‘Could it have been Edith Phipps?’
‘Might have been. But I couldn’t swear to it.’
‘Where did she go?’
‘Walked away down the road.’
‘Towards the Manor gates?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I dunno. She went off ahead of us around the bend. Could’ve been going to the cottages for all I know.’
‘Did you see anyone else?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I told you, no!’
They left him to his sawing and walked down to the river bank.
‘We need to talk,’ said Thanet. ‘Might as well sit down here for a while.’
The grass was dry, the sun warm. They took off their coats and Thanet lit his pipe. They sat for a while in silence, gazing at the water. Eventually Lineham stirred, picked a piece of grass and began to chew it.
‘What d’you reckon, sir?’
Thanet shrugged. ‘About what Harry said? It’s all credible enough. Mrs Hammer told us someone had brought Reg home, and it would be typical of Harry to ring the bell and walk away before the door opened.’
‘It was probably them that Lomax saw, in front of the cottages … If it was murder it’s essential to know whether Harry’s speaking the truth, isn’t it? Perhaps more than any other witness so far.’
‘For elimination purposes, you mean. Yes.’
‘Both he and Hammer would be out, for a start …’
‘Unless they were in it together.’
Lineham raised his eyebrows. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. Bit unlikely, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I do, actually. Go on.’
‘And it would cut out Grace Trimble, too. Because she would have left the bridge before Marcia Salden arrived.’
‘And if the woman Harry saw posting the letter was Edith Phipps …’
‘It certainly narrows the field down, doesn’t it, sir? It only leaves us with Councillor Lomax and Salden.’
‘If Harry is telling the truth, Mike. I think we have to accept that if Marcia was murdered and he or any of his old pals were involved, he’d have very good reason for lying. He’s not crying over Marcia’s death, in fact it came at just the right moment for him. So if someone obliged him by getting rid of her he’s not going to give that person away, especially if he or she is a childhood friend. And all those old pals had very good reasons for wanting to get rid of Marcia, remember.’
‘True. But let’s look just for a moment at the possibility that everything he’s told us is true, and only Lomax and Salden remain. As we’ve already said, in every case but Salden the suspect had a reason, what you always call the trigger factor. With Lomax we think it was probably the threat of blackmail or scandal if he didn’t toe the line over the planning permission; with Harry it was the threat of eviction and with Grace the damage being done to her daughter and that nasty scene with Josie up at the Manor; with Reg it was having his inheritance snatched from under his nose and with Edith it was losing the job and possibly the home which suited her and her invalid mother so well. In addition, all these people but Lomax are old mates of Marcia’s and have long-standing grudges against her … But with Salden …? Nothing, so far as I can see.’
‘As we’ve said before, in a detective novel that would automatically make him suspect number one,’ said Thanet with a grin.
Lineham gave a slight frown, as if to indicate that this wasn’t the moment for jokes. ‘He stands to inherit the business, yes, but I can’t see that as a reason. In fact, as his wife seemed to be the driving force behind it, he stands to lose in the long run.’
‘Perhaps he’d just reached the point where he was fed up with her. She does sound pretty overpowering.’
‘Plenty of men have overpowering wives, but they don’t go round bumping them off.’
Thanet restrained himself from giving Lineham a sharp glance. Had that remark been uncomfortably heartfelt?
‘No,’ Lineham went on. ‘In a case like this you’ve got to have something which finally pushes the murderer over the edge.’
Thanet remembered the scene he had envisaged between Bernard Salden and his wife, in which Bernard gets angry with her for going back to her guests at the Manor instead of staying with her mother. It all seemed rather tame, now, in comparison with the powerful motives of the other suspects. ‘I wonder …’
Lineham turned an eager face. ‘What?’
‘Mrs Carter, Marcia’s mother …’
‘What about her.’
