by P. D. James
Rickards asked: 'So you didn't tell any of them that the body had been found at the Balmoral Hotel?'
'Didn't know, did I? All I was told by Harry Upjohn was that the Whistler had been found and that he was dead. I dare say the police kept it quiet, where exactly he was found I mean. You wouldn't want a lot of morbid sightseers round the place. Nor would the hotel manager, come to that.'
'And early this morning you rang round again to say that Miss Robarts had been murdered. How did you discover that?'
'Saw the police cars passing, didn't I? So I got on my bike and went up to the gate. Your chaps had left it open so I shut it again and waited. When they came back I opened the gate for them and asked what was up.'
Rickards said: 'You seem to have an extraordinary talent for extracting information from the police.'
'Well, I know some of them, don't I? The local chaps, anyway. They drink in the Hero. The driver of the first car through wouldn't say anything. Nor would the driver of the mortuary van. But when the third car came through and stopped while I opened and shut the gate again I asked who was dead and they told me. I mean, I know a mortuary van when I see one.'
'Who exactly told you?' asked Oliphant belligerently. George Jago turned on him his bright and innocent comedian's gaze.
'Couldn't say, could I? One policeman is much like another. Someone told me.'
'So you rang round early this morning? Why then? Why wait?'
'Because it was after midnight by then. Folk like a bit of news but they like their sleep more. But I rang Ryan Blaney first thing today.'
'Why him?'
'Why not? When you've got news it's human nature to pass it on to an interested party.'
Oliphant said: 'And he was certainly an interested party. Must have come as something of a relief.'
'Might have done, might not. I didn't speak to him. I told Theresa.'
Oliphant said: 'So you didn't speak to Mr Blaney either when you rang on Sunday or this morning. Bit odd wasn't it?'
'Depends how you look at it. The first time he was in his painting shed. He doesn't like being called to the phone when he's working. No point, anyway. I told Theresa and she told him.'
Rickards said: 'How do you know she told him?'
'Because she said so when I rang this morning. Why shouldn't she tell him?'
'But you can't know for certain that she did?'
Mrs Jago said suddenly: 'And you can't know for certain that she didn't. What does it matter, anyway? He knows now. We all do. We know about the Whistler and we know about Miss Robarts. And maybe if you'd caught the Whistler a year ago Miss Robarts would still be alive.'
Oliphant asked quickly: 'What do you mean by that, Mrs Jago?'
'What they call a copycat murder, isn't it? That's the talk in the village, anyway, apart from those who still think the Whistler did it and you've got your times all wrong. And old Humphrey, of course, who thinks it was the Whistler's ghost still on the job.'
Rickards said: 'We're interested in a portrait of Miss Robarts which was painted recently by Mr Blaney. Have either of you seen it? Did he talk about it?'
Mrs Jago said: 'Of course we've seen it. Had it hanging in the bar, didn't we? And I knew that it would bring bad luck. It was an evil picture if ever I saw one.'
Jago turned to his wife and explained with patient emphasis: 'I don't see how you can say a picture is evil, Doris, not a picture. Things can't be evil. An inanimate object is neither good nor evil. Evil is what is done by people.'
'And what is thought by people, George, and that picture came out of evil thoughts, so I say that picture was evil.'
She spoke firmly but with no trace of obstinacy or resentment. Obviously this was the kind of marital argument, conducted without acrimony, and with scrupulous fairness, which they both relished. For a few minutes their attention was solely on each other.
Jago went on: 'Granted it wasn't the kind of picture you'd want to hang on your sitting-room wall.'
'Or in the bar, come to that. Pity you ever did, George.'
'Right enough. Still I reckon it didn't give anyone any ideas they didn't have already. And you can't say that it was evil, not a picture, Doris.'
'AH right, suppose you get an instrument of torture, something used by the Gestapo.' Mrs Jago looked round the bar as if among its clutter she might reasonably expect to find an example. 'I'd say that thing was evil. I wouldn't give it house room.'
'You could say it was used for an evil purpose, Doris, that's different.'
Rickards asked: 'Why exactly did you hang the portrait in the bar?'
'Because he asked me, that's why. I usually find room for one or two of his small watercolours and sometimes he sells them and sometimes not. I always tell him they've got to be seascapes. I mean, it's all the Admiral here, isn't it, it's all nautical. But he was dead keen on having this up and I said I'd keep it for a week. He brought it down on his bike on Monday the twelfth.'
'In the hope of selling it?'
'Oh, it wasn't for sale, not that picture wasn't. He made that very plain.'
Oliphant said: 'So what was the point of putting it up?'
'That's what I said.' Jago turned triumphantly to the sergeant as if recognizing a fellow expert in logic. '"What's the point in putting it up if you don't want to sell it?" I said. "Let them look at it," he said. "I want them to see it.
I want the whole world to see it." A bit optimistic, I thought. After all, we're not the National Gallery.'
'More like the National Maritime Museum really,' said Doris surprisingly and beamed at them happily.
'Where did you find room for it?'
