Suspicious Death Page 13

  ‘It must have been a relief, to find that the proceedings had been called off.’

  ‘Oh it was, wasn’t it, Jack? That Mr Salden’s all right.’

  ‘It wasn’t Mr Salden who called them off,’ said Lineham, interrupting. ‘It was Inspector Thanet here.’

  Thanet shot Lineham a furious glance.

  Greenleaf said with mock humility, ‘Oh, it was, was it? Then we has every reason to be grateful to the kind Inspector, hasn’t we, Jack?’

  Thanet was amused to find that the last vestiges of pity for Greenleaf had vanished, to be replaced by reluctant admiration. The man was obviously more than capable of looking after himself. ‘So you claim you were in your hut all evening?’

  Greenleaf’s eyes, glittering through the narrow openings in the puffy flesh, met Thanet’s squarely. ‘I was.’ He looked down at the dog. ‘As Jack is my witness.’

  He was lying, Thanet was sure of it. But it was impossible to tell whether it was because he had indeed been responsible for pushing Marcia off the bridge or because he’d been up to something else he didn’t want the police to know about. In any case, it was obvious that there was no point in pursuing that particular line of questioning.

  ‘I believe Mrs Salden came down to see you in the afternoon.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She did come, but she didn’t see me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Greenleaf addressed the dog again. ‘Saw her coming, didn’t we Jack.’ He met Thanet’s eye again. ‘Guessed she meant trouble, so we slipped away, come back after she’d gone.’

  That was Harry’s story and clearly he was going to stick to it. They left.

  Lineham waited until they were halfway down the slope before he spoke. ‘Insolent so and so.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have interfered, Mike.’

  ‘I know, sir. I’m sorry. But it just made me mad to see him taking the mickey out of you like that.’

  ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself, you know. I don’t need protecting.’

  ‘No, I know. But …’

  ‘No “buts”, Mike. Did it occur to you that it’s probably his way of coping with his disfigurement in front of strangers? By all accounts he’s popular enough with the locals.’

  Lineham looked a little shamefaced. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Could be. If people are busy being angry at him they can’t be feeling sorry for him. It works, too, didn’t you notice?’

  Lineham was silent for a few moments. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ A further silence, then he burst out, ‘Why can’t I ever see things like that for myself?’

  ‘Practice, I suppose. I’ve been at it longer than you have.’

  ‘No point in trying to make excuses for me. It’s always happening, however hard I try.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re not trying in the right way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, back there … You found you were getting angry, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, then what? You reacted by speaking out, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. And I shouldn’t have, I know.’

  ‘So what should you have done?’

  Lineham stopped walking and turned to face Thanet. ‘What do you mean? Kept my big mouth shut, of course.’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘No, that’s not what I mean. That’s a negative reaction, and I’m looking for a positive one.’

  ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me. I got angry, right? So I either allow myself to show it, or I don’t. How else could I have reacted?’

  ‘There are a couple of alternatives. Look, you know the anger is unconstructive, don’t you? So you have to defuse it. And you do this either by trying to understand your own reaction, just why you are getting so annoyed, or by asking yourself why it is he finds it necessary to behave so provocatively. In this particular instance the answer wasn’t hard to find. Nobody likes to be pitied. Better, by far, to make people angry, irritate them so that they won’t come back again …’

  ‘I wonder if that’s why he got up Mrs Salden’s nose.’

  ‘Could be one of the reasons. I shouldn’t think she’d take kindly to being made fun of … Anyway, as you see, it’s all a question of not allowing yourself to react blindly, of trying to analyse what’s going on instead.’

  Lineham was shaking his head. ‘Sounds beyond me.’

  Thanet moved on again, quickening his pace. There was a great deal to do today. ‘Nonsense. I’ve told you before, it’s all a question of practice. A skill to be learned, like any other. The more interviewing you do, the better at it you get.’

  They had reached the car.

  ‘Where next, sir?’

  ‘I think it’s time we found out how Josie Trimble and Councillor Lomax fit into all this, don’t you?’

