Dead by Morning

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Look,’ he said, as the silence stretched out. ‘Would you at least agree to give it a trial run? For a week, say? If it didn’t work, and you really did find it too embarrassing, we could think again, see if we can work something else out. Or if you’ve got an alternative suggestion …?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t think of anything at the moment …’ Suddenly she capitulated. ‘OK, then. I’ll give it a whirl. Why not?’

  The sense of relief was overwhelming. Thanet felt as though he’d just run an exhausting race. ‘Good! Terrific!’ He looked at his untouched piece of pie. Now he would be able to enjoy it. And afterwards, he’d take a slice up to Ben.

  He and Joan usually did the washing up together after supper but tonight Bridget insisted on doing it all.

  ‘Go on, relax while you can! I’ll bring you in some coffee later.’

  Thanet and Joan plumped down side by side on the settee. ‘She’s OK really, isn’t she?’ said Joan. ‘If you look about you and see the sort of mess so many young people get into, we’re very lucky.’

  ‘So far.’

  ‘So far. It’s just that at the moment I seem to get on her nerves all the time.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s too like you to be able to forgive you your faults at present. She’ll grow out of it, later on.’

  Joan sighed. ‘I suppose so. Yes. I remember someone telling me once about his daughter. Apparently, in her late teens, she was absolutely impossible, made life hell for them. And a few years later, when she was in her mid-twenties, she was a completely different girl: kind, thoughtful, considerate, a joy, in fact. And she actually said to him, “You know Dad, when I look back and think what I was like as a teenager, I don’t know how you and Mum put up with me.” So when Bridget and I have an argument or I feel I can’t do anything right as far as she’s concerned, I just remind myself of what he said and tell myself that if I grit my teeth and hang on it’ll all work out in the end.’

  ‘You’re right. I really do believe that.’ Thanet yawned hugely. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re tired. You look tired, actually. Bad day?’

  Bridget came in with two cups of coffee. ‘I’m going to have a bath and wash my hair.’

  ‘All right, love. Thanks.’ He waited until she had gone, then said, ‘Not bad, no. But you know how it is at the beginning of a case. And the Super hasn’t helped.’

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘ODD.’ Which reminded him, he really must take a look at the information sheet Draco had handed out.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘His new campaign. I told you one was brewing. Well, that’s it. ODD. O-D-D. Standing for Organisation, Delegation and Documentation. Stop grinning like that. The acronym, I might add, was deliberate. He thought it might afford the men some light relief! Oh, he’s cunning all right. Knows how to sweeten the pill. Though in fact – and you may not believe this – he actually apologised to me this afternoon!’

  ‘He did what?’

  ‘It’s true.’

  Joan wriggled into a more comfortable position, tucking her stockinged feet up beneath her. ‘Tell me!’

  She was always a gratifying audience. As he talked Thanet thought how much it meant to him to have her there, to be able to share these rare, quiet evenings at home together. He felt sorry for Martindale, who had apparently never known the pleasures of domesticity. No one seemed to mourn his passing – quite the reverse, in fact. A number of people must secretly be relieved or even pleased that he was dead. Thanet wondered what influences had worked upon Martindale to make him the man he was, a man apparently incapable of making lasting relationships or even, indeed, of needing them. Though he did seem to have remained attached to his last, French mistress. Or perhaps it was simply that he had found a comfortable billet and made sure he didn’t lose it. Knowing Martindale, that was much more likely. Thanet said so, to Joan.

  ‘Mm.’ She was thoughtful. ‘He certainly doesn’t sound the most sensitive of souls. Practically everyone he met seems to have had a row with him.’

  ‘Quite. At first I thought it strange that people would dive straight into resurrecting old grudges as though they had happened only yesterday, but when Mrs Byfleet told me how he had tried to pump her, quite unashamedly, it does seem that although he could presumably turn on the charm when he wanted to, if it didn’t suit him to do so he really couldn’t have cared less if he upset people or not.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re not exactly talking about trivial matters, are we? Crippling that poor boy for life and destroying his mother’s marriage, causing the death of Mr Tiller’s prize bull after all those years of effort, making a pass at a married woman whose husband has a reputation for jealousy …’

  ‘He might not have known Fever was the jealous type.’

