‘You found the body?’ said Sir Douglas Lynton in disbelief. ‘Good grief, Major Haldean, I can hardly credit it. Whatever led you to the garage?’
‘I looked at the traffic on the Strand and it made me think of cars. That’s one reason. I went back to Saunder’s Green to try and establish once and for all, if Caroline Trevelyan had been murdered, what had happened to her body. I did some hunting round and proved, to my own satisfaction, that it would be very difficult indeed for the killer to get her corpse off the premises without being seen. That meant it was hidden somewhere, and the garage seemed the obvious place to look. Once I’d worked that out, there was only one place where it could be, and that was bricked up in the staircase.’
‘It’s a damn good piece of work, all the same,’ said Sir Douglas. He took a cigarette from the silver box beside him, then pushed the box across the desk. ‘Help yourself, Major. And you, Chief Inspector.’ He looked at Jack with respect. ‘Dash it, I can hardly credit it. The Trevelyan case was a real cause célèbre. The police were swarming all over that house without uncovering a damn thing, apart from Trevelyan’s diary, and then, twenty years later, you turn up and go straight to the body. Why the dickens wasn’t she found at the time?’
‘I think I can answer that, sir,’ said Bill. ‘Inspector Chartfield, who was in charge of the case, put a lot of store by the fact that the servants had overheard Trevelyan and his wife quarrelling about the proposed move to New Zealand. He thought Mrs Trevelyan had simply taken herself off and Trevelyan was making a huge fuss about nothing. Then, of course, when the letter arrived and was proved to be a forgery, everything changed. He realised that it was a case of murder and Trevelyan had tried to cover his tracks. By then, so much time had been wasted, that it seemed obvious that Trevelyan would have had ample time to dispose of the body. The initial searches hadn’t turned anything up, so I can’t imagine the house and grounds were searched with anything like the thoroughness they should’ve been.’
‘It seems to have been very lax, all the same,’ grunted Sir Douglas.
‘It must’ve been difficult to spot at the time,’ said Jack. ‘After all, the house was being renovated and the garage must’ve been full of building materials.’
‘Come off it,’ said Bill. ‘If it was a competition for brains between you and Inspector Chartfield, I know who’d I’d back.’
‘Spare my blushes,’ murmured Jack.
‘Well, I’d like to endorse Rackham’s opinion,’ asserted Sir Douglas. ‘Incidentally, Major, not only do I have to congratulate you on finding Caroline Trevelyan’s remains, I understand that congratulations are in order for spotting that the forged letter in the original case and the unfinished letter found at Summer’s Court were written by the same person.’
‘That,’ said Jack, ‘really was nothing more than good luck. I picked up the wrong letter by mistake, and it struck me how similar they looked.’
‘I can only wish that the rest of us had as much good luck,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘Now Miss Hollander’s confirmed it, there isn’t any doubt that Trevelyan really did forge the letter from his wife. I gather from Rackham that you had some other ideas on the subject, but to my mind, it’s an open-and-shut case. As I see it, Trevelyan was hatching up a scheme with the unfinished letter to entice Mrs Rotherwell into the flat, and didn’t want Jane Davenham to know about it.’
‘You mean that Trevelyan was writing the letter when he was interrupted by Jane Davenham, sir?’ asked Bill.
‘That’s about the size of it, yes,’ said Sir Douglas.
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Jack, ‘I don’t agree.’
Sir Douglas looked at Jack. ‘Go on,’ he said guardedly. ‘What don’t you agree with?’
‘That Michael Trevelyan wrote the letters. Miss Hollander told us that it was impossible to determine from the handwriting alone if a letter was written by a man or a woman. I think Jane Davenham wrote both.’
Sir Douglas shook his head in disagreement. ‘Nonsense. Jane Davenham wasn’t around twenty years ago.’
‘Wasn’t she, sir?’
‘There’s never been any mention of the fact.’
‘That doesn’t rule it out though, does it?’ Jack tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. ‘Just because she never came to the attention of the police, it doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.’
Sir Douglas chewed this over. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re quite right,’ he grudgingly admitted. ‘Inspector Chartfield,’ he added, tapping the file, ‘doesn’t seem to have covered himself with glory over this case. I suppose he could’ve missed spotting Mrs Davenham.’
