Wake the Dead

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Well, the first one was during the week after she had her stroke.’

  ‘That would be the week before last?’

  ‘Yes. And the second was a few days ago.’

  Both calls had been very brief, apparently. On the first occasion the caller had asked to speak to Isobel, had been told that she was ill and had rung off. The second call had come on the morning when for the first time the fingers on Isobel’s paralysed hand had moved a little, and Letty, still excited by this, had told the caller that her sister was much better, though still in bed. Once again, the connection had been cut. On neither occasion had the caller given his/her name. Letty was positive that this person had never rung before, and had had no idea who it could be.

  ‘Of course, Isobel was involved in so many things … People were always ringing up and half the time I had no idea who they were or what they wanted. That’s why I hesitated to mention it.’

  Thanet reassured her that she had done the right thing. Every scrap of information helped, he said, no matter how trivial it seemed. Now, there was just one other question he wanted to ask. ‘Miss Ransome, I understand that yesterday, just before you came into the house, a man who works here – I believe his name is Ernie – came to speak to you, at your stall.’

  He watched with interest as this time the blush crept up her neck in an ugly red tide which left her cheeks and face glowing. Why the embarrassment? Surely there couldn’t be any question of romance between them. Letty Ransome was hardly the type for a liaison with the gardener.

  The fingers were at work again, this time plucking at the fraying straw around the brim of her hat. ‘Yes, that’s right. But I don’t see …’

  ‘What did he want to speak to you about?’

  She shook her head in confusion. ‘I can’t remember. Something trivial, I’m sure.’ Her forehead creased in an apparent effort to remember.

  But she did remember, Thanet was sure of it. She was not a good liar.

  ‘I’m sorry. I expect it was something to do with the fête. He was busy with various odd jobs all day.’

  Whatever it was, it was sufficiently important for her to stick to her guns. And of course, it might have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder. Thanet decided to leave it at that for the moment. ‘Does Ernie live on the premises?’

  ‘Yes. He has a little flat over the stables.’

  And although she was relieved that he hadn’t pressed the matter she hadn’t liked the implications of that question, he noted. He thanked her for her help and they left her sitting on the bench in the shade.

  ‘V-e-r-y interesting,’ said Lineham, when they were out of earshot.

  ‘I agree. Very. We’ll discuss it later. Meanwhile I want you to nip along to the stables, tackle Ernie himself before she gets to him, try and find out what all that was about. I’m going to see what Mr Fairleigh has to say about this Pamela business. Join me as soon as you can.’

  Thanet headed purposefully back towards the house.

  TEN

  As he neared the house Thanet’s pace slowed. It had just dawned on him that he had been so engrossed in what Letty Ransome was telling him that he had forgotten to query her account of her visit to the house around the time of the murder. Was she perhaps much cleverer than he had given her credit for, deliberately manoeuvring him away from looking too closely at her own movements by telling him about Pamela Grice – if that was still her surname – and about the strange phone calls? He didn’t think so, but his judgement was far from infallible. Should he go back?

  He hovered near the back door, undecided. It had also occurred to him that perhaps he was being too precipitate, rushing off to tackle Hugo like this. It might be better to discuss the implications of the Pamela/Hugo business with Lineham first. After all, he could hardly come straight out with the questions he really wanted to ask: Is Pamela née Grice your mistress, and did she murder your mother?

  Besides, it might be better not to let Fairleigh know that they knew about Pamela – if there was anything to know, that is. Her presence here yesterday could have been purely coincidental. Perhaps she happened to be in the area and had simply been satisfying a natural curiosity to see again the house of which she could have been mistress and the man she might have married.

  No, he couldn’t believe that, in view of the fact that she had been seen near the scene of the murder around the time when it had been committed. And he was still convinced that Fairleigh had been lying in his account of that trip indoors at 3.30.

  So, to go back and talk to Letty again, or to alert Fairleigh, or neither? Thanet hesitated. Standing still he became aware of the murmur of voices somewhere over to his left. Straining his ears, he listened. Yes, that was Fairleigh, surely. And then Sam’s voice, higher-pitched. They must be out in the garden.