  THIRTEEN

  If this was the reward in the trap which, Marcia Salden had baited for Lomax, Thanet thought, he wouldn’t be surprised if the councillor had succumbed to temptation. Josie Trimble was a succulent morsel indeed, if you liked smooth young flesh, downy as a peach, curves that were neither skimpy nor over-generous, huge dark eyes and a tumble of luxuriant curls to match.

  The proprietor of the unisex hair salon (‘Call me Gary’) hadn’t been too pleased to see them and they had been whisked at high speed past clients and pot plants alike into a small room at the back of the premises which obviously doubled as laundry and staff room; towels whirled in a pair of automatic washer-dryers and a girl and a young man were seated at the formica table, drinking coffee and smoking.

  Gary advanced, teeth bared in false bonhomie. ‘Sorry to interrupt your break, darlings, you’ll have to tack an extra few minutes on to your dinner hours.’

  They cast resentful glances at Thanet and Lineham, stubbed out their cigarettes and left without a word.

  ‘Josie hasn’t been a naughty girl, I hope.’ The fashionable quiff at the front of Gary’s head quivered with anxiety. At sides and back his hair had been cut very close, practically shaved. Thanet wondered how the hairdresser would describe the effect. ‘Sculptured’, perhaps? He was in his mid-thirties, colourfully dressed in purple velvet trousers and canary yellow open-necked shirt.

  Thanet had murmured appropriate platitudes and Josie had duly been produced. At a glance from Thanet Gary had retired, leaving the door slighly ajar behind him.

  Without a word Lineham had got up and closed it.

  ‘Now then, Miss Trimble,’ said Lineham.

  Thanet had decided that in view of their conversation after the interview with Greenleaf it would be a good idea for Lineham to conduct this interview. From time to time the Sergeant needed a boost to his self-confidence. The girl was obviously nervous and Thanet watched with approval as, handling her gently, Lineham established the basis of her relationship with Marcia Salden (‘Ever so kind to me, she was’), gradually working around to the events of Tuesday evening.

  ‘So you arrived at the Manor at what time?’

  ‘Mrs Salden told me she wanted me to be there on time, so I got there dead on half-past seven.’

  Thanet noticed the careful aspirate. Marcia’s teaching had obviously begun to pay off.

  ‘You walked up from the village?’

  She nodded. ‘Along the footpath. Mrs Salden said I could use it whenever I liked.’

  A touch of pride, there. Josie had obviously enjoyed the privilege.

  ‘See anyone, on the way?’

  She hadn’t.

  When she got to the Manor, Mrs Salden had told her that Mr Salden had been called to see Mrs Carter, who had taken a turn for the worse. It had been too late to contact Mr Lomax, so they were going to go ahead with the dinner party and Mrs Salden might pop down to the village later to see her mother. At that point Mr Lomax had arrived and they’d all had drinks.

  ‘You’d met Mr Lomax before.’ Lineham made it a statement, not a question.

  Josie nodded and lowe
red her head a little so that her hair fell forwards to screen her face.

  ‘Often?’

  She shrugged and murmured something.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

  She raised her head. ‘I said, a few times.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘Mrs Salden introduced me to ’im at a cheese and wine she took me to.’

  Interesting, thought Thanet. The aspirate had slipped. Josie was getting nervous.

  ‘When was this?’

  She licked her lips. ‘Christmas.’

  So, four months ago.

  Unobtrusively, Thanet edged his chair back. He wanted to be able to see Josie’s feet. Feet are often excellent registers of emotion. He was in luck, she was wearing open-toed sandals. As he expected, her toes were tightly bunched up. What was she afraid of?

  Abruptly, she stood up. ‘Sorry, I need to go to the toilet.’ And without waiting for permission she blundered out of the room.

  Lineham raised his eyebrows. ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Interesting, wasn’t it? Lomax, d’you think? Or something else?’

