‘You have an unusual relationship with your sergeant,’ Walker said. They had sat for the first few minutes of the drive in uneasy silence, but he was the first to break it.
‘I do,’ Henry agreed. ‘We met in a fox hole in no-man’s land. Mickey was part of a tank crew; we had both become separated from what was left of our battalions and neither of us was exactly in good shape. The rest of Mickey’s crew had perished. We made our way back to the lines, or where we thought the lines were, only to find that things had moved. Anyway, the friendship began then and has continued since.’
‘You mentioned he will be promoted soon. That will be hard, on both of you.’
Henry frowned; this conversation was becoming too personal for his liking. He said, ‘Mickey deserves the promotion; he’ll do well enough without me.’
He knew that it was on the tip of Walker’s tongue to ask, And you – will you do well? Henry’s scowl seemed to put paid to that intention.
‘This so-called investigation that Sarah Downham and her friends were involved with, was there any sense from her writings that they had done more than gather information?’
‘She seems to have asked questions but is a little vague about who she put these questions to. But it seems likely that someone was threatened by what the girls were doing.’
‘No doubt they just saw it as exciting,’ Walker said. ‘Life gets dull; it must get particularly dull for intelligent young women whose only options in life are dead-end jobs or marriage.’
Henry nodded. ‘And Mrs Machin – did she want more?’
He watched as Walker sought to control his temper. Yes, this was intrusive questioning, but Henry did need to know. Finally, Walker said, ‘She is definitely an intelligent woman and I considered her to be a very attractive one. Her first husband had been older than her, but they’d had a happy marriage, and she was very much involved in his business affairs. He always said that she was cleverer than he was by a country mile.’
‘You knew the husband, then?’
‘We were good friends, despite the difference in age. He was a very humorous man, a raconteur and also a very fair man; he liked to look at an argument from all sides and sometimes, as a result, he was deliberately provocative. I liked him very much, and I also grew very fond of his wife. After Machin died, Holly and I became close, and out of the friendship we already had something else began to blossom. I genuinely cared for her, Inspector Johnstone, and I believe that she cared for me. Then she met Brewer.’
‘And what was the attraction there? It seems strange.’
‘It seems absurd. I made the mistake of telling her that the friendship was ill-advised and inappropriate, which, of course, was a red rag. She decided that he was misunderstood, that he was really, despite what everyone said, a sound and sensitive man – Lord alone knows how he convinced her of that. Of course, she knew Elizabeth Brewer and that may have swayed her opinion.’
‘In what capacity did she know Miss Brewer?’ He was unsurprised when Walker supplied that it was via Dr Clark and that Miss Brewer had helped out in the last days of Mr Machin’s life.
‘She is a woman who seems to be everywhere at once,’ Henry observed.
‘She’s a single woman, without commitment apart from her brother, who needs to earn a living. She’s proved herself reliable, she is a capable nurse, and this is a small community.’
Henry nodded, but even so it seemed to him that Elizabeth Brewer was thoroughly enmeshed within that community and that this involvement had given Brady Brewer access to individuals and opportunities he might not have had otherwise.
‘You clearly respect Elizabeth Brewer and yet you did not believe her alibi or even give her the chance to prove it correct. Why was that?’
‘Because her one fault in life was her utter devotion to her brother. I think she knew what he was, perhaps even some of what he’d done, but she had looked after him as a child, raised him when their parents died and was reluctant to believe that he might be a lost cause. In short, Inspector, she loved him, and I think she still does. She believed absolutely in his innocence, at least as far as Sarah Downham was concerned. I didn’t believe the alibi because I know Elizabeth Brewer and I know how devoted she was to her only family. I think she genuinely believed that he had reformed, or at least she wanted to believe so badly that she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wouldn’t be the first or the last to have a blind spot where a loved one is concerned. And, as it happens, I did examine the alibi situation closely enough to be satisfied that no one else could corroborate it. They were alone; no one saw either of them that night, so we would only have had her word. When she contacted you, why did you do nothing about it?’
