The Nursery Rhyme Murders Page 10

  ‘You know, she may be an awkward cow; correction – she usually is an awkward cow, but, you can’t deny it – she sure has “it” hasn’t she?’ Gwilym remarked later. He was enjoying a quick breather as he stood behind the trestle tables set out in front of the pub to ensure maximum sales to the crowds attending the fête. He’d been watching as Tessa, after a brief and surprisingly funny, opening speech, stepped off the podium and began signing autographs and chatting with the large number of adoring fans grouped around her. As predicted, with the news of her presence rapidly spreading not just through the villages, but across the entire county, the crowds at the event were very much greater even than previous years, which had all, in themselves, been regarded as successful.

  The whole of the green, and those gardens immediately surrounding it, were festive with bunting and brightly coloured stalls and sideshows. All were doing excellent business with the good-natured people thronging the spaces between them. The air itself was full of the smells of hot doughnuts, hot dogs and candy floss. The weather had more than done its part and the day had the glorious warmth of a near-perfect summer’s day. It had even provided the lightest of breezes to lessen the somewhat sweaty effects of the tightly packed mass of humanity – not to mention the animals, who were participants in the various competitions scheduled throughout the afternoon.

  Desmond nodded, agreeing with both parts of his partner’s comment. He had himself, years before, briefly considered a career on the stage rather than behind it, until he had reluctantly accepted, as he once wryly explained to a friend, that ‘I didn’t have sufficient of “it” – whatever “it” is, to paraphrase Prince Charles’. His long-time friend, however, not only had a mega singing talent, she also had much more than her fair share of that intangible “it” quality and it blazed forth now, enveloping her intoxicated fans.

  ‘See how Edwina keeps near her, without being pushy,’ he said, gesturing to where the quiet, solid figure was standing protectively near, but not too near, her partner. He himself, had been standing with her, but having seen how effectively she controlled the space around Tessa, had left her briefly to refresh all their drinks.

  ‘Tessa’s bloody lucky to have her, you know,’ Gwilym said, ‘but I bet the silly woman doesn’t know it!’ he added, well aware of the tempestuous star’s total self-absorption.

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Desmond demurred. ‘I’ve watched Edwina bring her back down to earth with just a glance, or the quietest touch on her arm; no one’s ever had that amount of influence on Tessa, before. It’s lovely to see, and I think, at some level, Tessa knows she is lucky, very lucky, so, hopefully, she won’t screw this one up,’ he added, reflecting on the star’s past, littered with broken relationships.

  ‘It really is good to see everyone enjoying themselves,’ he continued, watching the laughing crowds, many drinking pints, and as many eating some of the various hot foods on offer or cooling off with ice-creams. Some, he saw, unbelievably had one of each of the latter two in either hand. ‘With the murder I wasn’t entirely sure we’d have any crowds, let alone they’d enjoy themselves when they got here. Oops! Edwina may need some back-up!’ he added, laughing, suddenly moving back onto the green, as he spied the intimidating bulk of the three Turbill siblings, pushing through the crowds around the celebrity. He was well aware that the scruffy trio could put any professional street beggar to shame when it came to scrounging.

  It was a few minutes before Gwilym, himself kept busy, even with extra staff, could again pause and look out across the green. Ah! he thought catching sight of two figures, looking totally different with their shirt collars undone and jackets slung over their shoulders, sauntering through the crowds. I’ve been expecting you two! He smiled. He knew from his own experience that a large crowd-puller such as this was too good an opportunity for the two detectives to miss.

  ‘Relax Colin. Enjoy your day off!’ smiled Calderwood.

  ‘Day off?’ grunted his DS. ‘I don’t really see that not wearing a tie constitutes a day off! It certainly doesn’t stop the dirty looks we keep getting,’ the stocky DS added sourly. He recognised, though, that having the opportunity to mingle, even semi-informally, with hundreds of local people was certainly too good an opportunity to miss. ‘And once you get used to being treated as if we have some infectious disease, I suppose there are worse way of spending a summer’s day,’ he replied wryly, as he observed yet another family see them, avert their eyes, and quickly move past. Some, he’d noticed, like the Linklaters moments before, had turned their looks of surprisingly hostile unease into weak smiles when they saw they’d been spotted.

