Death in the Garden Read online

  Edwina returned to her friends. Alice was smoking and Cassie was on the telephone, characteristic drugs in both instances. Cassie seemed to be having difficulty in making her call.

  ‘Who’s she phoning?’

  ‘A journalist chum. If there’s any publicity she only wants the best for us.’

  Edwina shrugged.

  Cassie emerged from her tussle with the telephone. ‘Annoying. She’s out.’

  ‘Just as well. I don’t think Sergeant Crail would be pleased.’

  ‘Oh him.’ Cassie dropped her voice a tone.

  Edwina recognised the note in her voice. My God, she likes him. Her friend never ceased to amaze her. It could be mutual, too. Cassie rarely mistook her market.

  ‘I tried to make us some coffee but the sergeant wouldn’t let me in the kitchen. They’re all over the place out there. You ought to take a look.’

  Cassie got up. ‘Yes. I might do that. They didn’t ask permission. I suppose the police never do.’

  ‘We ought to be thinking about Luke.’ Alice stopped smoking and put out her cigarette, as if it seemed bad taste to smoke.

  ‘I am thinking about Luke. And about us. And I’m also thinking the police must believe we poisoned him.’

  ‘You’re joking.’ Alice put out a hand for her cigarettes again. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t smoke so much, I’ll kipper all the layettes.…’

  ‘No, Cassie’s right,’ said Edwina in a decisive tone. ‘If he was poisoned, and if he took the stuff here, never mind how, then we are bound to come into it.’

  ‘But murder …’

  It was the first time the word had come out between them.

  ‘I never said murder.’ Edwina’s voice was cool.

  ‘No.’ Alice had taken out a cigarette and was holding it, unlit. ‘I wish I hadn’t.’

  But the word was out.

  ‘Let’s think about this,’ said Edwina. She felt as if someone hard and calm, outside herself, had taken control.

  ‘Go on.’ Cassie gave her a nod.

  ‘Luke has died of poison. We don’t know of what poison. Possibly the police don’t know yet, but I think they have made a guess. By the timing (which the doctors must have estimated) he took it on Saturday at the reception we gave Lily and my father. Before he died Luke had asked to see me today to talk about Tim. I don’t know what he wanted, but the police are bound to start thinking.’

  ‘It all depends,’ started Cassie then stopped.

  ‘Yes, it depends if Luke took the poison by accident. Or left any indication he might kill himself. Because of the note to me and because of what we all know of Luke, I think suicide is out.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Cassie.

  ‘I agree. Luke would never have killed himself. He was frightened of the dark.’ Alice sounded sad. ‘I am, myself, so I understood. We used to talk about it. People like us would never risk the dark.’

  ‘So it’s accident or murder. And on our ground.’

  A dark shadow appeared at the door, blocking out the sunlight. It was Sergeant Crail who moved into the room and the sense of darkness was gone. You’re being imaginative, Edwina told herself. You’re seeing too much light and shade.

  ‘Miss Ross?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant?’ Cassie stepped forward.

  ‘Miss Fortune, Miss Leather? I should like to speak to you all, please.’

  They moved together and stood in their characteristic grouping. ‘Of course,’ said Cassie.

  ‘No.’ He was in charge. He could meet Cassie on her own ground and hold it steady. ‘No, not together. Not here. In the next room, separately.’

  An hour later, all three of them were together again. Edwina was the last to be interviewed and she emerged to find the other two waiting for her.

  She took in a deep breath. ‘Are they still going to be around?’ They were the police. No need to name them. ‘ For long, I mean?’

  ‘Just finishing up.’ Cassie spoke with more confidence than she felt. Privately she had the feeling the detective force were like mites or rodents; once you got them in they were hard to get out.

  Edwina steadied her breathing. ‘ Let’s go to Tuttons for coffee, then.’

  The restaurant was just opening for the day so it was empty, quiet and cool. There was a distant thread of music in the background but the volume had not yet been turned up.

