Doomed to Die Page 9

  ‘I think that you were perhaps less than frank with us last night, Mr Master.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Wary.

  ‘We’ve just interviewed your next-door neighbour, Mr Swain.’

  Master’s eyes darkened, his teeth clenched. ‘So?’ Slowly he straightened up. Despite his distress his instinct for self-preservation was asserting itself.

  ‘So he too is sporting a black eye.’

  Master shrugged. ‘Coincidence.’ It was a poor attempt at nonchalance. He must realise that Swain would have had no reason to conceal the truth.

  ‘That’s not what Mr Swain says.’

  ‘Really, Inspector!’ Mrs Master cut in, eyes flashing. ‘What are you implying? That my son and this … person, have been in some sort of vulgar brawl?’

  ‘Ma, please! If you’re going to keep interrupting –’

  ‘I am not “keeping interrupting”! It’s the first time I’ve spoken! And I was merely pointing out the unlikelihood –’

  ‘Ma,’ said Master wearily. ‘Shut up. And if you can’t shut up, perhaps you’d better go. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He waited for a moment to see if she would follow his suggestion, but she didn’t move, just compressed her lips as if to prevent errant words escaping and sat back in her chair folding her arms. Nothing will make me leave if I don’t want to.

  Thanet was interested. He wondered just how much Master had told his mother. He had obviously not confided in her.

  Master turned back to Thanet. ‘I take your point, Inspector. I can see there’s no point in denying it. Yes, Swain and I did have a fight. On Saturday night.’ He cast a warning glance at his mother, who had just opened her mouth.

  She shut it again.

  He picked up one of the table napkins and begun rolling the corner between his fingers.

  His mother could restrain herself no longer. Her hand shot out to grasp his arm, red talons digging into flesh. ‘Why?’ she demanded fiercely. She gave his arm a little shake. ‘Why did you have a fight?’

  She looked eager, Thanet thought, as if she were about to receive some news for which she had been waiting a long, long time.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ He erupted out of his chair, tossing her hand off his arm so violently that she rocked back in her chair. ‘Can’t you guess what all this is about? They were having an affair! Perdita and Swain were having an affair! Perhaps now you’ll be satisfied!’

  She too jumped up and stood facing him. In profile, thus, the family resemblance was unmistakeable. Her expression was of apparent disbelief. But she was a bad actress, Thanet thought. He could almost feel the satisfaction which was vibrating through her, lending her words of denial a spurious passion. ‘Satisfied? What do you mean, satisfied?’

  ‘You never did like her, did you? Ha! That’s putting it mildly. You couldn’t stand her, could you? You may have thought I didn’t realise what you were up to, but don’t think I didn’t know you were always looking for ways to put her down! No wonder she got fed up with it, fed up with me! I should have had more sense, should have realised just how much it upset her, and told you I wouldn’t put up with it! Well, now you’ve got what you always wanted. She’s gone, dead, finished!’

  Master appeared to have forgotten that Thanet and Lineham were there. Either that, or he was past caring.

  ‘Giles! You don’t know what you’re saying! That simply isn’t true! Perdita was a sweet girl …’

  ‘Mother, for God’s sake, stop playing the hypocrite. I know how you felt about her, I tell you. What’s the point in pretending any more?’

  Mrs Master clearly didn’t know what to say, how to react. It looked as though this was the first time her aversion for Perdita had ever been brought out into the open. She shot the two policemen an embarrassed glance. ‘I’m so sorry, Inspector. My son is overwrought.’

  ‘Overwrought?’ shouted Master. ‘OVERWROUGHT? Of course I’m overwrought! What do you expect? My wife has been murdered, she’s lying there now stretched out on a marble slab … Oh God, I can’t bear it …’ He plumped down into his chair, put his elbows on the table and lowering his head clasped his hands over the top of it as if to cling on to his sanity.

  Thanet glanced at Lineham. The question in the sergeant’s eyes was clear. Don’t you think we ought to go?

  Thanet shook his head. No.

