‘Yes. Fielding’s.’
‘Quite. Now if you remember, Hartley says he was on his way out of the dining room when he saw Fielding.’
‘Yes. Fielding was in the house looking for Carey . . . Oh.’ Lineham stopped.
‘Ah. You’ve got it.’
‘Yes, I think so. It’s the timing, isn’t it? Fielding confirms what Hartley says. But Hartley claims to have left the dining room to go to the loo immediately after Anthea, at twenty to ten. And he was back in the dining room getting his supper, as I recall, by five to ten. Whereas it wasn’t until five to ten that Roper went down to Fielding’s bungalow to ask him to help look for Carey. So . . .’
‘Exactly. What was Fielding doing in the house at twenty to ten?’
‘I don’t think we ought to get too excited about this. He could have gone in for any one of a number of legitimate reasons. One of the guests might have left the lights on, on his car. Or dropped something in the drive outside. Or –’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Thanet testily. ‘I’m well aware that there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation. But in that case, why didn’t Fielding tell us he’d been into the house earlier? I did specifically ask him, if you remember, and he said no, he hadn’t been in until he went to look for Carey. He was quite definite about it.’
‘If it was a trivial errand, perhaps it just slipped his mind.’
‘Well there’s only one way to find out. We’ll have to ask him. What I don’t understand is how we could both have missed this until now. I suppose it must be because it was Hartley’s statement we were checking and we were looking at the other statements only in the light of whether or not they confirmed his. It just goes to show, though, how things can be missed. In fact, I’m just wondering if we’d better start again, go through all the other statements looking at them from a different point of view.’
Lineham groaned. ‘Not now, surely. Not after that session yesterday.’
‘Well, perhaps not. But if we get stuck again . . . Anyway, what about you? Did you have any bright ideas in the night?’
Lineham shook his head. ‘Only that I think we ought to take a closer look at the three young people, Anthea, Gerald and Hartley. They’ve all got strong motives and we’ve only interviewed them once so far. Perhaps we’ve been concentrating too hard on Sylvester.’
‘I was thinking the same thing. Right. That’s what we’ll do today, then. But we’ll check with Fielding first, get that sorted out.’
It was another bright March day with a brisk breeze and cotton-wool clouds chasing each other across the sky. The spring sunshine was having its effect, Thanet thought: each time they drove out to the Sylvesters’ house, the haze of fresh green foliage on the hedgerows seemed to be more intense.
On the way Lineham said, ‘You still haven’t told me how you got on with the chiropractor. Louise was asking me last night.’
Thanet told him, doing his best to describe the treatment. ‘It was amazing!’ he said. ‘My brain was telling my arm to stay up but it simply wasn’t obeying!’
‘Incredible! Anyway, what sort of an effect has it had?’
Thanet moved experimentally in his seat, testing for aches and pains. ‘At first there was an unbelievable difference. When I came out of there I felt as though I was walking on air. But I’ve got a nasty feeling the joint has slipped out of position again – probably yesterday, when I sat down with a thump, remember? I muttered about it at the time. Still, she said that would probably happen, to begin with. I’ll just have to be more careful.’
‘But she thinks she might be able to get it to stay back in position permanently?’
‘She’s not promising, but she’s willing to try.’
‘That would be great! After all this time!’
‘I wish I’d gone years ago. To be frank, I wasn’t expecting the treatment to do any good. I only went because Joan kept on nagging at me.’
‘I bet she was pleased.’
‘I told her, I was only too delighted to have been proved wrong! She –’ Thanet broke off. They were nearing the Sylvester house and ahead of them in the lane, a couple of hundred yards short of the gateway, was a woman pushing a wheelchair. ‘Mrs Fielding and her daughter, I should think.’
Lineham had slowed down and was signalling left. The woman had pulled in to the side, waiting for them to pass, and Thanet glimpsed Linda Fielding’s face for the first time. It was covered with unsightly blotches.
‘Poor girl,’ said Lineham. it must be terrible for her parents.’
