Dead on Arrival Page 9

  Lineham put the car into gear and it leapt forward. ‘Louise won’t be able to believe her eyes,’ he said.

  TEN

  As soon as he walked into the kitchen Thanet knew that something was wrong. Joan smiled a greeting, returned his kiss as usual, but after fourteen years of marriage he wasn’t fooled. By now he could read every nuance of her moods. Something had seriously upset her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  She pulled a face. She was mashing potatoes and she added margarine and a generous seasoning of freshly ground black pepper before putting the lid back on the saucepan and turning to face him.

  ‘It’s Ben. I got home a bit early and Bridget said he was around at Tom’s, so I went over to fetch him. I thought it was time he got started on his homework. Marjorie wasn’t there and the boys – about half a dozen of them – were watching a video.’ She paused. ‘Driller Killer.’

  ‘No!’ Thanet had seen excerpts from this film and had been disgusted by them. In his work he came across much to sicken and appal, but the presentation of such sadistic and vicious material as entertainment was, he felt, one of the most pernicious evils of the modern age.

  ‘Yes. I couldn’t believe it. I was furious, as you can imagine. I really read the riot act, insisted they turn it off and give it to me.’ She reached up and took the cassette off a shelf, showed it to him.

  ‘Fortunately they’d only watched about five minutes of it. I can’t imagine what Marjorie will say.’

  ‘How did they get hold of it?’

  ‘One of the older boys at school hired it to them, makes a profit, apparently, by sub-hiring … Oh Luke, what are we going to do? I can’t believe that Ben would want to see this stuff.’

  ‘What does he say about it?’

  Joan shrugged. ‘That he didn’t know what it was going to be about … That everybody watches them …’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In his room.’

  ‘Right. Give that to me.’ Thanet turned and marched upstairs, tiredness forgotten, his mind a cauldron of seething emotion: shock that Ben should wish to participate in such undesirable behaviour, fear that his son’s mind might already have been irrevocably corrupted, and the despair familiar to all parents trying to bring their children up decently in the face of the winds of evil which sweep across the face of contemporary society. Finally, there was anger, with Ben for letting him down, with the irresponsible senior who had provided the film and, above all, with himself. Where had he gone wrong? Somewhere along the line he had failed his children.

  Ben’s door was shut. Usually, Thanet knocked before entering, but tonight he flung it open and walked right in.

  Ben was sitting at his desk, books spread about, apparently hard at work. He looked around apprehensively.

  Thanet held up the cassette. ‘So this is what you get up to behind our backs.’

  Ben flinched.

  ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Well?’

  Ben compressed his lips, struggled not to cry.

  Oh God, what shall I do? Show me the right thing to do, the right thing to say … One thing was certain, anger would get him nowhere, could only be destructive. Thanet sank down on to the edge of the bed, and put his head in his hands. He shouldn’t have come rushing upstairs like that. He should have taken time, first, to consider the best way to tackle the problem.

  Silence.

  Eventually Thanet looked up. Ben was sitting staring miserably down at the floor. The sight of his normally patient and tolerant father in a towering rage had evidently subdued him as nothing else could. Thanet couldn’t ever remember being so angry with his son before. Perhaps, after all, it had been a good idea to let Ben see just how much the incident had upset him. The thought was encouraging. How best to capitalise on it, that was the problem.

  ‘OK, Ben, the storm’s over. Let’s try and get this sorted out. Come here.’ Thanet patted the bed beside him.

  Sullenly, Ben complied.

  ‘Now then, let’s begin by hearing your side of the story.’

  ‘What’s the point? You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. If I had, why would I be bothering to ask you to tell me?’

  Ben shrugged. ‘To make it look as though you’re trying to be fair? So I’ll agree to whatever it is you decide to do.’

