Birthdays Can Be Murder (18 page)

Mollineaux, still waiting for an answer to his question, looked at her and instantly recognized someone who was deep in thought. He looked across to his sergeant, who waited placidly. ‘We’ve had some rather interesting news from the labs. About the corks,’ he said, burning the last of his bridges. If his chief ever found out he’d confided vital information to a suspect, he’d be finished.

Jenny knew it was no use trying to force a memory. She would simply have to wait until her subconscious chose to spit it out – whatever
it
was. She sighed deeply and leaned back against the slated wooden planks.

‘The corks?’ she echoed, trying to force her mind onto a different track, and eventually nodded. ‘Oh yes. The corks. I daresay they told you that none of them had a puncture mark,’ she guessed offhandedly.

Mollern nearly fell off the end of the seat. Mollineaux simply stared at her. ‘You knew that none of the corks would have been tampered with?’ he asked at last, his voice a disbelieving squeak.

Jenny, still half lost in another world of thought, nodded vaguely. ‘That’s right. When I found out the syringe had been discovered in the bin under the wine table, I suspected that your theory was wrong – about somebody sneaking into the kitchen and injecting the paraquat into the champagne when it was still in the pantry, I mean.’

Suddenly, as if aware that the atmosphere had turned decidedly chilly, Jenny half-turned on the seat, and laid a consoling hand on Mollineaux’s sleeve. ‘Not that it wasn’t a wonderful theory, of course,’ she said, and could have added that the killer also expected the police to latch onto it. However (call her psychic), she didn’t think Mollineaux was in the mood to know he’d been second-guessed by the murderer.

‘Thank you,’ Mollineaux said, through gritted teeth. ‘So it was a good theory, but false. You, I’m sure, know how it actually
was
done?’ he added, having little choice but to believe it. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know who the killer is as well, would you?’ he added sarcastically, and Jenny, who was once again trying to capture that elusive memory, stirred.

‘Hmm? What? Oh yes,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve known who killed Justin for some time now. And how it was done. No, what really worries me,’ she carried on, oblivious to the fact that two sets of jaws had practically hit the lawn either side of her, ‘is
why it was done
. It has me absolutely baffled.’ And she shook her head in frustration.

She paused, but still the memory that tantalized her refused to come. ‘Strange, isn’t it,’ she mused, turning to Mollineaux again. ‘Usually the motive is always the first thing you … figure … out …’ Her words slowed and then trailed off as she became aware of his thunderous face.

She looked at Mollern and saw a similar rage in his own suet-like features. Hastily, she turned back to Mollineaux. ‘But I thought that you
knew
as well,’ she said, genuinely surprised. ‘I mean, you’ve had access to all the evidence as well. And questioned all the suspects.’

Aware that she was being less than tactful, she stopped talking. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. They really were still in the dark.

‘Miss Starling,’ Mollineaux took a deep, long-suffering breath and turned on her, feeling like a modern martyr.

‘Yes, Inspector,’ she said meekly.

‘You will tell me, clearly and precisely and in detail, exactly how you suspect the murder was done, and by whom. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ she said meekly.

‘
Right now
!’ he roared, making her jump.

So Jenny told him. Sheesh. He really was a grouse!

J
ENNY CAME DOWN
to breakfast the next morning feeling tense and on edge. She knew that Mollineaux and Mollern would return, either with the proof she expected or – just conceivably – not. In which case she was wrong about everything, and would have to start all over again.

But she didn’t think she
was
wrong.

The dining room was full and noisy, but as she pushed open the door and walked in, everyone fell silent. It did nothing at all to help her nerves. Then Mark smiled at her, and said pleasantly, ‘Good morning, Jenny. Bacon?’

Jenny never said no to bacon.

At the far end of the table, Babs Walker leaned closer to Arbie and said something quietly into his ear. Arbie smiled. Next to her mother, Alicia watched Jenny with a rather petulant interest, but she soon found the spectacle of the hired cook helping herself to scrambled eggs, kidneys, bacon and fried tomatoes less than stimulating, and quickly turned to Keith. At the far end, with nobody sat next to him at all, was Trevor Watkins. He watched the cook with blank, unnerving eyes.

