Once Too Often Page 2

  Desmond Manifest was sitting in one of the big armchairs, leaning forward with elbows on knees and head in hands. He was still wearing outdoor clothes, a Barbour and a green-and-cream-checked woollen scarf. He raised a dazed face as they came in, his eyes moving slowly from one to another, coming to rest on Lineham. But he didn’t speak.

  Thanet dismissed the uniformed constable who had been waiting with Manifest until they arrived and then nodded at Lineham. At this stage it made sense for the sergeant to interview the man, as he knew him.

  Lineham introduced Thanet and Doc Mallard and they all sat down. Manifest acknowledged them with no more than the merest flicker of an eyelid and remained in the same position as if incapable of further movement. He was a little older than his wife, a big man with heavy jowls and an unhealthy pallor which could have been due to shock. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved that day and his hair straggled untidily over his collar. Definitely a man who had seen better days, Thanet thought. The interesting question was whether it was professional or domestic problems which had brought about this deterioration.

  ‘You’ll appreciate we have to ask you a few questions, Des?’ Lineham glanced at Thanet to check that the informality was acceptable.

  Thanet blinked approval.

  Manifest took a while to respond but eventually he nodded slowly, sliding back in his chair and stretching his arms along the armrests. His fists, however, remained clenched.

  ‘Would you tell us what happened this evening?’ said Lineham.

  Manifest opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerged. He closed it again.

  ‘Des?’ said Lineham.

  Manifest tried again. ‘I . . . I went for a walk.’ His voice was hoarse, as if rusty with disuse.

  ‘How long were you out?’

  No response, just a blank stare.

  Lineham tried again. ‘What time did you leave?’

  The man’s forehead creased as if the question were some immensely complicated and difficult inquiry. ‘After supper.’

  ‘Could you be a little more precise?’

  Manifest compressed his lips and the frown deepened. ‘I . . . I . . . Is she really dead?’

  Lineham glanced at Thanet. ‘I’m afraid so, Des. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry too to have to bother you with questions at a time like this. But we really do need to know, you see.’

  ‘She was just lying there,’ whispered Manifest. ‘All . . . all crumpled up. I saw her as soon as I pushed the door open. But why?’ His gaze suddenly became fierce. ‘I don’t understand. I mean, why was he there? He should have been here.’

  ‘Who? Who should have been here?’

  Suddenly Manifest folded his arms across his chest and began to rock to and fro. ‘Oh God, Jess, I can’t bear it. Oh God, what shall I do?’ He clutched at his head, then, still holding it as if to cling on to his sanity, leaned forward and continued rocking and moaning, ‘Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God!.’

  Lineham glanced at Thanet and raised his eyebrows. Thanet looked at Mallard, who frowned, pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I think you ought to stop. He needs to take a sedative and rest.’

  ‘But he can’t stay here by himself in that state,’ said Thanet. ‘We’ll have to find someone to sit with him. See if you can get him to suggest someone, Mike.’

  But Manifest was beyond reason, it seemed. Lineham could get no sense out of him.

  ‘Any bright ideas then, Mike? You seem to know the family.’

  ‘Only slightly. But he has got a younger brother who lives locally, I believe. His number should be in the phone book.’

  ‘See if you can get hold of him.’

  ‘Right.’ The phone was in the hall and Lineham went off to make the call, returning a few minutes later. ‘He’ll be over as soon as he can.’ He crossed to Manifest, who was still sitting hunched forward, face hidden. ‘Des, Graham will be here soon to keep you company. But we think you ought to rest now. Dr Mallard here will give you something to help you sleep, then we’ll take you upstairs.’

