‘Why? What happened then?’
‘I talked to Nicky Barnes. I think I told you, he’s the son of the woman who looks after old Mrs Tarrant. He’s ten … Children are often remarkable witnesses. They seem to see things with an uncluttered vision most of us lose as experience piles on the preconceptions and prejudices … And it’s usually easy to tell when they’re lying.’
‘And Nicky wasn’t?’
‘Oh, no. He’s bright, and observant, too. Now Daphne Linacre had told us that the reason why she came home from work early that afternoon was because she had a migraine. She also said that when she got there she could think of nothing but lying down in a cool, dark room and had gone straight up to bed. But when I talked to Nicky he told me that he heard her car drive up and that ten minutes later, when he went across to the house for tea, he saw her going back into the coach house. When I challenged her about this, she flatly denied it, and I couldn’t see why, unless she had something to hide.’
‘You thought she might have been coming back from seeing Nerine – from killing her, in fact.’
‘I certainly thought it possible, yes. But what I couldn’t understand – which was why I hadn’t seriously considered Daphne as a suspect up to that point – was why, after living next door to Nerine in reasonable harmony all those years, she should suddenly take it into her head to leave work early, come home and kill her. It seemed such a wildly improbable thing to do. Now I realised that there could be a proviso – unless she had just learnt something which completely changed her attitude towards Nerine.
‘That was when it clicked, about the photographs. If Nerine and Jocelyn had had an affair while Daphne was in hospital, if Damon was their son and Daphne had only just found out … At first I couldn’t imagine how she could have found out, but then I remembered that it was after receiving a phone call from Beatrix Haywood that she suddenly decided to go home – and Beatrix had been up in the attic of High Gables that afternoon, sorting through boxes of Nerine’s old belongings for stuff to send to a jumble sale …’
‘So you suspected she might have come across something, a letter, some papers, that told her the truth … But wait a minute … Why wouldn’t Mrs Haywood have guessed at the time, when Damon was born?’
‘I checked on that. Apparently she was living up north then, so she wasn’t involved with the Tarrant family – she didn’t know anything about Roland being away while Daphne was in hospital, and so on. And in fact it wasn’t until several years later that she moved down here. She’d kept in touch with Daphne and when the house she was renting was pulled down to make way for a motorway project Daphne offered her a home.’
‘Kind of her.’
‘Yes. Though I suspect her motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Daphne doesn’t exactly strike me as the domesticated type, and she gained a devoted, unpaid housekeeper for the duration.’
‘Cynic!’
Thanet grinned. ‘Realist, I’d say.’ He smiled at the waitress who had come to clear away the first course. ‘That was delicious.’
They waited until the girl had gone, then Joan said, ‘So at that point you thought that it must have been Daphne who had killed Nerine?’
‘To begin with, yes.’
‘So what made you change your mind?’
‘I didn’t change my mind, exactly … It was just that, when I really started to think about it, work out what must have happened if Daphne were guilty, it didn’t make sense.’
‘Why not?’
‘Daphne got home at twenty to five – several people have verified this. Allow five minutes for her to hear Beatrix’s story, two minutes to get over to the house, another two to get back … Nicky saw her when he went in to tea at ten to five, and his mother confirms the time. So that would have given Daphne just one minute in which to quarrel with Nerine and push her over the balcony.’
‘It only takes a second to push someone off a balcony …’
‘Yes, I know, But I couldn’t see Daphne rushing over to the main house having made up her mind in advance to kill her sister. I think she’d have gone because she wanted to verify the story, hear the truth of it from Nerine herself … She would have wanted to know, as much detail as possible. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, I think that’s true. Most women would.’
Thanet shrugged. ‘So I began to have doubts whether she could have done it.’
‘You didn’t discount her entirely, then?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t afford to do that. But I did think that it was much more likely to have happened as in fact it did happen.’
Their main course arrived. Joan had chosen sautéd pieces of beef fillet topped with caramelised Dijon mustard, and Thanet was having Paillard de Saumon a l’oseille – a flattened piece of Scotch salmon quickly pan fried and served with a wine and sorrel sauce. His mouth watered as the delectable aroma drifted up to his nostrils, and once again there was a reverent silence as they savoured the first mouthfuls of food.
‘How was that?’ said Joan eventually.
‘Mmm?’ They had been married long enough for Thanet to know at once that she was simply picking up the conversation again as if there had been no hiatus. ‘Ah, yes, well it was very simple, really.’ He briefly narrated Beatrix Haywood’s story. ‘When she realised what she had done she went straight back to the coach house and rang Daphne. She can’t remember a single word of the conversation, but according to Daphne she simply said, “Daphne, something really terrible has happened. Please come home at once,” and put the phone down. Daphne knew that Beatrix would never make such an appeal unless there was something seriously wrong, so she left immediately. When she got home Beatrix poured out the whole story and Daphne hurried over to check for herself that Nerine really was dead – she didn’t go into the main house at all, just around to the terrace. Then she went back to the coach house and spent some time planning what they should do and say when the inevitable investigation began, confident that any strangeness in Beatrix’s behaviour would be put down to shock over the murder – as, indeed, it was. On the face of it, you see, there was nothing to connect Nerine and Beatrix other than that they were next-door neighbours. Later on, of course, Daphne had a delayed reaction. Mike and I heard her being sick upstairs when we were there talking to Beatrix Haywood – who, incidentally, after the initial panic, remained remarkably cool and level-headed for someone who usually gives the impression of being a bit scatterbrained. It had all been a terrible shock to Daphne, of course, learning of Jocelyn and Nerine’s betrayal and the baby, then discovering that Beatrix had actually killed Nerine …’
‘But why didn’t she report the murder? After all, she’d had nothing to do with it, and now she’s made herself into an accessory after the fact.’
