Puppet for a Corpse Page 13

  “Long practice,” said Lowrie, with a hint of smugness. “An essential weapon in the GP’s armoury. You wouldn’t believe how inarticulate some patients can be.”

  “I’ll be frank, then. When I last saw you I asked if there were any problems with the practice which might have preyed on Pettifer’s mind. I had the impression you were holding something back.”

  “I see.” Lowrie looked away, through the tall glass doors and across the lake, as if the answer to his dilemma were hidden in the distant trees. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose there’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. If I don’t, you won’t rest until you find out from someone else … The truth is, Pettifer was very autocratic, and this caused certain tensions.”

  “What sort of tensions?”

  “Well take policy decisions, for example. We all have different ideas on how the practice should be run and Pettifer tended to steamroller them. The situation wasn’t in the least unusual. You’d find it in many group practices.”

  “Can you give me an example of the sort of decision you’re talking about?”

  “Well, take a very simple issue like the number of patients in the practice. As you know, we have around 11,500. Now, in an expanding area like Sturrenden you have a problem. Theoretically the quota of patients per doctor is supposed to be 2,500—don’t ask me why, the powers that be have decided that—so in a practice with four partners that would mean ten thousand patients in toto. So, what happens when you get to eleven thousand? Do you close your list? If not, where do you stop?”

  “And what did Dr Pettifer want to do?”

  “Go on expanding. Let me explain. We all work in different ways. A man like Pettifer is brisk, thorough, a very good doctor diagnostically, as I said, but not very interested in his patients as people, tending to see them as walking case histories. Therefore he could get through his surgeries pretty briskly and be away on his visits by ten in the morning. Whereas Dr Braintree, for example, the youngest of the partners, is very interested in the psychosomatic origins of his patients’ illnesses and therefore tends to spend much longer with them. So in any dispute over increasing our quotas—and believe me, the question is a perennial headache—Pettifer would be for, Braintree against. And Pettifer, of course, would win.”

  “And you?”

  “Would tend toward supporting Braintree. But it would make no difference. Pettifer had perfected the technique of overruling others with the minimum of fuss. He would listen but refuse to budge. If we became heated, he would become the opposite—ice-cold. It never failed. But I can assure you, Inspector, that none of us ever felt sufficiently strongly about it to want to kill him off to get our own way.”

  Until now Lowrie had been completely frank, Thanet was sure of it, but suddenly he was convinced that he was lying—or at least skirting around the truth.

  “Not about that, perhaps … but about something else?”

  Lowrie tugged his towel more closely around his shoulders and sighed. “I suppose if I don’t tell you, someone else will, and I’d rather you heard it from me and got the facts straight. There has been some trouble between Braintree and Pettifer.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Braintree had apparently been precipitated into the classic doctor’s nightmare. A prescription of his had been misread, too strong a dosage of a drug had been administered, and a patient had almost died. Despite the fact that the mistake had been as much the dispenser’s as the doctor’s, Pettifer had been furious, had refused to listen to reason. In his view the whole affair was inexcusable. Doctors’ handwriting might be notoriously illegible, but it was criminally irresponsible not to ensure that quantities and strengths of dosage were crystal clear. Braintree, who tended in any case to be over-sensitive and who, to cap it all, was having serious marital problems, had had a minor nervous breakdown as a consequence and had only recently started seeing a low quota of patients again after a gap of nine months.

  “So you can imagine, Pettifer hasn’t been too popular lately. But I repeat, emphatically, that none of us hated him enough to kill him.”

  “Not even Braintree?”

  “Strangely enough, Braintree least of all. In an odd way he even has reason to be grateful to Pettifer. Braintree’s breakdown has brought him and his wife much closer. Perhaps they needed something as dramatic as that to bring them to their senses. They seem much happier together now.”

  “You haven’t once mentioned Dr Fir. How about him? How did he get on with Dr Pettifer?”

  “Well enough. If I haven’t mentioned him it’s because he’s a very equable type who gets on well with most people … Look, I’m not trying to avoid the issue, but I am getting rather chilly. Have we nearly finished because if not I think I’d better get dressed.”

