‘I went for a walk.’
‘I see,’ said Thanet, nodding. ‘A walk.’
‘I felt like one. A breath of air. After being cooped up all day.’
‘Kevin.’ Thanet was gentle, reproachful. ‘Are you really expecting us to believe that you drove all the way to Charthurst to go for a walk in the dark?’
‘It’s quiet there,’ said Kevin with the bravado born of desperation.
‘There’s plenty of quiet countryside much closer than that.’
A shrug. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
‘You knew Mrs Manifest, didn’t you?’
‘Not know her, exactly. She used to have her hair done at Snippers, so I’ve seen her in the salon.’
‘You’ve spoken to her?’
‘I’ve washed her hair once or twice. Look, I want to go to the toilet.’
Excellent. Kevin’s bladder was playing up, a sure sign of nervousness – if Thanet needed another. Signs there already were, aplenty. Besides, Kevin’s absence would give him the opportunity he had been hoping for. ‘OK,’ he said, with a nod at Lineham.
The two left the room and Thanet quickly took out a polythene bag and pocketed the cigarette butt.
Lineham didn’t miss a trick, he noticed when they returned. The sergeant’s eyes went straight to the ashtray and then met Thanet’s in comprehension. Thanet was amused to find that he felt as though he had received a pat on the back.
‘So,’ he said when they were all settled again. ‘You washed Mrs Manifest’s hair occasionally. Did you like her?’
An emotion which Thanet couldn’t define flashed briefly in Kevin’s eyes before he shrugged and said, ‘She was OK.’
‘Your mother tells me you’re adopted, Kevin.’
A little pulse began to beat near the corner of the boy’s right eye.
‘Kevin?’
‘So what?’
‘So I wondered if you’d ever thought of trying to trace your natural mother.’
‘It’s none of your bloody business.’
‘That may well not be true.’
Kevin gave him an intense stare. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘If you have tried to trace her, we’d be very interested to hear what you found out.’
‘I still don’t see what it’s got to do with you.’
Thanet was tempted to voice his suspicions straight out, but something, some unspoken restraint seemed to be operating in his brain. ‘We just want to be certain that this has nothing to do with Mrs Manifest’s death, that’s all.’
Kevin appeared genuinely bewildered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t. How the hell could there be any connection between my natural mum and Mrs Manifest?’
The question seemed to hover in the air between them, inviting the obvious answer.
‘No!’ said Kevin suddenly. ‘You can’t be thinking . . . No!’
‘What?’
‘That Mrs Manifest was . . .’ He stared at Thanet and suddenly, disconcertingly, began to laugh, a few sniggers at first and then, in a release of tension, a mounting crescendo of near-hysterical laughter. Tears squeezed their way between his eyelids and began to run down his cheeks and he clutched his stomach as if in pain.
Thanet and Lineham looked blankly at each other. Did this mean the collapse of their theory?
‘Kev?’ The door burst open and the Barcombes came in, their faces confused. ‘What’s the matter? What’s going on?’
Kevin shook his head, still gasping and snorting with mirth.
His mother took a handkerchief from her apron pocket and thrust it into his hand. ‘Here. Wipe your face.’
He did as he was told. He was gradually calming down but little hiccups of laughter kept on escaping like gas from an underground reservoir.
His parents stood watching him, one on either side.
Anyone who had seen their concerned faces would never again doubt the love which adoptive parents can feel for their child, thought Thanet.
‘Mum,’ he said at last, twisting his head to look up at her. ‘I think you’d better hear this. The Inspector wants to know about my natural mother.’
Their eyes all turned to Thanet, Kevin’s mocking, his parents’ puzzled, resentful, anxious.
‘But why?’ said Mrs Barcombe.
‘He seems to have some fancy idea that she was Jessica Dander – Jessica Manifest!’ Kevin dabbed at his eyes as he succumbed to another bout of laughter.
His parents both looked astounded.
‘The KM reporter?’ said his mother.
‘The one who was found dead a couple of days ago?’ said his father.
‘Is that true?’ said Mrs Barcombe to Thanet. ‘Was she his mother?’
