‘Honestly!’ said Lineham, bending down to peer at the splatters of mud on his car. ‘Look at that! What a mess!’
Thanet was grinning. ‘Don’t be such an old woman, Mike. No harm done. You should expect to find mud in the country.’
‘Preferably not on my car!’ said Lineham.
‘Anyway, you can’t possibly see properly in this light. Do stop fussing! At least it’s stopped raining.’
They started to walk towards the house but Thanet paused. ‘What do you think he meant, Mike?’
Lineham understood at once. He and Thanet had worked together for so many years that they were rather like an old married couple in this respect: frequently picking up long afterwards a train of thought left unpursued earlier.
‘Sounded to me as though he had expected someone, a man, to be at the house and he wasn’t. Des had seen him somewhere else, somewhere he hadn’t expected to see him.’
‘Looks that way, doesn’t it? What do you think of Manifest as a suspect, Mike? You know the man. Do you think he was capable of pushing her? The worm turning and all that?’
‘I really couldn’t say. People change. I knew him as a schoolboy. I haven’t a clue what he’s like now.’
There was an uncharacteristic acerbity in Lineham’s tone and Thanet glanced at him uneasily. Lineham had become increasingly short-tempered of late. He was having problems with his mother again. She was tired of living alone and had been dropping stronger and stronger hints that she would like to move in with Lineham and Louise. The trouble was that neither of them could face the prospect, Louise because she was just as strong-minded as her mother-in-law and Lineham because he knew that with both women under the same roof he would constantly be the rope in a tug-of-war between them. Meanwhile the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Both women were becoming increasingly impatient with Lineham, his mother because she wasn’t getting the invitation for which she was angling, Louise because Lineham was procrastinating. Thanet sympathised with his sergeant’s predicament but felt that the matter would have to be resolved shortly. The strain on Lineham was beginning to tell and, sooner or later, if he didn’t act, Thanet would have to sit down with him and try and get him to make a decision.
But now was not the moment. Covin must have heard their cars draw up, and had come to the door.
THREE
‘Evening. Come in.’ Covin stood back to let them in, then ushered them through to a sitting room which stank of cigarette smoke. It was conventionally furnished with fitted carpet, three-piece suite and the ubiquitous television set, which was tuned in to a late-night current affairs programme. A dying fire flickered in the hearth and Covin crossed to poke it and put another log on before switching the television off and inviting them to sit down. He chose what was obviously his favourite armchair – on a small table nearby stood an empty mug, a packet of cigarettes, a disposable lighter and an overflowing ashtray. He tapped out a cigarette and lit up. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’ He flapped his hand in a futile attempt to disperse the clouds of smoke.
Thanet elected to sit on the sofa. ‘It’s your house,’ he said, knowing that Lineham would mind, very much, but that there was nothing they could do about it.
Lineham retreated to an upright chair against the wall, as far away from Covin as he could get. He took out his notebook.
Covin gave the notebook a nervous glance. ‘I’m not quite sure why you wanted to see me.’ He took a deep drag at his cigarette. His fingers, Thanet noticed, were stained a deep yellow but outwardly at least his addiction didn’t seem to have affected his health: his colour was good, his eyes bright and his dark hair a luxuriant curly thatch which many men of his age would envy. Thanet put him in his early fifties.
‘We’re just trying to fill in some background,’ Thanet said reassuringly. ‘Mr Manifest is naturally very distressed and has had to be sedated, and as you are married to Mrs Manifest’s sister, we thought you might both be able to help us.’ He laid slight emphasis on ‘both’ and glanced hopefully towards the door. ‘I hope your wife hasn’t gone to bed yet.’
‘I’m afraid my wife died two years ago, Inspector.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologise. How could you be expected to know?’
‘So you live here alone?’ Thanet’s eyes flickered towards the mantelpiece where there were a number of photographs, mostly, so far as he could make out, either of a woman and a girl or of a young girl alone, at various stages of her childhood. In the largest and most colourful picture she was posing on skis against a background of snowy mountain peaks.
‘Yes.’ Covin followed Thanet’s glance. ‘Well, most of the time, anyway.’ He lit another cigarette from the stub of the old one.
‘That’s your daughter?’
‘Yes. But she’s away at university.’
‘Oh, which one? My son’s at university too. Reading.’
‘So is Karen.’
‘So she’s just gone back.’
‘Yes. This evening, as a matter of fact.’
Ben had gone yesterday. ‘You must miss her.’
Covin shrugged. ‘You have to put up with it, don’t you?’
Thanet was trying to get the feel of the man but so far he wasn’t succeeding. He certainly hadn’t warmed to him and for some reason felt as though he were having to drag information out of him despite the fact that Covin had answered his questions readily enough. Thanet was sufficiently experienced to know that every good interviewer uses his own reactions to the interviewee as a tool, so he now tried to work out why Covin should be having this effect on him. Was it because the man was naturally morose or because he was used to leading a solitary life? Or was he holding back for some other reason? If so, of course, it might have absolutely no connection with their investigation.
On the other hand it might.
