Suspicion Points Page 12

  We were walking down the hall when the phone rang. Phoebe looked at the caller ID and picked it up. ‘Iolanthe, can I call you back? The police are here about the fire next door.’

  ‘Was that your sister?’ Robert asked when she put the phone down.

  ‘Yes.’

  I was surprised. Mrs Bradley had called Phoebe a spoilt brat and I’d assumed she was an only child. And how had Robert known it was her sister?

  ‘Your parents like Gilbert and Sullivan?’ he said.

  Phoebe nodded. ‘That’s how they met. They belonged to a G&S group. Mum was a mezzo and dad was a baritone. He fell in love with mum when she was Phoebe in Yeoman of The Guard. All of us are named after characters in the operettas.’

  ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ I asked.

  ‘Four brothers and three sisters.’

  My surprise turned to amazement.

  We followed her down to the end of the garden, where Stuart was turning a compost heap. Behind a hedge there was a paved area with a rotary washing line where a navy quilt cover, sheet and two pillow cases were hanging. Some sort of bushes with dead leaves divided the gardens.

  Robert looked admiringly at them. ‘Copper beeches make perfect hedges, don’t they?’

  They agreed and chatted about the plants. The wall at the back was covered with climbing roses that were just coming into leaf. The high wooden gate leading to the forest was painted the same colour as their front door.

  Robert’s socializing with suspects and putting them at ease was not solving the case, and I concluded that he was wasting time. Trying to sound polite I interrupted their conversation about Buddleias and their attractiveness to butterflies and bees. ‘Can we go inside?’

  Phoebe and Stuart pulled off their Wellington boots and gardening gloves at the back door and we went inside. This time I declined their offer of coffee.

  ‘We need to check two things with you,’ I said. ‘On the night of the fire you came round the long way. Why didn’t you cycle through the forest?’

  ‘We did on the way to Pengelly House when it was light, but we’d never do it at night – too dark,’ said Stuart.

  ‘But it’s a much shorter route.’

  ‘Not if you fall off and hurt yourself,’ he said.

  ‘Presumably your bikes have lights?’

  ‘Mine does, Phoebe’s is broken. Would you like to check?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He was telling the truth. But his light was bright enough to see them both safely through the forest, although I could understand why they would have chosen to go on the road. I would have taken the road, even if there had been a man with me. If Phoebe or Stuart had lit the fire they would have known that by the time they arrived home there would have been someone official in the house next door to theirs.

  There was the chance that no one would have discovered there was a short route to Pengelly House and their alibi would have held. If they had come through the forest they may have been seen. It would have been a small risk, because if they came through the back gate it was unlikely that anyone searching the house for clues would have seen them. But, as I reminded myself, clever murderers are too careful to take risks. Phoebe had been honest in telling us that she hated Bridget, but that could have been because she knew we’d find out anyway.

  ‘Bridget said you wrote her a nasty letter when she moved in next door,’ I told Phoebe, when we went back inside.

  ‘Rot,’ said Stuart. ‘Considering all that had gone before, it was a civilized letter.’

  ‘What did you say in it?’ I asked Phoebe.

  Robert shot me a warning look. I gave him a look back. Yes, I know I sound curt, but that’s how I want to sound.

  ‘I can show you – I’ve got a copy on my computer downstairs.’

  Most of the basement was taken up by Stuart’s paintings, easels, canvases and paints. There was a strong smell of turpentine. Phoebe took us into a small room. It was tidy with shelves of reference books and her computer and printer.

  Turning on the computer, she said, ‘Lucky I never delete anything.’ While we waited for the computer to come on, Phoebe continued, ‘Bridget was promoted when I was on holiday in America for three weeks. When I came back she behaved as if we’d never been friends. She didn’t even ask me if I’d had a good time, she just started giving me orders. When she moved next door, she acted as if we’d never been enemies.’ She sat at her desk and found the file she was looking for. ‘Shall I print it off?’

  Robert said we’d read it on screen, but I said, ‘Yes, please.’

  Bridget,

  I was shocked to discover you are our new neighbour. Your friendly attitude shocked me more, as if the Elaine nightmare and your bullying had never happened.

  I refuse to socialize with you, but Farrier Way is a friendly street and we have parties to which all the neighbours are invited. Stuart and I will not tell any of the neighbours about our history and I hope you will also stay silent on the subject. It would be better for both of us if we pretend to be strangers.

  I have no desire to turn them against you, but please respect my wish that when we do attend the same parties, a polite and brief greeting will be the extent of our contact. Do not seek me out or try to be friendly. If you do I will ignore you and that could be embarrassing. We will not invite you to any neighbourhood parties we host. When asked if you are attending, please say you can’t as you are doing something else.

  I wish you no ill, and hope you’ll be happy in your new home.

  Phoebe

  ‘Could you go back to the file,’ Robert asked.

  ‘Yes, of course. You’ll want to see the date it was written,’ Phoebe said.

  The date of the file was two years ago, which corresponded with the time Bridget said she’d moved into the house.

  ‘How did you feel when you discovered Bridget was still alive?’ I asked.

  Phoebe looked guilty. She blushed.

