Apportionment of Blame (32 page)

“And thank you so much for your help,” I said to the officer at the desk as I walked past.

Sarcasm is not to be recommended, but sometimes it is just too hard to resist.

I went home and showered, then sat with a towel round my waist, listening to music, just letting the thoughts drift through my brain as the strings and brass of Rachmaninov filled the room. Soon I would have to see about Gemma, I thought, and try and sort out what actually happened and why.

If this was a Miss Marple or Poirot mystery I knew what would happen next. I would collect all the suspects together in one room and relate exactly what happened. The police would be present, of course, and they would be blinded by the obvious logic which they had so clearly lacked. The guilty party would be so ashamed when faced with the truth, that an admission would be immediately forthcoming, and yours truly, our hero, would move on to his next, even more challenging case.

That was not going to happen, and it couldn't happen anyway as I was not yet certain of the final details of Helen's life. Most, but not all.

She had been to see Ilse, Doug had seen her leave the house and followed her down the lane where he had seen her talking, perhaps arguing, with someone else. He heard a dog and the train's brakes. They were the facts, all the rest, so far, was conjecture.

Adjoining the lane is the garden of a house where a young woman lives, a young woman who had fallen for Helen, but been rejected. A dog also lives there, a large dog that likes to throw its weight around and isn't always easy to control.

Perhaps Gemma and Monty the dog had gone through the gate for a walk, Gemma had seen Helen and gone to speak to her. Helen didn't want to know, and perhaps raised her voice, whereupon the dog went for her. It would be most likely to jump up facing her, and if Helen had her back to the railway track at that moment, and the train was approaching, I could see how it might be possible for her to stumble backwards under the dog's weight, too late to recover before the train hit her.

But that didn't make sense. If she'd fallen backwards onto the track, and that's how her body was found, the police would have recognised from the body's position that it couldn't have been suicide. No one jumps backwards in front of a train, do they? Perhaps the train turned the body over on impact.

I began to consider all the possibilities. Perhaps the dog jumped up at her back. But if she was arguing with Gemma, she would have been facing her.

This was all good, clear conjecture, but only that. Gemma was the only person who could clarify what really happened, but would she be prepared to talk? How would I persuade her? How could I make her talk? Not easily, I thought.

Did her parents know or suspect what had happened? Could I approach Gemma through them? Only one thing was certain. Monty was not going to tell me anything.

After lunch I decided I must do something, anything to move things forward. There was no point in waiting for Gemma to have a sudden rush of conscience to the head and come to talk to me. I would have to make the first move.

Gemma would be at work, and I wasn't going to try talking to her there again, so I would go to see her parents. At least that way I might discover what they knew and if they were helping to cover things up.

I rang the doorbell, then stood back to prepare myself for Monty's onslaught. The woman I had spoken to before, who I now took to be Gemma's mother, opened the door.

“Yes?”

I saw the signs of recognition in her face, so I thought I'd get

the usual comment in first.

“Yes, it's me. Again.”

“How can I help? I thought I told you before that I know nothing about that girl's accident.”

“I know. You did. But there have been some developments and I was wondering if I could share them with you to see if it might jog your memory.”

“As far as I know, there is no memory of that evening to jog. But, if it would help. Come in.”

This all sounded very innocent, and I wondered how long that would continue.

She led me into a large living room stuffed with furniture. A heavy three piece suite made three sides of a square in front of a large open fire with a distinguished stone surround. There were coffee tables, occasional tables, stools, pouffes and so many objets d'art on the mantlepiece and around the room, it was like stepping into a Victorian stage set.

“Please,” she said. “Sit down.”

“Thank you.”

I chose one of the armchairs closest to the fire. It was still freezing outside.

“Perhaps I could tell you what I know, and see if any of it means anything to you.”

“All right.”

Once again it was important to get the words right and in the right order, but suddenly I felt more at ease than on previous occasions. Perhaps this detective thing was growing on me.

“The night that Helen died, she had been to visit someone along Barn Lane. In fact a near neighbour of yours. When she left the house it seems she walked along the track towards the railway. I have no idea why, but I suspect she wanted time to think about what she had just learned.”

“This is all very intriguing, but I can't see what it has to do with us.”

“Bear with me, if you would.”

She gestured for me to continue.

“Helen was followed down the track by someone who was not pleased to see her there. The identity of that person is of no concern, except for what he saw, because if his story is accurate, he saw how Helen died.”

I was watching my listener very carefully, and I could see no sign of concern or anything which would suggest she knew what was coming next.

“The witness says he saw someone go up to speak to Helen, and this person had a dog with them. It seems that words were exchanged and the dog was heard to bark, after which the train braked very suddenly and loudly.”

It was when I said ‘dog' that her expression changed, but only ever so slightly.

“Now I happen to know, from first hand experience if you remember, that you have a dog. A large dog, called Monty, I think. And when I walked along the track recently I noticed a gate leading from your garden.”

“Are you suggesting that it was someone from this house, with Monty, who caused the girl's death?

“I am not suggesting it, I am telling you what I've been told and pointing out what could be deduced from that.”