  At the top of the stairs the door to what was obviously the main bedroom stood open but Manifest directed them with a nod towards a room at the back of the house. At first Thanet attributed this choice to a natural delicacy: Manifest did not want to sleep in a room which perhaps more than any other in the house would remind him of his wife. But Thanet changed his mind when he saw that the back bedroom, which was just as cluttered with furniture as the sitting room, bore signs of permanent occupation: one of the two single beds was already made up and there was a pair of pyjamas on the pillow. Manifest collapsed on to it and rolled over on to his side, turning his face to the wall. They covered him with the duvet from the other bed and left him.

  ‘Separate rooms,’ murmured Thanet, outside on the landing.

  Lineham nodded. ‘I noticed.’

  ‘Let’s take a look at the main bedroom.’

  This was so crowded with furniture that there was barely room to move around the king-sized bed. Thanet counted two dressing tables as well as two double wardrobes. ‘Why all the clutter?’ he asked Lineham. ‘Do you know?’

  The sergeant pulled a face. ‘Their last house was much bigger, a lovely converted oast out at Marden and I suppose they couldn’t bear to get rid of it all when they had to move.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Des was made redundant about five years ago and so far as I know he’s never managed to find another job. The trouble is, he has no qualifications other than experience in the work he was doing. It’s a sad story. He went straight into the City after A levels and during the Thatcher years he was really raking it in. We all thought he had it made. Then when the recession came, suddenly he was out on his ear, just like that. Turned up for work one day to find his desk had been cleared. No warning, nothing.’

  As Lineham was speaking an icy chill had crept through Thanet’s veins. Could the same thing happen to Alexander?

  ‘It must be awful when you’re used to earning huge sums like that, suddenly to find yourself on the dole,’ said Lineham, innocent of the discomfort he was causing.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ said Thanet. ‘Can they do that? Kick you out without warning?’

  ‘They can and they do, apparently. Imagine what it must be like, living on that sort of knife edge, never knowing each morning whether you’re going to discover that you’re suddenly a mere unemployment statistic!’ Lineham was moving about the room, looking into drawers, picking up and putting down bottles and jars on one of the dressing tables. He peered at a label. ‘Mmm. Chanel. She obviously had expensive tastes. It must have been a terrible shock for her, thinking she’d married a wealthy man only to find she’d suddenly become the breadwinner. I wonder how it affected their relationship. It obviously wasn’t very good.’ He nodded at the single set of pillows in the bed and twitched back the sheets to reveal Jessica’s solitary silk nightgown, neatly folded.

  ‘Quite. But he could have found some sort of job, surely.’

  ‘The trouble with people in his position is that they’re afraid to take low-paid work in case it doesn’t look good on their CV when they’re trying to find something more lucrative. So they end up doing nothing.’

  ‘I don’t think I could bear that. It must be so demoralising. Though I can understand the dilemma.’ How would Alexander react, if his high-powered job were snatched away from him? And how would Bridget? With an effort Thanet forced himself to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. He opened a wardrobe door. The array of expensive clothes inside was now explained, all purchased no doubt in better days.

  ‘They hadn’t been married that long when it happened, either,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to remember exactly when the wedding was. I think it was the year Mandy was born, so it must have been nine years ago.’

  ‘Did you know his wife personally, then?’

  ‘No. Oh, I met her briefly, once or
twice, but that’s all. Des and I were never close friends. It’s just that he was in my form at school and from time to time I’d hear about him from one of the others on the grapevine. You know how it is.’

  Thanet nodded. He knew. He too had been brought up and educated in Sturrenden and although he had done his stint away, had been glad to return and settle here. He loved the town, liked the area, and over the years had built up a network of acquaintances in all walks of life. News of former classmates invariably filtered back to him too, sooner or later, especially if they lived locally. ‘What’s his background?’

  ‘Pretty ordinary. Working class. His father was a bus driver and they lived in a council house. Still do, I believe. He’s retired now. They were both so proud of Des. It must have been a terrible blow for them when he ended up on the dole.’

  ‘What about the brother?’

