Skelgill ignores the inquiry. Instead he replies with a blunt question of his own.
‘Did she look like she’d committed suicide?’
Suzy Duff abruptly swings round in front of him and places a palm against his chest. Her free hand grasps the sleeve of his jacket. Her eyes are filled with alarm. She pouts imploringly.
‘I didn’t see her – not initially.’
Skelgill looks positively awkward – he leans back, his brows knitted.
‘What do you mean, madam?’
‘We went through the dressing room into the bedroom – the door to the bathroom is on the right – with the hinges nearest to you – you know?’ (Skelgill nods once.) ‘The door was ajar – but obviously you couldn’t see inside. Will was first – he looked round the door – he just screamed at me for God’s sake to get an ambulance.’
Skelgill shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Suzy Duff is pressing closer – a passer-by might judge them to be a couple caught in the throes of some passionate exchange. He steps around her and moves on, if a little ponderously, for she clings to his sleeve – as if for comfort.
‘So – what – you left the bedroom without looking at her?’
‘Yes. The way Will said it – I knew he wasn’t joking.’
She bites her lower lip, her eyes downcast – she seems to be reliving the moment.
‘So – was there part of it – that didn’t surprise you – that made you not question what Mr Liddell said?’
‘Well – yes, perhaps – but I didn’t know what she’d actually done – I mean – she might have just been sick – or fainted and banged her head.’
Skelgill gazes pensively as they walk on, perhaps seeing wood not trees. A jay shrieks with grating anxiety from a great oak up to his left, agitated by a feathered interloper.
‘When you got back to the bedroom – you told my sergeant that Mr Liddell had lifted his wife onto the bed – unwound the ligature?’
Suzy Duff is frowning. She nods several times, the amplitude diminishing.
‘I could see straightaway she wasn’t breathing. There was no pulse – although to be honest I don’t know how I could tell that – my own heart was bursting out of my chest.’
Again there is a period of silence before Skelgill speaks.
‘Did you think you could save her?’ His tone is strangely sympathetic – as if he is saying he understands her actions were futile.
‘What else could I do but try?’ She gives a frustrated tug of his jacket. ‘‘You must have done first aid training, Inspector?’
Skelgill nods, but does not otherwise answer.
‘So you know there’s always a chance.’
‘If you’re quick enough on the scene, aye.’ Skelgill inhales laboriously. ‘I’ve known folk be kept alive for the best part of an hour by CPR – but that took a team of rescuers doing it in relays.’
Suzy Duff shakes her head in a rather exaggerated fashion, as if she is trying to deter midges from approaching.
‘I’ve never done it before – I went on a course – at the time of my last job. You got extra pay if you were a first aider. I never thought I’d have to use it. I probably made a complete mess of things.’
‘Happen you were all too late getting there. That weren’t your fault.’ He says this with some authority – as though he is quoting the official medical report. ‘It’s commendable that you tried.’
She squeezes his arm thankfully.
‘Well – I appreciate your saying so – it must have been awful for Will – having to go to the hospital – hoping against hope...’
Her voice tails off. They walk on in silence. All around the steeply sloping woods are positively thronged with birdsong – beautiful to the human ear, in reality it is avian testosterone pumping, as cocks vie for hens and sling vicious insults at their rivals; it is not a fitting requiem to the morbid subject of their conversation.
‘Madam, coming back to what you said about not being entirely surprised – could you expand on that?’
Her expression becomes one of pragmatism – perhaps she is relieved to move on from discussion of her fruitless life-saving.
‘I think it would be fair to say that Scarlett could be a little melodramatic. She liked to be the centre of attention – and temperamental when she wasn’t.’
‘What reason would she have had for behaving like that?’
Suzy Duff’s eyes narrow reflectively.