It was a fair point, Henry thought. ‘Because we have known Brewer, Mickey and I both, we knew what kind of man he was. And I’m afraid I thought he might be guilty of anything, including murder. I knew he had in the past been guilty of murder and rape, but this was in the war and nothing could be proved. If I’m honest, I went through the rest of the war hoping that a bullet would find him, or that he’d be blown up and bits of him scattered across some shell hole. But good men died, and he came through relatively unscathed. He took a bullet to the shoulder late in the war, but it was little more than a flesh wound. It would have left an ugly scar but no more than that. The man walked away from death; I didn’t much care that death had found him now, at the end of the noose. Somehow it seemed only fair. The only thing that saddened me was the death of a young woman, and if I’m honest, I didn’t give a damn whether Brewer was guilty or not of that particular crime. Or at least it never occurred to me that he might be innocent.’
They had reached the Greens’ farm and were soon ushered into the massive kitchen. Lucy Green was cooking, juggling pans on a solid and impressive-looking range, helped by a young girl who looked barely old enough to be out of school but who seemed at home with the food preparation. She was clearly surprised to see them; Linus had told her that he had met Inspector Johnstone, she said. She asked what she could do for them.
‘I’d like a few minutes of your time,’ Henry said. ‘To ask you about the little investigation you and Sarah Downham, and Penny Soper and Rita Covington were carrying out.’
She looked shocked and nervously pushed a strand of fair hair back behind her ear. ‘Jenny, can you hold the fort for a few minutes?’ she asked, then led the inspectors out of the kitchen and into a small sitting room. The fire in the hearth had not long been lit; compared with the heat of the kitchen, this room felt chilly. Henry watched as Lucy sought to gain some thinking time by poking at the coals and adding more wood. Finally, she asked, ‘Do you think he might come after me, whoever it was that killed Penny?’
Penny, Henry noticed. Not Penny and Sarah. Lucy’s voice was carefully controlled, but her pale cheeks were suddenly flushed, and he sensed that she’d been trying hard not to think of this possibility. That his arrival with Inspector Walker had crystalized her fears.
‘We are concerned about the possibility,’ Walker said. ‘Four of you, it seems, were involved in some scheme to uncover who had attacked your friend, Miss Covington. Other young women, too. Now two of your group are dead.’
‘Brady Brewer killed Sarah.’ Lucy’s voice was suddenly harsh. She looked directly at Walker, and Henry noted that the baby-blue eyes were damp with unshed tears. ‘You arrested him. He was hanged. He killed her.’
‘We are no longer certain of that,’ Henry told her.
Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘No! He killed her – I know he did.’
‘And how do you know that?’ Henry asked her. He tried to keep his voice low and sympathetic but was aware that he still sounded sharp. He tried again. ‘Miss Green, what makes you so certain that Brewer took Sarah Downham’s life? I know the evidence was convincing, but—’
‘He threatened her!’ Lucy almost shouted the words.
‘You never told me that.’ Walker sounded aggrieved. ‘Miss Green, we spoke several times and you never told me that.’
‘I didn’t think there was a need. You’d charged him, then he went to court and the jury found him guilty. I didn’t think … didn’t think I needed to.’
‘Was there some reason you wanted to keep the threat quiet?’ Henry asked her. ‘Something you didn’t want made public?’
She bent to poke the fire again, stabbing angrily at the logs, her face turned away. ‘Sarah wanted to end all contact with him. She said that Brady Brewer wanted things. Wanted to do things that she wasn’t … just wasn’t willing to do. He said he would spread stories about her, about the two of them, and then, when she told him she didn’t care and that no one would believe his word against hers, he threatened her, said she was playing with his feelings, that she’d led him on. But she’d never do that. Never! He said he’d a right to expect what she’d promised, but I knew Sarah, and she’d never have done anything, especially not with him.’ The poker slipped from her hand and rattled to the hearth.
‘Had she ever been romantically involved with Brewer?’
‘Romantically! No, never. Never anything like that. He said he liked her, and I think she thought it might be fun, you know, to see him, but never anything like that.’
‘Miss Green, this is a delicate question, but do you think … do you believe that your friend, Sarah, did anything that Brewer might have misconstrued?’
