The Ten Commandments (21 page)

'Well, sorry to have missed them.'

'Who shall I say called?'

'Waters,' Webb said unblushingly. 'Douglas Waters.'

The man nodded and returned to his weeding.

'That'll keep them guessing when they get back,' Webb commented as they continued along the road.

'Did that man mean what I think he meant?' Hannah asked curiously.

'Very probably. And you know something? It wasn't only Philpott's extra-maritals your friend Mace found out about; he was apparently anti-gay, too. I suppose it went with the macho image he had of himself. Which means that wronged husbands or lovers weren't the only people he upset.'

Hannah frowned. 'You're surely not making a connection with what that man hinted about Blake?'

'I most certainly am. He lived in Oxbury, remember, around the time of the murder. And if he really is gay, tempers could well have flared.'

Hannah stopped and stared at him. 'Oh, come on, David! If he was the killer, investigating the Feathers murder would be the last thing he'd want to do!'

'Paul Blake,' Webb said slowly, 'is an academic, a very clever young man. He enjoys his life, with its mix of books, research and writing. He worked on Mace's last book, remember, and it wasn't until this new one was well on in the planning stage that Mace took it into his head to incorporate an unsolved crime. What would you have done, in Blake's position? If, that is, he's the killer?

'To have left would have raised eyebrows, if not suspicions, and anyway, what reason could he have given? To be plausible, he would have had to move right away from Ashmartin, which would have meant leaving the library, where he was happily settled. Much better to stay. As I said, he's very bright, and if he
is
guilty, he'll have an enormous ego, like most killers who think they've got away with it. He wouldn't consider for a moment that anyone would get on to him, particularly at this late stage. In fact, he'd enjoy the bluff. What's more,' he finished triumphantly, 'he wears size-nine shoes, as did the intruder at the Mace house.'

Hannah shook her head. 'But why on earth would he break in? He knew as much as Mace did – after all, it was he who'd supplied the information. And surely he wouldn't have
attacked
him?'

'Again, it could have been to throw everyone off the scent. I agree the attack went too far – perhaps he hit him harder than he meant to.'

'But wasn't the dog there? You told me Mace said it growled. It wouldn't have growled at Paul Blake, it knew him.'

'So the case rests on the dog that growled in the night, rather than the one that didn't? Actually, though, if he was lurking in the dark where he wasn't expected to be, it might have growled anyway.'

They walked in silence for a while. Then Hannah asked, 'What put you on to Blake in the first place? Just the fact that he wears size-nine shoes?'

'And because he looked most uncomfortable when comment was passed on them. And because Mace obviously didn't know he'd lived in Oxbury. And because he's so close to Mace. Anyway, I'm not "on" to him. I'm merely considering him for the part, like everyone else. Though if he turns out to be gay, it could hand us the motive on a plate.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'Have a word with Ted Ferris. And possibly Good; get him to make inquiries at Blake's digs. It wouldn't do any harm.'

'Right, that's settled.' Hannah took his arm. 'And now, please may we get on with our holiday?'

Edwina had declined Gillian and Hugh's invitation to stay with them while Frederick was in hospital. After four weeks touring Canada, she was only just getting used to her own bed again and had no wish to leave it.

Also, she conceded privately, she did not want Gillian to detect her fear, which she was sure to do if they were in close contact. Fear not for herself – being alone in the large house held no terrors for her; she had Goldie for company, even if he hadn't acquitted himself too well in Frederick's hour of need.

No, the fear was for Frederick, and for Alex, who seemed increasingly unhappy. Edwina had seen her briefly yesterday afternoon; she'd been on the point of leaving the hospital when the four of them arrived, and for the first time, Alex had refused to meet her eyes.

What with everything that had been going on. Edwina had still not had the chance to ask Gilly about her visit to Alex. It suddenly struck her that, despite the family crises, it was odd that Gilly, knowing how concerned she was, hadn't phoned her.

Did that mean she'd found out something, and didn't know how to tell her mother? Or that she'd not found out anything, so hadn't bothered to phone? Or, most disturbing of all, that Alex had sworn her to secrecy?

