The Company She Kept (22 page)

The door into the foyer revolved as yet another laughing, chattering party entered. Bouvier waited until they had dispersed, then looked again at his watch, rose and held out his hand ‘My friends will be thinking me unpardonably rude. Thank you for listening to me – I felt I had to try and show you just what sort of woman Angie was.'

‘Thank you. Mr Bouvier, I appreciate the effort.'

When he had gone. Mayo sat. sipping his beer, thinking about what had been said. His steak came. He ate it without relish. Somehow, he seemed to have lost his appetite.

Yet it was surprisingly easy after that, when he was at home, his feet up on the coffee table, a Scotch at his elbow, the Monteverdi
Vespers
on the turntable and the Irena Bron file resting on his knees, to see what had eluded him before.

Sophie Lawrence. Madeleine Freeman. Thomas He read each of their statements in turn, all three of which had corroborated Felix Darbell's account of what had happened None of them, he noted, had actually been there when Darbell had killed Irena. Madeleine had arrived too late to prevent it happening. Thomas had met Felix in the courtyard after the event, when he had gone to fetch Dr Freeman's bag, and Sophie had apparently come into the hall last of all. Their statements dovetailed and, combining with Darbell's, gave a clear picture of what had happened.

Once more he read through Sophie Lawrence's statement. He thought of the dank, shadowed hall at Flowerdew and the staircase rising into thickening darkness. He drank some whisky and listened to the luminous brilliance of the
Magnificat
soaring through the room. He waited until it had finished and then put through a call to Doc Ison.

Scarcely had he put the phone down after having had his theory confirmed before it rang again. It was Atkins. ‘I've just had a call from an oppo of mine regarding that matter we spoke about ...'

The forensic report on the scrap of plastic caught in the earring was delivered by hand. Abigail took it straight up to Mayo's office and found him sitting with the suspect file open on his desk, his tie pulled loose, his jacket off, two cups half full of cold coffee by his elbow. Her entry seemed to galvanize him into action. Straightening his tie, he stood up and reached for his jacket, asking what was in the report.

‘They think the scrap of plastic's probably come from one of those pac-a-mac things. Certainly not a dustbin liner as we thought.'

‘And no doubt whoever it belongs to will have put it tidily away in their wardrobe, waiting for us to find it? Likely!'

‘It wouldn't have been a remarkable thing for anyone to have worn it on a night like that. If it had a hood on it could've covered the killer from head to toe. That's why he left no traces in the Astra.'

‘Yes.'

It was another dismal day, with a sky like pewter and the fluorescent lights on all over the building. Mayo thought for a moment. ‘Get your coat, Abigail. It's time we stopped running about like headless chickens. Give me a minute or two and then I'll be with you. I just want a few words with George before we go.'

It was only eleven in the morning, yet Sophie Lawrence already had a drink in her hand (a tumbler filled with ice-cubes, topped with whisky, an American abomination to some, but that was how she liked it) when the bell rang. The sudden peal startled her and made her tremble, though it was almost certainly only Roz, who was making sure she wasn't left alone any longer than necessary these days. She was frightened of her own shadow lately and could see no reason why this state of affairs shouldn't continue to the end of her days, whatever was going to happen to her in the future. When she opened the door and saw who it was standing there, and saw their unsmiling faces, she knew she had reason to be afraid.

‘May we come in, Mrs Lawrence?'

‘You've caught me at a bad time, I'm afraid, Chief Inspector,' she said, taking a grip on herself, determined not to be intimidated. ‘I was just going out – but come in for a moment.'

The golden room, lit by lamplight against the darkness of the morning, looked more luxurious than ever, like a TV setting for a period film, the woman in it almost as unreal, gold at her ears and wrists, soft, gleaming leather boots, her full, wine-coloured wool skirts a pool of colour around her feet as she sank on to a low chair by the fire.

‘No drink for you, I presume – but I do have tea or coffee,' she offered, and when the offer was refused, she picked up her own drink rather defiantly and glanced at her wristwatch.

