Once Too Often

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘So what are you suggesting, sir?’

  ‘Well, say she was too on edge to bear just sitting still in the car, waiting for him to come out –’

  ‘Yes!’ said Lineham eagerly. ‘And say Jessica had gone straight upstairs and Ogilvy had followed and his wife saw them in the bedroom – the Bartons said Jessica often didn’t bother to draw the curtains, if you remember –’

  ‘Quite. She might not have been able to resist the temptation to go and try to break up the tête-à-tête by knocking on the door.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t have done that, surely?’

  ‘Who knows? She was obviously in a state about the whole business. People often act out of character when they’re deeply upset, do things they would never dream of doing under normal circumstances. And if Jessica opened the door . . . No, I don’t think I can believe in this scenario.’ They had come to a halt outside the premises of Ogilvy and Tate. ‘Anyway, let’s see what Ogilvy has to say for himself, if he’s in.’ Thanet was studying the advertisements. ‘Look, your house hasn’t been sold yet.’

  ‘My house! At that price? Ha ha.’ But Lineham paused to take another look at the photograph before following Thanet inside.

  This time Ogilvy was in and they were ushered straight into his office. It was furnished with high-quality office reproduction furniture, a black leather executive swivel chair behind the desk and photographs of his wife and children in silver frames. He rose with a smile as they came in. ‘Inspector. How can I help you?’

  His bonhomie disappeared in a flash, however, when Thanet said, ‘We find you’ve been less than frank with us, Mr Ogilvy.’

  TEN

  Ogilvy’s eyes darted from one to the other. ‘What are you talking about?’ He sat down behind his desk again as if to establish who was in charge here and flicked his fingers at a couple of chairs nearby.

  Thanet and Lineham moved them so that they were facing him squarely and sat down. The battle lines were drawn. Thanet could almost hear Ogilvy thinking: What have they found out? ‘I’m talking about your account of what happened on Tuesday evening.’

  Ogilvy’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘And specifically about the conversation with your wife, before you left to visit Mrs Manifest,’ said Thanet. Was that a flash of relief he saw before Ogilvy’s expression hardened?

  ‘Conversations with my wife are a private matter,’ snapped the estate agent. He picked up a gold propelling pencil and began rolling it to and fro between his fingers.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll soon discover that where murder is concerned privacy flies out of the window. And in this instance the conversation was highly relevant to our inquiry.’

  ‘How?’ The monosyllable was like a gunshot.

  ‘When we last spoke to you you said – What, exactly, did Mr Ogilvy say, sergeant?’ It wasn’t that Thanet couldn’t remember but that a notebook was occasionally a useful weapon against a hostile witness. It can be intimidating to realise that every word you say is a potential boomerang.

  Lineham dutifully shuffled back through the pages. “ ‘My wife and I discussed the matter and I decided to end my relationship with Mrs Manifest.” ’

  ‘Quite,’ said Thanet. ‘A fairly bland description of what actually happened, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh come, sir. We now know that Mrs Ogilvy had only found out about your affair with Mrs Manifest that morning, and naturally she was extremely upset about it. That evening you quarrelled and she presented you with an ultimatum: give Mrs Manifest up or your marriage was over. And the fact of the matter was that when it came to the crunch you weren’t prepared to risk losing your beautiful home, your wife and your children for the sake of your mistress.’

  ‘I don’t know where you’ve been hearing all this stuff,’ said Ogilvy. ‘Oh, I see! It’s that bloody girl, isn’t it? Chantal. Interfering little b—’ He cut himself off, realising perhaps that he had gone too far.

  Thanet said nothing. It didn’t worry him that Ogilvy had guessed the truth. When Chantal had told them about the quarrel she must have realised that this would get back to her employer. But Thanet didn’t think it would have worried her too much. She was quite capable of standing up for herself and in any case it was Mrs Ogilvy who at the moment was calling the shots in that household. She would soon put a stop to it if Ogilvy tried to fire the girl. And if the worst did come to the worst, well, as Chantal had said, she intended moving on soon anyway.

