Chapter 8 #2
DI Underwood pounced. “Why did they?”
“Shouldn’t you ask them?”
“I will. But I daresay, like most people, they’ll be a bit nervous being interviewed by the police, as you, Mrs. Fletcher, obviously are not. If you’ll give me what one might call an overall view, I shan’t take up their time with irrelevant questions.”
Daisy had a feeling his rationale was somewhat specious, but she was always a bit muddled about what was hearsay, what was speculation, and what counted as reporting her own knowledge and observations.
“This is what I remember,” she said cautiously. “I couldn’t swear I’m getting it right.”
“No swearing involved at present, and it won’t go in your official statement.”
That made her even less certain that she ought to be telling him. She couldn’t see what harm it could do, though. “All right. Let’s see, where should I start?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“In a nutshell: Miss Sutcliffe had a large house in Huddersfield and not much money, so she took in lodgers. Willie—Miss Chandler—and Miss Leighton had rooms there and they became friends. Miss Chandler worked as a secretary and bookkeeper. She studied and took the exams and became a chartered accountant.”
“Did she now! A bright young lady.”
“Very. But there was some ill feeling about her success at the firm she worked for, that made her uncomfortable.”
“Some people are jealous of success, even when it’s taken hard work.”
“That, and I gathered one of her bosses believed women had no business becoming professionals. She found a good job in High Wycombe, so she had to move. The others decided to stick with her. Miss Leighton’s a teacher and luckily St. Mary’s school here in Beaconsfield had an opening.
Miss Sutcliffe sold her house and bought Cherry Trees.
She’s housekeeper, cook, gardener—and landlady to some degree, I think, but I’m a little vague about that. ”
“Then Miss Sutcliffe must be about the house much of the time? She’s the most likely to know something about the previous residents.”
“I can’t answer for her. That you will have to ask them.”
“Of course. Now, would you please tell me what happened at Cherry Trees today.”
“Alec and I were invited to lunch. We—”
“Just a minute. When did you receive the invitation?”
“When I went to tea. They invited me, then included Alec when I told them he was coming. If he didn’t mind being outnumbered four to one, they said.”
“Did they know then that he’s a police officer? A detective chief inspector?”
“Willie did. Miss Chandler. She didn’t tell the others. I prefer to keep quiet about it, in general. I expect your wife’s told you how people look askance at a copper’s wife.”
“She did.” He grinned. “Often and often. Go on.”
“Where had I got to?”
“Nowhere as yet. I interrupted. Sorry.”
“Oh, yes. Alec and I arrived at the house at about half past twelve; I don’t know exactly, but I can’t see that it matters. It’s not as if she’d just died. Willie and Vera showed us into the sitting room and offered us sherry.”
“Can you remember which of the two actually made the offer?”
“No, but a tray with a bottle and five glasses was set out already, so it wasn’t impromptu.
One of them apologised for the quality of the sherry.
I’m not sure who first mentioned the wine cellar and their hopes that they might find an overlooked bottle or two of something good, if they ever managed to open the door.
Willie, I think. I wouldn’t swear to it, though. ”
“Where was Miss … hm, Sutcliffe while this was going on?”
“In the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the meal. It smelled wonderful.” Daisy sighed. “But of course we never got to eat it.”
Underwood clucked in sympathy. “Miss Chandler asked the chief inspector to have a go at the lock?”
“Alec offered. Willie produced a bent wire coat hanger that Isabel had already used to try to open it, in vain. We all trooped along to watch Alec. Isabel came out of the kitchen, too. He jemmied the lock in just a few seconds and opened the door. It was horrible!”
“I hate to ask you this, Mrs. Fletcher, but can you describe the body for me? The way it lay, the clothes and so on.”
“Not me. The stench made me turn tail before I caught so much as a glimpse.”
“And your friends?”
“I passed Willie. The others reached the kitchen scarcely a step behind us, though, and one of them slammed the door. Vera. After asking Alec if he was coming.”
“Presumably he said no.”
“I didn’t hear. Anyway, he didn’t join us for several minutes. He said— But that’s hearsay, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly, not if you’re telling me what he said about his own actions.”
“Oh.” She nearly asked if he was sure, but it didn’t seem tactful. “He said, as far as I remember, that he’d opened the front and side doors and lots of windows, for which we were duly thankful, and that he had to ring up the police.”
“He didn’t tell you what he’d seen?”
“No. Obviously it was a human body, or he wouldn’t have gone off to notify the local coppers. The GPO hasn’t put the phone in yet.”
“They’ve been known to dally. What did you ladies talk about while he was gone? Any theories as to who it might be?”
“Not from me. Except, I did wonder if it might be a burglar, but they hadn’t seen any signs of burglary. Do you know yet how long she’d been there?”
Underwood frowned. “Mr. Fletcher told you it was a female? Just you, or all four?”
“All of us. I think he wanted to see how they’d react.” Wrong thing to say, she realised at once.
The inspector looked thunderous. “He did, did he!”
“That’s only my guess. It’s instinctive with Alec. He’s been a detective a long time.” To deflect him, she asked again, “Do you know when she died?”
“Not till the autopsy, if then. How long have the ladies lived at Cherry Trees?”
“A couple of weeks. I don’t know the exact date. Someone said they were free to move in anytime after the first of October. Again, that’s something you’ll have to ask them. Or her lawyer, or the estate agent.”
“Do you happen to know the names of those two?”
“Not the lawyer’s.” She kept quiet about Alec having asked for it. “The agent is Vaughn.”
“Donald Vaughn, that’d be, of Langridge’s in High Wycombe?”
“Don’t ask me. Anyway, the neighbours probably know when they moved in, even though they haven’t exactly been friendly.”
“No?”
“Not actively unpleasant, I gather, just not welcoming.”
“Yes, well, we’ll be talking to them in any case.”
“Of course. You’ll want to know when they last saw Mrs. Gray.”
He gave her an odd look, part annoyance, part curiosity. “Indeed. You seem familiar with police methods.”
Not for the world would Daisy reveal that she’d been mixed up in more than a few cases. “I am married to a copper.”
A muffled snicker came from DC Pennicuik.
Daisy didn’t dare glance his way. She wondered just how the inspector and Alec had worked out their relationship in this case.
Usually it was easy to tell whether the local man resented or welcomed the assistance of Scotland Yard, official or not.
Insofar as she could judge without observing their interaction, Underwood seemed ambivalent.
“We seem to have got sidetracked,” he said mildly. “You mentioned talking with your friends about servants. Have they any?”
“Not live-in. Just a char three days a week. Mrs. Hedger—she’d be the best person to ask about the date they moved in. She worked for the previous owner and just stayed on, taking care of the house, when Mrs. Gray … left. If she left. Sorry, but one can’t simply turn off one’s brain!”
Underwood heaved a deep sigh. “No, I suppose it’s too much to expect of the modern young woman.”
“It seems pretty plain to all of us that the chances are she’s either the body or the murderer.”
“Mr. Fletcher’s suggestion?”
“As I remember,” Daisy said dryly, “Miss Chandler was the first to voice the probability. No doubt Alec had already considered it, being a policeman.”