Suspicious Death Page 17

Thanet put out a hand to steady him. ‘Yes – but perhaps not in the sense you think. You know we think she went into the river through the gap in the parapet?’

  Salden nodded, a barely perceptible movement of the head, as if even the effort required for this minute movement were too much for him.

  ‘We think she banged her head – her temple – against a sharp piece of projecting stone.’ Thanet decided against giving further details. Salden’s skin had taken on an unhealthy, almost luminous tinge. ‘I’m sorry. But I felt you had a right to know.’

  ‘You’re saying that this … blow might not have been deliberate? That it might have happened when she … slipped?’

  ‘Or – it has to be said – was pushed.’

  Salden stared unseeingly at Thanet for some moments, apparently adjusting to this new information. At last he said, ‘I see.’ And turning stiffly like someone awakening from a dream he began to walk once more towards the house.

  Thanet and Lineham fell in alongside him in silence.

  They had covered more than half the distance towards the end of the avenue of beeches before Salden spoke again.

  ‘All the same, the idea that Edith could have had anything to do with my wife’s death is ludicrous. If you knew her as well as I do …’

  Thanet wondered just how many times he had heard precisely this sentiment expressed of a murder suspect. ‘May I just ask … Will you allow her to keep her job, now?’

  Salden looked at him suspiciously. ‘I suppose if I say yes, it won’t really help her in your eyes. All the same, it’s pointless to mislead you. Yes, I expert I shall – and what is more, I’m convinced that I shall be doing exactly what Marcia would have wished. I don’t suppose for one moment that she really meant what she said – that is, assuming she said it. It’s exactly the sort of thing one comes out with in the heat of the moment and then regrets. I’ve no doubt that if she’d lived she would have changed her mind by next morning and I’m sure Edith would have known that.’

  ‘You may be right.’ On the other hand, with home, livelihood and the welfare of her invalid mother at stake, Edith might not have been willing to risk it. In any case, it was clear that at least two people who had good reason to wish Marcia dead, Harry Greenleaf and Edith Phipps, had in fact gained considerably by that death. Thanet closed his mind against the unlikely, even crazy notion that they might possibly have joined forces to bring that death about. He decided to change tack.

  ‘This shop you were buying, to turn into a health food restaurant …’

  ‘What about it?’ Salden sounded wary.

  ‘… from Councillor Lomax.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would it have been part of the scheme we were discussing this morning, the one you didn’t fully approve of?’

  ‘It seemed a sound enough business proposition,’ said Salden stiffly.

  ‘That isn’t exactly an answer to my question.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Salden had evidently decided that ignorance was the safest course.

  ‘A sound business proposition, you say?’

  ‘We wouldn’t have been contemplating it otherwise, obviously. There isn’t a single other health food restaurant in the area. We thought it had a good chance of success.’

  ‘You’ll have gone into the financial side of it, of course.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘What price was Mr Lomax asking for his premises?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t see that that has anything to do with my wife’s death. To be blunt, Inspector, it’s none of your business.’

  ‘We could examine your papers …’

  ‘That wouldn’t help you. Negotiations were only at the verbal stage.’

  ‘I see.’

  He obviously wasn’t going to get anything more out of Salden on that topic at the moment. ‘Did you know that Josie’s mother came up to the house the night your wife died?’

  Salden blinked at the abrupt change of subject. ‘Mrs Trimble? What on earth for?’

  ‘Apparently she is very upset at the association between her daughter and Mr Lomax.’

  ‘Between …’ Salden was apparently taken aback. ‘You must be joking. He’s older than I am.’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Maybe. But it seems her suspicions are justified. I gather they’ve been meeting in the flat over the coach house.’

  Salden came to a dead halt again. ‘Our coach house?’

  Thanet nodded.

  He was shaking his head. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re making this up, aren’t you? Playing games with me.’

  ‘No games, Mr Salden. If Mrs Pantry is to be believed, Josie has a key to the flat. She and Lomax used to meet there regularly when you were out.’

