Suspicion Points Read online

  ‘Then, Sergeant, you can do the questioning and I’ll keep quiet. See how far we get. Think about it. Phoebe’s highly intelligent. If she’s going to murder someone she’d make sure she had an unbreakable alibi.’

  ‘Her alibi wasn’t unbreakable – you broke it,’ he retorted. ‘You wouldn’t have spoken to Phoebe like that if Stuart had been there. And brace yourself for a complaint – ’

  ‘You’re going to complain about me?’

  ‘No. But Phoebe might.’

  We were not far from St Austell when Robert slowed down the car.

  ‘Are you in a hurry to get home?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s a farm shop nearby – I want to get something for dinner. It won’t take long, but I can come back later.’

  ‘No, fine,’ I said. I was interested to see what sort of things he’d buy.

  He turned right at a sign for The Lost Gardens of Helligan. He parked the car and looked aggravated when I got out. ‘You can stay here. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ve never been in a farm shop.’

  He shrugged and walked off. I followed him. The farm shop was rustic but clean with baskets of vegetables labelled organic. He picked up leeks, carrots, broccoli and potatoes. The customers had refined accents and the people behind the counter had refined accents. But at least I didn’t look out of place in my khaki cords, jumper and Barbour. Since my promotion I could afford pure wool jumpers, good cotton blouses and silk too if there was a sale. Luckily, I liked the earthy colours favoured by the upper-classes. I wore little make-up and kept my fingernails short and unpainted.

  ‘Hello, Robert,’ said the man at the meat counter.

  After debating over duck breasts and a large piece of fillet steak, he chose the steak. Then he bought cream, apples and a tub of expensive vanilla ice cream.

  When the woman at the counter asked him if he was going to make an apple pie he said, ‘Tarte Tatin.’

  ‘Have you won the lottery?’ I asked when we were walking back to the car.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘You spent more on dinner for tonight than I spend in a week.’

  ‘It’s for two people.’

  I longed to ask if it was a girl, but even if I tried to sound casual, it would come out like an accusation. It was probably that blonde who’d slammed the door in my face. Or it might be a man.

  ‘Even so, it’s a lot of money,’ I insisted.

  ‘But terrific quality. Better than anything you’d get in a supermarket.’

  ‘Free-range, organic. It’s a con.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve read articles in newspapers. You spend more money so you have to convince yourself it tastes better.’

  He pointed the cardkey at the door. ‘Have you ever tried it or are you just regurgitating what you’ve read?’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my money. I’m not a gullible fool.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s not just about taste either – it’s about treating animals and birds properly. Hens in battery farms have a terrible life.’

  I tutted. ‘And the poor non-organic vegetables – do they have a terrible life too?’

  ‘They’re sprayed with pesticides and – ’

  ‘Poor things – does it hurt them?’

  I could tell he was angry because he crunched the gears. ‘No, but it can harm humans – but not me, because I don’t eat them.’

  We drove to St Austell in silence.

  ‘You had free-range organic bacon and eggs when you came to breakfast the other morning,’ he said as he stopped outside my house. He didn’t look at me and his tone was cold. ‘You told me it was the best breakfast you’d ever had.’

  I managed to smile. ‘It was better than the canteen food.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Have a nice dinner,’ I said as I got out of the car.

  ‘Thank you.’ His tone was still cold.

  As I ate the macaroni cheese I’d heated in the microwave, I thought of Robert and the blonde feasting on their overpriced food. Would they have wine? I guessed he’d light the candles I’d seen. I imagined them going upstairs and making love. Or would they be overcome with passion and do it on the floor or the sofa while one of his classical CD’s was playing? They might squabble. The blonde I’d seen had been crying, but she was angry with me. Had they been fighting about his infidelities? Did she think I was a rival? It’s more likely that she looked at me and wondered what Robert saw in such a plain mouse. Why didn’t he flirt with the girls at work? Maybe he was too sensible.

  Once I’d thrown a plate of food at a boyfriend who said my cooking was rubbish. Had anyone ever thrown a plate of food at Robert? I had a slice of treacle tart for dessert and thought about Robert and the blonde eating the apple tart with a fancy name. I imagined it smothered in cream and ice cream.

  After cataloguing the days events, I made a mug of hot chocolate and took it up to bed, dispirited by our lack of progress. Phoebe was top of my list of suspects, because she was the one with the most motives. I was certain she hadn’t intended to kill the baby, but finding proof was hard unless she could be coaxed or trapped into a confession. I saw her as a normal woman who Bridget had pushed too far. Although she didn’t look it, she must be in torment over the baby and confessing would be a relief.

  I started to read Robert’s notebook about the case of the missing boy he had solved when he lived in St Margarets.

  The house is large with 5 bedrooms. It is dreary, with brown walls and woodwork, dull ancestral portraits, dark floor boards covered with brown rugs and brown velvet upholstery and curtains. There is a tiger-skin rug on the floor of the drawing-room and another in the dining-room.

