Day for Dying

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘You see?’ she said. ‘I’ve put my smell on it. Now, next time you meet, he’ll associate your smell with mine and know you’re a friend.’

  Thanet hoped she was right.

  ‘Now yours,’ she said to Lineham, and the sergeant reluctantly went through the same process.

  Watching, Thanet realised that they had reason to be grateful to the animal for breaking the ice. The diversion had distracted them all from the business in hand.

  The aggressive light had magically faded from the dog’s eyes and now it trotted around beside Thanet and thrust its nose into his palm.

  ‘See?’ said Tess. ‘He wants you to stroke him.’

  ‘Amazing,’ murmured Thanet, complying.

  An awkward silence fell. Somehow he had to bridge the gap between banality and tragedy. ‘Miss Sylvester, allow me to offer you my condolences. This is a terrible time for you and I hesitate to say that I need to talk to you, but . . .’

  ‘That’s all right. I understand. Go ahead.’ But she had turned her head away sharply and when she looked at him again he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. She bit her lip. ‘Naturally I want to do all I can to . . .’ She shook her head, unable to continue.

  To give her time to overcome her distress, in unspoken agreement Thanet and Lineham turned and began to stroll towards the house, leaving her to trail behind. After a few moments she blew her nose and came up alongside them. Thanet gave her a sympathetic smile and said, ‘There’s nothing that can’t wait, if you prefer.’

  She shook her head, ‘I’d rather get it over with.’

  ‘Very well.’ Quickly, Thanet took her through the events of the evening. Her account agreed with everything they had been told so far. He deliberately avoided questioning her about the incident with Anthea Greenway. There had been plenty of other witnesses and it was pointless to cause her unnecessary distress. The note was a different matter, but she apparently knew nothing about it. She had taken her duties as hostess seriously and during the early part of the evening, before supper, had done her best to circulate among the guests.

  Now for the difficult part. ‘Miss Sylvester . . .’

  ‘Tess, please.’

  ‘Very well. Tess. I’m sorry, but I really have to ask you this.’

  They had reached the house. She had taken them around to the back door, pausing to chain the dog up on the way, and was now removing her boots. Aware of the alteration in his tone she glanced up at Thanet sharply before straightening up. Then, without a word, she opened the door, led the way into the kitchen, stopped and turned to face him, folding her arms and hunching her shoulders as if to protect herself from whatever was coming. ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘You’ll have talked to your parents this morning and be aware that we are treating this as a case of suspicious death. So I have to ask you if there is anyone, to your knowledge, who would be glad to see your fiancé dead?’

  The fear faded from her eyes leaving behind a strange blankness, as if she had pulled a shutter down to hide her feelings and then suddenly it was back again, redoubled. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Of course not!’ She put her hands up to the sides of her face, pressing so hard against her cheeks that her features became distorted. Then, without warning, she turned and dashed from the room.

  Thanet pulled a face. ‘Well handled.’

  ‘No point in blaming yourself, sir. It’s not surprising she’s a bit fragile today.’

  ‘Looks as though she does have her suspicions, doesn’t it? Who, do you think?’

  Lineham shrugged. ‘Father, brother, Gerald whatsisname, her former fiancé? Take your pick.’

  Thanet glanced around. The kitchen was much as he would have expected, the type by now familiar to everyone through the glossy magazines: elaborate wooden units, wall-tiles whose unevenness proclaimed the fact that they were hand-made, terracotta tiles on the floor and every sophisticated gadget known to man. But there was one interesting individual touch, a cork noticeboard set into a specially constructed niche, covered with photographs of varying shapes and sizes. He crossed to take a closer look at it but before he could do so footsteps came clacking along the corridor from the hall and a woman called out, ‘Who’s there?’

  Marion Sylvester came into the room. ‘Oh, it’s you, Inspector. I thought I heard voices.’ She was obviously the type for whom an attempt at glamour is a way of life. Her plump thighs were encased in tight black leggings, her heels were a good three inches high and her black and white sweater sported a striking design of geometries and swirls. But this morning her eye shadow and lipstick had been unevenly applied by an unsteady hand and the pouches beneath her eyes were testimony of a sleepless night.

