A Fatal Night

by Faith Martin

  Jasper, taking his cue, reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted all the paper money he had and thrust it at Patsy.

  ‘What’s this for?’ Patsy asked, shying away from it, and him, like a nervous horse.

  ‘It’s just for your trouble,’ Juliet said soothingly. ‘We know things haven’t worked out as we hoped, but that doesn’t mean you should lose by it. And we’re grateful you were willing to try and help us out in the first place. And we feel a bit guilty you had to go through all that you did. Take it and buy yourself something nice – but be careful not to let your mum find it. She’ll wonder where you got so much cash.’

  Patsy reached out a half-frozen hand and accepted the money wonderingly. There was so much there, she could buy herself a whole new wardrobe! And some make-up, and perfume, and that new handbag she’d spotted in …

  ‘Don’t spend it all at once,’ Jasper snarled, and she blinked, then nodded wisely.

  ‘Of course I won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not stupid, you know!’

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ Juliet agreed, giving her a pat on the back. ‘You take care now. And remember – say absolutely nothing about this, or what we were going to do, to anyone.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Patsy promised.

  She turned and hurried back up the path. When she got to the door and looked back, she was relieved to see that they’d already disappeared into the darkness.

  She carefully tucked the money deep into the pocket of her coat and slipped inside. She then went straight upstairs to her bedroom and hid the money in her secret hiding place, before she sat on her bed, rocking slightly back and forth.

  ‘No, I’m not stupid,’ she muttered resentfully to herself. ‘No matter what people might think.’

  She glanced out of the window, seeing only her own tight and unhappy face reflected back at her.

  She would keep quiet all right, and tell no one about being in the car that night. But only because she just knew Jasper Vander must have done something bad. Really bad. There had been something very wrong with Terry Parker just before he crashed that car; she was sure. He might have had a few drinks, but she didn’t believe he’d been so drunk that he couldn’t drive properly.

  She thought about the dead man, and felt sorry for him, but not enough to do anything about it.

  Juliet and Jasper had hated him. And now Terry Parker was dead.

  And she definitely didn’t want to do anything that would make the twins angry with her.

  She might just end up the same way.

  Chapter 15

  The next day, Trudy rose in darkness and made her way downstairs. Her father, a bus driver, was unusually still abed, but only because his bosses were having trouble getting the bus routes cleared. Every fresh snowfall or freezing overnight spell turned roads that had once been passable into an ice rink. And nobody wanted to be driving a double-decker on an ice rink. Or riding on one, presumably.

  She boiled an egg and ate some toast, careful not to wake her parents, then let herself out the house. The same Land Rover that had been doing the rounds, shuttling police staff from their homes in the city to their stations, was waiting, and she greeted the driver – a rather glum-faced PC from Headington – with a weary smile.

  They discussed the snow that seemed to have brought the whole country to a standstill, and the PC’s little girl, who had been delighted with her Christmas present of coloured plasticine, but not so enamoured of a doll.

  Once at the station, she was delighted to find that DI Jennings wasn’t in yet. Since he’d left no word ordering her otherwise, she decided that that meant that the Terry Parker case was still her top priority, and immediately set off walking to the coroner’s house. And if that made her difficult to contact any time soon, that was really a shame, wasn’t it?

  Once again, it was Vincent who answered her knock at the door, and for a moment she actually wondered if he was going to let her in. He hesitated so very visibly in the doorway, looking her up and down, that she began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Eventually he moved to one side.

  ‘Dad, it’s your policewoman again,’ he called over his shoulder as Trudy edged around him.

  He was dressed in warm woollen black trousers with a black shirt, and a knitted cable-stitch pullover in stone-coloured wool over the top. His light brown, almost fair hair shone with golden highlights under the hall light, and she could still smell his aftershave. Obviously, he had not long risen.

  She was very aware of how attractive he was, and felt more uncomfortable still. She wondered why he didn’t like her, though she knew that she was taking it too personally. Which was silly. Once he went back to wherever he lived, she’d never see him again.

