The Ten Commandments (4 page)

Hannah took the ice-tray from the fridge and moved past him to the sitting-room. 'Actually,' she admitted, taking two glasses out of the cabinet, 'I've introduced a few changes myself while she's been away. Nothing drastic, but they've made things run more smoothly.'

Webb laughed. 'By the sound of it, you'll have to do some bargaining. "You can do that, if I can keep this."'

'Except that she's the boss again now.' She carried the drinks to the coffee table and they sat down in the deep, comfortable chairs.

'Anyway, enough of that; we must wait and see.' She sipped her drink and leant back, resting her head against the cushions. 'I love summer evenings,' she said, 'when the heat of the day is over and you can relax and draw breath, and everything's so peaceful.'

'Amen to that.' He raised his glass. To peace and tranquillity!'

Hannah laughed. 'Put like that, it sounds rather dull.' She watched him for a moment. 'You're still thinking about the case, aren't you?'

'Sorry.'

'Want to talk it over?'

He sighed. 'No, love, never mind. I'll keep it to myself for the moment. Perhaps when I've slept on it, some chink of light might appear.'

It wasn't until the next morning that Frederick Mace read about the murder, and, with a mounting sense of excitement, realized its personal significance.

'Good God!' he exclaimed at the breakfast table.

His wife moved the marmalade out of range of his paper. 'What is it, dear?'

'This murder that Gillian mentioned: it sounds like a replica of one I selected for my book.'

'It shouldn't take long to clear up, then,' Edwina commented.

'Unfortunately that doesn't follow; I think I told you I'd decided to include one unsolved crime? Well, that was it. I hoped, by working out possible motives, to come up with a new angle.'

'And did you?' she asked, refilling his coffee cup.

'I haven't started on it yet; all I've done is gather in the facts. But the press are speculating that this latest murder might be connected with it. You see, in both cases, the victim – a man in his forties – was found in a pub car park, bashed over the head.'

'Good gracious,' Edwina said mildly.

Frederick pushed back his chair. 'Excuse me, dear, I must catch Paul before he leaves the house.'

Paul Blake was a part-time librarian, part-time researcher, and part-time secretary to Frederick – which, as he sometimes remarked, meant that he frequently worked overtime.

To Frederick's relief, he answered the phone immediately. 'Mr Mace! I was just about to ring you.'

'About the pub murder?'

'Yes, I see they're comparing it with the Feathers case.'

'Which,' Frederick reminded him drily, 'you tried to dissuade me from looking into.'

'I didn't want us attracting the murderer's attention. Come to that, I still don't.'

'Well, despite your qualms, you came up with some useful details, but I haven't had time even to glance at them. Are you rushing out, or could you give me a quick run-through?'

There was a smile in Blake's voice. 'As you know, sir. I'm pretty flexible.'

'Excellent. Then perhaps you'd refresh my memory – after a month away, I've forgotten the details.'

Blake did so, summarizing the known facts and the lack of official progress.

Frederick grunted. 'Um. We didn't make contact with the widow, did we?'

'No, she'd remarried and moved away.'

'But as far as we know, her first marriage was a happy one?'

'According to all reports, yes.'

'I wonder, though. I might be quite wrong, but when I first saw his photograph, Philpott reminded me of someone I once knew – chap called Roger Denby, who was a real ladies' man. It was something about the mouth and those heavy-lidded eyes.'

'Well, the police didn't unearth anything, and their inquiries were more detailed than mine.'

'Ah, but they hadn't the advantage of knowing Denby,' Frederick said.

Blake laughed. 'All right, sir, I'll make some more inquiries and see what I come up with. How did the tour go?'

'Very well, as far as I could judge. I'll tell you about it when I see you. There are a few notes to type up, too. However, my first priority is to prepare for the television interview. It's being recorded on Thursday.'

'Lord, yes – I'd forgotten. And going out on Friday, isn't it?'

'That's right, on this new Arts programme. And as soon as that's over – next Tuesday, to be exact – the local library has asked me to give a talk as part of their Festival of Literature. Which, as you'll appreciate, doesn't leave much time for writing during the next week or so.'