  “I’m afraid there are still one or two points I’d like to discuss with you … Sorry. You won’t get your second dip after all, will you?”

  Lowrie stood up. “In that case … I won’t be long.”

  He headed for the changing rooms, a short, plump and slightly comic figure in his brief bathing trunks. Thanet watched him go with something approaching affection. He saw so many people in the course of his work and most of them were either nervous, aggressive or devious. Many were outright liars and almost all were on the defensive. It was a pleasure to come across a witness like Dr Lowrie, who was both frank and perceptive as well as cooperative.

  Although, he reminded himself as he went across to the hot-drinks dispenser to fetch two cups of coffee, the most dangerous witness of all was the one who could convincingly present himself as credible while having something to conceal …

  “I thought you could do with a hot drink,” he said when Lowrie returned.

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Thanet waited until Lowrie had sipped at his coffee before saying, “Would it surprise you, doctor, to learn that Mrs Pettifer has a lover?”

  Lowrie hadn’t known, Thanet was sure of it. Astonishment, disbelief, enlightenment flitted in swift succession across the little doctor’s chubby features.

  “But in that case … why all this talk about murder?”

  “What do you mean?” Though Thanet knew, of course.

  “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? I told you before, Inspector, Pettifer worshipped that wife of his. If he’d found out she was being unfaithful to him … it’s the one reason I could accept for his having committed suicide.”

  “Ah, but did he?” Thanet said softly. “Find out, I mean?”

  Lowrie grimaced. “I see what you mean.” He was silent for a while, thinking. “No,” he said reluctantly at last. “I’d like to say yes, it would simplify matters so much, wouldn’t it? But I must admit that, no, I don’t think he did. If he had … No. He didn’t know, I’m sure of it. Which of course leaves us back at square one, doesn’t it? Except that …” Lowrie’s eyes dilated slightly. “Oh,” he said. “Oh dear … This is beginning to look rather unpleasant, isn’t it?”

  “Shall we say, it opens up certain avenues of speculation. Which, forgive me, I really don’t feel free to discuss with you … I wonder, Doctor Lowrie, if you could tell me a little more about Pettifer’s attitude to children—or perhaps I should say, to fatherhood?”

  “I’m not sure that I can add much to what I said last time.”

  “I just find it rather surprising that, although he made it clear he didn’t want any children, he was apparently delighted when his wife told him she was pregnant.”

  “I don’t think it was so much a matter of his not wanting any as trying to assure her he wouldn’t expect her to give up her career to have them. Anyway, I told you, people react in peculiar ways to the prospect of parenthood. When a child is no longer a hypothesis but a reality … I suppose it’s gut reaction rather than an intellectual response. The idea of being reproduced … there’s something irresistible about it, to a man who’s never had a child of his own.”

  “What was his attitude to the fact that his first wif
e couldn’t have any?”

  “Pretty phlegmatic. To have shown disappointment would, to him, have been disloyalty. Poor Diana, she really went through the mill over it. Had endless tests, a couple of minor operations, you know the sort of thing … And yet, strangely enough, I wouldn’t have called her the maternal type, either.”

  “He was fond of her?”

  “Fond is a good word. They got on well, had a good relationship, but a man like Pettifer only goes overboard once in a lifetime. That’s why it hit him so hard when it happened. I don’t think he could ever have visualised feeling as he did about Gemma.”

  “Why did he marry the first time, then, do you think?”

  “It was really almost a business arrangement, I should say. An arranged marriage, though with the consent and cooperation of both parties. Diana was an only child and her father was at that time the senior partner in the practice, and on the verge of retirement. He wanted to see her settled, she wanted a home and a husband and Pettifer … well, I suppose he saw the advantages of the match when it was offered him on a plate. And as I said, I think he was genuinely fond of Diana. Fond enough to go along with it when she eventually decided she wanted to adopt.” Lowrie gave an indulgent smile. “His mother-in-law, Diana’s mother, was a character. When his father-in-law died and she moved away, I really missed her for a time.”

