‘I doubt that we’d even suggest it, at the moment. We’re just looking at possibilities. We might ask for an alcohol test, though.’
‘Fair enough. Right, well if that’s all … Any chance of getting someone to run me home, Luke?’
‘Yes, of course. Er, just one more question, Doc …’
‘I thought you wouldn’t let me get away without asking. Time of death, of course … When was the body discovered?’
‘Five forty-five,’ said Lineham.
‘Yes, well I’d put it at any time within the last four or five hours.’
‘From two o’clock onwards, then,’ said Thanet.
‘Something like that.’
The two men escorted Mallard to a car and then turned back to look up at the house.
‘Have you had a chance to find out anything about the household yet, Mike?’
‘Mr Tarrant, Mrs Tarrant, their son, Mr Tarrant’s mother and her companion.’ Lineham was ticking off his fingers. ‘And Mrs Tarrant’s sister lives in the coach house at the back of the premises with another woman. I’m not sure of her connection with the family, but the local bobby is here, PC Driver. He’ll be able to fill us in, I’m sure.’
‘I’ll have a word with him later. You’ve been busy, Mike. Well done. Who discovered the body?’
‘The husband.’
‘Ah.’
The two men exchanged glances. There was no need to say what they were both thinking. In a domestic murder, the police always look first at the husband, then at the person who discovered the body. When the two were one and the same …
‘And he’s very cut up, you say.’
‘Certainly seems it, yes.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In his study.’
‘Right, we’ll go and have a word with him. But we’ll take a quick look at Mrs Tarrant’s sitting room first. I just want to get the geography clear in my mind.’
As they set off briskly for the front door Lineham said, ‘Surprising how often the old chestnut, comes up, isn’t it, sir? You know, “Did she fall, or was she pushed?”’
‘Yes. Though in this case there doesn’t seem to be much doubt about the answer. The point is, why?’
TWO
The massive front door of High Gables was surrounded by panels of stained glass depicting the four seasons. The house faced west and as Thanet and Lineham entered the sun streamed in, creating a brilliant multicoloured archway on the white-tiled floor of the hall. Had this been the magical effect the architect intended? wondered Thanet as he and the sergeant paused for a moment to exclaim. Then Lineham led the way past tall green plants in huge white ceramic pots, up the green-carpeted stairs and along a corridor to Nerine Tarrant’s sitting room.
Here, the predominant colour was blue: powder-blue carpet, pale blue curtains with deep blue patterned borders, and an entire wall covered with a collection of blue-and-white plates. The room was saved from coldness by touches of a deep vibrant pink in upholstery and cushions, and by the lavish arrangement of summer flowers in a glossy pink bowl on a table near the open french windows.
Thanet crossed to the balcony, which was about five feet wide and furnished with white cane chairs and table. Lineham was right. The rail was around three foot six high and it was difficult to see how Nerine could possibly have fallen over without being pushed, even if she had had a sudden attack of vertigo.
Thanet turned back into the sitting room and wandered around, hands clasped behind his back to remind himself to resist the urge to touch. It was an attractive room, yet now that he looked at it more closely there was something subtly wrong with it. What was it? Pondering the question, he stooped to examine a photograph: Nerine Tarrant and her husband on their wedding day, posed against a background of silver birches and daffodils naturalised in grass. Tarrant was gazing adoringly down at his bride, while she … She was directing a brilliant, seductive smile at the photographer. Was he being unfair? Thanet wondered. Was this impression of her unjustifiably coloured by what Doc Mallard had told him? He looked again, noting the determined tilt of the chin, the proprietorial hand laid casually on her new husband’s arm. There was no doubt, looking at the photograph, who was going to be the giver and who the taker in this marriage.
Greedy whispered a little voice in his brain, and he thought, that’s it, that’s what’s wrong with this room. It was too crowded, too cluttered with objects, as though Nerine hadn’t known when to stop, how to say no to herself. Had this attitude carried over into her relationships?
‘A real looker, wasn’t she?’ Lineham was peering over his shoulder.
‘What’s her husband like?’ said Thanet. According to the photograph, tall and slim, as fair as Nerine was dark. How had the years dealt with this young man so patently in love with his fairytale bride? ‘No,’ he went on as Lineham opened his mouth to speak, ‘don’t tell me. I’d rather judge for myself.’
Down the stairs again, across the hall and around a corner. As they entered a corridor a young woman with long brown hair caught up in a ponytail closed a door half-way along, glanced at them, then hurried away in the opposite direction.
‘Who was that?’ said Thanet.
Lineham shook his head. ‘No idea. Old Mrs Tarrant’s companion, perhaps? In any case, she was coming out of Tarrant’s study.’
It was a square, masculine room furnished with club-style leather chairs, tall bookshelves filled with leather-backed volumes and an impressive antique kneehole desk in glowing mahogany. There were two people in the room, a man and an older woman. Tarrant was sitting at his desk, head in hands, in an attitude of despair, the woman standing beside him, hand on his shoulder. He glanced up as the door opened. He looked dazed.
