A fatal end, p.16
A Fatal End, page 16
The two girls made straight for their usual place, an old wrought-iron bench set up against the garden’s back wall, under a plum tree. At this time of the year the wasps would start making their usual raids on the fruit once the day got properly warm, but in the still-cool morning air, they had the place to themselves.
‘What happened to you last night then?’ Hilda began the attack at once, as soon as they were safely away from the house.
Delia, knowing that she’d been in the wrong by deserting her friend, was feeling guilty and therefore mulish. ‘I just got bored, that’s all,’ she shot back.
‘Well, that’s nice, that is,’ Hilda huffed. ‘Leaving me in the lurch. Some friend you are!’
‘Didn’t know you were such a ‘fraidy cat,’ Delia mocked. ‘Besides, last I saw you were doing all right, dancing with tall, dark and handsome!’
She didn’t know it, but the tall, dark and handsome man was at that moment approaching her house from the front street.
Duncan Gillingham, needing an excuse not to have to attend church with his wife, had cited a new lead that he needed to follow up, and watched her leave without regret. Then, finding himself alone and bored in their handsome new house (bought for them by her loving father), he had decided he might as well make good on his lie and follow up on the Ray Reason story.
He wanted to talk to the girl who had left the nightclub so mysteriously last night. He’d easily chatted up and milked little Hilda dry of all she knew, but from what she’d told him, it was her friend who might have more interesting tales to tell. According to Hilda, Delia had been a regular at the club, and had a crush on the Rainbirds’ drummer. Even better, she’d been boasting of finding a way to get to talk to him in person. Who knew what she might have seen or heard if she had?
He’d easily been able to read between the lines of Hilda’s innocent chat, and realised that Delia had been reluctant to come back to the club last night, and had been acting oddly for the last week or so. It had intrigued him enough to track Delia’s address down, and now he approached the house but paused outside, thinking hard.
No doubt Delia’s parents wouldn’t be any too pleased to have him turn up on the doorstep. Although some people liked reporters and thought (oh how stupidly) that having their names or photos appear in the newspapers made them a minor celebrity, something told him that the Pinneys were probably not of that ilk. To him, this modest house, in its modest cul-de-sac, in a modest part of town just screamed respectability.
So, he eschewed the front entrance and started off seeking a less obvious route. At some point, Delia Pinney was bound to escape the family confines and head off somewhere into town, and to catch her on her own would require patience. Since lurking about in plain sight in front of the house was guaranteed to have the nosy neighbours’ curtains twitching, he needed to find a more concealed waiting place.
Oblivious to the man circling the house, in the garden Delia and Hilda were still talking and trying to score points off each other.
Hilda, at the mention of her mysterious dance partner, smirked smugly. ‘He was rather dreamy, wasn’t he? What’s the matter, Del, jealous?’ she teased. ‘Because he danced with me and not you?’
Delia, who was a bit jealous, laughed scornfully. ‘You can keep him. I’ve got Frankie, remember? And he’s a drummer in a rock band. The bloke you danced with is probably a clerk in a boring office somewhere. Or worse. He could be a … a … a plumber! That’s it – I bet he messes about with other people’s toilets!’
Duncan, finding the entrance to a narrow back alley that ran behind the houses, heard the chatter of female of voices, but was, at that point, too far away to hear the aspersions being cast about his possible profession.
‘No he doesn’t,’ Hilda said hotly. ‘He was dressed too nice.’
‘Even plumbers have their best Sunday suit,’ Delia derided, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Going back to the club had been a mistake, and last night she’d had nightmares that kept waking her up, a silent scream hovering on her lips. She was feeling miserable and a little tearful, and the last thing she wanted to do was argue with her best friend.
Hilda sighed heavily, sensitive as always to her friend’s mood. ‘Oh well. He had nice eyes anyway. They were green. I’ve never met someone with green eyes before, have you?’
By now, Duncan had made his way to the sound of voices emanating from behind a garden wall, and was in time to hear the mention of green eyes. And to recognise Hilda’s voice. Unable to believe his luck, he came closer and eyed the wall thoughtfully. It was high, a little taller than himself, but was made of rough local stone, and he thought he might be able to get a foothold and lever himself up to peer over the top of it.
