Death Out of Season

by Meg Elizabeth Atkins

  Annette waited while Mr Jelks held a short, whispered conversation with Nella, then said, ‘I’m afraid you don’t understand, Miss Lynchet.’

  Nella had demolished her once, she ordered her solicitor to do it this time. ‘Tell this person that I have no intention of giving my permission for my family effects to be inspected, mauled over.’

  Mr Jelks, increasingly hunted, opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Annette cut in. ‘What is meant by search is the entire contents of the house. It isn’t a question of permission.’

  Nella drew breath, visibly fought for control; when she spoke her voice was shrill. ‘You mean you broke in — like vandals — you broke into my desk, files — committing criminal damage — ’

  ‘There has been no damage. If there has been, I can assure you we will see that you are fully reimbursed.’

  Hunter returned; Nella directed a headlong tirade at him. He was reminded again that for all her arrogance, she could have been any one of the back-yard Amazons who had clouted their way through his childhood. The comparison would have mortified her. ‘It would seem that once incarcerated I have no rights. I am treated like a common felon, you break into my home, allow me on your own premises to be assaulted by a member of the public — ’

  ‘As I understand it, the assault was carried out by you.’

  ‘I should have foreseen she would worm her way into your confidence, passing herself off as a friend. Friend. That you could give any credit at all to this ghoulish claim of hers to recognise … I can’t even speak of it. She is completely unscrupulous, anything to draw attention to herself, but you couldn’t be expected to know that. She provoked me, intentionally … ’ Annette sat staring. She had come across people like Nella — in such a muddle of cunning, naivety and insolence it was scarcely possible to distinguish truth from play-acting. At no time would she have been a match for Hunter, certainly not shocked, angry, and disoriented by her surroundings; but no one, Annette could truly say, had ever put up such a bravura performance.

  Annette was working in accordance with Hunter’s battle plan, which went simply: Just when she’s settled into a run about nothing — strike. ‘Why did you not tell us before that Mrs Bryant called on you last night?’

  Nella gave this some consideration, spoke helplessly to Hunter. ‘There are gaps in my memory. It had gone out of my head completely. Now that you remind me, I recall it, but I’ve suffered such shock — ’

  ‘Undoubtedly, having the brother you believed dead suddenly walk in on you.’

  She had begun to relax, now she straightened: come what may, she would wield her superiority. ‘This is preposterous, this insistence on something so … You seem incapable of understanding, Mr Hunter, I am the only person qualified to recognise my brother. How many times must I say it, Alfred was killed five years — ’

  ‘No, Benjamin died in that hit and run. That’s what Alfred admitted to you last night, and you just won’t accept it, will you? Your grandmother planned it. Your grandmother arranged false eye witness evidence. Your grandmother identified the body as Alfred’s. It was Alfred who went out at dusk and ran Benjamin down, but your grandmother told him to do it — and he always obeyed her. Besides he didn’t have much choice, did he? And Benjamin had served his purpose.’

  Mr Jelks made a move towards Nella; she hissed, ‘Keep quiet.’ She had fastened upon Hunter, listening, watching, with a concentration so intense it was like another presence in the room.

  Hunter was silent. Nella said harshly, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘His car would show signs of damage, but all he had to do was put as much distance as he could between himself and Clerehaven. Nobody would be looking for it, anyway. How did your grandmother explain its absence to you — when you got back from Southwold?’ Hunter asked the question casually, looking down and making a note.

  Annette said, ‘Mrs Bryant gave you some papers last night, they contained information you had specifically requested from her.’

  ‘Information? Requested?’ Confused, she looked from Annette to Hunter.

  He said, ‘What did your grandmother tell you had become of Alfred’s car?’

  ‘While I was away he’d taken it in for some minor repairs, our local garage.’ She was guarded, looking for a trap and, he was sure, genuinely attempting to remember.

  ‘But didn’t you go and collect it, when it was ready?’