  Bang on target. Thanet was shaken, and experienced an uncomfortable mixture of pride and alarm. For his eleven-year-old son to show such perception was one thing; to have to take it into account in dealing with him was another. He’d always tried to be honest with the children, to enable them to understand his motivation, the reasons for his behaviour. Now the chickens were coming home to roost with a vengeance.

  ‘To a certain extent that’s true. But it’s not just that I want it to look as though I’m being fair. I want to be fair. Do you believe that?’

  Ben looked directly at Thanet for the first time, studied his face. At last he nodded.

  ‘Good. So come on, then, tell me how all this came about.’

  There wasn’t much to tell. One of the senior boys had discovered the profitable side-line of hiring videos overnight and then renting them out to groups of boys in the school for more than one showing, before returning them to the shop next day. Business was thriving. If a number of boys clubbed together, it could cost only twenty-five to fifty pence to see a film. The trouble was, he was allowing the younger boys to hire from him videos which by law they were too young to rent. Driller Killer was a case in point.

  ‘So how often have you joined in watching these things?’

  ‘Three, no, four times. But,’ Ben added hastily, ‘they haven’t been like this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’ve been the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind me seeing. Star Wars, stuff like that.’

  Relief washed through Thanet’s entire body, leaving a weakness in his legs, a slight dizziness which briefly blurred his vision. He was reminded of the time a year or two ago when one of Ben’s friends had died of glue-sniffing, and Thanet had learnt that his son’s involvement had been only peripheral.

  ‘Good. In that case, things aren’t quite as bad as we thought.’

  Thanet stood up and walked across to Ben’s desk, seeing but not taking in the scatter of text and exercise books. He turned and looked at his son who was now watching him hopefully. ‘The question is, what do I do now? I’ll be frank with you, I’m not certain of the best way to deal with this. There are several alternatives. I could put you across my knee and give you a good walloping. But that’s not my way, as you well know. I never have thought force a constructive way of imposing discipline … I could punish you by saying right, no supper and early to bed, but in my mind this is too important an issue to deal with in such a short-term manner … Or I could say, right, if this is the way you use the pocket money we give you and the freedom we allow you, we’ll take both away, get a baby-sitter in to stay with you after school until one or other of us gets home …’

  Ben didn’t like this prospect one little bit, he could tell.

  ‘But to be honest, I’m not keen on that idea either, and I’ll tell you why.’ Thanet returned to the bed and sat down again.

  ‘You see, Ben, the only kind of result I’m interested in is a long-term one, the only kind of discipline the sort that comes from within. Within you, that is … What worries me most of all about this business is that we trusted you, your mother and I, and you have betrayed that trust … Oh, I know you may think I’m making an awful fuss about something pretty trivial – what’s one film, after all – but it’s the principle, you see … Yes? What were you going to say?’

  Ben had looked up as if in protest.

  ‘I’m not sure why you are – making such a fuss, I mean. I know, from the bit we did see, that that,’ and he nodded at the cassette whic
h lay on the bed between them, ‘isn’t the sort of thing you and mum’d approve of, but I can’t see why it’s that bad.’

  Thanet glanced at the cassette. ‘Can’t you? The best way I can put it is to say that we, your mother and I, believe that this sort of thing,’ and he tapped the plastic casing with a fingernail, ‘is a sort of poison. It is slow and insidious and, what is worse, it is addictive, like heroin or cocaine, the difference being that it affects the mind.’ He sighed. ‘I know a lot of people don’t agree with us, but parents can only bring their children up in what they feel is the right way, and your mother and I don’t want you to have a mind like an open sewer, which is what you would have if you kept pouring this sort of stuff into it. And the process is irreversible, you see. Once these disgusting images are inside your head, they’re there for good. And, however much you might laugh off the idea, they are bound to influence your behaviour. Personally I really do believe that a great deal of the mindless violence we are seeing nowadays against the weaker members of our society, the old and the handicapped, is a result of children’s minds being warped and twisted by watching this kind of thing. Now do you understand why I’m making such a fuss about it?’