He needed to know if the girls were alone, or if Delia Pinney’s father was out and about tying up his runner beans or what have you. The last thing he needed was a protective father sticking his nose in.
‘I was hoping he’d walk me home, but he only walked me to the bus stop,’ Hilda said mournfully, as Duncan quietly leapt up, catching the top of the wall with his hands and scrambling about with both feet, trying to find a toehold in the stonework.
Luckily he did, and using his upper body strength, he pulled himself up to reconnoitre the lay of the land. He saw a standard-sized garden, laid out with fruit trees and a small vegetable patch nearest the house, the almost compulsory lawn, and a few flower beds, now ablaze with asters. Thankfully, it was father-free.
And right below him, the two heads of the two girls from the nightclub. Having just caught Hilda’s lament, he couldn’t resist it.
‘Ah, but if I’d had my car with me, I’d have been happy to take you home,’ he said.
Both girls stifled yelps and shot up off the bench. Hilda’s eyes widened at the sight of his face, appearing as if by magic over the top of the wall.
‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted.
Duncan grinned. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He contemplated Delia thoughtfully. Now that he could see her in full daylight, she looked much younger than she had last night, when she’d been done up in all her war paint. So too, did Hilda. They were nothing more than kids really, trying to be women. The thought sobered him a little. He’d need to be careful around these two. Knowing he couldn’t maintain his precarious position on the wall for long (already his calf muscles were beginning to strain) he made a quick decision.
Although he might not impress their parents with how he made his living, he thought the chances were fairly good these two would be more easily manipulated. So he grinned, his best goofy, harmless grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’m perfectly harmless. I just wanted to ask you girls a couple more questions. I’m a reporter. I’m writing a story, and I think you could help me.’
At this, Hilda shot a triumphant glance towards her friend. ‘See! I told you he wasn’t a plumber!’
Duncan blinked, but as unexpected as that comment was, he knew he couldn’t afford to take the time now to pursue it. At least, not until he managed to sweet-talk this pair into meeting him somewhere where he wasn’t clinging onto a wall like a precarious limpet. ‘Hey, how about you girls meeting me out here? We can have a proper chat.’
‘Sure,’ Hilda said eagerly.
‘No,’ Delia said abruptly at the same time.
The girls usually agreed on most things and shot each other questioning looks.
Duncan bit back his impatience, whilst trying not to wonder what it was about him that might lead anyone to assume he was a plumber, of all things.
‘I just want some background information for my story,’ he pleaded. He’d learned very early on in his adolescence that the fairer sex liked it when men asked for their help. It brought out the protective instincts in them. And right now, he needed to get this pair on his side. ‘It’s all about the Bootleggers Club. I’m writing an article on the city’s burgeoning night life,’ he lied glibly, ‘and about the glamorous and beautiful young ladies who are taking advantage of it.’
Hilda flushed with pleasure at this, as he’d hoped, but Delia, he noticed, only went very pale and looked, if possible, even more appalled.
‘Does this mean we’ll be in the papers?’ Hilda asked breathlessly.
‘If you want to be,’ he said cautiously, but his eyes were fixed on Delia. Unless he was mistaken (and he seldom was, when it came to reading people) the young girl looked almost ready to faint. Or throw up in her father’s asters.
‘We can’t,’ Delia said sharply. ‘Sorry, but I don’t have anything to say about the Bootleggers. Come on, Hilda, let’s go back inside.’
She reached out to grab Hilda’s arm, clearly intent on dragging her away, but Hilda, for once, wasn’t having any of it. Instead, she shook her friend’s hands off angrily. She didn’t know what Delia’s problem was, but she wanted to stay and talk to the reporter. She’d never met someone who did something so wonderful and exciting. All her father’s friends worked in the car factory or drove lorries, or boring stuff like that.
Duncan inwardly cursed, then acted fast. ‘No, don’t let me run you out of your own garden.’ He grinned disarmingly at Delia. ‘If you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine. I can always find lots of other girls who will. I’ll be off – see you then, Hilda,’ he said and launched himself backwards.
