He made a sound of disgust. ‘You trying to be funny?’
‘How did it get on her finger?’
‘There’s the gong,’ he said, half raising himself from his chair.
‘To hell with the gong!’ I snapped, leaning forward and clamping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sit down, damn you. The ring—the ring. Explain.’
He shrugged, looked disgruntled, grimaced, and said, ‘I told you. Clare almost forced her way in, and I’d got the box open, on my dressing table, and she saw it. She would. Women’s eyes go straight to that sort of thing. And she did her stupid squeak and said, all sloppy, “Oh, is that for me?” Knowing damn well that it wasn’t. And she tried to make off with it...’
‘Steal it?’
‘Had it on her finger, she did. That was how the Barney started...and it finished—well—on the bed.’
‘And this, I suppose, took place with the ring still on her finger? She smiling at it past your shoulder—’
‘You crazy or something? The bloody gong’s gone.’
‘Out with it, or I’ll tell the lot to Mellie.’
‘Oh Christ! I got it back. In the end. Got it off her finger, and managed to chuck her out of the door. Had to near as dammit throttle her unconscious...’
‘What?’ I whispered.
‘Got my hands on her throat.’
I groaned. ‘But you got the ring back, and she left? And...’
A door was opened. I detected the movement on the edge of my vision. ‘The gong’s gone, Richard.’ It was Amelia.
Not for one moment did I take my eyes from Ray’s. ‘And the other ring?’ I made a gesture towards Amelia, one she would understand.
Ray sighed. ‘Ain’t it obvious? She must’ve bought a cheap copy. Paste, they call it. Bought it from memory. That’d be easy enough. Women remember that sort of thing. Yeah that’d be it. Then, I suppose, she intended to come and flaunt it here—and make a farce of our engagement.’
‘But you managed to stall her off, by throwing her in the—’
‘No! You must be crazy. Why the hell would I have had to go that far? I’d have got that ring off her, somehow. If I had to knock her down and take it by force.’
‘Richard...the gong!’
‘I’m coming.’ I got to my feet. ‘We’re coming. Come along, Ray. On your feet. And smile, damn you. Smile at your host and hostess. Apologize for keeping them waiting. And kiss your fiancée...if you’ve got that much bare-faced cheek.’
I didn’t glance sideways to check whether he was smiling. Amelia led the way. I had no idea where their dining room was situated.
It was a big room, almost square, its walls surprisingly undecorated with pictures. Large, blank expanses of Regency stripes cried out for something to dislocate the symmetry. Faces turned to us as we entered. Ruby seemed tense, and Mellie was decidedly drooping. Amelia took the seat she had obviously been occupying before having been sent to locate the miscreant husband and almost-fiancé.
There were seven of us, three women and four men, so that it was inevitable that two men should sit together. I was one of them, and sat between Amelia and Ray. But before taking my seat I bowed formally to Ruby and Gerald, two bows, and said, ‘I apologize most sincerely for keeping you waiting, but I was engaged in a most serious conversation with your future son-in-law, and there were matters that had to be settled.’
Gerald grunted, then nodded. Ruby smiled weakly. We sat, Ray and I. A glance sideways confirmed that he was blushing. For some reason I didn’t understand, it seemed that the delay had now been universally accepted as due to my advice to Ray on the facts of life. If anybody didn’t need advice on the practical aspects, it was Ray. On the application and timing of his expertise, he still had a lot to learn.
‘You may serve the consommé, Betty,’ said Gerald.
I was teased by a terrible urge to point out to Gerald that his black bow tie was inaccurately tied, one wing being larger than the other. But such urges have to be restrained, and I contented myself with concentrating on my spoon and its journey to my lips. It was not until this moment that I realized how very hungry I was.
Conversation bubbled around the table. Not one word was spoken about the death of a young woman, virtually on their doorstep. There seemed to be a bland assumption that the incident would not in any way disrupt the smooth tenor of their lives. A woman had died. Her silly fault, it had been, and nothing at all to do with the occupants of this house.