  But whatever it was, Josie wasn’t giving it away. When she returned, Lineham continued to probe, without success. She and Lomax had met a few times at functions when she had been accompanying Marcia. Three, perhaps four times in all. She didn’t know nothing about any business dealings between them. Yes, Mrs Salden had left for the cottage at around twenty to ten, saying she’d only be gone ten or fifteen minutes and that she especially wanted a word with Josie when she got back. When she failed to return Josie and Mr Lomax had naturally assumed that it must be because Mrs Carter was very ill indeed.

  ‘It must have been rather awkward for you.’

  ‘Awkward?’

  ‘Being left to entertain Mr Lomax on Mrs Salden’s behalf.’

  ‘Oh … No, not really. It wasn’t as though we was complete strangers.’

  ‘I suppose not. Did Mrs Salden ring, to apologise for being held up?’

  The dark curls bounced as Josie shook her head. ‘We wasn’t surprised, if her mum was that ill … In the end Mr Lomax decided to go, but I ’ung on because I’d said I would.’

  ‘I understood that you eventually gave up and went home.’

  Her expression changed. ‘I waited for an hour or more after Mr Salden rung up,’ she said defensively.

  Lineham smoothed ruffled feathers. ‘It’s all right. It’s perfectly understandable that you went home. You couldn’t have been expected to wait up all night.’

  ‘Didn’t know what was ’appening, did I? I mean, when Mr Salden rung about half ten, to ask me to tell ’er he was staying and not to wait up, we thought she must still be on her way ’ome. When she didn’t come, well, I thought I must have got it wrong, some’ow. Or that she’d changed ’er mind, turned round and gone back to ’er mum’s.’ The girl was becoming agitated and now her eyes filled with tears. ‘’Ow was I to know she’d fallen in the river?’ She began to cry in earnest, reaching blindly for a box of tissues on the table.

  Thanet pushed them towards her groping hand. ‘Miss Trimble … Josie … Would you mind if I called you Josie?’

  She shook her head, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Look, Josie, I hope you’re not blaming yourself for what happened to Mrs Salden.’

  ‘If I’d called someone right away, it might have been in time to save ’er!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Called who?’

  ‘Anyone! The police?’

  ‘And what good would that have done? What would you have said to them?’

  She shrugged. He had her attention now and her sobs were abating. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  He pressed home the advantage. ‘That Mrs Salden was walking home from the village alone in the dark? D’you think they’d have taken you seriously, done anything about it? Turned out to look for a grown woman who hadn’t been missing more than ten minutes? Of course they wouldn’t. There’s never any point in trying to be wise after the event, is there? So come on, cheer up. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. You do see that, don’t you?’

  But she was avoiding his eye, seemingly unconvinced. Perhaps … He glanced at Lineham, who raised his shoulders. Carry on if you want to.

  ‘Josie … I think there’s something you’d like to tell us, isn’t there?’

  And yes, that was an unmistakable flash of fear.

  ‘No! What d’you mean?’

  ‘You may have heard rumours …’

  ‘What rumours?’ Her lips barely moved and she was staring at Thanet as if suddenly mesmerised.

  ‘About Mrs Salden’s death.’

  ‘Ah.’ A slow exhalation. She shook her head, once, a slow, almost dreamy movement. She was still gazing at him but her stare had lost its fierce intensity. Then puzzlement gradually crept into her eyes. ‘What rumours?’ she repeated.

  ‘That it may not have been an accident,’ put in Lineham.

  Thanet hoped they were doing the right thing in perpetuating those rumours. But the girl was frightened of something, was hiding something, he was sure of it. The affair with Lomax, perhaps?

  ‘Not an … accident?’ she whispered, staring at him.

  ‘So you see, we have to ask you. Do you know if Mrs Salden had any enemies, anyone with a grudge against her?’

  You could see her working it out. Accident … Enemies … The colour ebbed away from her face, leaving the skin chalk white. ‘Grudge …?’

  Lineham caught her as she slid off the chair.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘I always wanted to do that,’ said Lineham with a grin as they stepped out into the street.

