Money Never Sleeps (15 page)

Jed came back to her, his face grave, and took her aside. ‘The pathologist has some interesting revelations. He tells me that the cut marks on the drowned victim’s finger tips were made by a serrated edge.’

‘A grapefruit knife?’

Jed held out the cut credit card, now in a plastic specimen bag. ‘Don’t touch, but I can assure you that edge is very sharp. It’s an excellent defence weapon if you are ever assaulted.’

‘Sure, I always carry a cut-up credit card in my pocket when I’m out.’

‘You should.’

‘So someone tried to destroy Melody’s fingerprints,’ said Fancy, noting this small fact for some future plot. ‘But why?’

‘So we couldn’t identify her. The victim’s body had a very faint scar on the lower right abdomen. An appendectomy incision made a long time ago. Probably when she was a teenager. This
pathologist is a curious man and he made some enquiries. It took some time to find medical records that went back that far.’

‘So Melody had her appendix out.’

‘No, Melody didn’t. But Grace did.’

Fancy felt the cold returning to her body as she took in Jed’s words. ‘Are you telling me that it wasn’t Melody that we found in the lake? Are you telling me that it was Grace, the other twin sister?’

‘Yes. The drowned woman was Grace Marchant, known here as Melody, which was her writing name. So is Thelma still alive, or was Grace killed by someone else?’

‘And where do I come into all this?’

‘I’m sorry, Fancy. We have no idea. I only wish I knew.’

F
ancy stood and felt like Alice in a blue gown, looking down a large hole and wondering where it would take her if she fell. It would be cold and dark and hollow, no Red Queen waiting with a chopper.

‘Not Thelma?’

‘No, she was not Thelma,’ said Jed. ‘It was Grace, the other twin, the serious one. There’s no doubt about it. Even with the damaged fingerprints. The scar is the conclusive identity evidence.’

‘Why did Grace call herself Melody?’

‘It was her writing name. Melody Marchant, their mother’s name when she was a blues singer. Grace wrote children’s stories. Lots of writers have different names for writing, don’t they,
noms de plumes
?’

‘I use my real name.’

‘Lucky you. It’s a nice one.’

‘So where does this leave us now?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Perhaps Thelma is still alive and out there somewhere, despite the court case and being declared dead. Perhaps it is someone else after the brewery money. The revenge theory is still possible.’

‘Do I have to stay here? I’ve done my last lecture. I could go home now.’

‘But the mystery will follow you. It had already begun in London – the Underground, the bus, the slab of concrete – before you came to Derbyshire. You’re safer here with me and Officer Richmond.’

Fancy could see integrity in his eyes. And the concern.

‘So who is the farmer who came up from Cornwall saying he was Melody’s husband?’

‘We believe he’s Grace’s husband, that is, the writer, Melody.’

‘But Grace’s husband is Rupert Harlow.’

‘Yes, so this must be Rupert Harlow and it was his car that was set on fire.’

Fancy collapsed on a nearby seat. ‘This is all too complicated. So Rupert Harlow is now a farmer in Cornwall with a wife who writes children’s stories? My brain has gone into stress mode.’

‘Why not? He was sick of Surbiton and being a solicitor. And when Thelma disappeared, he decided to start a new life, miles away, with Grace. They moved to Cornwall, bought a farm with her half of the inheritance, started rearing sheep.’

‘Save me,’ said Fancy. ‘From mental overload.’

‘I need to talk to Rupert Harlow. Let’s go out and get some fresh air. Show your face. It might worry a few people.’ Jed took her arm and propelled her towards the door. ‘Coffee? You need the caffeine.’

‘Yes, but I’ll get it myself.’ She knew he would not like her saying this.

‘You don’t trust me?’ He looked appalled.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ she said carefully. She needed him. ‘I think I would feel happier if in future I check everything first myself. It’s not that I think someone would tamper with a big flask of coffee and drug a dozen random innocent people. That would be totally at odds with what has happened to me. It’s always been directed solely at me. Frankly, after all this, I don’t trust anyone.’

Jed nodded. ‘Fair enough, Fancy. Richmond and I will do what we can to ensure your safety. We’re relieved that everything has failed so far.’

‘So far? That’s hardly reassuring.’

‘What else can I say?’

‘But I was in the lake, half-drowned. If you hadn’t come along … I might have been in the Derby morgue this morning in a box. It’s a nightmare.’

‘But you’re not and that’s what’s important ,’ said Jed firmly. ‘Be positive.’

‘I’ll get your coffee. You can trust me,’ said WPC Richmond. The sturdy officer had a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. Perhaps she was starting to bond with Fancy. ‘Black?’

Fancy nodded. ‘All right, thank you.’