  The boy’s bedroom could be that of an old man. There are no toys, games, pictures on the walls or anything to indicate it belongs to an 8 year old boy. Again the colour scheme is brown. It is tidy and clean. His shirts, trousers and jackets hang neatly in the wardrobe and two large chests of drawers hold his jumpers and underwear – all folded and ironed. It is unnaturally neat for a child.

  I already suspect what has happened, but just to make sure I checked. There is no school bag. I was hoping there would be. I have no evidence, just instinct.

  I was interested in what Robert had written and understood how his psychology worked. Anyone who made their little boy sleep in a bedroom like that was weird. Even on my parents’ limited budget our bedrooms, when we were children, were bright, with cheerful curtains and pictures on the walls. My mind was on this case and how he’d solved it, so I don’t know why the thought came to me. But it did. I put his notebook down and turned off the light. I lay there tossing the idea around in my head till I fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, I knew we had another suspect. I wondered what Robert would say.

  It had been another frustrating day where we had made no progress and Robert had been even more aloof than usual. I hadn’t told him about my idea because I wanted to have everything clear so I could demolish his objections.

  My next door neighbour came out of her house as soon as I got out of my car. She was holding a parcel. ‘Sharon, this was delivered for you. I said I’d look after it.’

  I thanked her and took the parcel inside. I knew what it was. A week ago I’d ordered two jumpers from a catalogue. With the unseasonably chilly weather I was running out of warm clothes. I didn’t have a dryer and I’d washed some jumpers, but they were still wet. Without opening the parcel I put my other four jumpers in the washing machine.

  The following morning I opened the parcel expecting to see an angora polo necked jumper in hazelnut and a crew neck wool jumper in mustard. Instead there was only one. A pale blue polo neck. There was a note apologizing that the other colour I’d ordered was out of stock. I was about to phone the company when I saw that instead of ticking the hazelnut I’d ticked blue haze on the order form. I thought of returning it, and searched through my wardrobe for something warm. My th
ree winter jackets were at the dry cleaners.

  ‘Bloody weather,’ I muttered as I pulled on the blue angora jumper.

  When I got to Dolphin Cottage Robert looked at me in surprise.

  ‘Say anything about baby-grows and you’ll regret it,’ I snarled.

  His eyes went to my stomach.

  ‘No, I’m not pregnant! Trust you to think – ’

  He held up his hands in surrender. ‘You’re the one who mentioned baby-grows.’

  ‘That’s because I feel as if I’m wearing a baby-grow.’ I explained what had happened as I went inside.

  He looked amused. ‘Have you looked in the mirror? Since you put on the jumper?’

  ‘No. And I have no intention – ’

  ‘I think you should.’

  ‘Just tell me what’s wrong, Sergeant.’

  ‘Go upstairs and look in the mirror. The one in the bathroom.’

  I dumped my bag on his sofa went upstairs. Expecting to see my hair standing up like a broom or blobs of mascara under my eyes, I stared at the mirror. I looked different. My cheeks were slightly pink and my complexion no longer looked sallow. To describe myself as pretty would be an exaggeration, but I no longer looked plain.

  ‘Well?’ said Robert when I returned.

  ‘I look different.’

  ‘A fortunate mistake. The colour suits you. You look attractive.’

  His compliment amazed me even more than my new appearance did.

  ‘When you were at school was your shirt white or pale blue?’ he asked.

  ‘White. Why?’

  ‘Just something you said when we were both new here.’

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘That you looked all right when you were at school, but your looks deteriorated when you left. I think it’s because you started wearing browns and earthy colours.’

  I’d worn those colours because I liked them and they looked grown up.

  ‘Robert, could we sit down for a minute. I’ve had a thought. A startling thought. I need to know what you think.’

  ‘Okay. Do you want some coffee?’

  ‘I never refuse coffee,’ I said, pleased that he’d thawed.

  I sat on the sofa while he was in the kitchen. When he came in with the cafetière, mugs, sugar bowl, spoons and milk jug on a tray, I thought how like Phoebe he was in his habits. I would have poured the coffee in the kitchen, added sugar and milk and carried the mugs in.

  He sipped his coffee and looked at me. ‘Well, what have you thought?’

  ‘I think we’ve got a new suspect.’ I knew better than to wait for him to ask questions. ‘Margaret. She lives at Pengelly House. She was at the party that night. If she’s got a car, it would only take a few minutes to get to Bridget’s. If she went by bike then the calculations I made for Phoebe would be the same. She hates Bridget. If she was out of the way then the Medical Records office would be a lot happier. She and Phoebe are not only friends they’re sisters-in-law. She’s said herself that Bridget flaunted her baby at Phoebe.’

  I’d been afraid Robert would dismiss the idea, but he looked thoughtful. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to kill Elaine?’ he asked finally. ‘She seems to be the cause of all the misery. If what the staff say is true, it was a happy place to work before she came. With her dead the department would return to normal.’

  I had thought of this and had worked out reasons for and against it. ‘Maybe no one knew where she lived. She’s got no friends there, so no one would be visiting her at home. The other staff knew where Bridget lived because Margaret would have told them she’d moved next-door to Phoebe.’

