Read The Marriage Hearse Online
Authors: Kate Ellis
‘He’s gone. Look, Neil, I’m sorry but …’
‘It isn’t me you should apologise to. What about Wes?’
Pam stared at Neil. There were tears in her eyes. ‘He’s never bloody here. Can you blame me?’
‘And that’s your excuse, is it? Who is he?’
She spun round and strode into the living room. Neil followed. He was going to get his answer.
She slumped down on the sofa and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to fetch the kids from the childminder’s in ten minutes.’
‘Who is he?’ Neil repeated.
Pam took a deep breath. ‘He’s an old schoolfriend of Mark’s. He’s come down from London to stay with him. He’s helping to
redecorate the vicarage.’
Neil was stunned. Mark and Maritia were hardly the sort of people he would associate with illicit affairs … but then it was
unlikely that they had the faintest idea what was going on.
‘I met him when I went over to the vicarage to give them a hand. He asked me out for a drink. Wes wasn’t here and my mum was
happy to babysit. I went out to lunch with him yesterday and … It just got a bit out of hand, that’s all.’
Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffed, holding back the deluge. Instinctively, Neil put his arm around her and held her
close. At one time he would have found the situation exciting. But
not any more. She wasn’t the person he’d thought she was. She had disappointed him.
‘You’re not seeing him again, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s going back to London today.’
‘Good.’
‘He wanted me to go and stay with him. He suggested I tell Wes I was visiting a friend but …’
‘You didn’t say yes?’
Pam shook her head vigorously. ‘I told him it wasn’t a good idea.’ She hesitated. ‘But I was flattered … really flattered.
He made me feel …’
‘What about Wes?’
‘I suppose I was angry with him and …’
‘Angry with him? For doing his job? You’re behaving like a spoiled kid, do you know that?’ Suddenly Neil realised he was speaking
like a stern father, pointing out the folly of a teenager’s ways. It was as if he had finally grown up. And the realisation
hurt.
Pam tore a tissue from the box on the coffee table. After blowing her nose she looked at Neil with frightened eyes. ‘Please
don’t say anything to Wes. Please.’
Neil turned and walked out.
‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Wesley watched as Gerry Heffernan raised a fist to knock on the Crestons’ front door.
It was Peter Creston who opened the door. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt and Wesley realised that he was off
work. If everything had gone to plan, he would still have been on his honeymoon.
‘Has something happened?’ were his first words and he stood aside to let them in.
It was Wesley who spoke. ‘No. There’s nothing to worry about but we’d like a word with your brother, James. Is he here?’
‘No. He’s still at work … at the gym. Why? What is it?’
‘Just routine,’ Heffernan lied. ‘We just need something confirming, that’s all.’ He glanced at Wesley. ‘Er … on the morning
of the wedding, I believe James went out in his car … a red four by four?’
Peter suddenly looked confused. ‘I don’t remember. Oh, hang on … I think he’d left something at the gym where he works. He
wasn’t long. Why? Surely you don’t …’
‘Did he go out again that morning?’
‘I don’t think so. Look, I want to know why you’re asking these questions. James had nothing to do with …’
‘What’s going on?’
Wesley and Heffernan looked up. Dr Jeffrey Creston was coming down the stairs. He looked worried.
‘Is something the matter?’ he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘Not really, sir. Just routine. We need to speak to your son, James. I believe he’s still at work.’
‘That’s right. He finishes late tonight. But he won’t be coming back here – he has an apartment in Neston. Can I help at all?’
Heffernan opened his mouth to say no. But Wesley beat him to it. ‘As a matter of fact there is something I’d like to ask you.’
Creston nodded solemnly. ‘Of course.’ He led the way into the drawing room and invited the two men to sit.
Wesley came straight to the point. ‘You’re a consultant gynaecologist. Have you ever heard of a place called the Novavita
Clinic?’
Creston’s eyes lit up with recognition. ‘Yes. As a matter of fact I do private consultations there one afternoon a week.’
‘Kirsten Harbourn was conceived there by donor insemination.’
