ART THREE: FUGUE

Chapter 13

It was noon before Cordelia and Lindsay pulled in beside Paddy Callaghan's Land Rover at Derbyshire House on Friday. Lindsay had felt an increasing sense of unreality as the morning had worn on. The conversation of the evening before had all but restored her to her normal frame of mind, by recalling her past and awakening her desires for the future. Somehow that all seemed very distant from what had been happening in the last few days. It seemed absurd to Lindsay that she and Cordelia should have any pretensions about being able to solve the problem of Loma Smith-Couper's death. She could not shake the increasing conviction that she was taking part in some elaborate but ultimately silly game. Only the presence of Cordelia made her determined to finish what they had started.

She was not even able to pause and collect her thoughts before they came face to face with Jessica Bennett at the door of Longnor House. The girl started when she saw them and a momentary panic flashed across her eyes before she regained her composure.

'Hello, Jessica. We haven't actually met, but Cordelia and I wanted to have a chat with you.' Lindsay announced before the girl could escape. 'We saw Miss Callaghan yesterday. She thought you might be able to help us with a couple of details. Are you busy at the moment?'

'Well. . . I suppose not. I'm meant to be in the library for private study, but no one will check up on me if I'm not there. They'll just assume I'm doing something else,' the girl replied nervously.

The three of them went to Paddy's rooms. While Cordelia made some coffee, Jessica seemed apprehensive, so Lindsay tried to put her at her ease. 'What are you studying for now? Is it A levels?'

'Yes. I'm doing music, history and maths. I know it sounds a funny combination - at least everyone says it is - but maths and music are very closely related in some ways, so it helps. The history I'm doing because I like it.'

That's a good enough reason. What comes next? After this place?'

I'm not sure. I'd like to carry on with my music, but I don't know if I'll be good enough to get into one of the Royal Colleges. If not, I'll settle for reading music at university, I suppose. If my results are good enough. It's just a matter of working hard now, I guess.'

Lindsay reckoned that Jessica was being so forthcoming because she did not want to come round to the subject of Lorna's death. So while the girl was still talkative, Lindsay started to slip in the more awkward questions. She said casually, 'I shouldn't imagine anyone's getting much work done at the moment. The upheaval of the last few days must take a lot of getting used to.'

Jessica's air of nervousness instantly returned. 'It hasn't exactly been a help to anyone,' she replied.

'If you'd known Miss Callaghan as long as I have, you'd know for certain she just couldn't have been involved in this,' Lindsay said, throwing caution to the winds. 'What are the girls saying?'

'No one - at least, no one I've heard - can believe it. Miss Callaghan's a marvellous housemistress. She really does have an instinct about the way people's minds work, and she gets under your skin to know how you feel underneath. She's always so understand¬ing, you know? She tries to be a friend to us without being patronising, or playing favourites, like some teachers do. She gets angry with people sometimes and lets them know it, but nobody could imagine her being so. . . so. . . you know? We like her, you see,' Jessica explained anxiously.

'And you didn't like Lorna Smith-Couper, did you?'

Jessica did not flinch. She did not respond at all. Lindsay continued slowly and quietly. 'We have a problem. We're trying to get Miss Callaghan freed from prison, not just because Miss Overton has asked us to. We're not necessarily setting out to prove that any particular person did it. What we are trying to show is that there are other people against whom there is as much or as little circumstantial evidence as that which exists against Miss Callaghan. That way her solicitor can show up the weakness of the case against her.'

Cordelia returned with the coffee and handed the mugs round. She took over from Lindsay, saying, 'It seems to us, from what Miss Callaghan told us, that you might have some information about her movements that might possibly help. Let me repeat, we're not trying to pin the blame on you or on anyone else. We're simply trying to prove that other people were as likely - or unlikely, if you like - to have done this thing as Paddy. Now I think it's possible you didn't tell the police every detail of what you saw and heard. Perhaps you thought they might take it the wrong way because they don't know the people concerned. But you can tell us everything. You know whose side we're on.'

For a moment there was stillness. Then Jessica nodded and said, 'I don't mind talking to you. You could probably find out anything I have to tell you by asking other people, anyway. And Miss Overton asked us at assembly to co-operate with you as well as with the police. But I'd rather you heard what I have to say from me and not in a garbled version from other people. What do you want to ask me?'

The girl was still clearly very tense. There was little colour in her face and her freckles stood out like a rash. But as Cordelia asked the first question, she flushed an ugly scarlet. 'How did you feel about Lorna?'

