‘Is it true?’
‘I’ve no idea. Just what are you implying, Inspector?’
‘You were here, at the time?’
The brief flicker of curiosity had already died. She didn’t pursue the matter. ‘When she had the stroke? Yes.’
‘In this part of the house?’
‘I was in my bedroom changing to go out when my husband came to tell me that she’d been taken ill and he’d rung for an ambulance.’
It was obvious that, true or not, this was her story and she would stick to it. Thanet decided to leave, but at the door he remembered that he had forgotten to ask her about the letters delivered on the day of the murder. She seemed surprised that he should be interested, but said yes, since her mother-in-law’s illness she had been in the habit of taking her letters up and reading them to her. She herself had received a couple of letters that morning and there had been one for her mother-in-law, an estimate from a local builder for some decorating. She’d been so busy during the morning that she’d forgotten about it until after lunch.
Mentally Thanet shrugged. One more loose end tied up.
‘I was thinking,’ said Lineham as they crunched across the gravel towards the car, ‘if this was a detective novel it would have to be her.’
‘Because she’s the most unlikely candidate, you mean? That doesn’t necessarily count her out, though, does it?’
‘But what motive would she have?’
‘The old lady wasn’t the easiest of mothers-in-law, by all accounts.’
Ernie was still busy with his shovelfuls of peat. The lawns looked worse than ever. Idly, Thanet wondered how long they would take to recover. Leaning against the car, he took out his pipe and began to fill it.
Lineham frowned.
Thanet grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Mike, we’ll keep the windows wound down.’ He lit the tobacco, tamping it down with his forefinger as it flared up. Long habit had deadened the nerves in his fingertip. It took a second match and then a third before it was drawing properly and out of consideration for Lineham only then did he get into the car. There was always far more smoke when he was first lighting up.
‘Even so,’ said Lineham as they set off down the drive, ‘this would hardly be the time to knock the old lady off, would it? It sounds as though she wasn’t going to be her mother-in-law much longer.’
‘True.’
A few moments later they passed a row of little terraced cottages. A woman was sweeping the concrete path in front of one of them with brief, angry strokes, as if she had a grudge against the world in general and dirt in particular. The words incised in a stone tablet over the centre cottage caught Thanet’s eye. ‘Webster Cottages 1873.’ The name rang a bell.
On impulse he said, ‘Stop the car, Mike. Webster Cottages. Isn’t that where Mrs Tanner lives – you know, the woman whose son was put away because of old Mrs Fairleigh’s evidence?’
Lineham’s forehead wrinkled. ‘I believe it is.’
‘I wonder if that’s her.’
Both men turned to look over their shoulders. The woman was walking back up the path to the front door.
‘Let’s go and see,’ said Thanet, getting out of the car.
‘I thought you said we wouldn’t bother to interview her ourselves unless something turned up to make you change your mind,’ said Lineham as they walked back along the narrow pavement.
Thanet shrugged. ‘We might as well, as we’re passing.’
There were five cottages in all in the row. The gardens of two were a riot of cottage garden flowers – rosemary, lavender, pinks, alchemilla, hollyhocks and nepeta. Two more had neat pocket-handkerchief lawns surrounded by narrow beds containing a mixture of hybrid tea and floribunda roses. The fifth, the one in which the woman had been working, proclaimed a profound dislike of gardening. Apart from a skimpy bed along the front wall of the house planted with alternate orange tagetes and scarlet salvias the whole area had been paved over. There was not a weed to be seen. The effect was bleak, grudging, as if the owner conceded that a garden was a place in which plants should be displayed but was determined to show nature who had the upper hand.
‘What makes you think she lives here?’ said Lineham as he knocked at the door.
‘Just a hunch.’
The door opened almost at once, as if the woman had been waiting to pounce on intruders.
‘Yes?’
She was in her early forties, short and whipcord thin, as if the fierce emotion which emanated from her in waves had burned away all surplus fat. Her brown hair was short, cut in an uneven line. Thanet could imagine her cutting it herself, resigned to a necessary task but not caring about the final effect. She was wearing a cheap nylon overall over a cotton dress.
