Suspicious Death

by Dorothy Simpson

  She was pretending to concentrate on her work, her shoulders moving rhythmically as she applied the polish in small circular movements. He must begin by somehow breaking down that barrier of hostility. But how?

  By making her angry, perhaps?

  ‘You’re in a rather unique position in this house, aren’t you, Mrs Pantry?’

  She stopped polishing and cast him a suspicious glance through the banisters. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, you come into contact with everybody, you know what’s going on …’

  She put down her duster and knelt up, leaning her arms on the rail and glowering at him. ‘I’m in a good position to spy on people, you mean.’

  ‘If that’s how you choose to put it, yes.’

  ‘How else am I supposed to put it? Oh yes, I’ve heard about all these questions you’ve been asking.’ She snorted, an ugly porcine sound. ‘All those nasty’ – she sought the right word and found it, triumphantly – ‘insinuations.’

  ‘What nasty insinuations, Mrs Pantry?’ said Thanet, all innocence.

  ‘About certain people.’

  So that was it. She was angry with him because she thought he suspected Salden of killing Marcia. ‘What people? Really, you are being very mysterious, aren’t you? How can I answer your allegations, if I don’t know what they are?’

  Anger propelled her to her feet. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean! And Mr Bernard is the kindest man in the world. He’d never hurt a fly!’

  ‘But who has suggested he would – or did?’

  ‘And anyone who says there was any trouble between him and Mrs Salden don’t know what they’re talking about! Like you said, I’m here all the time, and I know.’

  ‘As a matter of –’

  ‘I’m not saying they was all lovey-dovey, mind, but they got on all right, they understood each other, you know what I mean? And there was never any rows or anything like that, and if anyone says any different they’re lying in their teeth.’

  ‘No one has …’

  ‘And you ought to have seen what he’s been like since it happened! Doesn’t know what to do with himself, he’s so cut up about it. Can’t eat, can’t sleep …’

  ‘MRS PANTRY!’

  She blinked. ‘Yes?’

  Thanet crossed to look up at her, resting one hand on the newel post. ‘Look, I just want to make one thing quite clear. I have not come here to question you about Mr Salden.’

  She frowned. ‘You haven’t?’

  ‘No.’

  She descended one or two steps, warily. ‘What did you want to talk about, then?’

  ‘Chiefly about what happened on Tuesday.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sat down abruptly on the fourth or fifth step up from the bottom and Thanet, averting his eyes from unwelcome vistas of straining tights and large expanses of underwear, went up to sit beside her.

  ‘We keep learning bits and pieces, you see. And we thought you might be able to fill in the gaps.’

  She still looked suspicious, but the frown lines on the broad, flat forehead were beginning to ease away. ‘What gaps?’

  ‘Well, to begin with, I understand that Mrs Salden had a row with Miss Phipps on Tuesday afternoon.’

  Mrs Pantry’s eyes gleamed. ‘Yes, I thought she must have. Who told you? Josie Trimble, I suppose.’

  ‘You didn’t hear it, then?’

  ‘No, but I saw Edith Phipps go home in tears.’

  ‘Do you know what it might have been about?’

  ‘No idea.’ She was enjoying being so unhelpful.

  Pity. He would have liked to have another version of the quarrel, to compare with Josie’s. ‘If we could move on to the evening, then … I understand Mrs Trimble, Josie’s mother, came up at some point.’

  Questioned about this, Josie had been distinctly unforthcoming, playing down her mother’s anger and making light of the whole incident.

  ‘Been busy, haven’t you? Yes, she did.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this when we talked to you yesterday?’

  ‘Didn’t ask, did you? Anyway, I didn’t think it mattered. Oh, I see … Yes, well, I didn’t know, then, that Mrs Salden’s death was anything but a straightforward accident.’

  ‘We don’t know otherwise now.’

  ‘No, but you must think there’s something fishy about it or you wouldn’t still be going around asking all these questions, would you? Stands to reason, don’t it?’

  ‘We just have to be sure, that’s all. So, to get back to Mrs Trimble … What time did she arrive?’