  ‘We were talking to your daughter.’

  Marion Sylvester groped for a chair and collapsed upon it as if her legs had suddenly become incapable of holding her upright a moment longer. She raked a hand through her hair. ‘Oh God, I just don’t know how I’m going to cope with all this. Poor Tess. She’s absolutely distraught. She’s trying to put a brave face on it but she keeps on rushing off to her room and locking herself in. Then there’s Carey. All this upset is so bad for him.’

  ‘How is he this morning?’

  She lifted her shoulders. ‘Who can tell?’

  ‘I’d like a word with him later.’

  She looked alarmed. ‘I don’t know if that would be a good idea.’

  ‘I’ll try not to upset him, I promise. And his nurse can be present at the interview.’

  She shook her head wearily, as if she had no strength left to argue. ‘Oh, I suppose so, then. If you must.’

  Thanet turned back to the noticeboard. The photographs had been crammed on to it, many of them overlapping. ‘Interesting collection.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s a thing of mine. I always think it’s pointless sticking them into albums, no one ever looks at them. The trouble is, I can never bring myself to throw them out. Some of those have been there for years.’

  ‘So I see.’ Thanet’s eye had alighted on a group photograph and he leaned forward to look at it more closely. A number of young people were relaxing over tea on the lawn after a game of tennis. There were seven of them, three girls and four boys, some seated on deckchairs and some sprawled on the grass. He realised with a jolt that although they were much younger a number of the faces were already familiar to him. Surely that was Tess, and Hartley Jeopard, and Anthea Greenway and Max, of course, sitting at Tess’s feet and looking tanned and debonair. So the others must be . . .

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Marion Sylvester’s voice, beside him.

  He had been so engrossed that he hadn’t even noticed her move.

  Obviously intrigued, Lineham joined them.

  ‘I am right, aren’t I?’ Thanet pointed out the faces he thought he recognised.

  ‘Oh yes. I took that myself. They seemed to spend most of the summer holidays playing tennis in those days. You know how it is with kids, they go through these phases. That must have been taken, oh, a good ten years ago now. Some of them have moved away, of course, Hartley and Anthea live in London and so does . . . did, Max. In the normal way of things Carey would be gone too by now, no doubt, if he’d finished his course at university and found himself a job. He was such a clever boy.’

  ‘Which is he?’

  Marion laid a scarlet fingernail on a profile beneath a shock of dark hair.

  ‘And who is this?’

  ‘Oh, that’s Linda Fielding, our gardener’s daughter.’

  Thanet looked at the somewhat plain features and sturdy figure of Linda Fielding and with a shiver remembered the frail creature they had seen earlier, who could not now even walk unaided.

  ‘She and Tess and Anthea are the same age,’ said Marion. ‘They were all in the same class at school, so Linda often used to make up the numbers at tennis. When this photo was taken Tess had a sprained ankle, I remember.’

  Now that it had been pointed out to him Thanet could see that unlike the others Tess
was not wearing tennis whites. He had been misled by the fact that her summer dress was in a pale colour.

  Marion was still talking about Linda. ‘Poor girl, she’s very ill now, I’m afraid, which is why she wasn’t at the party last night.’

  ‘We saw her earlier, when we arrived. What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Cancer, I imagine,’ said Marion. ‘I haven’t enquired too closely, it’s obvious it’s serious. She’s not been well for some time but lately she seems to have gone downhill at an alarming rate. I feel so sorry for the Fieldings. She’s their only child and they’ve always doted on her. They were getting on a bit when she was born and I think they’d given up hope. Though I always feel sorry for kids with older parents, especially if they’re only children, like Linda. They never seem to mix well. Linda was never really a part of the group in the same way as the others. I suppose it was partly because, to put it bluntly, she came from a different class, her father was only a gardener, after all, but it wasn’t just that. She was always quiet, mousy, never had boyfriends or went to discos. And of course she was a real bookworm, not like the other two girls. Tess has never been what you might call academic and Anthea was always the arty type.’