Creston looked mildly interested, as if he was listening to a patient relating a series of routine symptoms. ‘Really? Actually
I believe her mother did mention it.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘Small world.’
‘Do you know who Kirsten’s father was?’
‘We like to think of the woman’s partner as the father, Inspector.’
‘I mean the biological father.’
‘It would be possible to find out from the clinic’s records of course.’
‘You didn’t check? After all, she was engaged to your son?’
‘I didn’t have to. All the clinic’s donors are screened for hereditary diseases and …’
‘Of course.’ Wesley stood up. ‘Sorry to have taken up your time.’
Neither Peter Creston nor his father said anything else as they left.
‘What was all that about?’ Heffernan asked as they made their way back to the car.
‘Just an idea. Probably not important,’ Wesley said quickly. ‘Where to now? Shall we pick up James Creston?’
‘If you’re feeling up to it.’
‘Never felt better.’
Six thirty. Rachel had decided to arrive in good time for the dress rehearsal. She’d grabbed a sandwich at home and told her
mother she’d have something more substantial later. Her mother, who held strong opinions about not eating properly, had made
disapproving noises but Rachel had taken no notice. She’d be out of there and into a flat of her own once the holiday season
was over.
She had changed into her costume. A simple grey dress, calf length and modest as befits a servant who needs to blend into
the background. Some of the clothes worn by the leading ladies had been loaned by a large Morbay department store, keen for
an acknowledgement in the programme, and the costumes for Paolo and Clara’s wedding scene had been provided by a local dresshire
company. Now it was just a question of making sure everything fitted the actors. And the small bustling woman in charge of
the wardrobe looked as if she had the cares of the world on her narrow shoulders.
As Rachel had her costume with no fitting problems and nothing missing, she took a seat near the door, hoping the rehearsal
would start soon. Her stomach was making embarrassing noises and she was beginning to regret not having eaten. Maybe her mother
had been right after all.
The man playing the Duke – the understudy projected to stardom by the arrest of Sean Sawyer – sat down heavily on the seat
beside her and sighed. Dressed in a morning suit with an open-necked
shirt, he looked like a bride’s father despairing at the cost of the nuptials. ‘This is a bloody fiasco,’ he muttered to
nobody in particular. ‘I did
She Stoops to Conquer
with the Queenswear Players last year and it was nothing like this. Couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery, this lot.’
Rachel smiled sympathetically.
‘I mean, look at this.’ He held out what looked like a red silk scarf. ‘I can’t get this to look right. How do you tie these
things?’ He held out the offending article for Rachel’s inspection.
Rachel stared at the object in question. She had seen something like it before and she trawled her memory, wondering if it
was at some relative’s wedding. Then suddenly it came to her. Richard Harbourn had been wearing an identical cravat when they
had first interviewed him about his daughter’s death. This was the colour Kirsten Harbourn had chosen for her bridesmaid’s
dress and the flowers in her bouquet.
She held out her hand and took it from him. Someone had made it look as if Kirsten Harbourn had been strangled with a lamp
flex. But in reality the murder weapon had been much wider and softer. And, according to the postmortem report, minute red
fibres had been found on the body. She held the cravat and wound the ends around her hands like a garrotte. That was how it
was done.
‘What did she say?’ Heffernan asked as soon as Wesley finished the call.
Wesley didn’t speak for a few seconds. They had just parked outside the gym where James Creston worked as the call from Rachel
came in. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘What?’
‘She was calling from Tradington Hall. She’s at the dress rehearsal for
The Fair Wife of Padua
and they were sorting out the costumes. It’s being done in modern dress and the men are wearing morning suits for a wedding
scene. The suits are being supplied by a dress-hire company.’
‘And?’ Heffernan wished his colleague would come to the point.
‘Rachel says the cravats are red, exactly the same as the men
wore at Kirsten Harbourn’s wedding. She was wondering whether a cravat could have been the murder weapon.’
‘Colin said she was killed with something like a scarf. That could include a cravat. And don’t forget the red fibre on the
body was silk. We need to find out whether the cravats hired for Kirsten’s wedding were silk.’