‘Everyone’s taken it for granted that she wanted to see Bernard Salden that night because she was so fond of him. Which could well be so. But what if there was another reason? What if she wanted to see him because she wanted to tell him something before she died?’
‘What, for instance?’
‘It would have to be something about Marcia which she knew and he didn’t, something she felt was important to him …
They stared at each other, then suddenly Lineham’s face lit up. ‘The sterilisation! What if she wanted to tell him Marcia had been sterilised?’
‘It’s a possibility. But why would she want to do that? It would cause him nothing but pain, and problems in his marriage too.’
‘Because she thought it was cruel for him to go on hoping for a child of his own, when there was no possibility of it happening? Everyone says how fond of children he is, how much he longs for one …’
Thanet frowned, considering. ‘She’d be betraying her own daughter. Would she do that, for her son-in-law?’ Impossible to speculate on such a matter without knowing the people involved personally.
‘Marcia and her mother weren’t exactly fond of each other, were they? I mean, everyone agrees she did her duty by her, but I’ve never had the impression there was much feeling between them. It is a possibility, sir, don’t you think?’
‘Anything’s possible, Mike. It would certainly explain Salden’s behaviour that night – why he seemed so upset when he left Mrs Carter’s cottage, why he went for a walk and sat around brooding on the river bank instead of putting in an appearance at home.’ Thanet heaved himself to his feet, rubbing his backside. The grass had been wetter than he thought. ‘We’d better go and have another little chat with him, hadn’t we?’
TWENTY-FIVE
They walked into the village to pick up the car, then drove to the Manor.
Mrs Pantry looked harassed. She was wearing a surprisingly smart navy blue dress with white collar and cuffs and was balancing two plates of sandwiches covered in cling film in one hand. ‘Yes, he’s in.’ Her usual grudging manner.
In the hall Thanet could see through an open door that a table had been set out with plates of sandwiches and cakes, cups and saucers.
Mrs Pantry followed his glance. ‘Mrs Carter’s funeral is later on this afternoon, and people are coming back here.’
‘How is Mr Salden today?’
Her expression lightened and she was uncharacteristically forthcoming. ‘He must be feeling a bit better, I think. He’s been on the phone all morning.’
Thanet wasn’t surprised to hear it. He knew that at times like this people often found work a salvation. ‘Good. Where is he?’
‘In his office.’ She put the sandwiches down on the long oak table in the hall. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’
In a few minutes she returned. ‘You can go in.’
She was right. Salden did look better. He was again neatly dressed, presumably for the funeral, in a well-cut grey suit and black tie. And, although there were dark smudges beneath his eyes, the dazed look was less evident. He was seated at his desk as though he had been working but there were no papers about except for a closed notebook exactly in the centre of the desk blotter.
‘I hope this won’t take long. I have a funeral to attend.’
Thanet shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’
He and Lineham sat down.
‘Mr Salden, it has occurred to us that you haven’t told us why y
our mother-in-law wanted to see you on Tuesday night.’
‘I don’t see what possible relevance that could have to your investigation.’
‘You must allow me to be the judge of that.’
Salden compressed his lips. ‘She merely wanted to say goodbye.’ He looked away, out of the window. ‘She knew she was dying, and we were very fond of each other.’
‘There was nothing special she wanted to tell you?’
‘No.’ Salden’s head swung back and he looked at Thanet with eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you ask? Was there something?’
Was the enquiry genuine? Thanet didn’t particularly like the idea of breaking the news of Marcia’s sterilisation to Salden, but the man would have to know some time; the information would emerge at the inquest anyway.
‘I only wondered because … Mr Salden, were you aware that your wife had been sterilised?’
Salden’s reaction gave him the answer. Unless the man was a superb actor there was no doubt that this was news indeed. His jaw dropped and his eyes dilated, then he became perfectly still, staring at Thanet. Only the expression in his eyes changed, from shock and disbelief to pain, anger and finally to acceptance. And to something else less definable. At last he ran his tongue over his lips and said, ‘The post mortem?’
