Pretty Maids All In A Row (20 page)

'And how did Mr Selby explain his condition?' 'He said he'd had a puncture, on the way back from Oxford. My God, you don't think—?' 'Go on with your account, please.'

'Well, she was shaking. I thought she was crying, but she wasn't. When I went round the bed, I saw her eyes were open, just staring straight ahead. And this convulsive trembling, making her teeth chatter. I think I knew, then. It's what we've been dreading for the last fortnight.' 'What did she tell you?'

'She caught the usual bus home after drama. Holly Beck, who normally travels with her, was off with 'flu and there was no one she knew on the bus. She was almost the last to get off, at Green Lane.'

'How far is that from your house?'

'A couple of hundred yards. It was raining hard, and she hadn't an umbrella. She was pulling up the hood of her mac, when, as she put it, something got in the way. At the same time she felt a prick on her neck, and this voice said in her ear,
"One for the little girl who lives down the lane."
God!' Guy exploded, clenching his hands. 'If I ever catch up with the bastard—'

Kathy reached out, closing her hand over his. After a moment he went on expressionlessly, 'He took her to the pub garden—The Packhorse. Every now and then, as the door swung open, she could hear voices and laughter, but she had that goddamned woollen thing over her head, and couldn't see a thing. Then he—he made her say nursery rhymes. She was crying so much she could hardly speak, but he wouldn't let her stop. Her mind went blank, she said, and he kept prompting her. God, I can't believe this. Is it really happening?'

He drew a deep breath, and added more calmly, 'I'm sorry, Chief Inspector.'

'How exactly did he prompt her, Mr Markham?'

'He said, "Start with
Ride a cock horse,"
and when she came to an end, he asked for
Polly Flinders.
But he was
hurting
her, for Christ sake! God, it's bad enough when he attacks women, but a young girl—' He stopped again and dashed his hand across his eyes. Beside him, Kathy had started to weep softly.

Webb went across to his cupboard, took out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. There were times when his job sickened him. God grant that the girl hadn't conceived, like Carrie Speight. He handed her parents a glass each.

'Don't worry about driving home, we'll take you back in a police car. If time hadn't been so vital, we'd have sent one to collect you. Now, is there any chance she recognized the voice?'

Guy shook his head. 'He spoke in whispers, apparently.' 'And when it was over?'

'He tipped her on to her face, threatened her if she tried to look at him, and untied her hands. Then he pulled off the helmet and left her lying there.' He paused. 'Now that we're here, Chief Inspector, there's something else. God knows I don't like pointing the finger, but now Angie's involved—'

'Yes?'

'It was something she said yesterday, when we were having supper. We were discussing tonight's dinner party, and young Charlie Palmer's name came up. Angie suddenly said she'd seen him on the day of the murder. At Freda's house.'

'What?'

'That was my reaction.' A tap on the door interrupted him and Sally Pierce came in with Angie. The girl was quite composed. Kathy got up quickly and went to her, putting an arm round her. Webb rose to his feet.

'All right, Miss Markham? Come and sit down for a moment, will you.' He smiled at the girl, leading her to a chair, and even in her distress, Kathy was surprised how it transformed his face. He's quite attractive, she thought in surprise.

'Your father was saying you saw young Palmer at Mrs Cowley's.'

Angie sent Markham a look of reproach. 'It was in the morning.'

'Even so, we need to know of anyone who called. How did you happen to see him?'

'I was cycling past on the way to the tennis club, about eleven, I suppose. I just glanced up the path and he was standing at the door.' 'He didn't see you?'

'I don't think so. I didn't call to him because I had a court booked and I was late.' She hesitated. 'I'm sorry if I should have told you, but since Auntie Freda was alive at lunch-time, I didn't think it was important.'

'Was she talking to him?'

'No, the door was closed. She might not even have been home.'

'In which case,' Webb said quietly, 'he could have called back later.'

Her eyes widened and he said more gently still, 'Miss Markham, I don't want to upset you, but could it have been Charlie Palmer who attacked you tonight?'

She caught her breath. 'Charlie wouldn't—I mean—' She paused, steadied herself. 'I don't
think
so. He seemed —older, somehow.'

'Thank you. There's no need to keep you any longer. A car is waiting downstairs and an officer will follow behind in your own car. Thank you all for your help.
¹

When, eventually, the ghastly evening was over and the Palmers were preparing for bed, Annette said suddenly, 'You don't think Matthew Selby had anything to do with it, do you?'

Charles paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. 'The thought had crossed my mind.'

'But surely he wouldn't risk it, when he was on the way there himself?'

'I shouldn't think so, since he'd know Angie would arrive soon after in the same condition. No doubt the police will check the timings.'

'And the puncture story.' Annette brushed her pale, fluffy hair thoughtfully. 'I shouldn't like to be in the Selbys' shoes. Before they came, this was a quiet, peaceful village, and look at it now.'

Charles reached for his pyjamas. 'Remember Kathy saying there'd be no talk of rape or murder this evening? How's that for irony?'

Annette shivered. 'For the first time in my life, I'm glad I haven't a daughter.'

Down on the lower road, the Selbys were also discussing the evening.

'I'll remember that meal for the rest of my life,' Jessica said, 'every mouthful of it. It was like being on stage and having to finish the act, though the producer and the audience had gone home.'

