Dead and Gone

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘We were talking about when you went to fetch your swimming trunks from the car,’ said Lineham.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So we want you to think very carefully indeed,’ said Thanet.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Precisely what you saw and heard when you were crossing the courtyard.’

  Agon shrugged. ‘Nothing special.’

  Thanet inwardly cursed Martin’s arrival. Before, Agon had been reasonably cooperative. Now, smarting from his client’s reaction, resentment was making him impatient and antagonistic. And Thanet himself hadn’t helped, by being sarcastic just now. A climb-down was necessary.

  ‘Please, sir, we really would be grateful if you’d cast your mind back and try to remember. Even the smallest thing would help.’

  Agon stared at him, clearly torn between maintaining his hostile stance and getting rid of them quickly by cooperating. Prudence won. His tone changed. ‘Sorry, Inspector, but I really don’t think I can help you. I just went straight to the car, got my swimming stuff out, and went back to the pool house.’

  ‘Perhaps it would help if you shut your eyes and tried to visualise the scene,’ suggested Lineham.

  Agon sighed and rolled his eyes, but complied. After a minute or two he said slowly, ‘I think . . .’

  ‘What?’ Lineham was trying not to sound too eager.

  ‘I’m not sure, but I think the lights were on in the kitchen.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I just have the impression of someone moving about in there.’

  ‘Would you try hard to recall who it was?’

  Agon was silent for a moment longer, then shook his head and opened his eyes. ‘No, sorry. It was just a vague impression and I should think I took it for granted it would be Virginia. But I certainly couldn’t say for sure. I wasn’t paying much attention. If I’d known it was going to be important . . .’

  Familiar words indeed. Now it was Thanet’s turn to sigh. Time to change tack and if he wanted to steer the interview in the way he wished it to go, it would have to be an oblique approach. He glanced at Lineham. I’ll take over now, Mike. He knew Lineham wouldn’t mind, would appreciate that he simply wanted to follow a particular line of questioning.

  ‘How long have you been working here, sir?’

  ‘Since last October. There’s one indoor court, which we use during the winter months. A lot of people like to brush up on their strokes during the winter.’

  ‘Virginia Mintar for one, I believe.’

  Not surprisingly, perhaps, Agon’s eyes grew wary. ‘I did coach her for a short time earlier in the year, yes.’

  ‘So you’d have some idea what she was like, as a person.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘It’s just that it would be useful to have an impartial view of her, from someone outside the family circle.’

  Agon seemed to relax. ‘You see all sorts here, and she was one of the obsessive types.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Obsessive about exercise. She practically lived here – came every single day, weekends included. And not just for a quick swim. No, it would be forty-five minutes in the gym or on the tennis court and then another forty-five doing lengths in the pool.’

  ‘We understand, from talking to other people, that Mrs Mintar was – it’s difficult to put this tactfully – very interested in the opposite sex.’

  ‘You can’t expect me to gossip about members’ private lives.’

  Oh no? thought Thanet. Well, there were other ways of getting Agon to do just that. Time for the gloves to come off. ‘And you yourself are, as I’m sure you’re aware, a good-looking young man.’ Deliberately, Thanet glanced across at the girl who had spoken to Agon earlier. The implication was clear, but just to be sure Agon got the message he added, ‘It was quite interesting watching your coaching methods just now.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute, what are you implying?’

  ‘Just that two and two often make four. Mrs Mintar liked men, you’re an attractive man, therefore—’

  ‘Stop right there, Inspector. I do have some discrimination, you know. Virginia was middle-aged, for God’s sake.’

  ‘But still very attractive. And a lot of men like older women.’

  ‘Well, I’m not one of them! Why eat mutton when you can have lamb? That’s what I always say. And believe me, there’s plenty of lamb available around here.’

  Poor Rachel. What have you got yourself into? ‘I’d hardly expect you to admit it, would I? After all, sir, just think about it. You were actually there in the courtyard, alone, at the time she disappeared—’

  ‘I wasn’t the only one to have the opportunity!’ exploded Agon.