  “She’s still alive?”

  “So far as I know. She was much younger than her husband. I have a feeling she went to live with her mother, Diana’s grandmother. The old lady must be pretty ancient by now, if she’s still with us.”

  “Where did they go, do you know?”

  “Somewhere near Headcorn, I believe. I think I remember hearing something about converting an oast house.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Blaidon. Dr Blaidon, her husband, was the founder member of the practice. At that time it was based in Pine Lodge.”

  “I had the impression that Dr Pettifer’s first wife was a wealthy woman.”

  “That’s right. Her grandfather made a small fortune in the grain business, but her father wasn’t interested in carrying it on. He’d always wanted to be a doctor and so Diana’s grandfather agreed to set him up in this practice. Dr Blaidon and Pettifer were alike in that having a generous private income didn’t stop them from working just as hard as if their living depended on it.”

  “I wonder how many of us would do that, if we had the choice,” Thanet said with a smile, getting to his feet.

  “Not I, for one,” Lowrie responded. “Oh, I might have once, but now … well, it won’t be too long before I retire and I must say I’m looking forward to it.”

  They parted amicably.

  The interview with Dr Lowrie had taken rather longer than Thanet had thought it would. He decided to call at the office to see if Lineham was back before trying to get hold of Dr Braintree.

  Lineham was on the telephone.

  “The adoption agency,” he said, when he had finished the call. “I got the address from Dr Pettifer’s files. I thought it might be worth checking to see what they thought of the Pettifers as adoptive parents.”

  “Good idea. And …?”

  “If Pettifer wasn’t too keen, he certainly didn’t show it. They were considered an eminently suitable couple.”

  “Hmm … Well, it was worth a phone call, anyway. What else have you found out?”

  “It looks as though Andrew’s in the clear, you’ll be glad to hear. He was playing in an away match in Sussex on Monday afternoon. The coach didn’t get back until eight-thirty, then it was supper, baths and bed. He shares a room with two other boys and one of them was sick at about eleven o’clock that night. Andrew fetched the school matron and helped transfer some of the boy’s stuff to the sanitorium.”

  “Good.” It was no more than Thanet had expected, but he was still relieved. “What about Mrs Price?”

  Lineham grinned broadly. “D’you know what she was up to? Lecturing, if you please!”

  “Lecturing?”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking. She was giving a talk to the Merrisham Women’s Institute on ‘Herbs in the Modern Kitchen.’”

  “Good for her. I hope they paid her a nice fat fee.”

  “I don’t know about that, but there’s no doubt she was there all right. Arrived at the time she said she did, spent the night with her sister, caught the workmen’s bus back early the next morning—according to the sister, anyway.”

  “And you believed her.”

  “Yes, I did. In any case, the WI meeting didn’t break up until ten-fifteen and then Mrs Price’s sister asked some friends back to have coffee with them. That took another hour or so. So unless Mrs Price had a magic carpet …”

  “Did you check up with the friends?”

  “One of the women concerned happened to come in while I was talking to Mrs Price’s sister. And yes, she confirmed it all—I did it as tactfully as I could. I didn’t want to cause a lot of gossip unnecessarily.”

  “Fair enough. Interesting, though, isn’t it? That’s why she asked Pettifer for the evening off so far ahead. Three months ago, didn’t she say?”

  “That’s right. I remember.”

  “He knew as long ago as that,” murmured Thanet. Somehow, the thought now seemed significant, though he couldn’t see why it should be.

  “On the way back I called in at the Sitting Duck,’ said Lineham. “It’s owned by a chap called Frith. He and his wife wait at table when they’re very busy and they both helped serve the Pettifers on the night of the anniversary dinner. They remember the occasion well because Pettifer made such a production of it—a special meal, ordered in advance, all his wife’s favourites … champagne and roses waiting on the table when they arrived …”

  “She certainly brought out the romantic in him, didn’t she? How did they seem together that evening?”