  To witness this degree of distress in another human being was always painful, but he could not allow embarrassment to deflect him from his task. He had to remember that the cause of Master’s distress could be not simple pain at the death of a beloved wife but remorse at having brought that death about. Jealousy is a fearsome emotion, violent and uncontrollable, and despite Thanet’s doubts about the polythene bag he had to remember that Lineham was right. A dog-in-the-manger attitude was not uncommon. If I can’t have her, no one else will.

  Mrs Master was still standing and now she put out her hand as if to rest it on her son’s bent head in a gesture of sympathy. But she thought better of it. The hand hovered for a moment and was then slowly withdrawn. She shot Thanet a venomous glance. Now look what you’ve done. It was clear that she was not in the habit of accepting responsibility for the consequences of her behaviour.

  ‘Mr Master,’ he said gently. ‘Look, I know how painful this is for you, and I’m sorry. I have no wish to cause you more distress. But if I am to find out what happened to your wife, I must know everything, absolutely everything, about the circumstances leading to her death. Now I can, if you wish, leave this for the moment and come back another time. But I think it would be better, don’t you, if we could get it over with. Then we can go away and leave you in peace.’

  Silence. Master shook his head and then unclasped his hands, slowly sat back, eyes shut as if he could not bear to reveal the naked emotion in them, see the effect his ravaged face was having upon them. ‘I suppose so.’ His voice was dull, exhausted. He opened his eyes and glanced up at his mother. ‘I think it would be best if you went.’

  There was a note of finality in his voice. She opened her mouth to object, glanced at Thanet and then, without a word, marched to the door, high heels clacking on the polished tiles. Outside the sound ceased abruptly as she moved into the carpeted hall.

  Thanet wouldn’t have put it past her to listen at the door and he glanced at Lineham, nodded at it. Go and check that she’s not there.

  The sergeant rose and, moving quietly in his rubber-soled shoes, crossed the room, opened the door and glanced outside. Satisfied, he returned. All clear.

  Now that Master was in a cooperative state of mind it didn’t take long to find out the facts. This time he held nothing back, confirming what until now had been hearsay, information gleaned from others.

  After Perdita had broken the news to him on Saturday night he had grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her upstairs, locked her in their bedroom. In a furious temper he had then left the house immediately to confront Swain. After the fight he had returned home to find Perdita gone. Realising that she had probably taken refuge at her mother’s house he had followed her there, but Harrow, her stepfather, had refused to let him in. Frustrated he had gone home and drunk himself into a stupor.

  On Sunday he had woken late with a fierce hangover and because of this had missed Perdita, who had already left by the time he got to Wayside Crescent. Harrow had answered the door and when Giles had asked to see Perdita’s mother in the hope of enlisting her aid in persuading Perdita to come back to him, he learnt for the first time that Mrs Harrow had gone into hospital the previous day.

  Realising that Perdita would no doubt visit her mother some time that day he had driven straight to the hospital and waited there for hours. He had seen her arrive, but had bided his time until she came out, telling himself that she might be more willing to talk to him if she were not anxious to get away and see her mother.

  When she did come out he had been annoyed to see that she was with Vanessa Broxton and the children, but they had separated and
he had had the chance of a few words with her. She had refused to talk with him at any length, however, and he had decided that it would be best to let her simmer down for a while and speak to her the next day, Monday.

  On Monday morning he had again gone around to Wayside Crescent and had been bitterly disappointed to hear that she had returned there to pack her bags on Sunday afternoon and had then left, saying that she was going away for a few days. Harrow wouldn’t tell him where she had gone, but Master remembered seeing Perdita with Vanessa the previous day and on the off-chance that Vanessa might know had rung the Broxtons’ house. A woman had answered the phone.

  ‘Hullo?’

  ‘Mrs Broxton?’

  ‘No, she’s not here.’

  ‘Could you tell me when she’ll be back?’

  ‘Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘My name is Master, I’m the husband of a friend of …’

  ‘Oh, it’s Mrs Master you want to speak to?’

  ‘Ah … Yes. Is she there?’

