The Nine Bright Shiners (8 page)

‘What's the matter?' she repeated.

It seemed to her that Ben's hand tightened its grip. After a moment Julie said awkwardly, ‘Nothing. I just wondered where you were.'

‘Well, there was no need to shout like that. Lily and I thought you'd hurt yourself.' She paused, something in the children's manner disturbing her. ‘Are you sure you're all right? Where have you been?'

Again the uncertain pause, then Ben said defensively, ‘Only playing.'

‘But where?'

‘We've been up in the attics.'

For a moment longer the four of them stood motionless, watching each other. Then, with an exasperated sigh, Jan turned away. ‘Well, for heaven's sake behave yourselves,' she said.

Webb said, ‘I'm curious about those wallets. Who, in their right mind, nicks four, returns three, and leaves the fourth in the pocket of a corpse? Give Court Lane a buzz, Ken, and get the names and addresses of the other three owners. We'll go down and have a word with them.' He turned to Stanley Bates. ‘Anything of interest during my lunch-break?'

‘We drew a blank on the car parks.' Bates permitted himself a tight smile. ‘There were a fair number of blue, two-door cars, but they'd all clocked in this morning.'

‘We'll have to spread our net wider, then. It's always possible the murderer drove off in Marriott's car, in which case it could be anywhere.'

‘Such as hidden in a private garage,' Jackson said gloomily. ‘We might never find it.' And he went out to make his phone call.

Bates gave a small cough. ‘If you like, Skip, I could nip down to Broadminster, seeing as I went yesterday, and save you the trip.'

‘Thanks, Stan, but I need to see these blokes myself. I'm relying on you to keep things going this end,' he added diplomatically. ‘We want photos of Marriott circulated, for a start, to see if we can trace anyone who saw him on the eighteenth. Get one round to Romilly at the
Broadshire News.
Then I'd be grateful if you'd phone the London papers Miss Potts mentioned. Say I'll be up tomorrow, and will want to see all the articles Marriott wrote in the last six months, particularly the famous people series. I'll also be wanting the names of any reporters or journalists he was friendly with, and a note of where I can find them.'

He frowned, tapping his pen on the desk. ‘How many “famous people” would you say we have in Broadshire, Stan?'

‘Depends what you mean by famous. We've our fair share of writers, artists and, of course, members of Parliament. Not forgetting the explorers down in Broadminster, though Edward Langley and his wife are the only ones left now.'

Webb said slowly, ‘It seems Marriott came over to interview a celebrity who was up to something dubious. He was found dead with Langley's wallet in his pocket. Langley is a celebrity. Do we assume it was Langley he came to see?'

Bates pursed his lips. ‘Langley wouldn't put his own head in a noose. And don't forget he didn't
have
the wallet at that point.'

‘Unless he'd nicked it himself, to throw suspicion elsewhere. It's significant it was the only one not to turn up almost immediately.'

Bates felt in his pocket, extracted a foil sheet of indigestion tablets, and pressed two of them into the palm of his hand. It occurred to Webb he'd seen the same ritual before.

‘You hooked on those things, Stan?'

‘Been having a spot of trouble lately, Skip. Touch of dyspepsia, I suppose.'

At least it wasn't the drink, Webb reflected morosely, returning to the papers on his desk. For the second time, he read the preliminary report on the items found with the body. The bandage was a standard type, available at chemists throughout the country; coarse black thread had been used to sew on the sequins, and the clumsiness of the stitches suggested a man's hand; scraps of newspaper had been found adhering to the inside of the sweater, trousers and jacket, which, under examination, proved to have come from
The Times
for Monday, November 3rd. Webb raised an eyebrow at that point.

‘Are the quality newspapers warmer next to the skin than the populars?' he asked rhetorically, and was irritated when Bates gave the question consideration.

‘Quite possibly, Skip. Pricier, though.'

‘Not if retrieved from a litter bin.'

A tap on the door heralded Jackson, his eyes alight. ‘Bit of luck, Guv,' he said eagerly. ‘Court Lane were on the point of phoning us. They've got the car.'

‘In Broadminster?'