‘Well – I suppose with the trip being for Will’s birthday – I guess everyone was making a bit of a fuss of him. After all – he was treating us – what else could we do?’ (Skelgill remains silent.) ‘You know – it’s like with the kids – if you praise one of them another may take it as a slight – the next thing they’re teasing the dog or setting fire to the curtains to get attention for themselves. It can be quite subtle – I mean, kids don’t even know they’re doing it.’
Though Skelgill might beg to differ when it comes to arson, he lets the remark pass.
‘She was younger than the rest of you.’ He throws this in casually – though he suspects it might be inflammatory. But it seems to draw empathy rather than animosity.
‘Yes – she perhaps seemed a little immature – but she couldn’t help her age – and it was Will’s choice, wasn’t it – a younger woman?’
‘It’s no big deal, is it – especially for a female?’
Skelgill has said this before he realises it. He sees she is regarding him with curiosity.
‘We older women must have some advantages, Inspector.’
There is a note of mischievous reproof in her voice.
‘Aye – aye – of course.’ He senses he has backed himself into something of a cul-de-sac. ‘Youth’s wasted on the young, isn’t it?’
Impetuously he breaks away from her grip on his sleeve and retrieves a stick from beside the path. He whistles to get the dog’s ear, and sends the missile spinning through the trees, down the steep slope to their right. The dog makes a token charge – but the stick gets caught up in low branches – and the dog finds some musky scent more salient. Suzy Duff watches Skelgill with interest.
‘You’re left-handed, Inspector.’
Skelgill manufactures a grim smile.
‘Aye – a cuddy wifter we call it – a cuddy’s a donkey.’
She laughs. ‘You don’t appear to be handicapped by it.’ Now she smiles at him warmly, and her brown eyes shine with admiration. ‘I expect living in the Lake District keeps you pretty fit.’
He restrains an urge to rise to the compliment, though he shrugs with affected modesty. But the subject enables him to pursue a point that has been niggling.
‘You all went to the rope-swing adventure park at Greystoke.’ (She nods, readily, showing that she realises he wants to continue questioning her.) ‘How did that work out?’
‘Oh – well – I was surprised how many groups of adults were there.’ She frowns – as if she is trying to recall something of substance that will please him. ‘Scarlett’s team won – she was quite happy about that – if you were wondering.’
Skelgill’s features remain implacable.
‘Who else was in her team?’
‘Well – we split up the couples. There was Scarlett, with Belinda and Kevin – and my Derek, of course. Then I was with Felicity and Mike, and Will.’
‘Who picked the teams?’
‘Oh – Will had them prearranged. We were handed coloured helmets and harnesses when we arrived. There was no arguing.’
Now Skelgill nods benignly.
‘And how did it go?’
‘Actually – I was rather dreading it – I think we all were – except perhaps Kevin; he’s something of an action man. He enters triathlons.’ (Skelgill raises a sceptical eyebrow; though without good reason.) ‘But we had a great time. It really did involve teamwork – you’d never have got around the assault course without hauling and pushing one another. Of course – it became quite competitive – I guess we’re
all driven in our own ways – but I’d say it was a big success.’ She falls suddenly silent. ‘Such a tragedy – the way the day turned out.’
Skelgill makes a sound of agreement.
‘How well did you know Mrs Liddell?’
‘Oh, Muriel – well – oh – no – sorry, you mean Scarlett?’
‘Aye, Scarlett Liddell.’
‘Sorry – it’s just that when you say “Mrs Liddell” I automatically think of Will and Muriel – his first wife?’
‘Aye – I have an appointment to see her.’
Suzy Duff snatches a sideways glance at Skelgill.
‘So – yes – Scarlett – I don’t think I met her until the wedding – she rather appeared out of nowhere as far as I was concerned. Naturally Derek told me something about her – he’s been seeing Will for a drink on Sunday nights since they were at university together – so he knew a bit about her beforehand – that Will was getting divorced and that he had a younger girlfriend.’
‘So that’s within the last couple of years you’ve got to know her?’