'On that wall opposite the door. Took down the two pictures of the Battle of the Nile, didn't I?'
'And how many people did see it in those seven days?'
'You're asking me how many customers I had. I mean, if they came in they saw it. Couldn't hardly miss it, could they? Doris wanted to take it down but I promised I'd keep it up until the Monday, so I did. Glad when he came and took it away, though. Like I said, it's all commemorative here. It's all the Admiral. It didn't seem to go with the decor. It wasn't here long. He said he'd call for it on the morning of the nineteenth and he did.'
'Did anyone from the headland or the power station see it?'
'Those who came in. The Local Hero isn't really their regular local. Most of them want to get away from the place at the end of the day and who's to blame them? I mean, living over the shop is all right, but not that shop.'
'Was there much talk about it? Did anyone ask where he kept it, for example?'
'Not to me. I reckon most of them knew where he kept it. I mean, he talked a bit about his painting shed. And if he had wanted to sell, he wouldn't have got any offers. I'll tell you someone who did see it, though. Hilary Robarts.'
'When was this?'
'The evening after he brought it in, about seven o'clock. She used to come in here from time to time. Never drank much, just a couple of dry sherries. Took them over to the seat by the fire.'
'Alone?'
'Usually she was. Once or twice she had Dr Mair with her. But she was alone that Tuesday.'
'What did she do when she saw the picture?'
'Stood and looked at it. The pub was pretty full at the time and everyone fell silent. You know how it is. They were all watching. I couldn't see her face because her back was to me. Then she walked over to the bar and said: "I've changed my mind about drinking here. Obviously you don't welcome customers from Larksoken." Then she went out. Well, I welcome customers from anywhere if they can hold their drink and don't ask for credit, but I didn't reckon she'd be much loss.'
'So she wasn't particularly popular on the headland?'
'I don't know about the headland. She wasn't particularly popular in this pub.'
Doris Jago said: 'Scheming she was to turn the Blaneys out of Scudder's Cottage. And him a widower trying to bring up four kids. Where did she think he was going to go? He gets family allowance and oth
er bits of welfare help but that isn't going to find him another cottage. But I'm sorry she's dead, of course. I mean you have to be, don't you? It's not a nice thing to happen to anybody. We'll be sending a wreath from the Local Hero.'
'Was that the last time you saw her?'
Mrs Jago said: 'The last time George did. I saw her on the headland on Sunday. Must have been only a few hours before she died. I said to George, maybe I was the last person to see her alive, well, me and Neil Pascoe and Amy. You don't think at the time, do you? We can't see into the future, nor wouldn't want to. Sometimes I look at that power station and wonder if we'll all end up dead on the beach.'
Oliphant asked how she came to be on the headland.
'Delivering the church magazine, wasn't I? I always do on the last Sunday afternoon in the month. Collect them after morning service then take them round after dinner. Lunch to you, maybe, we call it dinner.'
Rickards had called the main meal dinner all his life and still did despite his mother-in-law's unceasing campaign to raise his social status. Her midday meal was luncheon and her evening meal dinner even if it consisted, as it often did, of sardines on toast. He wondered what they had eaten today. He said: 'I didn't realize that people on the headland were churchgoers, other than the Copleys, of course.'
'And Mrs Dennison. Very regular she is. I can't say the others actually come to church, well, not to say actually attend, not to the services, but they do take the parish magazine.' Mrs Jago's tone suggested that there were depths of irreligion to which even the headlanders would hardly sink. She added: 'All except the Blaneys, of course. Well, they wouldn't, being RC. At least she was RC, poor dear, and the children are of course. I mean they have to be, don't they? I don't think Ryan's anything. He's an artist. I never delivered to Scudder's Cottage even when his wife was alive. Anyway RCs don't have parish magazines.'
George Jago said: 'I wouldn't say that, Doris. I wouldn't go that far. They might.'
'We've lived here for four years, George, and Father McKee
is in the bar often enough and I've never seen one.'
'Well, you wouldn't, would you?'
'I might have, George, if there was one to see. They're different from us. No Harvest Festival and no parish magazines.'
Her husband explained patiently: 'They're different because they have different dogmas. It's all to do with dogma, Doris, it's nothing to do with Harvest Festival and parish magazines.'
'I know it's to do with dogma. The Pope tells them that the blessed Virgin Mary ascended into Heaven and they all have to believe it. I know all about dogma.'
Before Jago could open his mouth to dispute this claim to infallibility Rickards said quickly: 'So you delivered the magazines to the headlanders on Sunday afternoon. When precisely?'
'Well, I reckon I started off at about three, or maybe a bit after. We have a latish dinner on Sundays and we didn't get started on the spotted-dick pudding much before 2.30. And then George loaded the dishwasher and I got ready to go. Say 3.15, if you want to be particular.'
Jago said: 'You were well gone by 3.15, Doris. I'd say it was nearer 3.10.'
Oliphant said impatiently: 'I don't think five minutes matters either way.'
George Jago turned on him a glance of nicely judged surprise and mild rebuke. 'They might. They could be crucial. I'd say five minutes in a murder investigation could be crucial.'
