Element of Doubt

by Dorothy Simpson

  Which, Thanet thought, was no doubt why Mrs Haywood had finally decided to be so frank now. If Nerine Tarrant’s promiscuity was common knowledge, it wouldn’t have been long before he had heard about it from other sources.

  ‘From anybody, Mrs Haywood? What about her husband?’

  Mrs Haywood shook her head so vigorously that a few more wisps escaped from her bun. ‘Not even from him. I don’t know how he stood it. In fact, I used to think, sometimes …’

  She hesitated, then stopped.

  ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You were going to say, perhaps, that you sometimes wondered if Mrs Tarrant used deliberately to flaunt her lovers in front of her husband?’

  ‘I didn’t say that!’

  But he had been right, he could tell.

  ‘But in any case, you are saying that her husband had full knowledge of her behaviour?’

  She inclined her head.

  ‘And what was his reaction?’

  She hesitated for a moment, then said earnestly, ‘I can tell you this, Inspector. Mr Tarrant would never have hurt a single hair on his wife’s head. He adored that woman, and didn’t care what she did as long as she stayed with him.’

  So that spurt of anger just now had been on Tarrant’s behalf. She was obviously fond of him, thought highly of him.

  ‘How did Mrs Tarrant get on with the rest of the household?’

  ‘Well …’ She hesitated. Discussing Nerine, whom she had disliked, and who was dead, was obviously one thing; talking about the other people with whom she lived at close quarters was another.

  ‘I understand, for example, that there were … certain difficulties with Mr Tarrant’s mother.’

  ‘That’s true, yes …’ she said reluctantly. Then she added defensively, ‘There are always problems, having parents living in the same house. And Lavinia – Mrs Tarrant senior – well, it’s not her fault. It’s her illness, you see. She can’t help it if she’s become a little, well, eccentric, as the disease progresses.’

  ‘She is suffering from senile dementia, I understand?’

  ‘That’s right.’ A sigh. ‘Such a shame. When I think how lively and active she was only a few years ago …’

  ‘But I understand that she and Miss Barnes, her companion, have what is virtually a separate establishment.’

  ‘I know. But Marilyn, Miss Barnes, can’t keep an eye on Lavinia twenty-four hours of the day. Lavinia has lived in that house for over forty years and genuinely forgets that she is not still mistress of it. It used to drive Nerine mad, especially when Lavinia used to get into her – Nerine’s – bedroom and try her clothes on as if they were her own. Like …’ She stopped, abruptly.

  It was obvious that she wished that last word had not slipped out. No doubt she didn’t want to get the old lady into trouble.

  ‘Like when?’

  ‘I …’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Like this afternoon, perhaps?’

  She was still hesitating, but now she gave a little shrug. ‘I suppose if I don’t tell you, someone else will … Yes, there was a row this afternoon.’

  If so, how had she come to overhear it? Thanet’s puzzlement must have shown in his face and she forestalled his next question by adding, ‘I only know because I went over to the house to look through the attic for some stuff for a jumble sale in the village on Saturday. With permission, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure … What time was this?’

  ‘Let me see. I went over just before two. I waited until I saw Nerine leave for the hairdresser’s. That must have been about ten to two. She always has – had a two o’clock hair appointment on Thursdays. I intended finishing before she got back – she was usually gone about an hour – but there’s so much stuff up there …’

  ‘Mrs Tarrant was a compulsive hoarder?’ Yes, thought Thanet. That would fit with the impression he had got from her sitting room.

  Mrs Haywood grimaced. ‘Yes.’

  Thanet grinned. ‘In that case I’m surprised she agreed to let anything go at all. People like that can’t usually bear to part with a thing.’

  She responded with a hesitant smile, her first. ‘I know. She only agreed this time because the attic was getting so crammed with stuff that Roland absolutely insisted she part with some of it.’

  ‘But a house of that size must have an attic as big as a warehouse!’

  ‘Ah, but most of it has been converted into a flat for Damon – Mr Tarrant’s son. So there’s only a small space left for storage, about the size of an average room, I suppose.’

  ‘I see.’