Walker looked as uncomfortable asking the question as Lucy Green looked trying to answer it.
‘No. I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Mostly, they met at Miss Brewer’s house. Elizabeth knew both our families. She thought it was all right if she met Brady there.’
Brady, Henry noted. Not Brewer. ‘And did you all know Mr Brewer well? Because of your acquaintance with his sister?’
‘I … I suppose so. He was just always around. We knew him from when we were children. I don’t think we ever thought he would … well, you know.’
‘See either of you in a romantic light,’ Henry said.
‘Romantic!’ She shook her head. ‘Thank you for putting it so delicately, Inspector, but I don’t think he had romance on his mind. Anyway, he’d have known how my father would react if he even looked the wrong way at me. Look, he’d sometimes turn up to walk his sister home or he’d be working here or even for Sarah’s family. He was just someone we were acquainted with. That was all.’
Henry paused, getting his thoughts in order. ‘So why did Sarah Downham go out of her way to be friendly with Mr Brewer? Please, don’t deny it, Miss Green; there is sufficient evidence that Miss Downham was involved with Mr Brewer – even his sister believed that she had feelings for him and that those feelings were returned.’
This might have been stretching the truth a little, Henry thought. But not so much. Both Sarah Downham’s family and Elizabeth Brewer had taken what they had seen as the burgeoning relationship seriously.
What little colour remained in her face now drained. ‘No,’ she said. ‘There was never anything. How could you even think that? Sarah just thought … We’d been looking into the attacks on those other girls. We’d asked all sorts of questions, but no one took us seriously. We just weren’t getting anywhere, and it seemed so unfair! Rita might have been killed! Those other girls might have been killed. No one would tell us anything, and we couldn’t get to the people we really wanted to talk to. People who might know something.’
‘The criminal classes,’ Walker said dryly. ‘Miss Green, it seems to me the four of you were playing a very dangerous game. Two of you are now dead.’
‘And so Sarah Downham thought she would bring Brady Brewer into your little game.’
‘It wasn’t a game! But yes, she thought Brady might know something or be able to find out something. I mean, I know what people said about him, but we didn’t think … I mean, surely he couldn’t … wouldn’t like the idea of young women being attacked and, well, you know … interfered with.’
‘But something changed your mind about that,’ Henry pointed out. ‘By the time of his arrest, you readily believed him capable of raping and murdering your friend.’
He was aware of Walker’s slight shock and of Lucy Green’s more acute one. Again, the hands flew to her mouth and this time the tears overflowed. ‘He threatened her,’ Lucy sobbed. ‘He said she’d led him on and he’d be within his rights to take what she’d promised. But I knew Sarah, and she’d never … never … not with a man like that. Not with anyone.’
She had more or less repeated what she had said before, Henry noted. It was evidently something she had thought deeply about, something she had done her best to convince herself was true. Did that mean she recognized there might be some truth in this allegation? That Sarah Downham may have seemed willing to offer more than she actually intended? Henry waited until the young woman had regained some control and then asked, ‘And who was Penelope Soper seeing? Do you know the name of her young man?’
He watched the various emotions chase across Lucy’s expression. He watched her working out what she should say. ‘Is he married, Miss Green?’
‘Married, no.’
‘But you know who he is?’
She hesitated, but the floodgates were open now and she couldn’t stop herself. ‘It’s Philip,’ she said. ‘Philip Maddison. They couldn’t tell anyone. Their families, especially his family, they really wouldn’t approve.’
‘Philip Maddison. The young man Sarah Downham’s family wanted her to marry?’
‘Yes. Sarah didn’t want him. They’d been friends as children. He was nice then. I don’t really know what Penny saw in him. We thought maybe she was flattered. I mean, a man like that, with money and prospects.’
‘I can see that would be appealing for a girl of her background and class,’ Henry agreed. ‘Did she believe that his feelings were genuine?’
