The Wild Wood Enquiry (26 page)

Ivy was unmoved. “Stupid old things think the murderer will come here in search of us, Roy,” she said, and laughed.

“Have you noticed how everybody assumes he was murdered?” Roy replied seriously. “But I can quite imagine him walking over to the edge to take a look and having a dizzy turn. It wouldn’t have taken more than seconds. Poor young man. From what Mrs. Feather said, he was far from strong and didn’t eat enough. Didn’t Deirdre say he had a bad leg? That could easily have let him down.”

“She’ll be coming in to see us after evening service. We’ll ask her then.”

At this point, they were surprised to see Deirdre entering the lounge. “Evening, you two,” she said, without her usual smile.

“I thought you were—”

“Coming in after church,” Deirdre interrupted. “I was, Ivy, but then I thought perhaps I should come with you and say a prayer for poor Sebastian Ulph. Is that all right?”

“Of course, my dear,” said Roy. “There’s just time for a quick coffee before we go.”

“And by the way, Deirdre,” said Ivy, “did he have a permanently bad leg?”

“I honestly can’t remember,” Deirdre said. “But I have a vague idea it was something to do with a skiing accident.”

THE BELLS HAD stopped ringing by the time the three arrived at the church porch, and the churchwarden was about to shut the door.

“Oh, sorry! Good evening, Miss Beasley. And Mr. Goodman, let me help you with your vehicle.
And
Mrs. Bloxham! How nice to see you!”

“No need to warn the entire congregation,” muttered Deirdre, acutely aware that she had not darkened the door of the church since the day of Bert’s funeral. Her discomfort was increased by Ivy determinedly marching to sit in the front pew.

The vicar looked around, saw the usual handful of worshippers, and sighed. “Good evening, everyone,” he said. “May I say how lovely to see you all here this evening.” He looked at the old lady at the front, still on her knees and
saying goodness knows how many preliminary prayers. Oh well, the fall of a sparrow and all that.

They began with the first hymn, and the order of service soon came back to Deirdre. She had been a faithful churchgoer with her parents at the parish church in her youth, and there was not much difference between then and now. She stood up when Ivy stood, and sat down when Ivy sat. The hymn tunes were traditional, and she had no problem in singing in a good soprano voice. Every so often, if she lost her place in the service book, Roy would lean across and find it for her. The peace and quiet of the ancient church gradually worked its magic, and she relaxed. The vicar’s sermon was incomprehensible, so she gave up trying and thought back to when Ulph had first appeared at her door.

So far, she guessed, nobody had actually mentioned suicide. But it was a very real possibility. He had clearly been an unhappy man, up against mysterious forces and confused about what his future should be. He had left one job, petitioned for another, disappeared and then turned up again. There was his conversation with Ivy and Roy in the café. Roy had obviously taken to him, but he had resisted even their tactful enquiries into his private life.

And then Ivy and Roy had found out where he lived. Did he realise they had followed him, marked him down? Was there something so awful that he could not risk exposure and had taken the only way out? For all his anxious contradictions and conversations, she had not reckoned him a candidate for suicide.

“And our last hymn,” said the vicar, looking at his watch, “is number one hundred and twenty-five. Thank you, Mrs. er…” But the organist was not to be hurried, and she set off at her customary slow and solemn pace.

It was while they were filing out, ready to shake hands and have a chat, that Deirdre finally allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Was it possible? She shuddered and pushed it to the back of her mind. But then it surfaced again, and as they reached the gates of Springfields, she blurted out, “I suppose you haven’t thought of Gus and Katherine? They both had reason to dislike Ulph and could have acted together.”

Ivy, who was, as usual, marching ahead, stopped dead, and was almost run over by her beloved. “Deirdre!” she said. “What an appalling thought! Dislike is no reason for murder, for heaven’s sake. I think we had better forget that you even thought such a terrible thing.”

Leaving Deirdre to walk back to Tawny Wings, the others made their way into the dining room, where the rest of the residents were already tucking into their supper. The latecomers were seated and their food brought in under silver covers. Ivy took one bite and pronounced it stone cold.

“If you ask me,” she said, “we pay enough money to this place to ensure piping hot Sunday suppers.”

Mrs. Spurling was summoned and a certain amount of acrimonious dispute ensued. Fresh plates were brought, and they finally settled to eat. They had finished their first course before Ivy spoke again.

“She could be right,” she said.

“Deirdre?” asked Roy, knowing at once who Ivy meant. “But surely, my love, it is extremely unlikely?”

“More likely than anyone else we’ve thought of… so far…”

“I am sure Gus could produce a perfectly satisfactory alibi, and as for Katherine, I was certain we had seen the last of her. Surely Gus has severed all contact?”

GUS HAD BEEN late collecting his Sunday paper from James at the side door of the shop when the churchgoers went by and wondered at Deirdre accompanying them. He was hoping to contact her later, to suggest another evening of unparalleled delight, but now had a thought that perhaps she had been going to church to confess her sins.

He walked slowly home, relishing the evening sun warming his narrow frame. He passed the pub, stopped and went back, and ordered a pint of Jones Best. There were several locals propping up the bar, and he sat down at a table nearby. Their conversation was inevitably about the rooftop murder. The red tops seemed to have decided without question that it had been a crime of vengeance.