  Ben sat for a while, thinking. ‘I suppose so,’ he said at last, reluctantly.

  Thanet stood up. ‘Well, I think we’ll leave it there, for the moment. Supper’s nearly ready, and afterwards I’d like you to have a quiet think about what I’ve said, and we’ll talk about it again another time. OK?’

  Downstairs Joan was waiting anxiously.

  ‘Well?’

  Thanet grimaced. ‘I don’t think too much harm’s been done. It’s the first time he’s seen anything like this, and I think I’ve managed to convince him that it’s not a desirable activity …’

  ‘Thank goodness … I suppose this sort of problem is going to get worse and worse, as they get older.’

  Thanet put his arms around her. ‘We can only lurch from crisis to crisis and hope for the best,’ he said, smiling.

  She laid her head against his shoulder. ‘Oh, Luke, I feel so guilty.’

  He drew back a little, to study her face. ‘You do. Why?’

  ‘If I hadn’t gone back to work … I’d be here, every afternoon, to welcome them home from school. I sometimes wonder what on earth I think I’m doing. Most of my work is with people who’ve suffered in varying degrees from parental neglect, and here I am, subjecting my own children to the same thing.’

  A tiny voice inside Thanet said, She’s right, you know. You’ve thought this all along. ‘Nonsense,’ he said, with as much conviction as he could muster. ‘You’re getting things out of proportion. You know perfectly well that our children aren’t in the least neglected, and anyway they are old enough, now, and should be responsible enough, to be left for an hour or so in the evening without getting into trouble.’

  But she knew him too well. ‘There’s no point in pretending, Luke. Whatever you say, I know you agree with me, underneath. You never did want me to go back to work, did you?’

  ‘Darling, please. Not that old chestnut again.’ He glanced at his watch. Five to eight, already. So much for his relaxing supper at home. ‘I hate to say it, but in twenty minutes Mike is picking me up, for an eight-thirty appointment …’

  ‘Oh …’ At once she was contrite, the dutiful wife, and in five minutes they were all seated in the dining room, the picture of a united, happy family. Thanet was relieved to see that tonight they were to be spared the doubtful pleasure of enjoying once again the pork chops with mint which was Sprig’s choice of a main course for the competition. The first time he had thought it delicious, as he had on the second occasion, too. By the third his enthusiasm was waning and after that … well, after that it had become a matter of stoicism.

  His enjoyment of tonight’s steak and mushroom pie was marred, however, by the fact that Ben was only picking at his food. Joan glanced at Ben and made a face at Thanet, pulling down the corners of her mouth and raising her eyebrows.

  Thanet shook his head. Ben was best left well alone at the moment, he felt.

  ‘Are you all ready for Saturday, Sprig?’

  ‘Oh Dad, I do wish you’d stop calling me that.’

  ‘Why? I always have.’

  ‘It’s so babyish. I’m thirteen now, Dad.’

  ‘Quite an old lady,’ he said smiling.

  ‘I’m serious. I do wish you’d stop.’

  ‘All right, if you really want me to.’ But he felt sad, as if he were finally waving goodbye to Sprig’s childhood. ‘Anyway, are you? All ready?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘She’s checked her list and her equipment at least six times already,’ said Joan, smiling. ‘I must say it’ll be a relief to have the kitchen clear again.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be glad to get it over with, now,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Sort of, I suppose.’ Bridget frowned. ‘In a way. It’s exciting, though. Just think, three days from now it’ll all be over.’ She looked anxiously at her father. ‘You are coming, aren’t you, Dad?’

  ‘You know I can’t be absolutely certain, love. But I do promise that I’ll do my very, very best to be there.’

  Bridget knew he meant it and nodded, satisfied.

  Thanet tried to look pleased as the by-now-ritual lemon flummery was brought to the table. ‘That looks most attractive, Spr … Bridget.’

