Dead by Morning

by Dorothy Simpson

  Thanet gave the Rover an affectionate pat as it went by and stood for a moment smiling indulgently at its vanishing tail-lights. He had known Mallard since childhood and he and Joan had always been fond of him, had remained loyal friends during the bad years after the lingering death of Mallard’s first wife from cancer. The tetchy, irritable, scruffy Mallard of those days was virtually unrecognisable in the spruce, buoyant man he had become since he met and married Helen, and Thanet never ceased to marvel at the transformation.

  Back in the house there was a lot to do. Briskly he issued instructions, sending the solid, reassuring Bentley, accompanied by a WPC, to interview the owner of the silhouetted figure glimpsed at that upstairs window in the farmhouse next door, in case it turned out to be a woman living alone. He hoped it would. Solitary women often took a lively interest in the affairs of their neighbours.

  Finally he turned to Lineham. ‘Right then, Mike. Let’s go and see what Mrs Broxton has to tell us.’

  TWO

  Vanessa Broxton was huddled miserably in a corner of one of the deep, soft sofas in the drawing room, feet tucked up beneath her, discarded shoes on the floor. WPC Barnes, who had been keeping her company, stood up as Thanet and Lineham entered the room.

  ‘D’you want me to stay, sir?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Mrs Broxton glanced up. ‘Hullo, Inspector Thanet, Sergeant Lineham.’ She grimaced. ‘I never thought we’d be meeting under these circumstances.’

  ‘No. May we …?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She swung her legs to the floor, tugging the hem of her skirt down, and slipped her shoes on.

  Thanet chose a chair opposite her and Lineham retreated to one slightly behind him and off to one side. This room, the ground floor of the other oast, was also oval. Floor-length curtains in shades of apricot and turquoise hung at the windows, the colours echoed in the apricot fitted carpet and sofas and chairs upholstered in shades ranging from deep cinnamon to peacock blue. Between two of the windows a floor-to-ceiling bookcase revealed that this was a literate household where the printed word was considered just as important as the ubiquitous small screen – more so, perhaps; the television was conspicuous by its absence. Silk-shaded lamps cast warm pools of light on furniture that glowed with the unmistakeable patina of age.

  Vanessa Broxton was wearing a straight charcoal grey skirt and white tailored blouse, part of her workaday uniform, no doubt. Slung loosely around her shoulders was a thick blue knitted jacket and as Thanet watched she crossed her arms and tugged it more closely around her, hugging herself as if to contain the shock she must have sustained. He had never seen her look so vulnerable before. Of medium height, she seemed to have shrunk since he last saw her, and her usually immaculate short straight dark hair was dishevelled as though she had been running her fingers through it. Her long narrow face was striking rather than beautiful, with heavy dark brows and prominent nose, and her best feature by far was her eyes which were a very dark brown, almost black. In Court Thanet had seen them glitter like anthracite but tonight, as they watched him, waiting for him to begin, they were soft, bewildered and, not surprisingly, afraid.

  ‘Do you feel up to answering some questions?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She sat up a little straighter, bracing herself.

  ‘The dead woman was your children’s nanny, I gather.’

  ‘Yes. No. Well, not exactly.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m sounding positively incoherent, aren’t I? Let me explain.’ She took a deep, ragged breath. ‘My usual nanny, Angela – Angela Proven – has been with me ever since I had Henry – that’s our first baby, he’s twenty months now – but yesterday she was rushed into hospital for an emergency appendectomy. This left me in a terrible fix. My husband is away in Brussels on business and I had a case starting in Norwich this morning. I have a housekeeper who comes in daily, but she has two children herself and can’t be here at night. As it was a Sunday none of the staffing agencies was open, of course, and neither my mother nor my mother-in-law lives close enough to take the children. I just didn’t know what to do. You’ll appreciate the problem with my particular line of work, Inspector. It’s not like an office where if you take a day off you can catch up later. If a barrister fails to turn up in Court on a day when there is only one case in the list, not only the judge but the Court officials, the jury, all the witnesses, everyone has to go home … And apart from the fact that it doesn’t help your career to acquire a reputation for unreliability, this particular case was important to me. Work is always slow to pick up after such a long break and this was my first decent case since I started back after Alice was born. It was expected to last about three weeks and involved my staying away from Monday to Friday in Norwich … I’m just trying to explain how it came about that I asked Perdita to look after the children for me.’

