David Webb 2 - A Necessary End Read online

  ‘There!’ said Mrs Robinson with satisfaction. ‘I told you they’d want to know.’ And to Webb, ‘She didn’t want to come, you know. Awful time I had with her, but I told her it was her duty.’

  The child’s eyes were full of tears. It would be a shock, Webb thought, discovering someone she’d actually spoken to had been killed shortly after. And not by accident.

  He stood looking after them as Mrs Robinson bustled off with the driver, Sharon in tow.

  ‘Any joy, Guv?’ asked the Duty Sergeant.

  ‘Not really, Andy. Another couple of minutes filled in, that’s all.’ And he turned towards the stairs.

  CHAPTER 8

  The post mortem report, neatly typed, confirmed what Webb already knew. Nothing much under the fingernails. Gloves, he thought, should be banned. A policeman’s life would be easier without them.

  More interesting, though not relevant as far as he could see, was Dick Hodges’s write-up on the cars. In Pendrick’s, the passenger seat had offered up one dark hair, identified as belonging to a woman in her forties. Offhand, he could think of no one with hair that colour. Probably a friend or business contact. More surprising was the fact that, while one of his wife’s hairs would not have been out of place, none had been found. Perhaps they shared each other’s cars as little as everything else.

  The reply was also through on Dean: he had served a six-month sentence for burglary in Brixton, being released in November six years ago. There was no record of violence.

  He pushed the reports away and stretched his long legs under the desk. Alan Crombie was filling in his diary, a worried crease between his brows as he struggled after an elusive memory.

  ‘How are the new lads shaping?’ Webb asked suddenly. ‘Haven’t had a chance to see them yet.’

  Crombie removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Eager as bloodhounds. Let’s hope it lasts. Marshbanks has the edge on self-confidence — thanks to public school, I suppose.’

  ‘Spoken like a grammar-school boy!’

  ‘Funny thing, he was at school with the Pendrick boy.’

  ‘Is that so? Wheel him in, will you, Alan? That might be useful.’

  Detective-Constable Marshbanks was twenty-two years old. He had an engagingly cheeky face, round brown eyes like boot buttons, and dark hair with a mind of its own. One quiff stood upright on the crown of his head, traces of dampness showing it had once been plastered down. He stood stiffly to attention, his eyes fixed on the wall above Webb’s head. Webb glanced at Crombie, saw the Inspector hide a smile.

  ‘You can relax, lad. This is an informal chat.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The boy didn’t move.

  Webb kicked out a chair. ‘Take a pew.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Inspector Crombie tells me you were at school with young Pendrick.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘St Benedict’s, sir. In Broadminster.’

  ‘I know where St Benedict’s is.’ He didn’t add it had featured in a murder case. ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘He was in my year, but not many of my classes. Athletic type. In all the teams, and pretty bright, too.’

  ‘Was he popular?’

  A smile touched the boy’s mouth. ‘Not particularly. We called him Henny-Penny.’

  ‘From his name, or a tendency to cluck?’

  The smile broadened. ‘A bit of both.’

  ‘Did you like him?’

  ‘He was all right, sir. Hadn’t any sense of humour, though.’

  ‘Didn’t like being Henny-Penny, for instance? Can’t say I blame him. Any hobbies?’

  ‘Well, sir, his main interest was horse-racing. He belonged to a betting circle.’

  Webb raised his eyebrows. ‘They ran a book at St Benedict’s?’

  ‘After a fashion — very hush-hush, of course. Whenever they could, they skipped games and nipped off to the races.’

  ‘Had he any special friends?’

  ‘There was a boy called Lingford. He ran the betting and egged the others on. At least, that’s how it seemed to me.’

  ‘And where did he hail from?’

  ‘He was a day boy, so he must have been fairly local.’

  ‘And you reckon Pendrick’s hooked on gambling?’

  ‘He was then, but that was four years ago.’

  ‘Once a gambler, always a gambler. I wonder if there are money problems. Worth following up. All right, Mr Marshbanks, that’s all for the moment. No problems?’

