A Recipe for Murder Read online

  He hunkered down on his heels and examined the ground. It was damp and the car tracks were readily identifiable: they ran straight to the edge of the cliff — he assumed they reached the edge: he didn’t dare look all the way — with no indication that the brakes had been slammed on in a desperate attempt to avoid going over. Of course, without the lights on the driver might not have known how close she was to disaster until the car had broken through the railings and then the whisky might have dulled her reactions sufficiently … But if she had been capable of driving at all, wouldn’t she have instinctively switched on the lights …?

  Near the edge of the cliff — so near that he began to shake — there were other marks to the side of the tyre marks. The grass was crushed and there was a large, shallow depression and a smaller, deeper one. The kind of marks a man would make if he threw himself out of a car just before it went over the edge and he had to jam his toes into the ground to prevent the momentum taking him over as well?

  He returned to the railings and the car park. He lit a cigarette, hoping it would help to calm his churning stomach. When he’d smoked it, he crossed to his car, switched on the transmitter, and spoke to the operations room at H.Q. to ask them to pass the message on to send out someone to take photos and make casts of the marks.

  *

  At ten-fifteen on Saturday morning, Kelly went to Norwood House. He immediately liked Jane Ballentyne. She was his kind of woman. Nothing showy, perhaps a trifle too much weight by modem standards, but with a warm, caring nature. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Ballentyne, but I’ve come along —’

  ‘To question me regarding my friendship with Mr Scott?’

  He nodded. She stepped aside and he entered her flat and followed her into the sitting-room. She stood with her back to the picture window. ‘Have you found Mrs Scott?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’m afraid it may take rather a long time. If she was in her car, then the tides around Stern Head are very strong.’

  ‘If it was an accident, why are you bothering to come here?’ she asked almost curtly.

  ‘We have to check up.’

  ‘You don’t believe it was an accident, do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that because I simply don’t know. Let me put things another way. Right now, there has to be the possibility that it wasn’t an accident, simply because we know so little. So we’re checking up and if we discover that it quite definitely was an accident, we can then scotch any rumours.’

  She crossed to a chair and sat. ‘I’ve never met Fiona Holloway, but even if she probably needs pitying rather than cursing, I’m sure she’s dangerous.’

  ‘Obviously Mr Scott has been here. He probably explained that Miss Holloway has alleged that Mr Scott and you have for some time been having an affair. Now as I see it, the only person from whom she could have gained such an idea was Mrs Scott …’ He let his voice die away so that the unfinished sentence became a question.

  ‘Avis has never had the slightest reason for believing that Kevin and I are anything more than casual friends,’ she said angrily.

  ‘You are quite certain of that?’

  ‘Dammit, I …’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I’m incredibly naive for this day and age, but I can’t understand why a man and a woman can’t see each other occasionally, always in full public view, without the rest of the world assuming the worst.’

  ‘Are you saying, then, that Mr Scott has never been in this flat?’

  She nervously clasped her hands together around her knees. ‘Kevin’s been up here once so our meetings haven’t all been in full public view. But it didn’t extend beyond one glass of sherry and it happened this Thursday, two days after Avis disappeared — so it had no influence on the way she thought. And when we do see each other we discuss books and the most maiden of aunts could listen in and not blush once.’

  ‘You’ve made things very clear, Mrs Ballentyne.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks for being so helpful.’

  She looked up at him. ‘I’ve told you the absolute truth.’

  Emotionally, he believed her: but as a policeman, he wondered.

  *

  The front office of divisional H.Q. was one and a half floors high and separated into two by the long counter. In front of this counter were some uncomfortable chairs, a couple of tables on which were a selection of police pamphlets, and on the walls a series of posters recruiting, admonishing, advising.

  Jenkins entered from outside and went up to the counter. He had a thin, pointed, furry face and his pale blue eyes were seldom still.

  The duty sergeant studied him. ‘I thought it was too much to hope for when they told me you’d gone to live in the West country.’

  ‘Couldn’t stand the people there, Sarge.’

  ‘Kept catching you at it, did they?’

  He chuckled, showing stained teeth.

  ‘All right, then, let’s hear what brings you in. And keep both your hands where I can see ’em.’

  ‘I got to talking to Jimmy and he said …’

  ‘Let’s get things sorted out. Who’s Jimmy?’

  ‘Jimmy Williams, my local copper. And he said to come and talk to you.’

  ‘That’s earned him extra duty for a start.’

  ‘There’s been a rumour going around about Mrs Scott, the wife of the bloke what writes. Her car went over the edge, didn’t it?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Some people is saying there’s something funny about her death.’

  ‘Some people’ll say anything.’

  ‘I saw her car that night.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Just before nine: could’ve been five to.’

  ‘How do you know it was her car?’

  ‘I knows all the cars what are local.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  Jenkins tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and winked.

  ‘Cut out the hamming.’

