Once Too Often Page 7

  Thanet and Lineham laughed.

  ‘So,’ said Thanet. ‘This softer side –’

  The telephone rang. ‘For you, Inspector,’ said Anderson, handing it over.

  The Manifests’ next-door neighbours had returned and were at Headquarters, asking to speak to Thanet. He glanced at his watch. He was almost finished here. ‘Tell them I can be back by around 2.45. Apologise for keeping them waiting and suggest they go and do a bit of shopping or something.’ He handed the receiver back. What had he been saying? ‘This softer side. It came over in what she wrote?’

  ‘Yes. Especially when she was working with disabled people, or those who had suffered a tragedy or were in some terrible predicament. Nowadays our reporters do a tremendous amount of their work by phone, but sometimes we want pictures and personal interviews, and photographers who’ve worked on those sort of stories with Jessica tell me she was a different person when she was talking to people like that. And I suspect that was because she found it easy to relate to them, because underneath she may have felt just as vulnerable as they are. Perhaps she had a tough time as a kid, I don’t know.’

  ‘She came to the KM straight after her O levels. I imagine that’s pretty unusual nowadays.’

  ‘Oh yes! Very rarely happens any more. There’s tremendous competition for jobs in journalism, even among graduates; a prospective employer can usually pick and choose. But – what? – twenty years ago it was a different matter. The office was based at Larkfield in those days and she’d have been taken on as an editorial assistant – that’s a grandiose title for someone who runs errands and makes the tea, draws up the chemists’ rotas and so on. Then I imagine she’d have graduated to junior reporter, perhaps in another paper within the group, and probably have moved around a bit before ending up here.’

  ‘How did she get on with the opposite sex?’

  Anderson smiled. ‘That’s an interesting question.’ He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on. ‘She wasn’t above turning on the charm when she wanted something, but she definitely didn’t put out signals that she was available, so to speak.’

  ‘Some men regard that as a challenge.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘But to your knowledge none of them got anywhere?’

  An emphatic shake of the head. ‘No. And when she married Desmond, of course, the comment was that she had obviously been saving herself for someone rather better off than a mere reporter. Not that we didn’t feel sorry for her when it all fell apart.’

  ‘Did her husband’s unemployment make any difference to her work?’

  ‘I’d say she was a little more . . . driven, I suppose is the word. I imagine she felt it was especially important that she keep her job, as she was now the breadwinner.’

  ‘Did she ever talk about it?’

  ‘No. If she’d wanted to, there were a number of sympathetic ears around. But we didn’t feel it was up to us to broach the subject. It’s a pretty sensitive issue, after all.’

  Thanet thought of the made-up single bed in the Manifests’ back bedroom, of the solitary pillow in the marital bed. ‘We understand the situation was a considerable strain on her marriage. Do you happen to know if she looked for consolation elsewhere?’

  For the first time Anderson hesitated.

  ‘What?’ said Thanet.

  He chewed the inside of his lip. ‘I don’t want to drop anyone in it unnecessarily.’

  Thanet sighed. ‘There’s not much point in holding anything back. We’ll find out in the end anyway. It’ll just take longer, that’s all.’

  He shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s true. Well, the rumour was she was having an affair with Adam Ogilvy, the estate agent.’

  Thanet knew at once who he meant. Ogilvy was a well-known figure in the area. ‘He drives a silver Mercedes, doesn’t he?’ The charge of adrenaline made it difficult for Thanet to keep his tone casual and refrain from exchanging glances with Lineham.

  But Anderson was no fool. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t say at the moment.’

  They learnt nothing more of interest, either from going through Jessica’s desk or from talking to the receptionist, who merely confirmed what Anderson had told them about the former reporter’s relationships with her work mates.

  ‘So,’ said Lineham, the minute they were out in the street. ‘Adam Ogilvy, eh? Car owner number two by the look of it.’

  ‘Yes. Looks as though you were right about the lover after all. No need to say, “I told you so”!’

  Lineham grinned. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.’

  ‘Though it’s beyond belief that Manifest went out in the evenings so as to leave his wife’s lover a clear field!’

  ‘Sounds like it, though, from all that “Why was he there when he should have been here” stuff.’

  ‘Well, we’ll find out sooner or later, no doubt.’

  ‘I assume we’ll go and see him now? Ogilvy?’

  ‘We have to go back to the office first.’ Thanet told Lineham about the appointment with Manifest’s neighbours.

  ‘I wonder what’s made them come rushing into town to see us the minute they got back,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out.’

  SIX

  Back at Headquarters a uniformed constable on his way out gave them a wide grin and there was more than a hint of amusement in Pater’s greeting when they inquired about Manifest’s neighbours.

  ‘The Bartons? They’re in interview room four. They didn’t go into the town, said they were quite happy to wait.’ Pater exchanged a conspiratorial look with a colleague.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Thanet.

  Pater’s smile broadened. ‘You can see for yourself, sir. They’re . . . er . . . meditating.’

  Thoroughly intrigued by now Thanet and Lineham went straight to interview room four and opened the door. The Bartons were both standing on their heads, side by side against the far wall. Their eyes were closed and they gave no sign that they had heard anyone come in. Thanet cleared his throat and when that had no effect said, ‘Mr and Mrs Barton?’

