Death of an Innocent (Richard and Amelia Patton)

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘Give you a lift home?’

  He scrambled to his feet awkward with nerves. ‘No thanks. I’ve got a Yamaha. You’ll let me...well...if you find out anything...’

  ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

  It was a solemn promise. I didn’t keep it.

  I sat and watched him walk away, shambling and as unbalanced emotionally as when we’d met. But he still possessed sufficient grace to pause at the far table and say good-night to Tony and Amelia.

  The door closed behind him. Tony got to his feet and looked across to me. As I now had an empty table, I gestured to them to come and share it. This gave me about two minutes in which to decide where I stood with Tony. It would be a flat snub to refuse to discuss what Larry had told me, and yet...Tony had come here in response to call from Inspector Poole.

  I got to my feet and held a chair for Amelia, who is not really up with things and didn’t reject the gesture. They sat. I said I’d get more drinks. Tony said, no it’s my turn, but Amelia settled it by standing again and saying she’d do it. ‘We’ve got our equality now, you know.’

  ‘A useful chat? Tony asked, after she’d gone.

  ‘Very. And yours?’

  ‘Amelia’s brought me up-to-date.’

  ‘With,’ I asked, ‘what?’

  He grinned. ‘You’re a suspicious devil, Richard. Your life, your home, your dreams. It was what interested her most.’

  ‘And this damned business?’

  ‘That too.’

  He was watching me, challenging me to produce just one confidence. We had originally started our acquaintance on difficult territory, and only more recently had reached anything worth holding on to. Now he waited for me to betray that.

  I sighed. ‘I suppose Amelia’s told you all about it?’

  ‘She has. You knew she would.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Tony, and tell you I wish she hadn’t.’

  ‘No you don’t. You’re far too crafty for that.’

  ‘You came here, Tony, in response to a phone call from your friend Melanie Poole. She’s obviously suspicious of what I’m doing, and she thinks I’ve tricked her somehow. If Amelia’s told you about the yellow sticker —’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘And if Inspector Poole’s told you about the photograph—’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Then you know how I tricked her.’

  ‘She didn’t actually say you’d tricked her.’

  He was smiling, not giving me much help. I could see that Amelia had collected the drinks on a tray. I had little time.

  ‘I rather gather,’ I told him, ‘that you fancy this Melanie.’ He nodded, solemn at my formality. ‘So I’m warning you that what I’m about to tell Amelia could compromise your position with Melanie.’

  Amelia arrived. I helped her with the drinks, and she sat down. I went on: ‘But I suspect you’ve simply seized the chance to see a bit more of her.’

  ‘Co...rrect,’ said Tony.

  ‘If you tell her what I’ve been up to, she’ll order me off her patch.’

  ‘Then I won’t tell her.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t you think we’ve got better things to talk about than crime!’

  Amelia explained to him. ‘Richard hasn’t got a romantic soul.’ And she pouted at me.

  So, having settled our mutual relationships, I felt free to tell them what Larry had revealed. Amelia became more and more silent as I went on, until she was white and angry.

  ‘That poor child! Whoever did this...’ She stopped, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief, which she’d got out in case her eyes needed it.

  Tony said: ‘That surely can’t be a motive for murder. She can’t have been killed for no other reason than that she wanted to meet her natural mother!’

  Amelia and I looked at each other. She shook her head violently.

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ she said.

  I looked at my fist on the table. ‘I think the time’s come for going out and thumping somebody.’

  ‘You think so?’ Tony asked hopefully.

  I shook my head. Nancy had possessed two mothers, each with no apparent feelings, and I hadn’t yet come to the point of thumping women.

  ‘That chap Mark seems a likely subject,’ Tony suggested.

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to have done Nancy any harm.’ I twisted my glass between two palms. ‘Larry had the story from Nancy. She’d have told him the truth.’

  ‘I think we ought to speak to Philip,’ Amelia said cautiously.

