Dead by Morning Read online

  ‘Inspector Thanet?’

  For the second time today Thanet was greeted by an outstretched hand. In the case of a man at whom the finger had been pointed, like Fever, such bonhomie invariably made him suspicious.

  And Fever himself was a surprise.

  It was interesting, Thanet thought, how one could build up an image of someone through other people’s accounts of him, and how completely wrong one could be. He’d had a very clear picture of Fever as a great lumberjack of a man, overpowering as much by his physical size as by the force of his personality. Apart from his age, which Thanet guessed to be around fifty, the reality was completely different. Fever was at most five five in height, and wiry as a whippet. He was wearing expensive casual clothes – slightly baggy gaberdine trousers and high-necked cashmere sweater over soft-collared shirt. Beneath the surface affability he was, Thanet thought, distinctly wary.

  A woman had come into the room behind him.

  ‘And this is my wife. I believe you did want to talk to her as well?’

  Like the Princess in the fairy tale guarded by a dragon, Thanet had expected Mrs Fever to be beautiful and she did not disappoint him. Well, perhaps not exactly beautiful, he corrected himself, but very attractive, certainly. She was perhaps an inch or two taller than her husband, with a beautifully proportioned figure, a cloud of dark hair and soft deep-velvet-brown eyes. She seemed to exude not sex-appeal but something much more subtle, a fragrant femininity enhanced by the flared suede skirt which flowed about her as she walked, the high-heeled shoes and silk blouse. She might not give her husband cause for jealousy but Thanet could understand his fear of losing her to another man.

  They all sat down, Fever and his wife side by side on a settee.

  ‘As you’ve no doubt realised, we’re looking into the death of Mr Leo Martindale,’ said Thanet. ‘And at the moment we’re trying to build up a picture of his movements on Tuesday.’

  ‘Excuse me interrupting, Inspector,’ said Fever. ‘But why? By all accounts it was a hit and run accident. Surely you ought to be concentrating on motorists passing through the village that night?’

  ‘Among other things, yes, we are. Unfortunately it looks as though it might not be as simple as that. It’s difficult to see how Mr Martindale could have got into the position in which he was lying without, shall we say, a little help.’

  Mrs Fever’s eyes widened as she understood the implications of what he was saying and her hands, clasped together in her lap, tightened their grip on each other. Thanet saw the knuckles whiten.

  Fever’s eyes narrowed and he sat forward. ‘Now wait a minute. What are you saying? Are you implying that it wasn’t an accident, that …?’

  ‘We’re just trying to find out exactly what did happen. It’s possible that it was an accident, that the driver panicked when he got out to investigate and discovered that Mr Martindale was dead, moved the body into the ditch to prevent anyone else running over him.’

  ‘But it’s also possible that he was deliberately run down. That is what you’re getting at, isn’t it?’

  Fever was becoming agitated.

  Here we go again, thought Thanet. The interview was already beginning to follow a pattern that had become all too familiar over the last couple of days. ‘Anything is possible, Mr Fever. You must see that at this stage we have to keep an open mind …’

  ‘Don’t give me that guff!’ Fever sprang up and began to pace about. ‘That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it? You heard I had a bit of a barney with Martindale on Tuesday and you want to pin his death on me!’

  Mrs Fever made an inarticulate little sound of distress then put out her hand towards her husband and said, ‘Lewis, please.’

  Fever ignored her. ‘Well you won’t get away with it! If every time two men had an argument one of them is accused of murder, the place would be littered with corpses!’

  ‘We’re only interested in one corpse, Mr Fever, Mr Martindale’s. As I say, we’re not yet satisfied that his death was an accident and we are only doing our duty in trying to find out precisely what did happen.’

  ‘Duty! Is this what you call duty, coming into a man’s home and accusing him of murder!’

