No Laughing Matter

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Of course I will, if I can.’

  His back gave him trouble all evening and it was again a relief to get into bed and allow tense muscles to relax. He closed his eyes and at once, with the distraction of what was happening around him shut out, started worrying again about what it was he couldn’t remember. What was the precise moment at which he had become aware of it? Joan’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  ‘Luke?’

  It was obvious from her tone that she’d tried to catch his attention before. He opened his eyes.

  She was taking off her dressing gown. ‘Ah, so you are still awake.’

  ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘So was I. About that poor woman.’

  ‘Mrs Redman, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ She switched off the overhead light and slid into bed beside him. He put his arm around her and she snuggled into his shoulder with a sigh of contentment. ‘We’re so lucky.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘When I think of what she must have been through … D’you know what Bridget told me today?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s known for years, apparently – Bridget, I mean. But she’s never said anything before, she promised Karen … But now Karen’s dead I suppose she feels released from that promise … Well, I don’t know. Perhaps she doesn’t. Perhaps it was because she’s still so upset about Karen … And she knows I won’t talk about it to anyone else. Except you, of course.’

  ‘Darling,’ said Thanet. ‘Come to the point. What did Bridget tell you?’

  ‘It really shook me, I can tell you. And as you know, I’m not easily shaken.’

  In her work as a probation officer Joan saw plenty of the seamy side of life.

  ‘I suppose it’s because it happened to one of Bridget’s friends …’

  ‘Joan!’

  ‘All right! Well, as you know, Karen has been anorexic for years. Ever since she was twelve, in fact. What I didn’t know until today was why.’ Joan pulled away a little and twisted her head to watch Thanet’s reaction. ‘When she was twelve she had a baby.’

  ‘At twelve!’

  Joan nodded. ‘At the time, no one knew about it. Bridget didn’t know Karen at the time, it was the summer before they both started at Sturrenden High. But that autumn Bridget and Karen became friends and she stuck to her faithfully through the bad times, as you know, always visited her when she was hospitalised. It was during one of those periods, when the girls were about seventeen and Karen was at a very low ebb, that she told Bridget about the baby.’

  ‘She actually had the baby?’

  ‘Yes. It was adopted. But apparently Karen was five months’ pregnant before her mother realised! Incredible, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve read about such cases, even about girls actually having the baby without their mothers’ knowledge, but it is difficult to comprehend. Though I suppose it’s less surprising in that household than it would be in most. I gather nudity was considered so taboo that even when the children were tiny they never shared baths or saw each other naked. Anyway, by the time her mother found out it was too late for Karen to have an abortion and even if it hadn’t been I gather her parents would never have allowed it, it would have been against their principles. So they sent her away to some home for unmarried mothers and put out a story that she was visiting relations. Her absence covered the period of the long summer holidays, apparently, so no one was ever the wiser. The whole thing came as a terrible shock to Karen. She’d no idea she was going to have a baby. You wouldn’t believe it could still happen in this day and age, but Bridget says that Karen’s mother was so inhibited about sex that she never talked to her about it and Karen was unbelievably ignorant, she only knew what she’d picked up at school. She’d only had one period, a very slight one, and she’d heard that periods were often irregular to begin with, so when she didn’t have any more she didn’t think anything of it. But she did notice she’d begun to put on weight, so without telling anyone she began to diet.’

  ‘And that was how her anorexia started.’

  ‘Yes. The dieting, of course, was one reason why no one noticed she was pregnant. But naturally she found that no matter how little she ate, she was still getting fatter.’

  ‘But she realised why that was, surely? When she did find out she was pregnant?’

  Joan was shaking her head. ‘Intellectually yes, she knew that was why she was putting on weight. But emotionally, by then she was powerless to stop herself believing otherwise.’

  ‘But later on, then, after she’d had the baby, when things got back to normal …?’

  ‘That was the tragedy. They never did get back to normal. By then the idea that she was overweight was so entrenched in her mind that she simply couldn’t shake it off.’

  ‘Poor kid. And the baby’s father?’

  Joan was nodding. ‘Yes. I can see you’ve guessed, after what the children were saying about him yesterday. Bridget is pretty certain it was Karen’s father. Though Karen never actually admitted it. Perhaps she was too ashamed. It would fit in with the continuing anorexia, though, wouldn’t it – I mean with the theory that for various reasons the anorexic is reluctant to grow up.’

  ‘What theory is that?’ Thanet didn’t know much about anorexia.

  ‘That for whatever reason, she wants to “deny her womanhood”, as the jargon puts it. One of the results of starving yourself is that you stop having periods; not having periods means you’re not becoming a woman. Not eating is therefore how you achieve the desired result. That’s the idea, anyway.’

  ‘And it was all hushed up, he got away with it.’ In Thanet’s work he saw all too often the results of such abuse, the lifetime of suffering to which the innocent victims were frequently condemned. He’d had a case not so long ago in which the murder victim had been in that position, a talented artist whose death had been the direct result of such childhood torture. In that instance the abuser had finally been brought to justice, but Redman, perhaps equally guilty of his daughter’s death, had died unpunished for his sins.