It seemed to take forever, but eventually Lucy Green nodded. ‘They had been writing to one another; he had his letters sent to the Wharf so her mother wouldn’t see. You don’t know what it was like for Penny, everybody depending on her – she was working all the hours God sent just to try to keep their heads above water. That stepfather of hers did absolutely nothing – when things got difficult, he just walked out on them.’
‘It seemed he wanted his children back,’ Henry suggested. ‘Apparently he approached them one day in the marketplace and confronted Miss Soper about this.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, Penny told me. But they didn’t want to go – why should they? He was nothing but a brute when he lived with them, far too handy with his fists, especially when he was drunk – and that was all the time.’
‘And yet legally he is within his rights to claim his children back.’
‘You can tell it’s men that write the laws,’ she said bitterly. ‘Penny would have moved heaven and earth to look after her little sister and brothers – she already was.’
‘And do you think that she hoped Philip Maddison would help her? After all, he is a man of means with a good career ahead of him. Do you think she hoped for marriage?’
Lucy sighed deeply, and Henry had the impression that all the energy had finally been sucked out of her. For the first time since they had entered the room, she left the fire and sank into one of the easy chairs. Henry motioned to Walker to do the same, and they seated themselves on the sofa opposite. ‘Do you think she hoped for marriage?’
‘I think Penny knew better than that,’ she said. ‘His family would never have stood for it, would they? She wasn’t the kind of girl they could have introduced into his kind of society. No, I don’t believe she thought that, but I believe she would have given a great deal just for some financial security, just until the children were grown enough to take care of themselves, and I think she thought that Philip might provide that. After all, it’s not unknown, is it, for a man to—’
‘Keep a mistress,’ Henry finished for her.
‘It sounds so cheap when you put it like that. Look, there is only so much money that one girl can earn, even working as many hours as she did. Her mother wasn’t capable; her aunt tried to help, but she isn’t much better off. I think if she could have trusted her stepfather with the children, then she would have persuaded her mother at least to let the older ones go; that would have taken a little of the strain off her. As it was, I think she felt there weren’t many options left.’
‘Let’s leave Miss Soper aside for a moment. The night Sarah died, you know she changed her clothes? When she visited her friends in Naseby, she was wearing a brown pleated skirt, a cardigan and a white blouse. But when her body was found, she was wearing—’
‘Her yellow dress – yes, I know. Penny made it for her. Linus told me what she was wearing. It took ages to save for the fabric because her aunt kept track of every bit of money Sarah had. She’s a mean-minded woman; she claimed she wanted to try to keep Sarah safe, but she gave her no freedom, the tiniest of allowances, and then made her account for every penny she spent.’
‘And yet she was wandering at night, unaccompanied and in the loneliest of places.’
‘Her family believed she would be given a lift home, because she always was. I think she lied to everybody about that. She must’ve got changed somewhere between Naseby and where she was killed.’
‘And you also know where she was going?’ Henry was guessing here, but Lucy nodded.
‘I don’t know all of it. She said that she was going away. That she had persuaded Philip to give her some money. It was only a few months before she would come into her mother’s legacy, when she turned twenty. If she had lived another three months, she would have been independent. Her father tried to get it changed; he didn’t believe that any girl was responsible at twenty, and he tried to get the lawyers to change it to twenty-five. Sarah was desperately scared that he would succeed, but it turned out that her mother had a very good lawyer draw up her will.’ Lucy smiled, as though at a sweet memory. ‘She was so excited.’
‘And Philip Maddison had agreed to help?’
‘Her family wanted the marriage brought forward; they were absolutely insistent that the pair of them would get married, but neither of them wanted it. Sarah wanted to live a little before she was tied down, and I suspect that Philip felt the same. I don’t think Penny was the only one, if you see what I mean. Philip likes female company, always has. I hoped Penny would come to her senses before she committed too much to him. But I knew she was desperate. And to give Philip his due, I believe he felt as much for Penny as he was capable of feeling for anyone, and I think he would have treated her fairly. Anyway, Sarah and Philip had stayed friends, and there weren’t many people she could ask.’
‘And yet you told me none of this.’ Walker was positively accusatory now.
