A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (11 page)

There was a pause, then Kate said consideringly, ‘Not a soft spot, no, but I’m very aware of him.’

‘Physically, you mean?’

‘Yes.’ Kate gave a strained little laugh. ‘At least, I think so. Since I was eighteen there’s never been anyone but Michael; I’m not used to standing back and considering men in that light.’

‘More importantly, in what light is he considering you?’

‘Probably none at all, but any intentions he might have will be strictly dishonourable. He’s been through the divorce courts and he’s no intention of letting anyone come too close.’

‘He told you that?’

‘More or less.’

They were running into the outskirts of Heatherton and fell silent as Madge threaded her way through the traffic to the car park.

It was a pleasant little town, not as large as Shillingham nor as old as Broadminster, but content with its own position in the county. It had a new shopping precinct, an ice rink, and a repertory theatre of which it was very proud. Kate and Madge window-shopped their way along, enjoying the change of scenes and making several small purchases. The new store when they reached it was attractively set out and they spent some time there, relaxed and laughing as they examined the more extreme fashions on display.

‘There’s no hurry to get home,’ Madge remarked. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea.’

The café was crowded. They were met with a babble of conversation and the unmistakable smell of tea urns and buttered toast. There were no free tables but Kate spotted a couple of empty chairs and they made their way over. Seated at the table were two elderly women, grey hair tightly curled, faces flushed. They broke off their conversation as Kate and Madge sat down, but immediately one of them, catching Madge’s eye, blurted out, ‘There’s been another murder. Have you heard?’

‘At Larksworth? Yes, I know. I—’

‘No, I mean
today
. There’s been another today! A divorced woman again, in Otterford this time. It was on the billboards as we came in. Stop press, it said. Where’s it going to end, that’s what I’d like to know.’

Having deposited their bombshell, the women gathered together an assortment of string bags and shopping baskets and, nodding to the two friends, made their departure.

‘Do you believe it?’ Madge asked after a moment.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Surely they’re mistaken? The billboard was probably left from yesterday.’

‘Not if it said Otterford.’

The waitress appeared and Madge ordered a pot of tea. Neither of them had any appetite.

‘It’s not possible,’ Kate said. ‘Not two days running.’

‘Perhaps he’s working his way through the villages now. Better tell Lana to watch her step.’

‘At least she’s not divorced.’

On the car radio the news headlines confirmed the story. The body of Rose Percival, at twenty-five the youngest victim to date, had been found at home, et cetera, et cetera. No break-in, no robbery, the lipstick accusation. Delilah.

Paul met them at the door, his face drawn. ‘Come into the dining room; I don’t want

the children to hear this.’

‘Paul, what is it?’ Madge clutched his arm in sudden fright.

‘Nothing too terrible.’ He closed the dining room door and stood leaning against it. ‘Simply that I was there this afternoon. In Otterford.’

Madge moistened her lips. ‘Why?’

‘One of the boys wasn’t well and Matron was under pressure. We’re heading for a whooping-cough epidemic, by the way. So since I had a free period, I ran him home. God, Madge, that girl could have been someone I passed in the street. So could the murderer, come to that.’

‘Is it a large village?’ Kate asked.

‘Fairly, and it was market day. Like yesterday in Larksworth.’

‘That’s why he struck again,’ Madge said flatly. ‘Crowds, and no one expecting another murder so soon.’

Paul glanced at the clock. ‘Let’s go and watch the news on the portable.’

It was cool in the bedroom. Kate was shivering as she sat on the bed, partly with the change in temperature, partly from apprehension. The opening headlines were a macabre echo from the previous evening, then Detective Chief Superintendent Fleming, solemn-faced, appeared on the screen.

‘I see that a press report compares this killer with the Yorkshire Ripper,’ the interviewer was saying, ‘obsessed not with prostitutes but unfaithful wives. Would you go along with this?’

‘On the face of it, yes, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is safe. This killer is extremely dangerous, able to talk his way into people’s homes and then stab them before they realize they’re in danger. I would strongly advise everyone to be on their guard. Don’t let anyone into your home if you’re alone, even if you think you know them. I can’t stress enough that the murder victims also felt perfectly safe.’

Paul switched off the set, glancing from his wife’s pale face to Kate’s. ‘Let’s go and have a drink,’ he said.

