The Cold Hand of Malice (30 page)

‘Go over there and call her, then,’ the woman said. ‘See if she comes to you.’

Molly moved a few feet away and squatted down. ‘Come on, then, Brandy,’ she coaxed. ‘You know me.’

The dog eyed her curiously but remained where she was.

‘Gypsy.’ Mrs Johnson patted her lap. ‘Come on, then, girl,’ she called. The dog turned immediately and put her paws on Mrs Johnson’s lap.

‘Well, I’ll be . . .’ said Molly as she stood up again. ‘I could have sworn that was Brandy. She’s beautiful, whoever she is, and I’m especially fond of Shelties.’

‘You like dogs, then, do you?’ Mrs Johnson asked.

‘I do, and I’d love to have one, but with my job it wouldn’t be fair. I never know when I’ll be home or for how long.’

Mrs Johnson swung her chair around. ‘Come out back with me, then,’ she said as she made for the door, ‘and you can see the two dogs together. I was going to make myself a cup of tea, so why don’t you stop and have one with me?’

Molly hesitated, but her curiosity had been aroused by the appearance of the dog, which she still had trouble believing was not Susan’s dog, Brandy. ‘I can’t stop long,’ she said, but Mrs Johnson was already at the door, leaving Molly little choice but to follow.

‘Close the door,’ Mrs Johnson said sharply as Molly was surrounded by dogs. ‘Gypsy’s the only one allowed in the shop, and the others will soon settle down once they’ve had a good sniff of you. The Golden Lab is Rory; he belongs to a friend of mine who’s in hospital. Misty, the cairn, has been here for a couple of weeks, but she goes home tomorrow, and I know I shall miss her. The springer is called Robbie. His master’s work takes him up to Aberdeen from time to time, so Robbie stays with me. Then there’s poor old Sam.’ She pointed to a large black dog of indeterminate breed stretched out in a patch of sunlight. ‘He’s twelve, and he has rheumatism, so he loves the warmth. Poor old thing. I’ve had him since he was eight weeks old.

‘Ah, yes, and there’s my little Brandy,’ she said as the twin of Gypsy trotted into the room and paused, tail wagging gently. ‘Aren’t they like two peas in a pod? Michelle – that’s Michelle Marshall, the one who looks after the shop whenever Susan’s away – says the police even took samples of poor Brandy’s coat while they were searching Susan’s flat, though why they would want to do that, I don’t know.’

It was strange, thought Molly. Mrs Johnson knew that Molly was a policewoman, yet she didn’t seem to connect her directly with what had happened to Susan Chase.

‘Call her,’ the woman urged Molly. ‘See if she remembers you.’

Molly bent and called to the dog. The Sheltie hesitated only for a moment before trotting forward to sniff at Molly’s outstretched hand. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said as she looked from Brandy to Gypsy and back again. ‘How
do
you tell them apart?’

The older woman’s face creased in a secretive smile. ‘Ah, well,’ she said, ‘they were from one of my litters, weren’t they, my dear? You get to know their little ways. But you can tell if you look at their ears. Gypsy’s ears are tipped more than Brandy’s, and the left one is tipped a little bit more than the right. As a matter of fact, we were worried that Brandy’s ears weren’t going to tip at all, but they did in the end, but not quite as much as Gypsy’s.’

Molly frowned. ‘Why do you say you were worried about her ears? Would that mean there was something wrong with them?’

‘Oh, no, at least not physically, but judges don’t like prick-eared Shelties, and both of these dogs have potential in the ring.’

Mrs Johnson’s voice was soft as she went on. ‘I’ve always loved dogs,’ she explained, ‘so I take them in for friends while they’re away. I make sure they all eat the same things they eat at home, and Peggy grooms them on the weekends while she’s here; puts that old tracksuit of hers on and gets right down on the floor with them; checks their teeth and cuts their nails if they need it, and plays with them. She calls it her unwinding time. Gypsy and Sam are mine, of course, but the others are used to coming here, and they have the run of the house like they do at home, so it’s better than going into kennels.’ She leaned down to rub the cairn behind the ears. ‘Isn’t it, Misty, love,’ she said as if talking to a child.

The living quarters behind the shop were surprisingly spacious, although the living room itself was cluttered with boxes stacked on boxes, most of which were unopened. ‘New stock,’ Mrs Johnson explained. ‘Peggy usually takes care of it when she comes over, but she’s not here today. Come on through.’ She continued on down a short hall to a bright, sunlit kitchen. A large window looked out on a very long and narrow garden, bordered on both sides by a brick wall that must have been at least seven feet high.

