Suspicion Points Read online

  Margaret, looking disgusted, said, ‘Yes, we did. At first we felt sorry for Bridget. She often cried at work because of her ghastly mother who tried to stop her having boyfriends. Phoebe and I hadn’t been working here very long when Bridget had two weeks holiday. When she came back we asked her what she’d done. She’d spent the two weeks helping her mother clean, tidy and rearrange the furniture in their flat. We didn’t know what to say. The only social thing she’d done was go to church on Sundays – with her mother. When Phoebe and I went on holiday to Crete a few months later – eight of us stayed in a self-catering place near the sea – we felt guilty about saying what a wonderful time we’d had when we went back to work.

  ‘As soon as Elaine came I knew, just knew, that Bridget would change. I could see it in her face. She was all smarmy. It was terrible for Phoebe, she and Bridget had been friends.’

  ‘Were you friends with Bridget?’

  ‘No. I didn’t like her.’ Margaret looked thoughtful. ‘There was something about her. I didn’t trust her and I was proved right. She was ambitious – she was always applying for jobs of a higher grade, but never got anywhere. She asked Phoebe to help her, and she did. She advised her how to dress for an interview and helped her write her CV’s. I thought, even then, that she used Phoebe.’

  ‘Did you resent their friendship?’ Robert asked.

  ‘No, but it made me uncomfortable. Bridget felt she had exclusive rights over Phoebe. She resented our friendship. I think she even wanted to cause trouble between us, but we’ve known each other since we were at school. We went to university together and we’re members of the same writing group. She’s also my sister-in-law. It’d take more than a badly educated dimwit like Bridget to come between us.’

  That Phoebe and Margaret had been lifelong friends made it more likely that Margaret would lie for Phoebe and leave out vital pieces of information to throw suspicion away from her.

  ‘Bridget was possessive of Phoebe, but then when it suited her she dropped her. When Elaine came she got the promotion she craved, and not through merit either. It was a nightmare here till Bridget went on maternity leave – then Elaine no longer had someone to back her up. When Bridget came back, at first it was all the same friendly, friendly with Elaine. Then someone – I have no idea who – it might have been more than one person, started sending Elaine anonymous messages. She was furious and called a meeting demanding to know who’d sent them. No one admitted anything, of course. It was stupid of her to expect anyone to confess. We just stood there silently while she ranted and threatened.’

  ‘What did the messages say?’ Robert asked.

  ‘The first one was something like, ‘Bridget is only friendly with you because you’re the boss. She hates you as much as everyone else does.’ The next one was more stark. ‘Bridget is plotting to get your job.’ That’s all it said. Another one said, ‘You should hear what Bridget says about you behind your back, Elaine.’ Then Bridget started taking lots of sick-leave. Don’t know why she came back after she moved – money I suppose and she reckoned she could take lots of sick-leave and still get paid. I don’t think she was really sick. She probably wanted to stay with the baby.

  ‘Elaine’s attitude to her changed. Bridget’s shock was comical when she was reprimanded in front of us all about taking too much sick-leave. We laughed about that. Then another message arrived telling Elaine that Bridget was looking for another job. That caused a lot of damage to their friendship. I suppose Elaine thought there was some truth in them.’

  ‘Were the messages sent from outside or internally?’ I asked.

  ‘Outside. Some were posted in Truro, others were posted in St Austell and Bodmin.’

  ‘Were they hand written?’ asked Robert.

  ‘No. Printed – every message was in a different typeface. The colour of the paper was different too.’

  I wondered if Phoebe had sent them, and if they had anything to do with the case.

  ‘Bridget told us about them,’ said Robert. ‘She thinks Phoebe sent them.’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘Phoebe’s not into revenge. She wouldn’t waste her time with letters – she’s got novels to write, lots of friends and family to see and a writers’ group to run – she’s the president. And she’d left years before the letters started arriving. Elaine should have binned them and said nothing – not even to Bridget. But she festered in public. She actually held them up – all of them – and read them out. She even threatened to go to the police. If it was someone in the department sending them, she certainly gave them satisfaction.’

