The main bedroom displayed the same restrained elegance, this time in blue and white. On the wall above the bed hung a crucifix, further evidence of Alicia’s devotion to her faith. Interestingly enough, although one half of the long, fitted wardrobe contained men’s clothing, there was no other sign of Parnell’s presence in the flat. The double bed had only two pillows, one on top of the other in the centre of the bed, and one of the two bedside tables was bare. In the bathroom there was no shaving cream or aftershave lotion, no male deodorant, nothing to show that anyone but Alicia had lived here.
‘Perhaps he’s dead,’ suggested Lineham. ‘He’d hardly have left all his clothes here if they were divorced or separated.’
Alongside the mirror on the built-in dressing table was a larger, studio portrait of the man in the photograph they had seen in Sturrenden. Thanet picked it up. Parnell—if it was Parnell—had been in his early thirties when this was taken. It was a thin, sensitive face with deeply-etched lines around the mouth. Lines of pain? Thanet wondered. Something had been nagging at him ever since they had entered the flat and now he suddenly realised what it was.
‘Have you noticed the doors, Mike?’
‘What about them?’ Lineham walked across and studied the bedroom door. ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Unusually wide, isn’t it?’
Thanet joined him. ‘At least four feet, wouldn’t you say? And custom-made, without a doubt.’
‘You think Parnell was in a wheel-chair?’
‘Seems likely, don’t you think? There’s no sign of children. And all the doorways are the same. If Parnell was crippled, it would explain why they built this place on behind the agency. No stairs, convenient for the office … Well, come on, we’d better get down to details. We’ll start with the desk in the bedroom. That looks the most promising.’
Alicia’s bank statements revealed that if she hadn’t been exactly a wealthy woman, she at least had had no financial worries. But apart from a bundle of letters from her father and an address book, there was little else of interest.
‘No mention of her mother,’ said Lineham, skimming quickly through the former. ‘Looks as though she might be dead, too.’ He made a quick note of Mr Doyle’s address. ‘I suppose we’ll have to contact him, to tell him the bad news.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Manchester.’
‘We’ll see to it as soon as we get back. We’ll take the address book with us.’
‘Odd that there are no legal documents, isn’t it, sir?’
‘She may have kept them in the office safe, as it’s so close.’
‘Are we going to take a look around the agency before we go back?’
‘I don’t think we can do that until we’ve talked to Miss Ross. Come to think about it, it might be an idea to try and see her while we’re up here. I expect her address is in here.’
It was. Jessica Ross lived not far away, in a block of modern flats on a side street off the Fulham Road. Unfortunately, according to a neighbour, she was away for the weekend.
‘Where, do you know?’
The woman squinted up at him. She was elderly, with wispy white hair and skin like tissue paper which has been scrumpled up and then smoothed out again.
‘Sorry, no idea.’
‘When did she go?’
She shrugged. ‘I saw her go off to work on Saturday morning and I haven’t seen her since. Usually, when she’s at home, I can hear noises through the walls.’ Her mouth twisted with disgust. ‘These modern places are all the same. Blown together, that’s what they are. And flimsy.… You can’t clean your teeth without other people hearing.’
‘She was carrying a suitcase?’
‘No. Just one of those squashy bags.’
‘But she did tell you, that she was going away?’
The old woman was becoming exasperated by Thanet’s persistence. ‘Not in so many words, no. But I’ve got my eyes and my ears and there’s nothing wrong with either, and I told you, I haven’t heard a sound since early Saturday morning. So it stands to reason she’s away, doesn’t it?’
Thanet gave up. There was nothing for them here, at present.
‘Looks as though we’ll have to come up to town again tomorrow,’ he said, as they walked back to the car.
‘What a bore.’
‘I agree, but there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘Been a wasted journey, really,’ grumbled Lineham.
‘Not quite, I think. Not quite.’
All the same, he was anxious now to get back to Sturrenden.
THREE
Thanet and Lineham went straight to the Black Swan. In their absence, much had been accomplished. Bentley and Carson had accelerated the initial questioning of the fifty-eight hotel guests by dividing them into two groups and conducting interviews simultaneously. Only five now remained to be seen, all of whom had left the hotel early to go out for the day. Nothing of interest had emerged, however. One couple, who had signed in immediately after Alicia, had fixed her time of arrival more precisely—four-twenty—and another woman remembered travelling down in the lift with her at around seven o’clock. Apart from that, nothing.
‘You’ve taken all their names and addresses?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Bentley was big, burly, painstaking. ‘And verified them by checking driving licences and so on.’
‘Good.’
‘Some of them are getting a bit restive, sir.’
‘I can imagine.’ Thanet sighed. ‘Well, we don’t want a riot on our hands.… So long as we can get in touch with them if necessary, I think they can be told that they’re free to carry on with their plans.’
‘Right, sir. I’ll see to that straight away.’
‘Just a moment. What about the staff?’
‘Bates and Warren interviewed them, sir.’
‘Have they finished?’
They had, but once again nothing of significance had surfaced.
