The Snares of Death (31 page)

‘You know I'll do whatever I can.'

He paused. ‘I feel really silly asking you this,' he confessed sheepishly. ‘I ought to know this already, but can you drive a car?'

Lucy laughed. ‘Of course I can drive a car. I grew up in the country, remember.'

‘Good girl. Well, then, I'll be there in a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, and I'll tell you then what I need you to do.'

He was back at his office in less than an hour, dropped off by Lucy as she embarked on her errand in his car. A few minutes later, the receptionist put through a call. ‘Dave?' said the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘It's John. John Spring.'

‘Hello, John. Have you got something for me?'

‘As a matter of fact I do, mate. I've got to come into Norwich this afternoon to deliver some papers to the prison. So if you've got a photocopier, and a bottle of whisky and a couple of glasses . . . I've got something that might interest you.'

‘How soon can you be here?' David asked, his eye on the clock. He didn't know how long Lucy's errand would take, but he didn't want Spring around when she returned.

‘Oh, in an hour or so. You in a hurry or something?'

‘Well, it's just that . . . I've got a few appointments later this afternoon.'

‘I'll be there as soon as I can,' Spring promised.

He was as good as his word; Nan had scarcely returned from buying the whisky when he arrived at Goodacre and Whitehouse. Although he knew perfectly well how to get up the stairs to David's office, he lingered at the reception desk for a word with the pretty receptionist. ‘Sergeant Spring to see you,' she buzzed David.

‘Send him up. He knows the way.' In order to save time, he had the whisky bottle open and was pouring generous measures into the two glasses when Spring entered.

‘Dave! A man of his word!' Spring accepted the glass with a grin. ‘Cheers, mate!' He sat down in the chair that was provided for clients and made himself comfortable. ‘So, how's things, Dave?'

‘Oh, fine.'

‘Did you have a good weekend?'

‘Not bad,' David said non-committally. ‘You?'

Spring smiled what David had come to recognise as his lecherous smile. ‘Smashing! I told the wife that I was on duty – that one works every time. A policeman's lot may not be a happy one, but there are certain advantages, if you know what I mean! Remember that lovely little barmaid at that pub? The one with the great knockers?' David nodded. ‘Well, she had the weekend off. Need I say more?' he leered. ‘Or should I say,
we
had it off ? Ha, ha.' He laughed uproariously at his own wit.

David smiled weakly, looking at the clock out of the corner of his eye.

Half an hour, a number of salacious stories, and several glasses of whisky later, David was looking openly and pointedly at the clock. He still didn't have the reports that Spring had promised, and the policeman was showing no signs of handing them over and clearing out. ‘Did you say you had to go to the prison?' he asked at last. ‘Will they be expecting you?'

‘Oh, no hurry, Dave. Just sometime this afternoon is all. It's nice to have a bit of time off the hook, have a little laugh and a drink or two with a friend, isn't it?' He leaned back in the chair and took an appreciative sip of the whisky. ‘This is a good tipple, mate. You know your Scotch, I'll say that for you. Makes me think of a little lassie I once knew . . . '

David stifled a sigh. As soon as he could interrupt, he said, ‘You brought something with you? Shall I buzz Nan and see if the photocopier is free?'

Reluctantly Spring curtailed his erotic reminiscences. ‘Here, Dave.' He pulled out a sheaf of papers. ‘The forensic report – it's a bit long and tedious, but if you want to have a butcher's at it . . .'

‘Thanks, John.' He buzzed Nan on the intercom and within a moment she was there to collect the papers for photocopying.

John Spring appraised her with interest. Over thirty, he thought, but not bad for it, and sometimes these mature women were the hottest thing going. ‘Hello, sweetheart,' he offered as an opening gambit, waving the papers with a winning leer. ‘I think I've got what you want.'

‘I doubt that,' she said coolly. David watched with amusement as she took the papers from Spring, clearly unimpressed. ‘I'll be back in a few minutes,' she told David, ignoring the policeman.

