Quinn gave up the struggle. He said, “No, I don’t suppose you would.”
“Of course not. I’ve got to work for my living. Always have and always will. But don’t get me wrong. That’s the way I like it to be. Wouldn’t have it any other way — even if I do know I can’t. I don’t believe in all this fratriciding by people who can’t afford it.”
She ended on a note of triumph. When she looked at Quinn as though daring him to contradict her, he said, “How right you are! I couldn’t agree more … to coin a phrase. Now we’ve got that settled let’s get back to Mr. Parry and his failings. What do you think was wrong with him?”
In an artificially prim voice, Mrs. Gregg said, “Well, it’s not exactly what I like to talk about … in the manner of speaking. But if you really want to know …”
“I do. And the police will want to know as well. So I’ll help you to put your thoughts in order ready for the inspector’s arrival this afternoon.”
Once again she glanced over her shoulder to the kitchen door. Then she said, “I’ve always thought it needn’t be the man’s fault. A lot depends on the kind of wife he marries. With some women that sort of thing isn’t all that important. Others can’t get enough of it … if you follow me.”
Quinn said, “Now I know what you’re talking about. But how do you know that’s what was wrong between them?”
“Because I’ve heard her complaining many a time. Not that I deliberately listened …”
“No, of course not. She just talked loud enough for you to hear her.”
“That’s right. Many a time. Told him he wasn’t a man … had no right to marry her … if she’d known he never would’ve done. And then there was one day …”
Mrs. Gregg hesitated. The look on her heavy face invited Quinn to ask her to go on.
He said, “Yes? You may as well give me the whole story now.”
“I don’t know whether I should … you being a friend of his, and that.”
“I’m far from being a friend. I met Mr. Parry for the first time yesterday evening. So don’t worry. I won’t repeat anything you tell me.”
“Oh, I hope not. He’d say it was only because I don’t like him. She was nice to me … but he’s always had too big an opinion of himself. I once heard him call me Pathé’s Gazette. I’ve never found out what he meant but I know it’s rude and I don’t think he’s entitled to say nasty things about people when he’s no better than they are. It is rude, isn’t it?”
Quinn had a picture in his mind of a darkened cinema and the twin lenses of a movie camera on the screen as the newsreel came to an end. Then fade-out music coinciding with a legend: Pathé’s Gazette — The Eyes and the Ears of the World.
He said, “Whatever Mr. Parry meant I wouldn’t let it worry me if I were you. Instead tell me what happened that day you were talking about.”
Mrs. Gregg came out on to the porch and pulled the door almost shut behind her. With her eyes fixed immovably on Quinn’s face, she said hurriedly, “They must’ve thought I’d gone but I’d come back because I’d forgotten something and they didn’t bother to keep their voices down so I couldn’t help —” She stopped for lack of air.
“ — overhearing them,” Quinn said. “Quite natural. What did you hear?”
“It was about him drinking. She said it might be because he got drunk so often that he wasn’t much use. And he said all she ever thought about was getting into bed. She might’ve killed her first husband but she wasn’t going to kill him. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
Quinn said, “Depends on the circumstances. What did he say?”
“I didn’t get it all. Just something about him taking too much for granted. All he cared about was himself. It wouldn’t matter to him if she dropped dead. He’d have no financiery worries and that was all he was concerned about.”
With an air of sadness Mrs. Gregg shook her head and went on, “Now the poor thing’s dead and so he’s got what he wants. Not that he had anything to do with it, of course, except it was through him she did it … but it makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“You’re so right,” Quinn said. “And I’m going for a walk while I think some more. Anyone wants me, I’ll be back about two. And tell Mrs. Ford or Miss Stewart I’m lunching out.”
10
For more than two hours he wandered at random along quiet country roads under a sun that burned in the cloudless blue of the sky. Now and again he rested at the roadside, sprawled out on a bank where an overgrown brier cast its shade. And all the time he thought about a man called Michael Parry.
Carole had been right. Parry’s life might have been different if he’d married someone for whom he would’ve had to work, some ordinary woman who’d have needed him to support her.
But circumstances had betrayed him. Adele was no ordinary woman. Her money and the physical demands she made on him destroyed all incentive, all ambition to create something out of his own life. Too much money left him with only a pretence of living. When the pressure became too great and he was forced to recognise what he had become he could always blot out the picture by means of drink — each time more and more drink.
… And he knows that everybody knows. Whatever he does is merely an act to protect his ego … and it doesn’t even do that. I’d feel sorry for him except for the fact that nothing stopped him getting out. He was healthy and intelligent enough to earn his own living. His failing was that he didn’t have the moral strength to break out of his cocoon …
Adele had made a slave of him — a kept man helplessly dependent on her. And the irony was that what she had bought with her money had failed its sole purpose. Michael had never satisfied her need.
… The situation was one that couldn’t go on indefinitely. She was bound to take a lover … and Parry was bound to know it …
If she had phoned him to say she was coming home that afternoon instead of in the evening … and he had gone to Salisbury to meet her … and she’d told him their marriage was finished … she’d instructed her lawyers to make out a will leaving him nothing or next to nothing.