  ‘Oh, no. Grandmother was far too upset — she didn’t want any — she instructed the garage to sell it — ’

  An unexpectedly genuine note, the ineffectual, obedient Nella, doing what Grandmother said; it was not altogether surprising that this prompted a return of confidence; whatever relevance Alfred’s car might have had was Grandmother’s responsibility. When Hunter asked for the name of the garage she said airily she had no idea.

  ‘Presumably you have one you use regularly.’

  ‘I don’t know who Grandmother made the arrangement with.’

  ‘We can check,’ Annette said.

  ‘Oh, well, it might have been Cranwell’s, on the Chester road.’

  ‘Now, this information you requested from Mrs Bryant — ’ Annette began.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Something Inez made up, no doubt, she’s notoriously unreliable.’

  ‘We have your message on her answering machine.’

  Nella said nothing.

  ‘It concerned the performance poet at Hatchcliffe Hall.’

  Nella put her hand to her brow, took her time. ‘Oh, that. I think I remember that. Yes, yes … You see, I have so many engagements, normally I’m extremely organised. Only last week I was asked — ’

  Annette said, ‘When she called on you at Ferns, she gave you four sheets of A4 paper.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. They were found in the hallway of the house, on the table beside the telephone. How did they get there?’

  Nella made a small, defenceless gesture, directed at Hunter. ‘I can’t think … I suppose, I must … I could scarcely be expected to recall details after such a horrific episode.’

  Annette persisted. ‘You suppose you must — what, Miss Lynchet? Have taken them into the house and put them there yourself?’

  She shrugged.

  Hunter said, ‘After this, as you say, horrific episode — during which time you could hardly have been hanging on to these papers — are you asking us to believe you collected them together, took them into the house?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice rose. ‘I am becoming increasing stressed by your badgering. You are trying to trap me into saying something — something — ’

  Hunter said, ‘You’ll be familiar with the large file Mrs Turner called her research.’

  She struggled with the change of focus. ‘What?’

  ‘It was well known amongst your friends and acquaintances that a section of it contained a considerable amount of information about your family. There were several occasions when Mrs Turner would refer to — ’

  ‘I am not responsible for that woman’s behaviour.’

  ‘The material concerning your family is missing from the file.’

  ‘I know nothing about it.’

  ‘You know nothing about the file? Or nothing about it being missing?’

  She was silent; her hands, very small, plump, beautifully manicured, were locked rigidly together.

  ‘Please answer, Miss Lynchet.’

  Mr Jelks inclined towards her, shrank back when she glared at him, repeated, ‘I know nothing about it.’

  ‘Then how do you account for the fact that it has been found in the filing cabinet in your study?’ He waited. She could have been deaf, or somewhere else. ‘It contains the name and address of Benjamin Wright.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The drive from Cheshire to Lincolnshire took Collier and DS Walker three hours; it was late morning by the time they arrived at the Brite Caravan Park. Egerton CID’s immediate reaction when Collier had telep
honed earlier was now apparent — ‘Shite Caravan Park, you mean. If you want someone there chances are so will everyone else. What’s he done?’

  ‘We’re not sure yet if he’s there.’

  ‘They often aren’t. Drugs, drink. They do the really vicious stuff off the premises; anything to stop us nosing around. There’s a permanent petition hereabouts to get the place closed, nobody wants it on their doorstep.’

  In a desolate landscape of stunted trees and sparse habitation, it could scarcely be said to be on anyone’s doorstep, but no one sane would want it within miles. An overgrown line of cypresses guarded its perimeter; even without that it was a place where people could come and go without being noticed, swallowed from one dimension to another — miles of featureless existence into a black hole of anonymity.

  There was some apparent order, here and there, in enclaves of large, garish caravans with absurd awnings, areas of decking, statuary — for Collier, Jaynie’s tasteless garden was brought forcibly to mind. Round the periphery, amongst the rubbish and broken-down cars, minuscule dilapidated boxes on wheels with filthy windows and sagging curtains, Rottweilers snarled on chains.

