‘I told you. She’s a real sweet girl. She’ll be upset, all right.’
And even more so in the morning, after the unpleasant task of formal identification of the body, thought Thanet.
‘Did you by any chance see Mr Long this evening, Mrs … Dara?’
‘He was going out as I came in. About a quarter to seven.’
That was a help. So he’d been alive until quite late. ‘You heard him come in again, later?’
She shook her head.
‘But his room is directly above yours, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I might’ve been cooking my bit of supper in the kitchen when he came in, I suppose. Anyway, I can’t hear everything that goes on upstairs. If they’re walking around a lot, or playing that awful pop stuff then yes, I can hear the thump, thump, thump, but otherwise this house is built pretty solid, not like the modern rubbish they put up these days. And I had the telly on most of the evening. Next time I saw him was flat out on the floor, when I let the policeman into his room. I has a spare key to all the rooms, in case of emergency. One thing I wanted to ask you …’
‘Yes?’
‘How did the police know there was anything wrong? I mean, there’d been no row, nothing to let on …’
No reason why he shouldn’t tell her. ‘Someone rang in, to let us know.’
‘And I bet he didn’t give his name and address, neither.’
‘You missed your vocation, Dara,’ said Thanet, smiling. ‘You should have been a detective.’
She gave a snort of laughter and the long worm of ash on her cigarette dropped into her lap. She brushed it away, leaving a smear of grey on the scarlet silk. ‘That’d be the day!’
‘So you have no idea what time Mr Long returned home?’
‘Not the faintest.’
‘Did you happen to see any strangers in the house this evening?’
‘Once I shut the front door behind me, that was it, I didn’t poke me nose out again until I heard that policeman hammering away at Sharon’s door.’
Pity. ‘Did either of them ever mention a man called Carpenter?’
Mrs Bence looked at Thanet sharply and fumbled in the pocket of her kimono for her packet of cigarettes. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So that’s the way the wind blows, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
She waited until she had lit her cigarette. ‘Soon after they came here, the Longs, he was involved in a car accident …’
The words ‘car accident’ were enough, in this context, for Thanet immediately to realise why Carpenter’s name had seemed familiar. About a year ago, in the neighbouring town of Ashford, Carpenter’s wife and daughter had been involved in a car crash. Mrs Carpenter had been killed instantly, but the little girl had been taken from the wreckage unconscious and had remained in a coma ever since, kept alive by life support machines. Although the driver of the other car had been prosecuted for dangerous driving, his defence counsel had come up with a witness whose testimony had laid part of the blame for the accident on Mrs Carpenter, and there had been a nasty scene in court when the young man had got off with a fine and a driving licence suspension of nine months. Carpenter, Thanet had been told, had had to be forcibly restrained from attacking the accused there and then. So that other driver had been Steven Long …
But why should Carpenter wait a year to take his revenge? It just didn’t make sense. And if he were the murderer, why should he be sitting outside, some time later, still uttering threats against his victim? Had he been too drunk to know that he had already killed him? Thanet made a mental note: get hold of the clothes Carpenter was wearing, and run tests on them.
Thanet waited until Mrs Bence had finished talking, asked a few polite questions, then stood up. ‘Well, thank you, Dara, you’ve been a great help. I’ll leave you now, to get your beauty sleep.’
She grinned, stubbed out her cigarette and levered herself up out of her chair. ‘At my age what you need is the beauty, not the sleep.’
‘Look,’ said Thanet. ‘Would you mind if I came back some time, and you told me all about the circus?’
She frowned in disbelief. ‘You’re having me on.’
‘I most certainly am not. I’d really like to.’
She was suddenly radiant and Thanet caught a fleeting glimpse of the vivid creature she had once been. ‘I’ll have to shake the moths out of the red carpet,’ she said.
THREE
‘Hurry up, Ben!’