  Mrs Haywood passed her hand across her forehead and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m not sure how we got onto this, surely it isn’t relevant …’

  ‘You were explaining how it was that you came to overhear the row between Mrs Tarrant and her mother-in-law.’

  ‘Ah, yes … Well, the point was, I became so engrossed up there I didn’t notice the time. Not until I heard Nerine shouting at Lavinia.’

  ‘And that was at what time?’

  ‘Just after half past three. I looked at my watch. I didn’t want to get caught up in the argument, so I waited until things had quietened down and then crept out, as quietly as I could.’

  ‘I understand from Mr Tarrant that Mrs Tarrant usually kept her bedroom door locked, to prevent that particular problem occurring.’

  Mrs Haywood shrugged. ‘She must have forgotten, this afternoon. She would, occasionally. And Lavinia always seemed to know, when she did. She seemed to have a sixth sense about it. Extraordinary, really. The ideal solution would have been for Lavinia and Marilyn to have a separate establishment. I suppose, if this house had been free, they could have come here, but of course, at the time when Daphne bought it, there was no hint of the way Lavinia’s mind was going to deteriorate. It’s so sad … As it stands, well, High Gables belongs to Lavinia and she steadfastly refuses to leave. Why should she, after all? It’s her home. She was there for many years before Nerine came on the scene.’

  ‘But if she is becoming senile?’

  ‘You cannot make people do things against their will, Inspector.’ Mrs Haywood was reproachful. ‘Lavinia’s illness is erratic. She still has long lucid periods when, although she is forgetful, she can converse quite rationally. And Mr Tarrant is far too fine a person to trick his mother into signing away her home …’

  ‘And Mrs Tarrant?’

  Mrs Haywood sighed. ‘Would have been delighted to see her go. She made no bones about it. I think it’s the only issue over which I have ever known Roland refuse to give her what she wanted.’

  ‘So, did you by any chance see young Mrs Tarrant after the argument with her mother-in-law?’ Thanet had spotted a photograph which interested him, over by the door. A woman, holding hands with two little girls, one on either side. Daphne and Nerine, as children?

  ‘No. I came straight back here and started preparing supper. I usually try and do that in the afternoon, so that I’m free when Daphne gets back.’

  ‘Which is usually at …?’

  ‘About twenty to six. But today, as I say, she was an hour or so early, because of the migraine.’

  ‘Did you happen to see Mr Tarrant arrive home?’

  ‘No. After Daphne got here, I’m afraid I was pretty occupied with looking after her. Until, of course, Mr Tarrant came across to tell me about the … about Nerine.’

  ‘I understand that the Tarrants’ son, Damon, whom you mentioned just now, has no job at present. Was he about at all during the day, do you know?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He was working on that old car of his this morning, in the end garage.’

  ‘And then he went back over to the house?’

  ‘I don’t know. I assume so.’

  ‘Did you notice if his car was in the garage during the afternoon – when you went over to the house, for example?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Or when you came back?’

/>   She shook her head. ‘Sorry … Oh, wait a minute. I do vaguely remember hearing him drive out … There’s something wrong with the exhaust of his car. It makes a terrible din, we all complain about it. I think he likes the noise and keeps “forgetting” to get it attended to.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  She frowned, thinking. ‘I’m not sure. Where was I, at the time? I think I was … yes, that’s right. I was crossing the hall. I’d just come downstairs to fetch some ice for Daphne. She finds a really cold compress helps. And that was … yes, that was only five or ten minutes before Roland came across with the news.’

  The memory clearly distressed her. Her lips began to tremble and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as if to hold in the potentially embarrassing sounds that might escape. Thanet judged that she had had just about as much as she could take, and that it would be best to bring the interview to a swift conclusion. But she was speaking again.

  ‘He … he didn’t know what he was doing,’ she whispered. ‘Like … I saw someone once, who’d been in a car accident … He looked just like that. In a complete daze.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘When I realised what he was saying, I went to look at … at Nerine. Then I rang the police. By then I was beginning to feel a bit dizzy myself, what with the shock, and Daphne being ill and Roland in that state …’

  ‘I suppose Miss Linacre still isn’t well enough to be interviewed?’ As soon as the words were out, Thanet could have kicked himself. Lesson number one in how not to phrase a question, he thought.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Haywood, predictably.

