The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery) Read online

  In less time than seemed possible an ambulance arrived and a pair of paramedics took over from Jess and Sam. Five minutes later a police constable arrived.

  ‘Okay,’ said the woman in charge after they had worked on Linzi for some minutes, ‘she’s still with us, just about, but there’s a serious head injury so we’ll take her to Southampton General to the Neurological Unit. Is anyone coming with her?’

  There was a moment’s silence until Fiona pulled herself together.

  ‘That had better be me,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch my bag.’ She cast an anxious look round to where the whole art group had assembled and now hovered looking variously sick, shocked, frightened or in Nina’s case, bright-eyed with curiosity. Fiona’s gaze fastened on Harriet.

  ‘You’ll take charge, won’t you, you and Sam?’ She turned to speak to the others. ‘I know this is hard but I think you should try to get on with the class. Or if you can’t bring yourselves to do that, somebody ask Eve for more tea to help things calm down.’

  ‘See if you can find any medication she might be on,’ the paramedic called out. Fiona nodded as she set off across the garden, then she looked back over her shoulder to Sam. ‘I’ll come back here as soon as I know what’s happening,’ she called.

  When she encountered the police constable she put out a hand to attract his attention. ‘I’m going to fetch Linzi’s handbag, the hospital will need it.’ He nodded, listening to his radio, while Fiona halted for a word with Eve and Donald who were both hovering at the garden door.

  ‘I’m going with her,’ she told Eve, ‘no idea when I’ll be back, but I suggest the rest of you stay here till we know how she is.’ She nodded as Eve asked whether they should still serve dinner. ‘I think that would be best.’ She stared at the huddle of people on the terrace. ‘I hope it doesn’t sound callous but as Hughie’s got the meal in hand I suggest you carry on.’ Her mouth quivered as she added: ‘People have to eat, after all.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Eve nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll do tea, coffee and something stronger, for the shock.’

  *

  While Linzi was carefully transferred to the ambulance, Sam helped Harriet to her feet, stifling an exclamation when he saw that her shirt and jeans were soaked with blood from chest to knee where she had been cradling Linzi.

  Fiona paused on her way to the ambulance. ‘I’ve got her bag,’ she said to the policeman who hurried over. ‘in case she needs it. I could only find her nasal spray and HRT pills but that’s all, as far as I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘She did have a homeopathic remedy for her nerves but the bottle is … um … empty now.’

  He nodded and opened the leather clutch bag and found her driving licence. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We know officially who she is: Mrs Elin Bray. What about family?’

  Harriet, shaken but nosy, looked over his shoulder and was surprised at the spelling of Linzi’s name; then she moved out of the way as the constable accompanied Fiona to the ambulance and took down such particulars as she could give him.

  Sam and Harriet looked at each other.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Harriet!’ Sam’s anxiety made him irritable. ‘What the hell are we doing here?’ He looked at her woebegone face and regardless of the mess, enveloped her in a comforting hug. ‘Straight up to your room for a shower,’ he said.

  Fifteen minutes later he knocked on her door and handed her a large glass of Laphroaig. ‘Get this down you,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t argue and don’t try to talk. It’ll do you a power of good; there’s hot water, honey and lemon in there.’ He poked his head into the bathroom. ‘Here, I’ll shove your clothes into this plastic bag Eve gave me. She says she’ll run your stuff through the washing machine.’

  Harriet shuddered. ‘She needn’t bother. I’m not wearing any of it ever again.’

  ‘I’ve put my messy shirt in as well,’ Sam spoke mildly. ‘I washed downstairs, but you can’t just chuck your stuff out in that state.’ He looked anxiously at her, huddled half-dressed in her thin kimono, and made a decision. ‘Put some warm clothes on, we’re getting out of here for an hour.’ When she looked up to protest he said: ‘We’ll be back in time for dinner. That’s the least we can do to support Fiona. No good deserting the sinking ship, but you need to get away for a time and I know exactly where to go. Get a move on and finish your drink.’

  Shaking, Harriet obediently slung a jumper over her clean T-shirt and slipped her feet into a pair of loafers. She swallowed the whisky and tidied her hair, picked up her bag and went slowly downstairs.