  ‘About ten, I should think.’ Mrs Pantry smiled, revealing an unprepossessing row of nicotine-stained teeth. ‘In a fair old state, she was.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Mr Lomax carrying on with that precious daughter of hers. That Josie.’ She almost spat the word out. ‘Little slut.’

  ‘Oh come on, that’s a bit strong, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it? I’m not blind, Inspector, and I’m not deaf, either, though no doubt some people like to pretend I am …’

  Thanet suspected that if he betrayed too much interest Mrs Pantry would dry up out of sheer perversity, the last thing he wanted now that she was starting to loosen up. He continued to look sceptical.

  Mrs Pantry leaned a little nearer. ‘Did you know there’s a flat over the old stables at the back?’

  Thanet shook his head.

  She lowered her voice to a near whisper. ‘Mrs Salden gave Josie a key. It’s been going on for months, her and that Mr Lomax.’ Her face twisted. ‘Disgusting, I call it. He’s old enough to be her father – no, her grandfather.’

  If Mrs Trimble had got wind of this arrangement it was scarcely surprising that she had been sufficiently angry with Marcia to march up to the Manor and confront her and Lomax together. He could imagine how enraged he would have been if Bridget had been exploited in this way … Which reminded him … He glanced at his watch. Yes, just about now Joan would be entering the headmaster’s study. What could Mr Foreman be wanting to discuss with her?

  With an effort Thanet wrenched his mind back to the present.

  ‘Was Mr Salden aware of this … arrangement?’

  Mrs Pantry shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh no. They was careful only to come when he wasn’t here – he’s out a lot with his charity work, you know, he’s on a lot of committees and that, and does a lot of fund-raising.’

  ‘You don’t think he would have approved?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘I never did understand what Mrs Salden was thinking of, to allow it.’

  ‘So what exactly happened when Mrs Trimble came on Tuesday night?’

  ‘She asked for Mrs Salden. I told her she was out, that she’d had to go down to the village because her mother’d taken a turn for the worse, but she wouldn’t believe me, thought I was just trying to give her the brush-off. Before I could stop her, she’d ducked under my arm and rushed into the drawing-room. I went after her. Josie and Mr Lomax was both sitting on the settee, him with his arm around her. Grace Trimble started shouting at Mr Lomax, calling him a dirty old man and saying he ought to be ashamed of himself, messing about with a young girl like Josie. Then she got hold of Josie by the arm and tried to drag her away, saying she was coming home at once, and this was the end, the finish, she’d never see Mr Lomax again. Josie was struggling with her mother and screaming at her to let her go. In the end Josie managed to get free. You should have seen her! She looked a real sight. Hair all over the place, mascara running down her cheeks. And all the while Mr Lomax just sat there like a stuffed prune … I tell you, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!’

  ‘So what happened, in the end?’

  ‘Josie refused flat to go home with her mother. Said she was over age and could do what she liked. Her mother could like it or lump it.’ Mrs Pantry shrugged. ‘There was nothing Mrs Trimble could do about it, was there? So she just left.’

  ‘What sort of state was she in?’

  ‘Quiet. Defeated, sort of
. I felt sorry for her really. Offered her a cup of tea, but she refused.’

  ‘How long would you say all this took?’

  ‘No more than a few minutes, I shouldn’t think. I mean, a lot happened, but it was all over very quick.’ Mrs Pantry shook her head reminiscently. ‘I tell you, we’ve never had a night like that since I’ve been here. All those comings and goings …’ She gave Thanet a sly, knowing look. ‘Just like Dallas, it was. Real action-packed.’

  Surely she wasn’t implying … ‘All those comings and goings?’

  She smoothed the skirt over her knee, looking almost coy. ‘Well, first Mr Salden going, then Josie and Mr Lomax coming, then Mrs Salden going, then …’

  He had been expecting her to say, ‘then Mrs Trimble coming,’ but she had stopped deliberately. ‘Then …?’ he prompted.

