Day for Dying

by Dorothy Simpson

  Marion’s face suddenly crumpled. ‘I don’t know what she’s going to do!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know how she’s going to bear it!’

  Sylvester got up and put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘We’ll see her through, somehow,’ he said.

  She turned her face into his shoulder. ‘Oh I hope so, Ralph. I do hope so.’

  Thanet caught Lineham’s eye. I think we’ve done all we can here, for the moment.

  It was time to interview Carey Sylvester.

  TEN

  On the way up to Carey’s room, however, they ran into Barbara Mallis. She was carrying a pile of sheets and towels and she smiled at them over the top of them. ‘Oh, good morning, Inspector, Sergeant.’

  Thanet was never one to pass up an opportunity. ‘Ah, Mrs Mallis. I wanted a word with you. Would now be a convenient moment?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ There was a table opposite the top of the staircase and she laid down her burden of household linen and turned to face them. ‘How can I help?’

  Despite the emotional turmoil which surrounded her she appeared calm and self-controlled, and was the first member of the household Thanet had encountered this morning to look as though she’d had a good night’s sleep. The care she took over her appearance was clearly habitual: her make-up was immaculate and her hair drawn back this morning into an elegant chignon which Thanet did not think suited her. It emphasised her pointed nose and did nothing to conceal the deeply etched frown lines. She was wearing tight jeans and an expensive-looking sweater appliquéd in an abstract design of whorls and zig-zags dotted with seed pearls and clusters of beading.

  ‘Is there somewhere a little less public where we could talk? You have a flat in the house, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. This way.’ She turned and led them up a further, narrower flight of stairs to the attic floor, but Thanet had not missed the hesitation. She hadn’t wanted to take them into her private domain. Why? Because of a natural reluctance to have her privacy invaded, or for some other reason?

  ‘The flat surprised him, and Lineham, too, judging by the look the sergeant gave him after a quick glance around. Stretching across the whole length and width of the house, with dormer windows at the front and velux roof lights at the back, it consisted chiefly of one huge open space with a door at one end leading presumably to bedroom and en suite bathroom. In one corner a compact little kitchen was divided off by a unit of open-sided shelves from a dining area with sophisticated glass-topped table and tulip-shaped chairs. The living space was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished, with thick fitted carpet, festoon blinds at the recessed dormer windows and dralon-covered three-piece suite. Perhaps efficient housekeepers were in such demand these days that lavish accommodation would be regarded as a natural perquisite of the job?

  ‘Nice flat,’ he said, and was interested to note that an expression which he was unable to interpret flickered in Barbara Mallis’s eyes, and was gone. What had it signified? he wondered. Why should such an innocuous comment produce any reaction at all, other than mild gratification?

  ‘Yes, isn’t it. Would you like to sit down?’ Her tone implied that she would like the answer to be no, they wouldn’t, as their visit was to be brief.

  ‘She had been forthcoming enough last night and so partly out of perversity but also because he was interested to find out why she wanted to get rid of them quickly, Thanet accepted the invitation. ‘Thank you.’

  She chose to perch on the very edge of one of the armchairs. I’m a busy woman. I hope this won’t take long.

  ‘How long have you been with the Sylvesters, Mrs Mallis?’ said Thanet when they were settled.

  The question obviously surprised her and Thanet was interested to see that she looked wary.

  ‘Since ’91,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just interested to fill in a little background. What happened to the previous housekeeper?’

  ‘There wasn’t one. I was the first.’ Thanet’s cocked eyebrow forced her to continue. ‘When Carey came to live permanently at home after being in and out of hospital, they found Mrs Sylvester couldn’t cope. So they decided to get someone in to run the house. At that point she was still trying to look after him herself. It was hopeless, of course. Absolutely hopeless. He was so unpredictable. To be honest, if she hadn’t given up, if they hadn’t got Mike Roper in to look after him, I don’t think I would have stayed. You can’t imagine what it was like when Carey was free to roam around at will. The trouble was, he hated taking his medication – they all do, I believe, all these schizos, it’s the one thing they loathe and it’s the one thing which keeps them reasonably normal. That was what was wrong with that Ben Silcock or Ben Silcox, whatever his name was, who climbed into the lion’s den at London Zoo. Remember?’

