Thanet could understand why Landers hadn’t wanted all this to come out. Mason was obviously a desperate man. His anger and resentment must have been building up for months, justifiably so far as Thanet could see. Even if his bills had been extortionate, most of the money had apparently legitimately been owed to him. In view of Mason’s dire financial position Randish could, in all decency, at least have paid him that sum and taken legal action only over the excess amount. The letter informing Mason that repossession was imminent must have been the last straw. That scene of destruction in the laboratory spoke eloquently of an explosion of anger. Mason now seemed a prime candidate and Landers must know it. But it was obvious from the way that Landers had spoken of Mason and presented his story that he was very much on the builder’s side. They had probably been boys together and old loyalties die hard. It was equally obvious that Landers had not been fond of his son-in-law and wasn’t sorry to see the last of him.
‘So,’ Thanet said to Alice, ‘you had the impression that Mr Mason was going to do as you suggested and not attempt to see your husband tonight?’
‘Yes.’ She frowned. ‘But if Oliver saw him he must have gone up to the winery.’
‘Yes, he did. But he didn’t see Mr Randish. Mr Vintage says he only stayed a few minutes, then left.’
Landers looked relieved.
‘However,’ Thanet added, ‘Mr Vintage has also made it clear that although he was working at the winery all evening he was moving about a lot and anyone could have got into the bottling plant without being seen.’
‘You’re not suggesting Reg came back, are you?’ said Landers sharply.
‘It’s possible.’
‘No!’
Without warning the door swung open and they all turned towards it, startled.
On the threshold stood a miniature version of Alice Randish, bare-footed and wearing a Snoopy nightshirt. Bridget used to have one exactly like it, Thanet remembered. The little girl blinked at the unexpected sight of a roomful of people.
Her appearance galvanised Alice Randish into action. ‘Fiona!’ She was across the room in a flash, stooping to put her arms around her daughter. ‘Darling, what’s the matter?’
‘I was thirsty, Mummy. I called, but you didn’t come.’ Her eyes travelled from face to face. ‘Where’s Daddy?’
There was a brief, pregnant silence. What would Alice Randish do? Thanet wondered. Break the news of Randish’s death to her daughter now, when she herself was at her most vulnerable and least fit to cope with Fiona’s reaction? Or wait until morning?
The decision was taken out of her hands. Landers stepped in. He crossed to his granddaughter and swung her up into his arms. ‘Grandad will get you a drink, sweetheart. And then we thought it might be fun for you all to come and stay with us for a few days. Would you like that?’ Without waiting for an answer he bore Fiona away.
Having told her father she would prefer to stay at home, Alice was understandably looking irritated at his high-handedness. Her lips tightened and she glanced at her mother, who shook her head resignedly. What did you expect?
So far, Thanet realised, Mrs Landers hadn’t said a single word. He wondered if her relationship with her husband was always so overshadowed by that between him and Alice.
She spoke now. ‘Actually, your father’s right, dear. Apart from anything else it will be very disturbing for the children to be here over the next few days. There’s bound to be a lot of activity, isn’t that so, Inspector?’
‘Inevitably, I’m afraid.’
‘And it really would be better for you, too, to be away from all this. Do reconsider.’
Alice was silent for a few moments, then she sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m just being feeble, I suppose. The thought of organising the packing …’ She ran a hand through her hair and gave a defeated shrug. ‘I just can’t seem to think straight.’
Her mother put an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s not surprising. Don’t worry, I’ll see to all that. We won’t need to take much tonight, anyway. We can come back tomorrow.’
In the hall a bell tinkled.
‘That’ll be the doctor,’ said Mrs Landers.
There was a sudden flurry of activity: the doctor was admitted; Thanet and Lineham retired once more to the dining room. As they were crossing the hall Landers returned with Fiona and handed her over to her grandmother, who bore her off upstairs. Thanet asked Landers to accompany them. Clearly reluctant, he complied.