‘Is DC Sparks back yet?’
Sparks had been sent to do the outside interviews. A new recruit to Thanet’s team, he was an A-level entrant, thin and dark, with a quick grasp of new disciplines and a degree of ambition which did not endear him to his more pedestrian fellows. Thanet didn’t think that he would be with them long, he would be off, up and away.
‘Yes. Came in about ten minutes ago, sir.’
‘Find him for me, will you?’
Sparks looked pleased with himself.
‘Nothing new from the receptionist who was on duty last night, sir, nor from the chambermaid. She went in to turn Mrs Parnell’s bed down at about eight-thirty pm and everything was in order then.’
‘So? Come on, out with it, man.’
‘Well, sir, it did occur to me that Mrs Parnell might possibly have ordered a pot of tea or a drink, and no one had thought it important enough to mention, so I checked and she had. I managed to track down the waitress who took afternoon tea up to her at about five o’clock, and she told me that when Mrs Parnell let her in there was a red folder lying on the bed. She noticed it because it was a splash of colour against all those pastels.… Well, I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I had a quick check around Mrs Parnell’s room, and there’s no sign of any folder, red or otherwise, so unless you took it away earlier …’
‘I didn’t,’ said Thanet thoughtfully. ‘Well done, Sparks. You might have another word with both the chambermaids, ask if either of them saw it.’
‘I have, sir, and they didn’t.’
He might have guessed. Sparks was always one jump ahead.
‘Interesting … And what about Mr and Mrs Leyton?’ Thanet had hesitated before sending Sparks to see the Leytons. As an old friend of Alicia Parnell’s, Richard Leyton might well turn out to be a suspect. But Thanet knew that opportunities for conducting potentially important interviews were thin on the ground for keen young detective-constables and was well aware, too, that it is always a temptation to keep the really significant interviews for oneself. He had decided to risk it and giv
e Sparks a chance to show what he could do. ‘Did you manage to see them?’
‘Yes. They were pretty shaken when I told them what had happened. Apparently they both knew Mrs Parnell years ago, when they were at school. She used to live here, and they were all in the same crowd.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Thanet. ‘Has Mrs Leyton got red hair?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sparks grinned. ‘And plenty of it.’
Prompted, Thanet’s unconscious came up with the name he had been trying to remember. ‘Vivienne,’ he said. ‘Her name is Vivienne.’
‘That’s right, sir.’ Sparks paused, to see if Thanet had anything to add.
Thanet shook his head. ‘Go on.’
‘Well as you know, they ran into Mrs Parnell in the foyer, but they didn’t talk for long because Mr Leyton had things to do in connection with the Ladies’ Night and Mrs Parnell was on her way to a concert.’
‘The Nicholas Rain concert?’
‘Yes, sir. Anyway, they had one of those “Fancy meeting you here after all these years” conversations—they both said they were amazed how little she’d changed, that they’d have known her anywhere. And she said how surprising it was that she’d only been in Sturrenden five minutes, so to speak, and she’d already bumped into three of her old friends.’
‘Three?’
‘Apparently, on the way to the hotel from the station, she’d met another man from their old crowd, a Mr Oliver Bassett. She said he was going to the concert that evening too.’
‘Was he, indeed. With her?’
‘That wasn’t the impression I got, sir.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not really.’
‘But?’
Sparks hesitated, for the first time. ‘It was just an impression, sir, but I had the feeling they hadn’t really been pleased to see Mrs Parnell. I mean, they were full of how surprised they were to run into her and so on, but I had the impression that the surprise had been one they could well have done without. On Mrs Leyton’s part, anyway.’
‘Really. And they didn’t see her later on, when she came back to the hotel after the concert?’
‘They said not, sir.’
‘But you didn’t believe them?’
Again, Sparks hesitated. ‘I’m not sure, sir. I think Mrs Leyton was holding back on something …’
‘On what?’
‘I couldn’t make up my mind, sir. Sorry.’
‘You’ve done well, Sparks.’
Lineham had been following all this with interest and when Sparks had gone Thanet said, ‘Well, Mike, what do you think?’
‘Sounds as though we ought to see the Leytons ourselves.’
‘I agree. But we’ll leave them to stew for a while, I think. Meanwhile …’
‘A visit to Mr Oliver Bassett?’
‘Yes. Get his address from the telephone directory, then ring, find out if he’s in.’
He was, and could see them whenever they wished. Lineham arranged that they would go along right away.
‘One advantage of it being a Sunday,’ he said, putting the phone down. ‘Most people are at home. Though I could think of better ways of spending it, myself.’
‘I know. I’d hoped to take the children to the sea. It would have been a perfect day for it.’
It was now four-thirty and the sun was still hot, the sky cloudless. Bassett lived in one of the sidestreets off the far end of the High Street. It wasn’t far, and they decided to walk.