  They had arranged to return in an hour, when Josie would have had time to recover, having temporarily abandoned her to Gary’s ministrations amidst disapproving looks which clearly hinted at police brutality.

  ‘Catch a maiden in distress in your arms, you mean? A very pleasant experience, I imagine. And neatly done, if I may say so.’ But Thanet’s teasing was half-hearted. He was thinking of something else.

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Where are you going? The car’s this way.’

  Thanet woke up. ‘Mike, how many times have I got to tell you?’ He stopped, pointed at his feet. ‘You know what those are? Yes, we are going to see Lomax, but it’ll be quicker to walk than drive round the one-way system. You’ll lose the use of your legs before you’re forty, at this rate.’ And he set off again, briskly.

  Sturrenden was at its best on a clear, bright morning like this, the picturesque jumble of Tudor and Georgian, black and white timbering and mellow bricks and tile preening themselves to face yet another spring. A strong conservationist lobby had averted too many contemporary disasters. Thanet gazed about appreciatively. How fortunate he was to work in a place like this!

  ‘I just like driving, that’s all,’ grumbled Lineham, hurrying to catch up.

  Thanet grinned. ‘Stop sounding like a five-year-old who’s had his favourite teddy taken away, Mike, and tell me what you thought of the luscious Miss Trimble.’

  ‘Well, she obviously knows someone who had it in for our Marcia.’

  ‘Hmm. I wonder why she passed out just then.’ Thanet was satisfied that the faint had been genuine.

  ‘A subconscious means of avoiding the issue,’ said Lineham with the smug smile of a conjuror who has just pulled off a particularly difficult trick. ‘She knows – or suspects – who the murderer is but she doesn’t want to tell us.’

  ‘I’m not sure … I’m inclined to think it was because she had just realised who the murderer might be.’

  ‘Isn’t it practically the same thing?’

  ‘Not really, no. But whichever it is, I think it means that this person is someone close to her. She lives with her mother, doesn’t she? Did Miss Phipps mention any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no. Could be Lomax, sir.’

  ‘Possibly. In fact I was wo
ndering if what she was really frightened of, all the time we were talking to her, was whether or not we knew about her and Lomax. Ah, here we are.’

  Thanet had got one of his men to do a little digging on Lomax. The councillor was sixty-four, married, with two sons, both now with families of their own and settled some distance away. He and his wife lived in a bungalow on one of the more established small new estates on the edge of Sturrenden. He owned a radio and TV shop called Sturrenden Audio in one of the town’s side streets.

  Business wasn’t exactly booming, by the look of it, thought Thanet. The place was going to seed. The glass of the window was grubby and smeared where fingers and noses had been pressed against it over a long period; dead flies which looked as though they had been there since last summer lay scattered on the faded blue paper which lined the window, and the few radios and television sets looked dusty and out of date. The shop appeared to be empty. A bell pinged as they went in.

  Nothing happened. There was a distant sound of pop music.

  Lineham rapped on the counter. ‘Shop!’

  Still nothing.

  The door behind the counter was ajar and Lineham put his head through and shouted. ‘Hello.’

  A sound of movement and a moment later a spotty youth appeared with a screwdriver in his hand. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Mr Lomax in?’ asked Lineham.

  ‘Just popped out. Won’t be long.’

  ‘We’ll wait.’

  The boy looked at the screwdriver, then at Thanet and Lineham. His dilemma was apparent. There was work to be done, but he couldn’t leave the shop unattended with potential thieves in it. ‘He might be quite a while.’

  Lineham grinned, pulled out his warrant card. ‘It’s all right, son, we’re not going to walk off with the stock, such as it is … Been working here long, have you?’

  ‘Six months.’

  ‘Like it?’

  The boy pulled a face, shrugged. ‘It’s a job, in’t it?’

  ‘Repair work, serving in the shop, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Get on well with Mr Lomax, do you?’

  The lad hesitated.