David Webb 2 - A Necessary End Page 3

  ‘Except that she’s not. There’s a qualified staff who can cope perfectly well.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d let me judge if I’m needed or not,’ Nancy said angrily. ‘And you’ve no room to criticize. You spend all your time at the hotel, leaving your children to fend for themselves. Consequently Rose is out all hours and Henry comes to me with his problems.’

  Henry jumped to his feet, face flaming. ‘That’s not fair! What I said was in confidence. You’ve no right to bring it up in public!’

  Faith laid aside her embroidery. ‘Unless everyone stops shouting, I shall go to my room. It’s giving me a headache.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Roger said. ‘I started this, by suggesting the theatre.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Oliver spoke brusquely. ‘It’s we who apologize. This has been brewing all weekend, but it’s inexcusable to involve you. As to the theatre, the rest of you go ahead, but I’ll have to put in an appearance at the hotel on Wednesday. They’ve been working long hours over the holiday and I must take my turn. In fact, I’ll go over now, if you’ll excuse me, to check last night’s takings. I’ll be back in time for lunch.’

  He left the room without glancing at his wife, and Henry, still on his feet, shot her a venomous look before following him.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nancy said in a low voice. ‘That was unforgivable. We’ve all been rather on edge.’

  ‘Happens in the best families,’ Roger assured her heartily, and didn’t notice his wife’s raised eyebrows.

  Nancy rose to her feet. ‘I’ll go and check on lunch. Rose, perhaps someone would like a drink. See to it, will you?’

  Roger put his hand over Rose’s and squeezed it. ‘All right?’

  ‘I suppose so. Thank heaven she’s not here any oftener. It’s no business of hers how late I stay out. I’m not a child.’ She drew in her breath. ‘My God, if she only knew!’

  ‘Knew what, Rosie?’

  ‘Nothing. I’d better do as I’m told and get the drinks. We could all do with one, after that.’

  *

  In his small, tidy flat, Chief Inspector Webb prepared for his evening out. He’d been up most of the night extracting a confession from a jewel thief, and gone back that morning to clear up the loose ends. Not the best way to celebrate New Year. He felt drained, mentally and physically, and though he wanted to see Hannah, he was sorry her aunt was there. The last thing he felt like was making polite conversation to a thin-ankled, thick-stockinged old lady. Still, with luck she’d retire early with her cocoa. Pulling the door shut behind him, he ran down the stairs to the flat below.

  His ring was answered not by Hannah but by a tall, blonde woman, stunningly elegant in oyster silk pyjamas.

  ‘Good evening, Chief Inspector. I’m Charlotte Yates. Do come in. Hannah will be with us in a moment.’

  He stood staring at her. ‘You’re not — ? I mean — ‘

  Her mouth quirked. ‘Her maiden aunt? Indeed yes. I’m to blame for the phrase, I fear. It’s the way I sign my letters.’ He smiled ruefully, accepting that he’d been fooled, and Charlotte warmed to him. She was already appreciating what Hannah saw in her policeman.

  ‘David, I’m sorry! The rice was boiling over. Happy New Year!’

  ‘And to you, Hannah.’ He returned her kiss. Charlotte had gone ahead into the sitting-room.

  ‘You’ve introduced yourselves?’

  ‘After a fashion. You really landed me in it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist it.’

  During those first minutes, as they settled in their places and drinks were poured, Webb studied Miss Yates, shocked to realize she was only slightly older than himself. Her hair, paler than Hannah’s tawny mane, lay softly across her forehead, as yet untouched by grey. She had Hannah’s wide grey eyes, but their expression was different, and her mouth looked capable of ruthlessness. Here, he decided, was a woman of strong opinions, who could be dominating and who didn’t suffer fools gladly. But she was obviously capable of great charm. Her only piece of jewellery was a heavy jade pendant on a gold chain. Some aunt! he reflected feelingly.

  Charlotte in turn was engaged in her own scrutiny, and liked what she saw: the steady eyes still lit with self-mockery, the smile which transformed a hard mouth, the large policeman’s hands clamped round the delicate glass. He was older than she’d expected — mid-forties, at a guess, but his brown hair was plentiful and his body lean and youthful. They were lovers, of course. She’d no doubts on that score. Yet Hannah insisted he was his own man. Having met him, she could understand that.