‘You seem very certain that Mason couldn’t have come back,’ said Thanet, as if their conversation had not been interrupted.
The phone rang in the hall.
Thanet cursed as Landers jumped up with alacrity. ‘I’d better answer that.’
He closed the door behind him and Thanet heard him murmuring responses. A moment or two later he returned, looking stunned. He slumped down into his seat. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘I just don’t believe it.’
FOUR
‘Bad news, sir?’ said Thanet.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Landers repeated. ‘They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place. That was my daughter’s sister-in-law – Zak’s sister. They were very close. She’s a widow, and older than him and … Well, anyway, she’s got two children, twins, a boy and a girl. She was ringing to say the girl, Zak’s niece, died this evening. She was only twenty. She’s been in hospital for some time, but even so …’
The same age as Bridget, thought Thanet, with a pang of sympathy for this unknown woman.
Landers jumped up and began pacing about. The shock seemed to have loosened his tongue. ‘I don’t know how Alice will take this, especially after what’s happened here tonight. She was very fond of her niece. They’ve always been close, ever since Karen and Jonathan came to stay here for a few days when their mother was in hospital. That was years ago, just before Fiona was born. In fact, Karen seemed to get on better with Alice than with her uncle. So how Alice is going to react …’ He stopped pacing and turned to face Thanet. ‘Oh, you may have thought Alice was calm enough just now, but I know her and believe me, she’s just hanging on by the skin of her teeth. She was besotted with that husband of hers. I expect you thought I was coming on a bit strong with her, didn’t you? Playing the heavy father? Well that was because I knew it was the only way to stop her falling apart over these first few hours. Give her something to kick against and she’d be OK until the doctor could knock her out. If I’d gone all mushy on her she’d never have been able to cope.’
It all sounded very logical but Thanet wasn’t so sure. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover that Landers was really talking about himself, that it was he who wouldn’t have been able to cope if Alice had ‘fallen apart’, as he put it. Especially, perhaps, if he had committed the murder himself and was the cause of the disintegration.
‘Did you tell Mr Randish’s sister about his death?’
‘No. Fortunately she wasn’t expecting him to come over tonight. She knows he works all hours during harvest, and she asked me to tell him not to. Said she’d just got back from the hospital, she was exhausted and was going to bed. She’d see him tomorrow, she said. I suppose I’ll have to go round and break the news of Zak’s death to her myself. There’s no one else to do it. God knows how she’s going to take it.’ Landers was obviously dreading the prospect, and Thanet couldn’t blame him. Breaking the news of the death of a close relative was high on the list of jobs all policemen hated most.
‘We could do it if you like, sir.’
‘Oh.’ Landers looked taken aback. ‘That’s very decent of you, Thanet. But no, I think Alice would want me to. Thanks all the same.’
They heard the door across the passageway open and Landers hurried into the hall. There was a brief consultation with the doctor, who had prescribed Alice a sedative, Thanet gathered, and was advising that Mr and Mrs Landers now took her home and got her to bed. Consulted, Thanet said that there were a few more questions he had to ask Landers bef
ore he left. At this point Mrs Landers came back downstairs with Fiona, carrying a younger child, the little boy, swathed in a duvet. It was decided that Mrs Landers, Alice and the children should go on ahead, Mrs Landers driving Alice’s car, and that Landers would follow shortly.
When, finally, they had gone, Thanet and Lineham returned to the sitting room with Landers and Thanet put his question for the third time. Perhaps this time he would get an answer.
‘You seemed very emphatic, Mr Landers, that Mr Mason couldn’t have come back later, after Mr Vintage had seen him leave.’
‘That was because Reg and I were together.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘In the pub, in the village.’
‘What time was this?’
Landers ran his fingers through his thick white hair. ‘Straight after I left here.’
Patiently, Thanet worked out the timings.