  ‘No, sir, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Nice lad,’ Webb commented as the young man left the room. ‘Take him under your wing, Alan. He could repay a bit of nurturing. Incidentally, Henry Pendrick was in Shillingham on Wednesday. Beresford saw him. About the crucial time, too.’

  ‘Wasn’t he supposed to be at the hotel?’

  ‘Quite. He’ll have some explaining to do. And come to think of it, the sooner he gets on with it, the better.’ He lifted his phone. ‘Sergeant Jackson, please … Ken? On your bike, lad. We’re Frecklemarsh bound.’

  *

  ‘What worries me most,’ Mary Cudlip said, ‘is not giving her a decent burial.’

  Heather pushed back her hair. ‘It’s all horrible. The village is crawling with reporters. Every time I go out, one of them stops me and asks if I knew Nancy.’

  ‘Poor love, what a start to your life here.’

  ‘I know it’s selfish,’ Heather went on in a low voice, ‘but it wouldn’t seem so bad if I hadn’t met her. And I shouldn’t have done, but for the party. I wish we’d never gone. God, how I wish that!’

  Mary looked at her with troubled sympathy. ‘If you’re upset about Peter, don’t be. He was overtired and he misjudged things. It’s easily done, and no one will hold it against him.’

  But it was Oliver, not Peter, she’d been thinking of, as she had almost continuously since New Year. At least then the position was clear: he had a wife, and she a husband. Those minutes in the kitchen were a fluke, a non-happening. Press memory button and delete. But she couldn’t, and nor, apparently, could he.

  Last week, driven out of the house by restlessness, it had been no surprise to find him waiting. He’d opened the car door.

  ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Why?’ She had stood, miserably defiant, her hair blowing across her face. ‘What is there to talk about?’

  ‘You know as well as I do.’

  Oh yes, she knew. Knew the strength of her craving for him, the insistent clamour of her body that gave her no peace. But there was no point in discussing it.

  They had, though, wearily and endlessly, driving round the dark lanes; and reached no conclusion. The obstacles were immovable. Or so it had seemed. Then came the news of Nancy’s murder, and, most terrible of all, her first instinctive thought on hearing it: now Oliver’s free!

  Mary’s voice brought her back. ‘You look pale, dear. Is there anything else worrying you?’

  Heather shook her head, trying to smile. ‘Except that Joey’s off to college next week. I’m really dreading it.’

  ‘You must be proud, though. I think it’s wonderful, these girls training as doctors.’

  ‘But it’s such a long course,’ Heather said shakily. ‘I’ll miss her terribly.’

  ‘Yes, I remember when the boys left home. But before you know it, Easter will be here and she’ll be back for the holidays.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry to be so down, Mary. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘It’s Peter’s half-day, isn’t it? Get him to take you to the cinema. That’ll cheer you up.’

  But Peter, Heather knew, would spend the afternoon asleep in his chair. He always did. What would she do, she thought a little wildly, when Joey had gone and she’d no one to talk to? She switched on a bright smile. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Don’t let things get you down, dear. I know it’s difficult at first, settling into a new place, and you’ve the ad
ded upheaval with Joanna. But things will fall into place, and in a couple of months you’ll wonder what you were worried about.’ Mary picked up her bag. ‘I must be going, it’s almost lunch-time. Don’t forget supper on Thursday — we’re looking forward to it.’

  As she prepared lunch, Heather fought an increasing sense of panic. She should never have come to Frecklemarsh, knowing Oliver was here. She’d tried to dissuade Peter, but his mother’d been ill and the frequent journeys between Ripon and Otterford were a strain on them all.

  ‘Good God, girl!’ he’d exclaimed, when she was forced to explain her reluctance. ‘You can’t go through life avoiding old flames! Anyway, it was years ago — he mightn’t even recognize you.’

  He’d used the same argument when the invitation came. ‘Just take it in your stride, or he’ll think you’re still carrying a torch for him!’ And he’d laughed at that. And it would have been all right, she thought fiercely, if Oliver hadn’t come upon her alone, if it hadn’t been New Year’s Eve, when kissing was a matter of course.