Jessica started to speak, but bit back her words. She struggled for control, then said venomously, 'I hope she rots in hell. I hated her. And I despised her. I'm not surprised that someone killed her. I only wish it could have happened before she ever came near us. Then Dominic would still be alive now. I wished her dead, and I'm glad now that she is. I wish I'd had the nerve to think of doing it myself. I'd have enjoyed watching her suffer with the realisation that she was paying for what she did to my brother.' She ran out of steam, seeming surprised and a little dismayed at her vehemence.

'What did she do to your brother, Jessica?' Lindsay pushed.

'They were going out with each other, and she promised him that she'd give him a job. She ran a string quartet and there was a vacancy for a violinist. He was really good, you know, more than good enough for her quartet. Anyway, they had a row and she ended up giving the job to someone else who wasn't anything like as good. So Dominic applied for a job with the Garden Chamber Orchestra as a second violin. And she was such a bitch that she gave him a reference that was so unenthusiastic it cost him that job too. After that, he found it really hard to get decent work. All he ever cared about was making the best possible music. But Lorna put a stop to that. And he killed himself.' Her voice faded out, shaking and tearful.

'Was this the first time you'd seen her since your brother's death?' asked Lindsay.

'I didn't really see her, only across the room at dinner. I couldn't face going to the concert. I couldn't bear to hear her playing music I love. It would have hurt too much; Miss Callaghan saw that. That's why she left me in charge of Longnor, so I wouldn't have to be at the concert. And she sorted it all out with Miss Macdonald. I was supposed to be in the choir, you see, with a small solo. They got Karina Holgate to do it instead.'

'But you did come across to the hall, didn't you? I thought I saw you talking to Caroline Barrington,' said Lindsay.

Jessica nodded and took a gulp of coffee. 'I thought the police would have asked me about that, but no one seems to have told them I was there. I told you I was left in charge of Longnor. Well, one of the fourth-formers was ill. She kept being sick, and I suspected she might have been drinking. I didn't want to be responsible for what might happen, so I thought it was best to come across to find Miss Callaghan.'

'Did you see anyone hanging around outside, or anything else suspicious?'

Jessica shook her head. There were quite a few people milling around outside the hall, but they all looked a: if they were going to the concert. I recognised one or two of them because I've seen them in the town and some of them because they're parents. I saw Caroline's father getting out of his car when I came across, but I don't think he can have stayed for the concert because his car had gone when I came back with Miss Callaghan. But you'd better ask Caroline about that.'

Lindsay and Cordelia exchanged a look. Yet another complica¬tion had emerged. 'What happened when you got to the hall?' Cordelia asked.

'I asked Caroline if she'd seen Miss Callaghan and she said she thought she was still backstage. I went through and asked one or two people if they'd seen her, but everyone was too busy to have noticed. I went down the side passage as far as the storeroom to see if she was there, but there was no sign of her. Then I went back to the main corridor and looked into the rest of the music rooms. I finally found her just outside Miss Macdonald's room, round the corner. I told her what had happened and she said I'd done the right thing and came straight back with me. She stayed in Longnor then for about half an hour.' She ground to a halt.

'Did it seem to you as if Miss Callaghan had just come out of Miss Macdonald's room?' asked Lindsay cautiously.

'I don't think so. There are a few steps that lead down to the room. She was about half-way down them, looking out of the window down the front drive.' She hesitated, then said in a rush, 'She seemed to be miles away. I had to speak to her twice before she heard me.'

Lindsay and Cordelia looked at each other, both filled with dread at the thought of how this new evidence could be made to sound by a good prosecuting counsel. Then Cordelia roused herself and said, 'Did she seem upset or agitated at all, Jessica?'

'No, she just seemed to be very thoughtful. Preoccupied. Usually she's very lively and chatty. It was as if she had something on her mind. Not as if she'd just killed someone, if that's what you mean -not like that at all. She couldn't have done that, could she? Not someone like Miss Callaghan?'

'We don't believe so, no' said Lindsay. 'Are you sure you didn't go any further down the side passage than the storeroom? You said you checked all the other music rooms on the main corridor. Didn't you check Music 2?'

'No, I definitely didn't go all the way down the corridor.' 'Why not?'

