Kissing the Gunner's Daughter (21 page)

"What sort of experience?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, you mustn't take me up on every little thing I say, Mr Wexford. I mean, she used to say she wanted her to live. She'd really lived, she used to say, and I suppose she had with all those husbands and all that travelling. But marriage, no, she wasn't at all happy about that idea."

"Would you like your son to marry Daisy?"

"Oh, yes, I would. She's such a sweet girl. And clever, of course, and good-looking. I'm sorry, but I shouldn't like my son to marry a plain girl. I don't expect you think that's very nice but it does seem such a waste, a handsome man with a plain wife." Joyce Virson preened herself a very little. There was no other word for that slight elongating of her neck, for the way she ran a thick finger along her jawline. "We're a good-looking family on both sides." The smile she gave Wexford was arch, was nearly flirtatious. "Of course the poor little thing's madly in love with him. You've only got to see the way she follows him with her

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i ^eyes. She adores him."

j^ Wexford thought she was going to preface her I next remarks with her usual expression of sorrow for an opinion she very obviously did not in the least regret, but she only elaborated on Daisy's qualifications for a union with a member of the Virson family. Daisy was so fond of her, had such nice manners, was so even-tempered and .good-humoured. <.-.' "And so rich," said Wexfbrd.

Mrs Virson actually jumped. She started as i .violently as someone in the early stages of I a seizure. Her voice rose twenty or thirty Jf;:- decibels.

jt k "That has nothing whatsoever to do with it. jjf^When you look at the size of this house and the standing we have in the community, you can hardly imagine there's any shortage of money, isurely. My son has a very good income, he's Iquite able to support a wife in the ..." fcs He thought she was going to add something labout the style to which Daisy was accustomed, Unit she checked herself and glowered at him. jpSiek of her hypocrisy and affectations, he had ecided the time had come for a sharp thrust low the belt. It had gone home better than had hoped for. He smiled to himself. "You're not worried she may be too young?" said. Now the smile was extended to her well, wide and disarming. "You called her baby just now."

Joyce Virson was saved from answering by the of Daisy into the room. He had heard her teps on the hall floor as he spoke the word

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'baby'. She gave him a wan smile. Her arm was still bandaged but less bulkily and the sling was lighter. This, he realised, was the first time he had seen her standing up, moving about. She was thinner than he had expected, her shape more fragile.

"What am I too young for?" she said. "I'm eighteen today, it's my birthday."

Mrs Virson shrieked. "Daisy, you terrible girl, why didn't you tell us? I hadn't the least idea, you didn't say a word."

She attempted an astonished laugh but Wexford could tell she was very displeased. She was chagrined. Daisy's revelation gave the lie to her claims of an intimate knowledge of the young woman staying in her house.

"I suppose you just dropped a hint to Nicholas, so that he could plan a surprise."

"As far as I know, he doesn't know either. He won't remember. I have no one in the world now to remember my birthday." She looked at Wexford, said lightly, stagily, "Goodness, how sad!"

"Many happy returns of the day." He used the old-fashioned formula.

"Ah, you're tactful, you're careful. You couldn't say 'Happy birthday', could you? Not to me. It would be frightful, it would be an insult. Will you remember my birthday next year, d'you think? Will you say to yourself on the eve of it, it's Daisy's birthday tomorrow? You may be the only one who will."

"What nonsense, dear. Nicholas will certainly remember. It'll be your job to keep him up

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to that. I'm sorry, but men need a hint, you know, not to say a little twist of the arm." Joyce Virson's expression was ferociously arch. I Daisy allowed her eyes to meet Wexford's for a short moment and looked away. Not looking at him, she said, "Shall we go in the other room, men?"

; "Oh, why not stay here, dear? It's nice and warm in here and I won't listen to what you're saying. I'll be too wrapped up in my book. I won't hear a word."

^Determined not to speak to Daisy in Mrs w fl/irson's presence, before making this point he Ifewaited to hear what Daisy would say. She J t�ooked so far away, so remotely sorrowful, K Ithat he expected an apathetic acquiescence, but IpliBStead she spoke firmly.

fPS&;,"No, it's better it should be private. We won't |Jf^tiirn you out of your room, Joyce."

p. He followed her to the 'little den', the room Where they had been on Saturday. There she arked, "She means well." He marvelled at tiow young she could be -- and how old. "Yes, 'Sfao: eighteen today. After the funeral I think I'll home. Quite soon after. I can do what I now I'm eighteen, can't I? Absolutely what like?"