It was Joan’s turn to take the children to school, and as usual Ben was late. She and Bridget were standing in the hall, muffled up in coats and scarves against the biting cold which awaited them outside. Thanet, still sluggish after only a few hours’ sleep, was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of black coffee.
Hurrying footsteps on the stairs told him that Ben was ready at last, and he got up and went into the hall to say goodbye. Hasty kisses from Joan and Bridget, a wave from Ben and they were gone. Thanet returned to the kitchen and sat down again, feeling for his pipe. He needn’t leave for another five minutes yet. He made a conscious effort to think about the day’s work, to force his brain to start ticking over at the necessary speed. At the beginning of a case there was always so much to do, it was essential to decide on priorities. And the first, of course, would be to get Lineham back.
The radio was on and although Thanet hadn’t been listening properly a familiar name suddenly attracted his attention.
‘… Carpenter, in a coma for over a year, ever since the tragic road accident in which her mother was killed, has died. After many months of discussion the decision was finally taken yesterday to switch off Christine’s life support machine. Her father, Mr Harry Carpenter, was not available for comment.’
So here was the explanation of Carpenter’s behaviour last night. Thanet could imagine the man’s grief after the long months of hoping, his need to vent his anger against life for the cruel blow it had dealt him. What more natural than that that anger should have found its focus in the man who had been driving the other car? It seemed possible that Thanet would need to look no further for his murderer.
All the same, he couldn’t afford to take Carpenter’s guilt for granted. An interview with him was obviously a matter of urgency, but if Mrs Bence was to be believed, Steven Long had been the kind of man to make enemies rather than friends. Who could tell, at this stage, what other, equally powerful motives might turn up?
It was time to go. Thanet adjusted the time-clock on the central heating so that the house would warm up before the children got home from school, then left.
The streets of Sturrenden, the small country town in Kent where Thanet lived and worked, were unusually deserted for this hour of the morning, and the few pedestrians were hurrying along with heads down, eyes watering in the persistent wind. Along the banks of the river the last remaining leaves had been stripped from the flowering cherry trees, and between banks slick with mud the water ran swift and treacherously, the colour of molten pewter.
In the office a stack of reports awaited him, but he reached for the telephone, pushing them to one side.
Harry Carpenter, he learned, was not yet fit for questioning. He was conscious but still in shock, unresponsive and silent. Thanet arranged for a rota of men to await the moment when he could be interviewed, then rang Chief Inspector Hines.
‘Hines here.’
Hines’s brusque bark was painful to the ear and Thanet winced, held the receiver further away.
‘Good morning, sir. Thanet.’
‘Ah, morning, Luke. Had a spot of trouble over there, I gather.’
‘You’ve heard about it, then. That’s why I’m ringing.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re stuck already.’ Hines’s hearty guffaw sent shock vibrations through Thanet’s ear-drum.
Don’t let him rile you. ‘Not exactly, sir. It’s just that I need DS Lineham back.’
‘Ah. Well now, we have a slight problem there, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’
�
�Lineham’s already been briefed this morning, and won’t be back until lunch time.’
Thanet silently ground his teeth. If Hines had heard about Long’s murder, he must have known that Thanet would be requesting the sergeant’s return. He was being deliberately obstructive. ‘That’s a pity.’ Pity! ‘I really am very short-handed here. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of recalling him?’ Damn. Shouldn’t have put it like that. Asking for the answer ‘No’.
‘No,’ said Hines, trying but failing to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. ‘He’s been given a job to do, he’ll have to finish it.’
‘So he’ll be reporting in around midday?’ Knowing Hines of old, Thanet was determined not to let the conversation end without some definite arrangement being made.
‘Somewhere around then, I should think.’ Hines wasn’t enjoying being forced into a corner.
‘So I can expect him back here by, say, two o’clock, at the latest?’
‘Unless anything unexpected crops up.’
Thanet was satisfied. Both men knew that Hines was now committed to returning Lineham and was just going through the motions of demonstrating that he still had the whip hand. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Mission accomplished, Thanet could afford to be generous. Besides, he was genuinely interested. ‘How’s the case going?’
