Chapter 13

Friday, March 12^th, 1971

Laurel sat at her desk in the dining room of Greyfriars, pretending to read through the notes on the David Pemberton case. She tried to concentrate, but other images swam before her eyes: Nancy’s grief-stricken face, Clara Harrop’s body hanging at the end of a rope and the hideous expression on the face of the dead Sam Harrop; also, she couldn’t get the sickening smells of their bodies out of her nose. Worse of all was the guilt of her failure to get hold of Nancy and to return to the Harrop’s house on Wednesday afternoon. Everyone was reassuring her she couldn’t have acted in any other way, but if she’d followed her instinct and got Sam out of that house, he’d still be alive, and so would Clara.

Dorothy came into the room. ‘Mabel’s making some tea. Would you like a cup? It’s nearly four, you’ve been sitting there long enough. Come on, Laurel, buck up. This is no time for introspection, we’ve got work to do.’

Laurel didn’t know what to say or do. She felt numb. Normally Dorothy’s bossiness would have roused her to make a pithy remark, but not today. She looked up. Dorothy was frowning at her, her glasses on the tip of her nose. Thank goodness for Dorothy. She was upset for Nancy, but she wasn’t wallowing in it; she didn’t blame herself for starting the investigation off by asking her to help. She tried a smile.

Dorothy smiled back. ‘That’s better. Leave the paperwork.’ She moved closer and whispered, ‘Come and help me with Mabel, she’s a bit upset.’

‘What about?’ she whispered back.

‘Something to do with Stuart, I think.’

She shook her head. ‘Those two, you’d think they were teenagers the way they’re carrying on.’

Dorothy giggled. ‘Romeo and Juliet: I can see Mabel on a balcony, and when young Stuart appears she pours hot tea all over him.’

Laurel sniggered. ‘Dorothy Piff, to think you were once a respectable school secretary.’

‘It’s mixing with the like of you and Frank that’s brought me down to this level.’

They were still laughing as they came into the kitchen.

‘I’m glad someone’s happy,’ Mabel said, pouring tea into three cups. ‘Though how you can laugh when Frank’s at the station being grilled by that Revie man, I don’t know. Next thing we’ll hear is he’s arrested for murder.’

Dorothy sat down, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and matches from her pocket and lit up. ‘You honestly think Revie will get the better of Frank? If they arrest him, they’ll have to take Laurel in as an accessory. Come on, Mabel, pull yourself together. This is a terrible situation, but no need to make it worse.’

Mabel plonked a plate of biscuits on the table, her face pinched and unhappy. ‘I didn’t have any time to make a cake, you’ll have to make do with shop bought biscuits.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Laurel said, ‘I like shortbread.’ Mabel glowered and she realised she’d said the wrong thing.

‘I’ll have to have more money for the housekeeping if prices keep going up,’ Mabel moaned.

‘Are you doing anything tonight, Laurel?’ Dorothy asked.

Laurel raised her eyebrows. Now what? ‘Nothing, except to wait for Frank to come back from Leiston police station.’

Dorothy sipped her tea, then took a long pull on her cigarette. ‘I’m going into Aldeburgh. There’s a meeting at the Jubilee Hall about the possibility of building another nuclear power station. Easterspring’s only been going for five years, so it will be ages before they start to build a new one, but they want to ease the way for the next phase. Would you like to come with me? I want to see the director, Dr Luxton, and hear what he’s got to say.’

It wasn’t something Laurel felt strongly about, but perhaps she should. It would get her out of the house and away from moaning Mabel, and possibly another embarrassing scene when Stuart got back. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you. What time’s the meeting?’

‘Seven o clock.’ Dorothy glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘We could leave soon and have a bite at The Cross Keys before it starts.’

‘Along with all the other people who’ve decided to do the same,’ Mabel muttered.

‘Mabel, what’s the matter with you?’ Dorothy asked. ‘Is it Stuart?’

Mabel slumped in her seat. ‘I think he’s fed up with me.’

