‘If it were down to me, we’d still be after Jake,’ Gary said. ‘I assumed it was a man all along.’
‘A woman is well capable of holding another woman under water.’
‘Maybe, but she came back and lugged her out and moved her. She had to be strong.’
‘In the first place, Sally was a lightweight, really petite. Then I talked to Stella about the layout at Bosham. The pool is an extension to the house with its own external door, which wasn’t kept locked. Gemma would have backed the van up to it. She seems to have improvised by using the lounger as a trolley. It was on wheels, you see.’
‘Cool.’
‘She is. And I expect the van is equipped with a hand trolley that she put to use at Apuldram.’
‘What put you onto her?’
‘Keep your eyes on the road. It twists a bit up ahead. The breakthrough for me was realising who that invitation was meant for.’
‘Not Meredith Sentinel, but her husband?’
‘Which made it likely a woman had sent it. Imagine the shock it must have been for Gemma when Meredith showed up for the so-called reunion. Instead of her first love, the glamorous young man who initiated her into sex and who she’d dreamed about for years, a woman appears and announces she’s his wife.’
‘So the motive was jealousy?’
‘Raw, green-eyed jealousy. Here was a beautiful, accomplished woman who’d been another member of the dig all those years ago and who’d managed to grab the star prize and marry him.’
‘Not much of a prize, as it turned out,’ Gary said.
‘Gemma didn’t know that. To her, he was still the gorgeous young lecturer of twenty years back, and hers by right. Could you put the wipers on fast speed? I’m losing sight of the others.’
Gary obliged. ‘But why did she drown Fiona? That was a big risk, surely.’
‘To be honest, I don’t know yet. My best guess is that Fiona caught her out. The woman was an obvious enemy, in and out of the office, pushing her aside and cosying up to the boss.’
‘Jealousy again?’
‘Probably not. I think it had to do with the special invitation Gemma had printed.’
‘That was printed at Kleentext?’
‘I’m certain it was. Gemma denied it when we asked, but she would, wouldn’t she? The job was embossed work. It couldn’t have been done on a home computer. A good accountant knows what’s going on in a business, officially and unofficially. Fiona found a proof copy, or the plate it was made from. By questioning Gemma about it, she sealed her fate.’
‘Gemma thought Fiona would blow the whistle on her?’
‘And she would have done, given the chance. Gemma went to Emsworth and waited outside Fiona’s house. The location couldn’t have been better situated for her. The Mill Pond was ideal for another drowning.’
They were touching ninety in the straight stretch leading up to West Dean. The trees close to the road made it seem faster.
‘So it wasn’t serial killing in the usual sense?’ Gary said.
Hen was starting to wish he’d give all his attention to the driving. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Different motives.’
‘Right. The motivation wasn’t the same in Fiona’s case. But the method-the drowning-suggests a serial mentality.’
‘Why did she kill Sally, then? Jealousy again?’
‘Basically. Even she realised that Sentinel was unattainable now. If she pursued him after murdering his wife, her motive would be laid bare and she’d be the obvious suspect, so all that pent-up obsession had to be transferred elsewhere, and Rick was the recipient-to Sally’s cost. Gemma wasn’t willing to share him with another woman. And after killing Sally, she had the neat idea of transporting the body to Apuldram and so bringing Cartwright under more suspicion.’
‘Victim number three.’
‘Or four, or five. Whenever anyone caused Gemma a serious problem she drowned them. Same pattern. She may well have killed others. I know the searches didn’t turn up any, but drowning is a brute to detect. Previous murders could have been dismissed as accidents.’
Hen’s personal radio buzzed. The first response car was in touch. ‘Oscar Six to Bravo One. We’re coming to the garden centre, ma’am, but I don’t see the van outside. Do you want us to make a search? Over.’
‘I’d rather push on.’
‘There isn’t much road left before Singleton.’
‘Where’s the van disappeared to, then? We’ll go right up to where the flood is. She could have stopped there and made a run for it.’
‘Hang on, ma’am. Something is coming towards us.’
‘Stop it, then.’
In the next second she saw headlights and a vast slipstream of spray. She could barely make out the outline, but it was being driven at speed, whatever it was. ‘Block the road,’ she yelled into the radio.
There wasn’t time. The Mercedes van emerged from the spray, snaked past the flashing beacons of the police cars, and headed towards Gary’s small Nissan. Bravely or recklessly he braked, put the car into a skid and turned crosswise to block as much of the road as possible.
Yards away from crashing into them, the van rocked erratically and skidded. Sparks flew from under it. One of the marksmen had got a shot into a tyre. The brakes screamed as the stricken vehicle slid off the road and came to a jolting halt in a ditch not twenty yards from Gary’s car.
‘Leave this to us, ma’am,’ a voice said over the radio.
‘You bet I will,’ Hen said.
‘Go, go, go!’
Three officers armed with sniper rifles sprinted to positions either side of the van and flung themselves on the ground. One had a loudhailer. ‘Armed police. Armed police. You’re surrounded. Turn off the engine, throw out the key, step outside and lie face down on the ground.’
There was some hesitation.
‘I don’t want any more shooting,’ Hen radioed in the hope that she’d be heard. ‘She won’t be armed.’
‘She’s turned off the engine,’ Gary said.
The van door opened. The keys were thrown out. The door opened fully, but no one got out.
Inside, behind the steering wheel, was an old woman in a pink hat.
After miss Peabody had been helped out of the van, she said, ‘If you think I’m going to lie on the ground you’re mistaken.’
Hen had run forward and gestured to everyone to hold their fire. ‘No need, madam.’
‘I’m very shaken up. Something must be wrong with the steering. I know that was the first driving I’ve done in over thirty years, but I still have a licence.’
‘Where’s the woman who drove the van up here?’ Hen asked.
‘My niece Gemma? In my cottage being stupid. That’s why I came looking for help. She’s going to kill the nice woman who came to help me out-if she hasn’t done so already.’
‘Call an ambulance,’ Hen said to the nearest policeman.
They got in the cars and burned rubber for the extra three hundred yards or so, some way past the barrier, when they were forced to get out and wade through water.
Gemma faced them defiantly from the cottage doorway with arms folded. ‘Here come the plod, too late, as usual.’
Hen shoved her towards an officer who had the cuffs out and ready.
In the poorly lit interior Hen looked about her and saw nothing. She dashed through to the kitchen and discovered the body half submerged in black water. With Gary’s help she lifted it from the hole.
‘It’s Jo.’
She tilted the head back and cleared the airways as well as she could.