Mayo was in no mood to make apologies for keeping her. ‘One or two questions, Mrs Lawrence,' was all he said.

‘I thought we'd finished with all that. Isn't it time I was left alone? I've admitted what happened – what more do you want?'

She had lost that slightly abstracted air and seemed in an indefinable way older and sadder, her features more finely drawn. But change of some kind was an inevitable legacy of murder, which never could be less than a violent intrusion, overturning the lives of those concerned, stamping them unalterably with its dark consequences so that they were never the same again.

‘I think you'll find we've hardly begun – not on the subject of Angie Robinson's murder, at any rate,' he answered.

An anonymous, plodding sort of man, she'd thought the Chief Inspector – until that last, ghastly interview, when he'd met all her previous lies and evasions with a hard, uncompromising directness which made her acutely aware that he wasn't a man to be fooled around with.

But it was Abigail who began the questioning. ‘Mrs Lawrence, we'd like to go over the statement you made –' Before she could finish, the other woman interrupted. ‘I ought to tell you. I – I made a mistake. I was talking to my sister and I suddenly remembered that I did go out that night – though it was after Felix had gone.'

A simultaneous realization occurred to Abigail and Mayo, that Sophie Lawrence had thought she was to be questioned again about Angie Robinson's murder and not, as they had intended, about Irena Bron's. Abigail adjusted her sights while Mayo said, his eyes flinty grey, ‘It's taken you ten days to remember?'

‘I didn't think it was that important – I'm sure it isn't – but Roz said it might be,' she answered. Apprehensively, it seemed to Abigail, however nonchalant she tried to appear.

‘I think we'd better start at the beginning again. From the point where you went to see your sister earlier in the evening.' Mayo signified to Abigail that she should continue.

‘It's not five minutes' walk across the green to your sister's house, Mrs Lawrence – but you drove there?' she began.

‘Of course. It was pouring with rain.'

‘Did you wear a mac?' Sophie blinked, then nodded. ‘A plastic one?'

‘
Plastic?
' Lady Bracknell could not have said it with more disdain. ‘No. A Burberry. And I used an umbrella too, when I got out of the car. What
is
this?'

‘You returned home, had a light supper, then just before seven o'clock, Mr Darbell arrived. You had coffee together and he left at seven forty-five. Have we got that correct?'

‘That's what I've already said.' The ice clattered against the side of the glass as Sophie lifted it to her lips. ‘And he's confirmed it.'

Did she really think she could cite Darbell as a reliable witness, Abigail wondered, but thought it prudent not to voice her opinion. ‘So it was after that you went out again? Even though you'd previously said that you spent the rest of the evening here, alone?'

‘Well, I don't suppose it's going to make any difference now, but yes, I did go out, though only for half an hour.' Her eyes were clear as dark amber, wide and honest. So Mayo had seen a hundred criminals, guilty as hell, look.

‘Did you go down to Hill Street chapel?' he asked abruptly.

‘Where?' She seemed genuinely bewildered. ‘No. No, I – I drove down to see Madeleine Freeman but she wasn't in, so I came straight home again.'

‘Suppose,' he said, at his most stolid, ‘you tell us why you went to see Dr Freeman.'

She hesitated. ‘After Felix had been to see me I needed to talk to her, to ask her advice. It was a shock, as you might imagine, when Felix turned up on my doorstep but although he stayed the best part of an hour he refused to tell me why he'd come back. It seemed to me he was in a very strange, dangerous sort of mood. He spoke about what had happened at Flowerdew, though only in an oblique sort of way, and when he'd gone, I began to think it might be that for some reason he'd taken it into his head to confess, and what that might mean for us.'

‘What made you think that?'

‘Madeleine had always been afraid that one day that might happen, that the need to confess might become overwhelming, you know.' She licked her lips and tried an appealing look from one to the other but encountered nothing to help her. ‘Well, I thought she ought to know he'd come back, and she always knows what to do. As it happens, she wasn't in, so I rang her next day and we agreed to meet and talk it over.'

