Close Her Eyes Read online

  ‘And the Truth was …?’

  Lineham consulted his notebook. ‘That only the Children will go to Heaven, the rest of us will be dragged straight off to the other place; that God is one person, Jesus and Jeremiah Jones his prophets, that …’

  ‘Wait a minute. They’re not Christians, then? They do not accept that Christ was the Son of God?’

  ‘Nope. They believe that the only way to be saved is to repent of one’s sins and to strive to obey God according to the laws of the Old Testament. Sickness, according to them, is the penalty for sin. Healing is forgiveness. God is the only physician. And the Devil, Satan, is the chief of evil spirits, the personification of evil.’

  ‘So salvation lies in …’

  ‘Well, repenting of one’s sins, as I said, and then giving a tenth of one’s income to the Church. No smoking, drinking, dancing, no cinema or television, no boy friends or sex before marriage, marriage partners to be found only within the sect … They see life as a continual war against the power of the Devil.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Worship: a typical Sunday will include a morning service comprised of sermon, hymns, prayer and witness—that’s a sort of extempore statement of one’s experiences in relation to one’s religious beliefs—followed in the afternon by discussion groups and in the evening by a confession service, known as The Shriving … Doesn’t leave much scope for people to enjoy themselves, does it! Enough to drive anyone off the rails, I should think, especially the youngsters.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Was that what had happened to Charity, Thanet wondered. If so, there had been no indication of it as yet. But if it had …

  ‘What about you, sir? What did you get from Veronica?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Thanet explained, then went on to fill Lineham in on the interview with Mrs Hodges. ‘No doubt about it, there’s something very odd going on there, Mike.’

  ‘Between Charity and Veronica, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs Hodges is far from being a perceptive woman and of course, she’s very partisan. Veronica’s her only chick and she’s fiercely protective. Jealous of Charity, too, so we have to take everything she says with a grain of salt. All the same, there do seem to be grounds for thinking that Veronica was almost forced into agreeing to go to Dorset with Charity, against her will.’

  ‘You mean, because she begged her mother to allow her to go and then seemed relieved when she couldn’t?’

  ‘Yes. It even occurs to me that the so-called illness might have been psychosomatic.’

  ‘Genuine, though?’

  ‘Oh yes, but with an emotional rather than physical origin. I should have thought it was unusual for girls of that age to throw such a high temperature one day and then be perfectly fit the next. Young kids, yes, but at fifteen …’

  ‘You’re suggesting she was actually afraid to go?’

  ‘Well, it does rather seem that way to me. I think it might be an idea for you to have a chat with the Superintendent, Principal or whatever he’s called, of the Holiday Home, see if anything happened to upset Veronica when she was there at Easter. Do it this afternoon.’

  ‘Right. But in any case, the implication of all this is that Charity had some sort of hold over Veronica, which she was using to make her do something she didn’t want to do.’

  ‘Precisely. And if so, it’ll be very interesting to find out what that hold was. Even more interesting is the avenue of investigation it would open up. If Charity was capable of exerting that degree of pressure on one person, she was presumably capable of exerting it on another.’

  ‘You don’t think you’re being a bit, well …’

  ‘Yes, Mike?’ Thanet grinned. ‘No, don’t bother, I’ll finish for you. “Fanciful” is what you were going to say, I believe?’

  Lineham gave a sheepish grin, but stuck to his guns. ‘Well, don’t you?’

  Thanet had a sudden, vivid mental image of that small crumpled body in her schoolgirlish clothes. He sighed. ‘I know what you mean. And God knows, it’s difficult to see where she could have found opportunities for blackmail, with the sort of life she was leading. By the way, there was another interesting point …’ Thanet told Lineham what Mrs Hodges had said about Charity’s reputation for bad behaviour while at primary school. ‘Come to think of it, it might be worth having a word with the Head of Dene Road School, at some point. If he or she is still there, of course. It was seven or eight years ago.’

  ‘Yes. Though it shouldn’t be too difficult to trace him, even if he’s retired. Unless he’s moved right out of the area and bought himself a cottage with roses around the door in the West Country.’

  ‘Anyway, we might be able to get to the bottom of all this when we see Veronica herself. I’ve arranged to go back this evening. Want to come?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Lineham fervently. ‘And what about the Pritchards? The Jethro Pritchards, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, well, that was interesting too.’ Again, Thanet gave a brief account of the interview.

  ‘Are you saying you think Mrs Pritchard might be a candidate, then?’

  ‘She certainly didn’t hold any brief for Charity, that’s for sure. I know she claims she was in all evening, but whatever she says, once her mother-in-law was tucked up in bed, Mrs Pritchard could easily have slipped out.’

  ‘You mean, with the intention of waylaying Charity on her way home?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But what possible motive could she have had?’

  ‘I can’t begin to guess at the moment. And the same goes for Jethro. But he was definitely out and about at the crucial time, and we must remember that they could easily have found out what time Charity was expected back. They weren’t to know the arrangements for the weekend had been called off.’

  ‘And in any case, Charity obviously planned to arrive home at the same time as she’d originally intended.’

