school.’ She glanced across at a photograph of Venetia as a girl of sixteen or seventeen. It stood with a dozen others on a Victorian whatnot in the corner. She gave a long trembling sigh and fell silent.
‘Can you tell me the names of any of her men friends?’ Kelsey prompted when she showed no sign of continuing.
She shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know any names. She’d just say something in passing, she’d been to a show or out to dinner, but she never mentioned any names.’
‘Do you know if she had any intention of marrying again?’
‘She did say once or twice that she’d never marry again, once was more than enough. She said it as if she meant it–but then another time she’d say something half-joking, as if she did think of marrying again.’ She paused and then added, ‘One day last year she said: “Do you remember how you always wanted me to marry someone respectable? A professional man of standing in the community?” She glanced up at Kelsey. ‘She was teasing me when she said that, of course. Years ago, when she was a girl, I used to say that sort of thing to her sometimes, that she mustn’t throw herself away on the first man that asked her, she ought to marry someone of substance.’ She drew a little sighing breath. ‘She laughed–this was that day last year–and said: “You never know, I might surprise you after all one of these days and do just that.”’
‘Do you think she had some particular man in mind when she said that?’
‘I’ve no idea. You never knew when to take her seriously.’ She closed her eyes and lowered her head. After a moment she fumbled in her pocket with her twisted fingers and took out a handkerchief; she dabbed clumsily at her eyes.
‘She was only eighteen when she got married,’ she said as she put the handkerchief away again. ‘Roy was five or six years older. I was against it, I thought she was much too young. But her father never could stand out against her for long. And he thought Roy had a lot of go about him, he thought he’d do well in life.’ She sighed again and shook her head. ‘So I hoped for the best, I hoped it would work out all right.’ She moved a hand. ‘I can’t say I was very surprised when it ended in divorce, I never thought they were really suited.’
‘Were you surprised at the way the divorce came about?’
‘You mean that it was Roy who found someone else and not Venetia? No, not really. After a year or two, when the honeymoon days were over, Roy started going on at Venetia, finding fault with her. He thought she was extravagant, she should help in the business. He wanted her to serve in the shop–she used to work in a shop before she was married but it was a very different place from Franklin’s, very high-class. Youngjohn’s, the china and gift shop, I expect you know it. They have such lovely things there and of course Venetia always liked beautiful things, she had very good taste.’ Tears threatened again but she made a determined effort to blink them away. ‘She never paid much attention to Roy’s grumbles, she just went on in her own way. She used to laugh at him, say he took things too seriously, there was more to life than working every hour God sends.’
‘What kind of terms was she on with Roy and his second wife?’
“Very good,’ she said at once. ‘There was never anything spiteful about Venetia.’
‘Do you know of any particular woman friend? Someone she might have confided in?’
‘She wasn’t the kind to have close women friends.’ She pondered. ‘There’s Megan, Megan Brewster, I suppose she might have talked to her, though she hadn’t seen her for years until about six months ago. Megan was the nearest she ever had to a sister when they were young.’ The Brewsters had lived next door to them in Cannonbridge. The two girls were the same age, went to school together, sat next to each other in class. ‘They were really very different,’ Mrs Stacey said. ‘I suppose it was the attraction of opposites.’ She nodded over at the whatnot. ‘Megan’s in one of those photographs, with Venetia. On the second shelf.’
Kelsey went over and picked up the photograph. Venetia, eleven or twelve years old, very pretty in a short-sleeved cotton frock, her long curly fair hair tied up in a pony tail; she was smiling, posing theatrically for the camera. And Megan beside her, taller and thinner, with short, straight, black hair cut in a fringe. She stood erect and poised, her hands at her sides, her dark eyes looking squarely and unself-consciously out at the camera, her expression serious and thoughtful.
‘The Brewsters left Cannonbridge when Megan was fourteen,’ Mrs Stacey said as Kelsey sat down again. ‘Mr Brewster was transferred to the West Country. The girls wrote to each other at first but after a while they stopped. And then one day just before Christmas last year, when Venetia came over here with the children to see me, she told me she’d had a phone call from Megan. She was really pleased to hear from her again. Megan’s still single, she’s a real career girl. She works for a department store.’ She mentioned the name of a nationwide chain. ‘She’d been moved to the Martleigh branch.’ Martleigh was a good deal smaller than Cannonbridge and lay some twenty-two miles to the north-east of that town.
‘I know Venetia went over to Martleigh more than once to see Megan.’ Mrs Stacey broke off and put a hand up to her face. ‘Of course–Megan won’t know about Venetia. How dreadful–she’ll probably hear it on the radio or see it in the papers.’ All at once she began to cry, terribly and painfully, her head bent, her misshapen hands covering her face.
Kelsey waited in silence until she was again in command of herself. She sat up and gave him a level look from her faded blue eyes. ‘If you’ve any more questions to ask,’ she said, ‘don’t worry about me. Go right ahead and ask. I’ll be all right.’
‘Just two more points,’ Kelsey said gently. ‘Do you feel you can shed any kind of light on what’s happened?’
‘Living in that cottage,’ she said at once, with certainty. ‘It’s far too isolated. I never liked her living there alone, just with the children, after the divorce. I suggested to her more than once that she might think of moving into town but she said she liked it out at Foxwell, it was quiet and private. But I never thought it wise. So many unbalanced people about these days, people who’ll stop at nothing. A young woman on her own like that, unprotected, it seemed to me to be asking for trouble.’
‘I’m afraid this is going to be an ordeal for you,’ Kelsey said as he took out the brown scarf folded into its plastic wrapping. He did his best to prepare Mrs Stacey, to lessen the shock before he asked her if she would look at the scarf to see if she could recognize it. She braced herself and looked down with careful concentration at the silky material with its subdued, paisley-type pattern. The scarf was not of good quality and was far from new. She studied it for several moments before she shook her head decisively. She was quite certain she had never seen the scarf before. ‘I would be very surprised indeed if it had belonged to Venetia,’ she said with conviction. ‘It’s not at all the kind of thing she would wear.’
The results of the post mortem were expected around the middle of Tuesday morning. Before that there was the Press to deal with, the local radio station, a conference, briefings.
Shortly after eleven Chief Inspector Kelsey came down the hospital steps. There had been no sign of any sexual assault on Venetia Franklin. She had been struck a savage blow on the chin, powerful enough to break her jaw. The back of her skull had also been fractured, probably as the result of a fall caused by the blow to the chin. Death had followed swiftly upon the ramming of the scarf down her throat. The stomach contents revealed that she had died very soon after a light meal of tea and cake, such as she had eaten with the children just before Franklin arrived.
Sergeant Lambert followed the Chief across the hospital car park. Kelsey looked at his watch. ‘We’ve time to call in at Venetia’s bank before we go over to see Megan Brewster,’ he told Lambert. He had spoken to Megan on the phone, had arranged to see her at twelve-thirty. And he had fixed an appointment with Venetia’s solicitor for tomorrow afternoon. The solicitor