Thanet immediately experienced a painful wave of empathy. How would he feel, in Tarrant’s position? And how could he possibly question a man in this state, and at such a time? It was the part of his job that he hated most, tormenting people when they were at their most vulnerable. Many of his colleagues, he knew, disagreed. They took the view that now would be the time to press home the advantage. The end, they argued, justified the means, and in pursuit of the truth all other considerations should be put aside. Thanet was equally determined to get at the truth – but not in such a way that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself afterwards. What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
‘This is Detective-Inspector Thanet, Mr Tarrant,’ said Lineham.
The man nodded. ‘Do sit down,’ he said, waving his hand at some chairs.
Thanet and Lineham complied, Thanet pulling a chair up to the other side of the desk, Lineham retreating to one against the wall.
‘I’d better be going, then, Roland,’ said the woman.
‘Oh, Beatrix, forgive me …’ Tarrant rubbed a hand wearily across his eyes and forehead. ‘Inspector, this is Mrs Haywood, who has been kind enough to keep me company. She lives in the coach house, with my wife’s sister. She …’ He shook his head as if to clear it, preparatory to giving some apparently complicated explanation.
‘I don’t suppose the Inspector wants to hear about me,’ said Mrs Haywood. Tall and angular, with untidy greying hair escaping from a bun, she was wearing what Thanet privately labelled ‘arty’ clothes: long flower-sprigged skirt with a wide flounce at the hem, shapeless white blouse, a felt waistcoat with flowers appliquéd down the front and several indian cotton scarves, loosely tied and floating around her as she moved. She was, understandably, looking pale and shaken. ‘I’ll be back later, Roland.’
‘Perhaps we could have a word with you afterwards, Mrs Haywood?’ said Thanet.
‘Oh … Yes, of course.’
Thanet waited until she had gone, then turned back to Tarrant. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you at a time like this, Mr Tarrant, but I’m afraid that I really shall have to ask you a few questions.’
Tarrant waved a hand, wearily.
‘I quite understand. Yes, of course I do.’ It sounded as tho
ugh he was trying to convince himself. ‘You’ll want to know when I found her …’ His voice thickened and he swallowed, hard.
‘That’s right. And one or two other details …’
‘Of course, of course.’ Tarrant made a visible effort to pull himself together, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.
The surgeon had not worn as well as his wife, Thanet thought. Although well groomed, there was a visible paunch beneath the expensive dark suit, and the abundant fair hair had receded and thinned to little more than a token covering of the scalp. The dryness which is so often the bane of the fair-skinned had created a network of fine lines on his forehead and around the pale blue eyes. He looked a good ten years older than her.
Thanet sat down again.
‘Perhaps we could begin by asking you to tell us exactly what happened when you got home this afternoon, sir?’
‘Yes …’ Tarrant frowned and massaged the side of his forehead for a moment or two with tiny circular movements, as though trying to erase a pain – or perhaps reactivate a memory he had tried to blot out?
Behind him, through the open window, the garden stretched serene, the trees at the far end washed with an almost eerie crimson glow from the setting sun.
‘I got home at about, oh, twenty to six, I suppose. I went straight upstairs. Nerine – that’s my wife – was usually in her sitting room at that time of day. But she wasn’t there, so I knocked at her bedroom door. It was locked, so I knew she couldn’t be in there, either …’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ said Thanet. ‘But perhaps you could just clarify that statement?’
‘Clarify …?’ Tarrant looked puzzled, then his brow cleared. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Well, my mother lives with us, and she has a passion for clothes, jewellery and make-up – especially my wife’s clothes, jewellery and makeup, I’m afraid. She is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease – senile dementia – so she’s rather confused and finds it difficult, after living here all her life, to understand that some parts of the house are out of bounds, so to speak, and that everything in the house is not hers to do what she likes with. Once or twice she’s made rather a mess of my wife’s bedroom and eventually my wife got into the habit of locking the door whenever she left the room. So this afternoon, when I found the bedroom door locked, I knew she wouldn’t be in there.’
‘I see. Thank you.’
‘So I went downstairs, looked in the drawing room and the kitchen, but I couldn’t find her anywhere … Then I thought, it’s a lovely afternoon, perhaps she’s still sunbathing in the garden. So I went out onto the terrace and … and found her.’
Abruptly, Tarrant swivelled around in his chair to gaze out of the window.
Thanet guessed that he was fighting for control. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t suppose I can even begin to imagine how painful this must be for you.’
Tarrant swung back. ‘At least you didn’t say “I know how painful this must be for you.” God, when I think of how often I’ve said those very words myself, to people whose relations had died … You just have no idea, no conception of what it’s really like, until it happens to you – and of course, you never really expect it to. Tragedies are things that happen to other people.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear all this. Please, go on. Ask me all the questions you want.’ Then go, go and leave me alone, for God’s sake. The man’s unspoken cry was almost audible.
‘Look, I’m not sure that you’re really in a fit state to be questioned at the moment. Perhaps we could go away for a while, come back later, when you’ve had a little more time to recover from the shock …’
‘Recover!’ Tarrant gave a harsh, bitter, laugh. ‘Oh, make no mistake about that. I’m never going to recover from this, Inspector. Never. I can’t even begin to imagine life without her … So you might as well ask your questions. Now is as good a time as any.’