  ‘I believe you live in Oxford, Miss Yates?’

  ‘Yes, I have a little mews house near the centre.’

  ‘With a cobbled courtyard in front and a walled garden behind,’ Hannah elaborated. ‘Both pocket-size. It’s idyllic, and within walking distance of practically everywhere.’

  ‘It suits me, certainly. I’d stagnate if I weren’t in the centre of things.’

  He could believe that. ‘You’ve a lot of hobbies, I suppose?’

  ‘If you mean interests, practically everything: music, art, history, criminology.’ She laughed. ‘I thought that might surprise you. I’m a complete amateur, of course, but the subject fascinates me. What is the mysterious something that makes one man a murderer and another, his brother even, incapable of the act?’

  ‘It doesn’t exist.’ Webb smiled at her raised eyebrows. ‘Given the circumstances, we could all commit murder, and it’s those circumstances, personal to each one of us, that the police have to ferret out. Because it’s they that make up the motive.’

  ‘You mean revenge, jealousy and so on? Which do you find the most common?’

  ‘Oddly enough, one you didn’t mention. Fear.’

  ‘Fear,’ Charlotte repeated thoughtfully. ‘How interesting. And there are so many different kinds.’

  Hannah, who had slipped out of the room during the discussion, reappeared to announce supper and the conversation dropped.

  Over the meal, it turned to art and to Webb’s discomfort, Hannah told her aunt of his own efforts. ‘He even uses his cartoons to solve his cases!’ she finished.

  ‘Does it work?’ Charlotte inquired with interest.

  ‘Quite often, yes. I find it focuses attention on a trait you may only have noted subconsciously, but which stands out in caricature. People’s actions are in their faces, if you know how to read them.’

  ‘An alarming thought! Historically, of course, cartoons are invaluable as a mirror of the times. I’ve a prized collection of pre-war Punches I never tire of looking through.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m hardly in that class!’ Webb said with a smile.

  ‘All the same,’ Hannah put in loyally, ‘the Broadshire News publish all they can get.’

  They sat at the table until it was late. The warmth of the room, the good food and stimulating company produced a euphoric sense of wellbeing. Charlotte Yates intrigued Webb, intellectually rather than physically, though he found her attractive. Was this Hannah in twenty years?

  Though she’d not retired with cocoa — he smiled at the thought — she did rise to her feet as the mantel clock chimed midnight.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need my beauty sleep. I’m meeting a friend in Oxford for lunch, so I must be up early.’ She held out her hand as Webb too stood up. ‘I’m so glad to have met you, Chief Inspector, and I’ll certainly keep an eye open for your drawings. No, don’t disturb yourself, dear — ‘ as Hannah pushed back her chair — ‘I have everything I need.’

  Webb’s eyes followed her as she left the room and when he turned back to Hannah, he found her watching him. ‘Well, what do you think of my maiden aunt?’

  ‘A charming lady, but one I shouldn’t care to cross.’

  ‘An acute judgement.’ Her expression softened. ‘Poor David, you look tired. Come through and relax for a while.’

  The sitting-room was softly lit, and a bowl of hyacinths, ramrod-stiff heralds of spring, drenched the air with t
heir fragrance. He turned to Hannah and she moved into his arms. God, what did she see in him? A hard-bitten, disillusioned cop, divorced and with the stated intent of remaining so. Once when, stumblingly, he’d tried to explain, she had silenced him with a finger on his lips. ‘I’m perfectly happy with the arrangement,’ she’d told him. ‘Don’t analyse it, just enjoy it.’

  And he did, heaven knew. He wished they could make love, but Miss Yates was awake and her presence inhibited him.

  ‘David, if you’d like — ‘

  ‘No, love. I’m sure your aunt’s a broadminded lady, but I’ve no intention of embarrassing either her or you. I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight.’

  He kissed her again, still marvelling that she was happy to give and take on the same terms as himself. Then, before his resolve could weaken, he left.

  Back in his own flat, the clock confirmed the passing of New Year’s Day. The new year, without capitals, was already under way. With a sense of relief, he extracted the odd sprigs of holly from behind the pictures and dropped them in the bin. Christmas decorations depressed him after the event.

