No Laughing Matter

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Compu-Tech, in Sturrenden.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of them. They’re a small firm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you pleased with the service they gave?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Was this the first computer system you’ve had here, or did you have a less sophisticated one before?’

  ‘No, this is the first.’

  ‘So I suppose the firm supplied you with someone to work beside you for the first day or two, while you got used to it?’

  ‘Yes. It was one of the reasons why we chose that particular firm.’

  ‘Was the person they sent a man or a woman?’

  ‘A woman. Why?’

  Lineham ignored the question.

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Elaine.’

  Thanet could tell that Lineham was longing to flick a triumphant glance at him. Told you so! But the sergeant restrained himself.

  ‘Elaine what?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She just called herself Elaine, you know how these girls do.’

  ‘A girl, you said. How old was she, would you say?’

  Mrs Prote thought. ‘Mid-twenties, perhaps?’

  ‘But she looked younger?’

  ‘Yes, on a first impression. She was small, slim, dark.’

  Just Randish’s type, according to his friend Mark Benton, thought Thanet. He could see Lineham thinking the same thing. And she matched Wakeham’s description.

  ‘Did she give Mr Randish tuition too?’

  ‘Yes. It was part of the package. We both need – needed – to use the computer, if for different reasons.’

  ‘How did Mr Randish get on with this Elaine?’

  Mrs Prote was looking wary. ‘All right.’

  She didn’t ask why, Thanet noted.

  ‘Did he take any special interest in her, did you notice?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To put it bluntly, did he fancy her?’

  Her lips tightened. ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Mrs Prote, are you trying to tell me that you stayed here in this room with the pair of them for – how long? A day? Two days?’ Lineham paused, waited pointedly for her answer.

  ‘Two days,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘And you didn’t notice Mr Randish’s attitude towards her?’

  She was chewing the inside of her lip. She didn’t reply.

  Lineham sighed and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. ‘I really don’t know why you’re making this such hard work,’ he said.

  ‘I just don’t believe in idle gossip, Sergeant,’ she said primly. ‘Nor do I think one should speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘Idle gossip!’ said Lineham explosively. ‘How can you sit there so self-righteously and say that? A man has been murdered, Mrs Prote. In my book that is a far worse crime, a far worse sin, if you like, than speaking ill of the dead. And no one could ever convince me otherwise.’

  She stared at him, apparently silenced. Then she blinked. ‘I hate this,’ she said in a low voice, and took off her spectacles, as if this would help her to avoid seeing something she didn’t want to look at. Without them she looked several years younger and vulnerable, as if her protective armour had been removed. ‘I absolutely hate it.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Lineham. ‘No one likes getting caught up in a murder investigation.’

  ‘But don’t you see?’ she cried, with more feeling than she had shown so far, ‘that’s just a fine-sounding generalisation! “No one likes getting caught up in a murder investigation.” It doesn’t even begin to tell you what it feels like! It’s horrible, as if everything is … contaminated.’ And she shuddered, crossing her arms and hugging herself as if to try to contain her revulsion.

  He had never heard it put quite like that before, but Thanet knew she had summed up how people in her position felt. Their lives had been touched, however briefly, by the most evil of crimes, the taking of human life, and nothing would ever be quite the same again. They would go on living, carry on in much the same way as they always had, but there, lurking in the back of their minds, would always be the long shadow cast by murder.

  He decided to step in. ‘Mrs Prote, you must believe us when we say we do understand that. I’m sure you feel that we are poking and prying gratuitously, but we’re not, I assure you. Sergeant Lineham is right. Murder is the worst crime in the book and we need every ounce of help we can get, from people like yourself, to try and clear the matter up. I can understand that you don’t like going against the principles by which you normally live your life, but you have to accept that these are not normal circumstances and normal rules do not apply.’

  While he was speaking she had put her spectacles back on, he noticed. When he had finished she nodded slowly. Then she sighed. ‘I can see that. All right. I’ll try.’

