‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, a flat denial.
‘Ma’am,’ Slider said, ‘it was in his diary. Are you telling me you didn’t keep it?’
‘I’m telling you I never made it,’ she said. She looked from him to Atherton. ‘My regular session with him is on a Friday morning. I sometimes …’ She hesitated. ‘I sometimes see him on other days, if it happens to suit us both, if he has a vacancy and I feel I need more … more help.’ She seemed to struggle to get her mouth under control.
‘You’re upset about his death,’ Atherton said gently.
She caught a breath. ‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘A young man dying – killed – it’s always shocking. And he was … I’d known him for quite a while. He was a good trainer.’
‘And something more than that?’ Slider suggested. ‘Your relationship – how would you describe it?’
She looked at him coldly. ‘I wouldn’t.’
Atherton tried. ‘You were more than trainer and client, weren’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting,’ she said flatly, but she flicked a glance at the door as she said it.
So, hubby didn’t know, Slider thought. But if ever a door was soundproof, it must be that one. ‘I’m suggesting,’ he said quietly, ‘that you and Lingoss were lovers.’
She went red around the eyes – grief or anger? ‘You’ve no right to say that. He was a good trainer, and I was fond of him, that’s all,’ she said. ‘And I had no appointment with him on Tuesday. I would never make an appointment for nine thirty in the evening because that’s during my writing time. Nine until midnight.’
‘You have regular hours for writing?’ Atherton said with unfeigned interest.
She looked at him with faint relief. ‘When I’m actually in the process of writing, as opposed to researching or editing, yes. It’s essential to be disciplined when you have a deadline to meet.’ She seemed happier talking about her schedule, and relaxed slightly. ‘Routine is important to writers. You have to control your physical environment to allow your imagination to run free. We all have our particular ways. I write the first draft longhand, for instance. I always have. I can’t do it any other way. Then I input it later into the computer, at the polishing stage. And I’ve always preferred writing at night, when it’s quiet. I find I concentrate better. I set aside those hours religiously.’ She shrugged slightly. ‘Occasionally some public appearance might intrude, but I never willingly make appointments of any sort during writing hours. I come in here at nine, close the door, and it’s forbidden for anyone to disturb me.’
‘What about your husband? Or telephone calls?’
‘I disconnect the extension in here, and I turn my mobile off. And my husband above all would never disturb me. He understands the rule. We have dinner together, and then our ways part.’
‘And you don’t finish until midnight? Never?’
‘Sometimes, if things are flowing, I work beyond midnight, into the small hours.’
‘What about last Tuesday?’
She gave them both a straight look. ‘I was in here writing from nine until midnight. I did not leave this room during that time.’
Slider left her a pause, but she didn’t put anything into it. A strong-minded woman. He said, ‘Well, that’s very clear. Thank you,’ and stood up.
Atherton followed suit. ‘May I just say,’ he said, ‘that I enjoy your books very much. Especially the Max Ridleys. I have them on my bookshelf at home.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked worn to a thread, but for a moment her expression lightened. ‘It’s always nice to meet someone who actually buys books.’
And she voluntarily shook his hand.
‘Nicely done,’ Slider muttered to Atherton as they stepped out into the hall and she closed the door between them.
‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,’ he replied.
‘Is that even true?’ Slider began, but further down the hall Seagram had stepped out from the drawing room with an enquiring look. ‘Thank you, sir,’ Slider accosted him. ‘If I could just have a few words with you, then we’ll get out of your hair.’
Back in the drawing room, Seagram remained standing, perhaps to signify that it had better be only a few. ‘I hope you’re not going to be coming here again, upsetting my wife. She’s writing a book, you know. Nothing must be allowed to disrupt the creative process.’
‘Has she been upset the last few days?’ Slider asked.
‘Well, of course she has,’ he said with faint indignation. ‘She writes about violence and death, but it’s different when it intrudes into real life. When someone you actually know gets murdered, it’s very upsetting. I’m upset myself and I didn’t know the man.’