  His raised voice made heads turn and noticing this he leaned forward and hissed, ‘There were plenty of others who did. I’ve been thinking about it and as I told you, every single one of them came back to the pool alone. And if you really want me to point a finger in the right direction, look no further than next door to the Mintars.’

  Thank you, thought Thanet. It had been only too easy. ‘You’re surely not implying that there was something going on between Dr Squires and Mrs Mintar? She was his patient, I believe.’

  ‘Precisely! But patient or not, it was common knowledge amongst the staff here. Not that he and Virginia weren’t discreet, they were, but you could tell, all right. Dr Squires comes here every day too, to work out. I suppose it was inevitable they’d get together sooner or later. As you say, Virginia was man-mad and her old man seems to spend more time away than at home. I hate to say this about someone who was going to be my mother-in-law, but the story is, she’d worked her way through most of the available men in the Club.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘Not since I was here. It’s been the doctor for months. He’d really have been for it, if anyone had blown the whistle on them. I thought he was crazy, putting himself at risk like that. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. I’ve seen it all before. If a woman like that gets under your skin . . . I steer clear of them, I can tell you. You should have seen the way she was carrying on that night, making eyes at her own sister’s boyfriend!’

  ‘How did Dr Squires react to that?’

  ‘Jealous as hell. He couldn’t hide it, even though his wife was there, sitting at the same table! And Virginia’s sister wasn’t too impressed either, I gather.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Rachel overheard her aunt and Arnold arguing about it, when she went up to change. She said Jane was really upset, sounded as though she was in tears. I’m telling you, it’s not surprising Virginia ended up the way she did.’

  ‘He’s right, isn’t he?’ said Lineham as they walked back to the car. ‘It isn’t really surprising, is it?’ Then, with a sideways glance at Thanet, ‘D’you really think Agon might have had something to do with it?’

  ‘I doubt it. I was just trying to needle him into telling us about Squires and Virginia.’

  ‘And you succeeded, too. He was desperate to point the finger anywhere but at himself.’

  ‘Yes. All the same, I don’t think we ought to rule him out.’

  ‘Cold-hearted bastard, isn’t he, sir? “I prefer lamb to mutton”, indeed. And “there’s plenty of lamb available around here, believe me”! I suppose that’s what Rachel is. A lamb to the slaughter, more like, poor kid. Are you still calling me a cynic, as far as he’s concerned?’

  ‘I have to concede there, Mike.’

  ‘I tell you what did occur to me, sir, while you were questioning him.’

  They had reached the car and they got in.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we might just be wrong about Digby being the blackmailer. Seems to me Agon’s such a nasty bit of work he’d fit the bill nicely.’

  ‘The thought did cross my mind, I must admit. If we’re wrong about Digby, that’s where we’ll focus next. But I still think Digby’s the best bet, because of the photographs. I’m sure you’re right about them ha
ving been developed and printed at home.’ Thanet glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. Time was getting on, if they wanted that search warrant. ‘Surely we ought to have heard from Doc Mallard by now?’

  ‘He did say he’d ring, as soon as they were through.’

  ‘What time’s our appointment with Mrs Amos?’

  ‘Eleven-fifteen.’

  ‘And where does she live?’

  ‘Badger’s Close in Bickenden.’

  The next village. ‘We’re in comfortable time, then.’ Thanet debated with himself whether or not to ring Mallard, but decided against it. If Mallard had said he would ring as soon as he could, he would. ‘Right, Mike. Let’s go.’

  THIRTEEN

  The three impressive modern houses in Badger’s Close, Bickenden, had obviously been built in the former grounds of an older house which now looked distinctly forlorn in its truncated garden. They were constructed of traditional building materials – rosy red brick and Kentish peg tiles, their double garages disguised as farm buildings in dark-stained wood. An incongruous touch was that the gardens of each were surrounded by a high brick wall with spiked railings on top, terminating in tall wrought-iron gates with an intercom system built into one of the brick pillars which flanked them. A sign of the times, Thanet supposed.