Jenny took a seat next to Mark, glad that Mollineaux had put him right about her real role in the murder of her previous employer. She turned to Sherri and said apologetically, ‘I really would prefer to eat in the kitchen, but I’m afraid that Martha …’ She trailed off helplessly, and shrugged.

Sherri smiled understandingly, and Jenny noticed with some relief that a little colour had returned to her face. But her hands, as she raised her teacup to her lips, still had an infinitesimal tremble.

Jenny poured herself a cup of tea and glanced across at Babs, who looked radiant in a dark chocolate-coloured silk blouse and cream skirt. The ensemble showed off her blonde hair and pansy-dark eyes to perfection. Her hand, Jenny noticed, was curled around Arbie’s sleeve.

Arbie himself was the life and soul of the breakfast table. He chatted happily with Mark, who was obviously grateful for his presence, and together the two men cordially dissected the current political scene and the cricket scores.

Babs, from time to time, cast interested eyes in Trevor’s direction. No doubt she’d learned who and what he was, and like a lot of silly women, was intrigued by the handsome ‘bad boy’ of the bunch. Not that Jenny was all that worried. Babs was far too mercenary to make a play for Watkins. It could only be a matter of time before he was the guest of one of Her Majesty’s Prisons, and that would not suit Babs at all.

Jenny wondered what Margie Harding was doing at that moment. She wondered, too, how she would react when Mollineaux returned with his warrants. News would travel fast in a village the size of Rousham Green. She glanced quickly at Keith Harding, her eyes moving away the instant they turned in her direction. It was almost over. She could feel as much. And would she ever be glad to leave The Beeches behind.

Then she felt guilty as she thought of the devastation she’d be leaving in her wake. She glanced again at Sherri and wished she didn’t look so frail. Then Jenny turned a rather different gaze onto Mark, who was arguing amiably with Arbie about England’s chances against Australia at Lord’s. Jenny shook her head slightly and sighed.

The breakfast party broke up surprisingly quickly. Babs and Arbie rose together, Arbie murmuring something about reading the papers in the lounge. Keith and Alicia simply left, telling nobody where they were going. And Jenny, not wishing to be left with Trevor Watkins for any longer than need be, quickly followed suit.

Outside it was another warm day. The birds were singing, and as she stood indecisively on the porch, she saw a bluetit with a beak full of insects head for a broken drainpipe near the kitchen drains, and disappear. A moment later, with the food safely delivered to ever-hungry chicks, it flew off again in a whirr of lemon, blue and white feathers.

How idyllic it all seemed. And yet there was murder here, betrayal and death. An ugliness that wasn’t visible but could, nevertheless, be felt. And a moment later, the returning car of Mollineaux and Mollern turned up the drive and pulled to a halt under the shady beeches.

Jenny didn’t want to meet them. She wanted to go to her herb garden and come out only after it was all over. But she couldn’t. She’d made a silent promise to Justin that she would see his murderer punished.

With yet another sigh, she straightened her shoulders, took a quick look around and, confident that nobody was about, set off across the gravel. Mollineaux and Mollern, she noticed, waited at the car for her, making no move to meet her halfway. They too wanted to be out of earshot of the house. Even before she reached them, she could see in their faces that they’d been successful.

‘You were right,’ Mollineaux confirmed quietly as soon as she joined them under the beech tree. Above her, a slight breeze whispered in the leaves.

‘It was where I thought it was?’ she demanded, and Mollineaux nodded.

‘It took us some time to find it. But yes, between us we tracked it down.’

Jenny nodded. ‘And the man is willing to testify who he sold the needle to?’ she asked, wanting to be sure of where they all stood.

Mollineaux nodded. ‘No doubt of it. He made a positive identification from the photograph.’

Jenny sighed. ‘Damn. Oh damn. It’s going to mean a life sentence, isn’t it?’ she asked wearily.