‘What good would it have done? She was scared of Brewer, afraid of what he would tell her family and afraid of what he might make her do. She wanted to get away from him, so she confessed to Philip, told him what we had all been doing, and why, and although he told us we were stupid and irresponsible, he sympathized. He had agreed to help her.’
‘And where was he planning to meet her? Is that why she changed into the yellow dress? She was meeting Philip? From the description I’ve had of it, it was not a travelling dress.’
‘No, it wasn’t, and I don’t know why she changed into it. It seems such a strange thing to do. I know she’d packed a bag and she’d left it in a barn somewhere near Naseby. She planned on collecting the bag and walking back along the footpath to East Harborough and then catching a train. That’s all I know.’
‘So late at night?’
‘There is a train from East Harborough into Leicester at eleven p.m. She planned to book into a hotel there for the night and then go on the following morning. I don’t know much more. I just remember thinking that she would be far away, and then the news came about her body being found.’
‘And did Philip Maddison get in touch with you?’
‘The following day, he telephoned the house, and I spoke to him. He was shocked and devastated, the same as we all were. He’d been able to get away and would be able to carve out a life for himself, but Sarah never would, not now.’
‘You say that her aunt kept Sarah on a tight rein, and yet she went to dances, and she went wandering at night on her own.’
‘What harm can anyone come to at a dance at the Temperance Hall, a five-minute walk from home? And as for wandering at night, Sarah had become an expert at getting out of the house unseen. Her aunt locked her door at night, but the window latch was broken and could be lifted, and she was always good at climbing.’
‘And when she went to Miss Brewer’s home?’
‘The Downhams trusted Elizabeth, and at first they didn’t take any account of Brady Brewer. He was so far beneath them that they didn’t even seem to notice his existence, except when they needed something lifting or carrying. By the time they had to take notice of him, it was far too late. No one will trust Elizabeth now, of course, and her name is mud in every house in the area; I imagine she’s lost work right, left and centre. Even Doctor Clark wouldn’t employ her, not after it came out about Brady Brewer. Elizabeth is blameless. Or maybe not entirely blameless – maybe she genuinely believed that her brother had changed and Sarah might be good for him. I don’t know. People delude themselves about those they love, don’t they? Anyway, most of the time, her family didn’t know Sarah had gone to Elizabeth’s house. The family assumed she was here. Our father is away a lot, and even when he is here, if it isn’t a horse or a dog, he doesn’t take much notice of it. If they’d asked him if Sarah had come here on a particular night, he wouldn’t have known. He would have just told her aunt and her father to ask me.’
She sounded scathing, Henry noted, and he remembered the day when he had seen the older Mr Green and his son Linus walking together at the crime scene. Linus’s tolerant disregard of his father’s conversation, his mind clearly elsewhere, even while he made stock answers to the older man. The impression Henry had then was that Mr Green needed neither encouragement to make conversation nor much in the way of response. He was a man who just assumed everyone must be listening to him.
He changed tack slightly and asked, ‘And how far had your investigation proceeded?’
She looked embarrassed. ‘In truth, not very far. We had gathered as much information as we could from newspaper reports and village gossip. We knew that perhaps eight or ten other girls had been attacked in the last two years. Rita probably found out the most – after all, she had been a victim, so people were inclined to tell her things that had happened to others, and all the rumours that had been spread about who might be responsible. She was also the victim of gossip – women, in the main, asking what on earth a girl was doing out at that time on her own. Women can be mean to other women. Fortunately, the family is well thought of, and her parents put paid to that kind of talk. But there was a moment when she thought she might lose her job.’
‘It is a harsh judgement when the victim is suspected of having brought misfortune on herself,’ Henry agreed.
Lucy nodded and then said, ‘With Sarah, I did wonder about the dress. I wondered if it might be just a celebration for her, that she changed because she was about to get her freedom. The yellow dress was special. But I was also worried, when Linus told me, that people would judge her. It was bad enough when Rita was attacked, all the gossiping and the snide remarks behind her back, that somehow she was to blame. I couldn’t bear that happening to Sarah; none of us could.’
‘So did you do something about it?’ Walker asked.