‘Of course they’d have been silk. The lady had expensive tastes. Get someone to trace the dress-hire company and get a match
on the fibre.’
Wesley grinned. ‘We can do it first thing tomorrow. In the meantime …’
‘First thing tomorrow we pick up James Creston. Who, incidentally, just happened to be wearing a cravat at the time of Kirsten
Harbourn’s murder.’
Wesley returned home at eight that evening and found Pam subdued. Perhaps she wasn’t feeling well, he thought. He made a special
effort to tidy the house and make them something to eat and she’d flung her arms around him and kissed him. He sensed there
was something wrong. Perhaps she was ill, he thought, conjuring a vision of her making a solitary visit to the hospital to
receive the diagnosis of some dread disease. But she assured him that she was all right. She was tired, that was all.
The next morning he left the house reluctantly, and at eight thirty sharp he arrived at The Neston Quays Health Club. James
Creston worked on a Saturday, his busiest day. Gerry Heffernan had insisted on coming too. He had a feeling about the younger
Creston in his water, he said. Wesley didn’t argue.
The health club took up the entire ground floor of a converted warehouse next to the River Trad. Years ago ships had come
here to Neston, to the river’s highest navigable point, to deposit timber from the Baltic and carry away wool and grain produced
in the area’s rich farming land. But now times had changed and so had the warehouses, which had been modernised out of all
recognition into fashionable shops and apartments.
The two men walked into the building and were greeted by the supercilious stare of a celery-thin girl behind a large reception
desk.
‘You members?’ she asked, glaring at Gerry Heffernan as though he was a prime suspect in every major health crime going,
from fish and chip dealing to aggravated sloth. ‘You need to be members.’
‘I think you might make an exception in our case,’ Wesley said smoothly, flashing his warrant card. Ms Celery looked alarmed
and seemed to back away a little. ‘We’re looking for James Creston,’ he said. ‘Where can we find him?’
‘He should be in the gym. I’ll ring up for you … tell him you’re coming.’
Heffernan leaned over the desk, a jolly uncle suddenly turned threatening. ‘We’d rather you didn’t, love. Just point us in
the right direction, eh?’
They found the gym easily enough. The wall facing the corridor was glass, a huge shopwindow displaying rows of exercise bikes
and rowing machines, propelled by red-faced, staring zombies who were going precisely nowhere. To Wesley it looked like one
of Dante’s circles of hell where lazy souls were punished on relentless machines that allowed their weary limbs no respite
for all eternity. He preferred a good walk himself.
They opened the door and, when they stepped inside, the aroma of sweat hit their nostrils. They spotted James Creston almost
at once, a supervising demon standing by a plump young woman who was panting as she cycled up some virtual hill. He held a
stopwatch and mumbled encouragement until he spotted the two policemen. Then he hurried towards them, anxious that he shouldn’t
be overheard.
‘What are you doing here? I’m working.’
‘We won’t take up too much of your time,’ Wesley lied. ‘Could we have a word in private?’
James hesitated. ‘OK. We’ll use the office. This way.’
He began to walk away when a forlorn voice piped up ‘Can I stop now?’
James looked back at the desperate, sweating cyclist.
‘Yeah, Lindsay. Take a break, all right? I’ll be back in a minute.’ He began to walk away. ‘People only have themselves to
blame if they get into that state,’ he muttered as he opened the office door.
Once they were inside Wesley came straight to the point. ‘We have a witness who saw you visiting Kirsten Harbourn on the morning
of her death.’
There was a long silence before James gave a sigh of resignation. ‘I was wondering how long it would be before you found out.’
‘You never thought to volunteer the information?’
James Creston looked him in the eye. ‘You know the old saying? Never volunteer.’
Gerry Heffernan stood up. ‘I think we should continue this back at the station.’ he said before reciting the familiar words
of the caution.
ACT 3 SCENE 4
SYLVIUS Good sir, this lady, what was she to you?
DUKE Such questions are not fit for children’s lips. I entreat thee, son, ask not again
.SYLVIUS And yet a man must know the truth. Dids’t thou love this lady?
