Close Her Eyes

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Sir!’

  The note of excitement in Lineham’s voice brought Thanet’s head up sharply.

  ‘That second house to house we asked for, in Gate Street …’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘They haven’t quite finished it yet, but some of the reports are in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘As usual, they found several people who’d been out the first time they called, and one of them was the daughter of a Mrs Wells, the Jethro Pritchards’ next-door neighbour, at number twelve. The girl—she’s nineteen—says that just after half past nine that night there was a persistent knocking at the Pritchards’ front door. She knew Mrs Pritchard must be in, because if ever Mrs Pritchard goes out in the evening, it’s Mrs Wells who old-lady-sits, so when the knocking went on and on she wondered what was up and went to look out of the window.’

  Thanet found Lineham’s habit of giving an interesting piece of information a dramatic build-up either engaging or infuriating, according to his own mood at the time. Now, he almost expected the sergeant to say, ‘And guess who it was!’

  ‘Get on with it, man,’ he snapped.

  Lineham leaned back in his chair, confident of the impact of his next words. ‘It was the Jethro Pritchards’ son!’

  ‘Their son!’ Thanet digested this piece of news in silence for a moment and then said, ‘I wonder why no one has mentioned him before.’

  ‘According to the girl—and I quote, “Caleb’s the black sheep of the family. Got himself chucked out because he couldn’t stand all that boring old religious stuff.”’

  ‘Just how black, I wonder. How old is he?’

  ‘Twenty, she says.’

  ‘Twenty … and Charity’s cousin. What do you think, Mike?’

  ‘Well, he was obviously in the area at the right time, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Quite. Did Mrs Jethro open the door to him eventually?’

  ‘Yes. But he didn’t go in. The girl stayed at the window, hoping for a bit of drama, I suppose. Or because she fancies him.’

  ‘Hmm. Interesting. We’ll have to find out more about him, obviously. Have you come across anything else, on Jethro or his wife?’

  ‘The same girl confirms that Jethro did arrive home at ten fifteen, sir.’

  ‘Does she, now … Well, we’ll go around first thing in the morning, find out where this young man is living, whether he and Charity kept in touch. And I’d also like to know why they haven’t told us about him before.’

  ‘Because we didn’t ask?’

  ‘Well, we’re going to ask now.’

  18

  When Thanet drove into the car park next day, Doctor Mallard was just getting out of his car. It was a sparkling morning. The weather seemed to have settled down again into its seasonal norm and a stiff breeze chased little puffs of cotton-wool cloud across a sky of soft, luminous blue.

  ‘Morning, Luke. Lovely day.’

  ‘Morning, Doc. Beautiful, isn’t it.’

  ‘Bit late, aren’t you?’

  ‘Had to transfer my family back home, after the half-term holiday. We’ve been trying to get things tidied up a bit, at my mother-in-law’s.’

  ‘When’s Joan coming back?’

  ‘Another fortnight, yet.’

  ‘And she’ll have completely finished her training, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mallard laughed. ‘Thank God, eh? By the way, did you know that young Louise is having her induction this morning?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Correction, she’ll have had it by now.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard. What are her chances?’

  ‘Excellent, I’d say. But the baby—well, we’ll just have to wait and see.’

  Thanet stopped. ‘You mean, there really is a chance it might not survive?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. These toxaemia cases are so unpredictable, it’s impossible to tell, in advance.’

  ‘Does Lineham know this?’

  ‘Oh, he knows, all right. And, I’m sorry to say, so does Louise, having been a nurse herself. It can’t help her particular problem.’

  No wonder Mike has been so distracted over the last few days, Thanet thought. He remembered guiltily the occasions when he had felt impatient or irritated with the sergeant. ‘You think I ought to insist Lineham has the day off? I’ve offered him a few days leave, several times, but he’s refused to take them.’

  ‘I should leave it to him to decide. He’s probably better off working, than worrying himself sick. And nothing’ll happen for hours yet, anyway. Does he intend to be present at the birth, do you know?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he does.’

