Deadly Waters (16 page)

He didn’t think Edney had the bottle to do it on his own.

Maybe his lover, Janet Downton, had helped him. Now there was a thought. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

Tight-lipped, Edney replied, ‘I had a community board meeting at seven fifteen. I left here just on seven o’clock and went straight to it.’

‘Where?’

‘Jenson House. It’s one of the nearby tower blocks.’

Horton knew that. It was where he had lived with his mother on the twenty-third floor.

Edney explained wearily, ‘One of the conditions of getting our money from the government for the new building is that we involve the community. Jessica Langley wasn’t interested in that sort of thing, not high-powered enough for her,’ he added with bitterness. ‘Our community board meeting was in the residents’ room on the ground floor. I arrived home at eight forty-five that evening and didn’t go out again, until I came to school the next morning at half seven.’

Horton rose. ‘We’ll need to check with the community board and speak with your wife.’

Edney’s expression turned to one of horror. He shifted position as if he had piles. ‘I don’t want you disturbing her.’ A stab at defiance, perhaps the last, thought Horton.

‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice.’

Edney looked as if he was about to faint.

‘Is there something you’d like to tell me about Ms Langley’s death?’

Edney licked his lips, cleared his throat and clearly with an effort forced himself to hold Horton’s stare. After a moment he said, ‘No.’

It was a lie and with a bit more pressure Horton knew he would get the truth. For now, though, he decided to let Edney stew. He’d check out his alibi and then bring Edney in for further questioning. In an interview room at the station Edney would crumble, but Horton had a feeling that the schoolteacher would confess to the murder of Langley before then.

‘My husband was here all Thursday night,’Daphne Edney said crisply, in answer to Cantelli’s brief introductory question. With reluctance she had shown them into a lounge that was so crowded with furniture, and so fussily decorated in swathes of pink and green, that it made Horton feel positively nauseous. The lamps were lit because of the dank, depressing day outside. It was still two and a half hours until sunset yet it felt like evening. Instead of making the room cosy, however, the dim lights only served to make it more cloying.

Horton took a seat on the sofa and glanced at the photographs scattered around the room. They were all of a young man at various stages of his development, including one in a cap and gown edged with white fur. The Edneys’ son, Horton guessed, and clearly the apple of his parents’ eye.

Daphne Edney perched on the edge of a chair to the right of Horton and smoothed her tight black skirt over her thighs, exposing her bony knees. She thrust her head up, set her shoulders back and glared at them. Her whole body seemed so controlled that Horton thought she might snap if she moved impulsively. She didn’t offer them any refreshment. Horton wasn’t surprised at this; she looked the sort of woman who wouldn’t offer a glass of water to a man dying of thirst in the middle of the desert. She pursued her thin lips together in a small, sharp face. She had been a surprise; Horton had expected someone more homely.

He said, ‘What time did your husband get in from school on Thursday?’

‘Just before nine.’

‘Did he go out again during the evening?’

‘No.’

He wondered how much reliance he could put on the alibi she was giving her husband. If what she was saying was true then Edney couldn’t have killed Langley. But Daphne Edney had made no protest over their visit, nor had she shown the slightest surprise when she had found them on her doorstep.

Horton guessed that her husband had telephoned to warn her they were on their way.

Horton caught something in her glance before she looked away: was it defiance? No, there was an air of cockiness about her. He had a feeling that she was telling the literal truth, but leaving out a whole lot more. He wondered if she and her husband had agreed to answer the questions put to them truth-fully, but would not volunteer information. So, she thought she was smarter than them.

He said, ‘Did
you
go out?’

She couldn’t disguise the flicker of surprise and irritation that crossed her face. Come on, let’s play the truth game, he felt like saying.

‘No.’

She was lying. She smoothed her skirt, examined her nails briskly and looked up. Her bright blue eyes spat bullets at him. Her little ploy had backfired on her, and she’d had to resort to lying, but why? If she had been out, then how did she know what time her husband had arrived home? There was something going on here that he needed to know about.

He remained silent and held her stare, hoping to force her to continue. After a while she sniped, echoing her husband’s words earlier, ‘Why this interest in
our
movements? You should be out catching her killer.’