  ‘It was from their house the photos were stolen.’

  Tony lifted his head. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Richard’s your friend, Tony. I thought it would be better if it was I who didn’t tell you.’

  He stared at her for a moment, then he laughed with delight.

  ‘Oh...lovely. And Melanie doesn’t know?’

  I grunted, not at all sure any more about what Melanie did and didn’t know. ‘She put me in touch with her favourite burglar. I didn’t want her to know where he’d been operating.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tony,’ Amelia apologized. ‘Now we’ve put you in an awkward spot.’

  ‘Only if Melanie wants to talk about it. I can assure you I don’t.’

  ‘You’re doing so,’ I pointed out.

  ‘But you’re not Melanie.’

  This was getting us nowhere. ‘We’ll just have to get hold of Philip,’ I said to Amelia. ‘Something went on at that house, and he must know. He’s the sort who stands on the sidelines and watches.’

  ‘D’you think he’ll tell us?’ She sounded tentative.

  ‘We can try.’ But even to myself my voice sounded full of doubt. Our joint lack of confidence hung heavily between us.

  Shortly after that we broke up, Tony saying he hadn’t unpacked. He’d glanced at his watch first, so I guessed he was meeting someone.

  We went out to the lobby to collect our key. As usual, there was no one at the desk, so I went round to help myself. The key wasn’t in its little cubicle.

  ‘Surely I handed it in.’

  ‘You did,’ she confirmed. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Oh hell!’

  I went ahead of her to the stairs and raced up, a mistake perhaps because I made too much noise. When I reached the room the key was in the lock, the tab still moving from the movements as the door was closed. I looked round to the far shadows beyond. There would be a back staircase somewhere, but it was too late to search for it.

  The room light was on inside. We stood in the doorway, with me restraining Amelia from habit. Survey the scene before disturbing it.

  The search had been made without any attempt at concealment. Whoever it had been had found themselves in a hurry. We hadn’t brought much with us, but most of it was strewn on the floor. I glanced at Amelia. She was staring round with her lower lip between her teeth. There is something personally defiling about the thought of a stranger’s fingers exploring your belongings.

  Savagely, I said: ‘Let’s check.’

  We did so, tidying as we went. There was nothing missing. We’d left nothing of value to tempt a petty thief.

  I straightened. ‘Somebody was looking for these.’ I patted my breast pocket.

  ‘Yes.’ She was still being very quiet and restrained.

  ‘The car!’ I remembered. I’d locked it, but doors can be broken open and windows smashed. She made a vague gesture, there being nothing personal and intimate about a car.

  So I went down myself. By this time the courtyard was full of cars. If I’d wanted to back out I’d have had to fetch a dozen drivers. The Granada was intact. I checked the locks, and turned away.

  Through the courtyard entrance I caught a glimpse of a parked car outside on the road. If my reactions had not been sticking out all over the place I might not have given it a second thought. But I knew the shape, even if the colour was not discernible. It looked like Inspector Poole’s Metro.

  I walked out and ac
ross to it. The wind whipped me at once, reminding me I wasn’t wearing a coat. Seeing my approach she wound down her window.

  ‘Mr Patton. Good evening.’

  ‘I wish to report that our room has been searched.’

  ‘Very well. Report noted. Anything taken?’

  ‘No. We almost caught him at it.’

  ‘But possibly it wasn’t there anyway. You would surely carry it with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Now come along, Mr Patton. Don’t be coy with me. That yellow envelope you bought from Harvey Cole. It’s obviously valuable to somebody.’

  ‘To me,’ I agreed. ‘And I’m keeping it safe.’ I patted my breast pocket once more.

  ‘Now, isn’t that a foolish thing to do,’ she chided me solemnly. ‘You’re indicating where you have it, and publicly, and if what you say is correct, and you interrupted your petty thief, then he can’t be far away. You’re inviting personal attack. Think about that.’

  ‘So I am.’ And in the mood I was in, I would welcome it. Physical action would be a welcome change from futile mental effort.

