Dead and Gone

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘So what next, sir? Do we tackle Jane Simons again?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Thanet had been thinking. ‘Digby said that he always watered the camellias during the week and Virginia Mintar did them at weekends. Which would imply that he was normally off duty on Saturdays and Sundays.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Lineham. ‘So what was he doing here this morning?’

  ‘It didn’t occur to me to ask. Stupid.’

  ‘Me too.’

  They were back in the courtyard by now. ‘Well, it should be easy enough to find out,’ said Thanet. ‘We’ll go and ask the old lady. She should know.’

  Mrs Mintar senior was clearly annoyed to be interrupted again and her answer was brief and unequivocal. Digby never worked on Sundays, and she couldn’t think what he had been doing here this morning. She slammed the door behind them the moment they turned away.

  ‘So do we want to talk to him again at the moment?’ said Lineham.

  ‘I’m not sure. There was something about his attitude . . .’ said Thanet.

  ‘That smirk, you mean?’

  ‘It’s just that I had the feeling he thought he had the laugh on us. That he knew more than he was saying.’

  ‘He’s well placed to observe what goes on in the family.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Thanet made up his mind. ‘Yes, I think we will have another word.’

  But Digby was nowhere to be found. Apparently he had disappeared soon after the body had been retrieved from the well.

  ‘Probably went home once the excitement was over,’ said Thanet. ‘Have you got his address?’

  ‘Yup. Made a note this morning. He lives in the village.’ Lineham leafed through his notebook. ‘Here it is.’

  ‘What would I do without you, Mike?’

  It sounded as though Thanet was joking but Lineham looked gratified. They both knew Thanet meant it. They had worked together for so long that without the sergeant Thanet felt that he was working with one arm tied behind his back. It wasn’t just that Lineham was efficient over minor details like this, but that over the years he and Thanet had built up so close a rapport that there was often no need to communicate in words. A gesture, a lift of the eyebrow, or the flicker of a glance were usually enough.

  It was too hot to walk into the village again so they drove. After asking directions they found Digby’s cottage some two hundred yards off the main street, at the end of an unmade-up track. An ugly little building of yellow brick, it crouched alone behind an unusually tall and overgrown privet hedge.

  Thanet believed that the houses in which people lived invariably had something to say about their owners and his first reaction to this one was: What has he got to hide? ‘Is he married?’ he said as they pushed open the sagging picket gate and approached the front door. Nobody had expended much love on the place. The paint on windows and door was peeling, the gutters sagged and although the little squares of lawn on either side of the path had been cut, a minimum of effort had been expended on the garden.

  ‘No idea. What makes you ask?’

  ‘No one seems to care much what this place looks like.’

  ‘Maybe it’s rented, and he’s got a bad landlord.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Digby didn’t look too pleased to see them and stood aside only grudgingly to let them in.

  By contrast with the external appearance of the place, the room into which the front door opened was, if not particularly attractive, clean and well ordered. Its most striking feature was a group of three framed black and white photographs on the wall above the fireplace. Thanet also noted well-stocked bookshelves as well as a mini CD system. Interestingly, there was only one armchair, conveniently placed for viewing the television set which was tuned in to a golf programme. Did the man never have visitors? Thanet’s interest sharpened. Digby’s profile was becoming more interesting by the minute: male, almost certainly unmarried, a loner . . .

  Digby switched off the set. ‘What do you want?’ he said to Thanet. ‘I’ve gone over it all twice already and I can’t see what else I can tell you.’

  ‘It’s surprising what people can remember, when they’ve had time to think, sir,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Maybe I’ve got better things to think about,’ said Digby.

  They were all still standing.

  ‘May we sit down?’ said Thanet, looking around in vain for a chair.

  With an exaggerated sigh Digby went into a room at the rear and came back carrying a kitchen chair and a camping stool.

  The man apparently had only one chair in his kitchen, too!

  Lineham set the stool against a wall and opened his notebook. ‘Just one or two more questions, then, sir,’ he said as he sat down, somewhat gingerly.

  The stool held, however.

  Thanet suppressed a grin. ‘You don’t usually work on Sundays, we gather, Mr Digby. Would you mind telling us why you went in this morning?’

  ‘I’d left something in the pocket of my overalls.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A couple of films.’

  Thanet’s eyebrows went up. It was an unexpected reply, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been, in view of the photographs on the walls and what Rachel had told them.

  Digby took this as disbelief and launched into an explanation. ‘I bought them in the town, yesterday morning, when I had to go in to pick something up for Mr Mintar. I put them in my pocket and forgot to bring them home last night. I wanted to use them this morning.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Thanet. ‘Miss Mintar told us that you are an accomplished photographer.’ He stood up and went to take a look at the mounted prints. ‘These are yours, I presume?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The photographs were very unusual. They reminded him of the puzzle photographs which one occasionally sees in newspapers and magazines, when readers are asked to identify weirdlooking objects which invariably turn out to be something mundane. It was a moment or two before he realised that all three were close-ups of garden plants. One was of the unfurling leaf of a fern. In another the prominent stamens of a lily thrust themselves skywards, the petals curling elegantly back behind them like unfolding wings. The third, a study in tone of strange, twisting shapes, he failed to recognise. ‘What is this one?’ he asked, pointing.