  Lineham waited a moment, then said, ‘So was Mr Randish attracted to her, do you think?’

  She sighed again. ‘Yes, he was. Very much so.’ A faint flush crept up her neck. ‘It was positively embarrassing at times.’

  ‘Do you think he might have taken her out?’

  ‘That’s what you’ve been getting at, isn’t it? You think they might have had an affair? To be honest, I just don’t know. I never saw them together. And even if they did, I can’t see how it would matter, now.’

  ‘Do you think they did?’ persisted Lineham.

  ‘Well …’ She stopped.

  ‘What?’

  She hesitated.

  Old habits die hard, thought Thanet.

  But she stuck to her decision to be open with them. ‘Well, as I said, I just don’t know. And it doesn’t seem fair, to guess. But for what it’s worth, I do believe he was the sort of man who did. Have affairs, I mean.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Had he made a pass at Mrs Prote? Thanet wondered. No. Not his type.

  ‘Occasionally I’ve seen him with other women. And it was obvious, from the way he was behaving, that it had gone past friendship.’

  ‘Did his wife know?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Or his father-in-law?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

  She wrote the address of Compu-Tech down for them.

  Outside they hesitated, and Lincham said, ‘Do we still want to see Vintage? We’ve got all we need from Mrs Prote, haven’t we?’

  ‘There’s just one point,’ said Thanet.

  ‘What?’ said Lineham automatically. He was tucking away in his notebook the piece of paper which Mrs Prote had given him. ‘That’s funny. This address is in a residential area.’

  ‘Mrs Prote said they were a small firm. Perhaps they work from home. Small firms often do. Good. That means we’ll be able to go and see them today.’

  ‘What were you saying about Vintage, sir?’

  ‘Well, you remember when I asked him how Randish and Mr Landers got on together, he was a bit evasive?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Well, I’m wondering if he’d overheard something.’

  ‘Some argument, you mean?’

  ‘Well it’s possible, isn’t it? It doesn’t sound as though Randish was all that discreet. If Mrs Prote saw him with other women, Landers could have, too. I’m sure he was lying when he said he didn’t know if Randish was having an affair. It might have happened just once too often for his liking and he decided to tackle Randish about it.’

  How would he feel himself, Thanet wondered, if Bridget were married and he discovered her husband was cheating on her? Furious, he imagined. Any father would. It cheapened what he held most dear. In his own case, if he hadn’t been relieved that Alexander had broken it off he would be pretty angry with him now, for rejecting Bridget – as a matter of fact he still was, Thanet realised, for causing her to suffer like this.

  ‘If only we didn’t have to drag all this information out of people!’ said Lineham. ‘It makes the whole process so laborious.’

  ‘Wha
t?’ Thanet tore his attention away from Bridget’s unhappy situation. ‘Oh … I don’t know, Mike. We grumble about it, yes, but just think how boring it would be if everybody told us everything we wanted to know straight off.’

  ‘It’d certainly make our job easier, though, wouldn’t it! Anyway, do we see Vintage, or not?’

  ‘Might as well, while we’re here.’

  There was no sign of either Vintage or his temporary helper in the yard and they went back to the office to ask Mrs Prote where he might be.

  ‘Probably cleaning out the vats, in that barn,’ she said, pointing.

  They walked across the yard. Thanet paused at the door and called out. ‘Mr Vintage?’

  The barn was apparently empty. Machinery hummed faintly and there was a swishing noise from somewhere. Along one wall there was a row of tall stainless-steel vats with circular doors in front like those on automatic washing machines, but larger. Two of the doors stood open and to Thanet’s surprise a head now poked out of each, as if a giant tortoise had just woken up. One of them belonged to Vintage. He saw the look on their faces and grinned.

  ‘We’re cleaning the vats out. This is the only way to do the job properly.’

  It was the first time he’d seen Vintage smile, Thanet realised. It made him look much younger.

  Vintage climbed out and said, ‘You carry on, Steve, won’t be long.’