‘That's right. It was in the High Street multi-storey – clocked in at fourteen-ten on December eighteenth. When it was still there the next morning, they got on to Court Lane, who phoned Swansea and found Marriott was the owner, but they were unable to contact him. Then the Missing Persons alert came through, and they've been looking for him ever since.'

‘Why the hell didn't they mention it yesterday?'

‘Because we told them we'd got Edward Langley. They didn't see the connection.'

Webb swore softly. ‘How the devil did he get from Broadminster to Chedbury without the car? Courtesy of his killer, no doubt, but it's the hell of a way to take him. Were there any car-keys with the things we found this morning?'

Jackson flicked open his notebook. ‘No, Guv.'

‘They were probably dropped down a drain somewhere. The killer couldn't have known where it was parked. Right, Ken; if Broadminster was where Marriott made for, it's increasingly likely he came to see Langley. In which case, another talk with his sister won't go amiss.'

‘Of course,' Bates cut in, ‘it could have been the other way round.'

‘Explain.'

‘Well, Skip, you said yourself the killer could have moved the car. Marriott might have come to Shillingham, got the chop, and been dumped at Chedbury – which, don't forget, is much nearer here. Then the murderer could have driven Marriott's car to Broadminster, to divert suspicion.'

‘You're right, of course,' Webb said heavily. ‘But since we have to make a start somewhere, we'll begin in Broadminster. Did you get the names and addresses of the wallet-owners, Ken?'

‘Yes, they're all here.'

‘We'll be on our way, then.'

Jan said, ‘Oh, Lady Peel! You're back.'

‘Miles met me at the station. My dear, I hear you've had a most worrying time. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to help.'

‘It could have been worse. At least it wasn't Edward.'

‘Would you like to bring the children to tea? I was intending to invite you in a day or two, but in the circumstances I'd rather see you now, and set my mind at rest.'

‘We'd love to come. Thank you.'

‘In about an hour, then?'

Jan returned to the library, and glanced at the children lying on the rug. They had stayed with her since lunch, instead of going off to play as they usually did. Several times she'd intercepted mouthed messages passing between them when they thought she wasn't looking. She said brightly, ‘We're going to Cajabamba for
tea.
'

A uniformed maid opened the door to them, and Lady Peel appeared in the hall behind her. ‘Come in, my dears, and get warm. I suggest we have tea first, then we can have our little talk.'

There were fingers of hot-buttered toast, newly baked scones and a jam sponge. Almost the same fare, Jan could have sworn, as on her childhood visits here. The children, whose normal appetite had been lacking at lunch-time, devoured all that was set before them. When they had finished, Lady Peel led them over to a table she had set up at the far end of the room. On it was a collection of toys and puzzles dating from Kowena's youth, together with miniature dolls and animals. The children drew up chairs and settled down happily and Lady Peel returned to Jan by the fire.

‘I think they're beyond earshot, if we speak quietly,' she said with a smile. ‘Now, my dear, please tell me exactly what happened.'

Once again, Jan went over the happenings of the previous evening. It was very kind of Miles to come round,' she ended. ‘I was feeling shaken and – vulnerable, and it helped to talk things through.'

‘It's a most curious story,' Lady Peel said with a frown, ‘Edward's wallet turning up in such unlikely circumstances. However did that tramp get hold of it?'

‘I'm not sure that he was a tramp,' Jan said slowly.

‘You say he had a look of Edward. That strikes me as a trifle sinister.'

‘That's what I thought, but Miles seemed to think it was coincidence.' She paused, then added irrelevantly, ‘He's very fond of you, isn't he?'

Lady Peel smiled, it's mutual. He's like the son I never had.'

‘Didn't you help to bring him up, or something?'

‘That's right. Poor Isabelle was neurotic and quite unable to cope with a child. We lived in Surrey at that time, and the Codys in London, but our families were thrown together a great deal, what with the expeditions being planned, and so on. And more and more often, Isabelle would ask me to look after Miles for her. We had a nanny, so it was no trouble.' She smiled fondly. ‘Except that he used to follow me everywhere I went. Rowena was a self-contained child, quite happy to stay in the nursery with Nanny, but Miles seemed to need my company. I don't mind admitting I was flattered.'