  ‘Quite. I wonder where she was, over the weekend.’

  This was still one of the most intriguing questions of all. There had been no clue in Charity’s shoulder bag—no tickets, receipts, nothing to indicate whether she had stayed locally or travelled further afield, and no word as yet from the ‘friend’ Charity had mentioned to Veronica.

  ‘Come on, Mike, let’s get out of here. I could do with some fresh air.’

  Outside the sun was at its zenith and heat shimmered on the tarmac of the car park.

  ‘Wonder how long this is going to last,’ said Thanet.

  ‘All summer, I hope.’ Lineham, like Thanet, thrived on hot weather. ‘Anyway, you think it’s worth keeping the Jethro Pritchards in mind.’

  ‘They were certainly holding something back. Though it could be quite irrelevant, of course.’

  ‘What about Mrs Hodges?’

  ‘Mmm, well, we can’t dismiss her entirely, I feel. If she thought Charity was a serious threat to her Veronica, she could be pretty fierce, I should imagine.’

  ‘But in that case, she surely wouldn’t have told you any of that stuff about their friendship being peculiar, would she?’

  ‘I don’t know … Come on, Mike, enough speculating for the moment. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

  Back at the office there was a message for Lineham: Your wife rang from the hospital. She’s being kept in. Could you pick up her suitcase (ready-packed in bedroom) and bring it in?

  Lineham showed it to Thanet. ‘They must have kept her in after the clinic this morning. Oh God, what if something’s gone wrong?’

  ‘Come on, Mike, no need to imagine the worst. Perhaps they’re just being careful. And even if she’s gone into premature labour, there’s an excellent chance that the baby’ll be fine. She’s thirty-six weeks, you said?’

  Lineham nodded. ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘There you are, then.’ Thanet could hear the heartiness in his own voice and hated himself for it. Nothing would reassure Lineham but the sight of Louise in apparent good health. Fortunately Louise, a qualified nurse herself, was a sensible girl,
not liable to panic in circumstances such as these. Thanet fervently hoped that nothing was seriously wrong. He glanced at Lineham’s still, set face. He could imagine how he was feeling. Becoming a father for the first time was no joke even when everything was running smoothly. And when it wasn’t …

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he said gently. ‘Go on, on your way.’

  8

  Thanet lit his pipe, sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. The last hour had not been very productive. After Lineham’s departure he had worked his way through the fresh reports awaiting his attention (nothing interesting there), made an unproductive telephone call to the Holiday Home in Dorset (the Principal had been out) and had despatched DC Carson to the railway station to enquire about arrivals last night (so far without result).

  So, what now?

  What he really needed was to talk to someone who could give him an assessment of Charity’s character which was both unbiased and perceptive. Also, someone who could provide information about possible friends. Ah, yes … he reached for the telephone directory.

  He decided to try the school first. In his experience the Heads of large secondary schools invariably spent a considerable part of any holiday catching up on paperwork.

  He was in luck. Yes, Miss Bench was working today, the secretary informed him. And yes, she was free to see him if he so wished. Thanet said that he would be right along.

  His spirits rose as he set off. This was the part of his work that he enjoyed most, the interviewing. No two individuals are alike and the same person may be interviewed by two different people with completely different results. The variables are infinite. This, then, is the detective’s testing ground. Here he must sharpen his perceptions and develop his skills in order to coax out of his witness that one (with luck, more than one) little nugget of information which may appear irrelevant at the time but which might eventually prove crucial to his understanding of the case.

  It had taken Thanet a long time to realise that it wasn’t simply a matter of interviewing technique—though that was important—but something much more subtle: interaction between questioner and questioned. Slowly and painfully, through years of trial and error—especially error—he had come to understand that an interview is rather like an iceberg; only a fraction of it is visible above the surface. A significant aspect of the detective’s task is therefore to watch out for and interpret the minute, unconscious signals which rise to the surface like bubbles of gas in lemonade and betray what lies beneath. Only occasionally did he have the good fortune to come across a witness who was both honest and direct.

  This time he was in luck.

  Miss Bench rose as he was ushered into her study. He had not met her before and his first reaction was one of surprise as his preconceived notions of a headmistress shrivelled and died an instant death. She was a little younger than he—in her early thirties, he guessed, tall and slim. Elegant, too, in a narrow dress of dark blue linen with floppy lace collar and cuffs. Her straight fair hair was cut in what has become known as the Princess Diana style. If Thanet had seen her in the street he would have guessed her to be a high-powered secretary. No, he corrected himself, not a secretary, however high-powered. There was an unmistakable authority in those calm, pale blue eyes, an assumption that the world would shape itself to her command. There’d be no problems of discipline in this school, he thought. He was disconcerted to see that her smile had more than welcome in it, there was amusement, too. She was aware of the effect her appearance was having upon him and was enjoying it.

  They settled themselves in easy chairs on either side of a low coffee table. Evidently she did not need her desk and chair, props of her authority, to bolster her self-confidence.

  She came straight to the point.

