There’s Always Tomorrow (30 page)

‘If you ask me, they’ll do her for attempted murder,’ said Kipper.

‘But we both know Reg Cox is lying,’ said John angrily. ‘Lying through his teeth.’

John had gone over and over everything again and again. There was something wrong with the story Reg was putting about but, no matter how hard he tried, it eluded him. The suspicions raised by Ernest Franks were still being checked out. The military moved very slowly.

‘You may be right, Dr Landers,’ said Kipper, ‘but the law says, and I quote, ‘If an attempted suicide failed, but killed someone else instead, by the doctrine of transferred malice, they are guilty of murder.’ Nobody died in this incident, but it looks as if Dottie was responsible for what happened to Patsy.’

They were sitting in the police house in front of a roaring fire. The room itself was masculine, with none of the prettiness that comes with a feminine touch, but it was neat and tidy: a room with a place for everything and everything in its place.

John had just come back from Eastbourne and, although it was out of office hours, Kipper had invited him in to share ‘a spot of whisky’ after his long journey. John was pleasantly surprised to find that he liked Kipper a great deal. He was a thinker and maybe a tad slow to make judgements, but he was fair and he was candid.

‘My God,’ John breathed. ‘You mean they’d actually do that? Accuse her of attempted murder?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Kipper. ‘Look, I don’t believe she’s a killer any more than you do but all we’ve got in our favour is purely circumstantial evidence.’

‘Dottie says someone tampered with the tap,’ said John. ‘Doesn’t that prove something?’

‘She could have done it herself.’

‘And the boarded-up windows?’

‘They’ll say she planned it.’

‘Surely you can’t argue about the door being locked from the outside? How could she have done that?’

‘The key was on the floor,’ said Kipper. ‘There is a theory that she locked the door and then pushed the key under the door.’

John frowned. ‘Even so, you think differently.’

‘I was too hasty when the well caved in,’ said Kipper, knocking out his pipe against the hearth. ‘I’m just a country copper, not a detective, but if I’m to get Worthing Central to take note, I’ll have to have more than feeling and hearsay. I need good hard evidence. Ernest Franks knew the truth but that blow to the head scrambled his brain as well.’

John frowned. ‘Ernest Franks?’

‘He said that Reg was in the house the day Bessie Thornton died.’

John gasped and then smiled broadly. ‘Arrest him, arrest him now!’

Kipper reached for his tobacco pouch. ‘I can’t. He died before I could get a signed statement and I’m not sure it would have been much use anyway, given the circumstances.’

John groaned and they lapsed into a troubled silence.

‘I knew Reg was up to no good from the word go,’ said John. ‘I was watching his face when we told him his wife was alive in that office and it was obvious that he knew far more than he was letting on.’

‘He’s a slippery one, I’ll grant you that, but what have we got so far?’ Kipper went on. ‘According to him, he was a devoted father, but she was a woman who found it hard to adjust to a fully grown child in the family …’

‘More likely the other way around,’ John retorted.

‘He takes them off on holiday,’ said Kipper, putting the tobacco pouch down on the table, ‘and she walks out of the hotel. Hours later, she’s drugged the child and gassed them both.’

‘You knew she was having his baby, didn’t you?’

Kipper looked away. ‘I knew she was pregnant, but was it her husband’s child, that’s the burning question.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ John demanded.

‘There’s some talk that the baby was yours.’

‘Mine! But that’s ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘You’ve been seen in the company of Mrs Cox,’ said Kipper earnestly. He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Often and alone.’

‘I’ve only ever been with her when Patsy was around,’ said John truthfully. ‘Anyway, who saw me? Where?’

‘I am not at liberty to say, but the gossip in the village is rife,’ said Kipper, relaxing back in his chair. He began pushing the tobacco down in his pipe, reluctant to tell him that Gerald Gilbert and Vera Carter had come to him with stories of car rides, late-night lifts and walks along the seafront. And although Dr Fitzgerald assured him that Dottie was the soul of discretion, Mariah Fitzgerald considered that she had changed recently from a hard-working woman into a liability, and Janet Cooper was on the verge of giving her the sack. It seemed that her relationship with John Landers was the catalyst.

‘Can I speak candidly?’ said John.

‘Please do.’

