Jigsaw (25 page)

‘Beggars belief, doesn't it?'

‘There's nobody at all that you can think of?

‘Nobody.'

Rona looked at him consideringly. ‘Could I ask you a very personal question?'

He gave a snort of laughter. ‘You've already asked if I'm a murderer. You can't get much more personal than that.'

‘A confidential one, then, strictly between you and me?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Go on.'

She said carefully, ‘Were you by any chance having an affair around that time?'

It was clear the question came as a shock. His eyes went momentarily blank and his face stiffened, but the flush that stained his cheeks was her answer.

After a tense minute, he said levelly, ‘What makes you think that?'

‘I'm not thinking, so much as asking.'

‘Then what made you ask?'

‘It's – possible that you were seen.'

He gave a deep sigh. ‘All right, if we're playing the truth game and it's going no further, I was, as it happens. Can you tell me why it's any of your business?'

‘She was married, too?'

‘Yes; still is.'

‘Could her husband have found out?'

He gave a shout of laughter, and those at the next table turned to stare at him. ‘Sorry, but you're way off track there. No, he did not find out; I'd stake my life on it.'

‘You may have already done so,' Rona said.

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Look, even if he did – and I know he didn't – why go after poor old Pollard? Mine was the throat to cut, which would have been much simpler all round.'

Rona shook her head. ‘I can't help you on that one.' She paused. ‘Still confidentially, are you prepared to tell me who you were involved with?'

‘Positively, absolutely and definitely, no. Anyway, it had been over for some time by then. Look,' he went on, his voice changing, ‘I know it would be a scoop for you to prove my innocence, but – and I'm serious now – I don't want you even to try. You could be putting yourself in danger, and as far as I'm concerned, I've accepted my lot. I'm a model prisoner; with luck, my sentence will be reduced. I can sit it out.'

There wasn't much more to say, and Rona reluctantly rose to her feet. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said.

He nodded. ‘Goodbye, Ms Parish. Take care.'

There was a man sitting on the bench at the bus stop, reading a newspaper. Rona, her mind still on Alan Spencer, had almost passed him when she stopped and looked more closely.

‘Hello, chameleon,' she said, sitting down beside him.

He grinned, removed his spectacles and folded the paper.

‘Why all the disguises?' she asked curiously. ‘Anyone would think you were on the run.'

‘If someone did happen to be following you,' Dave pointed out, ‘he sure as hell would notice if the same bloke was always in the vicinity. So – how did it go?' He nodded towards the prison across the road.

‘He didn't do it, Dave.'

‘You know that for a fact, do you?'

‘Yes,' she said seriously. ‘He couldn't have; I'm sure of it.'

‘Well, even if you're right, there's not much you can do about it.'

She thought for a moment. ‘No, but there's something you could do for me. I shan't be going out this evening so you'd officially be off-duty, but I'd be awfully grateful if you could drive out to the Cat and Fiddle at Sunningdean and see what you can suss out.'

‘I can, sure, but won't the trail be a bit cold by now?'

‘Yes, but it was a major event for the pub regulars. If you say something like, “Didn't a murder take place around here?” I bet they'll be more than willing to give you their two-penn'orth.'

‘OK; no skin off my nose which pub I drink at.'

She looked at her watch. ‘Normally, I'd be setting off for home about now.'

‘What time's the funeral?'

‘Eleven. Nuala's inviting people back to the house, so I said I'd give her a hand. Miss Rosebury was well known and respected; I think there'll be a large turnout.'

‘Well, watch yourself. I'll be at the church, see you back to the house, and then hang around till you leave for home.'

Rona nodded absently. ‘I just wish I knew for certain that the interview didn't lead to her death,' she said.

Her mobile rang just as she turned into her parking place, and she flipped it open. It was Beth Spencer.

‘Miss Parish? You saw him?'

‘I did, yes.'

‘And what do you think?'

Rona hesitated. ‘Mrs Spencer, it doesn't make much difference what I think, but for what it's worth I'm sure he didn't do it.'