  Thanet remembered only too well. Anyone who had seen the television footage of the unfortunate man being mauled by a full-grown lion wasn’t likely to forget it. He nodded.

  ‘You know what I mean, then. Without proper medication they go haywire. So in those days, when you ran into Carey you never knew what to expect. It was pretty unnerving, I can tell you.’ She looked around and got up to fetch her cigarettes, waited until she had lit up before going on. ‘Sometimes he’d carry on as though he was terrified of you and other times . . . the things he used to say! Talk about bizarre! And sometimes he’d just ignore you and talk to his voices. Most schizos hear voices, apparently, hear them and talk to them. Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever been at close quarters with someone who’s hearing voices, but believe me it can be pretty scary. I was very relieved when Mike arrived, I can tell you.’

  ‘Was Carey ever violent?’ said Thanet.

  ‘Sometimes. Not that he ever actually attacked anyone, to my knowledge. But I do remember once he smashed in his TV with a chair. Said it was trying to get inside his head, control him. And before Mike came he tried to commit suicide more than once. Mike told me there’s a terrifically high suicide rate among schizos – one in ten, I think he said. It was after the second attempt that they decided to get a live-in nurse.’ She lifted a shoulder and blew out a lungful of smoke. ‘It was the obvious thing to do, really. They could afford it.’

  Her attitude was cold, almost callous. The suffering of everyone involved in such a desperate situation had obviously left her unmoved. There was, it seemed, only one person who mattered to Barbara Mallis and that was Barbara Mallis.

  ‘So what about now? Is Mr Roper efficient?’

  ‘Seems to be. Carey never goes out alone and I know Mike makes sure he really does take his medication.’

  ‘So last night was unusual, in that Carey did get out?’

  ‘Yes, very. Some idiot unlocked the door and didn’t relock it, I believe. Mike blames himself for not actually removing the key when he went downstairs, and let’s face it, it was pretty careless of him, when the house was full of people.’

  ‘Habit, I suppose, if that’s what he always does.’

  ‘Perhaps. Anyway, I can’t imagine why they didn’t think of looking in the dog kennel earlier. Carey’s always been very fond of Jason and of course Jason’s an outdoor dog, he’s never allowed in the house.’

  Thanet couldn’t visualise himself ever wanting to squeeze into a kennel with a Dobermann, but then Tess had said that the dog was ‘an old softie’ so perhaps it wasn’t that surprising. Perhaps Carey had found comfort in proximity to the animal he loved.

  ‘To return to the party, then,’ he said. ‘We’ve been told that Mr Jeopard was handed a note during the evening, somewhere around nine o’clock. Did you by any chance witness this incident?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘And have you recalled anything else you feel we ought to know?’

  Another negative.

  ‘Right, well, I think that’s about all for the moment.’ He was interested to note the relief in her eyes and the alacrity with which she jumped up. What was he missing? On the way to the door he paused. ‘Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask Mr and Mrs
Sylvester. Where were Tess and Mr Jeopard going to live after they were married?’

  ‘In London.’ The gleam of malice in her eyes was unmistakable. It was clear that she had taken pleasure from the thought of her employers’ disappointment if Tess had moved away from the area. Was this because she had a specific grudge against them, or was her nature such that she always enjoyed the spectacle of other people’s misery? Could this be why she had stayed so long in this particular household?

  ‘And if she had married Mr Argent?’

  ‘I believe they were house-hunting locally.’

  On the way downstairs Lineham said, ‘Pretty keen to get rid of us, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. I wonder why?’

  ‘And it was Mike this, Mike that, did you notice?’