  ‘Then I should say that as long as he keeps in touch with the hospital it would be better to keep him busy until labour is well established.’

  ‘Right, I’ll do that. Thanks, Doc.’

  Pausing in the office only long enough to scoop up a gloomy-looking Lineham, Thanet set off for Gate Street. Charity’s mother was just coming out of Jethro’s house. She started when Thanet greeted her.

  ‘Oh … Good morning, Inspector. I didn’t see you.’

  She looked harrassed. Hair was escaping from her normally immaculate bun, and her black cardigan was buttoned up askew.

  ‘We’re just going to have a word with your sister-in-law. We didn’t realise, until last night, that she has a son.’

  Mrs Pritchard squinted at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Caleb?’

  ‘Yes. Why has no one mentioned him, do you know?’

  ‘His parents have nothing to do with him, now. We’ve all lost touch with him, since he moved away from home.’

  ‘Charity, too?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They never got on, anyway, even as children …’ She closed her eyes, swayed slightly. Thanet put out his hand to steady her.

  ‘Mrs Pritchard, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes … yes. Thank you, I’m fine. It’s just that I’m not sleeping too well, that’s all …’ Her voice trailed away and there was an awkward silence. Then she gave him a quick, nervous glance. ‘Inspector …’

  ‘Yes?’

  She hesitated, then shook her head. ‘Nothing. I must be getting home.’ And she turned, set off down the street with a slightly unsteady but dogged gait.

  ‘Think I ought to see her home, sir?’

  Thanet was still watching the receding figure. She was walking rather more briskly now.

  ‘I think she’ll be all right.’

  ‘She looked just about at the end of her tether, to me.’

  ‘Scarcely surprising, is it?’

  Thanet knocked at the door of number fourteen. He had already decided that as far as Mrs Jethro Pritchard was concerned, it was pointless to waste time on the tactful approach. Her hostility so far had been unremitting and it was a surprise, therefore, to find that he was greeted by a baring of the teeth that was clearly intended to be a smile.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector. Come in, won’t you?’

  He and Lineham raised eyebrows at each other behind her back and followed her into the sitting room.

  ‘Do sit down.’ She brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the arm of one of the chairs. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got around to cleaning in here yet, today.’

  ‘It looks fine to me.’

  By now Thanet had guessed the reason for this sudden change of attitude: Mrs Jethro Pritchard was afraid.

  Charity’s father had probably come storming around, as Thanet had expected, and had accused Jethro of seducing his niece and causing her to seek an abortion. With both brother and wife against him, Jethro had no doubt crumbled, confessed. Now, Mrs Pritchard was afraid that she and her husband were about to be plunged into a scandal far worse than the one they had weathered before, a scandal involving not only incest but, possibly, murder. Thanet couldn’t like the woman, thought it very likely that a measure of the responsibility for her husband’s aberrations lay at her door, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity for her now. She had seated herself opposite him, solid kn
ees clamped together, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was waiting for the axe to fall.

  Or was it possible that her fear was on her son’s behalf?

  ‘Is your husband at home, Mrs Pritchard?’

  ‘No. He’s at the school.’

  ‘There’s a question I wanted to ask you both.’

  She said nothing, seemed almost to stop breathing.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?’

  For a moment she looked at him blankly, as though she must have misheard. Then she shook her head a little, as if to clear it. ‘I’m sorry …?’

  Thanet repeated the question.

  Her mouth became a thin, hard line. ‘Our son is dead to us, Inspector.’

  Thanet said nothing, and eventually his silence forced her into a reluctant explanation.

  ‘He has chosen to walk with the ungodly.’

  ‘He left the Children of Jerusalem?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Eighteen months or so.’

  ‘When we asked you if Charity knew any young men, you said no.’

  ‘I told you, Inspector. Our son is dead to us. As far as we are concerned, he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘How did Charity get on with him?’