  ‘Mr Fever!’ Thanet was capable of showing steel when he wanted to and had no intention of being browbeaten into going away without what he had come for. ‘I am accusing no one of anything. Would you please sit down and allow us to have a rational conversation, or –’

  Fever ran his hands wildly through his hair. ‘Rational! What’s rational about –’

  For the second time in two days Thanet was driven to a course of action he normally regarded as the last resort. He stood up. ‘Very well. If that’s the way you want it. I shall have to ask you to accompany us back to headquarters, for questioning.’

  Mrs Fever jumped up and grasped her husband by the sleeve. ‘Lewis, please, they’re only doing what they have to …’

  He shook her off and stood glaring at Thanet.

  There was a tense silence and then he plumped down on the settee, folding his arms belligerently across his chest. ‘I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter, do I?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Thanet, sitting down again. ‘The choice is yours. Here … or there.’

  ‘Here, there, what’s the difference? In any case I have nothing to hide, so for God’s sake let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  In the event, there was little more that they could add to what Thanet already knew. Mrs Fever confirmed the substance of the conversation with Martindale at the garage, studiously avoiding looking at her husband while doing so, and Fever, keeping his volatile temper barely under control, gave a brief account of his visit to the Hall. His intention, he swore, had merely been to warn Martindale to keep away from his wife, to frighten him off.

  ‘You’ve all known each other for years, I gather, since before Mr Martindale went away?’

  Fever’s face went curiously wooden. ‘That’s right, yes.’

  Mrs Fever cast an anxious little sideways glance at him.

  ‘You were friends, at that time?’

  ‘Friends! Leo didn’t have any friends, believe me.’

  ‘Why not? What did people have against him?’ Thanet didn’t have much hope of an honest answer and he didn’t get one.

  ‘Let’s just say he had the knack of putting people’s backs up.’

  And Fever gave a smile that was more a baring of the teeth, reminding Thanet of Jack Talion’s reaction.

  Thanet stood up. ‘That sounds like an understatement to me.’

  They all rose. ‘Think what you like,’ said Fever. ‘That’s the way it was. But if you’re looking for a scapegoat, Inspector, you won’t find him in this house.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Lineham, when the front door had slammed behind them. ‘D’you think he’s our man, sir?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘As I said before, not unless we can put him behind the wheel of that van. And even then … I don’t know, Mike. I suppose I can see him running Martindale down while he was still all steamed up, but not calmly sitting about considering it and going back to do it in cold blood. We’ll just have to see. What’s next on the agenda?’

  ‘Mrs Hamilton at 1.30.’

  It was now 12.45.

  ‘Time we visited the local, I think, Mike.’

  TWELVE

  Like so many country pubs the Drovers had suffered from modernisation in the sixties and seventies. The ancient floorboards had been covered with heavily patterned carpets, sections of wall faced with synthetic boarding and the bar tarted up with a collection of dangling keyrings. At this hour on a weekday there were only three other customers. The food, however, was good and the beer acceptable.

  Thanet took an appreciative mouthful of roast beef sandwich seasoned with French mustard. ‘What did he say?’

  Lineham had been deputed to ask the landlord why he had not mentioned Martindale’s ostracism by the locals on Monday night.

  ‘Same old sto
ry. “Nobody asked me …”’ Lineham loaded his crusty French bread with butter, cheese and pickle. ‘Think the Super will turn up?’

  Thanet grimaced. ‘Hope not.’

  Lineham grinned. ‘Perhaps there’ll be a mini crime wave in Sturrenden and he’ll be too busy.’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that remark, Mike.’

  Lineham chewed thoughtfully for a while and then said, ‘What about this van, sir? Think there’s any hope of proving which of them was driving it?’

  ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it? Six people have keys and we already know four of them drove it on Tuesday night – as well as Mrs Rankle, who borrowed it to check on her son.’

  Lineham ticked them off on his fingers. ‘Mrs Hamilton went to fetch Adam from the station at 7.25. When she got back at about 7.40, Mr Talion used it to check on the sheep that had got out. He took about – how long did he say?’

  ‘Twenty-five minutes or so.’