  Their eyes opened in unison and they righted themselves with an ease he guessed was born of long practice, landing up side by side as if awaiting further instruction. They were in their sixties and quite remarkably alike – could certainly have been taken for brother and sister. They both had slightly hooked noses, deep-set eyes and sported identical hairstyles. They were dressed alike, too, in maroon tracksuits with navy trim, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that one of them was slightly smaller than the other and had two unmistakable bulges in her upper torso, Thanet might well have thought them both male. ‘I believe you wanted to see me.’ He introduced himself and Lineham. ‘Sit down, won’t you? I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

  ‘Oh, not at all, Inspector. We really didn’t mind. We have many ways of improving the shining hour, haven’t we, Ellie?’

  His wife nodded vigorously. ‘It really didn’t matter at all.’

  Thanet waited until everyone was settled, then said, ‘So, how can I help you?’

  They exchanged glances and then Barton said, ‘We thought we ought to come and see you –’

  ‘About Jessica, being as we’re next-door neighbours –’

  ‘And hearing the police were involved –’

  ‘And that it might not have been an accident.’ Mrs Barton finished what turned out to be the first joint sentence of many and they looked at Thanet expectantly.

  ‘Quite,’ he said, wondering if this double act was the norm.

  Barton leaned forward confidentially. ‘Only being so close you can’t help hearing –’

  ‘And seeing –’

  ‘What’s going on,’ finished Barton.

  ‘Of course,’ said Lineham.

  Mrs Barton screwed up her face anxiously. ‘We mean, we wouldn’t want you to think we’re the type who spend all their time –’

  ‘Looking over the neighbou
rs’ wall.’

  They gazed at Thanet earnestly.

  ‘We quite understand,’ said Thanet. ‘The houses are very close together.’

  ‘And the gardens!’ said Mrs Barton. ‘They’re very close too. In the summer –’

  ‘You just can’t avoid overhearing.’

  ‘And we like Desmond,’ said his wife. ‘He’s there much more than she is – was –’

  ‘So naturally, we see much more of him.’

  ‘Both of us being retired.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Thanet agreed.

  ‘And we felt sorry for him,’ said Mr Barton.

  Thanet felt the first quickening of his pulse. ‘Oh? Why was that?’

  ‘We’re not gossips, you know,’ said Mrs Barton. ‘I mean, we’ve never breathed a word of this –’

  ‘Not to anyone. But we think we were probably the only ones to know. And we wanted you to understand –’

  ‘What she was really like.’

  ‘They say the police always suspect the husband first, don’t they?’ Mrs Barton gave hers a fond glance. ‘Though why that should be I can’t imagine.’

  Barton reached across to squeeze her hand. ‘Not everyone is as lucky as us, my dear. And in any case, we know Desmond is in the clear.’

  ‘He was out for a walk, he told us.’

  ‘Lucky for him, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Awful for him to come back and find . . . find . . .’ Mrs Barton shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  Patience, Thanet told himself. We’ll get there in the end. Let them tell it their own way. They obviously had scruples to overcome and this was never easy.

  ‘Still,’ said her husband, ‘I suppose it’s not surprising, in the circumstances.’

  They needed a little prod. ‘What circumstances?’

  There was a brief silence and then Mrs Barton leaned forward and said in a hushed tone, ‘She was carrying on, you see.’

  ‘And not behind his back, either.’

  Their indignation was gathering pace.

  ‘Openly!’

  ‘Disgraceful, it was. The fellow would come to the house –’

  ‘When Desmond was there –’

  ‘When we knew he was there.’

  ‘And once or twice –’

  ‘If we were just coming back from a walk –’

  ‘We’d see the bedroom light go on –’

  ‘Just after he arrived –’

  ‘And we’d see them both –’

  ‘This man and her –’

  ‘Both up there –’

  ‘Bold as brass.’

  ‘It was awful,’ said Mr Barton.

  ‘So humiliating.’

  ‘In the end Desmond took to going out just before he arrived. We didn’t blame him, did we, Ellie?’

  She shook her head. ‘Poor man.’

  ‘Do you know who this man was?’ said Thanet.

  ‘Drives a great big silver car,’ said Mrs Barton.

  ‘A Mercedes.’

  Ogilvy. Further confirmation that the rumour Anderson had heard was correct.

  ‘I wonder why none of the other neighbours have mentioned him,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Television!’ Mr Barton almost spat the word out. ‘We won’t have one in the house.’

  His wife was nodding. ‘Got better things to do with our time, haven’t we, love.’

  ‘And he always came in the evenings when they’d be glued to Coronation Street or some other such rubbish.’

  ‘That’s why we said we thought we were probably the only ones to know. We’ve never heard a word about it from anyone else.’

  ‘How long had this been going on?’ said Thanet.

  They consulted each other with a glance.

  ‘Four months?’ said Barton.

  ‘Four or five,’ said his wife.

  ‘Well,’ said Thanet, starting to get up, ‘thank you very much. We appreciate your taking the time and trouble to come in. You’ve been most helpful.’