'Because I knew that's where Lorna Smith-Couper had to be. I knew who was supposed to be in which room. I'd been involved with everything up to the last minute. I thought I could face her, so I'd taken part in the preparations. I knew the only room she could be in was Music 2 and she was the last person I wanted to see. If Miss Callaghan had been with her, I would just have had to wait till she came out again, or tried to find Matron. Nothing would have induced me to go anywhere near that room.'

'Why didn't you get Matron in the first place? Why come to the music rooms for Miss Callaghan at all?' asked Lindsay.

'Because I thought the girl had been drinking. I thought Miss Callaghan would deal with it more sort of sensibly than Matron.' 'Okay. Now, when you went down to the storeroom, did you see anyone outside Music 2?'

'I couldn't see round the corner of the corridor. But I did hear someone running down the back stairs. It sounded like someone wearing high heels. Could that be important, do you think?'

Cordelia replied, 'I don't think that would tell the police anything they don't know already,' she said, trying to sound nonchalant. The last thing she wanted was for the girl to think she had any ulterior motive in keeping her from giving information to the police. Lindsay and Cordelia exchanged a worried look. Almost certainly it was Cordelia that Jessica had heard. But if they encouraged her to go to the police with that corroboration, she might also tell them about Paddy's state outside Margaret Macdonald's room. The question of what to do for the best completely put out of their minds any other questions they might have wanted to ask Jessica.

'Is that all, then,' the red-head asked.

Lindsay nodded. 'Yes, thank you. You've been quite a help to us. You'd better get off to the library now in case anyone's looking for you.'

Jessica rose and went to the door. As she left, she turned and said shyly, 'I hope you manage to clear Miss Callaghan. We all miss her.' And she was gone.

'Not exactly a convenient witness,' said Lindsay. 'Prosecuting counsel would have a field day with her and Paddy's preoccupa¬tions. And your disappearing footsteps could get the police putting you in the frame as an accomplice. Let's hope we can clear Paddy without the police ever becoming aware of Miss Jessica Bennett's evidence.'

'We're still not much further forward, though are we?'

'I don't know about that. We've got, some hard questions to ask Sarah Cartwright, and now it turns out the jilted divorcee was on the scene too. We've got a decent list of possible murderers to present to Paddy's solicitor. But as I've said, I would rather tie the whole thing up than leave loose ends and red herrings haunting the lives of a handful of people. Now, it's alibi-establishing time. We can incorporate finding food with our examination of James Cartwright's alleged alibi.'

Cordelia smiled and said, 'I can't help feeling that we are mixing rather too much pleasure with our business.'

'That's what you get for tying yourself up with a journalist. We're great believers in looking after the comforts of the flesh while we do the business.'

'Okay, okay. I have heard that the Stonemason's at Wincle does excellent food. . .'

Once in the car, to Cordelia's bewilderment, they drove straight to the offices of the local paper. Lindsay left her sitting there and reappeared ten minutes later clutching a photograph of Cartwright. She said, 'I managed to persuade one of the local lads to let me borrow this picture. We might need it to identify him. I promised the bloke I'd tip him off if there's any change in the situation that might lead to fresh arrests. Which of course I probably won't have the chance to do, but he's not to know that.'

They drove back to the school gates, where Lindsay turned the car round in a spray of gravel. 'Show-off,' muttered Cordelia.

'Thank you. Now, I want to check some timings. Bear in mind that that Mercedes of his is faster than my MG, and that he knows these roads like the back of his hand. I want to see if this alibi can be cracked. We'll have to check timings as far as possible with the pubs, to see if he could have squeezed in enough time for the killing. I'm not convinced by his injured innocence routine. Done any rally driving, Cordelia?'

Cordelia looked aghast. 'Certainly not,' she replied.

'Well, you'll have to try and navigate for me. I've marked what looks like the best routes on the map. You study that and the terrain and tell me what's coming next. Okay?'

I'll try. Have you done much rally driving?'

'Not a bit,' said Lindsay blithely. 'But I know the theory.'

They set off back towards Buxton in an atmosphere of intense concentration, then turned down the Macclesfield road. Lindsay tore round the tight ascending bends in third, and as soon as they hit the straight stretch where they turned down the Congleton road, she flipped the switch that took the engine into overdrive. They turned off into a succession of country lanes and, after a hair-raising hurtle, they roared to a halt outside the Stonemason's Arms.

'Can I open my eyes now?' asked Cordelia mockingly. 'Fourteen minutes and about five seconds.'

