Ruth Rendell - Murder Being Once Done

MURDER BEING ONCE DONE

by

Ruth Rendell

ARROW BOOKS

Arrow Books Limited 17-21 Conway Street, London WIP 6JD An imprint of the Hutchinson Publishing Group London Melbourne Sydney Auckland Johannesburg and agencies throughout the world First published by Hutchinson 1972 Arrow edition 1973 Reprinted 1975, 1979, 1982 and 1984 ~ Ruth Rendell 1972

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Anchor Brendon Limited, Tiptree, Essex ISBN O 09 907390 0

The truth shall sooner come to light... whiles he helpeth and beareth out simple wits against the false and malicious circumventions of crafty children.

ANOTHER one of your women on the phone,' said Denise rather nastily.

Wexford was just finishing his breakfast. He felt relieved that Howard, who had gone to the study to fetch his briefcase, and Dora, who was making beds, hadn't heard the remark. He went to the phone and a girl's voice, breathless with curiosity, said this was Verity Bate.

It was only eight-fifteen. 'You didn't waste any time, Miss Bate.'

'I had to go back to Marjohn's last evening to fetch something and I saw your message.' The girl went on smugly, 'I realised it must be very important and, as I've got a social conscience, I felt I should get in touch with you as soon as possible.'

Couldn't wait to know what it's all about, more like, thought Wexford. 'I'm trying to trace someone you used to know.'

'Really? Who? I mean, who can you possibly... ?'

'When and where can we meet, Miss Bate?'

'Well, I've got this class till eleven-thirty. I wish you'd tell me who it is.' She didn't express any doubts as to his identity, his authority. He might have been a criminal lunatic bent on decoying her away. 'You could come to my flat... No, I've got a better idea. I'll meet you at a quarter to twelve in Violet's Voice, that's a coffee place opposite Marjohn's.'

Howard made no comment, asked no questions, when he said he wouldn't be in until after his lunch with Sergeant and Mrs Clements. Perhaps he was glad to be relieved of his uncle's company for the morning or perhaps he guessed that Wexford was pursuing a private line of enquiry, in current parlance, doing his own thing.

He got to Violet's Voice ten minutes before time. It was a small dark cafe, almost empty. The ceiling, floor and furniture were all of the same deep purple, the walls painted in drug- vision swirls of violet and lavender and silver and black. Wexford sat down and ordered tea which was brought in a glass with lemon and mint floating about in it. From the window he could see St Mark's gates, and before he had begun to drink his tea he saw a diminutive girl with long red hair come out of these gates and cross the road. She was early too.

She came unhesitatingly up to his table and said loudly, 'It's about Lou Sampson, isn't it? I've thought and thought and it must be Lou.'

He got to his feet. 'Miss Bate? Sit down and let me get you something to drink. What makes you so sure it's Louise?'

'She would disappear. I mean, if there's anyone I know who'd be likely to get in trouble or have the police looking for her, it's Lou.' Verity Bate sat down and stuck her elbows on the table. 'Thanks, I'll have a coffee.'' She had an aggressive, rather theatrical manner, her voice pitched so that everyone in the cafe could hear her. 'I haven't the faintest idea where Lou is, and I wouldn't tell you if I had. I suppose it's Mrs Sampson tracking her down again. Mrs Dearborn, I should say. One thing about that woman, she never gives up.'

'You don't like Mrs Dearborn?'

The girl was very young, very strict and very intolerant. 'I don't like deceit. If my mother did to me what she did to Lou I'd never speak to her again'

'I'd like to hear about that,'said Wexford.

'I'm going to tell you. It's no secret, anyway.'~Verity Bate was silent for a moment and then she said very seriously, 'You do understand, don't you, that even if I knew where Lou was, I wouldn't tell you? I don't know, but if I did I wouldn't tell you! '

Equally seriously, Wexford said, 'I appreciate that, Miss Bate. Your principles do you credit. Let me get this quite straight. You don't know where Louise is, you've 40 idea, and you won't tell me because it's against your principles.'

She looked at him uncertainly. 'That's right. I wouldn't help Mrs Samp Dearborn or him.'

'Mr Dearborn?'

Her white skin took a flush easily and now it burned fiery red, earnest and indignant. 'He was my dad's best friend. They were in partnership. Nobody ought ever to speak to him again. Don't you think the world would be a lot better place if we just refused to speak to people who behave badly? Then they'd learn bloody awful behaviour doesn't pay because society won't tolerate it. Don't you agree with me?'

She was more like fifteen than twenty-one. 'We all behave badly, Miss Bate.'

'Oh, you're just like my father! You're resigned. It's because you old people compromise that we're in the mess we're well, in. Now I say that we ought to stop sending people to prison for stealing things and start sending people to prison who destroy other people's lives. Like Stephen Bloody Dearborn.'

Wexford sighed. What a little talker she was! 'He seems quite a pleasant man to me,' he said. 'I gather Louise didn't like him much, though.'

'Like him?' Verity Bate pushed back her hair and thrust her face forward until little sharp nose and large blue eyes were perhaps six inches from him. 'Like him? You don't know anything, do you? Lou worshipped that man. She was just so crazy about Stephen Dearborn it wasn't true!'

This statement had the effect on him she had evidently hoped for. He was profoundly surprised, and yet, when he considered it, he wondered why he hadn't arrived at the truth himself. That it was the truth, he had no doubt. No normal clever girl leaves school at a crucial stage in her school career, throws up a university place and cuts herself off almost entirely from her mother just because her mother has made a proper and entirely suitable marriage with a man to whom the girl herself has introduced her.

'She was in love with him?' he asked.

Of course she was!' Verity Bate shook her head until her face was entirely canopied in red hair, but whether this was in continuing wonder at her own revelation or at Wexford's obtuseness, he couldn't tell. The hair flew back, driven by a sharp toss. 'I'd better tell you the whole story and mine will be an unbiassed account, at any rate. It's no use you talking to Stephen Dearborn, he's such a liar. He'd only say he never thought of Lou in that way because that's what he said to my dad. Ooh, he's disgusting!'

'This er, unbiassed account of yours, Miss Bate?'

'Yes, well, we were at school together, Lou and I, in Wimbledon. That's where my parents live, and Lou and Mrs Sampson lived in the next street. Stephen Dearborn was living up in ghastly Kenbourne Vale and Dad used to bring him home sometimes on account of him being what dad called a poor lonely widower.'

'He was married before, then?'

'His wife died and their baby died. That was all centuries ago. Stephen was supposed to be fond of kids and he used to take me out. Tower of London, Changing of the Guard, that sort of crap. Oh, and he dragged me around Kenbourne Vale too, showing me a lot of boring old architecture. It's a wonder I didn't catch something awful in that slum. When I got friendly with Lou, he took us both.'

'How old were you?'