  ‘I don’t know what the devil she’s been telling you,’ said Ogilvy, ‘but all this stuff about ultimatums is a load of rubbish.’ He placed the propelling pencil precisely in the centre of the tooled leather blotter before him as if squaring up his thoughts, then said, ‘It was all very unfortunate, really.’ His tone had changed, suddenly become confidential, and he leaned back in his chair, adopted a man-to-man, somewhat quizzical expression. Tronic. You see, it’s true my wife was told about Jessica and me on Tuesday, at a coffee morning she went to. Some well-meaning so-called “friend”, I suppose,’ he added vindictively. ‘But the point is, I’d already made up my mind before that to break it off that evening. Sickening, wasn’t it?’ To think I almost got away with it, his expression said.

  ‘Very annoying for you,’ said Thanet.

  Unsure whether he was serious or not, Ogilvy gave him a suspicious look. ‘So you see, there was no question of ultimatums or anything of that nature.’

  ‘Why had you come to that decision, sir? To break it off with Mrs Manifest?’

  ‘I don’t see that’s any of your business.’

  Thanet simply raised his eyebrows, folded his arms and waited.

  ‘Well, if you must know, I’d got a bit fed up with the way she was carrying on.’

  ‘Carrying on?’

  Ogilvy sighed. ‘Look, it all started really because, well, to tell you the truth, I was flattered. Right from the beginning she was the one who made the running. After all, she is – was – quite well known in the area and she was a very attractive woman. And I must admit she intrigued me. She was an interesting combination, you know, of career woman and – how shall I describe it? – vulnerability. Yes, that’s it. Vulnerability.’

  Ogilvy looked pleased with his description, as if he had just pulled off some difficult feat of terminology.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But lately, well, I’d been getting more and more . . . Oh hell, this is really very difficult . . . Well, uncomfortable, about her behaviour.’

  ‘In what way?’ But Thanet could guess. How many men would enjoy going to bed with their mistress under her husband’s nose, so to speak? But he wasn’t going to let Ogilvy off the hook.

  The estate agent shifted uncomfortably on his chair as if the seat had suddenly become too hot to sit upon. ‘Put it this way. Usually, if you’re sleeping with a married woman, it’s all hole-and-corner stuff. Neither of you is too keen for it to get back to your partner, you know what I mean? But in this case, Jessica actually seemed to enjoy parading our . . . relationship before her husband. And to be honest, I found that downright embarrassing. Well, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘But she obviously didn’t.’

  ‘No, not in the least! That’s what I mean! In fact, she actually seemed to enjoy it. Poor sod, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘And that’s a new one, isn’t it! Feeling sorry for the husband you’re cheating on! All the same,’ and he leaned forward across his desk and lowered his voice, ‘if you really do suspect that someone pushed her down the stairs, I’d take a long hard look at Manifest if I were you.’

  ‘You’re accusing Mr Manifest of murder?’

  He backtracked immediately. ‘Certainly not. I mean, not necessarily.’

  ‘Did you see any indications of violent behaviour against his wife?’

  Honesty struggled with the desire to shine the spotlight anywhere but on himself. ‘Well, no, not exactly. He didn’t say much. Jus
t seemed rather . . . depressed.’ Another cynical little laugh. ‘Not surprising, really, is it? But he must have resented the way she was carrying on. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?

  ‘So it was her treatment of her husband that, shall we say, put you off her?’

  ‘Well, it does make you think. I mean, if she could treat him like that . . .’

  ‘She could treat you like that too.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Ogilvy was warming to his theme now. ‘But that wasn’t the only thing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She had a nasty temper, you know. It used to come out in all sorts of little ways, whenever she was crossed or frustrated – in a restaurant if the service was bad, for example, or if she hadn’t been able to get what she wanted out of an interview. With her husband it seemed to be there all the time, ready to flare up at the slightest provocation, and I saw signs that she was beginning to lose patience with me too. She was getting very pushy, pressing me to leave Pen, go and live with her. But I never did have any intention of doing that. My wife and children are the most important things in my life.’