He turned and began to walk away, but his ears were on high alert, listening out for any sound.
In the garden, Delia immediately climbed onto the bench seat, then stood precariously on the back of the bench, which elevated her just enough to allow her to peer over the wall. She watched the newspaper reporter saunter away, turn into the alley at the end and disappear.
With her knees feeling distinctly weak, she climbed back down then slumped onto the bench. Her heart was beating so hard she felt sick. When he’d first popped up over the wall like that, she’d nearly fainted. But when he told them he wanted to talk to them about the nightclub, she thought she’d actually die.
Hilda, about to harangue her for chasing off the most fascinating man she’d ever met, suddenly saw that Delia was literally shaking, and felt her stomach drop. ‘Del, what’s up?’ she wailed.
At the end of the alley, Duncan stuck his head around to risk a quick look back, saw that the coast was clear and crept quickly back along to his previous position. He was sure he’d caught the sound of feet scrambling just behind the wall, and had guessed that one of them – almost certainly Delia – had climbed up to see if he’d actually gone.
Now he pressed close to the wall and listened intently.
Hilda, suddenly feeling almost as afraid as her friend, sat down beside her and put her arms around her shoulders. ‘Come on, Del, tell me what’s wrong?’ she pleaded.
‘Nothing,’ Delia sobbed.
‘But you’re shaking. I can feel it! Something’s been off with you for ages now. You go around looking like a ghost. Come on, you can tell me. I won’t snitch – you know I always keep our secrets.’
Delia nodded. That was true enough. Hilda had never blabbed to anyone whenever they properly wanted to keep something secret. And she had been feeling so lonely, ever since that night she’d sneaked into the back of the club. She’d thought she could forget about what she’d seen, but somehow it only seemed to get more and more into her head. Grow larger and larger until it seemed there was nothing else to think about. Nothing felt right anymore. It was scaring her.
And now she was scared about that reporter, asking questions. What if he found out about what had happened that night?
If only she knew what she should do!
‘I’m your best friend, aren’t I?’ Hilda said, hugging her close. ‘I’ll help you. Pinkie swear. If you’re in trouble you can tell me.’
‘Oh, Hill!’ Delia wailed and began to sob in earnest, heart-wrenching wails of misery.
Even with a solid wall between them, Duncan could hear that this was no normal teenage girl crisis about a bad haircut or parents who wouldn’t let them out after nine o’clock at night. This girl was wailing as if her life was ending.
Hilda too began to cry, even though she didn’t know why. She’d never seen her friend so distressed, and for some reason it made her feel properly frightened. For a while, the two girls simply sat, rocked and cried together.
Eventually, though, Delia began to find some release from all her tension and fear, and pulling out the handkerchief she always kept up her sleeve, she wiped her face. Slowly, her heaving shoulders and painful ribs began to still, and her breath came in deep ragged gasps.
‘It’s about … that night. When that man died in the club,’ Delia began, and on the other side of the wall, Duncan felt his heart begin to race. He whipped his notebook out and in his impressive reporter’s shorthand, wrote down every word that was being said verbatim.
‘I knew it,’ Hilda said quietly. ‘Did you sneak into the back like you said you would?’
Delia nodded. ‘I found this window open. It was really dark and smelly inside – not nice at all. Not glamorous, like I thought the hidden parts of the club would be. I think the toilets were nearby, and I could hardly see anything. But I knew the band met in the basement. It was no secret that they got changed down there and drank and stuff between their stints on stage. I wanted to get down there and talk to Frankie. I knew, if I could just talk to him alone, he’d see we were meant for each other.’
Delia sighed.
‘Did you talk to him? Did he tell you to get lost? Is that what’s hurt you?’ Hilda asked and then bit her lip as her friend laughed out loud. But it was not a nice laugh. Not a laugh you used when you found something funny.
Instead it kind of made her stomach lurch all over again.