Thanet said nothing, didn’t even hear what the sergeant had said. He was experiencing that unique moment in every murder case he had ever solved, when suddenly the relevant pieces of information come together, assume their true importance and reveal a solution so clear, so obvious that he wondered how he could possibly have missed seeing it before.
But no, in this case he was wrong, he must be.
‘Sir?’ said Lineham.
Thanet became aware that the car was parked, the engine switched off, and that he was staring fixedly through the windscreen. He turned a dazed face towards Lineham.
Knowing him so well, the sergeant saw at a glance what had happened. ‘You’ve got it!’ he said.
Thanet nodded, slowly. ‘Perhaps. I’m not sure. But if so, I only wish I hadn’t.’
‘Well?’ said Lineham. Then, as Thanet did not immediately respond. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to hold out on me?’
‘No. I’m still trying to absorb it, that’s all.’
‘So?’
Thanet told him.
Lineham listened with rapt attention. His reaction was gratifying. When Thanet had finished he said, ‘Beats me how you ever worked that one out. And I agree, it’s just possible you could be right. But if so, how on earth are we ever going to prove it?’
‘To be frank, I’m not sure I want to. But I suppose we have to try.’
They got out of the car and walked back down the drive. By now Mrs Fielding was pushing the wheelchair up the path to the front door of the bungalow and as Thanet and Lineham came up behind them the two women looked around apprehensively. Thanet was familiar with the expression ‘a shadow of her former self but felt he had never truly appreciated what it meant until he took his first proper look at the face of Linda Fielding. Superimposed upon the hollow cheeks and sunken eyes he envisaged the plump, healthy features of the girl in the tennis photograph, and his stomach twisted in sympathy as he smiled at her and introduced himself. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you. I wanted a word with Mr Fielding.’
There were no answering smiles. The two women exchanged nervous glances and Mrs Fielding laid a hand on Linda’s shoulder as she said, ‘I’ll see if he’s in.’
Fielding must have heard voices and a moment later he opened the door, his welcoming look for his wife and daughter fading when he saw the two policemen.
‘Could we have a word, sir?’
Fielding gave a grudging nod.
Thanet and Lineham waited while the Fieldings manoeuvred the wheelchair through the doorway, a difficult procedure as there was only an inch or so of clearance. In the hall Mrs Fielding hesitated.
‘You and Linda go in the kitchen,’ said Fielding. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Why don’t we go into the kitchen?’ said Thanet. ‘I’m sure Miss Fielding would be more comfortable in the sitting room.’
Mrs Fielding gave him a grateful smile and removed the rug from Linda’s knees. Then, with the clumsiness of those unused to such skills, she and her husband each tucked an arm under one of their daughter’s and lifted her to her feet. Her slow, shuffling progress across the hall to the sitting room was painful to watch. The doorway was too narrow to admit the wheelchair, Thanet realised.
A moment or two later Fielding returned and led them into a spotlessly clean small square kitchen equipped with an old-fashioned range of cupboards, a stone sink and a drop-leaf formica-topped table with three chairs. In the inner wall was a serving hatch which
was slightly open, Thanet noticed. Did this mean that Mrs Fielding and Linda would be able to overhear their conversation?
‘D’you want to sit down?’ said Fielding ungraciously.
‘Thank you.’
Lineham was to begin the questioning and now he said, ‘We just wanted to go over what you said in your statement, Mr Fielding.’ He took out the photocopy he had made and handed it to Fielding. ‘Perhaps you’d just glance through it.’
Fielding took a spectacle case out of his pocket and put on some steel-rimmed reading glasses. When he’d finished reading he passed the paper back to Lineham without comment.
Lineham tapped it. ‘You say here that you saw Hartley Jeopard coming out of the dining room while you were looking for Carey.’
‘That’s right, yes.’
Lineham was shaking his head. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
Fielding frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because Hartley Jeopard came out of the dining room at just after twenty to ten. He was back in the supper queue by five to ten and then remained at his table until the alarm was raised at 10.35, when his brother’s body was found. Whereas you told us you didn’t go into the house until after Roper came down to tell you Carey was missing, at five to ten. So how could you have seen Hartley at twenty to?’