DUKE Son, judgest not thy father who dids’t once seek solace with a lovely face. Aye, sir, I loved this lady much and she
loved me
.SYLVIUS This lady that thou lovest did bare a child
.DUKE What child is this? I know not of a child. How came you by this portrait?
SYLVIUS By Clara’s maid
.DUKE This maid, her mother was my sweet lost love so dear? Oh tell to me the truth of it
.SYLVIUS Aye, verily sir. Thou shalt know all the truth
.
James Creston had called his solicitor, as was his right. As he sat there in his tracksuit beads of perspiration formed on
his brow, as though he was attached to one of his own infernal machines. But although it was a hot day and the interview room
lacked air conditioning, Wesley guessed that it was fear that was making him sweat. He looked terrified as he sat on the other
side of the table with the tape machine running.
‘You admit you went to see Kirsten before the wedding?’
‘I went to see her. But she was alive and kicking when I left.’
‘You didn’t like her.’
He looked Wesley in the eye, challenging. ‘It’s not usual to go
round murdering everyone you don’t like, Inspector Peterson. If it was, I expect you and most of your colleagues would be
pushing up the daisies by now.’
Wesley took a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait. But there was an arrogant smirk on James Creston’s face that he longed
to wipe away. ‘Why didn’t you like her?’
‘Because she was a calculating, money-grabbing little bitch. She led men on. Ask Julia, my sister. She’ll tell you exactly
the same.’
‘So why did your brother want to marry her?’
‘Search me.’
‘But you tried reasoning with him?’
‘I tried but it didn’t do much good. Peter’s always been gullible. He was bullied at school because he’d believe anything
anyone told him.’
Wesley leaned forward. ‘What exactly did Kirsten do that you disapproved of?’
‘I know she screwed around with other men. She wasn’t fussy, I can tell you.’
Gerry Heffernan leaned forward, glowering. ‘I suppose you were first in the queue.’
James Creston gave the chief inspector a pitying look. ‘She was hardly my type.’
Heffernan grinned. ‘Oh yes, I almost forgot. You aren’t a ladies’ man, are you? Why did you go to see her that morning?’
‘I was trying to persuade her to change her mind about marrying Peter before it was too late.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Pete’s my brother. I didn’t want to see that little whore hurting him.’
‘So you killed her?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I just talked to her.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She laughed.’
‘Was she expecting you?’
‘Yeah. I called her from home.’
‘Is that why she sent her mother away? So you’d be alone?’
‘Possibly.’
‘There were several cheques from you paid into Kirsten Harbourn’s bank account. What were they for?’ Heffernan saw panic pass
over the younger man’s face like a cloud.
James clenched his fists. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The solicitor bent over to whisper in James’s ear.
‘No comment,’ James Creston said, staring ahead.
Heffernan and Wesley exchanged looks. They knew from experience that they were unlikely to get any more from him at present.
They’d let him stew gently in the cells. Soften him up for the next attack.
Rachel Tracey emerged from the gentleman’s outfitters on Tradmouth High Street feeling cautiously triumphant. If W. Cottislow
and Sons Ltd hadn’t been so diligent about their record keeping, her visit might not have borne such abundant fruit. But as
it was, she felt she had hit the jackpot and she couldn’t wait to get back to the station and break the news to Wesley.
It had all been down there, written in black and white. The three Creston men and Kirsten’s father, Richard Harbourn, had
all hired morning suits with matching red silk cravats. The bride had insisted on strict uniformity for her big day and nothing
but the best. At twelve fifteen on the day of the wedding a lady who gave her name as Julia Creston, sister of the bridegroom,
had rushed into the shop to say that one of the cravats they ordered was missing and she was provided with another. The cravats
were counted when the outfits were returned and it seemed that there were the correct number. After being dry cleaned in the
usual way, they were packed away and they were now on hire to the Tradmouth Players for the week. W. Cottislow and Sons Ltd
were pleased to do their bit for the arts.
Rachel borrowed a piece of sticky tape and took a sample of the fibres for comparison. It was as well to be sure. After all,
the red silk fibre could have come from any number of sources.
