A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

Yes, all in all it was an unusual relationship, but one that she treasured and which suited them both very well. She stretched sleepily, feeling the cool sheet move over her naked body. Beside her David stirred and sighed in his sleep. Hannah leaned over and gently kissed the hump of his bare shoulder. Then, snuggling down beside him, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 8

Madge had warned Kate that as a school chorister Josh would be expected to attend services in the Minster. ‘On the third Sunday every month they join the main choir for ten o’clock matins. It’s very impressive, Kate. They wear cassocks and white ruffs and look quite angelic! On the other Sundays, like tomorrow, there’s school evensong at six-thirty — the public go at four o’clock. Paul and I’ll call for you and we can go together.’

It was the first time Kate had been inside the Minster and its sheer size overpowered

her. The soaring arches, the richness of stained glass, the cold, rounded marble effigies filled her with a sense of awe, bearing witness as they did to a daily round of worship stretching back seven hundred years. She was proud that her son now played a part in its continuance.

On the Monday morning, it was a surprise to find Richard Mowbray in the shop. ‘I thought you’d have been off on your travels again by now,’ Kate told him.

‘I’ll be here for a while yet. We’ve an art exhibition coming off shortly and there’s a lot of arranging to do.’

‘And you’d been expecting to stay at the flat? I’m so sorry. You’re surely not going home every night?’

‘No, Martin and Nella are putting me up. They insist it doesn’t put them out, and I’m inclined to believe them. By the way, you’ll be glad to hear you have Nella’s seal of approval.’

‘I’m very relieved.’

He flicked through some brochures, not looking at her. ‘Weekend all right?’

‘We survived.’

When Lana came in, she was paler than ever and her skin had a glistening sheen. Kate watched her through the window as she made her daily trip to the bird table, saw her sway and wipe the back of her hand across her forehead.

‘You don’t look well, Lana,’ she said with concern as the woman came back into the office. ‘Surely you shouldn’t have come in this morning?’

‘I’m all right.’ Lana’s shallow, rapid breathing belied her words. ‘I’ve a sore throat, but it’ll pass. I can’t afford to be ill.’ She took the cover off her machine and sat down. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’

‘So-so.’

‘Your husband came, I gather.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘I’m so glad.’

Richard came in with a list in his hand. ‘Publicity all in hand for the exhibition, Lana? Posters up, and so on?’

‘Yes, Mr Mowbray. The leaflets are going out with newspaper deliveries this week and I’ve arranged for a write-up in the
Evening
News
.’

‘Fine. Then all we do now is pray for good weather.’ He turned to Kate. ‘We serve wine in the courtyard the first evening, with a few paintings tastefully arranged, though of course the main exhibition is inside.’

‘When does it take place?’

‘The private view’s a week on Wednesday, then the paintings are on show for ten days. Would you be available to help out that Wednesday? Serve the drinks and generally look decorative?’

‘I should think so.’ Kate saw that Lana’s face, bent ostentatiously over her papers, had turned a dull brick red. ‘Doesn’t Lana—?’

‘She can’t leave her father in the evenings.’

Lana looked up, her eyes fixed on a patch of wall between them. ‘As you know,’ she said tightly, ‘I can always arrange to be available if I’m needed, but I shouldn’t of course fill the requirement of looking decorative.’

‘Lana, my love, you’re completely indispensable, as well you know, but you’re the first to admit you hate mixing with people. Be thankful you’re not called on to socialize.’

Martin, who had appeared in the doorway during the exchange, caught Kate’s eye and winked at her. It appeared Lana’s weakness for Richard was no secret. Kate felt a wave of protectiveness towards her, combined with rather angry sympathy. When the men had gone, she said lightly, ‘You get out in the evenings sometimes, then?’

Lana nodded, still embarrassed and resentful, but a moment later added, ‘Actually, I have every Thursday free. Father has a friend in the next village who comes once a week to play chess. I cook them an evening meal, then I’m free till about eleven.’

‘You must come over for supper sometime.’