Laurel stopped herself from saying, I’m not surprised. ‘Why do you think that?’ Dorothy asked, patting Mabel’s hand.

Mabel breathed in deeply. ‘Someone told me they’d seen him in The White Lion, in Southwold, having a drink with a woman. They said they seemed thick with each other. I can’t blame him, I haven’t been very nice lately, have I?’

Laurel grasped her other hand. ‘Oh, Mabel, that was Ann Fenner he was with, the Pembertons’ housekeeper. He was only questioning her about David. I’m sure Stuart loves you, but you’ve been giving him a hard time.’

Mabel’s chin dropped, a tear sliding down her cheek. ‘I didn’t realise it was her, but they said he was enjoying himself; they were eating fish and chips.’

Dorothy glanced at Laurel; they both bit their lips.

‘Why don’t you come with us to Aldeburgh? The meeting might be boring, but we’ll have a meal first, and you’ll see lots of your old customers. They’ll all tell you your daughter-in-law’s batter’s good, but not as good as yours,’ Dorothy said.

Mabel blinked. ‘What’s on the telly tonight?’

Dorothy consulted the Radio Times. ‘The Virginian followed by Eric Sykes.’

‘Do come, Mabel. You can tell me who everyone is,’ Laurel said.

Mabel smiled at them. ‘Thanks. I think I will. But what about Frank and … Stuart when they come back? What will they have for their supper?’

Laurel sniffed. ‘They’re big boys, they can fend for themselves; also, Stuart might appreciate you more if you’re not here, absence makes etc. etc.’

‘Right, it’s settled. I’ll leave a note for them.’

‘We could call in at Leiston police station and see if we can rescue Frank,’ Laurel said. Why had Revie wanted to see him again? They’d both made detailed statements yesterday.

Dorothy shook her head. ‘Frank will do it his way. I bet he’s got that Inspector Revie on board by now.’

‘We’ll hear all about it later, or tomorrow morning. Right, ten minutes to get ready, then off we go. I’ll drive,’ Laurel said.

Laurel, Dorothy and Mabel walked the short distance from the Cross Keys to the Jubilee Hall, both in Crabbe Street. The narrow street, close to the sea front, was crammed with people waiting to get into the meeting. They joined the queue, which because of the meagre pavement, spilled onto the road.

‘Lovely old building,’ Mabel said. ‘I like it better than that Snape Malting, that’s too far away from the town.’

‘They’ve made a good job of rebuilding the concert hall after it burnt down last year. Such a shame,’ Dorothy said.

‘They still have concerts here during the music festival, don’t they?’ Laurel asked.

‘They certainly do, but I hear Mr Britten isn’t too well,’ Dorothy said.

‘He’s never looked strong, poor man,’ Mabel replied.

Laurel was surprised by the spaciousness of the hall with its deep stage and orchestra pit built underneath it. The rows of metal and leatherette chairs began to fill up.

‘Let’s get on the front row,’ Dorothy whispered. ‘Sometimes these science boffins aren’t very good public speakers. We want to hear what’s going on.’

Laurel led the way and they bagged seats in the centre of the first row.

Dorothy wriggled. ‘The seats are as uncomfortable as I remember.’

On the deep stage was a long table, with a microphone, glasses and a jug of water and three chairs.

Mabel got up. ‘Just going to have a few words with some people I know. Don’t let anyone pinch my seat.’

‘I thought that was Stuart’s prerogative,’ Laurel said. She received a playful tap round the ear from Mabel.

‘It’s good to see her looking like her old self,’ Dorothy said. ‘Something is bothering her, I don’t think it’s anything to do with Stuart, not directly, I think she’s worried about something, but she can’t, or doesn’t want to, talk about it. Stuart is as puzzled as anyone. I do hope they can sort it out, for their sakes and the agency’s. I’d be so upset if one or both left.’

Laurel’s stomach tightened. ‘You don’t think it would come to that? I really need everyone at the moment; I know I’m being lily-livered and logically I know I’m not responsible for the Harrops’ dying, but —’

Dorothy squeezed her hand. ‘You coped magnificently with Nicholson. Have faith in yourself. We’ve all got faith in you.’