  Thanet wondered why Marion was telling him all this. He was much more interested in hearing about Gerald, Tess’s former fiancé, who was no doubt the other as yet unnamed male in the photograph. Unless, of course, Marion was deliberately trying not to talk about Gerald. Which, if true, was interesting. He decided not to interrupt the flow of reminiscence. You never knew when you might learn something useful and in his experience it was good policy, once a witness started to talk freely, to allow him or her to do so.

  ‘I remember the Fieldings were so thrilled and proud when Linda got into Bristol. Unfortunately for her, of course, when she left university in, let me see, it must have been ’91, it was right in the middle of the recession and she couldn’t find a job. It was awful, really. Mrs Fielding used to be almost in tears telling me about all the job applications Linda kept on sending off, dozens and dozens of them. Most of the time people didn’t even bother to acknowledge them, let alone tell her the post had been filled. I think that’s terrible, don’t you? I mean, they could at least have the courtesy to do that, couldn’t they? And after all that education, spending all those years getting a degree, it’s so soul-destroying . . . And then, when Linda finally did get a job, the year before last, she’d only been in it a few months when she started getting health problems. She really has had a rotten time.’

  She seemed to have run down and Thanet was just going to ask about Gerald when, still gazing at the photograph she said, ‘The three girls were all so different – still are, I suppose.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, Linda and Anthea were like chalk and cheese. Linda so quiet and shy, and Anthea, well, have you met Anthea yet?’

  ‘Not yet. We did see her briefly, last night.’

  ‘Then you’ll see what I mean. The way she was dressed – typical. Anthea always has to be different, always has to be noticed.’

  ‘Who always has to be noticed?’ Ralph Sylvester had come into the room. Like Marion he looked as though he hadn’t slept much last night. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ he said, echoing his wife.

  ‘Anthea, dear.’

  ‘Ah, Anthea,’ said Sylvester, sitting down heavily at the table. ‘Any chance of a cup of coffee, darl?’

  ‘Of course. Would you like a cup?’ she said to Thanet and Lineham.

  ‘Yes, please.’ They joined Sylvester at the table.

  ‘What did you mean, “Ah, Anthea”?’ said Thanet.

  ‘She just doesn’t know how to behave, that girl,’ said Marion indignantly, clattering kettle and mugs. ‘Haven’t you heard about the scene she made at the party last night? Disgusting, I call it, making a public spectacle of herself like that. If she wanted to make a fuss why couldn’t she have done it in private, that’s what I’d like to know, instead of ruining Tess’s engagement party?’

  ‘Oh come on, darl, aren’t you exaggerating a bit? She didn’t exactly ruin it, did she? It was what happened later that ruined it.’

  ‘Well you know what I mean. And you said yourself, last night, that if anyone had a grudge against Max, it was Anthea.’

  ‘Marion!’ Sylvester cast an anxious glance at the two policemen. ‘Think what you’re saying!’

  ‘I’m only repeating what you said yourself!’

  ‘Maybe. But that was in private, don’t you see?’

  ‘I don’t care whether it was in private or not, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. But we ought to let the police make up their own minds, don’t you think? It’s hardly fair to Anthea . . .’

  ‘Fair? Fair, to Anthea?’ Marion swung around, hands on hips, eyes blazing. ‘What about Tess? Is it fair to Tess that her life has been ruined? Don’t talk to me about being fair to Anthea. If she did decide to have another go at him later and shoved him into the swimming pool, then all I can say is that she deserves what’s coming to her!’

  ‘All right, darl, calm down. All I’m saying is that you can’t go around hurling wild accusations about people.’

  ‘I am not hurling wild accusations! I’m simply saying . . .’

  Thanet decided to intervene. Rows were often instructive, revealing. People said things they hadn’t intended to say. But this one seemed now to be going around in circles. ‘Mrs Sylvester,’ he said. ‘I don’t think this is getting us anywhere. We had heard about the scene last night at the party, between Miss Greenway and Mr Jeopard, but so far we haven’t managed to find out what it was all about.’

