by Ali Carter
‘Bye, I love you,’ I said but she’d hung up, never one to linger after getting what she wanted.
I sunk back into my pillow, the thread of the duvet coming loose in my hand.
A thread! The thread. I shot up to sitting, my upper body stiff against the headboard. I’d picked a burgundy thread off Hailey’s door. It was exactly the same colour as Charlie’s V-neck jumper. The one Daniel had teased him about wearing. How had I not thought about it until now and why had I been so careless with it? I have absolutely no idea where it is… on the corridor; stuck to an investigator’s shoe; squirrelled by a mouse and now lining its nest. It’s highly likely it came from Charlie’s jumper as his room was practically opposite Hailey’s. Had he been bed-hopping too? Charlie, the one Daniel had described as having ‘issues under the carpet’.
I read a book recently called Rain, an autobiographical novel of a young man on tour in Afghanistan. This novel had made me painfully aware of what my contemporaries on tour in Afghanistan had been through. It also got the point across of how difficult it is for these soldiers to integrate back into society. Poor Charlie was, according to Daniel, a similar case.
I heard the stairs creak and I could tell by the lone heavy footsteps it was Toby.
I opened my door.
‘Susie,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d already be asleep, you looked so tired this evening.’
‘I’m okay. Just looking forward to going home I guess. It’s been a long week.’
‘Lucy’s gone out somewhere, I’m going down in a moment to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?’
‘Go on then, yes please.’
‘I’ll bring it up.’
I hovered about in my room, first sitting in the armchair, then deciding the dressing table seat would be better and Toby could have the armchair. Time passed and I moved to the bed, yes, the bed was soft and relaxed, that’d be best. Toby came in, handed me a cup and slumped into the armchair.
‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘Tip-toeing around someone else’s house. Good call of yours to stay another day, I saw right through that.’ He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with tiredness.
‘Do you have any friends in the army Toby?’ It was a random question put out of context but I lacked the energy to dress it up.
‘Nope.’
‘Charlie from the weekend fought in Afghanistan.’
‘Did he talk about it?’ Toby sounded confused.
‘No, others mentioned it.’
‘I’m not surprised he didn’t, people who’ve been there can suffer all sorts of psychological side effects.’
‘Do you think their experience would ever lead them to random acts of violence on their return?’
‘No, I don’t. But, if it did there would have to be a trigger.’
‘Like what?’
‘Sounds or smells can spark memories but it’s flashbacks during sleep that cause disturbed states.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Quite a few patients in the psychiatric unit in the hospital where I work are ex-servicemen and women.’
‘Poor them.’
‘Susie,’ Toby sounded amused, ‘what are you really getting at?’
‘I’m wondering if a mentally unstable person could commit a crime without having any memory of having done so?’
‘And…?’ Toby wasn’t fooled by my straightforward expression and I knew now I had to be careful: he was getting to know me almost too well. There’d be no wool left to pull over his eyes if ever I needed to.
‘Charlie’s bedroom was almost opposite Hailey’s and I found a thread from his jumper on her doorframe…’
‘Definitely his jumper?’ interrupted Toby.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Daniel told me Charlie had issues and had been covering them up with gak.’
‘Daniel’s one big wooden spoon.’
I smiled at Toby. Maybe Daniel was a stirrer but I was far more interested in knowing if Charlie could have had an episode and done something to Hailey without knowing he had.
‘I see where you’re going with this.’ Toby smiled. ‘If you’d said heroin I’d have supported your theory, but cocaine more often makes people lovey-dovey or incredibly chatty, but rarely violent.’
‘What about absinthe? Couldn’t it have made Charlie hallucinate and induced a psychotic state?’
‘That’s so last century. No one now believes it corrupts minds. You must know the painting L’Absinthe by Degas?’
‘Yes.’ I knew the painting well, ‘It’s in the Musée d’Orsay,’ which is somewhere I often visit on my Parisian lingerie sprees.