  Sam was waiting by the front door and he hurried across the tiled floor to take her arm. ‘Dinner was originally planned for 8pm but they’ve put it forward. I doubt if anyone will want to stay up.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly 4.45pm; we won’t be late.’

  ‘Fiona wanted us to take charge,’ she began as he steered her through the front gate. ‘We can’t let her down.’

  ‘We’re not letting her down.’ He towed her along without lessening his pace. ‘I told Eve you’re suffering from shock as you bore the brunt of it and I said we’d be back in plenty of time. I told Donald to liaise with Eve and make sure people jot down any alcohol in the Honesty Book. Hopefully that won’t put too much strain on him – the drink, I mean. I also suggested that if people start to get restive he’s to take them back into the garden room and give them something to do. He’s a teacher, let him teach. It’ll help him to take some responsibility. Now, shut up and let’s get a move on.’

  They were halfway down the road when Harriet pulled herself together and asked where they were going. ‘Not the pub, Sam, I’ll be drunk as a skunk.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He was comforted by this return to something like Harriet’s usual manner. ‘I thought we needed a quiet half-hour somewhere peaceful. Come on.’ He steered her in the opposite direction.

  She went along with him but was surprised when, on passing under the mediaeval stone archway that was one of the two remaining city gates, they turned away from the Cathedral Close and stopped at an ancient doorway that stood open to show a steep, narrow flight of stairs.

  ‘Up you go, Harriet,’ he gave her a gentle push.

  At the top of the stairs she exclaimed in delight. ‘I haven’t been in here for years, Sam. You’re a genius. It’s perfect.’

  Pleased at the success of his plan, Sam smiled and led her into the tiny church of St Swithun-upon-Kingsgate. Bathed in the late autumn sunshine that filtered through the small windows, the church was a haven of ancient peace, a world away from the busy little city so close at hand, and far, far from the brutish disruption of the previous hour. Harriet sat down with her eyes closed, letting the warmth and light soothe her.

  Sam thought she dropped into a doze and was glad, so he said a couple of prayers – for the injured Linzi and for his cousin’s peace of mind. After about 20 minutes there was still no sound from Harriet apart from a gentle buzzing that made him grin. He decided not to tease her, although she swore she never snored, so he added a prayer for the rest of the art group and their hosts, that whatever troubled them might be resolved. He kept his head bowed for a moment then took out his iPad. A murmur made him look up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Harriet sounded sleepy but the drawn look had gone from her face. ‘I can’t believe I dropped off, what time is it?’ She looked at her watch, made a face and asked again: ‘What’s that you’re reading?’

  ‘Trollope,’ he said. ‘Did you know he described this church in exact detail in The Warden?

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Harriet sat up and looked appreciatively at her surroundings. ‘It’s a perfect little place.’

  Sam leaned back in his pew, trying to identify a pattern, some kind of sense as to why and how Linzi Bray could have fallen so disastrously. He glanced at his cousin but she looked relaxed and he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. They sat together in friendly silence, glad of each other’s company until Harriet roused herself.

  ‘I could do with a cup of tea,’
she murmured. ‘Is the Cathedral refectory still open?’

  He checked his watch and shook his head. ‘There are plenty of places in town if you’re desperate.’

  ‘Let’s go then.’ She picked up her bag and light jacket and led the way to the door. ‘This was just what I needed, Sam, thank you. I’ll be fine now.’

  Instead of tea Sam bought cornets from the ice-cream seller by the Cathedral and they sat on the low wall nearby. He slid a glance at her, taking stock, and said: ‘So? Feel up to talking about it?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She licked her ice-cream appreciatively. ‘I didn’t want to let the world into the little church but it doesn’t seem such an intrusion out in the sunshine. What are you thinking?’

  ‘Hard to say without sounding melodramatic,’ he said slowly, looking for inspiration across the paved area to the Cathedral. ‘Was that an accident, do we think?’

  She gave a little sigh as her shoulders slumped down.’I’d like to think so, but I can’t be sure. What makes you ask?’

  ‘That scatter of rubble, bits of slate, stones, etcetera, on one of the steps down to the pool,’ he said. ‘You shouted to warn me, remember?’

  She turned pale. ‘Oh God, yes, you’re right. I nearly took a tumble on there and yelled at you to be careful. What—?’