‘That’s very kind. I should enjoy it.’ Her smile ended in a wince of pain and she put a hand to her head.

‘You’re no better, are you?’

‘It’s only a headache.’

Lana was still protesting her fitness the next morning, by which time it was clear she was really ill. But as Kate’s anxious inquiries were cut short, she had to accept there was nothing she could do.

Thoughts of Lana were banished from her head that lunchtime by an unexpected meeting with Michael. He came hurrying down the steps of the bank as she was passing.

‘Hello,’ Kate said, feeling foolish.

‘On your way to lunch? I’ll join you.’

Her eyes widened and he added softly, ‘Civilized behaviour, remember. Nothing compromising about lunch.’ He took her by the arm and led her down the High Street to the nearest pub. It was very crowded but they managed to find a corner table.

‘You’re still on the murder?’ Kate asked. ‘Isn’t Bill getting restive?’

Bill Hardy was the reporter into whose hands murder cases usually fell.

‘He came down with me, but he knows every so often I get my teeth into a story and like to see it through. Also, the Big White Chief wants me to do what he calls an investigative feature on the murders instead of my Saturday column, which gives me a bit more leeway. There was some excitement yesterday when the police thought they’d found the murder weapon, but now they’re not so sure.’

‘Where was it?’

‘On waste ground behind the market. It had stains which could have been blood, but there’s some doubt that the blade was the right shape to have inflicted the wounds.’ He paused. ‘There are several letters for you at home. I’ll bring them when I collect Josh.’

Kate’s mind was still on the weapon. ‘Was the same knife used in both cases?’

‘It left the same type of wound.’

‘Then if he did throw it away, perhaps he doesn’t intend to commit any more murders.’

‘I doubt if we’ve seen the end of them yet.’

‘Why?’

‘Because by now he’ll be enjoying the publicity. He deliberately draws attention to himself with his Delilah trademark, and Webb reckons his ego’s building up all the time. If he enjoys reading about himself, he won’t want the interest to die down, and one way to keep it going is to commit another murder.’

‘Just to stay in the headlines?’ Kate stared at him in horror.

‘Oh, I daresay he’s got some complex about women, which was what started him off in the first place. But if he’s led an uninteresting life and no one’s ever taken much notice of him, you can understand how he’d become hooked on the notoriety.’

‘A psychopath?’ Kate asked fearfully, remembering Sylvia.

‘Almost certainly.’ Michael unconcernedly continued with his lunch, but Kate’s appetite was gone.

‘Do the police think there’ll be another murder?’ she persisted.

‘If they don’t catch him first.’ He glanced across at her. ‘You’re not usually so interested in murder cases.’

It was true. But as she’d already discovered, the Delilah murders held a morbid fascination for her, a sense of personal involvement, even personal threat, which no amount of logic could dispel.

‘No point in worrying,’ he added when she didn’t speak. ‘Murders have been with us since Cain and Abel and will be as long again.’

Kate said with an effort, ‘Do they think he knew both women?’

‘Must have done. The last one was highly respectable and not given to taking strange men into her home.’

‘So if they can find a common link—’

‘Quite,’ said Michael drily. ‘Simple, isn’t it?’

It was no surprise the following morning when Lana phoned to say she wouldn’t be in.

‘About time!’ Kate said severely. ‘Don’t worry about anything, I can cope. Phone the doctor and go back to bed.’

‘But what about Father?’

‘Surely one of the neighbours could—’

‘I feel faint,’ Lana interrupted urgently, ‘I’ll have to hang up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Kate worried about Lana all morning and at lunchtime, reaching a decision, she phoned Madge.

‘Could you be an angel and keep Josh this afternoon till I collect him? Lana Truscott’s not well and apparently there’s no one to look after either her or her father. I thought I’d go over for a couple of hours and make myself useful, since it’s half-day closing.’

‘No problem. Stay for supper if you like; you won’t have time to prepare anything.’

‘Thanks, Madge.’