‘How well did you know Ms Langley?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Surely you must have met her at school events!’ Horton injected an incredulous tone into his voice.

‘I don’t go to any of them.’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

Oh, isn’t it? he thought. ‘Were you disappointed when your husband didn’t get the headship?’

Daphne Edney glowered at him. Horton sat back and crossed his legs, signalling to her that he could wait all afternoon and evening if necessary, until he got the truth.

With an irritable sigh, she said, ‘That stupid board of governors, they didn’t have the sense to know a good man when they saw one. All Jessica Langley had to do was flash her cleavage, show a bit of leg and they were putty in her hands. Well, now she’s dead and it serves them right, just don’t expect
me
to mourn for her.’

I wouldn’t expect you to mourn for the Queen of England, thought Horton cynically. Without betraying his dislike for Daphne Edney, he said, ‘How did your husband feel about not getting the job?’

‘How do you expect him to feel? He was angry and disappointed. And now they’ve overlooked him, yet again.’

‘When we spoke to your husband earlier today there seemed to be something worrying him. Do you know what that might be?’

She gave a sharp, ironic half laugh. ‘I would think running that school, fending off journalists and answering questions from the police is enough to bother any man, wouldn’t you, Inspector?’

She was cutting, this one. He felt some sympathy for Edney.

His mobile rang and he went outside to answer it, standing under the porch to avoid the heavy rain, leaving Cantelli to continue the questioning.

It was Uckfield. ‘Marsden’s just told me that the fingerprints on that betting slip are Eric Morville’s. He’s got a conviction for assault on a man in a pub ten years ago. Morville was drunk. He served a community sentence, but that doesn’t mean to say he
gave
Langley the note. Langley must have picked it up in the street, thinking it was litter, and put it in her pocket intending to throw it away when she found a bin.’

Uckfield had echoed Cantelli’s words and of course he could be right. Though, somehow, Horton couldn’t see Langley clearing the streets of litter. It could have blown inside the school gates, he supposed. Morville could easily have walked that way home from the betting shop in Commercial Road.

Uckfield continued. ‘What is more important is that we’ve had a report of a woman seen going into the victim’s apartment block at about seven forty p.m. on Thursday night, and a neighbour of Langley’s has just confirmed that she saw the same woman leaving Langley’s apartment a few minutes later– medium height, very slim, blonde hair, a sharp pointed face, about mid-fifties.’

Horton’s pulse quickened. That’s why she had lied about going out. ‘Was Langley’s car there?’

‘The woman can’t remember. She only saw Langley’s visitor inside the building.’

So, they still don’t know if Langley was there, but now he had someone who could tell them. Horton said, ‘The description fits Tom Edney’s wife, Daphne. We’re with her now. She claims that she was at home all night and that her husband came in just before nine. When I saw Edney earlier he was a very worried man. It could be because of his wife’s visit to the victim’s house.’ That didn’t mean that Daphne Edney had killed Langley. Though she and her husband could have done so together. It was beginning to look possible. ‘I’ll bring her and her husband in for further questioning.’

Horton called Sergeant Trueman. ‘Have they finished taking statements at the school?’

‘About an hour ago.’

So why hadn’t Edney returned home? Perhaps he had other school matters to attend to? But on a Saturday, the week before half term, and when he’d once again been overlooked for promotion, Horton couldn’t really see why he would want to stay on. He gave instructions for a unit to bring him in, if they found him at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler.

As Horton entered the lounge, Daphne Edney rose. ‘If there’s nothing else—’

‘Where were you Thursday night, Mrs Edney, between seven thirty and nine p.m?’ Horton asked in a harsher tone.

‘I’ve told you,’ Daphne Edney replied, then paused. She obviously read something in Horton’s expression because after a moment she capitulated. ‘All right, if you must know, I went to see
her
.’

At last, perhaps now he’d start getting the truth. ‘Why?’