  ‘Oh ye-e-s!’ said Lineham in admiration. ‘Now one of those would just suit me down to the ground!’

  ‘Hard luck, Mike. You missed your chance, last year.’

  When old Mrs Lineham had been agitating to move in with the young couple, the carrot had been that she and Lineham would both sell their houses and put the money together to buy just such a house as these.

  Lineham said nothing but they both knew that it would have been too high a price to pay.

  On the gatepost of Mrs Amos’s house was a small, neat notice: ‘SUSAN A. DESIGNS’.

  ‘What does she design?’ said Thanet.

  ‘No idea. But she did say she’d be in her studio, around the back.’

  Interesting, thought Thanet. That was one preconception out of the window. He hadn’t given much thought to Virginia Mintar’s friend, but had nevertheless assumed that she would have enjoyed much the same hedonistic life-style. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be a working woman with her own business. How often had he told his men never to make assumptions? The truth was, one made them automatically, without even realising one was doing so. Perhaps there were further surprises in store.

  After a brief exchange over the intercom the gates swung slowly open and they followed the path which led around one side of the house. Here there was a single-storey projecting wing similar to that in which old Mrs Mintar lived, but smaller in scale. Thanet guessed that Susan Amos had adapted a granny annexe for her own use.

  And yes, the woman who opened the door did not fit his mental picture of her. He had expected someone slim, elegant, well groomed and carefully made up, and Susan Amos was none of these things. Scruffy jeans strained across over-large hips and thighs, her dark hair was an untidy bush as if she had spent the morning running her hands through it and her face was devoid of make-up. Not surprisingly she looked as though she had scarcely slept the last two nights and her manner as she invited them in was subdued. The one striking thing about her was the beautiful knitted jacket she was wearing. Tutored by Joan, who loved such things but could rarely afford them, Thanet recognised that this was no chainstore creation. A knitwear designer, then? He remembered that years ago he had interviewed an actress who utilised her ‘resting’ periods by knitting picture sweaters, at a time when such things were fashionable. He had bought one for Joan, and still remembered her delight when he had presented it to her.

  His first glimpse of Susan Amos’s studio confirmed his guess. Around the walls were pinned sketches of sweaters and jackets, with swatches of wool attached, and one whole side of the studio up to shoulder height was taken up by what he guessed was a custom-made fitment of drawers labelled with the names of all the colours of the rainbow. One of the lower drawers stood open, displaying an astounding array of green wool in every hue, tone and texture. Above the unit four samples of her finished work were displayed on a neutral background. They were truly stunning. One jacket in particular caught his eye. A brilliant kaleidoscope of summer flowers danced across a background of many shades and textures of deep blue, purple, and rich, dark greens. There and then he made up his mind. He would buy it for Joan for Christmas, regardless of the cost. She would absolutely love it!

  ‘Sir?’ Lineham was looking at him expectantly.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was admiring your work, Mrs Amos. It’s beautiful.’

  She smiled briefly. ‘Thank you. Do sit down.’ She gestured at a couple of upright chairs and returned to the chair in front of a computer, its screen filled by a screensaver of shooting stars.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us.’

  Lineham’s mobile rang. He excused himself and went out.

  Doc Mallard? Thanet wondered. Best not to start the interview until the sergeant returned, in case they had to break off. Anyway, perched on the edge of her chair with her legs twisted around each other and her hands clasped together so tightly that the knuckles showed white, Mrs Amos looked so tense that she would almost certainly be incapable of talking about Virginia in the way he had hoped. He would spend the time trying to get her to relax.

  ‘We’ll just wait, to start, until my sergeant comes back. Meanwhile, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what sort of prices do you charge? That jacket, for instance . . . ?’