  Calderwood smiled, looking totally relaxed, even as his eyes continuously scanned the crowds swirling around them.

  ‘Inevitable Colin, but nothing like people’s reactions in some parts of London, believe me!’ he replied ruefully, his stints in the nation’s capital leaving him with few illusions as to the wide range of attitudes to the police. These ranged through every feeling right up to and including a visceral, generations long, almost murderous, hatred. Looking round the peaceful scene, which, despite some natural reticence towards them, had nothing of this poison, was to him, very welcome. This was particularly so as he knew his time in the county was coming to an end. One of the disadvantages of being regarded as a high-flyer, meant that his return to the Met was a foregone conclusion, if he wanted his progress, already unusually rapid, to continue. And, he was quite sure, that he did.

  ‘Ah! the dog show’s next,’ he said, as he moved to the ropes cordoning off the main show ring and looked across to the time-table on a big board placed at its edge.

  ‘I didn’t know you were into dogs, guv,’ remarked Bulmer curiously.

  ‘Oh, I’m not. I just know someone who is,’ the younger man replied, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable and, to his subordinate’s surprise, blushing slightly. Well, well! What have we here? thought Bulmer, filing the normally very self-possessed younger man’s reaction away for further thought. Despite their very close working relationship, he realised that he knew very little about the private side of the young DI’s life. Something to do a little research on, he thought, smiling.

  Considering the participants, the dog show ended without too many mishaps and one of the highlights of the afternoon, the children’s fancy dress parade, began. The crowd parted good naturedly as the procession made its way from the church and onto the Green. Bulmer, who’s own children loved such events, watched with a little pang as he spent yet another day working and not with them. He smiled, though, as he watched over two dozen youngsters file past, chattering, yet well aware of being the centre of everyone’s attention; except the very smallest, he thought. They had to be constantly shepherded back into line as they, and their attention, wandered.

  ‘It always amazes me,’ said a voice at his side and he turned and saw Desmond looking across at the parade at two of the little ones in obviously home-made but beautifully crafted Tinker Bell outfits, ‘how so many mother’s spend so much time on some of the costumes!’

  ‘Or so much money!’ Bulmer responded drily, as he saw some of older children in a variety of obviously bought or hired costumes.

  Desmond nodded in agreement as he watched the four year old Benson twins saunter past in Spider man costumes. He smiled, as one seemingly took offence at something his brother had said and thumped him, just as they passed the judges’ rostrum, much to their mother’s long-suffering chagrin. ‘There’s a more than usual number of entrants this year,’ he remarked as toddlers gave way to progressively older children. He was pleased to see Dotty and Joe standing a little further down watching proudly as their ten year old great-niece led in the next age group, dressed in a beautiful, and obviously expensive, Snow White costume. The momentary bleak, depthless, sadness on their faces at what might have been, was masked from most, but observed by Desmond. Walking just behind, he was surprised but pleased to see Timothy Blake, looking a bit bewildered, but very happy, shambling be
hind them in a Superman outfit, watched anxiously from the side-lines by Dolly, who was looking even more exhausted, Desmond thought with a pang.

  He saw the Linklaters across on the other side of the ring and was amused that their dress for today was country tweeds; again over the top and, in the ferociously warm weather, likely to lead to a stroke, he thought happily.

  He suddenly remembered his promise to Lily and Abel. He’d discovered that the shy Asian woman was an ardent and genuine fan of Tessa’s. Knowing that the couple themselves would be too shy to approach her, he’d promised to introduce them to her. He walked across to where the singer was chatting at the centre of a large crowd, took her arm and walked her across to the tea tent where Lily was on duty with Abel deputed to keep refilling the large tea urns, which kept him happily near his young wife. Walking Tessa over, he briefed her quickly on a couple of key points.