‘Roughly every six or eight weeks we take it in turns to host a dinner party – the four couples, I mean. And last October – the school week – we all stayed in some converted farm cottages on an estate down at Coldstream.’
‘On the Tweed.’
‘That’s right – the boys were all fishing – Will organised boats and ghillies every day.’
Skelgill’s mind is boggling at the prospect – both the luxury of fishing what is arguably Britain’s premier stretch of water – and the likely cost, peak season; when even half a day’s guided salmon angling is out of the reach of most ordinary pockets. And he wants to ask whether they caught anything. It takes him a moment to get back on track.
‘How did Scarlett Liddell cope with the domestic situation – the children – and her husband’s ex-wife?’
Now he seems to have found a point of contention. For it requires some consideration on her part to settle upon a response.
‘The children live with Muriel – Will has them alternate weekends – I mean – they don’t – they didn’t – exactly see Scarlett as the wicked stepmother – but they’re old enough to understand that she might have been the catalyst for their home breaking up – at least, to believe that – if that’s what they hear.’
‘And was she?’
Suzy Duff now gives an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders.
‘That would depend upon whom you ask, Inspector. Only Will and Muriel know what happened between them – but I doubt either could give you an unbiased account.’
Skelgill nods reflectively.
‘What about the two Mrs Liddells – was there hostility between them?’
‘I think Muriel decided to rise above that. They managed their lives so as not to cross paths. Will or the au pair did all the lifts. But Derek told me that Scarlett would get annoyed at Will if he was on the phone to Muriel making arrangements – or if she saw him giving the children extra pocket money – that sort of thing.’
‘She couldn’t really blame that on Muriel Liddell.’
‘Of course not, Inspector. But I suspect life as Will’s second wife was not always the garden of roses it seemed from the outside. In a divorce situation like that the father is always going to have divided loyalties – and a divided pay cheque.’
Skelgill seems rather doubtful.
‘Happen that’s not likely to be an issue as far as Mr Liddell’s finances are concerned?’
‘I’m sure you’re right, in practice. I suppose it’s the principle that Scarlett might have struggled with – or maybe just the basic human emotional thing – protect what is yours.’
‘It’s the law of the land. There’s no need to get emotionally involved.’
His terse intonation causes her to look at him questioningly – but she decides not to utter whatever thought has occurred to her.
‘Yes – I suppose it is.’ There is a pause before she adds a rider. ‘Poor Will.’
Skelgill now watches while Suzy Duff calls her dog and clips on the lead – for they have been travelling downhill and have reached an exit from the woods into a rather sterile estate of newly built expensive-looking properties. She heads off to the right, along the smart tarmac of the pavement. Skelgill is a couple of paces behind.
‘Talking of emotions – a question I have to ask everyone,’ (Suzy Duff turns sharply, an alarmed expression in her eyes, as if she suspects that his timing is deliberate, now that her defences have been lowered) ‘do you know if either Scarlett Liddell or Mr Liddell had any involvement with another person?’
‘Are you talking about a romantic involvement – an affair?’
‘Aye – that sort of thing.’
Suzy Duff’s features relax, though she looks away, lowering her eyes as she begins to reply.
‘I – I shouldn’t have thought so – I mean – to answer your question – no – I don’t know of anything like that. They’ve only just got together – it wouldn’t make sense.’
Skelgill watches her for maybe five seconds.
‘Madam – it seems to me that Scarlett Liddell’s suicide doesn’t make sense.’
9. MURRAYFIELD/BELINDA LUKER
Tuesday, 12.00pm
‘Coffee, Inspector?’
‘I’m a bit of a tea jenny, myself, madam.’
‘In which case I shall make you a small pot.’
‘Very kind of you, madam.’