  ‘How many letters were sent?’

  Margaret thought for few seconds. ‘About seven, I think.’

  ‘How long had Bridget and Declan been married?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. After Phoebe left. I think she started going out with Declan when Phoebe was still here.’

  ‘Was Phoebe jealous of Bridget?’ Robert asked.

  Margaret looked astounded. ‘Jealous of Bridget? Of course not. Why would she be?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘Bridget claimed that Phoebe was jealous of her.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. Bridget was jealous of Phoebe. Look, Phoebe was married – happily married, Bridget lived with her horrible mother – ’

  ‘I think Bridget meant after she was promoted,’ I said.

  ‘No, not even then. She was hurt and felt betrayed, but not jealous. Naturally she hated the change in the dynamics – we all did. And she didn’t want a promotion or too much responsibility. She wanted to concentrate on her writing.’

  ‘Bridget’s very thin,’ Robert said. ‘Is she anorexic?’

  ‘No,’ said Margaret. ‘She looks it, but she’s got a healthy appetite. Whenever I’ve seen her in the canteen at lunchtimes her plate’s been piled high with food. She always ate a pudding, and at morning and afternoon tea she’d eat a doughnut or cake. I’d say it’s her metabolism and living with her mother must have been nerve-racking.’

  ‘Did she put on weight after she married?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Although she was away from her mother, she still had Elaine to keep happy – that must have been tough. She was very demanding. And knowing how much we all hated her – ’

  ‘What about bulimia?’ asked Robert.

  ‘I don’t think so. When I first knew her I did think she could be, but I watched her and she stays at the table after she’s eaten. I don’t know how long bulimia sufferers leave between eating and vomiting – ’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s probably not important, but we’re just trying to build up a picture of her.’

  ‘A number of your colleagues have said that they’re sorry Bridget is still alive.’ Robert let his statement hover.

  I watched Margaret carefully. She looked guarded, but stayed silent.

  ‘What’s your feeling?’ Robert persisted when it was clear Margaret was refusing to be drawn.

  ‘Bridget brings out the worst in people, but I doubt anyone here hates her enough to kill her. Wishing her dead and killing her are different. I don’t think anyone in this department would kill anyone – truly I don’t.’

  ‘Did you ever wish her dead?’ I asked.

  Margaret shook her head. ‘If the fire had killed her I wouldn’t have been happy about it, but I wouldn’t have been upset either.’

  We almost left without getting another vital snippet. It was Robert who asked, ‘Did you ever see Bridget’s baby?’

  We’d asked all the others and they’d said no. I thought his question was a waste of time. I was wrong.

  She nodded. ‘He was a pretty little kid. Much better looking than her – he must have taken after Declan’s side of the family, although he wasn’t all that good looking either, but he might have been once – it was a bit hard to tell because he went bald in his early twenties. She flaunted the baby at Phoebe. Whenever I visited Phoebe and Stuart and the weather was warm, Bridget would be outside in the garden with the baby. She’d talk loudly to
him, so Phoebe could hear.’

  A mother playing with her baby in the garden seemed reasonable to me.

  Margaret saw my look of doubt and said, ‘She must have watched, because as soon and we went outside she’d come out with the baby. And guess what? When we went inside – so did she. Once I was standing at Phoebe and Stuart’s bedroom window, we were looking at the view of the forest, and Bridget came in through the back gate. She saw us at the window – it was open – and she took him out of his pushchair and starting playing with him. We went downstairs to have lunch and I snuck back to look out the window and she was gone.’

  ‘Why would that matter to Phoebe?’ I asked. I knew the answer, but wanted to see if Bridget’s story about Phoebe’s miscarriages and the baby who died just after it was born, would be confirmed. It was.

  Margaret had no idea she’d just given Phoebe another motive for murder.