‘This phone call you made to your sister-in-law earlier this evening, what was it about?’
‘It wasn’t actually about anything. I didn’t get through.’
‘Why didn’t you leave a message on the answerphone?’
‘Can’t stand the things. As soon as the recorded message began, I rang off.’
‘What time was this, exactly?’ Though Thanet knew of course.
‘I’m not sure. Is it important?’
‘It could be.’
Covin stubbed out his cigarette, but it was only a few moments before he was shaking another out of the packet. ‘I think it must have been about half seven. I know it was just after Karen left, and I remember looking at the clock when we finished supper. It was just gone twenty past then, and she went soon afterwards.’
‘Rather late for her to be leaving, wasn’t it?’
‘She was driving down. She borrowed my car.’
‘So, what was your reason for ringing your sister-in-law?’
‘Karen asked me to. She’d intended to go round to see her aunt before she went back to Reading but she just hadn’t managed to, and she wanted me to ring and say sorry, give her her love.’
‘How well did you know your sister-in-law, Mr Covin?’
Covin shrugged, his mouth tugged down at the corners. ‘Pretty well, I suppose. We more or less brought her up.’
‘You and your wife, you mean? How was that?’
‘Jess’s father died when she was six, in an accident at work. Eileen – my mother-in-law – got decent compensation so she didn’t have to go out to work and everything was fine for a couple of years, until she got breast cancer, same as Madge, my wife. They say it’s often hereditary, don’t they? Anyway, Eileen struggled on for another couple of years and then she died, so Jess came to live with us. We’d been married about five years by then.’
‘Your wife must have been considerably older than her sister.’
‘Yes, she was. Sixteen years. She was twenty-six when her mother died.’
‘So your sister-in-law had a pretty rough time, really, losing both her father and her mother within – what? – four yea
rs of each other.’
Covin shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Though you could say she was lucky she had someone to take her in. Otherwise she’d have had to go into care.’
‘I have the feeling you didn’t like her much, Mr Covin.’
‘She wasn’t the most appealing child in the world. She was always whining, clingy, wanting her own way and making a fuss if she didn’t get it. And my wife was inclined to spoil her, which only made things worse.’
It didn’t sound as though Covin had been the most sympathetic of father substitutes, thought Thanet. And Jessica had obviously been a source of conflict between him and his wife.
‘She took advantage of my wife’s good nature,’ Covin went on. This obviously still rankled, even after all these years. ‘She was always asking for things we couldn’t afford. Had expensive tastes, even then. But when she was earning, later on, and it came to spending her own money, it was a very different story. Madge used to make excuses for her, call her thrifty, but I say she was just downright mean.’
‘I understand she was quite well off for a few years at least, after she got married.’
Covin gave a bark of cynical laughter. ‘Yes, and that was a laugh, when he lost his job and she found she was having to support two people on her salary instead of one.’
‘You think she married him for his money?’
‘Perhaps not entirely,’ Covin said grudgingly. ‘But I’d say it was a major factor, yes.’
‘But she did stay with him.’ Lineham intervened for the first time.
Covin looked surprised, as if he’d forgotten the sergeant was present. ‘Yes. I was never quite sure why. I think to begin with she thought he’d just walk into another job pretty quickly.’
‘But he didn’t,’ said Thanet.
‘No.’
‘So why do you think she did stick with him?’ persisted Lineham.
‘How should I know? Just waiting until a bigger fish came along, I should think.’
‘You mean she was actively looking?’ said Thanet.
‘No idea. I told you, I didn’t see enough of them to know much about their private life.’
‘So you don’t know if she had any boyfriends? Her husband hasn’t dropped any hints?’
‘No. You’d have to ask him.’ Another cynical laugh. ‘Though they do say the husband’s often the last to know, don’t they? Look, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but why all the questions?’
‘We always have to be careful, in cases of sudden death, Mr Covin.’
‘What do you mean, careful?’ Covin glanced from Thanet to Lineham and back again. ‘I thought you said it was an accident?’
‘I said that she had fallen down the stairs,’ said Thanet.
Covin stared at him for a moment. Then in went another cigarette and this time his hand was shaking as he lit it. He inhaled deeply, then said, ‘Are you implying what I think you’re implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything. At this stage we have no idea what happened and we shall have to wait for the post-mortem results before we are even certain of the cause of death. But meanwhile we can’t afford to sit around twiddling our thumbs, just in case the matter is not as straightforward as it seems.’
Covin was puffing furiously and even though Thanet was a pipe smoker himself and used to a certain amount of tobacco smoke his eyes were beginning to sting and water. He spared a sympathetic thought for the way Lineham must be suffering.
‘You’re saying someone might have pushed her, aren’t you?’
‘I’m saying that at this point we have to keep an open mind.’
‘Which is why you’re asking all this stuff about Des and whether or not Jess was running around with someone else.’
‘Please, Mr Covin, there’s no point in jumping to conclusions, I assure you. All we’re trying to do is find out as much as possible about your sister-in-law. So, if you wouldn’t mind answering just a few more questions, fill in a little more background for us . . .’