  ‘Think there might be something going on there?’ Another possible reason why Barbara Mallis had stayed? Thanet wondered. And if so, had her interest been reciprocated? Personally he would as soon have curled up in bed with an anaconda, but there was no accounting for taste and both she and Roper must be starved of a social life. Certainly they must have seen a lot of each other over the last few years.

  ‘Rather him than me,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Well, let’s not jump to conclusions.’

  They were back on the first-floor landing and they followed Marion Sylvester’s directions to Carey’s quarters. He and Roper shared a self-contained suite of rooms at one end of the first floor. The single entrance door to the premises was at one end of the landing corridor and Thanet understood why someone last night might have thought it led to a bathroom. Though surely the fact that the key was on the outside, not the inside, should have given them pause for thought? He said so to Lineham, while they waited for an answer to their knock.

  ‘Might have had too much to drink, sir.’

  ‘True.’ Thanet sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’ As so often happens with smells out of context it was familiar but he could not place it.

  Lineham wrinkled his nose. ‘Turps.’

  There was the rattle of a key in the lock, the door opened and a more powerful waft of turpentine gushed out to meet them. Thanet had not met Roper last night and in view of what he had just been thinking about Barbara Mallis he was interested to see that the nurse was indeed a very personable man, with good physique and an air of alert competence. He was in his early forties, Thanet guessed, and was casually dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.

  Introductions made, Thanet asked how Roper’s charge was this morning.

  ‘Not too bad. I’ve seen him better.’ The voice was low pitched, slightly nasal, with a hint of cockney accent.

  ‘He’s recovered from last night’s escapade, then?’

  Roper shrugged. ‘Don’t suppose he’s given it another thought.’

  ‘Does he know about Max Jeopard’s death?’

  ‘I told him. I had to, with policemen all over the place.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘There wasn’t much reaction at all. He just looked at me for a moment, then went back to what he was doing.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Watching television.’

  ‘We’d like a word with him, if possible.’

  Roper hesitated, then stood back. ‘Try not to upset him.’

  This was going to be tricky, thought Thanet. He’d never interviewed anyone with this particular mental condition before, and found that he was feeling slightly apprehensive. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Fear of mental illness, he knew, was universal, but Carey was stabilised, his nurse would be present . . . Treat him like any other witness, he told himself. Just be particularly aware of his responses, that’s all, on the alert for the first sign of trouble.

  Roper led them through a minute hallway into a room on the right. It was, Thanet realised with a jolt of surprise, set up as a studio. Hence the smell of turpentine. Nobody had told him Carey painted. Perhaps painting was regarded as therapeutic, part of his treatment programme? In any case it was, he thought, an excellent idea. Carey was a virtual prisoner in his own home. Something had to be done to fill in the long hours of incarceration.

  Carey was of medium height and had his father’s stocky build. He was standing in front of an easel with his back to them, head on one side as if considering the work in progress. To Thanet this looked a meaningless daub of shrieking colour – brilliant blue, green and purple slashed with black. Glancing about, Thanet saw that similar canvases were stacked around the walls, each one transmitting powerful waves of chaos and turbulence.

  ‘Someone to see you, Carey,’ said Roper. ‘Two policemen.’

  Only a twitch of the shoulder betrayed the fact that Carey had heard.

  Thanet waited a moment and then walked slowly forward until he was able to see the young man’s face. Carey was frowning at the painting and as Thanet watched he jabbed the brush he was holding at his palette and added another jagged black streak to the picture.

  Thanet said nothing. Would Carey have any curiosity, or was his self-absorption total?

  Carey shot a glance at him, so lightning-swift that Thanet almost wondered if he had imagined it.

  ‘You’ve come about Max,’ he said.

  Thanet was startled. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this calm, rational tone. Which made what Carey said and did next all the more shocking.

  He put up his arms as if winding them around someone’s neck, closed his eyes in pretended ecstasy and moved his hips sinuously, as if crotch to crotch. ‘Oh Max, darling,’ he said, in a high-pitched voice, ‘promise me you won’t go away again. Promise?’

