Wake the Dead

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Nothing, for about half an hour. Then Mr Hugo came and told me that his mother had had a stroke.’

  ‘Did he say anything about how or when it happened?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just that the ambulance would be arriving soon and that was why.’

  ‘Did you have the impression that it was Mr Fairleigh she’d been arguing with?’

  ‘Yes. At the time. But thinking about it, later, that was only because it was him who came and told me. But she could have had the stroke after the argument, couldn’t she, and Miss Letty could have found her. And the first thing she would have done was go to Mr Hugo for help. So I don’t know, you see.’ Her voice was rising in the effort to convince him. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Kerk. Don’t upset yourself. I believe you.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Lineham as they went in search of Letty Ransome. ‘If only we could have known it was him. Perhaps we can get Miss Ransome to tell us.’

  ‘We can try. But I doubt it.’

  Letty Ransome was in the sitting room, chewing a pencil and gazing thoughtfully at the folded newspaper on her knee.

  Evidently a crossword addict, Thanet thought.

  ‘Oh, Inspector …’ She bundled the newspaper on to the seat beside her and stood up, a little stiffly, he noticed. Too much gardening yesterday, probably. She was also, he saw to his surprise, blushing again. Why, this time? Because she was unused to receiving male visitors, official or otherwise? Hardly. She had seemed comfortable enough with Hugo. But perhaps he didn’t count, being a relation and therefore familiar to her.

  To begin with, it looked as though she had nothing useful to tell them. She denied all knowledge of the row, though Thanet was pretty certain she was lying: that tell-tale blush was much in evidence again. She had been working in the garden, she said, when Hugo came to tell her that Isobel had had a stroke.

  Her astonishment when Thanet began to question her about the large sums of money Isobel had been withdrawing each month was evident.

  ‘A thousand pounds? Oh, good gracious me, what a lot of money! Whatever could Isobel have been … I just don’t know what to say, Inspector. I’m astounded, I really am.’

  ‘You have no idea what the money could have been for?’

  ‘No, not at all. Absolutely not. Such an enormous sum! Oh, but just a moment. On the first of every month, you say? Wasn’t that when you said … Could it have any connection with the B you were asking about? Oh! I wonder if that’s it?’ She stared at him, cheeks pink with excitement this time, eyes open so wide that the whites showed clear around the irises.

  ‘What?’ said Thanet.

  ‘B day,’ she said. ‘Bank day! Perhaps that’s the explanation! Perhaps she put the B in her diary every month to make sure she didn’t forget to go to the bank!’

  ‘Possibly. But even if that were true, it still doesn’t tell us where the money went.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lineham. ‘The B could stand for something else. An initial, for example, as we suggested yesterday. Or it could be B for Blackmail.’

  ‘Blackmail?’ Letty’s eyes stretched wide with shock and the very hairs on her head seemed to quiver with indignation as she said, ‘What a … a preposterous idea. What possible reason could anyone have to blackmail Isobel?’

  ‘We even wondered if those two mysterious phone calls you had, asking for your sister, could have been from the blackmailer.’

  ‘Oh, surely not. They couldn’t have been! They could have been from anyone, anyone at all. Isobel was involved with so many organisations, so many committees … Forgive my saying so, Sergeant, but you really have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’d only known my sister … Isobel was such an upright person, she devoted her whole life to the public good. The idea of blackmail is unthinkable.’

  ‘No need to upset yourself, Miss Ransome. We’re just exploring possibilities.’ Lineham glanced at Thanet. How d’you think she’ll react to our last suggestion, then? He grinned to take the sting out of his next words. ‘We even wondered if it could stand for Betting.’

  ‘Betting!’ For some reason this idea seemed to upset her as much or even more than the last. She put her hand up to her throat and the colour in her cheeks intensified. She shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh no, not Isobel. She was dead against gambling in any shape or form.’