But the sombre mood stayed with them and they sat in silence, listening to the murmur of the children’s voices from the kitchen. After a while Paul stood up and went to the window, his hands deep in his pockets as he stared out at the darkening garden. ‘I keep trying to remember everything I saw after I turned off the main road. There might be something useful.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘Not much, till I came to the village. I was concentrating on young Beddowes, who was an unhealthy shade of yellow. There were a few cars and delivery vans, a moped. No doubt a lot of the market people were in Larksworth yesterday. It could be one of them, but I don’t remember any names. The police will be following that up, anyway. I did notice a Telecom van, but I don’t know how near it was to where Mrs What’s-her-name was killed.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Perhaps someone is describing my car to the police!’

‘In which case,’ Kate advised, ‘I should get your story in first.’

‘
My
story?’

Madge said lightly, ‘Don’t get edgy, darling. We don’t really think you did it.’ ‘Thanks.’

Even Madge’s cooking couldn’t raise their spirits. They ate almost in silence, hung over with disquiet. Kate remembered the words of the woman in the café: ‘Where’s it all going to end — that’s what I’d like to know.’

Towards the end of the meal the three children, bored with being on their own, wandered into the dining room. Donna was holding a small box and Kate’s reflexes snapped into action, surprising herself as much as the others.

‘What’s that?’ she asked sharply, snatching it from the child’s hand. Inside, under a lump of cotton wool, lay a tiny doll.

Donna gazed up at her wide-eyed. ‘It’s Debby’s bed.’

‘Yes, so I see.’ Kate tried to steady her voice, aware of Paul and Madge’s surprise.

‘Where did the box come from, Donna?’

Madge said quietly, ‘It had a brooch in it. Is anything wrong, Kate?’

Impossible to go into it all now. Kate shook her head and gave Donna a strained smile as she returned the box. ‘It makes a cosy bed, doesn’t it?’ she said.

For seconds longer the tension held. Then Tim gave Josh a nudge and shouted, ‘Bet I can beat you to the top of the stairs!’ They thundered out of the room, closely followed by Donna, and the adults, after an embarrassed exchange of smiles, relaxed again.

Later that evening Richard phoned. ‘Kate, I can’t get hold of Martin, they must be out. Would you tell him I’ll be back at midday tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’

‘How’s the exhibition going?’

‘Quite well. About half the paintings have been sold.’

‘Should add up to a tidy little commission. See you tomorrow, then.’

Without analysing the reason, Kate felt her spirits suddenly lift. Humming softly to herself, she went in search of her novel.

CHAPTER 12

When Kate caught sight of Martin, she almost forgot Richard’s message. There was a damp, unhealthy look to his skin, his eyes were sunken, and the usual boyish charm had vanished. Without it to belie the grey hair, he seemed ten years older.

‘Whatever’s wrong?’ she exclaimed involuntarily. ‘Are you ill? Shall I get a doctor?’

He raised a hand and attempted to smile. ‘No, no, I’m all right. Haven’t you seen a hangover before? We were out drinking last night and I rather overdid it.’

‘Richard was trying to contact you. He asked me to tell you he’ll be back at lunchtime.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

She hesitated, not convinced of the explanation for his malaise. ‘Would you like some black coffee?’

‘To put it bluntly, I’d bring it straight back. I’ll be OK if I take things quietly.’

The doorbell rang and with a last anxious glance at him, Kate went through to the shop. Sylvia Dane was standing there. ‘Ah, Kate. Just the person I wanted. I’ve been

trying to fix a date for you and the Netherbys to come for dinner. Madge tells me Thursday is your best day. Are you by any chance free next week?’

‘I think I could be. Thank you.’

‘We’ll expect you at seven-thirty unless I hear from you. Now, to business. How many of my portraits are left?’

‘Only one, the young girl. It had a reserved disc on for two days, but the purchaser changed his mind.’

‘Well, five out of six isn’t a bad score. I’ll collect it tomorrow — or rather, Henry will.’

In a lull between customers, Kate put her head round the office door. ‘Lana, could I take advantage of your offer to babysit next Thursday?’

Lana looked up without pausing in her rapid typing. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Thanks so much. Mrs Dane has invited me for dinner.’

‘I didn’t know she was a friend of yours,’ Lana said primly, and Kate smiled to herself. Someone else of whom Lana didn’t approve.

Martin had disappeared and when he returned to the shop at three o’clock Richard was with him. While Martin made a phone call, Richard strolled over to Kate, who was setting out some new stock.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Romilly.’

‘Hello.’ She pushed her fingers down in the box, feeling among the crumpled paper and extracting a tissue-wrapped package. ‘Is Martin better? He seemed under the weather this morning.’

‘He’s all right. The hair of the dog put him back on his feet.’ Richard watched for a minute or two as she continued to unwrap the china. ‘Do you enjoy working here?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Of course.’

