A Suitable Vengeance

“Who wants to know?”


St. James introduced himself and Lady Helen, who had taken a seat next to the cat. “I’m sure you’ve heard Mick Cambrey’s been murdered.”

“Whole village knows. About that and the chop-up as well.” She smiled. “Looks like Mick got what was coming at last. Separated proper from his favourite toy, wasn’t he? No doubt there’ll be a regular piss-up here when the local husbands come round to celebrate tonight.”

“Mick was involved with some local women?”

Mrs. Swann drove her towel-covered fist into a glass and polished it vigorously. “Mick Cambrey’s involved in anyone willing to give him a poke.” That said, she turned to the empty shelves behind her and began placing glasses upside down on the mats. The implicit message was unavoidable: She had nothing more to tell them.

Lady Helen spoke. “Actually, Mrs. Swann, Nancy Cambrey’s our concern. We’ve come to see you mostly because of her.”

Mrs. Swann’s shoulders lost some of their stiffness, although she didn’t turn around when she said, “Dim girl, Nance. Married to that sod.” Her tight little curls shook with disgust.

“Indeed,” Lady Helen went on smoothly. “And she’s in the worst sort of situation at the moment, isn’t she? Not only to have her husband murdered but then to have her father questioned by the police.”

That re-engaged Mrs. Swann’s interest quickly enough. She faced them, fists on hips. Her mouth opened and shut. Then opened again. “John Penellin?”

“Quite. Nancy tried to tell the police that she talked to her father on the phone last night so he couldn’t have been in Nanrunnel killing Mick. But they—”

“And she did,” Mrs. Swann asserted. “That she did. She did. Borrowed ten pence from me to make the call. Not a coin in her bag, thanks to Mick.” She began to wax warmly to this secondary topic. “Always took her money, he did. Hers and his father’s and anyone else’s he could get his hands on. He was always after cash. He wanted to be a swell.”

“Are you sure Nancy spoke to her father?” St. James asked. “Not to someone else?”

Mrs. Swann took umbrage at St. James’ doubt. She pointed her finger for emphasis. “Course it was her father. Didn’t I get so tired of waiting for her—she must have been a good ten or fifteen minutes—that I went to the call box and yanked her out?”

“Where is this call box?”

“Outside the school yard. Right on Paul Lane.”

“Did you see her place the call? Could you see the call box itself?”

Mrs. Swann put the questions together and reached a quick conclusion. “You can’t be thinking Nancy killed Mick? That she slipped off to her cottage, chopped him up, then came back nice as nice to serve up the lager?”

“Mrs. Swann, can you see the call box from the school grounds?”

“No. What of it? I yanked the lass out myself. She was crying. Said her dad was dead angry that she’d borrowed some money and she was trying to set it to rights with him.” Mrs. Swann pressed her lips together as if she had said all that she would. But then a bubble of anger seemed to grow and burst within her, for she went on, her voice growing fierce. “And I don’t blame Nancy’s dad for that, do I? Everyone knew where any money would go that Nance gave to Mick. He’d pass it right on to his ladies, wouldn’t he? So full of himself, little worm. Got too big in his head when he went to university. Bigger still with his fancy writing. Started thinking he could live by his own rules, didn’t he? Right there in the newspaper office. He got what he deserved.”

“In the newspaper office?” St. James queried. “He met with women in the newspaper office?”

She flipped her head in a vicious nod towards the ceiling. “Right above stairs, it is. Has a nice little room in the back of it. With a cot and everything. Perfect little love nest. And he flaunted his doings. Proud of them all. He even kept trophies.”

“Trophies?”

Mrs. Swann leaned forward, resting her enormous breasts on the bar. She gusted hot breath in St. James’ face. “What d’you say to ladies’ panties, my lad? Two different pairs right there in his desk. Harry found them. His dad. Not six months out of hospital, poor man, and he comes on those. Sitting there real as real in Mick’s top drawer and they weren’t even clean. Oh, the screaming and shouting that went on then.”

“Nancy found out?”

“Harry was screaming, not Nance. You’ve a babe on the way, he says. And the paper! Our family! Is it all for nothing so you can please your own fancy? And he hits Mick so hard I thought he was dead from the sound he made when he hit the floor. Sliced his head on the edge of a cabinet as well. But in a minute or two, he comes storming down the stairs with his father just raving behind him.”

“When was this?” St. James asked.

Mrs. Swann shrugged. Her outrage seemed spent. “Harry can tell you. He’s right above stairs.”