‘Well, you’ll agree then that the woman with the glass of absinthe in front of her and the indisputable blank expression doesn’t look ready to commit murder, does she?’
‘No!’ I said, my voice full of glee that Toby had good art know-how. ‘But, how, then, did Charlie’s jumper get on Hailey’s doorframe?’
‘He probably went corridor creeping too.’
‘But, if his jumper snagged he must have been leaving her room in a hurry.’
‘Or he snagged it by mistake. But either way, Susie, you’re forgetting the calcium oxalate in her urine.’
‘We all know there’s far too much oxalate in Hailey’s system,’ I said, rather disgruntled by Toby’s narrow-mindedness, ‘but maybe there was something else that killed her, or also killed her. Charlie could have suffocated Hailey.’
Toby seemed more interested in the writing on his mug of tea than me.
‘Do you think I should tell DCI Reynolds about the thread?’
‘Your decision, Susie.’
This was unhelpful. ‘I’ll sleep on it then.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Toby immediately stood up, ‘I’m sorry, I’ll leave you now. Goodnight Susie.’
Rubbish!
I got into bed with my computer. I wasn’t ready to put psychotic fits to sleep yet. Google would have to guide me from here on in.
Psychotic disorder: a sudden onset of psychotic symptoms, which may include delusions, hallucinations, disorganised speech or behaviour, or catatonic behaviour. Lasting anything from tens of seconds to several minutes these fits are spontaneous and dangerous. Patients who become detached from reality during these episodes can go on to cause severe crimes which, when out of the fit, leave them with no recollection that they did.
Bingo! If Charlie fell asleep fully clothed (or at least with his top half on) and had a flashback to Afghanistan, it could have sparked a psychotic episode. Whilst in this state he might have set off on a mission to harm the first person he came across, as in next down the corridor: incapacitated-by-drink-Hailey. Charlie’s military training would have given him the skills to carry out suffocation or worse, as swiftly and silently as possible. He could have snagged his jumper on her doorframe on the way in or out. And, according to this description, he may well have absolutely no idea he’d done so.
Even I knew this theory was far-fetched but if I shared it with DCI Reynolds first thing tomorrow his reaction might just tell me something I don’t know. And, if Sergeant Ayari was having a late night, maybe there really would be fresh news for me in the morning.
I woke very early from the combination of excessive heat and a scrum of semi-conscious disturbed thoughts. A large part of me wanted to call DCI Reynolds and tell him about the burgundy thread. But, it was too early so I sent a text instead.
Hello, it’s Susie Mahl, please can we speak when it’s
convenient, I have something I’d like to run past
you. Thank you.
The new day was calling me outside and not wanting to disturb the others I skipped showering, put on my summer dress from Saturday, the one pretty outfit Toby hadn’t seen yet, and tiptoed downstairs all set for an adventure.
Red-Rum was curled up in his basket in the kitchen and when he looked at me as if to say ‘what are you doing up?’ I thought I really should nip back upstairs and slip a note under Toby’s door. It was only fair to tell him where I’d gone
.
Hi Toby,
Call me when you get this and we’ll make a plan. I woke early so have gone shopping.
Susie x
This was half-true. I needed to pick up a few ingredients for dinner but I didn’t want to tell him I was also going to Mass.
If I miss a Sunday service I like to try and make up for it in the week and I knew that, today, being in church would be a good place to clear my thoughts. With only twenty-four hours left in Norfolk the pressure was on to get my ducks in a row.
Moments after I was in the car my telephone rang.
‘Hello Inspector.’ I had him on the loudspeaker.
‘Hello Susie.’ He sounded surprisingly cheery for an early morning detective in the thick of a murder investigation. ‘What do you have to tell me?’
‘I forgot to mention I found a burgundy thread on Hailey’s bedroom doorframe the morning of her death. It caught my eye and I plucked it off.’
‘Is that all?’