Spring accepted defeat with equanimity; he didn't very often cast his net in vain, but there were plenty of fish in the sea, and there was no use wasting time with one that didn't want to be caught – it was her loss, after all. He was about to top up his glass when Nan returned; with relief David took the papers from her, restored the originals to Spring, and screwed the lid back on the bottle, as seemingly oblivious to Spring's disappointment as Spring was to his impatience. ‘No time for another drink?' the policeman suggested.

If Spring wasn't out of here soon, he was bound to encounter Lucy. ‘Why don't you take the bottle with you, John?' David handed it to him with a smile.

‘That's decent of you, Dave. Ta very much.' David escorted him firmly out of his office and down the stairs to the reception area; Spring's head swivelled from side to side, in the vain hope of catching sight of a stray secretary. But the only female in sight was a client in the reception area, a wrinkled specimen who must have been at least eighty. Then, of course, there was the receptionist, a pert and pretty girl with, David knew, a very large and very possessive boyfriend. It would almost be worth it to let Spring chat her up and see what would happen, he thought. But he couldn't take the chance. Lucy should have been here by now – she'd surely be here any minute.

‘Thank you for the report, John,' he said at the door. ‘I'll be in touch. Perhaps we could meet again for a drink, later in the week – at that pub on the A1067?'

Mollified, Spring nodded, tucking the whisky bottle firmly under his arm. ‘You're on, Dave. What say I give you a ring on Friday?'

David went to find Nan then, to make sure that she hadn't been offended by Spring's heavy-handed overtures. He needn't have worried. ‘I've run into his sort before,' she assured him. ‘Fancies himself, doesn't he? Thinks he's God's gift.'

‘But women fall down at his feet all the time, Nan! I've seen it happen! He just crooks his little finger, and women come running!'

She tried to look serious and dignified, but was unable to suppress a chuckle. ‘Mr Middleton-Brown, I should think that you'd give me credit for more sense than to be taken in by a wally like that. He's not a patch on my Charlie. Or on you either, for that matter, if you don't mind me saying so.'

‘Me? You've got to be joking!' David shook his head. ‘Sometimes, Nan, I think that I'll never understand women.'

Lucy arrived a few minutes later; she went straight up to his office, barely containing her excitement.

‘David!' she greeted him. ‘You're absolutely brilliant!' She collapsed into the chair so recently vacated by John Spring.

‘Tell me,' he said eagerly. ‘Tell me what happened.'

‘Let me catch my breath.' Lucy looked around suspiciously. ‘This room smells like a distillery,' she observed. ‘What have you been doing in here?'

‘Never mind that. Tell me!'

She smiled. ‘You were right, of course. Right that there was something distinctly odd about the sofa. And right in thinking that they would never have told you – they would have been far too embarrassed to tell a man.'

‘But they told
you
.'

‘They told me everything. I'm a woman, you see.'

‘I had rather noticed that.' He raised his eyebrows.

Lucy scowled humorously. ‘Very funny, darling.'

‘So they told you . . .' he encouraged, leaning forward.

‘That Becca Dexter had defiled their sofa. They were terribly upset about it – felt that they'd been betrayed by her, when they'd trusted her in their house. They couldn't bear to keep the sofa, when it had been violated, as they said, by Becca's vile lust.'

‘But what about
him
? What about Stephen Thorncroft? It takes two, doesn't it?' David asked indignantly.

Lucy nodded. ‘But he's a priest, you see. That puts him in a different category altogether. It means that he's by nature pure – not really a man at all. Something of a neutered, sexless creature, they seem to think. So she must have corrupted him, tempted him, lured him to his doom.'

‘They came right out and told you all this?'

‘Well, not in so many words, of course. There was a great deal of waffling about, talk of “a man of the cloth” – not even naming any names. But it was fairly clear what they meant.'

‘I'm curious,' he said, ‘about how they found out. Surely Becca wouldn't have told them?'

She laughed. ‘It was the dogs. They found “the evidence”, I was told. Quite a picture, isn't it?'

David couldn't suppress a snort of amusement. ‘I can just see one of those nasty little creatures presenting “the evidence” to a horrified mistress!'

‘Apparently after that they confronted Becca, and she admitted her perfidy. Wasn't even sorry, they told me. They were scandalised, and told her never to darken their door again.'

David leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, it explains a great deal, doesn't it? The mystery of the cast-off sofa is solved!' He paused as he thought through what Lucy had told him. ‘The question, now, I suppose, is whether or not Bob Dexter knew about it. Could he have found out? They certainly wouldn't have told him, would they?'

‘He
did
know,' Lucy confirmed with satisfaction. ‘They told him that afternoon, the day he was murdered. Apparently he got poor Miss Vernon so upset with his questions about the monstrance that, when he mentioned Becca, she just blurted it out. Bob Dexter knew, all right.'

‘Ah.' David leaned forward again. ‘Then the real wonder is, Lucy love, that Bob Dexter didn't kill Stephen Thorncroft!'

Before they left the offices, Lucy took advantage of the opportunity to have a few words with Karen.

As before, the girl appeared terrified, but Lucy's calm and matter-of-fact manner soon reassured her. ‘Karen,' she said, ‘I just want to ask you one question.'

‘All right, Miss Kingsley.'

‘You can call me Lucy,' she smiled. ‘ “Miss Kingsley” makes me feel very old!'

The girl returned her smile tentatively. ‘All right . . . Lucy.'

‘I know that Mr Middleton-Brown has asked you whether you saw any of your friends from BARC that night, or whether you saw the young priest, and you said that you didn't. What I want to ask you, Karen, is this: did you see
anyone at all
near the church, or coming out of the church, that night? Think carefully, Karen – it could be very important.'

‘Why . . . yes,' the young girl replied. ‘I saw two old women. One was short, and the other one was taller. They came out of the church, and got on to their bicycles and rode off. They didn't see me.'

They opened a bottle of champagne with their dinner that night, feeling that at last they were beginning to make progress. ‘I almost forgot,' David said when they were halfway through the meal. ‘John Spring came by this afternoon with the forensics report. Hence the smell of the distillery in my office. I had to bribe him with a bottle of whisky, and I thought he was going to sit there and drink the whole thing. I had a hell of a time getting rid of him.'

‘He must have left just before I arrived.'

‘Yes.'

Lucy's voice was teasing. ‘What a shame. I'd like to meet this paragon of manhood sometime. Or are you afraid that he'd sweep me off my feet?'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' said David stiffly, refusing to meet her eyes.

She had evidently struck a raw nerve, she realised with a pang – he must still be quite insecure about their relationship. ‘Let's have a look, then,' she urged, sensibly changing the subject. ‘At the forensics report.'

‘Not now. Surely it can wait till later?' he said plaintively. ‘Or tomorrow? I fancied an early night tonight. The champagne makes me . . .'

‘Not a chance, darling.' She was unyielding, and after a moment he went and got it from his briefcase, flipping it across the table to her.

She studied it in silence for some minutes, turning the pages over one by one and digesting the official prose. ‘Have you looked at this?' she asked at last.

‘No, I didn't have a chance to. He left right before you got back from Monkey Puzzle Cottage.'

‘So you don't know what it says.'

He could sense her excitement, and he knew her well enough to know that there must be good basis for that excitement. ‘Is there something interesting? Something that will help our case?'

Lucy looked at him over the papers, smiling. ‘I'm not a lawyer, and I don't pretend to understand all this gobbledegook. It's clear that Stephen's prints were on the murder weapon, just like John Spring told you. But unless I'm very much mistaken, this indicates that they were
on the same end
as Bob Dexter's blood! Tell me, will you, how he managed that one?'

Much later, after they'd talked about it all for hours, after they'd made love, just as they were about to fall asleep, David whispered in Lucy's ear. ‘Did I ever tell you, Lucy?'

‘What's that, darling?' she murmured sleepily.

‘Did I ever tell you that I hate monkey puzzle trees?'

CHAPTER 41

    
O deliver me, for I am helpless and poor: and my heart is wounded within me.

Psalm 109.21

For the second day in a row, Lucy parked David's car outside Monkey Puzzle Cottage, hoping that the women would be at home and would be willing to see her. After Karen's revelation yesterday, she thought that they had a question or two to answer.