‘Thank you.'

‘There really is nothing I can do, you know.'

‘Couldn't you make a few general enquiries? No one would think anything of it – you're a journalist, after all.'

Briefly, she considered telling Beth of her proposed enquiries at the pub, but decided against it. It might give her false hope.

‘I'll do what I can,' she promised.

As she rang off, Rona reflected on Spencer's admission to an affair. Beth wouldn't learn of it from her, but would she be irreparably hurt if she did find out? Rona thought not; it was in the past, after all, and Beth admitted their marriage had been under a strain. At least his time in prison seemed to have strengthened it, and as Spencer had implied, the affair could have no relevance to the murder: had it led to any consequences, Spencer himself would have been the victim.

Thank God this murderer's safely behind bars
,
Max had said, right at the start. But it was beginning to look as though he mightn't be, after all.

Tom lay next to his wife in the large double bed, but he had never felt farther away from her. Though wide awake, he barely heard the rhythmic little puffs she emitted, prelude to the soft snores that had punctuated his nights for the last forty years. For he was pleasurably engaged in recycling his day with Catherine – her smile, her laugh, the things they'd talked about.

They'd been relaxed with each other from the start, able to let silences develop without the need to fill them. Frequently, they'd started to say the same thing, and broken off with a laugh. Her knowledge of art had reawakened his own love of it, dormant now for many years, and to his delight brought back remembered snippets that were new to her. During the whole magical day, they'd said nothing that her son and his daughters could not have heard, but he was acutely aware of a growing attraction. Whether or not she'd registered it, he had no idea. Either way, these could be dangerous waters, but for the moment he didn't care; he felt rejuvenated, invigorated, revitalized – just when he'd thought he was about to be thrown on the scrap heap.

Another startling fact had emerged: he'd realized for the first time that his marriage hadn't been happy for years, and the knowledge came as a shock. The creeping disenchantment had been so gradual that he'd accepted it as normal, but it was a long time indeed since he'd looked forward to seeing his wife, enjoyed her company, even – apart from the twice-daily peck on the cheek – kissed her. He had grown used to her discontented grumbles and her criticism of their daughters, always trying, for the sake of peace, to smooth them over, lighten her mood. It was this, he now saw, that, more than lack of male companionship or empty, stretching days, had led to his dreading retirement. Only when he compared the way he felt with Catherine did he appreciate how dull and pointless his exist ence had become.

They had parted at Marsborough station, where they'd both left their cars.

‘Thank you so much for today,' he had said. ‘I hope we can do it again some time.'

She'd smiled at him. ‘I hope so, too,' she'd said.

Was that standard politeness, or had she meant it? He intended to find out, and soon.

Rona was suddenly, totally, awake, every nerve stretched taut as a wire. She lay motionless, eyes straining into the darkness. Something had woken her. What was it?

And into the thick, throbbing silence it came again, a faint rattle and a squeak, this time followed by a draught of air that passed over her face. She lay unmoving, scarcely breathing, deafened by her heartbeats. Her bedroom door was opening.
Someone was coming into the room.

The board that always creaked when she stood on it creaked now, pinpointing his position, though her sleep-dimmed eyes could make out only a shadowy shape. Rapidly she ran through the objects to hand should he approach the bed. They were not of much comfort: her clock, a glass of water, her library book. With luck, the water might shock him long enough for her to make a run for it.

But, to her untold relief, he was not approaching the bed. Instead, he'd moved to the far side of the room and she temporarily lost his outline, till she realized he'd knelt down behind the table where, she remembered, a small door some three feet high led to the roof space.

The darkness paled slightly – the shielded beam of a torch, she deduced – then came the unmistakable sound of the wooden door being lifted aside. A faint shuffling followed, a gentle thud and then another. Then a scraping of wood against wood as the door was fitted back into place. The shadowy figure rose, became man-sized again, and moved soundlessly back towards the door.