Those few words lightened her spirits. She must push thoughts of inadequacy behind her and concentrate on the search for David Pemberton and possibly, if the Harrops’ deaths were suspicious, finding out what happened to them and who did it.

Mabel came back to her seat as three men mounted the stage and took up their positions in front of the now silent audience. The man in the middle stood up and took hold of the microphone. ‘Welcome to the meeting.’ He introduced himself as a Suffolk County Councillor, acting as chair; he introduced the man on his right, the director of Easterbrook Power Station, Dr Luxton, and the man on his left as the Deputy Director.

Dr Luxton was a tall thin man, balding with a Plantagenet face; he gazed at the audience through owl-like glasses and wore a green tweed suit, white shirt and plain brown tie.

A boffin, looks and all, thought Laurel. He didn’t look well; there were shadows under his eyes, and the corner of his right eye regularly twitched.

‘How long has he been at Easterspring?’ she asked Dorothy.

‘Came when it was commissioned in 1966.’

The County Councillor waffled on about the prosperity the building of Easterspring had brought to Leiston and the surrounding area, how it had saved the town and how by the end of its life it would have generated enough electricity to power England and Wales for six months.

‘Which six months was that?’ Mabel asked in a whisper, ‘April to September?’

Laurel suppressed a laugh.

‘Dr Luxton will now speak on the work of the power station and the future of atomic energy in England and in this part of the country in particular,’ the County Councillor said, passing the microphone to Luxton.

Luxton unfolded his body and leant towards the audience.

Terrible posture, Laurel thought. He looked nervous for a man with such power and responsibility; his eyes were shifting from side to side as if he was looking for someone in particular. Then he seemed to get a grip of himself and spoke in a pleasant cultured voice about the work of the station.

He briefly mentioned the history of nuclear power, the role of the British Nuclear Design and Construction, backed by English Electric, Babcock and Wilcox and Taylor Woodrow, in the building of the plant, and then baffled everyone with details about total generating capacity, the rate of oxidation of internal reactor-core components, and steam produced by boilers and turbogenerators.

Laurel’s concentration drifted; she wished they’d sat a bit farther back so she could look round and see if she knew anyone in the audience.

‘Although it will be many years before we need to replace this power station —’ Luxton stopped speaking. He was staring towards the back of the hall, his mouth open in mid-sentence.

Laurel turned, directing her gaze in the direction of Luxton’s stare. A few people were standing at the back of the hall, obviously latecomers. One person stood out, she’d seen his face before: seen it on paper, the drawing of the headmaster of Chillingworth School. Ralph Gabriel Baron.

‘Dorothy, look who’s at the back of the hall,’ she whispered.

Luxton had regained his composure and was talking about a new power station to be built next to the present one, to be called Easterspring 2, an advanced gas-cooled reactor.

Dorothy craned her neck. ‘You mean Mr Tucker, the art gallery owner?’

‘No. No. Which one is he?’

‘Look he’s waving to me now. Nice man, always in a good humour. Oh, yes, I see who you mean. My word, that boy got him off to a T.’

‘Oh, dear, he’s fainting!’

Mabel’s words made Laurel and Dorothy turn back to the stage. Luxton had collapsed across the table, the microphone fell to the floor, and loud metallic sounds reverberated round the hall. The chairman tried to pull Luxton into his seat whilst the Deputy Director retrieved the microphone.

Laurel didn’t think; years of dealing with physical crises on the playing field, in the gym or the school playground, sent her towards where she was needed. She got up and went onto the stage. ‘Can I help?’ She didn’t wait for the chairman’s reply. She managed to lower the ungainly body of Luxton onto the stage floor and placed him in the recovery position. He was surprisingly light for his height: skin and bone. She loosened his tie and checked he was breathing. His breaths were shallow and his face pale, filmed with sweat. Could be a panic attack. He’d seemed nervous at the beginning of the meeting, then he’d settled down, but when he’d seen Baron he’d lost control. What was needed was a paper bag.