  ‘Desmond tells me you have one of the best gardens in the village,’ she said, as she shook hands with Lily, instantly breaking through the younger woman’s shyness and reserve and bringing out one of the biggest smiles Desmond had ever seen on the face of the reserved Abel, as he effortlessly set down one of the large tea urns, usually the job of two men.

  ‘Desmond! Desmond!’

  He turned as he smiled resignedly, recognising the unmistakeable tones of Emily Wilkinson calling him. Knowing that it would cost him, his hand was already in his pocket as he walked the short distance to where she and Ellie Grinton were sitting in state as they ran the bric-a-brac and novelty stall.

  ‘We knew you wouldn’t want to miss the chance of buying something!’ she said, smiling wickedly up at him.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’ he asked laughingly

  ‘Of course you do, dear. You don’t have to buy a thing if you don’t want to,’ Ellie replied.

  ‘Don’t I?’ he asked, startled

  ‘No, dear. You can just make a donation instead!’ came back Emily with perfect timing.

  ‘Is that enough?’ he asked, brandishing a tenner.

  ‘Far too much, dear, thank you,’ responded Emily, briskly taking it from him before he changed his mind.

  Laughing, he moved away before he could be stung again. Between dutifully visiting most of the stalls and sideshows and keeping an eyes on Tessa, the afternoon passed quickly and pleasantly, if a shade expensively.

  As indeed, did the evening. Jettisoning their initial plan for a party, out of respect for Alan Rutherford, Desmond and Gwilym had decided they’d take one of the private dining rooms at the pub and give a dinner for Tessa, Edwina and Eleanor. Tessa was behaving well, suspiciously so, in Desmond’s view, so the evening passed with superb food, good wine and witty conversation; a perfect mix in the eyes of all its participants.

  The happy evening produced an added bonus for Desmond as he, at last, solved the mystery of why Tessa was so keen to do the show. Fortunately, he found out only at the very end of the evening, when Tessa was chatting to yet more fans in the public bars – ‘she’s never off stage, that girl!’ Gwilym had marvelled – and he and Edwina had a few moments privacy. It was fortunate insomuch as he was so convulsed with laughter and the story so good, that he’d have blurted it all out had the dinner not already finished.

  As they were all tired after a long day, every one went to bed early and Tessa and Edwina left early the next morning – ‘to get some carbon monoxide into the lungs, darling – I’m hyperventilating with all this oxygen!’ she’d laughed, as they made their farewells.

  Desmond had refused to tell his partner the previous evening what Edwina had told him. His unusual reticence was for the very good reason that he well knew that when Gwilym let loose his roar of laughter, even the Dower House, big as it was, couldn’t keep it from the ears of their guests. Gwilym reluctantly accepted this, along with a promise that he’d be told in the morning. What irritated the hell out of him for the rest of the night, though, was that each time he was dozing off, and several times during the night, when he actually had managed to fall asleep, he was woken by Desmond laughing himself sick, his face stuffed into a pillow; a pillow which Gwilym was sorely tempted to keep his head pressed into.

  ‘Right you bugger, now what’s going on that’s so bloody funny?’ he demanded even as Tessa’s zippy little car left their driveway.

  ‘It’s just that I’ve found out the full story behind Tessa’s keenness to do the show., replied Desmond, starting to laugh again. ‘It appears that her recording contract is being cancelled,’ he added, as they sat down on the front steps, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on their faces.

  ‘Good lord! After all these years! and she’s earned them a fortune; is still doing so, surely?’ said Gwilym, stupefied. ‘But why hasn’t it been in the press? It’s big news by any measure,’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘Because, the contracts are very specific – no announcement of any importance affecting either party can be made before the date of its scheduled re-renewal, or, in this case, non-renewal. They have very punitive measures in place for any breach, apparently. So nothing can be announced for another five weeks or so, until the due date. It explains her keenness to do the show – she wants to announce it and trump whatever their publicity department decide to put out.’

  ‘So what caused the breach then, caused them to want to cancel? Des, I swear if you start laughing again, I will thump you!’ he added, as the other man began to choke with laughter yet again.

