‘There’s some work to do on it yet, Larry. You could save us all a lot of trouble if you’d just admit you did it.’
‘Oh sure. I reckon so. The snag is that I didn’t.’
‘Have they got a solicitor for you?’
‘Ma was round. I told her I didn’t want one. It’s guilty people who need solicitors.’
‘Hmm!’ I said. ‘We’ll see. But you must agree, you’re the one with the best motive. You’d want to kill Mark.’
He was eager, pouncing in. ‘That’s just it. I did want to kill him. Oh Lord, how much I wanted that! I’ve nearly driven myself crazy, trying to work out a way of doing it. But I didn’t like the idea of seeing him die. I can’t understand that, but it’s how it was. The idea of it, bringing it about, sort of, that was great.
I thought of poison. But that wasn’t a very good idea, quite apart from the fact that I don’t know where to get any. But poison, anyway — I mean — it might’ve got the wrong person. And that would’ve been awful. Can you think of a more terrible thing than killing the wrong person! It’d be even worse than letting the right one go on living. Don’t you think?’
I said I quite agreed. He was expounding basic law. ‘But you were still thinking about ways and means?’
‘Oh yes.’ Seriously, that was. ‘My best idea was dropping something on him from a good height. But there’d be all that blood, see.’
‘Yes, there’d be a lot of blood,’ I agreed. ‘And where were you last night?’ I looked up at Tony. ‘It was last night?’
‘Yes. The ME reckoned about eight. It’d be dark. No moon.’
‘Larry?’ I prompted. ‘At eight.’
‘I was out.’
‘Out? Out where?’
‘On the water. In my dinghy.’
‘In the dark?’
‘There wasn’t any moon, but I had the stars.’
It sounded a bit thin to me. ‘Sailing? At night?’
‘I can see her clearer then, on the water, in the dark.’
I got to my feet abruptly. ‘We’ll get moving, I think. You all right, Larry? Plenty to read?’
He gestured to the book beside him. ‘Ma brought me that. It’s by somebody called Lovella Treat. A bit sloppy for me, but it’s got a lot of words.’
‘Fine. See you later. Okay?’
He smiled thinly. We left. The officer came along and put his head in the door, then locked up.
‘Well?’ said Tony.
‘She must be mad, charging Larry. You heard what he said.’
‘I heard.’ He was non-committal.
‘I reckon she’s using him, to force me into this.’
‘Do you, Richard? She has her ways.’
We went back up to the ground floor, and to the canteen, which, like the cell, was new and modern and utilitarian, and just about as cheerless. We sat and we ate. I can’t remember what it was. Not one word was said about our proposed visit. Not many words were said at all, as I recall it. None at all by me. Eventually, we left.
Before we reached the front office the sound of raised voices and thumping noises became clear. Melanie marched ahead, into trouble.
Malcolm Ruston was standing at the desk, demanding something, anything. Still a big man, still with his strength slumbering unleashed, he was nevertheless stricken and shattered. Seeing us, he was silent. His face was collapsing into something older and greyer. His eyes were wild.
‘Inspector...’ appealed the young constable at the desk.
She plunged straight in. ‘Mr Ruston...you really can’t do much good —’
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, his voice coarse and rough. ‘What’re you doing...’ His lips continued to move, but nothing emerged.
‘We’re still making enquiries. It takes time, Mr Ruston. Time.’
‘What am I going to do?’ he asked, his eyes roving. ‘My wife...oh dear God!’
He had lost a daughter and a son in eight months. His life was falling apart.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘And Larry? What about Larry?’
‘We’re holding him for now.’
‘Y’ must be crazy. Not Larry. I want to see him.’
He made a movement to thrust past her. He’d been angry and frustrated for a long while and his mind was exhausted with it, but the fury wasn’t far beneath the surface.
‘I can’t allow that,’ she told him firmly. ‘You ought to know you can’t. Why don’t you...Constable, will you get someone to take Mr Ruston for a cup of tea —’
‘No!’ he shouted, his face red now, resenting the suggestion that his wounds could be so easily healed. ‘I want to see...to see...’