‘I started reading one of your books last night. It’s good. The heroine, the Pink Pen Detective, is a lot like me. Same kind of thinking.’

Fancy and Jed said nothing as WPC Richmond joined the queue at the coffee trolley. They exchanged the shadow of a smile.

‘Wow.’

‘You’ve another fan.’

‘I’ll give her a pink pen.’

‘She’ll treasure it.’

Jed told Fancy nothing about his meeting with Rupert Harlow. The man seemed resigned to the situation, slumped in a chair, his face grey with fatigue, as if he knew Grace would be murdered one day. All traces of the London solicitor, the prospective MP, had long gone. He was all farmer in tweeds and waterproof, without the mud.

At first he was difficult to pin down to a meeting, was uneasy. He gave Jed a dozen reasons why he was too busy.

Jed did not give up. He was relentless. ‘We are trying to find out what happened to your wife. It doesn’t help if you won’t talk to us.’

‘I knew this would happen one day,’ Rupert said. ‘It was a disaster waiting to happen. Thelma hated Grace. Even when they were children, they were always fighting. Thelma was jealous of Grace, of her beauty, of her brains.’

‘But Thelma was beautiful too.’

‘It was a different sort of beauty. Brassy, more glamour,
superficial
. Grace was really lovely.’

‘I’d like to know everything, right from the beginning,’ said Jed. He had his laptop open. ‘This is an informal meeting
between you and me. No tape recorder, no caution. I am helping DI Bradley who’s in charge of the case.’

‘Once upon a time I wanted to be a Member of Parliament,’ said Rupert Harlow, in a resigned, bedtime story sort of way. ‘A foolish dream. I wasn’t cut out for politics. But I did meet Grace at constituency meetings and that was the best thing that ever happened to me. She was a press officer and most efficient at her job.’

‘And you fell for her?’

‘Not exactly. I was always a slow mover in that department. I admired Grace tremendously but she was so busy, she didn’t have time for romance. I felt it was important to establish my career first, so that I had something to offer her.’

‘Then you met Thelma?’

Rupert’s face relaxed momentarily. ‘I can’t explain what happened. It was at a pre-election party on the Terrace at the House of Commons. A party for new prospective candidates. Thelma blew in like a display of fireworks. She was dazzling, her hair like spun gold. So glamorous with such confidence. I even remember what she was wearing – a sort of white Grecian thing with high-heeled gold sandals. I’ve no idea what Grace was wearing. Her usual black, I think.’

‘And you were bowled over?’

‘She bowled me over. She made a beeline for me, stayed with me all evening, on my arm, made it look as if we were an item. It was heady stuff, I can tell you, especially for someone like me who had had little success with women in the past. As I said, I was a slow mover.’

‘Go on.’

‘In no time, we were engaged. Don’t ask me how it happened, but it just did. Looking back, I think she was seeing an illustrious career ahead for me and for herself as my wife. She loved the glamour of politics, being photographed with me everywhere, nightclubs, parties. And she was putting Grace in the shade. That was the real motive. She wanted to snatch me away from Grace. And I let her.’

Jed made his notes discreetly. ‘So you got married?’

‘Before the election. She wanted to make sure of me. She knew that once I was elected, I might become a very eligible bachelor MP. And Grace would still be working with me. It was a very posh wedding, at St Margaret’s, Westminster. Thelma looked like a dream in white satin, flowing veil, tiara. That dress and the honeymoon cost me a fortune.’

‘Was Grace a bridesmaid?’

‘No, I don’t think she was asked. Thelma left her in the shade. Grace would have looked lovely, might have stolen some of the bride’s limelight.’

‘But you didn’t get elected.’

‘No,’ Rupert let out a long sigh. ‘I had neglected my
electioneering
, too busy going out to nightclubs with Thelma and being photographed for the tabloids. My constituents decided I was a playboy, not serious about their problems and worries. They voted with their feet, in the other direction. I came second in the polls.’

‘A disappointment for your new bride?’

‘She was furious. I’ve never seen anyone so angry. She screamed and yelled at me. We’d bought a new house in Surbiton and I thought she would wreck it. But eventually she calmed down when I said I would stand again at the next election, and work a lot harder. Next time I would get in. Meanwhile I had a job with a reputable firm of solicitors, and the money was coming in – for her to spend.’

‘You had lots of nice holidays?’

‘Lots of nice holidays. Crete, Barbados, the Seychelles.’

‘But you were still seeing Grace?’

‘Of course I was still seeing Grace. I was working with her. She was helping me with my new campaign, when she had time. She had been promoted to Tory Head Office in Great Smith Street and was making a name for herself there. The girl had brains as well as beauty.’

‘Thelma didn’t like that.’

