The Tinder Box (7 page)

his life. I should imagine most of Sowerbridge could

name names if they wanted to. At least he's had the

guts to stand by Rosheen.'

'He's an illiterate oaf with an IQ often,' growled

Ian. 'Rosheen's not stupid, so what the hell do they

find to talk about?'

Siobhan giggled. 'I don't think his conversation is

what interests her.'

Recognizing that she was too hyped-up to sleep,

she poured herself a glass of wine and played the

messages on the answerphone. There were a couple of

business calls followed by one from Ian. ''Hi, it's me.

Things are progressing well on the Ravenelli front. All jŁ

being well, hand-printed Italian silk should be on offer

through Lavenham Interiors by August. Good news, eh?

I can think of at least two projects that will benefit from

the designs they've been showing me. You'll love them,

Shiv. Aquamarine swirls with every shade of terracotta

you can imagine.'' Pause for a yawn. ''I'm missing you

and the boys like crazy. Give me a ring if you get back

before eleven, otherwise I'll speak to you tomorrow. I

should be home on Friday.'' He finished with a slobbery

kiss which made her laugh.

The last message was from Liam O'Riordan and

had obviously been intercepted by Rosheen. ''Hello?

Are you there, Rosheen? It's. . .' said Liam's voice

before it was cut off by the receiver being lifted.

Out of curiosity, Siobhan pressed one-four-seven

one to find out when Liam had phoned, and she

listened in perplexity as the computerized voice at

58

the other end gave the time of the last call as 'twenty

thirty-six hours', and the number from which it was

made as 'eight-two-seven-five-three-eight'. She knew

the sequence off by heart but flicked through the

telephone index anyway to make certain. Liam and

Bridey O'Riordan, Kilkenny Cottage, Sower bridge, Tel:

827538.

For the second time that night her first instinct

was to rush towards denial. It was a mistake, she told

herself . . . Liam couldn't possibly have been phoning

from Kilkenny Cottage at eight thirty . . . The

O'Riordans were under police protection in Winchester

for the duration of Patrick's trial . . . Kilkenny

Cottage was empty when the fire started . . .

But, oh dear God! Supposing it wasn't?

'Rosheen!' she shouted, running up the stairs again

and hammering on the nanny's door. 'Rosheen! It's

Siobhan. Wake up! Was Liam in the cottage?' She

thrust open the door and switched on the light, only

to look around the room in dismay because no one

was there.

59

I

Wednesday, 10 February 1999

Siobhan had raised the question of Lavinia Fanshaw's

heirs with the detective inspector. 'You can't ignore

the fact that both Peter Haversley and Jeremy Jardine

had a far stronger motive than Patrick could ever have

had,' she pointed out. 'They both stood to inherit

from her will, and neither of them made any bones

about wanting her dead. Lavinia's husband had one

sister, now dead, who produced a single child, Peter,

who has no children. And Lavinia's only child, a

daughter, also dead, produced Jeremy, who's never

married.'

He was amused by the extent of her research. 'We

didn't ignore it, Mrs Lavenham. It was the first thing

we looked at, but you know better than anyone that

they couldn't have done it because you and your

husband supplied their alibis.'

'Only from eight o'clock on Saturday night until

two o'clock on Sunday morning,' protested Siobhan.

'And not out of choice either. Have you any idea what

it's like living in a village like Sowerbridge, Inspector?

Dinner parties are considered intrinsically superior to

staying in of a Friday or Saturday night and watching

telly, never mind the same boring people get invited

every time and the same boring conversations take

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place. It's a status thing.' She gave a sarcastic shrug.

'Personally, I'd rather watch a good Arnie or Sly

movie any day than have to appear interested in someone else's mortgage or pension plan, but then hell

- I'm Irish and everyone knows the Irish are

common as muck.'

'You'll have status enough when Patrick comes to

trial,' said the inspector with amusement. 'You'll be

the one providing the alibis.'

'I wouldn't be able to if we'd managed to get rid

of Jeremy and the Haversleys any sooner. Believe

me, it wasn't Ian and I who kept them there - we did

everything we could to make them go - they just

refused to take the hints. Sam and Nora Bentley went

at a reasonable time, but we couldn't get the rest

of them to budge. Are you sure Lavinia was killed

between eleven and midnight? Don't you find it suspicious

that it's my evidence that's excluded Peter and

Jeremy from the case? Everyone knows I'm the only

person in Sowerbridge who'd give Patrick O'Riordan

an alibi if I possibly could.'

'What difference does that make?'

'It means I'm a reluctant witness, and therefore

gives my evidence in Peter and Jeremy's favour more

weight.'

The inspector shook his head. 'I think you're

making too much of your position in all of this, Mrs

Lavenham. If Mr Haversley and Mr Jardine had conspired

to murder Mrs Fanshaw, wouldn't they have

taken themselves to - say, Ireland - for the weekend?

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That would have given them a much stronger alibi

than spending six hours in the home of a hostile

witness. In any case,' he went on apologetically, 'we

are sure about the time of the murders. These days,

pathologists' timings are extremely precise, particularly

when the bodies are found as quickly as these ones

were.'

Siobhan wasn't ready to give up so easily. 'But you

must see how odd it is that it happened the night Ian

and I gave a dinner party. We hate dinner parties.

Most of our entertaining is done around barbecues in

the summer when friends come to stay. It's always

casual and always spur-of-the-moment and I can't

believe it was coincidence that Lavinia was murdered

on the one night in the whole damn year for which

we'd sent out invitations - ' her mouth twisted - ''six

weeks in advance . . .'