Thanet shrugged. Don’t ask me. Her reaction was interesting, he thought. The fact that the police were investigating Jessica’s death and that they seemed to think Kevin had some connection with it was not for her the most important issue. Later, no doubt, it would be.
She looked at Kevin. Clearly there was something she was longing to know but dared not ask.
All at once Thanet understood what was going on here. Mrs Barcombe either knew or suspected that Kevin had been trying to trace his natural mother but wasn’t sure if he had succeeded. It was this uncertainty that was tormenting her.
‘Oh Mum,’ he said. ‘Get real.’
There was fear in her eyes now and her lips moved stiffly as she said, ‘How can you be sure?’
He stood up suddenly, as if propelled from his chair by an invisible force. ‘Because I found out who she was, didn’t I.’ He turned to face them all, as if to confront his own pain. ‘There, now you know. I went through the whole bloody performance, didn’t I, social workers, interviews, questions, questions, questions. It took for ever, months and months and then, in the end, when I finally tracked her down, what happened? She just didn’t want to know.’
Relief blossomed briefly in Mrs Barcombe’s face before, for Kevin’s sake, she tried to hide it. ‘She didn’t?’
He turned away to conceal his expression. ‘Nah.’
Swiftly she crossed the room and put her arm around his shoulders. They twitched, but he didn’t shake her off. ‘Oh Kev,’ she said. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Yeah, well . . .’ he mumbled.
‘We’ll need her name and address,’ said Thanet. ‘We’ll be very discreet,’ he added.
Kevin was still clutching the handkerchief his mother had given him and now he blew his nose and shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s no skin off my nose.’ He glanced at her. No doubt he didn’t want her to hear the details. ‘I’ll write it down for you.’
On the way back to the car Thanet stopped suddenly and banged his fist against the wall. ‘What a fool! What an idiot!’ Kevin’s laughter still sounded in his ears.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Building such an elaborate structure of theory without a shred of evidence to base it on.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Nothing worth speaking of, anyway.’
‘I don’t see it that way at all. All right, so we were wrong about Jessica being his mother, but we were right about everything else. Kevin’s admitted he was in Charthurst that night and we’re now virtually certain that he was watching her. What’s more –’
‘He’ll never admit it.’
‘What’s more, we’ll now be able to prove it. It’s a bit of luck you managed to get hold of that cigarette end.’
‘We hope we’ll be able to prove it.’
‘Oh come on, sir. Give over. You’re just feeling negative at the moment. OK, you were partly wrong. So what?’
So my pride is dented, thought Thanet. And not for the first time. Serves me right. When am I going to learn?
It was after seven o’clock and they decided to call it a day. As he drove home through a spectacular sunset Thanet made a conscious effort to slough off his dejection and forget about the case for a while. He had been looking forward to
this evening. Tomorrow the house would be bursting at the seams but tonight he and Joan and Bridget would be able to spend some time together, just the three of them.
This turned out to be a vain hope. What else should he have expected? Thanet asked himself as Bridget went to answer the phone for the umpteenth time. The talk was all of arrangements, arrangements, arrangements and like many a father before him he thought he would heave a sigh of relief when the whole thing was over. Still, it was a joy to see Bridget so happy.
He watched fondly as she returned to sit on the floor beside his chair. ‘Just think,’ he said, ‘in two days’ time you’ll be an old married woman.’ And you won’t be my daughter any more. First and foremost you’ll be Alexander’s wife.
As if she had divined his thoughts she looked up and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, dad. We’ll only be an hour away.’
An hour too much, as far as he was concerned. ‘I’m looking forward to all those free lunches.’
‘Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, the lot. You’ll have to come up for weekends, let us educate you about London. You don’t know what you’ve been missing all these years.’
‘A new dimension to our lives,’ said Joan, smiling.
‘Just what I was thinking earlier,’ said Thanet. But not in quite that way. Try as he would, he could see Bridget’s marriage only as loss, not gain.
THIRTEEN
‘What time’s your fitting?’ said Joan as she switched off the radio. They had been listening anxiously to the weather forecast for the weekend. Fortunately it sounded good.
