‘That’s it!’ said Lineham. ‘She falls.’
They both concentrated on their lunch for a few minutes, thinking.
‘It could have happened like that,’ said Lineham at last. ‘If it did, he’d have panicked himself then, made that phone call and scarpered.’
‘Yes, but as far as I can see our only hope of proving beyond doubt that he was behind that hedge is a saliva test on those cigarette ends. And as yet we don’t even know if he smokes.’
‘Easy enough to find out.’
‘True. But I think the first thing to do is tackle Jessica’s brother-in-law again, find out if she really did have a baby. She was living with them at the time, he’d have had to be in the know.’
Lineham groaned. ‘Let’s try and catch him in the open air. I don’t think I could stand another session in that stinking living room.’
‘We might not have any choice.’
They decided to drop in at the office before going to see Covin and had been there only a minute or two when the door opened and Mallard bounced in. Thanet never ceased to marvel at the new lease of life which the police surgeon’s second marriage had given him. For years after his first wife died of lingering cancer the little doctor had been one of the loneliest, saddest men it had ever been Thanet’s misfortune to meet. He had continued to work but there had been no joy in his life and he had quickly acquired the reputation of being cranky and short-tempered. Since his marriage to the cookery writer Helen Fields a few years ago, however, he was a changed man, radiating good humour and contentment. An added bonus was that from one year to the next, he never seemed to age. It was a pity, thought Thanet now, observing the police surgeon’s bright eyes, clear skin and his general air of well-being, that happiness couldn’t be doled out on the NHS. The geriatric wards and nursing homes would empty in no time.
‘Morning both,’ said Mallard, beaming. ‘Thought you’d like a verbal on the PM.’
‘So what’s the verdict?’
‘Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid, nothing unexpected. To put it in lay terms, she died of a broken neck.’
‘Instantly?’
Mallard shrugged. ‘Assuming that she wasn’t moved after she fell, then yes. As we’ve said before, if anyone did move her, then it’s a different story. But there’s no way of telling.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Afraid so. Sorry I can’t be of more help.’ He bustled towards the door. ‘Must get on.’ With one hand on the doorknob he paused. ‘You hoping to get this case cleared up before Saturday?’
‘Ha ha,’ said Thanet. ‘Very funny.’
‘Not going well?’
Thanet pulled a face. ‘Slowly, that’s all.’
‘You never know. Miracles can happen. When’s Bridget coming home?’
‘Today.’
‘Helen asked me to tell you she’s finished decorating the cake, if Bridget and Joan would like to pop round to take a look.’
‘Fine. Thanks, I’ll tell them.’
With a wave of the hand Mallard was gone.
‘Not much help there, then,’ said Lineham gloomily.
‘Well we didn’t really expect anything else, did we? Come on, Mike. Let’s go and see what Covin has to say.’
ELEVEN
‘We’re looking for Mr Covin.’ Thanet had to raise his voice above the barking of a Labrador/Collie cross.
Covin’s house was shut up and they had gone to the main house to inquire whereabouts on the farm he might be working. It was a typical Kentish farmhouse of rosy red bricks to the first floor with tilehanging above. Someone was a keen gardener: the lawns were trim, the flowerbeds immaculate and still colourful with Michaelmas daisies, late roses and dahlias. The door had been opened by one of the tallest men Thanet had ever come across. He reckoned that Covin’s employer must be a good six foot five and his build matched his height. He was in his sixties with grizzled hair cropped very short and the kind of tan acquired only by those who work outdoors in all weathers. He was wearing sturdy corduroys worn thin on the thighs and knees and a padded waistcoat over a thick checked shirt. ‘Quiet, Ben! Sit!’ he said, and the dog subsided, reluctantly lowering its haunches on to the flagstone floor.
‘Do you happen to know where Mr Covin might be, Mr . . .?’ said Thanet into the blissful silence.
‘Wargreave. James Wargreave,’ said the farmer.
