Dead on Arrival Read online

  ‘What, exactly, did he say about the jacket?’

  ‘Like I said, he claims to have found it in a skip in Masters Road yesterday morning, along with a number of other saleable items.’

  ‘What, for example?’

  Hines shrugged. ‘Kid’s tricycle, some seat cushions, some old saucepans, a shoebox of cutlery, an old gas cooker, and an assortment of old clothes – a couple of suits, half a dozen dresses, an anorak, a few jumpers … I’ve got the complete list somewhere. Someone was moving, I reckon, and had been having a good clear out.’

  ‘He’s still got all these items at home?’

  Hines gave a sarcastic smile. ‘Of course, Thanet. All lined up for my inspection, just to back up his story.’

  ‘What does he claim he did with them, then?’

  ‘Borrowed a van, took them round to a pal of his who runs a junk stall and travels all over the south-east. Different market each day, you know the sort of thing. Quarry claims it’s a regular arrangement and they split the proceeds.’

  ‘And what does the pal say?’

  ‘Sold the lot, of course, what did you expect him to say? Always back each other up, don’t they, these scavengers …’

  ‘But Quarry kept the jacket because, presumably, he fancied it?’

  ‘That’s the story.’

  ‘So, assuming that forensic come up with evidence which proves the jacket to be the one worn by the murderer of Marjorie Jackson …’

  ‘They’d better!’ said Hines. ‘Because, get this, Quarry says he didn’t wear the jacket until this morning because he wanted to clean it up.’

  ‘Ah. So you could have a problem there. But assuming they do manage to link it with the murder, you have two possibilities. One, that Quarry has owned the jacket all along, and is telling a pack of lies, or two, the real owner saw the television appeal on Tuesday evening, decided it would be wise to get rid of it, and dumped it in the skip later on that same day, or during the night.’

  Hines gave Thanet a basilisk stare. ‘The trouble with you, Thanet, is you’ve got such a convoluted mind you can’t see the truth when it’s staring you in the face.’ And swinging around he barged back into the interview room again, slamming the door in Thanet’s face.

  Thanet stood staring after him for a moment or two. How, he wondered, did anyone like Hines ever manage to reach his present rank? It was enough to destroy one’s belief in the efficacy of the promotion system. Fortunately, Hines was the exception rather than the rule. The answer, he supposed, was that no filtering system is completely foolproof.

  Lineham looked up and grinned as Thanet entered the office. ‘Have a good time, sir?’

  Thanet gave a non-committal grunt, determined not to encourage Lineham in criticism of Hines, who was, after all, their superior officer. ‘Enlightening, perhaps … Anything come in?’

  ‘Nothing much. We’ve had several phone calls from people who saw the lad wearing that jacket this morning. What’s his story?’

  Thanet told him.

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ said Lineham. ‘It’s a very striking design, that, with the red dragon on the grey background. Surely, if he’d owned it for some time, someone would have seen him wearing it before today.’

  ‘Unless he’d just bought it, say on Saturday, the day before Mrs Jackson was killed.’

  ‘Then surely someone in the shop which sold it to him would have recognised it and come forward.’

  ‘You’re assuming it was a local shop, Mike, and it might not have been. The TV appeal didn’t go out nationwide, only on TVS.’

  ‘Anyway, there’d still have been several days since for him to have been seen wearing it – it’s two days, now, since the appeal went out. He obviously didn’t see that himself, or he wouldn’t have dared wear the jacket today. And it’s interesting that it’s only this morning, when he claims to have worn it for the first time, that Mr Bennet spotted him wearing it. Sounds to me as though his story could be true.’

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Hines wouldn’t agree with you. Anyway, Mike, intriguing though the problem might be, I think we’re letting ourselves get too bogged down in all this. It’s not our case, after all … What else has come in today?’

  Lineham riffled through the pile of reports on his desk. ‘Let me see … It’s mostly negative stuff, I’m afraid. We can’t find anyone willing to swear either that they did or did not see lights in Steve’s flat during the early part of the evening of the murder. So we don’t know yet if Steve left these on while he went to see Chris May and still wasn’t back by the time Frank arrived at half past eight, or if he switched them off while he was out and put them on again when he got back, which would have meant that he was in when Frank arrived. Though even if he was, he could still have been dead by then, of course.’

  ‘Hmm. Have they finished checking over Steve’s car yet?’

  ‘Yes. And I asked. There was nothing mechanically wrong with it. So there wouldn’t seem to be any reason why he couldn’t have used it to go and see Chris.’

  ‘But if he did, why didn’t he park it outside the house?’

  ‘Quite. Anyway, Frank was pretty positive that it was in the car park at the back of the house in Hamilton Road, at eight thirty.’

  ‘So we have to assume either that Steve got a lift to Chris May’s house, which seems unlikely, or that for some reason of his own he parked around the corner, which seems improbable.’ Thanet sighed. ‘Ah well, perhaps we’ll see daylight in time.’ He took out his pipe, peered into it, blew through it and began to fill it with tobacco. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The chap Steve cheated over the TV seems to be in the clear. He and his wife spent the evening in Tunbridge Wells, and they were over there by six thirty. It was his son-in-law’s birthday and they all went out for a meal – confirmed by the restaurant owner. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to hear there’s no whisper of a pregnant woman being seen in the vicinity of Hamilton Road that evening, so Frank’s wife seems to be out of the running.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Apart from that it’s just a lot of vague stuff about cars, nothing of any use.’