‘But you have met him?’
‘I know his name as my wife’s trainer, I’ve never actually met him. But he has been in my house – that brings it rather too close for comfort.’
‘On Tuesday evening, sir,’ Slider said, feeling that a man with that sort of suit would like a bit of sir-ing. ‘Where were you – just for the record?’
‘I was here, at home,’ he said.
‘All evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your wife?’
‘She was here, too.’ He gave them a sharp look to divide between them. ‘You can’t possibly be suggesting that either of us had anything to do with this fellow’s death?’
‘Your wife was a client of his. I’m afraid we have to ask these questions.’
‘Well she was at home with me all evening, so you can cross her off any ridiculous list you may have,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s just what we want to do,’ Slider said soothingly. ‘If you could just run through what you both did that evening?’
‘We had dinner at seven thirty. That lasted until about eight thirty. We cleared the table, did some pottering about, then my wife went to her room to write at nine sharp. She was very disciplined about it.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I went into my snug and spent the evening there. It’s what I usually do if I’m at home when she’s writing. Look, I’ll show you.’ He went to a corner of the room, where he lifted a pull-ring hidden under the dado and opened a concealed door. A big oblong of wall – panelling, dado, wallpaper and all – swung silently out.
‘That’s amazing,’ Atherton said. ‘You’d never know it was there.’
Seagram looked pleased. ‘She has her private room, and I have mine.’ He urged them, proudly, to look. It wasn’t a large room, but it certainly was snug: book-lined, with a small antique desk and chair, and a modern leather recliner – the swivel sort with the separate footstool – facing a large flatscreen TV. Beside it was a small table bearing a tantalus and glasses. Apart from the fact that it had no window – which Slider would have found claustrophobic – it was very inviting. ‘I have everything I need in here. I did some paperwork, then watched the cricket, which I had recorded, and then a film until I went to bed.’
‘And did you see your wife at all during the evening?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘She never comes out when she’s working.’
‘Did you go in to her?’
He looked shocked. ‘I wouldn’t do that. Absolutely no interruptions – that’s the rule. That’s what she needs – complete isolation.’
‘What time did you go to bed?’
‘Half past eleven, give or take.’
‘Did you say goodnight to your wife?’
He scowled. ‘How often do I have to say it – no interruptions! I went to bed, and went to sleep.’
‘And what time did she come to bed?’
‘We have separate bedrooms,’ he said tersely.
‘I see,’ said Slider thoughtfully. ‘You say you were at home with your wife all evening, but in fact you did not actually see her or speak to her between nine p.m. and – I suppose – the next morning?’
He looked angry, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. A thoughtfulness crossed
his face swiftly like a cloud shadow on a breezy day. Then he smiled a sort of head-shaking, pitying smile. ‘It’s your job, I know. You have to ask these things. But I assure you if my wife had left the house – if that’s what you’re suggesting – I would have known. When you’ve lived with someone for twenty-five years, you have a feeling about them, you sense their presence. I don’t need to see her to know that she’s there. And now, without wishing to seem rude, I must ask you to leave, and I hope we will not be bothered by any more of your ridiculous questions. My wife had nothing to do with this man’s death. She would never do anything so … unregulated.’
They backed out from the snug, he followed them and let the door swing shut, and showed them out.
‘That’s all very well,’ Atherton said as they trudged back to the car. It was very cold, and the fine rain – almost a mist – that was falling was trying to turn into snow. ‘But the fact remains that he doesn’t know where she was on Tuesday evening at the relevant time.’
‘Hmm,’ said Slider with dissatisfaction.
‘What? You don’t want it to be her?’
‘Do you?’
‘Not if it stops her writing any more books.’
‘Don’t be facetious.’
‘I wasn’t. They’re good. But there are some very violent passages in them. Yes, I know it’s fiction, but isn’t it possible that someone immersed so deeply in fictional violence might one day, if the circs were right, step across the line between that and reality?’