  ‘Not very well. They never really took to each other.’

  ‘Did they ever meet after Caleb left home?’

  ‘How should I know? He leads his own life, now. He has nothing to do with any of us.’

  ‘Then why was he knocking at your door on Monday night, Mrs Pritchard?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Her eyes sparked with anger. ‘They had no right. Spying on people …’

  ‘They had every right, Mrs Pritchard. A duty, even. This, I would remind you, is a murder case … What did he want?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘But you let him in.’

  ‘I did not! As soon as I saw who it was I told him once and for all that I didn’t want him coming around here bothering us, with his long hair and greasy jeans …’

  ‘He must have said why he’d come.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t ask!’

  And from this evasion she would not budge.

  ‘Could you tell us where he lives?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Where he works, then?’

  ‘Works! That’s a joke! Works!’ She leaned forward, her eyes hot and bitter. ‘Work is sacred, Inspector, which as far as my son is concerned is a very good reason for not doing any.’

  This was all Thanet could get out of her.

  ‘Right, Mike,’ he said, when they were back in the car. ‘I want you to find Caleb and talk to him. You might get his address from Jethro, at the school. If not, well, you’ll just have to use your initiative. If you think it necessary, bring the boy in for questioning. Use your own judgement. You can drop me off at the office, first. Oh, and Mike, you’ll no doubt be giving the hospital a ring from time to time. When they say that Louise is ready for you to join her, let me know, then drop everything and go. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’

  There were more reports on Thanet’s desk. He lit his pipe and settled down to read them. Within minutes he was on his feet again. He wanted to see Jethro. At once.

  On his way to the school he thought about the new information which had just come in. A woman who lived opposite Holly Road Primary School had worked late in her front garden on Monday evening. She had been keeping an eye on the time, because she wanted to watch a television programme which began at 10. People had begun to stream out of the school just before 9.30 and within ten minutes or so the place had been deserted. Last of all, just before a quarter to ten, she had seen Jethro come out, locking the school gates behind him.

  It was only ten minutes walk from the school to Jethro’s house, and yet he had not arrived home until 10.15. What had he been doing, during that half an hour? Charity had left the Hodges’ house at 9.35. Had their routes converged?

  Suppose that Jethro had somehow managed to scrape together the money to pay for Charity’s abortion, and had been anxious to know that everything had gone according to plan. She might well have told him what time she hoped to arrive home. They could even have arranged to meet. Jethro would have been on tenterhooks to know that the operation had been a success, full no doubt of good resolutions never to land himself in the same mess again. But suppose Charity had seen things differently? Suppose that she had decided to keep up the pressure, demand more money for her continuing silence? Jethro might well have lashed out at her in an explosion of anger, disappointment and fear.

  In any case, he certainly had some explaining to do.

  Thanet ran him to earth in one of the cloakrooms, fixing a leaking lavatory cistern. His left eye was almost invisible in an area of swollen, discoloured flesh.

  ‘I’d like a word. Where can we talk?’

  Jethro groaned. ‘Not again! Your sergeant only left a few minutes ago.’ Reluctantly, he led the way to a little cubby-hole of a room equipped with a sagging armchair and an electric kettle. A crumpled newspaper lay on the arm of the chair. Thanet picked it up and noted with interest that it was today’s, and that it was folded back at the racing page, and marked. Jethro was evidently a backslider in more ways than one.

  ‘Your brother’s been to see you, then.’ Thanet nodded at the black eye.

  Jethro’s hand instinctively began to move towards his bruised face, then stopped. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh come, Mr Pritchard. You won’t convince me you got that by walking into a door.’

  ‘A ladder, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh, a ladder, was it? Well, I’m afraid I don’t believe you. In fact, I’m beginning to think I can’t believe a word you say.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look, I’ve had enough of beating around the bush. I’ll give it to you straight. We know that you had a sexual relationship with your niece, we know that she became pregnant, we know you gave her money to enable her to procure an abortion and on top of all this, we now know that you lied to us about the time you left here the evening she died. We have a witness, Mr Pritchard, a nice, solid witness. In view of all this, if you were me, what would you think?’

