Element of Doubt

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Quite.’ Or he could have had a row with his mother, and killed her.

  They decided to call it a day. But in bed, Thanet couldn’t sleep. He and Joan might have managed to build a temporary bridge over the chasm which had suddenly opened up beneath their feet, but he could foresee all sorts of problems ahead. And his mind was crammed to bursting point with all the information he had accumulated that day, with all the new people he had met and with endless speculation about the relationships between them. And at the heart of it all, an enigma yet, was Nerine, possessing everything a woman could want – health, beauty, a handsome successful husband who adored her, a son, a beautiful home, a life of ease, of luxury, even … yet restless, dissatisfied, apparently heartless and egocentric …

  At least, this was the façade which she presented to the world.

  What had she really been like?

  Thoughts of death and murder seemed singularly inappropriate when Thanet set off for work next day. It was a golden morning, with clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine gilding the feathery new foliage of the Gleditchia tree in the front garden. It was Thanet’s turn to take the children to school and all along the suburban streets there was evidence that high summer had arrived at last: climbing roses in full bloom, early Dutch honeysuckle rioting over fence and porch, stately blue spires of delphinium towering over campanula and phlox, catmint and valerian.

  Ben was in the back of the car, engrossed in last-minute revision for a History test that morning. Thanet glanced at Bridget.

  ‘How did you and Mrs Mallard get on last night?’

  ‘Oh, it was great! We dreamed up this new chicken dish – chicken breast cooked in cider with onions, herbs and tomato puree. We’re going to have it for lunch on Sunday.’

  ‘Sounds terrific.’ Thanet hoped he would be at home to enjoy it.

  ‘And guess what, Dad! Mrs Mallard said that the Kent Messenger had rung up the other day. They wanted to know if she would do a cookery corner for children – you know, something simple the kids could make for themselves. She said she didn’t really have the time, as she’s trying to finish her new book, but she could recommend someone …’

  ‘You?’ said Thanet.

  Bridget nodded, face glowing. ‘They were a bit dubious at first, when they heard I’m only fourteen, but she reminded them about my winning the Young Chef of the Year competition last year, and told them about the column I’d been writing for the school news-sheet and they said if I sent some back copies they’d take a look at my stuff and let me know.’

  ‘Delia Smith, beware!’ said Thanet. ‘That really is good news.’ And just the sort of thing to look good on her c.v. later on, when Bridget was job-hunting.

  For several years now Bridget’s interest in cookery had grown and flourished and she was determined to pursue a career in it. Though reasonably bright, Bridget, unlike Ben, was not academically minded, and like all parents in the current unemployment situation Thanet and Joan were worried about their children’s future prospects. Anything which helped was to be wholeheartedly encouraged.

  ‘I’m going to go through the news-sheets tonight, look out the best recipes, then I’ll get them off tomorrow.’

  ‘How long will it be before you hear? Did they say?’

  ‘Within the next week or two. They want to get this column started quite soon, apparently.’

  ‘We’ll keep our fingers crossed,’ said Thanet. ‘Come on Ben, take your nose out of that book, we’re here. I hope that wasn’t the only revision you’ve done for this test.’

  ‘Cool it, Dad,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll do OK.’

  Thanet shook his head and sighed as he watched them go. If only Ben would realise that it was not enough to be bright, you had to work hard too. And this academic year was crucial for him. Next spring he would learn whether or not he had been selected for the upper schools – the modern-day equivalent of the old grammar and technical schools. If not, his chances of going on to university would be sadly reduced. Whatever the claims for comprehensive schools, the fact was that the standards they achieved frequently fell far short of those required for university entrance. Somehow he and Joan had to get the message across to Ben.

  Joan … This morning they had been carefully polite and pleasant to each other, but Thanet’s apprehension had not diminished. He hated the idea of any note of falsity in a relationship which had always been open and honest on both sides. What could he do about it? Nothing, so far as he could see, but remain aware of what was happening and deal with the situation as best he could, as it unfolded.

  On the way up to his office he ran into Detective-Sergeant Bristow. ‘Heard about the robbery out at Nettleton Grange yesterday afternoon, sir?’

