Day for Dying

by Dorothy Simpson

  I’m just off now.’ Ben appeared at the door. ‘Wow! Great tie, Dad!’

  ‘Thought it was about time I gave it another airing. Where are you going tonight?’

  ‘Disco at the Blue Moon.’

  ‘Well, have a good time.’ With difficulty Thanet refrained from adding, ‘But be careful.’ He’d said it often enough in the past. If Ben hadn’t got the message by now he never would.

  ‘Ditto.’ And he was gone, whistling.

  Thanet and Joan exchanged indulgent smiles.

  ‘What d’you think?’ she said, standing up to display her dress, which was a new one, bought especially for the occasion. It was in a fluid smoky-blue silk which deepened the colour of her eyes, emphasised the curves of breasts, waist and hips and swirled around her calves as she moved.

  ‘Give us a twirl.’

  She obliged.

  ‘Mmm, delicious.’ He put his arms around her and nibbled her neck. ‘You look good enough to eat.’

  ‘But not now!’ she said, giving him a quick hug before easing herself away. ‘I couldn’t face doing my make-up all over again.’

  ‘As if I would suggest it!’

  Outside Joan shivered. ‘I’m glad I put my thicker coat on.

  For no apparent reason the temperature had plummeted. Although dusk was falling, over to the west the sky was still stained with the remnants of what must have been a spectacular sunset – mandarin-gold, shell-pink and apricot.

  ‘I think there’ll be a frost tonight,’ said Thanet.

  Inside the car Joan huddled into her coat and said, ‘But I still don’t understand how you came to suspect Fielding in the first place. I mean, he really didn’t seem to have anything to do with the case, so far as I can gather, apart from being a part of the Sylvesters’ household.’

  ‘I know. That was what was so misleading. It simply didn’t occur to me that he might be involved. But once I realised, of course, the whole thing fell into place. The clues were all there, I just hadn’t appreciated their significance.’ He switched the heater on. ‘I think the engine should be beginning to warm up by now.’

  Joan waved her hand in front of the air grill. ‘Yes, I can feel it.’

  ‘Well, I knew quite early on that Linda had been one of Max and Tess’s crowd. But I tended to dismiss her, partly because she doesn’t seem to have been involved with them for quite some time now, partly because she wasn’t at the party, and partly because Marion Sylvester had told me that Linda had really only been on the fringe of the group, she hadn’t been nearly as closely involved as the others.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Chiefly, I think, because her background was so different – not in the social sense, the Sylvesters certainly aren’t snobs by any means – but because her parents were getting on a bit when she was born and I gather that, as so often happens with only children of older parents, Linda was much more staid and reserved than her contemporaries. But as she was in the same class as Tess and Anthea at school and also because she happened to be right there, on the doorstep, she was often asked to make up a four at tennis. So she certainly knew the others fairly well, even if she’d never been close to any of them.’

  ‘She sounds the last person Max Jeopard would take to a College Ball, from what you’ve told me about him.’

  ‘In normal circumstances, I agree. But Jeopard had counted on taking Tess, you see. As I told you, when he went up to Oxford she followed him, took her secretarial course there and then stayed on, took a job there, to be near him. I suspect he wished she hadn’t, that as Ralph Sylvester said, he’d probably have preferred to be footloose and fancy-free during his university days, but even so there was no real excuse for the fact that he didn’t tell Tess until the end of his final term that the day after the College Ball he’d be leaving on a year-long trip to China. He must have been planning it for ages, all the travel arrangements were made. She was so upset and so furious with him that she broke it off, said she never wanted to see him again.’

  I’m not surprised! So only a few days before the Ball he found himself without a partner.’

  ‘Exactly. And the problem was that because the Ball was being held after the end of term all the girls he knew well either had partners and were staying on especially for it, or had already gone home. So he had to think of someone who might be available at the last minute.’

  ‘I.e. Linda.’