‘Ten o’clock,’ said Bridget.
Joan had taken the day off and they were discussing their plans for the day over breakfast.
‘It shouldn’t take long, though,’ Bridget added. ‘It was only a very minor adjustment.’
‘Good. Well, I suggest that after that we go on into the town and pick up the suits for your father and Ben from Moss Bros.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to bring my dress home first, to hang it up straight away? And I’m not particularly keen on the idea of leaving it in the car while we go shopping. What if the car got stolen!’
‘No doubt you’d expect me to mobilise the entire police force of the area to get it back in time!’ said Thanet with a grin.
‘Naturally!’ said Joan. Then, to Bridget, ‘But you’re right. Better to hang it up as soon as possible. Back here first then, before going into town.’
‘What about the service sheets?’
‘Done. I collected them in the lunch hour on Wednesday.’
‘That’s a relief.’ Bridget grinned. ‘The last wedding I went to they didn’t arrive until the guests were actually seated in the church.’
‘Poor organisation,’ said Thanet. ‘No chance of that, with your mother in charge.’
‘Thank goodness! What time is Gran arriving?’
‘Twelve-forty-five,’ said Joan. Her own mother lived only a few miles away.
‘Who’s meeting her?’ said Thanet.
‘We both are, of course!’ Bridget was mildly indignant.
‘Then we’ll come back here for lunch and try to persuade her to have a rest before everyone else arrives.’
‘Good luck,’ said Thanet, finishing his coffee and rising. ‘She won’t want to miss a thing.’
He put his coat on and went back into the kitchen to kiss them both goodbye. ‘Oh, by the way, Helen says she’s finished decorating the cake, if you want to go round and take a look.’
‘Oh good!’ said Bridget, eyes lighting up. ‘She’s delivering it to the Swan tomorrow morning, but I can’t wait till then. I’m dying to see it.’
‘We could pop in on the way back from picking up your grandmother at the station,’ said Joan. ‘I’m sure she’d love to see it too. I’ll give Helen a ring, check she’ll be in.’ She followed Thanet into the hall. ‘Bye, darling. You will be able to make the dinner this evening, won’t you?’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said. ‘Stop worrying!’
‘And don’t forget your haircut,’ she called after him.
‘I won’t.’ When on earth was he going to fit it in? he wondered. Somehow, he must. His heart sank as he remembered that Draco was due back later on this afternoon and given the opportunity would no doubt insist on being brought up to date with every last detail. Thanet resolved to avoid the office after four p.m. if at all possible.
Lineham was back on form this morning, already immersed in a report. He looked up as Thanet came in. ‘I did it, sir!’
‘Did what?’
‘Spoke to her. My mother. Put it to her straight, like you suggested, that it just wouldn’t work, her coming to live with us.’
‘How did she take it?’
Lineham grimaced. ‘Better than I expected, really. But she wasn’t too pleased, obviously. It’s not exactly an easy thing to put tactfully.’
‘Did you talk to her about the Abbeyfield organisation?’
‘Yes. At first she just didn’t want to know, but I kept on telling her they weren’t like ordinary homes and pointing out all the advantages and in the end she did at least agree to go and look at the one in Maidstone. I rang the housekeeper there and we’re going over on Sunday. She sounded really nice. They have a waiting list, so it would mean the Sturrenden one in any case, and it’ll be getting on for nine months, apparently, before they get that one off the ground, so there’ll be plenty of time for Mum to get used to the idea. They suggest not selling her house until she’s given them at least a month’s trial, and I think that’s reassured her – you know, that she isn’t going to be shoved off into a home against her will, that it really will be ultimately her decision.’
‘What did Louise think about it?’