Mrs Jago added her reproof: 'One minute could be crucial if that was the actual minute she died. Crucial for her, anyway. I don't see how you can say they don't matter.'
Rickards thought it was time to intervene: 'I agree that five minutes could be important, Mr Jago, but hardly these five minutes. Perhaps your wife would tell us exactly what she did and saw.'
'Well, I got on my bicycle. George always offers to drive me but he has enough driving in the week and I don't like to bother him to get out the car. Not Sundays. Not after roast beef and spotted dick.'
'It'd be no trouble, Doris. I've told you that. No trouble.'
'I know, George. Haven't I just said you'd be willing enough? I like the exercise and I'm always back before dark.' She turned to Rickards and explained: 'George never liked me to be out after dark, not with the Whistler around.'
Oliphant said: 'So you left between 3.10 and 3.15 and cycled off over the headland.'
'With the church magazines in the basket, same as usual. First I went to the caravan. I always go to the caravan first. It's a bit tricky now with Neil Pascoe.'
'How is it tricky, Mrs Jago?'
'Well, he's asked us more than once to put out his magazine - Nuclear Newsletter he calls it - in the bar for people to buy or maybe read for free. But George and I have always set our faces against it. I mean, we get some of the staff from Larksoken in the pub and it's not nice, is it, to be faced with a paper saying that what you're doing is wicked and ought to be put a stop to. Not when all you want is a quiet drink. Not everybody in Lydsett agrees with what he's doing. You can't deny that Larksoken Power Station has brought more business into the village, and jobs too. And you've got to trust people, haven't you? I mean, if Dr Mair says nuclear power is safe, then it probably is. Then again, you can't help wondering, can you?'
Rickards said patiently: 'But Mr Pascoe took the church magazine?'
'Well, it's only ten pence and I suppose he likes to know what's going on in the parish. When he first arrived on the headland - two years ago it was now - I called on him and asked if he'd like to take the magazine. He seemed a bit surprised but he said he would and paid his ten pence and he's had it ever since. If he doesn't want it he's only got to say so.'
Rickards asked: 'And what happened at the caravan?'
'I saw Hilary Robarts, same as I said. I gave Neil the magazine and collected the money and was having a bit of a chat with him inside the caravan when she drove up in that red Golf of hers. Amy was outside with the kid, bringing in some of his clothes from a washing line they'd rigged up there. When he saw the car Neil got out of the caravan and went over and stood by Amy. Miss Robarts got out of the car and they both stood looking at her, not speaking, just standing side by side watching her. It wasn't much of a welcoming committee, but then what would you expect? Then, when Miss Robarts got within six yards or so of them Timmy trotted over to her and grabbed at her slacks. He's a friendly little beggar and he didn't mean any harm. You know how kids are. But he'd been mucking about in that muddy patch under the tap and started smearing the stuff all over her trousers. She pushed him away none too gently. The kid fell flat on his bum and started bawling, and then all hell was let loose.'
Oliphant asked: 'What was said?'
'Now that I can't exactly remember. There were a lot of words used which you don't expect to hear on a Sunday. Some beginning with f and some beginning with c. Use your imagination.'
Rickards said: 'Were any threats made?'
'Depends what you mean by threats. There was a lot of shouting and screaming. Not Neil. He was just standing there looking so white I thought he was going to faint. It was Amy who was making the most noise. Anyone would think Miss Robarts had gone for the kid with a knife. I can't remember the half of it. Ask Neil Pascoe. Miss Robarts didn't seem to notice that I was there. Ask Amy and Neil. They'll tell you.'
Rickards said: 'You tell me too. It's helpful to get different people's views of an incident. You get a more accurate picture that way.'
Jago interposed: 'More accurate? Different maybe. It'd only be more accurate if they were all telling the truth.'
For a moment Rickards feared that Mrs Jago was prepared to challenge the assertion with another demonstration of semantics. He said: 'Well, I'm sure that you're telling the truth, Mrs Jago. That's why we're starting with you. Can you remember what was actually said?'
'I think Miss Robarts said that she had called to say that she was thinking of dropping her legal action but that now she would bloody well go ahead with it and she hoped it would ruin them both. "You and your whore." Charming wasn't it?'
'She used those precise words?'
'And a good few others which I can't exactly remember.' 'What I mean is, Mrs Jago, Miss Robarts was the one making the threats?'
For the first time Mrs Jago seemed uneasy, then she said: 'Well she always was the one making threats, wasn't she? Neil Pascoe wasn't suing her.' 'What happened next?'
'Nothing. Miss Robarts got into the car and drove away. Amy lugged the kid into the caravan and slammed the door. Neil looked so miserable I thought he'd burst out crying, so I thought I'd say something to cheer him up.'
'What was that, Mrs Jago?'
'I said she was a vicious evil-minded bitch and one day someone would do her in.'
Jago said: 'Not very nice, Doris. Not on a Sunday.'
Doris Jago said complacently: 'Not very nice any day of the week, but I wasn't far wrong, was I?'