  ‘Polgate Wood.’

  ‘And pheasants not even in season yet,’ said the sergeant disgustedly.

  ‘She weren’t driving.’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘It were a man.’

  ‘Could you see anything of him?’

  ‘Only the back of his ’ead.’

  ‘Was she in the car with him?’

  ‘Couldn’t see no one else.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything more than that?’

  ‘Can’t. But thought you’d want to know, like.’

  15

  On Sunday Scott was in the kitchen, eating a late breakfast standing up, when Kelly arrived.

  ‘Have you heard at all from Mrs Scott?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’d hoped you would have done.’

  Scott found it strange that the detective’s manner remained so friendly when he suspected Avis had been murdered. But then perhaps all police work was a form of hypocrisy? ‘Could you manage a coffee?’

  ‘It would go down a treat.’

  In the kitchen, Scott filled a fresh mug with coffee, then poured what remained in the espresso machine into his own. He passed the first mug across. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar and we’ll go into the sitting-room.’

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast.’

  ‘I finished eating as you arrived.’

  They went into the sitting-room and Scott switched on the fan heater. Kelly said: ‘Cheers,’ and drank. He lowered the mug. ‘Last Tuesday you. went up to London and spent the night there, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did you stay?’

  ‘In a friend’s flat.’

  ‘Was he there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you were on your own?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did you go out in the evening?’

  ‘I intended originally to go to a film, but in the event I couldn’t be bothered.’

  ‘Is there anyone who could vouch for you being in London that
evening?’

  ‘I saw no one I knew.’

  ‘We’ve had a report through to the effect that your wife’s car was on the road at around nine, being driven by a man. Can you suggest who that man might have been?’

  ‘I’d say your report is a load of cod’s. Avis wouldn’t have let anyone else drive her car: half the time, she didn’t even like my handling it.’

  They both heard another car drive off the road and Scott crossed to the window. He didn’t recognise the blue Ford Fiesta which had parked by the side of the detective’s car.

  ‘If you’ve a visitor, I’ll get from under your feet.’ Kelly finished his coffee in three quick swallows. ‘By the way, if you do remember meeting anyone in London, say between seven-thirty and ten, let me know, will you?’

  A woman climbed out of the car and when she stood upright Scott realised she was Jane.

  Kelly went into the hall. He opened the inner porch door as Jane reached the outer one. His expression didn’t alter as he moved to one side to let Scott get past him.

  Scott said: ‘Hullo, Jane: what an unexpected pleasure!’

  She came through the porch: ‘I was driving …’ She stopped when she saw Kelly.

  ‘Hullo again, Mrs Ballentyne,’ said Kelly. ‘Thanks for the coffee, Mr Scott.’ He left.

  As he went past the kitchen window, she said: ‘You don’t believe he’ll think … She became silent.

  ‘He’ll think the worst because that’s what his job is all about,’ replied Scott roughly.

  ‘But when I set out for a spin I’d really no intention of coming here. It’s just that I found myself at Colderton cross-roads and so decided to drop in for a moment.’

  ‘Until Avis disappeared, I’d never realised how often the truth can become a lie.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’ll think what he wants and there’s nothing we can do about it, so come on into the sitting-room. Mind your head on the doorway: either they were all midgets when this place was built or else everyone perpetually went around with bowed shoulders.’

  ‘I didn’t know you lived in a lovely old cottage like this.’

  ‘You’ve not been here before? Avis hated the place, but I’ve always loved it.’

  She sat. ‘I suppose he hasn’t heard anything more about Avis?’

  ‘No. He came and saw you, I take it?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  She spoke evenly. ‘He made one point, Kevin. Fiona surely could only have got the ridiculous idea from Avis. So why did she have it? It’s not as if we’ve ever done anything that could remotely hint at an affair. Avis had absolutely no cause to think that about us, so why did she?’

  ‘God knows, I don’t.’

  ‘But there has to be a reason.’

  ‘Then I haven’t a clue what it is.’

  ‘If the detective thinks …’ She came to a stop.

  ‘If he thinks Avis did have reason for her belief, if he’s certain she’s dead and it wasn’t an accident, then he’s convinced I had a very good motive for killing her.’

  ‘It’s like a nightmare … But surely the police know enough about people to be certain you wouldn’t ever kill anyone?’

  ‘I read a book recently, written by a retired policeman, which said that every single person can be attracted to crime in exceptional circumstances. So according to that, if I’m passionately in love I can be attracted to murder Avis to get her out of the way, although I’d not normally break the law even over a small matter.’

  ‘That’s stupidly wrong.’

  ‘Can’t you conceive special circumstances in which you’d commit a crime? To save your family, for instance?’

  ‘That’s not what I call a crime.’

  ‘Not if what you do seriously hurts another family?’

  ‘That’s the kind of argument I hate,’ she snapped. ‘But it helps to explain why the detective is ready to believe I may have killed Avis.’