‘Fortunately, the garden faces south and gets the sun, what little we’ve seen of it lately,’ Mrs Johnson continued, ‘and it’s a good thing, too, otherwise those walls would make it hard to grow anything back there, and I like my garden. Not that I can do much in it now I’m stuck in this thing –’ she banged the arm of the wheelchair – ‘but I can still get out there and tell Arthur what to do. Arthur’s my husband, and he doesn’t mind. At least I can tend to the pots, so I’m not completely useless.’

‘I’d say you do extremely well, what with the shop and everything,’ Molly said. ‘But tell me, is that what I think it is at the end of the garden?’

Mrs Johnson laughed. ‘You mean the van? Once seen never forgotten,’ she chuckled. ‘Yes, that’s Arthur’s van all right. That yellow is hard to miss, isn’t it? I thought he was crazy when he said he was going to have it painted egg-yolk yellow, but he was right. It makes people look, and they remember the name ‘Garage on Wheels’. In fact it’s gone over so well he can’t keep up. He’d like to put a second van on the road, but he can’t find a mechanic he can trust to take it on.’

Mrs Johnson swung her chair around. ‘Pop the kettle on,’ she said to Molly. ‘It’s over there by the stove. The water’s in; just plug it in. There’s McVities HobNobs on the counter, or there’s Bourbon Creams and Cadbury’s Chocolate Fingers. The plates and mugs are in that cupboard, and the milk is in the fridge. Take what you like, but I’ll have the fingers; I love my chocolate. Then sit yourself down; the kettle won’t take long to boil.’

Molly couldn’t escape the feeling that she should have left the shop when she had the chance, because she thought she knew what was coming. But she could hardly walk out now, so she took her seat at the table, and hoped the kettle would boil quickly.

Her instincts were right, because no sooner had she sat down than Mrs Johnson started in with: ‘I couldn’t believe it when Michelle from Susan’s shop came round with Brandy the other evening, and told us that Susan had been arrested for killing Simon. I don’t know Susan all that well, in fact the first time I met her was when she bought Brandy from me, but she seemed very nice. It’s hard to believe that someone you think you know could do a thing like that, isn’t it? But Michelle said she reckons the two of them have been having it off on the quiet for a long time, even before her sister was killed, and that
did
surprise me, I can tell you. Don’t think it surprised our Peg, though, when I told her, not after what she said when she came back from Mrs Holbrook’s funeral last week.’

‘Oh? What was that, then?’ asked Molly. She felt guilty about asking the question of this nice grey-haired lady who had asked her to share a cup of tea, but on the other hand they did have a murder to solve.

‘Oh, I knew
something
was wrong the minute Peg walked in that Friday,’ Mrs Johnson said sadly. ‘Peg looked like death herself, she was that pale, and she kept saying, “I couldn’t believe it, Mum. You should have seen her. Susan. There she was, bold as brass, hanging on to his arm as if she owned him. Right there beside the grave, and Laura barely cold!”’

The Golden Lab sidled up to Mrs Johnson and laid his head in her lap. ‘Soft old thing,’ she said as she fondled his ears.

She looked off into the distance as if reliving the scene in her mind. ‘Like I said, I was surprised to hear it was Susan Simon had taken up with, but I wasn’t surprised about him. Not a bit! I’ve been telling Peg for years she was wasting her time working all hours and looking after him the way she did, because he was never going to change. But would she listen? Oh, no. What does her old mum know about things like that, eh? And now he’s gone, so it doesn’t much matter any more, does it?’

The kettle was boiling. Molly rose to make the tea. In her mind’s eye, she saw Peggy sitting there in Simon Holbrook’s house, white-faced and visibly shaken as she answered Paget’s questions in a monotone. ‘So, how is she taking it?’ she asked quietly.

‘A lot harder than she’s letting on,’ Mrs Johnson said forcefully. ‘But then our Peg’s always been like that. Keeps her feelings to herself. I wish she would let go; have a good cry and get it out of her system instead of holding it in. But, no, all business she was when she rang me. Said there would be a lot to do now that Simon was gone, and she would have to look after things until everything was sorted out. That’s why she isn’t here today.’