  Not so important that you wouldn’t risk losing them for the cheap thrill of an affair with a woman you weren’t even in love with, thought Thanet harshly, the image of Daisy in her red bobble hat and mini ski-suit fresh in his mind.

  ‘I’m sure you know what I mean,’ Ogilvy was saying. ‘Have you got any children, Inspector?’

  ‘Two,’ said Thanet reluctantly.

  ‘There you are, then.’ Ogilvy gave a saccharine smile, as one family man to another. ‘Anyway, I think it was beginning to dawn on Jessica that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. So one way and the other . . .’

  ‘You were getting a bit fed up with her.’ Although the picture of Jessica that Ogilvy was painting was an unattractive one, and Thanet certainly couldn’t condone the way she had treated her husband, he couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy for her. It seemed that nothing had ever gone right for the woman. ‘Speaking of your wife . . .’

  Ogilvy frowned. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Is she in the habit of following you about?’ Thanet deliberately chose to be offensive in the hope of provoking Ogilvy. He succeeded.

  The estate agent’s nostrils flared and he put his head down like a bull about to charge. ‘Frankly, I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. Just leave my wife out of this, will you?’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that, can we, sir?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s obvious, surely. She was there, only yards away from the spot where a murder was committed.’

  Ogilvy jumped up and, resting his hands on the desk, leaned forward and said angrily, ‘Not while I was there, it wasn’t! I repeat, Inspector: Jessica Manifest was alive and kicking when I left her house that night. I can’t prove it but if there is any justice in this world – which frankly I’m beginning to doubt – sooner or later you’ll find out that I’m telling the truth. And as for my wife, she has no involvement in this whatsoever. And now, if you don’t mind . . .’

  Thanet didn’t budge. ‘If that is true you have no reason not to answer my questions. If you refuse, of course, we can only draw our own conclusions.’

  Ogilvy took a deep breath, then slowly subsided on to his chair. ‘Very well,’ he said wearily. ‘But get on with it, will you? I do have a job to do.’

  ‘When did you first notice your wife’s car?’

  ‘Just after turning out of the front gate. She told me she’d parked there deliberately, so I couldn’t miss seeing her.’

  ‘Was she in the car or out of it?’

  ‘In.’

  Was he telling the truth or not? Thanet couldn’t tell.

  ‘When you were in the house, did you go upstairs at all?’

  Ogilvy looked surprised at the sudden change of direction. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘And you’re absolutely certain that you shut the front door behind you?’

  ‘Yes! I told you!’

  ‘Did you check that it was properly shut?’

  ‘No. I just slammed it.’

  Ogilvy couldn’t hide his relief as Thanet rose.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all for the moment, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s very odd,’ said Lineham when they were outside, ‘the more we learn about her the less I like her, but the more sorry for her I feel.’

  ‘I know. A paradox, isn’t it? Who did you put on to investigating the Ogilvys’ background? Bentley? It’ll be interesting to see what he turns up.’

  Lineham clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh no! I forgot to brief him! I meant to do it first thing this morning, then I was late, of course.’

  ‘Not like you, Mike.’ Was this the first of the slip-ups Thanet had been afraid might happen? He sighed inwardly. It looked as though he was going to have to tackle Lineham about his domestic situation after all. ‘Anyway, no harm done, very little time has been lost. Do it when we get back.’

  They were now passing Snippers.

  ‘There’s Kevin,’ said Lineham.

  The boy was in the window, rearranging the wigs on some model heads with improbably classic features against a swathe of black velvet. He caught sight of the two policemen outside and Thanet glimpsed a flash of fear in his eyes before he turned away without acknowledging them and busied himself with his work. Something tweaked at Thanet’s memory and his stride faltered as they moved on.

  Lineham had noticed. ‘What?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘Nothing. Well, there was something, but I don’t know what it was.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. What could it have been?