  ‘It’s about Charity Pritchard, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was obviously no need to beat about the bush. ‘I wanted to talk to someone who could give me an impartial opinion of her.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Her mouth tucked wryly down at the corners.

  ‘You don’t consider that you qualify for that description?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘You disliked her?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, I can’t say that it doesn’t grieve me to think of the way she died. It does. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.’ There was pain in her eyes, in her quick, fierce frown. ‘But it would be hypocritical to say that I shall mourn her.’ She gave a self-deprecating little smile. ‘I know that teachers are supposed to be above likes and dislikes and I would certainly hope that no personal preferences or prejudices would ever show in my behaviour or distort my judgement. But there it is. Contrary to popular belief, teachers are human, after all.’

  ‘Like policemen.’ Thanet grinned.

  She smiled back. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Tell me why you didn’t like her.’

  Miss Bench sighed, plucked abstractedly at a loose thread on one of the lace cuffs. ‘Ah, now there’s the problem. It’s so difficult to say. Don’t think I haven’t asked myself why, I always do, when I discover an antipathy towards a pupil.’

  Thanet said nothing, waited.

  ‘Usually it’s relatively simple to pinpoint the reason. But in Charity’s case … She’s … she was a model pupil, you see—conscientious, hard-working, well-behaved, I can’t ever recall having to take her to task for bad behaviour. In fact, thinking about it now, I suppose she was almost unnaturally well-behaved. One expects to find even the most decorous of girls occasionally lapsing into some minor breach of discipline. But not Charity.’

  She paused, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. ‘Why didn’t I like her …?’ She shrugged. ‘It was a purely emotional reaction.’

  ‘A gut-reaction.’ But for the first time he sensed that she was being less than frank with him.

  She looked amused. ‘Not quite how I would encourage one of my girls to put it. But yes, that’s it, exactly.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Thanet was silent for a few moments, thinking. Miss Bench waited calmly, sitting back into her armchair and crossing her legs.

  Temporarily distracted, Thanet forced his attention away from those shapely planes of nylon-clad flesh (her shoes were prettily feminine too, he noticed, high-heeled, strappy sandals) and tried to feel his way into understanding the qualities for which this woman would have an instinctive dislike. They would probably be character traits diametrically opposite to those which she valued in herself. Which would be …?

  He saw her blink, no doubt at the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said.

  ‘So I gathered.’ She gave a wry grin. ‘Did you reach any conclusions?’

  He had. ‘Would you say that Charity was devious?’

  She hesitated. ‘I suspect she was,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Untrustworthy?’

  ‘I suppose so. Well, yes, then. Potentially, anyway. Oh dear.’ She gave a shamefaced little laugh and lifted her hands helplessly. ‘I can’t help feeling rather guilty, talking about her in this way.’

  ‘Because you don’t like speaking ill of the dead, you mean?’

  So that was the reason for her reticence just now. He had thought her too objective to be influenced by so universal an irrationality.

  She tuned in disconcertingly on what he was thinking. ‘I know you’ll say it’s irrational to feel this way, but I’m not so sure. One is always aware that the dead have no right of reply, that they can’t defend themselves and never will be able to again. And when someone has died as Charity did, a victim of violence, it almost seems as though one is compounding the crime by blackening all that is now left to her, her reputation.’

  Strange that he had never thought of it in quite this way before. He was impressed by her natural delicacy, almost felt himself rebuked for insensitivity. Not that he could allow himself to be influenced by such scruples, of course—his job would become virtually impossible if he did—b
ut he was inclined to respect hers. Ignoring the little voice which whispered that he could afford to be magnanimous because he had got what he wanted and forced her to betray her true opinion of Charity, he said, ‘We’ll talk about something else, then. Tell me about her friendship with Veronica.’

  This was easier for her. She relaxed.

  ‘It’s interesting that you should ask about that. It has always puzzled me, that friendship. On the surface they’re so very different—or perhaps I should say, were very different. I’m not using the past tense because of Charity’s death, you understand.’

  ‘Veronica changed, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because of Charity’s influence?’

  Miss Bench considered. ‘I’m just not sure.’ She hesitated again. ‘It’s difficult to tell. Certainly the initial change was … Perhaps I’d better explain. I took up my post here two years ago last September. It was my first Headship and of course it was a busy time for me, picking up the reins and generally establishing myself. For some months most of the girls were just a blur—we have over seven hundred pupils here and it is quite impossible to get to know them all at once. But I did notice Veronica because she was always bubbling over—a bit silly, giggly, but invariably bright, cheerful. She was always the centre of a noisy group—I suppose her high spirits were infectious. And then, towards the end of that first term, early in the December, her father was killed. It was a hit and run affair and the man was never caught. A very sad business altogether. I understand that they’d been a very close family, the Hodges, that Veronica was the only child and they’d both adored her. The suddenness of her father’s death absolutely devastated her. Overnight she became quiet, withdrawn—sullen, almost. I talked to her, of course, tried to help her, but without success. I told myself that time would help, that she’d come out of it gradually, but somehow she never has.’