Choked off (The Falconer Files Book 2) Page 18

  She was regarding him with a slightly sneering expression, her long black hair falling forward across her face. ‘Inspector, not only was I blind drunk, but it was also dark and foggy. Visibility was practically nil, and what’s more, the car didn’t have any lights on. Crawling along, it was, even slower than I was, and I was practically on my hands and knees by that time. I didn’t even remember what I’d done that night till the next afternoon, and even then I wondered if it had all been a very vivid dream – of course, I eventually realised it wasn’t but, for a while, I was hopeful.’

  ‘And you’re absolutely sure there’s no way you could have a shot at saying whose car it was?’

  ‘If I said I could, I’d be lying. I said that what I had remembered probably wasn’t worth much, so I hope you didn’t get your hopes up too high.’ There was that word again – hope. His had been dashed on this occasion; he ‘hoped’ he would be luckier in other respects, later.

  ‘Thank you, anyway, Ms Palister. I’ll certainly add that to my case notes, in case something else comes up that might corroborate what you’ve told us.’ And with that, they left The Old School, Carmichael putting away his notebook in his Tango-coloured shirt pocket, Falconer muttering under his breath at his bad luck in the prevailing weather conditions on the night of the murder.

  ‘Let’s go grill these mothers,’ he decided, then qualified his statement, should there be any misunderstanding. ‘Alleged mothers-of-the-abducted, I mean,’ he amended, and turned his car towards Starlings’ Nest, Delia Jephcott in his sights for his next shot.

  IV

  To Falconer’s complete and utter surprise, Delia laughed in his face when he suggested that she and Marcus might have been the parents of the missing girl. Her laughter poured out in ringing peals, prolonged and musical, tears running down her face by the time she had regained control of herself. There was no sign of righteous indignation at all.

  Ignoring this with as much dignity as he could muster, he continued undeterred. ‘Have you ever been known by the name Jennifer Linden? Have your changed your name by Deed Poll at any point in your life?’

  Again, she seemed about to dissolve into amusement, but steadied herself by holding on to the back of the sofa. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, or where you got these ridiculous ideas from, but I can assure you that the only name changes I have had have been when I was married to that twit Marcus, and when I reverted back to my maiden name, three months afterwards. And no, I don’t know anyone who is, or who was called Jennifer Linden,’ she stated, forestalling his next question. ‘And if you must press the point, inconvenient as it will undoubtedly be, I shall voluntarily get a statement from my doctor, declaring that I have never borne a child. Would that suffice?’

  It would, and Falconer felt a bit of a fool as he headed back to the car. Aware of a mutter from Carmichael, he asked him to repeat what he’d said, as he hadn’t heard him. ‘I said, it was lucky that she didn’t try to show you, that’s all, sir,’ Carmichael intoned expressionlessly, but a little louder. Really! Falconer didn’t know where to look. He’d die of embarrassment at the thought, if he had to speak to the woman again. He would have no idea where to focus his eyes. Was this another example of humour from his acting sergeant?

  V

  Their visit to Blacksmith’s Cottage took a little longer than the previous one. Camilla and Gregory Markland still seemed ill at ease in each other’s company, a palpable tension staining the atmosphere of the house. Camilla looked as if she had been crying again that day, and Gregory still had a look of brooding fury on his face which affected his body language and made him appear to be in an aggressive mood. Neither of them took a seat, when they had ushered in the two policemen.

  Falconer decided that the best way to get results was to go in, cards straight down on the table, to see if he could get a result. ‘Mrs Markland, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.’

  The colour faded from Camilla’s face, like the action of an ammonia solution on a piece of pink velvet, and her mouth puckered in self-defence. Gregory’s stare hardened, until his eyes seemed to be made of steel, boring into the inspector’s skull. Taking the photocopied photograph he had obtained from the Gazette, he handed it to her in silence. ‘I understood, from what you told me the last time I was here, that you and Marcus Willoughby had never met before. In the light of what I have just passed to you, would you care to revise that statement?’