  ‘Josie has a key?’

  Salden was silent, working it out. It was obvious that if the girl had had a key, Marcia must have given it to her.

  ‘Understandably, Mrs Trimble must have been rather angry with your wife.’

  The word procuring hung unspoken in the air between them. Salden gave Thanet an uncomfortable, almost shamefaced glance. ‘So what did Marcia say to her?’

  ‘She didn’t see her. This was latish in the evening, at about ten o’clock. Your wife was down in the village at the time.’

  ‘But Lomax and Josie were there …’ The look on Salden’s face indicated the degree of his distaste.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned the matter, thought Thanet. Perhaps he should have allowed Salden to keep his illusions about his wife intact. If he had had any … ‘Yes, they were. I gather Mrs Trimble tried to insist that Josie go home with her, but Josie refused.’

  Salden was shaking his head. ‘Poor kid. She’s the loser in all this.’

  Especially if she’s pregnant, thought Thanet. But if she were, it looked as though Salden might be prepared to attempt to make amends for his wife’s behaviour by giving the girl a helping hand. In which case, he, Thanet, would have done Josie a good turn by making Salden aware of the situation. He felt a little better about bringing the matter up. Marcia was beyond help, but Josie was not.

  They were almost at the end of the avenue of trees and suddenly the last of the wispy clouds which had been drifting across the face of the sun cleared away and it burst through in full strength, streaming in great shafts of light between the interlacing branches overhead.

  Thanet paused to admire the effect before saying, ‘There’s just one other point I wanted to ask you about … What does the name Hammer mean to you?’

  Salden frowned. ‘There’s an old lady in the village, Mrs Hammer. Or there was. She died earlier this week.’

  ‘Do you know her son? Reg, I believe he’s called. Short for Reginald, I presume.’

  ‘I didn’t even know she had a son. Why?’

  ‘Well, apparently he came here on Tuesday evening too, wanting to speak to your wife. According to Mrs Pantry he was very angry with Mrs Salden for some reason.’

  ‘Angry with Marcia?’ Salden was shaking his head. ‘I can’t imagine why. You’ll have to ask him.’

  ‘I will, of course.’

  They were nearing the front door. The heat of the sun was causing ground water to evaporate so fast that a haze of low mist was rising from the paved path along the front of the house.

  Salden paused with one hand on the bleached oak of the front door. ‘Well, if that’s all, Inspector …’

  ‘Mmm? Oh, yes.’ Thanet’s mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with two questions. ‘May I use your phone?’

  ‘Of course.’ Salden led them inside. ‘You can use the one in my office.’

  This was a small, businesslike room at the back of the house, with modern desk, computer and a couple of filing cabinets. Thanet tried the Probation office first. Joan was there.

  ‘Luke! I was wondering if you’d ring.’

  Having realised that Thanet was talking to his wife, Lineham tactfully withdrew.

  ‘How did yo
u get on?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

  A stone suddenly appeared in the pit of Thanet’s stomach. ‘What?’

  ‘Our darling daughter has been playing truant.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘True. Honestly. I just couldn’t believe it. Just sat there with my mouth open. Well, we knew things hadn’t been going well for her, but …’

  ‘How long has this been going on?’

  ‘For the last few weeks, apparently, on and off.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t the school let us know before?’

  ‘That’s what I said. It seems they only found out by chance, yesterday. One of the teachers had a dental appointment and saw her in the town.’

  Yesterday. Thanet remembered Bridget’s reluctant back as she had walked towards the school gates. As soon as he was out of sight she must have turned around and headed for the town. The deception hurt. If she was as unhappy as that, surely she could have confided in them. And what about Ben? Did he know about this?

  ‘She’s been forging notes, apparently.’

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Been forging notes from me, saying that she was ill. I know. Unbelievable, isn’t it? I mean, Bridget …’

  ‘What worries me is why.’

  ‘I know. And that she couldn’t trust us, to talk to us about it.’

