‘Perhaps he just acted unwisely on the spur of the moment. He’d have been anxious to get away. I don’t suppose he’d have had time to work out all the pros and cons.’
‘You’re probably right, Mike. Ah well, no doubt we’ll find out eventually. Anyway, as far as the case is concerned we don’t seem to have got much further, do we? All we’ve achieved is to add one more to our list of suspects.’
‘You don’t think we can cross Kevin off, then?’
‘I think we still ought to keep an open mind as far as he’s concerned. Though I’m inclined to believe his story, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am. I imagine he didn’t tell us about Covin before because he didn’t want to admit to having been there in the first place.’
‘Quite.’
‘And at least we’re gradually getting a clearer picture of what happened that night.’
‘True.’ But Thanet was determined to feel pessimistic. The truth was, he was still feeling put out that his beautiful theory had been proved wrong and Kevin had turned out to be someone else’s son, not Jessica’s. It had been such a neat, satisfying explanation. He sighed. He ought to know by now that life wasn’t like that, it was muddled and messy and explanations were rarely neat and even more rarely satisfying.
‘What’s the matter, sir?’
‘There was I, thinking we were going to have this case all nicely sewn up before the wedding, and we’re practically back to square one. Come on, Mike. Let’s see what culinary delights the canteen has to offer today. I don’t know about you but I feel distinctly in need of nourishment.’
Over dried-up shepherd’s pie and watery cabbage they chewed over Covin’s involvement in the case.
‘I still can’t see why he went over to see her,’ said Thanet for the third time. He kept on coming back to this. He dug down into his pie, seeking for any sign of mince beneath the thick topping of potato. ‘It really wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t passed on Karen’s message until the next day. Honestly, these caterers really ought to be prosecuted under the Trade Descriptions Act. There’s barely a couple of teaspoonfuls of meat under this potato!’ It was a general grumble that since the canteen had switched to outside caterers standards had plummeted.
Lineham grinned. ‘A dicy one, that, sir. Precisely how much mince should there be in a shepherd’s pie?’
Thanet grunted, then there was silence while they both considered possible reasons for Covin’s visit.
‘Unless . . .’ said Lineham suddenly.
‘What?’
‘I was thinking . . .’
‘Come on, spit it out, Mike.’
‘Well, I was just thinking. What if that phone call wasn’t to have been a message from Karen at all. What if it had been about something else entirely?’
Thanet stared at him. ‘Something sufficiently urgent for him to go over there when she failed to answer the phone, you mean? But what?’
Lineham lifted his shoulders. ‘Search me. Just an idea.’
‘Yes,’ said Thanet slowly. All at once he was aware of the beginnings of a familiar sensation in his head, almost of pressure building. His pulse speeded up. ‘Let me think, let me think,’ he muttered.
‘Perhaps he intended putting a note through her door?’
Intent upon trying to formulate the idea that was just beyond his grasp, Thanet scarcely heard him. He froze with his fork half way to his mouth, as illumination came.
Of course!
He automatically popped the cabbage into his mouth and chewed without tasting.
Could it be true?
‘Sir?’ said Lineham, alerted. He was used to Thanet’s brainwaves and had seen that look more times than he could remember.
Thanet’s eyes came into focus again, ‘Yes?’
‘What were you thinking?’
Thanet shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I want to risk telling you, after the last fiasco.’
‘Oh come on, sir! You can’t leave me in suspense!’
Thanet still hesitated. He didn’t relish the prospect of being wrong again. But Lineham had never been one to gloat over someone else’s mistakes and it really wouldn’t be fair to keep him in the dark. ‘All right. What if . . .?’
Lineham’s eyes opened wide as Thanet explained. ‘But, sir, we haven’t a single shred of evidence to suggest that might be true.’
‘That doesn’t mean to say it isn’t. We got our wires crossed in exactly the same way in the Parnell case, don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, I do. But Covin said–’
Thanet knew exactly what Lineham was going to say. ‘I know what Covin said! But he might well have been lying about that too.’