‘Go on, then. I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting that you have.’ No point in becoming exasperated. It was always a shock for witnesses to realise that they might, however marginally, be involved in a potential murder investigation and their reactions varied widely, from complete withdrawal to belligerence. ‘So, if we could very briefly go back to what you were telling us. Mrs Manifest came to live with you when she was ten and stayed until . . .?’
‘She started work.’
‘How old would she have been then?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘She left school after she took her O levels, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did she go to school?’
‘Sturrenden Grammar.’
‘And where did she work, when she left?’
‘The Kent Messenger. She’d done a week’s work experience there the summer before, and enjoyed it.’
Thanet was surprised that Jessica had been taken on straight from school like that. Nowadays there was such competition for reporters’ jobs that he understood it was virtually impossible to get one without a degree. But it was – what? – twenty years or so since Jessica Manifest started work. Perhaps things had been different then. In any case, she probably hadn’t started reporting straight away. No doubt there’d have been some kind of apprenticeship. All the same, if she had been reasonably bright, as she must have been . . . ‘As a matter of interest, why didn’t she stay on at school, to take her A levels?’
Covin leaned across to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray which was now so full that he had difficulty in doing so. He got up and emptied it into the fire. ‘Oh, you know what kids are like at that age. She was fed up with school, wanted to start work, earn some money of her own. And, like I said, she was pretty good at getting her own way, if she really wanted something.’ He didn’t sit down again but stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped behind his back.
A hint that the interview had gone on long enough? Thanet had no intention of ending it until he was ready. ‘Just one or two more points, then. Would you mind telling me what you did, after you finished supper this evening? That was just after twenty past seven, I believe you said?’
Covin was lighting another cigarette, but he didn’t sit down. ‘That’s right.’
‘Presumably your daughter then had to load her things into the car?’
‘No, she did that earlier, before supper, so she was all ready to go.’
‘So it must have been about 7.30 when she left?’
‘About then, yes.’
‘Then you tried to get through to your sister-in-law . . .’
‘I thought I might as well do it right away, while I was thinking of it.’
‘Quite. And then?’
Covin shrugged. ‘Nothing much. I sat around, watched the telly.’
And that was as much as they could get out of him. There was, he assured them, nothing more to tell.
‘What do you think, Mike?’ said Thanet, when they were outside.
Lineham was standing with his head thrown back, taking in great gulps of fresh air. ‘Honestly, I thought I was going to suffocate in there! It was the worst atmosphere I have ever been in my entire life! And I bet our clothes absolutely reek of cigarette smoke.’ He sniffed experimentally at his sleeve. ‘Faugh! Disgusting. I’m certainly not leaving these indoors all night, they’ll stink the house out.’
‘What will you do, Mike?’ said Thanet, grinning. ‘Undress in the garden? That’ll intrigue the neighbours. I can just see the headline . . .’
‘Give over, sir.’ Lineham was not amused. He stalked across to his car then turned to say, ‘I bet my hair stinks, too. I’m going to have a shower before I go to bed.’
Privately, Thanet resolved to do the same. But all he said was, ‘Mike! I’ve got the message. And believe me, I sympathise.’
‘It’s a wonder he’s still walking around, if you ask me! He ought to be six feet under, by rights.’
&n
bsp; ‘There is no justice,’ agreed Thanet. ‘And now, if you wouldn’t mind turning your attention to the matter in hand for a few minutes . . .’
‘Sorry, sir. OK. What were you saying?’
‘Look, it’s getting a bit chilly. Let’s sit in your car for a few minutes, shall we?’ He waited until they were settled before picking up on the conversation. ‘I was just wondering what you thought of Covin – apart from disapproving of his smoking habits.’
‘They may not be entirely irrelevant though, sir, may they?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you could tell he always smokes a lot, from the way the room stank, but he surely couldn’t chainsmoke like that all day? Apart from anything else, it would cost an absolute fortune.’
‘He did seem very tense, I agree. And Jessica obviously wasn’t exactly his favourite person.’
‘A bit far-fetched, though, surely, sir? I mean, what would he be doing there in the first place? And why suddenly shove her down the stairs after all these years?’
‘It does seem unlikely. But we only know what he has actually told us. He may have a very powerful motive about which we know nothing at the moment. I certainly had the feeling he was holding back on something.’
‘So did I.’
‘What, I wonder?’
Both men were silent, thinking.
‘Of course, it might have nothing to do with Jessica’s death,’ said Thanet. ‘I suppose it could be connected with his daughter. What was her name? Karen.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, it does seem odd that she’s driven herself back to Reading. It isn’t as though she has a car of her own. Most students I know are either driven back by their parents along with all the gear they seem to need to take with them, or they travel by public transport, looking like pack mules. But say that was what they originally intended, that her father should drive her. And then say they had a row and she walked out and drove off in a temper . . . He could be on tenterhooks in case she had an accident on the way. That could account for his being tense, and for the fact that we both felt he was holding back. He wouldn’t have wanted to tell us he’d had a row with Karen, would he? He’d regard it as none of our business.’
Once Too Often Page 3