Thicker Than Water

by Sally Spencer

  ‘Neither of those things. He’s dead now. Fell off a railway bridge, right in front of an oncoming train. Some say it was a drunken accident, some say it was a case of suicide, but if you ask me,’ Moore sighed, ‘if you ask me, I’d say that whatever it was – accident or suicide – it had its roots in that Monday morning in the playground.’

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that for two women to become best mates, one has to be considerably less attractive than the other, Jack Crane thought, looking across the table in the Copper Pot Café at Gillian Blake, who, according to the headmistress of the exclusive private school they’d both attended, had been Jane Danbury’s best friend.

  It wasn’t that Jane had – from the photographs he’d seen – been ugly, he told himself. It might even have been slightly unfair to call her plain. But when the two girls were together, there was no question that it would have been Gillian who got the most male attention.

  ‘I was so upset to hear about Jane’s death,’ the woman said, ‘although I suppose that, in a way, I’d already lost her.’ A look of horror came to her face. ‘Oh, what a terrible thing for me to say,’ she continued. ‘And how utterly selfish! When I think of those poor children …’

  ‘I know you didn’t mean it how it came out,’ Crane interrupted her. ‘You’ve been friends with Jane Danbury for a long time, haven’t you?’

  ‘We met in primary school, and we grew up together. And when I say together, that’s exactly what I mean. We didn’t live in the same house, of course, but we were rarely apart. In some ways, it wasn’t like we both had a childhood – it was more the case of us sharing one.’ Gillian Blake paused. ‘Am I making any sense?’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ Crane assured her. ‘Did you see much of her after you both left school?’

  ‘Not as much, obviously. Jane got a job at her father’s mill – it was only a minor clerical job, but I think he had bigger plans for her – and I went away to Cambridge to read law, so there was a physical distance between us. But we talked on the phone almost every day, and we always went on a skiing holiday to Switzerland every Christmas.’

  ‘Was it just the two of you who went?’ Crane asked. ‘Or did you take your boyfriends?’

  Gillian laughed. ‘Take our boyfriends? Good heavens, no. I needed a break from my boyfriends. I know this might sound rather immodest, but I was quite popular, you know.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ Crane said.

  And he meant it, because apart from her looks, Gillian had a spark which would make most men want to be with her.

  ‘What about Jane?’ he asked. ‘Did she want to get away from her boyfriends, too?’

  ‘Oh, Jane didn’t have any boyfriends,’ Gillian said. ‘The first person she was ever serious about was William.’

  ‘Tell me about that,’ Crane invited.

  ‘William got a job at Bradshaw’s Mill straight after he finished his degree at the polytechnic. He was one of the bright young men that Jane’s father brought in to streamline the business and make it more competitive. He was, by all accounts, very smart and very hard-working, and it wasn’t long before he had made himself indispensable to Mr Bradshaw.’

  ‘And then he started going out with the boss’s daughter,’ Crane said.

  ‘That’s right, he did,’ Gillian replied, in a flat, unemotional voice.

  ‘I take it you didn’t approve.’

  ‘It was really none of my business.’

  ‘Would it make you feel disloyal to her to talk about it?’

  ‘Yes, I rather think it would.’

  ‘We’re trying to build up a picture of Jane which will help us to catch her murderer,’ Crane reminded her. ‘If she really was your friend, then the best thing you can do for her now is to paint as accurate a picture as possible.’

  Gillian thought about it, and sighed.

  ‘We went out on double dates a few times – me with my latest beau, and Jane with William,’ she said finally. ‘But you could see that William didn’t like it – that he’d rather have been alone with her.’

  ‘Well, you know what it’s like when you’re young and in love,’ Crane said.

  ‘I don’t really think it had anything to do with love,’ Gillian replied seriously. ‘Oh, I’m not saying William didn’t love her – in his way – but I think it was much more about control.’

  ‘Control?’