Silence. Fielding was still frowning. He was beginning to sweat, too, Thanet noticed.
Lineham waited for a few moments and then said, ‘Can you explain this, sir?’
Fielding was shaking his head. ‘No. I can’t. I must have been mistaken. Perhaps I didn’t see him.’
‘Yes, you did. Because he certainly saw you. Which is why you were questioned closely about this in the first place.’
Another silence. Then Fielding said slowly. ‘Well I just don’t understand it. It’s a real puzzle, isn’t it? I suppose I must have gone in on some errand or another. But if so, I can’t remember what.’ He stood up. ‘I tell you what, I’ll have a think about it and let you know.’
Lineham glanced at Thanet, who shook his head and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Fielding, we can’t leave it like that. You see, there’s something else.’
‘Something else?’ Fielding glanced from Thanet to Lineham, as if wondering from which direction the blow would fall. He subsided slowly back on to his chair as if his legs would no longer bear his weight.
‘Yes.’
Lineham was as puzzled as Fielding, Thanet could tell, though he was hiding it well.
Thanet hesitated, torn. Now was the moment of decision. He could go on, or he could simply shake his head and say, ‘Never mind, it’s of no importance,’ and leave it at that. The inner man counselled compassion, but the policeman in him urged him on. The years of devotion to duty, the ingrained habit of a working life, would not allow him to falter now. If he did, he knew his conscience would give him no rest. It was after all not up to him, not up to any individual to be judge and jury, only to oil the wheels of justice. He took out his notebook, tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to Fielding, together with a biro. ‘I’d like you to write something for me, please.’
The Adam’s apple in Fielding’s throat moved as he swallowed, nervously. ‘What?’
‘Write, “Meet me at 9.45 in the pool house.” ’
Fielding swallowed again. His weatherbeaten skin had gone the colour of uncooked pastry and his hand shook as he began to write. ‘What was that? “Meet me . . .” ’
‘ “ . . . at 9.45 in the pool house.” ’ Thanet watched the biro travel laboriously across the page. Fielding’s hand was shaking like that of someone with Parkinson’s disease. At times like this Thanet wished he was anything but a policeman.
Fielding pushed the paper across the table.
‘Thank you.’ Picking it up only by the extreme tip of one corner, Thanet studied it. ‘Yes.’ He glanced at Lineham. ‘I think we have all we need here. Have you got the sheet we tore off the telephone notepad at the house, to compare?’ He was confident that by now Lineham had understood what he was doing.
‘I’ll get it. It’s in the car.’ Lineham stood up.
But Fielding was shaking his head. ‘Don’t bother. What’s the point?’ He dropped his head into his hands, clutching at it with one hand on each side as if to try to contain his despair.
Lineham raised his eyebrows at Thanet and Thanet signalled, Wait.
Head still bent, Fielding shook it and mumbled. ‘It’s obvious you know what happened.’
Neither of the policemen moved or spoke. This still wasn’t enough.
Then, at last, Fielding straightened up. His eyes were bleak and his shoulders sagged, as if weighed down by sorrow. ‘But it was an accident, I swear.’
Thanet realised he had been holding his breath. He nodded at Lineham, who gave the caution.
He had been right in thinking the two women in the next room had been able to overhear the conversation. While Lineham was still speaking the hatch was pushed up to its full extent and Mrs Fielding appeared. She waited until he had finished and then said quietly, and with a sad dignity, ‘I think you all ought to come in here now.’ Then, to her husband, ‘Linda and me want to be with you.’
Fielding looked at Thanet, who assented, and in silence the three men filed next door.
Linda was sitting in an upright armchair near the hearth, where a fire burned brightly. Without her coat it was even more obvious how frail, almost skeletal, she was. More of the unsightly blotches disfigured her neck and the backs of her hands. As her father entered she gave him a loving smile and patted the end of the sofa beside her. ‘Come and sit here, Dad.’