‘I suppose,’ said Lineham. But it was obvious that he still wasn’t convinced. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘even if it is true, it might have no bearing on the case.’
’Might is the operative word, Mike.’
‘I don’t see how it could.’
‘That’s because we haven’t got to the bottom of it all yet.’ Thanet was becoming exasperated. ‘You know perfectly well that something we don’t understand is often explicable in the light of later evidence.’
‘True.’ But Lineham was still grudging.
‘I think it’s worth following up, anyway. We’ll put Tanya on to Southport.’
Lineham knew when there was no point in arguing. ‘Right, sir.’
‘And then we’ll go and see the Pinks.’
‘The Pinks?’
‘Covin’s former employers, Mike. Wake up!’
‘But why, sir?’
‘Because they’ll be able to fill us in on the background, obviously!’
‘But isn’t it more important to go and tackle Covin?’
‘All in good time, Mike. The more weapons we have tucked under our belt the better equipped we’ll be.’ He stood up. ‘Where did the Wargreaves say they lived?’
‘Near Headcorn,’ Lineham muttered, obviously convinced that Thanet was going off on a wild goose chase.
‘Shouldn’t be too difficult to find out exactly where.’
No more difficult than consulting the telephone directory, in fact, and half an hour later they were turning in to the entrance to Barn End Farm. Thanet was relieved to see that the clouds which had blown up earlier had cleared away. Perhaps it would be a fine day tomorrow after all.
‘Must have been a step up for Covin to get the job at Hunter’s Green Farm,’ said Lineham as they pulled up in front of the farmhouse and got out of the car. His moods never lasted long and he was already back to his usual ebullient self.
Thanet agreed. This farmhouse was smaller and the outbuildings less extensive. There were children’s toys lying about and a black-and-white puppy came bouncing around the corner of the house barking shrilly, closely pursued by a little boy of about four. He stopped when he saw the strangers and, like little Daisy Ogilvy, put his thumb in his mouth.
‘Hello,’ said Lineham, trying to stop the puppy climbing up his trouser leg. ‘Where’s your mummy?’
The boy turned and ran off the way he had come. Thanet and Lineham followed. The puppy was still barking and jumping up and down at Lineham as they walked.
‘He’s taken a fancy to you, Mike,’ said Thanet with a grin, raising his voice to make himself heard.
‘Why on earth can’t people keep their dogs under control?’ said Lineham, trying to fend the animal off.
‘I’ve got a nasty feeling we might be disappointed here,’ said Thanet. ‘If the boy’s parents are the owners they’d be much too young to be the Pinks we want to see.’
‘Could be the son,’ said Lineham. ‘The old man might have retired. Down, boy! Down!’
They had to pass the kitchen window to get to the back door. There was a young woman inside, watching them. Thanet raised a hand in greeting and she nodded but made no move to open the door. They waited a few moments and then went back to the window. She was leaning forward across the sink, waiting for them.
‘Ident
ification,’ she mouthed.
Thanet nodded and they both pressed their warrant cards against the window.
A moment later she unlocked the door and opened it. She was holding the little boy by the hand. ‘Sorry,’ she said, raising her voice above the noise the dog was still making. ‘But you can’t be too careful these days, especially in a place like this. Quiet, Tess!’
The dog ignored her.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Thanet.
To Lineham’s relief she bent down and seized the puppy by the collar. ‘I apologise for Tess,’ she said. ‘She’s only six months old and not very civilised yet. Just a moment.’ She dragged the dog off and they heard a door open and close.
‘Mrs Pink?’ said Thanet when she returned, relieved to be speaking at a normal pitch again.
‘Yes?’ Her expression changed and she glanced from one to the other. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? My husband hasn’t had an accident?’
‘Oh no, not at all.’