  ‘Hello, Trudy, come on through, I’m in the kitchen,’ she heard Clement call, and with a smile of relief at the sound of her mentor’s voice, hurried out of the hallway.

  Vincent noted her pleased reaction, and his lips tightened. He followed close on her heels as she walked into the room.

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d be free today,’ Trudy said amiably, slinging her satchel and the accoutrements it contained onto the seat of a drawn-out table chair, and taking off her police officer’s cap.

  Vincent’s eyes widened at the mass of glossy, sable curls that had been hidden underneath, and couldn’t help but wonder what they would look like, tumbling down around her face and shoulders. He turned abruptly to the kettle and switched it on. ‘Another cup of tea, Dad?’ he asked flatly.

  ‘Please. And one for Trudy – she probably needs defrosting!’ Clement grinned. He was sitting at the table, a plate of breadcrumbs in front of him, smeared with a tell-tale orange trail of marmalade. ‘You walked from the station?’ He looked up at her.

  Vincent, watching the exchange, was relieved to note that his father seemed friendly, but not effusive. He was showing no obvious signs of being over-pleased to see her, and neither did he follow the girl with his eyes as she set about shrugging off her coat and sitting down. Rather, he folded up the newspaper he’d been reading, and pushed aside his plate, looking totally relaxed.

  He was, in fact, showing none of the tell-tale signs of an infatuated older male in the presence of a pretty younger woman, and Vincent told himself to relax. He’d been letting his imagination get the better of him, which was not like him.

  ‘So what’s on the agenda for today?’ Clement asked.

  ‘I thought we’d tackle Geoffrey Thorpe again,’ Trudy said. ‘See what he’s got to say for himself?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Clement nodded. ‘I agree. It’s tricky though, isn’t it? Not being sure what we’re dealing with exactly? Until we get cause of death, we’re groping about in the dark – and maybe for no good reason.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Vincent asked, intrigued, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. ‘It all sounds rather convoluted.’

  Clement cast an amused smile at his son. ‘I thought you weren’t interested in my work?’ he accused amiably.

  ‘I’m not.’ Vincent smiled back. ‘But this sounds interesting. Why is “it” tricky? And what is “it” anyway?’

  Clement cast Trudy a questioning look, seemingly wondering if she would object to his son knowing the bare details, but she shrugged back, letting him decide. This display of tacit understanding again annoyed Vincent. It was as if they were speaking a language known only to themselves – and he just didn’t like it.

  ‘A man was found dead in his car on New Year’s Day. He’d been to a party the night before. Cause of death was probably due to injuries or maybe hypothermia,’ Clement said briskly. ‘But there are a few inconsistencies.’

  ‘Such as?’ Vincent sipped his tea, his golden-flecked hazel eyes darting from his father to the pretty young woman opposite him.

  ‘Possible footprints, which might be indicative of a second person at the scene, who maybe just checked out the crash site and for some reason failed to report it – or maybe not,’ Clement listed. ‘The trouble is, with a
ll the snowfall and wind, it’s not easy to say for certain what the marks might mean. The victim had pinprick pupils, which may have been caused by a concussive head injury – or maybe not. Certain irregularities in the victim’s business life – which might be relevant, or …’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Vincent obligingly finished for him, nodding. ‘I get it. But most likely he had a bit too much to drink and crashed the car? Knocked himself out and froze to death?’

  ‘That’s the most likely outcome, yes,’ Clement said and smiled. ‘But Trudy and I would both like to be sure there’s not more to it than that.’

  Vincent grunted, unconsciously echoing one of his father’s habits. ‘Well, you’re clearly having a lot of fun playing sleuths. I’ll have to start reading more murder mysteries. Agatha Christie, here I come.’

  Trudy smiled at him, relieved to see him finally smile back at her.

  Clement regarded his son thoughtfully.

  *

  Geoffrey Thorpe was not a man at ease. That much was very clear from the moment he ushered them into a small snug off the main living room in his house.

