The Snares of Death (28 page)

Karen raised her head from her typewriter. ‘Really?'

‘She rang in the morning for him, when he was in court. Said to tell him she'd be coming. And sure enough, she turned up right after lunch.'

‘Oh! So you saw her?'

Nan grinned. ‘Yes.'

‘What's she like?'

Nan's powers of observation were acute, and she imparted the description with relish. ‘A few years younger than him. Maybe thirty-five. Tall-ish, slim. Really pretty, with long curly blondish-red hair. Nicely spoken. Very stylish, in a Laura Ashley sort of way.' Her eyes sparkled. ‘They make ever such a handsome couple. Mad about each other, they are. Bonkers. I could tell.'

‘Where
is
Mr Middleton-Brown?' Karen asked with a frown. ‘I haven't seen him all day.'

Nan laughed. ‘If I didn't know better, I'd think he was off skiving with his Lucy. But he had to go to court this morning, and said he might not be back till much later.' She drank down the last of her tea. ‘I suppose I'd better get back to the reception desk. Jacquie only took it over for a few minutes so I could have my tea.'

She'd only just got back to the reception desk when David returned, only slightly the worse for an afternoon of drinking in the course of duty. ‘Any messages, Nan?'

‘A few, Mr Middleton-Brown. Nothing really important.'

‘Good.' He leaned over the desk. ‘Listen, Nan. I'm going to have to clear my diary as much as possible for the next week or so. Would you be able to make some phone calls and cancel some of my appointments? See if someone else can take on some of the routine things?'

‘Of course, Mr Middleton-Brown,' she replied readily, but she looked at him with curiosity.
Was
he going to skive off with his Lucy?

‘It's the Bob Dexter murder,' he confided. ‘I've agreed to represent the young man who's been charged. It's going to take a lot of my time.'

‘Oh!' Now he really had her attention. ‘Stephen Thorncroft!'

‘You've been following the case, I see,' David smiled.

‘Well, yes. As a matter of fact,' she confided, ‘I have a sort of special interest in it.'

‘Why is that, Nan?'

‘It's my husband's auntie. The one who visited us after Easter, remember? I told you about her – about how I could work that week, because she was there to keep an eye on the kids while they were off school.' David nodded, and she went on. ‘Well, she actually knew that Bob Dexter. She lived in his parish, went to his church. Charlie's auntie is a real religious sort,' she added. ‘Anyway, the police even questioned her about him. After it happened, I mean. She'd had a row with him the day he was done in, and that made her a suspect!' Nan concluded with relish.

David tried to conceal his excitement. ‘Do you think you could arrange for me to talk with her?' he requested.

‘No problem,' Nan agreed, smiling. ‘I'm sure she'd be happy to have a chat with you, Mr Middleton-Brown. When would you want to see her?'

‘As soon as possible. Saturday?'

‘I'll give her a ring.' Nan reached for a pencil and wrote down the address. ‘Miss Alice Barnes, Monkey Puzzle Cottage, South Barsham,' she said as she wrote. ‘She lives with her friend, Miss Vernon.'

Lucy, too, had had a busy day. She had walked into Wymondham town centre, and had spent some time at the public library, housed picturesquely in the fifteenth-century chapel of St Thomas à Becket. There she had looked up and photocopied all the newspaper reports of the Dexter murder and the subsequent investigations. It had been covered extensively in the local Norfolk papers, as well as in the nationals, so the task had taken several hours. She'd also been to the shops and had returned home with the ingredients for a special supper.

Coming home to an empty house was one of the most difficult adjustments David had been forced to make when his mother died – he hated it. But it was with distinctly mixed feelings that he returned home that evening, opening the door to be met by delicious cooking smells. On the one hand, it was marvellous beyond words to have Lucy there. But the joy was tempered by the knowledge that it was only temporary, only an aberration in their routine. He wanted her there always, every day.

‘Something smells wonderful,' he greeted her, coming into the kitchen.

‘Hungry?'

‘Starving,' he confessed, adding sheepishly, ‘I only had time to grab a bag of crisps and a Kit Kat for lunch. How about you?'

‘I had a jacket potato at the Green Dragon.'