  ‘No. Much taken?’

  ‘A few thousand quid’s worth of jewellery, apparently.’

  ‘Any leads, yet?’

  ‘Not so far. What about your case?’

  ‘It’s early days yet.’

  They chatted for a few minutes longer before going their separate ways.

  In Thanet’s office Lineham was already hard at work, sifting through the reports which had come in since yesterday. He gave Thanet a beaming smile.

  ‘Morning, sir.’

  ‘Morning. Won the pools?’

  Lineham grinned and laid down the folder he was holding. ‘Heard some good news this morning. My mother rang up, before breakfast.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Thanet. Lineham’s reaction to his mother’s early-morning telephone calls was not usually so enthusiastic. Mrs Lineham senior had never reconciled herself to the fact that her son was a married man with a wife and two children and she could no longer take first place in his life.

  ‘She’s getting married again!’

  ‘Mike! That’s terrific! Good for her!’ Good for Lineham, too. With another focus in her life, the sergeant would at last be free of her undivided attention and the running battle between wife and mother.

  They talked for a moment or two about Mrs Lineham’s plans, then turned their attention to work.

  ‘Has Damon Tarrant turned up yet? said Thanet.

  ‘No. There was one report which mentioned him, though. Someone saw him driving away from Ribbleden at about 5.45 last night. Apparently he was in a tearing hurry and going along those winding lanes much too fast.’

  ‘And there’s no word from him since?’

  ‘Not so far. Do you think we ought to put out a call for him, sir?’

  Thanet strolled across to the window and stood gazing out, absentmindedly admiring the mist of fresh green which now enveloped the silver birches at the far side of the car park. Obviously, if there had been any evidence that Damon had killed his mother, it would have been necessary to track him down without delay, but so far there was nothing to implicate him but the fact that he had been around at the time of the murder and had made a hasty departure just before the body was discovered. Thanet had to allow for the possibility that Damon had been unaware of his mother’s death – might still be unaware of it, for that matter. But if so, at some point during the day he should surely hear about it, and if he were innocent he would presumably get in touch. If he didn’t, well, that would put a different complexion on matters. Meanwhile, Thanet felt he had to give him that chance.

  Suppressing the suspicion that he might also be influenced by Joan’s reaction if he didn’t, Thanet said, ‘Not at the moment. We’ll give him till this evening, I think.’

  Lineham shrugged acquiescence.

  ‘All the same, I think his room should be searched for drugs. We’ll arrange for that to be done later on today.’ Thanet nodded at the reports. ‘Anything else of interest?’ He sat down at his desk and began to fill his pipe. He was almost out of tobacco, he noticed. He must remember to get some more.

  ‘They haven’t finished the house to house yet, of course, but there are one or two interesting bits and pieces, yes. For one thing, a witness has reported seeing Mr Speed’s car parked in the entrance to a field just around the ben
d from High Gables at lunchtime yesterday.’

  ‘Empty?’

  ‘I assume so, sir. The report doesn’t actually say.’ Lineham was shuffling through the pile. He found and scanned it. ‘No, it doesn’t.’ He handed it to Thanet.

  Thanet skimmed through it. ‘Benson, I see. Of course, he wasn’t to know the significance of this particular car, at that point … Get on to him. Tell him to interview the witness again and get a really detailed report. I want to know if Speed was actually seen, where he was going, what he was doing, what time it was, whether the witness saw the car arrive and leave, how far away the witness was, the lot …’

  Lineham made a note. ‘You think it’s that important, sir? We know she was still alive a couple of hours later.’

  ‘I just can’t really understand why Speed didn’t come clean about this. I noticed we got a reaction, when lunchtime was mentioned … But why not own up, if he saw her then? It isn’t as if he was denying the affair with her.’

  ‘Mrs Speed claimed he had lunch at home, sir. And she mentioned a neighbour …’

  ‘Make sure the neighbour is interviewed this morning.’