  ‘So he would have got back at around ten past eight. Then it stood idle for twenty minutes or so until Sam Tiller went to pick up Mrs Rankle. Then at 9.15 or thereabouts she borrowed it …’

  ‘Passing the entrance gates of the Hall on her way. And she wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with Martindale, by the sound of it. I wonder what she had against him?’

  ‘Think there’s any hope of finding out?’

  ‘Not much, the way things are going. It’s like trying to get blood out of a stone, trying to find out why they were all so anti Martindale, isn’t it?’

  ‘Never mind. As you would say, it’s early days yet.’

  Thanet grinned. Lineham’s unfailing optimism was one of the reasons why he enjoyed working with him. ‘True. Anyway, you were saying …’

  ‘Sam Tiller drove it next, to take Mrs Rankle home and then go home himself. Leaving the pub at …?’

  ‘Ten-thirty, I think.’

  ‘And finally Mr Hamilton used it at 11.15, to go and pick up Tessa, when the Range Rover wouldn’t start. Think that’s true, sir?’

  ‘We must check with her. But I shouldn’t think he’d risk involving her in lying for him.’

  ‘So really its movements are pretty well accounted for, except for twenty minutes or so between ten and half-past eight and the three quarters of an hour between 10.30 and 11.15. Time enough in both cases for any one of them to have driven it down to the gates and back.’

  ‘Yes, but who? Let’s see, what did they all claim to be doing between those times, Mike?’

  ‘Mr Hamilton said he was working in his office during the earlier period. He must have been alone or he would presumably have mentioned that someone was with him. He could easily have slipped out. He and Mrs Hamilton stood to lose a packet, if Martindale had claimed what was rightfully his. Say Hamilton looked out of the window and happened to see Martindale leaving the house, to go to the pub, perhaps …’

  ‘I doubt that he would have gone to the pub, Mike, after getting the cold shoulder the night before.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. He sounds pretty thick-skinned to me. Anyway, he needn’t have been going to the pub. He could have been meeting someone …’

  ‘Who, for example?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m only making suggestions, sir.’ Lineham was beginning to sound plaintive. ‘He could just have been going for a walk.’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘True. All right, Mike, go on.’

  ‘So,’ said Lineham, leaning forward eagerly as he warmed to his theory, ‘Hamilton sees the perfect opportunity to get rid of him. Everything’s quiet, the guests are at dinner … He gets to the van without being seen and drives off. He catches up with Martindale at the bottom of the drive and runs him down. He gets out to check that Martindale is dead, then drags him into the ditch so he won’t be found by anyone else coming in or out of the Hall gates that night. Into the van, up the drive, back into his study and he’s home and dry. It need only have taken ten or fifteen minutes in all. What d’you think, sir?’

  Thanet took out his pipe, tapped it, inspected it, blew through it and began to fill it. ‘Unless it was a straightforward accident, I should think it must have happened like that. But the trouble is, you could apply the same scenario to any one of them. We don’t know what Mrs Hamilton was doing just then, or Sam Tiller, or Jack Talion …’

  ‘Or the Byfleets, for that matter,’ Lineham conceded gloomily. ‘He’s supposed to have got back from Gatwick about eight, so they were both around between ten and half-past eight as well. And the van stands near where they live in the stable yard.’

  ‘Unfortunately the van was conveniently accessible to the lot of them,’ said Thanet with a sigh. ‘We’ve got a tremendous amount of checking to do, Mike. It would help if we had some idea what time Martindale was knocked down, but as yet we haven’t a clue. After that early dinner, which was over by about seven, no one seems to have seen him.’

  ‘Except for Mrs Byfleet. She was seen coming out of his room at 7.15, remember.’

  ‘I know, but it could just have been a routine check. The room might well have been empty.’

  ‘We both thought she was lying about something.’

  ‘I know. Ah well, come on Mike, drink up. I don’t think Mrs Hamilton is the type to appreciate being kept waiting.’