Having checked Lana’s address from the filing cabinet, Kate bought a few provisions and collected her car from Lady Ann Square. She hadn’t used it during the ten days she’d been in Broadminster and the engine was slow to start.

It was a pleasant day for a drive. The morning mist had given way to thick sunshine, which lay like a benediction on the autumn fields. Overhead against the blue arch of the sky a hawk hung like a chainless pendant before dropping silently on its prey.

Kate turned off the main road at the Littlemarsh sign, hoping apprehensively that her visit would not be taken as interference. She hadn’t realized how small the village was. There seemed to be only the one road, with a few cottages on either side. Behind them, fields stretched to the skyline, some full of crops, some grazing land for cattle. The only address she had was The White Cottage, and Kate slowed down, eyes scanning both sides of the road. She passed several farms, a church, and a general store, and was beginning to think she must have missed the Truscotts’ house when, almost at the end of the village, she came to it.

With a sigh of relief she parked the car, collected her purchases and walked up the path. The small garden was tidy and colourful in a regimented fashion, as though each flower knew better than to bloom out of place. The white step gleamed, the paint-work was clean and new. Kate raised the brass knocker and let it fall. Hardly surprisingly, no one came to answer it. Experimentally she turned the handle and the door swung open. The little hallway was deserted and there was a lingering smell of furniture polish. An old-fashioned coat-stand stood on the right; Kate recognized Lana’s jacket among the others. From a window on the landing the sunshine streamed down the blue-carpeted stairs as though inviting her to climb them.

‘Lana?’ she called softly. ‘It’s Kate. Can I come up?’

There was no reply. A quick glance through the open doors beside her showed the rooms to be empty. Kate went up the stairs, calling as she went. ‘It’s Kate, Lana. Are you there?’

Still no answer, and now the silence took on an eerie quality. Kate ran up the last few steps and pushed open the first door she came to. Lana was lying on her back, her face as white as the pillow and her dark hair spread loose about her. So still was she that for a heart-stopping moment Kate doubted if she were alive. Then her eyes opened, she gave a gasp and struggled into a sitting position.

Kate said contritely, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but the door was on the latch.’

‘I left it for the doctor.’ Lana was staring at her with an incomprehension left from sleep. ‘What are you doing here? Is something wrong?’

‘No, no, I thought you might need help. You said there wasn’t anyone else.’

Lana flushed. ‘That’s very kind. The neighbours would come if I asked them, but I prefer to keep to myself. Ralph always said I was too independent for my own good.’

‘Well, now I’m here I’m going to cook lunch. I bought some fish — it doesn’t take much eating.’

‘Oh, Mrs Romilly!’ For a startled moment Kate thought she was about to weep.

‘I do wish you’d call me Kate,’ she said.

‘Thank you, yes. I — it’s just that I’m not used to being looked after. I’ll come down and show you where everything is.’

‘Indeed you won’t. I’m quite capable of finding what I need.’

Cutting off further protests, Kate returned downstairs. The kitchen was at the back of the hall and its window looked out onto a small garden. The lawn was square and neatly cut, edged with flower beds as geometrically trimmed as at the front. The shed was freshly creosoted and a little gate in the back fence gave access to a wood behind. It was all immaculate but at the same time anonymous, with no hint of love having gone into the planning of it. Rent-a-Garden, Kate thought facetiously.

And she realized that the house itself bore the same lack of personality. All was tidy but there were no spontaneous touches to give a clue to the personality of those who lived here, no scrawled shopping list or rescued daisies in a jar, no gardening shoes behind the door. There was a disquieting sensation of having stepped back in time to the nineteen-thirties and Kate saw that the kitchen was much as it must have been then. There was no fridge or washing machine and the gas cooker was a model long discontinued. A box of Swan Vesta matches stood beside it.

In her search for milk and butter she located the larder, complete with stone slab and ancient meat safe. A row of old-fashioned sweet jars were ranged along the floor, containing, according to their labels, an assortment of pickles and chutneys. Kate, guiltily thinking of her trips to the supermarket, felt increasingly inadequate.