Yet it could have been Dr. Bossard who had met her at the station and driven her home. Same circumstances, different motive. All that needed to be known about Adele Parry had been provided by Mrs. Ford, Miss Wilkinson and now Mrs. Gregg.
… There’s that business about the boot of the car being open. I saw that when Carole and I went round to the garage a minute or so after we got to Elm Lodge. Could be that Michael made the car ready in anticipation of bringing his wife’s body down from the bedroom … but she took longer to die than he’d expected … and Carole and I arrived sooner than he’d expected … and so he had to drag Adele into the nursery where she wouldn’t be found …
Quinn told himself he’d been over the same ground already. If he were wise he’d get out and forget the whole thing. It was none of his business. He was supposed to be on holiday.
It seemed a long time since Thursday night and that stupid party. He’d already wasted two days. His best bet would be to leave the people at Elm Lodge to stew in their own juice.
Maybe no one would ever know how and why Adele Parry had died. There was no reason why he should care. He didn’t even have to go back to the house. None of the things he’d left there belonged to him.
A bus from Castle Lammering would take him to Blandford … he could catch another bus to Salisbury … and from there a train to London. Tomorrow he’d begin his holiday again — this time alone.
… That’s the route Adele took last Monday. We know she went to London. The police will verify that a taxi picked her up at the house and dropped her at Blandford. They’ll also find out if she called on her lawyers and what she talked about. Be interesting to see whether it was her husband or Bossard … or if she actually did it herself…
He turned back and headed for Castle Lammering. There he caught the quarter to twelve bus to Blandford.
It was a pleasant town on a pleasant day but his journey served n
o other purpose than to show him there was a telephone box within a few yards of the bus stop. When he had wandered around for a while he took the next bus back.
By then it was twenty minutes past one and he had begun to feel hungry. If he looked in at the Bird-in-Hand he should be able to kill two birds with one stone. It seemed the kind of place where the beer would be cold and he could get an edible sandwich.
The bar was fairly busy. All the customers were men and they looked and behaved like regulars. When he first walked in they stared at him, one or two of them gave him a friendly nod, and then they went back to their own affairs.
He ordered a sandwich. “… Anything’ll do so long as it keeps the wolf from the door. I won’t even say no to a piece of wolf between two slices of bread.”
The landlord said, “We’ve had no wolves in these parts since the bad winter of 1721 … but I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Before I get out my spade, would you risk ordering something to drink?”
Quinn said, “I’ll have a pint of bitter. It doesn’t seem to have harmed your other customers.”
“That’s merely because they’ve developed a natural immunity. You just passing through here?”
“No, I’m staying up at Elm Lodge. I believe Mr. Parry comes in quite a lot?”
The landlord finished drawing Quinn’s beer, placed a cardboard mat in front of him, and stood the pint glass on it. Then he said, “Yes, he does. But from what I hear we won’t be seeing much of him to-day.”
“I shouldn’t think you will,” Quinn said.
“A very distressing business … by all accounts.”
“It’s always worse for those that are left … as they say,” Quinn said.
“Yes, that’s true enough. How’s he taking it?”
“As well as can be expected,” Quinn said.
“Give him my sympathies and tell him we were all very sorry to hear the news … will you?”
“Soon’s I get back to the house,” Quinn said.
The landlord nodded and said, “Sad life … but there it is. Now I’ll go and see about that sandwich of yours.”
Quinn drank beer and listened to the sporadic conversation around him. The cool half light of the bar was more than welcome after his long and dusty walk in the sun.
Then the landlord came back. “Here we are. Beef on fresh bread with homemade pickles. How’s that?”
“Sounds all right and looks all right,” Quinn said. He took a bite. “Tastes all right, too. Present my compliments to the chef.”
“She’d rather have half a crown. Always has been one of the mercenary kind. Do anything for money — well, almost anything.”
Quinn paid, bought the landlord a drink, and then asked, “How did you get to hear about Mrs. Parry?”
“Oh, the usual way we hear about everything that goes on. The milkman called at one of his customers — in this case it happened to be a friend of the Parrys — and she told him. Then the milkman told the postman and the postman told Mary Kemp who runs the village store and Mary Kemp told me … all inside about fifteen minutes.”
“They do say news travels fast,” Quinn said.
“And nowhere faster than in these parts. If Marconi had lived in Castle Lammering he wouldn’t have bothered to invent radio.”
The landlord raised his glass. “Cheers … Does anyone know when Mrs. Parry came home?”
“Not yet. I’d have thought your bush telegraphy system could provide all the answers.”
“Oh, no. It only transmits things that are seen or heard … and apparently no one saw her. I knew she’d been away all week, of course. Mr. Parry always stays longer than usual at midday when he’s on his own and since last Monday he’s stood chatting to me until long past closing time.”
“But he wasn’t in yesterday, was he? From what he told me he went shopping in Poole and had lunch there and knocked back a few drinks and drove straight home to sleep it off.”
The landlord shook his head. “You’ve only got it half right. He was in Poole, true enough. And he also had a few in some pub there. But that didn’t stop him dropping in and having a few more before he went home.”