  ‘Even so …’

  ‘Then there’s Jack Talion, the farm manager. We still don’t know what he had against Martindale.’ Thanet sighed. ‘Anyway, as I was saying to Mike, I’m beginning to wonder if we’re going to get anywhere on this one.’

  ‘Oh come on, darling! You’ve only been working on it for forty-eight hours. And if you gave me a pound for every time I’d heard you say that … Nearly every time, at some point in a case, you start having doubts about whether you’ll be able to solve it.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true.’ Joan was right, he had to admit it. ‘But the problem is that this time, even if I do find out who killed him – assuming it wasn’t a straightforward accident, that is – I don’t see any prospect of proving it.’

  ‘And I’ve heard that before, too! You’ll get there in the end, I know you will. You’re just tired, that’s all. We’ll have an early night and you’ll feel quite different in the morning, you’ll see.’

  Thanet hoped she was right.

  SEVENTEEN

  As usual, Joan was right. Although Thanet had lain awake for some time while the crowded impressions of the day jostled through his mind, in the end he did manage a good seven hours’ sleep and by next morning his pessimistic mood had vanished. After all, he reminded himself as he squinted into the shaving mirror, he was far from at a dead end. Reports should now be in on a number of enquiries that had been set in motion, including the interview with the farmhand Jack Talion had sacked. Thanet was hoping that this was a local man who would be able to shed some light on the reason for Talion’s animosity towards Martindale. Also, the forensic evidence on the van and the results of the postmortem should be in today.

  Outside, Thanet’s spirits rose further. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and it was several degrees warmer. The last of the snow had gone and they would be able to discard the Land Rover in favour of a car. Lineham would be pleased.

  Whistling, Thanet set off for work. But his buoyant mood was soon to be severely tested. In good time when he left home, he was only halfway when there was a squeal of brakes ahead of him and the cars in front braked sharply. Thanet sucked in his breath as there was a dull ominous crunch and his car lurched. The driver behind had reacted too slowly and failed to pull up in time. There followed a time-consuming exchange of names, telephone numbers and details of insurance companies, as a result of which Thanet finally arrived at work only a matter of minutes before he was due at the morning meeting. It was unfortunate that as he hurried in Draco happened to be talking to the Station Officer in the Reception area. The Superintendent’s hairy eyebrows elevated themselves in pained surprise, and he glanced pointedly at the clock.

  To compound his problem the sight of Draco reminded him that he’d completely forgotten after all, last night, to read through Draco’s information sheet on ODD. He wasn’t exactly going to be top of the Superintendent’s popularity poll this morning.

  Muttering under his breath Thanet raced upstairs to his office, removing his coat as he went. Lineham glanced up, startled, as he burst in.

  Thanet tossed the coat on to a chair. ‘No time to stop,’ he panted. ‘Minor accident on the way. No, it’s all right, I’m fine. Anything it’s absolutel
y essential for me to know before the meeting?’

  Lineham glanced at the papers littering his desk. ‘Interesting but not essential.’

  ‘Fine. See you shortly.’

  Down the stairs again with seconds to spare. Outside Draco’s door Thanet pulled up and paused long enough to take a couple of deep breaths before going in. Once again he was last.

  Draco shot him a sideways glance but made no comment. He waited until Thanet was seated then said, ‘Right, well now that you’ve had twenty-four hours to think over my suggestions, perhaps we could begin by having your thoughts on ODD.’

  Thanet slid down an inch or two in his chair, unconsciously betraying his desire to become invisible. Draco noticed and gave him a sharp glance. Thanet sat up again, straightening his shoulders. Face it like a man, he told himself with an inward grin, in a Midwestern drawl. And then, with a spurt of resentment, I have had more important things on my mind.