‘Probably,’ Mollineaux agreed. For a long while the party of three stood in the shade, listening to the beech and lime trees whisper around them.

‘So,’ Jenny said, making a determined effort to be practical, ‘we have some physical proof, at least. You agree with me on how it was done?’

Mollineaux nodded. ‘Now that you’ve explained it, we can’t see how it could have been done any other way,’ he agreed ruefully.

‘Yes, but will a jury see it that way?’ Jenny wondered. ‘I’m still not happy about it all. If only I knew
why
! The picture just isn’t complete yet.’

She didn’t fail to notice the look that passed between the two policemen, and she lifted an eyebrow at Mollineaux.

‘You’ve hit the hammer right on the nail head, Miss Starling,’ he agreed. ‘Without motive, we’re missing a huge chunk in our case. And when we run it past our chief and the lawyers …’ He shrugged expressively.

Jenny sighed heavily. ‘Yes. I see your point.’

‘It’s not that we disagree with you,’ Mollineaux hastened to add. ‘Or that we’re giving up. But we must have that motive.’

Jenny again nodded. ‘The really irritating thing is, I’m sure that somebody, at some time, has already pointed it out to me, but I just can’t quite get a hold of it. Oh, it makes me feel so stupid!’

Mollern allowed himself a smile. ‘I can assure you, Miss Starling, you’re definitely not that!’

Jenny gave a ladylike grunt of disbelief. ‘So, what do we do now?’ she asked Mollineaux, who spread his hands.

‘Now that Mollern and I know where to concentrate our efforts, we’ll do some serious digging. Who knows, perhaps we might actually earn our pay and come up with some answers for ourselves,’ he added, just a shade bitterly. And together, the two policemen returned to the house, Jenny watching them go with troubled eyes.

An hour or so later, it was as if Jenny had stepped into a twilight zone, courtesy of a strong sense of déjà vu.

After watching the slump-shouldered policemen disappear into the hall, she had turned straightaway for her herb garden to do some serious thinking. On the whole, it hadn’t helped. Knowing who and how didn’t equal knowing why. And she was so deep in thought that they were almost on top of her before she realized it.

From the gap in the hedge, the young, passionate voices catapulted her back in time to that first moment she’d heard them together.

‘I’ll be glad when all these policemen leave,’ Alicia’s voice, petulant but defiant, wafted on the rose-scented breeze and had Jenny’s head snapping up.

‘I won’t,’ Keith’s voice came back. ‘I feel safe with them around. If anything happened to you, I think I really would die.’

‘Oh, Keith!’

There was a long, tender moment of silence, and Jenny had no difficulty at all in guessing what was happening just a few yards away on the other side of the green hedge. Quickly she stirred herself and stepped into the corner, withdrawing into the shadows and trying to shake off the cold shiver of déjà vu currently playing with her spine.

‘Wasn’t it funny, that fat cook turning out to be some sort of amateur sleuth?’ Keith asked, and Jenny saw the hedge bulge. She could just picture him leaning against it, his handsome face creased in a smile, his smouldering eyes fixed on his love.

‘Oh, don’t remind me,’ Alicia groaned. ‘She must have watched too many of those Agatha Christie serials on television. I’ll be so glad when everything’s back to normal. It’s all been so horrid. I just want peace again.’

‘Peace?’ Keith teased. ‘I thought we were going to get married?’

‘Won’t that be peaceful, then?’ Alicia purred a challenge, and Keith laughed.

‘Hardly. Besides, we’re going to have children, aren’t we? Lots of tots.’

And what of Margie’s children? Jenny couldn’t help but wonder. It was all very well starting a new family to assuage the guilt and longing for offspring that obviously still plagued Keith Harding, but what of his first family?

‘Well, I don’t know about lots,’ Alicia’s voice laughed back. ‘One or two, perhaps. I don’t want a huge family, petal mine. That’s so lower class.’