  He was, Thanet thought, definitely looking better today. The dark circles were still there beneath his eyes but the dragging weariness which had permeated his every movement had gone and there was an air of buoyancy about him. It was amazing what a couple of good nights’ sleep could do.

  ‘What are they?’ Lineham waved a hand at the tanks.

  ‘Fermentation and storage vats.’ Vintage went on explaining while Thanet began to edge unobtrusively towards the door. As he hoped, Vintage followed. He thought the winemaker might talk more freely if they couldn’t be overheard – though just how much would be audible from inside one of those vats he had no idea. ‘How’s your wife today?’ he asked, when Vintage had finished.

  Vintage looked shamefaced. ‘I owe you one for yesterday, Inspector. To be honest, when you started dishing out advice I was pretty angry. But I really needed someone to come along and give me a kick up the backside. Beth and I had a long talk last night and we’ve decided to hire a nanny, for however long it takes for her to come out of this. When my father comes back tomorrow I’ll ask him for a loan. I’m pretty sure he’ll help us out but if not I’ll borrow from the bank. Beth’s a lot happier already, now we’ve decided on a positive course of action. I think she’d more or less given up hope that things would ever improve.’

  ‘Good.’ Thanet couldn’t help feeling a glow of satisfaction. It wasn’t often that anyone handed out bouquets in his line of work.

  ‘So,’ said Vintage. ‘What did you want to see me about?’

  Despite what Thanet had said to Lineham, it was a relief to know that for once he wasn’t going to have to work for the cooperation of a witness. ‘When we were here yesterday I asked you how Mr Randish got on with his father-in-law. You weren’t keen to talk about it. But since then we’ve learned that he wasn’t exactly the most faithful of husbands and apparently didn’t bother too much about being discreet. It doesn’t take much imagination to work out that Mr Landers might well have found out and become pretty angry about the way his daughter was being treated. And that you were aware of this.’

  Vintage thrust his hands in pockets and looked away, as if seeking guidance from somewhere. ‘I heard them arguing,’ he said eventually, with obvious reluctance. ‘I went over to the laboratory one evening to ask Zak something and Mr Landers was there.’

  Thanet felt a spurt of satisfaction. He was right. Landers had been lying. ‘When was this?’

  ‘A few days ago. Tuesday or Wednesday. Wednesday, I think.’

  ‘What were they saying?’

  ‘I didn’t hear much. I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping. The door was open and I just caught a few words as I approached. When I heard what was going on I came away.’

  ‘So what, exactly, did you hear?’

  Vintage compressed his lips. ‘Mr Landers was …’ He stopped and his mouth now set in a stubborn line. He shook his head. ‘It’s no good, I can’t tell you. You’ll have to ask him yourself.’

  ‘Was it that incriminating?’

  ‘No! It’s just that habits of a lifetime die hard. I know I said I owe you one, but I still don’t think that gives you the right to ask me to go against the principles I live by. And telling tales about someone I like and admire is one of them. If that makes me sound like an insufferable prig, then that’s just too bad, it’s how I feel. Anyway, I really can’t believe that Mr Landers had anything to do with Zak’s death.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘If you want to talk to him about it, he should be here in ten minutes or so. He said he’d be over about 12.30, to see how things were going.’

  Thanet had no option but to let Vintage go.

  ‘That’ll teach me to think an interview is going to be plain sailing!’ he said to Lineham as they returned to the car to wait for Landers. ‘Anyway, what do you now think about your theory that Mrs Vintage’s depression could be over Randish breaking off an affair with her?’

  ‘I still haven’t changed my mind,’ said Lineham stubbornly. ‘It’s still possible, in my view. If he’d ditched her when he found out she was pregnant, he’d have been on the lookout for a replacement when this Elaine came along.’

  ‘Hmm. I don’t know. I feel we’re only just beginning to scratch the surface of this case.’

  ‘There’s Landers, sir. He’s early.’

  Landers’ Mercedes was pulling into the car park and they went to meet him.