Baffled at the complete lack of progress he’d made, he stared blindly about him, then he swung around and stumped out into the open air.
Melanie ran her fingers across her eyebrows. ‘Sometimes I hate...oh, hell, let’s get on with it.’
When we got out to the parking area she said we’d use her car. She meant her official one, a plain Ford Cortina but fitted with radio link-up. She threw her briefcase inside, some of her frustration in the gesture. ‘If you’ll just sit with me, Richard, please.’
I sat in the front with her, Tony and Amelia behind. Amelia was silent, and very pale. Melanie had no need for directions to Mansfield Park.
‘I want to discuss strategy, Richard.’
I didn’t want to discuss anything. I listened. It was going to be difficult, she explained, because I had no official standing, and it would be necessary to make that clear. We would get further, she thought, by maintaining an informal atmosphere. Yet the official aspect had to be there. She decided that she would go in first, establishing her position, and then allow me to continue, on the grounds that I’d come along purely for the purpose of keeping things on a friendly basis.
I noticed that there was no suggestion that we might have to issue official warnings that anything they might say...etc. Yes, it was going to be very unofficial.
‘And if,’ she said, ‘I think at any time you’re lapsing from the theme, I’ll interrupt. You understand, I’m not going to have you put leading questions, prodding them in a direction that’s in their favour.’
‘I can’t see, from what we’ve got so far, that I’ll be able to discover much in anybody’s favour,’ I said without enthusiasm. ‘But you’ll try?’ She glanced at her rear-view mirror.
‘Maybe. It depends. What’s the time? Just after three. Then I’ll tell you that Olivia will be in the middle of one of her afternoon dictating sessions. It could well be difficult to dig her out.’
‘We’ll tackle that when we come to it.’ She was being very brisk and dismissive.
Once more she glanced at the mirror. ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘There’s a pick-up following us.’
‘That’ll be Malcolm Ruston.’
‘We can’t have that.’
She reached for her microphone and gave brisk instructions for a two-man patrol car to proceed to Mansfield Park. I was wondering what hell might be let loose if Ruston interfered there. But she seemed satisfied that she had it under control, only slowing a little, I guessed to give time for the patrol car to meet us there.
It was a fifteen mile run. The pick-up hung on our tail all the way.
‘It’s along this side turning, I believe,’ she said at last.
‘It is.’
The pick-up was still behind, following us along the causeway, staying back a little when we parked on the same spot the Granada had occupied. Melanie didn’t get out, simply waited until a patrol car drifted in behind the pick-up and stopped. Then she got out, me with her, and we walked back to them.
Malcolm jumped to the ground. ‘What is this place? Why’ve you come here?’
‘Mr Ruston,’ said Melanie calmly, ‘I’m doing what’s described as pursuing enquiries. Into Mark’s death. I will not have you causing any trouble. Do you understand?’ She cocked her eyes at the two uniformed men, who’d come up behind Malcolm. ‘You heard? H
e may remain here, or go home if he wishes.
‘Home!’ Malcolm groaned.
‘He’s not under arrest. But if he tries to interfere, you’re to restrain him. Right?’
They nodded. Two young, slim constables, who, together, wouldn’t have made one Malcolm Ruston. He now stared bleakly, baffled, at us, and ran his damp palms down the rump of his jeans. He sought my attention, fastening his eyes on me. A possible friend. ‘Richard? And Amelia’s with you. What’s going on?’
I shook my head in apology. ‘Behave, and you might find out.’
He slapped his thighs, anger rumbling deep inside him.
We walked back to the car, where Amelia was standing with Tony. I explained that this was really the rear of the house, but Melanie didn’t seem interested in that, just collected her briefcase and headed directly for the door.
We had not been seen arriving, and she had to use the bell-push. Philip appeared, blinking, in the hall, the Great Dane peering past his shoulder and the Spaniels past his knees.
He was still losing weight, I thought. Now he was positively gaunt, and the pipe clasped in his hand was quivering. But he managed a look of astonished query, which turned to blank surprise when he saw Melanie and Tony.