  ‘Yes. She was in her first year at Bristol and might be free, not being the type to be caught up in a social whirl. Oxford terms are shorter than most other universities, so he knew she’d still be there. I should think he also counted on the fact that she would swallow her pride at being asked only at the last minute and agree to come. The Oxford College Balls really are rather special and I suppose most girls would jump at the chance. Apart from which, Anthea’s mother told me she thought that as a teenager Linda had secretly had a crush on Max and if that was so I imagine Max was aware of it.’

  ‘And she accepted the invitation.’

  ‘She did. To her bitter regret in view of what happened. She was, of course, being the innocent she was, the perfect victim to have that sort of trick played on her.’

  ‘What a truly despicable thing to do.’

  ‘I know. And that it should have such disastrous and far-reaching consequences, all these years later . . .’

  ‘Poor girl.’

  ‘You should see her, Joan. She’s such a pathetic sight. I’ve never actually met anyone who was really ill with AIDS before. But the moment I set eyes on her I realised what was the matter with her. The Fieldings had kept it quiet, you see. It’s awful, they feel so ashamed about it. Even the Sylvesters still think that she has cancer, which is what they’d told me. And if I hadn’t seen that film on AIDS I don’t suppose I would have questioned it. You know the one I mean, we saw it last year.’

  ‘The one in which the wife discovers her husband is an active homosexual and has been having unprotected intercourse with her for years, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right, yes. You remember the bit where she watches a documentary on AIDS?’

  ‘Oh, I see!’ said Joan. ‘The lesions.’

  ‘Exactly. Linda has them on her face and neck as well as her hands. I gather from Doc Mallard that they are usually even more widespread on the trunk. But they are instantly recognisable, believe me. And when I saw them, well, everything suddenly came together – the fact that Max was promiscuous, had done a lot of foreign travel, had taken Linda to a College Ball where things can often get out of hand, that Linda’s illness was sufficiently serious to have reduced a strapping, healthy girl to a frail-looking creature in a wheelchair . . . From there it was only a hop, skip and a jump to suspecting her father. We were already on our way to interview him because he had been seen in the house much earlier than he claimed . . . It all just fitted.’

  ‘Yes, I see. But how on earth did you get him to admit it? From what you’re saying I gather there wasn’t a shred of evidence against him?’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘No, there wasn’t. So I played a trick on him and I’m not proud of it, I must admit. I still feel ambivalent about it. I’ve come up against this before in cases where I feel I’d really rather not make an arrest at all.’

  ‘What are you suggesting? That you shouldn’t have pursued the matter, that you should have just left it?’

  ‘Perhaps. It would have bought them a little time, you see, enough for Linda to have spent her last days in peace with her parents. After her death I’m pretty sure Fielding would have owned up. He’s not the sort of man who could live indefinitely with something like that on his conscience.’

  ‘And what would you have done in the meantime? Would you have told Draco?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. He’d probably have insisted on having Fielding in for questioning and the whole object of the exercise would have been defeated.’

  ‘So you’d have gone through the motions of continuing the investigation. And a number of inn
ocent people would have been left in uncertainty for an indefinite period of time.’

  ‘Not long, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘All the same, I don’t think you would have been very comfortable with the situation.’

  ‘No, I’m not pretending I would. But to be honest, Joan, I can’t pretend my motives in manipulating a confession were pure. I have a nasty feeling that I had to go on, I had to find out, for my own satisfaction. And to show everybody what a clever person I am. Apparently to have failed to solve the case would have made a big dent in my vanity.’

  ‘But even if that’s true, and I suspect that because you feel sorry for the Fieldings you’re going too far the other way in questioning your motives, you’ve said over and over again that it’s not for you to judge in such matters. Your job is to find out the truth and then hand it over to others to decide what to do with the culprit.’

  ‘I know. But it’s not always an easy course to follow.’