  ‘That would be Perdita …?’

  ‘Perdita Master. I’ve known her for years, we were at school together. Not that we’ve ever been close friends, but living in the same area we’ve run into each other from time to time and kept up with each other’s news. So when I met her at the hospital, it seemed like an answer to a prayer when I found she’d just left her husband and was looking for somewhere to stay for a few days while she sorted herself out. Sorry, I forgot to say, she was a trained nanny, before she got married –’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but you said, at the hospital …’

  She raked her fingers through her hair again. ‘Yes. Oh God, I’m not doing very well, am I, I feel such a fool …’

  ‘You’ve had a severe shock … I assume you accompanied Miss Proven, when she was admitted to hospital.’

  ‘Yes. Well, she went by ambulance and I followed by car, with the children – as I say, I had no one to leave them with … Anyway, I waited for a bit and then Angela was taken into the theatre and it seemed pointless hanging around for hours, especially with the children, so I decided to go home and on the way out I ran into Perdita. She’d been visiting her mother, who was in for some tests. Naturally we each explained what we were doing there, and when she heard about the fix I was in she suggested we could do each other a good turn. If she came and looked after the children until the weekend, when I could interview for a temporary nanny until Angela gets back, she could have a few days respite in which to sort out what she was going to do …’

  ‘She’d just left her husband, you say?’

  ‘Yes, on Saturday, the previous night. There’d been a frightful row, I gather, and she’d walked out on him. She’d gone to her mother’s, but Giles had followed her there and –’

  ‘Sorry, would that be Giles Master the estate agent?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  The firm of Master and Prize was one of the larger estate agents in the town and had been founded by Giles Master’s father, who had died a few years previously. Thanet knew most of the businessmen in Sturrenden by sight and some of them quite well; like Master, who was a few years younger than Thanet, many of them had attended the same school as he. He hadn’t liked Giles much as a boy and had had no reason to change his opinion since.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, when she walked out he guessed she’d go to her mother’s house and followed her there, made an awful scene banging on the door and shouting because her stepfather wouldn’t let him in. So when I saw her on Sunday afternoon she was trying to think of somewhere to go – not too far away, because of her mother being in hospital – where he wouldn’t be able to find her … He’s terribly jealous and possessive, she’s had a hell of a time with him, poor girl …’ For a moment the flow of her narrative halted as the memory of Perdita’s fate caught up with her again. Then she shook her head, took another deep breath and went on. ‘Anyway, we both thought it would never occur to him to look for her here …’

  ‘You think that’s what happened?’

  Mrs Broxton hesitated, frowned down at he
r lap. ‘How can I say?’

  She paused and Thanet waited. She had remembered something, he was sure of it, and was debating whether or not to tell him.

  ‘I don’t actually know anything other than what happened to me.’

  So she had decided against it. Could he have been wrong? He decided to go along with her, for the moment. ‘And what was that?’ Thanet had been wondering: if Mrs Broxton was supposed to be on a three-week case in Norwich, what was she doing here, at home? Unless the case had gone short, of course.

  ‘My case went short,’ she said. ‘After the mid-day adjournment the defendant entered a plea. So naturally I decided to come straight home – well, I had to go back to the hotel to collect my stuff and pay the bill, of course. Anyway, I got away about three. I didn’t bother to ring Perdita, I thought I’d easily be home between five and six.’ She grimaced. ‘Unfortunately my car broke down on the M11.’ She ran her hand through her hair again. ‘Oh God, what a day! There wasn’t much traffic about and no phones in sight. I didn’t dare get out of the car and set off to walk to the next one.’