‘Richard? And...why yes, Amelia’s with you. Do come in. And who are your friends?’
He carried this off very well, and had completely destroyed Melanie’s planned approach. She tried to recover the initiative.
‘I am Inspector Poole, and this is Sergeant Brason. From the police,’ she added, in case he might be thinking in terms of drains.
He stood back, gesturing with the pipe. ‘Come in, anyway.’ He said something to the dogs, who wandered off forlornly, deprived of a good bout of ear-pulling.
‘The lounge, Richard. You know the way. This is a surprise. I’m afraid Olivia —’
‘We’d like to speak to her, Philip. Both of you together, if that can be arranged.’ I tried not to allow any sarcasm to enter this phrase.
‘Oh dear,’ he said helplessly.
‘Think you can dig her out?’
‘Well...go on through. I’ll see what I can do.’
Amelia led the way through into the lounge. Melanie’s eyes were all about her at once, not admiring the furniture and fittings the pictures and the porcelain, I was sure. She was deciding where was the best place for us all to sit, when it came to sitting, and how to place all six of us to the best advantage, if any choice arose.
Amelia clutched at my arm. ‘I feel terrible,’ she said miserably.
‘I know you do. I’m not happy with it myself. Why don’t you sit over...’
We were interrupted. Olivia swept in on a surge of annoyance, and cast her eyes around.
‘Amelia! Darling!’ But this time there was no warmth in it, real or assumed. ‘And Richard.’ She had not advanced to kiss Amelia’s cheek. She had been told who our companions were, so that Amelia and I were included in the lack of welcome. She nodded, first to Melanie, then to Tony.
‘Philip tells me you’re from the police. How very extraordinary.’
Again Melanie introduced herself and Tony, and smiled as she did it, in a way she clearly believed to be encouraging.
‘It’s a police matter, Mrs Dean.’ She had automatically assumed that Olivia was the one to address. Philip had slipped to one side quietly. ‘As it’s a complicated business, and as Richard, here, knows more of the background than I do...’ She laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘...which is next to nothing, he’s very kindly agreed to come along and explain things to you. If that’s all right. I wonder if we can sit down — I think this could take a little time.’
Olivia looked round distractedly. Melanie had so placed her-self that it would seem only natural for her to sit back into the wing chair behind her, which just happened to be to one side of the french window. She waited. Olivia now had the choice of a single chair, upright and possibly uncomfortable, a little in front of the window but nevertheless to the side of Melanie, from where it would be difficult to keep a wary eye on her, or she could take one of a couple of fat, upholstered chairs facing the window. She chose one of the latter, the one furthest from Melanie. Amelia at once went to the other one, sliding it along to be beside Olivia, thus offering proximity as comfort for her friend. This left the upright chair for me, and for Philip an embroidered stool, which he picked up and plumped down, ostentatiously facing the window, from where danger might be expected to come. But he carefully situated it further back and a little to one side of Olivia. Possibly so that she could not observe his reactions? Or simply to demonstrate his inferior status when his wife was around?
Tony, with no seat, stood negligently against the back wall, where neither Philip nor Olivia could see him. He stood with one hand clasping his other elbow, and supporting a hand over his chin and mouth.
I took the upright chair and placed it down facing the Deans.
It was padded, but hard. I started to fill my pipe, then looked up.
‘You’ve made this seem all very stiff and formal, Olivia. I didn’t want it like that.’
‘Philip can get drinks,’ she said, as though her lips were stiff. ‘If that would help.’
‘No, no. No need for that. Look, I don’t like this. You asked me here — us, rather, Amelia and me — to help you with a little business regarding a burglary that wasn’t. That’s all it involved, and I couldn’t do much to help. Sorry about that, but when you both insisted that nothing had been taken from the house, then there really wasn’t anything left to do. But the thought did occur to me — you’ll understand this, Olivia — I thought that if what had been taken was quite small and insignificant, then one of you might not have known it was there. And the other one would...might, I should say...might not have wanted to admit it’d been there. Oh Lord, Olivia, don’t stare at me like that. You’re putting me off.’