  We had no chance to continue with this back-chat. I heard slow footsteps behind me, and Tony’s lazy, easy voice. ‘Hello there. Making friends?’

  Which meant he’d deduced from Melanie’s previous attitude that she didn’t consider me a friend.

  ‘Somebody’s got into his room,’ she told him. ‘He refuses to make a formal complaint.’

  ‘Do I? I didn’t realize that.’

  Tony looked from one to the other of us. ‘Anything taken?’

  ‘He’s still got the envelope safe,’ she informed him, a touch of acid in her voice. Then she excused her mood. ‘I’ve been waiting ages, Tony. The car’s freezing.’

  ‘We’ve been having a session.’ He walked round to the other side. ‘There was so much to discuss.’

  ‘Then get inside, for heaven’s sake. You can tell me all.’

  He grinned across at me. I recalled a similar encounter across the roof of a car, though then it had been raining hard.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’

  I wasn’t sure which one of us he was teasing. But certainly he’d set himself a very tricky balancing act.

  His door slammed. The engine started. Melanie called: ‘See you again. Always at your service.’

  Then they were away, leaving me wondering how dry a sense of humour can get before going sour.

  I turned back to the courtyard. Way along the road I heard a motorcycle bark into life, then settle down to a diminishing thrum. Slowly I mounted the stairs, with a good idea of what I was heading for.

  She was standing by the window with her back to me. She didn’t turn.

  ‘That was Inspector Poole you were talking to, wasn’t it?’ she asked, her voice empty.

  I was non-committal. ‘It was. She was waiting for Tony.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think it would be the best idea if we handed over all we’ve discovered — make a statement, or whatever’s necessary — to Melanie. And have done with it.’

  ‘It’s tempting.’

  She turned quickly. Her voice sharpened. Tempting wasn’t enough. ‘I’m coming to hate this district, the wind, the weather...oh, everything. This room. I don’t think I can stand it much longer.’

  This was strong language from her. She’d shown she could stand a lot more, and still fight back.

  ‘Another day,’ I suggested quietly. ‘We’ve already got most of the truth. There’re things we can guess at. You know what I mean, my dear. But surely we ought to try to find the last bit of truth.’

  She tried to look me in the eyes, but didn’t like what she saw. Her voice sharpened as she glanced away. ‘And if we don’t like that particular truth, do we go on looking, hoping to find a better one?’

  ‘You know what I mean. She’s your friend, my dear. Yours. Not mine.’

  ‘I know, I know. But now...oh, I can’t explain. But I’m terribly afraid for Olivia. For Philip, too, of course. I want to help them, but I’m so scared of what...it’s like opening a door that’s been shut for twenty years — you don’t know what you’re going to find.’

  She put a hand to her lips briefly, then removed it. ‘Richard, please try to understand.’

  I reached forward, attempting to put my hands to her shoulders, but she turned away. ‘I do understand. One more day. I promise. No more.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘If my reasoning’s at all valid —’

  She came straight back at me. ‘Your reasoning! Your logic! You and your puzzles! It’s all a cold and empty game to you, fit this to that and see if it matches the other. That young girl...oh, what’s the use of talking!’

  I looked at her sadly. She knew me better than that. But how could I explain my attitude? It had always been the same, in every case I’d ever handled that involved a sudden death. At first there had been the choking feeling of anger, that a life had been lost — taken. But at that stage it had always remained impersonal. And then the first stages had been put into motion. To understand anything it had been necessary to know the victim. Intimately. That was when the agony began, when the pity was no longer impersonal, and I felt the growing, uncontrollable internal demand that I had to uncover the truth. And that had competed with my official experience and knowledge, which told me that I would get nowhere unless I approached the problem coldly and without emotion. It was the internal struggle that had always been so exhausting, so debilitating.

  And now I was getting to know Nancy. The sickness was there in my stomach. Amelia had felt it herself, but for her it was a natural compassion, an emotion that could be controlled.