Quinn said, “Funny why he doesn’t remember it.”
“Wouldn’t strike you as funny if you’d been in here. When he came in about half past two I could see he’d already had a pretty good session … not that he can’t carry his drink, mark you.”
“Oh, I know that,” Quinn said.
“Still, there’s a limit even for someone like Mr. Parry. I was the one who advised him to go home and sleep it off after he’d had one or two doubles. Even tried to persuade him to leave his car and walk but he wouldn’t have it.”
“All the same you succeeded in getting him to leave earlier than usual,” Quinn said.
“Only because I put him in a bad temper. The moment I suggested that he might be wise to leave his car he flared up and told me to mind my own bloody business. He’s never been the sort of man to use bad language but he called me a few choice names before he dashed off as if he was going to a fire. When he’d gone I found he’d left his whisky. It’s not like him, at all.”
“Probably he was so tight he didn’t know what he was saying. Doesn’t even remember anything about it … so I wouldn’t be offended if I were you.”
The landlord said, “Takes more than that to offend me. In view of what’s happened since then you can take it that the whole thing’s forgotten.”
He grinned, swallowed a mouthful of beer, and grinned again. “For your information, I’ve been insulted by professionals. If Mr. Parry had been himself he wouldn’t have gone off the way he did. I’ve never known him leave before we bolt the outside doors.”
“What time do you shut up shop in this part of the world?”
“Same time as in most other places. We stop serving at three o’clock and then there’s ten minutes drinking-up time before we turn the key in the lock.”
“And so my friend Parry was out of here before ten past three,” Quinn said. “Must’ve been real squiffy if he never finished his drink.”
The landlord said, “I can assure you he didn’t need it. He’d had more than enough … and that’s an understatement. But for heaven’s sake don’t tell him you heard it from me. I’d hate to lose a good customer.”
“I won’t tell him,” Quinn said.
He got back to Elm Lodge just before two. Irene Ford and Carole were sunbathing in the garden at the rear of the house, Michael Parry had gone to his room to write some letters. Neil Ford was in Ringwood.
“… That’s where they live and his business is there,” Carole said. “Made an excuse that he had a couple of things to attend to but I think he was just bored. Says he’ll be back for dinner and —”
“You can spare me the details,” Quinn said. “I’ll survive until our twin hearts are reunited. Any phone calls for me?”
“No. Where have you been since I saw you this morning?”
“Here and there … taking the sun at my leisure.”
“Have you had any lunch?”
“Yes, thank you. Got a sandwich at the Bird-in-Hand and also sampled the local brew. Both were well up to standard. How about you? Been having a good time?”
She frowned and said, “Don’t be facetious. If Michael hadn’t asked me to stay I’d have left here this morning. I wouldn’t ever come back again, either. This place is like a —” Her husky voice broke off.
“— morgue,” Quinn said. “You’ve lost a dear friend and the whole atmosphere’s getting you down. What you need is a change of surroundings.”
“I know that. But I’ve got to stay.”
“Nevertheless, there’s one way you could get all these unpleasant things off your mind.”
“I’d like to know how.”
“It’s simple. Why don’t you tell your erring husband that he can come home, all is forgiven?”
With a frosty look in her dark eyes, Carole said, “I’ve got an even better idea. Why don’t yo
u stop meddling in other people’s affairs?”
There was a county cricket match on television starting at two-thirty. Quinn watched it without very much interest, smoked two or three cigarettes, and dozed in the big arm-chair, only one half of his mind awake. It would have been all very peaceful … if he could’ve forgotten Adele Parry, if he could’ve wiped from his memory the look of death on her calm and beautiful face.
Inspector Elvin arrived at twenty minutes to four. Quinn let him in, told him the gist of Miss Wilkinson’s gossip about Dr. Bossard, and then asked, “What did you find out in the Big Smoke?”
“Oh, quite a lot … quite a lot. Mrs. Parry stayed at the Cavendish, all right. She got there last Monday afternoon and checked out yesterday morning. Received no visitors and no phone calls. Breakfasted in her room, didn’t go out very much, and dined at the hotel each night. Behaved with propriety and decorum — as one would expect of a wealthy, respectable married woman.”
“Who had a lover,” Quinn said.
Elvin pursed his lips. “That has yet to be proved.”
“I’m willing to believe it right now. We know from Mrs. Ford that her sister-in-law wanted a divorce.”
“Doesn’t mean to say she had a lover. She might just have got sick of a husband who spent all his time drinking. That’s as logical as —”
“Not when you hear what Mrs. Gregg, the daily woman has to say …”
The inspector listened, his head bent, his hands in his pockets with the thumbs hanging out. When he had heard it all, he said, “Yes, it does point in that direction, I admit … it certainly does. But this London visit hardly seems to have been for the purpose of keeping an assignation. Nobody came to see her at the hotel.”
“So far as they know. But even a high-class place like the Cavendish isn’t able to keep watch on all their guests … which isn’t the function of an exclusive hotel, anyway. What type of room did she have?”
“One of their best suites.”
A Slightly Bitter Taste Page 16