Alice had rung Landers to ask him to come over at around 7.45. Landers and his wife were just finishing their evening meal and he left about twenty minutes later, reaching the vineyard five minutes after that. He knew Mason’s van and noticed it in the car park of the village pub as he drove past.
Alice was watching a favourite sitcom when he arrived and they had seen the end of it together before discussing Mason’s predicament.
Landers had come up with a possible solution.
‘There’s an empty cottage on my farm, quite a decent one, detached and with a small garden. I told Alice I’d decided to offer it to Reg, at a nominal rent, until he could get his business back on its feet again.’
‘That was very generous of you, Mr Landers.’
Landers looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, well, Reg and I go back a long way.’
‘You’re good friends?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. But we’ve known each other since we were boys and we’ve always been on good terms. He’s worked hard all his life and I don’t want to see him go under.’
‘So you decided to tell him about the cottage?’
‘Well, Alice said she’d have one more go at trying to persuade Zak to change his mind about paying Reg at least a proportion of the money owing to him. But yes, we decided that in any case I’d have a word with Reg to reassure him that whatever happened, he’d still have a roof over his head. So that’s what I did.’
Landers had left Alice at around 8.45 and seeing Mason’s van still in the car park at the pub had called in to have a drink with him and give him the good news. He and Mason had left the pub together at around 9.15 and he, Landers, had arrived home shortly afterwards. Mason had said he was going straight home to tell his wife about Landers’ offer.
‘That’s why I’m so certain Reg didn’t come back here later. He was itching to get home and tell Kath, his wife, about the cottage. And in any case, the offer had taken the pressure off him, don’t you see?’
They let Landers go. The Mercedes in the vineyard car park was his. They watched its tail-lights disappear down the drive and then Lineham said, ‘Mason certainly isn’t off the hook, as far as I can see. According to Vintage, Mason left about ten to eight but Vintage didn’t actually see him leave the premises. He could easily have sneaked back into the bottling plant without Vintage seeing him. I know Landers says he saw Mason’s van parked at the pub when he went by at ten past eight but that was twenty minutes later. And Mason had another opportunity to come back later on, after leaving Landers outside the pub. It’s all very well saying the offer of the house had taken the pressure off him, but that doesn’t mean he’d stop feeling angry with Randish, who had got him into the mess in the first place.’
‘Quite.’
‘So do we go and see him, sir?’
‘I suppose so.’ Thanet peered at his watch. It was just after midnight. He didn’t like disturbing people at this hour, but murder was murder. If he left it until morning vital evidence could disappear and Mason would have time to compose himself and get his story straight. No, it would have to be tonight.
The village of Charthurst was only half a mile from the vineyard, just a few minutes away by car, and at this time of night was silent and deserted. Most of the houses were in darkness but lights illuminated the well-kept forecourt of the Harrow, the pub where Landers and Mason had met. Lineham was right, Thanet thought. Twenty minutes would have been ample for Mason to have slipped back into the laboratory, committed the murder and got down here by the time Landers drove past. When Mason first went up to the winery that night, had he told Vintage he wanted to talk to Randish, and why? And had Vintage advised him against it? If so, why hadn’t Vintage said so? If this was what Vintage had been hiding, why should he be so concerned to protect Mason? Because he was sorry for him? Felt he’d been ill-treated?
In any case, perhaps Mason had pretended to leave because he would have been embarrassed to be seen going into the bottling plant against the advice of both Alice Randish and Vintage. But if he had waited until Vintage’s back was turned, or if he had slipped back later, and if Randish had been particularly tactless or dismissive in his refusal to listen to his plea, then Mason might well have finally snapped, lost control. And there was no doubt about it, whoever killed Randish had been completely out of control. Yes, Mason might well be their man.
Landers had told them where Mason lived and from his description they found the house without difficulty. Even without the ‘FOR SALE’ sign outside they could scarcely have missed it. The last street lamp in the village illuminated a high brick wall and tall wrought-iron gates flanked by pillars from which two lions gazed haughtily down on passers-by. Someone obviously had delusions of grandeur. Mason, or a previous owner? Thanet wondered.