'Well, good luck anyway. Shall I come and collect the notes?'

'There's no hurry; it'll do when you call in with your findings.'

'If any,' Blake said.

'I have the greatest faith in you, Paul.' Frederick put down the phone, the words still echoing in his head, and acknowledged to himself they were no more than the truth. Paul Blake had made himself invaluable in a remarkably short space of time, someone who could be depended on to do whatever was asked of him.

He sat back, allowing his gaze to wander through the study window, and was reminded of Edwina's comment when, all those years ago, he had positioned his desk immediately in front of it.

'You'll never get any work done if you sit there – it's far too distracting!'

For Brighton Villa was right in the centre of Ashmartin, overlooking both the green and the frontage of St Giles's church. There was always something to watch from its windows, and, sitting at his desk, Frederick felt he had his finger on the pulse of the town.

The villa itself was a protected building, a tall, narrow house, graciously proportioned and standing on arguably the most desirable site in town. It had a small garden at the front and a slightly larger one at the rear, secluded by trees and a high wall from curious eyes.

On this warm July morning, people were pouring across the green on their way to work, the women in brightly coloured dresses, the men as informally attired as their offices permitted. Across the green, a delivery wagon had pulled up to offload barrels of beer at the Jester public house.

Frederick's brows drew together in a frown. It was outside the Jester, apparently, that the victim and his killer had met. Frustrating to reflect that had it taken place a day later, he might himself have witnessed their meeting. Not, of course, that it would have meant anything to him at the time.

The phone on his desk rang, making him jump. Frederick Mace,' he said into it.

'Pop! How are you? Welcome back!'

'Alex!' The murders faded from his mind, giving way to a wave of affection and anxiety for his younger daughter. 'I hear you're coming over today?'

'That's why I'm phoning; I wasn't sure what time the twins' tennis coaching was, but it's this morning. So will this afternoon be OK, about three?'

'Whenever you like; we'll be here.'

'See you then. 'Bye.' She rang off.

Frederick replaced the phone thoughtfully. Though he'd be pleased, of course, to see his grandsons, their presence would preclude the chance of a proper talk with Alex. Which, perhaps, was exactly what she intended.

As they drove through fields of ripening corn on their way to Erlesborough, Webb was in reflective mood. It was exactly a year since the town had featured so largely and so traumatically in his investigations, a case which had involved digging deeply into his own family history. Well, that was water under the bridge now, and at least the result had been a closer relationship with his sister. Not that he'd have time to contact her today.

He had decided that before he made any further inquiries on the Judd case, he needed to satisfy himself as to exactly how close the parallels were with the previous one. And the man to help him with that was the officer who had been in charge of it, DCI Ted Ferris.

They were approaching the familiar bend which led into the town; and Webb mentally braced himself, as always when visiting the place of his youth. The memories were still not happy, even if the worst of them had been expunged.

'You remember the way to the nick, no doubt,' he observed. Jackson merely nodded, knowing the governor to be touchy when in this vicinity. The pavements were crowded with market stalls and he almost missed the turning into Silver Street, a short, cobbled cul-de-sac where the police station was situated. He turned up the narrow alleyway alongside the building to the parking area at the back, and they got out of the car in silence and walked round to the front of the station.

Ted Ferris was of medium height and rather more than medium weight, with a cheerful, rosy face and thinning hair.

'Dave!' he exclaimed, when a DC showed them into his office. 'Long time no see!' He came round his desk with his hand outstretched, and Webb took it.

'How are you, Ted? We missed you last year – on a course, weren't you?'

'Right; Mick Charlton filled me in. Bad business all round.'

'Well,' Webb said briskly, 'you know what I've come about this time.' He sat down as Ferris waved him and Jackson to a couple of chairs.

'To remind me of my failings, no doubt. These uncleared cases are the very devil.'

'Perhaps we can sort it for you. As you know, we've been landed with almost a carbon copy. If we work in harness, we might come up with something.'

'Fine by me. What do you want to know?'