  It wasn’t a travellers’ site; these caravans never travelled anywhere. The people did — carried by tides of misfortune, they washed up here as detritus. It was a place, not only without hope, but of the menace that replaced the end of hope.

  Collier’s opposite number in Egerton CID, DS Cramer, had helpfully covered ground in advance. Benjamin Wright’s caravan, would you believe it, had been open. ‘No one’s seen him for a couple of days; he told Collier. ‘But then, he often buggers off, so do they all.’

  ‘And when he’s here?’

  ‘Like everyone else. Drinks. Gambles — one of these scrotes runs a card school. You won’t bloody credit it — but one or two of them here play bridge. Straight up. Always thought that was for old ladies with money long past anything else. Mind you, any of this lot could come from anywhere, drop-outs from the highest and the lowest. Some of them talk dead posh.’

  ‘Benjamin?’

  ‘Yeah, by all accounts. Never came across him myself.’

  ‘Did he have a car?’

  ‘Seems not. But it’s easy enough to get lifts from here, if you’re not bothered where you’re going. And what does it matter when you’ve bugger all else to do? He’d go to any of the towns anyone was going. Did the rounds of the boozers, the toms. Stocked up on pornographic magazines, videos … ’

  There were enough of those in the caravan, some unsavoury takeaways in the fridge but plenty of cans of beer, bottles of spirits. DC Walker said, ‘When he’s away doesn’t anyone turn him over?’

  ‘Regularly, I’d say. Par for the course. Who’s he going to complain to? Won’t call us in that’s for sure.’

  The shabby caravan showed signs of little care and a great deal of use, smelling of stale food and unwashed clothes. A painstaking search brought to light a false panel beneath the sink. There was a passport in the name of Benjamin Wright; the photograph showed a bespectacled man of indefinite age and such commonplace features he really would pass unnoticed in a crowd. There were also almost four hundred pounds in cash, and a creased, grubby piece of paper misspelling what passed for a letting agreement between himself and the manager of the site, who appeared in a dirty track suit, indignant.

  ‘I never gave you lot no permission — ’

  ‘What can you tell us about Benjamin Wright?’ Cramer asked.

  ‘Nuthin’.’

  ‘Thought not, piss off.’ Cramer closed the door on him.

  ‘If he’d stayed away much longer,’ Collier said, bagging the find, ‘this lot would have gone. It’s hard to tell if anything else has, though.’

  DS Walker said, ‘If the door was open, anyone could have come in and we wouldn’t know what — ’

  ‘Did I say open?’ Cramer asked innocently. ‘No, I was examining the lock and it must have been faulty, just sort of came undone — ’

  ‘All right,’ Collier said. ‘Do you think that manager really doesn’t have anything to tell us about Benjamin?’

  ‘He makes a point of never knowing anything, only way he can survive. I’ll tell you what, if anyone had turned this place over, you’d know. It’d be in a bigger mess than it is now.’

  That was true, what was amazing was that the typewriter had survived any previous break-ins, quite likely because no one knew what it was. An old manual, a Remington. How had Hunter known it would be here?

  Cramer said, ‘This guy — has he snuffed it?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Over five years ago.

  *

  After Collier had reported back, Hunter said to Annette, ‘Right, let’s put it all together before we see her again.’

  They worked through the file. Annette, studying the pathologist’s report, said, ‘I don’t know what Nella’s QC reckons he’s going to use for defence. Nothing in this, for sure.’ Hunter sounded a note of caution. ‘I hope to God you’re right, but we’ve got to keep on top of this to the bitter end; if Ms Lynchet can work it, she’ll get some crafty brief to spring something when we’re not looking. But, sure, that report just confirms what was already obvious. Benjamin was about to leave the garage, she came up behind him and hit him on the back of the head.’

  ‘But she can’t remember anything about the struggle, she’s still too confused,’ Annette quoted. ‘That could be true, guv. It’s common after a trauma. And the forensic evidence will prove what she did … but why? And what’s the point in her insisting it was Benjamin when it can be proved it was Alfred? And everyone can testify she practically worshipped him.’

