The Lily-White Boys (10 page)

‘Do you reckon Mrs High-and-Mighty
was
being blackmailed?'

‘I'd like to see anybody try!' Webb said.

The White twins had belonged to a section of society that was not at home with a pen. Though required to keep basic records of their work for tax purposes, these were minimal indeed, nor were any notes of a more personal nature found in their room. It seemed to Crombie that whatever they'd seen, or learned, or guessed, which had caused their deaths had gone with them to the grave – as doubtless their murderer had intended.

At least such records as there were, were all in one place, since they had no business premises. An odd paper or two might have been stuffed in the dashboard of the van but they'd have to wait till the SOCOs had finished with it to check.

The phone sounded on his desk and as he lifted it, there was the sound of money dropping into a machine. A timid female voice said in his ear, ‘Could I speak to the gentleman in charge of the White murders, please?'

Crombie straightened, looking at Webb's empty desk. ‘He isn't here at the moment, but I'm working on the case. Can I help you?'

‘Well ...' Obviously she was doubtful of his qualifications.

‘I'm Detective-Inspector Crombie,' he added, hoping his full rank would impress her. It did.

‘I suppose that's all right, then. Only –' Her voice shook. ‘I'm their aunt, you see.'

‘Indeed?' Crombie's surprise rang in his voice. 'We were under the impression they had no relatives.'

‘I know, I saw it in the paper. That's why I'm ringing.'

‘And your name is – ?'

‘Mrs Hargreaves.'

‘And your address, Mrs Hargreaves?'

‘Two, River Close. Oxburv.'

Oxbury; thirty-three miles due west of Shillingham. If he could catch Dave before he left the Marlton area, it would be quicker to go cross-country from there.

‘Will you be home all day, ma'am?'

‘I can arrange to be, yes.'

‘Then either DCI Webb or I will be out to see you. Thank you very much for calling.'

Crombie replaced the phone and immediately lifted it again. An aunt; now there was a turn-up for the books.

The car-phone rang as they were re-entering Marlton and Jackson was looking out for a pub in which to have lunch. There was a nice-looking one on the opposite corner and he slowed down, waiting till the Governor had finished his call.

‘Well, there's a thing, Ken!' Webb commented then. The Whites have some relatives after all: an uncle and aunt living in Oxbury. They just phoned in.'

‘Took their time, didn't they? It was in the papers Wednesday evening.'

‘We'll find out why when we see them. OK,' he added, as Jackson opened his mouth, ‘we'll eat first, and that place over there will fit the bill nicely.'

‘Fair clocking up the miles today, aren't we?' Jackson commented, driving round to the car park behind the pub.

‘Just the day for seeing a bit of the countryside.'

They had their lunch in the little back garden under a gaily striped umbrella. Friday was market day, and the pub was quite busy.

‘Old Trubshaw was very definite there were no relations,' Webb said through his ham sandwich. ‘My guess is they didn't keep in touch with the twins, so I don't suppose they'll be much help. Still, anything we can find out about their background will be a bonus.'

Half an hour later they were on the road again, and still the sun shone. Webb loosened his tie and wound down the car window, resting his arm on the frame and gazing out at the rich fields and the trees with their summer foliage silvered by the wind. For the first time in years he allowed himself to think back to his childhood and the market garden his parents had owned. They'd expected him to go in with them when he left school, but instead he'd run away from home and joined the police. There were good enough reasons for his leaving, but he didn't want to dwell on them now. In any case, he had no regrets. He enjoyed his work, though he remained a countryman at heart.

The little market town of Oxbury lay just ahead of them, nestling in a curve of the river. Its main claim to fame was Greystones College, one of two boys' public schools in the county.

‘River Close, you said, Guv?' Jackson turned down towards the water. ‘Remember walking along here with that young lad from the College?'

‘Yep. The nursery rhymes case. Nasty one that.' He sighed, still entangled with memories. ‘Come to that, they're all nasty.'

