The Witness at the Wedding

Thirty

It had been Carole’s intention to leave Stephen’s house as early as possible, catching the first available train from Victoria to Fethering. After her son had hurried off to work, she was on her way out when she heard the phone ring. The thought of answering did not occur to her, but after Stephen’s recorded message, curiosity kept her listening to identify the caller.

It was a male voice. “This is a message for Carole.”

She was thunderstruck, like some haunted victim in a ghost story.

“I don’t know if you are still there, but if you are, please pick up the phone.” With massive relief she had recognized the voice before he identified himself. “This is Robert Coleman. If you are there, please pick up the phone. Or if, by chance, you pick up this message later, please call me on – ”

She picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Carole.”

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. Listen, Stephen probably told you that I’m coming to London to be with Gaby. I was just wondering, if you’re still in town, whether you’d care to join us for lunch?”

Carole’s immediate reaction was to say no, she hadto get back to Fethering and Gulliver. But she curbed this instinct. Jude had already seen to Gulliver that morning; she wouldn’t mind taking him out again, if necessary. And, if Robert was willing to talk about it, he probably knew more about the background to the Janine Buckley murder than anyone, except for Michael Brewer.

Robert Coleman’s choice of venue was a club, not one of the patrician Pall Mall ones, but a sensible convenient meeting place for professional men and women, particularly those involved with law and order.

Gaby looked much better than she had when Carole had last seen her. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and some of the verve to her personality. She seemed relaxed with her Uncle Robert. Like her mother, Gaby had always known him as a rock throughout her life, the one stable element in the insecurity of family life. And he responded to his niece’s affection. There was a palpable warmth between them.

When they met, in the club’s rather severe, no-frills bar, Carole’s first question was about Marie. “Is she all right on her own in Harlow?”

“She’s fine,” Robert reassured her. “Pollard’s got a man keeping an eye on her. Anyway, I don’t really think Marie’s at any risk.”

His emphasis froze the gin and tonic on its way to Gaby’s lips. “Meaning I am?”

“After last night,” he said grimly, “I think there can no longer be any doubt about that.”

Carole thought it was time for a few straight questions. “Robert, you knew Michael Brewer well, didn’t you, before he was arrested for murder.”

A nod of the head. “Which made it all the worse. Something like that’s ghastly, but when you find out the perpetrator is someone you thought of as a friend, well, that doesn’t make it any easier to take.”

“I met someone in Fethering recently who was a school friend of Janine Buckley and Marie.”

He didn’t seem surprised by the news. “It’s a small area. A lot of people never move far away from where they were born.”

“Her name was Libby Pearson. Mean anything to you?” He shook his head. “Maybe Pearson’s her married name. Do you remember one of Marie’s friends called Libby?”

Another shake of the head. “We are talking a long time ago, Carole. At the time I saw a lot of Marie’s school friends, but it was a very brief period of my life. I doubt if I’d even remember the name of Janine Buckley if circumstances had been different.” He was troubled by the memories the name prompted. “When I think she could now be a wife and mother, a grandmother even, if Michael Brewer hadn’t…” His head shook again in pained disbelief.

“Libby Pearson talked about a party at your parents’ house.”

“Goodness, she’s got a long memory. When was this supposed to have been?”

“1973, I should think. Your parents were apparently away in France.”

“Doesn’t ring any bells with me. So, what does this Libby say about that clearly unmemorable social event?”

“She says it’s the only time she saw Michael Brewer and Janine Buckley together.”

“Then she definitely wasn’t part of our group. Mick and Janine were all over each other all the time.”

That rather confirmed Carole’s image of Libby Pearson as a fringe player, someone who desperately wanted to be at the centre of the action, but was doomed always to remain peripheral.

“Libby also reckons that was the night that Michael Brewer got Janine Buckley pregnant.”

Robert Coleman shrugged. “Could have been. There were plenty of other opportunities, though, the way those two went at it.”

“You still don’t recall the party?”

“ Some vague recollection’s coming back, but not much detail, I’m afraid.”

“Libby said that, when Michael Brewer and Janine went upstairs, you and Marie were already up there.”

“Well, we would have been, in our beds, if it was the middle of the night. And I’d have been fulfilling my duty of preserving my sister’s honour. If our parents were away, then I was in charge. And I knew they’d take a pretty dim view of Marie getting up to anything of a sexual nature. Our mother had strong – even old-fashioned – views on moral issues.”

“And she now lives in France, is that right?” asked Carole.

“Yes. In a home down there. She went back to be near her family after our dad died. She was very ill…I think I told you that she’d had a major breakdown after his death?”