He eyed her thoughtfully. 'If you can tell me how

they did it, I might agree with you.'

'Before they came to our house or after they left

it,' she suggested. 'The pathologist's timings are

wrong.'

He pulled a piece of paper from a pile on his desk

and turned it towards her. 'That's an itemized British

Telecom list of every call made from the manor during

the week leading up to the murders.' He touched the

last number. 'This one was made by Dorothy Jenkins

to a friend of hers in London and was timed at ten

thirty p.m. on the night she died. The duration time

was just over three minutes. We've spoken to the

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friend and she described Miss Jenkins as at "the end

of her tether". Apparently Mrs Fanshaw was a difficult

patient to nurse - Alzheimer's sufferers usually are and

Miss Jenkins had phoned this woman - also a

nurse - to tell her that she felt like "smothering the

old bitch where she lay". It had happened several

times before, but this time Miss Jenkins was in tears

and rang off abruptly when her friend said she had

someone with her and couldn't talk for long.' He

paused for a moment. 'The friend was worried enough

to phone back after her visitor had gone,' he went

on, 'and she estimates the time of that call at about a

quarter past midnight. The line was engaged so she

couldn't get through, and she admits to being relieved

because she thought it meant Miss Jenkins had found

someone else to confide in.'

Siobhan frowned. 'Well, at least it proves she was

alive after midnight, doesn't it?'

The inspector shook his head. 'I'm afraid not. The

phone in the kitchen had been knocked off its rest we

think Miss Jenkins may have been trying to dial

nine-nine-nine when she was attacked - ' he tapped

his fingers on the piece of paper - 'which means that,

with or without the pathologist's timings, she must

have been killed between that last itemized call at ten

thirty and her friend's return call at fifteen minutes

past midnight, when the phone was already off the

hook.'

63

1

Five

Tuesday, 9 March 1999, 0.32 a.m.

Even as Siobhan lifted the receiver to call the police

and report Rosheen missing, she was having second

thoughts. They hadn't taken a blind bit of notice in

the past, she thought bitterly, so why should it be

different today? She could even predict how the conversation

would go simply because she had been there

so many times before.

Calm down, Mrs Lavenham . .. It was undoubtedly

a hoax . . . Let's see now . . . didn't someone phone you

not so long ago pretending to be Bridey in the throes of

a heart attack . . .? We rushed an ambulance to her only

to find her alive and well and watching television . . .

You and your nanny are Irish . . . Someone thought it

would be entertaining to get a rise out of you by creeping

into Kilkenny Cottage and making a call. . . Everyone

knows the O'Riordans are notoriously careless about

locking their back door . . . Sadly we can't legislate for

practical jokes . . . Tour nanny. . . ? She'll be watching

the fire along with everyone else . . .

64

With a sigh of frustration, she replaced the receiver

and listened to the message again. 'Hello? Are you

there, Rosheen? It's. . .'

She had been so sure it was Liam the first time she

heard it, but now she was less certain. The Irish accent

was the easiest accent in the world to ape, and Liam's

was so broad any fool could do it. For want of

someone more sensible to talk to, she telephoned Ian

in his hotel bedroom in Rome. 'It's me,' she said,

'and I've only just got back. I'm sorry to wake you

but they've burnt Kilkenny Cottage and Rosheen's

missing. Do you think I should phone the police?'

'Hang on,' he said sleepily. 'Run that one by me

again. Who's they?'

'I don't know,' she said in frustration. 'Someone anyone

- Peter Haversley patted Cynthia on the back

when the roof caved in. If I knew where the

O'Riordans were I'd phone them, but Rosheen's

the only one who knows the number - and she's not

here. I'd go back to the fire if I had a car - the village

is swarming with policemen - but I've had to leave

mine at the church and yours is at Heathrow - and

the children will never be able to walk all the way

down the drive, not at this time of night.'

He gave a long yawn. 'You're going much too fast.

I've only just woken up. What's this about Kilkenny

Cottage burning down?'

She explained it slowly.

'So where's Rosheen?' He sounded more alert now.

'And what the hell was she doing leaving the boys?'

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'I don't know.' She told him about the telephone

call from Kilkenny Cottage. 'If it was Liam, Rosheen

may have gone up there to see him, and now I'm

worried they were in the house when the fire started.

Everyone thinks it was empty because we watched

them go this morning.' She described the scene for

him as Liam helped Bridey into their Ford estate then

drove unsmilingly past the group of similarly unsmiling

neighbours who had gathered at the crossroads to

see them off. 'It was awful,' she said. 'I went down to

collect Patch, and bloody Cynthia started hissing at

them so the rest joined in. I really hate them, Ian.'

He didn't answer immediately. 'Look,' he said ,|ai

then, 'the fire brigade don't just take people's words f

for this kind of thing. They'll have checked to make ^

sure there was no one in the house as soon as they got ;1

there. And if Liam and Bridey did come back, their

car would have been parked at the front and someone

would have noticed it. OK, I agree the village is full

of bigots, but they're not murderers, Shiv, and they

wouldn't keep quiet if they thought the O'Riordans

were burning to death. Come on, think about it. You

know I'm right.'

'What about Rosheen?'

'Yes, well,' he said dryly, 'it wouldn't be the first

time, would it? Did you check the barn? I expect she's

out there getting laid by Kevin Wyllie.'

'She's only done it once.'

'She's used the barn once,' he corrected her, 'but

it's anyone's guess how often she's been laid by Kevin.

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