  Should he insist? What if Daphne Linacre didn’t have a migraine? What if she had killed her sister then rushed across to her loyal friend and begged her to keep the police away until she’d had time to pull herself together? He ought at least to have some independent corroboration of her illness. ‘You’ve called her doctor?’

  ‘There’s no point. We know exactly what to do when she has one of these attacks, by now.’

  She was being unexpectedly firm. All her considerable maternal instincts were evidently now directed at Daphne.

  ‘All the same … With the additional shock over her sister’s death … Don’t you think it advisable?’

  ‘Possibly … We’ll see.’

  Thanet hesitated. But Mrs Haywood looked exhausted and he didn’t want to put further, unnecessary strain upon her. No, he’d leave it for the moment. He could always come over later, if it became essential to talk to Daphne tonight.

  ‘In that case, I’ll see her in the morning.’

  ‘Well … She usually has to have twenty-four hours in bed before the worst of the attack passes.’

  Best not to press the point at present. Tomorrow would be a different matter. ‘Well, thank you very much, Mrs Haywood. You’ve been most helpful.’ Thanet stood up and Lineham closed his notebook and followed suit. On the way to the door Thanet paused, nodded at the photograph. ‘Mrs Tarrant and Miss Linacre, as children?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  The woman was’ middle-aged, smiling, good-natured, the girls aged perhaps six and nine. But surely she was too old to … ‘Their mother?’ said Thanet.

  ‘Oh no. That’s Mrs Glass, their housekeeper. Mrs Linacre died when Daphne was born. Poor little thing, she never knew her mother.’

  Poor Nerine too, thought Thanet. It can’t be much fun having your mother snatched away and a squalling new infant thrust at you, all on the same day. He studied the solemn faces of the two girls, Nerine beautiful even then, slim as a willow wand, and as graceful. And Daphne … Oh, dear. It couldn’t have been easy for plain, lumpy Daphne, with a sister who looked like that.

  ‘Mrs Glass is in a home now, in Sturrenden. Well, not a home, exactly. Sheltered accommodation. She’s absolutely amazing for her age. She’s well into her eighties by now.’

  Thanet recognised in Mrs Haywood’s tone the need to reassure herself so often displayed by elderly people seeking to allay the spectres of old age. Look, they seem to say: so-and-so has managed to avoid dependence, sickness, and its attendant indignities, so surely so shall I?

  He opened the door and was at once aware of sounds of retching from upstairs.

  Mrs Haywood pushed past him. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘Daphne. I must go …’

  ‘I should give her doctor a ring … Don’t worry about us, we’ll let ourselves out.’

  Thanet waited until they were a few paces away from the front door, then turned to Lineham. ‘Well, what did you make of all that, Mike? You were very quiet in there.’

  Lineham grinned. ‘Too busy listening, watching and scribbling.’ He tapped his notebook. ‘You always say …’

  ‘Yes, yes. I know what I always say … So tell me, what do you think?’

  ‘Several interesting things, sir.’

  Lineham’s face was eager, bright with interest, and Thanet experienced the familiar sense of warmth and satisfaction which these discussions with the sergeant invariably gave him. He’d never found anyone else to work with whose mind was so in tune with his own.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, first of all, we guessed right about Mr Tarrant. He obviously knew about this affair his wife was having. So he was lying, back there.’

  ‘Not exactly, Mike. He didn’t actually say he knew nothing about it. He just refused to discuss it.’

  ‘Well, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not quite. After all, put yourself in his situation. Would you want to discuss your wife’s infidelities if you loved her and had just found her dead, perhaps murdered?’

  ‘Well, if I suspected her lover might have done it …’

  ‘I don’t think he’d got as far as that, Mike. In fact, I doubt if he was thinking rationally at all. No, I suspect that when we do tackle him about it, he’ll suggest precisely that.’