‘Anyone can do that. Doesn’t have to be a writer.’
‘True. But not everyone had a hot relationship with deceased and looks like shit now he’s dead.’
‘She denies she had a relationship.’
‘She denies it. Write that down.’ He walked round to the passenger side muttering, ‘Important, unimportant – unimportant, important.’
Slider plipped the lock, then looked at him across the top of the car. ‘One thing – did you notice that when he let go of the door to his snuggery, it swung shut all on its own?’
‘Concealed doors do that,’ said Atherton, ‘otherwise they wouldn’t stay concealed.’
‘I know that. I’m just saying it makes it unlikely he was sitting in there with the door open. Two heavy doors between him and his wife. Plus the television. He wouldn’t hear anything. And unless he left the room, he wouldn’t see anything either – even with the snug door open, you can’t see across the drawing room into the hall. I checked. So if she did want to leave the house without him knowing, she could do it.’ They got in. ‘And he knows that,’ Slider went on as they buckled up.
‘Yes, I saw it occur to him,’ said Atherton. ‘Hence all that new-agey bollocks about “feeling her presence”.’
‘But if she killed Lingoss,’ Slider said, ‘and we’re a long way from even suspecting that she did, what was her motive?’
‘Oh, we’ll think of something,’ Atherton said cheerfully. ‘That’s the least of our problems.’
‘Unfortunately true,’ said Slider.
‘Another one without a proper alibi,’ said Porson.
‘Innocent people don’t need alibis,’ said Slider.
‘Putting the cat before the horse, aren’t you?’ Porson said sharply.
‘What I mean, sir, is that when you actually find someone with a cast-iron alibi—’
‘You start wondering why, yes, I know, laddie.’ He pulled his lower lip out into a shovel as he thought. ‘But this is supposed to look like cast-iron, isn’t it? Safe at home with hubby, and never out between nine and midnight. Which just happens to be the time we’re interested in. Is that a bit too tidy?’
‘Her husband confirmed that was her usual pattern,’ said Slider.
‘Do you think he’s in on it?’
‘No,’ said Slider slowly. ‘It sounded genuine – I mean, that that’s where he thought she was. It shook him a bit when I made him see he didn’t actually know for sure she was there.’
‘Hmm,’ said Porson. He pulled his lip out again, then let it snap back. ‘Well, nothing more you can do now. Go home.’ Slider drew breath to object. ‘And don’t come in tomorrow.’
‘Sir, I feel we ought to be following things up as quickly as possible, not giving them time to cover their tracks.’
‘Well, you’ve lost the elephant of surprise now, anyway, so another day won’t make any difference. Let it mull over in the back of your mind, that’s my advice. Wonderful thing, the subconscious. How’s that lovely wife of yours?’
‘Very well,’ Slider said, surprised by the change of tack. ‘She’s finishing work today. Didn’t want to, but it’s getting close to the line.’
‘I remember when my wife was at the same stage, she didn’t want to stop. I think it’s the nesting instinct. They’ve got this compunction to keep adding bits of straw till the last minute. You’ve just got to let them know best, is my view. Let them get on with it. Face it, none of us’ll ever know what it’s like. All we can do is fuss, and they don’t like that.’ He drew his brows down in mock menace, a sort of reverse smile. ‘Now go home and spend some time with her!’
Slider thought of the Old Man going home alone to an empty house, and for one thrilling moment felt urged to invite him over. But the next moment he recollected how appalled Porson would be by a pity invitation, and swallowed it.
‘Right, sir,’ he said.
‘Oh, this is nice,’ Joanna said. With her big belly she had to lie on her side, so the only way he could cuddle her was from behind, spoon-wise, his arms wrapped round her. ‘A lie-in.’
