A Finer End (27 page)

“Then we had better find out who did,” Kincaid replied reasonably. “Why don’t we wait out here, and you let us know when Winnie starts to stir. Any sign of her brother, by the way?”

“No. He hasn’t shown up since I’ve been here, and he hasn’t rung to check on her, as far as I know.”

They had struck up a conversation with the nursing sister in charge of the floor when Jack reappeared a quarter of
an hour later. As Jack motioned them inside, Kincaid realized he was looking forward to meeting Winnie Catesby with a good deal of curiosity.

As he entered the room, his first thought was that the woman in the hospital bed was plain. Of course, she had been ill, but even making allowances for that, she seemed quite ordinary; her features certainly lacked the distinction of her handsome brother’s.

Then she looked up at him and smiled, and all thoughts of conventional beauty fled his mind. It was instantly apparent why Jack had fallen in love with Winnie Catesby.

“Jack’s been telling me all about you,” she told Kincaid. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her head bore an unsightly shaved spot, with the edges of a wound pulled together with a clip.

“Has he mentioned all the times I got him into trouble when we were kids?”

“More than once. But I don’t believe he was as innocent as he makes out,” Winnie replied, with a mischievous glance at Jack.

She greeted Gemma, then, when they had chatted for a few moments, Kincaid pulled a chair up close to the bed.

“Winnie, did Jack tell you
why
he asked us to come?”

She focused all her attention on him, her face grave. “No. I just assumed he needed a bit of moral support.…”

“Have you remembered anything about your accident?”

“Sometimes there are … flashes. Did you ever catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye—a glimpse so fleeting that you not only weren’t sure what it was, but whether you really saw anything at all?”

Kincaid nodded encouragingly.

“That’s what it’s like. I know something’s there, but I can’t grasp it long enough to put words to it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’m sure it will come back to you in time. You
do
know that someone struck you with a car and knocked you off your bike?” She nodded.

“Jack thought it was odd that the person didn’t stop to help you, and the circumstances of the accident were a bit strange as well. So he rang and asked me to come down, just in case there was something dodgy going on.”

“And is there?” asked Winnie, frowning.

“We think it’s possible. Your accident was on Wednesday night, just round the corner from Ms. Todd’s house. On Thursday, when Faith heard what had happened to you, she was afraid that Ms. Todd might have been responsible.”

“Garnet?” Winnie looked utterly astonished. “That’s impossible! Why on earth would Faith think such an absurd thing?”

“Faith said you stopped at the café,” explained Jack. “When Garnet ran her home a few minutes later, they saw you pushing your bike up the hill. Then Garnet went out alone, and when she came back, Faith said she seemed terribly upset. This would have been just about the time you were struck.”

“Well, I’m sure she must have had a perfectly good reason that had nothing to do with me. What did she say when you asked her?” In the silence that followed her question, Winnie’s expression of mild exasperation swiftly changed to alarm. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Darling.” Jack took her hand. “I’m afraid Garnet’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“I’m sorry,” Kincaid said gently. “Ms. Todd was murdered the evening after your accident.”

“Oh, no …” She sank back into the pillow, as if that blow had used up her fragile reserves. Tears leaked from beneath her closed eyelids.

“Surely that’s enough for now,” protested Jack. “Let her—”

Winnie’s eyes flew open. “Faith! What about Faith? Is she—”

“She’s fine,” Jack reassured her. “She’s tucked up in the spare room at my house.”

“And have you any idea who could have done such a thing to Garnet?”

“The police have been questioning Nick,” Jack answered reluctantly.

“Nick! Nick wouldn’t hurt a fly! I don’t believe that for a minute!”

“It’s all routine,” Kincaid said hastily. “The police have to ask these things. But Carlisle did go to the farmhouse the afternoon before Ms. Todd was killed. He may have seen someone, or something, that will prove helpful.”

“Winnie,” said Gemma, “when I went to pick up Faith’s things yesterday, I ran across your brother at the farmhouse. Do you know of any connection your brother might have had with Garnet?”

