Element of Doubt

by Dorothy Simpson

  Now, that day will never come.

  Thanet responded to the unspoken words. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Tarrant stared at him, nodding slowly, as if having come to a decision. ‘Yes, I believe you really mean that.’

  ‘I do.’ Something now needed to be done to lighten the atmosphere. Thanet thumped his chest and grinned. ‘Beneath this grey flannel suit beats a heart of gold.’

  It had been the right response. Tarrant smiled with relief and leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than at any time so far. He steepled his fingers and said, ‘Was there anything else you wanted to ask me, Inspector?’

  ‘Just one or two small points to clear up … To get back to yesterday lunchtime …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re sure that it was Mr Speed, with your wife?’

  Tarrant looked surprised. ‘Yes, of course. Why?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘No reason.’ Except that the gentleman in question swears he never came near the house.

  ‘How long were you in the house, would you say?’

  ‘Ten minutes, perhaps. Certainly no longer than a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘I see … Have you by any chance heard from your son yet?’

  Tarrant shook his head.

  ‘You’re not worried about him?’

  ‘I told you yesterday, Inspector. Damon is something of a law unto himself. All the same, I am very worried that he doesn’t yet know about his mother, and I must admit he isn’t usually away as long as this, without contacting us.’

  ‘I was going to ask you … I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we shall have to search his room.’

  Tarrant suddenly woke up. ‘What for? He’d absolutely loathe the idea of anyone poking about in his things … Ah, I see. Drugs, I suppose … My God, one mistake and you have the police on your back for the rest of your life, don’t you?’

  ‘Not in normal circumstances. But you don’t need me to remind you that these circumstances are not normal. You must see that this is a routine precaution we must take.’

  Tarrant’s brief flare of anger died away and he slumped back in his chair and waved his hand. ‘Oh, very well. Just get on with it.’

  ‘Thank you. But before his room is properly searched, I’d like to take a look at it myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just want to reassure myself that there are no signs of anything other than a normal departure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tarrant was alert again. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything.’

  ‘Oh, but you are, aren’t you? You’re suggesting he might have something to do with …’ He broke off, clutched his head as if to control thoughts spinning out of control.

  ‘Mr Tarrant. I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. I am just being careful, that’s all. There could be a very simple, innocent reason for Damon’s departure. On the other hand, not knowing as yet the exact circumstances under which your wife met her death, we have to consider the fact that Damon could, quite innocently, have got caught up in it.’

  ‘Witnessed it, you mean?’ Tarrant was appalled. ‘My God, you could be right … What if this … this criminal, Buzzard, was here, and Damon saw something which aroused his suspicions, went after him …’

  It was a possibility which had not occurred to Thanet, having heard of Buzzard’s possible involvement only a short while ago, but he had to admit that it was as likely an explanation as any other.

  Tarrant was staring at Thanet, obviously thinking furiously. ‘That could explain …’

  ‘What?’

  Tarrant looked a little shamefaced. ‘I forgot to mention it before, but I saw Damon leave myself. He drove out of the gates just as I drove in. And I must admit he did seem to be in a tearing hurry.’ He stood up, suddenly infused with energy. ‘Come on, let’s go and take a look.’

  Thanet despatched Lineham to arrange for the drugs search and to radio in for enquiries to be made in regard to Halo Buzzard, and followed Tarrant to the servants’ stairs at the back of the house.

  ‘We converted the attic into what is virtually a self-contained flat for Damon’s sixteenth birthday present,’ said the surgeon as they climbed. ‘Young people value their independence, don’t they? I know I did.’

  Thanet murmured assent. He certainly agreed that independence was the aim of parents and children alike, but he thought that, special cases apart, sixteen was much too young for such a degree of autonomy. He was beginning to wonder if this family had ever lived together, in the accepted sense of the word. They seemed so … fragmented. Nerine Tarrant had her own sitting room, bedroom and bathroom and so, apparently, had her son. What about Tarrant? Had he, too, had his own quarters? Then there was old Mrs Tarrant and her companion, again in a separate wing. Had they ever congregated, as families do (or should, in Thanet’s opinion), in the kitchen, dining room or sitting room? Or had they all pursued their own separate existences, divided from each other by physical as well as emotional barriers? It wasn’t surprising, he thought, that Damon had problems.

  ‘How did he get on with his mother?’ he asked.

  Tarrant shrugged. ‘You know what adolescents are.’

  ‘There were arguments?’

  ‘My wife wasn’t a very maternal person.’

  No, thought Thanet, if all Tarrant had told him were true, Nerine had been too engrossed in her own search for love to have any to spare for anyone else.

  Perhaps he was being unfair, and Nerine had been more to be pitied than condemned, but he couldn’t help feeling anger on behalf of this boy he had never seen. What was it that Tarrant had said, just now, about his wife? ‘She never wanted for anything material, but nothing can compensate for emotional deprivation.’ Couldn’t the man see that the very same pattern was being repeated in the life of his son? Perhaps he could, but had felt helpless to do anything about it, at least as far as his wife was concerned.