  A quick telephone call by Clement had confirmed that the car showroom was not open that day. It was not surprising – who was going to fight their way along treacherous, near-impassable roads in order to look at a car? It was not even as if they could take one for a test drive.

  ‘I wish this weather would clear,’ Geoffrey complained with a forced smile as Trudy and Clement took matching armchair seats opposite a small fireplace. ‘January is always a slow time to sell cars at the best of times but what with this …’ He indicated the white stuff outside the window and shook his head grimly. He was standing in front of the unlit fire, resting one elbow on the high marble mantelpiece, but he did not look all that casual. His eyes kept darting from them to the window and back again.

  ‘We’d like to thank you for officially identifying Mr Parker’s body, sir,’ Trudy began crisply. ‘It can’t have been easy.’

  ‘No, it certainly wasn’t,’ he agreed flatly.

  ‘You may have seen a piece in the local papers, asking anyone with any knowledge of Mr Parker or the accident, to contact us?’ she went on. She was still annoyed with Duncan Gillingham for giving out her phone number. Luckily, the nuisance calls were dwindling away now.

  ‘Er, yes, I did see it,’ Geoffrey said, abruptly deciding to sit down on a two-seater settee at right angles to them. That done, he diligently set about straightening a non-existent crease in his trousers, thus continuing to avoid meeting her eye.

  ‘One of the people who contacted us was Mr Philip Prescott,’ Trudy said, and saw him wince.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. He’s an accountant for your firm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything you care to tell us now that you forgot to mention before, Mr Thorpe?’ she asked mildly. But she was holding her breath as she did so. She was very aware that, without having any definite suspicions to go on about the cause of Terrence Parker’s death, this man had every right to turn on them and demand to know what all the questions were about. And what business was it of theirs what state their company finances were in?

  Luckily for her though, the vast majority of the British public were anxious to be seen to cooperate with the police and this man proved no exception. His shoulders slumped and he sighed, eventually lifting his eyes as far as the empty fireplace.

  ‘I suppose you mean the … loan … Terry had taken out of the firm’s accounts?’

  ‘A loan?’ Trudy echoed delicately.

  ‘Yes. Well …’ Geoffrey smiled wanly, finally meeting her gaze. ‘That was how he described it to me when I tackled him about it.’

  ‘I see. It was a rather … convoluted way for him to arrange a loan, wasn’t it?’ she said, careful to keep her tone neutral.

  With a sigh, the other man got up again and paced restlessly to look out the window, turning his back firmly on his visitors. ‘Look, it was clear that he’d been skimming,’ he told the view out the window. ‘He knew it, and I knew it. But it would have been a hell of a mess if I’d kicked up a fuss about it. I could have, of course. But imagine the scandal! Besides, in spite of, well … the money thing, we actually worked very well together. And the business is successful. Terry is a … was, a great salesman, and I knew if I kicked him out of the business, well, sales would drop off. Instead we got our heads together, and worked something out.’

  ‘He was paying you back, in other words,’ Clement put in.

  ‘Yes. And I was watching him like a hawk, to make sure that he did,’ Terry Parker’s business partner said bitterly, still determinedly addressing the snowy scene that lay beyond his home. ‘And, of course, part of the deal we worked out was that, from now on, I’d be in sole charge of the books and payments, and so on.’

  ‘How much did he still have left to pay you back?’ Trudy asked.

  ‘A little more than half of what he took – or borrowed, as he preferred to call it.’

  Money, Trudy thought, that now would not be paid back. Unless … ‘Do you know what happens to his side of the business now he’s gone, Mr Thorpe?’

  ‘Yes, it comes to me,’ Geoffrey Thorpe said, without a flicker. Either he hadn’t yet registered the significance of that, or he was a very fine actor, Trudy thought, glancing at Clement. Did he really have no idea that this gave him an ideal motive for getting rid of an unreliable, thieving, business partner?

  ‘Why do you think he “borrowed” the money, sir?’ Trudy asked next.