  ‘I think you’ve answered my question,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t put too much on the date,’ I told Robert as we walked to the house the other side of Bridget’s. ‘Phoebe could have written a nasty letter, stuck it through Bridget’s door, deleted it and then written a more benign one.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Robert said as he rang the doorbell. ‘But Bridget might interpret the letter we read as nasty.’

  Craig answered the door and took us downstairs to the basement, where Yves was cutting out striped velvet material.

  ‘Ah, a woman!’ said Yves. ‘We were just arguing over what to call the colours for our catalogue. I say sapphire and emerald, but Craig says navy and green. What do you say?’

  ‘Sapphire and emerald,’ I said. ‘It sounds more classy and – interesting.’

  Robert looked surprised. I suppose he thought I’d be aggravated or suspicious. I was feeling bad tempered and the effort to disguise it was colossal.

  Yves looked triumphant.

  ‘And it’s more precise,’ I continued. ‘There are lots of greens, but emerald says it exactly.’

  Craig smiled at Yves. ‘You win.’

  The workroom was tidy and looked organized. There were books of designs, two sewing machines, tape measures, two tailor’s dummies, scissors hanging on hooks and pins stuck into cushions. Photos of young women, who looked familiar, adorned room dividers. I took a closer look. One was Phoebe, the other two were Kate and Fleur.

  ‘Where are your wives?’ I asked.

  ‘Kate’s working at our shop and Fleur’s at her ante-natal class,’ said Craig. ‘You’ve come about the fire?’

  Robert nodded. ‘There are some things we have to ask you. Bridget’s made some allegations.’

  Both men looked uncomfortable.

  ‘We’re sorry to pry, but we have to ask,’ Robert said.

  ‘Yes,’ I began. ‘She said – ’

  ‘I know what she’s said,’ Craig interrupted. He looked at Yves. ‘She’s right. I’m only telling you t
his to get it out of the way. It’s nothing to do with the case.’

  ‘It might do,’ I said.

  They looked alarmed.

  ‘Was she threatening to expose your homosexuality to your parents, Mr Lefevre?’ Robert asked, sounding compassionate.

  ‘Yves please, call me Yves. Er, she was, but, that is what I think at first. After I talk to Phoebe, I not take it so serious. She like the power of me being afraid. That’s what Phoebe tell me. She knew Bridget before. They used to work together at the same hospital.’

  ‘Phoebe knows?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Craig. ‘She’s the sort you tell your troubles too. She’s kind – wise, not judgmental and we knew she’d keep our secret. Yves was desperate – so desperate he wanted to move. One afternoon when Phoebe was modelling for us, we confided in her. She said not to worry. And then – but this is Phoebe for you – so sensible. She told us it might be a good idea if we went to a different church from Bridget.’

  ‘So we did,’ said Yves.

  ‘None of the other neighbours know?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Craig. ‘Unless Bridget told them.’

  ‘Bridget said you were rude to her,’ Robert said to Yves.

  ‘He was.’ Craig laughed. ‘She said she’d be one of our models. He told her we only used attractive women.’

  ‘Why were you so cruel?’ I asked.

  Yves shrugged. ‘I was honest. She look like a concentration camp victim. Even in designer clothes she would still be ugly.’

  ‘If you’d been tactful you might have saved yourself the worry of being threatened about your lifestyle. Just because a women is plain doesn’t mean she deserves a man’s scorn,’ I said aware of my own plain face and mousy hair.

  ‘It wasn’t just that,’ Craig said. ‘She was pushy and making snide comments about Phoebe.’

  ‘What sort of comments?’

  ‘Something about her being too plump to be a model. I don’t remember exactly.’

  I looked at the photos. ‘Do you pay Phoebe when she models for you?’

  ‘No,’ said Craig. ‘She keeps the outfits of her choice.’

  ‘How many?’ I asked.

  Craig and Yves looked confused. ‘Well, how ever many she wants, ’ Craig said.

  ‘She’s never greedy – it’s usually just one per season,’ Yves added quickly. ‘But we make her take more.’

  I was about to ask why, when Craig said, ‘Phoebe’s got lots of friends – she does a lot of things – she goes lots of places. People see her wearing our designs and they ask where she bought them. People from Pengelly House come to our shop because of her. Her agent bought an outfit because Phoebe gave her our catalogue. She’s a good advertisement for us, because she’s so beautiful.’

  ‘You do mail order too?’ Robert asked.

  Yves gave us both catalogues. I nearly told him we were investigating a murder, not shopping for clothes, but decided they might close up. I asked instead, ‘The night of the fire and the party at Pengelly House Phoebe was wearing a chocolate and gold outfit. Was it one of your designs?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Craig. ‘It’s one she chose to keep. Is it important?’

  ‘Bridget wondered how Phoebe could afford them.’

  Robert looked annoyed. I realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the e-mail from Bridget.

  Yves took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Bridget is trying to make things bad for Phoebe?’

  ‘Well – ’ I began.

  ‘At least she can’t accuse her of setting fire to her house,’ said Craig with satisfaction. ‘She was at a party at Pengelly House to celebrate – ’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ I said.

