Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

She went out through the kitchen door and walked quietly along the side of the house. But she stopped under the front bedroom window, which was Veronica’s, because she wanted to hear, she wanted to make sure …

She made sure all right. The cry that came through the half-open window was unmistakable. Ella smiled to herself, and felt in her handbag for her keys. They were quite heavy keys because she always had Derek’s car keys on the ring, as he had her keys on his. She had insisted on that for years, saying they never knew when they might find it useful.

It was very useful now. She stopped by the car parked on Veronica’s drive and quietly opened the driver’s door. The familiar chamois driving gloves were in the side pocket; Ella pulled them out and wiped the bloodstained knife on them. She was careful to leave enough smears of blood on the handle to be noticeable but she made sure she wiped the handle thoroughly enough to get rid of her own fingerprints. Only when she was satisfied did she drop the knife and the gloves onto the seat next to the driver’s.

Then she locked the car again and went back down the street to her own car. In a moment she would make a call to the police. It would be an anxious, slightly distressed call, and it would bring them out to the house of her oldest friend. Once inside the house, they would find Ella’s cheating faithless husband standing over the murdered body of Veronica Campion, with whom he had been having an affair.

Amy had cried for almost the entire evening, mostly for Gran, who looked as if someone had stripped all the bones out of her body, but also for Gramps, dear, well-meaning Gramps, who had been taken to the police station and locked in a cell, and was going to be charged with murdering Veronica.

Amy simply did not believe he had done it, although she supposed it was just about credible that he had been having it off with Veronica. It was important to remember that because people were old – well, OK, old er – it did not mean they were past it. Gramps had clearly not been past it if he had been screwing Veronica. In fact, when Amy thought back, Gramps often had a definite glint in his eye. He was actually quite nice-looking, with that thick silvery hair and dark eyebrows, and his enthusiasm for his beloved opera and his interest in the people he worked with was rather endearing. The more Amy thought about it, the more she thought Gramps might be rather admired at the council offices and in the amateur operatic circles. But this started her crying all over again, because it made her remember how he had loved his rehearsal nights and enjoyed talking about them, and how he had played some of his Gilbert and Sullivan CDs, and how she had planned to talk to him about The Deserted Village music.

Whatever the truth of all this, she was not going anywhere until it was put right, even if she had to miss the whole of next term and even if she had to miss her exams. At some point she would have to phone her parents, although she had no idea what she was going to say to either of them, and specially to Dad. It was not a thing that could very easily be told over the phone. Amy was suddenly unreasonably annoyed with Dad for going out to Africa to build bridges for somebody and taking Mum with him, so that neither of them was here.

The really upsetting thing was that the evidence seemed so damning. Two CID men called at the house and explained everything. Amy had not had a great deal to do with the police, but she thought they were being very considerate.

It was almost midnight when they arrived, apologizing for disturbing Mrs Haywood at such a late hour, which Amy thought an unnecessary remark to make, because they must know that if your husband had just been carted off for murder you were not likely to head for bed at the usual time. Gran had been sitting in the chair by the fire since she got back, shivering and staring at nothing. But when the detectives arrived she seemed to make a huge effort, and by the time Amy had made coffee for them, she was talking almost normally.

They questioned her carefully but very thoroughly. She had gone to her friend Veronica Campion’s house earlier tonight, that was right, was it?

‘I did go to Veronica’s,’ said Gran in a wobbly voice that Amy hoped would not break. ‘There was no particular reason for the visit, except that we’ve rather clung together since Clem Poulter died. Childhood friends, you see. We were supporting one another through the loss. I just felt I’d like to see her. She would have understood. At least,’ said Gran with a brief glint of her old waspishness, ‘I thought she would.’

‘You didn’t phone ahead?’

‘No. We hardly ever did. We both knew it was all right to just turn up. Her home was mine, just as mine was hers.’

Amy looked up, startled, because Gran never wanted people to call on her out of the blue and she never called on people without arranging it beforehand. She always said it was the height of bad manners. Perhaps she was trying to protect Gramps, though.

‘What time would it be when you went to Mrs Campion’s?’ asked the inspector.

‘Eight o’clock, or thereabouts. I can’t be any more precise. Amy, what time did you go out?’

‘Straight after supper,’ said Amy. She had been hoping to see Jan in the Red Lion. He had not been around, but she had stayed for an hour or so, talking to one or two people she’d met at the quiz nights. ‘It was probably around quarter past seven,’ she said.

‘That sounds about right,’ said Gran. ‘And Derek went out about the same time. He said he had a rehearsal,’ she said. ‘He’s in the Bramley Operatic Society, Inspector.’

‘Yes, we know about that. We’ve been checking up there, Mrs Haywood. I’m afraid it seems Mr Haywood hasn’t attended many of those rehearsals for about a month.’

‘He was seeing Veronica on those nights,’ said Gran, half to herself.

‘It’s almost certain he was. We’ve questioned a couple of her neighbours and they saw Mr Haywood’s car parked on the drive on three or four occasions.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Gran. She frowned, then appeared to make another effort. ‘I should think I got to Veronica’s house around twenty to eight. I parked a little way down the street because I saw there was a car already on the drive.’

‘You recognized it as your husband’s car, though?’

‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry if that sounds odd, but I just registered that Veronica had a visitor. I probably noticed it was the same make and colour as my husband’s, but I’m not even sure about that. I certainly didn’t look at the numberplate or anything like that. There was no reason to.’

‘There wouldn’t be anything to identify it?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Anything on the back seat or in the windscreen? A sticker for the AA or National Trust or something?’

‘Neither my husband nor I stick things on car windscreens,’ said Gran, a trifle sharply. ‘I like a car to be clean and uncluttered.’

‘Of course.’

‘But I did hesitate about ringing the bell,’ she said.

‘Why was that?’

‘I’m afraid it was social embarrassment,’ said Gran. ‘Veronica had been hinting at a new man in her life.’ She gave a small laugh and Amy wished she had not because it sounded false and forced. Gran seemed to realize it and said, ‘So I didn’t want to intrude on anything.’

‘Very understandable.’

‘I was trying to make up my mind whether to simply come home, when I heard her scream.’

‘You heard that from outside?’

‘Oh, yes. Her bedroom is at the front. When I looked up the little top window was open. I heard her quite clearly.’

‘Was it just a scream or did she actually call something out? A name, for instance?’