“Andrew?” Under the sheet, Winnie’s chest rose with the sharp intake of her breath. “No. No, none at all.”

“Has Andrew mentioned anything to you about having his kitchen redone?”

“Andrew?” Winnie said again, this time with a snort. “It would never occur to him—the poor man can hardly boil water.”

“And was Andrew aware that
you
knew Ms. Todd?”

“I—I don’t know.” Winnie seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “I might have mentioned her at some time. Why?”

“Just more routine,” Kincaid reassured her. “I know this is hard for you. Just one more question, then we’ll let you rest. Jack’s told us that you visited Faith’s parents. It’s occurred to me that they had very good reason to be angry with Garnet—”

“But I never told them where Faith was!”

“No, of course not. But it’s possible they found out some other way. We should talk to them, if only to eliminate
the possibility. If you could just give us Faith’s name and address—”

“I’m sorry.” Winnie’s voice was bitingly firm. “Those are things Faith told me in confidence, and I simply can’t reveal them without her permission. You’ll have to find some other way.”

F
AITH INSISTED SHE
didn’t mind staying on her own. Jack had offered to take her with him to visit Winnie, but there were too many things she couldn’t face talking about just yet. Not with Winnie, when she still didn’t know how much Winnie knew, or if Garnet were responsible for her accident. And now Garnet was dead.

Dead. Alone in Jack’s house, Faith repeated the word to herself, desperate to make sense of it. Garnet had been alive—she had sung to the cats in the morning when she thought no one could hear; she had put courgettes in everything she cooked, even though she knew Faith loathed them; she had read tattered copies of
National Geographic
in the loo; she had kept a doll collection wrapped in tissue paper in a box in her bedroom cupboard.

And now she was
not
.

She spent the first hour after Jack’s departure watching some mindless comedy on the old telly in the sitting room, but when the snow on the screen began to give her a headache she gave it up. She had asked Jack once why he hadn’t kept any of his own things when he came back to Glastonbury, and he’d replied that they’d absorbed too many memories, like emulsion on film. He’d sold everything in a job lot.

Would Garnet’s possessions bear her imprint? Faith had watched her in her workshop, handling her tools with such delicacy. Those she had loved, and her books, and her cape and colorful clothes.

Faith wandered about the house, running her fingertip through the layer of dust on the furniture, her thoughts skittering. She felt as if someone had taken her apart and put the pieces back in the wrong order.

Without conscious decision, she climbed the stairs, slowly, one hand supporting the weight of her belly. She had not been in any of the upstairs rooms except the one Jack had put her in. Now she opened each door along the corridor, peering inside. Hers came first, then a tiny room
that bore traces of boyhood occupation. The large room near hers had a high four-poster bed and smelled of Jack and, faintly, Winnie. The other two rooms were filled with boxes, stacks of books and papers, and odd bits of furniture.

What had it been like to grow up in this house? she wondered, recalling her parents’ cheerful suburban semi. That brought a pang of intense homesickness, immediately squelched, as was the thought of what she would do once her baby was born. How could she think past this day?

Closing the doors again, she went back down the stairs. She would do something useful, have a meal ready for them, whenever they came back. Scrounging in the pantry, she found some canned chicken stock, a package of dried peas, rice, and some spices: probably all well past their prime, but she might concoct a passable pot of soup.

She had put the peas on to soak when the doorbell rang. It must be Nick, she thought, and waddled—you could hardly call it walking anymore—as quickly as she could to the front door. She swung it open anxiously, to find not Nick, but Inspector Greely and a woman in plainclothes.

“We’d hoped we might find you at home, miss.”

“Jack’s not here.” Faith started to close the door.

“No, no, it’s you we’ve come to see. Can we come in?”

When Faith hesitated, not sure if she could refuse, Greely said, “Unless you prefer that we interview you in the presence of your parents, of course.”

“I’m seventeen,” she retorted, bristling. “I can speak for myself.”

“Then we’ll have our little chat now.” The Inspector stepped inside, and Faith realized with a sinking heart that she’d backed herself into a corner.