  ‘Yes.’ To feel that you’d failed, as a parent, when your child evidently needed you most. That really hurt … Thanet said so.

  ‘I know.’ Joan was subdued.

  ‘We’ll have to talk to her.’

  ‘Yes. Tonight.’

  Thanet rang off and then sat looking at the receiver, thinking back over the conversation. He still felt stunned.

  Lineham came back in. ‘You all right, sir?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes …’ With an effort Thanet focussed his mind on the case again and remembered his other anxiety. ‘Anyone mention Miss Phipps? Has she rung to say why she’s not back yet?’

  ‘Haven’t seen anyone, to ask.’

  Thanet nodded at the telephone directory. ‘Look up her number, will you? She should have been back a couple of hours ago.’

  Lineham grinned. ‘If this were an episode in one of those detective series where bodies are scattered around like confetti we’d know what’s happened to her, wouldn’t we?’ He spread his hands in a dramatic gesture. ‘We’d dial her number and the phone would ring and ring in a silent house. The camera would pan through the empty rooms and finally come to focus on her body …’

  ‘I think you’d better change your viewing habits, Mike. And look up that number before I decide to do it myself!’

  It was all very well to make jokes about it, he thought, but where was she? One woman had been murdered, why not another? The palms of his hands were clammy as he dialled the number Lineham dictated to him.

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘Miss Phipps?’

  ‘Yes?’

  She sounded out of breath. The dialling tone had sounded at least a dozen times before she lifted the phone. Perhaps she had been in the garden, Thanet thought with relief.

  ‘Detective Inspector Thanet here. I’m up at the house. Are you coming to work this afternoon? I’d appreciate another word with you.’

  ‘No, Mr Salden gave me the afternoon off. Could you come down to the lodge?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We’ll be there shortly.’

  She opened the front door before they could knock and with a finger to her lips led them into a small square kitchen overlooking the drive. A door leading into a narrow walk-in larder in the corner was open and she was obviously half-way through cleaning it; a lightweight aluminium stepladder stood near by and all the upper shelves were empty, their contents stacked on the table in the middle of the room. On top of the pile of bottles and packets lay a neatly folded print apron, removed no doubt in expectation of their visit. Today her square, dumpy body was encased in a drab, rather shabby crimpelene dress in two tones of blue.

  She apologised for the muddle, smoothing her hands down her skirt as if ashamed of her appearance, too. ‘I thought I’d take the opportunity to do a bit of spring-cleaning.’

  Thanet grinned. ‘My wife says spring-cleaning the larder is the job she hates most of all. That’s why she always starts with it, to get it over and done with.’

  ‘I feel exactly the same!’ She glanced at the single chair. ‘Is this going to take long, Inspector? If so, I’ll fetch a couple more chairs. We don’t spend much time in here. I think I told you, my mother’s an invalid and we eat together in the other room.’

  She glanced nervously at the door as she spoke. Presumably she was hoping her mother would remain unaware of their presence. He wondered why, if she had nothing to hide. In his experience, housebound people welcomed any interruption of their monotonous existence. And why suggest holding the interview here at the lodge, if she didn’t want her mother to know about it? Perhaps she was now regretting having done so. ‘No, don’t worry, we can stand. But do sit down yourself.’

  But she, too, chose to stand and they disposed themselves about the room, leaning against various work surfaces.

  ‘Your mother’s not confined to bed all the time, then?’

  ‘Oh, no, but movement is very difficult for her, very painful. She’s badly crippled with arthritis and her heart is failing. She has a walking frame and she does try to get about a little – they say you have to, or you’ll seize up altogether – but naturally she reserves the effort for essentials.’

  ‘She goes to bed quite early, I imagine.’

  Edith Phipps was no fool. Her eyes narrowed and she adjusted the tip-tilted spectacles as if hoping to see more clearly into Thanet’s mind. ‘I usually settle her down about nine o’clock, yes.’ She paused. ‘Is that an … oblique way of asking for an alibi, Inspector?’