  ‘A close-up of the bark of Acer griseum, the Paperbark Maple.’

  ‘Do you do all your own developing and printing?’ Thanet said, still looking.

  Digby’s lip curled. ‘Of course.’ Stupid question.

  ‘These really are very good. Interesting. Original.’ Thanet meant it. He was aware of Lineham shifting restlessly on his stool. Shouldn’t we be getting on with it? He returned to his chair. ‘You have an exhibition on at the moment, I believe.’

  ‘Only in the local village library. It’s not exactly the National Gallery.’ But Digby was obviously pleased by Thanet’s compliment.

  ‘We must drop in and take a look,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Are you interested in wildlife?’

  ‘Some forms,’ said the sergeant.

  The double meaning was not lost on Digby and his expression darkened again. ‘Look, could we get on?’ His eyes strayed to the television set.

  ‘Of course. You want to get back to the golf,’ said Thanet. ‘Well, we won’t keep you long. So, you went to the Min tars’ house this morning to fetch your films. I imagine you intended just to pick them up then come straight back.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You said it was the watering can which alerted you to the fact that something might be wrong?’

  ‘I told you. Mrs Mintar was a very tidy-minded lady. Everything had to be just so. It was unusual, that’s all. So I went to tidy it away.’ He shrugged. ‘It was automatic.’

  ‘That was very conscientious of you. It was your day off, after all. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Do you see much of your employers?’

  ‘A fair bit, I suppose.�
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  ‘A good family to work for?’

  ‘Pretty good, yes.’

  ‘Would you say they got on well together, Mr and Mrs Mintar?’

  Digby was no fool. He saw at once where this line of questioning was leading. ‘If you’re thinking of trying to pin this on Mr Mintar you’re way off beam,’ he said at once. ‘I know what you lot always say about domestic murder, but he wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his wife’s head. Potty about her, he was. He’s a good bloke.’

  ‘And Mrs Mintar? What was she like?’

  ‘Very nice. Polite, appreciative, not like some.’

  But Thanet had the impression that Digby was deliberately keeping his expression bland. He was, as Lineham had said, well placed to observe the comings and goings in the Mintar household. If Mintar was away a lot, as he must be, and if Virginia Mintar was as man-mad as her sister seemed to imply, perhaps she might have felt that it was safe to bring her boyfriends (lovers?) home. And if she was involved with Howard Squires, Digby would no doubt know more about it than anyone else.

  ‘And a very attractive woman,’ said Lineham.

  There was a wary look in Digby’s eyes as he said, ‘So?’

  ‘She must have had admirers.’

  ‘If she did it was none of my business.’

  ‘It must have been lonely for her, with Mr Mintar away so much.’

  Digby shrugged.

  ‘Was there anyone special?’ said Thanet softly.

  Digby compressed his lips and said nothing.

  ‘Oh come, Mr Digby. Being there most of the time you must have been aware of any regular visitors.’

  Digby rubbed the side of his nose. ‘I said, none of my business, was it?’

  ‘Not then, maybe. But it is now. Don’t you want to help us find out who killed her?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Then please, cast your mind back and tell us if there was anyone you saw her with on a regular basis, either some time ago or more recently.’

  ‘There’s that friend of hers. Mrs Amos.’ The sardonic twinkle was back in Digby’s eye.

  Thanet felt like shaking him. The man knew something, he was certain of it. ‘What about male friends, Mr Digby?’

  Digby pulled down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  Whatever he knew, he wasn’t going to tell, that was clear. Thanet tried another tack. ‘Could you tell us something about her activities?’

  ‘What activities?’

  Thanet saw Lineham stir. The sergeant was finding this interview equally frustrating. ‘You must have some idea where she went, whom she saw?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You have no idea at all? She never said, “Oh, Digby, I’m just going to such and such a place. If anyone calls, tell them I hope to be back by lunchtime”, for example?’

  ‘I don’t recall her ever saying exactly that, no.’

  Thanet was keeping his temper with difficulty. ‘Mr Digby. I don’t know if you are being deliberately obstructive, but I would like to remind you that your employer, a woman whom you say you liked, has been murdered. She is dead, Mr Digby, and someone is responsible.’

  ‘So what do you want me to say?’ Digby flared up. ‘I was her gardener, not her minder. She didn’t give me a list of her activities, did she? I know she spent a lot of time at that Health Club. And she did an awful lot of shopping, she was always coming back with those glossy carrier bags. But apart from that . . . I imagine she went to coffee mornings, had lunch with her friends, all that sort of stuff.’

  As Thanet had hoped, anger had loosened the man’s tongue. Careful now, not to phrase the next question in a negative manner. ‘And were there any special male friends?’

  ‘I told you! Not to my knowledge!’

  Thanet and Lineham exchanged brief glances. He’s lying.

  But perhaps now was the moment to get at the truth about another of Virginia Mintar’s relationships. ‘How did Mrs Mintar get on with her mother-in-law?’

