Once Too Often Page 4

  ‘But she’d have arrived by now, surely.’

  ‘Maybe. But if she hasn’t rung to let him know and there’s no phone in her digs so he can’t ring her to find out . . .’

  ‘Mmm. You could be right.’

  ‘Or, let’s face it, there could be half a dozen other reasons why he happens to be uptight tonight. Maybe he had a nasty letter from his bank manager this morning. Maybe he’s just been sacked. Maybe he’s just learned he’s got some fatal disease . . .’

  ‘Like lung cancer, for example.’

  ‘Quite. But in any case, I think we ought to check the times he gave us with Karen. It won’t do any harm. Jerry Long’s stationed in Reading now. Give him a ring in the morning.’

  ‘With respect, is there any point, sir? Even if she does confirm that she left about 7.30, Covin would still have had plenty of time to get over to the Manifests’ house, if he was involved. That anonymous 999 call didn’t come in until 8.11, as I recall.’

  ‘I know. Still, it’s worth a phone call, I think.’

  ‘OK I’ll ring him first thing. Mind, it’s in Covin’s favour that he made no attempt to hide the fact that he didn’t like Jessica, isn’t it? If he’d had anything to do with her death he’d surely have kept quiet on that score.’

  Thanet pursed his lips. ‘Unless he hoped that’s what we’d think.’

  ‘Bit subtle, for him, don’t you think?’

  ‘Perhaps. You know, if it weren’t for that call to the emergency services we might well have accepted without question that this death was a straightforward accident. But someone made that call and according to the ambulance crew it wasn’t Manifest. When they arrived at 8.26 he told them he’d only just got in.’

  ‘If he’s telling the truth.’

  Never overlook the obvious, thought Thanet. Here was a marriage long gone sour, a husband sorely provoked by his wife. Perhaps they needn’t have bothered to interview Covin at all. Still . . . ‘First thing in the morning check the number that call was made from.’

  ‘I can do it tonight, if you like.’

  ‘No. It’ll keep.’ Thanet had had enough for one day.

  At home, Joan had gone to bed, leaving the light on in the hall. Beside the telephone were two more gaily wrapped parcels which must have been dropped in during the evening. So many had arrived over the last couple of days that Bridget was going to have a positive orgy of present-opening when she got back.

  These reminders of the wedding resurrected Thanet’s worries about his speech and he fell asleep once again rehearsing his proposed opening. His dreams were anxiety-ridden: he was at the reception and first he found that he had mislaid his notes and then, when he finally stood up to address the blurred sea of faces which seemed to stretch away to infinity, he discovered that he had forgotten to put on his trousers.

  Next morning, when he went downstairs to make their tea, he found a Post-it note stuck on the handle of the kettle saying, Check bows on bridesmaids’ dresses and there was another on the mirror in the bathroom saying, Ring printer. Over the last week these little self-reminders had been appearing everywhere. The truth was that with a house to run and her full-time job as a probation officer Joan simply didn’t have time to deal with all these last-minute details and the fact that she was writing them down whenever and wherever they occurred to her was a measure of the strain she was under. Bridget really should have stayed at home this week to give her a hand.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked at breakfast and felt a guilty relief as she shook her head. ‘Well, do try not to overdo it, darling.’

  If only, Thanet thought as he started the car, Alexander’s parents were less upper middle class. It was natural that he and Joan didn’t want to let Bridget down in front of her new in-laws, and equally natural that this anxiety should be an extra pressure upon them both. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting them for the first time at the family dinner which had been arranged for Friday evening at the Black Swan, where the Highmans would be staying and where the reception was to be held next day.

  With a determined effort he put thoughts of the wedding out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the day ahead. At least it looked as though it might be fine. Overnight the clouds which had brought yesterday’s rain had begun to break up and there was a promising brightness to the east.

  Lineham invariably arrived at work before him and today was no exception.

  ‘So,’ said Thanet, taking off his coat. ‘What’s the story? Anything interesting come in from the house-to-house inquiries?’ He sat down at his desk.