  She folded her arms and leaned back against the banisters with a self-satisfied smile. ‘Then, of course, there was Mr Hammer.’

  Hammer. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Who was he? Mrs Pantry was enjoying this, dangling the information tantalisingly in front of his nose. Struggling to suppress his rising irritation, Thanet said, ‘Mr Hammer?’

  ‘Reg Hammer, I believe it is. His mother lives in the village – lived, I should say. She died last Monday.’

  Thanet remembered now. The first of the three deaths the Vicar had mentioned. Mrs Hammer, Mrs Carter, Marcia Salden. Was there a connection?

  ‘He came here on Tuesday evening too?’

  ‘Just said so, didn’t I?’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘To see Mrs Salden.’

  ‘What about?’

  A shrug. ‘No idea.’ She was obviously determined to make him work for the information.

  ‘Did she speak to him?’

  ‘No. They were in the middle of dinner.’

  ‘This was fairly early in the evening, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When, exactly?’

  ‘About half-past eight, I should think.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  Another shrug. ‘He went away.’

  ‘Before that, I mean. What was his attitude, when he asked to see Mrs Salden?’

  That sly smile again. ‘He wasn’t too happy, I’d say.’

  ‘He was angry, you mean?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘With Mrs Salden?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘But he didn’t say why?’

  ‘No. Just said he wanted to see her, urgent.’

  ‘And what message did she send back?’

  ‘That he was to ring up in the morning, make an appointment.’

  ‘How did he react to that?’

  ‘Called her some four-letter names and drove away. Wonder he wasn’t picked up. He wasn’t fit to drive.’

  ‘He’d been drinking, you mean?’

  ‘Reeked of it.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’ve no idea why he wanted to see Mrs Salden?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  The front door opened and Bernard Salden came in, his eyebrows going up at the sight of his housekeeper and Thanet sitting side by side on the stairs. He didn’t look too pleased to see the police again so soon and his tone was distinctly frosty. ‘Good afternoon, Inspector.’

  Thanet returned the greeting and descended to the hall. ‘I was hoping for another word with you, sir.’

  Salden gave a resigned sigh as he handed his raincoat to Mrs Pantry. ‘Very well. But d’you mind if we talk outside? It’s stopped raining and I could do with a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Salden led the way.

  SEVENTEEN

  Outside the air was still charged with moisture, but the sun was just beginning to emerge from behind the heavy bank of cloud which had brought the showers, stippling the drowned landscape with random patches of brilliant light.

  It was too wet to walk on the grass and they strolled across the forecourt in the direction of the drive. Salden sighed again. ‘What is it this time, Inspector?’ He had changed out of the casual clothes he had been wearing earlier into a formal dark suit, white shirt and black tie.

  ‘Fresh information keeps coming in, and I need your help, to understand how it fits in.’

  Salden gave him a wary glance. ‘What information?’

  ‘About your wife’s affairs – business affairs, that is,’ he added hastily as Salden’s eyebrows shot up. ‘And as they’re presumably your affairs too …’

  ‘Not necessarily, Inspector. We were partners in the health food business, yes, but Marcia had various schemes on hand of which I knew very little. But if I can help you, I will.’

  ‘Inspector Thanet!’ Mrs Pantry had emerged from the front door, waving. ‘Telephone.’

  Could it be Joan, calling about Bridget? No. His movements at work were so uncertain that she rarely attempted to contact him during the day, except in cases of emergency. ‘You take it, Mike, will you?’

  Lineham loped off and Thanet and Salden continued their stroll, entering the avenue of beeches which were still dripping after the rain. From time to time they had to take out their handkerchiefs and mop their faces. ‘Did you know that your wife had had a row with Miss Phipps on the afternoon of the day she died?’

  Salden stopped walking. ‘Really? No, I’d no idea. What about?’

  ‘Miss Phipps had forgotten to post your wife’s written offer for a shop in Week Street, Maidstone, and someone else got the lease.’

  ‘She forgot to post it! No wonder Marcia was angry. I was wondering why we hadn’t had a reply.’