The Stonemason's Arms was a long low stone building with a roof of heavy slate slabs. They found themselves in a clean, neat public bar, with matching wooden chairs, olde worlde wooden tables and chintz curtains at the windows. But the beer was real ale on hand pumps, so they perched on bar stools with a pint of best bitter for Lindsay and a dry white wine for Cordelia, having ordered two ploughman's special lunches. Lindsay wasted no time in eliciting information from the barmaid, a faded woman around forty who turned out to be the landlord's wife.

'I suppose you don't get much time off,' she said sympathetically.

'Oh, we always take Tuesdays off,' said the woman. 'You have to get away from the place sometimes or else you'd go mad. It was always my husband's dream to retire to a country pub. When he was made redundant a couple of years ago, it seemed the obvious thing. Myself, I think it's a lot of hard work and not as much fun as people seem to think.'

'Well, you certainly know how to please your customers. This is one of the nicest pints I've had in a long time. Actually, a friend of mine recommended this place to us. James Cartwright, I suppose you know him?'

'Oh yes, he's a regular in here. He often pops in for his evening meal. Living alone, with his daughter boarding at that school, I think he enjoys the company and not having to cook for himself. You'd think he'd have a housekeeper, really, but he seems to prefer looking after himself.'

'Yes, he was just saying to me yesterday that it's just as well he's a familiar face in here. He was telling me the police had some daft idea he might have had something to do with the murder on Saturday night, but that since he'd been here at the time he was completely in the clear. He said it was a real blessing you knew him.'

The landlady nodded vigorously. 'That's right. We had the police here on Sunday asking about him. He came in about five to eight, I remember, because I'd been watching Go for Gold on the telly. I told the police, don't be silly, Mr. Cartwright couldn't have anything to do with a murder! He was just the same as usual, chatty and cheery. He had something to eat - I think it was the grilled local trout - and two or three pints of his usual and then went off about ten.'

'Lucky for him, really,' said Lindsay. She was spared any further conversation by the arrival of their generous lunches, and the two of them retired to a distant table. As they ate, Cordelia talked between mouthfuls of cheese and bread.

'Let me see. . . now if he got here about five to eight. . . it would have taken him about quarter of an hour from the school. Say ten minutes to do what he had to do, give five to get there and get out again, and I'd give about ten to fifteen back to the Woolpack. So if he left the Woolpack before. . . say, about ten past seven, he's got no alibi and he could just have done it.'

'Precisely. It all depends on what happened at the Woolpack. So eat, don't talk and we can buzz over there as soon as possible and suss them out.'

Half an hour later they were in the bar at the Woolpack. In contrast with the suburban charm of the Stonemason's, the

Woolpack was spartan and cheap. The plastic-covered benches and the chipped laminated table tops fitted well with the smell of stale beer and old tobacco smoke. A couple of farm labourers leaned against a corner of the bar. They fell silent when Cordelia and Lindsay entered and stared blankly at them. Behind the bar was a bleached blonde in her twenties with too much eye make-up. 'Really know how to make you feel welcome, don't they,' Lindsay muttered to Cordelia as they approached the bar. This time Lindsay decided to drop the subtle approach and went straight to the point after she'd ordered her half pint of indifferent keg beer and a glass of white wine for Cordelia.

'Have one yourself,' she insisted to the barmaid. 'I wonder if you can help me? I'm a private investigator and I've been hired to look into this murder down the road at Derbyshire House School. I've been making inquiries into the movements of everyone connected with the case, and I want you to tell me if this man was in here on Saturday night.' She took the photograph of Cartwright from her bag and handed it over.

'You're not the first, love,' came the sullen reply. 'Police've been here before you. But I may as well tell you what I told them. This bloke comes in here occasionally, and he was in on Saturday. We don't open while seven of a Saturday teatime, and he came in on the dot - same as a couple of hikers. I served him first and he went through the side parlour with a pint. I don't know how long he stopped; there's a door in there leads to the toilets and you can get out the back door that way. All I know is he was gone half an hour later when I went in to clear off the glasses. Now, if that's all, I'll get on with my work.'

Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared through the door beside the bar. 'A real charmer,' said Cordelia. 'Now do I have to finish this disgusting drink or can we push off?'

They left the pub and returned to the car for the second piece of timed driving. Lindsay drove the car to its limits and they shot into the drive a bare seven minutes later.

'I have the beginnings of a theory, thanks to you working out the times,' Lindsay mused, cutting the engine. 'Cartwright saw her sorting out strings, he says. Now, suppose she left them lying around in the room. He could fairly assume she'd be back there before she went on stage.