He did as she asked and Mrs Fielding sat down next to him. Wife and daughter each took one of his hands and held it. The message was clear: divided, we fall.
‘We knew it would have to come out in the end,’ said Mrs Fielding. Her eyes flickered to Linda. ‘But we hoped it wouldn’t be just yet.’ In contrast with the slight frame of her husband and the fragility of her daughter she looked solid, substantial, as if she was prepared to use up every last ounce of strength she possessed to shore up her disintegrating family.
‘And it really was an accident,’ said Linda. She smiled at her father and squeezed his hand. ‘Dad wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘But you did leave him to drown,’ said Thanet, looking at Fielding.
Fielding was shaking his head. ‘I still don’t understand how that happened. He could swim like a fish, I’ve seen him, a thousand times.’
‘We thought he must have banged his head on the side and knocked himself out as he went in,’ said Linda. ‘It’s the only possible explanation.’
‘You don’t think Ron would have just walked out if he’d known Max was unconscious?’ said Mrs Fielding.
Thanet looked at Fielding and their eyes met, each reading what could not openly be said.
I can’t guarantee that.
I wouldn’t condemn you if you had.
‘Perhaps you’d better tell us what happened,’ said Thanet quietly.
TWENTY-TWO
Suddenly, as if a dam had burst, the Fieldings were all speaking at once.
‘I only wanted to talk to him.’
‘Ron didn’t mean him no harm.’
‘It’s all my fault,’ said Linda. And, to the consternation of everyone present, dissolved into tears.
In a flurry of concern Fielding fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and thrust it into Linda’s hand and Mrs Fielding got up, squatted down in front of her daughter and put her arms around her. ‘Hush, lovey. That’s not true. It simply isn’t true.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Thanet and her eyes were hard, if it was anyone’s fault, it was his. Max’s.’
‘I assume it happened on the night he took Linda to the College Ball?’ said Thanet.
Linda had regained her self-control and now she wiped her eyes, blew her nose and nodded.
Her mother gave her one last hug and returned to her seat. ‘The pig!’ she said. ‘He spiked her drink and then to
ok advantage of her. She’s not used to alcohol, we don’t hardly ever touch it in this house. She thought she was drinking orange juice and never knew no better until she woke up in his bed next morning. She never told us at the time, of course. I knew she was upset, but I thought it was just because he never asked her out again. So when she got this, this . . .’ She shook her head.
It had to be spelt out. ‘It’s AIDS, isn’t it,’ said Thanet.
They all looked down, as if they were ashamed to admit it.
‘I feel so dirty all the time,’ said Linda. ‘I don’t know if you can understand that.’
‘Understand, yes. Agree, no. As your mother says, it wasn’t – isn’t, your fault.’
Intellectually I know that,’ said Linda, unconsciously reminding him that unlike her parents she was university-educated. ‘But emotionally it’s a different matter. I think I could have found any other illness easier to bear.’
‘That’s why we haven’t told anyone,’ said her mother. ‘No one around here knows what’s really the matter with her. They know Linda’s ill, of course, but I think they all believe it’s cancer.’
‘Yes, they do. At least, that’s what Mrs Sylvester told me.’ Thanet looked at Linda. ‘And there was absolutely no doubt that Jeopard was responsible?’
‘There was never anyone else,’ she said, if it weren’t for him I’d be a phenomenon. A twenty-five-year-old virgin in the nineties!’
‘Linda!’ said her mother, shocked by such plain speaking. This wasn’t the kind of household in which sex would ever have been discussed openly, Thanet guessed.
‘Mum, it’s all right! I’d guess the Inspector’s pretty unshockable by now. Am I right?’
‘I admire the fact that you’re able to joke about it,’ said Thanet. ‘I would find it hard to consider the situation even remotely funny.’
If I didn’t, I’d go mad at the unfairness of it all.’
‘So when did you learn the diagnosis?’ said Thanet.
‘Not until the first lesions started to appear.’ Linda looked at the blotches on her hands. ‘Until then no one knew what was the matter with me. My doctor, rightly or wrongly, had never thought of testing for the AIDS virus.’
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