Dead by Morning Page 2

‘But why are you just standing around drinking coffee, for God’s sake! Why aren’t you trying to get him out? You can’t just leave him there!’ She grabbed the stick marker nearest to her, tugged it out of the snow and, tossing it impatiently aside, started towards the ditch.

  The three policemen darted forward to stop her, but it was her husband who grabbed at her coat and tugged her back. ‘No, Delia. Can’t you see? If it is Leo, there’s nothing anybody can do now.’

  ‘But it’s awful! It’s … inhuman, just leaving him buried in the snow like that!’ She turned on Draco, her eyes blazing. ‘How dare you!’ Her contemptuous gaze swept around the little group of policemen and returned to Draco. ‘The Chief Constable is a personal friend of ours. I shall report you to him. Immediately!’

  Thanet studiously refrained from looking at Lineham.

  She turned to her husband. ‘Come on, Giles. We’ll go back to the house and get something done about this absurd situation.’

  And with another furious glance at Draco she swung herself up into the car and sat gazing stonily through the windscreen as her husband manoeuvred the Range Rover around and drove off.

  ‘A lady who’s used to getting her own way, I presume,’ said Draco, apparently unruffled. ‘You’re going to have your hands full with her, Thanet.’

  Just what Thanet had been thinking. Though the prospect intrigued rather than dismayed him. He raised an eyebrow at PC Yeoman. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hamilton, sir. Owners of Longford Hall. She runs the hotel, he runs the estate.’

  ‘There are the others now, sir,’ said Lineham.

  ‘About time, too,’ growled Draco.

  Doc Mallard’s half-moon spectacles glinted through the windscreen as the Land Rover drew up.

  ‘Where the devil have you been?’ snapped Draco as Trace, the SOCO sergeant, got out, followed by his team.

  Mallard accepted Thanet’s steadying hand. ‘My fault, I’m afraid, Superintendent. Blame it on a doctor’s irregular lifestyle. I was out at a confinement. Woman was on her way to hospital, but the ambulance got stuck in the snow. Luckily I just got there in time.’ He beamed. ‘Bouncing baby boy, mother and child both right as rain, I’m glad to say. Nothing like bringing life into the world to cheer you up, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Draco turned to Trace. ‘Well, let’s get on with it now you are here. If we have to stand around out here much longer we’ll all turn into blocks of ice.’

  TWO

  By the end of another hour Thanet felt as though Draco’s prophecy were coming true; his feet were numb, he felt chilled to the bone and he had long since regretted using up his precious flask of coffee so early. Perhaps, soon, they would be able to go up to the hotel and have a hot drink.

  There had been much to do. Screens had been erected, photographs of the relatively untouched area of snow had been taken, Doc Mallard had officially pronounced the man dead and then there had been a long wait while the Scenes-of-Crime officers had patiently scooped the snow away from the body, pausing to take samples or more photographs when necessary. Eventually the corpse was completely exposed, proving to be that of a man of around fifty with thinning brown curly hair, dressed in well-cut cavalry twill trousers, Aquascutum sports jacket and the black-and-white checked tweed overcoat. A wallet in his breast pocket contained twenty pounds in notes, various receipts and other scraps of paper and, more importantly, a driving licence and several credit cards in the name of Leo Martindale. It was always a help to establish identification at the outset of a case.

  There were no visible marks on the body until it was lifted carefully out of its snowy grave for transfer to the waiting ambulance. Then Doc Mallard had spotted an area of matted blood on the back, left-hand side of the scalp, and there had been some excitement when the SOCOs had found some flakes of rusted paint-coated metal, two caught up in a tear in the back of the overcoat and another on the ground beneath.

  ‘Presumably snagged in the cloth on impact,’ said Draco as they gathered around to peer at the samples in their plastic envelope. ‘If so, forensic will find out. Hit and run?’

  ‘Looks like it. Though if so …’ Thanet was thoughtful.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was only thinking …’

  Draco shifted impatiently. ‘Come on, man, spit it out.’

