Superfluous Women (34 page)

Standing there wasn't getting him anywhere. Cautiously he turned the handle and pulled the door towards him till there was a gap of a couple of inches. Now he heard Mrs. Gray's indignant voice.

“… May have remonstrated with the woman. We did not have a vulgar row. If one speaks firmly and does not back down, people realise one means what one says. I forced her—by force of character—to acknowledge that she ought not to have led a married man astray. I exacted a promise that relations between them would cease. Except on a business level, naturally. I wouldn't want to deprive poor Donald of his little job.”

“And did ‘relations' cease?” Underwood asked. Alec guessed from his slightly raised voice that he was aware of the listener at the door.

“Yes. Whenever he went out on business in the evening, I watched her house. He never came.”

“You never spoke to her again?”

“Certainly not.”

“And what did your husband think of your interference?”

“I never spoke to him about it. I saw no need. The matter was settled.”

“When did you settle it? On what date did you call on Mrs. Gray?”

“I don't recall the date. It's not the sort of appointment one puts in one's diary.”

“Roughly.”

“Really, Officer, I've told you I don't recall. I will not be badgered!”

Alec decided his time had come. He went in. Neither Underwood nor Ernie Piper was taken by surprise. Myra Vaughn reacted with outrage. She rose to her feet with a majestic surge and declaimed, “Three of you! You may bully me, but you can't—”

“Madam, I have no intention of bullying anyone. Inspector, may I have a quick word with you?”

They stepped into the old house and shut the door. “You heard the fairy-tale version of the quarrel?” said Underwood. “That's the first she's said to the purpose. We had a diatribe about how her family lived in the manor forever and always been respected and respectable, with a family tree back to her great-great-grandfather, and the respected professions of every respectable male. If any were less than respectable she didn't mention them. I couldn't shut her up! I hope you had better luck?”

“Vaughn was dying to talk. About Judith Gray, not his putative peculations. I'm steering clear of that subject for the present, as we agreed.”

“Don't want to throw a spanner in the works of the fraud people.”

“I'll tell you the rest later. Just one point you ought to know right away: He saw her after her quarrel with his wife, so she was still alive at that point. You may want to concentrate on whether there was a second encounter.”

“Right. Are you done with him?”

“He's had an apparent emotional breakdown. If he's pulled himself together, I'll keep going. If not, there's always tomorrow. I doubt he'll be arrested on the other charge before late afternoon.” Langridge had to talk to Davis, then they had to prove their case to the fraud division of the Bucks police, if such existed, or their outside experts. Doubtless Davis's partner, Mrs. Vaughn's brother, would also have to be consulted, or at least warned.

Alec returned to Vaughn. He had dried his eyes—now red, whether from weeping or rubbing—and looked defiant.

“I don't believe she's dead! Something has prevented her writing to me. Perhaps she lost the accommodation address I gave her in all the upheaval of packing and travelling, don't you think?” he appealed to Alec. “Or her letter could have been lost in the post.”

“Quite possible.”

“She might have written to Cherry Trees ‘to be called for,' and those women who bought her house threw it away. If she addressed it to the office—everything is so disorganised it could be anywhere. She knows better than to send it here.…”

His almost feverish cataloguing of the ways Judith Gray's letter might have gone astray was damnably persuasive.

Alec suppressed a yawn. He was too tired to judge. “Did Mrs. Vaughn call on Mrs. Gray a second time?”

“No. Judith would have told me.”

If she had survived the encounter. “When did you last see Mrs. Gray? The date, or even just the day of the week could help us trace her.”

“Saturday. It was a Saturday morning. She was about to leave for London. I told you she spent most weekends in town. She usually went up on a Friday and came back Monday or Tuesday but she said she was going to return on Sunday because she had so much to do.”

“Had she much luggage with her?”

“Just an overnight bag. She kept some clothes at her friend's flat. Mrs. Knox, not a man, in case you were wondering. I offered to carry the bag to the station for her, but she still didn't want us to be seen together, even though we were very soon going away together. I'll find her somehow. Mrs. Knox—Elizabeth—will know where she is.”