  ‘You knew about it, then?’

  ‘About the shop? Yes, of course. We’d been hoping to get a Week Street site for years, but they’d always been too big or too small or in the wrong position … This one was perfect for us.’

  ‘Apparently your wife was so angry that she fired her.’

  ‘Fired Edith? Are you sure?’

  ‘That surprises you?’

  ‘It certainly does. They’d known each other for years, you know. As a matter of fact, they were at school together.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Phipps told me.’

  ‘Did she tell you about this herself – about being fired, I mean?’

  ‘No. Someone overheard the quarrel.’

  ‘Mrs Pantry, I suppose.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, no, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Then it must have been Josie.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Not really, I suppose. Except that you have only her word that it ever took place.’

  ‘Mrs Pantry saw Miss Phipps go home in tears afterwards.’

  ‘Edith, in tears? Then I suppose it must be true. But I must say I’m astounded, I really am.’

  ‘The impression I had was that this was only the latest in a long series of blunders. The last straw, so to speak.’

  ‘I must admit Marcia had been complaining about her rather a lot lately, but I didn’t think she was that fed up with her. In fact, I had the impression she was rather sympathetic towards her. Edith – Miss Phipps – doesn’t have much of a life, you know. She’s very tied to her mother, who’s an invalid, and lately, for the last year or so, she’s been having rather a bad time with the menopause. It’s true that she has been increasingly forgetful …’

  ‘But Mrs Salden said nothing to you that evening about having fired her?’

  ‘We hardly saw each other. I’d been out, to a committee meeting in Sturrenden, and I didn’t get home until six thirty. Marcia was having a bath and I had to bathe and change as well … We scarcely exchanged more than a few sentences.’

  ‘I see.’

  There were hurried footsteps behind them and Lineham came puffing up. Thanet walked back a few paces to meet him. ‘You’re out of condition, Mike. You should take more exercise.’

  Lineham rolled his eyes. ‘I will if you will,’ he managed to say between gasps.

  ‘Anything urgent?’

 
; Lineham glanced at Salden, who had strolled on, and lowered his voice. ‘Doc Mallard, with a verbal on the PM.’

  ‘And?’

  Lineham shook his head. ‘Not a lot. Except that she was definitely dead before she went into the water. That blow to the right temple.’

  ‘Ah. Nothing else?’

  ‘Just one interesting thing. You remember Mrs Pepper said the Saldens had been keen to have more children after the first one died – that Mr Salden had even suggested adopting?’

  ‘Yes. What about it?’

  ‘Well, according to Doc M, Mrs Salden had been sterilised, some time ago. Had her tubes tied or something.’

  ‘Really?’ Thanet glanced at Salden who had stopped walking and was waiting for them. In his dark, formal suit he looked out of place in the setting of grass, trees and parkland. Was it possible that he was unaware that his wife had had this operation? If so, and if what Mrs Pepper said were true and he really had longed for another child, how would he react to this news?

  He had evidently become tired of waiting and was walking towards them. ‘We might as well go back.’

  Thanet agreed, glancing back down the drive at the lodge. He had intended to call in and see Edith Phipps after finishing with Salden, but he could easily drive down. Why was she so late returning to work? he wondered. She should have been back an hour ago.

  ‘I was thinking, while you were talking,’ said Salden. ‘Assuming it’s true that my wife and Edith did have this quarrel … I hope you’re not implying that this means Edith could have had anything to do with her death.’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. I told you, at the moment we’re just trying to gather together as much information as we can. Though I have to tell you that we’ve just had the results of the post mortem, and I’m afraid it has been confirmed that your wife did not die by drowning.’

  Salden stopped walking. ‘She didn’t drown?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘No. She was dead before she went into the water.’

  ‘But … Then how …?’

  ‘She was killed by a blow to the right temple. I’m sorry.’

  Salden swallowed hard, almost gulping in air as though his throat had suddenly closed up, making it difficult for him to breathe. His face was the colour of parchment. ‘A blow …?’ He swayed slightly.