  ‘Well, the injury is to the back of the head, and the tear is on the back of the overcoat …’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The implication is that he was struck from behind. I’m just trying to visualise what happened. If he was knocked into the ditch by the impact, you’d expect him to be on his face or his side, or crumpled into a heap, not neatly laid out on his back.’

  ‘What are you suggesting? That whoever knocked him down then stopped his car, got out and dragged the body into the ditch?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘One among many, I suppose. But it is surely equally possible that he could have been thrown into that position by the collision?’

  Thanet disagreed. But it would not have been politic to say so. Draco did not appreciate opposition. ‘I expect we could do some experiments, sir.’

  ‘Quite. And then, it’s also possible that he wasn’t killed outright by the impact. He could have remained conscious – or regained consciousness – and crawled or staggered to the ditch in order to get off the road, and lain down in it in the most comfortable position, which just happened to be on his back.’

  This was much more likely. ‘True.’

  ‘Or,’ said Lineham, contributing to the discussion for the first time, ‘he could have been deliberately run down.’

  This earned him a scowl from Draco. Murder investigations were both time-consuming and expensive. ‘Anyway, if these metal flakes are from a car we shouldn’t have any problems in tracing it.’

  Thanet nodded. They all knew that it was a relatively straightforward matter these days to trace a vehicle from paint samples. Forensic science has reduced it to a fine art.

  They all peered again at the largest sample. ‘Looks like a mid-grey. And definitely going rusty,’ said Lineham.

  ‘I’ll get forensic to hurry it up,’ said Draco.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ There were, apparently, advantages in having the boss along.

  ‘You’d better do a house-to-house, get the men to check all local vehicles. Radio in for reinforcements. I’m going back to headquarters now.’

  Another bonus. Thanet suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. Even his toes didn’t seem quite so cold.

  One of the ambulancemen approached. ‘We’re ready to leave now, sir.’

  Draco glanced at Thanet. ‘Might save time if you got Hamilton down from the hotel first, see if he can make a formal identification.’

  Thanet had every intention of doing so. ‘Right, sir.’ And to the ambulanceman, ‘If you could just wait a little longer …’

  ‘Good. Good.’ Draco gave a little bounce on the balls of his feet, preparatory to departure. The thought of his snug office must be enticing. ‘I’ll take one of the Land Rovers and get it sent back, in case you need it to get off the beaten track. Can I gave you a lift, Mallard?’

  ‘Thank you. Be glad to get back to civilisation.’ Mallard picked up his bag, brushed snow off the bottom.

  ‘Just one thing, Doc,’ said Thanet.

  Mallard twinkled at Thanet over his half-moons. ‘Thought you wouldn’t let me get away without asking. Time of death, right?’

  Thanet nodded.

  ‘Well I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. In these particular circumstances it’s virtually impossible to hazard a guess.’

  ‘All the same …’ pressed Thanet.

  ‘Really, Luke … Well, I suppose the best I can do is to say that it must have been some time last night. Say, any time between six o’clock and …’ Mallard shrugged. ‘What time did the snow start, do you know?’

  ‘Around half-past twelve, in Sturrenden. Could
have been earlier here, of course.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to check. But it’s obvious that most of the snow fell after the body went into the ditch. Say between six o’clock and four a.m., then, to be on the safe side. Not much help I’m afraid. Sorry, but I have to allow for the fact that it might not have been the accident that killed him. He could have died of hypothermia.’

  Draco was shifting from one foot to another in his eagerness to be off. ‘Right, then, Thanet. Keep me informed – in fact, you’d better report in at about five. Interesting to get back to grass roots for a while.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s had enough of grass roots,’ said Lineham, gazing after the departing Land Rover. ‘What now?’

  ‘Better call in for those reinforcements. Tell them to come up to the hotel.’ Thanet beckoned to PC Yeoman who had kept well away from Draco and was now patiently waiting near the entrance to the hotel drive. ‘I hope you’re not frozen stiff.’

  ‘No sir, I’m fine.’ Yeoman didn’t look it. His narrow face was pinched with cold, his nose red-tipped, eyes watering.

  ‘You did well here, before we arrived.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ A faint flush warmed the pallor of his cheeks.