  Whistling softly under his breath, he prepared for bed.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was dark, rain slanted down, and the road gleamed like polished jet. The strong wind which had been around all week buffeted the car and made the writhing shadows of the trees judder crazily in the light of the street lamps. A lorry, overtaking them, sent a shower of mud across their windscreen and Sergeant Jackson swore under his breath.

  Webb said, ‘Who found her?’

  ‘Chap walking a dog. Ran all the way home and phoned Chedbury.’

  Webb pulled down his mouth. ‘So much for the hope of an early night. What action’s been taken?’

  ‘Doc Pringle’s on his way and they’ve contacted Stapleton, but it’ll take him a while to get there. The area’s been isolated, though there won’t be sightseers on a night like this. PC Linton’s picking up the witness, to direct him to the scene.’

  ‘Any details on the body?’

  ‘No, the bloke didn’t look too closely. Can’t say I blame him.’ A flurry of rain spattered against the window. ‘Just the weather for creeping in the undergrowth,’ he added gloomily.

  Webb didn’t reply. He could remember, not so long ago, when Chedbury was a proper village, but ribbon development had made it little more than a suburb of Shillingham. However, the countryside lay just beyond, and Chedbury Woods was a well-known beauty spot. Though why anyone should walk his dog there in belting rain at ten o’clock on a January evening, Webb couldn’t imagine.

  They had come through the village and Jackson turned to the left down a bumpy unmade road which led to the woods. Ahead of them, a couple of cars were parked so that their headlights illumined as much as possible of the grass and undergrowth by the side of the road. As they drew in behind, a cloaked and helmeted figure emerged from the shadows and bent to the window.

  ‘‘Evening, sir. PC Linton, Chedbury. I’ve got the witness in my car, sir. Doctor Pringle’s with the body now.’

  ‘Scenes of Crime not here?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  Webb turned up the collar of his coat and climbed out of the car. The icy rain blew in his face, momentarily taking his breath.

  ‘She wasn’t right in the woods, then?’

  ‘No, sir, just on the edge, under some bushes. It was the dog sniffed her out, Mr Beddows says.’

  Webb opened the door of the Panda car and leant inside. In the passenger seat a man was sitting huddled in a raincoat, rubbing his hands for warmth. ‘Good evening, sir. Mr Beddows? Chief Inspector Webb, Shillingham CID. When I’ve had a word with the doctor, I’ll be back for a preliminary statement.’

  The man nodded miserably. No doubt he was wishing he’d kept the dog on a leash, taken another direction — anything, rather than the sequence of events that had led to his present situation.

  Dr Pringle, tall and unfailingly cheerful whatever the circumstances, was picking his way back to the car. ‘Good evening, Chief Inspector. Well, she’s dead, all right. Has been for some time, by the look of her. The body’s cold and rigor mortis is starting to wear off.’

  ‘Which would make it — what? — twenty-four hours ago?’

  ‘Roughly. Didn’t move her, of course. She’s lying face down, with her head to one side.’

  ‘Cause of death?’

  ‘Looks like strangulation.’ They turned as fresh headlights raked over them. Another car had left the main road and was bumping along towards them. ‘Here come the Scenes of Crime boys. The sooner they can get a tent up, the easier for all concerned.’

  Webb said, ‘Perhaps you’d take a look at the witness, Doc. Confirm he’s fit to make a statement, and so on.’

  The three men who were climbing out of the last car wore heavy boots and plastic raincapes. One had a camera, another stakes and rope, and the third began to unload arc lamps from the boot. PC Linton re-emerged from the shadows.

  ‘I used tape to mark the route, sir, and weighted it with stones. It was the way Mr Beddows took in the first place — the grass was flattened.’

  ‘Thank you, Constable. I’ll have a quick look myself, before the boys get busy. You stay here, Jackson. We want the minimum of traffic till the scene’s been examined.’

  The tape line gleamed faintly in the light of his torch. Keeping to it, Webb made his way through the long, drenched grass to a clump of gorse bushes. Behind them, and just on the fringe of the woods, lay the woman’s body.