Sturrenden is a busy market town in the heart of the Garden of England, as Kent is often called. It is best avoided on Tuesdays and Fridays. On the former, market traders from far and wide converge on the large open space which on Fridays become the cattle market, and on both days parking spaces in the town are virtually impossible to find. The Town Council has tried to solve the problem by introducing a one-way system and providing free parking on the edge of the town, but with little success. Today, however, it was empty of any but sightseers enjoying its picturesque High Street, admiring the higgledy-piggledy conglomeration of ancient façades and lingering in front of the antique shops which dotted its length.
Mill Street was quiet, elegant, its terraced Georgian houses raised slightly above ground level. Each front door, with semicircular fanlight above, had its own short flight of steps edged by curving wrought-iron railings. The door of number fifteen was painted a glossy purple.
‘Looks prosperous,’ commented Lineham as they awaited an answer to their knock.
‘I should think he’s fairly well-off. He’s the Bassett of Wylie, Bassett and Protheroe.’
‘The solicitors in the High Street?’
‘That’s right. What’s more, he’s a bachelor, so he doesn’t have a wife and family to support. I knew him at school,’ Thanet added hurriedly as the door began to open.
‘Ah, Thanet. Do come in. And this is …?’
‘Detective-Sergeant Lineham.’
Bassett was tall and well-built, with a beaky nose, high forehead and a small, pursed mouth which gave him a curiously prim, old-maidish look. Although he was presumably spending a quiet Sunday afternoon at home, he was formally dressed in what was obviously a tailor-made suit in fine, brown herringbone tweed, tattersall-check shirt and slub silk tie. His highly-polished brogues were the colour of ripe chestnuts.
‘This way.’
He led them through a spacious hall with curving staircase into a drawing room overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The atmosphere was one of restrained opulence, a combination of deep, muted colours, genuine antique furniture, carefully-arranged bric-a-brac and richly-textured soft furnishings. The effect was as impressive and as impersonal as a photograph in a glossy magazine.
‘I was having tea when you telephoned, so I made a fresh pot. Will you join me?’
It would have been churlish to refuse. Thanet sat down on a Victorian tub chair upholstered in jade-green velvet and accepted the proffered porcelain cup and saucer with a murmur of thanks.
‘Well then,’ said Bassett, when he had served them both. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I believe you ran into an old friend in the High Street yesterday afternoon?’ Thanet drank off his tea, which had been only luke-warm, and carefully put his cup and saucer down on a tiny mahogany table beside his chair.
‘An old …’ Briefly, Bassett had looked puzzled, then his face cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Alicia Doyle—or Alicia Parnell, as she now is.’ He gave a little half-laugh. ‘But of what possible interest could such an encounter be to you, Inspector?’
Inspector now, not Thanet, Thanet noted.
‘You obviously haven’t heard the news.’
Bassett frowned. ‘What news?’
Thanet saw no reason to cushion the blow. ‘That she was found murdered this morning.’
Bassett’s eyes opened wide with shock. ‘Murdered? Alicia? Where?’
‘In her room at the Black Swan.’
‘My God!’ Bassett heaved himself jerkily out of his chair and went to stand for a few moments with his back to them, looking out into the garden. Then he swung around. ‘I can hardly believe it. But as I certainly can’t think that you are playing some kind of charade, I suppose I must. Well … Alicia …’ He shook his head, returned slowly to his seat. ‘So how can I help you?’
‘I’ll be frank with you. At the moment, we have very little to go on. Mrs Parnell lived in London, where she ran a small business, and so far we haven’t found anyone who knows anything about her. No one knows if she had arranged to meet anyone down here during the weekend.’
‘Except that she was obviously seen talking to me,’ said Bassett with a hint of displeasure.
‘Not exactly. She herself told someone that she had run into you on her way to the hotel yesterday afternoon.’
‘Who could possibly have been interested?’
‘Some mutual friends of yours, Mr and Mrs Richard Leyton. They ran into her in the foyer of the Black Swan last night. They were arriving for a function
and she was on her way to the Nicholas Rain concert.’
‘Ah, I see … I presume she also told them that I was going to the concert, too?’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘And, naturally, you want to know if I saw her during the evening?’
‘As you say, naturally.’
‘Well, the answer is yes, I did.… More tea, Inspector? Sergeant? No? Well now, let me see … I first saw her in the bar, during the interval. We chatted for a few minutes about the concert—you may or may not be aware that we both knew Nicholas Rain quite well, in our younger days—and I invited her to join me for a late supper, afterwards. I thought it would be interesting to hear what she’d been doing all these years.… But she said she was sorry, she couldn’t, as she’d already arranged to see someone else.’
‘Did she say who?’
‘No. Later on, though, when I was in the foyer, I saw her talking to Rain. I didn’t think anything of it at the time …’
‘Did you assume it was Rain she’d arranged to meet?’
Bassett shook his head. ‘No. After all, his fiancée, Melanie Knight, was there, she’d been playing in the concert with him. He and Alicia only talked for a few minutes, then he left her to join Miss Knight.’
‘And Mrs Parnell?’
‘I lost sight of her. There were a lot of people milling about, of course, and I didn’t see her again, after they parted.’
‘Were you close to them during their conversation?’
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