  ‘Ms Lynchet remembers what she wants to remember, and believes what she wants to believe. God knows how long she can keep it up, though.’ He paused, sat silent for a while, then said, ‘Her brother did for over five years.’

  Annette said, puzzled, ‘What?’

  ‘Being someone else.’

  ‘He took Benjamin’s name — ’

  ‘He did more than that. Look what Collier found. How he lived, a reversal of his entire life. No responsibilities, no social obligations, no need to earn his living, as much booze as he could drink and the kind of sex he could manage. He’d been hag-ridden by Grandmother since he was too young to defend himself. So he became someone else, like getting out of a straitjacket.’

  ‘Until Jaynie tracked him down.’

  ‘Didn’t take much tracking. All she did was plunder Nella’s papers when Nella had her accident.’

  ‘Yes, but … why did she wait?’

  ‘I don’t think she could cope with more than one idea at a time, she wasn’t very bright, poor woman.’

  Annette said, ‘All right, but she wasn’t impetuous. Inez said she prepared unpleasant surprises and sprang them on people when she was ready. But, guv, if you remember, Nella was at great pains to point out that Jaynie couldn’t have got Benjamin’s address from her, she didn’t have it, and we couldn’t find it anywhere — ’

  ‘Except in Jaynie’s research file. After a couple of years of sending him money every month Nella would have it engraved on her memory. I’m sure she kept a record of it, even so, just as I’m sure once Jaynie disappeared she destroyed it.’

  ‘And, to make doubly sure, she pinched Jaynie’s file.’

  And denied all knowledge of it. You remember how emphatic she was. I have no idea what could be in the wretched thing. That could be true. Because I don’t think she looked. I think she needed to know for her own sake but she just couldn’t bear to look — not now, not with everything that was going on. She could limit its damage as long as it was in her possession — I think she just shoved it in the back of a filing drawer and told herself it didn’t exist.’

  Annette said thoughtfully, ‘Yes, I agree about that. But … is it the sort of thing she would do, off her own bat?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been wondering. Did Alfred get in touch with her somehow while Jaynie was missing?�
�

  They talked for a while, exploring possibilities, reaching tentative conclusions.

  ‘ … but no way did she know it was Alfred, because when he did turn up, he told her all sorts of things she didn’t want to know.’

  Hunter said, ‘She’d become someone else, too. She had money, independence, status … ’ ‘But only as long as he was dead.’

  And that’s the “why?”, isn’t it? His life or hers.’

  Annette thought of Nella: self-obsessed, arrogant, living at the dangerous interchange between reality and delusion. ‘The trouble with the Lynchets, Inez told me, is that they’ve always believed themselves so superior no one has got the nous to question them. Just look what Grandmother got away with, for God’s sake. Perjury, perverting the course of justice, aiding and abetting murder … No wonder with that role model Nella thinks we’re going to accept this fantasy that she acted for the common good in ridding society of a murderer in the course of saving her own life.’

  ‘That’s why she has to keep insisting it was Benjamin — not her own brother — let loose, who’s to say Alfred couldn’t be found and charged with two murders. Then the name of Lynchet really would be in the mud.’

  ‘Mmm. But none of that could be laid at Nella’s door.’

  ‘True. The fox and the hedgehog thing … ’

  ‘I don’t think I’m even going to try and follow that.’

  ‘No, don’t. Just take it from me, what she had known for a long time she had to keep to herself, or her own world would come crashing down.’

  *

  Before they went to the interview room, Hunter received a message from the search team at Ferns. Concealed beneath generations of old documents at the bottom of a cupboard in the study they had found Jaynie’s address book; the W section contained the name and address of Benjamin Wright.

  ‘Nella’s done it again,’ Annette said. ‘Overconfident. She just didn’t look, any more than she looked in Jaynie’s file.’

  ‘She was following her instincts. If she kept herself in ignorance of what was in the file and the address book, we could ask till we were blue in the face. She could honestly say she didn’t know.’