  I was not so certain of my own control. I needed help with it.

  ‘I would find a lot of use for talking,’ I said quietly, reaching for her understanding.

  She grimaced, half conceding. ‘To talk, to argue, to discuss theories?’

  I thought I’d eased a crack into the situation. We were close to discussion and amicability.

  ‘If you’ll tell me in what aspect —’

  ‘Oh, what’s the point!’ She waved, dismissing my ambitions to distract her. ‘All right. All right, then. One more day. But...if we could only move from here!’

  I hated to look into those hopeful eyes, especially after the concession, and then say; ‘But we can’t do that. It’s known we’re here. People come and talk —’

  ‘And search our room!’

  Then, as these things go, it was left there, neither of us able to think of a way through it, and nothing was settled. We were silent, reaching futilely across the cold, unfriendly room for a lead, an opening, even an encouraging glance.

  We went to bed. Still silent. She lay stiffly, well away from me, and it may have been that my bulk created a depression into which it was difficult not to slide, or she moved in her sleep unknowingly into my arms, but there she was in the morning, and somehow the room held less repression in the daylight, with the sun rising over the sea, but whatever had been between us was gone, and my right arm was numb.

  ‘What now?’ she asked over breakfast.

  ‘I thought we should have a word with Philip.’

  ‘D’you want me along?’ There was just a hint of the previous evening that intruded there.

  ‘Of course. It could be interesting.’

  ‘You want to see him alone, don’t you? I mean — not with Olivia there.’

  I nodded solemnly. ‘At this stage, I think it’d be best.’

  ‘Then you’d better phone him. Let him suggest what to do about it. He’ll know all about her habits and movements.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  I went at once to do that from the pay phone in the lobby. She had disliked the thought of keeping secrets from Olivia.

  10

  At this time, I knew, Olivia should be in her morning dictating session, though I’d gathered the impression that Philip was expected to be in the vicinity in case she had any deman
ds to hand out. It was Philip who answered.

  ‘It’s Richard, Philip,’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’ There was caution in that single word. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I think we ought to meet.’

  ‘Come along here —’

  ‘No. Alone. Just you.’

  ‘I don’t see how I can help you.’ He was still coldly distant.

  Help me? That was a strange way to put it, considering it was I, in the first place, who’d been asked there in order to help them.

  ‘I’ve got some more information about the break-in you had. I thought I’d better discuss it with you before Olivia gets involved.’

  There was plenty of hidden meaning in that. I waited while it stirred his interest. At last he answered, his voice now quite normal.

  ‘Olivia’s decided to have one of her days out. She suddenly decides she can’t stand my face any more, and says she’ll take her car and eat somewhere else. She gets these fits. The writing seems to be too much all of a sudden, and she has to soak herself in reality. Off she goes to Norwich or some-where. So she’ll be out of the house from about eleven to...say...five or six. If you’d like to come here, that could be all right.’

  It was one of those offers made with a shade of doubt. He would prefer otherwise, and may not have realized that he gave the impression nothing and nobody was welcome at Mansfield Park. He guarded it jealously.

  ‘We’ll buy you lunch somewhere,’ I offered. ‘That’ll get you out of the house yourself.’

  ‘Well yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Where do you suggest? You’re the one who knows the district best.’

  ‘How about Potter Heigham?’

  I had already decided I would like to see the place where Nancy had possibly died. That he should choose it, so conveniently, caused me to hesitate for a second. ‘Well...certainly,’ I agreed.

  ‘That would be ideal, then.’ Now he sounded as though he’d suggested a pleasurable excursion for us. ‘I know a good place to eat, there. Shall we say midday, outside...’ He paused. ‘Do you know Potter Heigham? It’s a favourite spot of mine.’

  ‘No. I’ve never been there.’

  ‘Then aim for the bridge. I’ll meet you at the Bridge Hotel. You can’t miss it.’