  Camilla began to shake, and, with a trembling hand, passed the photocopy to her husband. ‘I can explain …’

  ‘I think you’d better. This is a murder enquiry, not a game of Cluedo, in case it had escaped your notice. Somebody is dead, and I intend to find out who was responsible, no matter how many cages I have to rattle in search of that person.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, Greg. I’m going to have to tell him,’ she moaned, staring at the carpet, not daring to meet her husband’s eye.

  ‘Do what you have to, but I don’t have to be here to listen to it!’ he spat, and stalked from the room. The front door could be heard slamming behind him, as he left the house in a mood that had moved swiftly from bad to infuriated.

  ‘Go on, Mrs Markland. What have you got to say?’

  ‘I met him after a concert last year – well, you know that; you’ve got the article and picture on that copy.’ She was still staring at the carpet, but, in her husband’s absence, slowly raised her gaze until she was staring at a spot just above Falconer’s head, still avoiding locking gazes with anyone, but regaining her composure a little.

  ‘I, really stupidly, had far too much to drink at the after-concert party, and let that ghastly man talk me into bed. I felt so ashamed – so dirty – the next morning, but I didn’t dare breathe a word of it to Greg. He’s so jealous, he’d have flown right off the handle.’

  ‘It would appear, from his mood today that he knows about it now. Is that correct?’ Falconer was getting there, but slower than he’d planned, due to Greg’s sudden departure – he’d lost his advantage when that happened, and he hadn’t been able to let off his bomb in a room that contained both of them.

  ‘Perfectly correct. That filthy old pervert was dropping hints – Marcus, I mean – and I didn’t know whether he was intending to tell Greg all about it, or use it to blackmail me back into his grubby little lair. I didn’t know what else to do. He was obviously intent on making mischief, and the only thing I could think of doing was getting if off my chest, and trusting that everything would be all right.

  ‘And I still don’t know if it is. At first, Greg stormed out, and he stayed away longer than I’d expected. I was absolutely sure he’d left me for good, and that was it, as far as our marriage was concerned. Then he did come back. But apart from the few hours immediately after his return, he’s been in a filthy mood ever since, and I don’t know whether I’m relieved at his return, or not.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Markland. That was very brave of you, but I have to ask you some other questions, the answers to which are very important, and I want you, again, to be absolutely truthful with your answers,’ and he repeated the questions he had asked Delia Jephcott.

  She just looked puzzled when confronted with the name ‘Jennifer Linden’, and shook her head in answer. To the question of her being Summer’s mother, her reaction was unexpectedly violent. She just stared at Falconer for a few seconds, her eyes full of hatred, then with a growl of, ‘Did that bastard Greg put you up to this?’ she dissolved into tears, pouring her body into the cushioned embrace of an armchair, and covering her face with her arms to hide her misery and anger.

  ‘Whatever have I said, Mrs Markland? I didn’t mean to upset you like that.’ Falconer felt almost as devastated as she looked – at the swiftness of her disintegration; but there was a glimmer that he might be on to something here, and he wasn’t going to let go of it.

  Hoping that Carmichael would not go into ‘comfort-blanket’ mode too quickly on this occasion, he ask
ed again, ‘What have I said to upset you so?’ This time he got an answer.

  ‘I can’t have children, you bloody fool! Who told you? I-want-to know-who-told-you!’ she screeched, separating each word of the question, and thumping her hands on the arms of the chair in time to the words in her fury.

  It was time Falconer backed off, and he did so immediately. ‘Nobody told me, Mrs Markland. I had no idea, I promise you.’ If this was acting on her part, it had the spark of genius in its sincerity; but he knew it wasn’t, and he didn’t hold out a lot of hope for the survival of their marriage. Gregory Markland may have returned to the marital home, but all the signs indicated that he wouldn’t be staying there for long. Falconer had wandered, unknowingly, into a hornets’ nest, and, now it was disturbed, he just wanted to get away from it.

  ‘We’ll be getting along then, Mrs Markland. Don’t bother to show us out. We’ll find our own way.’ Camilla was still glaring from her chair in absolute rage as they left.