  Tess, Thanet realised. At some point Carey had seen Max and Tess together.

  Carey opened his eyes and said, once more in a perfectly normal, reasonable tone, ‘Good riddance, if you ask me.’

  ‘You didn’t like Max?’

  ‘He was shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit . . .’

  He was becoming increasingly agitated and Roper stepped forward to lay a soothing hand on his arm. ‘OK, Carey, calm down.’

  Carey jerked his arm to shake him off. ‘Leave me alone. I’m fine.’ He dabbed at his palette again, scarlet paint this time, and then twitched the brush at the painting. Brilliant red droplets flew from the bristles and spattered on to the canvas, like drops of blood. Some of them trickled down, others hung there, globules of viscous crimson.

  ‘You’ve known Max for a long time, haven’t you,’ said Thanet, grimly determined to press on despite increasing doubts that there was any point in doing so.

  This time Carey startled him by bursting into song, beating time to the music with his paintbrush. ‘“Boys and girls come out to play, the moon doth shine as bright as day,” ’ he sang.

  ‘Yes, you used to play tennis with him,’ said Thanet. ‘I saw a photograph, downstairs. You and Tess and Anthea and Linda and –’

  ‘Linda’s ill, you know,’ said Carey, interrupting him. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with her, but she’s ill.’

  ‘We can see the Fieldings’ bungalow from our sitting-room window,’ said Roper by way of explanation.

  ‘They say I’m ill too,’ Carey went on. ‘Do you think I look ill?’ He suddenly left the easel and walked across to a mirror on the wall. He leaned forward and peered into it. ‘I look perfectly healthy to me. And all the witches agree. What do you think?’

  Nonplussed by the comment about witches, which had been uttered in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, Thanet decided to ask his questions and terminate what increasingly seemed to be a pointless exercise. ‘I just wanted to ask you if you saw him last night? Max, I mean.’

  Carey returned to his stance in front of the easel but did not respond.

  ‘Or if, when you were outside – er – keeping Jason company, you saw anything at all unusual?’

  ‘Good dog,’ muttered Carey. ‘What a good boy!’

  Thanet gave up.

  ‘Waste of time,’ commented Lineham, when they were outside.


  ‘We had to try.’

  ‘What d’you think, sir? D’you think he had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Impossible to tell. If he did, he seems to have been invisible. There were enough people looking for him. Presumably most of the guests would know him, being friends of the family. If any of them had seen him in the house they’d surely have said so.’

  ‘Some of them must have seen him, even if it didn’t register. He must have come downstairs, to get outside.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘He probably slipped out through the kitchen.’

  ‘In which case . . .’

  Both of them were remembering that at the other end of the corridor which led to the kitchen was the door to the pool house.

  ‘So if he’d turned left rather than right . . .’ said Lineham.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘He obviously didn’t like Jeopard.’

  ‘Not surprising. Doesn’t sound as though many people did.’

  They had almost reached the top of the stairs now and as they did so purposeful footsteps clacked across the parquet floor in the hall below.

  Thanet put out his hand. Wait. They drew back a little. You could learn a lot about witnesses when they thought they were unobserved.

  Barbara Mallis appeared, heading for the front door, dressed to go out in suede jacket and high heels.

  Just as she was opening it another door clicked open somewhere beneath them and Marion Sylvester called out, ‘Are you going anywhere near a shop that might be open?’ She sounded slightly hesitant, diffident almost, about asking.

  As if he thought his wife had been calling him, Ralph Sylvester appeared in the sitting-room doorway and simultaneously Barbara turned and said, ‘I might be. Why?’

  Her tone surprised Thanet. Surely a housekeeper would not normally address her employer in that peremptory manner? He realised that she was not aware of Sylvester’s presence; the front door, which she was holding ajar, was preventing him from being in her line of vision.

  ‘My husband would like some cigarettes, please.’ There was a slight emphasis on the first two words, and a hint of defiance, as if the fact that it was Sylvester’s request made it legitimate for Marion to make it.