‘We’re investigating the death of his sister-in-law, Mr Wargreave.’ Thanet produced his warrant card.
‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck. He’s out and won’t be back until around five.’
‘May I ask how long he’s been working for you?’
‘Twenty years or so.’ Wargreave frowned. ‘Why? Is he in trouble?’
‘Not at all. It’s just that we’re trying to fill in some family background. I wonder, would it inconvenience you too much if we had a brief talk?’
Wargreave stood back. ‘If you think it’ll help.’
There was a savoury smell in the hall and a clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
‘I hope we’re not interrupting your lunch.’
‘Oh no, we’ve just finished. We were washing up.’
He took them into a square sitting room which had a comfortable lived-in air. The soft furnishings were faded and threadbare in places but there were books and newspapers and some knitting bundled up on one of the armchairs as if its owner had just put it down for a moment and would soon return.
‘Who is it, James?’
A little barrel of a woman appeared in the doorway drying her hands on a tea towel. She went to stand beside her husband. Jack Sprat and his wife, thought Thanet. She couldn’t have been above five feet tall and with her rosy cheeks, untidy bun and voluminous apron she was almost a caricature of a farmer’s wife, a model for the illustrations in children’s picture books. But her eyes were bright with intelligence as she listened to her husband’s explanation and Thanet guessed that she didn’t miss much. Good, he thought. If anyone could sum up the Covin household, she would.
‘Sit yourselves down,’ she said. ‘Though I can’t see how we can help. We hardly knew her really, did we, James? Poor girl, what a terrible thing to happen.’
When they were all settled Thanet said, ‘When, exactly, did the Covins come to work for you?’
They consulted each other with a glance.
‘Nineteen seventy-eight?’ said Wargreave. ‘Or was it 1977?’
‘It was a couple of months before Mum died, I do remember that – that was on February 27th, 1978.’
‘That’s right,’ said her husband. ‘So it must have been the beginning of January that year.’
The January after Jessica took her O levels, thought Thanet. ‘And was Mrs Manifest living with them then?’
‘No. She was staying with an aunt, I believe,’ said Mrs Wargreave. ‘Then in the spring the aunt died so she came to live with the Covins. But it was only a month or two before she moved into a bedsit, in Maidstone. You know what these teenagers are like, they all want their independence.’
‘And it was more convenient for her work, of course,’ said Wargreave. ‘She’d found herself a job on the Kent Messenger and she didn’t have any means of transport. She was very excited about it, I remember.’
‘So you see, we hardly knew her. She never visited her sister much. I don’t think she got on too well with Bernard – at least, that was my impression.’
And Thanet’s impression was that Mrs Wargreave wasn’t too keen on Covin either.
‘How did she seem when she came here?’ said Thanet.
Mrs Wargreave’s forehead creased into unaccustomed folds. Smiles rather than frowns were more her line, Thanet guessed. ‘In what way?’
‘Was she cheerful or depressed?’
‘She looked a bit peaky when she first arrived, I thought.’
Not surprising, if his theory was correct, thought Thanet. But come to think of it, why wouldn’t Jessica have had an abortion? Perhaps he was barking up t
he wrong tree.
‘But she soon picked up,’ said Mrs Wargreave. ‘I assumed she’d been upset by her aunt’s death. She was only a young girl, after all, it must have been pretty distressing for her.’
‘Where were they living before they came here?’ said Lineham.
‘Bernard was assistant farm manager at a farm near Headcorn,’ said Wargreave. ‘He went there straight from college, as I recall.’
‘What was the name of his employer?’
‘Pink.’
Lineham made a note.
‘So he must have been working there for what, ten or twelve years?’ said Thanet.
And Jessica would have been living with the Covins for six of those years, thought Thanet. Perhaps the Pinks should go on his list of people to interview. They would have seen her grow from child to teenager, might even have had some inkling of the pregnancy, if there had been one.
‘Is Mr Covin a good manager?’