‘I won’t deny that I have strong feelings for Dott … Mrs Cox,’ said John. ‘But she and I have never … that is to say … She has always remained absolutely faithful to her husband.’

‘For what it’s worth,’ Kipper said, striking a match. ‘I believe you.’

John pressed his lips together and nodded. ‘Just tell me what evidence you need to prove her innocence,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll make sure you get it.’

‘She talked about a hired car,’ Kipper puffed, ‘but nobody saw it, and Reg says he can’t drive. And who wanted to buy that bungalow? She says he did, but the estate agent says he spoke to a woman on the telephone. Did Dottie write that suicide note? It certainly looks like her handwriting. And all that nonsense with the chickens. What was that all about? There was no way the fox got those birds, yet Reg was adamant.’

‘Reg was obviously lying,’ John observed.

‘Precisely, and while you’re on the subject, ask her again about her aunt’s death.’

‘Good God, you’re not suggesting …’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, Dr Landers,’ said Kipper. He flicked the rest of the match into the fire and chewed the end of his pipe thoughtfully. ‘And another thing, there’s apparently some question about the true identity of her husband. You obviously did some checks on Mr Cox when you agreed to Patsy coming here. Did you come across anything?’

‘I’m afraid we were governed by our hearts and not our heads as far as Sandy was concerned,’ said John, grim-faced. ‘This is really serious, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Dr Landers, it is,’ said Kipper. ‘You and I may dismiss all this as hearsay and innuendo, but the Eastbourne police believe they have a watertight case.’

After his evening with PC Kipling, John had returned to his mother’s house. The first thing next morning, he’d arrange an interview with the Eastbourne estate agent (he felt it better to talk to the man in person) and then he’d tackle finding the hire car.

Laura Landers had been devastated when he’d told her what had happened.

‘I refuse to believe that that lovely girl would ever do anything to harm that child,’ she’d said stoutly, ‘or herself for that matter. And believe you me, I am an excellent judge of character.’

They’d reached the middle of December before they’d had their first really cold snap. There was even talk of snow coming. John and his mother were relaxing over a sherry before Sunday lunch when there was a knock at the door. Minnie, who had been stretched out before the log fire, leapt up and ran barking into the hallway. John went to open the door.

‘Dr Landers?’ The woman on the doorstep was elegantly dressed in a cream coat with a fur trim. ‘You don’t know me but I’m a friend of Dottie’s. My name is Sylvie McDonald.’

John stepped back, holding the door wide open. ‘Come in. Dottie has told me all about you.’ As she raised her eyebrow, he laughed, adding, ‘All good, I assure you.’

She walked in, peeling off her gloves, and he showed her into his mother’s sitting room. The delicious smell of roast lamb pervaded the whole house and Sylvie began to feel quite peckish.

‘This is my mother, Laura Landers,’ he said, introducing them both. ‘Mother, this is Dottie’s friend, Sylvie McDonald.’

‘Come in, my dear,’ said Laura struggling to her feet. ‘Sit down. Can I get you a sherry?’

John took Sylvie’s coat. ‘I’ll get it, Mother.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Sylvie, patting the back of her hair, ‘but I really need to talk to you.’

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Laura, ‘I’d better check the roast.’

‘This whole thing with Dottie is driving me mad,’ said Sylvie as John’s mother left the room. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her elegant legs while Minnie flopped on Sylvie’s foot, waiting for a stroke.

‘I’ve been hoping it will all blow over,’ said John. ‘I’ll be seeing Dottie, probably tomorrow. I have to go to Eastbourne, and I’m hoping she’ll be well enough to come home by then.’

‘Are you aware,’ she went on, ‘that the Eastbourne police are planning to arrest Dottie as soon as she’s well enough?’

John was conscious of his mouth dropping open. ‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘My husband has friends in high places.’

‘Do you know the charge?’

‘Attempted murder.’

‘So it really has come to this.’ He sank into his chair, his face ashen.

‘Sadly, yes,’ said Sylvie.

Laura came back from the kitchen. ‘John? What’s wrong?’

Sylvie explained.

‘And they have enough evidence?’

Sylvie shrugged. ‘It’s her word against his and for some reason, the Eastbourne police seem to be more inclined to believe him. The thing is, Doctor, I should like to enlist your help.’

‘We’re just about to have lunch,’ said Laura. ‘Would you …?’