  They didn’t move.

  He sat down again. ‘There’s something else you wanted to tell us?’

  Another wordless consultation.

  Shall we?

  We did agree.

  ‘Well,’ said Barton hesitantly, ‘as a matter of fact there was.’

  ‘And we’re absolutely certain no one else knew about this, either.’

  ‘We never realised such things went on.’

  ‘Shocked, we were, that first time we found out about it.’

  They stopped.

  ‘About what?’ said Thanet gently. This was hard for them, he could see that. They certainly weren’t aiming for dramatic effect and there was no pleasure for them in the telling either.

  But they had to make an oblique approach.

  ‘We were in the garden, weren’t we, Ellie? A lovely day it was, so peaceful.’

  ‘We’d been working hard all afternoon –’

  ‘And we sat down for a cup of tea.’

  ‘And then she started,’ whispered Mrs Barton. ‘Shouting–’

  ‘Screaming –’

  ‘Terrible things.’

  ‘Horrible.’

  ‘They were inside at first –’

  ‘In the kitchen –’

  ‘But then they came out –’

  ‘Into the garden –’

  ‘And we heard this noise, didn’t we, Bill. A sort of –’

  ‘A thwacking sound. That’s what it was.’

  ‘At first we thought one of them was beating a carpet –’

  ‘With one of those old-fashioned carpet beaters, you know?’

  ‘But then we began to wonder –’

  ‘Because it wasn’t a dry thud, it was a wet thud –’

  ‘If you see what we mean.’

  ‘And all the while she was calling him names –’

  ‘Saying how useless he was –’

  ‘And the thuds were coming in between every word.’

  ‘So naturally we couldn’t help wondering what on earth was going on.’

  ‘Desmond wasn’t making a sound.’

  ‘And there’s a gap in the fence.’

  ‘A sort of broken bit.’

  ‘So we went and looked through.’

  They paused – not, Thanet thought again, for effect. They were genuinely reluctant to say what they had seen. By now, of course, he had guessed what it was and so, he suspected, had Lineham. He gave an encouraging nod.

  Mr Barton leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if by doing so he could diminish the shocking nature of what he was about to reveal. ‘She was hitting him,’ he said. ‘With a rolled-up towel. We think it was wet.’

  ‘It made this horrible squelchy noise every time it hit him.’

  ‘And he was just standing there –’

  ‘With his shoulders hunched –’

  ‘And his hands over his head –’

  ‘To protect it.’

  ‘If I hadn’t seen it,’ said Barton, ‘I wouldn’t have believed it. A grown man, just standing there and taking it, like that!’

  ‘In the end she just flung the towel on the ground and stalked back into the house. I could never feel the same about her after that.’

  ‘When was this?’ said Lineham.

  ‘Not long after they moved in,’ said Barton. ‘Three years ago?’

  ‘And this wasn’t the only incident of this kind you noticed, I gather?’ said Thanet.

  ‘No. The only reason we’re telling you is because we wanted you to know –’

  ‘What she was like when she lost her temper.’

  ‘Someone else might not have been so ready to put up with it –’

  ‘Being treated like that.’

  ‘Someone like her fancy man, for instance.’

  ‘And if they had an argument –’

  ‘At the top of the stairs –’

  ‘It would only need a little push –’

  ‘If you caught her off balance.’

  ‘Qu
ite,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Well,’ said Lineham when they had gone. ‘So Desmond was a battered husband. That’s a turn-up for the book, isn’t it? And what a pair! I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘I suppose it’s called being of one mind,’ said Thanet with a grin.

  ‘You can say that again. They obviously carry on like that all the time. And I really don’t think it even entered their heads that they were making things look black for Desmond!’

  ‘I know. It certainly gives him an even stronger motive. In fact he seems to have had plenty of provocation, one way and the other.’

  ‘She sounds a nasty bit of work to me. Flaunting her lover like that.’

  Thanet grinned. ‘Flaunting. That’s a good old-fashioned word, Mike. But I agree. Not very nice.’

  ‘What gets me is that he put up with it! The beatings, too! It just shows how little you know about other people. I’d never have put him down for such a wimp!’

  ‘Anyway, I think we can take it now that a lot of what we guessed was correct. She did have a lover and Manifest did go out for walks in the evening because he wanted to avoid him. So let’s say, for the sake of argument, that that’s what happened last night, that he had nothing to do with her death and he’s telling the truth when he says he went out around 7.20 and didn’t get back until just before the ambulance –’

  ‘Meanwhile lover-boy turns up on his white horse, so to speak. But he can’t park in front of the house because of the hole in the road, so he parks at the pub instead, where his car is noticed by the owner.’

  ‘Why didn’t he simply park further up the road?’

  Lineham’s mouth turned down at the corners and he raised his shoulders. ‘Because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself and people in a street like that always tend to notice cars that are parked directly in front of their houses?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Thanet conceded.

  ‘Anyway, when he gets to Jessica’s house Desmond has already left. They go up to the bedroom as usual, but they have a row. They argue, she falls, he’s horrified and dials 999 for an ambulance. Then he scarpers to the pub, to give himself an alibi –’