  Thanet nodded sympathetically. Ever since the motorway murder of Marie Wilkes, a young woman who had been seven months pregnant at the time and who had had to walk only a few hundred yards in broad daylight to telephone for assistance, women travelling alone whose cars broke down on motorways had been advised to lock the doors, stay inside and wait until help arrived, however frustrating the delay.

  ‘It really does make me so angry, that women have lost the freedom to behave normally.’ Briefly Mrs Broxton’s eyes flashed with remembered fury and frustration. ‘I was kicking myself for not having had a phone put in the car, or at least getting one of those emergency kits I read about, with a sign one can put up in the back window. I thought no one was ever going to stop, but eventually a police car pulled up and sent for the RAC. But it was another three-quarters of an hour before they arrived … I assure you I really heaved a sigh of relief when I at last arrived home. And then, of course –’

  ‘Sorry, what time was that?’

  ‘About half past nine, I think.’ She waited a moment, in case Thanet had a further question, then went on, ‘When I got to the front door I could hear Henry screaming. He always insists on having his bedroom door left open at night and with the galleried landing sound tends to carry, you can hear him if he so much as whimpers. Inside, I called Perdita, but there was no reply so I went straight up to the nursery. He was in a terrible state, practically hysterical …’

  ‘Presumably he still sleeps in a cot.’

  ‘Yes, thank God, or …’ She shuddered and put her hands over her eyes, as if to blot out the images conjured up by her imagination.

  ‘What about the baby? Alice?’

  The first hint of a smile, there. ‘Sound asleep, thank God. She sleeps like a log, always has. Fortunately she’s in a separate room, so that there’s no chance of Henry disturbing her. He does tend to wake in the night and make a fuss until someone comes.’

  ‘Right. So you comforted Henry …’

  ‘Yes. I thought he’d take ages to go to sleep, he was in such a state, but in fact he went out like a light, within minutes. I think he had cried himself to the point of exhaustion.’

  ‘So then what did you do?’

  ‘Well, naturally, the first thing I did was go and look for Perdita – that is, I glanced into her room, it’s across the corridor from Henry’s …’

  ‘Is that normally Miss Proven’s room?’

  ‘No, that’s next door to Henry’s – well, between Henry’s room and Alice’s, actually. This is just a spare room, Angela sometimes has a friend to stay and she’ll sleep in there … Anyway, Perdita wasn’t in there, I didn’t for a moment think that she could have been, and not heard Henry screaming … So then I went downstairs …’

  Suddenly, as if impelled from her seat by an invisible force, Vanessa Broxton stood up and walked around to pick up a cigarette box from a sofa table behind the settee upon which she had been sitting. She opened it, peered inside then slammed it down in frustration. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, has anyone got a cigarette?’

  Thanet looked at Lineham and WPC Barnes, both of whom shook their heads. ‘Go and see if you can find one,’ he said to the woman police constable.

  Vanessa Broxton had returned to her seat. ‘I haven’t had a cigarette for over two years, I gave up when I was pregnant with Henry.’

  ‘I think, under the circumstances, you can allow yourself a little laxity,’ said Thanet.

  WPC Barnes returned with a packet of Silk Cut and offered it to her.

  ‘Thank you. There’s a lighter on the table there …’ Mrs Broxton put the cigarette to her lips with a hand that shook and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. ‘That’s better.’ She opened her eyes and gave a shamefaced grin. ‘It’s disgusting, but it helps.’

  Thanet smiled, content to wait. He knew she was bracing herself for the worst part of her story.

  THREE

  After a few more puffs Vanessa Broxton pulled a face, reached for an ashtray and stubbed the cigarette out. ‘I think I can manage without this after all. Sorry, where was I?’