  ‘Well, I don’t really see that you had any choice. I feel you did the right thing. So stop agonising about it and tell me how you did it.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Thanet was silent for a few moments, thinking, and then gave Joan a smile and said, ‘Yes. Of course you are. Well, what happened was that Mike and I played a little charade. You remember the note I told you about?’

  ‘The one that was handed to Max at the party, which you hadn’t been able to trace?’

  ‘Yes. We knew it hadn’t been in an envelope, we checked, so we guessed that someone had written it on impulse. Now, obviously, very few people carry notepaper around with them, especially to a party, so Mike came up with the idea that it might have been written on the telephone pad in the hall. One of the disadvantages of all these crime series on television is that the general public has learned too much about our techniques for catching criminals. But in this case, it was an advantage. By now most people know that we can lift from a message pad the impressions made on it by words written on a sheet that’s been torn off.’

  Joan was nodding. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘Yes. Well, the problem was that I’d slipped up there. It didn’t occur to me – until Mike suggested it, as I say – that we should have examined the telephone pad earlier. By the time we took it away, it had been used a number of times in between, and forensic have confirmed that the important top sheet was long gone. But, and this was the point, Fielding didn’t know that. I also banked on the fact that if the note had been been written on impulse for some reason – as in fact it was, because Max refused to talk to Fielding when he first requested it, on Max’s arrival – then the writer wouldn’t have thought of disguising his handwriting.’

  ‘You’re saying that if someone is planning to write an anonymous letter he’d probably use capital letters, whereas if he scribbles something off in a hurry he won’t bother?’

  ‘Exactly. So I tricked Fielding into thinking we had that top sheet, the one on which his handwriting would have been indented, by getting him to write down what I guessed the message would have been, and pretending we were going to compare it.’

  They had arrived at the Dracos’ house, or at least as near to it as they were likely to get. The Superintendent lived in a select cul-de-sac of five large modern houses and the influx of cars spilled out into the road leading to it. Thanet pulled into the kerb and switched off the engine.

  Joan made no move to get out, however. Her curiosity still wasn’t entirely satisfied. ‘But how did you know what to tell him to write?’

  ‘Pure guesswork. In fact, the whole thing was a gamble. As I said, at that point, apart from the fact that Fielding was clearly under stress during the interview – and let’s face it, a lot of perfectly innocent people react badly to being interviewed by the police – we didn’t have a shred of proof. But again, he didn’t know that.’

  ‘And you guessed correctly!’

  ‘Luck.’

  ‘Stop being modest.’

  ‘I always am, you know that!’

  Joan laughed. ‘I’m glad to see you’re back on form. Anyway, it worked.’

  ‘It did. Though as I say, I could almost wish it hadn’t.’

  ‘What happened to the note itself? You said you hadn’t been able to find it. Did Fielding take it away with him?’

  ‘Unlikely as it seems, yes, he did, though he didn’t realise he had until the next day, when he found it in his pocket. Apparently, when he arrived in the pool house Jeopard was actually holding it in his hand, looking at it, and during their conversation thrust it at him, right into his face, to ask if he was claiming to have written it. Fielding thinks he must have taken it, as one does if someone shoves something at you like that, and was then so engrossed in the conversation that he put it in his pocket without realising it.’

  ‘So you’ve seen it?’

  ‘No. He burned it.’

  ‘Poor man.’

  ‘Yes. I really do believe that he didn’t look back when he walked out, and had no idea Max was knocked out when he fell into the water. When Fielding got home they actually laughed together about him pushing Max into the pool, you know. I really can’t believe they’d have done that if Fielding knew what had happened.’

  ‘Well,’ said Joan, opening her door, ‘let’s hope he gets off lightly. Somehow I think he will.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Thanet, getting out of the car. Lightly in one way, perhaps. But the gardener and his wife would no doubt spend the rest of their days mourning the daughter they would soon so tragically lose. And what of the others – all three Sylvesters, Anthea, Rosinha, who was still with the Jeopards, perhaps even the baby? What if they too were HIV positive? How must it be, to live with the threat of AIDS poised like the sword of Damocles above one’s head, always to be watching, waiting, wondering when or if it would descend? With a considerable effort he pushed them to the back of his mind. Tonight was Angharad’s night and he must do nothing to dampen the mood of celebration. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking Joan’s arm. ‘Let’s try now to forget about the case and enjoy ourselves.’