:As far as any of us can, yes. Apart from aking the law with impunity, you can do as

please."

She sighed heavily. "I don't want to break the . I don't know what I want to do but I think be better at home." arningly, he said, "Perhaps you don't quite

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realise how you'll feel confronting your home again. After what happened there. It will bring that night back to you very painfully."

"That night is always with me," she said. "It can't be there more strongly than it is every time I close my eyes. That's when I see the picture of it, you see. When I close my eyes. I see that table -- before and after. I wonder if I'll ever be able to bear sitting at a dining table again? She gives me my meals on a tray here. I asked for that." She was silent, smiled suddenly and looked at him. He saw a strange glow in her dark eyes. "We always talk about me. Tell me about you. Where do you live? Are you married? Have you got children? Have you got people who remember your birthday?"

He told her where he lived, that he was married, had two daughters, three grandchildren. Yes, they remembered his birthday, more or less.

"I wish I had a father."

Why had he neglected to ask about this? "But surely you have? You see him sometimes?"

"I've never seen him. Or not that I remember. Mum and he were divorced when I was a baby. He lives in London but he's never shown any sign of wanting to see me. I don't mean I wish I had him, I wish I had a father."

"Yes, I expect your -- er, your grandmother's husband filled the place of a father in your life."

It was unmistakable, the incredulity in the look she gave him. She made a sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a snort

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and a cough. "Has Joanne turned up?" "No, Daisy. We're worried about her." "Oh, nothing will have happened to her. What could have?"

Her serene innocence only served to exacerbate his concern. "When she came to see your mother on Tuesdays," he said, "did she always come by car?"

"Of course." She looked surprised. "Oh, you mean, did she walk? It would be a good five miles. Anyway, Joanne never walked anywhere. I clpn't know why she lived here, she hated country things, everything to do with the country. I suppose it was on account of her old mum. UM tell you what, she did sometimes come by taxi. It wasn't that her car had broken down. :�jhe liked a drink, did Joanne, and then she'd ^be scared to drive."

"What can you tell me about some people called Griffin?"

*They used to work for us." f|ffThe son, Andy, have you seen him since ey left?"

^She gave him a curious look. It was as if marvelled that he had hit on something unexpected or secret. "I did once. How y you should ask. It was in the woods, was walking in the woods and I saw him. probably don't know our woods at all but was near the by-road, that little road that off to the east, it was near where the wts are. He may have seen me, I don't W, I should have said something to him, ci him what he was doing, but I didn't,

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I don't know why. It frightened me, seeing him like that. I didn't tell anyone. He was trespassing, Davina would have hated that, but I didn't tell her."

"When was this?"

"Oh, last autumn sometime. October, I should think."

"How would he have got here?"

"He used to have a motorbike. I expect he still has."

"His father says he had a job with an American businessman. I had a hunch -- that's all it was -- they might have got in touch through your family."

She thought. "Davina would never have recommended him. I suppose it could be Preston Littlebury. But if Andy worked for him it would only have been -- well ..."

"As a driver perhaps?"

"Not even that. Maybe to clean his car."

"All right. It's probably not important. One last question. Could the other man, the man you didn't see, leave the house and start the car -- could that have been Andy Griffin? Think before you answer. Take it as a possibility and then think if there was anything, anything at all, that might have identified him with Andy Griffin."

She was silent. She seemed neither shocked nor incredulous. It was plain she was obeying his instruction and thinking it over. At last she said, "It could have been. Can I say there was nothing to make me certain it wasn't? That's all I can say."

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He left her then, telling her he would be at the funeral on Thursday morning.

* * *

"I'll tell you my idea of what happened, if you like," Burden said. They were in his house, his son Mark in pyjamas on his lap, Jenny having gone to her evening class in advanced German. "I'll get you another beer and then I'll tell you. No, you can get the beer so I don't have to shift him."