  The front door banged and Peter came into the room. ‘I’ve just driven past the hotel — your boyfriend’s still besieged by the Press. Not surprising, though, it’s one of the penalties of getting rid of your wife!’

  ‘Peter! For God’s sake!’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘No need to get het up, I was only joking. Thank God I’ve a free afternoon.’ He flopped into a chair, loosening his tie. ‘Bring me a whisky, will you? I could do with a reviver.’

  ‘I’m just about to serve lunch.’

  ‘It can wait till I’ve had a drink. I’m in need of one. The surgery was full of hysterical mothers.’

  She went to the dining-room and took the bottle from the sideboard. It was almost empty and she’d only bought it three days ago. She thought: I’ve got to get away! I’ll have to convince Peter somehow. There must be other practices in the area.

  ‘Hurry up with that drink — my throat’s parched!’

  She sloshed liquid into the glass and carried it back to the kitchen.

  *

  It was twelve-thirty as they rounded the bend on the approach to Frecklemarsh.

  ‘Do you know,’ Webb said idly, ‘I once counted three private tennis courts from here.’

  ‘Rather have bowling myself.’ Jackson avoided a freewheeling cyclist. ‘We won’t be popular, arriving at lunchtime again.’

  ‘You’re right. How’d you like an up-market pub lunch? The Dog and Gun’s half way down on the left — pull in there. You’ll probably get Brie with your Ploughman’s, but it’ll broaden your horizons!’

  The prices at The Dog and Gun reflected its social standing. Bloody hell! Jackson thought, as he studied the menu.

  They were mainly foreign dishes he couldn’t pronounce, but he settled with relief for a baked potato. He was fond of that and they hadn’t had it lately, with Millie watching her weight again.

  ‘Who do you reckon we should see first, Guv?’ he inquired, after a satisfying draught of beer.

  ‘Young Henry, I think. We’ve something on him now.’

  ‘Then Miss Pendrick?’

  Webb grinned and sliced into his quiche. ‘Down, lad, you’re out of your depth! Yes, we’ll have to see her. There are several points to clear up.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Jackson, with his mouth full.

  ‘First, why she was more upset than her family expected. And secondly why she was frightened. Remember almost the first thing she said? “Have they got him?” Not, “Who did it?”, mind. If she knows who the killer is, she might think she’s next on the list.’

  ‘A lot to read into one remark, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe. And there was something else which made me wonder. I asked when she last spoke to Mrs Pendrick, and she replied, “I didn’t see her after Monday evening.” Anything strike you, Watson?’

  ‘That she might have spoken to her later?’

  ‘Exactly. Over the phone, for instance. Suppose she rang Nancy in London, and that was why she came dashing back?’

  ‘But she didn’t go to Frecklemarsh. As far as we know, she didn’t contact her family at all.’

  ‘As far as we know. I might be on the wrong track, but a few more words with Miss Rose won’t go amiss — you’ll be glad to hear.’

  The housekeeper answered their knock. ‘Mr Pendrick’s at the hotel, sir,’ she informed Webb.

  ‘It’s young Mr Pendrick we’d like to see. Is he in?’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you’ll wait in the sitting-room, I’ll ask him to come down.’

  The Christmas tree was still there, its branches barer than on their last visit. ‘I wish someone would take it down,’ Webb said irritably. ‘Hasn’t anyone here heard of Twelfth Night?’

  Jackson regarded it sombrely. ‘Mrs Pendrick probably put it up. Never thought it’d last longer than she did.’

  They turned as Henry Pendrick came into the room. His face was flushed and there was an air of defiance about him. Henny-Penny, thought Webb with sour humour.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Pendrick. There are a few points we’d like to go over. Wednesday afternoon, for instance. Where did you say you were?’

  The boy swallowed nervously. ‘At the hotel.’

  ‘All afternoon?’

  His tongue flicked out and was gone. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Think again, Mr Pendrick. You were seen in Shillingham at five o’clock.’

  Henry’s face flamed and his eyes moved rapidly from side to side. ‘Oh,’ he said weakly after a minute, ‘was — was that Wednesday?’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘It was — a private matter.’