  ‘OK! OK! Apparently they wanted her to change her style a little and go on tour even more than she does already. Also, and I think this was the bit that really riled her, they wanted to reduce the side costs they pay her, including her styling and make-up fees.’

  ‘So what’s so bloody funny that you kept me awake all night, laughing like a drain!’ Gwilym interjected irritably.

  His partner took a couple of deep breaths and carried on. ‘She was not happy with this, as you can imagine, and told Theo Landakis. You remember, he’s the new CEO. When he insisted, she lost it apparently. She told him that he had even less ability to recognise true talent than most of the other lizards living under his rock, so the quicker he slithered back under it, and got someone out into the daylight who could actually do so, the better for everyone. She then picked up a photo of he and his wife meeting George W Bush and smashed that – telling him that his politics stank too!’

  ‘Hell! She’s good value, she really is!’ said Gwilym, now starting to laugh himself.

  ‘It gets better,’ his partner assured him ‘When he spluttered something about it being his wife’s favourite picture, she retorted that if his dick was as small as his ability for spotting talent, that would account for his wife possessing the scrunched up face of a bad tempered, face-lifted squirrel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her; displacing, I gather, a couple of other much cherished mementos from the walls!’ He paused. ‘Unfortunately the wife is one of the larger shareholders in the company and, when she heard, threw a wobbly of her own, and announced that they could well do without – and I quote – “that fat, mouthy bitch”, and ordered her contract be cancelled!’

  Desmond again realised at that moment how wise he’d been to not tell his partner the evening before. The Welshman exploded, adding his own loud and growing laughter to his partner’s. Propped helplessly together, the noise they were making was enough to bring Eleanor hurrying out from the shop. Seeing them still sitting on the step and leaning against each other, helpless with laughter, as tears rolled down their cheeks, she wondered, a shade tartly, if they would ever fully grow up.

  Chapter 16

  Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet

  Eating her curds and whey

  Down came a spider

  And went down inside her

  Eating Miss Muffet away!

  Oh yes, I much prefer my version, oh yes! But I made sure I remembered the proper one this time, I don’t want to get smacked again! Oh no! So we’ll do that one -but I do so love mine - and well, we’ll make
it so! Yes, down you go, little ones. That’s good. Now, more blood, there, I think, and… there! Yes! Oh, that’s lovely!’ the figure said, happily gibbering away, as it finally killed its latest, very frightened victim.

  Because of the location, the body was much less likely to be discovered too soon this time. The killer had got frightened by how quickly the first victim had been discovered, having only just left the scene when the gardener had found the body. And the killer wasn’t ready to be caught yet, oh no, there was too much to do, far too much to do!

  *

  ‘Hurry up and hide,’ said Maisie to Benjamin, her younger brother. ‘And I’ll come and find you.’

  ‘You sure?’ asked her sibling with justifiable suspicion. The last time they’d played the game, Maisie had gone off into one of her daydreams and had forgotten to go and look for the five year old.

  ‘Yes, promise,’ said his seven year old sister, a little impatiently. After all, at seven, she was old enough to know that shit happened in life and there was no use in brooding, just get over it and move on.

  ‘Promise?’ he persisted

  ‘Yes!’

  Re-assured, Benjamin hurried off and decided he’d find somewhere really difficult for his sister to find him. Though confined by their parents to their garden, it was very large and offered a multitude of exciting places to hide. He scurried round, decided against the garden shed; then decided against the big pile of dead branches his father had cut from their trees. He also decided against hiding inside the house – it was too babyish and mum had been in a bit of a mood today, so best keep out of her way, thought the little boy with all the wisdom of a five year old.

  Which was how he ended up in the next door garden.

  He’d only ever been in it with his mum before. The last time was when they’d helped the old lady pick her apples the previous Autumn. So it felt sort of exciting but also known at the same time, so he didn’t feel too scared. Thus, with all the blithe forgetfulness of his few short years about parental strictures telling him to keep to his own garden, the little boy wriggled and squirmed through a gap in the big hedge dividing the properties.