  The sounds tugged at him like a magnet. He made up his mind. No, he really couldn’t leave without trying to find out if Fairleigh was involved with this woman. But he would have to tread warily, it was a sensitive subject.

  Thanet cut diagonally across the courtyard towards the voices.

  Fairleigh, his wife and Sam were having pre-lunch drinks in the Victorian conservatory which had been built on to the far side of the house. The glazed doors were hooked back to their fullest extent and at this time of day, when the sun had not yet come around, it was a pleasant place to sit, with cool tiled floor, comfortable white wicker chairs and a wealth of exotic plants in huge terracotta pots. Along the back was a narrow brick-edged border planted with climbers trained against the house wall and along the roof struts, trailing down in brilliant swathes of blue, white and magenta, their scent filling the warm, moist air.

  It was a picture of gracious living and Thanet knew what Lineham would have said. It’s all right for some!

  Fairleigh was lounging on one of the broad window seats, smiling at Sam, glass in hand. No one would have believed from his appearance or demeanour that his mother had been murdered yesterday, thought Thanet. And then reproached himself for being unfair. A spurious gaiety often sprang up in such circumstances. It was a way of escaping from grim reality. Who knew what Fairleigh was really thinking or feeling?

  Grace was gazing down at her glass with an air of abstraction. She glanced up, startled, as Thanet appeared.

  Fairleigh stood up, smile fading.

  ‘Oh really … Is there no peace? Not more questions, surely, Inspector.’

  ‘If I could just have a word with you, sir …’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Fairleigh drained off his glass and thumped it down irritably on the white wicker table nearby. ‘Lunch in ten minutes, you said, Sam?’

  ‘Yes. But …’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said Fairleigh emphatically. ‘We’ll go to my study, Thanet.’

  He headed for the door without waiting to see if Thanet was following.

  In the study he crossed to look out of the window. ‘More bloody reporters arriving, by the look of it. If this goes on we’ll be in a state of siege. Can’t you do something about it?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. The trouble is, all the while you’re clearing up after the fête the open gates are an invitation for them to come in.’

  ‘That’s the last lorry-load out there. As soon as it’s gone I’ll get Ernie to close them.’

  Fairleigh sat down behind his desk as if to ensure that Thanet knew who was in charge around here.

  It was a pleasant, masculine room, with book-lined walls, comfortable well-worn leather armchairs and an antique desk as big as a small billiard table, its surface covered with piles of neatly stacked files and papers.

  ‘Well?’ said Fairleigh impatiently, lighting a cigarette. ‘What is it this time?’

  Suddenly, Thanet was fed up with being treated as an inferior being.

  When Draco first arrived to take over Divisional Headquarters he was always pontificating about the importance of maintaining good relations with the public. An ambitious man before Angharad’s illness, he still went through
the motions of insisting that important people in the area should be treated with kid gloves.

  Well, in deference to his superior, Thanet had taken care to be polite to this man, and much good had it done him. He had no intention of allowing himself to be manoeuvred into losing his temper, because that would be unprofessional, but he didn’t see why he should be hamstrung by an irrational need to be conciliatory, just because Fairleigh was a member of parliament. The man was a suspect, and that was that.

  ‘Your aunt tells me that she saw an old friend of yours at the fête yesterday.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Fairleigh, warily.

  ‘A Pamela Grice.’ He was watching the MP carefully and yes, although the man’s self-control was excellent, there was a fraction of a second in which he froze. ‘Did you see her?’

  ‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘You spoke to her?’

  Fairleigh hesitated.

  Thanet could understand his dilemma. If the MP had spoken to Pamela, he must realise that someone could have seen them talking, and he wouldn’t want to risk being caught out in a lie.

  ‘Yes. Briefly. I was very busy, as you know.’

  ‘You haven’t lost touch, then.’