She shook her head in a bewildered fashion. ‘I can’t make heads or tails of it,’ she said, ‘because if what Michelle said
is
true, and the two of them were, well, you know, why would Susan want to kill Simon?’ She shot a glance at Molly. ‘Are you quite sure she did it?’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Johnson, but I really can’t discuss the case. It’s . . .’

Mrs Johnson plucked a biscuit from the packet and dipped it in her tea. ‘Took to him right from the start,’ she continued as if Molly hadn’t spoken. ‘From the time she first went to work for him at Drexler-Davies. Talked about him all the time, she did, but I warned her. I told her it’s never a good idea to take up with your boss. Leads to trouble every time, I told her. Not that it did any good. Peg’s not the sort to listen if she’s got her mind set on something, and she certainly had her mind set on him.

‘Funny, though,’ she continued, eyes focused on a distant memory that only she could see, ‘I would never have known how far it had gone if it hadn’t been for young Valerie telling me about having to move out so he could come to the flat whenever he felt like it.’

Molly hesitated. On a personal level, she felt guilty about allowing Peggy’s mother to run on about her daughter, who was one of a number of possible suspects in a murder investigation, but as a detective, she couldn’t afford not to take advantage of the opportunity to gather valuable information. ‘Valerie . . .?’ she said hesitantly as if the name were vaguely familiar to her. ‘What was her last name? Did she work for Drexler-Davies as well?’

‘Oh, no, dear. She worked in one of the big hotels in Birmingham, but she and Peg had been best friends ever since school. That’s why they went in together in the flat. Wade, that was her name. Mind you she’s probably married by now and has half-a-dozen kids. Nice girl, she was, and I felt ever so sorry when she told me she was leaving. Said she felt as if she was in the way, so she thought it would be best if she moved out. Pity, because they never got back together again after that, and I always liked her.’

Molly said, ‘It sounds as if Valerie was your friend as well as Peggy’s. Have you seen her recently?’

‘No. The girls used to come down here together, but Val never did come on her own after she moved out.’ Mrs Johnson sighed and clucked her tongue. ‘I didn’t like the idea of them carrying on like that, but then I thought maybe he’d do the right thing by her and there’d be wedding bells one day and everything would be all right, but it wasn’t to be. I don’t know what happened, but nothing came of it, and yet they seemed to get on so well together at work.’

Mrs Johnson shook her head sadly. ‘After all the years she’s worked for that man, and the things she’s done for him – she even put all her savings into the business to help him get started – and yet somehow it never went anywhere. She knew what he was like; she knew he was seeing other women, but she’d never say a word against him, not even when he went off and married Laura. “It won’t last, Mum,” she says. “You’ll see. He only married her for the sake of the firm. He’ll come back to me. He always does.”’

Mrs Johnson lowered her voice as if afraid of being overheard. ‘I know it’s an awful thing to say, but to tell you the truth I think Peg was pleased when Laura was – well, when she died. She even said it was like the old days around the office again, when it was just him and her planning and talking for hours about what they should do next to make a go of the firm. I really think she thought she was in with a chance at last, so it came as quite a shock to see Susan hanging on his arm at the funeral, and then to have Michelle tell us he’d been seeing her all along.’

Molly had intended to go straight home and get started on preparing her meals for the week, but as Mrs Johnson continued to talk, she couldn’t help wondering about the two dogs, Brandy and Gypsy. Was it possible that Forensic had made a mistake, and the hair they’d tested had actually come from Gypsy?

Probably not, she told herself as she left the shop. If anything, DNA was even more reliable than fingerprints, and all the evidence still pointed to Susan as Simon Holbrook’s killer. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to run it past Sergeant Ormside, if he happened to be in the office, and Charter Lane was only a short distance away.

But Ormside, too, had decided to take some well-deserved time off, and the incident room was deserted. According to the log, two detective constables were out taking statements from Holbrook’s neighbours in Pembroke Street; the Scenes of Crime team were in the last stages of their examination of the house and immediate surroundings, and Susan Chase was in hospital and wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

If Sergeant Ormside had been there, she would have stayed to write up her notes and talk to him about what she had just learned. But she could write up her notes just as well at home; in fact, she was beginning to wonder why she had come in at all when the sun was shining outside and she had the weekend off. Was it because this was where her life was centred now? Whatever she’d wanted to talk over with Ormside could certainly have waited until Monday, so why
had
she come?