The house itself was set well back from the road behind large areas of lawn and as they drove up the curving drive a row of security lights spaced out along its façade clicked on. It had been built some time in the last ten years, Thanet guessed, and it was big, a good sixty to eighty feet long, with a four-car garage. Although it was not to his taste Thanet could see why, in the heady years of the housing boom, Mason had been tempted into overstretching himself to buy it. It shouted ‘SUCCESS’ from every picture window.
Lineham gave a low whistle. ‘No wonder he can’t sell it. I wonder how much he’s asking for it.’
Houses like this, in the higher price brackets, were the last to move in the still sluggish housing market. ‘Thinking of putting in a bid, Mike?’
‘Ha, ha, very funny. That’d be the day.’
The doorbell sounded unnaturally loud in the darkness and silence.
‘I hate hauling people out of bed at this hour,’ muttered Thanet. ‘Makes me feel like the secret police.’
‘Got to be done, sir.’
‘Maybe. That doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though.’
Above, there was the sound of a window opening and a man’s voice called out, ‘Who is it?’
Thanet and Lineham stepped back, peered up. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s the police.’
‘I’ll come down.’
The silhouetted head disappeared and a moment later a light clicked on in the hall. Someone approached the front door inside and there was a brief pause. Thanet guessed that Mason was inspecting them through the spyhole. Finally the door opened on a chain and a hand emerged through the crack. ‘Your identification, please.’
Thanet handed over his warrant card and eventually the door swung wide.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Mason. ‘But you can’t be too careful these days.’
He was short and stocky, with a squarish head, cropped brown hair and wary brown eyes. He was wearing an old-fashioned woollen dressing gown in a brown and fawn check pattern and striped flannel pyjamas. He led them into a big sitting room where dralon-upholstered chairs and settees were dotted uneasily about on a sea of heavily patterned carpet. There were a couple of occasional tables and an elaborate arrangement of artificial flowers. No books, no newspapers, no magazines, not even a television set, Thanet noted. The effe
ct was as bleak and impersonal as a dentist’s waiting room and Mason looked completely out of place in it. It was cold, too, with a damp, penetrating chill. Thanet guessed that the Masons had been forced to economise on their central heating and that this room was no longer in use.
Mason shivered and pulled his dressing gown more closely about him. ‘I’ll light the fire.’
It was a gas fire of imitation logs and when he had lit it he stood with his back to it, rubbing his arms. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘I understand you went up to the vineyard to see Mr Randish this evening, sir?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘He was found dead tonight. In his laboratory.’
Mason stopped rubbing his arms and became quite still. ‘Dead?’ He looked astounded.
Genuine astonishment or not? Thanet had no idea.
‘But how? I mean, he was perfectly all right when I last saw him.’
‘When was that, Mr Mason?’
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
‘You didn’t see him tonight?’
‘No. I wanted to, yes, but … Look, why all the questions?’
‘Mr Randish was murdered, sir.’
If Mason was acting he was making a good job of it. His jaw dropped open and he groped blindly for the arm of the nearest chair, sank down into it. ‘Murdered? I don’t …’
The door swung open and a girl of about eighteen came into the room. ‘What’s going on, Dad?’
She too was short and stockily built, with long dark curly hair, blunt nose and square, determined jaw. Her quilted dressing gown was tightly belted beneath her ample breasts, her solid legs terminating in large feet incongruously thrust into high-heeled mules trimmed with swansdown.
‘It’s the police, love. Mr Randish …’ Mason looked helplessly at Thanet. How can I tell her?
Her eyes narrowed and she glanced from her father to the two policemen. ‘What about him?’
She’d have to know sooner or later, and in any case Thanet suspected she was a lot tougher than her father’s attitude would suggest. ‘Mr Randish was found dead tonight, Miss Mason. He’d been murdered.’
No Laughing Matter Page 4