‘It is nice,’ he said. There was an unmistakeable soft thud as Jumper sprang up onto the bed, and a heavy purring sound as he located the back of Slider’s knees, turned round three times and flopped into the perfectly cat-shaped space. Slider’s hypersensitive nose caught a faint fishy whiff, proof that he’d been down for his first breakfast – the remains of last night’s supper. He settled down to a thorough washing of paws and face, a steady soft jolting motion to accompany the purr.
Outside, the amateur snow was still blowing gently sideways but not managing to settle. Good! Or not. Slider had the countryman’s hatred of snow, but he knew how thrilled George would be if there was proper snow, the sort you could do things with – make snowmen and snowballs with, fall into and get soaked with.
He wanted to slide back into a warm, fuggy doze, but his mind was waking and trying to ease back towards the Lingoss problem. No! Porson was right, it was best left to the subconscious for now. ‘So you’re glad you’ve finished work?’ he said, really just for something to say.
‘I’m glad you’ve finished work,’ she said, muffled by his upper arm.
‘My work is never finished,’ he said, kissing the back of her neck. ‘But it’s nice not to have to get up early.’
‘And your dad’s doing lunch, so neither of us has a thing to worry about today.’
‘You know what I was thinking about on my way home yesterday? My mother’s curry.’ She made an enquiring grunt. ‘When I was a kid, in rural Essex, there were no curry houses. But Dad was sort of adventurous about food.’
‘So that’s where you get it from.’
‘So Mum used to make him curry every now and then, with a tin of stewing steak, curry powder, and a handful of sultanas.’
She snorted with amusement. ‘Omigod. Served on white rice with a side of sliced banana?’
‘You know?’
‘My dad adored Vesta Beef Curry with rice. Out of a packet. Just add water. Why were you thinking about it?’
‘Having a craving. There’s a certain sort of food that’s so awful it’s divine.’
‘Yes, I know. Like battered saveloy and mushy peas from the chippy.’
‘Don’t. You’re making me hungry.’
‘Not a chance, buster. You’re not getting me out of my warm bed before I’ve had my lie-in.’
‘Daddy!’ came a plaintive voice from the passage outside.
Joanna groa
ned. ‘Nobody in!’ she answered.
George appeared in the door, his pyjama trousers slipping so low he was in danger of tripping himself up. He was both tall for his age and skinny, which made getting bottoms to fit him difficult. If they were long enough, they were too big at the waist and fell down. ‘Daddy, are you awake?’
‘No,’ Slider said.
George considered and discarded this. ‘Why do you sleep in the same bed with Mummy?’ he asked disapprovingly.
‘Whose bed would you like me to sleep in?’
‘Will I have to sleep in the same bed with the new baby?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t want to sleep with anybody.’
‘Keep it that way.’
A brief silence, and then the voice resumed, much closer. ‘Daddy?’
‘I’m asleep.’
George climbed up on the bed, and his breath, sweet as bubblegum, blew on Slider’s cheek. ‘You’re not, I can tell.’ He was settling in for the long haul. ‘Daddy,’ he said insistently, ‘can you and Mummy get a divorce?’
Joanna made a sound which might have been a groan or suppressed laughter. Slider opened an eye. ‘Why would you want that?’
‘Jayden at school says his mum and dad are getting one, and he’s getting a bicycle, and he’s getting Minecraft, and he might be getting a puppy.’
Jayden was evidently George’s financial advisor. ‘You’ve got Jumper,’ Slider reasoned. ‘He wouldn’t like a dog in the house.’
There was a pause while George located the cat and roughed it up lovingly. ‘I like Jumper.’
‘Good. Go away and draw a picture of him,’ Slider suggested.
He seemed to be easing himself off the bed, but then he said, still from close proximity, ‘So can you?’
‘Can I what?’
‘Get a divorce?’
‘Do you know what divorce means?’
George nodded so vigorously Slider felt the draught. ‘It means your dad spends every Saturday with you and takes you to cool places and buys you things.’
‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ Slider said. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’
‘OK,’ George said, and eased himself by inches out of the room, singing something under his breath.
Cruel as the Grave Page 16