  Thanet glanced at his watch. ‘Then we might as well go and see Chris May again. He should be getting home from school soon.’

  ‘If what Mrs Sparrow said is true, then he’d have had plenty of time to stop off at Steve’s flat, either on the way to his mother’s house or on the way back.’

  ‘I know. And he certainly gave us the impression that he spent some time with his mother, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Dusk was falling by the time they drew up in front of the Mays’ house in Merridew Road and lights had been switched on in many of the houses, but number 26 was in darkness, the garage doors closed.

  ‘No one home yet, by the look of it,’ said Lineham. ‘Shall I go and knock?’

  ‘Might as well.’

  But as they had expected, there was no reply.

  ‘I suppose we should have made sure he was going to be here,’ said Thanet. ‘For all we know he could have stayed at school for some extra-mural activity, or even gone out for the evening. We’ll give him half an hour or so, then go.’

  But ten minutes later a red Metro came up behind them and turned into the Mays’ drive. The Mays got out, and Clare May walked around to stand beside her husband as the two policemen approached. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was wearing a red knitted scarf and bobble hat and with her hair in a long plait she looked more like a schoolgirl than a married woman.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you again, Mr May, but could we have another word?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He turned and led the way in, switching lights on as he went.

  In the hall, his wife unwound her scarf and pulled off the hat. ‘Did you want to talk to me, Inspector?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s just that there’s always such a lot to do, when I get home from work.’

  ‘Do, please, carry on
.’

  She gave him a quick, nervous smile, shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the cupboard under the stairs. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  May, meanwhile, had shed coat and briefcase and gone ahead of them into the sitting room. Thanet gave the mural a lingering glance before following. May was drawing the handsome cream linen curtains.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ he said, taking up a stance in front of the empty fireplace.

  Thanet shook his head. He had no desire to have May towering over him while they talked. ‘Why did you give us the impression that you spent some time with your mother on Tuesday night, Mr May?’

  ‘Oh, did I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you … What I actually said, if you remember, was that I went to see my mother.’

  ‘But you did not, in fact, see her.’

  ‘No.’ May stepped sideways and sank into an armchair, hands loosely clasped across his stomach, the epitome of a reasonable man whose behaviour has been misinterpreted. ‘I knocked at her door, but couldn’t get an answer.’

  ‘And that was at what time?’

  ‘Around nine, I should think. It usually takes about half an hour.’

  ‘To get to your mother’s house, from here?’

  ‘Yes …’ May glanced from Thanet’s face to Lineham’s, then back again, giving a little laugh of comprehension. ‘I walked, Inspector. And that’s how long it takes. About half an hour.’

  ‘You didn’t tell us this last night. We assumed you’d gone by car.’

  May gave an eloquent shrug. I’m not responsible for your assumptions.

  ‘Your wife can confirm this?’

  ‘Certainly.’ May waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Ask her, by all means. And I can give you the names of one or two people I met between Merridew Road and the main road.’

  ‘You went and returned by the same route?’

  ‘No. I prefer never to do that. I don’t like covering the same ground twice.’

  ‘Perhaps, then, you could tell us briefly the route you took, both ways.’

  May reeled off a list of street names.

  Thanet listened carefully and when May had finished said, ‘Your route back would take you to within a few minutes’ walk of Steve’s flat.’

  ‘True. And to be frank with you, Inspector, that is why I didn’t tell you last night that I had walked, not gone by car, and why, admittedly, I deliberately misled you into thinking I’d spent some time with my mother. It was stupid of me, I can see that now. It’s just that I thought it would … stir things up, unnecessarily. I had nothing whatsoever to do with Steve’s death and I didn’t want to get involved, if I could possibly avoid it.’

  ‘But you already were involved, to a degree.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The relaxed pose had gradually disappeared and by now May was sitting upright, bony knees clamped together, fingers hooked over the arms of the chair.

  As May’s attitude had slid to one end of the scale, Thanet’s had tipped over towards the other. Now he sat down on the settee and relaxed into it.

  ‘Well, the night Steve was killed, you saw him.’

  ‘Not by choice,’ said May, tightly.

  ‘Maybe. But you saw him, nevertheless. What is more, it might interest you to know that you are, so far as we know, the last person in the family to see him alive.’

  May ran his tongue around his lips, a darting little snake that would no doubt have liked to shoot venom into Thanet if it could. But he was managing to keep his wits about him.

  ‘In the family, you say … So someone else saw him after me?’

  ‘Your neighbours saw him leave.’

  May relaxed a little, closing his eyes in relief.

  ‘Not that that really makes much difference, of course,’ said Thanet. ‘The fact remains that on the night he was killed you had every reason to be furiously angry with Steve – when you refused to let him in he made yet another embarrassing scene, causing you further humiliation in front of your neighbours … It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you decided to follow him home, have it out with him on his own ground, away from here, where there would be no possibility of still more embarrassment.’