  ‘So we gathered, from Ernie,’ said Thanet. ‘We sent someone around to the bookie’s, of course, to check, but it looks as though we needn’t have bothered. Still we have to follow up every … Miss Ransome, what’s the matter?’

  The tide of colour had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her deathly pale. She swayed and put up a hand to her head. ‘I feel …’

  ‘A glass of water, Sergeant, quickly. Put your head down, Miss Ransome, between your knees.’ Thanet steadied her with one hand on her shoulder, hoping she wasn’t going to pass out on him.

  Lineham was back in less than a minute. He knelt beside her. ‘Here, Miss Ransome, drink this.’

  She sipped obediently and slowly her skin lost its unnatural pallor. ‘I’m sorry …’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘Please, don’t apologise.’

  She straightened her shoulders and glanced timidly at him. ‘Inspector … I can see I shall have to tell you.’ She paused, evidently plucking up courage.

  ‘I have a confession to make.’

  FIFTEEN

  Thanet waited. What now?

  Letty Ransome, having begun, seemed at a loss for words. She shifted uneasily in her chair and the newspaper crackled. She glanced down at it, picked it up, laid it on her knee and flattened it out. Then to his surprise, still without saying anything, she held it out.

  He took it. One glance was enough to explain her confusion when they came in. Crossword, indeed! It was a copy of the Daily Telegraph, open at the racing pages. The schedules of runners were heavily marked with underlinings, question marks, exclamation marks. Isobel may have been against gambling because of her father’s addiction but Letty had evidently shared it. A number of small pieces of the jigsaw clicked into place in Thanet’s mind. Ernie’s immoderate laughter, for instance. That, of course, was what had been puzzling about the old man’s reaction; Ernie had been enjoying the irony of the police suspecting Isobel of being a secret gambler when he had no doubt been involved in keeping Letty’s activities from her.

  Thanet handed the paper to Lineham.

  He stated the obvious. ‘Your sister didn’t know about this?’

  She shook her head wordlessly.

  ‘And Ernie helps you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Was that what he went to see you about, on Saturday afternoon, at the fête?’

  Another nod.

  ‘He had a tip for one of the afternoon’s races?’

  ‘The …’ She cleared her throat, tried again. ‘The Northumberland Plate.’

  Thanet raised his eyebrows.

  ‘It’s … It’s a big betting race in the North of England.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that!’ said Lineham. ‘A friend of mine comes from up North. Popularly called the Pitmen’s Derby, isn’t it, because it’s held at the time of the miners’ annual holiday?’

  She nodded, a spark of enthusiasm loosening her tongue. ‘Ernie knows someone who works … who had some inside information. We’d been waiting all day for him to ring.’

  ‘What time was this race?’

  ‘Three-twenty.’

  ‘And it was around 3.15 when Ernie came to speak to you. Didn’t leave you much time, did it?’

  ‘No. I came straight up to ring the Turf Accountant.’

  ‘The one in Sturrenden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have an account with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  So that’s why she was ‘confessing’. Bentley’s inquiries would have revealed that she was a regular client.

  ‘Did the horse win?’

  She smiled for the first time, her face lighti
ng up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you make a lot of money?’

  ‘A modest amount. I know what I’m doing, Inspector. I never bet more than five pounds, and always on sensible odds, six to four, something like that.’

  ‘You told me you didn’t come upstairs when you came into the house on Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Miss Ransome, I don’t want to be unreasonable about this, but you are making our job rather difficult, aren’t you? First you say you didn’t come indoors at all during the afternoon. Then you say, oh yes, you forgot, you did come in to go to the loo, but you certainly didn’t go upstairs. Now you tell me you did go upstairs, to ring the bookie. You must see that I am beginning to wonder what else you haven’t told me.’

  ‘Nothing!’ she said. ‘Well, I did see Grace, coming out of Isobel’s room, but you knew about that, she told you herself that she’d been in there around then. And I couldn’t say so at the time because you’d have wanted to know what I was doing upstairs and I couldn’t think of a good excuse … I wasn’t sure if she’d seen me or not.’

