An April Shroud

The waiters gathered in a concerned but uncertain posse by the kitchen door. The large bill had already been paid with a lavish tip, but it wasn't just gratitude or hope of future largesse that immobilized them, Dalziel felt; it was disbelief that this patrician figure could be the source of the disturbance. Then they were joined by the shiny under-manager whose face set in horror and indignation as he recognized Dalziel.

'Come on, Herrie,' said Dalziel grimly. 'Let's go home.'

He stood up, put his hand under the old man's arm and eased him up.

Outside he deposited the now almost comatose Fielding in the Rover and, puffing from the exertion, he closed the door with his buttocks, leaned against it and began to scratch himself against the handle. Chief Inspector Balderstone who turned up a few moments later was reminded of a brown bear he once saw up against a tree in a Disney nature film.

'Glad I've caught you, sir,' he said.

'Hello, lad,' said Dalziel genially. 'You've been quick. What've you found out? Was I right?'

'Mainly, sir. But we'll come to that in a minute. More important is, they've found Mrs Greave.'

'And you think that's more important?' said Dalziel scornfully. 'You've still a lot to learn, Inspector. Where'd they pick her up? Liverpool.'

'Not quite,' said Balderstone. 'Epping Forest.'

'Christ,' said Dalziel. 'She must have taken a wrong turning!'

'She did that all right,' said Balderstone. 'She'd been bashed over the head and then strangled.'

Annie Greave's body had been discovered at nine o'clock that morning by a man riding through Epping Forest. His horse had been reluctant to pass close to a pile of loose branches and leaf mould which looked as if it had been heaped hastily into a shallow ditch. The man dismounted, pulled aside a branch and saw shining through in all its unnatural glory the red hair of Annie Greave.

With her in the ditch had been a suitcase and handbag, so identification had not been difficult. When the Liverpool police were contacted to be told of the woman's death and asked if anything were known, they recalled that Cross had rung them the previous evening asking for a watch to be kept for the woman.

'Time of death?' asked Dalziel, screwing up his face at the temperature of his beer.

After ensuring that Herrie was comfortable and not in any immediate danger of choking himself, he had escorted Balderstone back into the Lady Hamilton with the assurance that professional ethics forbade him to discuss so serious a matter in the street.

'Not known yet, but I doubt if it'll be much help. You rarely get better than give-or-take-three hours. But they reckon she was dumped before three o'clock this morning.'

'How's that?'

'There was a thunderstorm which started just about then. Very heavy rain for an hour. The body had obviously been out in it.'

'Who've they got down there?' asked Dalziel. 'Sherlock bloody Holmes? Anything else?'

'Well, she hadn't been robbed and she hadn't been raped. At least, not so you'd notice.'

'What's that mean?'

'She'd had intercourse not all that long before death. But no signs of force. Also a meal.'

'They're on the ball, these bloody cockneys,' admitted Dalziel grudgingly. 'Our police surgeon wants two weeks' notice to take a blood sample.'

'Their pathologist just happened to be handy when they brought her in.'

'What had she eaten?' asked Dalziel.

'Sausages.'

'That figures,' Dalziel laughed. 'Sausages, eh? What about her case?'

'Sorry?'

'Did it look as if she'd packed it herself? Had anyone been through it?'

'No, sir. Neatly packed, they said. Everything nicely folded. Woman's packing. Oh, and there were a couple of bottles of gin.'

'Souvenirs,' said Dalziel, thinking that it all fitted. Annie Greave hadn't rushed off in a hurry. No, she'd made up her mind to go, got ready, then slipped away when everyone else was too busy to notice. The last time she'd been seen at Lake House was mid-afternoon, as far as Cross's questioning had been able to discover. But Dalziel felt that she had probably delayed her departure till the post-presentation party was well under way.

What had happened then? Had someone come to collect her. A taxi, perhaps. Doubtless this was being checked. Or had she arranged with someone in the house to drive her to a bus or railway station?

He tried to arrange in his mind the inmates of the house during the period of hard drinking after the presentation, but found it almost impossible. Bonnie had looked for and been unable to find Mrs Greave round about five, but all that meant, of course, was that she'd vacated her room by then. She might still have been close by, waiting for her lift.

'The question is,' said Balderstone. 'Did she mean to head south? And if she did, did she know who she was going with or did she just get herself picked up and come unstuck?'

'You mean some fellow who had his fun and then started arguing about the price? Possible,' said Dalziel, adding diffidently, 'You'll be covering transport cafes, that kind of thing? And local taxi services.'

'Yes, sir, thank you,' said Balderstone politely. 'Er, look, sir, what do you think? Could this have anything to do with what's going on in Lake House?'

'You tell me,' said Dalziel. 'What is going on in Lake House?'

'Well, those points you asked us to check. You were right in just about every respect.'

Dalziel showed no surprise, but sipped his beer cautiously to see if it had reached a drinkable temperature.

'First we checked on Henry Uniff. Liverpool fire service had a record of his fire and someone had made a note of his insurers. A company called Royal Oak.'

'Oh,' said Dalziel, disappointed.

'Who are a subsidiary of Provincial Traders.'

'Ah,' said Dalziel. 'Get on with it, man. It's not a Book at sodding Bedtime.'

'Who,' continued Balderstone unperturbed, 'as you know, were for a time Mr Bertie Fielding's employers. His ambitions, it seems, were managerial to start with, but the parent company found him unsatisfactory. It was thought his peculiar talents might be better suited to the more outward-going atmosphere of an insurance office and he was offered a transfer to Royal Oak. He dealt personally with the Uniff fire. There was a medium-sized amount involved. A few thousand all told, most of it on film equipment. They dictated us a list. Not much help except that this item, the rostrum-camera, has a serial number.'

'Useful,' said Dalziel. 'I'll take that. Thanks.'

'Lastly, we've contacted Anchor Insurance. It seems that Mrs Fielding has already been on to them, expressing sympathy for Spinx's accident but great indignation that it should have taken place while he was unlawfully trespassing on her property – especially as it seems likely that he was there on Anchor's behalf. I think she's got them worried. It could be a bit embarrassing. As for what you asked, yes, there's a whacking great fire insurance. The building, I mean the restaurant and kitchens not the main house, plus contents is covered for fifty thousand pounds.'

'Jesus wept!' said Dalziel. ‘It's nowt but a ruined stables!'

'Yes indeed. The thing is, it's not just intrinsic value that's covered, but potential loss of revenue, you follow? But there's no theft insurance at all. They felt that until the place was completed and properly covered by alarms, it was too easy a target. Premiums would have been very high, so the Fieldings put all their eggs in one basket.'

'Big bloody basket,' said Dalziel. 'And the rat?'

'Just as you thought, sir,' said Balderstone. 'I had to pass all this on to my superiors, you understand, sir.'

'I wouldn't understand if you hadn't,' answered Dalziel. 'What do they say?'

'Well, the way things stand, we've got no kind of case at all. In fact, we've not really got any crime. This woman's death belongs to the Met, the man Spinx will almost certainly get a verdict of accident, and that just leaves the theft…'