‘Well enough, Luke, well enough. We have an identification now, so it’s just a matter of time, I expect. You know how it is.’
‘Quite. Good.’
A few more pleasantries and Thanet rang off, relieved that the call had gone off relatively smoothly. It would be a nuisance having to manage without Lineham again this morning, but the inconvenience was a small price to pay for avoiding a head-on confrontation with Hines, whose overbearing, perverse nature had made him universally unpopular.
Thanet arranged for Carpenter’s clothes to be brought in for examination, then settled down to read the reports. Carson had managed to trace both Long’s mother (too drunk to take the news in properly) and his wife (very distressed, almost hysterical). He had arranged for someone to pick Sharon up this morning and bring her in to identify the body. There was a separate note from Carson informing Thanet that the postmortem was scheduled to take place today.
A number of people who lived in Hamilton Road reported seeing Carpenter’s car parked there last night. The earliest time mentioned was around six thirty, shortly before Mrs Bence had seen Long go out.
Thanet tried to work it out.
If Carpenter had gone to Hamilton Road determined to revenge himself, he obviously hadn’t killed Long when he first arrived because at a quarter to seven Long had been alive, kicking and apparently unscathed.
But Carpenter hadn’t struck Thanet as being a naturally violent type. Perhaps he hadn’t gone up to the flat immediately, but had sat in the car, drinking, to bolster up his courage. The police had found a large empty whisky bottle in his car. If so, then surely he would have seen Long go out.
But no, not necessarily. For one thing it was dark, and for another, Long might have left by car and Carpenter might not have been able to see who was driving.
Thanet made a note to find out about Long’s car, and where he usually parked it.
In that case, Carpenter might eventually have gone up to the flat and found it empty, returned to the car and proceeded to drink himself senseless. On the other hand, Long might have been back by then, and this could have been when Carpenter finally attacked and killed him …
Thanet shook his head in self-admonition. It was pointless to waste time speculating like this. He really ought to know better. He didn’t have nearly enough facts at his disposal, as yet.
Thanet read on.
Long’s neighbours reported having heard more than one person knocking on his door last night, but wouldn’t commit themselves to exact times, and with one exception hadn’t actually seen any of the visitors. Nor did they know whether any of them had been admitted.
But someone had seen a man turning away from Long’s door ‘getting on towards half past eight’, as he himself was coming up the stairs. And there was a good description: early twenties, heavy build, around five feet ten, with longish, dark curly hair and a moustache. Wearing jeans, dark blue anorak, heavy brown leather trainer-style shoes.
Excellent. Full marks for observation, thought Thanet, noting that the description could not by any stretch of the imagination apply to Carpenter. One of Long’s brothers, perhaps?
The obvious way to find out about Long’s family would be to talk to his mother. Even if she had a job it would be most unlikely that she would be going in to work today. Thanet found Carson’s report and scribbled down the address: Mrs Lena May, 21 Orchard Road, Sturrenden. A different surname, Thanet noted. She must have married again.
Suddenly he was eager to be off, out of the confines of his office, away from the administration and paperwork which was for him the least interesting part of his job.
In a matter of minutes he was on his way.
FOUR
Over the years Sturrenden had gradually expanded. Typical of many small Kentish towns, its architecture mirrored the centuries of change through which it had passed. In the centre, black and white half-timbered buildings rubbed shoulders with elegant sash-windowed Georgian houses of mellow red brick which gradually gave way to larger, Victorian tradesmen’s houses and rows of terraced cottages.
Around this older core the twentieth century had tacked on a hotch-potch of housing estates, both private and council-owned. The Orchard Estate was one of the latter and like most council estates demonstrated the varying attitudes of council tenants towards the accommodation provided for them, from pride to indifference. By the look of it, Mrs May was well down in the spectrum: the windows of number 21 were grimy, its garden overgrown.