River Close was in fact set well above the water, which it overlooked. It consisted of a few thatched cottages, pretty enough in their vivid gardens, with pale-starred clematis frothing over walls and wisteria swathed round doorways. However, Jackson, being of a practical turn of mind, bet they still had privies at the back, and wouldn't have swapped one for his cosy little semi.

No. 2 had a slightly shabby look; the roof was in need of re-thatching and the paintwork round the windows was flaked and dirty. They walked up the path and rang the bell. The woman who opened the door looked pale and down-trodden. Her limp hair hung lifelessly round her face and she wore a faded print dress and scuffed sandals. Very different from the elegant Mrs Badderley at The Heronry.

‘Mrs Hargreaves? Chief Inspector Webb and Sergeant Jackson, Shillingham CID.'

She nodded and stood aside and they walked into the small, dark hall and thence, at her direction, into the front room with its brick chimney-breast and diamond-paned windows.

‘You'll wonder why I didn't phone earlier,' she began defensively, ‘but Roddie said it was none of our business and I should let it go.' She surveyed them helplessly, twisting her hands together. ‘But I couldn't. After all, they were my sister's boys and they'd lived with us for eight years.'

Webb raised his eyebrows. ‘We were told they'd been brought up in an orphanage.'

She looked indignant. ‘They never were! They came to us when they were seven; their parents were killed in a coach crash coming home from holiday. And it was never easy, Inspector, that I must say. We've a girl and boy of our own, and the twins were always ganging up on them. Every day there was an upset of some kind or other.'

Small wonder, Webb reflected, with two adults and four children in a cottage this size.

Since they'd still not been invited to sit, he took the initiative and lowered himself cautiously on to a cane-bottomed chair in need of repair. Jackson, after a moment s hesitation, perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa. Their hostess remained standing, eyeing them apprehensively.

‘So they left about five years ago?'

‘It must be going on for that. They were getting to be a real worry, staying out all night and bringing boys we didn't like to the house.'

‘They'd have still been at school then?'

‘And that was another thing,' she said plaintively. ‘The man from County Court was always on at us about them not showing up. How were we supposed to know? They left home at half-eight every morning and came back at four. Of course we thought they were at school.'

‘Was leaving their idea, or did you turn them out?'

She looked uncomfortable. ‘Half and half, you might say. Roddie's not a patient man, and they'd been getting him down for a while. Then one night they came home late and brought some of their gang with them. We were in bed, and they started playing records and shouting and laughing. So Roddie went down and found them smoking pot. Well, he went spare. Threw their mates out of the house, and ranted and raved at them, threatening all sorts. In the end I put on my dressing-gown and went to try and calm things down, but the drugs were the last straw. Roddie was frightened, see, that our own two might be tempted. I don't remember who first said about getting out, but the twins went next morning, taking their belongings with them.'

‘They were only fifteen,' Webb said. ‘Didn't you report them missing, or try to find out where they were?'

Avoiding his eyes, she shook her head. ‘We didn't want them back, you see. Roddie said we were well shot of them.'

‘You never heard anything more of them?'

‘No.'

‘So you can't give me any idea who they spent their time with? Any friends or enemies they might have made?'

‘They didn't have friends, not the way our two did. They didn't need anyone but each other. As to enemies –' She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Other football fans, I suppose. Even when they were little, they were football-mad.'

Webb said casually, ‘What did you and your husband do on Monday evening, Mrs Hargreaves?'

‘Monday? Same as always. I watched
Coronation Street
while I did the ironing and Roddie went to the pub.'

‘What time did he get back?'

‘Just after closing time.'

‘Has he a car?'

She looked at him worriedly, aware that his interest had now switched to her husband but not knowing why. ‘He never takes it when he goes drinking – doesn't want the police breathing down his neck.' She stopped, remembering who her visitors were. ‘Anyway,' she added hastily, ‘there's no need. The Stag's only up the lane.'

‘He wasn't later home than usual last Monday?'