‘What do you want?’ The grey-blue eyes, hard as water-smoothed pebbles, moved from one to the other with undisguised hostility.
‘Mrs Tanner?’
She gave a tight nod.
Thanet introduced himself and Lineham.
‘You’ve been around once already. I’ve got nothing more to say.’ She turned away, closing the door, but Lineham put out his hand and held it open.
‘D’you mind?’ Her glare intensified.
‘I’m afraid we do.’ Thanet was at his most benign. He glanced to right and left. Next door a lace curtain twitched. ‘I see your neighbours are interested. Do you really want to talk here on the doorstep?’
Pushing between the two policemen she took a few steps down the path and shook her fist at the window. ‘Why can’t you mind your own bloody business?’ she shouted. She turned back to Thanet. ‘You’d better come in, I suppose.’ She glanced at the pipe in his hand. ‘And you can put that thing out, for a start. I’m not having smoking in my house.’
Without a word Thanet tapped out the pipe on the heel of his shoe, earning himself another glare as shreds of charred tobacco fell upon the path she had just swept. He checked that it was out and put it in his pocket before following her inside.
They stepped straight into a small square sitting room, which was hot and stuffy, as if fresh air was only ever allowed into it when the door was opened. It was spotless but sparsely furnished with a couple of small tables, two wooden-armed easy chairs upholstered in faded green moquette and a fawn carpet from which the floral pattern had almost been worn away. There was a rental television set in the corner beside the fireplace but no evidence of any other activity whatsoever, not a newspaper, a book, a magazine, a bundle of knitting, anything. What did she do when she wasn’t watching television? Thanet wondered. Clean things and brood, by the look of her.
Had she always been like this, simmering with suppressed fury like a kettle about to boil over? he wondered. Perhaps not. Her present attitude to her neighbours would scarcely endear her to them and yet village opinion had apparently been behind her at the time of Wayne’s earlier misdemeanours. Even now, difficult as it was to believe after having met her, there was a softer side to her nature, as she apparently did voluntary work for the Hospice fund. A growing bitterness would be understandable, if she had had a difficult time with her disabled husband, and it couldn’t have been easy, after Tanner died, to raise a teenage boy alone. Wayne had apparently been her Achilles heel and it must have been his imprisonment which had triggered off the anger which seemed to crackle in the air around her.
Briefly he wondered what it was that made people react so differently to adverse circumstances. He had seen women carry intolerable burdens and yet emerge the stronger, had met people who had survived the most appalling tragedies apparently unscathed by the experience. Was it some genetic factor which imparted inner strength, or a personality which had been nurtured by a secure background and parental love?
Whatever it was, it was clear that it had been lacking in Mrs Tanner’s life. And it was ironic that it was through the son upon whom she had squandered her meagre hoard of tenderness that she had suffered the cruellest blow of all.
She walked across to the fireplace and turned to face
them, folding her arms across her flat nylon chest. ‘This is a complete waste of time. I told you, I’ve nothing to add to what I said before.’ She obviously had no intention of inviting them to sit down.
‘We have to be thorough. Murder is a serious matter.’
‘I can’t see what it’s got to do with me.’
‘Oh come, Mrs Tanner. You must realise that we have to look very closely at everyone known to have a grudge against Mrs Fairleigh.’
She gave a harsh bark of laughter, an unpleasant sound. ‘You’re going to have your work cut out then, aren’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Always poking her nose in where she wasn’t wanted, wasn’t she? You’d think she owned the bloody place.’
‘Did she seriously upset anyone else in the village, apart from yourself?’
‘Ask around, you’ll soon find out. Good riddance, I say. Whoever did her in deserves a medal, if you ask me.’
‘Do you deserve that medal, Mrs Tanner?’ said Thanet softly.
She unclasped her arms as if unleashing her anger and wagged a forefinger at him. ‘Oh, no you don’t! Don’t think you’re going to pin that one on me! I’ve got more sense than to put my head in a noose because of her!’