‘Ask if anyone in the audience has a paper bag,’ she ordered the chairman.

‘What?’

‘Just do it.’

The chairman turned to the Deputy Director. ‘You heard what the lady said, ask the audience.’ The noise from the floor was increasing, some people were making for the door, some were coming up to the stage, their expressions either concerned or curious.

‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ Laurel grabbed the microphone. ‘Has anyone got a paper bag? Sounds mad, I know, but I need one.’

Mabel rummaged in her handbag, and produced a brown paper bag full of something. She came to the stage and handed it to Laurel. ‘I brought some bread for the seagulls, forgot to give it to them.’

Laurel gave her the thumbs up, tipped the stale bread onto the stage floor and placed the bag over Luxton’s mouth and nose. ‘Take some deep breaths,’ she whispered in his ear, hoping blood was returning to his brain and he would come to shortly.

A tall, dark-haired, good looking man, carrying a doctor’s bag came onto the stage.

‘Thank heavens,’ the chairman said.

The doctor looked at Luxton and Laurel. ‘Panic attack?’

‘I think so.’

‘You a medic?’

‘No. Former head of PE.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Girls?’

Laurel nodded, still holding the bag to Luxton’s face.

‘Plenty of experience then,’ the doctor said.

Laurel eyeballed him. ‘He’s coming to.’

Luxton groaned, then retched. Laurel and the doctor helped him to sit up.

‘Let’s get the poor man out of the limelight. This is embarrassing for him,’ Laurel said.

‘You,’ the doctor addressed the chairman. ‘Take his right arm, and you,’ pointing to the Deputy Director, ‘get a chair for him in the wings.’

Laurel decided she’d try to get into this doctor’s practice. She hadn’t signed up with one and was constantly nagged by Dorothy to get herself fixed up.

Luxton had recovered sufficiently to stagger, with help, out of the range of the audience.

‘Sit down, man,’ the doctor ordered. He pushed Luxton’s head down between his knees. ‘You’ll feel better soon.’

The chairman scuttled back to the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He was speaking into the microphone. ‘Please be seated. Dr Luxton has recovered but is unable to continue his talk. However, the Deputy Director …’

The man’s an idiot, Laurel thought.

‘Will continue the talk.’

Laurel looked at the doctor who was taking Luxton’s pulse. He raised his eyebrows as if he agreed with her estimation of the chairman’s capabilities.

‘Not too bad. Can you talk?’ he asked Luxton.

Luxton nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never fainted before.’

‘How will you get home?’ Laurel asked.

‘I live in Thorpeness. My deputy can drive me home.’

‘Is there anyone there?’ the doctor asked.

Luxton gulped. ‘No, I live alone.’

It figures, thought Laurel, only a bachelor would wear such a horrible suit.

The doctor frowned. ‘In that case, I think we need to get you to hospital. I don’t want you by yourself in case you have another attack. Or have you a friend who could stay with you tonight? Tomorrow you need to get a full check-up. I don’t think it’s serious, but better safe than sorry.’

‘Perhaps your deputy could stay with you?’ Laurel asked.

Luxton’s face crumpled. ‘No. He’s got a family. I don’t think he’d want to do that.’

The doctor looked at Laurel. ‘You OK to stay with him? I’ll see the deputy, sounds as if the meeting’s packing up, and I’ll get him some water.’

‘There’s some on the table.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘You’d have thought the chairman would have brought the poor chap a glass by now!’ He stalked off.

Laurel put her arm round Luxton’s shoulders. He flinched. ‘Are you all right now, Dr Luxton?’ She slowly withdrew her arm.

He leant back against the back of the chair. ‘Yes, thank you. Did you come to my rescue when I fainted? I saw you sitting on the front row. What’s your name?’

‘Laurel Bowman. I used to be a PE teacher, so I’ve got some knowledge of first aid. Luckily someone got hold of a doctor.’

‘Don’t you teach now?’