‘There’s another thing, too,’ continued Jack. ‘Mrs Davenham and Mrs Rotherwell had been in correspondence for years. We know that from Matthew and Julia Rotherwell.’
‘Well, so we do,’ said Sir Douglas, then stopped. ‘Dash it, Major, I see what you mean. Mrs Rotherwell must’ve known Jane Davenham’s handwriting well. If she got a letter in a hand she didn’t recognise, she would’ve smelt a rat.’
‘That could be why Trevelyan didn’t send the letter,’ ventured Bill. ‘The unfinished one, I mean. He could’ve started it and then realised it wasn’t working. Then, as you say, sir,’ he added with a nod to Sir Douglas, ‘Jane Davenham came into the room and he hid the letter in a hurry.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Sir Douglas. Jack shook his head. ‘Well, Major? What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing,’ admitted Jack. ‘It’s perfectly valid reasoning and does explain the Summer’s Court letter. However, I bumped into Mrs Shilton yesterday—’ both Sir Douglas and Bill groaned—’ and she told me that Amelia Rotherwell was a very moral, very upright woman, who held strong views on anyone living in an irregular relationship. She had no hesitation in telling me she would cut them dead until the situation was rectified.’
‘What’s the point, Major?’ asked Sir Douglas impatiently. ‘I may say that I wouldn’t expect a lady such as Mrs Rotherwell to hold any other opinion.’
‘The point, Sir Douglas, is this. We know from the porter at the flats that Mrs Davenham and Mrs Rotherwell came in together, the best of friends. That happy atmosphere would be wiped out immediately Mrs Rotherwell walked into the flat. What else could Jane Davenham expect?’
‘It sounds a bit thin to me, Jack,’ said Bill. ‘Jane Davenham might not have realised how strict Mrs Rotherwell’s views were.’
‘After having been in correspondence for years? I doubt it.’
‘All right then, for all I know Jane Davenham might have hoped that she could persuade her friend to make an exception in her case. You know how some people are. Rules, even rules they expect other people to stick to, don’t apply in their case. Yes, she might’ve known that Mrs Rotherwell was fairly strict, but she could’ve hoped to have changed her mind.’
Jack put his hands wide. ‘Fair enough. Once you start arguing about human nature, anything goes, I suppose. I thought it was worth pointing out, though. Because, you see, that makes Jane Davenham not a victim but very much a villain.’
‘A villain?’ Sir Douglas shifted uneasily. ‘I don’t think so. In my opinion, she’s likely to have been murdered herself. Unless she’s being held under duress, there must be some reason why she hasn’t made herself known to us. I suppose she could be in thrall to this Trevelyan feller, even knowing what happened to Mrs Rotherwell.’
Bill nodded. ‘She could be scared witless of speaking to us. If he’s managed to persuade her that’s she’s up to her neck in murder, she might believe that she’ll be arrested and tried for murder as soon as she speaks out.’ His face grew grave. ‘I agree with Sir Douglas, though. I think her most likely fate is that she’s been murdered herself. Don’t you agree, Jack?’
‘You could be right,’ he admitted. ‘You very well might be right. But wouldn’t it be nice to be proved right?’
‘Of course it would, man,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘But how do you propose to do that?’
‘I do have a couple of ideas,’ said Jack, ‘but they involve looking at the case in quite a different way. First of all, Sir Douglas, how difficult is it to trace a record of marriage?’
Sir Douglas blinked. ‘Easy enough, I suppose, as long as you know who you’re looking for. Somerset House have the registers.’
‘I’m looking for Jane Davenham.’
Bill gave a whistle. ‘This is all about the letter, isn’t it, Jack? The forged Caroline letter. You said you thought Jane Davenham had written it. If Trevelyan and Jane Davenham were married, then that would explain a lot. They’d have to be married after Caroline Trevelyan was dead, of course.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘You think, Major, that Jane Davenham was privy to Caroline Trevelyan’s murder. Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir. I think it’s possible.’