Then there was Frederick. He was progressing well – there were no worries on that score – but the hornet's nest he'd stirred up still hadn't died down. A man had been charged with the latest murder, but, sinisterly, it was reported that 'he'd been eliminated from inquiries concerning the Feathers investigation.' So that killer was still on the loose.

She wished passionately that Frederick could come home in safety, without the fear of some maniac doing him further harm. How much longer would this topsy-turvy existence go on? She'd had more than enough of it.

And there was another thing: something seemed to have happened between Frederick and Paul Blake. Paul had called yesterday morning to ask her to take some notebooks to the hospital, and he'd seemed on edge, refusing to meet her eyes. But when she mentioned it to Frederick later, all he'd say was that there'd been a misunderstanding and Paul had called back later to apologize. The matter was closed, and there was no point in discussing it any further.

From his set face, Edwina doubted very much that the matter was closed, but it was obvious he didn't want to discuss it with her, and she felt a little hurt at being excluded.

'I wish Chief Inspector Good was in charge of the Feathers case,' she'd told him. 'It didn't take him long to find
his
murderer, and the Erlesborough police have been dragging their feet for six years. I can't say I've much faith in them.'

Frederick had grunted. 'Actually, I'd be quite disappointed if the police beat me to it. I'm still hoping to pin down the killer by means of his motive.'

'What I'm frightened of,' she'd replied grimly, 'is the killer pinning
you
down.'

Webb and Hannah went to a different pub each evening for their pre-dinner drink, but the name of Trevor Philpott was never mentioned in their hearing, and, mindful of his promise, Webb did not engage anyone in conversation.

When he got home, he'd ring Ted Ferris and ask how the inquiry was going. Admittedly the ground had all been covered before, but with the Judd connection, Erlesborough now had the bit between their teeth and were likely, Webb thought, with a glorious disregard for metaphors, to be pulling out all the stops.

In the meantime, it was good to relax with Hannah in this quiet country place. They had, as planned, walked in the woods and taken a boat out on the Kittle, visited several antique shops, where Hannah had bought a few trinkets, and eaten well on the three evenings of their stay. He felt pleasantly rested and at peace with the world.

Now, it was their last night, and what was more, they'd have to leave at seven in the morning to be back in Shillingham in time for his shift.

'Enjoyed the break?' he asked Hannah, as she nestled against him in the old-fashioned bed.

'Very much. Just shows what fun you can have in your own backyard.'

'Tell you what: if we crack the Feathers case, we'll celebrate with a really slap-up holiday abroad somewhere. How about that?'

She yawned. 'Will I have to wait another six years?'

He smiled in the darkness. 'You might, at that. I'm not working on that one.'

'But Frederick Mace is!' she teased him. 'My money's on him!'

Webb's first call on Tuesday morning was to Harry Good.

'Harry, I know you're resting on your laurels at the moment, but would you do something for me? Have you met Mace's assistant, Paul Blake?'

'Not personally, but he was seen along with other known contacts after the attack.'

'Presumably whoever saw him noted that he takes size-nine shoes? And that he comes from Oxbury? And that he might possibly be homosexual?'

Interest quickened in Good's voice. 'Exactly what are you saying, Dave?'

'Nothing specific, but various things occurred to me over the weekend. For one thing, Mace was there when I wormed the Oxbury connection out of Blake, and I'd swear he hadn't known about it. Wouldn't you say that's odd, when they're working together on an Oxbury murder? Also, Blake's neighbour inferred that he was homosexual, and we're told Philpott indulged in a spot of gay-bashing. Suppose his death was retaliation that, perhaps, went further than intended? I know it's a long shot, but at this stage we have to grab any straws that present themselves.

'Of course, even if Blake did kill Philpott, it could have been for an entirely different reason. I just think he's worth looking into.'

Good sounded doubtful. 'As you say, it's a long shot all right. You seriously think he's a suspect?'

'Only in so far as everyone is, until we nail the killer. I'm about to phone Ted Ferris, but it would help if you could organize a bit of snooping on your patch, perhaps give us more to go on.'

'Of course, anything we can do.'