  ‘A couple of things. The next-door neighbours are away for a few days, unfortunately, but another neighbour saw a red Volkswagen Polo parked just up the lane around half past seven last night. He passed it when he was coming home.’

  ‘Any details?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, except that it was newish. He said the back was that rounded shape which came in in ’95. Apparently it was only there for a very short while – ten or fifteen minutes, he thinks. He got to thinking it was rather odd, that it should be parked there like that, and looked out again about a quarter of an hour later to check if it was still there. But it was gone.’

  ‘Was there anyone in it?’

  ‘First he said yes, then he said no, then he said he couldn’t be sure because it was dark by then, and he was concentrating on turning into the estate.’

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘However,’ said Lineham, and Thanet could tell that the sergeant was looking forward to imparting the next piece of information. ‘Inquiries at the Green Man turned up some potentially useful stuff. Apparently, because the lane is so narrow, people often use the pub car park even if they’re not paying customers, and, as you can imagine, the publican isn’t too pleased about this. In fact, it makes him hopping mad, and he’s taken to trying to catch them out – not always easy, partly because he’s often busy behind the bar and partly because although he recognises most of the cars belonging to regular customers, when there are strangers in the pub it’s hard to tell whether the cars are legitimately parked or not.

  ‘Anyway, though none of them was there for long, last night there were three cars which didn’t belong to customers – well, one was a pick-up. A white Ford. But there was also a Mercedes which he thinks he’s seen around but which hasn’t actually parked at the pub before, and a Nissan which is apparently a persistent offender. He’d taken the number of that one and I’ve checked it on the computer. Belongs to an Alistair Barcombe who lives in Sturrenden.’

  ‘Excellent. That’s a bit of luck.’

  ‘There’s more. Another neighbour says that she’s seen a young man hanging around lately. She’s been dithering about reporting him to the Neighbourhood Watch but she hasn’t because she thinks he looks familiar and she wondered if in fact he lives somewhere on the estate and she’d be making a fool of herself. Anyway, she’s sure she’s seen him before somewhere, but she can’t think where. Says if she does remember, she’ll let us know.’

  ‘Good. That the lot?’ Thanet glanced at his watch. Time for the morning meeting. ‘It’ll have to wait.’

  The morning meeting was Superintendent Draco’s way of keeping his finger on the pulse of his domain. A fiery little Welshman, he had initially made himself unpopular by the demands he made upon his staff but gradually they had come to regard him with affectionate respect. They had supported him wholeheartedly throughout his wife’s long struggle with leukaemia and had rejoiced with him when against all the odds she had made a good recovery. Draco adored her and now that she was restored to health he was back on the top of his form, crackling with energy and ‘sticking his nose into everything’ as Lineham frequently complained.

  Today, however, the meeting was soon over. Immediately afterwards Draco was leaving for Heathrow. Since 1989, the Foreign Office had been helping Eastern European countries to establish new systems of law and order by examining existing ones and today a group of delegates from Poland was arriv
ing on a two-day visit to study different aspects of the British criminal justice system. Extraordinarily enough, for some reason Thanet could not remember (a Polish grandmother?) Draco spoke Polish and had been asked to accompany the group as an interpreter. Within ten minutes Thanet was back in his office. He plumped down in his chair and said, ‘Where were we, Mike?’

  Lineham put down his pen. ‘Just two more points, sir. One, Doc M. says today’s impossible for the PM. Promises he’ll fit it in first thing tomorrow.’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Ah well, can’t be helped.’

  ‘And the other thing is, I thought you might be interested to know that Louise was at school with Jessica Manifest – Jessica Dander, as she was then.’

  Thanet sat up. Now that was interesting. ‘Was she indeed? What does she have to say about her?’

  ‘That Jessica didn’t mix very well and had the reputation for being unsociable. There were a couple of girls she was friendly with, one in particular, a Juliet Barnes – Juliet Parker then – but on the whole she tended to keep herself to herself.’