‘Mm. They do a lovely bacon roll.'

Lucy wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘You can't tempt me with that, I'm afraid. Anyway, I've been busy. I've got some things for you. From the library.'

‘And I've got a lot to tell you.' He kissed the top of her head as she bent over the cooker. ‘It's good to be home, Lucy.'

*

Over supper David told her about his difficult interview with Stephen. She listened thoughtfully. ‘Poor chap,' she said at last. ‘It must be dreadful for him.'

‘I think that actually being in prison has hit him rather hard. He's finally realised that it's not a game.'

‘And all this business about Becca Dexter. There's something a bit odd about that, even though he admitted that she'd been the cause of the row.'

‘Yes,' David agreed. ‘
She
didn't say anything about it to the police.'

‘Who's protecting whom?' Lucy mused. ‘He was obviously trying to protect her for some reason. Does he know something that would implicate her? And did she keep quiet to protect
him
?' She twisted a curl abstractedly. ‘And what did you learn from your policeman-friend?'

‘He's no friend of mine,' David grimaced. ‘A former client, but not a friend.'

‘Why? What's the matter with him?'

David scowled. ‘He's a real ladies' man. Macho to the hilt. And thick as two short planks. But I did learn quite a lot from him.' He related the conversation to her.

‘BARC!' she exclaimed at that point in the narrative. ‘How extraordinary! But whatever were they doing there?'

‘Yes, an odd coincidence,' he agreed. ‘They were camping, apparently just there on an information-disseminating mission. But they were Stephen's undoing.' He went on to explain, and then told her about the evidence of the fingerprints.

When he finished, Lucy again looked thoughtful. ‘There are a few things that just don't add up,' she said.

‘Such as?'

‘Well, we're back to the business of Becca, for one thing. What
is
her story? I'd dearly love to have a chat with Becca Dexter.'

‘Hm. I don't know how that could be managed.'

Lucy smiled. ‘We'll see. Then there's Mrs Dexter. Your friend said that she'd rowed with her husband over the statue. Does that make sense to you?'

‘Well . . .' David furrowed his brow. ‘No, not really. Why would she care about the statue? Presumably she's a good Evangelical like her husband.'

‘Precisely,' she nodded. ‘Then there's the matter of BARC. Why did they come back to the church that night, when they saw Stephen? What were they up to?'

David looked thoughtful. ‘Go on.'

‘And the oddest thing of all is about this iron rod, the bit of the English altar that was used to bash his head in.'

‘What's odd about that? Aside from the fact that Stephen didn't bother to tell me that his prints were on it?' David fulminated.

‘How did the police find out that Dexter had been using an iron rod as a crowbar to remove the statue?'

‘Spring said that Stephen told them,' David repeated. ‘After it came out that he'd been there that evening.'

‘And they didn't have any other way of knowing that? No one else mentioned the iron rod?'

‘No . . .'

‘So why would Stephen have told them, if he'd used it to kill Dexter? Why would he have mentioned it at all?' she finished triumphantly.

David regarded her with admiration. ‘I'm glad you're on my side. Have you ever thought about a legal career?'

She laughed. ‘Well, what's our next step, darling?'

He told her then about Nan's connections in South Barsham, and his intention to visit Monkey Puzzle Cottage on Saturday. ‘But that's marvellous!' she said. ‘Couldn't be better! You'll have those old ladies eating out of your hand, if I know you, David Middleton-Brown!'

He shook his head self-deprecatingly. ‘Tomorrow, though . . .'

‘I think that I should talk to Fiona,' Lucy declared. ‘Perhaps she'd be able to shed some light on BARC's involvement.'

‘That's good! And I could have a word with Karen, our typist. She's got involved with them as well.'

‘I'll go into Norwich with you tomorrow,' she decided. ‘I'll drop into the gallery, and perhaps suggest lunch to Fiona. Make it seem rather casual, if possible.'

‘I've got plenty of paperwork to do at the office. All the newspaper reports to sift through. And maybe John Spring will come up with something for me.'

‘And on Saturday,' Lucy announced, ‘we shall visit the scene of the crime!'

