Puppet for a Corpse Page 18

  “Go ahead.”

  Lineham lifted the receiver, began to dial, stopped. Gently, he put the phone down again. “I’ll leave it for the moment,” he said sheepishly.

  Obviously Lineham was hoping that if he was late getting home Louise would simply assume that he had been delayed at work. That way, a clash over his mother’s demands could be avoided. Thanet opened his mouth, clamped it shut again. Lineham’s private life was not his concern unless or until Mike brought himself to ask outright for Thanet’s advice or opinion, as he had on occasion in the past. But it was hard to stand by and watch this gradual widening of the rift between Mike and Louise. Thanet was fond of them both. Now, he found himself hoping that he wouldn’t later on kick himself for not having spoken out in time.

  “Of course,” said Lineham, “there’s always the possibility that he didn’t tell her because he just hoped the problem would go away.”

  Thanet wondered if Lineham realised just how accurately this suggestion mirrored his attitude to his own domestic problems. He shook his head. “I just can’t believe that, Mike. From what we’ve learnt of him, that just wouldn’t be in character. Everyone agrees he was the sort of man who tackled problems head on. And he was such a proud man …”

  “Perhaps he didn’t tell her because he didn’t want her to know he was sterile.”

  “I thought of that, but that’s no answer either. There was no need for her to know, was there? After all, he could have learnt about the affair in a number of ways, couldn’t he?”

  “True. Though I suppose that if he didn’t want her to know he was sterile, then when she first told him about the baby he’d have had to pretend to be pleased, wouldn’t he?”

  “Not necessarily. After all, he’d made it clear he didn’t particularly want children. I shouldn’t have thought she’d have been in the least bit surprised if he hadn’t been very happy about it to begin with, especially as he hadn’t been consulted. Even so, everyone agrees he was—or appeared—delighted about it in the following months. And that I simply cannot swallow. Pettifer being pleased that his wife was carrying another man’s child … So we come back to the same question, don’t we? Why the elaborate charade?”

  “You don’t think we’re trying to make it too complicated, sir? After all, it could simply be that he loved her so much he was prepared to have her on any terms. Then he might have found, as time went on and the affair didn’t come to an end, that he just couldn’t face the prospect of going on like that indefinitely, and decided to kill himself.”

  “Or perhaps Doc Mallard was right. You remember what he said, about suicide sometimes being an expression of anger rather than of despair?”

  “You mean, he did it to punish her?”

  “No, that doesn’t feel right either, does it? Though it could have been like that, I suppose. Hell, Mike, we’re just not getting anywhere, are we? I think it’s time we called it a day.”

  He was sick and tired of going around in circles, he thought as he drove home. His earlier elation had vanished and he felt no nearer now to solving the thing than he had when they first started working on it. His head felt thick, his temples throbbed and he told himself that the best thing now would be to put the case right out of his mind for the evening. He had learnt from past experience that this could be a most fruitful exercise. Superficially at least he had a respite while underneath his subconscious continued to work away at the problem.

  As it happened, circumstances conspired to help him carry out this decision, though not in a manner he would have chosen. When he arrived home he found Joan in the sitting room with Ben, wrapped in a blanket, on her lap.

  Concern twisted Thanet’s stomach. “What’s the matter?” he said. He glanced at the clock. Half past eight. Ben should have been asleep over an hour ago.

  “Ben can’t get to sleep,” Joan said, smoothing the child’s hair gently back on his forehead. “He’s got pains in his turn, haven’t you, darling? And a temperature.” Her eyes met Thanet’s, dark with anxiety, and he knew at once what she was thinking.

  Appendicitis?

  Apparently not. The doctor had been, diagnosed nothing more serious than a chill in the stomach. “He said Ben’ll be better by morning. And we’ll have to watch what he eats for a few days.”

  “I’ll take over now,” said Thanet. “I’ll have supper later. We’ll pop you into bed shall we, Ben, where you’ll be more comfortable—and then I’ll read you a story, shall I?”

  Ben nodded, his eyes overbright, cheeks flushed.