‘I see.’ Sir Douglas smoothed out his moustache. ‘It is possible, I suppose. And,’ he added, brightening, ‘it gives a motive for Mrs Trevelyan’s murder. A fairly compelling motive. Do you think they would have actually got married, though? After all, Trevelyan was on the run for murder. He could have gone anywhere on earth.’
‘Yes, he could,’ agreed Jack. ‘I still think it’s worth checking the register, though. And I do have some more ideas. At the moment they’re questions, really, but, for instance, I would like to know why the tap was left dripping in the bath in Summer’s Court.’
‘Why the tap was dripping?’ repeated Bill in astonishment. ‘Why shouldn’t it be dripping? How d’you know it was dripping, anyway? All the pipework was wrenched out.’ He stopped. ‘Hold on. Of course it was dripping. Otherwise the bath wouldn’t have filled up and overflowed.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe there was a dodgy washer.’
‘And maybe that’s all it is,’ agreed Jack. ‘But, you see, if it was left dripping on purpose, that more or less guaranteed that the bath would overflow and we’d be led to the body.’
Sir Douglas stared at him. ‘I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there, Major. We’d have found the body in the course of time in any event, tap or no tap.’
‘True,’ conceded Jack. ‘This made it sooner rather than later, though.’
Bill was looking at him quizzically. ‘You had the idea that the body in the bath wasn’t really Mrs Rotherwell’s. You’re not still harping on about that, are you?’
‘No, I’m not. The dental evidence and the old fracture Dr Roude found prove that the woman we found was Mrs Rotherwell. There’s no doubt about that.’
‘Then what are you going on about?’ asked Bill in frustration.
Jack hesitated. ‘Look, everything’s a bit vague at the moment. If I can find that marriage certificate, it’ll all become a lot clearer.’
‘Good luck with that,’ commented Bill ironically.
‘Good luck indeed,’ echoed Sir Douglas, completely missing the sarcasm. ‘I must say I doubt if you’ll find any such thing, but it’d be very strong evidence to show that Trevelyan had a motive to dispose of his wife.’ He shuffled his papers together. ‘Well, Major Haldean, congratulations once more on finding Caroline Trevelyan. I’ll get some men down to Saunder’s Green right away.’
‘Would you mind not doing that, sir?’ asked Jack.
‘Not doing that?’ Sir Douglas repeated blankly. ‘Of course I’ve got to do that, Major. Dash it, never mind that the housekeeper at Saunder’s Green seemed to take a real shine to you. I know it’ll be a real blow for the poor woman, to find out there’s been a dead body on the premises, but we don’t have any choice in the matter. We can’t be swayed by sentiment.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Jack. ‘That’s not why I’m asking. It’s just that when the body is disinterred, there won’t be any chance of hiding the fact. The balloon will go up good and proper and, just for the moment, I’d rather let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘I’m sorry, Major, it’s out of the question.’
‘Give me three days,’ asked Jack. ‘After all, the poor woman’s body has been there for twenty years. Three days won’t make that much difference.’
‘I can’t possibly agree,’ said Sir Douglas.
‘Three days,’ repeated Jack. ‘Three days to find the marriage certificate.’
‘If there is one,’ commented Bill.
‘Oh, I think there is,’ said Jack absently. He looked at Sir Douglas with a smile. ‘It really could make all the difference.’
Sir Douglas looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got something in mind.’ He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Tell me. Does this appertain to the Rotherwell enquiry?’
‘Yes, it does, sir.’
‘Dammed if I see how,’ he grunted. He drummed his fingers on the desk, then came to a decision. ‘Very well, Major. This is all very irregular, but as you actually found the body, you have a right to ask.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Bill. ‘Granted it’s part of the Rotherwell case, you’d better help him, Rackham. You can add some official weight to the enquiry. And then, when you’ve found what you’re looking for, maybe you’ll be kind enough to tell me what it’s all about.’
It was at ten past eleven on the second day that Jack looked up from the leather-bound register in Somerset House. ‘I say, Bill,’ he said with supressed excitement, ‘I’ve found it.’
The next day, an advertisement appeared in the classified column of all the daily newspapers.
Mrs Jane Davenham – did you really think my mother didn’t talk about marriage? Times are hard, but I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. M.R. Reply to P.O. Box 64, Harley Street.