The meal was superb, the wines that accompanied it were of the finest vintage. I drank sparingly. The evening threatened to present many empty hours that required filling, and I had a good idea that only a small part of them would be occupied by the engagement ceremony. Somewhere in the near vicinity would be Detective Inspector Ted Slater. Waiting to pounce. By now (not a thought to be entertained in the middle of a meal) they would have the body of Clare Martin laid on a slab. Though a full autopsy could not be expected until the following day, the ME would by then be able to express himself with more confidence as to whether thumbs had or had not been applied to Clare’s neck with violence, and the forensic team might by then have searched out a wooden or stone edge that could match the blow to her head. Tomorrow would reveal more positive evidence as to whether the blow to the head or the thumbs to the throat had brought about the death.
My guess was neither. The water had killed her. But it was no more than a guess, and the only certainty was that Ray (sitting at my right and now chattering away as though there was nothing at all that need concern him deeply) had certainly had his hands to her neck.
Fingerprinting is becoming very sophisticated these days. Maybe they could now lift prints from flesh. In any event, they would have a definite shape of both thumbs to go on. Life could well become very tricky for Ray...and decidedly tragic for Mellie.
Throughout these troublesome thoughts, I managed to smile here and there and add a comment when required. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to hand the ring over to DI Slater.
Across the table, Colin, looking very drawn indeed, said not a word. And there was still Ray’s involvement to worry about.
The ladies eventually retired to another room for coffee, leaving the gentlemen to their port. We really were doing it in a grandly dated manner. The port was sufficiently aged in oak casks to fit into the era of the proceedings, and it rotated in the correct manner.
And still, I thought, no mention had been made of the death in the locks. It was not to be allowed to disturb us. But in this I was wrong. The four of us left the dining table for more comfortable chairs, a small table at each elbow now, and warmed by the flames of a large wood fire. There would be no clean-air restrictions in this isolated country setting. Gerald lit a cigar. I lit my pipe. Then the formality flowed from him, and he allowed his concern to raise its head.
‘I hope we’re not going to be disturbed by this tragedy outside,’ he observed.
‘I’m afraid there’ll be questions asked,’ I told him, surprised that Ted Slater wasn’t asking them already.
‘And why should that be?’ he asked, very smoothly indeed.
‘The woman died on this property. She didn’t come all the way here to commit suicide in the locks, with all those miles of canal to use. I think we can assume that. She must have come for some other reason, for some more sensible and specific reason.’ Which I thought I knew, but had no intention of bringing out into the open. For a second, Ray leaned forward in his chair, protest all over his face. Then he relaxed. Colin was eyeing him with a certain amount of suspicious interest.
‘Reason?’ Gerald demanded. ‘What reason could there have been?’ His eyes were firmly on me.
I didn’t answer directly. ‘There’s been a suggestion already that foul play was involved. Indications are that she was strangled. But of course, she could have been killed elsewhere, and her body brought here. That would have been difficult. It would require a car, and any vehicle arriving here, at the house, couldn’t have hidden the fact.’
‘That sounds very logical to me,’ Gerald observed, smiling thinly at my specious attempt to steer the murder well away from his immediate environment. ‘And of course,’ he went on complacently, ‘we get quite a number of strangers around here.’
‘But not at this time of the year, dad,’ said Colin. ‘In any event, she’s been identified.’
‘Has she?’ Gerald drew on his cigar. ‘Quick work, then.’
‘Not really. The police knew her. She was one of them, a policewoman. Her name’s Martin.’
Colin took a quick drink. His voice had been unsteady.
‘Clare Martin,’ put in Ray flatly, realizing that he couldn’t make a secret of their partnership.
‘You know her?’ Gerald was suddenly struggling for his self control. His voice was slurred. It was not good form to know a murdered person.
‘Oh yes, sir,’ said Ray blandly. ‘I’ve worked with her, as partners, on traffic patrol. Two of us...always. She’s been my partner for...oh, over a year now.’
‘Indeed?’ There was almost a sneer in that single word.
And Ray, recognizing this sour approach, Gerald’s attitude having turned Ray’s remark into an admission, struck back. To Ray, this man, who was to become his father-in-law, was a pompous idiot. It could be a convenient time to make his attitude clear. Yet his approach was soft, gentle, and unaggressive. His restraint surprised me.