  Cassie poured out the coffee. ‘So what did he ask you? I’ll tell you what he asked me. Where I was all Saturday? What I did on Sunday? What I’d had to drink at the reception. Who served the food and drink? Had I noticed what Luke had?’

  She stopped. She stirred her coffee, first clockwise and then widdershins, and watched it swirl.

  ‘He’s not stupid. Not totally nice, but not stupid,’ she went on, as if conceding a point.

  ‘I suppose he asked us all the same questions,’ said Alice. ‘ I got much the same.’

  Edwina nodded. ‘Same here.’ Perhaps he had looked her over as if he had wanted to press her about the reference to Tim in Luke’s letter, but he had not done so. He was waiting.

  They studied each other over the coffcecups. They knew that what they had been through had been a short, cursory examination, none the less menacing for that, and perhaps more so. There was more to come.

  They were intelligent women and it was obvious to them that the sergeant had, to a certain extent, already made a picture in his mind, and that he would be back for more.

  ‘I wonder if I can get some breakfast,’ said Cassie. ‘I haven’t had any breakfast and I won’t get anything with that lot swarming over my kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll have gone,’ Alice murmured soothingly.

  ‘Think so?’ She went off and presently reappeared with a waitress carrying a tray on which rested rolls, butter and fig jam, together with another pot of coffee.

  They all had some more coffee, then Edwina joined Cassie in eating a roll. She began to feel better, less physically sick, and the colour returned to her cheeks.

  Alice and Cassie, who had been worried about her, relaxed a little. For all three of them, real sorrow and grief for Luke began to surface through the first sense of shock.

  ‘Poor old boy,’ said Cassie. ‘We shall miss him.’

  ‘Mmm.’ It sounded as though Alice was agreeing, but she might just have been biting into the roll she had seized. Cassie gave her friends a thoughtful look.

  ‘Don’t choke yourself,’ she said.

  Edwina kept quiet. She was still making up her mind how she felt about the death of Luke. He had left a question mark hanging in her mind with his request to talk about Tim. What could Luke have had to say about Tim? They had hardly known each other.

  Or had they? Holes seemed to be opening up in the ground all around Edwina.

  Cassie reached out and took her hand. ‘ Calm down, love.’

  ‘I am calm. You have no idea how calm I am. But I’m entitled to think. There seems to me a lot to think about.’

  As if to bear out her words, the sun was blotted out again by the tall figure of Sergeant Crail.

  ‘I thought I saw you come in here, ladies. May I join you?’ He accepted a cup of coffee poured by Cassie. ‘ I’m sorry to have invaded your house, Miss Ross. I’m afraid we shall have to keep you out of your kitchen for a bit longer.’

  He made it sound almost a medical matter: Miss Ross, your kitchen has a serious infection. Perhaps it had, for all she knew.

  ‘Nice place here,’ he said absently.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Cassie. I eat here quite a lot. Handy, you see, if I’m busy.’

  ‘You don’t use your kitchen much?’

  ‘Not too much. Not a lot of time to cook. And I’ve only just moved in.’

  He finished his coffee. ‘If you wouldn’t mind coming back I’d like to have one last word with you. Won’t take long. But you’d better hear it from me.’

  He kept his word. Within a very few minutes he had told them that they had found what he believed to be poison.


  He told them one by one and, once again, separately. It seemed to be the way he wanted to play it.

  ‘He asked me if I drank whisky,’ said Cassie. ‘I said No.’

  ‘I told him I didn’t, either,’ said Alice.

  ‘He asked me too,’ said Edwina. ‘I said I did sometimes. When I felt the need.’

  Cassie summed up the situation: ‘It looks as though there is poison in the whisky decanter that we set aside for Luke. If the tests confirm it, then that will be where he got the poison. You see where that leaves us.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Edwina. ‘One of us did it. We three are the best placed to have put the poison in it.’

  ‘There is an alternative,’ said Alice. ‘One of us was meant to drink it.’

  It did not rule out the idea that one of them could have put the poison in the decanter of whisky, but added a gloss to it. It was like a tiny spore of some dangerous mould settling on their relationship.