'Everything you've got, really. I've been through the files at Stonebridge, but it's all pretty cut and dried. What I want is the human element, feelings – suspicions, even – that were not strong enough to be noted officially. Suppose you go through it from the beginning, so we can compare the cases step by step?'

Ferris sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. 'To be honest. I can't see what the hell more we could have done. Anyway, judge for yourself.

'As you know, it was nearly six years ago. The first we knew about it was when we got a call from the Feathers's landlord around closing time, to report a body being found in the car park. I went out there myself. No one in the pub recognized the man's description – or wouldn't let on if they did. But since he lived in Oxbury, it wouldn't have been his local anyway.'

'Go on.'

'We discovered later that he was killed just outside a pedestrian entrance at the back of the car park. SOCO found traces of blood on the grass, and signs of a body being dragged through the opening. Fibres matched the victim's clothes.'

'So possibly the only connection with the pub was as a dumping ground?'

'That's what it looked like, though God knows why he wasn't left where he was. Other than that, we came up with damn-all – no fingerprints, no foot marks, nothing. As for the victim, we were assured he was in good health, and had a steady job, an adequate bank balance, and a loving wife. Too good to be true.'

'Perhaps it was,' Webb suggested.

Ferris flashed him a look. 'If he was leading a double life, he took it with him to the grave. We grilled everyone who'd had any contact with him, but nothing emerged that we could get our teeth into.'

'Hobbies?'

'Sport, mainly football and cricket. Used to play for Oxbury United in his heyday, and still turned out for the first eleven every summer.'

'One of the lads, then?'

'I suppose so.'

'What was his wife like?'

'Small, quite pretty. Not a lot to say for herself, but we didn't exactly see her under the best circumstances.'

'I hear she's remarried.'

'Yep. Good luck to her.'

'You know where she is?'

'Oh sure, but frankly she's of no interest to us. She'd have been incapable of doing him in, even if she'd wanted to, and anyway, she had a watertight alibi. In my view, she deserves to be left alone to get on with her new life.'

'I take it the second husband hadn't been waiting in the wings?'

Ferris gave a bark of laughter. 'You don't give up easily, do you? No, that I
did
check. They didn't even meet until Philpott had been dead a couple of years.'

'And he was an estate agent – Philpott, I mean: any dissatisfied customers? Anyone badly advised, overcharged, anything like that?'

'Nothing sufficiently serious for the firm to have heard about.'

'What firm was it?'

'Ward and Johnson, in Oxbury. Are you going to see them?'

Webb considered it, then shook his head. 'Not at this stage, Ted. I don't doubt your lads did a thorough job; the only reason I'm digging is in case there's a tie-in with the Judd inquiry. Talking of which, it's time I was getting back to it.'

'Not been much help, have I?' Ferris said ruefully, standing up with them.

'You've confirmed various points, which is something. But now you've come back to it with a fresh mind, as it were, something might yet strike you. And if it does, needless to say, I'd like to hear about it.'

'Of course. And the same goes for me: if anything transpires in the new case which could be relevant to ours –'

'I'll be in touch double-quick, never fear.'

'Do you want to make a detour past the Feathers, Guv?' Jackson inquired as they got back into the car.

'Not much point, Ken, since Philpott wasn't known there.' He grinned. 'Or were you thinking it was getting on for lunch time?'

Jackson's stomach was a useful timepiece, ensuring that at least they ate regularly.

'Well, now that you mention it –'

'I'd rather not waste any more time on Philpott just now. We'll set off for Ashmartin and stop somewhere on the way.'

'Right you are. Guv.'

Webb fastened his seat belt and, relieved as always to be leaving Erlesborough, settled down for the drive ahead.

'And he can't relax even now, because this TV interview's looming.'

Gillian turned back to the table with a smile, to catch her friend absent-mindedly gazing out of the window.

'Sonia! I don't believe you've heard a word I've been saying!'

Sonia started guiltily. 'Sorry, I –'

Gillian looked at her more closely, then put the teapot on the table and sat down. 'Is something wrong?' she asked gently. 'You seem a bit – distracted.'