‘By we, you mean yourself, Dr Freeman and Mr Thomas? And you met in the back premises of Oundle's Bookshop?' She looked startled, but nodded. ‘And what was the result of this meeting?'

‘Nothing. Because by then Angie had been murdered. There was nothing we could do except lie low and say nothing and hope you'd never trace Felix.'

For a long time Mayo didn't speak, then he put his hand in his pocket and stretched out his hand, palm uppermost, with the earring on it, and showed it to her, just as he had with Madeleine Freeman. ‘Have you seen this before?' Her hand went to her mouth. ‘It was Irena's.'

‘Irena Bron's? Are you certain?'

‘Absolutely. They were a farewell present to her that last night. She put them straight on.'

‘You're sure of that? Sure this is one of the same pair – and not just similar to the ones Mrs Wilbraham gave to Angie Robinson?'

‘Angie Robinson? Kitty would never have given jewellery to Angie!' Sophie said. ‘She wasn't exactly her favourite person. No, these were definitely Irena's.'

‘You say Irena put them straight on, yet when we found Irena's body, she wasn't wearing any jewellery.' She closed her eyes briefly. ‘How do you account for that?'

‘I can't. I had nothing to do with ... with all that.' And a little desperately, ‘And I'm sorry, but I really can't help you any more.'

‘I think you can. I want you to repeat exactly what you remember about the circumstances of the murder, everything that happened after the quarrel broke out between Irena Bron and Felix Darbell.'

Unwillingly, at last, she said, ‘Well, as I told you, after a few minutes Felix stormed out and Irena followed him. We could hear them in the hall, shouting, and then ... then there was a crash and everything went quiet. A few seconds later, Madeleine ran out, and then Angie. I knew something terrible must have happened but I didn't seem to be able to move ... When I did go into the hall, Irena was lying on the floor and Madeleine was standing beside her. Angie was crying. Then Felix came back with Tommo, bringing Madeleine's bag. She said, “I'm sorry, Felix, there was nothing I could do. I'm afraid she's dead.” '

‘And that's all? Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything? Anything at all that happened in the hall, no matter how trivial?
Think!
Go over the whole scene in your mind. Something you saw, maybe?' She shook her head vehemently. ‘Or heard?'

‘Just a minute – yes! Yes, I remember now. It was before Felix went out, before Irena –'

‘Yes?'

‘We heard the boards creaking in the room above, Kitty moving about. We thought we'd disturbed her with all the noise. And then ... just before ... I heard her footsteps again. And the door banged ...' Her voice trailed off. ‘And that really is all I can remember.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Lawrence.'

It wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for, but it confirmed what he'd been thinking, and it might prove to be enough.

It was scarcely more than an hour later when Sophie Lawrence, having thought long and hard, and having tipped what was still left of her whisky (most of it) wastefully, but wisely, down the sink, drove across Hartopp Moor and dropped down towards Flowerdew.

Leaving her car parked outside the gates, she walked up the drive, dismayed to find how neglected the house had become, and that it still exerted the same old magic. An evil magic, she had afterwards come to think it, and looking at the dark banefulness of the lake on this cold grey morning, remembering, she had to force herself not to believe that now.

She knew her way, remembering every nook and cranny, every ingress and egress of Flowerdew, and was not going to be deflected from her purpose by being turned back ignominiously at the door. Things might have changed, but not so much that Jessie Crowther would deliberately disobey Kitty by not keeping her out – for such had been her orders. Sophie and Madeleine might never have learned of Kitty's return to Flowerdew, had it not been for recent events, although Tommo – and how this hurt! – had known all along. He had tried to make light of this by saying that Kitty wouldn't have told him, either, had she and Jessie not been dependent upon him for their very survival. But now, Sophie intended to see Kitty, come what may.

There were two places where the old women were likely to be. One was the kitchen, and the other the red room.

Tommo had said they kept the doors bolted and barred, but there was one way in to which she still had a key.

She knew the danger of letting herself in without being announced. She might antagonize Kitty further; the shock of seeing her might give the old woman a heart attack ...

She moved quietly along the flagged path between the lake and the house ...