  Ouch! he thought, as she told him. ‘Do you sell direct, or only through retail outlets?’

  ‘No, I sell direct too. Some of my customers come back over and over again.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ He hesitated. Would it be unprofessional to broach the subject now? Was it possible that such a request could be construed as an inducement to talk freely? No, surely not. There was absolutely no indication whatsoever that Mrs Amos was involved in Virginia’s death. Still, perhaps he ought to wait, come back another time? But then he might risk losing the jacket to another customer. He glanced at it again, wavering. He could just see Joan in it. He made up his mind. ‘Look, I know this is absolutely nothing to do with the reason for our visit, but would you be willing to sell that one to me? I know my wife would absolutely love it.’

  She smiled again, more warmly, this time. ‘Of course. I do run a business, after all.’

  ‘We can attend to the details later, then.’ Thanet glanced at the door. Lineham was taking longer than he had expected. ‘Do you knit your designs yourself?’

  ‘Oh no, I’d never have time. I employ a number of experienced knitters. Most of them love knitting but have run out of people to knit for, so to speak. And I also have a part-time secretary.’

  ‘And you do your designing on the computer?’

  ‘Yes. I took the plunge last year and I must say it’s absolutely wonderful. It’s so easy to alter and adjust until you get everything exactly right.’ She was loosening up perceptibly, relieved perhaps that he hadn’t dived straight into talking about Virginia. ‘Look, I’ll show you.’ And she swung her chair around to face the screen.

  Thanet got up and went to stand beside her.

  ‘This is the design I’m working on at the moment. The beauty of this software package is that each element of the design is laid on to one transparent sheet, so to speak, and can be positioned wherever I like on the screen.’ She was demonstrating as she talked. ‘You see? And if I want to remove it, I can sort of peel it off, without affecting the rest of the design. Like this.’

  ‘Amazing!’ said Thanet.

  ‘It means I never have to-’

  Lineham came back into the room. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but could I have a word?’

  Thanet excused himself and they went outside, Thanet eager to hear what the sergeant had to say. There was a familiar air of suppressed excitement about Lineham which must denote some interesting new development. Knowing the se
rgeant so well, however, he guessed that Lineham would keep it until last. He was right.

  Apparently Doc Mallard had rung to confirm the opinion given after his initial inspection of Virginia’s body: death had been due to asphyxia by drowning and she had probably been unconscious when she hit the water, due to the severe blow to the side of her forehead.

  That was a relief, thought Thanet. Ever since Virginia’s body had been found he had been haunted by the fear that if only he’d had the well searched on Saturday night, she might have been found alive. But if she had been unconscious when she went in it was more than likely that she was dead even before he first arrived on the scene.

  The injury, Lineham was saying, was consistent with her head having struck the stone coping and no doubt blood samples taken at the time would confirm this.

  ‘We hope,’ said Thanet. ‘Come on, Mike, spit it out, there’s something more, isn’t there? I can tell.’

  ‘Bruises,’ said Lineham with satisfaction. ‘On both arms, just above her wrists. Fingermarks, in fact. Doc M. reckons someone grabbed her with force. We couldn’t see them when they brought her up out of the well because she was wearing that long-sleeved blouse.’

  Thanet had a sudden, vivid mental picture of Virginia at that moment, the wet silk of blouse and pants clinging to every luscious curve of her body.

  ‘And there’s another on her right hip,’ Lineham was saying. ‘The Doc wouldn’t commit himself, you know what he’s like, but he did agree that it was consistent with her having been shoved against the coping, just before she went over.’

  So it was as they thought. Virginia had been attacked, and with some violence, too. It gave Thanet no satisfaction to know this, except insofar as any uncertainty about the manner of her death had now been removed. ‘Not much doubt about it then, is there?’ he said grimly.

  Swiftly he arranged for an application for the warrant to search Digby’s house to be made and then they returned to Susan Amos.