‘That’s right.’
‘But Mrs Ballantyne has told me you stayed with her that night, at her house.’
He turned back to Vera, who was looking very worried.
‘Mrs Ballantyne,’ he said, ‘that’s correct, isn’t it? You told me Audrey was with you that night. But she can’t have been here with Elsie and with you at your house at the same time, can she? I’d like the truth now, please.’
The medium seemed to have lost the power of speech. Her eyes flitted around like those of a cornered animal.
‘I, er … I-I …’ she stuttered, then fell silent again.
Audrey Lewis stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the mantelpiece and drew herself up with a straight back.
‘All right, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you the truth. I’m a mother, and I can’t abandon my daughter. Can you blame me for wanting to protect her? But she asked me to tell you she hadn’t killed Joan. I said what I said to protect her, but it was a lie. Yes, a lie, and I don’t care. I admit I wasn’t with Elsie.’
Marwell spun round to glare at his wife.
‘So it was you,’ he said. ‘You killed her, you evil witch.’
He flung himself towards Elsie and grabbed her by the throat.
‘You murdered my poor Joanie,’ he said, choking on his tears as he shook her back and forth.
Cradock leapt forward and prised the man off her, pinning his arms behind his back. Marwell collapsed like a rag doll, weeping uncontrollably. Elsie staggered back, rubbing her hands against her throat.
‘It’s not true, Inspector,’ she gasped. ‘I never laid a finger on her.’
Jago was silent. Elsie looked at her mother uncomprehendingly.
‘But Mum,’ she cried, ‘what are you saying? Don’t do this to me!’
‘Don’t worry, my love,’ said Audrey. Then turning to Jago she said calmly: ‘It’s true, Inspector. I was not with Elsie that night. But I can assure you with all my heart that I know Elsie did not kill her. Because I did.’
‘Mum?’ said Elsie again. She scanned the room, her eyes wide with pain and confusion.
‘Inspector Jago,’ said Audrey, her voice steady and measured, ‘I have only one true friend in this world, and that’s Vera. I’d always had my doubts about my son’s wife and the quality of her commitment to him, but it was only when dear Vera told me what one of her clients had said that my worst fears were confirmed. As you so astutely suspected, Vera was visited in her professional capacity by a young woman who works at the cinema, and during their consultation this young lady let slip that a colleague of hers was expecting a baby. That would normally be of no interest to me, but then Vera said the girl had revealed that the colleague in question was my daughter-in-law, Joan. She’d said the pregnancy wasn’t showing yet. I imagine that to her this was just another salacious detail, but to me it was clear as day that if Joan was indeed pregnant the child could not be my son Richard’s. I discussed with Vera what we should do about this, and we decided we should confront Joan with what we’d learnt and ask her if it was true.’
‘So you went to Joan’s flat on Sunday evening,’ said Jago.
‘Yes, we went there together. As we got near the flat we saw a man leaving, in the moonlight. We weren’t close enough to see who he was, but he seemed unsteady on his feet, and when he said something Joan giggled like a schoolgirl. She was behaving no better than a common prostitute. When he’d gone she closed the door, but we went over and rang the bell, and she opened it. We went in and confronted her – I told her I knew she was pregnant, and demanded to know who the father was.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She said it was my daughter’s husband, Derek. I couldn’t believe it – that she could stand there as bold as brass and say such a wicked thing. I told her she’d betrayed both my son and my daughter. She had the nerve to stand there, looking down her nose at me, and laugh in my face. She called me something I cannot repeat, and said Vera was a witch. Then she flew at me like a cat, her fingers like claws. It took both of us to fight her off. She ran into the bedroom and tried to shut the door, but we pushed our way in. We struggled together and I tripped her so she fell to the floor. Vera sat on her and slapped her face. There was a chair knocked over beside me, with a pair of stockings draped over it. They looked expensive, and all I could think of was stories I’d read in the newspapers about prostitutes who’d been murdered by an unknown man using a stocking. Then Vera said, “Get one of those harlot stockings and let’s teach this bitch a lesson.”’
‘No!’ gasped Vera. ‘Audrey!’
Audrey ignored her. ‘I grabbed it,’ she went on, speaking faster, ‘and wrapped it round her neck to frighten her, but all she did was spit in my face. I don’t know what happened next – all I remember is feeling a terrible anger raging inside me. I remember screaming at her, and the next thing I knew the stocking was tight round her neck – and she wasn’t moving any more. I looked at Vera. I said, “She’s dead. What are we going to do?” She said, “We’ll do nothing – just leave her here and go. No one’ll see us in the blackout, and we’ll go back to my place. I’ll say you were with me there all evening and all night.” So that’s what we did.’
A look of horror crossed Vera’s face.
‘No, no, it wasn’t like that,’ she said, backing away towards the wall. ‘You’ve got to believe