  Thanet carried him upstairs and settled down to entertain him, consumed with anxiety. He read three Paddington stories, played one game of ludo and then, at Ben’s request, “tried” to solve some of the puzzles in Ben’s comic with him. Ben was growing sleepy now but he was clearly determined not to relinquish the unusual pleasure of having his father’s exclusive attention. Eventually Thanet said, “Just one more then, Ben, and that’s it.”

  But the concession proved unnecessary. Ben’s eyes were closing and in a few minutes he was asleep. Thanet gently tucked him in and switched off the light, leaving the bedroom door ajar so that they would be able to hear if he called out in the night.

  “Asleep?” Joan asked.

  “At last.” Thanet sat down with a sigh of relief.

  “I’ll get your supper.”

  While Thanet was eating they discussed Ben’s indisposition for a little while and then Joan said, “I’ve got something to tell you. And I’m warning you, you won’t like it.”

  Thanet looked at her warily. “Oh?” And then, as she still hesitated. “Go on, then.”

  “You won’t bite my head off?” But she was smiling.

  “Don’t I always?” He smiled back. “All the same, you can’t expect me to give hostages to fortune. Tell me what it is.”

  “Mrs Markham wants me to drive her down to Bexhill on Sunday. Her son has asked her down for a couple of weeks.”

  “Then why can’t he come and fetch her?” Thanet exploded. “He’s got a car, hasn’t he? Why should you go flogging all the way down to Bexhill? Joan, you did promise …”

  “I know, I know, but …”

  “And what about the children? I know it’s supposed to be my weekend off, but the way things are going it doesn’t look as if I’m going to get it, so I won’t be here to babysit.” Not to mention the fact that if, by any remote chance, he was free on Sunday, he didn’t see why he and the children should be deprived of Joan’s company …

  “Mary said she’d have them. Or they could come with me, of course. For the ride.”

  “But why can’t her son fetch her?”

  “He’s away on a course this weekend.”

  “Then why can’t she go next weekend? Or travel by public transport? Thousands of people do.”

  Joan shook her head stubbornly. “There are reasons why it has to be this weekend. If they leave it, her grandson will be home—he’s been away in the States for a year—then they won’t have the room to put her up.”

  “Then why couldn’t they have invited her before? I’m sorry, darling, I don’t want to be unreasonable, but …”

  Joan laid two fingers gently against his lips. “Just listen for a moment, will you darling? I know I’ve been manoeuvred into it again, and frankly, I’m rather cross about it. You’re right, I can see that now, she really is expert at it and I’ve made up my mind that this is the last time I allow myself to be manipulated like this.” She took her fingers away, then said complacently, “In fact, you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve already told her so—not in quite those terms, of course. I tried to break it gently, but I made it clear that when she comes back from her holiday I won’t be able to continue popping in night and morning and running all her errands for her, as I have been doing. She wasn’t very pleased, of course, but I stuck to my guns … So there you are. This is my last grand gesture. Truly.”

  Thanet raised both hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right, I give in.” He reached
out for her. “It’ll be good to have you back,” he murmured into her hair.

  She pulled a little away from him to look into his face. “The trouble with you,” she said, “is that you’d really like me to channel all my energies in your direction.” Her kiss softened the impact of this undeniable truth.

  “Especially a certain kind of energy,” he agreed with a grin, tugging her to her feet. “An early night, don’t you think?”

  Much later, lying back relaxed and content, Thanet felt curiously wide awake. Usually, after making love, it was he who drifted quickly into sleep and Joan who tended to lie awake, but tonight it was the other way around. Her soft, deep breathing told him that she was already sound asleep and he turned on to his right side, in his favourite sleeping position, and determined to follow her example as quickly as possible.

  Half an hour later he was telling himself that he really ought to have known that this was the one way to ensure that he stayed wide awake.

  Turning on to his back he folded his arms behind his head and resigned himself to a long bout of insomnia. It was the Pettifer case, of course. Usually he slept like a log, but in each major enquiry there came a point where a sleepless night or two seemed inevitable.