CHAPTER 38

    
He bringeth forth grass for the cattle: and green herb for the service of men;

    
That he may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man: and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart.

Psalm 104.14–15

Fiona Crawford was busy with a serious customer, so Lucy browsed around the gallery until Fiona was free. Eventually she caught her eye.

‘Lucy!' Fiona approached her with surprise. ‘Whatever are you doing in Norwich?'

‘I'm staying with David,' Lucy admitted truthfully.

Fiona regarded her with a knowing smile. ‘Ah. I see. Of course.' Presumably he'd taken her advice, then, she thought with satisfaction. Lucy looked happy, there was no doubt of that.

‘I thought I'd drop in and see how you were.'

‘How nice!' Fiona looked at her deceptively simple, extremely expensive gold watch. ‘Listen, it's almost lunch-time. Are you free for lunch, or are you meeting David?'

‘He's really tied up today, so I'm free. I'd hoped you'd be able to join me,' Lucy confessed.

‘Great. If you can wait just a few minutes . . .'

There were no other customers, so in short order Fiona retrieved her handbag from the back room and flipped over the sign on the door to read ‘closed'. ‘Where would you like to go? Any ideas?'

‘I don't know Norwich at all,' Lucy demurred. ‘I'll have to leave it up to you. Vegetarian, of course,' she added. ‘Is there anything good around here?'

Fiona hesitated. ‘We really ought to go to the Green Scene, I suppose. But . . . well, it's good enough, but I find the fare a bit spartan. And –' She looked guilty. ‘It doesn't have a licence. Rhys doesn't believe in drinking alcohol, as you know, but I do like a glass of wine with my lunch now and again. What Rhys doesn't know . . .'

‘Can't hurt him,' Lucy finished sympathetically.

‘Let's go to Mange Tout. It's not completely vegetarian, but they always have a choice of vegetarian dishes, and they do some lovely salads. And the sweets . . .'

‘Sounds perfect,' Lucy agreed.

They'd walked the short distance to Mange Tout, climbed the stairs to the first-floor restaurant, found a table, and ordered their salads before they had much of a chance to talk. Raising her glass of white wine cheerily, Fiona began, ‘So, how is David?'

‘Oh, he's very well.'

‘And how are . . . things . . . between you?'

‘Good,' said Lucy with a little smile. ‘Very good.' Fiona waited for more, but it was not forthcoming. She had not known Lucy long enough – or intimately enough – to learn that, although she was an excellent listener, with a real gift for drawing people out, Lucy very rarely talked about herself. She was not in the least ashamed of her relationship with David, but she felt that it was, and should remain, private – something for the two of them that concerned no one else. Not even her family knew about David: during last weekend, spent among them, she hadn't mentioned him at all, and not entirely because she feared her clergyman-father's disapproval of a union unblessed by Mother Church through the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony. It was simply no one else's business.

‘And Rhys? He's well?'

Fiona glowed at the introduction of her favourite topic of conversation. ‘Oh, yes! He's alarmingly healthy. He's been enjoying the warm weather, of course. He goes out running every morning, and it makes such a difference when the weather is good.'

‘How is BARC doing? Have they been gaining members?'

‘Yes, it's growing all the time. Rhys reckons that it's a cause whose time has come. Everywhere they go, they meet such a good response, such interest. They've got a new van, you know. That's going to make quite a difference to them.' She went on in the same vein until their salads arrived.

‘Oh, this looks lovely,' Lucy said. She wasn't sure how to introduce the topic of Bob Dexter's murder in an unobtrusive way, but in the end she didn't have to.

‘They ran into a spot of trouble a fortnight ago,' Fiona confided, taking a quick sip of her wine. ‘BARC, that is.'

‘Really?'

‘They almost found themselves in the middle of a murder,' she elaborated with relish. Encouraged by Lucy's interested look, she went on. ‘I wasn't actually with them at the time, and neither was Rhys,' she admitted. ‘We were back at the van.'

‘What happened?'

‘Well, they'd taken the van and parked it in a village, by a church. And who do you think made them leave?' She paused for effect. ‘Bob Dexter! The chap who got his head bashed in – the very same day!'