‘I know … I think it was partly because she’s genuinely fond of Beatrix – they’re both a bit odd, and they suit each other; partly because Beatrix is Jocelyn’s mother, and over the years Daphne has come to think of her as family; and partly, I think, because Daphne felt no loyalty to Nerine after what she had just learned about her. Also, of course, I think she accepted that it was an accident, in the sense that Beatrix hadn’t gone to see Nerine with the intention of killing her, and that Beatrix therefore didn’t deserve to go through all the pain and suffering that an arrest for murder would entail.’
‘It was very strange, don’t you think, the way it happened?’
‘You mean, why Nerine should have had that bout of hysterical laughter? Yes, it was. Disastrous, too, of course, in that Beatrix just couldn’t take the idea that Nerine should think any of this funny. In fact, I don’t think she did. I think she was still in a state of considerable tension after the row with Lavinia, which had taken place immediately before. Then Beatrix stalked in like an avenging angel and, well, as I said, Beatrix is a bit odd – hair always escaping from a bun and arty, peasant-style clothes most inappropriate to a woman of nearly seventy … I can quite see she might have looked a bit comic, and I suspect that w
hat was initially no more than a mildly amused reaction turned into one of those bouts of uncontrollable laughter we all experience from time to time – you know, the more inappropriate it seems, the harder it is to stop.’
‘Like getting the giggles in church, you mean.’
‘That sort of thing, yes.’
‘So you’re saying that when you finally went to see Daphne, you really weren’t sure which of them had done it?’
‘If either of them had! I tell you, Joan, I was taking a most almighty risk. Looking back, now, I go cold when I think about it. You see, as I said, there were a number of other people who had equally strong motives and opportunities, and there was no logical reason why one of them shouldn’t have done it.’
‘So why take that risk? Why not just wait, and see if anything more conclusive emerged?’
Thanet grinned. ‘It’s good to live dangerously, sometimes. And the longer I considered Beatrix as a suspect, the more likely it seemed that she was the culprit.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, she’s pretty obsessive about Jocelyn, still, even after all these years – convinced that if he’d lived he would have been another Picasso. You should see their sitting room – it’s like a third-rate art gallery.’
‘You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of his talent.’
‘I don’t know much about art, as you know, you’re the expert there, but I must admit I wasn’t impressed, no … Anyway, as I say, Mrs Haywood didn’t see it that way. And of course, he was her only son. The point is that people with obsessions can be dangerous – it often doesn’t take much to tip them over the edge, if they’re in a highly emotional state at the time.’
‘As she was, because she was convinced that it was Nerine’s fault that Jocelyn died.’
‘That’s right, yes.’
Their plates were cleared away and the pudding trolley appeared, loaded with tempting dishes.
‘I honestly don’t think I can manage anything else,’ said Joan.
‘What about a sorbet? You could make space for that, surely,’ said Thanet.
‘Well … possibly, yes. Orange, perhaps?’
Thanet chose trifle, always his favourite, and Joan’s sorbet arrived in the hollowed-out shell of an orange, with a little lid of orange peel on top.
‘And was it?’ said Joan. ‘Nerine’s fault, that Jocelyn died?’
‘Perhaps not in the sense that Mrs Haywood meant. She was convinced – still is, for that matter – that he killed himself because of the shock of learning of Nerine’s engagement.’
‘You don’t agree, though?’
‘I just don’t know. It could well have been an accident. The weather was bad that night – heavy rain, and a strong, gusting wind … But in the sense that after such a shock he might have been driving carelessly then, yes, perhaps Nerine was at least partly responsible.’
‘What will happen to his mother, now that she’s confessed?’
‘Well, she’s been charged with murder, but my guess is that it will be reduced to manslaughter by reason of provocation and she’ll probably get a two-year suspended sentence.’
‘Let’s hope so, anyway.’
‘Yes. Certainly the jury will be able to see that she’s appalled by what she did. The trial will be a pretty nasty experience for her, but I think she’ll come through it all right. Then, all being well, she’ll be able to sink gently back into obscurity as Daphne’s housekeeper. Though I suppose they’ll have to move. I can’t really see them wanting to go on living in Roland Tarrant’s back garden.’
‘No. How’s he reacted to all this?’
‘Shocked – stunned, in fact. I don’t think he’s taken it in properly yet …’
‘I can imagine … Mmm. This is really delicious,’ said Joan. ‘Would you like to try some?’