‘You were there, though, weren’t you, in the house that day.’
‘Like a dozen other people, yes. Why don’t you go and bother them?’
‘I see you watch television, Mrs Tanner.’ Thanet glanced at the set in the corner. ‘So I’m sure you must be familiar with the fact that when the police investigate a murder they look for someone with motive, means and opportunity. You had the motive, the means were to hand, and you also had the opportunity.’
She clenched her fists as if she would have liked to fly at him and hammer at his chest. ‘When?’ she demanded. ‘I was run off my feet, like everyone else.’
‘But nobody was watching you. You were in and out all the time with trays, collecting crockery from all over the place. It would have taken only a minute or two to slip up the stairs near the kitchen and do what you had to do.’
‘Well I didn’t!’ Her sallow skin had suddenly taken on an unhealthy greyish tinge, as if she had only just become fully aware of the danger of her position. ‘And no one can prove otherwise.’
‘Not yet, Mrs Tanner. Not yet. Look,’ he added more gently, ‘we are not in the business of wrongly accusing people, but –’
‘But you are, aren’t you! You’re accusing me!’
He shook his head firmly. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘But you said –’
‘I did not accuse you. I simply said that we have to take a close look at everyone who had a grudge against her. You are one of those people. You also had the means and opportunity. That’s all I said.’
‘You’re twisting words! Oh, it would suit them, wouldn’t it, them up at the big house, if one of us was charged, one of the common people. What do we matter, after all? They’re the ones with the power, aren’t they? It’s the same old story, one law for the rich and another for the poor. Money can buy anything these days …’
‘But it can’t buy justice,’ said Thanet, raising his voice to stop the tirade. ‘That is a fact.’
‘Tell me another one! You can’t open the paper these days without hearing of some policeman who’s been taking backhanders!’
Lineham stirred beside him and Thanet hoped the sergeant was not going to lose his temper. He could feel his own anger rising. Keep calm. Call her bluff. ‘Do you wish to lay charges against me, Mrs Tanner?’ A polite inquiry. The message, You can’t get to me like that.
She backpedalled at once, as he knew she would. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she said sulkily. And then, in a different tone, almost pleading, ‘You’re not going to arrest me, then?’
‘I’m not arresting anyone yet. I just wanted you to understand the seriousness of your position and to tell you that it might be wise to tone down your attitude towards the old lady a little. She is dead now, after all.’
She stared at him, rubbing her forearms as if, despite the heat of the room, she suddenly felt cold.
‘Don’t you see?’ he said. ‘Carrying on like this does you no good, no good at all.’
‘Yes,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I suppose you’re right. I … I’m sorry.’ She frowned and clamped her lips together, as if the apology had caused her physical pain.
‘You certainly put her in her place, sir,’ said Lineham as they walked back to the car.
‘Made a real hash of it, didn’t I?’ Thanet was depressed. He should have been able to handle the woman better, without trampling all over her like that.
‘I think you were brilliant! I’m glad I wasn’t doing the interview, I can tell you. I’d have lost my temper at one point.’
‘Pity I didn’t stick to my original plan. We didn’t learn a single thing we didn’t know already.’
‘I disagree,’ said Lineham stoutly. ‘I can just imagine her sneaking up the stairs and gloating as she put the pillow over Mrs Fairleigh’s head.’
‘Perhaps.’ Thanet wasn’t convinced.
‘Finish your pipe, sir.’
Lineham suggesting that he should light up?
Thanet took out his pipe, looked at it, then glanced at the sergeant and grinned. ‘Put my dummy in, you mean?’
The tension dissolved as they both started to laugh.
SIXTEEN
Bentley had obviously been looking out for their return. He caught them at the door of Thanet’s office.
‘Sir!’ His round, placid face was unusually animated.
Thanet sighed inwardly. In the past he, too, had discovered nuggets of interesting information only to find that his superior was there before him. But it was just one of those disappointments policemen learned to live with.
‘Sorry, Bentley, I think I know what you’re going to say. It’s about Miss Ransome, isn’t it?’