The following morning Jack presented his card for box number 64 at Harley Street post office. He was rewarded with a letter. He quickly ripped it open and read it, then stuffing the letter in his pocket and, trying to smother a broad grin, he walked down Harley Street to the Embankment and Scotland Yard. Bait taken.
‘I’m surprised Sir Douglas agreed to the scheme,’ said Betty that evening.
Jack pulled her closer to him on the sofa. ‘He’s a sporting old bird,’ he said. ‘He wants to get hold of Jane Davenham as much as I do. Besides, what we’re doing might be unconventional, but it isn’t illegal. He wouldn’t agree to anything against the law.’ His arm tightened round her. ‘No, my sweetheart, now we’ve got Matthew and Julia Rotherwell safely out of the way, my main concern is you.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Betty. ‘After all, all I have to do is meet the woman.’
Bracing herself, Betty walked over the footbridge in St James’ Park and, shoulders squared, made for the left-hand bench, looking out onto the lake. Taking a copy of On The Town from her bag, she left it unopened on her knee. She hadn’t bought it to read; it was a signal.
It was about ten minutes later when a middle-aged woman walked past the bench. She had a coat with big patch pockets and was fingering something in the pocket. She seemed to be taking a very keen interest in the landscape, looking around her constantly.
Her eyes went first to the magazine and then to Betty. She walked on a few steps then stood for a moment, as if contemplating the pelicans and ducks on the lake. Turning back, she looked suspiciously at her surroundings once more, then sat down beside Betty.
‘Mrs Julia Rotherwell?’ she said without preamble.
‘Yes,’ said Betty. ‘And you are Mrs Davenham, I presume. My mother-in-law spoke about you. And marriage.’
‘She was mistaken.’
Betty shook her head with a knowing smile. ‘No. I’ve got the marriage certificate.’
Jane Davenham drew her breath in with a hiss.
‘It took me some time to find it,’ continued Betty, ‘but I wanted proof positive before I wrote to you. Marriages, Mrs Davenham, are a matter of public record and Somerset House is open to everyone.’
‘Have you got the certificate with you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Betty with a dismissive laugh. ‘It’s in a safe place with, I may say, instructions to send it to the police with a full explanation, should anything untoward happen to me. So, Mrs Davenham, you can stop playing with that gun or knife or whatever it is in your pocket and listen to me.’
Mrs Davenham gave her a startled glance and, withdrawing her hand from her pocket, sat back on the bench.
‘I want to see the certificate,’ she said after a few moments.
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Betty. ‘I can easily get another copy. I’ll give you that copy in return for two hundred pounds.’
‘Two hundred pounds?’
‘In the first instance, yes. There will be further instalments.’
Jane Davenham’s eyes narrowed. ‘I would advise you not to be too greedy, Mrs Rotherwell. I know where you live.’
‘You probably know where we did live, Mrs Davenham. I have no illusions about what you are capable of. And, I may say, that you are in no position to make threats. I am going to give you a letter. It contains instructions as to where you will leave the money. If those instructions are not followed, then I will go to the police.’
‘You won’t make any money like that,’ said Jane Davenham with a sneer.
‘No, but you will suffer the consequences. That was actually what my husband wanted to do. It was I who persuaded him that there could be another way.’ She smiled. ‘Think of it as a mutually beneficent arrangement.’
She didn’t miss the cold, angry gleam in Jane Davenham’s eyes. Suddenly Betty wanted to be as far away from this woman as possible. She stood up and, taking an envelope from inside the magazine, paused before giving it to her.
‘Wait ten minutes before you open this. Don’t forget, if anything happens to me, the police will know the truth. Matthew wants to tell them. If I think I’ve been followed, I will let him have his way.’ She handed her the letter. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Davenham.’
Boiling with anger, Jane Davenham watched her walk away. She glanced at her watch. She’d better keep to the instructions. For the moment, that woman had the upper hand. She smiled slowly. For the moment.
The minutes ticked by. Jane Davenham looked at her watch again. Nearly ten minutes. She took the knife from her pocket and slit open the envelope. She gazed in utter astonishment at the single word on the sheet of paper it contained.
The word was, Boo!