  ‘If Bridget had told your parents, how would they have reacted?’ Robert asked Yves.

  ‘The shock – it would have killed my mother.’ He spread his hands. ‘My father – I don’t know. He would be angry – worse than angry. It would have ruined my family.’

  ‘You could have denied it,’ Robert suggested.

  ‘I can’t lie – not to my parents – not to anyone.’

  Robert looked at Craig. ‘What about your parents?’

  Craig’s smile was cynical. ‘I would have lied. I’m a good liar. My parents aren’t Catholics, but they are conventional and wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t disown me, but they’d be upset. It’s why we went to lots of trouble to keep it hidden. And of course we want children.’

  ‘And what about Fleur and Kate’s parents?’

  ‘Kate’s family would be upset, not as upset as mine, but they would be unhappy and shocked,’ said Yves. ‘Fleur’s family would be angry. They are Catholics. Very strict. Fleur went to a convent school. They might never want to see her again. It’s better not to have anyone at all knowing.’

  I was curious, but didn’t know how to frame the questions about paternity and conception and how they had done it. I wanted to know how they were going to bring up their children. Were they going to pretend they were normal married couples?

  After leaving Craig and Yves we stood in the front garden of Bridget’s house. I studied the layout and saw there was a gap in the yew tree hedge. It was wide enough for a person to get through easily.

  ‘Five minutes,’ I said to Robert. ‘That’s all it would take. Phoebe or Stuart leave their bike at the back gate, run through the garden to the back door and unlock it, go to the front door and pick up the turpentine soaked material, which they’d left there in a plastic bag before going to Pengelly House, slip though the yew tree hedge, push the material through the letter box, light a taper and drop it through the letter box, wait a few seconds to make sure it’s ignited and go back through the hedge. The gap is close to the house – it could have taken less than five minutes.’

  Robert said nothing. But I was right. I know I was right and so, I think, did he.

  11

  ROBERT

  Keeping my knowledge regarding the numbering of Farrier Way, and its possible significance, a secret, made me feel deceitful. I decided to tell Sharon and risk her scorn or accusations that I was trying to get Phoebe off the list of suspects. As we left Craig and Yves I decided to test her. It was possible that she had noticed the way the houses were numbered and not grasped the implications. ‘Have you noticed – ’

  ‘Phoebe broke her word,’ Sharon said as we walked back to our car.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In that letter she showed us she told Bridget that she wouldn’t say anything about them having known each other before, but she told the, er, Yves and Craig.’

  ‘Only because Bridget had threatened them,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure if this is relevant, but – ’

  Sharon interrupted me again. ‘They’ve got a good set-up going,’ she said caustically. ‘It’s another form of tax evasion – the free model gets free clothes – no money paid – no tax owed.’

  ‘When did Bridget tell you about Phoebe’s clothes?’ I asked as we drove to see Bridget.

  ‘She sent me an e-mail.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Robert, I forgot.’

  Of course you did, I thought.

  ‘Bridget wondered how they managed it, and so do I.’

  I didn’t respond.

  ‘How do you think they did it?’

  ‘Did what?’ I asked although I knew.

  She sighed. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Do you think they overcame their revulsion of the opposite sex and did it?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sergeant, I’ll hit you in a minute.’

  ‘Hit me and I’ll report you. I refuse to speculate. It’s not relevant to the case.’

  ‘It could be.’

  ‘How?’

  That kept her quiet. I let five minutes pass before I said, ‘I doubt that the revelation about Yves would have killed his mother.’

  ‘You think he’s lying?’ Sharon said sharply.
<
br />   ‘No. It’s just that parent’s reactions are often not as drastic as we anticipate. I was expecting my father to be . . . not angry, but very disappointed that I wanted to join the police, but he accepted it. I’m sure he was disappointed, but he – ’

  ‘A career choice is different to being a homosexual, Sergeant. How would he have reacted if you’d confessed you liked men?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.’

  ‘If either of my brothers had told our father they were homosexuals he would have been furious.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She would have been distraught and cried for days. So I do understand why Yves and the others wanted to keep it secret.’

  We didn’t speak again till we arrived in Bodmin and Sharon had to give me directions because I took a wrong turning.

  Bridget’s mother was out.

  ‘Gone shopping,’ said Bridget. ‘For food.’ She sounded as defensive as if we’d suspected her mother was robbing a bank.

  To try and disguise my feeling of abhorrence towards her, I accepted her offer of coffee even though I knew it would be instant. It was weak and coffee granules were floating on top. I thanked her and took a couple of sips. Unable to drink anymore I put my mug down.

  ‘The letter that Phoebe sent you when you moved next door to her – can you tell us what it said?’ Sharon asked.

  ‘Full of threats.’

  ‘What sort of threats?’

  ‘’You’ll be sorry you moved next door to me’, sort of threats.’

  ‘Could you be more exact?’

  ‘How exact do you want?’

  ‘The nature of the threats. For example, did she make you worry your life was in danger?’

  ‘Yeah, but I weren’t that worried. Thought she was just doing it out of revenge. To scare me, you know. If I’d of known, I would of moved.’