  It was always a relief to come across a witness prepared to say exactly what she thought.

  ‘I’ll be frank with you, Miss Phipps. When we last met I asked you if you had been in all evening, the night Mrs Salden died. You said yes. I thought at the time that you were holding something back. Now I have to tell you that you were seen, that night, walking from the village towards this house, at about twenty-five past ten.’

  ‘By whom?’

  She hadn’t denied it, he noted. He shook his head. ‘That’s irrelevant. What is not irrelevant is why you found it necessary to lie at a time when there was only the merest suspicion that Mrs Salden’s death was anything but an accident.’

  ‘Do I gather that you are now sure that it was not?’

  ‘Shall we say that at the moment it seems necessary to continue the investigation.’

  She stared at him in silence, thinking.

  Eventually, ‘I’m still waiting for an answer, Miss Phipps.’

  She sighed and lifted her shoulders slightly. ‘Stupid of me not to be frank with you, wasn’t it? I’d only been to post some letters. I’d … forgotten to do it, earlier.’

  And presumably hadn’t wanted to risk incurring Marcia’s wrath again, just in case overnight she changed her mind about firing her, thought Thanet. But although the errand may have been innocent it could have culminated in tragedy. The two women could have met on the bridge.

  ‘Marcia! Look, you didn’t mean what you said this afternoon, did you? I mean, it was just because you were angry, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You’re damned right I was angry. Still am. When I think what your carelessness has cost us …’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marcia, truly I am. It’ll never happen again, I promise.’

  ‘It certainly won’t. Because I’m not giving you the chance. I meant what I said, Edith. This sort of thing has happened once too often. Now, please let me pass.’

  ‘But what’ll I do? Where shall we go? You know how difficult it is, with Mother … Marcia, please. I’ve always done my very best for you, haven’t I?’

  ‘Well, your best turned out not to be quite good enough, didn’t it?’
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  ‘It’s only because I haven’t been well. If you knew how ill I’d been feeling …’

  ‘I’m sorry, Edith, but you’ve used that excuse just once too often. And I’ve tried to make allowances, but this time … No, the sooner you get used to the idea that you’re leaving, the better. Now, if you don’t mind, let me pass. I have guests waiting …’

  Thanet became aware that Edith Phipps was gazing at him expectantly, awaiting his reaction. ‘It was rather foolish of you not to admit to so innocent an errand. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Edith?’ A querulous voice calling from another room.

  Edith grimaced. ‘My mother. Sorry, I’ll have to go and see what she wants.’ She hurried out.

  ‘Seems to be our day for interruptions,’ grumbled Lineham. ‘And always at just the wrong moment.’

  ‘Don’t suppose it matters much. She’s not going to run away, is she?’

  ‘She didn’t try and wriggle out of it,’ Lineham conceded. ‘Pretend she’d forgotten she’d been out that night.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘What d’you think, sir? You think she might be the one?’

  Thanet lifted his shoulders. ‘She had a lot at stake, if Marcia Salden stuck to her guns.’

  ‘Just because she’d lost her job it doesn’t mean they’d have had to leave this house, surely?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I should think it might be on the cards. Marcia doesn’t exactly sound the tender-hearted type. Look at what happened with Greenleaf.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Edith came back in, looking flustered. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘I was asking why you lied to us about going out that evening. Posting letters is an innocent enough occupation.’

  ‘I know.’ She caught her underlip beneath her teeth, shook her head. ‘It’s just … I was frightened, I suppose.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘You’d just told me that Marcia’s death might not have been an accident. And, well, to be honest …’ She gave him an assessing look. ‘I was glad she was dead,’ she said quietly. She shifted uncomfortably, brushed back a stray strand of hair. ‘Now you know,’ she added. Then without warning her face suddenly contorted into a mask of distress and, covering her eyes with one hand, she sank down on to the chair, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. It was some minutes before she recovered sufficiently to go on. Eventually she blew her nose, shook her head and said, ‘Sorry.’