‘No.’ She didn’t feel like elaborating. His breathing was becoming shallow again. ‘Dr Luxton, take some slow deep breaths. Try not to get worked up if you can.’ He looked round and his right eye started twitching. He looked frightened, as though whatever had brought on the attack was returning to his mind.

‘Can I help you? Something is bothering you and making you feel unwell. Perhaps if you told someone, they might be able to help you sort out the problem. Sometimes when you talk to someone about what’s worrying you, it immediately shrinks in size and you find you can deal with it.’ It was like talking to a fourth year who was convinced life was over because they had a spot on the end of their nose, or her best friend had gone off with the boy she fancied.

He looked at her as though he was longing to tell her, his mouth trembling and tears filming his eyes. ‘I can’t tell anyone. If I told you, you’d wish you hadn’t helped me, you’d hate me so much you’d wish I’d died. I wish I was dead.’

Good heavens. She must tell the doctor and make sure the Deputy Director understood how serious this was; he seemed unstable, delusional. What had he done to make him feel like this?

‘Please don’t feel like that. Whatever it is I’m sure you can put it right. Try to get some rest. Are your parents still alive? There’s nothing like going home and being spoilt for a few days.’ She knew she was offering platitudes and from the look on his face, nothing she’d said was getting through.

The doctor came back with the Deputy Director. ‘Come along, Dr Luxton, you’re going home with your colleague. I’ll come with you to his car.’

As the two scientists left the stage, Dr Luxton leaning on his deputy, Laurel called the doctor back and told him what Luxton had said.

‘I’ll have a word with his friend, tell him not to leave him by himself. I’ll make an appointment to see him tomorrow if his own doctor can’t fit him in.’

Laurel shook his hand. ‘Thanks. By the way, have you got room for another customer? I haven’t signed up with a practice yet.’ No use being a shy violet.

‘Delighted … Miss?’ he said, glancing at her left hand.

‘Laurel Bowman.’

‘Oliver Neave. So, you’re the Laurel Bowman, who sorted out Nicholson?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Welcome to our practice. Although perhaps it’d be better if you had my partner, Dr Scott, as your doctor.’

Laurel’s shoulders sagged. She’d obviously made a poor impression. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes and the friendly smile. ‘Of course, if you think that’d be best.’

‘I do. Now I’d better catch up with Dr Luxton, before he’s whisked off. Goodnight and thank you for your prompt and kindly actions.’

Laurel went back to the hall. Dorothy and Mabel were waiting for her and talking to them was the man Dorothy had said was Mr Tucker, the owner of the art gallery. She’d often looked in the windows of his gallery, it was on the same side of the High Street as Nancy’s house, towards the post office. It was up-market, with painting and sculptures tastefully arranged; the prices well beyond her.

They turned as she approached.

‘How is he?’ Dorothy asked.

‘Much better, but still not fit to be by himself.’

‘Laurel, this is Ben Tucker, Ben, Laurel Bowman.’

Tucker shook her hand. ‘Well done, you were up on that stage in a trice. I suppose we must expect such prompt action from the lady who put an end to the terrible deeds of Mr Nicholson.’

His fluting voice was clear, his accent well-bred, suggesting an education in one of the best private schools, followed by a degree at an Oxbridge university. Physically he was short, about five eight, rotund, with crinkly grey hair, neatly barbered, with a widow’s peak above a pleasant fleshy face; his light brown eyes, small mouth and elvish ears, made Laurel think of a jolly pixie. A rather old pixie.

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ben’s invited us to have coffee with him before we go home. Do you feel up to it, Laurel?’

The thought of a strong cup of coffee was tempting. ‘Sounds good. I could do with something. That poor man was in a terrible state. Do you live far, Ben?’

‘I’m staying for a few days at the Wentworth Hotel. We can have coffee and something a little stronger, if you wish, in the hotel lounge. Shall we go, ladies?’