Her brow was now furrowed and she was thinking.

“Can you please think back to that night?” I said. “You told me before that you and your husband had been in the house and you had neither seen nor heard anything. Is that correct?”

“That's right.”

“You were at the back of the house, you said.”

“Yes.”

“But can you recall where your daughter was that evening, and where Monty was. Was the dog in the house with you?”

“My God! You don't think...but you can't. It's impossible. Why would Gemma want to do any harm to that girl?”

“Has Gemma spoken to you about the incident?”

“No. I don't think so. I can't remember. She lives in the flat over the garage, and she lives her own life. We're not always aware of her comings and goings. In fact we often don't know where she is. But she's a grown woman. She has her own life to lead.”

“Does she have a job?”

“Yes. She works at Colbox in Colchester.”

“Did you know that Helen, the girl who died, also worked at Colbox?”

“No.”

“Gemma didn't tell you?”

“No, she didn't. Why should she?”

“No reason other than interest. I would have thought that if a work colleague died in strange circumstances next to someone's garden, they might mention it. Don't you?”

The question was left hanging and the woman was now looking rather worried.

“Let me ask you again about your dog. Was it in the house that night?”

“I can't be certain. He often goes out into the garden for, well, you know what. He could easily have been outside that night. But that doesn't mean he got out through the gate.”

“Could he get out through the gate, or would the gate have to be opened for him?”

“It would have to be opened.”

“And you don't know where Gemma was that night.”

“No. I have no idea.”

She appeared to be considering possibilities, and not liking what she came up with.

“I take it Gemma is at work at present.”

“Yes.”

“Could I come and have a word with her later on, do you think? If she knows nothing, at least that will mean I can cross her off my list of possibles.”

“Possibles for what?”

“Possibles for being in the lane with Helen just before she died.”

It was interesting. She made no loud declarations of Gemma's obvious innocence. I would have expected at least that from a suspect's mother. Sometimes people's reactions are very surprising and rather revealing.

“I shall come back this evening, if you don't mind. Perhaps you would tell Gemma that I called and that I would like to speak to her later.”

I got up and offered another of my cards. I know she already had one, but just to be sure.

She said goodbye to me a little wistfully and I wondered what Gemma's reaction would be when her mother told her I had been. If she told her what I had said about the dog, and if my theory was correct, Gemma would know the game was up. But that, of course, didn't mean she would admit to anything.

Closing the gate behind me I decided there was nothing else I could do immediately, so I went to call on Ilse.

“Hello,” she said brightly when she opened the door.

“I was in the area so I thought I'd call to see you.”

“Come inside.”

This time we went straight to the kitchen, but unlike my first two visits there, now I felt more at ease and conversation was not a struggle. Ilse had gone straight to the kettle to make tea.

“Pam gave me a trunk which belonged to your mother. Most of the contents are a collection of memorabilia which, I suppose, must have meant something to Annie during her life. We did find a few photos in there which gave us some clues, before we knew who you were, but it should all be yours, I think.”

She was looking at me occasionally over her shoulder as I spoke, and I thought how different this was from the first time, when I stood with the towel, dripping all over her floor.

“It's sitting in my living room at present, but I should be glad to bring it here. Or why don't we drive over to Annie's bungalow and take it with us? When were you thinking of moving in?”

“I'm not sure. Everything happened rather fast yesterday. I'm still trying to catch up.”

She poured the boiling water into the pot and came to join me at the table. I noticed that she had returned to her less fetching clothes, but somehow she now looked more comfortable. The change was entirely in her face. Having everything settled must have taken a load off her mind, and it showed.

“The rent is paid up to the end of the month,” she said, “so I could move anytime, I suppose.”

“You know that Pam and Oliver will help, if you ask them,” I said. “and I know Pam would like to take you to meet her parents.”

“Oh dear. All these new people to meet. It's not what I'm used to at all.”

“You'll get used to it, I'm sure.”

She smiled a half smile, and once again I began to see how much different she would look once all the worries and uncertainties were behind her.

“Let's fix a date,” I said. “I'll take you over to Ipswich with the trunk and help you find your way around.”

I set a date a few days in the future, hoping that would give me time to see Gemma, sort out what really happened and tie up the remaining loose ends.

On the way home in the car I had the radio on, and there was a report of more cold weather to come with high winds blowing in off the North Sea. Just what we need, I thought. It would be warmer in London.

That set me thinking how good it would be to get back to the office and work on other things, while trying to earn some money. Having finally told Joyce how I felt about her, I sensed that we would have a future together before too long, which added to the urgent need I was beginning to feel about earning a living.

The case about Helen was not over yet, and I could never have imagined when Joyce first called where investigations would lead. But I felt I had at least begun to persuade myself that I was a detective. Perhaps an admission from Gemma would finally convince me.

I hoped the police would follow up those enquiries and go to see Ilse and Doug. That thought brought Ilse back to my mind. What a sad life. In some respects she'd lost more than Joyce and her family. I hoped the police would be easy on her and not make things worse.