Wargreave shrugged. ‘I’ve got no complaints. He’s conscientious, hardworking, honest . . . I think that’s as much as one can hope for these days.’
‘But Mrs Wargreave wasn’t too keen on Covin, I thought,’ said Lineham when they were back in the car. They would return to interview Covin later. ‘Perhaps she can’t stand the smell of him either. They were both non-smokers, did you notice? There wasn’t an ashtray in sight.’
‘Mike,’ said Thanet, who had been trying to work out the best way to approach the subject, ‘there’s something I want to talk to you about. Pull in over there, will you?’
‘There’ was an empty layby and after a troubled glance at Thanet Lineham did as he was asked. He switched off the engine and silence descended.
Thanet wound down his window and took a deep breath of fresh air. There was a post-and-rail fence on their left and beyond that the ground fell away to a little valley where sheep were peacefully munching away at what was left of the grass after the long hot summer. At moments like this Thanet wondered why on earth he didn’t suggest moving out into the country. Now that the children were grown and easy access to public transport was not so important, it would be perfectly feasible to make a move. Perhaps he ought to suggest it? Perhaps, with Bridget’s wedding, he and Joan would move into a new phase of their life together. He became aware of Lineham’s expectant silence and realised that he was merely prevaricating, reluctant to broach a difficult subject. ‘I was just wondering if you’d got any closer to making a decision about your mother. I don’t want to intrude on a private matter, but I am concerned about you. And apart from anything else, I feel it’s beginning to interfere with your work.’
Lineham sighed. ‘You’re right, I know you are. It’s just so difficult.’
‘I appreciate that. But putting off the decision isn’t going to make it any easier, is it, Mike? I’m sure that by now you’ve’ looked at the options from every possible angle.’
‘And some,’ said Lineham with a groan. ‘The trouble is, the problem just isn’t going to go away. In fact, if anything it’s going to get steadily worse. I mean, let’s face it, her health has been gradually deteriorating over the last few years. She keeps on asking why she can’t come and live with us, and it gets harder and harder to put her off.’
‘And you and Louise both agree it wouldn’t work?’ Thanet put the question as a matter of form. He already knew the answer.
‘Louise and Mum could never live happily under the same roof! They’ve never got on very well, as you know. They just seem to rub each other up the wrong way.’
Because they were too alike, Thanet suspected.
‘But if you do as your mother suggests, sell both houses and buy a larger one with a granny annexe – like the one we saw in Ogilvy and Tate’s window . . .?’
But Lineham was shaking his head. ‘I still can’t see it working. We’re both out all day and I think what Mum really needs is company. The truth is, she’s lonely and she’s bored, it’s as simple as that, and living in a granny annexe wouldn’t help. Apart from anything else, having been alone all day she’d want to share our evening meal and spend the evenings with us, I’m sure she would. I’m very fond of Mum, you know I am, but it would drive Louise and me round the bend, never having any privacy.’
‘Then you’ll just have to look for some kind of alternative solution.’
‘Such as? She’d never go into a home, I’m sure of that, and in any case she doesn’t need to. She’s perfectly capable of looking after herself.’
‘What about sheltered housing, with a warden on call?’
‘We’ve discussed that and I don’t think she’d be much better off than she is now. It’s true that someone would be at hand in an emergency but I honestly don’t think she’d be any happier.’ Lineham sighed again, a deep, despairing sigh. ‘I only hope I won’t end up being a burden on my children.’
‘Don’t we all?’ said Thanet. ‘Unfortunately we all end up having very little control over that particular situation. The trouble is, the perfect answer doesn’t exist, it’s bound to be a matter of compromise all along the line. We just have to muddle along and try to find the best solution we can, and it isn’t easy. In the end it’s bound to come down to choosing the least unacceptable alternative.’
‘Don’t I know it!’