  ‘It’s something out of place in a garden that has nothing out of place; not a weed, not a rogue blade of grass, not a rose that hasn’t been dead-headed. There’s been no rain for days so the steps aren’t slippery and the place is immaculately kept. The person – Hughie, isn’t it – who gardens to that standard is not someone who lets random bits of stone lie around, let alone where the unwary could turn an ankle and fall into the pool.’

  ‘Thus possibly hitting one’s head on one of the paving slabs,’ Harriet added reluctantly and shuddered. ‘There was so much blood, I couldn’t believe it. Those poor fish, I wonder if Hughie’s had time to get out there and rescue them?’ She thought about the mess in the small rectangular pool. ‘I suppose scalp wounds always bleed profusely but … oh, I don’t know. That was hardly a mere scalp wound so it’s probably not so surprising.’

  Their eyes met and Sam frowned. ‘What was she doing out there anyway?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Didn’t someone say she’d gone to her room?’

  ‘She was upset about that newspaper report.’ Harriet thought back to the tea-break. ‘I think we all were, it’s a dreadful thing to have happened but it was an accident – wasn’t it?’ Her face was sombre as she thought about what she had just said. ‘That foul Nina made a tasteless joke about the dead girl looking like Linzi. Fiona told her off pretty sharply but Linzi looked stricken.’

  She finished her-ice cream and stared at the West door of the Cathedral ahead of her. ‘You know what, Sam? Nina was right; the French girl did have a look of Linzi. Not in the way she insinuated, that was pure spite, but I checked. In the photograph she was standing by a tall young man and she was tiny, like Linzi in build, and her hair was a similar colour. That was all, they were quite dissimilar when it came to features and you wouldn’t mistake them for relatives. I wonder why it upset Linzi so badly.’

  She heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose this clears up once and for all the idea that she’s been doing all this stuff herself. I mean, even a seriously disturbed attention-seeker is hardly going to set herself a trap like that. Unless …’ She frowned, ‘… Linzi did have a lot to drink last night, maybe she was still pissed and simply tripped?’

  Sam grunted doubtfully; he was concentrating on an idea of his own. ‘I still don’t get why she was in the garden but, hang on …’ he turned to her, eyes bright with excitement, ‘… she’s been getting texts and silent calls, hasn’t she? Do you suppose she had a call telling her to meet someone by the pool?’

  ‘Not a call,’ Harriet was intrigued, ‘unless it was pre-arranged. She was on the terrace and I was in earshot all through the break, but there could have been a text.’

  She pictured the scene. ‘She was loitering by the garden door looking a bit lost. I noticed particularly and wondered about her, then—’ She jerked her head up, mirroring his excitement. ‘That’s it, Sam, what a brainwave! She took out her phone and read a text. I didn’t see her face at first because I was scrolling down my own messages, but when I looked at her again,’ Harriet’s forehead creased, ‘she was absolutely horrified and staring straight at me. I remember I thought she looked as though she wanted to cry, as though someone had betrayed her.’

  She bit her lip and whispered: ‘I had the feeling she thought I was the person who had betrayed her, Sam.’

  Chapter 9

  Saturday, early evening

  Just after 6pm Harriet and Sam slipped in through the front door of Tadema Lodge hoping to go unobserved. Their luck was out.

  ‘There you are, we wondered what had happened to you two.’ Clare Yarrow met them at the foot of the stairs. ‘Did you go to the hospital? Is there any news?’

  ‘I was just going to ask you that,’ Harriet said quietly. ‘I’m sure Fiona will be back as soon as she can. Sam and I have been for a walk; fresh air seemed a good idea.’ Clare looked disappointed and flicked her frizz of hair from side to side showing a tendency to discuss Linzi’s accident until Harriet, biting her tongue, said politely: ‘Do excuse us, Clare. We’d better get changed for dinner. I think Eve suggested we should all meet up at about 6.30pm.’