  Geoffrey Thorpe gave a wry laugh and finally turned back from the window, wearily slumping back down into his chair. ‘Oh, that was typical of Terry,’ he said tiredly, running a hand across his face. ‘He was always living beyond his means. He liked to think he was the sort of man who should own and drive fancy sports cars, rather than sell them. You know the type I mean? He always had to buy the best wine and spirits. Order the most expensive meal at a restaurant. Dress in tailored suits rather than buy them off the rack. I have no doubt the money went through his fingers like water. He liked to entertain women too – play the wealthy bachelor.’

  ‘I see,’ Trudy said, wondering what Millicent Vander would have thought of this description of Terry. Somehow, she didn’t think it would have pleased her. ‘We’re still having trouble tracing his next of kin; we had thought he might have come from Birmingham originally, but—’

  ‘Birmingham?’ Geoffrey interrupted with a frown. ‘Why Birmingham? I got the impression … what was it now … Something he said to me once. Oh, some offhand remark about … why am I thinking about tiles?’ he suddenly asked, making Trudy blink in surprise.

  ‘Tiles, sir?’ she echoed blankly.

  ‘Yes, tiles …’ The other man rubbed a hand more vigorously over his forehead. ‘The curse of a fading memory. I know Terry said something once in passing that made me think he came from … oh, I know, I’ve got it now. Not tiles. The Pantiles!’

  Trudy was still no further forward, and it was Clement who came to her rescue. ‘The Pantiles, as in the rather nice shopping district in Tunbridge Wells?’ he asked smoothly.

  ‘Yes. Exactly,’ Geoffrey said with a small smile. ‘I remember now – it was last summer – or the summer before. We had a garden party here at the house – Terry came, obviously, and my wife mentioned that she was having difficulty getting something specific she wanted. Can’t remember now what it was, something continental, I think … Anyway, Terry said something about how she’d get just what she wanted if the Pantiles were around the corner. As it happened, we’d shopped there not long after our honeymoon, when we were holidaying not far from the town, so we both knew where he meant.’

  ‘And he might have come from Tunbridge Wells?’ Trudy nodded, making a rapid note in her notebook.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Geoffrey said, with a shrug. ‘It’s a little odd, now that I come to think of it. The moment he mentioned it, Terry seemed to get flustered. Well, not flustered so much, but he g
ave a start, as if annoyed at himself for speaking without thinking, and then he quickly rushed on to say something else, as if he regretted it, and wanted to take our minds off it.’

  ‘He acted as if he’d made a slip,’ Clement clarified quietly.

  ‘Yes. You know, I rather think that’s exactly how he acted,’ Geoffrey admitted thoughtfully. Then his eyes glazed over. ‘Terry never did like to talk about himself and his past, now that I come to think of it. He always became evasive whenever talk turned more personal, about families and childhood memories and things like that. I wonder now …’

  And so did Trudy. Why, she asked herself, would someone not like to talk about themselves and their families or the past? Usually you couldn’t stop someone – people loved talking about themselves as a rule. So why had Terry Parker been so reticent?

  He didn’t have a police record; it was one of the first things she’d checked.

  Although they talked a little more, nothing else of significance seemed to come out of it, and Trudy and Clement left ten minutes later.

  One of the first things Trudy did on leaving the Thorpe residence was to get Clement to pull over at the next telephone box they found, and she used some of her pennies to place a call through to the local station in Royal Tunbridge Wells. There she spoke to the desk sergeant at the police station. Given that the bad weather conditions were rife everywhere, the sergeant took a note of her request for someone to search the records for any mention of their dead man, but warned her it might take them some time. This didn’t surprise her – she hardly expected her inquiry would be put at the top of their to-do list. If they were to make any progress with the case before Inspector Jennings pulled her off it, she mused wearily, it would be a belated Christmas miracle!

  Trudy nevertheless thanked him and hung up, feeling frustrated.

  She got back in the car, glad that the heater was working, and rubbed her hands together briskly.