As Lineham had suggested she was the daughter-in-law of the Pinks who had been Covin’s employers. Her father-in-law had retired four years previously, and he and his wife had moved into a development of retirement homes on the edge of the village. Ten minutes later Thanet and Lineham were turning in between the imposing wrought-iron gates at the entrance to The Beeches, a retirement complex set in what had obviously once been the spacious grounds of a large Victorian house which was visible over to the left behind a screen of young trees. Such developments had sprung up everywhere over the last ten to fifteen years as it had dawned on builders that the one sector of the housing market which was going to expand rather than shrink in the immediate future was custom-built accommodation for the elderly. The complexes varied enormously in price and quality, as might be expected, but this was obviously an upmarket version, built in the local vernacular of brick and tilehanging in a setting of carefully preserved mature trees and well-kept lawns and flowerbeds. Thanet and Lineham followed a curving drive to the rear of the block of buildings then made for the warden’s flat. Their knock was answered by a pleasant middle-aged woman.
‘It’s not bad news, I hope?’ she said, when Thanet had introduced himself and asked for the Pinks.
‘No, not at all, I assure you.’
‘Good. Only Mrs Pink isn’t too well. She’s not long out of hospital.’
‘We’ll try not to tire her.’
This seemed to satisfy her. ‘I’ll take you along.’
‘That isn’t necessary, really.’
But she insisted. ‘I’d like to make sure they’re not alarmed.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not often we get a visit from the police.’
The Pinks’ home was a surprise. From the outside the cottages looked small but inside they were unexpectedly spacious. The warden asked them to wait while she went in, then reappeared with an elderly man whose leathery complexion criss-crossed by a myriad of fine lines at once proclaimed that he had spent his working life in the open air, rain or shine. He greeted them apprehensively then led them through a large square sitting room into a heated conservatory where his wife was sitting with one bandaged foot propped up on a footstool. ‘Here they are, dear,’ he said.
‘Please don’t worry,’ said Thanet, anxious to allay their obvious anxiety. ‘The only reason we’ve come to see you is that we think you might be able to help us with some information about a former employee.’
As if by magic their faces cleared and Mrs Pink invited Thanet and Lineham to sit down.
‘Who d’you mean?’ said her husband, when they were all settled.
Thanet had arranged that Lineham would begin this interview. ‘Someone who worked for you over twenty years ago, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘A man called Bernard Covin.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Pink. And to his wife, ‘It must be about Jessica.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘We heard about it on the radio.’ She looked tired and drawn and from time to time would ease the bandaged foot into a new position, lifting her leg with both hands. A pair of aluminium crutches stood against the wall nearby. ‘And there’s an article in the KM today.’
Of course, it was Friday, thought Thanet. He should have remembered to check the newspaper, though he doubted that they would learn anything new from it.
‘Terrible, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘Poor little scrap.’
Thanet realised she was remembering Jessica as the child she had known.
‘You remember her, then,’ said Lineham.
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘She came to live with her sister and Bernard when her mother died. You couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She always looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away, so thin and pale she was.’
‘How did she get on with her brother-in-law?’
She shrugged. ‘Didn’t have much to do with him, as far as I could see. Very fond of her sister she was, though. She was a lovely girl, Madge. I was sorry to see her go, when they moved away. Too good for him, I always thought.’
‘I never could see why you didn’t like him, myself,’ said her husband. ‘He was a good worker, was Bernard.’
Another shrug. ‘I just never took to him. How is Madge?’ she said to Lineham.
‘She died, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Of breast cancer, I believe. A couple of years ago.’
Her face had clouded. ‘Oh, I am sorry. What about her little girl? What was her name?’
‘Karen. But not so little now,’ said Lineham with a smile. ‘She’s nearly twenty and studying at Reading University.’
‘Twenty!’ said Mrs Pink. ‘You can’t credit it, the way time speeds up as you get older!’
‘Did you know Karen as a baby?’ said Lineham. ‘We thought the Covins left here just before she was born.’