  THIRTEEN

  The strain was beginning to tell on Landers, Thanet thought. His shoulders sagged beneath the well-cut tweed jacket and he looked as though he hadn’t got much sleep last night: his eyelids drooped as if he were having difficulty in keeping them open. Anxiety on Alice’s behalf? Thanet wondered. Or guilt?

  He suggested they go across to the Randishes’ house and Landers led the way without comment. The central heating had been left on and the house struck warm as they entered. Landers took them into the sitting room, where there was a faint, acrid smell of stale woodsmoke.

  He took up the same slightly belligerent stance as last night in front of the cold woodstove. ‘Well, what is it this time?’

  Thanet wasn’t going to allow him to take the initiative. ‘Why did you lie to me yesterday, Mr Landers?’

  ‘Lie? About what?’ An unconvincing pretence at surprise.

  ‘I asked you if you knew whether your son-in-law was having an affair. You said no.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You were overheard having a row with him about precisely that.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Disappointingly, Landers did not seem over-concerned at having been caught out. ‘Nobody likes having his dirty linen washed in public.’

  ‘Don’t try to minimise the importance of this, Mr Landers. We now know that you had two reasons for being very angry with your son-in-law. He was knocking your daughter about and being unfaithful to her as well.’

  ‘You can be angry with someone without resorting to violence.’

  ‘Without intending to resort to violence, yes. But if something triggers that anger off …’

  ‘Such as?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. It could have been a dozen things. You could have issued an ultimatum to him when you had that row with him on Wednesday, and found that he had ignored it.’

  ‘Perhaps you saw him with this woman on Friday,’ said Lineham, ‘and decided to have another go at him.’

  ‘Or maybe you noticed that fresh bruise on your daughter’s arm when you came over to see her at her request on Friday evening,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ said Lineham, ‘she herself told you he’d been ill-treating h
er again.’

  ‘And if you did go up to see him for any of these reasons after leaving her,’ said Thanet, ‘he may have reacted to what you were saying in a way which made you see red.’

  ‘He could have laughed at you, for instance. Imagine how that would have made you feel, in the circumstances!’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Landers irritably. ‘You can stop the double act. I get the scenario. But it’s all in your imagination. I told you, I left here after talking to Alice and went straight to the pub.’

  ‘But you have absolutely no way of proving it,’ said Thanet.

  ‘And neither have you!’

  ‘Yet,’ said Thanet succinctly. ‘But believe me, if that was what happened, Mr Landers, we’ll find a way.’

  ‘Think what you like,’ snapped Landers, ‘but you’ll never prove it because it didn’t happen.’

  They left together and Landers strode angrily off in the direction of the pressing area.

  ‘Well,’ said Lineham gloomily. ‘That didn’t get us very far.’

  Thanet grinned. ‘Cheer up, Mike. Remember Bruce and the spider.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I think you need refuelling. We’ll call in at the pub again, before paying Compu-Tech a visit.’

  Three-quarters of an hour later, considerably refreshed, they were driving slowly through one of the older suburbs of Sturrenden, looking out for the premises of Compu-Tech at number 15A White Horse Lane. The houses here had been built in the 1930s when space was not at a premium and they were set well back from the road in generous gardens, some of which had recently been divided to provide new building plots. Thanet guessed by the address that this was what had happened with Compu-Tech. He would have thought that this was too far from the centre of town to run a successful business, but evidently he was wrong, perhaps because there were so many cowboys around in computers that reliability and efficiency were what people were looking for. Word-of-mouth recommendation was important and if all Compu-Tech’s customers were as satisfied as Mrs Prote no doubt the word had soon got around.

  He spotted a white signboard. ‘I think that’s it, Mike.’

  Lineham slowed to check, then turned into the driveway.

  Inside the gate the drive divided, one arm snaking around behind the substantial stockbroker-Tudor-style house to the right, the other turning sharp left into an attractive parking area of block paving laid in a herringbone pattern in front of a neat one-storey building.