Dead on Arrival Page 22

  Joan frowned. ‘He may not have actually killed Geoff, but he was still to a large degree responsible for his death, wasn’t he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if Steve hadn’t been involved in the death of Marge Jackson, and Geoff hadn’t seen the TV appeal and gone along to warn him that the police were looking for him, Geoff would still be alive today.’

  ‘True … However sorry you feel for Steve because of his rotten childhood, there’s no denying that he has, as you once said yourself, a kind of destructive power. Look at all the people whose lives he’s damaged …’

  Joan nodded. ‘And the ones who have actually died, because of him. Mrs Carpenter, her daughter, Mrs Jackson, Geoff … It’s terrifying, really. Perhaps it’s as well society is going to be protected from him, for a while, at least. How long will he get, d’you think?’

  ‘Difficult to tell.’

  ‘I suppose he’ll plead not guilty to the murder of Mrs Jackson and get away with manslaughter?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘So, seven years, perhaps?’

  ‘Something like that, I should think. With possibly another twelve months on top, for obstructing the police – in deliberately misleading us over the identity of the body and then compounding the deception by pretending to be his brother …’

  ‘What about poor Mr Carpenter?’

  ‘That’s a bit tricky. The trouble is that however many excuses you might make for him, the fact remains that he went to Steve’s flat with murder in his heart and actually killed someone. That it happened not to be the person he thought it was probably won’t make a scrap of difference. Premeditated murder is premeditated murder.’

  ‘Quite. I suppose the only way he could hope to get away with less than a life sentence would be by pleading diminished responsibility.’

  ‘Yes. His counsel might well pull it off. He’d emphasise the long strain Carpenter had suffered …’

  ‘The shock of Chrissie’s death, that day …’

  ‘And he’d stress the fact that although Carpenter freely admits he intended killing Steve, he didn’t actually equip himself to do so – he didn’t take a gun or any other weapon with him. So the defence could argue that the threats were really empty ones and Carpenter hadn’t really intended to do more than have a stand-up fight.’

  ‘There’s the drink and drugs angle, too,’ said Joan. ‘Everyone knows by now that a combination of tranquillisers and spirits is disastrous, and that self-control is diminished to the point of non-existence.’

  ‘On the other hand, it won’t help Carpenter that all the while he thought it was Steve he had killed he showed no remorse whatsoever.’

  ‘How did he react, when he found he’d killed the wrong man?’

  ‘He was absolutely shattered. Appalled that he’d killed an innocent bystander …’

  ‘And furious that Steve had escaped, after all?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I think that by then the first flush of his anger against Steve after Chrissie’s death had worn off. I certainly don’t think that at that point he would have been prepared to go off and kill Steve in cold blood … That was why the fact that he’d killed someone else by mistake was so horrifying to him. He’s not by nature a violent man. His counsel will stress this fact, and rely upon it becoming apparent during the course of the trial … I should think Carpenter will probably end up with five or six years.’

  ‘You liked him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. And I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. I suppose I couldn’t help identifying with him, in a way, wondering how I would have felt, if it had been you who had been killed, Sprig who had died that day … I’d like to think that under no circumstances would I ever commit murder, but the fact is that we can never tell how we would react, in extremity. Most of us are never pushed beyond our limit of tolerance …’

  Joan shivered. ‘Thank God.’

  They had almost reached the hotel now. A steady trickle of people was flowing through the doors of the Fletcher Hall, which had an entrance on the – street. Joan pressed Thanet’s arm. ‘Look, there’s Doctor Mallard and Mrs Field.’

  The new, benevolent Doc Mallard had spotted them and raised a hand in greeting. The Thanets joined him and Luke was duly introduced to the woman who had wrought this wondrous change in his old friend. She seemed, as Joan had said, absolutely right for him, a plump, smiling little woman with calm, kind eyes as blue as forget-me-nots and laughter lines around eyes and mouth. She was neatly dressed in navy blue coat and flowered silk scarf. Thanet thoroughly approved and greeted her warmly. He was amused to see that the little doctor was blushing.