  ‘Right, sir. I assumed that reaction you mentioned was to do with his son – that there’d been a family row he didn’t want aired in public, or something.’ Lineham shuffled through the pile of papers again. ‘PC Driver’s report seemed to suggest something of the sort. He remembered after talking to us last night. Yes, here we are. Apparently he called in at the garage for some petrol yesterday afternoon, sensed a bit of an atmosphere between Speed and his son.’

  ‘What else does he say?’

  ‘Not a lot. He went to the pub last night, as you suggested, but most of what he heard just confirmed what he already knew. Speed’s affair with Mrs Tarrant was common knowledge but opinion was divided as to whether Mrs Speed knew about it or not. The consensus of opinion was that she didn’t. People agreed that although Speed had always enjoyed the odd harmless flirtation, he’d never strayed to this degree before, and there was a general feeling that it was Mrs Tarrant who was really to blame for initiating the affair and that she had probably now got what she deserved.’

  ‘Any suggestion as to who might have done it?’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’d have named names with Driver there, even though they do know him. But nods and winks hinted at Tarrant or Speed being strong favourites, apparently.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. No talk of any previous lovers muscling in on the act?’

  Lineham shook his head. ‘No. According to Driver, it was well known that her affairs usually only lasted a few months and the men he knew of who’d been involved with her seemed to take the attitude that they’d take what was on offer, enjoy it while they could and shrug their shoulders when it was over. The last one, a chap called Browning, moved out of the area a couple of months ago.’

  There was a knock and Doc Mallard put his head around the door. ‘May I come in?’ But he hadn’t waited for an invitation, he was in already. ‘Just to let you know the PM is scheduled for this afternoon. Not that I’m expecting any surprises, but you never know, do you?’

  Smiling benignly at them over his gold-rimmed half-moon spectacles, he clasped his hands behind his back then turned to gaze out of the window. He gave a little bounce on the balls of his feet. ‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it?’

  Thanet and Lineham still hadn’t got used to this benevolent version of the tetchy, irritable little man they had worked with for so many years, and they exchanged indulgent smiles behind his back.

  The phone rang and Lineham answered it. ‘Ah, good morning, Mr Tarrant … You have?’

  Lineham’s glance and the upward inflexion of his voice alerted Thanet and Mallard to the fact that some interesting information was coming in. Mallard raised his hand in a gesture of farewell and left.

  Lineham was listening intently. ‘Yes … Yes … I see … Hold on a moment, please.’ He covered the receiver and said to Thanet, ‘Mr Tarrant says he’s thought of someone with a grudge against his wife. He wants to know if we’re coming out to the house this morning.’

  Thanet nodded.

  Lineham brought the conversation to a close and had just replaced the receiver when it rang again.

  ‘DS Lineham … Hullo, Mick. Oh? What’s that? Really? What time was that? Yes, thanks, that’s very interesting. Cheers.’ He put the phone down again and said, ‘Well, well!’

  ‘Mike, stop being infuriating. Well what?’

  ‘Mr Tarrant’s car was seen parked in his drive yesterday, at lunchtime. Around twelve thirty.’

  ‘Lunchtime, again. Why didn’t he tell us, either? What the hell was going on?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lineham, his eyes beginning to sparkle with the familiar enthusiasm, ‘Speed had arranged a lunchtime tryst with Mrs Tarrant, at her house. Then Mr Tarrant returns home unexpectedly, catches them at it …’

  ‘Then what? Goes away and thinks about it for four hours, then comes home and pushes her off her balcony?’

  ‘Something like that. Why not?’ Lineham was warming to his theme. ‘He comes home at lunchtime. Speed is already there. Mr Tarrant hears them together, but doesn’t actually show himself. It’s not as though it’s a complete shock, he’s known about the affair all along, his wife had made no attempt to hide it. So he says nothing, does nothing, just goes away, back to the hospital. But during the afternoon he finds he’s getting more and more angry. Somehow, hearing them at it had really brought it home to him and he feels he can’t put up with it any longer, he must have it out with her. When he gets home he goes straight upstairs to his wife’s sitting room. She is out on the balcony. They quarrel, and …’ Lineham shrugged. ‘The scenario as before.’

