Snow Angel Page 10

  “Adrian, hi. Not great, in fact pretty shitty. Listen, I’m so sorry about this but we aren’t going to make it on Sunday. Alejandro is in hospital with suspected meningitis.”

  “Oh my God! When did this happen?”

  “Last night. He was crying but didn’t want us to pick him up. He already had a rash and I thought it was that. But Peter was convinced something was wrong. Then Alejandro started puking and his temperature shot up. Peter called the children’s hospital and described the symptoms and we took him in at four in the morning. They are doing tests but he’s very, very sick. I’m so sorry to let you down, my friend, but I have to stay by his side.”

  “Jared, don’t even think of apologising. Of course you must stay with your son. I just hope it’s not what they think it is. You must be worried out of your mind. Listen, don’t give us a second thought but please keep me in the loop. Give Peter a hug from me and I’ll be crossing my fingers for Alejandro. Take care of yourselves.”

  “Thanks, Adrian. I hope the wedding is wonderful and send my love to Will. I’ll call you when I have news. Bye.”

  “Bye bye.” He hit the End Call button. “This is the final straw. My godson is in hospital with suspected meningitis, Jared and Peter can’t come, we have no photographer and I seriously believe this wedding is cursed. I think we should call it off.”

  Will kept his eyes on the road. “Don’t be such a drama queen. How is Alejandro?”

  “Very poorly. I mean it, Will, we should call this whole thing off. I wanted it to be the best day of our lives. Instead, it’s been stress and hassle from the beginning. How can we enjoy our day knowing that tiny baby is in intensive care, fighting for his life? How can you have a wedding without any pictures? It’s a disaster.”

  “Call it off now? I don’t want that, I’m sure Jared and Peter don’t want that, no one who’s worked all these months on the arrangements wants that either. It seems it’s only you. What is it, Adrian? Are you having second thoughts?” He pulled into a parking space in front of The Angel, switched off the car and faced Adrian. “Every single hiccup results in you deciding to cancel our wedding. At first I put this down to your natural tendency to histrionics, but now I’m beginning to wonder if you’re just looking for any excuse to escape. Do you still want to marry me?”

  Adrian couldn’t reply. His throat constricted and he stared out at the snowy village green. He heard Catinca slide out of the back seat. He expected her to close the door quietly, leaving them to talk in peace but instead she threw a powerful punch at his headrest. He jolted forwards and bounced back as the door slammed shut.

  The shock to his senses startled him out of his unhappy introspection. He caught hold of Will’s hand. “I do want to marry you. I really do. It’s just all these problems with the venue, deceptions with Beatrice, a suspicious death, a sick child and now we don’t even have a photographer.”

  Will put his arm around him and drew him close. “I am going to fix this. You are going to stop panicking. We are going to get married on Sunday. There’s still a lot to do and if I were you, I’d start by apologising to your wedding planner. You were lucky that seat was in the way or she’d have given you a cauliflower ear. Go inside and appease Catinca. I’ll call Beatrice and between us, we’ll locate a photographer. Leave it with me but please, Adrian, no more high drama and threats of calling it off. It’s how we solve problems together which makes us such a good couple.”

  Adrian nodded, feeling Will’s stubble graze his cheek. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just nerves. Come on then, we can do this.” He took a deep breath and prepared to face Catinca.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A promise was a promise. Beatrice had given her word to Rose. She swore to tell no one of the conversation that morning, and the truth of Vaughan Mason’s deceit would remain a secret. Unless Grace chose to go public about her father, no one would know the enfant terrible of 1960s literature had been much worse than a plagiarist. He was a common thief.

  After Rose dropped her back at the cottage, Beatrice stood in the porch, pondering what to do next. The snow continued to fall, muffling all sound. The temptation to tell Matthew what she had learned ate at her like an itch. Now why would that be, Beatrice? Surely not a nasty urge for vindication by puncturing the Midge bubble? You’re better than that. And a promise, after all...

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Beatrice snapped. Sometimes her conscience was an insufferable little prig. What she needed now was to talk to someone about the potential poisoning and train her attention on the case. The ‘case’. Under normal circumstances she would throw ideas around with her colleagues when all leads resulted in a dead end.