  Tody and Boon had obviously done their homework. In turn they came up with constructive comments while Thanet continued inwardly to justify himself.

  ‘Thanet?’

  ‘Er …’ Might as well come straight out with it. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been so busy with the Martindale case that I clean forgot you were expecting our comments today, sir.’

  Draco’s nostrils flared. ‘I see.’

  There was a brief, pregnant silence before the Superintendent went on, ‘Well in that case perhaps you could tell us what you have been doing.’

  Ignoring the emphasis on ‘have’ Thanet launched into an account of yesterday’s activities. The others listened, asked pertinent questions and then Draco said, ‘Anything interesting come in overnight?’

  ‘I’m afraid there hasn’t been time to check yet, sir.’ Thanet was furious. Having seen him arrive only moments before Draco must have known he wouldn’t have had time to read any reports. It had been a deliberate ploy to put him further in the wrong. Perhaps the Superintendent was paying him back for having wrong-footed him yesterday. ‘I was involved in a minor accident on the way to work and there was some delay.’

  ‘Not your fault I hope, Thanet.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good. Don’t like my officers to be seen to be infringing the law.’

  The meeting broke up, but Draco called Thanet back. He clasped his hands behind his back and gave a little preparatory bounce, as if to lend more weight to his words. ‘Look, Thanet, I do understand that you are very busy with this Martindale investigation, but it won’t do to let other things slide, you know.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Bounce. ‘I don’t think you quite appreciate the importance of this new initiative of mine. It doesn’t do to let the grass grow under one’s feet.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Bounce. ‘One has to keep a sense of balance, of proportion. It’s so easy to become so obsessed with one aspect of one’s work that one lets others slide. Not that I’m suggesting you do that, of course. It’s just that one has to be on one’s guard against it.… Perhaps by tomorrow you’ll have had time to come up with some thoughts on ODD.’

  ‘I’ll try, sir. But …’

  Bounce. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing them, then. Good. That’s all.’

  Thanet fumed silently all the way back upstairs and into his office.

  Lineham took one look at his face and said, ‘Been having fun?’

  ‘Don’t joke about it, Mike!’ Thanet reached for his pipe and began filling it, stuffing the tobacco in with angry stabs.

  ‘Bad as that, was it?’

  ‘Let’s just say it was an experience I shouldn’t care to repeat too often.’

  With an upsurge of the resentment common among smokers against a world which was making them feel more and more like social outcasts, Thanet lit up. Lineham could put up with it for once.

  The door opened and Doc Mallard came in.

  ‘Faugh!’ he said, waving his hand to disperse the coils of smoke drifting towards him. ‘At it again, Luke? How often do I have to tell you –?’ He broke off. ‘Do I detect a chill in the atmosphere?’

  ‘He had a minor accident on the way to work,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Really?’ Mallard advanced, concerned. ‘You all right, Luke?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Thanet irritably. ‘That was nothing, I’m perfectly all right.’

  ‘Sure? You don’t want me to look you over?’

  ‘No, no. If you must know, I’ve just been hauled over the carpet, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh dear. Our zealous Superintendent on the warpath again. What have you been up to this time?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘It’s not important. Any news for us, Doc?’

  ‘Here’s the PM report. I meant to give you a ring yesterday afternoon, but one or two things cropped up …’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Thanet knew that if there had been something important to tell, Mallard wouldn’t have forgotten. ‘So there was nothing unexpected?’

  ‘Not really. It’s all there, but shall I give you a quick summary in layman’s terms?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Well, as seemed likely from the tear in the overcoat and the head injury, the victim was struck in the back. My guess is that when the car hit him he was tossed upwards and backwards and struck the back of his head on the front offside corner of the roof.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Lineham. He glanced at Thanet. ‘The forensic report on the van came in this morning.’