‘And then what happened?' Jan prompted.

‘Well, then there was the ill-fated third expedition. Your father was brought home seriously ill, and both Reginald and Laurence were under considerable strain. It was felt it would be easier to liaise in the future if we all lived closer together. Your family was already settled here, so we and the Codys moved down too. I think Laurence felt it might be less stressful for Isabelle away from London, but alas, it didn't help her, poor girl. She took her own life soon afterwards.'

‘I didn't know that!' Jan exclaimed.

‘No, of course you didn't, and I probably shouldn't be telling you now. We never spoke of it. And after her death, poor Laurence withdrew more and more into himself. It was at that stage that I volunteered to take over Miles's welfare. He was about eight by then, and already showing artistic talent. He's doing exceptionally well, you know, and making quite a name for himself. He appeared on a television arts programme last month.'

But Jan was more interested in his father. ‘Was that why Laurence never went back to Peru?'

‘Quite possibly.'

‘But it doesn't explain why my father didn't, either. I've been wondering about that.'

Lady Peel said slowly, ‘He'd been very ill, you know.'

‘But he recovered. And Sir Reginald kept going back. Didn't he try to persuade the others to join him?'

‘I really don't remember, my dear. It does seem odd, looking back, that your father and Laurence dropped out, but at the time we accepted it as quite natural.'

‘So after all the trouble of moving to make it easier, there
were
no more joint expeditions.'

‘True, but they still saw a great deal of each other. My husband and Laurence were always calling at Rylands.'

‘At least I understand now why you were all down here. It seemed strange, three famous explorers just happening to live in Broadminster, which isn't exactly the hub of the universe. In fact, I started to ask Edward about it, my first night here, but I was too sleepy to think straight.' Her thoughts came back to the present, which was no less puzzling, and she spoke them aloud. ‘He had a very tight bandage round his arm – put on after death, the police say. Can you think of any reason for it?'

For a moment Lady Peel looked startled. Then she said, ‘Oh, you mean this tramp person. How most peculiar.'

‘But does it bring anything to mind?' Jan persisted.

‘I don't understand, dear. What could it bring to mind, other than that it was an illogical action by a psychopath?'

Jan sighed. ‘You're probably right,' she said.

‘Number seven, Clarence Mews,' Jackson said, checking in his notebook, it must be down here, then.'

They had turned off the High Street into Clarence Way, which led up to Monks' Walk and the Minster. Three-quarters of the way along, a cobbled courtyard led off to the right, and it was here, according to Court Lane, that the third wallet-owner, Miles Cody, lived.

‘Probably won't have any more luck here,' Jackson grumbled. It had not been a successful afternoon. There'd been no one in at the Langley house, and the two wallet-owners they'd tried so far were not at home, either. ‘My husband doesn't get in till six,' they'd been told reproachfully at each house. He peered at his watch under the light of an old-fashioned street lamp which lit the entrance to the mews. ‘Quarter after five.' He wouldn't be back for the twins' bath tonight.

But when they'd threaded their way over the uneven cobbles and turned the corner into the yard, the diamond-paned windows of No. 7 glowed with a soft light.

‘
Somebody's
in, anyway,' Jackson commented, his spirits rising. With any luck, they might be offered a cup of tea. It seemed a long time since lunch.

The man who came to the door was as tall as Webb, his features indistinguishable against the light behind him.

‘Yes?'

‘Mr Miles Cody?'

‘That's right.'

‘Chief Inspector Webb, Shillingham CID. I wonder if we could have a word, sir?'

‘Good God! What about?'

‘About your wallet that was stolen a month or two ago.'

‘But I got it back. Didn't they tell you? There's no –'

‘If we could come inside for a minute, sir? We won't take up much of your time.'

‘Very well.' He stood to one side, and the two detectives went in. The door opened directly into the only main room the cottage possessed. But what a room! Jackson thought; a positive Aladdin's cave of warmth and colour. A log fire crackled merrily in an open brick hearth, and at the far end steps led up to a railed balcony which, as far as he could see, served as the bedroom.