  The phone rang and Lineham picked it up. Jerry Long,’ he mouthed at Thanet. ‘Rang him earlier.’

  You couldn’t hope for a much swifter response than that, thought Thanet. Long must have sent someone out to see Karen Covin right away.

  In fact he had gone himself, but Karen was out. He had spoken to her roommate, however, and she had said that Karen had arrived about 10.15 last night, that she had been rather subdued and her roommate suspected an argument with her father.

  ‘Just as we thought,’ said Thanet. ‘Anyway, her arrival time is about right.’

  ‘The roommate was a real chatterbox, apparently,’ said Lineham. Jerry found it hard to get away. She says she and Karen are good friends, go on holiday together and so on. He heard all about their summer holiday hiking in Scotland, their plans to Interrail around Europe next year and go to India the year after. He asked if we’d like him to go back later and speak to Karen herself, but I said no. Was that right?’

  ‘I think so. There doesn’t seem much point at the moment. We can always get back to him if necessary. Did Louise tell you anything else of interest?’

  ‘Well, she did say that Jessica was very bright, and that everyone expected her to go on into the sixth form and probably to university. They were all surprised when she left after her O levels.’

  ‘Does this Juliet Barnes lives locally?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I think so, from the way Louise spoke about her. I could find out.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you want me to ring her now?’

  ‘Oh no, tonight will do. We’ve enough on our plates for today.’

  ‘So,’ said Lineham. ‘What first?’

  ‘I think Desmond Manifest comes top of the list, don’t you?’

  FOUR

  There was a Council transit van parked just beyond the sectioned-off area in front of the Manifests’ house and two workmen were sitting inside drinking from the tops of Thermos flasks and reading tabloid newspapers. A spade and a pickaxe lay near the hole in the road as evidence of good intentions though so far as Thanet could see nothing had yet been done this morning. Beyond was parked a bright red Datsun. Had the next-door neighbours returned? Thanet wondered.

  ‘Hard at it, as usual,’ murmured Lineham as they walked past the van. ‘It makes me mad,’ he went on as they waited on the doorstep for a response to their ring. ‘It’s taxpayers’ money they’re wasting!’

  The door was opened not by either Desmond Manifest or his brother, as Thanet had expected, but by a burly man in his sixties, with greying hair and a square face with an aggressive thrust to the jaw. Desmond’s father, perhaps?

  It was, and he was none too pleased to see them. ‘My son isn’t well enough to talk to you.’ And he started to close the door on them.

  Lineham acted swiftly, stepping forward to hold it open.

  ‘Mr Manifest,’ said Thanet. ‘I don’t think you understand. We really have to speak to your son. If he’s not prepared to talk to us here, I’m afraid he’ll have to accompany us back to Headquarters.’

  Manifest hesitated and then grudgingly stood back to allow them in.

  In the hall stood a diminutive woman with arms folded across her chest and one hand pressed to her mouth. Frightened eyes peered out at them from a shapeless nest of badly permed hair. ‘It’s the police,’ said Manifest. ‘They want to talk to Des. Is he up?’

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘Go and tell him, then.’

  Without a word she turned and scuttled up the stairs.

  ‘You’d better wait in here.’

  By daylight the overcrowded sitting room looked subtly different – shabbier. Now Thanet could detect signs of wear in the upholstery, and the surfaces of the wooden pieces were slightly clouded, as if they hadn’t been polished for a very long time. Strange, he thought, how possessions can say so much about their owners. These spoke of aspirations abandoned, of dreams destroyed, above all of a mistress who didn’t care about them any more. And her husband? Had she cared about him? Or he about her?

  Manifest senior was determined not to be hospitable. He did not invite them to sit down and stood on the threshold, arms folded, watching them intently as if he expected them to pocket the non-existent silver. His attitude was understandable, Thanet told himself, trying not to be irritated by such unwarranted hostility. The man was simply being protective. After all, how would he, Thanet, feel if Ben had suffered a mortal blow? Remember how furious he had been with Alexander when Bridget had been so hurt by his rejection?