  ‘I’ll fetch her.’

  But Perdita had told him once again that she had no intention of coming back. And no, she would not meet him in the meantime to discuss the matter. Vanessa was away for the week and she had promised to look after the children until Friday evening. So he had decided to go to the Broxtons’ that night after the children were in bed.

  The rest they already knew.

  Thanet was nodding. The picture was gradually becoming clearer.

  Master leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted. Perhaps the retelling of the events of Perdita’s last days had had a cathartic effect upon him, and now he would be able to sleep.

  ‘I don’t understand it.’ Master was shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘I really don’t understand.’ Suddenly his eyes snapped open and with one last spurt of energy he leaned forward, clasping his hands together so fiercely that his fingers made indentations in the flesh. ‘What did I do wrong, Thanet? I gave her everything, everything she wanted.’ He waved his hand, encompassing kitchen, house, garden. ‘And I never so much as looked at another woman.’ Suddenly he unclasped his hands and thumped the kitchen table so hard that Thanet and Lineham jumped, the glasses rocked, the cutlery clattered. The series of tiny noises drew his attention to the two places so carefully laid by his mother and with a small, inarticulate sound he laid his forearm on the table and swept everything off. Silverware crashed on to the floor, glasses smashed and one napkin ring flew across the room to hit the wall before rolling into a corner.

  He was surveying the mess, face expressionless, as his mother burst into the room. ‘Giles! What happened?’ An accusatory glance at Thanet and Lineham. Perhaps she thought they had been resorting to strong-arm tactics. In any case, it was bound to be their fault.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Mother. A slight accident, that’s all.’ He looked at Thanet. ‘Have we finished?’

  ‘Almost. One question for you, Mrs Master.’

  She had begun to pick up the debris and she straightened up, table napkins in hand. ‘For me?’ She was looking at Thanet as if he were a bad smell.

  ‘Yes. Did you see Mr Master at any time, over the weekend?’

  ‘Naturally.’ She was picking up knives, forks, spoons, now. ‘We see each other most days, don’t we, dear?’

  Master gave a resigned nod.

  ‘When, exactly, would that have been?’

  She dumped the handful of cutlery on the table with a clatter. ‘Would you mind telling me what is the point of all this?’

  ‘I’m just trying to build up as complete a picture as possible of the movements of everyone connected with your daughter-in-law, over the last few days before her death.’

  ‘I can’t see what possible relevance this could have …’

  ‘You must allow me to be the judge of that,’ said Thanet sharply.

  ‘Very well. Giles came around for Sunday afternoon tea, as usual. He and … They always do … did.’

  ‘That was when he told you Mrs Master had left?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her lips tightened.

  Thanet could see her thinking. Good riddance to bad rubbish. And yes, buried deep but nevertheless discernible was a glint of elation in her eyes.

  ‘And on Monday?’

  ‘I popped around here late in the afternoon. Naturally I was anxious about my son.’

  ‘Did he on that occasion tell you where your daughter-in-law was?’

  ‘Yes, of course. With that Broxton girl.’

  So Mrs Master senior had also known where Perdita had ‘hidden’ herself. Who hadn’t? Thanet wondered.

  He stood up. ‘I’m afraid there’s just one other matter I must trouble you with, Mr Master. I shall need to examine your wife’s things. And I imagine she had a studio …?’

  Master was looking sick. Thanet wasn’t surprised. The thought of a complete stranger pawing through his wife’s belongings would be enough to upset any man, but for a jealous one the idea would be purgatory.

  ‘I suppose it’s essential …’

  ‘It is. If you would just show us where to go, we needn’t trouble you any further. We’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible.’

  ‘Very well.’ Wearily Master stood up. ‘Where first?’

  ‘Perhaps we could begin upstairs?’

  TEN

  On the landing Master turned left towards the front of the house and stopped outside a door. ‘This one.’

  He blundered back down the stairs.

  Thanet and Lineham watched him go.

  ‘Poor devil,’ said Lineham. ‘Doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.’