  A lorry engine roared into life outside and Fairleigh half rose to peer over his shoulder out of the window. ‘Good, it’s going.’ He sank back into his chair again.

  Thanet wasn’t letting him off the hook. He waited, his expression making it clear that he expected an answer.

  Fairleigh frowned. ‘I really can’t see what relevance this has to your inquiries, Thanet. But if you must know, last summer I met her for the first time in many years when I went to present the prizes at the Speech Day of the school in London where she teaches.’

  ‘Do you know why she came yesterday?’

  Fairleigh’s patience was wearing thin. ‘How on earth should I know? Why did anybody come? Why did you?’

  ‘The odd thing is, her name doesn’t appear on this list.’ Thanet lifted the sheaf of papers he was still carrying.

  ‘Perhaps she left before the list was made.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ The thought had occurred to Thanet. The question was, why? Because she knew what had happened, had even had a hand in it, and wanted to get away quickly before the storm broke? ‘Or perhaps because she married. Grice was her maiden name, I understand.’

  Fairleigh said nothing.

  ‘Did she marry, do you know?’

  ‘Her married name is Raven, I believe.’ Fairleigh had attempted a casual tone, but it was obvious that he had been reluctant to give the information.

  Thanet experienced a little spurt of elation. Now they had a starting point. He glanced quickly through the list of names. It wasn’t there. Should he risk asking for her address? No, it would be best to leave Fairleigh in a state of uncertainty as to whether the police were going to follow this up. It shouldn’t be difficult to trace her.

  Suddenly Fairleigh leaped out of his chair. ‘Oh, my God, look at that!’

  A cameraman was trying to take a photograph of the MP through the window.

  Fairleigh swept the curtains together, plunging the room into semi-darkness. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough!’ He stamped across the room to the door. ‘Get rid of them, Thanet,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll get Ernie to close the gates. And for God’s sake do something about this harassment.’

  In the hall Thanet ran into Lineham. ‘I was just coming to look for you, sir.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Thanet grimly. He could understand Fairleigh’s anger and sympathised with it, but he resented being ordered about without so much as token politeness.

  He opened the front door and was at once showered with questions, a microphone thrust in his face. A brief statement was unavoidable and he gave it, then told the reporters that Fairleigh would not be coming out to speak to them again and that they were to leave the premises. With much grumbling they began piling into their cars and vans. Thanet and Lineham hurried to their car and followed the convoy down the drive. Ahead, Thanet saw two more cars pulling up. He’d have to arrange for a patrol car to keep an eye on the place, make sure the family wasn’t plagued by the press, or he’d have Draco on his back.

  Looking over his shoulder Thanet saw a small, elderly man hurrying along behind them.

  ‘Ernie,’ said Lineham, with a glance in the mirror.

  Outside, the latest arrivals tumbled out of their cars and converged on the police car, waving notebooks.

  Thanet wound down his window and shook his head at them. ‘Sorry, you’ve missed the boat. I’ve already made a statement and there’ll be no more at the moment.’ But there’d be no peace until they were satisfied. On the spur of the moment he made up his mind. ‘Press conference tomorrow morning at nine a.m.’

  He wound up the window and Lineham, steering his way determinedly through the crowd, accelerated away.

  Thanet put in his request for the patrol car and then settled back into his seat. They drove in silence for a while and then he said, ‘So, how did you get on with Ernie?’

  Lineham shrugged. ‘Got nowhere, I’m afraid.’ He assumed a rustic accent. ‘Oi were running about here and there all day like a cat with a scalded tail, with messages for this one and that one. Do this, Ernie, do that, Ernie. Proper madhouse it were. How do you expect me to remember whether Oi went to talk to Miss Ransome at her stall?’

  Thanet laughed. ‘Very good, Mike. You’ve got hidden talents, I see.’

  Lineham gave a sheepish grin. ‘He’s a bit of a character, sir. Like something out of the nineteenth century.’

  ‘So why d’you think Miss Ransome was so embarrassed when I asked her about him?’