The woman who answered the door matched the exterior. Her pink satin dressing gown was grubby and stained, her slippers down at heel. She was, he guessed, in her fifties, with improbably bright blonde hair, deeply scored frown lines and a sour, discontented expression. Thanet could detect no signs of grief. She was heavily made up with startlingly blue eye-shadow and pillar-box red lipstick which emphasised the sallowness of her skin. As soon as she saw Thanet she gave him a coy smile, folded the pink satin more closely about her, emphasising her bra-less breasts, and gave what she obviously imagined was a seductive little wriggle. ‘Yes?’
Thankful that he had had the foresight to bring Carson, who until now had been out of her line of vision, Thanet introduced himself, shuffling sideways so that his companion was visible.
When she saw the detective constable her smile didn’t so much fade as switch off, like a light going out. ‘Oh, it’s you again. So I didn’t imagine it, last night.’
‘May we come in?’ said Thanet.
She shrugged. ‘If you must.’
Thanet and Carson exchanged glances behind her back as they followed the pink dressing gown along a narrow passage beside the stairs. She opened the door ahead of them and stopped so suddenly that Thanet cannoned into her.
‘Sorry.’ Over her shoulder he glimpsed a squalor which made him shudder: a floor so dirty that it was impossible to tell what kind of floor-covering had been used, unwashed dishes piled on every available surface, and a rank, sour smell that was a combination of blocked drains, unwashed dishcloths and rancid fat.
‘Haven’t had time to clear up this morning yet,’ she muttered. ‘We’d better go in the other room.’ She shut the kitchen door and opened the one at right angles to it.
Chill air gushed out to meet them, laced with stale alcohol. The curtains were still drawn and she hurried across the room to open them. Some time in the distant past an attempt had been made to brighten the place up, but the swirling orange and black abstract design in the wallpaper had faded, the pink and green cabbage roses in the carpet were stained and worn, the orange stretch slipcovers on the settee and armchairs were greasy along the arms and marked with dark, circular patches on the ba
cks where countless unwashed heads had rested.
Mrs May stooped to light the gas fire. ‘Bloody freezing this morning, in’t it?’ She stood rubbing her arms and watching the fire, as if willing it to warm the room up quickly. ‘I hope this won’t take too long, I was just getting ready to go to work.’
The morning after her son had been murdered?
Perhaps she had picked up Thanet’s unspoken disapproval because she shot him a defensive glance and sat down. ‘Got to earn a living, haven’t I? No one else is going to pay the rent, that’s for sure.’
Thanet perched on the edge of the settee and Carson sat down alongside him. ‘Your husband …?’
She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. ‘What husband?’
Thanet said nothing and she fished a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out in a long stream. ‘Scarpered, didn’t he? Like the last one.’
‘You’ve been married twice?’
She nodded. ‘Bastards, both of them. Just my luck. First time I was just sixteen. Fred was eighteen. We never had a chance. Only been married five minutes and along come twins. Twins, I ask you! And me hardly knowing which end of a baby was which. ’E wasn’t very pleased, I can tell you. Really gave me gyp. As if it was my fault!’
‘How did you cope?’
‘I didn’t. My sister took one of them. She’d been married several years and they’d given up hope. Hope! Some word, that. If you ask me, it’s all one big con.’
‘What is?’
‘The idea of babies being sweet and cuddly and all that. If they’re not screaming they’re puking or shitting, and as for having a good time, any hope of that is gone, bang, out of the window … And of course, it was just my luck that I picked Steve …’
‘Just a moment. Let me get this straight. You’re saying that Steven Long, the man who was … died yesterday, was one of the twins?’
She nodded.
‘Identical twins?’
‘Yes. And he was trouble from the word go, believe me. Never stopped screaming, day or night. If it hadn’t been for him Fred might never have left me. He just couldn’t stand it no longer.’
Dead on Arrival Page 3