“You did tell me, yes.”

“Well, she’d never really settled in England, although she’d lived here for nearly thirty years, so when she came out of hospital, it made sense for her to go back to near where she was born. She’d got sisters and cousins over there.”

“Near Villeneuve-sur-Lot?”

Gaby confirmed that, and Robert went on, “I think it worked out pretty well for her. She was always going to be quite fragile emotionally, but she was happy to be back in France. She had a nice little house there, and we’d all go out and visit, till she was too feeble to look after herself and went into the home. She’s pretty gaga now, I’m afraid.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Gaby, who had been silent during their previous conversation, now came to life. “She’s frail, but she’s still got all her marbles.”

Robert Coleman shook his head sadly. “You haven’t seen her for nearly a year, Gabs. I’m afraid she’s gone downhill quite a bit.”

“Oh dear. I’ve meant to go and see her. I’ve just been so busy the last few months, particularly since Steve and I announced our engagement. I must get out there soon.”

Carole was about to announce her brilliant plan, which would both salve Gaby’s conscience and ensure her safety, but Robert Coleman spoke first. “I wouldn’t bother, Gabs love. She won’t recognize you.”

So Carole decided the moment wasn’t right. She’d make the suggestion when she could get Gaby on her own.

Once they were through in the club dining room, eating solid British fare, she reverted to the subject of the 1973 party at the house of Robert and Marie’s parents. “This Libby Pearson woman also mentioned a girl called Diana Milton. Does that ring any bells?”

A slightly mischievous smile crossed Robert Coleman’s face. “Now I’d be lying if I denied knowing that name. Right little raver she was.”

“That’s rather what Libby implied.”

“ A year below Marie in school, as I recall. But you’d never have known it. One of those girls who has an instinctive knowledge of her sexuality and what to do with it.” His smile became sheepish. “I’m afraid, Carole, mention of that name has brought back the party of which you speak in full Technicolor detail. Yes – preserving my sister’s honour was not my sole occupation that particular night.”

“Diana Milton?”

He nodded, with that mixture of apology and pride that men usually apply to their sexual conquests. “Yes.”

“But I understood she was at the party with her boyfriend.”

“They had a row. And I – took advantage of the opportunity.” A nostalgic smile. “Diana was…aah. Lost touch, I’m afraid, when I moved away from Worthing. I wonder what happened to her.”

“Probably ended up a dumpy housewife and mother, like every other teenage fantasy figure,” suggested Gaby.

“You’re probably right.” Her uncle chuckled wistfully. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of her for years until you mentioned the name, Carole.”

“I also asked Libby Pearson about Howard.”

“Hm?”

“Well, we’re only talking – what? Less than a year before Marie married Howard? Libby had never heard of him. She certainly had no recollection of him being at that party.”

“Well, no, Howard moved in different circles. He knew us all because he worked with Dad, and we lived above the shop. His thing for Marie was a kind of secret between them, until suddenly it all came out in the open and they got married.” His face scrunched up with the effort of recollection. “I don’t know. Maybe Howard was there.” Another chuckle. “Quite honestly, now you’ve introduced the name of Diana Milton into the conversation, I’m having a bit of difficulty remembering anything else.”

But Carole wanted him to remember other things. “What I find odd about this whole situation…you know, Gaby being stalked by Michael Brewer – ”

“But is it exactly stalking?”

“I don’t know what else you’d call it, Gaby.”

“No,” Robert agreed. “And most of the other descriptions are even less attractive.”

“But what I don’t understand,” Carole went on, “is, if Inspector Pollard is right and Michael Brewer did kill Howard and Bazza, then why?”

“From what I’ve gathered from Pollard, his feeling is that Bazza’s murder was done simply to shut him up. He knew too much about what had happened to Howard.”

Gaby wanted explanations too. “The bit I still don’t get is how Bazza got involved.”

Her uncle grinned ruefully. “I’m afraid that is down to your brother. Your father was stuck at the hotel without means of transport. Phil immediately thought of the one person he knew who could produce a car at short notice. So he rang Bazza.”

“Are you saying that he was in on the plot to kill Dad?”

“No. Pollard thought he must have been. That’s why Phil was pulled in for questioning. The inspector could not imagine that anyone existed in the world whose first thought when a taxi was needed would be to get a friend to steal a car.”

“Ah. Shows he doesn’t know our Phil.”

“No. I’m afraid your brother was never quite the sharpest knife in the drawer. But, anyway, Phil’s off the hook, at least so far as the murder’s concerned. He could still be in trouble over his involvement with Bazza’s car-stealing activities, but I doubt if Pollard’ll bother to pursue that.”