  ‘Kind of you to come,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Oh, not at all. Fly the flag for Bridget and all that. And Helen’s very interested in cooking, aren’t you?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Writes cookery books, as a matter of fact,’ said Mallard, with shy pride.

  ‘Oh, that Helen Fields!’ said Joan. ‘Bridget would be fascinated. She’d really love to meet you.’

  ‘And I’d be delighted to meet her. I’m always interested in young people who are keen on cooking.’

  ‘Keen isn’t the word,’ said Thanet. ‘The amount of practice she’s done for this competition …’

  Chatting, they moved into the hall and seated themselves where they would have a good view of what Bridget was doing without being disconcertingly close.

  At ten thirty sharp the competition got under way. The proceedings were briefly explained to the audience. There were ten competitors, of ages ranging from nine to sixteen. Each had brought his own utensils and ingredients, had decorated his own table, and would have an hour and a half to prepare two dishes, a main course and a pudding. Presentation was important, but taste would be the main decider. The judges were a cookery writer, the owner of a famous London restaurant, and the editor of Food and Wine magazine. The winner and the runner-up would go on to the National Finals in London, in April.

  Time flew. The contestants settled down to concentrated activity, apparently oblivious of the audience. Delicious smells filled the air, mouths salivated. At last it was over and the judges moved from table to table as the youngsters stood by, ready to answer questions on their handiwork. The Thanets strained to hear as Bridget, two bright spots of colour burning in her cheeks, responded to the enquiries put to her.

  Finally, the judges retired to the far end of the room to confer. Tension mounted as the young cooks and their anxious parents awaited the verdict. Thanet’s mouth was dry and he and Joan exchanged supportive glances. At last the announcer approached the microphone, accompanied by the chairman of the judges. A cathedral hush immediately fell upon the room.

  After the usual inordinately long preamble about the high quality of the food produced by the contestants and a string of compliments on their talent and originality, the judge at last raised the piece of paper upon which every eye had been riveted.

  ‘I shall announce the results in reverse order. The runner-up is fifteen-year-old Karen Cunningham of Benenden, for her Smoked Haddock with Cream and Egg Sauce, and Hazelnut Roll.’

  Applause. Karen came forward, obviously delighted to have won through to the finals.

  There was an electric silence as the remaining nine contestants stood rigid with hope and fear and their parents agonised with them. Thanet felt sick.

  ‘And now the result you are all waiting for …’

  Come on, come on, urged Thanet silently.

  ‘The winner, for her Pork Chops with Mint, which she tells us is an old recipe published in the Daily News in the excellent series that appeared during the winter of 1928–9, and for her Lemon Flummery, exquisitely decorated with the white horse of Kent, is thirteen-year-old Bridget Thanet of Sturrenden.’

  Thanet felt as though he would explode with relief, delight and pride as Bridget stepped forward, eyes shining. No achievement of his own had ever affected him quite so profoundly. He and Joan clutched a
t each other’s hands and exchanged exuberant smiles before turning to receive congratulations from Doc Mallard and Mrs Field.

  Released by the judges at last, Bridget pushed her way through the crowd towards them, acknowledging the compliments showered upon her from all sides.

  Thanet put an arm around Joan as they smiled down into their daughter’s radiant face, and they all linked hands.

  It was a moment of pure joy.

  About the Author

  Dorothy Simpson (b. 1933) was born and raised in South Wales, and went to Bristol University, where she studied modern languages before moving to Kent, the setting for her Inspector Thanet Mysteries. After spending several years at home with her three children, she trained as a marriage guidance counselor and subsequently worked as one for thirteen years, before writing her first novel. Says Simpson, “You may think that marriage guidance counselor to crime writer is rather a peculiar career move, but although I didn’t realise it at the time, of course, the training I received was the best possible preparation for writing detective novels. Murder mysteries are all about relationships which go disastrously wrong and the insights I gained into what makes people tick, into their interaction and motivations, have been absolutely invaluable to DI Thanet, my series character, as have the interviewing skills I acquired during my years of counseling.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1982 by Dorothy Simpson

  Cover design by Michel Vrana

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-4437-0

  This edition published in 2017 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  180 Maiden Lane

  New York, NY 10038

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