‘I made sure that Thelma didn’t know. She would not have
been pleased. She was always very jealous of Grace. It wasn’t even about the money; they both had an inheritance, left to them by their father. They were neither of them short of money.’

‘Then what happened?’

Rupert looked uncomfortable. He was restless in his chair. ‘Do I have to say any more? Why do you have to know?’

‘I would remind you that your wife, Grace, has been found drowned. It was not suicide. She had been drugged. And that is murder. If you want us to find out who did it, then you have to cooperate, Mr Harlow.’

‘I’m not proud of it but I suppose I had always loved Grace, right from the beginning, and then Thelma came along and bowled me over. And they both looked alike. It was uncanny and so confusing. Sometimes when I was with Thelma, I would half close my eyes and imagine I was with Grace.’

‘So you began an affair with Grace,’ said Jed, getting Rupert back on track.

‘Yes. I couldn’t stop myself. Grace was the one I had really wanted. She was bright, intelligent, good company, as well as looking so beautiful. And she seemed to like me. I couldn’t believe it. Stupid old me, who married the wrong sister.’ Rupert seemed to slump even further into the chair.

‘Would you like to stop now?’ asked Jed. ‘Have a cup of coffee or something? We can take a break.’

‘No, thank you. It wouldn’t help. Grace has gone now. I don’t know how I’ll manage without her.’

Jed gave Rupert a few moments to recover himself. ‘Then what happened?’

Rupert wiped his face. ‘Thelma found us together, Grace and me. She went berserk. I thought she would kill us both. She had a knife in her hand and Grace did get hurt. Those blood marks on the stairs. Grace was running down the stairs, out of the house, her cut hand smearing the wall.’

‘So Grace got away?’

‘Yes, she had her car. She drove off, leaving me to deal with Thelma. Her presence only made Thelma more furious. I don’t
remember much more of the evening, except that it was one row after another, shouting, yelling. The next morning she had gone, completely disappeared. The wall was still smeared with blood.’

‘She took nothing with her?’

‘No. She wanted it to look as if I had killed her. But I knew that I hadn’t. The police thought otherwise.’

‘Why didn’t you report her as missing?’

‘I thought she had gone off in a huff. Gone to stay with one of her model friends, or with her mother. I was glad she’d gone. I wasn’t going to make any moves to get her back. I didn’t want her back. Look, I’ve had enough of this.’

‘So it was her mother who reported her missing?’

‘Yes, that was my mistake. I should have done it. I was so glad to get a bit of peace and quiet. I had my job, a busy office, something to get on with, no domestic conflict at home. Peace and quiet.’

‘Did you see Grace during that time?’

‘Not on a personal basis. But during pre-election work,
occasionally
. We let it cool down. Can I go now?’

‘What happened after that?’

‘When I was charged with Thelma’s murder, of course I was dropped as a candidate. You could hear the clang all the way to Surbiton.’

‘And you went to court?’

‘The Old Bailey. It was a scary experience. But there was no evidence. It was all circumstantial. Thelma wanted it to look as if I had murdered her, but I hadn’t. Even the blood streaks were not conclusive. No body was ever found. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence.’

‘Did you take up with Grace again, after the court case?’

‘Not straight away. She was upset about our affair and upset about her sister disappearing. But eventually after the trial, we got together again, though quietly at first. It was inevitable. And that was when we decided to make a new start to our life in Cornwall. It was the best decision we ever made.’

‘What about the money?’

‘The money?’ Rupert looked surprised as if the money had
nothing to do with it. A sort of curtain came down over his face.

‘Yes, the brewery money. The fortune left to both sisters.’

‘Grace had her half and part of it went towards buying our farm in Cornwall. She was tired of politics by then, and only too happy to get away. Thelma’s half was untouched until seven years had passed, and she could be legally declared dead. Although the money then passed to Grace, she did not touch it. She felt it was tainted. It’s still in an account, earning a bit of interest. Not much these days.’

‘But still a lot of money?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, a great deal of money.’

‘Who gets it now?’

‘Me, I suppose. I don’t know. I suppose Grace left a will. It’s not something we talked about. I never thought it would happen.’

Jed closed his laptop and stood up. ‘I should watch your back, Rupert Harlow. Someone is out there, determined to get to that money. Money is always the root of crime. Money and revenge. Be careful. Have you any children?’

‘No. Couldn’t have any. Grace only had half an ovary.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch. I’m really sorry about Grace. Really sorry.’

Jed found Fancy on the lawn, talking to a group of writers. She felt safer out in the open air, among colourful flower beds and trees and a quilt of mist. Her coffee had gone cold beside her. Her group surrounded her. She was safe with them.

‘Have you got a moment, Fancy?’ Jed stood over the group, dark and tall and authoritative. There was no arguing with the man.