  ‘Mr Manifest,’ he said, ‘I can understand your wanting to ensure that your son is not upset any further, but we really do have to speak to him. You must see that.’

  ‘I don’t see nothing of the sort! She fell downstairs, didn’t she? Simple accident. So why all the fuss? Why can’t you leave well alone?’

  ‘Look, sit down for a moment, will you? Please?’ he persisted, as Manifest remained obdurate. ‘Perhaps we ought to explain just why it is so important.’

  Manifest moved at last, reluctantly going to perch on the edge of an upright chair against the wall near the half-open door.

  Thanet glanced at Lineham and they both sat down.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re aware of the circumstances of your daughter-in-law’s death,’ said Thanet.

  His wife entered the room. She moved so quietly Thanet hadn’t heard her come downstairs. ‘He’s getting dressed,’ she said to her husband.

  He acknowledged what she had said with a nod. ‘Go on,’ he said to Thanet.

  ‘Just after ten past eight last night someone phoned the emergency services.’ Blast. He had forgotten to ask Lineham if he had checked the number that call was made from. And Lineham had forgotten to tell him. He glanced at the sergeant and raised his eyebrows, hoping Lineham would understand.

  ‘That call was made from this number,’ said Lineham. ‘By a man.’ Sorry, he signalled to Thanet.

  Was it indeed? thought Thanet.

  ‘And when the ambulance arrived at 8.26, fifteen minutes later,’ Lineham went on, ‘they found your son kneeling over the body. He told them he had just come in.’

  ‘So who made that phone call?’ said Manifest.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Thanet. ‘So you see, the matter is not quite as straightforward as it might appear.’

  ‘I still don’t see why you have to bother Des.’ Manifest glanced up at his wife, who was standing beside him, one hand on his shoulder. They looked, Thanet thought, rather as though they were posing for a Victorian photographer. ‘I can’t see how he can help you, if he wasn’t here when it happened. I don’t want him upset any more than he already is. He’s in a right old state, isn’t he, Iris?’

  She nodded, her thin face a troubled mask.

  ‘Though I can’t say we feel the same. Do we, Mother?’

  A shake of the head this time.

  ‘You weren’t fond of your da
ughter-in-law?’ said Thanet.

  ‘Good riddance, I say. We both do, don’t we?’ Manifest did not wait for a response this time before saying, ‘Nothing but trouble, she brought him.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘With her airs and her graces, wanting this, wanting that. All over him, she was, when he was doing well, but the minute he lost his job . . . He was made redundant, you see. Disgusting, the way it was done, wasn’t it, Iris? Anyway, it was a different story then. Treated him like dirt, she did. You’d think she’d never heard of the marriage vows. For better or for worse, my foot! No, once he’s got over the shock it’ll all be for the best, you’ll see.’

  ‘Dad? What are you saying?’ Desmond Manifest came in. His hair was wet from a shower but he hadn’t bothered to shave and he still looked slightly dazed. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

  Manifest looked discomforted. ‘Nothing much, son. Just chatting to the Inspector here.’

  ‘Yes, well, thank you, Mr Manifest. We’d like to talk to your son now.’

  Manifest didn’t take the hint. He remained seated, as if he were welded to the chair. His wife glanced uneasily at him and then at Thanet. She took her hand from his shoulder and started to move away but he snatched at her skirt to restrain her and gave Thanet a defiant glare.

  ‘Alone,’ said Thanet.

  ‘We have every right to stay.’

  ‘Dad! I’m not a child, you know.’

  Ah, thought Thanet, you may not know it, but you are. To them, anyway, and always will be. ‘If you’d like your parents to stay . . .?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Mr Manifest?’ said Thanet.

  The old man rose reluctantly. ‘If you want us,’ he said to Desmond, ‘we’ll be in the kitchen.’