  ‘A vain hope, I should think, in view of the company we’ll be keeping.’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘Shop talk has been banned for tonight.’

  As they turned the corner into the cul-de-sac the Dracos’ house came into view. With light blazing from every window the jubilant message came over loud and clear. We made it! We came through!

  The front door had been left ajar and Thanet rang the bell before pushing it open. Inside they were enveloped by light, warmth and the hubbub of a successful party well under way.

  ‘Luke!’ shouted Draco, who never used Thanet’s Christian name at work. He was resplendent in bow tie and plum-coloured velvet smoking jacket. ‘And Joan!’ He kissed her on both cheeks with enthusiasm. ‘You look absolutely ravishing!’ he said, his Welsh accent even more pronounced than usual. ‘Lucky men, you and me, Luke, aren’t we, boyo! Let me take your coats.’ He handed them to a girl in black dress and white apron, obviously hired for the occasion. ‘Put these away for me, will you, cariad?

  Behind his back, Thanet and Joan exchanged indulgent smiles. ‘He’s well away!’ whispered Thanet as they followed him into the sitting room.

  And here they all were, the familiar faces he saw every day, cares and anxieties smoothed away, transformed by the atmosphere of rejoicing: Lineham and Louise, Doc Mallard and his wife Helen, Tody and Boon and their wives and many, many more, mingling with the Dracos’ other friends.

  And, above all, there was Angharad, in celebration of whose continuing survival this party was being held. Thanet had always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen; had found it difficult to believe, when he first met her, that Draco, that nearugly little Welshman, could have won such a prize. But he had quickly realised that their devotion to each other was equally matched, had castigated himself for so superficial a judgement, and during the years of her illness had often wondered what would happen to Draco i
f Angharad should die. Now, looking at her tonight, it was difficult to believe that this radiant woman had ever lost that wondrous cloud of copper-coloured hair, had ever looked as though she was holding on to life only by her fingernails.

  He only wished that there was even the remotest possibility of Linda Fielding making a similar recovery.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Joan, observant as ever.

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Great tie!’ said Lineham. ‘Why don’t you wear it to work?’

  ‘Be careful!’ said Thanet. ‘I might.’

  ‘That would raise the Super’s eyebrows!’ said Lineham.

  They all laughed.

  After supper they all raised their glasses in response to Draco’s birthday toast to Angharad.

  ‘And now,’ he said, with the gleeful air of a conjuror about to produce an especially large rabbit out of his hat, ‘we come to the pièce de résistance of the evening. If you’d all move across to the windows on that side . . .’

  They did as they were asked, and an expectant hush fell.

  Suddenly the lights went out as at the far end of the garden a match flared. With a fizzing of light, the letter A sprang at them out of the night and then, in swift succession, NGHARAD.

  There were oohs and aahs. Angharad exclaimed in delight and clapped her hands. Someone began to sing, ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,’ and they all joined in as rockets exploded in a myriad stars and her name hung emblazoned across the darkness.

  Once again Thanet made an effort to push the thought of the Fieldings and all the others out of his mind. Tonight, he thought, it would have to be enough to know that at least one story had had a happy ending.

  Also by Dorothy Simpson

  Suspense

  HARBINGERS OF FEAR

  Inspector Thanet series

  THE NIGHT SHE DIED

  SIX FEET UNDER

  PUPPET FOR A CORPSE

  CLOSE HER EYES

  LAST SEEN ALIVE

  DEAD ON ARRIVAL

  ELEMENT OF DOUBT

  SUSPICIOUS DEATH