‘You know her too, sir,’ he said, his angelically innocent expression no doubt boosted by his alcohol intake.
‘What?’ Gerald leaned forward. ‘Of course I do not. I would deny that.’
It was strange that he should suggest he might need to.
It was the confidence in this statement that, I thought, pushed Ray over the edge, the brisk rejection, the condescension. I sat and watched it happen, the opportunity presented and the wicked smile as Ray seized it. And what an angelic smile Ray could produce when he tried! He had been worried all evening, in a very specific way that possibly involved the ring, and now, with that problem behind him, he had swung like a pendulum in the opposite direction. Confidence, blended with aggression, was in his smile. An attacking angel. Mockingly, he raised his glass to salute Gerald.
‘I didn’t mean that you’d met her socially,’ he went on, smiling. ‘Of course not. But there have been a great number of times you’ve faced her in court, she as the charging officer. Minor offences, of course. Traffic offences.’ He flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing that would’ve needed a defence barrister. Routine stuff. Anybody could handle it.’
He paused to draw on his cigarette, and watched the smoke all the way up to the carved ceiling. It had been a neat little dig at Gerald, on whose cheeks had bloomed two bright patches of colour.
But there had been a sad undertone to Ray’s voice, a hint of his admiration for his late partner, Clare Martin. This he was not doing for himself, was the suggestion, but on behalf of a dead woman, who would have been quite capable of handling her own attack resolutely—but now could not.
Ray stared at the ceiling, deliberately prolonging it. Gerald’s lips formed a tight, straight line.
‘Go on,’ he murmured, danger in his voice.
Ray managed a sloppy grin. ‘Traffic offences...as I said. That day, she was the charging officer—the witness for the police. Oh...you must remember the case. Can’t have forgotten. That smile of hers, and her confidence in the witness box. WPC Clare Martin. No?’
‘How can you expect me to remember all the police witnesses I’ve led into admissions—’
‘Oh, but not with Clare,’ Ray cut in rudely. ‘You couldn’t lead Clare by the nose. You ought to remember. That whole column it got you in the local paper. Her name was quoted. And yours, sir. And yours.’
‘I think we’ve gone far enough with this.’ Gerald clearly remembered, and very painfully, too. ‘Shall we join—’
‘But it was the high-spot in your career,’ Ray cut in again. ‘And if it hadn’t been for Clare you wouldn’t have got a quarter of a column. The way you tried to get her to admit your client wasn’t driving dangerously until we began the chase! And she could quote the exact speed when we set out after him, and the exact speed when we caught him. Very good at that, Clare was. I was driving. She could concentrate on speeds and distances. But...the best bit of the whole hearing was when you waved the statement your client had signed, and pointed out all the changes in it. And she...oh, this was the big laugh...she pointed out that he’d initialled every alteration.’
‘Young man—I think we must join the ladies.’ Gerald’s smile was a grimace.
‘You really think the ladies would like to hear this? No? But you would, Mr Patton, wouldn’t you? And you too, Colin.’ He waited for my nod. He had no need of it, as he was in full flow now. Ray was clearly upset by Clare’s death, which would seem to mean that he had not brought it about—or he wanted to spread that idea around.
‘And have you ever seen a magistrate laugh, Mr Patton? Really laugh. But Clare...oh, nobody could bully Clare. You should really have eased off before you tried to imply she was lying, sir. And that was simply because she wasn’t reading from her notebook. Don’t you remember? It was you who pointed that out. But she told you that her notebook was hers, to use if she needed it to refresh her memory—and she didn’t need to. A wonderful memory, Clare had. And when she said perhaps you would like to have her notebook, and you’d then be able to get your facts right! That was when the magistrate really laughed. And your client lost his driving licence for a year. Solicitor Fights A Losing Battle. That was the headline. Surely, sir, you must remember Clare Martin.’
Gerald had to say something to silence Ray. He didn’t give his words enough consideration. ‘It is not considered good manners,’ he said flatly, ‘to criticize the dead.’
It was a comment on the stress he was feeling that he chose the wrong objective.