  ‘The fact still remains that your sister was killed between 3 and 3.45 that afternoon. And by your own admission you were here. Upstairs. In the very next room.’ Thanet was polite but implacable. Bullying old ladies was not his style, but it had to be faced: in the circumstances Letty Ransome was a prime suspect.

  Letty’s lips began to tremble and she put up her hand and pressed it to them. ‘I didn’t see anyone else, Inspector, really I didn’t. I was in a hurry to get back.’

  Thanet’s humanitarian instincts were urging him to reassure her, to accept what she was saying and leave. But reason held him back. After seeing Grace come out of Isobel’s room Letty Ransome would have known that her sister would be unattended. It would have taken only a matter of minutes to slip along the corridor, pick up that pillow and guarantee herself independence and financial security for the rest of her life. Because she had, all unwittingly, handed the police a further motive on a plate.

  ‘We have only your word for that, haven’t we? And as I’ve just pointed out, you have already lied to us a number of times. Why should we believe you now?’

  ‘Because it’s true! It is, really. Oh, what can I do to make you believe me?’

  ‘Look, Miss Ransome, I think you have to recognise that you are in a serious position. I repeat, you were close by when the murder was committed. The means, the pillow, was to hand, and –’

  ‘Inspector! You don’t … You can’t be implying that I had anything to do with Isobel’s murder. Me, personally?’ She was aghast, her eyes filled with horror at the enormity of the idea.

  If she were guilty she was a brilliant actress, thought Thanet. ‘I’m not implying anything, I’m afraid, Miss Ransome. I am stating a fact. In the circumstances we have to consider you a suspect.’

  She stared at him, speechless, for a seemingly interminable length of time. Even a minute’s silence can appear endless in an interview like this. Then she said, ‘But why? Why should I do something so … so dreadful as to … to kill my own sister? What possible reason could I have?’

  ‘Under your sister’s will you stand to inherit a substantial annuity. Many people would consider ten thousand a year an extremely powerful motive.’

  She was shaking her head. ‘I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I’d willingly give up any prospect of inheriting a penny if it would bring Isobel back. People who have never been alone don’t realise … And as you get older … I know Isobel was difficult, but she was all I had.’

  Thanet understood what Letty was trying to say. All too often he’d seen the surviving partner of an apparently unhappy marriage go to pieces. This didn’t always happen, of course, far from it, but it did seem that some people found it preferable to be downtrodden, abused or even perpetually locked in conflict than to be alone, with no one to care’ whether they lived or died. Though this wasn’t strictly true in Letty’s case. ‘You have your nephew, and his wife.’

  Another shake of the head. ‘Not the same, Inspector. Isobel and I … How can I explain? We had a shared past. Despite our differences this was the bond between us and we both knew it.’

  There was nothing more to be said at the moment.

  Lineham waited until they were out of earshot. He had recognised Letty’s possible further motive, too. ‘That’s all very well, but the fact remains that she’s really hooked, isn’t she? And gambling, well, like any other addiction, it can easily get out of hand. What if she’s tired of placing piddling little bets, would like to bet twenty quid instead of five, or even fifty, a hundred … And as you say, she did know about the annuity. Ten thousand a year isn’t peanuts. And sir!’ He stopped as a thought struck him. ‘We’ve only got her word for it that she didn’t know about that row. Say she did hear it, or hear some of it, anyway, heard her sister say she was going to change her will … Or, even better, say the row was with her! Say her sister found out about the gambling, and that was what the argument was about! And then Isobel threatened to cut her out of her will altogether! That gives her an even better motive.’