That Belinda Luker says ‘you’ rather than ‘us’ – and declines to make light of his good-natured colloquialism – serves to reinstate Skelgill’s first impression that his presence is somewhat resented. Ringing the front doorbell – a traditional brass pull – of the imposing three-storey stone-built Edwardian end-of-terrace house, and having been obliged to wait a couple of minutes, he was eventually admitted through a side door by a flustered youngish woman in torn jeans, washed-out t-shirt and Converse sneakers who was perspiring at the armpits and who did not appear to possess more than a smattering of English. That she had dusters dangling from her belt loops and wielded a spray bleach gun led him to deduce that she is the cleaner. Via the tradesman’s entrance he was conducted directly to the kitchen – passing opulently furnished dining and sitting rooms, and other doors, unopened – where the woman indicated he should take a seat at an oblong farmhouse table with two carver chairs arranged neatly on either side. She promptly disappeared down steps into a scullery that runs off in the direction of the rear garden, a sliver of which Skelgill can see through a narrow sash window; it is well stocked with fruit trees and – in bloom – a host of golden daffodils running down beside the boundary wall of stone. The kitchen itself is high ceilinged, with a slatted clothes pulley strung above a traditional Aga cooker; the units, polished wooden floor and paintwork are all in new condition and spick and span – perhaps a testament to the daily. A side wall is given over to a regular arrangement of children’s artworks – the large centrepiece a daubing of human figures labelled “Mummy”, “Daddy”, “Tabitha”, “me” – and a sad-looking dog with a question mark hovering above it like a lopsided halo. Now it strikes him there are no pets in evidence – and likewise no sign of a basket, or bowls for food and water on the floor.
In contrast to Suzy Duff, Belinda Luker presents a considerably more organised appearance. Her dark wavy hair is glossy and expensively styled, and the same can be said of her outfit, a fine woollen twin set in lobster worn over immaculate white slacks; jewellery of matching lapis lazuli necklace and bracelet. Designer sunglasses of the current vogue perch on her forehead; she looks like she has just returned from, or is preparing to go to, the kind of upmarket coffee morning Skelgill imagines ladies of leisure partake of most days. Her features are fine and regular – certainly she would be considered attractive – though she lacks the warmth exuded by Suzy Duff, and her hazel eyes are severe as she lays out the tea things before him.
‘I trust a mug is acceptable?’
‘All
the better, thanks, madam.’
Skelgill senses a hint of disapproval – as if he has failed a small test that places him in a lower class – or maybe passed the test, depending upon through whose prism he is judged.
‘You wanted to see me, Inspector.’
She has taken the seat opposite. She has no receptacle for herself, and Skelgill realises she is not about to pour for him. Perhaps she is waiting for the tea to brew.
‘You’re a lawyer, I understand, madam?’
Now she regards him with more overt suspicion.
‘I have not been in practice for several years. The girls and home life occupy a good deal of my time.’
That she adds the proviso – when he does not react – suggests a need for self-justification. Certainly she does not look like the traditional housewife – a glance at her manicured nails is enough – never mind the clanking char out in the scullery.
‘What branch of law?’
‘Corporate litigation – not your line, Inspector.’
Skelgill makes a somewhat pained face.
‘You’d be surprised – fraud’s only a posh word for having your hand in the till.’
Now Belinda Luker frowns. He wonders if she is irked – that she finds his manner mildly antagonistic.
‘Well, that is certainly true, although incompetence is not yet a criminal offence.’
The woman speaks with near perfect diction – it makes him realise just how strong by comparison is Suzy Duff’s Scots accent. Belinda Luker sits a little aloof from the table, rather stiff-backed, her arms folded. Skelgill recalls DS Jones’s observation that both she and Felicity Belvedere were reluctant interviewees. Nothing appears to have changed. Now, rather ponderously he pours tea into his mug, and adds milk and sugar – sufficient of the latter to elicit the raising of an eyebrow.
‘Madam, you’ll appreciate, the Coroner calls the shots in cases like this, plain as the circumstances are.’
She does not respond at first. But in targeting her legal background he gives her little option but to be cooperative. He drinks thirstily, drawing breath over the hot liquid (and further disapprobation from Belinda Luker).
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