  Will? He would leap at the opportunity but Adrian wouldn’t thank her for distracting him from the wedding. Although Rose and Maggie were enthusiastic amateur detectives, their idea of crime solving came from Sunday night TV dramas. Tanya was busy grilling Gabriel Shaw, so the only option available was for Beatrice to continue with all the diligence she’d normally have delegated to her sergeants. With a clap of her cold hands, she made a decision to return to the pub for a friendly chat with Gordon. She stamped the snow off her boots and opened the door with a breezy, ‘Hellooo?’

  Her only reply was a bark and a clatter of claws. Huggy Bear tore out of the kitchen and across the black and white tiles to bounce up at Beatrice with her toothy grin and blur of a wagging tail. A note lay on the kitchen table.

  ‘Gone to golf club with Mungo to arrange memorial. Police called – DI Axe’s no. below. Pls call her back. Running errands this afternoon. Could you feed Huggy Bear? My slipper was not to her taste. Mx’

  Beatrice dialled the number with anticipation, keen to share her findings with a well-trained police mind. DI Axe answered after three rings.

  “Thanks for calling back, Ms Stubbs.”

  The civilian moniker stung. Shouldn’t police, like military officers, retain their titles in perpetuity? After all, they had earned them.

  “My pleasure. How can I be of assistance?”

  “It’s more the other way round, to be honest. We received a complaint this morning, from Grace Mason. She wanted to register an official complaint of unauthorised entry to her property without an official warrant. She seemed to think you were part of the local force?”

  Heat rushed into Beatrice’s face as she struggled for words. “That is ridiculous! I didn’t say I was police, I wasn’t trying to...” She began pacing, the dog at her heel. “Look, Rose Mason asked me to accompany her this morning to be present at a conversation with her daughter. I admit to entering via the kitchen without invitation but only because she wouldn’t open the front door to her own mother. I can assure you I never tried to present myself in an official capacity.”

  “I see. Well, I think we’ve managed to talk her out of it now she knows you’re not one of ours. That said, given the circumstances, it might be better if you keep a distance from the whole Mason situation. We’re following a few lines of enquiry and trying to keep it subtle. Don’t want to ruffle any feathers, do we?” DI Axe’s voice was friendly and warm, with the sound of tapping on a keyboard in the background.

  Beatrice sniffed. “As a matter of fact, I have made done some surreptitious digging of my own and would be only too pleased to share my findings with the official investigators. Would you like me to come by the station at your convenience?”

  There was a pause before Axe softened her tone, as if she were talking to some curtain-twitching old busybody. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I appreciate you have a personal interest in this case but even what you perceive as ‘surreptitious digging’ might have a negative influence our own investigation. I’d say after all you’ve achieved over your career, you deserve a well-earned rest. Best leave us to get on with the donkey work. Is that OK with you?”

  Message received and understood. Butt out.

  “Of course,” Beatrice said, her voice cold. “You’re the investigating officer.”

  “Than
k you, I appreciate that. Oh, and by the way, merry Christmas!”

  “Likewise. Goodbye.” Beatrice ended the call and flung her mobile at the sofa cushions. Fits of pique were all very well but repairing a smartphone just before Christmas was a headache she could do without. “The arrogance of that bloody woman,” she muttered and clenched her fists. Huggy Bear looked up at her, tail wagging and teeth protruding.

  Beatrice exhaled and relaxed her frown. “Right, pooch, it’s lunchtime for you, me and Dumpling. Then you’re coming with me on covert ops. First stop, the pub. Old dogs don’t necessarily need new tricks.”

  Thursday afternoon in the public bar at The Angel was quiet. A couple of locals were finishing a pie and a pint while browsing the paper, but there was no sign of the wedding party or Rose and Maggie. At least a friendly face was behind the bar.

  “Afternoon, Susie. All right to bring the dog in?”

  Susie glanced up from her magazine. “Hello, Beatrice! I didn’t know you had a dog. Yes, of course, bring him in. No way should people leave them outside in this weather. What can I get you?”

  “A pot of tea, please, I’m driving. This is a new addition to the family. Heather Shaw persuaded us to adopt. It’s done Matthew the world of good.”