‘It’s not very high-powered for one of your abilities.’

She looked up, unsure whether he was goading her, but as usual his eyes were expressionless. ‘It’s exactly what I need at the moment and I’m very grateful to have it.’

‘Till something better turns up.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant at all. I have the flat, I’m near Josh, and I’m perfectly happy.’

‘Still, we don’t want you to get bored playing shop, do we? I have to go to Yorkshire on business shortly. Why not come along?’

Kate sat back on her heels and looked up at him. The hazel eyes, curiously intent, waited expectantly.

‘Josh could stay with your friend for a couple of nights, I’m sure.’

‘What about the shop?’

‘Martin can cope. Anyway, you don’t have to make a snap decision. Think it over.’ And he strolled away, leaving Kate looking thoughtfully after him.

Michael was late the next morning. Josh, tired of his drawing, wandered round the office picking things up and getting in the way. Lana didn’t seem ruffled but Kate, busy with the last day of the exhibition, felt guilty at leaving him with her.

‘Why don’t you wait upstairs, dear?’ she suggested at last. ‘Daddy must have been delayed.’

‘It’s silly, not living with him anymore,’ Josh said rebelliously. Kate felt herself go hot. This was the first time he had questioned the change of circumstance.

Aware of Lana’s attention, she said carefully, ‘I did explain, darling, about school and Daddy’s job.’

‘Other boys live in Shillingham and come on the train every day. Why can’t I do that? I like trains.’

‘We can think about it. Now—’

But Josh was not going to be distracted. ‘When are we going home?’ he persisted. ‘I’ve hardly any toys here and I want to play with my trains.’

‘We’ll go and get them now, if you like.’ Michael was standing in the doorway.

Josh’s face lit up. ‘Can we, Daddy?’

‘I don’t see why not. You should have mentioned them last weekend, though. I’d thought of the cinema for today.’

‘Can we go to the cinema and
then
go for my trains?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Sorry, old chap. There wouldn’t be time.’

‘I don’t see—’ Josh began, but Michael’s eyes had gone to the two women. Kate tried to collect herself.

‘I don’t think you’ve met my husband, Lana. Michael, Lana Truscott.’

Michael took her hand with the charm which stood him in such good stead. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. I hear you live enviably surrounded by all manner of animals!’

Lana laughed, and with a shock Kate realized it was the first time she’d heard her. ‘The country has some compensations.’

Josh was tugging at Michael’s jacket. ‘Daddy, why do we have to stay here? When are we coming home?’

‘You’d better ask Mummy,’ Michael said evenly.

When they had gone, Kate said defensively, ‘That’s the first time Josh has even hinted at not being settled here.’

‘Your husband’s very charming, isn’t he?’

‘Oh yes,’ Kate answered with unusual bitterness. ‘He could charm the birds out of the trees.’ And she went quickly back to the shop.

That evening, Michael was waiting with Josh when she went to answer their knock.

Josh brushed past her and wandered up the stairs and Michael said drily, ‘It’s all right, I’m not coming in. I just wanted to tell you no more was said about going home. He was only playing you up.’ He paused. ‘I thought you might have been worrying about it.’

‘Yes, I was. Thank you.’

Michael glanced at her and then away down the length of Monks’ Walk. ‘You’ve been here a month now. Any nearer reaching a decision?’

‘No.’

‘Fair enough.’ He straightened and turned to the car. ‘I don’t think much of your boss, by the way.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one you went waltzing off with last Sunday. He stared right through me this morning.’

‘He probably didn’t recognize you.’

Michael snorted and, grinding his cigarette under his heel, got into the car. After a moment Kate closed the door.

Kate and Josh spent their Sunday morning exploring Broadminster, and as Lana opened the mail the next morning, Kate told her of their latest discoveries.

‘We came back across the Green,’ she finished. ‘There was a group of Japanese setting up their cameras to photograph Monks’ Walk. I felt quite proud to be living here!’

Lana looked up quickly. ‘Did you happen to notice anyone on those seats?’

‘On the Green? No, why?’

‘Oh, it — doesn’t matter.’

‘Lana, what is it?’

‘Just that there’s a man who spends a lot of time there. I wondered if you’d seen him, that’s all.’

‘What kind of man?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. I only noticed him because not many people sit alone. Not of his age, anyway.’

‘Which is?’

She shrugged. ‘Thirties, I suppose. Forget it, Kate. It just struck me that from where he sat, he’d have a good view of this building.’

‘And the rest of Monks’ Walk, presumably.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m being silly.’

‘Which seat is it?’ Kate asked after a moment.