  ‘I thought he looked frightened when he saw us,’ said Lineham.

  ‘So did I.’ Thanet was still struggling to place what it was that had disturbed him. He took a few more steps and then paused to glance back over his shoulder. From this distance the tableau in the window of Snippers looked positively surreal, the disembodied model heads with their unnaturally perfect tresses seeming to float at different heights against the dark background. Kevin bent to pick something up and briefly his hair flamed as it caught the sun. Red hair. Suddenly Thanet understood.

  Lineham, who had stepped behind him to allow a woman with a shopping trolley to pass, had cannoned into him. ‘Sorry, sir!’

  ‘My fault,’ said Thanet, mind in turmoil. The tumblers in his brain were turning, click click click.

  ‘You’ve realised what it was,’ said Lineham, recognising that look.

  ‘Yes, I have. Look, I know it’s a bit early, but let’s go and have a bite, Mike, and I’ll explain.’

  ‘Where shall we go?’

  ‘How about the Woolsack? We haven’t been there for ages.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Thanet chose a baguette with crispy bacon and mushrooms, Lineham a ploughman’s platter. English pub food, thought Thanet, seemed to get better and better. The sergeant waited until they were seated at their table before saying eagerly, ‘Well?’

  ‘You can work it out for yourself, Mike, it’s really very simple. Just a matter of making the right connections. Put it this way: what colour was Jessica’s hair?’

  ‘Auburn. First thing I noticed about her. Gorgeous, wasn’t it?’

  ‘And what colour is Kevin’s?’

  ‘Carrot.’ Lineham’s face went blank as he saw what Thanet was getting at. ‘And Kevin was adopted,’ he said slowly, obviously taking in the implications.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘So the reason why Jessica left school unexpectedly that summer was because she was having a baby. And that,’ said Lineham, speeding up as he warmed to his theme, ‘was why she wouldn’t go swimming with Juliet Barnes during the summer holidays –’

  ‘And why she went to stay with an aunt in Bristol –’

  ‘And stayed there when the holidays were over!’ finished Lineham. ‘Yes, it all fits, doesn’t it!’

  ‘A bit far out, though, don’t
you think, Mike?’

  ‘I’m usually the one who says that!’

  There was a pause while the food was served.

  Lineham loaded a piece of french bread with cheese and pickle, popped the food into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘It all depends on whether Kevin really was the prowler. If he was, then you may well be right. Adopted children often seem to want to trace their biological parents, especially their mothers, when they get to Kevin’s age. And if he did, he may well have been trying to pluck up the courage to tackle her. I’ve often thought it must be a hell of thing, to walk up to the door of a complete stranger and say, “Hi, I’m the baby you gave up for adoption all those years ago.” ’

  ‘And a tremendous shock for the mother, too. Mmm. This looks delicious.’ The baguette was positively bulging with bacon and mushrooms and Thanet’s mouth filled with anticipatory saliva. He took a huge mouthful.

  ‘So,’ Lineham went on, ‘say he’d been hanging around, keeping an eye on her, watching for his moment. What time did we say he would have arrived on Tuesday evening? Around eight? Ogilvy claims to have left at twenty to, which fits with him arriving at the pub a few minutes later. Say he did leave the door open – Kevin would soon have noticed that it was ajar . . .’

  Thanet had finished chewing and he swallowed. ‘If she was still alive, wouldn’t Jessica have noticed that it was open in the interim?’

  ‘Not necessarily, if she stayed in the sitting room after Ogilvy walked out on her.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘So if Kevin decided to investigate, pushed the door open . . . There are two possibilities, aren’t there: Jessica was already dead, in which case he rings for an ambulance and gets out of there as fast as he can, or . . . Let me see . . . If she was in the sitting room as you suggest, she’d probably have heard him come in, so she calls out –’

  ‘Comes into the hall –’

  ‘Panics –’

  ‘Runs upstairs –’

  ‘Kevin follows, to try to reassure her –’

  ‘She thinks he’s chasing her, they struggle and –’