  Thanet remembered the crushed, defeated man he had interviewed the previous day. Could Tarrant be guilty? It was quite feasible, he supposed. A moment’s anger can bring a lifetime of remorse. And the surgeon had lied to them – or at least, deliberately given the impression that he hadn’t been home all day. ‘I suppose it could have happened like that. And if it did …’

  If it had, one way or another he and Lineham would get at the truth.

  He began to shuffle the papers on his desk together. ‘We’ll just tidy up a few loose ends here, then we’ll be on our way.’

  SEVEN

  ‘No! I didn’t see her yesterday, I swear it!’

  They were all crammed into Speed’s tiny office at the garage. There was a pungent reek of oil and grease, and a whiff of the expensive hair-oil which Speed used to glue those carefully separated thinning strands of hair to his scalp. There was, too, another smell that Thanet recognised: the smell of fear.

  ‘We have a witness.’ Thanet, seated on the edge of the littered desk, was implacable. In between questions he had taken in the small, cluttered room: girlie calendar on wall, mess of papers on desk, dirt on floor, grime on windows. If a man’s environment said anything about his personality, then Speed was both lazy and disorganised. Was he also, perhaps, a dreamer, oblivious of his surroundings because his mind was busy elsewhere? Was that what Nerine had been to him? Thanet wondered: fantasy made flesh and blood, a taste of the glamour for which his soul had hungered?

  In any case, it wasn’t surprising that the man’s business was foundering. An office like this was scarcely designed to inspire confidence in prospective customers.

  Speed was staring at him, eyes bulging slightly as if he were straining to see into Thanet’s mind and find out how much the inspector knew. ‘But that’s impossible! I didn’t see her yesterday din – lunchtime, I tell you. No one could have seen me because I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’

  ‘No! I …’ Speed broke off abruptly, and the lines of his face began to reassemble themselves into a new expression: dismay.

  ‘Yes?’ said Thanet, politely.

  Lineham, squeezed into a corner behind Speed, shifted slightly and Thanet sensed that the sergeant was hoping to catch his eye, exchange a tr
iumphant glance. But Thanet knew that it was essential to keep his attention focused on Speed. Minute beads of perspiration were beginning to break out on the man’s forehead and nose.

  ‘I …’ The sound was strangled, as if Speed’s windpipe had closed up.

  Thanet waited.

  ‘I’d forgotten,’ Speed brought out at last.

  ‘That you’d been to visit her at lunchtime yesterday?’

  ‘No! That I’d stopped …’ Suddenly the words began to tumble out. ‘That’s why I was so sure I hadn’t seen her … I mean, because I’d intended seeing her, and then … then I couldn’t, because her husband was there.’

  So further corroboration that Tarrant had lied, that he had indeed been home during the day, yesterday. Of course, it was still possible that he hadn’t lied about seeing his wife; she might have been out …

  ‘You had arranged to see her at lunchtime, then?’

  ‘Oh, no. No.’ Speed put up a hand and wiped his forehead, leaving a long black horizontal smear. He had been working on a car when they arrived, and had given his hands no more than a token wipe on a rag. ‘I just happened to have a few minutes to spare din – lunchtime and thought I’d drop in, give her a surprise …’

  Some surprise, thought Thanet, if Speed had looked as scruffy as this. He thought of Nerine’s cool well-groomed beauty, tried – and failed – to visualise Speed in the silken elegance of her bedroom.

  Speed glanced at a grubby door in the corner of the room. ‘I gotta shower here,’ he said, as if he had read Thanet’s thoughts. ‘I couldn’t’ve gone to see her like this, of course. Anyway, I needn’t’ve bothered. Like I said, I didn’t go in because her husband was there.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘His car turned into the drive ahead of me.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Drove on past, of course.’

  ‘And then?’

  Speed swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. ‘That’s what had slipped my mind. I parked for a short while in the usual place, a farm gateway just around the bend from the Tarrants’ house. I thought Mr Tarrant might not be staying long, that he’d just called back at the house to pick up some papers or something. It was most unusual for him to come home dinnertime …’ He clicked his tongue in exasperation and shook his head. ‘I suppose that’s when someone saw me. You can’t blow your nose in this bloody place without someone knowing it.’