  His first reaction was surprise, though there was no logic in it. This was a very smart corpse. Her fur jacket, even in such adverse conditions, was recognizably genuine, and the heavy tweed of her skirt looked good quality. She was also wearing gloves. A pity: there’d be nothing useful under the nails, and no betraying scratches on her killer.

  Impossible, at this first inspection, to judge her age. The grotesque death-mask, with the tongue forced out of the mouth, distorted the face sufficiently to preclude any guesswork.

  Webb pulled out his pocket book and, awkwardly balancing the torch, made a quick sketch of the position of the body. Then, turning carefully within the compass of his footsteps, he walked back the way he had come. ‘OK,’ he said to the huddle of waiting men. ‘She’s all yours.’

  ‘Any leads, Guv?’

  Jackson’s sandy hair was plastered against his head and the rain dripped steadily off his craggy eyebrows. But beneath them, the china-blue eyes were bright with interest.

  ‘Give us a chance, Ken!’

  ‘The Support Group are here. They’ve started searching along the road.’

  ‘Right. Get through to Inspector Crombie and ask him to stand by to interview Mr Beddows. We’ll have to wait here till the lads have finished.’

  Smoothing his hands over his hair to remove the rain, Webb climbed into the Chedbury police car.

  ‘Now, Mr Beddows, sorry to keep you waiting. Can I have your full name and address, please?’

  ‘Frank Arthur Beddows, Three, Meadow End, Chedbury.’

  ‘Is that this end of the village?’

  ‘That’s right. Last turn-off on the left. Coming from Shillingham, that is.’

  ‘Do you always walk your dog this time of night?’

  ‘Regular as clockwork. When the news finishes, he runs to fetch his lead.’

  ‘Hail, rain or snow?’

  Beddows grimaced. ‘There’s no arguing with him. If it’s really bad we just go round the block.’

  ‘But not tonight?’

  ‘Wish to God I had, I can tell you. Point was, me and the wife had had words. I wanted to get out for a bit.’

  ‘You left at the usual time?’

  ‘A little before. Nine-fifteen or so. It wasn’t too bad then, just a drizzle. I hardly noticed it.’

  ‘Do you take the same route every evening?’

  ‘Oh no. I only come this far in the summer, when it’s light longer. But tonight I was in no hurry to get home.’
>
  ‘So you didn’t come along here last night, for instance?’

  Beddows frowned, turning sideways to look at Webb. ‘What’s last night got to do with it?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please, Mr Beddows. What route did you take last night?’

  ‘Through the village and over the bridge.’ His tone was surly at the implied rebuke.

  ‘In the opposite direction, in fact?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Too bad the row hadn’t been twenty-four hours earlier. ‘Right, to get back to tonight, then. Once off the main road, you let the dog loose?’

  ‘That’s it. He likes to run ahead.’

  ‘And how exactly did you find the body?’

  The man shuddered. ‘Well, as I said, Scamp shot off, and almost at once I was sorry I’d let him. The rain was starting in earnest and I was in two minds about turning back.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Then I heard him barking, didn’t I? Couldn’t see a thing, of course. Called to him, but he wouldn’t come, and that’s not like him. Went on barking like mad, and it wasn’t his usual bark, neither. I thought he’d got a rabbit, and I didn’t want to leave it half-dead or anything. I could just make him out in the bushes — there’s a lot of white on him — and I made my way over, getting soaked in the process.’ Beddows’ voice shook. ‘Well, I — I could see something there, just a bit darker than the ground. I bent down and felt around.’ He broke off, fists clenched on his knees.

  ‘What part of the body did you touch?’ Webb’s voice was carefully neutral.

  ‘Her leg. God, I wouldn’t like to live through that again. I spoke to her. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it, but I thought she might just be hurt or asleep. Said something daft like, “Are you all right?” But I knew really. She was so cold and — and stiff, and it stood to reason no one’d be lying there from choice. I grabbed hold of Scamp. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t manage the clasp, so I threaded the lead through his collar and we ran like hell all the way home.’

  ‘And phoned the station as soon as you got in?’

  ‘When I’d got my breath back and told the wife. And I thought that was the end of it,’ he added truculently. ‘Didn’t expect to be dragged back here and kept up half the night answering questions. I’m not a bloody criminal, you know.’