  ‘Who have you asked?’

  Thanet wasn’t prepared to be specific. ‘One or two people.’

  ‘The Jeopards, I bet! And they wouldn’t tell you, oh no. Not on your life, they wouldn’t!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Marion . . .’ said Sylvester, a note of warning in his voice.

  But she was not to be stopped. She shook her head at him impatiently. ‘Why should I keep quiet? What do we owe them, you tell me that? Do you think I didn’t know they never thought our Tess was good enough for their precious Max? And although Hartley never had a look-in in the favouritism stakes while Max was still alive, now there’s only him they’re closing ranks, don’t you see? Hartley is still carrying a torch for Anthea and they don’t want to upset him by saying anything that would compromise her!’

  So he’d been right about Hartley and Anthea, thought Thanet. But he would like to know more, much more. ‘Mrs Sylvester. Would you please explain exactly what you are talking about?

  She spooned coffee into the mugs. ‘Sugar?’

  They shook their heads.

  She plonked the mugs on to the table and sat down. ‘Only too glad to oblige,’ she said.

  NINE

  ‘I always did think Anthea was keen on Max, didn’t I, Ralphie?’

  Sylvester merely grunted and took a gulp of his coffee, so Thanet assumed he wasn’t disagreeing.

  ‘But of course Max never had eyes for anyone but Tess. Or Tess for him. Proper little pair of teenage love-birds they were, weren’t they, Ralph? Oh, I know you didn’t approve. You thought Tess was too young to have a steady boyfriend, but I could see there was no point in trying to discourage them. And you have to admit, they really were rather sweet together, weren’t they?’

  Another grunt, another slurp. Sylvester obviously had no intention of contributing to the conversation at present.

  Lineham leaned forward and opened his mouth, no doubt to ask how it had come about, if Max and Tess had only ever had eyes for each other, that they had both apparently had a serious relationship with someone else. Thanet gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Let her tell it her own way. It was enough. Thanet and Lineham had worked together for so long and had built up such a rapport that the merest hint or flicker of an eyelid was enough to communicate the desired message. Lineha
m shut his mouth and sat back again.

  Marion Sylvester hadn’t noticed this little exchange but her husband had and Thanet was pretty certain that he had interpreted it correctly. The man was no fool.

  ‘The trouble was,’ Marion went on, ‘Tess could never really understand this itch Max had to travel. Well, it was more than an itch, wasn’t it, Ralph, it was more like a . . . a . . .’ Marion groped for the word.

  ‘A compulsion?’ suggested Thanet.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. That’s it, exactly. A compulsion. It took me a long time to realise that’s what it was – years, in fact. For ages I just used to think he was plain selfish, going off whenever he could and never considering Tess’s feelings. It upset me, to see how hurt she used to get. But in the end I accepted that that was the way he was, and there was nothing to be done about it. I mean, he was always the same, wasn’t he, Ralph? The minute he was old enough he was off backpacking in the summer holidays.’

  ‘Too much money,’ Sylvester intervened unexpectedly. ‘And too used to having things his own way. Spoilt rotten, that boy was. He could always twist his mother around his little finger. Pity his father died when he did.’

  ‘Max was about thirteen then, I believe?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘What work did his father do?’

  Sylvester shrugged. ‘He was some sort of high-powered civil servant, I believe.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Marion, ‘Max got a place at Oxford and decided to spend the whole of his gap year travelling. You can imagine how upset Tess was, when he told her. But you had to admire her. Once she saw he wasn’t going to change his mind she decided to do a Cordon Bleu course while he was away and then do her secretarial course in Oxford, to be near him when he went up the following October.’

  ‘I had the feeling he wasn’t too pleased about that,’ said Sylvester. ‘We were there when she told him. I think he liked the idea of being footloose and fancy-free while he was at university.’

  Marion gave her husband a reproachful glance. ‘I think you imagined all that. I think he was thrilled to bits.’