The Nine Bright Shiners (11 page)

‘And this exposé series was the only one he was working on at the time?'

‘As far as I know, yes.'

Which was where they had to leave it. None of the editors they saw that afternoon could add anything to what Lewis Daly had told them. Marriott was known to play his hand close to his chest – understandable in a competitive field, but the editors were unanimous in agreeing he was a first-class journalist. There was a general air of gloom at his death, which said as much for the man as for his work. But someone had seen Guy Marriott in a very different light.

‘It's a dangerous game, Ken,' Webb commented as they drove home with Marriott's press-cuttings piled on the back seat. ‘All very well to fancy yourself a crusader, but not everyone sees it that way, least of all if he's on the receiving end.'

He bent forward, peering through the windscreen as they came on to the Hammersmith Flyover. ‘Don't tell me it's starting to snow.'

‘Looks like it, Guv. Lord knows it's been cold enough.'

Webb sighed. ‘Roll on the spring. Right, so who have we got in this case? One dead journalist, one absent explorer, and three blokes whose wallets were pinched. Not a lot to go on.'

‘We've also got some unknown quantities,' Jackson commented, switching on the windscreen wipers. ‘Such as X who stole the wallets and Y who killed Marriott. Or XY who did both.'

Webb grunted. ‘What about the blokes we saw yesterday? They live in Broadminster, and they were on hand when the wallets were stolen.'

‘So was the rest of the squash club. That doesn't make them murderers.'

‘Damn it, Ken, what else have we got?'

‘Well, Edward Langley comes into it somewhere. The killer wanted us to think it was him, and he was still around on the eighteenth of December.'

‘And on that day, Cassidy and Rollo went to work as usual. But since they both work in Broadminster, that doesn't rule out meeting Marriott. As for Miles Cody, he may or may not have been home.' His voice quickened. ‘Look, we've been assuming Marriott came to see this crooked celebrity. But suppose he was visiting someone else, the man who supplied the information?'

‘Then why was he killed?'

‘God knows.' The excitement went out of Webb's voice.

We still need to see Mrs Coverdale. If she can remember her brother's movements on the eighteenth, it could be useful. We'll give that first priority tomorrow. That is,' he finished, staring out at the large white flakes that were now plastering the windscreen, ‘always provided we're not snowed up by tomorrow.'

Jan too, on her homeward journey, was watching the snow through the train window. The further west they went, the thicker it seemed to fall, and it was already lying in an even coat over the Wiltshire fields. The children, never having seen snow before, found it more exciting than all the historical sights they'd seen. They were in a frenzy of anxiety that it might disappear before they had a chance to play out in it and make a snowman.

As Jan had anticipated, she was exhausted, but it had been an interesting day. London was busier than she remembered, a combination of the continuing school holidays and the January sales. It had meant repeated queuing, and as a result there hadn't been time for everything she'd planned.

Still, they'd covered quite a lot, and they could always go again. Her mind went back over the day: Westminster Abbey, St Paul's; but the Tower had been the most successful visit. The children were entranced by the ravens and Traitors' Gate; Ben studied every suit of armour in the White Tower, and had insisted on having his photo taken with a Yeoman on guard duty. Yet when, after a long wait in a queue, they came at last to the Crown Jewels, Julie's reaction, at least, had been surprising. True, both children had gazed wide-eyed at the various crowns, at the orb and sceptre and swords. But when Jan paused in front of a case of exquisite bracelets and necklaces, Julie had turned away. ‘They're not as nice as Aunt Rowena's,' she said dismissively.

‘Aunt Rowena's?' Jan echoed incredulously. ‘What on earth are you talking about?'

There was a silence, and, turning to glance at the children, Jan saw they'd both flushed scarlet.

‘What do you mean, Julie?' she repeated. ‘I don't remember Aunt Rowena wearing any jewellery, but even if she did, it was certainly nothing like these!'

Both children remained silent, and, puzzled and irritated, Jan moved on to the next case. Now, her curiosity returned and she wondered again what the child had meant. When they were all having supper, and no interruptions were likely, she would ask again.