'Blake's in digs in Sheep Street; perhaps a WPC could chat up the landlady?'

'OK, Dave, I'll lay it on. Anything else?'

'A tail mightn't be a bad idea, but it would have to be a discreet one; he's a bright lad.'

'What exactly are we looking for?'

'Where he spends his spare time, who his friends are, that kind of thing.'

'Will do. I'll get back to you.'

Webb's next call was to Ferris.

'Jammy bastard, aren't you?' his Erlesborough counterpart greeted him.

'Do I take that as congratulations, Ted?'

'I suppose so, but it's pretty galling when you lot charge someone inside two weeks, and we're still plodding along six years later.'

'Well, it's possible I might have a lead for you, though at the moment only a tenuous one. You've been following the attack on Frederick Mace?'

'Too right; it's thanks to the old boy that we learned about Philpott's past.'

'Has it opened up any new lines?'

'Not so far, but we have hopes. There's a couple, friends of the Philpotts, who might be able to shed a bit of light, but as luck would have it they're away on holiday.'

'Well, for what it's worth, here's another possibility.' And Webb repeated what he'd told Good.

'You're surely not suggesting Philpott was bisexual? Anyone less likely –'

'Could be he protested too much, but no, I hadn't thought that far. And I might be way off-beam, it's only an idea.'

'I gather it wasn't Mace who put you on to this?'

'Lord, no.'

'Should he be warned?'

'He's safe enough at the moment, and we can't queer the man's pitch, if you'll forgive the expression, without anything more to go on. It's not a crime to wear size-nine shoes and come from Oxbury.'

'Well, that's a relief, or our cells would be overflowing!'

'Good luck, Ted. I'll keep in touch.'

Hannah had spent most of the morning searching for her fountain pen, and it wasn't until she tried to think back to the last time she'd used it that she realized she must have left it at school. Since she didn't want to be without it for the rest of the holidays, she decided to go straight over and retrieve it.

As she walked down the hill towards the school, she was thinking of the weekend just behind her. It had been pleasant to walk freely along the road with David, without worrying who might see them. She wondered whether he had put the inquiries he'd mentioned into motion, and what would be the result of them. Since Philpott's killer, whoever he was, apparently roamed the county, it would be a relief to know he was behind bars.

She turned into Montpellier Crescent and skirted the railed gardens in its centre, an oasis of coolness under the trees. The residents of the crescent, including the school, had keys to it, and Hannah sometimes went to sit there during her lunch hour, when the school grounds were noisy with girls.

Ashbourne awaited her at the far end and she pushed open the gates and made her way up the long drive, past the banks of evergreens and the deserted tennis courts. She loved this place, it was a very important part of her life, and she hoped fervently she would never feel pressured into leaving it.

As she rounded the last curve of the drive, she caught a merging flash of red and blue as two figures disappeared round the far corner of the house. Hannah paused, frowning. Could it have been the gardeners? They were the only people who'd any business here during the holidays.

She quickened her step and set off in pursuit, coming to an abrupt halt as she rounded the corner of the building, for the couple ahead had stopped to look at a plant and were only yards in front of her. A man and a woman, they were standing hand in hand with their backs to her, and Hannah saw with a sense of disbelief that the woman was Gwen.

Some sound, or possibly the intensity of her gaze, alerted them, for they turned together, disengaging their hands and regarding her in considerable embarrassment. Gwen's face had flushed as scarlet as her dress, and Hannah thought inconsequentially how pretty she looked.

Since neither of them seemed capable of speech, Hannah said awkwardly, 'I'm so sorry to intrude. I came to get my fountain pen, I'd no idea –'

'Of course you hadn't.' Gwen gestured towards her companion. 'Hannah, may I introduce Professor Cameron, whom I met in Canada? Bruce, this is Hannah James, my deputy.'

Hannah dragged her eyes from Gwen to the man at her side. Slightly shorter than Gwen, he was of stocky build, with a shock of rough grey hair and a sunburnt, intelligent face. His eyes, now looking at her with interest, were the same deep blue as his sports shirt.

He came forward with his hand out. 'Delighted to meet you, ma'am. I've heard a lot about you.'