Ruth Rendell by Murder Being Once Done

Author:Murder Being Once Done [Done, Murder Being Once]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2010-02-04T06:00:00+00:00

12

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 realized 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 café, 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 café could hear her.

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