  What was so frustrating about this one, of course, was that after four days work they still weren’t even sure whether it had been suicide or murder. Each new bit of evidence that came along seemed to point to Gemma Pettifer’s guilt, and yet … For some reason he was still unconvinced.

  Why?

  Deliberately now he made himself go back once more to the beginning and gradually trace the logical progression of the case against her. This got him nowhere, so he started again, this time trying to pinpoint those elusive moments when he had felt himself close to understanding the truth of what had happened.

  It made no difference. At the end of it he was still as undecided as ever. He peered at the bedside clock, groaned inwardly. Half past two. He would feel like a limp rag in the morning. Yet again he composed himself for sleep, forcing his mind into other channels. He thought of Lineham and his mother, of Louise, of Joan and Mrs Markham, of Ben …

  He stiffened. Had Ben cried out? Carefully, so as not to wake Joan, Thanet got out of bed, threw on his dressing gown and, shivering a little, went to check. Ben wanted to go to the lavatory. Thanet carried him to the bathroom and back and tucked him into bed with a smile, hiding his anxiety. Ben’s forehead was still hot.

  “Still got a pain in your tum?”

  Ben shook his head. “Can we play another game, Daddy?” he said.

  At half past two in the morning? Thanet opened his mouth to refuse, then closed it again. Why not? he thought. He wasn’t in the least sleepy and if it would settle Ben down again …

  “Please?”

  “All right then.” Thanet sat down on the bed, cuddled Ben to his side. “What shall we play?”

  Ben selected “Spot the Ten Deliberate Mistakes”. They took it in turns. By the eighth mistake Ben’s eyelids were drooping, by the tenth he had dozed off. Thanet sat very still for a while, wanting to be certain that Ben was sound asleep before risking any movement. Idly, he studied the puzzle picture, looking for the tenth deliberate mistake. Ah yes, there it was …

  Suddenly it was as though a window blind had snapped up in his mind, allowing enlightenment to come flooding in. His brain began to race, to check and cross-check, to test the bizarre explanation of Pettifer’s death which had so unexpectedly presented itself to him.

  Was it possible?

  With absent-minded gentleness he made sure that Ben was comfortable and returned to his own bed, snuggling up gratefully to the warmth radiating from Joan as she slept.

  Was it?

  Certainly it explained away so much—everything, in fact, that had so puzzled them. But there was one major snag. His mind twisted and turned, seeking a way around it.

  But it was still there when he at last fell asleep.

  21

  While he shaved next morning Thanet reviewed his solution and found that he still felt the same way about it. It was correct, he was convinced of it, he felt its essential rightness deep down inside him … And yet, there was that one great stumbling block—no, not just a stumbling block but an insurmountable wall of illogicality which would have to be scaled before he could truly be satisfied. He couldn’t wait to discuss the whole thing with Lineham.

  But he had to curb his impatience. When he arrived at the office he found Lineham already at work. Thanet took in the mounded litter of reports on Lineham’s desk, the sergeant’s bleary eyes and day-old stubble and said, “What the hell have you been playing at, Mike? You look as though you haven’t been to bed all night.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact …”

  “… you haven’t. Well for God’s sake go and get yourself freshened up. We’ll leave explanations until you’re looking a bit less like the morning after the night before. And get a move on. We have to talk.”

  Lineham’s red-rimmed eyes travelled slowly over Thanet’s face and then he groaned, said, “I knew it”, and put his head in his hands.

  “What’s the matter?” Thanet said, beginning now to be concerned. “Are you ill or something?” He devoutly hoped the “or something” was not a serious rift with Louise. If Lineham had been here all night …

  “No. It’s not that. It’s just … Oh, never mind.” Lineham began to close files and shuffle them into neat stacks.

  “What do you mean? You can’t act as though the world’s come to an end and then say, ‘never mind’.”

  Lineham sat back in his chair and looked at Thanet. “Well, just tell me this, sir … That look on your face … You’ve cracked it, haven’t you?”

  “The Pettifer case, you mean? I think so, yes, but …”

  The look of despair on Lineham’s face was so exaggerated as to have been comic, Thanet felt, had it not so patently been genuine. “What is the matter, Mike?” he said, gently.