  ‘No! My wife will tell you. I didn’t. We … I stayed here, and we had supper together.’

  ‘And after supper you walked over to the Orchard Estate, to see your mother.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  May was sweating now, and Thanet was becoming more and more convinced that the man was hiding something.

  ‘You were still feeling pretty upset, I imagine.’

  May made a pretence at nonchalance. ‘A bit, I suppose.’

  ‘You thought the fresh air might clear your head, calm you down, I daresay?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And you had absolutely no intention of going to see Steve.’

  ‘None.’ May was beginning to relax.

  It was the right moment to attack. ‘So what made you change your mind?’ said Thanet softly.

  May stared at him blankly for a moment before fear began to tighten the flesh over the prominent cheekbones, curl the long, bony fingers.

  Thanet could almost hear him thinking. How much does he know?

  ‘I – I don’t know what you mean,’ he said at last, hoarsely. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Look, Mr May. You tell us that after leaving here at eight thirty, you walked to the Orchard Estate, which takes about half an hour. We have, in fact, an independent witness who confirms that you arrived there just before nine, and that after finding your mother apparently out, you left. But you didn’t arrive home until a quarter to ten. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining why a walk which took you half an hour one way, took you three-quarters of an hour the other.’

  ‘I explained to you. I came back by a different route. It takes longer.’

  ‘I’m a native of Sturrenden, Mr May, and I really cannot believe that it would have taken you a whole fifteen minutes more to walk home by the route you gave us. But no matter. We can easily check. We’ll get someone to walk it, in the morning.’

  May stared at Thanet, his gaze fixed and unseeing. Clearly, he was thinking furiously, trying to reach some kind of a decision. Then he lifted his hands in a little gesture of surrender and said wearily, ‘Oh, what’s the point? I can see you’ll only go on and on till you find out, in the end … Yes, I did go to Steve’s flat, on the way back. As you say, I decided it couldn’t go on … All those hideous scenes … I decided to have it out with him, once and for all … But when I got there, he was out.’ May leaned forward in his chair, desperate, now, to convince Thanet that he was telling the truth. ‘I knocked on the door, but there was no reply … I knew the lights were on, I’d noticed as I came up the drive … But there was no reply, I swear it. If Steve was in there, he wasn’t answering the door.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About twenty, twenty-five past nine. Something like that, it must have been.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Knocked again, waited, hung about for a few minutes, in case he’d just slipped out to a neighbour’s … After a while I decided he must either be out or wasn’t going to answer for some reason of his own. But since … Well, I’ve been wondering … Do you think he was already dead?’

  Thanet did not answer the question. ‘Did you see anyone, while you were there?’

  May shook his head. ‘No. And I swear, that really is the truth.’

  ‘You’ve already lied to us not once, but twice. Give me one good reason why I should believe you this time?’

  Outside, Lineham said, ‘Do you think he was telling the truth, sir?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  EIGHTEEN

  It was after midnight when Thanet got home. As he turned into the driveway he could see that the sitting room was in darkness. Not surprisingly, Joan must have gone to bed. This would be the th
ird night running that he had returned to the sleeping silence of his home, and he experienced an uprush of resentment against the work which was keeping him from his wife and children.

  After leaving Chris May, he and Lineham had gone back to the office and spent the rest of the day catching up on paperwork and, when that was finished, going right through the entire accumulation of reports on the Steven Long case. This was an exercise which, though tedious, frequently proved invaluable. It was so easy to get so bogged down in detail that you lost an overall view of the case, ignored crucial areas of investigation and, occasionally, became so obsessed by one particular aspect of a case that objectivity was lost. But today the task had proved relatively fruitless. Apart from giving Thanet a clearer picture of the overall shape of Steve’s life, they had found no glaring omissions, no unexpected revelations, no coalescing of hitherto apparently unrelated facts to produce a new vision of the truth.

  So Thanet was feeling tired, tired and dispirited, and what he needed above all was the company of his wife.

  He had thought he was past hunger and thirst, but as usual the light and the electric fire had been left on in the kitchen and there was a note propped against a thermos flask on the table:

  Darling,

  Tea in flask, lager in fridge, lasagne in oven. If u can’t face latter, please remove plate and turn off oven.

  xxxxxxxx

  J.

  He stared at the note for a moment, his mind almost incapable of choice. Tea in flask, lager in fridge … No, not lager. What he needed was something hot. Tea, then. He unscrewed the flask, poured himself a cup and sipped. The hot liquid slipped down to his empty stomach and gave him a comforting glow. He began to feel that perhaps he could eat something after all. Lasagne in oven. Lasagne. He hadn’t had lasagne for ages and it certainly sounded more interesting than bangers and chips or even roast meat and two veg. He picked up the oven cloth, opened the oven door, removed the plate and uncovered it. A savoury aroma ascended to his nostrils. Ah, yes …

  He was about half-way through the meal when he heard someone on the stairs. His heart lifted.

  ‘Joan?’

  A moment later she came into the kitchen, blinking a little in the bright light and tying the sash of her cornflower-blue dressing gown.