“Primrose wine is what you need,” he said. “I’m halfway through the second bottle. The old witch knew how to make a good brew.” He filled a glass with the golden liquid and handed it to her. “Is that the paper? Let’s look at it together.” He sank down on the sofa beside her and handed her a tissue.
It was a short account, using the formal words of police routine in such a case. The two were remanded into custody, without bail. “Doesn’t tell us much, does it,” Deirdre said, sniffing. “I suppose it’ll be a while before we know the truth of what actually happened.”
“We know quite a bit,” Gus said, taking her hand. “They had motive-money-and the opportunity. Miriam was out, Keith was ruthless and mad, Beattie was dominated by him and destroyed by old obsessions. We don’t know which of them did the deed, held the knife and shoved it into the old woman, and we don’t know if the police have any actual evidence that either of them did it. Fingerprints, that kind of thing.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see,” Deirdre said, blowing her nose. “Fancy a pub snack this evening? I could do with a real drink later, and not this cat’s pee.”
IN HER WINDOWLESS cell, Beattie Bentall, as the police were now calling her, sat staring at a blank wall. None of it seemed real to her. The last twenty-four hours were surely a bad dream, a nightmare. She would wake up soon, wouldn’t she?
She had been given a mug of tea, but when she began to drink, it was stone-cold. Her hands were also stone-cold, and she felt as if her body had turned to ice, frozen into an unfeeling state. She pinched her hand and felt nothing. Was she perhaps dead? Was this it, her punishment for helping Keith to kill Mrs. Blake? But she hadn’t helped him. He hadn’t needed any help. Could she have stopped him? No point in speculating now. Maybe she would have to sit here, alone and with no prospect of any relief, forever and ever. Death would be an escape.
“Now then,” said a harsh voice, and the door opened with a crash. “You’ve not drunk your tea, I see. You must do better with this nice cod and chips. Shall I get you another mug of tea?”
“Yes, please,” Beattie said, and realised it was the first time she had spoken since answering to her name and details in the court. So she was not dead! The smell of fish and chips was so good that she felt a pang of hunger.
Where was Keith? she wondered. He hated fish. Perhaps they would give him something different, though she doubted it. As she ate her cod with relish, she thought about Keith, and decided that whatever happened, when the time came for her to speak, she would tell the whole truth, the real truth. He was on his own now, and if what she had to say incriminated him, then so be it. It was everyone for himself, as she had learned long ago. Surely, after all those years apart, she was not his keeper, not responsible for him.
She saw his face, pale, thin and haggard. He was obviously not a healthy man. She had realised that as soon as she set eyes on him. Judging from his perpetual cough, years of living rough and an addiction to nicotine and God knows what else had weakened his lungs.
Savouring the last potato chip, she thought of the future, of the time when she would have to testify. It would not be difficult to recall what had happened. The scene was engraved on her memory. Winifred Blake, standing there with a bread knife in her hand, fear in her eyes but on the defensive, threatening to call the police if they didn’t leave her house. Then Keith had stepped forward and the old woman retreated until she caught her heel in the edge of the rug and fell backwards.
The worst thing had been Keith’s bloodcurdling laugh. She recalled her horror as he turned the bread knife round and plunged it into Mrs. Blake’s scrawny chest.
That wasn’t what they had planned at all! They had meant to frighten the old woman into giving up all her claims on Theo, so that she would leave the field clear for them. At least, that was what Keith had led her to think they would do. She had realised then in terror that her twin brother was unhinged, unpredictable and dangerous. When he had calmly suggested they get out of the cottage as soon as possible, she had feared for her own safety, and had allowed Keith to push her out into the lane. He had disappeared then, off towards the woods, and she had returned to the Hall, like a terrified rabbit scuttling back into its burrow.
Then had come the lies to the police, protecting herself and her mad brother. She was good at telling lies, always had been, but from now on she intended to tell the truth. She had no moral principles, just a strong sense of what was expedient. Looking after number one, her horrible stepfather had called it.
“Dear God,” she said aloud. “Help me now. Keith is past help, so you might just as well concentrate on me. If I tell the honest truth, and they believe me, I could get off lightly. Is that too much to ask?”
She thought she heard a small voice saying, “But what about the poisoned biscuits?”
“Not meant to kill,” she muttered, and walked over to the narrow bed. She stretched out and closed her eyes. “Not fair,” she said quietly. “But then, it never has been fair.”
When they came in to collect her plate, she appeared to be fast asleep.
SITTING COMFORTABLY IN a last shaft of sunlight slanting into Springfields’ lounge, Ivy and Roy had been silent for several minutes. Then Ivy said, “Well, that’s that, then. Do you feel the same as me, Roy? Sort of flat?”
Roy said he was sure it wouldn’t be flat for long. “Shouldn’t we have an Enquire Within meeting with Gus and Deirdre to wrap up the case?” he asked.
Ivy nodded. “Ah yes, that’s it. No time like the present,” she said and took out her mobile from her handbag. “Hello? Gus? What’s that noise? Oh, Deirdre sniffing. I see. Anyway, this call is for her, too. Can you both be here for a meeting in fifteen minutes? Well, you can go to the pub afterwards! Good. Roy and me will be waiting in my room. Bye. Oh, and tell Deirdre to pull herself together, silly girl.”
The meeting began with a brief roundup of the recent happenings, and then Ivy said firmly that it was time to put the Beatty case behind them, and start planning for the future. “And don’t look at me like that, Deirdre,” she added. “You’ll soon get used to it. If you ask me, we’ve learned a lot on our first case, and I for one can’t wait to get going on the next.”
“Hear, hear!” said Roy, taking Ivy’s hand.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” Gus said, seating himself more safely on the edge of Ivy’s bed, “I had a call before we left the cottage, and if I’m not mistaken, Enquire Within is back in business…”
Ann Purser