“You have Mrs. Knox's address?”

“No. Do you?” Vaughn asked eagerly.

“Sorry, it's my business to ask questions, not answer them.” In any case, Mrs. Knox wasn't at her London address.

“It's in Belgravia. I know that much. And her husband's name is Freddie—Frederick. I'll get hold of a directory. How many Frederick Knoxes can there be in Belgravia?” It was a rhetorical question.

Alec said sharply, “You're not to leave the area without providing an address to the police.” He decided to call it a day. “One more question for now: Do you or did you ever have in your possession a key to the cellar?”

“Never. I
never
had any keys. She wouldn't let me show the house when she wasn't at home.”

“Very well. We'll want to talk to you again tomorrow, and have you sign a statement. What time would suit you to come into the police station, in either Beaconsfield or High Wycombe?”

“Beaconsfield! If Mr. Langridge heard I'd been seen going into the police station in Wycombe … I'm showing a house in Penn tomorrow so I'll have the car in the morning. Noon. I'll be there at noon. Not that I have anything else to tell you. But you said you'll know by tomorrow if … if Judith is still alive?”

“I said we
ought
to know. Good night, Mr. Vaughn.”

Underwood was also ready to leave. Alec let Ernie Piper take the wheel to drive the inspector and Pennicuik to their homes in High Wycombe. On the way, they discussed the interviews. Underwood hadn't learned anything more from Mrs. Vaughn than what Alec had overheard.

“If you ask me, she didn't do it,” Underwood said ironically. “Murder isn't respectable.”

“By accident?”

“Getting into a pushing-shoving match isn't respectable, either.”

“Neither is a shouting match,” Ernie pointed out.

“Which she doesn't admit to,” said Underwood. “I don't think she's exactly lying. It's more a matter of editing the facts in her own mind and persuading herself her own behaviour was irreproachably … well, respectable.”

“Editing out raised voices is one thing,” Alec said. “Convincing herself she didn't kill Judith Gray—if she did—would be a bit of a stretch. Her husband, on the other hand, is either a plausible liar or genuinely grief-stricken, or both.”

“You've known more murderers than I have, I imagine. Don't they sometimes bitterly regret the deed and mourn for the victim?”

“Yes indeed, and that could be the explanation. But I confess I can't make him out.”

“We'll have another go at them tomorrow.” Underwood sighed. “I suppose it's about time I tried my wiles on Mrs. Hedger. Tomorrow's Wednesday. She'll be at Cherry Trees and maybe less impregnable than on her own ground.”

“Good luck.”

“Sergeant, once we find the gardener's whereabouts, you can go and talk to him, if that's all right, Mr. Fletcher? We can't wait till we turn up the housekeeper and the maid.”

“Though they're the ones most likely to provide us with new names,” said Alec. “The Vaughns and the Cartwrights are all very well, but there must be dozens of people who knew Judith Gray of whom we have no inkling.”

 

THIRTY-ONE

Daisy was
already awake when Sally tapped on the door and came in with the early morning tea tray. Alec was sound asleep at her side. She hadn't roused when he came in last night.

She was inclined to let him sleep, but Sally said, “Mr. Piper left a message at the desk, Mrs. Fletcher, to wake him and Mr. Fletcher at half past seven.”

“I'll take care of Alec, Sally. You can deal with Ernie.”

“I already did.” She grinned. “He groaned a bit, but he thanked me ever so politely.” She went out.

Daisy sat up, leaned over, and kissed Alec. He didn't stir. She shook his shoulder. He grunted, rolled over, and put his arms about her waist.

“Darling, it's time to wake up.”

“Noooo.”

“According to Ernie, via Sally.”

“I only just got to bed.” Alec sat up.

She poured and passed him his cup of tea. “Did you find out anything worth staying up late for?”

“Not really. The Vaughns and the Cartwrights are still in the picture. Besides them, the note Tom gave you is our best lead, though it could take a few days to lead anywhere.”

“How much longer will the super let you stay on the case?”