The train pulled into Broadminster station, and they gathered their things together and stepped out of its warmth into the freezing evening. To the children's delight, snow was still falling thickly. All the way home, they kept rushing ahead and scooping up handfuls to hurl at each other. By the time they reached Rylands, both were wet through.

‘Don't worry, it will still be here in the morning,' Jan told them as they went up the drive. ‘Now, as soon as I've turned off the alarm, straight upstairs, both of you, and into a hot bath.'

Obediently they waited in the hall while she fumbled for several seconds before, realizing the alarm was not switched on, she emerged from the meter cupboard. ‘That's funny, it was almost the last thing Lily said before –' She broke off as the cat, ears flat against its head and tail like a bottle brush, went streaking past her and round the corner to the back hall.

‘Whatever's the matter with Lotus?' Jan followed the children in pursuit of the animal, which they found cowering in the far corner of the kitchen, belly to the floor. Julie got on her hands and knees to coax it out, and Ben said suddenly, ‘Look – Lily's coat's still on the hook.'

Jan's eyes followed his through the kitchen doorway to the coat hooks in the passage. ‘But it can't be – I mean, she wouldn't have gone without it.'

‘Perhaps she's still here, and that's why she hadn't done the alarm.'

‘But she'd have heard us come in. And anyway the lights weren't on.'

Julie straightened and the three of them looked at each other.

Jan said, ‘Perhaps she's been taken ill. You two stay here while –'

‘No, Mummy, please! Let us come with you!' Their frightened eyes pleaded with her as they shivered in their snow-soaked clothes.

‘All right.' She wanted to tell them to keep behind her, but that was tantamount to admitting she was frightened. They emerged from the kitchen in a bunch and made their way back to the main hall. Jan stood looking up the dark staircase.

‘Lily?' she called, not really expecting an answer. ‘Are you there?'

She switched on the landing light and they went up together, looking anxiously to right and left at the top of the stairs. The corridor stretched blandly in both directions.

Jan said with false bravery, ‘I don't think there's anything to worry about, but we'll have a look to make sure. Let's start with my room. We'll go down to the end on this side, and back up the other.'

With the children close behind her, they started their bizarre search. Her room and the spare guest-room next door were empty and undisturbed. Jan paused to draw the curtain across the window at the end of the passage, and they started up the other side. Another guest-room, Edward and Rowena's room with the
en suite
bathroom, the old nursery where Ben slept. It was there that disquiet turned to fear. Ben said in a high voice, ‘I didn't leave the window that wide!'

‘It wasn't open at all,' Jan answered. ‘Don't you remember, I closed it.'

‘But I opened it again,' he whispered. ‘So Lotus could get in. Only a little bit – not like that.'

Someone had got into the house.
But if the alarm wasn't on, it must have been while Lily was still here. So where
was
Lily? A pulse was beating insistently at the base of Jan's throat. Oh God, she thought, I wish Roger was here. I wish
anybody
was here!

‘We'll just finish checking the rooms, then we'll go down and phone Lily.' And please let her be safely at home. Rowena had given her the number in case of emergencies.

Bathroom and lavatory revealed nothing, and Jan breathed more easily. She'd begun to wonder if Lily, feeling unwell, had collapsed in there. Julie's bedroom was as empty and undisturbed as the rest of the house. The last remaining room was Edward's study next to the stairhead. As soon as they'd looked in there, she'd phone the police.

She pushed the door open, and for several seconds her brain continued its planning. Then she lurched backwards, pulling the door shut and holding on to the handle for support. For Lily was in there, lying face down on the floor, and Jan, who had never until that week seen a dead person, knew beyond shadow of doubt that she had just seen another.

The phone was ringing as Webb let himself into his flat.

‘A murder reported in Broadminster, Guv, but they reckon it's your pigeon.' It was the station sergeant. ‘Court Lane are holding the fort, and DI Bates and Sergeant Partridge are on their way.'

‘Who is it, did they say?' ‘The housekeeper at the Langley house.'

‘What was the call timed at?'

‘Eighteen-thirty-nine. Half an hour ago.'