  Digby pounced upon the change of topic with relief. ‘Ah well, now that’s a very different kettle of fish.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Always rowing, they were.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘Can’t you be a little more precise?’

  ‘She’s an interfering old bag. Always thinking she knows best and trying to tell me what to do. She was the same with Mrs Mintar.’

  ‘She criticised her, you mean.’

  ‘Too right, she did!’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Mrs Mintar couldn’t do a thing right in her eyes.’

  Digby was being evasive again. But now a gleam of malice appeared in his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact, they had a hell of a ding-dong yesterday.’

  ‘Oh? When was this?’

  ‘Dinner time. I was just knocking off and I was walking past the side of the annexe when I heard them arguing.’

  ‘Where were they?’

  ‘In her studio. There’s a window on the side. It was wide open.’

  ‘Could you hear what they were saying?’ Thanet guessed that the temptation to eavesdrop would have been irresistible.

  ‘I’d guess the old bag had been going on at her again about something because young Mrs Mintar was saying that if she didn’t shut up and stop her nagging she’d tell Mr Mintar about her heart condition, and that would put a stop to her gallivanting off to foreign parts for good and all.’

  EIGHT

  Outside the heat of the day was trapped between the high hedges of the narrow lane and the interior of Lineham’s car was like an oven. They opened all the doors to cool it down and waited for a few minutes before getting in.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Lineham as he touched the steering wheel. ‘This is almost too hot to handle.’ He switched on the blower and a stream of torrid air gushed out at them. ‘If the climate goes on changing like this they’ll have to start putting in air conditioning as standard.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Thanet was thinking about Digby. ‘Doesn’t sound as if there was much love lost between Virginia Mintar and her mother-in-law, does there?’

  ‘Nor between Digby and the old lady, either.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he might have been exaggerating, in order to get her into trouble?’

  ‘It’s a thought, isn’t it?’

  ‘And the row, yesterday lunch time?’

  Lineham did not answer immediately. He was pulling out into the main street. His caution, however, proved unnecessary. Not a single person was in sight. Presumably they were all, like the Squireses, prostrate in their back gardens or shut up indoors like Digby, watching television. Thanet didn’t blame them. He was sweating so much that his back was sticking to the car seat and he leaned forward a little to separate them and allow air to pass between.

  ‘Oh, I should think that bit was true enough,’ said Lineham. ‘I don’t see how he could have known about old Mrs Mintar’s heart condition otherwise.’

  ‘No. The interesting thing is that her son obviously doesn’t know and her daughter-in-law did. Now how did that come about, I wonder? It certainly doesn’t seem that they were on sufficiently good terms for her to have confided in Virginia. In fact, I should have thought she’d have been anxious to keep it a total secret, for the very reason Digby mentioned.’

  ‘No more expeditions, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Did you notice her whip that pill bottle out of sight when we were looking at the paintings?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Lineham looked chagrined. He hated to feel he had missed something.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to. It was real sleight-of-hand stuff.’

  ‘You noticed, though, didn’t you?’

  Thanet ignored this. Lineham was always putting himself down. ‘The point is, I should guess her work is more important to her than anything else, and those expeditions are what she enjoys most of all. The only time she seemed to come to life was when she was talking about them.’
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  ‘I agree that I can’t see her telling Virginia about her condition voluntarily. Unless, of course, Virginia found out by accident – she could have had an attack while Virginia was present, for instance.’

  ‘Possible, I suppose. But she’s a tough old bird. In those circumstances, unless it was a very bad attack, I could just imagine her gritting her teeth and making an excuse to get away without letting on, so that she could take her medication in private. No, Mike, if we’re right and Virginia was involved with Dr Squires I think it much more likely that that’s how she found out.’

  ‘Pillow talk, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lineham tutted. ‘Getting in deeper and deeper, isn’t he? An affair with a patient and then breaking another patient’s confidentiality . . . If he did tell her, that would explain why he’s so unpopular with the old lady. She would be bound to realise how Virginia found out.’

  ‘Quite. But this is all speculation at the moment, remember, Mike. Still, I think another word with him is next on the agenda. But leaving aside the question of how Virginia found out, we can’t ignore the point Digby was making.’

  ‘That Virginia and the old lady had a row yesterday afternoon, you mean.’

  ‘And that Virginia was threatening to spill the beans to her husband.’

  ‘You think that might have been a strong enough motive to shove her down the well?’

  ‘Think about it, Mike. Mrs Mintar senior’s front door is only a matter of yards away from the well and by her own admission she was in the annexe at the time. It was a hot night and she might well have left her front door open when she went in, to cool the place down. And the circumstances were ideal – it was dark, everyone was out of the way, Virginia would have been alone, the well cover was off . . . So say Virginia remembers she hadn’t finished watering the camellias. She goes out to the well, bends over to pick up the watering can, or leans across to reach the bucket or whatever . . . Mrs Mintar sees her chance and grabs it. It wouldn’t have taken much strength. Virginia was only slight. If she was caught off balance . . .’

  ‘What about the voices Mrs Mintar claims to have heard in the courtyard?’

  ‘There’s no corroboration, as yet anyway. She could well have made them up, to throw us off the track.’