  VI

  Squirrel Horsfall-Ertz was still an elderly bundle of misery when she opened her door to them. She walked straight through the house, leading them to the back garden, where she stopped at a small, well-tended grave at the side, near the back door. ‘I like to have him near me,’ she informed them. ‘He was such a dear little thing, a joy to watch when he and his brother were play-fighting.’

  It was obvious that she was talking about her late dog, and that she still mourned its untimely end. Falconer had decided that, just for the sake of form, he ought to ask her a few questions to determine whether her grief might had been strong enough to turn to violence, when Bubble’s murderer had moved into the same village as her, and apparently without a care in the world.

  ‘Miss Horsfall-Ertz, I wonder if you would mind telling me where you were on Sunday night last?’ he asked baldly, not wanting to beat around the bush and suffer any more outbursts of emotion. He’d had enough of those for one day. Although he knew it was only an illusion, his shoulders felt soaked with tears, and he’d seen enough of grief of one sort or another, for now.

  ‘Last Sunday night – let me see – that was the day everyone did their party pieces over in the hall, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, Miss Horsfall-Ertz, and the day after you threw a cup of hot tea over Mr Willoughby, not to mention brandishing a knife at him on Friday.’

  She blushed at the memories, but offered no defence, saying instead, ‘I was just so upset at having seen him, that I’m afraid I took to my bed. It seemed impossible and unfair that he was here in Stoney Cross, and that I might run into him at any time on one of my little walks with Squeak. I couldn’t bear the thought of that, and almost gave up the will to live. If it hadn’t been for the kind vicar’s visit, I doubt that I or Squeak would be here now.

  ‘He gave me a stiff talking-to, pointed out that I might want to starve myself to death, but how was that fair to my little pet? Nothing was his fault, yet he’d been stuck in the house with no food, no water, and no attention. He said that, even if I didn’t realise it, I was making the poor little darling suffer with me, and Squeak had no understanding of why it was happening. Well, that shook me out of my self-pity. Vicar talks a lot of sense, as well as his do-gooding. I’ll always miss Bubble, but he made me realise that Squeak is still alive, and needs me to be well enough to look after him and love him. That certainly brought me to my senses, didn’t it, my little darling?’ she asked, looking adoringly at the small dog capering round her feet.

  ‘So you didn’t leave the house on Sunday evening, or during the night?’ Falconer was now certain he was wasting his time, and even Carmichael must have been of the same mind, because he was putting away his notebook.

  ‘I was in no fit state to do anything on Sunday night, Inspector. I suppose you could say that, for a while, I was a broken woman. His face just brought it all back so vividly, that that was all I could think about. Well, least said, soonest mended,’ she concluded, and looked up at him.

  ‘Thank you very much for your time. We’ll be off now, and leave you in peace.’ There was nothing here for them.

  VII

  Consulting his watch, Falconer realised that it was a quarter to five, and the members of the search party would no doubt be making their way back to The Inn on the Green, if they were not already gathered there. ‘I think we’ll wait for Miss Wingfield-Heyes to come to us, Carmichael. We can catch her tomorrow, when she comes in to the station to make a formal statement. She might have heard or seen a car; although living in the opposite direction to Ms Palister, I have my doubts. Still, we’d better ask, for form’s sake.’

  ‘Good idea, sir. It’d be a shame to miss a vital clue just because of a spot of laziness on the interviewing front,’ Carmichael mumbled, and Falconer, sort of hearing him, decided not to ask him to repeat his opinion. If what he’d heard was correct, then Carmichael was right, but if he repeated it more loudly, it may do something indefinable to their relationship, and he didn’t want that to happen. He had a feeling they were working their way towards a successful partnership, weird though his acting sergeant could be at times. He had never expected to think such a thing, but he had a feeling they were bonding into a good team, each with his own strengths to add to the whole.

  Arriving back at the pub car park, he saw the gathering of bodies, all of them in uniform. They must have been back for some time, he surmised, if all the civilians had been dismissed. But this proved not to be so, for when they all entered The Inn for a debrief, there were three villagers already in the bar, nursing pint glasses. The uniforms had bidden the two detectives to enter, as they had something to show for their search, and PC Green, as the longest-serving officer, had adopted the role of spokesperson.