What the hell? She thrust the letter angrily into her pocket as a man sat down on the bench beside her. ‘Good morning, Mrs Davenham,’ he said politely.
She gazed at him in horrified recognition. It was Chief Inspector Rackham.
Another man sat down on the other side. Her stomach turned over as she recognised Jack Haldean. She looked at him wildly as he tipped his hat and smiled.
‘Or should that be Mrs Rotherwell?’
His hand shot out and gripped her wrist, forcing her to let go of the knife. It clattered to the ground as she struggled in his grip.
‘Let me go!’ she screamed. She hit out frantically as three more men hurried across the path to the bench. ‘Help me!’
With some difficulty, Rackham snapped the handcuffs round her wrist. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Davenham, but these are my men and you are under arrest.’
‘What an absolute wild cat,’ said Rackham. He and Jack were in Rackham’s office at Scotland Yard. ‘I feel better now she’s safely under lock and key.’
He glanced up as a knock sounded on the door and Betty walked in.
Jack leapt to his feet and hugged her close. ‘Betty, you complete star,’ he said, pulling out a chair for her. ‘We couldn’t have pulled it off without you. You were brilliant. I was so relieved when I saw you walk away from that woman.’
‘I was pretty relieved myself,’ said Betty, unbuttoning her coat. ‘She was so angry that I honestly thought she might try and murder me on the spot. I’m sure she had a weapon.’
‘She had a knife,’ said Jack. ‘And yes, I think she was prepared to use it.’ He squeezed her shoulders, conscious of the sudden lump in his throat. ‘I’m just glad to have you back.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Bill, raising his cup of tea. He put the cup down and stood up. ‘Let me take your coat, Betty. You carried it off magnificently. She never suspected a thing.’
‘Thanks,’ said Betty, sinking into the chair. ‘It made such a difference, knowing you were close at hand. I couldn’t have done it otherwise. Is that tea?’ she asked, looking at the tray on the desk. ‘Can I have some?’
‘Certainly,’ said Bill. He hung up Betty’s coat and, returning to the desk, poured her out a cup. ‘I think it should be champagne,’ he added with a grin, ‘but tea will have to do.’
‘It’s all I want,’ she said, taking the cup. ‘She was a horrible woman,’ she added, shuddering. ‘She frightened me stiff. Goodness knows what Mrs Rotherwell – the real Mrs Rotherwell, I mean – ever saw in her.’
‘Well, to be fair, I don’t suppose the real Mrs Rotherwell ever tried to blackmail her,’ said Jack with a grin. ‘That must affect how you feel about a person.’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Betty.
‘In one of the cells downstairs,’ said Bill. ‘She’s refused to say anything without a lawyer present, which is, of course, her perfect right, so she can cool her heels for the time being. I’m waiting for him to turn up before I go near her.’
He opened the box of cigarettes on his desk. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. He lit a cigarette and leaning back, stretched out his legs luxuriantly. ‘Whatever put you onto it, Jack? That she was Mrs Rotherwell, I mean?’
‘It was Matthew and Julia Rotherwell who set me thinking,’ said Jack. ‘The woman they described, the real Mrs Rotherwell, Matthew’s mother, sounded superficially like the woman we’d met. The clothes were perfect, of course, because they were actually Mrs Rotherwell’s own. The two women were similar enough in height and build for the deception to work and the woman we met certainly knew enough about the real Mrs Rotherwell to give a very convincing performance. No, it was the Rotherwells’ mention of how kindly a woman Matthew’s mother had been and how she was looking forward to the new baby. It occurred to me to wonder what sort of grandmother she would make, and I just couldn’t get the picture to gel in my head. Now, admittedly I had spent longer with her than you did, Bill, but I didn’t get any impression of maternal feeling or kindliness from her.’
‘Kindliness isn’t how I’d describe Jane Davenham, that’s for sure,’ said Bill.
‘Certainly not,’ echoed Betty with feeling.
‘It was really nothing more than a niggle, but it worried me,’ said Jack. ‘At the same time, Mrs Rotherwell was certainly a real person. Her son and daughter-in-law vouched for that, and there was the fact that she had come forward of her own volition. She answered my advertisement and, what’s more, had written to Mrs Shilton about it. And, if anything was certain, it was that the poor woman had indeed been murdered. As you know, I was a bit doubtful that the body we found in Summer’s Court was her, but I couldn’t argue with the evidence.’