The outburst seemed to have helped. Tarrant was looking much more in command of himself.
‘Very well … When you went into your wife’s sitting room, did you go out onto the balcony?’
‘Not actually out onto it, no. I did walk across as far as the french windows, just to see if she was out there.’
‘So how long, in all, would you say this process of looking for your wife took?’
‘Five minutes?’
Lineham made a note. Thanet could visualise it. Body found 5.45p.m.
‘Did you see anyone during this time?’
Tarrant shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I understand that your mother has a companion?’
‘Marilyn Barnes, yes. Perhaps I should explain that, contrary to the impression I may have given just now, we lead separate lives, Inspector. Fortunately this house is constructed in such a way as to make that possible. It is, broadly speaking, shaped like an H. The hall and staircase form the central section; my wife, my son and I live in one of the long, vertical arms, my mother, Miss Barnes and her small son in the other. My mother, as I said, does tend to wander, rather, but part of Miss Barnes’s job is to try to prevent that happening.’
‘What about your son? Was he home at the time?’
‘No. I noticed his car was missing, when I parked mine.’
Thanet did not betray his quickened interest. For the first time there was something not quite straightforward in Tarrant’s tone … Nothing as definite as a lie, but a reservation of some kind …
‘Has he come home, since?’
‘No.’
‘So he doesn’t even know about his mother’s death yet?’
Tarrant shook his head.
‘Do you know where he is?’
An uneasy laugh. ‘You can’t have any teenagers or you wouldn’t be asking that question, Inspector. When he goes out, I never know where he is, how long he’s going to be or who he’s with.’
Then you have been far too lax with him. Battles or no battles, Thanet was determined that his children’s adolescence was going to have some kind of positive framework, however long they had to spend hammering out the rules together. Freedom should be a common goal, independence something to be worked for by parents and children alike, not a dangerous weapon carelessly bestowed upon those too immature to know how to handle it.
‘How old is he?’
‘Damon? Eighteen.’
‘He’s still at school?’
‘No. He’s very bright, and took his A levels early, last year. He’s having a year out while he tries to decide what to do.’
‘He has a job?’
Tarrant shook his head, regretfully. ‘Not at the moment.’
Thanet was thinking of that missed appointment with Joan. ‘So you have no idea whether he was at home, earlier in the afternoon?’
‘None, I’m afraid. Look here, Inspector, why all this interest in Damon? If he’d been here earlier, and seen his mother fall, do you seriously think he wouldn’t have reported it, or rung me, immediately?’
‘I’m just trying to get a clear picture of the situation in the house, this afternoon,’ said Thanet evasively.
‘But why?’ Tarrant’s suspicions were aroused now and he was staring at Thanet as if trying to read his mind.
‘In the case of a sudden death we have to investigate the circumstances as thoroughly as possible.’
‘Now wait a minute. You’re not suggesting – you can’t be suggesting that my wife’s death was anything but a simple accident? My God! That is what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything at the moment, Mr Tarrant. I’m merely trying to find out what happened. But I think it only fair to tell you – and I’m sorry, because I know that this will cause you additional distress – that we have to take the possibility into consideration.’
Tarrant jumped up out of his chair and stood glaring down at Thanet, running a hand over his head. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! You surely don’t think she was …’ But he couldn’t bring himself to say the word and for a m
oment there was total silence in the room.
‘Mr Tarrant, please, do sit down again. I assure you that at the moment I have a completely open mind. Nevertheless, you must see that I have to consider the possibility.’
‘But why? Who could possibly want to …?’
‘That is one of the questions I have to ask you.’
Tarrant shook his head in bewilderment and subsided into his chair. ‘The idea is preposterous. There’s no one, no one …’
‘Well, perhaps you could help us by giving us some idea of what your wife was going to do today.’
But Tarrant was still staring at Thanet, trying to adjust himself to this new and appalling idea.
‘Mr Tarrant?’ said Thanet, gently.
‘Sorry … I … What did you say?’
Thanet repeated his question.
Tarrant made an effort to concentrate, blinking and again pressing his fingers into his temples.
‘Nothing special, so far as I know. She always has … had her hair done, on Thursday afternoons.’
‘Where?’
Tarrant told him, and Lineham made a note.
‘But apart from that, you had no idea of how she was going to spend her day?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘After breakfast. I went up to say goodbye to her. She always has a tray in her room.’
‘And she seemed perfectly normal?’
‘Yes.’ Tarrant shook his head. ‘If I’d only known that was the last time I’d see her alive …’
How often, Thanet wondered, had he heard these words from shocked and grieving relatives, anxious to have bestowed upon that final encounter some special significance. But he knew that this is possible only if one always treats one’s loved ones as if seeing them for the last time, an impossible counsel of perfection.
‘And she was well? No complaints about dizziness, for example?’
Tarrant hesitated and Thanet could almost hear him thinking. If I say yes it would be such an easy way out … ‘No.’ The regret in his voice was evident.
‘She wasn’t taking any medication?’
Element of Doubt Page 2