‘Not me, but Penny did. Sarah’s aunt had given Penny an old dress, of good blue wool, and Penny had made it into something for herself. Sarah’s aunt is stouter than Penny was, so there was plenty of fabric. If you remember, Inspector Walker, we all came to the police station at different points, to give statements and tell you what we knew.’
‘It seems that you came to give statements but told me very little,’ Walker objected.
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Go on,’ Henry told her.
‘Well, it was easy to see where the evidence was kept, as the door marked Evidence Room is close to your office. So we knew where the yellow dress would be. And we knew where the keys would be kept, because we’d noticed that, too – they’re all on a rack behind the desk with labels. It wasn’t that hard to distract the desk sergeant with a question, and then Penny slipped in and changed the dress. She put the blue one in its place, so that if her aunt or her father should happen to see it, they wouldn’t … well, they wouldn’t think badly. Or at least not worse than they already were. That was a few days after Sarah was found. She told me she waited until the desk sergeant was distracted and then slipped by him. Then she made a big fuss about her dress going missing because she knew her mother would wonder what had happened when she didn’t wear it for church. Penny didn’t have enough clothes that its loss wouldn’t be noticed at home.’
She paused and then added, ‘I have never seen anyone as angry as Mr Downham was, not even my father when someone shot one of his dogs. And believe me, he was so furious and overheated that day he could have started a fire. The day after Sarah’s body was found, her father and her aunt came here and demanded to know what had been going on behind their backs. Linus and I told them that nothing had, that Sarah had done nothing wrong. And even if she had, she was dead, wasn’t she?’
‘And raped. But that was not made part of the public record,’ Henry added.
The flush was back again, her cheeks reddening, but she nodded. ‘They seem to think she deserved it, that she must’ve done something. Brewer had been spreading rumours, and they had heard them and believed them, and that was when her aunt started locking Sarah’s door. The night she went across to Naseby, it was the first time she’d been allowed out in two weeks, and it was only because the families were close, they were considered respectable, and Mr Downham knew that they would make sure she got home safely. Or that was what everybody thought.’
‘And they let her walk?’
‘Actually, she walked with me. I’d been visiting that day. We walked to the farm together and then she went on.’ She looked suddenly embarrassed. ‘I’d brought a carpet bag with me. Sarah had packed a few things into it. When we left, I carried the bag. Everyone would have thought it was mine. Not that anyone took any notice of us. She should have been long gone from here by morning. She took the bag with her when we parted at the farm. Naseby village is only a ten-minute walk from here.’
Henry nodded but a question was forming in his mind. It was Walker who asked it.
‘But why go to such elaborate lengths? The family wanted her to marry Philip Maddison. She had presumably agreed, even if that agreement was under duress. If Maddison had promised to help her, then surely she could simply have visited him, with the blessing of her family, and just not gone through with the marriage.’
‘It was too late for that,’ Lucy said. ‘They had arranged a special licence. The two families had agreed, and both Sarah and Philip had to pretend to go along with their plans so as not to arouse suspicion. The marriage was to have taken place three days after Sarah was murdered. They were going to escort her there and see her married. No church ceremony, no friends, no dress … They told her just two days before she died. Had she refused, they threatened to cast her out, and then what would she do? Everyone would have believed the rumours about her. You see, Inspector, they’d pushed her into a corner, and Sarah didn’t know how else to solve her problem. She felt she had no choice, and she fought her way out the only way she could.’
‘Was there no one who could have given her shelter?’ Henry asked pointedly.
Lucy shrugged helplessly. ‘This is my father’s house, Inspector. I allowed Philip to send money for her here. He wrote to Linus as we felt that would seem less suspicious. But beyond that … My family agreed that I can go away to study. That fight was hard enough. It was only Linus hinting that he would not want me to be a future burden that made my father change his mind. The land matters to him. He married late, and when he dies and after Linus is married, my brother will certainly have to take responsibility for our mother. To have the keeping of a sister as well would be unreasonable.’
Henry had the sense that he was hearing the argument as they had rehearsed it. He found himself hoping that Miss Green would find the success and independence she clearly hoped for. ‘And there was no one else?’