He shrugged. “Anyone's guess. Until he needs me for something more important. I still think you should go home after the inquest.”

“Perhaps.” Daisy sighed. “I'll go and see Isabel this morning.”

“Not too early. Underwood's going to have a chat—try to have a chat, I should say—with Mrs. Hedger at about half past nine.”

“I'll aim for half past ten. What are you doing this morning?”

“It depends on what information comes in from various feelers.”

“The Hotel Majestic? And the woman in St. Tropez?”

“Among others.” Dressing-gowned and sponge bag in hand, he went off to take a bath.

The sun shone in through the east-facing window. Daisy decided to go for a walk in the country after breakfast. In the latter days of October, fine days were not to be wasted.

Alec and Ernie were long gone when she went down. Only two couples remained in the dining room, so Sally was at leisure to chat. She brought Daisy's scrambled eggs and toast, then stood leaning on the back of the other chair at the table.

“Mr. Piper wouldn't tell me: Do they know yet who did it?”

“No.” Daisy was sure of that after what Alec had said. “They're having a difficult time finding out about Mrs. Gray's friends and acquaintances, because she didn't really have any in Beaconsfield. I'm sorry to speak ill of a relative of yours, but your aunt isn't at all helpful.”

“I doubt she knows much. She's always been one to mind her own business. Whenever I gave her a hand at Cherry Trees, she'd keep telling me not to poke my nose in where I shouldn't. As if I would! But I'd notice and remember visitors if I'd seen any. There wasn't none came while I was there,” Sally said regretfully. “I wish I could help Mr. Piper. And Mr. Fletcher, of course.”

She departed to answer a call for fresh coffee.

Daisy took a pleasant walk through fields and woods. The predominant beeches still enhanced the golden sunlight, though many leaves had fallen to crackle underfoot. Silvery old man's beard and the yellow and red berries of bryony wreathed the field hedges, with here and there a spindle tree flaunting its pink and orange fruit.

Rabbits popped out of their burrows to watch Daisy's approach and disappeared underground as she came closer. Squirrels chittered at her from the safety of high branches. She wished she had Nana with her to have fun chasing them.

She remembered advising Isabel to get a watchdog. It still seemed a good idea. Now the three of them were back at home, they should start looking for a puppy.

On her return to the fringes of the town, Daisy passed a garden where someone was attempting to burn a pile of damp leaves and rubbish. Clouds of smoke billowed across the road and grabbed her by the throat. She tried not to inhale as she hurried past, but she started to cough, bringing on the nightmarish choking sensation that had made her bout of bronchitis so beastly.

She emerged from the haze gasping. A few yards ahead was a bus stop with a bench. She sat down, and after a few minutes recovered her breath and her equanimity. The doctor had warned that her lungs would be abnormally sensitive to irritants for a while, though with care they should recover completely.

Her chest still ached a bit, but slowly she walked on. By the time she reached Cherry Trees, she felt much better.

Isabel, naturally, was hoping for news of the investigation.

“Sorry,” said Daisy. “Alec was out very late last night but he didn't tell me anything this morning. Not much at least. Just that they were expecting to hear from the Majestic and Mrs. Gray's friend in St. Tropez.”

“Mr. Underwood told me they'd already had a telegram from the S
û
ret
é
.”

“Police and hoteliers never sleep. What did it say?”

“The hotel has the trunks in storage and wants to know what to do with them, since madame didn't take up her reservation.”

“Did Mr. Underwood get anything out of Mrs. Hedger?”

“No more than you and I did. What's more, she marched out in a huff, saying she wouldn't come back till I could promise she wouldn't be pestered while she was trying to do her job.”

“Oh dear!”

“Mr. Underwood said he wasn't going to try that again. They'll let her cool off and then, if they still need her, take her over to the station. They have a lead to the Grays' gardener, and they found out the names of the maid and housekeeper, so they're looking for them. When they find them, they may not have to bother with Mrs. Hedger. She's more trouble than she's worth.”

“He told you much more than Alec told me!”