The Fethering Mysteries 06; The Witness at the Wedding

The reason soon became clear. “I had a call from my dear Robert last night. He wanted to see that I was well, and that you had arrived safely. And he was a little cross with me, you know.”

“Why cross, Grand’mere?”

“Well, cross with you too. He says it is bad for me to talk of the past, that dreadful time when Janine Buckley died. And he is right. What we spoke of yesterday did make me upset. Last night it is a long time before I got to sleep. And then, as I say, I wake so early. I do not sleep well now. I long to have a proper night’s sleep.”

Gaby tried to shift the old lady’s mood with talk of her wedding plans, but here again she met with a reproof. “It is not good that you marry in an Anglican church. You have a duty to your Catholic faith.”

“I lost my faith, Grand’mere. A long time ago.”

“That is no good, to say that. You speak of your faith as if it were just a handkerchief or something, that you can lose and it does not matter. If you are brought up a Catholic, you can never properly lose your faith. It is always a part of you.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like a part of me.”

“I do not like you to say that, Pascale. You should have a proper Catholic wedding ceremony. But even if you don’t do so, you must give me your word that, if you have children, they will be brought up as good Catholics.”

“I don’t think I can give you my word about that, Grand’mere. Steve and I have talked about these issues in great depth, and it would be hypocritical for us to – ”

Seeing the rising fury in the old lady’s face, Jude decided that a tactical change of subject might be in order. “Did Robert say whether the police have recaptured Michael Brewer yet?”

“No. My son does not talk to me of such things. He knows they upset me, and cause me to lose sleep.”

To Jude it seemed that Robert served the same function for his mother as he did for his sister, insulating them both from the unpleasant realities of life.

But Gaby decided that some realities had to be faced. “Grand’mere,” she said, “I know that Howard Martin was not my real father.”

The old lady’s reaction was so instinctive that itcould not have been anything but real. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he was your father.”

“But – ”

“Oh, I know it is common for young girls, when they are in their adolescence, to have fantasies that they were born to something greater than the lives they lead, but, really, Pascale, you are no longer a child. You should no longer be having these silly thoughts.”

“Grand’mere, it is important that…”

But, cued by a small shake of Jude’s head, Gaby did not pursue her argument.

“Howard was your father. There is no question about that.” This was spoken with the unbreakable conviction of someone who totally believed it, or who, a long time ago, had made herself believe it.

If she was going to find out more, Jude knew she had to risk the old lady’s displeasure. Her son did not want her to be upset by talk of the early nineteen-seventies, but there were still details Jude needed to find out. And her window of opportunity with Madame Coleman was closing fast.

“I know that Robert does not want you to talk about unhappinesses of the past, but there is one question that I do have to ask you.”

“You may ask. I, however, retain the right not to reply unless I wish to do so.”

“Very well. Knowing what you do of Michael Brewer, do you think he was capable of killing Howard?”

Her reaction was as immediate as the response to Gaby’s doubt about her real parenthood. “I have no doubt in my mind at all. Michael Brewer is the nearest I have ever encountered in a human being to pure evil.”

? The Witness at the Wedding ?

Thirty-Six

There was now a light on in the cellar, and Carole could take in its contents. Michael Brewer kept things tidy, there was a monasticism about the place, or maybe it was an echo of another kind of cell. From hooks on the walls hung old threadbare waterproofs, cartridge belts and rabbit snares, dating from the occupancy of thirty years before. But since his release from prison Michael Brewer had stocked the room with boxes of tinned food, packs of bottled water and Camping Gaz cylinders. He could live out a long siege here. He also had a mobile phone and a modern laptop with a large supply of battery packs. There were also plastic crates filled with cardboard files. Stuck on the wall in front of a makeshift desk were press cuttings covering the murders of Howard Martin and Barry Painter.

He had not left her on her own long. In less than an hour Carole had heard the shifting of the rafters on metal overhead, then the trapdoor had opened and he came in and lit a gas light.

Immediately she had asked him, “Why have you brought me here?”

“I want to get at Gaby,” he replied. “You are my way of getting at Gaby.”

“Gaby is in France, visiting her grandmother.”

“Oh.” He scratched his beard, assessing the information for a moment. “How long is she away for?”

“Just two nights. Back the day after tomorrow.”

“Maybe she will have to come sooner.” He looked at his watch. “Maybe you will ring her in the morning.” He thought about this, too. “No, better perhaps to wait till she comes back. We don’t want to set any alarm bells ringing.”

“So you are proposing that I should stay here for the next two days?”

He looked straight into her affronted eyes. His were hazel and full of pain. “I have stayed here for much longer than that.”

“Why? Why do you hide away here?”

“What would be my chances out in the open? What would be my chances if the police caught me?”

“All right, I take your point.” There was a silence. “So it’s Gaby you’re really after? I’m just a means to an end.”

“Yes, I need Gaby.” Then he added, chillingly, “I need her to finish what I’ve started.”

They said little more that night. Even though he passed her an old sleeping bag, Carole didn’t think there was much prospect of her eyes closing. But he said he was about to turn the light out. “And don’t try anything.”

“I won’t. Just tell me one thing. Suppose I do manage to lure Gaby to come to you…”

“Yes?”

“What would happen if I managed to communicate the danger to her? If she brought the police along with her?”

“Then I would have to kill you,” said Michael Brewer, as though it were the most reasonable answer in the world.

They both felt down after they left the retirement home, Gaby because of the disagreements with her grandmother about Catholicism, and Jude because she had the feeling she had screwed up an opportunity and lost a valuable source of information. Neither felt up to another lavish meal, so they settled down outside a small cafe in Villeneuve-sur-Lot for a croque-monsieur and a glass of wine.

Their jaunt felt as if it was nearly over, and they were both crestfallen by how little they had achieved. Nor had they heard anything from Inspector Pollard. Both had expected a call to say that Michael Brewer was now safely in custody, but there had been nothing. For Gaby, the prospect loomed of returning to England the following day with her life still under threat.

So when Jude’s mobile rang and the caller announced himself as Inspector Pollard, she was ecstatic with relief.

But only briefly. “I was just wondering, Jude,” he said, “if you have any idea where your friend Carole Seddon might be?”

“So far as I know, she’s at home. In Fethering.”

“I tried calling her there, but got no response.”

“Well, she could be out shopping. Or she has a dog. She takes him out for a lot of walks.”

“She’s not with the dog.”