  ‘Well, as I say,’ said Mallard, ‘the main impact was to the back left side. There was considerable muscle bruising, kidney damage and – this was the worst injury – partial dislocation of the spine. The scalp wound was relatively superficial, a glancing blow.’

  ‘So he might have recovered consciousness?’

  ‘He did.’ Mallard hesitated. ‘That’s the unpleasant part.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Work it out for yourself. Assuming that he was put into that ditch immediately after the accident …’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Thanet. ‘You said “put”. The spinal injury meant that he wouldn’t have been able to put himself in?’

  ‘He certainly wouldn’t have been able to walk. He could have dragged himself a short distance, but there were no cuts or abrasions on the palms of his hands. On the other hand, there were particles of dirt under some of his fingernails …’

  Thanet stared at Mallard, appalled, his imagination at once conjuring up the scene: the injured man in the ditch, a thin mantle of snow covering his face, the gradual awakening, the increasingly despairing attempts to sit up, the dawning consciousness of his situation before the frantic scrabbling of fingernails against the frozen sides of the ditch and the final slide into numbing unconsciousness and death.

  ‘If he’d been taken to hospital right away he’d be in pretty bad shape but at least he’d still be alive. Or if it had been summertime and the weather had been warmer … As it was, of course, he didn’t have a chance and it’s not surprising that he was dead by morning.’

  Thanet shook his head to try and dispel the grim images lingering on the screen of his mind. ‘I suppose you still can’t be very precise about time of death, in the circumstances?’

  ‘No. But from the rectal temperature and the tests on the eye fluid the findings are consistent with death occurring sometime in the early hours of the morning.’

  Thanet was still feeling shaken. He took the report Mallard held out. ‘Well, thanks for coming in, Doc.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re all right, Luke, that you don’t want me to take a look at you?’

  ‘No, really. Some idiot behind me didn’t brake quickly enough, that’s all. The only damage was to the rear of my car.’

  ‘It’s the inconvenience of sorting it out that’s the nuisance,’ said Mallard sympathetically. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else …?’

  Thanet watched him go and then in contrition laid down his pipe. There was no reason why Lineham should suffer be
cause of Draco’s unreasonableness.

  ‘Nasty,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Very. Hardly bears thinking about, does it?’ Then, with an attempt at briskness, ‘Right then, Mike. What have we got?’

  ‘Various bits and pieces. As I said, forensic have confirmed that it was the van that knocked him down.’

  ‘Good. Anything else there?’

  ‘Hundreds of fingerprints, of course, all useless. So many people used it legitimately …’

  ‘Quite. Never mind, at least we’re now certain we’re on the right track, and it wasn’t just a passing motorist. And talking of passing motorists, anything come in as a result of the TVS appeal?’

  ‘Nothing useful, sir. Of course, it was a bitterly cold night and I suppose most people were at home by the fire, watching television. And it’s not exactly a major road, it’s mostly local traffic along there.’

  ‘Pity. We could just do with an independent witness.’

  ‘Doesn’t look as though we’re going to get one. It’s been two days now …’

  ‘Don’t rub it in, Mike. Anything else?’

  ‘Several things, actually.’

  ‘So? Come on, man, we haven’t got all day.’

  ‘There’s an interesting report on an interview with the parlourmaid who served dinner to the Hamiltons and Martindale the night he died. She says she definitely heard him tell them that he was going to be staying on at the Hall and – get this – that he would be establishing his right to sole ownership.’

  ‘Really? How did she hear all this? They wouldn’t have talked about it openly in front of her, surely?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I have the impression that people like that think servants are pretty well invisible. But no, they didn’t discuss it openly. It’s just that she could tell there was a bit of an atmosphere and sensing that there might be some interesting gossip, she eavesdropped.’

  ‘I see. Who interviewed her?’

  ‘Swift, sir. I had a word with him and I gather it took a little while to winkle all this out of her.’

  ‘Turned on the boyish charm, I suppose. She was young, I imagine?’