Carole found herself instinctively reaching across to take the girl’s hands in hers. This surprised her, because she didn’t think she ever did anything instinctively. Maybe Gaby’s troubles were helping to find a new softness beneath the carapace of Carole Seddon’s personality.
“It’ll be all right,” she found herself saying. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to the Dauncey Hotel. It’ll be quicker that way. Soon you won’t have anything else to worry about.”
How untrue that remark turned out to be. As soon as Carole switched on the ignition of the Renault, Radio Four came on, right in the middle of the
“Oh, my God,” Gaby breathed. “Bazza!”
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Twenty-Three
Marie Martin was not at the Dauncey Hotel when they arrived. Gaby’s instinctive panic was allayed by the girl on reception who said her mother had just gone along the beach for a walk. In other circumstances, this would have been good news – the fact that Marie was feeling sufficiently together to do something on her own – but Gaby couldn’t see that. She was too stressed by the need to get back to Essex as soon as possible.
“Don’t worry,” said Carole. “You go up to your room and get packed. I’ll go and meet Marie.”
There was only one direction in which her quarry was likely to have walked: east on the path through the dunes. The other way led back into Fethering, and Carole felt sure Marie Martin would have chosen privacy over people.
The woman was not in sight, but there was no danger that Carole would miss her. Only a thin strip of the dunes was available to walkers, separated by a high fence of wire netting from the inland golf course. On the other side the dunes gave way to the beach, which could be seen clearly from the pathway. Carole wasbound either to catch up with Marie while she was still on her outward course, or meet her coming back.
The second proved to be the case. Carole saw a small figure in a beige raincoat – hardly necessary on such a warm day – coming towards her. At first glimpse she suspected it to be Marie, and a closer view left her in no doubt.
When the woman saw who it was coming towards her, she looked panicked, but there was no escape. The encounter could not be avoided. She had managed to manufacture a smile by the time Carole was within speaking distance.
There was no point in trying to sugar the pill. Marie Martin had to hear the truth. She couldn’t be protected from everything all through her life. The kid gloves with which she was habitually treated had to come off. And it gave Carole an unworthy feeling of satisfaction that she was the one taking the kid gloves off.
“Marie, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go back to Harlow. Gaby’s had a call from Michael Brewer.”
The woman’s first reaction was to totter, as if she was about to faint, but she recovered herself. Cynically, Carole reckoned that Marie had weighed up the options and realized that her customary exit route from a sticky situation wasn’t going to work. Fainting out there on the sparsely peopled dunes would have little effect. It wouldn’t cause a disruption, and when she came round, her nemesis, Carole Seddon, would still be there confronting her.
“I don’t know who you mean,” Marie faltered. And she started to walk briskly back through the dunes towards the Dauncey Hotel.
“You know perfectly well. Robert told me the whole history.” That was only partially true – she’d got other bits from other sources – but it would do at that moment. “Michael Brewer was someone you and Robert knew when you were at school. He murdered your friend Janine Buckley.”
Marie Martin couldn’t argue against that level of research. “And you say he called Pascale?”
“On her mobile.”
“How on earth did he get the number?”
“It seems pretty certain that he was the one who burgled her flat. Her mobile number’s right in the front of her address book.”
Gaby’s mother looked pale and shocked, but not as though she were about to faint. She’d temporarily given up on that form of escape.
“Marie, you could make things a lot simpler if you told me more of what you know about Michael Brewer.”
“Why should I tell you? What business is it of yours?”
Which was actually a perfectly reasonable question. And one which amateur sleuths have always found difficult to answer. Still, Carole came up with a reasonable justification. “It’s my business because Gaby is about to become my daughter-in-law. I care about her welfare. She’s under a tremendous amount of stress at the moment, and a lot of that stress has something to do with Michael Brewer. If you shared abit more of what you know about him, we might see ways of making things easier for her.”
“Of course Pascale’s under stress. My husband was murdered last week.”
“And do you think the person who committed that murder was Michael Brewer?”
Marie’s eyes avoided Carole’s. “There are obviously similarities with the way Janine was killed.”
“So, thirty years on, as soon as he’s served his sentence, Michael Brewer kills again. But why did he pick on Howard? Was it revenge? What might he have against your husband?”
“I don’t know.”
Carole felt certain that wasn’t true, but it was said with a determination that offered no prospect of a climb- down. Still she persisted. “Howard was going to meet Michael Brewer the day after he died. He said so at the engagement party. Just before you fainted.”
“I don’t remember,” said Marie unhelpfully.
“And you yourself have had no personal contact from Michael Brewer?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him since he was arrested for Janine’s murder.”
A new thought came to Carole. “And did you think you’d escaped him? Did you think he’d never track you down?” Now she’d made the connection, the ideas were tumbling out. “Is that why you always wanted to keep a low profile? And why you didn’t want any announcement of Stephen and Gaby’s engagement in the national press? You thought that might give Mick Brewer a clue to find you?”
Carole was convinced that she was right, but got no admissions from Marie Martin. Instead, as if she’d heard none of the questions, the woman asked, “Why do Pascale and I have to go back to Essex?”
“She spoke to Inspector Pollard, told him about the telephone call. He wants to talk to her. Maybe he wants to protect her.”
Marie thought about this idea. “Being in Essex didn’t protect Howard,” she said finally.
“Are you suggesting that Gaby’s in real danger?”
A bleakness came into the woman’s faded eyes. “After what happened to Howard, everyone’s in real danger.”
They were nearly back at the hotel. Carole was about to lose her unwilling interviewee. “Marie,” she pleaded, “have you any idea where Michael Brewer might be at the moment?”
“Well, he won’t be in Essex. This is Mick’s area. He knew this bit of the country like the back of his hand. This is always where he would come back to.”
“But where specifically? If the police are looking for him…”
Marie Martin smiled a pale smile. “The police caught Mick Brewer once. No way he’d let that happen a second time. He’s a devious character. And you forget, he used to work as a gamekeeper. He always had his own secret places. If Mick Brewer doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.”
And with that frustrating incomplete parting shot, Marie Martin scuttled off into the Dauncey Hotel. “You’re low.”
Gita Millington agreed listlessly that she was low. “It’s after all that excitement of researching Michael Brewer.”