  “It’s just that … Oh, you’ll just think I’m a fool. Or presumptuous. One or the other, for sure.”

  “How do you know, until you’ve tried me?”

  Something in Thanet’s voice must have given Lineham reassurance because he studied the older man’s face for a moment and then said, “Well, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, I suppose. It’s just that, for once,” he burst out, “just for once, I’d hoped I’d get there first.” He shrugged. “I’ve spent the whole night working through the files. I’ve so often seen you do it, when you feel we’re getting close to a solution, and I thought … Oh, I’m a damned fool, that’s all.”

  “Go and freshen up, Mike, then come back and we’ll talk about it. But just get this into your head, will you? At your age, I would have felt—in fact, I often did feel—precisely as you are feeling now. Now go. And get yourself some breakfast while you’re about it. No one can work efficiently on an empty stomach and I need your help.”

  Lineham went. While he was gone, Thanet turned the situation over in his mind. It was true that at Mike’s age he had frequently felt as Mike did now—but with a difference. Thanet wasn’t certain but he sensed in the sergeant some deeper need this time to have solved the case first, a compensatory need perhaps. But to compensate for what? A sense of failure in some area of his life? Of course—his relationship with Louise. That must be it. The trouble between them must be even more serious than Thanet had thought. Or had he just been choosing to ignore what he didn’t want to see? He remembered the conversation with Joan the other day, how she had urged him to speak to Lineham, and he frowned. Had he been shirking his responsibilities simply because they were unpalatable? No, dammit, he had given Lineham enough openings to talk, if the sergeant chose to do so. Besides, if Lineham’s marriage really was on the rocks then he needed expert help, not the well-intentioned fumblings of the amateur Thanet felt himself to be. But Lineham’s work … well, that was a different matter. Lineham’s state of mind in that area was fairly and squarely Thanet’s respons
ibility and he would have to think of some way in which the sergeant could receive that boost to his morale which he so clearly needed.

  By the time Lineham returned, looking relatively fresh and alert, Thanet thought he saw how this could be done.

  “Now, then, Mike,” he said, “sit down and let’s see if we can get this straight. It’s true that I think I can now see exactly what happened in the Pettifer case—though there is one big snag I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with—so there’s no point in pretending you’re going to get there first. But I don’t see why it still shouldn’t be perfectly possible for you to work it out for yourself if you want to.”

  “What do you mean?” There was a wary gleam of anticipation in Lineham’s eyes, as if he’d like to believe Thanet but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so.

  “Put it this way. Why not look on this case as a learning exercise. Then, if you do manage to work it out for yourself, next time you’ll find it that much easier. Practice and experience really do count, you know.”

  “I don’t see how I could. I’ve been thinking all night,” Lineham gestured at the files, “and I’ve got precisely nowhere.”

  “Look Mike,” said Thanet, leaning sideways to take his pipe from his pocket, “a good detective not only has to be intelligent, persevering and prepared to do endless boring, routine work, he also needs one other quality.” Thanet took his pipe apart, blew through the stem and, satisfied, reassembled it. “Some people call it intuition and talk about it as if it were magic. Some consider it unreliable—and, admittedly, the dictionary definition of intuition is ‘immediate apprehension by the mind without reasoning’. I don’t quite see it like that. I see it, rather, as the ability to make connections which are there but are not immediately apparent. Subterranean connections, I suppose you could call them.”

  “I don’t follow you.” Lineham was sitting back in his chair, arms folded, listening intently. Clearly the therapy was working and Thanet tried not to feel too smug.

  “Well, say a man has a motor-bike accident. The apparent cause of the accident is that someone stepped off the kerb without looking and caused the driver to swerve, skid and crash. But the real reason was that, the night before, the man who stepped off the kerb had had a row with his girlfriend and he was thinking so hard about that that he wasn’t looking where he was going. The connection between this girl and the man on the motor-bike is not immediately apparent, but it’s there all right. Life’s made up of subterranean connections like that and part of our job is to try to work out what they are. Now when you apply this to the Pettifer case …”