  ‘Before she started going out with William, Jane had had all kinds of opinions on all kinds of things, but once they’d got together, she didn’t seem to want to say much about anything. And even when she did express a thought, you’d see her looking anxiously at William, to check that he approved.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to her about it?’

  ‘Just once.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘She flew into a rage almost immediately. Well, I say it was a rage, but it might have been closer to hysteria. She said that my problem was that I was jealous because she’d hooked herself such a good-looking man. I said that she was right about him being handsome, but there were other qualities you should look for when you were selecting the person you’d probably live with for the rest of your life. Then she said that William did have other qualities – that he protected her. And I said that maybe he did, but that before she started going out with him, she hadn’t seemed to need any protection.’

  ‘How did it end?’

  ‘She stormed off. I rang her the next day to apologise, and she said I should think no more about it, because I wasn’t the first woman to be jealous of her, and I wouldn’t be the last. And because I didn’t want to abandon her, I swallowed my pride and said nothing.’

  ‘So you kept on seeing her.’

  ‘Yes, but less and less as time went by. She asked me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, but it was William – not Jane – who chose the dress I would be wearing. And once she was married, I hardly saw her at all. She said she wanted to make a home for William, and she couldn’t do that if she was always gallivanting about, but if you ask me, it was what he’d said, and she was just quoting him.’

  ‘Is her father still alive?’ Crane asked.

  ‘No, he died within a year of the wedding.’

  ‘And how did he feel about the marriage?’ Crane wondered. Then he shrugged. ‘Silly question, that. I don’t suppose you know. I don’t suppose anybody really knows.’

  Gillian laughed again. ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘I know exactly how he felt – because I was one of the solicitors who drafted his will for him.’

  Archie and Ethel Danbury lived in a house which was much like the one Beresford had been brought up in – which was to say, the type of terraced house which proclaimed ‘respectable working class’ all the way from its carefully pointed brickwork to its immaculately polished sash windows.

  It was Mrs Danbury who answered Beresford’s knock. She was a small, thin, nervous-looking woman, and when Beresford showed her his warrant card, she looked as if she were about to faint.

  ‘I’ve come to ask you a few questions about your daughter-in-law,’ Beresford explained. ‘Could I come in?’

  ‘I … I don’t know … I’m not sure … you’d better wait there,’ Mrs Danbury said, before scuttling off down the hallway to the back parlour.

  She returned a minute later, looking somewhat relieved.

  ‘He says … he says you’re to come through,’ she told Beresford.

  She led him into the back parlour. There was only one armchair in the room, and Mr Danbury was sitting in it.

  He was a large man, with the florid face of a heavy drinker. He looked Beresford up and down.

  ‘Now you’re what I call a bobby,’ he said, ‘a big lad who knows how to take care of himself, unlike those weedy young lefties they’re letting into the force now. Do you lift weights?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,’ Beresford said.

  Danbury nodded. ‘I can always tell.’ He gestured to one of the straight-backed chairs
. ‘Well, sit yourself down, son.’

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you at what I know must be a distressing time, but there are certain questions that I need to ask you,’ Beresford said.

  Mr Danbury glanced at his watch. ‘What time’s my programme on, Mother?’ he asked.

  ‘In about twenty-five minutes,’ his wife replied.

  ‘You hear that, lad?’ Danbury said to Beresford. ‘You’ve got twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter-in-law,’ Beresford said.

  ‘Well, then, you won’t need anything like that amount of time, because I don’t know much,’ Danbury replied. He turned to his wife. ‘You can go back to the kitchen now, Mother.’

  ‘I’d prefer Mrs Danbury to stay,’ Beresford said.

  ‘She won’t be able to tell you anything I couldn’t, and anyway, she’s got the supper to make,’ Danbury said.

  ‘It won’t take long, but I really must insist she’s present,’ Beresford said firmly.

  ‘Insist?’ Danbury repeated.