  ‘I can’t of course force you to tell me, but if you refuse it won’t look good.’

  That startled him. ‘You don’t think — I mean, you can’t imagine it had anything to do with — ’

  ‘You’d consulted your stepmother about something, hadn’t you, sir? Something you didn’t want her to talk about?’ He didn’t reply. His hands were clasped tightly together. ‘I wonder,’ Webb continued smoothly, ‘if your troubles stem from a gentleman called Lingford?’

  Henry stared at him. ‘How the hell do you know about Robert?’

  ‘Will you answer my question, please?’

  ‘All right, if you must know I owed some money.’

  ‘Which you tried to borrow from your stepmother?’ Indignation made him incautious. ‘She was just being bloody-minded. There was no reason why I shouldn’t have it — she was going to leave it to me anyway.’

  Webb watched with detachment as Henry realized with horror what he’d said. From being flushed, his face turned sickly white.

  ‘But I didn’t kill her — you can’t think that! God, it was only a few hundred — not worth killing for!’

  ‘People have been killed for much less.’

  ‘But I — ’

  ‘Suppose you tell us why you were in Shillingham.’

  His defiance had evaporated. ‘I took in some things to hock.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry, they were mine. My video and a portable TV.’

  ‘You’re in the habit of dealing with pawnbrokers?’

  ‘No, but — ’

  ‘Mr Lingford was able to advise you?’

  Henry nodded miserably.

  ‘Did you see anyone you knew there?’

  ‘No, and I didn’t think anyone saw me. Who was it?’

  Webb ignored the question. ‘I’d like a complete account of your movements, please, and the exact time you arrived and left town.’

  ‘I left the hotel at five to four. It was ten past when I clocked into the car park.’

  ‘Which car park was that?’

  ‘The station one. It was the nearest to where I was going.’ It would be, Webb thought. Money-lenders, pawnbrokers — Station Road was the place to find them. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I went to the man Robert told me about and left the things. He didn’t give me as much as I’d
expected, but it was just about enough. Then I went round the corner to Boots. I spent some time looking at records, then I went on to Payne’s and bought some shoes in the sale. I got back to the car at five past five. I know that, because I just got away with the minimum charge.’

  ‘And you drove straight home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr Pendrick, anything you say will be treated in confidence. Can you think of anyone at all who might have wanted your stepmother dead?’

  ‘No, I can’t. Nancy was the kind of person who infuriated you, but not the kind you killed … ’

  ‘Someone did. If I asked you to describe her in one word, what would it be?’

  Henry thought for a moment. ‘Super-efficient. Or is that two?’ He reverted to more pressing matters. ‘Will Dad have to know about the video? He gave it me for my birthday.’

  ‘It’s not our concern, but I’d advise you to confide in him. I’m sure he’d help.’

  ‘He’d throw the book at me.’

  ‘Perhaps you deserve it, but I think he’d sort things out. Very well, that’s all for the moment. Could we have a word with your sister, please?’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find her.’

  ‘Bloody young fool!’ Jackson said. ‘If he was mine, I’d give him a hiding.’

  ‘It’s an illness, Ken, when it gets hold of you. Lingford’s the one I’d like to get my hands on.’

  They waited several minutes, then Mrs Foldes appeared in the archway. From her expression, Webb guessed she was an unwilling messenger.

  ‘Miss Rose is using the sunlamp, sir. Would you like to go up?’

  Jackson made a sound which he turned into a cough.

  Webb said pleasantly, ‘Thank you, Mrs Foldes, but it would be more convenient down here. We won’t keep her long.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The woman looked relieved. It was another five minutes before Rose joined them. She came barefoot, her robe tied loosely at the waist. Jackson guessed she’d nothing on under it, and the back of his neck grew hot. Forward minx, but God, she was gorgeous.

  She settled herself on the sofa, legs tucked under her. Her skin was glowing from the lamp, her hair slightly tousled. In all, she looked as though she’d just left a lover’s bed. But overriding this impression was a tenseness she couldn’t conceal.