‘No.' Her eyes widened as the penny finally dropped. ‘You're never thinking Roddie had anything to do with it? The murder? He might have a quick temper, Inspector, but he'd never hurt the boys. After all, they were
family
.'

Nevertheless, Webb made a note to have Hargreaves interviewed. Suppose the twins
had
tried to re-establish contact, and he couldn't face the possibility of becoming embroiled with them again? Especially now his own children had reached an age more likely to be susceptible to drug-pushers. Suppose they'd been persistent, abusive even, and his acknowledged quick temper had got the better of him?

With his mind on a new set of permutations, Webb took his leave of Mrs Hargreaves and he and Jackson returned to Shillingham.

Abbie Marlow suddenly clutched at her friend's arm. ‘Look!' she exclaimed, jerking her head across the road. ‘There's Theo! I wonder where he's off to at this time of day.'

Since both their mothers were out, the girls had decided to skip revision for the afternoon. Their first exam was still ten days away and the sunshine beckoned, so they'd taken the bus down the hill into Shillingham.

Mandy obediently looked at the tall, rather long-haired figure walking purposefully along the opposite pavement. ‘So that's the famous heart-throb,' she remarked noncommittally.

‘Let's follow him!' Abbie said impulsively.

‘Why on earth?'

‘Well, we've nothing better to do. It'd be fun.'

‘But he'll only be going back to the office after lunch.'

‘No, he's walking in the wrong direction. Come on, Mandy, just for a few minutes.'

‘I suppose you're hoping he'll see you and invite you to that garden-party thing,' Mandy said resignedly.

But she allowed herself to be pulled across the road and they started after their prey, who by this time was some hundred yards ahead. He was walking quickly, his long legs carrying him effortlessly over the ground so that the girls had to break into an occasional run to keep him in sight. Half way down Duke Street he turned into a side road that led to the public park.

‘Seems we're not the only ones playing truant,' Mandy said breathlessly as they took the corner after him. ‘Perhaps he's going to feed the ducks!'

In fact, her facetious comment seemed uncannily accurate; having entered the park, Theo did indeed make his way towards the duckpond, the two girls still in cautious pursuit. But then events took an unexpected turn: a girl who had been sitting on one of the benches jumped up and ran towards him, sliding her arms round his neck as they embraced. Abbie stiffened, and Mandy patted her arm consolingly.

But Theo had already broken free and was talking urgently, watching his companion's face as he did so and occasionally looking quickly about him as though to check that they were unobserved. Each time, the watchers ducked down just in time to avoid detection.

Having responded eagerly to him at first, the girl now seemed to be holding back, lifting her hands expressively as she tried to make some point, until finally he caught hold of her and gave her a none too gentle shake. With a shrug of resignation she turned back to the bench where she'd left a carrier bag and, feeling inside, took out a large envelope. He almost snatched it out of her hands.

‘What on earth –?' Abbie said under her breath. She exchanged a puzzled look with Mandy, and when they turned back to the pair, Theo was walking quickly away in the opposite direction, leaving the girl standing by the bench. As the two younger girls watched in even more bewilderment, she sank back on to it and covered her face with her hands.

Quietly, wishing somehow that they hadn't seen the encounter, they crept away.

Every time the phone rang that day Monica's mouth went dry, but it was never the mysterious caller. If, yesterday, he'd needed to speak to her so urgently, why was it no longer necessary? She found herself unable to concentrate, her mind continually returning to the puzzle.

One of the callers, around lunch-time, was George.

‘Nothing further to report,' Monica told him wryly.

‘Well, don't worry about it. It couldn't have been important, or he'd have rung back.'

‘All the same, it's annoying not knowing who he was.'

‘How about coming to the theatre this evening, to take your mind off things?'

‘That sounds very tempting.'

‘And supper afterwards?'

‘I'd like to, George. Thank you.'

‘Does your shadow have to come as well?'

‘Only at a discreet distance. You wouldn't notice if you didn't know.'

‘As long as I don't have to pay for her ticket!'