  “All lovey-dovey. Long looks, holding hands, that sort of thing …”

  The telephone rang. It was the lab. They’d run the tests for paracetamol first, at Thanet’s request, with negative results. With the field now wide open for the drug that killed Pettifer, it might be days before they came up with an answer. They did however confirm that Pettifer had taken a milky drink some hours before he died.

  “So she was lying about the paracetamol,” Lineham said with satisfaction.

  “Presumably. Though I don’t see why she should have. And I can’t really see that it gets us much further.”

  The telephone rang again. And this time it was important. Lineham could tell by the narrowing of Thanet’s eyes, that alert, focusing look. He waited, eagerly.

  “Lee does own an old Morgan,” Thanet said, putting the phone down. “And it really would be too much of a coincidence if there were two of them in this case. I think we’re temporarily entitled to assume that the one parked near Pettifer’s house that night was Lee’s, don’t you? Come on, I think it’s time we paid another visit to Mrs Pettifer. She really has got some explaining to do now.”

  She might be a good actress, he thought as he and Lineham hurried down the stairs, but he didn’t see how she was going to talk herself out of this one.

  15

  It was dark by now and, illumined from within, the stained-glass panels on either side of the front door of Pine Lodge glowed sapphire and emerald, ruby and gold as Lineham brought the car to a halt on the gravelled drive.

  It was some minutes before Mrs Price answered the door. She had evidently been upstairs, for they glimpsed a descending blur of movement before she called out nervously, “Who is it?”

  “Inspector Thanet, Mrs Price.”

  Bolts were drawn, a chain rattled and the key turned in the lock before the door swung open. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I seem to be a bundle of nerves these days. I am glad you’ve come, Inspector,” she added as the two men stepped past her into the hall. “It’s Mrs Pettifer.” And her eyes darted sideways and upwards at the stairs.

  Thanet noticed that sh
e was wearing her wrap-over flowered apron inside out.

  “What’s the matter with Mrs Pettifer?” he said.

  “I don’t know.” Mrs Price clasped her hands together and began to massage the back of one hand with the fingers of the other, as if trying to erase her anxiety. “She’s been up there for hours, ever since lunch in fact. She said she felt tired, she was going to lie down for a bit. And now, well, she’s locked the door and she won’t answer.”

  Thanet and Lineham exchanged a glance, the same thought in both their minds.

  “We’ll go up and take a look, shall we?” Thanet set off up the stairs without waiting for an answer. Lineham followed and Mrs Price came behind, more slowly.

  No light showed beneath Gemma Pettifer’s door. Thanet knocked gently. “Mrs Pettifer,” he called in a low voice, trying to betray none of the urgency he felt. “It’s Inspector Thanet. I’d like a word, if I may.”

  No answer.

  Thanet called again, a little more loudly, but still there was no sound from within. Finally, “Mrs Pettifer,” he said, very distinctly, “you must realise we’re getting worried about you. Please, open the door, or I’m afraid we’ll have to force it.”

  Was that a sound? He strained to listen more intently. Then light spilled across the toes of his shoes. He felt taut nerves relax and, glancing over his shoulder at the others, saw his own relief mirrored in their faces.

  The sounds within were more distinct now and he waited without urgency, content to be patient. Finally, the door opened.

  “Are you all right, Mrs Pettifer?” he said.

  A fatuous question. Patently, she wasn’t. She looked dazed, drugged—sleeping pills, perhaps?—and her long hair was tangled, matted almost, as if it hadn’t been combed for a very long time. Her robe, hastily dragged on, imperfectly concealed her swollen belly and with one hand she clutched it together across her breasts. With the other she supported herself against the door jamb, swaying a little and sagging as if she were on the verge of collapse.

  “Perhaps you ought to lie down again,” he murmured, acting swiftly. Deftly he stepped around her, began to persuade her back towards the bed, half supporting her. They were almost there when he sensed the beginnings of resistance, a stiffening of her body, and he could almost feel the effort with which she stopped, set her shoulders back and stepped away from his arm.