‘She’s over the moon that I’m trying to get things sorted out at last. She thinks the Abbeyfield idea sound great. Let’s hope it’s all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘I hope so too!’ said Thanet. ‘Or I really will be in the doghouse.’ But he trusted his mother’s judgement and was confident that it would be. He nodded at the report Lineham was reading. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Bentley’s report on the Ogilvys,’ said Lineham. ‘Local opinion is that Mrs O. is an angel in disguise, pillar of the community, nothing too much trouble etc. etc. He’s not so popular, though there was no specific complaint against him. People seem to agree that they had a bit of a sticky time during the recession – there were little signs like cutting back on help in the house and garden, changing her car to a cheaper model – but that things are picking up again now. She’s gone back to a Polo from a Mini for instance.’
‘Nothing of any use, then.’
‘’Fraid not.’
The telephone rang. Lineham answered; listened. ‘Put her on. Hullo? Yes, I remember. Yes. Oh, have you?’ He listened intently. ‘Yes, I see. Thank you for letting us know. Yes, that’s very helpful.’ He put the phone down. ‘You remember that neighbour who said she’d seen a young man hanging about and thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place why?’
‘Don’t tell me! She has her hair cut at Snippers.’
‘Exactly!’
‘Doesn’t really help, though, does it, Mike? I suppose it might be worth following up. Yes, better send someone out to get more details – exactly where and when it was that she noticed him around.’
Lineham made a quick note. ‘Kevin keeps on cropping up, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. But there’s still no scientific evidence to connect him with Jessica yet.’
‘There’s the cigarette butt.’
‘We hope.’
‘So what do you reckon, sir? Which of them would you put your money on? Kevin, Desmond or Ogilvy?’
Thanet shook his head. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. They all had the opportunity. On the face of it both her husband and Ogilvy had good reason to get involved in an argument with her but the very fact that Kevin was there at all is suspicious.’
‘Downright creepy, if you ask me. Any man who
makes a habit of lurking behind hedges to spy on a woman isn’t normal.’
‘I agree. There must be some kind of morbid fascination there. In which case . . . It’s just occurred to me. If that is so, in view of the fact that Jessica was a public figure, he might well have made a habit of collecting stuff about her.’
‘Kept a sort of scrapbook, you mean. Yes! Lineham’s face was alight with interest. ‘Articles she wrote, photographs and so on. You’re right.’
‘The question is, which do we do first – interview him again, now that we have an independent witness to testify that she’s seen him near Jessica’s house on more than one occasion, or go and search his room, see if he has got anything like that stashed away?’
‘His mother’d never let us search his room without a warrant.’
‘No. And it would mean a Section 8.’
Both men were silent, thinking. The more usual Section 15 search warrant was easier to obtain than the Section 8 warrant, which was granted only in the case of serious crimes such as murder and if the application met certain conditions. If they applied for one, it would not be sufficient for Lineham to go before the magistrates, Thanet himself would have to do so. He must therefore be very sure of his ground.
‘I think we could meet all the conditions,’ he said. ‘What I’m not sure about is whether we’d be justified in applying for a warrant at this juncture.’
‘The trouble is, if we interview him again and he continues to deny any involvement, we’d have to let him go and he might well start feeling very nervous and decide to get rid of any incriminating material, if he has any.’
’If he has any. That’s the trouble. We can’t be sure. It’s all conjecture.’
‘Suspicion is all that’s necessary, surely,’ objected Lineham. ‘After all, this is a murder case.’ He began to tick the points off on his fingers. ‘One: we have Jessica’s belief that she was being watched, backed up by two police reports. Two: we now have an independent witness who claims to have seen Kevin lurking in the vicinity of Jessica’s house. Three: we have scientific evidence to prove he had been spying on her –’
‘Unconfirmed as yet. It’ll be days before forensic get back to us on the saliva test.’
‘Exactly! We can’t afford to wait that long. Four: we have another independent witness, the pub landlord, who will swear that the Nissan has been parked at his pub on more than one occasion and that it was there on the night Jessica died. Five: Kevin actually admits that he was there, on the spot, during the period the murder was committed and so far he’s only come up with the thinnest of excuses for his presence. Six: we have good reason to suspect that we might find further evidence to link him with Jessica if we search his room and that if we delay that evidence could be removed or destroyed. No, sir, there’s no doubt in my mind that we’d be justified in applying for a warrant and I really don’t think any magistrate is going to disagree.’
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