“All right,” said Carole, as though drawing a meeting to order. “We’ve established why Michael Brewer needed to kill Bazza, but I still can’t see what he had against Howard. I can believe he spent thirty years in prison, dreaming of revenge. But why should he take his revenge on Howard Martin? What had Howard ever done to him?”

“Ah.” Robert Coleman was silent for a moment, making a decision. He looked tenderly at Gaby before opting to go ahead. “Gaby, this may not be pleasant to your ears, but I’m afraid it’s something you’re going to have to know some time, and since the topic has come up, I think I may as well tell you now. What I’m about to say doesn’t reflect particularly well on your dad, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a good man and, in his own way, he loved you very much.”

He allowed himself another silence, before continuing. “As you know, your dad worked for my dad, in a fishmonger’s in Worthing. After he married your mum – and after our dad had died and the business had been sold – Howard and Marie went off to Worcester, where he continued working in the same line. But when he was young, he also had a hobby that was…well, not strictly within the law. He had a shotgun, and he liked to go off after rabbits and hares, pheasants too. Some of them might appear in our dad’s shop, though he never knew where they came from.”

“Uncle Robert, are you saying my dad was a poacher?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s no reason to murder anyone.”

“Not in itself, no. Trouble was, Howard used to go shooting on the estate where Mick Brewer worked as a gamekeeper.”

“That’s still no reason – ”

“Wait for it, Gabs. Will you please wait until I’ve finished? The night Mick killed Janine Buckley, your dad was out shooting on the estate. He saw the car being torched.”

“He saw Michael Brewer actually setting fire to it?”

“Don’t know if he was close enough to be sure it was him, Carole. But he saw the fire erupt. And he called the police – anonymously, he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’d been trespassing for the purpose of poaching. But, Gabs, if your dad hadn’t seen that car go up, it could have been years before the remains were found. Mick had driven it into a very remote part of the estate. He was reckoning it’d be a long time before anyone found the car, and by then getting any forensic detail from the site would have been a lot more difficult.”

Robert Coleman sighed and took a reflective sip from his beer glass. “So you see, that’s why Mick Brewer wanted revenge on poor old Howard. So far as he was concerned, it was your dad who got him convicted.”

“But, Uncle Robert, there’s no logic to that. Dad didn’t know who he was – ”

He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Gabs, if you spend thirty years in prison plotting revenge, I don’t think logic is at the top of your priorities.”

“No. Perhaps not,” she conceded.

“All right,” said Carole. “Let’s accept that as the reason why he targeted Howard, but why’s he after Gaby? She wasn’t even born at the time of his first murder.”

In a hopeless gesture, Robert Coleman put thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. “I don’t know. Who knows how a mind like his works? Gaby belonged to Howard, maybe that’s all there was to it. Or maybe she represents what he couldn’t have – the child Janine Buckley was carrying when…I’m sorry, I don’t know. All I do know is that Gaby’s in danger.”

He sat back in his chair and Carole suddenly noticed how tired he was looking. Recent events had taken their toll on his sister and niece, but Robert’s own supportive role had also been exhausting. Being the family rock was not an easy job.

“Still,” he said, “it’ll soon all be over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Carole, that Mick Brewer can’t be at large for much longer. The police are closing in on him, they must be.”

“They’ve been looking for him since last October.”

“Not very hard. Someone who missed the odd appointment with his probation officer isn’t worth a lot of manpower. But now they’re really looking for him.”

“In West Sussex?”

“Yes. He’s somewhere down there. Got some hideaway, I’ll put money on that. Don’t worry, they’ll find him.”

“And then he’ll be charged with both murders?” asked Gaby.

“Bound to be. The police have got DNA evidence. He definitely killed your father and Bazza.”

Gaby sighed wearily. “Oh, I can’t wait till they get him. I don’t think I’ll ever relax again, until I know that Michael Brewer is safely back behind bars.”

Her uncle reached across and patted her hand. “Won’t be long. And till then, we need to see that you’re kept somewhere very secure, somewhere where he’d never think of looking for you.”

“But not Fethering,” said Carole.

Robert Coleman grimaced. “No. Not down there again. I didn’t know about that little excursion until after it had happened. I’m afraid, of all the places in the world to go to be away from the attentions of Michael Brewer, Fethering is the last one I’d have chosen.” He looked fondly across the table at his niece. “Maybe you’d be best to come back to Essex with me. Stay with Marie. As I say, the police are keeping an eye on her up there.”

But Gaby shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine in London. I’ve got friends I can stay with.”

Or I’ve got an even better idea, thought Carole.