'The
Mary Celeste
in reverse.' Matthew gave a brief laugh. 'You know, if I were trying, I don't think I could arouse friend Webb's suspicions more than I am doing. He'll be round first thing, mark my words, examining my tyres with more than cursory interest.'

'Darling—'

'What?'

'Nothing. Just try not to antagonize him.'

He leant over, kissed her, and switched out the light. ' 'Night, my sweet. Tomorrow is another day, thank God.'

But Jessica lay staring at the ceiling, remembering his odd moment of tension when Angie arrived home. Had anyone else noticed it? And what had occasioned it? A flashback to the embarrassment of his original meeting with her? Or was he merely waiting to greet his hosts' daughter? It was a question that would have to go unanswered. After Sunday, any further probing could damage their marriage irreparably.

With a small sigh, she settled herself to sleep.

'I've got that info you wanted, Guv,'
Jackson said. 'Young Palmer goes to Greystones College, in Oxbury.'

'Thanks, Ken. We'll be waiting outside about four; he's likely to talk more freely away from home.' Webb pushed his drawer shut and got to his feet. 'Well, back we go to

Westridge. We should take lodgings there.' 'To look at Selby's car?'

'Got it in one. That rain last night'll have done nothing for Dick Hodges. He's out at The Packhorse now.'

They stopped at the pub on their way through the village, but nothing of note had been found. Nor were they any more unfortunate at Hinckley's. Selby met them at the door with a sour smile.

'I was expecting you, Chief Inspector. I thought you'd want to see the wheel before I took it to the garage.'

'Good of you.'

As he might have known, there was no doubt about the puncture. It was proving a decidedly unfruitful day, and by the time they drew up at Greystones College, he had had enough of it. Nevertheless, as the first pupils began to come out of the gates in their blue and white striped blazers, he resignedly got out of the car and stood waiting with Jackson.

'There he is!' he said suddenly. 'Bring him over, Ken.'

Charles Palmer junior looked uncannily like his father, the same dark crinkly hair, florid colouring and bold black eyes. Webb watched while Jackson discreetly detached him from his friends, then went to meet them.

"Afternoon, sir,' he said blandly, suppressing a smile as Charlie's apprehension visibly lessened at the form of address. 'Like a word, if we may. We won't keep you long. Let's take a stroll by the river.'

Charlie shot him a questioning look, but fell into step meekly enough between the detectives.

'Now, Mr Palmer,' Webb began, as they followed the path leading down to the water, 'you knew Mrs Cowley, I believe?'

Charlie's pink tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. 'Yes.'

'How well?'

'Only casually. She lived at the other end of the village.' Webb changed his tactics abruptly. 'Get on well with your dad, do you?'

Taken off guard, Charlie flushed a dark red. 'All right,' he said gruffly.

'That's not what I heard.' A shot in the dark, that. He hadn't heard anything.

There was a pause. 'Well, he gets on my back sometimes. I reckon all fathers do.'

'You don't see eye to eye about things?'

'Not always.'

'About Mrs Cowley, for instance?' Another blind stab, but again it struck home. The boy's high colour ebbed away, leaving his face blotchy.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Mr Palmer, you were seen calling at Hinckley's Cottage on the day Mrs Cowley died.'

The boy stopped abruptly, and the policemen with him. Beside them, the river Kittle slurped against its banks with a gentle slapping sound.

'We understand,' Webb continued, 'that she had one or two gentlemen friends. I take it you weren't among them?'

His irony was wasted on Charlie He said in a high voice, 'I told you, I hardly knew her.' 'Then why did you call on her?'

A moorhen had come into sight, paddling gently down the centre of the water. 'I'm waiting, Mr Palmer.'

The boy said in a rush, 'To tell her to keep her hands off my father.'

'Ah.' Over his bowed head, Webb's eyes met Jackson's. 'And did you?'

He nodded miserably. 'What did she say?'

'Told me not to meddle in things that don't concern me.' He raised his head defiantly. 'But it
does
concern me. I love my mum, and—' He broke off, then said slowly, 'You don't think I
killed
her, do you?'

'No, I don't think that. But you should have volunteered this information, you know. You could have been the last person to see her.'

'But she had lunch with Mr Selby at The Orange Tree. Everyone knows that.'

'Does your father know you went to see her?'

'No.'

'Does he realize you know of his association with her?' 'Yes. He was phoning her one afternoon. He didn't know I was home.'

'How did he react?'

'He tried blustering, but I told him I wasn't a kid. Anyone who phoned Mrs Cowley was after the same thing. So then he tried the. man-to-man scene, about no one being hurt by it. He made me
sick!’

Webb stared after the moorhen. 'What time did you arrive at Hinckley's?'

'Mid-morning sometime.'

'And left?'

'I was only there five minutes. I could have saved my breath.'

Webb sighed. 'Was your father at home that evening?'

'Yes. He did his best to talk me round, but I wouldn't speak to him. I haven't spoken to him properly since.'

A bus rumbled along the road at the top of the path. 'Should you have been on that?' Charlie nodded. 'We'll give you a lift back.'

They drove in silence out of the little town and on to the main road to Heathert
on. As they reached the turn-off
for Westridge, the boy said suddenly, 'I suppose Mum
is
tired a lot of the time.'

'Quite,' said Webb.

It was with relief that the three of them parted company at the Green Lane bus stop. Webb watched the boy walk towards his home. 'Poor little devil,' he said. 'Well, Ken, I reckon we'll call it a day. Better luck tomorrow, maybe.'