“No, she’ll be on her way to Heathrow now. Friday night traffic, she’ll have left about five.”
“No, she was here.”
“Here? When?”
“Came in within the last half-hour. Went upstairs. I assumed she was talking to you in the office.”
“I didn’t see her.”
Kelly-Jane shrugged. This wasn’t her business. “Well, I don’t know what she was doing up there then.”
“Is she still here?”
“No, she rushed out about ten minutes ago.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“She didn’t say anything. She just swept out, looking absolutely furious.”
The realization came to Martin and Carole at the same moment. Martina must have been in the outer office. It had been she who had closed the door. She had heard all of their conversation.
“Oh, my God!” shrieked Martin. “Connie!”
The speed with which he rushed out of the salon left Carole in no doubt as to who he thought was responsible for the murder of Kyra Bartos.
? Death under the Dryer ?
Thirty-Seven
Jude had been expecting to hear from Carole, but not from such a panicked Carole as the one who rang from the Martin & Martina in Worthing. It took a moment for Jude to take in the information that her friend was on her way, but that Connie Rutherford was at her salon and in immediate danger. Carole was going to call the police, but could Jude get down there as soon as possible?
She rushed to Connie’s Clip Joint as fast as her chubby legs could carry her. There was nobody around; the moment the shops shut, Fethering High Street became deserted.
A sleek green Jaguar was parked outside. No lights showed in the salon, but to her surprise when she tried the front door, it gave. Moving very slowly to avoid creaks, Jude advanced into the body of the shop.
The door to the back room was slightly ajar, and a pencil of light spread out across the salon floor. As Jude advanced towards it, she became aware of a passionate, heavily accented voice coming from the back room.
“…and I know he is coming here, because I follow him. I see him bring in red roses and I think it is for that girl who work here. Martin always fancied her, I could see from the way he looked at her. I didn’t then know it was you he was visiting. I thought he had enough of you when you were married. I didn’t expect Martin to be coming back…like, how do you say it…a dog to his own vomit?”
The lack of response to Martina’s speech suggested that her victim had been gagged or otherwise incapacitated and, as Jude got close enough to peer through the slit of the door, this was confirmed. Connie was cowering in an old chair, a thin white towel tied tightly around her mouth. Her jaws moved as if she was trying to speak, but no sound came out. Ominously, the dome of a hair dryer loomed over her head.
“So there’s a good cause of guilt for you, Connie. You start an affair with a married man and what effect does it have? An innocent girl gets killed. The blood of Kyra Bartos is on your hands, and for that reason I’ll not feel so much guilt about having your blood on my hands.”
Even through the towel, the whimper that Connie let out at that could be clearly heard. Jude knew she had to move quickly. Martina was still invisible to her, probably with her back to the door. She certainly wasn’t near the lead to the dryer, so if she was planning to replicate her previous murder method…
Jude decided quickly. She had to. If she burst in through the door, there was a good chance of knocking Martina off-balance, certainly of keeping her away from the electric flex. Jude put her shoulder down and barged forward.
She hadn’t thought of a gun. Nor, when the automatic was pointed at her, did she think of arguing with it. Instead, she sat obediently on the seat next to Connie’s.
“You, Jude. Of course, nosy Jude. Jude who so conveniently told me about my husband being seen here last Sunday. So now it will be three deaths you have caused, Connie. That’s what you get for stealing someone’s husband. And I’m afraid it will have to be your nosy fat friend who goes first.”
The gun was still pointing at Jude, but now Martina Rutherford brought up her other hand to steady it. Not one to mess about, thought Jude. Oh well, at least she’ll save me from rheumatoid arthritis.
What happened next was so quick that only later could Jude piece together the sequence of events.
The back door crashed open and Martin Rutherford burst into the room.
For a moment his wife’s aim wavered. Then she laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Martin. I’m not going to shoot you. You’re mine.”
Just as she steadied the automatic to target Jude’s chest, Martin leapt forward. In the small space the gunshot was hideously loud. He let out a gasp of pain and dropped to the floor. But in his hand he held the captured gun.
Martina let out some curse in her own language and rushed out of the front of the salon. As Connie and Jude crouched down with towels, trying to staunch the blood pumping from Martin’s shoulder, they heard the Jaguar screeching off into the night.
Carole and the police arrived almost simultaneously.
? Death under the Dryer ?
Thirty-Eight
“The trouble is these days,” said Mim, “children don’t even learn the rudiments of politeness. Not even the rudiments. I mean, there was someone in our road the other day…not just visiting, he actually lives in the Shorelands Estate, where you’d have thought at the very least you’d get someone who was well brought-up…”
“You’d hope you would,” Theo agreed.
“…and this man said to me…Ooh, not so much off the top there, Connie. We don’t want you going round Fethering like a skinhead, do we, Wally?”
“No, Mim, we don’t.”
“Anyway, this man, he had the nerve to say to me…to me, mind, and you would have thought he could see I was someone who had been brought up with standards…and he said to me…”
Jude grinned across at her neighbour, as if to say, “See, I told you it was worth seeing.” Carole had not been keen on the idea of their having their hair cut at the same time, but the promised attraction of the Wally and Mim double act had won her round.
It was nearly three weeks after Martina Rutherford’s arrest, a Tuesday, five weeks to the day after the Grenstons’ last joint appointment. Fethering had settled down after its recent excitements, and, though well into October, the weather had remained so tranquil that there were dark mutterings about the melting of the polar ice- cap.
Apart from the fact that Nathan had been allowed to return to his family after only twenty-four hours of questioning, Jude had heard nothing of the Lockes. She would like to know for sure whether Bridget had returned to Rowley, but felt gloomily certain she had. She would also like to have heard that Rowley Locke’s recent experiences had made him less of a control freak, but didn’t feel much optimism about that either. All she really hoped was that Nathan got good A-levels and went to a university as far away from Fethering as possible. Then he would be able to develop his own personality.
The Grenstons’ haircuts were finally finished. At Mim’s insistence Connie had snipped a little more off above her husband’s ears – “don’t want him walking through Fethering looking like the Abdominal Snowman.” Theo waved a mirror around behind Mim’s head for her to check her flame-red Louise Brooks look. “There, you’ll have all the men flocking round, Mim.”
“Just like you do, Theo,” she said rather daringly.
He giggled prettily at the idea, then caught Carole’s eye and grinned.