  ‘You’re beginning to frighten me. Until now I’ve just been furious that anyone could be so stupid as the detective: but you’ve really been saying that he can go on and on until …’

  ‘Until he’s convinced I killed Avis.’

  ‘No one yet knows for certain that she’s dead.’

  ‘Every day during which there’s no word from her makes it look more certain, doesn’t it?’

  *

  Monday brought sharply contrasting weather. The wind veered round to the south, died away, then returned as a gentle breeze. There were few clouds in the sky and the bright sunshine brought colour to the land. It was an Indian summer, unexpected, probably brief, but very welcome.

  Kelly left the supermarket, where he’d talked to the security officer, and waited for the traffic to ease before he crossed the high street. A heavy lorry growled past, belching exhaust, and this was followed by a second one, almost as large. He could remember when Ferington had been a small market town, lorries had been reasonably sized and any criminal who carried arms and used them was liable to be topped. Now Ferington was large, sprawling, and dirty, juggernauts were shaking foundations, and criminals were carrying guns on any major job and using them without second thoughts. Progress?

  He crossed. The bank had a dignified, Queen Anne exterior, but inside it had been modernised with bulletproof screens — again, progress? He went to ‘Enquiries’ and asked to have a word with the manager.

  The manager was in his late middle age and he had the calm manner of someone who had lost all sight of ambition. ‘Yes, I did read about Mrs Scott’s car being found in the sea. Very sad. I’ve met Scott a couple of times. Seemed a nice man … But you say you aren’t certain about Mrs Scott?’

  ‘We can’t be certain she’s dead just because her car went over the cliff and so until we find her body or the surrounding circumstances become overwhelming it has to remain a presumption. Which is why I’m here. I need to find out a few details about her account and wondered if you’d give them to me without me bothering over a court order?’

  ‘What exactly are you asking for?’

  ‘To know what kind of use she made of her account before last Tuesday and whether any use of it has been made since then.’

  ‘I’m prepared to give you general answers, but not specific ones.’

  ‘Fair enough. And there’s one thing more. Her husband told me she was left roughly thirty thousand pounds by her father — how much of that has she still got?’

  The manager studied Kelly. ‘So it wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘The movement of cash in her account would help to show whether she’s still alive. The amount of her capital remaining can’t have any relevance to that particular question.’

  Kelly made no comment.

  The manager pressed one of the buttons on the internal phone and asked someone to dial the computer for a read-out of the past month’s movements of Mrs Avis Scott’s account.

  In a short time, a young, smartly dressed woman brought in a strip of paper which she handed to the manager. He studied it. ‘Up until the seventeenth there was considerable movement, in the order of about five withdrawals a week. There was one withdrawal on the seventeenth. Since then there has been no movement.’ He crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the wastepaper basket by the side of the desk.

  ‘And do you know off-hand the answer to my second question?’

  ‘I doubt the capital is as great as it was: if pressed, I would describe her as inclined to imprudent extravagance. More than that, I am not prepared to say.’

  Kelly thanked him and left.

  *

  Judith loved the country, but she did not have the hungry passion to own large tracts of it as did her husband. She looked down the sloping field, rough grass only because no tractor could work safely on it, to the low flat ground which was bordered by the bourn that ringed one of the woods and she enjoyed the scene without once bothering to think that all this was hers.

  A Land Rover, driven too fast, came bounc
ing along the flat land. Julian seemed always to be competing against somebody or something, she thought.

  He saw her and turned, to come charging up the slope and then stop with squealing brakes. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ he shouted through the opened driving window.

  ‘Why should anything be the matter?’

  ‘When I saw you there, I thought …’ He became silent.

  What had he been afraid of? For days something had been deeply troubling him, but he wouldn’t say what it was. ‘The change in the weather made me come out to enjoy the sun while it lasts,’ she said. She paused, but he made no comment. ‘By the way, I’ve asked Kevin to come to supper.’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I’ve asked Kevin to supper. What’s so odd about that? The poor man must be in a terrible state.’

  ‘I told you I’m going over to see Michael to-night.’

  ‘You said to-morrow night.’

  ‘D’you think I don’t know what I said? You’ll have to entertain him on your own.’

  ‘I really think that in the circumstances you should put Michael off.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. You ought to have checked with me first.’ He engaged first gear and drove on, again too fast for strict safety.

  Why wouldn’t he see Kevin? she wondered sadly. Sympathy never altered facts, but it could help to soften their impact. For her, some of the sunshine seemed suddenly to have gone from the scene.

  *

  Nothing of much importance was happening in the world, but to-morrow’s papers had to be filled so minor stories, useful in such an emergency, were picked up, dusted, and used. Provincial journalists found that they were suddenly able to sell local stories to the nationals.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Evans here, Ferington Gazette. Can you tell me if you’ve had any news of your wife, Mr Scott?’