  ‘I know.’ Thanet was reluctant to believe this. He liked Letty Ransome. But she obviously had hidden depths. Who would have suspected her of being a secret gambler? And Lineham was right. A passion for gambling can be a deeply destructive force. To feed their obsession men have been known to put the whole future of their family at risk. Letty Ransome had little else to enliven her dreary life of ministering to her difficult sister’s moods and needs. If Isobel had found out and threatened perhaps to cut off the meagre allowance she gave her as well as cancelling the promised annuity, might the temptation to ensure that this did not happen have proved too great? People have a tremendous capacity for self-deception, if it serves their ends. And as he had told himself before, in her own mind Letty might even have justified the killing by convincing herself that it was an act of kindness, that dear Isobel must have hated being a helpless dependant, subject to all the indignities which a severe stroke can involve.

  He said as much to Lineham.

  ‘Exactly! Anyway, I’ll just nip along and check that no papers have fallen down the back of Mrs Fairleigh’s desk.’

  ‘Right. I’ll wait on the landing in the main house.’

  Lineham wasn’t long. He shook his head as he joined Thanet. ‘Nothing.’

  Down below the front door opened to admit Grace Fairleigh. Thanet hurried down the stairs to meet her. ‘Mrs Fairleigh, I was hoping for a word …’

  Apart from that brief and somewhat mortifying encounter yesterday morning, he hadn’t spoken to her properly since Saturday afternoon. Somehow other matters had always taken precedence. But of all the people in the house at the time she was the only one known to have been in Isobel Fairleigh’s room around the time of the murder. They only had her word for it that the old lady had been alive when she left her around 3.20. She had to be a prime suspect.

  She had put her shoulder bag down on the hall table and now she led them into the drawing room and invited them to sit down.

  ‘How are your inquiries going?’

  She was evidently inclined to be more cooperative today. Elegant as ever, she was wearing silky black trousers and a loose black and white top in a complicated geometric design, caught in at the waist by a wide belt which accentuated her narrow waist. Her hair had been swept back into an elaborate pleat, accentuating the classic beauty of her bone structure. She would still be beautiful at eighty, Thanet thought, though lacking warmth and animation it was a beauty which did not appeal to him.

  ‘We are making progress, I think.’

  ‘I gather you’ve found out about my husband’s mistress. Or should I call her his fiancée? Can he have a fiancée, while he’s still married to me, I wonder?’

  ‘Has he discussed this with you?’

  ‘What, exactly? That he wanted a divorce and was planning to marry her? Or that she was down here on Saturday, viewing her
future home? The answer to the first question is yes, and to the second no. I could see that something had upset him after your visit yesterday and when his aunt told me she’d seen this Pamela woman down here at the fête on Saturday and that she felt she’d had to tell you, I realised what it was. Naturally he wouldn’t want her involved in all this.’

  ‘You seem remarkably calm about this proposed divorce, Mrs Fairleigh.’

  And it was interesting that she hadn’t confided in her friend Caroline.

  She shrugged. ‘Our marriage was over in everything but name long ago, Inspector. To be honest, I’m past caring.’ She looked away, out of the window, and he could almost hear her unspoken thought. About anything, in fact.

  Caroline was right, Thanet thought. Something in Grace Fairleigh had died along with the child that had meant so much to her, and had never come to life again. He had occasionally come across women like this before, women who had never recovered from a miscarriage or an ill-considered abortion, for example, who many years later still grieved as if the loss had happened only yesterday. On the face of it Grace Fairleigh had much that many women hungered for: exceptional beauty, wealth, a successful husband and a beautiful home. But the beauty was an empty shell, the money meant nothing to her, the marriage was a sham and the house a mere stage set for a barren life.

  ‘How did your mother-in-law feel about the divorce?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t know that my husband ever discussed it with her.’

  ‘I understand that she was a fairly conventional person. She might not have liked the idea. Especially in view of the fact that she didn’t approve of the lady first time around.’

  ‘My husband is a grown man, Inspector. He’s long past the stage when his mother’s approval or disapproval would have affected such a matter.’

  Unless it meant being disinherited, thought Thanet.

  ‘I understand that when your mother-in-law had her stroke, it was because of a serious argument with someone here in the house.’

  She was either a good actress or this was news to her. The beautifully plucked eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘Who told you that?’