  ‘I gather Mrs Hamilton’s brother, if that’s who the dead man is, was a stranger to you.’

  ‘I knew she had a brother but I’ve never set eyes on him before. I’ve only been here two years and he left the village ages ago; everyone assumed he was dead.’

  ‘Black sheep of the family, was he?’ Thanet scented an interesting story.

  ‘I believe so, yes. Pretty unpopular generally, from what I can gather.’

  ‘Why was that, do you know?’

  Yeoman shook his head. ‘Not specifically, no. It’s just the impression I’ve got.’

  ‘Part of your job will be to find out, listen to the gossip. There’s bound to be a lot of talk in the village after this. Meanwhile, nip up and fetch Mr Hamilton, would you? We’d like him to identify the body. Afterwards, if the SOCOs have finished you can come up to the hotel with us and have a hot drink.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Yeoman set off up the hotel drive at a brisk pace, slipping and sliding on the snow.

  Thanet glanced around. ‘You finished here, Trace?’

  ‘Almost, sir.’

  ‘Right. Get those paint samples to forensic as soon as you can, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Twenty minutes later the Range Rover returned. Hamilton jumped out and the ambulancemen slid the stretcher out and uncovered the dead man’s face. Tight-lipped, Hamilton nodded. ‘That is my brother-in-law.’

  ‘Leo Martindale,’ said Thanet.

  Hamilton looked startled. ‘How did you …? Oh, I suppose he had identification on him.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘The last of the line.’ He grimaced. ‘Sad, isn’t it? There have been Martindales at Longford Hall for over two hundred years.’

  ‘He was unmarried, then?’

  ‘So he told us.’

  ‘You had any reason to doubt him?’

  Hamilton looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh no. No. It’s just that … Well, I suppose you’re bound to hear. He wasn’t exactly the most reliable of men.’

  ‘I see. We’ll need to talk to you and your wife, of course, so perhaps we could now go up to the house.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hamilton glanced at the Land Rover into which the SOCOs were loading their equipment. ‘You seem to be without transport at the moment, Inspector. I assume that will shortly be remedied but meanwhile may I offer you a lift?’

  Thanet would have liked to take his first look at the Hall in his own time, but it would have seemed churlish to refuse and he didn’t want to antagonise the man. Besides, the thought of getting out of the cold more quickly was enticing. ‘Thank you.’

  They climbed into the Range Rover and set off up the drive, which was fenced on both sides and wound across open parkland. Before the great storm in October 1987 this would no doubt have been graced by stands of mature oak and beech, but now it was virtually bare, only the odd solitary survivor lifting its branches into the winter sky. Here and there broken and splintered trees still lay about in disarray, testament to the devastation suffered by the whole of this south-east corner of England on that one night. It was said that it would take three generations for the landscape to recover. Hamilton was evidently doing his bit to ensure that it would. An extensive programme of replanting was obviously under way, in the shape of groups of young saplings protected from the depredations of rabbits and livestock by square enclosures of wood and close-meshed wire netting.

  ‘I suppose you lost a lot of trees in the storm?’ said Thanet.

  Hamilton sighed. ‘Like everyone else, yes. Around eighty per cent, actually, and, as you see, we still haven’t got around to clearing away all the casualties. It’s a mammoth task and is costing a fortune so we’re doing it bit by bit. We’ve tended to concentrate on replanting.’

  The house had just come into view and Thanet was aware of Lineham behind him leaning forward to take a better look. If they’d been alone he knew exactly what the sergeant would have said. ‘They can’t be short of a penny!’

  And it would have been true, of course. Longford Hall was not exactly a stately home, but it was certainly the house of an English Country Gentleman; built, he would guess, at the end of the seventeenth or early in the eighteenth century, the rich rose-red of its brickwork enhanced by the mantle of snow which now surrounded it. Its proportions were perfect: the rows of white-painted sash windows, the flat-topped, steeply pitched roof with dormer windows, the stone balustrade running around the roof ridge all combining with the graceful flight of steps leading up to the front door to create a perfect harmony of shape and form often striven for but rarely achieved.

  ‘What a beautiful house,’ Thanet murmured.

