But surely—’

  Martin’s appearance interrupted her, which was probably as well.

  ‘Good morning, Constable, I thought you might be in.’

  Kate moved down the shop to deal with a customer and a few minutes later the policeman left.

  ‘A thankless job,’ Martin commented when they were alone again, ‘flogging round making inquiries. Still, they never know what they might turn up.’

  ‘I hope they find something soon. It’s not very pleasant, having a murderer in our midst.’

  ‘He probably isn’t, most of the time. He could live anywhere and come here on business. That’s what Constable Timms was after. If a particular supplier had been in, and he was also in Shillingham a couple of weeks ago, it could be significant. They’ll be inquiring at the bus station and garages, too. Most of the customers there are regulars, and an odd one might stick in the memory.’

  As requested, Lana returned Josh at six o’clock. As Kate bathed him, he chatted about the visit.

  ‘We had fish fingers and chips for dinner, ‘cos I said I liked them. And there was a cloth on the table with holes all over it. Holes that were meant to be there.’

  ‘Broderie anglaise, I expect. I hope you didn’t spill anything.’

  ‘Only some ketchup, but she said it didn’t matter. Then we walked down a long lane to a farm, and there was a baby calf and I was allowed to stroke it, and some piglets and lots of chickens. And when we came back, the boy next door let me hold his rabbit. Then we had tea, with cake and jelly. I haven’t had jelly since I was little, but I didn’t tell her because she’d made it specially.’

  ‘And how was Mr Truscott? Did he like the fruit?’

  ‘Yes, he said to thank you. He was in bed, and very white, with arms like that.’ He made an impossibly small circle with finger and thumb. ‘But he laughed a lot and told me stories about when he went to sea.’

  ‘You seem to have had a lovely time. I hope you thanked him properly.’

  But having dutifully recounted his doings, Josh’s mind had turned to more pressing matters. ‘Will you take me to school tomorrow?’