  ‘Graham? He’s a carpet-fitter. Self-employed. Very efficient. Fitted all our carpets, as a matter of fact, and I can thoroughly recommend him. Ironic, really. It was Desmond who was sup posed to be the shining success but it’s Graham who’s managed to weather the recession relatively unscathed. Come to think of it, it was probably when Graham was laying our bedroom carpet that I heard about Des.’

  While they talked they had drifted out on to the landing and now they paused at the top of the stairs to see if there was any indication of how the accident had happened. At Lineham’s request Jessica’s shoe had been left where it was until Thanet had seen its position. It still lay against the staircase wall, three steps down from the top.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be any obvious reason why she should have fallen,’ said Lineham. ‘No frayed carpet or uneven floorboards.’

  ‘Quite. The heel of the shoe is pretty high, though. If she turned over on it, lost her balance . . .’

  ‘The only explanation, if it was a simple accident,’ agreed Lineham. ‘Of course, if she was pushed . . .’

  Thanet sighed. They’d been here before, in at least two previous cases. And, he reminded himself, in both of them they’d managed to get at the truth in the end.

  Downstairs Lineham picked up the telephone. ‘It might be worth dialling 1471.’ He listened, raising his eyebrows at Thanet and nodding as he jotted the number down. ‘It’s a local one,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to try it?’

  ‘Might as well.’

  Lineham dialled again and a moment later said, ‘Ah, I believe you rang this number earlier, sir. I’m speaking from the Manifests’ house. This is the police. I’m afraid there’s been an accident. Would you mind confirming what time you rang? And your name and address please? Thank you. And what is your connection with this household?’ He listened for a moment, then covered the receiver and said to Thanet, ‘He’s her brother-in-law. Rang at 7.31 according to the recorded message. Do you want me to give him the bad news?’

  Thanet considered. ‘Let me have a word with him. What’s his name?’

  ‘Covin. Bernard.’

  Thanet took the receiver. Covin must be married to Jessica’s sister, who would no doubt be able to fill them in on the dead woman. It would be useful to talk to her as soon as possible. He broke the news of Jessica’s death as sympathetically as he could and arranged to see him later. He lived in Nettleton, about ten minutes’ drive away.

  He had just put down the receiver when the door opened and the uniformed constable looked in. ‘Mr Manifest’s brother is here, sir.’

  ‘Send him in.’

  The first thing you noticed about Graham Manifest was his ferocious squint. Apart from that he was a younger, fitter version of his brother. He had the same stocky build, square face and dark curly hair, but he moved lightly on his feet and it was obvious there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him. He was wearing jeans, trainers and a dark blue anorak streaked with rain. ‘This is terrible!’ he said, one eye looking at Lineham and the other, apparently, at Thanet. ‘Where’s Des, Mike?’

  Lineham introduced Thanet, then said, ‘Upstairs. Asleep, we hope. He’s been given a sedative.’

  ‘How’s he taking it?’ As he spoke Graham slipped off the anorak and shook it. Droplets of water spattered everywhere.

  ‘Let’s go into the lounge, shall we?’ Lineham waited until they were all seated before saying, ‘Badly, I’m afraid. Not surprising, of course. But people react differently, you can never tell.’

  Graham was nodding. ‘He always was potty about that woman.’

  ‘You didn’t like her?’ said Thanet. He knew he shouldn’t find the squint disconcerting, but he did. He tried to focus on Graham’s good eye.

  ‘Couldn’t stand her. Oh, I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead – though frankly I don’t see why not, if they deserve it – but she was a real cow.’

  ‘In what way?’ said Lineham.

  ‘Well, look at this place!’ Graham’s eyes swivelled alarmingly as he waved at the superfluous oversized furniture stacked around the walls. ‘Why couldn’t she have just accepted that Des had lost his cushy job and wasn’t going to get another one, and made the best of it? A lot of people would be bloody grateful to have a roof over their heads, let alone a nice place like this. But no, they had to live all the time with the reminder that she was expecting him to hit the jackpot again one day soon, that this was only a temporary arrangement. I mean, look at this stuff! Poor old Des! It must be like camping out in a posh department store!’