  ‘Search me.’ Lineham grinned. ‘Perhaps he’s her secret lover.’

  ‘Ha ha. Very funny.’

  ‘What about this Mrs Tanner? Think there’s anything in it?’

  ‘We can’t dismiss it out of hand, of course, but I doubt it.’

  ‘Unless she’s a nut-case. Dear little Wayne the pyromaniac is her only ewe lamb, isn’t he?’

  There were overtones of bitterness in Lineham’s voice. He himself had suffered much in the past from being the only child of a possessive mother.

  ‘Quite. We’d better check that he’s still inside. You never know, with remission for good behaviour he could be out again by now.’

  ‘We’ll go and see Mrs Tanner?’

  ‘No, we’ll send Bentley, I think. He’s good with older women.’

  ‘And we aren’t?’

  ‘I have other plans for us.’

  ‘Ah. Pamela Grice?’

  ‘Pamela Raven now.’ Thanet gave a brief account of his interview with Fairleigh.

  Lineham listened eagerly. ‘So d’you think she’s the one he’s having the affair with?’

  ‘If he’s having an affair at all. We’ve only got Caroline Plowright’s word for it.’

  ‘She seemed pretty certain.’

  ‘But it was sheer speculation, remember. All the same …’

  ‘It’s pretty fishy, though, isn’t it? That she was seen coming from the direction of the staircase to the old lady’s bedroom around the time of the murder.’

  ‘We are jumping to a lot of conclusions, remember, Mike.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that there were two women in their early forties, of medium height, plumpish, with dark curly hair and wearing long-sleeved navy dresses covered with little white flowers?’

  Thanet laughed. ‘I’m just saying we don’t actually know that it was the same woman, Mike. I agree, it sounds likely.’

  ‘Pretty well a dead cert, I’d say. Especially as Mr Fairleigh apparently wasn’t too keen to admit he knew her and talked to her yesterday. For my money, they are having an affair and the old lady found out and didn’t like it.’

  ‘No reason to murder her, though, Mike. Unless …’

  The same thought occurred to them both simultaneously.

  ‘Yes!’ said Lineham. They were back at Headquar
ters and he pulled up with a flourish. ‘She threatened to cut him out of her will!’

  ‘If so, the solicitor might know something about it. I don’t know though, Mike. It’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it? After all, according to Miss Ransome, Mrs Fairleigh senior made the girl very welcome when Fairleigh brought her home, and it was Pamela who called it off.’

  ‘I thought that was most peculiar, didn’t you? That she should have gone out of her way to make Pamela feel at home when she was so much against the engagement?’

  ‘I agree.’ Thanet was remembering what his mother-in-law had said about Isobel Fairleigh. She was very manipulative. I’ve seen her persuade people into doing things they didn’t want to do without their ever realising how she’d managed it. Was this what had happened with Pamela? If so, he couldn’t quite see how.

  ‘All the same, say we’re right. Say it is Pamela he’s having an affair with. Say she’s the love of his life and when he met her last year it all started up again. His marriage has been a great disappointment to him and he decides he’ll get a divorce and marry Pamela, and this time nothing will stop him. Say he tells his mother …’

  ‘Before his wife?’

  ‘We don’t know he hasn’t told her, do we?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So say he tells his mother and she’s dead against it. She never did like Pamela, she’s not his class, and she’s getting on a bit to produce any children. Say Mrs Fairleigh threatens to cut him out of her will, like we said … You have to admit it would give him a very good motive.’

  ‘You’re right. We have to consider it a serious possibility.’

  ‘Did you tell him Pamela had been seen in the house around the time of the murder?’

  ‘No. I thought we’d keep that one up our sleeve. I’d like to tackle her about it first.’

  ‘Which is why we’re going to see her?’

  ‘One of the reasons, yes. If we can find her. Come on, Mike.’ Thanet opened the door and got out of the car. ‘You’d better get to work, see if you can track her down. I’d like to see her today, if possible.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘London, I imagine. That’s where she works, anyway. She’s a teacher.’