She held out a loaded spoon, and Thanet tasted.
‘Yes, it is good. Cointreau in it, d’you think?’
Joan tasted again, considered. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’
‘I hope you’re remembering all these culinary details for Bridget. She’ll want chapter and verse tomorrow.’
‘As usual.’
They grinned at each other, and for a few minutes discussed Bridget’s prospects of getting a positive response from the Kent Messenger. Then Joan said, ‘All right. So for one reason and another you became convinced that it was Beatrix who had killed Nerine. But why, in that case, did you choose to accuse Daphne?’
‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t actually accuse her. I admit I gave the impression of accusing her, but that’s quite different. And I did it with the express intention of trying to manipulate Beatrix Haywood into a confession.’
‘But why not tackle Beatrix? Daphne sounds much less likely to cave in.’
‘Ah, it was all rather subtle, really. I thought that Beatrix would be much more likely to “cave in”, as you put it, if she thought Daphne was going to be arrested for a crime she, Beatrix, had committed. I made sure she could hear the interview, and I knew how hard she would find it to stand by, saying absolutely nothing, while it seemed that Daphne was getting in deeper and deeper. Whereas if I’d accused her directly all she’d have had to do was keep on flatly denying it.’
‘How devious can you get!’
Thanet grinned. ‘But of course, it was you who really helped me to bring it off, by finding Damon like that.’
‘Sounds to me as though you had it all worked out without him.’
‘Maybe, but that isn’t the same as knowing. I couldn’t possibly have talked to Daphne as I did on the basis of mere speculation. Having Damon’s confirmation made all the difference. I was convinced all along that his disappearance was somehow central to the case, and of course it was. And I was very grateful indeed to you, for producing him.’
‘I wasn’t at all sure it would come off.’
‘But it did. And although, at the moment, he’s naturally in a bit of a state, I have a feeling that he’ll settle down, in time. Have you had a chance to talk to him yet?’
‘Yes, I saw him today. He’d had quite a long talk with his father, I gather. And if we’re handing out bouquets, I think you deserve one, for persuading him to do so.’
Thanet smiled. ‘Social-worker Thanet in action. I thought at the time perhaps I’d missed my vocation. You would have been proud of me.’
‘Oh, I am,’ said Joan. ‘Make no mistake about that, I am.’
Their eyes met in a lingering, loving look which saluted the value of each to the other.
‘Mutual admiration society, then,’ said Thanet.
They raised their glasses and drank the last of the wine in a silent toast.
Turn the page to continue reading from the Inspector Thanet Mysteries
ONE
Thanet lay awake, staring into the darkness, ears tuned to catch the slightest sound from along the corridor. Beside him, Joan’s deep, even breathing told him that she was sound asleep. He glanced at the luminous dial of the clock. Midnight.
This was ridiculous.
Moving stealthily, so as not to disturb her, he set aside the bedclothes and padded to the door, shivering slightly as the cold night air penetrated his pyjamas. No one would have believed it was April. Since the rain stopped at around six o’clock the temperature had rapidly plummeted to below freezing point and the house was cooling fast. All the more reason to take a firm stand now.
He eased the door open and glanced along the corridor to Bridget’s room. Yes, as he thought, she was still up.
She was sitting at her desk, staring at the open book before her. Not by look, word or gesture did she acknowledge his presence as he came in.
‘Sprig,’ he said softly, the memory of past confrontations causing his resolution to crumble. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you gave up for the night?’
She stirred, then, like someone awakening from a long sleep, and glanced up at him. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘But it’s past midnight!’
Her mouth set stubbornly. ‘I must finish this section.’
‘What is it?’
‘Biology. I told you. We’ve got this massive test tomorrow.’
‘But …’
‘Dad, leave it alone, will you? If it’s got to be done, it’s got to be done. If I go to bed without finishing I’ll never get to sleep.’
Her voice was rising, the familiar edge of near-hysteria, near-desperation creeping in, and once again, in the face of it, he was powerless.
‘All right. But try not to be too long.’ He bent to kiss the top of her head and switched on the electric fire before leaving.
What else could he have done? he asked himself as he returned to his own bed, snuggling up to Joan’s comforting warmth. If he had persisted there would have been floods of tears and when Bridget did get to bed she would have been too upset to sleep. How many other parents all over the country, he wondered, were at this very moment faced by precisely the same dilemma? He had heard plenty of tales of pre-examination traumas, but who could have guessed that the imminence of GCSEs would turn his cheerful, extrovert Bridget into a wan, anxiety-ridden ghost of her former self? The situation had been deteriorating steadily since Christmas, when she had failed several of her ‘mocks’, and lately a combination of overwork, lack of sleep and general listlessness had been giving Thanet and Joan real cause for worry. Endless discussions had brought them no nearer a solution and time and again they had reached the unsatisfactory conclusion that there was nothing they could do other than offer her reassurance and moral support, grit their teeth and stick it out.
Another couple of months and it would all be over, Thanet told himself yet again as he tried to compose himself for sleep. Until it was Ben’s turn …
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