A Fatal Affair. Faith Martin
had been chosen. Traditionally, all the village men (in a closed ballot) elected a village girl between the age of sixteen to twenty to be Queen of the May. And Iris, with her long pale fair hair, big blue eyes, heart-shaped face and hourglass figure had been breaking the hearts of local boys since she’d hit puberty. And probably even before then! Now, at the age of seventeen, she had swept all other challengers before her.
As May Queen, she was to rule the village for the day, for tradition had it that the May Queen’s every wish had to be met. Of course, in the past, this had led to some jolly japes, with one May Queen famously ordering that all the pigs must be ‘painted’ green, and all lads must have daisy-chains for belts!
Margaret, for one, had had severe misgivings about giving Iris Carmody, the little minx, so much scope to make mischief, and she didn’t believe that she was alone in that. There had been more than one wise matron who had taken her aside and muttered darkly about the village’s choice this year.
But looking at Iris now, dressed in a long white gown embroidered with a swathe of tiny colourful flowers and her long, waist-length hair topped by a crown of violets, bluebells, primroses and narcissus, even Margaret had to admit that she epitomised youthful beauty and the spring.
Even the colourful ribbons, hanging from the crown of the maypole, and which were now wrapped tightly around and around her body, holding her fast to the stone edifice, looked pretty.
But underneath the swathe of beautiful fair hair that was framing her profile, Margaret Bellham could see a string of darkly smudged bruises around Iris’s neck, and even more horrifically, the congested, contorted face and lolling blue tongue that made the dead girl look like a grotesque parody of what a May Queen should be.
Finally, the monstrousness of what she was seeing freed Margaret Bellham from her paralysis, and she began to scream, before wailing pitifully.
It was a week and four days after the murder of Iris Carmody, and DI Harry Jennings was beginning to feel the strain. His officers had been working on the case non-stop, with the press breathing down their necks every inch of the way. He wasn’t particularly surprised by this, as a beautiful girl dressed as a May Queen and found strangled and bound to a village maypole was many a newspaper editor’s dream.
But it was just one more headache that he didn’t really need.
And he knew that another one was about to walk through his office door at any moment. He sighed heavily and leaned back against his chair, feeling the lack of sleep catching up on him. The trouble was, for such a spectacular crime, the investigation of it was turning out to be frustratingly pedestrian.
For a start, nobody had seen the dead girl on the day of her death. The girl’s parents had no idea why she’d dressed so early and left the family home when she had such a busy day ahead of her. And nobody in the village had heard anything untoward occurring at the village green, either the night before she was found, or early in the morning – not even those sleeping in the cottages surrounding the crime scene.
And whilst there had been gossip and speculation aplenty within the village about the dead girl – and her love life – there was very little confirmatory proof to actually go on. Oh, it quickly became very clear after the PCs had finished interviewing everyone in the small village that everyone and their granny had a lot to say about the dead girl – and not much of it flattering. Or too flattering, depending on who was doing the talking. According to most of the women, she was a flighty girl at best, a man-eater at worst, but nobody could actually point the finger with any conviction at the supposedly long list of her potential victims or lovers. And whilst a fair proportion of the men had liked to hint that they knew Iris rather well, on being pushed for times, dates and proof, nobody would actually go so far as to admitting to being the girl’s paramour.
Everyone agreed that her ‘official’ boyfriend of the moment had probably been taken for a fool, but unsubstantiated gossip didn’t provide rock-solid motives for murder.
And now, piling tragedy upon tragedy, there had been a second death that was almost certainly connected to the murder of the May Queen. Although this one looked, thankfully, far more straightforward to deal with, and the Inspector had high hopes that it could soon be closed. Especially once his next visitor had been tactfully dealt with.
Well, perhaps …
Here DI Jennings heaved a massive sigh. As he did so, there was a sharp, peremptory rap on his office door, and before he could bid anyone enter, the door was thrust open and a tall, brown-haired man walked in. Dressed in a slightly rumpled, charcoal-grey suit, he was not fat but not particularly lean, and although he was a handsome enough individual, he looked noticeably pale and hollow-eyed. He also looked much older than the fifty-two years that Harry Jennings knew him to be.
As well he might, poor sod, the Inspector thought grimly. Jennings hastily shot to his feet. ‘Superintendent Finch, sir,’ he barked out awkwardly. ‘Er … won’t you sit down?’
The Superintendent nodded and sat very carefully and precisely in the chair in front of the Inspector’s desk, a clear indication of how rigidly he was controlling himself. The Superintendent had already given his formal statement to Jennings yesterday morning, which had been painfully awkward for both men concerned, but Harry hadn’t been surprised to have received the call from Keith Finch late yesterday afternoon asking for another ‘informal chat’ today.
‘Sir, again, I’d like to say how very sorry I am about your son. I assure you, his case is being treated with the utmost care and respect,’ Harry said flatly, retaking his own seat.
His superior officer grimaced. ‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ he agreed. Then his shoulders slumped slightly. ‘Look, let’s not beat about the bush, Harry,’ he said wearily, suddenly dropping the formality and looking and sounding more like the bereaved father that he was, rather than a still-serving police officer of some rank. ‘David’s death has left us, my wife and me, I mean … well … all at sea, as you can probably imagine.’
Harry cleared his throat helplessly. He was beginning to feel a shade angry and resentful at being put in this position, but he knew it was hardly the Super’s fault. Even so, he wished the man would just take some leave and keep well out of things. It would make things so much easier for everyone all around. But he knew, just from looking at the other man’s face, that that was not going to happen any time soon.
‘Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we?’ Superintendent Finch said grimly. ‘There’s no denying that my boy, David, was head over heels about this Carmody girl. He’d not yet brought her home to meet us, even though they’d been stepping out together for some weeks, but we were all well aware that he was well and truly smitten. And I don’t mind telling you, his mother was worried about it. Even before her murder, we’d been hearing rumours about her. You know what it’s like – women gossip and delight in bringing bad news to your door, and a number of people went out of their way to warn Betty that, well, this girl he was seeing might have been two-timing him.’
‘Very distressing for you and your family, sir, I’m sure,’ Harry said soothingly.
‘Yes, well, his mother was concerned, as I said, but for myself I thought … well, David was a good-looking lad, young, doing well at university … and frankly, Harry, I thought it would all blow over. When I was his age …’ He trailed off and shrugged.
Again Harry nodded, wishing that this was all somebody else’s headache. But it wasn’t. The mess had been dropped well and truly in his lap, and now he had to try and steer a course that kept a superintendent happy, whilst showing no bias or favour in his pursuit of closing the Carmody case.
And the best of British luck with that, he thought sourly. On the one hand, he had his immediate bosses braying at him to close the case, and on the other, he had Superintendent Keith Finch, who was not going to be happy if he solved the case at the expense of his family and his dead son’s