Thanet nodded. ‘Yes.’
There was no point in prolonging the interview. And Salden had a funeral to face yet, this afternoon. They left.
Thanet glanced at Lineham’s face as they got into the car. ‘Cheer up, Mike, it was a good idea.’
‘No point in having good ideas if they don’t work out. You believed him then, did you, sir?’
‘Didn’t you? Yes, I’d swear it was a complete surprise to him. A terrible shock, in fact.’ He wondered how Salden would feel about Marcia now, knowing that she had deceived and betrayed him over something which meant so much to him.
‘I agree,’ said Lineham gloomily. ‘So where does that leave us?’
‘Up a gum tree as far as Salden’s concerned, I should say.’
They had reached the end of the drive and pulled in to allow the funeral cortege to pass by. Mrs Carter was going to set off for her last resting place from the Manor. Bernard was doing her proud.
Thanet could see Edith Phipps watching from the kitchen window. She was wearing a black hat with a feather in it. No doubt Bernard had offered to pick her up on the way past. ‘I suppose we could console ourselves by the fact that, even if he had known about the sterilisation and even if we had got him to admit that it was in order to tell him about it that Mrs Carter sent for him that night, there is still no way that we could prove that it was he who committed the murder. And at the moment the same thing applies to all the others. We’ve got to come up with something concrete, Mike.’
‘What, for instance?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. We’ll really have to put our minds to it.’
They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Thanet said, ‘Perhaps we’ve been barking up the wrong tree all along. It’s happened before. Perhaps Marcia wasn’t murdered at all and it was a simple accident.’
‘Difficult to see how it could have been, under the circumstances. Anyone passing that gap in the parapet would have been hyper-careful.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She could have been crossing the bridge towards the footpath entrance, which is right alongside the broken section. A car could have come along too fast and she could have jumped back to avoid it, slipped on the icy road …’
‘Are you suggesting we give up, then, sir?’
‘Not yet, no. But I’m beginning to wonder if we might have to. If we don’t come up with any better ideas …’
‘Meanwhile, what?’
‘Bring Draco up to date and then it’s time for a session on reports, I think. And there’s no point in groaning. Have you got a better suggestion?’
In the past they had often found that if they were stuck a thorough sifting of everything, that had come in so far was a useful way of breaking the impasse. Up until now reports on the Salden case had been read as they came in, in dribs and drabs. Now, with any luck, discrepancies might be spotted that had earlier been missed and a fresh overall view would suggest new insights, new avenues to explore.
‘It’ll be impossible to concentrate in the main CID room,’ said Lineham hopefully.
‘Then we’ll commandeer one of the interview rooms,’ said Thanet.
So they did. But to no avail. At seven o’clock, Lineham put his head in his hands and groaned. ‘I don’t know about you, sir, but I can’t think straight any more. I’m just not taking this in.’
Thanet closed the file he was reading and tossed it on to the desk. ‘Neither can I. We’ll call it a day.’ He pressed his fingers into the deep, dull ache across the small of his back. He longed to lie down, preferably flat on the floor, and allow his muscles to relax. He decided that when he got home he’d go up to the bedroom and do just that.
Joan was in the kitchen, busy with supper. ‘Twenty minutes,’ she said, after one look at his face. ‘Plenty of time, if you want to crash out for a while.’
At the door he turned. ‘Bridget in?’
Joan nodded. ‘In her room.’
‘How is she?’
Joan pulled a face. ‘Subdued.’
‘Only to be expected, I suppose.’
In the bedroom he lowered himself to the floor and began his relaxation routine. Right leg, stretch … and relax. Left leg, stretch … and relax … Breathe in, breathe out … He was beginning to float when the back door slammed, interrupting his concentration. He tried to ignore it. The telephone pinged in the hall, then there was a rush of feet on the stairs and Joan’s voice, jagged with emotion.