  ‘If he really was responsible then yes, I’m afraid so.’

  Joan was quickly asleep but Thanet lay awake for some time, staring into the darkness and thinking back over the hectic activity of the last couple of days. It was always the same at the beginning of a case. There was so much to do, see, assimilate, that it was essential to stand back from time to time and try to make a cool, detached assessment of the situation. It was easy to get so bogged down in personalities, cross-currents and speculation that it was impossible to see what was really going on. Especially when, as now, he was beating his brains out trying to remember something. He clenched his hands in frustration under the bedclothes and then told himself not to be so stupid. There was no point in getting worked up about it. He would remember, sooner or later, and Lineham was right: he ought to put it clean out of his mind, forget about it, and let his subconscious get to work. Perhaps, by morning, the miracle would have happened and he would wake up to find that all had become clear.

  Unfortunately, this was not the case. The alarm went off as usual at 6.45 and he staggered half awake into the bathroom, aware that the knowledge was still eluding him. He hadn’t got to sleep until the early hours and he felt tired and depressed. Why do I do this job? he asked himself. Why do I beat my brains out, like this? Why not choose something less demanding, where I don’t have to struggle and fight every inch of the way? His temper was not improved by the fact that he cut himself shaving. When he went downstairs Joan took one look at his face and said, ‘Oh dear. Like that, is it?’

  ‘Like what?’ he snapped.

  ‘Never mind. Here, have some cereal. You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat.’

  ‘I’ve come to a decision.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I think I’ve reached a mid-life crisis. I’m going to apply to be a postman. Just think what it must be like to do a job where people are actually pleased to see you when you knock on their doors!’
r />   She came to sit down with him, a rare event in the morning, and buttered a slice of toast. ‘I gather the case isn’t going too well? I’m sorry, there seemed to be so much to talk about that I didn’t even ask last night.’

  ‘No, no, it’s going along much as usual.’

  ‘But?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘Nothing, really.’

  Joan looked sceptical.

  ‘Oh all right. It’s just that I’m trying to remember something, and can’t. It’s so frustrating! And don’t say “put it out of your mind and you’ll remember.” I’ve tried that and it didn’t work.’

  ‘Then there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, is there?’ she said calmly.

  Toast popped up and she went to fetch it, poured him some coffee. She obviously thought he needed pampering, he thought wryly, usually he did these things for himself in the mornings. And she was right. It was ridiculous to allow himself to be thrown by something beyond his control. He felt himself begin to relax. He watched the Flora melt on his toast and spread the marmalade with a lavish hand. It was grapefruit marmalade, he realised, his favourite, and an expensive brand usually reserved for a weekend treat. He grinned, then began to laugh.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said, an answering smile spreading across her face.

  He held up the marmalade. ‘You’re treating me like a spoilt child – and, let’s face it, you’re absolutely right, I’m behaving like one.’ He leaned across to kiss her. ‘Sorry, love!’

  ‘We’re all entitled to be bad tempered occasionally. Just remember that, the next time I start behaving like a bear with a sore head.’

  ‘I will! Promise!’

  The letterbox clattered.

  ‘Post’s early this morning,’ said Joan, and went out into the hall, returning a few moments later. She flipped through the letters and put two beside Thanet’s plate.

  He glanced at them. One was an electricity bill, by the look of it, the other was his own handwriting. Some tickets he’d sent away for, probably. Nothing interesting, then, and they could both wait until later.

  So why did he have this uncomfortable sensation in his head?

  He glanced at Joan, who was reading one of her letters, and took another bite of toast, staring at the handwritten envelope. There was something. What was it?

  Suddenly it came to him.

  He stopped chewing and stared unseeing into space. Perhaps it hadn’t been so important after all. No, it really would be too much of a coincidence, if … But then, coincidences happened in real life which would never be believed in fiction, and there was at least one fact to back up the idea. And if he was right …

  Joan became aware of his immobility. ‘Luke? What’s the matter?’

  He looked at her, a broad smile spreading slowly across his face, and kissed her again. ‘You’re a gem.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why, precisely? I mean, it’s a great boost to the morale when your husband starts showering you with kisses and paying you lavish compliments at 7.30 on a Monday morning, but it would be nice to know what I’ve done to deserve it.’

  ‘You made me switch off, stop trying to remember. And, of course … bingo!’

  Joan laughed. ‘I can’t believe it worked as quickly as that. It certainly doesn’t in my experience.’

  ‘Magic!’ said Thanet. It was the handwritten envelope which had really done the trick, of course, but he wasn’t going to spoil things by mentioning that.

  ‘So come on, tell. What was it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just a small thing. And I can’t make up my mind if it really was important, or not. Let me think about it a bit more first. Anyway, I haven’t told you enough about the case yet for you to understand its significance, if it has any.’

  Thanet had always talked to Joan about his work. It was so demanding both on him and on their marriage that he felt it was essential she didn’t feel excluded. She had always appreciated this, he knew – and on more than one occasion had helped him to see his way to a solution.

  ‘I know. There’s been so little time, with Bridget being here. We’ll try to talk tonight, shall we? Oh, no, I’ve got that meeting. Still, with any luck it won’t go on too late.’