The hotel was a short walk, past the Moot Hall, on the road to Thorpeness at the edge of the town. Ben Tucker received the full attention of the hotel’s receptionist, and on seeing the lounge was busy, he ushered them into the bar. Coffee was ordered, with a brandy for Dorothy, a cherry brandy for Mabel and whisky for Laurel and Ben.

‘Goodness me, what a night. High drama indeed. I thought this would be a boring meeting. Far from it. This poor man was in a state, you say, Laurel?’

They were seated in low, comfortable leather chairs round a small table. The waiter had brought dishes of crisps and peanuts; a fire was glowing in the nearby hearth. All relaxing after the unsettling encounter with Dr Luxton.

‘Yes. I feel worried for him, but I was impressed by Doctor Neave, he seems extremely capable.’

‘From what I could see he was equally impressed with you, Laurel,’ Dorothy said.

Mabel winked at her.

‘Aha!’ Ben said. ‘That’s two conquests tonight, Laurel.’

‘Two?’

‘Why, I’m the second. Like dear John Betjeman, I’ve always admired strong, determined women.’

Laurel couldn’t be annoyed; he said it with such good humour and a sense of fun, she and the other two laughed.

‘Did poor Dr Luxton tell you what had made him ill? I know him slightly; he’s bought a couple of pictures from me. Such a clever man, and good at his job, I hear. Does Dr Neave think he’s got a bug?’ He leaned towards her, his voice full of concern.

Laurel frowned. ‘No, I don’t think he’d got an infection. He seems to be very worried about something.’ She stopped. It didn’t seem right to discuss him.

‘You don’t think he’s worried about the power station, do you? Goodness, we don’t want any mistakes made there. Do you think he’s well enough to be in control of such an establishment? I’ve always had my doubts about nuclear power. I know the good points, but if anything happened …’ Ben Tucker shook his head.

‘I really couldn’t say, Ben,’ Laurel replied. ‘I’m sure Dr Neave will sort him out when he sees him tomorrow.’

Dorothy finished crunching some crisps. ‘He seemed to get worse when he saw someone at the back of the hall, didn’t he Laurel?’

Ben’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh, I hope it wasn’t me – I was at the back. I came in a bit late and I thought I’d stay there so I could sneak out if it got really boring.’

‘No,’ Dorothy said, ‘It was – Ow!’

Laurel had given her a swift kick. Too much was being said. Facts that might have a bearing on the case. Although how anything to do with Dr Luxton could tie up with David Pemberton she couldn’t see.

Ben laughed. ‘Quite right, my dear,’ he said to Laurel. ‘Ever the detective – I believe that’s your new profession?’

Laurel flushed. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m glad Dr Luxton’s seeing Dr Neave tomorrow. I hope he’s not being left alone tonight?’ Ben said. ‘No, he’s going home with his deputy,’ Laurel said. ‘Any more coffee?’ Ben asked. They all refused.

‘I think we ought to be going,’ Laurel said.

‘Yes, Frank should be back from the police station by now. As for Stuart, I expect he’s tucked up in his bed in Leiston,’ Dorothy said.

Ben Tucker leant back against the leather chair. ‘Of course, I’d forgotten, Laurel. Not only have you had to deal with a fainting director of a nuclear power station, but you discovered the bodies of the Harrops. Who would have thought such a tragedy could happen here, in a quiet little town like Aldeburgh? Your nerves must be strong indeed. What did the police say? Mercy killing and suicide I suppose. You must love someone very much to be driven to such extremes.’ He cocked his head towards her.

‘I really don’t know what the police think. I made my statement. It looked like the situation you describe.’ She shuddered. ‘It was awful.’

‘Time we were off. Thank you for the coffee and drinks, Ben. Right, girls?’ Dorothy rose from her chair.

Ben bounced up. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up that subject. Let me get your coats.’

As he helped Laurel on with hers, a difficult feat due to their differences in height, he whispered, ‘Do come and see me in my gallery. I may have some work for your agency, although I know you’ve got your hands full at the moment.’

Was there anything Ben Tucker didn’t know about Aldeburgh and its inhabitants?