LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

loose grasp on reality. And if Nigel Ackford seriously thought someone of his age had any chance of becoming a Pillar . . .’ Goodchild let out a dismissive grunt. ‘I’m no psychologist,’ he admitted generously, though still implying that he put such experts in the same category as alternative therapists. ‘No, I’m not, but from everything I’ve heard about Nigel Ackford – just in the very brief time that I’ve even known of his existence – he seemed to display all the symptoms of bi-polar disorder.’

      ‘Well . . .’

      ‘Up when you saw him at two-thirty this morning,’ the Inspector persisted, ‘and down when he woke up with a crippling hangover some few hours later.’

      ‘But you don’t know—’

      ‘Jude, Mr Ackford had a history of mental illness. He broke down at university. Last year he had three months off from his employers, Renton and Chew. He also—’

      ‘Inspector, he was going to get married. He was about to propose to his girlfriend.’

      This did stop him in his tracks. ‘Might that girlfriend’s name be Wendy?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      He nodded, and exchanged a look with the impassive Detective Sergeant Fallon. ‘We’ve just come from talking to Miss Wendy Fullerton.’

      ‘And she’s Nigel Ackford’s girlfriend?’

      Jude’s enthusiasm was quickly dashed. ‘She was Nigel Ackford’s girlfriend.’

      ‘Well, I know. Obviously he’s dead and—’

      ‘She was Nigel Ackford’s girlfriend until four months ago. Then she broke off the relationship.’

      ‘Oh. But if he’d asked her to marry him, she might have felt—’

      ‘If he’d asked her to marry him, I got the impression Mr Ackford would have received a very dusty answer. Wasn’t that the impression you got, Fallon?’

      The Detective Sergeant nodded.

      ‘So,’ the Inspector continued, ‘while the thought of proposing to the young lady might have buoyed Mr Ackford up when he was drunk, he would still have woken up to the reality that she had in fact – not to put too fine a point on it – dumped him. Which,’ he concluded with satisfaction, ‘is exactly the sort of thing that might make any man contemplate topping himself.’

      ‘But, I still think—’

      ‘Jude!’ Inspector Goodchild’s veneer of urbane fastidiousness was wearing thin. ‘We found a letter.’

      ‘Yes, I heard about that. What did the letter say?’

      ‘I am not at liberty to reveal the contents.’

      ‘Was it handwritten?’

      ‘There is a tradition,’ Inspector Goodchild said coldly, ‘that in situations like this, the police ask the questions, and we—’

      Jude interrupted as a sudden, welcome recollection came to her. ‘But of course there was another letter! The note that was found in one of the bedrooms.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘There was a note, a threatening note.’ Jude’s words tumbled over each other in her excitement. ‘Printed on Hopwicke House headed paper. Suzy showed it to me. Kerry had found it in one of the bedrooms. It said: “Enjoy this day. You won’t see another one” – something like that.’

      The Inspector looked sceptical. ‘Rather strange, wouldn’t you say, that Miss Longthorne didn’t mention this note to me?’

      ‘She must have forgotten. In the shock of everything that was happening.’

      ‘We did ask Miss Longthorne more than once whether anything unusual had happened yesterday, either before or after her guests arrived.’

      ‘It must have slipped her—’

      ‘We put the same question to the young lady, Kerry.’

      ‘And she didn’t remember finding the note in the bedroom?’

      ‘She didn’t mention it, no.’

      ‘But there was a note. I swear there was.’

      ‘Right, right.’ Inspector Goodchild nodded slowly. ‘I’m not disbelieving you, Jude. I should think you’re probably right. Miss Longthorne forgot about it in the excitement of the moment.’

      ‘And I’m sure, if you asked her specifically about the note she showed me . . .’

      ‘Just what I was about to do.’ He produced a mobile phone from his pocket and, as he keyed in a number, said, ‘Wonderfully neat little gadgets, these, aren’t they? Makes you wonder how we ever managed without them. They’ve made such a difference to—’ He raised a hand, indicating that he had got through. ‘Miss Longthorne? It’s Detective Inspector Goodchild. Sorry to be back to you so soon, but there is a detail I need to check. Thank you. Very kind.’

      He looked around the clutter of Woodside Cottage as he listened to Suzy, but Jude could not hear what her friend was saying. Then Goodchild spoke again. ‘I’ve just been talking to your friend Jude, and she was telling me about this note that was found in one of the bedrooms yesterday. Found by the girl, Kerry, apparently? The contents were of a threatening nature, I gather. Ah, thank you. Thank you very much. I’m afraid I probably will have to be in touch again, but only on minor details. It shouldn’t take long. Thank you. And I hope you manage to get a good night’s sleep tonight. Goodbye.’

      He ended the call and smiled. She didn’t need him to spell it out, but he did.

      ‘I’m sorry, Jude. I’m afraid your friend Suzy Longthorne doesn’t have any recollection of ever seeing the note you described.’

Chapter Nine

      ‘I just do not believe that that boy committed suicide,’ said Jude, as they approached the Crown and Anchor.

      ‘If he had a history of depression . . .’ Carole argued.

      ‘He may well have had a history of depression, but I saw him that night. He wasn’t depressed then. He was just drunk.’

      ‘Drink is a notorious depressant,’ said Carole primly.

      ‘But he wasn’t drunk and depressed. He was drunk and incapable. He couldn’t have organized a suicide, he could hardly stand.’

      ‘Then maybe it happened by accident.’

      ‘You do not remove a curtain rope, tie it to a crossbeam and put it round your neck by accident.’ Jude pushed open the clattering doors of the pub.

      Carole followed her in, surprised to see so much anger. She was the uptight one; Jude always seemed to emanate an almost unnatural laid-back calm. But the interview with Detective Inspector Goodchild had clearly got to her.

      ‘Well, there’s a sight to brighten up a dull evening. Two large Chardonnays if ever I saw them.’

      Ted Crisp stood in his usual position behind the bar. His beard and hair showed their customary ignorance of grooming. The sweatshirt he wore was so faded that its original colour could have been black, blue or green; the advertising logo it had once shown off was now an incomprehensible blur. The idea that she had had an affair with him – however brief – still seemed incongruous to Carole. But not distasteful. She was glad their relationship had now settled down to a kind of joshing affection.

      He was pouring the drinks before they ordered them. There was some comfort in that, thought Carole. Though she still didn’t think of herself as a ‘pub person’, it was good to have a haven where one was known and recognized.

      ‘How’re you, Ted?’ she

Скачать книгу