‘You weren’t happy though, were you, darling?’ said Betty.
‘No, I wasn’t, but it was meeting Mrs Shilton on the Embankment that finally made me think about Mrs Rotherwell properly. Yes, there was a real Mrs Rotherwell, but was she the woman that Bill and I met?’
Bill blew out a long mouthful of smoke. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I met her and I didn’t have any doubts whatsoever.’
‘Yes, but don’t forget I had the dubious pleasure of taking her to lunch. I had longer with her than you did.’
Betty drank the rest of her tea. ‘When was the poor thing – the real Mrs Rotherwell, I mean – actually killed?’
‘The day before I met her at the Criterion, if you know what I mean. That’s a guess, but I bet I’m right. There was some faked evidence to make us think otherwise. There was a newspaper left in Summer’s Court dated Wednesday 21st, the day that Mrs Rotherwell was supposed to have disappeared, but what I think happened is this. Jane Davenham took Mrs Rotherwell to Summer’s Court on Sunday the 18th. She never left the flat. Then Mrs Davenham, wearing Mrs Rotherwell’s clothes, went back to the Royal Park Hotel and stayed there overnight. She met me for lunch on the Monday, stayed another night at the hotel, and then disappeared the following day.’
‘Wasn’t that terribly risky?’ asked Betty. ‘To stay at the hotel, I mean?’
‘It obviously came off,’ said Jack. ‘And although I haven’t got a down on middle-aged ladies, I’ve noticed before how similar ladies of a certain age and class can appear. And,’ he added with a smile, ‘the desk clerk was a man.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ asked Betty.
‘Think about it, sweetheart. If a young, attractive woman was staying at the hotel, the desk clerk would notice. If it was you, say, he couldn’t help but take notice.’ Betty looked understandably pleased. ‘But an older woman? Not so much. It’s really mannerisms and clothes that he’d go on. The chambermaid who brought the morning tea would probably have noticed, but I bet our Mrs Davenham made sure she was covered up with bedclothes when the woman was in the room.’
‘What about the dripping tap in Summer’s Court?’ asked Bill. ‘Do you really think that was left dripping on purpose?’
Jack nodded. ‘I can’t prove it, but that’s my guess. If it was deliberately left dripping, I think it was fairly carefully calculated as to the time it would take to fill the bath and flood the flat.’
‘It sounds like a macabre version of a school maths problem,’ said Bill. ‘I still don’t get the point.’
‘I think the point was to force the issue, to make us act sooner rather than later. The idea of putting her in the bath was to make Mrs Rotherwell unrecognisable. I’d met Jane Davenham and so had you. If we’d seen the poor woman before the bath had filled, we’d know she wasn’t the woman we’d met, no matter how many dentists testified that she was the real Mrs Rotherwell. Incidentally, when I met Jane Davenham in the Criterion, she was rattled when she discovered I’d read the original statement and was fairly chummy with the police. She was taken aback when I suggested she should come here and talk to you, Bill. Then, after she’d thought about it for a few moments, she probably realised how that would make her case stronger.’
‘And what is that case?’ asked Bill.
‘To convince us that there’s such a person as Michael Trevelyan. There isn’t.’
Bill snorted in disagreement. ‘Yes, there is. Of course there is.’ He broke off in irritation as the phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and pulled the telephone towards him. ‘Chief Inspector Rackham speaking.’
They saw his face alter as a voice crackled down the telephone. They could only hear his part of the conversation, but his words and the urgency of his voice brought Jack to his feet. ‘She said what? … No, no! Don’t do that! … I’ll be there as quickly as I can.’
Bill hung up the receiver and looked at them, his face white. ‘Jack, you’re wrong. You’re very wrong. Michael Trevelyan’s real all right. That was Miss Langton. She’s had her aunt on the phone in a terrible state. Michael Trevelyan’s at Saunder’s Green and he’s planning something desperate.’ His face twisted. ‘Jennifer Langton’s going to Saunder’s Green. She’s determined to face her father.’