  *

  Sam knocked on Harriet’s door as she was doing up her necklace. ‘I’m still worrying about it,’ he admitted. ‘It’s got under my skin, the whole stalking business and now this disaster. I can’t reconcile the two things: a manicured garden; and a messy scatter of stones left exactly where they could cause an accident. I think it went wrong,’ he said slowly. ‘I wonder if it was intended to be in line with the other ‘incidents’ which have been more like warnings – a shallow river, phone calls and letters, nasty tricks with insects. This time it’s pure chance Linzi hit her head as she fell, because I’d have thought strewing pebbles on a step was more likely to result in a broken ankle.’

  ‘Well,’ Harriet frowned at her reflection in the mirror, ‘who’s to say she hasn’t broken her ankle anyway? The poor creature was unconscious when we found her, and a miracle she hadn’t landed head first in the water. She’d have drowned.’ She checked her watch. ‘I wish Fiona would get in touch; it’s so awful, not knowing.’

  ‘You know,’ Sam, too, was looking thoughtful, ‘I’ve said it before; this whole stalking thing has been very peculiar, very amateur. It seems to have started as a campaign to unsettle Linzi: the silent calls; the empty envelopes; the sensation of being watched; and the suspicion that someone had been in her house. None of the stuff you hear about, like where the stalker announces via the internet a teenage party at the victim’s house, or a fake “House for Sale, Open Viewing” kind of thing. Nobody else is pulled into it; no poison-pen letters to the neighbours; not even when the pressure’s ramped up.

  ‘It’s a nasty-minded nuisance until you get scratches on the car, which is criminal damage; then there’s the incident in the river which constitutes what – grievous bodily harm? Assault? I don’t know the terminology but it’s a definite step up the scale from silent phone calls.’ He shook his head, looking bewildered, adding: ‘It’s the wasps that get me. Did someone find a load of dead wasps here? Or did somebody actually bring the wasps with them? Because that’s insane.’

  ‘I imagine Fiona’s reminded the police by now that Linzi made a complaint earlier,’ Harriet said slowly. ‘You’re right, Sam, this has escalated.’ She caught him eyeing her and shook her head.’ ‘I know what you’re going to say: if she really did tell the police surely they’d have been all over us by now? I mean, even we have suspicions.’

  With a shiver she quoted the Litany: ‘From envy, hatred and malice, and all uncharitableness, Good Lord deliver me’. Some things never change, Sam. That’s what this is: malice, hatred and the rest.’ She hesitated. ‘What worries me even more
is that, as of today, the stalker, whoever it is, seems to have changed his or her method. We’ve said before that Eve runs a tight ship, so a random intruder seems unlikely. Think, Sam. Who wasn’t in class?’

  *

  A very subdued group assembled in the elegant drawing room that glowed in the light of the early evening sun as it shone through the large windows.

  ‘I gather you and Sam sloped off,’ Jess sat down beside Harriet. ‘Wise move.’

  ‘He gave me no chance to argue,’ Harriet confessed. ‘I was the one who pulled her out and I must admit I was pretty shocked. Still, a change of scenery did me a world of good. How about the rest of you?’ Jess had changed out of her painting outfit, scruffy jeans and smock, into one of her flowing pre-Raphaelite gowns, this one in a regal purple with her plaits done up in buns on each side. Beside her Harriet felt drab in a blue linen top and navy trousers but consoled herself that her heavy silver necklace cheered it up.

  ‘That’s a fabulous outfit, Jess. Do you make them yourself? Holman Hunt and the rest would be falling over themselves to paint you in it.’

  ‘Why, thanks, Harriet,’ Jess was gratified. ‘My mother taught me – she was a terrific dressmaker.’ She stroked her velvet skirt. ‘As to what we did after … after the ambulance had left, the answer’s not a lot. The policeman was about to take statements when—’

  Harriet exclaimed. ‘Oh Lord, that never occurred to us! Was he furious that we’d gone?’

  There was a faint grin on Jess’s face. ‘Don’t panic, Harriet. He’d just taken out his notebook when he got an urgent call. His wife was in labour, so he scarpered. Someone will be round tomorrow to get the details, so you’re off the hook.’

  ‘Phew!’ Harriet let out a sigh of relief. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Donald shooed us in here and Eve brought round tea and coffee, or stronger drinks to those who wanted it. Nobody talked about it really,’ she looked surprised, then shrugged. ‘What could anyone say? I asked Donald if I could go back to the garden room and get on with my painting to take my mind off it. Several of us did that.’