Bentley’s face fell. ‘Yes, sir. She’s a regular client at the bookie’s. Has been for years.’
‘I know. She told us herself. Large sums?’
‘Never more than a fiver, sir. She’s careful, chooses sensible odds. Wins a bit more than she loses, that’s all.’
Thanet nodded. ‘Thanks. At least that confirms what she said.’
Lineham waited until Bentley had gone and then said, ‘Sir, d’you mind if I give Louise a ring? She should be back by now.’
Of course. The interview with the child psychologist. Thanet was ashamed that he had forgotten about something so important to Lineham. The sergeant must have been on tenterhooks about it all afternoon and there wouldn’t be time for him to go home before they left for London to see Pamela Raven. ‘Go ahead.’
He busied himself with papers while Lineham made the phone call, but couldn’t help overhearing.
‘Louise? How did you get on? What? Oh, no.’ A long silence while he listened, then, ‘I see. Yes … Yes. How’s Richard? … Yes, I suppose so, Oh God … Yes, we’ll talk about it tonight.’
Lineham put the phone down and sat staring into space. He looked stunned.
‘Mike, what is it? What’s happened?’
Lineham’s eyes focused again. ‘Richard is dyslexic.’
‘Oh, no. Are they sure?’
Lineham shrugged. ‘They seem to be.’ He put his head in his hands.
‘Mike …’ Thanet was at a loss for words. He didn’t know enough about dyslexia to discuss the subject sensibly. He got up and went to sit on the corner of Lineham’s desk. ‘Look, it’s a blow, yes, and I know it’s not much consolation, but at least you now know there’s a reason for the way he’s been behaving. Do they really think that this would account for it?’
‘Apparently. I’ll know more later. They’ve given Louise some stuff to read … But it’s bound to affect his future. How’s he ever going to pass exams if he’s got reading problems?’
‘It’s bound to cause difficulties, yes, there’s no point in pretending otherwise. But it doesn’t
stop people being very successful. You know that series in one of the Sunday magazine supplements, the one about famous people who have something in common? There was one quite recently about people who were dyslexic. Susan Hampshire, for example. And there were lots more.’ Thanet wished he had paid more attention to that particular article. Would the magazine have been thrown away, he wondered? He’d have to look.
Lineham shook his head. ‘I didn’t see it.’ But he was looking marginally less miserable.
‘Well try not to get into a state about it until you’ve found out a lot more. So much research has been done into these things nowadays, there’s all sorts of help available. Isn’t there a Dyslexic Society?’
‘I don’t know. I expect they’ll have told Louise. She said they’d given her a whole pile of literature.’
‘How’s she taking it?’
‘She’s upset, of course. But you know Louise. She’s a great one for finding out about things and getting things done. And they made all sorts of practical suggestions about helping Richard on a day-to-day basis.’
‘Such as?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘Look, would you prefer to go home? I can take Bentley to London with me instead.’
‘I don’t know.’ Lineham was clearly torn. The sergeant loved his work and jealously guarded the privilege of being Thanet’s chosen companion on such excursions. He was silent for a while, thinking, fiddling with a paper clip that he had picked up from his desk. Finally he tossed it into the wastepaper basket. ‘I don’t suppose a few hours is going to make much difference. And the appointment with Mrs Raven is at seven, we shouldn’t be too late getting back.’
‘It’s up to you. I’ll quite understand if you want to opt out.’
But the sergeant’s mind was now made up. He shook his head firmly. ‘No. I’ll come.’
By 5.30 they were on their way. The journey should take only an hour or so, but they had to allow for rush-hour traffic further into London. The other carriageway of the motorway was even more congested than it had been on Sunday, with commuters streaming out of London in an endless nose-to-tail queue, but heading in to the capital the traffic was relatively light until they left the M20. Lineham grew fidgety as the hands of the clock crept nearer and nearer the hour of their appointment. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as once again they found themselves creeping along at a snail’s pace. ‘Come on, come on!’ he muttered.
Wake the Dead Page 17