  ‘Don’t suppose we’ll get much out of her,’ grumbled Lineham.

  ‘You never know. We have got one or two cards up our sleeve, remember,’ though Thanet wasn’t feeling too optimistic about the coming interview. Mrs Hamilton wouldn’t easily be manoeuvred into telling them anything she didn’t wish to divulge.

  In the car park Thanet came to a sudden halt. ‘It’s just occurred to me …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The van. Apart from the twenty minutes or so when Mrs Rankle used it, it was standing out here in the pub car park all evening, between say 8.45 and 10.30. During that time anyone could have borrowed it and unless they were actually spotted no one would have been any the wiser.’

  Lineham groaned.

  Delia Hamilton was waiting for them in her office, a pleasant, sunny little room tastefully furnished with antiques and country house chintzes.

  She rose to greet them. ‘I hope this won’t take too long, Inspector. How are you getting on? Have you found out what happened?’

  She was as immaculately groomed as ever, her hair in a smooth chignon today, wearing a simple, elegant dress of raspberry-coloured wool with long sleeves and a cowl neck. Pearls and a beautiful enamelled antique fob watch completed the English country lady image.

  ‘Not yet, ma’am. But don’t worry, we shall.’

  She waved them to two upright chairs already in position in front of her desk and sat down behind it. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. ‘Well?’

  ‘One or two things have emerged …’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I understand that there was an argument that night, between a Mr Fever, who lives locally, and your brother.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything about it?’

  ‘I wasn’t present, so no, I’m afraid I can’t.’

  ‘Can you think of any reason why Mr Fever should have been so angry with your brother?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ She waved a hand, dismissing the matter as of no importance. ‘Fever has the reputation of having what is commonly called a short fuse. I suppose Leo had done something to annoy him. I shouldn’t place too much importance on it, if I were you.’

  ‘Mr Fever’s wife, Yvonne …’

  Delia Hamilton’s delicately arched brows rose again. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Your brother seemed to know her. We understand they met in the village on Tuesday, and he greeted her like an old friend.’

  ‘Sutton is a very small community, Inspector. Yvonne Fever has lived here all her life. As children we all knew each other.’

  ‘Was there anything special between them?’

  ‘Special?’

  ‘Was she his girlfriend
, before he went away?’

  Delia laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Let’s just say that Leo was a very attractive young man and I’ve no doubt that at one time or another he took most of the local girls out. But a special girlfriend …’ She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t have been suitable.’

  Because of the difference in class, presumably. A rather naïve view, Thanet felt. He was pretty certain that if Leo had fancied a girl he wouldn’t have hesitated to break the rules. Besides, he suspected that the question had made Delia Hamilton uneasy. Because of Yvonne Fever, or had there been another scandal to do with Leo and a local girl? Sam Tiller’s daughter, perhaps, if he had one? Or Jack Talion’s?

  ‘So to your knowledge there is no particular reason why Mr Fever had a grudge against your brother?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘What about Sam Tiller?’

  ‘Sam Tiller?’ Briefly, she looked disconcerted.

  ‘Someone overheard Sam Tiller telling you that if your brother stayed, he would leave.’

  A flash of anger, quickly suppressed. At being put in the difficult position of having to explain, presumably. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Inspector. You can’t believe half of what you hear.’

  ‘You deny that this conversation took place, then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Or that Sam Tiller did in fact present you with this ultimatum?’

  ‘I’m the one who presents ultimatums around here, Inspector.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  She hated being pinned down like this, obviously wasn’t used to having anyone press her for an answer which she didn’t want to give.

  ‘What question was that?’ But there was the beginning of resignation in her eyes. She could see he wasn’t going to let her wriggle out of it.

  Thanet was rather enjoying this duel of wits. ‘Did Sam Tiller tell you that if your brother stayed, he would have to hand in his resignation?’

  ‘What if he did? What possible relevance could it have?’

  ‘Did he, Mrs Hamilton?’