‘Love to,’ beamed Sylvie.

Laura made an extra place at the table.

‘I was horrified to see the state she was in when I got to the hospital,’ said Sylvie as they sat down together. ‘The sister wouldn’t let me in but when she’d gone off-duty, I managed to twist the staff nurse’s arm. The others had to wait in the car.’

‘Others?’ said Laura.

‘I took her friends with me, Ann Pearce, Mary Prior and Edna Gilbert,’ Sylvie explained. ‘They’d brought her presents and fruit. Everyone is very upset about Patsy but none of us can believe that Dottie could be in any way responsible.’

‘I was just saying exactly the same thing to John,’ said Laura, warming to Sylvie straightaway. ‘Peas?’

‘Thank you.’

‘How did you find out where I lived?’ asked John. He liked Sylvie’s direct manner.

‘From Mary Prior. Dottie told her all about you.’

‘We don’t want Reg to know where Dottie is,’ said Sylvie, taking the gravy with a nod of thanks. ‘So we’re going to spirit her out of hospital tomorrow. She’ll stay with Mary for one night and then I’ll get her back home with me.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘The poor girl can’t even think straight at the moment,’ said Sylvie. ‘What Dottie needs now is a good long rest.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said John. ‘But why do you need me?’

‘We need to get her a change of clothes and she’s also asking for her aunt’s picture,’ said Sylvie. ‘I rather think it’s the one I gave her of me and Dottie and Aunt Bessie during the war. I had it enlarged and framed and gave it to her as a present for putting me up when Michael Gilbert got married.’ Sylvie paused for a mouthful. The thing is, everything is in the cottage and since Reg is going around saying he’ll have nothing more to do with Dottie, getting her stuff will be a bit awkward. The others won’t go and ask for it because they’re too scared of him so I have to be the one to help her. But Reg and I, well, let’s say there’s no love lost between us. I need to get in there, get her things and out without him knowing.’ She took another mouthful of the roast lamb. ‘This is absolutely delicious. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.’

‘I need to talk to Reg about Patsy’s future,’ said John. ‘I feel obliged to make sure she’s in a safe place when she comes out of hospital. I’m not leaving her with someone who has made it clear from the start that he doesn’t want her.’

‘What will happen to Patsy now, John?’ Laura asked.

John shrugged. ‘If Dottie is arrested, she’ll most likely end up in a children’s home.’

Laura stopped eating. ‘Oh, John, we can’t let that happen!’

‘I know, Mother.’

‘Can’t she come here, with us?’

‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t work, Mother,’ said John laying his hand over hers. ‘You are in no fit state …’

‘Worse come to the worse,’ said Sylvie determinedly. ‘Robin and I will have her.’

John smiled at her. ‘You’re a good friend, Sylvie.’

They carried on eating and then John said, ‘What if I take Reg to the Jolly Farmer and ply him with a few drinks while you do what you have to at Dottie’s place?’

‘Super!’ cried Sylvie. ‘Let’s do it.’

Alone in her hospital room, Dottie sighed. All the details were slowly coming back to her. The woman in the kiosk and the man next door. The car ride and Patsy’s roller skates. She’d left them on the back seat and during the picnic she’d decided she wanted them in the bungalow.

‘You can’t wear them in the house,’ Dottie had said.

‘But I need them, Aunt Dottie,’ Patsy protested. Somehow or other, they were more than just roller skates to her. They were a connection with someone she loved.

‘No,’ said Reg.

‘But I …’

‘Leave them, I said!’

It was a frightening reversion back to the old Reg after a day of niceness and Patsy had hidden behind her, trembling.

‘Come on, love,’ Reg coaxed. ‘Sit here and have a packet of crisps.’

The child did as she was told, but it had rather spoiled their picnic. Afterwards, Patsy had wanted to sleep so Dottie had suggested Reg take them back to the hotel.

‘Can’t,’ said Reg, shaking his head. ‘I’ve arranged to meet the bloke selling the bungalow. He’s coming here in about half and hour.’

Remembering all this now made Dottie feel uncomfortable. She climbed out of bed and stood by the window. It was dark on the street below. No one was about. A lone car went down the road. She watched it stop at the junction and turn left.

Dottie laid her hand on her stomach and for a brief moment mourned the loss of her child. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. What sort of life would he have come to? She might even be in prison before long.