Keith laughed, but there was not much humour in it. ‘I am lower class, Al,’ he pointed out grimly. ‘I like to watch football on a Saturday afternoon. I don’t go in for all this so-called sophistication of your lot – all this playing around with booze and drugs. Playing your silly little upper-class games and then expecting your rich daddies to bail you out when it’s time to face the consequences. I like eating sausage and mash, and being a man in my own home.’

‘Well! A proper caveman, aren’t you?’ Alicia teased, but Jenny could detect just a touch of strain in that sweet and teasing voice. ‘Come on, my big brave Neanderthal. Let’s go to the summerhouse.’

‘What? Now?’ Keith sounded surprised, but allowed himself to be led away, and Jenny emerged from the shadows and stood in the bright sunlight.

At the back of her mind she felt a nibble. The nibble became a sting and then, in a flash, she heard again the passing remark that had been torturing her all night. And suddenly she knew.

For a while she simply stood still, running it all through her mind. And then she nodded.

Mollineaux looked up as the door was opened without so much as a knock. The reprimand that was on his lips died when he saw that it was not some offending constable after all. He needed only one look at Jenny’s face to feel his heart jump.

‘You know, don’t you?’ he said simply, and Mollern, turning at the sound of his superior’s voice, was just in time to see the cook nod.

‘Yes. I do. And I want you to make out another arrest warrant.’

‘Another one? You mean there was an accomplice?’ Mollineaux was surprised.

Jenny lowered herself into the chair facing him and smiled. ‘You’re going to enjoy this, Inspector,’ she promised. ‘The warrant is for Trevor Watkins.’

Mollern wanted to whoop for joy, but instead he reached for his notebook and began to scribble furiously as Jenny spoke in a quiet, tired voice. ‘You can charge him with blackmail, for a start.’

Carefully and succinctly, she told the police the ‘why’. When she’d finished, Mollineaux was silent for a long time. ‘We’ll have a hard time getting him to confess,’ he said at last. ‘Watkins is a tough nut. He won’t crack.’

‘Find the clinic then,’ Jenny said bluntly, too tired now it was all over to even think about being tactful. ‘Now you know what you’re looking for, it shouldn’t be hard.’

Mollineaux nodded. ‘I agree. With the testimony of the doctor concerned, Watkins will have no choice but to really “help us with our inquiries”.’

‘Especially if you point out that a case could be made against him for accessory to murder,’ Jenny pointed out.

Mollineaux frowned. ‘From what you’ve told me, I’m not sure that it could.’

Jenny smiled. ‘If it wasn’t for Watkins, Inspector, Justin Greer would still be alive today. If you looked at it all in a certain way.’

Mollern smiled. He could look at it that way all right. But he doubted a jury would. Still, blackmail was a start.

‘Right.’ Mollineaux slapped his thighs with his hands and rose quickly. ‘Back to London, Jack,’ he said to Mollern, for the first time using the sergeant’s first name. ‘We’ve got work to do. And when we’ve found the doctor, we’ll haul Watkins in.’

Mollern grinned. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said happily.

They came for Watkins remarkably soon. Jenny had expected them to be gone for the day, but at 4.30 that afternoon they came back and very politely asked Trevor Watkins, who’d been playing patience with an infinitely bored expression on his face, to accompany them to the station. He very quickly stopped looking bored.

Only Jenny and Babs Walker, who both happened to be passing through the hall, saw them leave. Mollineaux gave Jenny a brief nod in passing, but didn’t speak.

When she turned around, Babs Walker was staring at her intently. She looked like nothing more than a frightened little girl who was well out of her depth. Jenny smiled. ‘Would you take a little advice, Miss Walker?’

Babs nodded wordlessly.

‘Go home,’ she said flatly. ‘Go back to your mum and dad in their council house and find a job—’ She stopped, seeing at once she was wasting her breath. Babs was already backing away and shaking her head. On the landing, above her, Arbie watched and smiled as Babs joined him, and together they disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Jenny shrugged and turned for the kitchen. Some people just couldn’t be helped. And Martha or no, she needed to bake something.

Anything.

It was nearly seven o’clock when the police returned. Martha spared a few seconds out of her self-imposed task of watching every move Jenny made in order to look out of the window.