  ‘Here we are.’

  They were at the foot of a white-painted wrought-iron spiral staircase, its intricate design stark against the slate-blue walls of the landing.

  ‘More interesting than simply putting in another flight of stairs, we thought,’ said Tarrant proudly.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Thanet paused on the way up to admire the clusters of iron grapes, the delicate entwined tracery of vine leaves and tendrils. Nerine Tarrant might have been unable to give or receive human love, but she had obviously had a love of beauty for its own sake, and an unerring eye for visual effect.

  A moment later this impression was heavily reinforced.

  They stepped from the circular opening at the top of the staircase into a dazzle of light and space. Thanet drew in his breath sharply and stood quite still, taking it all in. It was one vast room, perhaps sixty feet by forty, taking up perhaps two thirds of the entire attic space of the house and visually divided by the timbers which supported the roof. Sunshine was pouring in through some of the huge skylights, spilling over the grass-green of the fitted carpet which covered the entire room and creating the illusion that the profusion of tall plants was actually growing outside in some enchanted garden, where the geometric shapes of the furniture were really futuristic sculptures, carefully sited for maximum impact.

  ‘Everything looks pretty normal to me,’ said Tarrant. He glanced at Thanet, saw his expression. ‘My wife designed it,’ he said sadly. ‘She had an eye for that sort of thing.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ said Thanet. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it, outside magazines. She should have taken it up as a career.’

  Tarrant looked at him, startled. ‘You think so?’

  ‘She must have considered it, surely?’

  The surgeon didn’t answer, just shook his head and then stood gazing around as if, for the first time, he were seeing the place as revealing a dimension of his wife’s character.

  Thanet began to wander about, careful not to touch or to disarrange anything. A closer look told him that although
Damon may have valued (or hated) the privacy (or isolation) that this flat gave him, he certainly hadn’t appreciated it in any other way. The grease-stained cooker, the scarred wooden work surfaces in the tiny kitchen area, the numerous stains on the carpet where liquid of one kind or another had been spilt, the drooping leaves of some of the taller shrubs and plants, the scatter of dirty clothes in the sleeping area, the general litter of books, records, unwashed mugs and plates and overflowing ashtrays all told their own story of indifference and neglect.

  Tarrant was now keeping pace with Thanet.

  ‘It’s only cleaned once a month,’ he murmured apologetically. ‘Damon hates anyone else coming up here. But as I say, it all looks pretty normal to me … Have you seen all you wanted to see, Inspector?’

  Thanet took the hint. He turned back towards the spiral staircase. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And you’re satisfied?’

  Thanet nodded. Though after such a cursory examination it was impossible, given the general untidiness, to detect signs of a hasty departure.

  ‘We’ll just have to hope he turns up soon, sir. If he’s not back by this evening we may have to put out an appeal.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, dear. But if he hasn’t heard about his mother’s death …’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying us. But against that, you have to consider his safety. It would be good to know that he’s all right. Also, of course, we’re very anxious to hear what he can tell us.’

  Lineham was waiting for them at the foot of the spiral and Tarrant excused himself, disappearing down the next flight of stairs. Thanet and Lineham followed slowly, talking as they went.

  ‘The dog handler will be out later on this morning, to search for drugs,’ said Lineham. ‘And I’ve put them on to Buzzard. They’ll get back to us as soon as they have anything. Oh, and you remember that neighbour the Speeds mentioned?’

  Thanet nodded.

  ‘She confirms that she saw all three of them at lunchtime yesterday, at around 1.15.’

  Thanet frowned. ‘I thought Tim said that his lunch hour was from 12 to 1.’

  ‘He did. But the interesting thing is this. You remember what PC Driver said, about noticing an atmosphere between Tim and his father yesterday afternoon? Well, this neighbour says that when she went into the house she had the impression she was interrupting a full-scale family row. She felt so uncomfortable she only stayed a few minutes.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes, that is interesting. She had no idea what it was about?’

  ‘No, unfortunately. Anyway, she saw Tim leave about ten minutes later, but his father stayed on for another hour or so.’

  ‘Until after a quarter past two, then. And he distinctly gave us the impression that he’d taken only his normal lunch break, from 12.30 to 1.30!’

  ‘Quite. What d’you think was going on, sir? I mean, what possible reason could he have for lying about the length of time he spent with his wife?’

  ‘Search me. And I still don’t understand why he lied about seeing Mrs Tarrant earlier on in the lunch hour, either. And why tell us Tarrant’s car turned into the drive ahead of him, when he must already have been in bed with Mrs Tarrant by then?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s Mr Tarrant who’s lying.’

  ‘Why should he? Surely no man would lie about something like that. No, I think Tarrant was telling the truth. But in any case, the problem is that there’s no way of knowing, at the moment, whether or not any of this is relevant to our investigation.’

  ‘I know. To be honest, sir, I can’t really see why we’re so bothered about what happened at lunchtime. After all, we know she was still alive at half past three.’