  ‘Not like you to be sorry for a murder suspect, Mike.’ Thanet opened the door and light streamed into the corridor.

  ‘Must be going soft in my old age,’ said Lineham with a grin. ‘Anyway, you must admit he’s got a lot to put up with, with that mother of his.’

  Ah, so that was the reason for Lineham’s sympathy, thought Thanet as they walked into the Masters’ bedroom. It was understandable that the sergeant should identify with Master in this respect.

  ‘I must say, I’m glad she’s not my mother-in-law.’ Thanet thought of Joan’s mother, lying in intensive care. Please, God, let her be all right. As soon as he was finished here, he’d ring the hospital to see if there was any news.

  The room was spacious, light and airy, with luxuriously soft fitted carpet and floor-length curtains. The effect was comfortable but curiously impersonal, as if it were a hotel room temporarily occupied by tenants who had failed as yet to stamp their personalities upon it. The colours were muted, safe – predominantly pale green and cream. Thanet would have expected something a little more inspired from an artist, a woman to whom colour would surely have been one of the most important factors in her life. He was becoming more and more convinced that Perdita had not cared enough either for her husband or her home to employ her talents wholeheartedly in beautifying it.

  He noticed that the duvet on the bed was tossed into an untidy heap on one side of the bed, as if someone had pushed it aside when getting up. It looked as though Master might have lain down fully dressed and tried to sleep. There was a damp patch on one of the pillows, Thanet noticed, and the other one lay part of the way down the bed, askew. He had a sudden, painfully vivid vision of Master giving vent to his grief in the early hours of the morning, clutching the pillow upon which his dead wife’s head had rested …

  Thanet shook his head and the image shattered, dissolved. ‘What did you say, Mike?’

  ‘Stacks of jewellery here. Look.’

  Thanet joined Lineham at the dressing table. Standing amongst a clutter of expensive-looking perfume bottles, Perdita Master’s jewel box was a sumptuous affair of soft white leather lined with red velvet, and it was crammed with necklaces, brooches, earrings, rings in every conceivable stone.

  ‘Must be worth a fortune,’ said Lineham. ‘Let’s hope he’s got it insured.’

  Thanet picked up a gift tag which had
slipped down flat against one side of the box. ‘To my darling wife. Jewels to a jewel.’

  He showed it to Lineham. ‘Makes you wonder what it must be like, to be loved so … overwhelmingly.’

  ‘As Mr Swain said, suffocated,’ said Lineham with feeling. ‘Desperate to escape.’

  Well, Perdita Master had escaped, and enjoyed two brief days of freedom. And look at the price she had paid for it.

  ‘I wonder why he was so jealous.’ Thanet knew that violent jealousy is supposed to arise from a poor self-image. The theory is that you place so little value on yourself that you can’t possibly believe that the object of your affections can love you. But Master’s mother obviously thought the sun shone out of him. His father’s influence, then? Jealous perhaps of his wife’s attitude towards the baby, and taking it out on the child by constant denigration?

  While they talked they had been looking around. There was a stack of glossy art books on one of the bedside tables and Thanet glanced through them. These, too, were presents from Master to his wife. To darling Perdita, Christmas 1989. Happy birthday, darling! To my darling wife on our 15th anniversary. How terrible unrequited love must be, thought Thanet. Popular opinion agrees that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but he wasn’t sure that this was necessarily true. To love a woman with all your heart and to have to live with her indifference, year after year … To do everything in your power to please her, to win her, and to live always with the knowledge that you have failed … It must be soul-destroying.

  And he, he told himself briskly, must be careful. He was becoming maudlin, and in danger of feeling too sorry for Master. All the same, this brief inspection of their bedroom had, he felt, given him a valuable glimpse into their relationship.

  ‘There’s nothing here, Mike. We’ll go back down.’

  Master had pointed out the door to Perdita’s studio as they passed through the hall earlier. Downstairs all was silent and Thanet wondered what Master and his mother were doing. Eating a silent lunch in the kitchen? Or had Master retreated to his study, if he had one, to mourn in solitude?