‘I think it’s…’
DCI Reynolds interrupted me, ‘I’ve got very good news Susie. You’ve beat me to it. I was waiting for a reasonable hour to call and tell you that late last night we were able to put a close to Miss Dune’s case.’
This news punched me in the stomach.
‘You’ve been a huge help to us all here and I’m very grateful for your willingness to co-operate.’
What I minded most of all was their solving the case without any vital input from me. It did nothing at all to help build my reputation as an amateur detective. A role I’d unashamedly been basking in recently.
When I asked what the outcome was DCI Reynolds replied in a wonderfully good temper, ‘Quite simple in the end – although your telling us about the man in the striped jim-jams is what sped the whole thing up.’ (I gave myself a very small pat on the back.) ‘As soon as we’d diagnosed cause of death our tangential man in the striped pyjamas came clean.’
There was no time for me to interject, as DCI Reynolds was on a roll. ‘One of the worst parts of these types of investigations, Susie, is suspecting innocent people who remain innocent all along. Thank goodness we didn’t take up that glass of water with Mrs Ramsbottom. I would never have been able to forgive myself for causing her more upset.’
‘I can only imagine,’ I said, catching my brow furrowing in the visor mirror.
‘We were wrong about murder, something I’m sorry about but couldn’t have dismissed without the information we now have. Poor Miss Dune died of a very rare type of kidney stones that secreted an excessively abnormal amount of calcium oxalate.’
I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. Hailey only had stones in one kidney and Toby had assured me that wouldn’t have killed her.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely certain.’
Toby must have missed something.
‘Mr Wellingham,’ said DCI Reynolds, ‘was in Miss Dune’s bed.’
I’d guessed as much.
‘He was unable to wake Miss Dune and it was at this point he realised she was in fact dead.’
DCI Reynolds didn’t go into any details, jumping straight to the point that, ‘Mr Wellingham was afraid of being accused of killing Miss Dune. Full of panic he came to, in my opinion, the ludicrous conclusion that the quickest way to get help without being suspected was to set off the burglar alarm.’
‘What?!’ I was shocked.
‘Yes indeed, it is an unbelievable chain of events. Mr Wellingham crept past the Duke, fast asleep in the armchair as he said he was, into the billiard room and, hauling himself up onto the window ledge, he set off the alarm.’
‘That’s who I saw?’
‘Yes, I think so, and in turn it was Mrs Mapperton who seemingly first found her friend dead. It’s amazing,’ said DCI Reynolds, ‘what people think they have to do in order not to be unjustly accused. A lot of my time and resources have been wasted over the past week and I only wish a man as honourable as Mr Wellingham thought to tell the truth from the very beginning.’
I couldn’t get my head around Archie’s inhumane behaviour. What type of person wouldn’t call an ambulance immediately if they thought someone was dead? And who would put themselves first, concerned they might be accused of killing the poor girl? It was staggeringly selfish and unbelievably cowardly. Did DCI Reynolds honestly believe it?
‘He must have been absolutely certain she was stone dead,’ I said, it being the only vaguely reasonable explanation for Archie’s actions.
‘Yes, he assures us that she was and that much I believe.’
To me, Daniel’s insistence that Archie didn’t do it meant he’d been privy to the truth all along and I jolly well hope he would have spoken out if one of the rest of us had been accused of murder.
‘Now, what did you want to put past me Susie?’
‘I thought the thread I found on Hailey’s doorframe came from Charlie’s jumper.’
‘Oh yes, you told me you’d found a thread. Rest assured Miss Dune died of kidney stones but just for your peace of mind, Charlie Letterhead confessed to calling in on Miss Dune in the early hours of the morning but on seeing Mr Wellingham already in her bed he rapidly retreated.’
‘My goodness,’ was all I had to say, although inside I felt mildly offended no one had attempted to jump into my bed.