She took them into the sitting room, and let them seat themselves on the worn velvet upholstery, surrounded by silver-framed photos of Jack’s relatives.

“This is Detective Constable O’Toole.” Greely nodded towards the woman, who smiled brightly and didn’t meet
Faith’s eyes. She had lacquered blond hair and an abundance of makeup to match her false smile.

“And you are?” Greely continued. “I’m afraid we can’t go on just calling you
miss.”
His companion slipped a notebook and pen from her handbag.

“Faith.”

“We’ll have to have your surname, for the record. Unless, of course, you’d rather we had this little conversation at Police Headquarters.”

“Wills. It’s Wills.”

“And your address of record? That will be where you’re registered with social security, that sort of thing.”

When Faith had reluctantly given them her parents’ address, Greely settled back on the sofa and laced his fingers over his stomach. “There, now that we have that out of the way, Miss Wills, we’d like to talk to you about your friend Nick Carlisle. He says that on the afternoon of the day Miss Todd died, he went to her house looking for you, but you weren’t there. Is that right?”

Faith nodded warily.

“Now, that’s all very well and good, except for one small thing. No one seems to have provided a satisfactory explanation as to where you were from, say, five o’clock, until you showed up on Mr. Montfort’s front porch a bit before midnight.”

“I—I went for a walk. Up Wellhouse Lane to the top.” Faith could see the disbelief written clearly on both their faces, but she persisted. “But then I felt unwell, so I found a spot to rest. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up it was dark.”

“And then?”

“I walked back. Garnet’s van was gone and the house was empty. I thought she must have been out looking for me, so I waited. But she didn’t come.”

“What made you decide to give it up?”

“I … It was late … and I was … frightened.”

“So you went to Mr. Montfort for help.” Something about the way Greely said it made it sound dirty.

“He’s my friend, and I thought he’d know what to do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, Miss Wills, there’s not. If that were indeed the case.” Greely bared his teeth in a smile that held no warmth.

“What do you mean?” Faith felt her face flush with anger.

“It means I think you’ve left a few things out. I think you were there when Nick came. I think the two of you got into an argument with Miss Todd, a scuffle. Perhaps you didn’t mean any real harm, but accidents happen, we all know that.”

Faith could only stare at him.

“Then, when you realized she was dead, you panicked. You helped Carlisle carry her to the van and put her in the back. Then he drove the van round the Tor, parked it, and walked back to pick up his bike.

“Oh, and then the two of you decided that you alone would go to Mr. Montfort, pretending to be hysterical with worry because Miss Todd hadn’t come home, when all the time you knew exactly where she was.” Greely rubbed his chin, then said, “Unless, of course, Montfort was in on it too.”

Faith’s hands and feet were numb with cold, her tongue stiff in her mouth. “No. That’s not true. None of that’s true. That’s crazy—”

“Did you and Carlisle confront Todd over the matter of Reverend Catesby’s accident? Or was it something else? Miss Todd was jealous of you and Carlisle, wasn’t she? Maybe you decided to put a stop to it.”

“No! I never saw Nick that day. And even if Nick
was
there, Nick would
never
hurt anyone.”

“Not even to protect you? What if
you
confronted Miss Todd over Reverend Catesby, and she attacked you to keep you quiet? Then Nick just happened to come along to the rescue.”

“I never spoke to Garnet! I never saw Nick!” Faith insisted.

Greely studied her, his expression suddenly sympathetic. “Do your parents know where you are, Miss Wills?”

“No.”

“Well, now, that’s a shame, isn’t it? A young girl in your condition”—his glance raked her belly—“needs her parents’ support. But perhaps they don’t approve of Mr. Carlisle, is that it?”

“I … he—It’s none of your business.”

“No? Well, my advice to you, Miss Wills, is that you might want to contact your parents. I suspect you’re going to need some legal advice. And if I were your father, I’d tell you that it’s not worth ruining your life—and that of your child—by protecting Carlisle. I’m sure we could come to some sort of arrangement with the prosecutor’s office.” He stood. “We’ll be talking again soon. Don’t get up. We’ll see ourselves out.”