  ‘See you then,’ said Thanet. Quickly he cleared away the dishes, stacked them in the dishwasher and felt for his pipe. He was eager to get to work and discuss his idea with Lineham.

  Outside the day matched his new mood, bright and breezy. Puffy white clouds chased each other across the sky and there was an invigorating freshness in the air, more like March or April than late October. He hoped that Lineham hadn’t chosen this morning of all mornings to come in later than usual.

  He gave Pater, the Station Officer, a brisk greeting.

  ‘Everybody seems to be looking cheerful this morning,’ said Pater. ‘Must be the weather.’

  Thanet paused. ‘Who’s “everybody”?’

  ‘The Super, for one.’

  ‘Really?’

  The two men looked at each other, aware of what this might mean. Pater lowered his voice. ‘Good news about Mrs Draco, d’you think, sir?’

  ‘Let’s keep our fingers crossed.’

  Thanet took the stairs two at a time. Lineham, he was relieved to see, was already at his desk, frowning over a report. ‘Heard anything about Angharad Draco, Mike? Pater says the Super seems in a good mood this morning.’

  ‘So I understand. I haven’t actually seen him myself. But it sounds promising.’

  ‘No doubt we’ll find out at the morning meeting.’ Thanet sat down.

  ‘Any particular reason why you’re looking so pleased with yourself, sir?’

  ‘Could be. You know I said last night that I was sure there was something we’d overlooked?’

  ‘Yes. Have you remembered what it was?’

  Thanet nodded, smiling.

  ‘And?’ Lineham leaned forward eagerly as Thanet began to talk.

  SIXTEEN

  ‘It was simply a matter of making a connection,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Between …?’

  ‘You remember those letters we came across, in the locked drawer of Randish’s desk?’

  ‘The love letters, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Specifically, the ones from Randish’s wife. They were addressed to him care of his landlady, if you remember.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Do you by any chance remember her name?’

  Lineham thought, deep frown lines creasing his forehead. ‘It was short, I remember that, but … No, I can’t.’

  ‘It was Wood,’ said Thanet.

  Lineham stared at him. ‘Are you suggesting there’s some connection between her and Elaine Wood? Be a bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes it would, agreed. But Elaine did tell us she’d been brought up in Sussex, and Plumpton’s in Sussex.’

  ‘But what connection? Randish’s landlady couldn’t be Elaine Wood’s mother, surely?’

  ‘Well, it’s not out of the question, is it? It’s only, what, fifteen or sixteen years ago. Mrs Wood could have had Elaine in her late teens and only have been in her early thirties at the time. And some young men enjoy having affairs with older women. But no, I don’t think so. Don’t you remember Mark Benton told us that Randish had a particularly torrid affair with his landlady’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes, I do. So what you’re suggesting is that this Mrs Wood was Elaine’s grandmother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it? Wood’s a very common name.’

  ‘Maybe. But there’s another thing, too. When I first saw Elaine I thought she looked familiar. I decided at the time that it must be because I’d seen her around, in the town, but now I wonder if it could be because she resembled one of the young women in that batch of photographs of Randish’s girlfriends.’

  ‘It could simply be because, as we know, Randish always seemed to go for the same physical type. You could equally well say that Elaine looked familia
r because she looks like Alice Randish. Which she does, except that one is dark and the other’s fair.’

  That was true. Perhaps Lineham was right. The whole thing was too tenuous.

  ‘Anyway, I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, sir. Say you’re right about all this. If Elaine’s name is Wood and her grandmother’s name was Wood, that means her mother must have been unmarried. Elaine can’t be Randish’s daughter, she’s too old, she must have been, what, ten or eleven at the time.’

  ‘I know. I agree, her mother must have been single.’

  ‘Well, say all this is true. Say Elaine did know Zak when she was a child. Say she recognised him when she went out to the vineyard to install the computer system. So what?’

  ‘So then he gets himself murdered, that’s what!’

  Lineham was shaking his head. ‘I still think it’s all too far-fetched. All right, we both know coincidences happen …’

  ‘Not that much of a coincidence, Mike. People do run across each other by chance, years after they first met.’

  ‘But they don’t necessarily murder each other!’

  Thanet was becoming exasperated. Lineham was only expressing many of the doubts he felt himself but the more the sergeant argued the more he found himself defending the theory. ‘But they might! If there was good reason! In any case, there’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘Go to Plumpton, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll only take us an hour to an hour and a half.’

  Lineham’s face showed clearly that he thought this would be a waste of time.

  Thanet sighed. ‘Go on, Mike. You might as well say what you’re really thinking.’

  ‘Well, it’s just that I think we ought to be trying to find out a lot more about some of the other suspects. We’ve hardly given a thought so far to Alice Randish or her father, for instance, let alone the most likely one of all, Reg Mason.’

  ‘Did you have any specific action in mind?’

  ‘Well, no, but we haven’t really put our minds to it, have we?’

  ‘True, but there’s no rush, is there? We’d only be gone for a few hours. None of them is going to run away, they’ll still be waiting when we get back.’