She rushed along the pavements, cursing under her breath when she found herself stuck behind tourists walking at snail’s pace
as
they looked in the gift shop windows. Even when she reached the Memorial Park the ladies of the local WI were serving tea
and coffee to visitors from a kiosk and she had to push her way past the queue. By the time she reached the station, she felt
as though she’d fought her way against a strong gale. She needed a cup of tea.
But there was no time for refreshments. Wesley was looking rather downcast when she arrived in the CID office but as soon
as he saw her he smiled. She perched on his desk and told him her news.
‘Think Julia Creston could have done it?’ Wesley asked as they made their way down the stairs to the car park.
‘I think she’d be quite capable. Or alternatively, she might have been covering up for her brother.’
‘Which one?’
‘James of course. Peter’s too wet.’
‘Worms do turn, you know. If the scales suddenly fell from his eyes and he realised just what she’d been up to with Mike Dellingpole
and goodness knows who else. And besides, James is gay so he’s hardly likely to be emotionally involved.’
‘He might have killed her on his brother’s behalf, as it were. Or he might have had some other reason to want her out of the
way. Where will we find Julia?’
‘At her flat, I suppose. Know the address?’
Rachel, being Rachel, had the address of everyone involved in the case written in her notebook. Julia lived in Morbay – a
new apartment block just off the main shopping street. Wesley decided to let Rachel drive. He felt like a break and he needed
time to think.
They found Julia Creston surrounded by mock-up posters and brochures declaring the wonders of Morbay as a tourist destination.
She had brought her work home with her. She invited them to sit down but played with a pen, avoiding eye contact. Wesley thought
she looked tired.
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about the day Kirsten Harbourn died,’ Wesley began.
‘Fire away.’
‘You went to the premises of W. Cottislow and Sons, claiming that you were short of a cravat for the men’s outfits.’
‘I wasn’t “claiming”. We were one short. They gave us another. They were very apologetic.’
‘We’ve been questioning your brother James about Kirsten’s murder?’
‘That’s ridiculous. James had nothing to do with it.’
‘He was at Honey Cottage that morning. He says he called round to try and persuade Kirsten not to go through with it.’
Julia sat in silence for a while. Then she spoke, softly, thoughtfully. ‘Yes. I knew he was going. In fact I suggested it.
We – James and I – knew what she was like. But she’d managed to pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes. Mum and Dad and Pete
had no idea.’
‘So why didn’t you like her?’
‘She was a scheming bitch. She blackmailed James. Oh, not obviously. It was subtle. Oh dear, I want this coat or this handbag
and I can’t afford it. Wouldn’t it be a shame if your little secret came out? I’m such a blabbermouth when I’ve had a few
drinks and …’
‘What do you mean? What was she blackmailing James about?’
‘There’s this woman – she goes to the gym. She and James … Kirsten found out … don’t ask me how. I think she saw him coming
out of her house … She lives near Kirsten’s father and his new wife. That’s why he used the grounds of Tradington Hall for
his runs.’
‘A woman? I thought he was …’
‘Oh, he is. And he doesn’t want his boyfriend, Baz, to find out. Baz can be rather volatile, if you get my meaning. He used
to give Kirsten money … or buy the things for her.’
Wesley looked at Rachel. A spot of subtle blackmail had been a nice little earner for Kirsten. And it would hardly have been
surprising if James Creston had wanted to put a stop to it.
‘How did James seem when he came back after visiting Kirsten?’
Julia looked wary. ‘I don’t know. I was busy getting ready for the wedding. I didn’t take any notice.’
Wesley didn’t believe a word of it. He told Julia that they might want to question her further and they took their leave.
‘I think we should hang on to James Creston. Get the truth out of him,’ he said to Rachel as they made their way back to the
car.
‘What about Stuart Richter?’
‘It might just be his lucky day.’
It was five o’clock when Wesley walked into Gerry Heffernan’s office and found the chief inspector staring at his reflection
in a small, cracked mirror.
‘Looking forward to tonight?’