‘Why should I want to do anything else?’ One hand lifted for a moment impatiently from her knee.
‘Well...that’s what I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘That’s what I’d like to find out. As I said, one of you might’ve known what was taken, and not wish to admit it’d been there, and now wasn’t.’
‘Not me,’ she said with finality. She half turned her head and jerked out, ‘Philip?’
‘What? I didn’t...’
‘You’re not listening. Did you know of anything hidden here secretly, and not want me to know about it?
He smiled, and glanced at me, sharing the thought: Women! ‘Is there ever anything I can keep from you, my love?’
She gave a tiny snort of disgust, probably at ‘my love’, and said to me, ‘There you are, then. There’s your answer, Richard, and I can’t see, I’ll have you know, why you’re making such a fuss about it. If that’s all, I’ll just get back to my work. I might possibly salvage something...’
She had her hands on the arms of her chair, about to lever herself to her feet. I got in quickly.
‘It isn’t all, Olivia, I’m sorry to say. You see, the burglar left his personal marks. They all do this — it’s related to how they do the job. It’s called an MO in the force. Modus operandi. And this one had left a very personal MO, his care and tidiness, the way he got in —’
‘That roof’s going to cost a fortune to put right,’ Philip put in brightly. ‘It’s a matter of matching the tiles. You’d never believe.’
‘But I would, Philip.’ I decided he was trying to lighten the mood, that he felt Olivia’s attitude wasn’t helping. ‘Blame your burglar. Sue him for damages.’
‘You know who he is?’ he asked, as though he might put that in hand at once.
‘I did manage to find out, with the help of Inspector Poole over there.’ I gestured towards Melanie. She was a blurred shape on the outer edge of my peripheral vision. I couldn’t detect how she took that. ‘She was good enough to take me to him, because of course she recognized the MO, and introduce us —’
‘Introduce!’ cut in Olivia. ‘Dear heaven, is t
his a madhouse! Introduce — to a burglar — I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘The police,’ I assured her, ‘have to keep on friendly terms with all their crooks. Otherwise they might leave the district in a huff, and where would the work be then? There’d be queues of out-of-work coppers —’
‘Can we keep to the point?’ Olivia demanded acidly.
Philip was darting his gaze from one to the other of us, quietly enjoying the exchange.
‘He lives,’ I said, ‘quite close to Happisburgh, in a cottage he calls Honesty.’
Philip let out a yip of laughter, then clamped his hand over his mouth, with his eyes dancing above it. His reaction appeared forced.
I knew that I was treading on the edge of farce, here, having deliberately ventured into facetiousness. But I wasn’t going to get anywhere if I couldn’t break away from our formality, which was leading me much too close for my liking to conducting an interrogation. I was very near to antagonizing both of them.
‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘Honestly. Anyway, I didn’t want to make a case of it with this burglar. His name’s Harvey Cole, by the way. All I wanted was to discover what he’d stolen from this house.’
Olivia raised her chin. ‘Nothing was —’
‘Something was, Olivia. He admitted it. He even sold me what he’d got.’
‘I do not believe you, Richard.’
‘Sold it to you?’ asked Philip blankly.
‘Well yes.’ I put my hand inside my jacket and produced my yellow envelope. I was getting used to this, and could now whip it out like a cross-handed pistol draw. ‘I paid two hundred pounds for this envelope, with two photographs in it. Like to see?’
‘No thank you,’ said Olivia, lips pursed in disapproval.
‘I was asking Philip,’ I said gently.
‘Let’s have a look, then,’ he conceded, just to keep me happy, and he reached forward. His attitude was one of a person humouring someone slightly insane.
I had to stand up in order to take the envelope to him. I stood at his shoulder, head tilted, and handed them over.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, suddenly serious, drawing them out. ‘Two photographs of someone lying drowned in the reeds of a river.’
Death of an Innocent (Richard and Amelia Patton) Page 20