  ‘Insist,’ Beresford confirmed.

  For a moment, it looked as if Danbury was about to tell him to go to hell. Then the older man nodded and said, ‘All right, you’d better sit yourself down, Mother.’

  Mrs Danbury shrank into one of the other chairs.

  ‘As I was saying, there’s not a great deal I can tell you about Jane. She wasn’t the sociable sort, and we didn’t see much of her,’ Danbury told Beresford.

  ‘You didn’t go to her house?’

  ‘We were invited round there a few times, but Archie said …’ Mrs Danbury began.

  ‘I’ll handle this, Mother,’ Danbury said. ‘She did invite us a few times, but that big house on Milliners’ Row just isn’t our sort of place. We like our simple home comforts, don’t we, Mother?’

  ‘That’s right, we like our simple home comforts,’ Mrs Danbury repeated dutifully.

  ‘So you didn’t see much of her?’

  ‘Very little.’

  ‘Which meant you also saw very little of your son, did it?’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘I just assumed …’

  ‘Me and William go out shooting on the moors at least twice a month. He’s not as good a shot as I am – I don’t think he ever will be – but at least he tries. And recently, he’s started to bring his two lads with him, so it’s been a real family occasion.’

  ‘Did you go out with them, Mrs Danbury?’ Beresford asked, though he already knew the answer.

  Mrs Beresford shook her head. ‘No, it’s too noisy for me.’

  ‘And then, occasionally, we’ll go for a few drinks. William might have gone up in the world, but he’s still not ashamed to be seen out on the piss with his old dad,’ Danbury bragged. ‘And that’s just how it should be – because I made him the man he is today.’

  ‘How did your son and daughter-in-law get on together?’ Beresford asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Danbury asked, and now there was a hint of suspicion in his voice.

  ‘Did they have arguments? And did those arguments, as far as you know, ever turn violent?’

  Danbury turned to his wife. ‘Kitchen, Mother!’ he said. ‘Now!’

  This time, Beresford did not try to stop her.

  ‘Are you saying that you think William might have killed his wife?’ Danbury asked, when Mrs Danbury had gone.

  ‘I’m saying that I know he beat her up, and that I strongly suspect you know about it, too.’

  ‘She might have felt the back of his hand once in a while. That’s only normal.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is. Women sometimes need reminding of who the boss is. But it has nothing to do with the police, and it doesn’t mean he killed her. What kind of man do you think he is?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what kind,’ Beresford said. ‘I think he’s the kind of man who feels he has the perfect right to take out all his frustration on his wife – who regards her as nothing more than his own personal punching bag. He learned that from you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Get out of my house!’ Danbury said.

  ‘I’m going,’ Beresford said, ‘but before I leave, I’d like to give you a piece of advice.’

  ‘I don’t need any advice from you,’ Danbury said.

  ‘And that piece of advice is this,’ Beresford said, ignoring him. ‘Don’t take your frustration with me out on your missus, because I’ll be coming back to talk to her tomorrow, and if there’s a mark on her, there’ll be consequences.’

  ‘What, you’ll have me arrested?’ Danbury sneered.

  ‘No,’ Beresford replied. ‘I’ll beat the shit out of you.’

  ‘You really think you could do that, do you?’ Danbury asked, the sneer still in place.

  ‘I know I could, Mr Danbury,’ Beresford said quietly. ‘And, more to the point, so do you.’

  The sneer dissolved and was replaced by a look which said that Danbury had realised that the thing that made him the man he was – the thing that truly defined him – was slipping away from him.

  ‘Get out!’ he croaked.

  I should never have said that, Beresford thought, as he stepped out onto the street.

  It was unprofessional, and while it might have saved Mrs Danbury a beating that night, it was not a long-term solution to her problem.

  No, he should never have said it – and he would have hated himself if he hadn’t.