  After a generous offer of coffee – on the house – had been made and accepted, and the ‘Closed’ sign was displayed at the entrances lest anyone from the village have an early thirst and try to gain entrance, everyone settled down so that the constable could update the plain-clothes on their finds. Before Falconer cleared his throat to indicate that silence was required, there had been a quiet hum of excited conversation, people speculating on what exactly today’s finds would mean.

  ‘Come on then, what have you got for me? Anything useful? I can see you’ve had a result, from your faces.’ Falconer smiled as he asked this, turning towards the constable for his contribution.

  ‘We did find a couple of things, sir, but I don’t know as how they’d be pertinent to the disappearance. It seems we may have come across a couple of items more suited to being involved in your murder enquiry.’

  This made both Falconer and Carmichael prick up their ears. ‘Well, go on, man! Don’t keep us in suspense!’

  ‘It was the group that went to the north-west that found them, sir. They were in a clump of brambles on the boundary of the sports ground, not far from the rear of Mr Willoughby’s property.’

  ‘They? They? Come on, man, what are they?’

  ‘We’ve got a club hammer and a fragment of fine material of a knitted nature, charred around the edges, as if someone had attempted to burn it. Lucky for us, in retrospect, that the foggy conditions made it so damp that night, and that there were brambles there to catch a-hold of it. Any use to you, sir?’ This concluding question was asked with a smug smile slapped right across PC Green’s chops.

  ‘My God, Constable, you’ve only gone and found the murder weapon, and evidence of the other silk stocking! Where are they?’

  ‘All dealt with, sir. Positions marked, items photographed, bagged, and taken away by Scene-of-Crime chaps.’

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘There might’ve been more to find. We just got the chaps in to do their job, and carried on searching. At that point, we were only half an hour into the search, and didn’t feel we could give up that easily. There might’ve been something to find that was pertinent to the abduction – disappearance – whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘Good man! There should b
e an appeal out on the local radio at six, and the Gazette is primed and ready to go at a word from me, if need be. If this gets much beyond tomorrow, we’re probably looking for a body, rather than some sort of hostage. Now, which of your grand officers found these objects?’

  ‘Twinkle, sir – that is, WPC Starr. Step forward, young lady, and take a bow.’

  A figure detached itself from the scrum of uniformed bodies. WPC Starr was of slight build, her short dark hair slicked back from her face like a cap. She looked more like an elf in fancy dress than a serving police officer, but she had proved her worth today. Taking a low stage-bow to left and right, she sat down again, a little flustered at this un-sought notoriety, to a scattering of applause from her colleagues. The inspector hardly noticed as he rose from his seat, so excited was he by the finds.

  ‘OK!’ Falconer reclaimed their attention by holding his hand in the air for silence. ‘Although you’ve had a great result for the murder, we have to get on with looking for this missing girl. I want you to start house-to-house enquiries in the village. Knock at every door and ask if anyone saw anything at all of Summer Leighton after she left The Inn yesterday morning. If we get no results from that, we’re going to have to search every property, inside and out, tomorrow. Have a look in sheds and garages today, if you can. You never know what you’re going to find.

  ‘And remember, I mean every house – that is, with the exception of (here, he cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner) Blackbird Cottage in Stoney Cross Lane. I’m going there myself now, in pursuit of information in connection with the Willoughby case, and I can have a scout around and ask a few questions while I’m about it.’ He was blushing to the roots of his hair as he bade them get on with the job, embarrassed by his hidden agenda, and positive that everyone could see through his motives and look right into his heart.

  When he and Carmichael were alone in The Inn, the three villagers having decided that the excitement was over for the day, and that they needed to be elsewhere to boast of their exploits with the search party, Falconer phoned David Porter of the Gazette again to report that there was still no news, and to check that he was prepared to put a piece in the paper tomorrow, in case the house-to-house enquiries turned up nothing.