‘Luke! Luke!’ She burst into the room.
His eyes snapped open. ‘What?’
‘It’s Vicky. I think she’s taken an overdose.’
‘Oh God.’ Thanet rolled over, got up. ‘Is she still alive?’
‘Just, I think. I’ve rang for an ambulance.’
Bridget appeared at the door, looking frightened. ‘What is it? What’s the matter, Mum?’
There was no way she could wrap this up, protect Bridget from the harsh reality. ‘It’s Vicky, darling. I’m afraid she’s … well, it looks as though she’s taken an overdose.’ She glanced back at Thanet. ‘I heard the baby. He was screaming his head off, that’s why I went across … I must go and get him.’
And she was gone.
Bridget said: ‘Dad, how awful! What can we do?
They started downstairs.
‘Not much, at the moment. We’ll have to look after the baby, obviously. I expect he’s hungry. Go and put the kettle on. Just as well she isn’t breast-feeding.’
Everything seemed to happen quickly. Joan arrived with the screaming baby and within minutes had changed his nappy and made his bottle. Meanwhile the ambulance arrived. Thanet let them in next door and watched them take away an unconscious Vicky. He then took a quick look around to see if there was any clue to Peter’s whereabouts. To his relief, by the telephone he found a clear list of dates, times and places; Peter had wanted to be certain that Vicky would at least be able to contact him each evening. But it hadn’t been enough, Thanet thought sadly as he dialled. At this particular time in her life Vicky had needed a much stronger lifeline than a voice on the telephone once a day. It was unfortunate that both sets of parents lived some distance away. They were all good, decent people and would be desperately upset about this. Thanet didn’t envy Peter, having to break the news to them.
At home peace had descended. Bridget was nursing the baby and Joan was putting on her coat.
‘I managed to get hold of Peter,’ said Thanet. ‘He’s coming straight home.’
‘Good. What time will he be here?’
‘In the early hours, he thinks. You’re going to the hospital?’
‘Yes, I must. You do realise, don’t you, that it’s my fault she’s there? The least I can do is be with h
er.’
‘What do you mean, your fault?’
‘I just didn’t make enough time for her. She was sending out all the signals and I just ignored them. If only I’d –’
‘Joan!’ Luke took her hands. ‘When will you learn that you are not responsible for the well-being of the whole world? You’ve spent a lot of time with Vicky, taken endless trouble over her. It’s her illness that has put her in hospital, not you.’
Joan bit her lip. ‘That’s not how it feels to me at the moment. I should have gone over to see her as soon as I got home from work. I’d have found her that much earlier and she’d have had a much better chance.’ She snatched up her bag. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Ring me,’ Thanet called as she hurried to her car.
Ben arrived home soon afterwards and they had supper. Thanet fetched further supplies for the baby from next door and at ten o’clock he and Bridget between them fed and changed him, Thanet remembering ruefully how adept he had once been at handling his own children.
At eleven Joan rang. ‘She’s come round.’
‘Thank God.’ Thanet was relieved not only for the sake of the young family, but for Joan. If Vicky had died … ‘Are you coming home now?’
‘No, someone must be here with her, for moral support. I’ll wait until Peter arrives. Is he coming straight to the hospital?’
‘I don’t know, he didn’t say. I imagine so … How is she?’
‘Drowsy. She doesn’t really know what’s hit her yet. Poor Vicky. When I think how happy they were, when she first knew she was pregnant …’
‘I know. Well, I suppose the only good thing to come out of this is that now she will at last get some psychiatric treatment. The hospital will make sure of that before they release her.’
‘True. That doctor of hers ought to be struck off!’
‘I’m sure Peter’ll see that she’s transferred to that woman doctor I was telling you about.’
‘I do hope things improve for her.’ Joan suddenly sounded very low.
‘Cheer up. They will. Post-natal depression doesn’t go on for ever.’
Suspicious Death Page 24