Webb sighed. ‘OK, Andy. Thanks.' Just as well they'd had a decent lunch at the Printers' Ink; God knows when they'd eat again. He sighed, checked his own watch. Ken should be just about home. He dialled and Jackson's voice sounded in his ear.

‘Don't take your shoes off, Ken,' he said heavily, ‘we're off to Broadminster. The housekeeper's dead.'

It was eight o'clock by the time they reached the house. An Incident caravan was in the driveway, and two police cars parked outside, along with a couple of unmarked vehicles. Across the road, several curtains twitched as the neighbours tried to assess what was going on. Snow continued to fall, fat, cold splodges of it settling on nose and eyebrows as they went up the drive. The constable on duty saluted and opened the door for them. They were met in the hall by a uniformed sergeant.

‘Doc Roscoe's up there now, sir,' he informed Webb.

‘She's in one of the bedrooms?'

‘Mr Langley's study. Mrs Coverdale, his sister, found her when she got back from London.'

‘Has Dr Stapleton been contacted?'

‘Yes, sir. He was over at Heatherton, but he's expected any minute.'

‘Where's Mrs Coverdale?'

The sergeant nodded to a door on the left. ‘She and the kids are in the library, with WDS Lucas.'

‘And Inspector Bates?'

The man hesitated, ‘I'm not sure, sir. He came downstairs, but he might have gone back up.'

‘Are Scenes of Crime here?'

‘Yes, they're upstairs.'

Webb nodded and started up the stairs, glancing admiringly at the handsome stained-glass window. The police surgeon was at the top of the stairs, talking to Dick Hodges. Don Partridge hovered behind them.

‘Ah, Chief Inspector. We've met before, I believe. Roscoe's the name.'

‘That's right, Doctor – the Delilah case. You've confirmed death?'

He nodded. ‘It was only a cursory examination, so I can't tell you much; but I'd say the cause was a blow to the back of the head.'

‘Any idea of time?'

‘Hard to say, in a centrally heated house. Probably six or eight hours. Mrs Coverdale says she left the house at ten.'

‘Entry seems to have been through the room on the far left,' Hodges volunteered. ‘Window open, and flat roof below.'

Webb turned, scanning the men in the corridor. ‘Where's Inspector Bates?' he asked Partridge.

‘He went downstairs, Guv – wanted to take a look outside.'

‘See if you can find him, will you? I want to know what Mrs Coverdale told him before I see her.'

Partridge ran back down the stairs and Webb moved to the open door immediately on the right. A photographer stood just inside and Webb waited till he moved to a different angle before stepping inside.

It was a small room – barely ten feet square – and the woman was lying face down in the middle of it, her head towards the door. Dark, ugly stains matted the grey hair and smeared the heavy glass ashtray lying beside her. Webb registered every detail, then, with practised detachment, turned his attention to her surroundings.

Along the left-hand wall, bookshelves and filing cabinets had been emptied and their contents littered the floor. The drawers of a desk beneath the window were open, and on the wall, a set of magnificent photographs of mountain peaks had been pushed askew. There was little space to move, and he decided to leave a more detailed inspection till the SOCOs had finished.

He rejoined the group on the landing in time to see Partridge rushing up the stairs two at a time, it's the DI, Guv!' he gasped, catching sight of Webb. ‘He's lying out there in the snow, and he's not moving!'

Webb pushed the nearest man out of his way and started down the stairs, aware of the doctor, Jackson and Partridge close behind him. The front door stood open, with the startled constable beside it, staring up at them.

‘Round the side of the house,' Partridge directed between gasps. The cold air seized their breath, and the snow almost blinded them. Webb could feel his shoes sinking deep into it as he ran, and cursed himself for not having stopped to put on his boots. A black shape was lying sprawled at the back corner of the house, with the uniformed sergeant kneeling beside it. He looked up as they arrived.

‘There is a pulse, but it's pretty faint.'

‘How long has he been out here?' Webb snapped, as the doctor took charge.

‘I don't know, Guv.' It was Partridge who answered. ‘Not long before you arrived – ten minutes at most.'

‘You didn't hear any sounds? A shot or anything?'