The Fethering Mysteries 06; The Witness at the Wedding

meet Mick. Siphoned out a lot of fuel, so that it ran out. Got Mick to fill it up from the can in the boot. Then took him off to get drunk, just the two of us, back at his place. I put something in his drink, so he was soon out cold. Then I spilled a bit of petrol on his clothes, and left him. I was the only alibi he had – he thought I’d stayed with him overnight, but no, I’d left about nine. I’d already arranged another alibi for myself for the rest of the evening, so when the police questioned Mick, it sounded like he was lying. Anyway, he was too drunk and drugged to have a very clear recollection of that night.”

“Then you picked up Janine Buckley, drove into the estate where Mick Brewer worked, strangled her and torched the car?”

He shrugged. “It had to be done. Maman would not have survived the shame.”

“What shame? Oh, my God.”

“Are you saying that the baby Janine Buckley was carrying was not Michael Brewer’s? It was yours?”

His cocksure silence was quite as articulate as a spoken confirmation.

“So that night – the party at your parents’ house in 1973, when Janine Buckley and Michael Brewer went upstairs, when you were supposed to be with Diana Milton…”

“Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist it when you mentioned Diana Milton at lunch at my club. I saw a chance of putting you off the scent. If I was screwing Diana all night, there was no way I could have been with Janine.”

“So it was you and Janine who were the couple?”

“One couple.”

“What do you mean?” The realization came to Carole like a thunderclap. “Marie and Michael Brewer? Michael Brewer is Gaby’s father.”

Robert Coleman didn’t confirm this either, but Carole knew she had hit on the truth. All kinds of potential ramifications spread from this one revelation, but she wasn’t really in a position at that time to pursue them through to their logical conclusions.

“But why, Robert? Why did you do all this?”

“To protect Maman. She was so frail emotionally, and her Catholic faith was so strong. She could not have coped with the knowledge that I had got a girl pregnant. She could certainly not have coped with the knowledge that Marie was pregnant. Maman had very high standards.”

“You mean she couldn’t have condoned an unwanted pregnancy, but she would have condoned murder?”

“Of course not.” He was shocked by the suggestion. “She never knew about the murder, or never knew of any family involvement in it. Whereas there was no way she could have remained ignorant of the pregnancy.”

“Or the two pregnancies. It was your idea that Howard Martin should marry Marie?”

“Yes. He wanted that more than anything, so he was happy. To me the marriage seemed a good way of covering up her lapse. Everything was confused round that time, with my father dying and Maman having her breakdown. I was afraid Marie might have a breakdown too, so I told her that she would be safe with Howard. They married quickly, and moved away to Worcester. Then I encouraged them to announce that Gabs had been born prematurely. It all made sense.”

“But did your killing Janine Buckley also make sense?”

“Of course. I was about to start my career in the police force. The last thing I needed at that stage of my life was a woman and child in tow.”

He spoke with the logic of the criminal. Anything was justified, so long as it served his ultimate purpose.

“But how did you get Marie to agree to marry Howard?”

“She was in shock after Janine’s death. And,” he said with the confidence of an arch-manipulator, “Marie has always done what I told her to.”

Carole began to understand the full scale of the trauma which had changed Marie from the bright and lively schoolgirl to the frightened neurotic of her later life.

“So did Marie know that you killed her friend? And that you had framed the father of her child for the murder?”

Robert Coleman smiled another irritatingly complacent smile. “Marie has always been very good at shutting certain things out of her mind. And I have always seen it as my duty to protect her from the…nasty things of life.”

The strength of Robert Coleman’s control over his sister was becoming clear. Marie might even have worked out that it was he who had killed her husband. But that was one of the areas where she would not have allowed her mind to go.

“Just as you always protected your mother from the unpleasantnesses of life.”

“Yes. I could never have done anything to upset Maman.”

“Or never have allowed her to know about things that might upset her?”

“Precisely.” He smiled again, then said abruptly, “Still, enough of this. I’m afraid it’s time to stage Michael Brewer’s final murder. Sorry you’ve got involved, Carole – though it is, it has to be said, completely your own fault. If you and your chubby friend had not stuck your noses into other people’s business, then your quiet little life in Fethering could have continued uninterrupted. But, as it is, I’m afraid you have got involved, and there’s no way I can allow you to live to tell the tale.”

Carole made a sudden dash for the entrance to the copse, but it was pathetic how short a distance she had travelled before Robert brought her down in a rugby tackle. “No. Sorry. You’re not going to get away.”

Trying another escape seemed pointless. She looked hopefully at Michael Brewer’s prone form. He was breathing, but showed no sign of consciousness. My own bloody fault, thought Carole savagely. Why did I have to hit him so hard?

“Do you have a petrol can in the car? I have my own supplies, but…”

There was no point in denial. Robert Coleman would find the can in the boot, anyway. So much for prudence, thought Carole. Though she’d never had cause to use it, she’d always carried a spare can of fuel in the Renault. In case of emergency. Now it was going to be the cause of an emergency.

The keys were still in the ignition. Robert Coleman ripped them out and opened the boot. Then he opened the two doors on the driver’s side of the car. He unscrewed the top off the petrol can, and began to pour.

“No,” said Carole instinctively. “Not over the upholstery.”

He laughed at the incongruity of that, but she couldn’t see the joke.

Robert Coleman splashed some more petrol over the Renault’s bodywork, then cruelly over Carole’s front. He trickled a trail across the ground to where Michael Brewer lay, and upended the remains of the can over the unconscious man. The drenching did nothing to bring the victim round. Brewer lay there, unmoving except for his shallow breathing.

Robert Coleman took a disposable gas lighter out of his jacket pocket. “After I’ve set fire to the car, I’ll leave this beside dear old Mick. Serve him right, the police will say. Hoist with his own petard.”

He faced Carole. “Get in the car.”

Numbly, she moved towards the open driver’s door.

“No, in the back.” They were the most chilling words she had ever heard.

The petrol fumes were disgusting, burning the back of her throat as she slid inside the Renault. She felt the slime of the fuel penetrating her skirt. In her mind the fatuous thought formed that she’d never get the upholstery properly clean again.

Robert Coleman slammed the front door shut. She looked up at him through the other door, the only opening in her private crematorium.

“Aren’t you going to strangle me?” she asked. “Like the others?”

He chuckled. “Only if you try to escape. Otherwise, I don’t think I need bother.”

He slammed the remaining door shut. The petrol fumes were so intense that Carole could hardly breathe.

Through the car window, she could see Robert Coleman hold up the lighter as he backed away towards Michael Brewer’s body.

“I’ll light it from the edge,” she could just hear him saying with a silly giggle. “Don’t want to get my fingers burned, do I?”