'He could have had a quick one in the Woolpack, raced back to the school, left his car in the trees beyond the houses, got the toggle from Longnor - after all, no one would have thought anything of seeing him there with Sarah doing her Greta Garbo routine. A quick dash through the trees to the main building. In by the side door, up the back stairs and into Music 2. He'd have had to go back home in the afternoon to pick up the school keys, by the way - I imagine he's got a set. Then he picks up a string- he's good with his hands, and strong. Then it's into the walk-in cupboard till Lorna arrives. As soon as Paddy goes, he's out and strangling her with one of the strings she's so conveniently left lying around. Then he's off, down the back stairs, drives like a madman and is back in the Stonemason's by five to eight. It could be done.'

Cordelia looked doubtful. 'It has its points. But you're assuming he has a set of keys. You're also assuming he could figure out her movements. I mean, it could have happened that Lorna didn't come into the room until just before she went on - he could have been stuck in the cupboard for over an hour, and where would his alibi have been then? And how the hell do we prove any of it?'

'You forget, we don't actually have to prove anything. We're not policemen, having to stand everything up in court. All we really have to do for Paddy's purposes is to demonstrate that she's far from being the only person with motive, means and opportunity.' 'I suppose so. I rather like the thought of Cartwright as First Murderer. He could have given himself a bit more time by making his preparations in the afternoon - making the garrotte and all that. He couldn't be sure he'd get there ahead of Lorna, but it was a reasonable assumption. And the confusion over Margaret Macdonald's keys could simply be a fortuitous red herring.'

'I don't know about you, but the more we find out, the more confused I get. We need to sit down and work out the permutations of what we know. What I need is a day off, to put all this to the back of my mind and do something completely different. But I know I can't walk away from this until we've at least got Paddy out of the mess she's in,' Lindsay replied in a very tired voice. 'I know just what you mean,' sighed Cordelia. Back at the school, they drew up another of Cordelia's lists of essential information they'd picked up on their inquiries. As they suspected, the evidence still pointed in too many directions. Nothing had emerged that proved conclusively that Paddy could not have murdered Lorna Smith-Couper. Lindsay phoned Pamela Overton and asked her if Cartwright had a set of keys to the school. She promised to check up and let them know. Lindsay paced up and down Paddy's sitting-room, a worried frown on her face.

'There's something at the back of my mind that's got some bearing on the case. It's something I saw or heard. I can't even remember which. But some tin; thing has impressed itself on my mind and I've a feeling that it's tie key to the whole damn business. Oh God, I wish I could remember! What a fool I am!' she exclaimed angrily.

'Relax,' soothed Cordelia. 'Try not to think about it and perhaps it will spring into your mind when you're doing something else.'

'I've tried that. It hasn't worked so far. Do you know any good hypnotists?' asked Lindsay with a wry smile. 'Now, we've still got things to do, you know. Shall we try to get hold of Caroline Barrington or Sarah Cartwright' It's almost four now, classes must be nearly finished.'

'I suppose Caroline's the next person we should see,' Cordelia sighed. 'She might just know something that will help us put more pressure on Sarah Cartwright.'

'Not until I've had another huge injection of caffeine,' Lindsay groaned. 'Her heart seems to be in the right place, but she talks like a blue streak. I need to be fortified before we grill her or Caroline will end up grilling us.'

She rose to go through to the kitchen, but before she could get there, Paddy's phone rang. Cordelia reached across the desk and picked it up. 'Hello, Miss Callaghan's room. . . yes, that's right. . . Well, slowly at present, though! think we're making some. . . no, not as yet. No, we haven't been in contact with the police at all. . . well, I couldn't actually say. If y«u insist, we'll certainly do our best. Yes, four-thirty is fine. Yes, Lindsay knows that. Till then.'

Cordelia put the phone down and muttered, 'Damn and blast. That was Gillian. She wants to see us on Monday for a progress report. It looks as if the police ire pressing for an early committal hearing and if she can demolish their case in the magistrates' court, she wants to have a go. So now we're battling against time, too.'

Lindsay groaned. That's all we need. We'd better cancel the coffee and find the garrulous Miss Barrington. Who knows, she might have the answers to the whole sorry business.'

'If you were Hercule Poirot, she certainly would.'

'Ah yes, but if I was Hercule Poirot, you wouldn't fancy me, would you?'