‘We’ve all been let down, Susie. I feel the same disappointment as you but at least we’ve got to the bottom of it. Thank you for your input, I’m so glad to have met you in person.’
‘I just wish I’d been more help.’
‘You were a great help. Don’t underestimate yourself, you have a keen eye for detail. I’ll never forget your description of Miss Dune’s bedroom, quite the best memory I’ve ever come across.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you, Susie. All the best and bye for now.’
‘Bye.’
I immediately felt like pulling a handbrake turn and rushing back to tell Toby the news, but with St Cuthbert’s Culhead in view I craved the peace and quiet of a church.
Eight thirty wasn’t unusual for a weekday Mass, but there were many more people in the congregation of this largish country church than I’d expected. Fair enough, most were of the age of people looking for things to fill their few remaining days on earth, and then there were the usual goodie-two-shoes, short men and in-your-face women who’d only be missing if a meals-on-wheels volunteer had called in sick.
I filed in and sat near the back. It was nice to catch the breeze coming through the open door. There was no music but thankfully the priest’s tuneful voice carried the rest of ours along.
He greeted us with open arms, ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.’
‘And with your spirit,’ we solemnly said.
‘Brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries.’ His eyes dipped to the altar with a brief pause for silence and my attention was caught by a blond mass of shaggy hair a couple of pews in front of me. The figure beneath it appeared youthful in comparison to the majority of the congregation.
The priest’s head rose and loud and clear we recited together, ‘I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do.’ Striking our breasts, we said, ‘Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.’
BANG! The church door shut in a gust of wind and my shoulders shot up with fright, although my eyes remained focused on the youngish man in front of me. His head swivelled… it was Archie! He was staring back towards the door. I was completely stunned – I’d automatically assumed that his family were Protestant.
I just about managed to join in on the tail end of The Absolution with an ‘Amen’. But that was all. I heard none of the Penitential Act. With Archie in view, my head was flooding with fresh memories of all
the theories I’d had about the weekend.
The priest’s voice took on an almost silent tone when not singing. He muffled the gospel into his dog collar with his head so heavily bowed I doubt he’d notice if we all got up and left. I stared vacantly at Archie’s back. So far I don’t think he’d noticed me.
Blond hair, that’s what they found on Hailey’s lamp-shade. The very same skew-whiff lampshade I’d noticed. All of which made sense if Archie was in her bed but the DNA matched Archie and Primrose and what if it was Primrose… There would be no logical explanation for that.
The Lord’s Prayer rolled off my tongue, and the words, ‘Safe from all distress,’ in the priest’s embolism struck me: was Hailey’s murderer still on the loose?
‘Peace be with you,’ was upon us. I smiled sweetly at the old man behind me who had the only hand close enough to shake. He looked as uncomfortable as I always feel at this moment in a modern service.
Back on our knees, I began to worry that the forensic pathologists had come to the wrong conclusion. And if I am the only person who doubts the diagnosis then I am the only one (and maybe Toby once I’ve filled him in) who will be pursuing this.
In unconventional form the priest brought communion up the aisle, stopping at the end of the pews to serve those of us filing out. As a result there was no chance of Archie’s path crossing mine.
I prayed on my knees for my family and friends then asked with all my heart for clarity and forgiveness.
‘Go forth, the Mass is ended,’ said the priest.
I waited in my pew so as I could try to catch Archie’s eye when he came past. He looked up and a flicker of surprise grasped his expression as he registered my presence.
‘Susie Mahl!’ he said with gusto on the porch steps, excusing himself from courteous old women wanting to say hello. As he greeted me with the posho’s kiss on both cheeks I admired this uncharacteristic confidence I was seeing in him – he was playing his role of squire with aplomb.
‘Come,’ he said leading me up the path of the graveyard, the narrowness of it pushing us close together. ‘I’m so glad to have bumped into you,’ Archie smiled. ‘I want to apologise for all that kerfuffle over the weekend. What you must think of my rabble of reprobates.’