Wexford came back with two cans and two steins.

* "Those tankards, you see they're identical. There's a third one on the shelf. It's quite an interesting illustration in economics. The one you've got -- let me have a closer look

-- yes, the one you've got Jean and I bought on our honeymoon in Innsbruck for five shillings. Before decimal coinage, you see, well before. The one I've got, it's actually a fraction smaller, I bought ten years ago when we took the kids there. Same difference and it cost four quid. The one on the shelf's a good deal smaller and in my opinion not such a good piece of work. Jenny and I bought it in Kitzbuhel while we were on holiday last summer. Ten pounds fifty. What does that tell you?"

"The cost of living's gone up. I didn't need three beer mugs to tell me that. Could we have your Tancred scenario instead of these disquisitions on comparative ceramics?"

Burden grinned. He said to his son rather

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sententiously, "No, you can't have Daddy's beer. Mark, just as Daddy can't have your Ribena."

"Poor old Daddy. I bet that's a real sacrifice. What happened on Tuesday evening, then?"

"The gunman in the bank, the one with the acne, I shall call him X."

"That's really original, Mike."

Burden ignored the interruption. "The other man was Andy Griffin. Andy was the man with the knowledge, X had the gun."

"Gun," said Mark.

Burden put him on the floor. The little boy picked up a plastic whistle from the heap of toys, pointed it at Wexford, said, "Bang, bang."

"Oh, dear, Jenny doesn't like him to have guns. He hasn't in fact got a gun."

"He has now."

"D'you think it would be all right for him to watch half an hour's television before I put him to bed?"

"For God's sake, Mike, you've more children than I have, you should know." When Burden still looked dubious, he said impatiently, "So long as it's not more bloody than what you're going to tell me, and it's unlikely to be."

Burden switched the set on. "X and Andy set off for Tancred House in X's jeep."

"In what?"

"It has to be a vehicle that can handle rough ground."

"Where did they meet, these two, X and Andy?"

"In a pub. Maybe in the Slug and Lettuce. Andy tells X about Davina's jewellery and they

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make their plan. Andy knows Brenda Harrison's liabits. He knows that she announces dinner wery evening at seven thirty and goes home, leaving the back door unlocked." 0 Wexfbrd nodded. "A good point in favour of ;i6rimn's involvement."

Looking pleased. Burden went on, "They

ilrive up by the main road through the gates

from the B 2428, but take the left-hand branch

^fust before the wall and the courtyard are

reached. Brenda has gone home, Davina Flory,

r'Harvey Copeland, Naomi Jones and Daisy Flory

fare all in that conservatory place. So no one

fiears a vehicle arrive or sees its lights, as

Andy has calculated they won't. The time is

Jfprenty-five to eight."

^"Cutting it fine. Suppose Brenda had been 0im minutes late leaving or the others five iM&nutes early going into the dining room?" "They weren't," said Burden simply. He ceeded, "X and Andy enter the house by back way and go up the back stairs." They can't have done. Bib Mew was there." u You can get to the back stairs without passing ough the main kitchen. That's where she was, rking on the freezer. In Davina's room they ch for and find her jewellery and they also

the other women's bedrooms." -They would need to in order to take twenty minutes over it. Incidentally, why leave the women's bedrooms tidy but Davina's in a if they searched them all?" m coming to that. They went back to s room because Andy believed there

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was some more valuable piece they had missed. It was while they were flinging the stuff about in there that they were heard by the people downstairs and Harvey Copeland went to investigate. They must have assumed he was coming up the front stairs, so they went down the back ..."

"And out of the back door with their loot to make their getaway with no harm done beyond the loss to Davina of some heavily insured jewellery she didn't much care for anyway."

"We know it wasn't like that," Burden said very seriously. "They came through the house into the hall. I don't know why. Perhaps they had some reason to fear the return of Brenda or they believed Harvey was upstairs, intending to walk the length of the gallery and go down the back stairs. Whatever it was, they came into the hall and encountered Harvey, who was halfway up the stairs. He turned and saw them, immediately recognising Andy Griffin. He took a couple of steps down, shouted some threat at Andy or called to the women to phone the police ..."