  Thanet paused, turned to face the sergeant. ‘Oh, come on, Mike, you can’t be serious. You know perfectly well that murder is always the end of a process, sometimes brief, sometimes lengthy. You’ve only got to think back over some of the cases we’ve been involved in to see just how lengthy that process can be. Speed was deeply involved with Nerine Tarrant. You must see that anything out of the ordinary in his behaviour only a few hours before the murder could well be highly relevant.’

  Lineham was looking sheepish. He mumbled an apology and they continued on down the stairs. At the bottom the sergeant came to an abrupt halt and gave Thanet a warning nudge.

  Ahead of them, silhouetted in the light spilling out through the open study door, were Tarrant and Marilyn Barnes, deep in conversation. Tarrant was leaning against the doorpost and Marilyn was talking, looking up at him. Then they both turned, their startled faces quickly assuming expressions of polite enquiry.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Barnes,’ said Thanet. ‘How is old Mrs Tarrant today?’ And then, to Tarrant, ‘We’ve arranged to have a chat with your mother this morning, if she’s up to it.’

  ‘As I was just saying to Mr Tarrant, much better, thank you,’ said Marilyn with a little smile. ‘Much calmer and more rational.’

  Was that really what they had been talking about? Thanet wondered. ‘Good. If you’ll excuse us, then, sir?’

  Tarrant waved a hand. ‘By all means.’

  A startling idea had come into Thanet’s mind at his first glimpse of those two figures and he studied the girl leading them up the stairs with new eyes. She certainly couldn’t compete with her former employer in looks, but in terms of warmth and kindness she was, by all accounts, streets ahead of her. What if Tarrant had become tired of endlessly struggling to create something positive out of the sterile relationship with his wife and had turned to a more sympathetic ear? It would be easy to imagine the nondescript Marilyn being bowled over by the attentions of an attractive, successful and wealthy man like Tarrant. And even if Tarrant had remained completely faithful to his wife and had never even glanced in Marilyn’s direction, there was nothing to stop Marilyn falling hopelessly in love with him. And if she had … How would she have felt about Nerine, in view of the constant humiliations inflicted upon Tarrant by his wife?

  Thanet put out his hand and touched her gently on the arm. ‘I wonder if we could have a brief word together first, before I see Mrs Tarrant senior?’

  She hesitated. ‘All right. But I don’t like to leave her alone for too long …’

  ‘Just a few minutes,’ said Thanet.

  She pushed open a door. ‘In here, then,’ she said.

  TEN

  The bare dressing table and general air of emptiness indicated that this was an unused guest room. Nerine Tarrant’s flair for interior decoration was evident in the combination of ivory carpet, jade-green silk curtains and ivory-and-green wallpaper with a delicate, almost Oriental design of herons.

  Marilyn closed the door and stood awaiting Thanet’s questions with an air of slightly impatient resignation. Her eyelids drooped, and the flesh beneath her eyes looked slack and bruised, as if she had slept badly. The strain of yesterday was clearly taking its toll.

  ‘Before I speak to old Mrs Tarrant,’ said Thanet, ‘I just wanted to ask you … You remember you told us that when you went back upstairs at half past five yesterday afternoon, to get her up after her delayed rest, she seemed frightened. It took you five or ten minutes to coax her out of her room, you said …’

  Marilyn nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Have you by any chance talked to her about this, asked her just what she was afraid of?’

  ‘No. I told you, at the time I simply assumed she was frightened of another scene with Mrs Tarrant. And it’s usually pretty pointless to try to discuss any recent event with Lavinia. She often can’t remember things from one moment to the next.’

  Not very promising, thought Thanet, though scarcely unexpected.

  ‘You said, “often”. Sometimes she does remember?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  ‘So it might be worth a try?’

  Marilyn gave a little shrug. ‘Try, by all means. Her memory is so unpredictable that you can never tell … Her long-term memory is quite good, of course. But her short-term memory is hopeless. You can have virtually the sam
e conversation with her over and over again within the space of minutes. And then sometimes you think to yourself, “She’ll never remember that”, and she astonishes you by having total recall. You’ll see what I mean, when you talk to her.’

  ‘How do you think she would react, if I tried to discuss it with her?’

  ‘It really is impossible to tell, in advance.’

  ‘I was wondering … Would it be kinder, d’you think, if you were to question her about it?’

  ‘Perhaps. I could try, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you. It might not be necessary, of course. Perhaps I’ll be able to do it. I’ll have to play it by ear. In any case, I’d like to have a general chat with her first, and I’d like you to be present.’

  ‘Of course.’ She turned away, evidently under the impression that the interview was over.

  ‘Er … There are just one or two other small points, Miss Barnes …’

  She turned back with a little sigh. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you … You were here at lunchtime, yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  Had he imagined the wariness in her tone? ‘Did you happen to see Mr Tarrant? He tells us he came home briefly at lunchtime, to fetch some papers he’d forgotten …’

  This time there was a definite hesitation. ‘Yes … Yes, I did see him. I didn’t speak to him, though.’

  ‘This was at what time?’

  ‘Soon after half past twelve, I think. Yes, it must have been.’