‘Wait a minute!’ said Thanet suddenly. ‘I’ve just thought of something. I remember my mother mentioning some organisation to me that she seemed to think was very good. A friend of hers had gone into one of their homes and my mother had visited her there and was very impressed.’
‘I told you, Mum would never even consider a home.’
‘But these aren’t conventional homes at all, not the sort where the residents sit around the walls staring at a television set all day. It’s coming back to me now. For a start, they only take a small number of residents – ten at the most, I think. They’re really more like family homes, for people who are still fairly independent but would benefit from some degree of being looked after and from having company available to them should they want it. So far as I can recall, they have their own rooms, with their own furniture, but there’s a communal dining room and sitting room and the place is run by a resident housekeeper who provides lunch and tea each day. But they’re free to go shopping, go to church, visit relations, in other words live as normal a life as possible. Mum said if ever she couldn’t go on living alone she’d be happy to go into one herself.’
Lineham was listening avidly but now he pulled a face. ‘It all sounds too good to be true, but horribly expensive.’
‘Apparently not. Mum told me that it’s a charity, and that residents pay rent according to what they can afford.’
‘How old is your mother now?’
‘Eighty.’
‘Eighty! And she still lives alone quite happily?’
‘Yes. She’s amazing.’
When Thanet’s father had retired his parents had, like so many, decided to leave the increasingly crowded southeast and move to the West Country. They had bought a bungalow in a village near Salisbury and had settled happily into community life. Unfortunately, only four years later Thanet’s father had died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack and Thanet had thought his mother might return to Sturrenden to be near him and his family. Instead she had stayed on, declaring that life in Wiltshire suited her very well and she had no intention of leaving it unless she were forced to by ill health. So far, however, she had been lucky.
‘She’s coming to the wedding, of course?’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t etc.,’ said Thanet, grinning. ‘We offered to go and fetch her by car but no, she said she always enjoyed the train journey. You can see so much more than from a car, she says. And as the Salisbury trains go into Waterloo she doesn’t even need to cross London from one mainline station to another to transfer to the Sturrenden line. So we’re meeting her at the station tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Well, I just hope I’m as fit and active at eighty,’ said Lineham. ‘Anyway, what’s this a
mazing outfit called?’
Thanet frowned. ‘That’s what I’m trying to remember. Something with a monastic flavour to it, I think, though it’s not connected to any religious organisation. I can easily find out, anyway. I’ll give her a ring when we get back.’
‘Thanks, sir. It does sound good. Though whether Mum will listen or not is another matter.’
‘You can but try. I think the thing to do is to emphasise the fact that it not a normal type of residential home at all. Best of all would be to take her to look at one, let her meet some of the residents and talk to them.’
‘Always assuming there is one in this area.’
‘True. Perhaps it would be sensible to find out before mentioning it to her.’
‘Yes. It would be infuriating to get her all interested only to find that there just aren’t any around here.’
As a matter of principle, Thanet did not usually make private telephone calls from the office, but as the matter was affecting Lineham’s work, on this occasion he felt justified in doing so. His mother was surprised to hear from him during working hours but at once gave him the information he needed and said how much she was looking forward to the wedding.
‘Why don’t you let us come and fetch you? It would only take a couple of hours.’
‘Certainly not! You’ve got enough on your plates, I’m sure. Besides, I’ve already bought my ticket and I’m really looking forward to the journey.’
‘See you tomorrow evening, then.’
‘The Abbeyfield Society,’ he said triumphantly to Lineham as he put the phone down. ‘I told you it had a monastic flavour. And its headquarters are in St Albans, so you can get the number from directory enquiries.’
‘Is it OK if I ring from here, sir? By the time I get home I imagine their office will be closed.’
‘Go ahead. You must try and get this sorted out.’ Thanet occupied himself with some paperwork while Lineham was making his call. ‘Well?’ he said, when the sergeant had finished.
‘Some good news and some bad. The first bit of good news is that there is an Abbeyfield House in the area, in Maidstone –’
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