  Susie twitched her lips in a half-hearted smile. “Yes, Heather’s very persuasive. How did the viewing at Silverwood Manor go this morning?”

  Beatrice settled on a stool, tucking the dog’s lead under her leg. Before being told, Huggy Bear sat at her feet. “Good girl. I don’t know anything about the viewing because I didn’t go with them. Adrian and Catinca have taken over now and that’s fine with me. Gives me more time to work on...”

  “The dog,” said Susie, with a wise nod. “Rescues need a lot of fuss at first.”

  Beatrice scanned the bar and reminded herself to be professional. Do not mention the case! She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on her aim. She wanted information from, or about, Gordon. Susie was an interviewee, not a sympathetic acquaintance. There must be no gossip, no idle conjecture, but facts. She opened her eyes with a smile.

  “You on your own this afternoon?” she asked, as Susie placed a tea tray on the bar.

  “As always. He won’t usually get out of bed till tea-time, depending on how much he drank the night before. He’ll get down here before the girls arrive for the evening shift and then I get a break. If they all turn up, that is. Otherwise, I’m on my feet all day.”

  “That’s a long shift,” said Beatrice. “And I suppose it will be busier than ever over Christmas?”

  “Yeah. Usual stuff plus your wedding crowd. I could cope if I had reliable staff, you know? Not to mention a reliable husband.”

  Beatrice poured the tea, leaving a gap for Susie to steer the conversation. Change the subject or continue – up to her.

  “It’s not easy being business partners as well as husband and wife,” said Susie, dropping her voice. “Lots of couples argue about money, I know. But when it’s our livelihood at stake, it’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Beatrice agreed. She reached down to stroke Huggy Bear’s ears and cast a glance at the weary woman in front of her. Susie’s roots were showing under her harsh blonde dye and her skin was dull. Her expression was one of permanent worry, wrinkles forming an arch between her brows.

  “It’s a question of trust, really,” Susie spoke, half to herself.

  Beatrice lowered her voice and spoke gently. “You mean you don’t trust him in the financial sense?”

  “His heart’s in the right place, but his weaknesses get the better of him,” Susie sighed, rubbing her lip with a thumbnail.

  The gesture touched Beatrice. Susie needed a comfort blanket, or perhaps a willing ear. Beatrice saw her chance to serve both agendas.

  “The drinking or losing to Vaughan Mason at cards?”

  Susie’s expression changed. Two furrows appeared between her eyebrows. “There’s no truth in that. Village gossip, no more, no less.”

  “Maybe. But I should mention that one line of the police investigation is the gambling ring Vaughan ran in order to fleece his neighbours and friends. Have you spoken to the police yet?”

  Susie shook her head, her features sagging. “They called in yesterday. Gordon got stroppy and insisted they make an appointment. To be fair, it’s such a busy time of year.”

  Beatrice looked around the sparsely populated bar.

  “We had a Christmas lunch party in when they arrived. It wasn’t convenient. We’ve agreed to talk to them in the morning. I really don’t know why they need to speak to me. Gordon was Vaughan’s buddy but I had nothing to do with the bloke. All I ever did was pour his pints.”

  Huggy Bear sneezed, pre-empting Beatrice’s own snort of disbelief. Something about Susie’s evasive behaviour and weak mendacity made Beatrice curious. She knew more than she was letting on. The police may have rejected Beatrice’s offer of experience and local knowledge, but Matthew still valued her opinion.

  “Susie, you have nothing to worry about. As an ex-detective myself, I’d say all they’ll ask you is who his friends were, if he had any enemies, that sort of thing. Obviously they’ll ask you where you were the weekend Vaughan died, just to eliminate you from their enquiries.” Use enough police speak and people will not think to question your assumptions.

  “Yeah, we’re ready for that one. Both of us were here from Friday morning to Sunday night. It was St Nicholas’s Day weekend, so we were rushed off our feet and can provide plenty of witnesses.”

  “Exactly. All you need do is tell the truth. After all, you’d known the man for years. You and Gordon could give a pretty accurate picture of his drinking habits and romantic liaisons, presuming you can remember that many names.”