‘Oh, but it’s not the dead I’m criticizing, sir,’ Ray told him with sweet gentleness. ‘And you know it.’
There was a silence. Gerald had slid down into his chair, his eyes burning and his cheeks sunken and white. ‘I remember,’ he said softly. ‘I wrote to your Chief Constable, who appeared to be just as intractable as your Clare Martin. You say she was your partner? It’s perhaps as well that you’ll soon be having a more compliant and pleasant partner, if not in your police car, at least for the rest of your life in your home.’
And, considering that such a man must have been hurt to his very core, he had done well to come out of it reasonably well. I wondered whether he realized that Ray had just given him a reason for having killed Clare Martin, because Gerald clearly remembered that episode very comprehensively. He would no doubt have remembered her face, too, had he been confronted by it. But could it be considered as a valid motive? I thought not.
Ray had not exactly made a good start to his relationship with his future father-in-law.
‘We must join the ladies,’ said Gerald. ‘The party, and the engagement...Something else we must not forget.’
His voice held all the sweetness of a green lemon.
Chapter Four
Led by Gerald, we joined the ladies. We walked in on them, and they were on their feet in a moment. Mellie ran to Ray, and they clung together as though each feared that something might try to tear them apart. We all went through into the bar.
As this was also a birthday, there were presents to be opened. Packages and parcels were arrayed on the mahogany surface of the counter, Ruby clearly having arranged for this to be done while we were eating. Mellie, herself somewhat mellowed by the wine she’d drunk, swooped on them with an eek of delight, and all we had to do was stand and watch, as wrapping paper flew in all directions. It was clear she had a passion for personal adornment, and that this was widely known, as most of the presents, even those sent from afar by distant relatives, were in the form of costume jewellery of one sort or another. And once again I had to admit that Amelia was so well equipped with imagination wh
en it came to her choice. We had bought Mellie a wristwatch, but not one that required a battery to keep it going, but one that contained tiny gears and a thing that went tick-tick, and which wound itself. I didn’t know how Amelia had divined, or discovered, that this would accord so splendidly with the obsession for the past and for tradition that pervaded the family, but in the event Mellie was enchanted with it, and even Gerald, to whom she handed it for his approval, was delighted. To my surprise, he not merely smiled fulsomely in our direction, but so far unwound as to offer a wink. At least, we had him in a good mood now.
Then, with glasses of various intoxicants in our hands, we chanted: Happy birthday to you...She blushed. She was very close to tears. And Gerald went round to make sure that all of us still held plenty of liquid in our glasses, a brandy decanter in his hand.
It was at this moment that the swing doors opened quietly, and DI Slater eased his way inside. I had to admire Gerald, then. He took it in his stride, fetched an empty glass from the bar, thrust it into Slater’s hand, and murmured, ‘Say when.’ Nothing, he implied, was going to distract from the happiness of his darling Mellie.
Slater grinned. ‘I’m on duty, sir, but...’ One eighth of an inch from its rim, he added, ‘Thank you, that’ll do fine.’
‘Now...friends, folks, ladies and gentlemen,’ Gerald chanted, himself intoxicated by the ceremony, ‘I would like you all to drink a toast to my daughter, Mellie, and to Raymond Torrance, on their engagement. I give you: the happy couple.’
‘The happy couple,’ we all chanted, then we sipped at our glasses. Mellie, flushed and confused, also drank a sip, toasting herself and Ray.
And Ray went along with it splendidly by placing his glass on the bar and producing the little black box like a conjuror, and the ring from the box with a splendid gesture, took her extended hand in his left palm, and slid the ring—on to the wrong finger.
‘You...idiot!’ she screamed, caught in a magic delight, and Ray managed comic grimaces of apology as he finally got it neatly settled where it belonged. Then they kissed. As a tribute to the family’s love of the past, she bent up her left leg while the kissing was going on, and we all cheered. By this time, everybody was clearly intoxicated by the occasion. I noted that the term ‘everybody’ now included two women, one busty and elderly, the other Betty, who had served us at dinner. Mellie spotted them, and went over to kiss each of them on the cheek.
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