  Before we left the hospital, we went to the accident and emergency department and gave our details to the clerk to give to Elaine Dunn.

  ‘What a cauldron,’ said Robert as we went back to the car. ‘Bullying, jealousy, anonymous letters – we’re not even sure who the intended victim was. It may have been Declan.’

  ‘I think we can be certain it was Bridget,’ I said. ‘Let’s go through what we’ve found out. Her baby was normal. Phoebe had another motive. And she and Margaret are not just sisters-in-law they’ve been friends since they were children, which makes Margaret’s defence of Phoebe suspect. And the smokers at the party had to light up outside, so all either Phoebe or Stuart had to do was tell someone they were going outside to talk to one of the smokers.’

  ‘And,’ he said, as I drove through the hospital gates, ‘We’ve got more confirmation that Bridget’s mother was possessive and bullying and didn’t want Bridget to marry anyone. And Bridget was popular with most of her colleagues until she became Elaine’s deputy.’

  ‘Phoebe told us that. I can’t see why it matters.’

  ‘It gives us an insight into her character. She wasn’t rotten, but she put money and power over friendship. She wanted to better herself – that’s understandable, but the way she did it was underhand.’

  I stopped at the traffic lights. ‘Do you think the messages Elaine got have anything to do with the case?’

  ‘Hard to say. If the aim was to cause Elaine to distrust Bridget, they seem to have worked. There’s one other thing.’ He paused and looked uncertain. ‘It’s about the baby.’

  ‘What, Robert?’

  ‘Can we discuss Margaret’s assumption that he was normal?’

  ‘Assumption?’

  ‘She only saw him from Phoebe’s bedroom window.’

  ‘True, but – ’

  ‘Did you think there was anything odd about the way she described him?’

  I shook my head. The lights turned green and I pulled away and turned right.

  ‘A pretty little kid. He was almost two . . . it’s an odd way to describe a male toddler.’

  ‘You think Bridget wished he was a girl?’

  ‘No, someone as astute as Margaret would have mentioned if she’d seen him wearing girly clothes or having longish hair. I mean . . . ’

  He looked strange suddenly.

  ‘Robert?’

  He swallowed. ‘When I was in London . . . ’

  He was struggling with this. Something was wrong.

  ‘Yes?’ I tried not to sound impatient. ‘What?’

  ‘A, er, friend of mine was a paediatrician.’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  He looked startled. ‘Happened? Oh, nothing. It’s a difficult subject . . . I’m trying to remember what er, he told me . . . the right words . . . it’s not as sad as it was years ago.’

  I should have been irritated, but I was too curious. He was wandering off the subject in an un-Robert like way.

  ‘No, sorry, I feel unwell . . . sick . . . something I ate . . . I can’t talk about it.’

  He couldn’t talk about something he ate? I decided to go along with his excuse. ‘Do you want to go to your place and I’ll go back to the station and brief the others?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  When I pulled up in front of Dolphin Cottage Robert went inside without saying anything. I glanced at the window, but only saw him going towards the kitchen. He wasn’t ill. It was talking about the paediatrician that had upset him. Had they been lovers? Even in these enlightened times most men I worked with despised homosexuals. Was Robert blackmailed? Had his lover died of AIDS?

  I phoned him later. He apologized and said he was feeling better. His car was still at the garage so I said I’d call for him in the morning.

  ‘Would you like to stop for breakfast?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  Amazed by the invitation, I accepted. I was just about to turn off my computer and go home, when an e-mail arrived from Bridget.

  I forgot to tell you – Phoebe’s finances are not right. She wears clothes that Craig and Yves make for their shop in town. The prices are way beyond what I can afford and I’ve got a good job.

  As I wrote a note to remind myself to check out Yves and Craig’s shop, it occurred to me that Bridget didn’t know that Phoebe’s first book was about to be published. Although I knew I should be neutral, Bridget was the type of person I detested. Loyalty in a friend was important to me. Bridget had not only dropped Phoebe as a friend, she had bullied her when she was given a position of power.