  He nodded. ‘You might be onto something. We’ll have to find out if Margaret’s got a car or bike. The difficulty is that if all the staff knew where Bridget lived, anyone of them could have gone to her house. No one has alibis – they all said they were at home in bed. Apart from Margaret who was at home, but not in bed.’

  That night I went on the internet and ordered four new jumpers and shirts. I chose jumpers in navy, emerald-green, burgundy and royal-blue which would go with the two white, pale blue and green and white striped shirts I’d ordered.

  In bed, I continued reading Robert’s account of the missing boy.

  Today we visited the boy’s friends. The parents are delightful. They told us about an incident a few months ago that took place between them and the mother of the missing boy.

  Their son, and another two boys who lived nearby, had been playing with the boy in his house when his mother was out. When she came home she told them to leave and not come back. She didn’t want nasty, common children mixing with her son. Understandably upset, the children went home and told their parents. The two sets of parents confronted his mother, but she threatened to call the police if they didn’t leave her house. She repeated her accusation that they were nasty and common and she didn’t want her son mixing with them.

  Feeling sorry for the boy, they left, but told their children that the boy was welcome to come to their homes if he wished. He did wish. We visited other parents who confirmed that he was the unhappiest child they had ever met. Well dressed, clean and polite at all times, but unhappy and nervous.

  By this time I was convinced the mother had killed her son. I tried to work out her motive. She found out he was still mixing with children she considered common? But Robert had said that she was distraught – genuinely distraught. Would she have been distraught if she’d killed her son? Maybe he hadn’t been missing at all, but just hiding.

  As soon as I’d heard that the missing boy was going to live with his father, I knew what had happened. Apart from instinct I had nothing else to back up my suspicious.

  To my frustration Robert’s notes ended there.

  Next morning we found that Margaret and her husband owned a car and two bikes, but I knew this didn’t prove anything. Unless someone confessed the case would remain unsolved. At this rate we’d never have anything substantial to take to court. We had no real evidence, just suspicions. By lunchtime I was hungry. We were driving out of Pengelly House when Robert said he was starving and hadn’t had any breakfast because he’d got up too late.

  ‘Do you know any good pubs near here?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Some excellent ones.’

  We drove to a place called Blissland and went into a pub where we sat at a table in a corner. It was midday and there were only a few tables occupied.

  ‘I finished reading your account of the missing boy last night,’ I told Robert when we’d ordered sandwiches and cappuccino for me and ploughman’s and tea for him. ‘I think his mother killed him. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I don’t know why. Or how.’

  ‘He was a child. He hadn’t learnt to be devious. His mother found him packing his case to take to his father’s flat. She lost her temper and hit him. He fell and smashed his head on the hearth. Horrified about what she’d done she wrapped his body in bin liners and put him in the cellar. If her child was missing she would have been frantic with worry, but she was distraught, because she knew he was dead and that she had killed him.’

  ‘Why didn’t she say that he fell and hit his head?’

  Robert grimaced. ‘When I said she hit him, I mean repeatedly hit him. One of her rings had cut right into his face and made him bleed. Her blows had also broken his nose.’

  I winced. ‘Poor little boy. No wonder he wanted to live with his father. What a horrible woman.’

  ‘His father was partly to blame. He knew she had a violent temper. It’s why he left.’

  I was incredulous. ‘He knew she was beating their son?’

  ‘No. He never caught her in the act and his son didn’t tell him. She was beating him.’

  ‘The father?’

  ‘Yes. He was a battered husband. In his statement he said that her rages were sudden and unprovoked, but that she was always sorry afterwards. He wouldn’t have left, but he fell in love with a girl he worked with.’

  ‘Why the hell
did he marry her?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘She was pregnant?’

  ‘Right. And it’s only after they got married that he experienced her temper. At first he thought it was her hormones making her like that. Before they married he said she was really sweet. He never admitted it, but I think the fact that she was wealthy had a lot to do with why he went out with her. Her parents were killed in a plane crash. It was only a light aircraft – her father was flying it. So when she was twenty-one she inherited all their money and their house.’

  ‘So it was her house and that’s why he didn’t make any changes?’

  Robert nodded. ‘Probably. He was a weak man.’

  ‘I can understand why women get battered, but why do men let women batter them? Okay, they don’t have to hit the woman, but they could hold her – or was he a skinny weed?’

  ‘From what I can remember, he was thin, but you’re right – he could have overpowered her till she calmed down.’

  ‘What the hell is it with these men? Look at Bridget. Her father leaves her with a woman he knows is nasty. I can understand why anyone would want to escape from her, but he didn’t think about his daughter, did he? At least if he’d been around he might have been able to dilute her mother’s influence and damage. All the poor girl wanted was to get married and have children, and her mother tried to stop her. That’s not love. And that poor little boy being left with a woman his father knew was violent. These men should at least stay in the home till their children are old enough to leave.’

  Robert was looking amused.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I agree with you and, and from the expressions on their faces, so do the other customers,’ he said softly.

  I was sitting with my back to the room and hadn’t noticed that the tables were filling up. I was too embarrassed to turn around and could feel myself blushing. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking too loudly.’

  ‘You weren’t. You were speaking clearly, and as there’s no music and not much background noise, your voice carried.’