  ‘You went downstairs …’

  ‘Ah, yes. I glanced in here, first. I thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep on the settee, or had been listening to music with headphones on, but the room was empty. So then I went to the kitchen … and … and found her. Well, you saw for yourself …’

  ‘Did you move the body at all?’

  ‘No.’ She shuddered, compressed her lips. ‘I did touch her, though. I felt her pulse, just to be sure … But I could see she was dead …’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t believe it. It seemed like a nightmare, there in my own kitchen …’

  ‘Did you touch anything else?’

  ‘I don’t think so, I may have done.’ She pressed her fingers to her temples again. ‘I don’t really know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘So then what did you do?’

  ‘Went straight to the phone, of course, to ring the police.’

  ‘That would be the phone in the kitchen?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t … Not with Perdita … I used the one in the hall.’

  ‘Mrs Broxton, when I asked you just now if you thought Mrs Master’s husband had found out she was here, I had the impression you remembered something …’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘One thing I should have remembered is that nothing much escapes you, Inspector. Yes, there was something … I suppose I was just giving myself time to make up my mind whether to mention it or not … I didn’t want to be unfair to Giles. But of course, it’s not a matter of being unfair, is it? Apart from the fact that if I don’t tell you someone else is bound to, with the work I do I really ought to know that I have to tell you everything, down to the last detail …’

  ‘So what was it, that you remembered?’

  ‘Well, yesterday, when Perdita and I came out of the hospital, we could see that Giles was waiting for her, by her car. I suppose he’d guessed she’d probably visit her mother some time during the day and had decided to hang around so that he could catch her on the way out. At this point Perdita and I separated. Perdita was going to drive to her mother’s house to collect her things, and then come on to mine. She and Giles had a brief argument, then she got into her car and drove off.’

  ‘Did he follow her?’

  ‘No. Not to my knowledge, anyway. He stood looking after her for a moment or two, then went to his car. He was still sitting in it when I left.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Inspector, merely telling you what happened.’

  But it was clear why Mrs Broxton had thought the incident could be significant. Master didn’t sound the type to give up easily: if he had decided to try again, later in the day, to see his wife, had gone to her mother’s house only to find that she was not staying there any longer … He could well have remembered seeing her with Vanessa at the hospital and put two an
d two together.

  ‘Mr Master knows where you live?’

  ‘Yes, he does.’ She ran a hand wearily through her hair again. ‘Oh God, what a mess …’

  The brown eyes were dulled now, almost glazed. Shock was beginning to catch up with her.

  ‘We’ve nearly finished, Mrs Broxton, then you can rest. I wonder, do you happen to know the address of Mrs Master’s parents? We’ll have to let them know what’s happened.’

  ‘Oh God, yes. As if they didn’t have enough to cope with as it is, with her mother so ill in hospital …’

  ‘We’ll tell her stepfather, first, I think, and leave him to break the news to his wife when he feels she can cope with it. If you could just give us his name?’

  ‘It’s Harrow. They live in Wayside Crescent, Sturrenden. On the Pilkington estate. I don’t know the number, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Not to worry, we can easily find out. The next thing I wanted to ask you was this. These keys were in Mrs Master’s pocket. Do you recognise them?’ Thanet held them out.

  She leant forward to inspect them. ‘Yes. They’re the keys to this house. I gave them to her. Front door, back door.’

  ‘Why d’you think she would have been carrying them?’

  Vanessa Broxton shrugged. ‘She probably took the children out for a walk this afternoon and didn’t want to carry a handbag. I’ve done the same myself.’

  Thanet nodded. A reasonable enough explanation. ‘Yes, of course. The next point is, do you happen to have noticed if there is anything obviously missing from the house? There seem to be no obvious signs of forced entry or disorder, I don’t suppose you’ve even thought to check, in the circumstances …’

  She again ran a hand through her hair, glanced about the room. ‘Oh God, no, I haven’t. It just didn’t occur to me, everything seemed to be in order, as you say …’

  ‘Tomorrow, perhaps, when you have time.’