‘I understand’ she said, ‘that you have to ask everyone connected with him. I was at home all the evening, after I left the shop at six. I had a little bridge party, we meet on Thursdays at seven when we’re all free, at each flat in turn, and this time it was at my place. I’ll give you all the names, I know you have to check.’ And she did; two of them women, single like herself, the fourth a man in attendance on one of the girls; and George knew that they would check out without blemish, as in the event they did. ‘We broke up about eleven-thirty. We all live fairly close, you see.’
He saw, and more than she was recommending to his sight. He saw a woman quite prepared to stake her body, somewhat resignedly, against future profits, but rather preferring, if truth were told, the small local bridge four, and the cosy coffee-evenings in city flats, without penalty. Now she could be both respectable and rich.
She went out with him to the street, which was a concession that betrayed her unease, not about her own immunity, which was absolute, but about something more subtle and vulnerable, her whole new situation. She thought she was on the verge of bliss, of fulfillment in riches, and yet some hidden part of her was nervous of the change. In anticipation it was unshadowed gain, now on the threshold she was seeing those little bridge parties shrivelling into ashes, the old friends dropping off, the horizon abruptly extended into frightful distances of challenge? Or was this dread he felt in her only that something might yet loom between her and Rainbow’s money?
‘I suppose there’s bound to be some delay about probate, in the circumstances,’ she said almost wincingly, at parting. ‘But there won’t be any serious difficulties, will there? I mean, I have the business to manage in the meantime, I ought to know how I stand as soon as possible.’
‘I’m sure everything will proceed normally,’ said George with resigned tolerance. ‘Whatever dispositions Mr Rainbow made about his property will be observed. Subject, of course, to the obvious innocence of all legatees in the circumstances leading to his death. The inquest shouldn’t be a great obstacle.’ He could feel her subdued tension sending out ripples through the air, and he understood the passion with which the hardworking poor – for what else was she, with inflation at this level? – look forward to almost unimaginable wealth. He didn’t blame her very much. Pretty obviously she had provided with very limited reward what was now to be repaid in full at last.
But when he took his leave of her and returned to the local police yard where he had left his car, he was wondering at every step whether she was going to be glad or sorry when she received and realised in full the blessing and the burden of her inheritance.
‘Inquest opens Monday,’ said George to Sergeant Moon, across a table littered with files. It was evening, and they were preparing to hand back the parish hall and transfer their enquiries to headquarters in Comerbourne. ‘We can take it as far as murder in one go, or ask for an adjournment and keep them guessing. The Chief Constable will back us whatever we do, luckily, he’s local, and knows what will happen if he brings the Yard in. He doesn’t want border warfare on his hands, any more than we do. I’m going to clam up for a week, and hang on to the options. Miss Lavery will be on hot bricks a week longer, but it won’t hurt her.’
‘And she’s clean,’ mused Moon, almost regretfully, for Miss Lavery was not of the valley, and therefore to a certain extent expendable.
‘In her own person, absolutely. She was where she said she was, and there are three witnesses to prove it. Besides, she isn’t the type.’
‘Too moral?’ enquired Moon, interested.
‘Too limited, unless some other person did it for her. There could, I suppose, be some other fellow around who wants Miss Lavery, and whom she, if truth were told, can’t help preferring to Rainbow. But I suspect all her familiars will turn out to play bridge for low stakes, and give little coffee-parties. Still, you never know. There could be a cheerful, extrovert, over-sexed wholesale butcher around, who likes blondes and resents rivals. Keep an open mind, Jack.’
‘My mind is always open,’ said Moon truthfully. ‘Murder, which unquestionably we have on our hands, requires a motive, and in spite of all the modern complications, the main motives for killing are money and sex. Here, let’s face it, we’ve got a third, local solidarity in the face of an indigestible threat. I know it, you know it. I wouldn’t rule it out. Still – Rainbow had money, and plenty of it, and his wife has sex, and plenty of that, too. By the way, I was interested enough to do some checking this afternoon. She is his wife. I did wonder. She’s got her marriage lines, all right. Nineteen when she married him. I reckon that makes a sort of sense. Barbara Cranmer. Father died in ’fifty- seven of long-delayed illness arising from war injuries. Mother ran a flower shop, not very prosperous, not very efficient, and Barbara helped in it. I bet he was buying flowers for Miss Lavery when he clapped eyes on Barbara.’
‘I marvel,’ said George mildly, ‘how you manage to extract life stories in an afternoon. Where is mother now?’
‘Died, two years ago. Barbara’s on her own. Since the marriage mother’s been living in a very nice residential hotel on the south coast. She died of leukemia in a very expensive nursing home. Oh, yes, I’ve been busy. Still, here we still are, stuck with money and sex. And a set of circumstances, of course.’
‘Quite remarkable circumstances, when you come to think about it. Somebody – potentially Rainbow himself – had certainly been poking around privately among the junk up there in the tower. Very recently, possibly the night he was killed. And Rainbow was a knowledgeable chap in his own line, with a nose for buried treasure. So one of his colleagues and rivals assured me, the night he had his house-warming party. Where he goes, this lad said, it’s worthwhile following, and taking a good sniff around. So had he sniffed out something profitable here in Abbot’s Bale? More precisely, up in the church tower? He took precautions, apparently, to have the place on his own that night. Something really sensational? Worth following him for? Worth killing him for, perhaps? If so, what was it? What is it?’
‘I’ll tell you this,’ said Moon promptly, ‘if he thought he was on to something good there, he never said a word to the vicar or to anyone else. He was keeping it strictly to himself, all right. Looks as though somebody else had got a whiff of what was going on, and was keeping an eye on him accordingly. Two of ’em met up there in the tower.’
Two of them had indeed met in the tower, to deadly effect. The forensic boys had isolated three sets of prints, two of which had definitely reached the leads, one of them Rainbow’s. The second was a long, narrow foot, with an even, springy tread that argued a younger man, with unmangled feet, probably accustomed always to well-made, expensive shoes, certainly wearing new and good leather soles when these prints were salvaged from the leads. A third set of prints could be traced as far as that model impression on the lowest stair of the bell-chamber staircase, but was not distinguishable any higher. Cracked old shoes, trodden askew to favour a probable bunion; an older man’s foot. Not Joe Llewelyn’s, either, nowhere near so big and a good many years older.
‘He’s only been dead approximately forty-five hours,’ said Sergeant Moon, sensibly reducing everything to its true proportion.