  ‘I’m the only one who ever drinks whisky.’ Edwina took up the idea, examined it and found it unpleasant. ‘You two hate it.’ Another poisoned seed planted, as if by chance, in the back yard

  of their friendship.

  ‘Damn,’ said Cassie. ‘So we can choose, either victim or poisoner.’

  ‘It could be someone from outside.’

  ‘And I know whom you mean,’ cried Edwina. ‘ The dark-coated

  gentleman who’s after Edwina.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Cassie. ‘Calm down, Eddie; shut up, Alice.

  That couldn’t happen.’

  For a moment they were a trio again.

  It seemed quite easy for them, at that moment, to slip back into

  their ordinary lives.

  They parted, Alice and Edwina striding off, the one to her shop

  and Edwina to her gallery.

  Sergeant Crail, just driving away, saw them both.

  Sergeant Crail looked at Edwina and remembered that she had complained of obscene telephone calls. Coincidence? Or was there a connection to be made? He might have to make it.

  Behind a sober, even sad, appearance he was a lively-minded young man who liked to feel life was growing all around him into interesting events in which he could partake. He found the trio, Cassie, Edwina and Alice, long known to him by repute, fascinating.

  He was reluctant to admit it, even to himself, but he admired them all. And for Cassie he felt something much stronger, a decided attraction. If they had met under different circumstances he would already have been making his move. Not to be rejected, either, if he was any judge. True, she was a rising young architect while he was only a junior detective but they were equal in ambition and energy. Besides, from his sources, he knew how vulnerable Cassie’s financial position was, as well as one or two other little problems. No, they could have made it, but for this bloody murder.

  He believed Luke’s death was murder. But there was something in the nature of the poison used that introduced a doubt. He had not told the girls what the poison was thought to be: or that it was an aphrodisiac …

  That was nasty, wasn’t it? Introducing sexual undercurrents; that had to be thought about.

  Edwina had been the one to whom Luke Tory had sent a letter asking for a talk about a man who was dead.

  Always it came back to Edwina.

  Edwina saw him looking at her from the car window, and although she could not read his thoughts her own ran strangely parallel.

  It was all very well for those two, for Alice and Cassie, but they weren’t at the end of the telephone which brought such unpleasant calls. They had had silent calls, but for her, there had been words and threats.

  As she walked into the gallery she thought: I won’t be a victim. I will not be a victim.

  The gallery was warm with the sunlight flooding through the big window and it smelt of paint and new wood. Her assistant, Dougie, had already opened up in case of an early buyer; he had sorted the post and put on a pot of coffee.

  Edwina felt she had had too much coffee already and her stomach gave an angry swirl.

  He came in with a steaming mug while she was standing there.

  ‘I thought you were in Edinburgh.’ He took a gulp. ‘Kit Langley’s been ringing and ringing. I told him that’s where you were.’

  ‘I should have been.’ Briefly she told him about Luke’s death, passing as lightly as she could over the police investigation. No point in alarming him. Dougie had been hired because he had a wide range of contacts in the world of people who bought pictures, and a beautiful selling manner with them. The other side of the coin was that he was a gossip who could be relied on to spread a tale and improve on it. He would get to know what was going on, of course, but he could wait. ‘Poor old Luke. Who’d have thought it? He looked as if he’d go on for ever. What a shame.’ Dougie looked sad. He hadn’t known Luke well, but death was brushing close. First Tim (whom he had loved and admired) and now Luke. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘Ring up Giles Mackintosh and explain I’ve been prevented from coming. Apologies, of course, but don’t say too much.’

  Dougie put down his coffee. ‘Sure. Then I’ve got to push off to see Rosemary, I suppose I’d better do that still? I promised. She’s got someone lined up who might buy the big Tosh pastel of the women bathing. Got a dance studio. Thinks it might do for the entrance hall.’