She hesitated for a moment, looking as though she wanted to tell him to mind his own business, then she said, ‘Jessica Langley was evil. Oh, everyone thought that the sun shone out of her backside. They thought she was so dynamic, so charming, and she could be when she wanted to be. She had the board of governors eating out of her hand. The press loved her too, but I’m telling you, Inspector Horton, underneath all that she was a bully. And worse, a bully with a smile and a soft voice. She’d wear Tom down with her incessant demands, cut him with her cruel, sarcastic tongue. She was a horrid woman.’

Her words stirred some vague memory in the back of Horton’s mind. Maybe he was simply reminded of what Cantelli had said after his and Charlotte’s visit to the school.

Charlotte had thought Langley false.

Daphne Edney continued. ‘She made Tom’s life a misery.

The bitch, I could have kill . . .’

‘And did you kill her?’ Horton asked softly.

Her eyes blazed defiantly. ‘Of course not, but I’m glad someone did.’

The tone of her voice would peel the varnish off wood. He saw a woman who would be quite capable of murder, but of grabbing Langley with both arms, shaking her and then punching her? No. Even from what he’d seen of Jessica Langley he thought she would have got the better of Daphne Edney in any fight. Langley had been taller, heavier built and had looked tougher.

‘Your husband perhaps?’

She gave a half laugh. ‘Tom is incapable of murder. He’s too weak; that’s half his trouble. He wouldn’t stand up to that woman. She was making him ill. He was doing all the work and she was taking all the glory. Then she’d delight in putting him down in front of the staff and governors.’

Even more reason then for Edney to have killed her. He’d simply come to the end of his tether. Perhaps he had physically assaulted Langley and then Daphne Edney had suffocated her. Horton asked, ‘What happened when you saw her?’

‘The bitch laughed in my face and told me that if Tom had a problem dealing with her then he should tell her himself and not let his wife do his dirty work for him. I told her I would complain to the local education authority and the board of governors. She said go ahead. I left.’

‘Just like that?’ Horton asked incredulously. That didn’t sound like the actions of an angry woman.

‘Yes. I could see there was no point reasoning with her.’

She didn’t look as if she was lying, but then maybe she was an accomplished actress. ‘What time did you get home?’

She shrugged. ‘About eight thirty.’

‘And was your husband at home?’

‘I’ve already told you Tom got in just before nine.’

Dr Clayton said Langley had been killed between nine and eleven p.m., so Edney couldn’t have done it, if he was at home.

But was Daphne Edney lying? The Edneys could have concocted the times of their movements between them. Horton would check with the community board to see if Edney really was there.

‘Do you own a boat?’ he asked sharply, repeating the question he’d asked her husband. He might get a different answer.

He didn’t.

She looked at him as if he was mad. ‘Of course we don’t.’

She had to be telling the truth because they could easily check. Perhaps, though, the Edneys knew someone who did own one.

Horton said, ‘I’d like you to come to the station with us where you can make your statement.’

‘You’re arresting me?’ Daphne Edney cried.

‘We would like to have the events of Thursday night quite clear in our minds.’

‘Then you’d better ask
him
what
he
was doing at her flat.’

Horton stared at her. ‘Who?’

‘That architect, Leo Ranson.’

Horton hadn’t expected that! He recalled the supercilious architect and the fact that he’d had a meeting with Langley on the afternoon she died. So why then would he need to visit her apartment in the evening? Perhaps there was something more personal to their relationship than that of business associates.

‘How do you know Leo Ranson was there?’ he asked, watching Daphne Edney closely. Maybe she was just trying to take the focus off herself and her husband.

‘I saw him go into the building. He was inside her flat when I was talking to her. It’s why she wouldn’t let me in. That’s who you should be arresting, Inspector. Leo Ranson’s her killer, and if you ask me he deserves a medal for it.’

Cantelli coughed, maybe he was choking on his throat lozenge.

Horton wanted to believe her, but he said, ‘How do you know it was Ms Langley he was visiting? He could have been calling on someone else.’

‘Because they’re having an affair,’ she said spitefully and triumphantly. ‘You didn’t know?’ He thought he hadn’t shown any surprise, but maybe he had. Daphne Edney was sharp enough to cut herself. She was pulling on her coat.