As he pulled it open and the blackness leached into grey, Rona could see he was now carrying something, presumably retrieved from his hidey-hole. In one lightning movement, her arm snaked out for the light switch and the room flooded with brilliance, temporarily blinding both her and the intruder, who froze in the doorway. As her vision cleared, she found herself staring across the room at the startled face of Clive Banks. He was holding a small, cheap suitcase in each hand.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' she demanded ringingly, emboldened by the light.

Everything happened at once. After an instant's paralysis, he turned and hurled himself towards the stairs. In the same moment Rona flung herself out of bed and caught up her dressing gown, shouting, ‘Nuala! Nuala! Stop him!' There was a clatter of feet on the stairs, an oath, and then a series of thumps as Clive lost his footing and went hurtling down the remainder of the steps, the suitcases tumbling after him and flying open to send a hoard of silver, jewellery and bank notes cascading over the hall carpet.

Rona went after him, conscious of Nuala at her heels and Jack Stanton flinging open his door on the scene. Clive, making no further attempt at escape, sat nursing an injured ankle and glaring up at Rona.

‘Why the devil are you here on a Wednesday night?' he demanded.

Ridiculously, she answered him. ‘I stayed over for the funeral.'

‘My God!' he said, shaking his head. ‘What timing!'

Jack took up the interrogation. ‘More to the point, what are
you
doing here, tonight or any other night?'

‘Only reclaiming my property, that's all.' Clive was still prepared to bluster.

Jack looked scathingly at the cache on the carpet. ‘Possibly the suitcases are yours; I'm quite sure nothing else is. Nuala, you'd better call the police.'

‘No – wait.' Clive made an attempt to get up, and grimaced with pain. ‘Look, you can't grass me up – I'm family.'

‘Not for much longer,' Jack said grimly.

‘It's her fault,' Clive continued in an aggrieved tone, his eyes going back to Rona. ‘All I wanted was to stash the cases – they had to be got out of the flat. But Nuala said no, her ladyship was coming. I did my best to shift her, but she wouldn't be shifted.'

Rona said sharply, ‘
How
did you try to shift me?'

His eyes slid away.

‘Answer her!' Jack commanded.

‘Can't we go into the kitchen?' Nuala broke in, speaking for the first time. ‘We'll wake Will if we go on talking here.'

She came down the last few steps, held out her hand to Clive, and with her help he pulled himself upright, favouring his left foot. Together, the incongruous little group moved into the kitchen.

Clive and Jack lowered themselves into chairs, Rona and Nuala leant against the counters.

‘How did you try to shift me?' Rona repeated.

Clive looked at her sullenly, then his eyes fell away. ‘Well, I decided to check if Nuala really had someone coming or was just making an excuse. So I came over, but I'd not even got out of the car when you came running out of the house, as large as life. I saw you drop your bag, pick up what fell out of it, and drive off, leaving the cassette lying there.'

‘
You
took it?' Nuala exclaimed, at the same time as Jack asked in bewilderment, ‘What cassette?'

Clive ignored them both. ‘Well, I retrieved it and listened to it on the cassette player in the car. Boring lot of stuff with the schoolmarms, then the bit with old Aunt Edna, which opened possibilities. It was obvious that while you were ensconced here Nuala wouldn't budge, so I decided to scare you off.'

‘By leaving notes on my windscreen.'

‘'Fraid so,' said Clive, not sounding in the least repentant.

‘And a message on my mobile?'

‘Guilty as charged.'

Rona leaned intently towards him. ‘Tell me this: did you go to Miss Rosebury and ask her who she'd seen?'

Jack said querulously, ‘What
is
all this?' but Nuala silenced him with a lifted hand.

Clive was frowning. ‘Go to old Edna? Not likely, she'd have torn me off a strip. Never did have any time for me, the old bag.'

‘And you didn't see her in the street, the night she died?'

‘Do me a favour! I've better things to do at night than put the frighteners on old ladies.'

‘
Did you see her that night?
'

He answered her with equal emphasis. ‘
No, I did not
.'

Rona felt tears of relief come to her eyes. She already blamed herself for a death during her last project; she could not have borne another laid at her door.