  ‘Are you saying she married him for his money?’

  ‘You bet I am. She was all sweetness and light for the first few years, wasn’t she?’

  ‘And she changed, when he lost his job?’

  ‘Well, not to begin with.’ Graham was grudging. ‘Not while she was still expecting him to pick up something equally well paid any minute. But as soon as she began to realise that wasn’t going to happen, it was a different story. You ask Sarah – my wife. She’ll tell you I’m not making all this up. No, there’s no doubt about it, she was bad news for Des, was our Jess.’

  ‘Though he didn’t think so, apparently,’ said Thanet.

  ‘He was always making excuses for her. She could walk all over him and he wouldn’t lift a finger to help himself, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘And did she?’ said Thanet. ‘Walk all over him?’

  Graham’s good eye glared fiercely at Thanet. ‘It used to make me mad, the way she treated him. “Do this, do that. Fetch this, fetch that.” As if he was a pet poodle or something. I don’t know how he stood it.’

  And maybe, in the end, he couldn’t, thought Thanet. Maybe one day, this evening in fact, Desmond Manifest had reached the point where he had had enough. He had seen his chance and the temptation had proved too much for him: one little push and he would be a free man again.

  Lineham was thinking the same thing, Thanet could tell.

  ‘We stopped coming over in the end,’ said Graham. ‘Unless we could be sure she wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘But it sounds as though your wife was quite friendly with her at one time,’ said Thanet.

  Graham pulled a face and shrugged. ‘Sarah was never that keen, but she made an effort, for Des’s sake. Jessica was all right on the surface, nice as pie when she wanted something or things were going her way, but you only had to cross her to see the claws underneath. She was never afraid of speaking her mind, whether it would hurt or not. I could never decide if she genuinely didn’t know how the things she said affected people or if she just didn’t care. Des always said it was because she’d had to learn to stick up for herself. She’d had a rotten time when she was young, he said.’

  ‘Do you know anything about that?’ said Lineham.

  Graham shook his head. ‘Couldn’t have cared less, to tell you the truth. Just kept out of her way as much as possible.’

  ‘Your brother said something odd when we were talking to him earlier,’ said Thanet. ‘He said, “I don’t understand. Why was he there? He should have been here.” Have you any idea what he meant or who he was referring to?’

>   Graham thought for a moment or two before saying, ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  • • •

  They decided to go to Covin’s house in separate cars, as it was now 10.30 and Thanet couldn’t see much point in returning to the Manifests’ house tonight. He was pleased to find that the rain had eased off to a light drizzle. It wouldn’t have been much fun floundering about unfamiliar terrain in the dark in heavy rain. Lineham said he knew the way and Thanet followed the sergeant’s tail-lights through the empty lanes. In Nettleton there was no street lighting and many of the houses were already in darkness. The black-and-white timbered façade of the combined shop and post office was illuminated, however, presumably to deter prospective burglars. They passed the church at the far end of the village street, with the row of cottages opposite where Thanet had once solved one of the most fascinating cases of his career, and half a mile further on turned left at a sign saying ‘HUNTER’S GREEN FARM’.

  Here the road surface was covered with lumps and clods of mud from the passage of farm vehicles and there was a constant stuttering sound as Thanet’s tyres picked them up and hurled them against the wheel arches. Thanet could imagine Lineham, who was very car-proud, muttering about the mess they would be making. On either side were tall hedges, concealing what lay beyond.

  They passed the looming bulk of the farmhouse with lights in its upstairs windows and as directed continued up the track for several hundred yards further to a smaller house next to a number of large outbuildings. A light had been left on over the front door, presumably for their benefit. They parked in front of one of the barns and got out. Looking around Thanet could now see that they were surrounded by orchards. A fruit farm, then.