‘Just the other side of the pathway. The wall curves round and it’s angled so that it faces this way.’

Kate went through the shop and out into the street. At this time in the morning only one of the seats was occupied, that which Lana had described. The man sitting there was obscured behind the newspaper he was reading. All she could see above and below it was a shock of dark hair and a pair of faded jeans. She hesitated, wondering whether to go closer, but an elderly man had stopped beside her with a shy smile.

‘Good morning. Are you open, or am I too early?’ And she had no option but to go with him back into the shop.

‘Black hair and faded jeans?’ Kate asked briefly, when she was free to return to the office.

‘I beg your pardon? Oh, yes. Yes, that’s right. Is he there again?’

‘He was when I looked. When did you first see him?’

‘About a week ago. Kate, I’m sorry if I worried you. It was just what it said in the paper, that houses may be watched to see who lives there, their movements and so on.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate. When next she looked, the seat was empty and she felt relief. It was probably nothing anyway.

The shop seemed bare without the paintings and Kate spent some time that week rearranging displays in the additional space. Though she kept glancing at the seat on the Green, she did not see the man in jeans again. This reassured her, till she wondered if he now had all the information he needed.

On the evening of the dinner party, Lana was at the flat by seven-fifteen. Kate watched with amused affection as she drew off her gloves and slipped them in her pocket. Catching Lana’s eye, she said with a smile, ‘When I was little, I was told it was ladylike to wear gloves, but I never think of them unless there are six inches of snow outside.’

Lana said defensively, ‘I read the paper on the bus and they keep the print off my hands.’ A flush coloured her cheeks. ‘But that’s not why I wear them,’ she added quietly. ‘You’ll think it silly, no doubt, but it’s to hide the fact that I haven’t a wedding ring.’

‘Oh, Lana!’ Kate said softly, ashamed of her previous amusement.

‘I know, I know. In this day and age, career women, and so on. That’s all very well if you’re confident and attractive and it’s obvious you’re unmarried from choice. But that,’ she ended with a tight little smile, ‘hardly applies to me.’

At a loss for words, Kate touched her arm sympathetically and took her up to see Josh. ‘Here’s Miss Truscott now. You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, and not give her any trouble.’

‘What a nice room,’ Lana said easily. ‘I wish I had a skylight. Look, you can see the stars through it.’

Josh glanced up without much interest. ‘Sometimes the moon shines on my face and wakes me up.’

‘I know a story about the moon. Would you like to hear it?’

He eyed her warily. ‘There aren’t any fairies in it, are there?’

Lana laughed. ‘Not one, I promise.’

‘All right, then.’

She sat down on the bed and Kate turned to the door. ‘Your bus goes at ten-thirty, doesn’t it? I’ll be back in good time — and thanks again for coming.’

The Danes lived less than five minutes away and Kate had only to follow the curve of Monks’ Walk to the section near the school. The house was of weathered brick with the square sash windows of the Georgian period, boldly outlined in white paint. A short path led to the front door, which was set in a recess. Kate could hear voices in the hall and the door opened as she touched the bell.

‘Come in, come in!’ Henry Dane said heartily. ‘You’ve all arrived together — splendid!’

Madge and Paul were just removing their coats and Sylvia came bustling up, exclaiming perfunctorily over the small box of chocolates which Kate handed her. ‘Take them in, Henry, and pour drinks while I put something in the oven. I shan’t be a moment.’

The sitting room ran from the front to the back of the house. The walls were a soft duck-egg blue and the carpet, deep and shaggy, only a shade darker. At the far end, glass doors led to a loggia, where Kate could see an easel.

‘Sylvia’s studio,’ Henry confirmed, noting her glance. ‘The north light and all that, but it cost a bomb to have it double-glazed to use in winter.’

As they settled down, Kate surreptitiously studied her hosts. Henry looked to be in his mid-fifties, balding, bespectacled, with the air of benign absentmindedness often seen in academics. His wife couldn’t have been more than ten years younger, but time and cosmetics had treated her kindly and as an artist she knew which colours most became her.

‘Cigarette, Kate?’

Sylvia leant forward with a silver box and the lamplight fell on her soft hair. Kate shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Good girl,’ said her hostess complacently, lighting one herself. ‘I keep telling myself I’ll give them up, but I never do.’

Henry, sitting beside Kate, asked about her work, carefully avoiding any reference to her marriage. Kate wondered what Madge had told them.

‘Your son shows an admirable grasp of algebra,’ Henry was saying. ‘I’m recommending he moves into the top set next term.’

‘No shop, Henry, for God’s sake!’ Sylvia said impatiently.