‘Not before. Just after, actually. Not that Madge was here when the baby arrived, so I didn’t see her until she was about three months old, when Madge brought her to see me. She was so proud of her! She’d been so excited when she found she was pregnant! They’d been married six or seven years by then, you see, and had more or less given up hope. Mind, she didn’t have a very easy time. First she had terrible morning sickness and then she got high blood pressure and had to rest a lot. In fact, I hardly saw her for the last three or four months. She never went out, except when Bernard took her to the ante-natal clinic. Those were the only times I caught a glimpse of her, when she was passing in the car.’
‘You didn’t go and see her?’
‘I tried, a few times, but she would never answer the door. In the end I gave up. I assumed she just didn’t feel like socialising, that she’d no doubt get back to normal after the baby was born. As she did. She certainly seemed all right when she brought the baby to see me, as I say.’
‘What did you mean, “Not that Madge was here”? Where was she?’
Thanet was glad that Lineham had picked this up.
‘She was in Bristol – it was Bristol, wasn’t it, Bob?’
They were well away now, engrossed in their story. Like many elderly people who don’t get out much they obviously enjoyed having an audience.
Her husband nodded. ‘Yes. It’s all a bit complicated. Madge and Jessica had this aunt, you see, who lived in Bristol. The previous summer holidays Jessica went to stay with her and they got on so well she decided to stay on. But in the middle of December Jessica apparently rang to say the aunt had been taken ill and would Madge come and help. Well, Jessica was only sixteen so presumably Madge felt she had to go.’
‘She wouldn’t have been very happy about it, I imagine,’ said Mrs Pink. ‘She had this problem with high blood pressure, the baby was due at the beginning of January and apart from anything else she’d been very busy trying to get everything packed up ready for the move.’
‘The move to Hunter’s Green Farm, you mean?’ said Lineham.
‘Yes,’ said Pink. ‘Bernard had put in for the job in November and just before that phone call from Jessica he heard he’d got it. He was over the moon,
of course, it was a step up for him.’
‘But I shouldn’t think Madge was too pleased,’ Mrs Pink put in. ‘It meant she’d be moving house just around the time the baby was born and I’m sure she wouldn’t have felt well enough to cope.’
‘The job started in the new year,’ said her husband. ‘So they were supposed to move on January 1st.’
‘Anyway, as Bob says, Madge presumably didn’t feel she had any choice and off she went to Bristol,’ said Mrs Pink. ‘And lo and behold, the baby chose to arrive early – probably because of all the upheaval. So just before Christmas Bernard gets a phone call to say Madge had gone into labour. Well, naturally he left right away, and the next day we heard the baby had arrived and it was a little girl.’
‘Bernard stayed on for another week and then had to come home by himself to do the move.’
‘The aunt was still ill, you see, so Madge felt she couldn’t leave Jessica to cope alone. That was why I didn’t see Karen until she was three months old.’
‘So when Mrs Covin did come back she went straight to Hunter’s Green Farm?’ said Lineham.
‘Yes.’
‘And when was that?’
Mrs Pink frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Early in February, I believe.’
‘So the baby would have been about six weeks old.’
‘Something like that, I imagine.’
So there it was. Thanet felt a thrill of triumph. He was right this time, he just knew it.
Outside Lineham said, ‘All right, all right, don’t say it. I was wrong!’
‘We’re not a hundred per cent certain yet, Mike.’
‘We soon will be.’
And they were. Back at the office WDC Phillips was waiting for them, fax in hand. ‘This just came through, sir.’
‘Well?’ He almost snatched it from her in his eagerness. And there it was, the proof he needed. The information on the birth certificate was unequivocal:
Name of child: Karen Mary.
Date of birth: 21.12.77.
Name of mother: Jessica Mary Dander.
SIXTEEN
‘Well done, Tanya,’ said Thanet, handing the fax to Lineham. ‘I didn’t think you’d get a response so quickly.’
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