  The hotel was called the Newcastle upon Tyne Ambassador, but it was obvious that its target market was not diplomats, but salesmen and business executives. Granite had been used extensively – perhaps even extravagantly – in the construction of the lobby, and the reception desk had a gentle curve to it which the designers probably thought was elegant. Meadows didn’t share that view – she thought it was merely pretentious.

  A woman of around thirty was standing behind the reception desk. She was wearing a smart red jacket with white piping, and a red and white striped blouse. The identification tag on the lapel of her jacket said that her name was Julie, and that she was an assistant supervisor.

  She smiled at Meadows. It wasn’t one of those instant welcoming smiles that receptionists are taught to conjure up at will during in-house training sessions, but rather one that said that Meadows’ arrival had really made her day.

  Meadows first showed Julie her warrant card, and then produced a photograph, and said, ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s Mr Danbury,’ the receptionist said. An expression of concern crossed her face. ‘Has he done something wrong?’

  ‘Do you think he’s likely to have done something wrong?’ Meadows countered.

  Julie looked confused. ‘Well, no, not really.’

  ‘So, that’s all right then,’ Meadows said cheerfully. ‘What I’d like to know from you, Julie, is whether or not Mr Danbury was still in his room at seven o’clock last night.’

  ‘Well, he certainly kept his room on for the night, which was quite unusual,’ Julie said.

  ‘What do you mean – unusual?’

  ‘Most of these conferences and trade fairs finish at around five o’clock in the afternoon, but the people who are attending them usually check out before noon, because if they don’t, they have to pay for the next night whether they use the room or not.’

  ‘But he didn’t do that?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He paid his bill before noon, just like the rest of them did, but he said he’d be keeping it for the additional night. “I think I’ll have a little lie-down after my last meeting, Julie,” he said, “and if you should just happen to be in the neighbourhood …” He was only joking with me, of course. He didn’t mean any harm by it.’

  ‘So you didn’t take offence?’

  ‘No. I might have done if one of the others had said it, but, you know,’ Julie waved her hands helplessly in the air, ‘there are some men who can just get away with that kind of thing.’

  ‘Good-
looking men,’ Meadows suggested.

  ‘Well, he is rather dishy, don’t you think?’ Julie replied, a little guiltily. ‘Anyway, as I was telling you, he paid for the extra night.’

  ‘So you couldn’t say – one way or the other – whether he was in his room or not?’

  ‘There might be a way to check,’ Julie said, sliding open the drawer of a filing cabinet under the desk. She flicked through the files with deft fingers, selected one and gave it a brief inspection. ‘No, I’m afraid we’re out of luck there.’

  ‘Out of luck where?’

  ‘The hotel garage. They keep a record of the period of time that cars are parked down there, so we know how much to add to the bill, but it seems that Mr Danbury checked his car out early in the morning, and presumably parked it on the street.’

  Which is just what I would do, if I didn’t want the hotel to know exactly when I left, Meadows thought.

  But aloud, she said, ‘I wonder why he would have done that?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Julie, who was already rifling through another drawer. ‘These are the room service records. Another dead end, I’m afraid. Mr Danbury used room service on the previous two days – but not yesterday.’

  ‘So, basically, you really can’t pin down exactly when he left?’ Meadows asked.

  ‘There’s one more chance,’ Julie told her. She picked up the phone, and made a quick call. ‘He must have brought his own suitcases down, so there’s no record there, but housekeeping says that when they turned the bed down – at around eight-thirty – he’d definitely gone.’

  The room was an alibi of sorts, but it wasn’t a very good one, Meadows thought. Perhaps Danbury had simply underestimated the police – it was surprising how many people did.

  If he hadn’t been there, there were ways to prove it – and prove it she would – but it could take a hell of a long time, and it was just the sort of police work she hated.

  Still, if it had to be done, it had to be done.

  ‘Have you got a list of all the people who actually attended the trade fair?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but I’ll have to get it from the back office,’ Julie said, disappearing through a door behind her desk.