  Part of me felt the path she had taken was inevitable. Like her, I had grown up on a council estate, but my parents had been good people. Mrs Bradley was not only possessive, she was nasty, which is probably why Bridget’s father had left. I had made my way up the career ladder on merit. Bridget had done it by colluding with a woman who sounded as nasty as Mrs Bradley. I would have never turned against my friends to advance my career.

  The next morning Robert was his normal, unemotional self. The table in the dining room was set with a red gingham cloth and matching serviettes. There were packets of cereal and a carton of organic apple and blackberry juice on the sideboard. I hoped he’d cook bacon and eggs and he did. I’d never had such delicious bacon as the rashers he dished up on top of the slice of granary bread. He’d fried them in butter, and the sea salt and black pepper I ground over my egg made me want another one. He cut more bread, and I spread it thickly with butter, and marmalade, which he told me his grandmother made.

  I’d only ever known one grandparent and she’d died when I was ten. I told him he was lucky. He agreed. He’d made coffee in a large cafetière. I sipped it in silence as I gazed at the view and heard the shriek of the gulls and the sound of the waves. It was a romantic room. I could imagine the two candlesticks on the wide window-sill and the ones on the mantelpiece burning in the evening and the table set with a more formal cloth. He certainly liked candles. There were two glass lamps with nightlights in them on the chest of drawers in the alcove. They were the sort that you see in spooky movies set in Victorian times with a woman carrying them up a long staircase.

  A door at the side of the dining-room opened onto a small patio. An ornate garden table painted dark-green with four matching chairs was surrounded by pots of all shapes and sizes planted with bushes I didn’t know the names of.

  Stuart’s painting was on one wall. Like his others it was lifelike and realistic. It was a night scene of a dining room with a table set for dinner. A woman, dressed in a white blouse that could have been Victorian or a Laura Ashley copy, was in the act of placing a pink rose in a vase. Again it was viewed through a window with small panes of glass.

  ‘He’s always got windows in his painting,’ I said to Robert.

  ‘Yes. He calls himself an inside outside artist. He’s got a fascination with seeing things through a window or glass doors.’

  I understood the attraction. When I walked down my street in the dark I always liked to glance inside when people had their lights on and their curtains open.<
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  ‘Did you buy his paintings at an art gallery?’

  ‘Yes. In Polperro. I was with my grandmother and there was an exhibition of painting by local artists. She bought me one for my birthday. I loved it so much I bought another one.’

  How lucky he was that he had a grandmother indulgent enough to buy him paintings for his birthday. I thought about Bridget’s theory that Stuart and Phoebe were poor.

  I chose my next words carefully. ‘I’m not prying – but I’d be interested to know how much they cost, because – ’

  ‘Five hundred pounds,’ he said.

  ‘Right. So if he sells a lot that would account for him and Phoebe being well off, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It would depend on how many he sells. If he only sold one a month that’s not much. And he’s got to buy frames, canvasses, paint and brushes.’

  ‘And I guess he’s got fees to pay for the galleries.’

  ‘Yes, but Stuart, and other local artists, have also got other valuable exhibition sources. Several restaurants, cafés and pubs have their paintings hanging on the walls – they’re for sale so the patrons can buy them. The artist gets free exhibition space and the venue gets free pictures to decorate their walls.’

  ‘So Bridget’s opinion that Phoebe and Stuart don’t have much money, might be right.’

  He nodded. ‘Although neither of them look as poverty stricken as Bridget would no doubt like to think.’

  ‘They don’t look poverty stricken at all,’ I said with a smile. ‘More like well off. But I wonder, if like many people, they live on credit.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They might do.’

  Being gracious made me feel awkward and I struggled to find the right words to thank Robert for the breakfast. ‘Thanks,’ I said when the cafetière was empty. ‘That was a scrumptious breakfast. The best I’ve ever had.’

  He looked surprised.

  ‘Tell me about the case you solved by instinct,’ I said.