  Rosemary was a go-between much used by both artists and gallery owners to effect a sale. She took her percentage from both seller and buyer. For some reason no one objected and Edwina had never been sure why. It must have something to do with charm, of which Rosemary had her share. Or the good wine which she poured out lavishly.

  ‘You do that, but don’t drink too much claret.’

  Dougie gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Chablis this month, and a good year. Strawberries too if I’m lucky.’

  ‘Sell that picture,’ commanded Edwina. ‘And don’t let Rosemary beat you down.’ Hard bargaining was the other side of Rosemary’s charm. But the gallery wanted to shift the Tosh panel.

  ‘Some coffee before I go?’ He waved the pot.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah,’ he looked at her with sympathy. ‘Got that nasty squirmy feeling, eh?’

  Dougie was still talking in that soft, almost feminine voice he had on occasion, alternating with much deeper tones. People’s voices didn’t always show their sex, did they? But they did reveal their emotion. Dougie was fonder of her than she’d realised. Poor Dougie.

  A moment passed, then Edwina said, ‘So you know? I’ve been wondering when to say. How did you know?’

  ‘Oh, my sister had a baby last year. And the year before that, if it comes to it. A really keen breeder.’

  ‘I don’t think I am.’ Edwina was rueful; she was surprised at the waves of malaise that swept over her. Her body had been invaded by an alien force that was growing in strength all the time.

  ‘Not to worry. You’ll find I’m a very good nanny. Ask my sister.’ ‘Thanks, Dougie.’ ‘Don’t mention. I’ll be off then.’ When he’d gone, Edwina got down to some work. How odd

  that of all the people she had told so far it should be Dougie who

  was the most warming and the most comforting.

  She put her hand where she supposed the baby must lie.

  Nothing to feel: it was still too small and too secret. A pity to

  invade its privacy with tests and scans.

  Shut up, Edwina, she told herself. You are going to have a child,

  a normal, healthy child. This ought to be the most important thing

  in your life just now.

  Only sometimes life itself seemed to be full of menace.

  She bent back to her work; she was determined to survive and

  raise that child.

  She was putting together the catalogue for her autumn show on

  Angelica Kaufmann. She settled down to work, soon becoming

  engrossed, and worked on for some time in peace. When the

  te
lephone next rang she stretched out her hand, absently.

  There it was, that low, gravelly yet strangely demasculined voice.

  Damn it, she thought, I feel as if I could know that voice if I tried

  harder.

  The voice with its message. The voice was the message, Edwina

  thought.

  ‘Edwina?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘I know it is you; I know you are alone. Do you know why I

  ring?’

  Edwina wanted to put the phone down, to cut off this horrible

  call, but she couldn’t. A dreadful fascination held her, and stayed

  her hand.

  ‘I want to teach you to love. I have taken means to bring you

  up to scratch.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Edwina found her heart bumping so that

  the words were in gasps. ‘ Explain that.’

  But the voice had delivered its message and was gone.

  A voice looking for a victim, Edwina said to herself.

  I won’t be a victim.

  But how can you help what you are?

  Chapter Three

  If you are not to be a victim, then you must take action. Thus Edwina decided. A couple of days passed normally enough, if you overlook the death of Luke. Edwina, Cassie and Alice did not meet, but talked as usual on the telephone, saying nothing much, but enjoying the contact. They were a group still in spite of everything; that mattered. On the wall in front of her was a rack of keys, one to the gallery, one to her flat, one to Lily’s flat (entrusted to her by Lily before her wedding), all clearly labelled; Edwina hated keys that did not announce their identity: useless. Everyone knew how Edwina felt about keys, so Lily had put a big red label on hers.

  She came to her conclusion as she spent a normal working day. She talked on the telephone to the Edinburgh gallery, the Elton, promising to fly up later, she called her doctor at the clinic and confirmed an appointment she had to see her later. She had a light lunch with Dougie who had returned triumphantly from his outing. He had sold the Rita Tosh panel. Edwina was glad to see it go. She had liked it once, might like it again if she had a rest from it, but now she was bored by it. And the money would be useful.