  Thanet paused for a moment. There was a sheen of sweat on Jethro’s forehead and the empurpled area of flesh was vivid against skin the colour of grubby linen.

  ‘I …’ But he couldn’t continue.

  ‘Exactly. Now, this witness states that she saw you lock the school gates behind you at around 9.45 that night, instead of after 10, as you claimed. And that quarter of an hour to twenty minutes make a lot of difference, Mr Pritchard. In fact, you could call it of paramount importance.’

  Thanet paused again, but Jethro was still speechless.

  ‘Charity, you see, left Mrs Hodges’ house at 9.35—ten minutes before you left here. It would have taken her around ten to fifteen minutes to reach the entrance to the alley … which leaves you with about five minutes in hand to get to the place where she was killed. If you hurried, you could have done it easily. What did you do, Mr Pritchard? Hang around in that alleyway, hoping to catch her on her way home? Or had the meeting been arranged before she left?’

  ‘No!’ Jethro burst out. ‘It wasn’t like that, Inspector, I swear it wasn’t. We hadn’t arranged … I didn’t meet her, I swear I didn’t. I didn’t even see her.’

  He was sweating profusely now, and he dragged a dirty handkerchief from his pocket, mopped at his forehead.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t believe you.’ But it was interesting to note that Jethro had denied none of the other allegations. This, Thanet decided was the moment to set the record straight, while Jethro was still terrified of being arrested for murder.

  ‘You don’t deny the rest of what I said?’

  Jethro hesitated and for a second Thanet thought that he was going to hold out after all. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

&n
bsp; ‘What’s the point?’ he said, wearily. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? If I do deny it you’ll only keep on and on until I give in … But I didn’t kill her! I swear I didn’t!’

  ‘You admit, then, that you seduced her, that she told you that she was pregnant, and that you gave her money to procure an abortion?’ Briefly, Thanet regretted Lineham’s absence, that he had no witness to Jethro’s confession, but the thought did not trouble him unduly; Jethro was too weak a character to stick to a retraction, even if he chose to back-pedal when it came to the point of making an official statement. But if he knew his man, alongside Jethro’s admission would run a need to justify himself. He was right.

  ‘Maybe I did, but it wasn’t my fault. It was her.’ Jethro was even managing to work up some indignation against the dead girl. ‘She was a real little whore … Putting her arms around me and rubbing herself against me … Sitting on my lap and wriggling so I thought it would drive me mad … Believe me, she was asking for it—begging for it, even. And once we had … she couldn’t get enough of it, I can tell you. She was mad for it. She frightened the wits out of me. She’d want it anywhere—up against the wall of the alley, in the kitchen of my own house, even, with my mother sitting there with her back to us and my wife coming down the stairs …’

  Jethro was shaking as he relived the state of fear Charity had induced in him. And Thanet believed him. It was difficult to reconcile that child-like, innocent-seeming figure in the alley with the nymphomaniac Jethro was describing, but Thanet was sufficiently experienced by now not only to recognise the ring of truth when he heard it, but to know that even the most beautiful apple can be rotten at the core. Fleetingly he remembered a local murder case. A fourteen-year-old girl had helped her middle-aged lover to plan and execute the murder of his former mistress and in his summing-up the judge had said that he wished to make it clear that this was not, as many people might think, a case of an older man leading a young girl astray, that she was, in his opinion, the most truly evil person he had ever encountered in all his years on the bench.

  Had Charity been another such?

  Now that Jethro had started talking he couldn’t seem to stop. He went on and on detailing times and places and Thanet let him, knowing that with every word Jethro was making it more and more difficult to go back, later, on what he was saying. Eventually, though, the flow of sordid detail sickened Thanet and he cut through the torrent of accusation, self-pity and self-justification.