  ‘Mrs Haywood certainly seems to think a lot of him,’ conceded Lineham, grudgingly, abandoning that line of argument for the moment. ‘And then there was what she said about the son, Damon.’

  ‘Yes, the timing there was quite interesting, wasn’t it? It sounds as though Damon left just a few minutes before his father got home.’

  ‘Did you notice,’ said Lineham eagerly, ‘that when we were talking to Mr Tarrant, he was a bit, well, off, when we mentioned his son?’

  ‘Yes, I must say I had the impression he wasn’t being quite frank with us.’

  ‘Say the son did it,’ said Lineham. ‘Say he has a row with his mother, shoves her over the balcony and then panics, decides to run for it …’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away, Mike. We’ll probably find that he turns up as innocent as a lamb, later on this evening.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then we shall have to reconsider. But I think it’s too early to jump to conclusions yet.’

  ‘What about Miss Linacre, sir? D’you think that migraine’s genuine?’

  ‘She was certainly being sick, up in the bathroom.’

  ‘Could have been guilt. Or remorse?’

  ‘Slow down, Mike. We’ll soon find out, when we do a bit of checking. I could hardly force myself into the sickroom, could I? We’ll have a word with her doctor, if he comes, and first thing tomorrow you can send someone over to Linacre Nurseries, to ask a few questions.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Bentley appeared around the corner of the house.

  ‘Ah, Bentley’s found the key,’ said Lineham.

  ‘It was in her handbag, sir,’ said Bentley, handing it over. ‘In the sitting room.’

  ‘Good.’

  The key was smooth and hard in Thanet’s hand, a symbol of secrets withheld, of revelations to come. Over the years, if his investigations into domestic murder had taught him anything, they had taught him that it is in the character of the victim that the seeds of his own destruction lie. A woman’s bedroom can reveal much of her personality. Anticipation began to fizz through his v
eins.

  ‘Let’s go and take a look, then, shall we?’

  FOUR

  As the door of Nerine Tarrant’s bedroom swung open two impressions were paramount: opulence and chaos.

  Lineham gave a low whistle of astonishment and admiration as they stepped inside. ‘Louise would love to see this. But what a mess!’

  The bed dominated the room. An elaborate canopy was suspended from the ceiling, swathes of material cascading down to the four corners, creating a four-poster effect. In this room, too, the theme was blue and white. The flowered chintz of the bedhangings had also been used in the quilted bedhead and bedspread, and the two tones of blue in the floral design exactly matched the pale blue carpet and the deep blue range of fitted cupboards which stretched the length of an entire wall. Filmy white curtains hung at the tall french windows. The effect was both dramatic and romantic – clues to Nerine’s character?

  Clearly, much thought had gone into the designing of this room and no one could blame Nerine for being angry with her mother-in-law for making such a mess of it. Clothes were strewn everywhere – tossed on the bed, draped over the elegant blue velvet chaise longue, lying about in careless disorder all over the floor. And what clothes! Thanet didn’t know much about fashion, but he could recognise quality when he saw it: silk, satin, velvet, lawn, wool, suede, leather, fur …

  Also … ‘Can you smell something, Mike?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Something …’ Thanet shook his head. It had been a whiff, no more, of something familiar, yet alien to this room.

  Both men stood still, sniffing.

  ‘No, it’s gone …’ Thanet shrugged, moved on. He and Lineham were being very careful not to touch or move anything.

  ‘I bet she spent more on clothes in a year than I earn,’ said Lineham, stepping gingerly over what looked like a mink coat. ‘You think Mrs Tarrant senior really did this?’

  ‘Sounds as if it was a regular occurrence. Anyway, it doesn’t look to me as though it’s the result of a struggle, wouldn’t you agree?’

  The clutter of open jars and bottles, some overturned, on the dressing table, the gaping wardrobe doors and half-open drawers, told their own story. They had been rifled by an eager, impatient hand, searching – for what? For some exquisite garment that would transform the ravages of age into an illusion of youth and beauty? Or, more sinister thought, for revenge? Had the old woman been seeking to strike where it would hurt most at the daughter-in-law who regarded her as nothing more than a nuisance?