  The light from the beer pumps threw an orange glow onto Susie’s face but Beatrice detected a blush even in the low lighting. Susie and Vaughan? This was a complicating factor Beatrice had not considered.

  The door banged open and a voice said, “Here you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Tanya pushed back her hood, scattering clumps of snow onto the carpet.

  Beatrice sat upright and bit her lip, recalling her dramatic gesture after her conversation with the police. “I must have left it at home. Do you want a drink and a debrief or do you have to get back to work?”

  “No viewings in this weather so I can file my paperwork from home. But I have someone who wants to talk to you. Come on, leave your tea and let’s go. Bye, Susie!”

  Beatrice scrambled to her feet. “Bye, Susie. Tell Gordon if he wants a chat before he talks to the police, just give me a call. I’d be only too happy to help.”

  Two minutes later, Beatrice sat beside Gabriel Shaw in the front seat of his Land Rover with Tanya in the back and Huggy Bear at her feet. The dog gazed up at him with a look of total adoration as he reached down to stroke her chin. Beatrice could understand. He was her rescuer. While the forester eyed humans with great suspicion, he was naturally comfortable with animals and nature. Handsome in an uncompromising way, Gabriel Shaw had a monobrow above dark, thick-lashed eyes. His hands were calloused and his face unshaven but not in a neat-hipster-stubble way; more tumbled out of bed and straight into his moleskin trousers. It was all very dangerous and D. H. Lawrence and if Beatrice was in Tanya’s position, she’d cast off her conscience for a roll in the hay.

  Good God, woman, get a grip.

  “You don’t want to come in for a drink, Gabriel?”

  He shook his head, attention still on the dog. “Thanks, but I have to work this afternoon. Tanya said you’re trying to find out what happened to Mason.”

  Tanya tapped Beatrice’s shoulder. “The police paid Gabriel a visit yesterday. They asked a lot of questions about a particular mushroom, or group of mushrooms. Anamita...”

  “No, wait a minute.” Gabriel held up his hand to stop Tanya. “Why do you want to know, DI Stubbs?”

  “My partner wants
to know if Vaughan was killed deliberately. I know the man had quite a few enemies, but what I’m trying to work out is how many would have access to the poison that killed him.”

  Gabriel exhaled with a grunt. “Everyone has access. It grows in the forest.”

  He looked into Beatrice’s eyes for the first time and spoke in a rush. “There are a group of mushrooms which contain amatoxins, including the Death Cap. Most of them can be found in Devon’s woodlands, but they’re pretty rare. The one they think poisoned Mason is Amanita virosa. You can find it on the edges of woodland and it looks innocent enough. No stink, no red or yellow warning signs. Some people, the stupid kind who have no idea what they’re doing, make the mistake of thinking it’s edible. They usually die within two days. What’s really vicious about Amanita virosa is that you puke and crap all over the place, as if you have a stomach bug. Just when you’re ready to call the doctor, it seems to be over. You think you’ve recovered. Meanwhile, it attacks your liver and kidneys and by the time it comes back and you call for help, it’s too late.”

  “That’s horrible! I assume the police’s toxicology report led them to suspect this particular fungus?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “I suppose. They didn’t tell me much. I just told them what I know. Where it grows, how to spot it and what it does to the body. For someone like Mason who spends Friday in the pub and sometimes sees no one till Sunday morning, it’s ideal. He ingests Amanita virosa on Friday afternoon and goes to the pub as usual. He gets sick late Friday night, has a few hours feeling bad, recovers on Saturday and when it comes back on Saturday night, his system is so badly compromised, he can’t even raise the alarm.”

  In the silence after Gabriel’s speech, a logical conclusion must have occurred to them all. They all spoke at once.

  “How many people have...”

  “The thing is, Gabe couldn’t...”

  “DI Stubbs, I didn’t do it.”

  Huggy Bear yawned loudly and leaned sideways onto Gabriel’s foot, settling her chin on his toe.

  Beatrice pressed her fingers to her temples. “First things first, I’m no longer a DI, so please just call me Beatrice. Secondly, I assume you told the police all this and therefore you must be considered a suspect. You have motive, means and very possibly opportunity. But they’ve not taken you in for questioning. Why is that?”