“The silly bugger should never have been out on that roof with no safeguards,” said the chairman of the parish council. His view was always sought first, and he was only too ready to give it. “Anyway,” he continued, “it looks like he were a foreigner, with a name like Ulph. Probably sent over from some terrorist organisation to plant bombs, an’ that, and some of our lot got to him first.”

“They didn’t say nothing about a terrorist.” This timid suggestion was made by a freelance gardener, who earned a decent wage doing rough jobs for old ladies and busy incomers. He was reckoned by the others at the bar to be a bit of a wet, and they scoffed. What did he mean by “they”? Without waiting for his answer, they ignored him and ordered more drinks.

Gus opened his paper and decided to start on the quick crossword. He could usually finish it in the time it took to down a pint, and he read the first clue.

One across: Guilty conscience (5), he read. He sighed. Could it be a coincidence or a message from above? Or was he already getting paranoid? He took up his pen and filled in the five squares—SHAME—then downed his pint in two deep draughts and stalked out of the pub.

THE THOUGHT OF yet more speculation from his colleagues had been too much for Gus, and he had spent the rest of the evening at home on his own. He could not have said exactly what had been on television, though it had blared at him until he retired miserably to bed.

Now, this Monday morning, with a meeting at Tawny Wings at eleven, he had to make an important decision. Once more, he went over in his mind that last phone message from Kath. The only possible explanation she could have had for coming back to Barrington and Oakbridge was to find Ulph. She no doubt intended once and for all to retrieve her jewellery by threatening him with the police. He had probably planned to retaliate with similar threats, including exposing her insurance scams. Supposing she
had
come to see him on Saturday. It could have been stalemate between them. She could have known where the jewels were likely to be—a word dropped by mistake in a
telephone call?—and if he had won their argument, she could have gone down into the woods to find them before he got there himself.

So, had it all gone wrong? What if she had found Ulph in Folgate Street? Had there been a preliminary drink out on that terrace and then the conversation had gone sour? Kath was quite capable of driving him over the edge, physically as well as metaphorically. She was a big strong girl, and he was incapacitated by illness and hunger.

“Oh God,” Gus moaned. “I can’t keep all this to myself.” And along with telling the others about his suspicions, he had to abandon any lingering feelings he might still have for his ex-wife. Could he deliberately shop her to the police?

“Yoo-hoo!” Miriam had passed by Gus’s window and seen him with his head in his hands. She feared the worst. He was ill and was too proud to call for her help. She knocked at his door and then walked in.

“Morning, Gus! Are you okay? Can I come in?” It was a rhetorical question, since she was already close to him, looking concerned.

He sighed, and stood up. “Morning, Miriam. Nice of you to look in. No, I’m fine. Got up late, and still feeling sleepy.”

“Watched television too late last night?” she said. “I can hear it through the wall, you know. We are that close together!”

“Ah, yes. Well, I have to go out in half an hour, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Time for a small glass of primrose wine?”

Gus made a big effort, and laughed. “Goodness no, thanks, Miriam. I shall need a clear head, so maybe later? Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“If you’re sure you’re all right then. I’ll see you later. Is Whippy coming to me this morning while you’re out?”

Gus said that he would not be long, and so with no more suggestions to make, Miriam retreated to her own house.

WHEN HE ARRIVED at Tawny Wings, Gus saw Roy’s trundle parked outside and knew that he and Ivy were there before him. He had still not made the big decision and stood on the front steps for a minute or so before knocking.

Deirdre’s head appeared at an upstairs window. “It’s not locked. Come on in, Gus. Come straight up.”

He climbed the stairs and went into the office, where Ivy and Roy sat drinking coffee. Their greeting was pleasant, as always, but he thought there was a little less warmth, a certain reserve.

“Right,” said Deirdre. “First on the agenda is the need to marshal our thoughts before we are asked to help the police with their enquiries.”

“Me and Roy, we’ve already done that,” said Ivy. “It’s up to you and Gus to tell us what conclusion you’ve come to.”

“Or which direction your thoughts are taking,” said Roy kindly.

“You first, Deirdre,” Gus said.

“Well, as you can imagine, what with me having spent some time with Ulph, and him coming back here, and so on, there is quite a lot I have to try and recall. The first time he came, it was just to ask me to speak up for him with the county orchestra. I have a contact there. Then, the second time, he turned up asking to swim in my pool.”

Here she paused and looked conspiratorially at Gus. “I must say he warmed up a lot after we’d had one or two drinks, and then we were a bit silly fooling around in the
water. He was nice, really, not presuming or anything like that. You know me,” she added, with another sly look at Gus, “I’m always ready to enjoy life.”

“Are you going to tell the police about that lovable side of your character?” Ivy said sarcastically.

“If it’s Inspector Frobisher, he’ll know that already,” answered Deirdre, happily trumping Ivy’s ace.

“Now your turn, Gus,” said Roy. “Take your time, old chap. We know that you are in a rotten situation, knowing Ulph in the past and still being in touch with your ex-wife. How do you see it all?”

It was Roy’s sympathetic old face that finally cleared Gus’s muddled head. Here he was with people he could trust and to whom he owed a considerable loyalty. After all, they had got him out of tricky situations in the past.

“Thanks, Roy,” he said. “I do, as it happens, have something new to tell you. It is not easy for me, as you’ll see, but it is obviously important. What you decide to do about it after I’ve spoken is up to you, of course. It’s about Katherine. She left a message on my phone the other evening, and it was brief and to the point. She gave me no opportunity to reply, and I have been consumed with worry about it ever since.”