It was more statement than question. It was clear that none of Sarah’s friends was in a position to offer her sanctuary. All young, most not as financially well-off as Sarah Downham, and if she had come to them with the rumours and threats represented by Brady Brewer piled on her shoulders, that would touch them as well. In a city, she might have found a place in a women’s hotel or hostel, decent places which gave a young woman a secure address – as Cynthia had always maintained, once you had an address you could get a decent job and climb through life from there.
‘And so she tried to leave—’
‘And someone killed her, and I still believe it was Brady Brewer. The things he said about her … no wonder she needed to get away.’
Henry paused, glanced at Walker and wondered how he should phrase the next question. He decided he should be direct. ‘Miss Green, did you have any sense that Miss Downham had feelings for anyone? Not for Philip Maddison, obviously, but for someone within your circle?’
She frowned. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I’ve had reason to look through her belongings, as you know. That is how I found out about your … investigation. I also found reference to a young man she seemed fond of—’
‘You examined her personal things?’
He could see that she was genuinely shocked. ‘Murder removes all claim on privacy,’ he said as gently as he could, aware that his tone still sounded cold. ‘There was mention of someone with the initials AH.’
She looked puzzled. Shook her head. ‘I can’t think of anyone. Except, except maybe … but he wasn’t a friend of Sarah’s; he was someone Philip and Linus used to know, someone their age. And that’s Aiden Hughes. But I don’t think they’ve seen him in ages; he was just a school friend.’
‘And you can think of no one else? Nothing she might have said that did not make sense at the time?’
Again, she shook her head. ‘Poor Sarah,’ she said softly. ‘Inspector, I think I’ve had my fill of men. It seems to me that they are far more trouble than they are worth.’
‘I suppose that is one mystery solved,’ Walker said as they left. He was clearly still deeply annoyed.
‘One of many. If I remember right, Philip Maddison was due at the Downham house this Saturday, so tomorrow. I think we will pay them all a visit and then invite the young man to come to the station for a formal interview.’
‘Do you think Lucy Green might be right about the yellow dress, that Sarah put it on as a celebration?’
‘I think it’s possible, but why not wait until she reached the hotel and relative safety? As I said, it wasn’t a travelling dress from the sound of it. No, I still believe she was meeting somebody. Somebody special, someone she wanted to impress.’
‘Well, not Brewer, then,’ Walker said wryly. ‘Can’t see him being particularly interested in pretty dresses. And evidently not Philip Maddison; he was interviewed at the time and has an alibi for the day before Sarah was killed and also the evening of her death. He was still away from home and attending lectures all the day before.’
‘And yet he mentioned nothing to you about her planning to leave.’
‘No, he did not. Perhaps he thought that would only bring trouble down on his own head and on Lucy Green, and that nothing would be gained by admitting he was helping Sarah Downham to run away.’
‘Well, perhaps our mysterious AH is this Aiden Hughes and they were going to run off together. Do you have any knowledge of the man?’
‘If I remember, he was one of the men who confirmed Brewer was at the Wharf the night one of the girls was attacked. I don’t recall that he has a record.’
‘And he also knew Philip Maddison and Linus Green. And yes, I understand, everyone seems known to everyone else around here. But he’s worth looking into. And where did the carpet bag get to? We found only the skirt, blouse and cardigan in the barn. Why leave those behind? She could easily have packed them in her bag.’
‘Perhaps because she didn’t like them?’ Walker suggested.
Henry realized he may have a point. ‘Perhaps. She would have been carrying a bag with her clothes and her shoes and presumably whatever money she could lay her hands on and whatever Philip Maddison had sent to her – she would probably have been worth robbing. And she was wearing her boots. So, we now have more of her belongings to look for. Whoever attacked her must have taken them away. It’s possible they kept hold of them.’
‘That would be useful,’ Walker agreed. ‘So where now?’
‘To visit Elizabeth Brewer. I want to know if she was privy to this plan to run away. If she was, then the chances are Brady Brewer knew about it, too.’