Heffernan looked up and hurriedly hid the mirror beneath a heap of files. ‘I would be if you hadn’t gone and complicated matters
with this James Creston business. You don’t think he did it, do you?’
‘I think it’s probable. It’s just a case of proving it. He’s not saying a word.’
‘I can see the headlines now. Gay brother slaughters bride. The tabloids ’ll love it.’
‘It makes a change from bride butchered by mad stalker. We might have to think about releasing Richter.’
‘Mmm. But let’s get a confession first, shall we, Wes? It’s all circumstantial. And Creston swears she was alive when he left
her. And don’t forget about Richter’s DNA. But it seems there were a lot of people who might have wanted her dead. The Sawyers
if they thought she was going to blow the whistle on their scam; James and Julia Creston hated her guts; her stepmother couldn’t
stand her; and don’t forget Mike Dellingpole.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, we’ve only his word for it that it was just a bit of slap and tickle. And if she was blackmailing James, she might
have tried the same trick with him. We just don’t know, do we?’
Wesley sighed. It seemed that everywhere they turned they were finding out something fresh about Kirsten Harbourn’s life …
and most of the stuff they were discovering stank.
‘Rachel says we’ll have to get there early tonight if we want to get a good seat.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Pam told me not
to be late. I’m going home.’
Gerry Heffernan said nothing but Wesley saw a secretive smile on his lips as he raised a languid hand in farewell.
The audience had begun to drift away, some chatting, some stunned into silence. The first night of
The Fair Wife of Padua
was over and it had gone almost without a hitch.
When the group arrived in the foyer of the small theatre, Neil asked Maritia Peterson where Mark’s house guest and best man
elect, Jonathan, had got to.
‘He left this morning,’ Maritia answered innocently. ‘He had a call from the office back in London. Shame. He was good with
a paint roller and we need all the help we can get if we’re to get the place done in time for the wedding. You any good at
painting, Neil?’
‘Not really. But if you find anything interesting buried in the garden, I’ll be happy to excavate it for you.’
‘Pity Jonathan missed the play. He’d have enjoyed it.’ Maritia slipped her arm through Mark’s and beamed round the assembled
company.
So taken up was she in her own happiness, that she failed to notice the look that had been exchanged between Neil and her
sister-in-law, Pam. Neither did Wesley who was in deep conversation with his boss Gerry Heffernan and the middle-aged lady
by his side.
Annabel seemed to have taken Margaret Lightfoot under her wing, like the head girl looking after the new first year. She whispered
something to Margaret who nodded enthusiastically.
‘Anybody fancy a drink in the bar?’ Annabel said in a voice guaranteed to be heard. She made for the door as though either
she was familiar with the geography of the place or she could scent alcohol like a pig scenting a truffle, Neil wasn’t quite
sure which.
As Annabel and Margaret led the way the rest followed and Wesley fell in beside Pam. ‘What did you think of the play?’
‘I didn’t like the bit where he cut out Clara’s heart and gave it to the father.’
‘I suppose sex and violence sold in those days just as it does today.’
Pam smiled weakly. ‘I could do with a drink.’
‘I think Neil’s getting them in. Shall I …?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I meant a quiet drink. Just the two of us. Let’s go back to Tradmouth. I fancy the Angel or …’
Wesley looked rather surprised. ‘Right. So you don’t want me to ask the others if they want to come?’
Pam shook her head. Neil was returning with the drinks and he caught her eye. She shot him a pleading look – Please don’t
say anything. It’s all over – before wriggling her way to the front door through the swelling crowd of theatregoers who were
emerging from the auditorium.
‘Our Rach was good, wasn’t she?’ Heffernan said, before Wesley had a chance to follow.
‘Yes. Brilliant. Look, I’m sorry, Gerry,’ Wesley whispered. ‘It looks like Pam’s made up her mind to go. See you tomorrow.
Lovely to see you, Joyce.’
He raised a hand to the others and went on his way.
That night his mind was too active for instant sleep. The play. Something in the play reminded him of recent events. But before
he knew the answer could come to him, he drifted into sleep as Pam lay wide awake by his side.