  ‘You think so?’ She frowned anxiously at her latest attempt at decorating it, an exquisitely accurate reproduction of the emblem of Kent, the white horse, rampant.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ said Joan, ‘I meant to tell you … I ran into Louise today, in the town.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Thanet, between mouthfuls. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Very well, physically. And the baby’s gorgeous.’

  ‘But?’

  Joan pulled a face. ‘They’re having problems with her mother-in-law again. The house next door but one to them has been put up for sale, and guess what?’

  ‘Oh, no.’

  Thanet was appalled on Lineham’s behalf. Mrs Lineham senior had always been demanding, obtrusive, disruptive of her son’s life. Just over a year ago the young couple had moved, taking themselves out of her immediate orbit, and Thanet remembered wondering at the time how long it would be before she followed them.

  ‘I thought, as she hadn’t shown any signs of moving till now, she was resigned to their being further away.’

  ‘Apparently not. She’s just been waiting for something in Market Cut to come up. It’s not certain yet, though, apparently. She may not get enough for her present house, to be able to afford the new one.’

  ‘Or someone might beat her to it.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, for their sake.’

  The door bell rang.

  Thanet scraped up his last spoonful of lemon flummery and wiped his mouth. ‘That’ll be Mike, now.’

  ELEVEN

  In the car Thanet lit his pipe. There wouldn’t be time for a proper smoke but it would help him to relax. Automatically, Lineham wound down his window. The sergeant seemed subdued, Thanet thought. Perhaps Louise had been going on at him about his mother. Thanet admired the way in which Lineham coped with the two women in his life, both of whom were pretty strong characters, but he didn’t envy him the delicate juggling act he was perpetually called upon to perform to keep them both happy. Thanet sometimes wondered why Lineham hadn’t chosen a wife with a meeker, more complaisant personality. Perhaps the sergeant needed that edge of conflict in his life. If so, he must get more than he bargained for at times like this, when the interests of wife and mother were diametrically opposed.

  ‘You managed to make the appointment, I presume?’

  ‘More or less. May was out when I rang at seven, but his wife was expecting him home at any minute. So he’s sure to be there by now.’

  ‘Good steak and kidney pie?’

  ‘Smashing,’ said Lineham, with an obvious effort at enthusiasm.

  The sergeant obviously w
asn’t in the mood to talk and they drove in silence to Merridew Road.

  The Christopher Mays lived on an enormous private housing estate which had been under construction for several years now, and was still uncompleted. There had been a tremendous outcry from conservationists when planning permission had first been sought, but it had been granted, nevertheless, and there had been mutterings about string-pulling, undue influence and back-scratching ever since. Even at night, however, it was obvious that a considerable effort had been made to make the place visually attractive. The houses and bungalows varied in size and design, and were set back at different distances from the road, and at varying angles to each other. This section must have been one of the first to be completed; the gardens here were already well-established, the young trees more than mere saplings.

  Number 26 was one of the cheaper properties, a semidetached house of modest size. There were lights in the hall and sitting room, and a wrought-iron lantern over the front door illuminated the path of crazy paving.

  ‘Looks as though he might still be out, sir. There’s no car in the garage.’

  The garage doors were open, in readiness for the return of their owner.

  Thanet tapped his pipe out on the heel of his shoe. ‘Never mind. I’d like to talk to his wife anyway.’

  The girl who answered the door looked absurdly young, more like a child playing at being a housewife, an impression heightened by her Alice-in-Wonderland hair which streamed down her back and framed her small, pointed face.

  ‘Mrs May?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My sergeant rang you earlier to make an appointment to see your husband.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid he’s not home yet.’

  ‘You’re expecting him shortly?’

  ‘Yes, he should have got back some time ago.’

  ‘Could we wait for him?’

  She hesitated. ‘May I see your identification?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Thanet approved of her caution. He handed over his card.

  She held it up to the light, actually looked at it properly before handing it back. So many people just gave it a cursory glance.