‘Oh, Hilly, if it was only something like that,’ Delia said raggedly. ‘No. I never even got to see Frankie. I never even made it to the basement. Instead I saw … I saw … It was on the stairs. Those spiral stairs. Like I said, it was dark; the light bulbs were really weak in there and I was in this long, thin corridor. I’d just seen the top of the stairs though and thought I was home free, but when I looked over the railings around the opening …’
‘What? What did you see?’ Hilda asked, sounding as scared now as her friend looked.
But Delia could only shake her head helplessly.
On the other side of the wall, Duncan Gillingham held his breath.
‘Del, did you see … him? The dead man?’ Hilda whispered in awe.
‘Yes,’ Delia burst out, nodding her head emphatically. ‘I did! But that’s not really … Hill, it wasn’t that. That I saw Ray, I mean. There was this girl standing over him … and she was touching his body. Hill, she was doing something to him.’
Chapter 26
Trudy looked up as a sharp and peremptory knock sounded on the door. Vincent got up and answered it, scowling the instant he saw who it was.
Duncan Gillingham scowled right back at him. ‘I need to talk to Trudy or the old vul … your father. They are here, right?’ he asked anxiously.
He knew Trudy wasn’t at her own home because he’d just been there, and her mother had told him she was probably with Dr Ryder. He was impatient to get things moving, and he didn’t want to meet with another delay now.
‘Yeah, they’re here,’ Vincent admitted reluctantly. Part of him wanted to lie, just to get rid of him, but he could see that the other man was really excited about something. He was almost humming with it in fact, so his curiosity won out. He was beginning to understand more fully why his father had been so keen to work cases by himself – this detecting business was addictive.
Since helping out his father and Trudy on their last case, he was eager to stay involved with this one – even if it meant putting up with the likes of the importunate reporter.
‘Follow me.’ He sighed and led Duncan through to the kitchen, and as he went through the door, caught Trudy’s curious eye. ‘We have a visitor,’ he announced, unnecessarily.
When he stepped back and Clement and Trudy saw the visitor’s identity, Clement’s face went set and cold, whilst Trudy looked mostly nonplussed.
‘Duncan?’ she said.
‘Don’t all look so pleased to see me,’ Duncan said resentfully. ‘I’m only here to do you the biggest favour of your life.’
Trudy smiled at the hyperbole. ‘That’s nice,’ she said mildly.
Duncan had the grace to laugh at this. ‘Yeah, it is actually. I’ve just learned something important about the Ray Reason murder.’
‘Who says it’s murder?’ Clement asked at once.
‘I do. Or rather, the witness I just found says so,’ Duncan said. And he basked with satisfaction in the gratifying reaction this got out of all three of them.
‘Really?’ Trudy said, eyes brightening and sitting up straighter.
‘Who?’ Vincent yelped at the same time.
Clement merely grunted. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he said grudgingly, nodding at the spare chair at the kitchen table, ‘and tell us all about it.’
Duncan did. And if he got immense pleasure out of showing them all how clever he’d been, well, why not?
*
When he’d got to the part where Delia had told her friend that she’d seen a woman standing over the body – doing something to it – he paused.
By now, Trudy was frantically taking notes and Clement was watching him with reluctant attention. Even Vincent had temporarily forgotten his antipathy towards him and was listening closely.
‘So what happened then?’ Vincent prompted impatiently.
‘That’s what Hilda asked.’ Duncan grinned at him, enjoying himself enormously. ‘And Delia said that she turned and ran, back the way she came. Slipped back out of the window and ran off down Walton Street all in a tizzy, and has been in one ever since, poor kid. You should have heard her, crying and stuff,’ Duncan said, pausing in his narrative. ‘She’s nothing but a child really. She shouldn’t have had to see stuff like that,’ he added.
He looked a little shame-faced suddenly, as if admitting to feeling sympathy for someone was a weakness that dented his tough-guy reporter persona, but Trudy found her attitude towards him softening. ‘Anyway,’ he said sharply, before anyone could make a comment, ‘she just went on a bit about having nightmares, and being scared that the killer might have seen her, and wishing that she hadn’t gone back last night and stuff like that, whilst her friend tried to reassure her.’