  Hamilton lifted an eyebrow, as if surprised that a policeman should appreciate architectural genius. ‘It is, isn’t it. Built by Hugh May in 1675.’

  And now a Country House Hotel. Thanet wondered how it must feel to have to turn the house that has been your family home for generations into a haven for rich tourists and tired businessmen. He knew that a number of these Country House Hotels now existed but he had never been inside one before. Should be interesting.

  They had arrived. Hamilton pulled up in front of the steps, which were being brushed clear of snow by a tall, thin man wearing a padded anorak and a navy blue woollen cap below which his ears stuck out like those of a garden gnome. He gave them a curious glance as they passed, breaking the rhythm of his movements and straightening up to pull out a handkerchief and blow his nose.

  ‘Who was that?’ said Thanet in an undertone when they had gone by.

  ‘Byfleet, our handyman-cum-chauffeur.’ Hamilton pushed open the front door with a proprietorial air and, after stamping the snow off their boots, they followed him into a broad inner lobby that bore no resemblance to the entrance to any hotel Thanet had ever been in before. If he hadn’t known it was one he would have thought that he had stepped into a private house. Ranged along the right-hand wall was an orderly litter of gumboots, croquet hoops, umbrellas, walking sticks; exactly as if at any moment members of the family might come out and equip themselves for whichever outdoor activity they had in mind. To the left, a long wooden rail screwed to the wall sported a row of hooks from which hung an assortment of well-worn Barbours, Burberries and tweed caps and hats.

  There was no time for more than a quick glance around. Hamilton kicked off his boots and the three policemen followed suit. Hamilton slipped on a pair of shoes he had left beside the door and Thanet, shooting an apologetic glance at Lineham, unwrapped the parcel containing his shoes, which he had removed from the Land Rover before Draco left, and put them on, glad of his foresight. He wouldn’t have fancied conducting an investigation in a place like this in the indignity of stockinged feet. Lineham was no doubt wishing he’d done the same.

  Hamilton flung open the inner door
and led the way into a spacious hall from which a graceful staircase curled up to the first floor. Thanet blinked, overwhelmed by the assault on his senses. The scent of potpourri and burning applewood hung on the warm air, Persian rugs glowed on the stone-flagged floor, antique furniture adorned with elaborate flower arrangements gleamed with centuries of polishing and everywhere was a profusion of fine paintings, decorative objects and porcelain ornaments. In the distance someone was playing the piano. It was like stepping back in time to a more leisured and gracious way of life.

  ‘Just a moment,’ murmured Hamilton, and he left them to speak to a young woman seated at a leather-topped desk in the left-hand corner of the room. The hotel receptionist, presumably, the first discreet indication that Longford Hall was a commercial undertaking. As if drawn by a magnet the three policemen moved in the direction of the log fire burning in the huge stone fireplace in the right-hand wall. Two women, one young, one middle-aged, were sitting on the long chintz-covered settee in front of it.

  ‘Say,’ drawled the older woman, ‘you poor men look frozen to the eyeballs. Come right on over in front of the fire, and warm yourselves up.’

  American, by the sound of it. A guest, presumably.

  Thanet smiled. ‘You’re certainly in the best place, on a day like this.’ The warmth of the fire on the backs of his legs was sheer bliss.

  The girl pouted. She was in her late teens, small and dark, with the beautifully white even teeth Thanet for some reason always associated with Americans. ‘Just our bad luck, you mean. We’d planned a trip to Canterbury today. How long d’you think it’ll be before the roads are clear?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Sorry, I don’t know. Could be this afternoon, could be –’

  Hamilton approached. ‘If you’d like to come this way, Inspector, I’ve arranged for some coffee to be brought. You could do with a hot drink, I expect.’

  The two women exchanged glances. ‘Inspector!’ said the younger one, scenting diversion. ‘Does that mean …?’

  Hamilton turned on all his charm, gave her a melting smile. ‘I’m sorry. There’s been an accident …’ And, like a sheepdog herding a small flock of wayward sheep, he urged the policemen towards a door to the right of the stairs. ‘If you’d like to sit down …’