‘No!’
But again, it didn’t ring quite true.
‘Do you realise you haven’t shown the slightest sign of regret over his death?’
‘Haven’t I?’ Vintage rubbed his hands nervously together. ‘I don’t suppose it’s sunk in yet. But believe me, I’d rather have him alive than dead.’
‘Why?’
‘Purely selfish reasons. Because it really does leave me in a hell of a mess here. And also, in the long term, because I still had a lot to learn from him. He was a bloody good winemaker.’
‘I notice you don’t say anything about liking him or missing him as a friend.’
‘You don’t have to like someone to work with him.’
No, but it helps, thought Thanet, glancing at Lineham who was to him almost indispensible. The sergeant was listening intently, making the occasional note. There was one other question that had to be put. Let Lineham ask it. ‘Do you have any further questions to put, Sergeant?’
Lineham glanced down at his notebook, as if consulting it. ‘You say you were working here alone all evening, Mr Vintage. Did you see anyone else around, at any time?’
‘No! Oh, hang on … Yes …’ Vintage stopped.
It was obvious that he’d suddenly remembered, had said so without thinking and then had second thoughts. Why?
‘Yes, or no?’ said Lineham.
‘Yes,’ said Vintage reluctantly, aware no doubt that retracting now could lead to all sorts of complications. ‘I’d forgotten because it was early on, soon after Zak went across to the office.’
Lineham waited expectantly.
‘Reg Mason came up. He’d been to see Mrs Randish, he said.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘A local builder. He’s been converting a complex of farm buildings on their land into holiday cottages.’
‘What did he want to see her about?’
‘He didn’t say. Why should he? It’s none of my business.’
Thanet sighed inwardly. Vintage was not a good liar.
Lineham wasn’t prepared to let the matter go. ‘So why did he come up to see you?’
‘Search me. Just to say hullo. Perhaps he just felt like a natter.’
‘So did he stay talking long?’
‘No, just a few minutes. He could see I was busy.’
‘Did you see him leave?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure he didn’t go into the bottling plant?’
‘No, he didn’t!’
‘The press is that stainless-steel machine underneath the open-sided shed at the far side of the yard?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’d have had a clear view of the big doors into the bottling plant all evening. No one would have been able to go in or out without your seeing them.’
Vintage laughed. ‘You must be joking! If I’d stood there beside it like a dummy all the time then yes, that would be true, I grant you. But I was all over the place, shifting things about, swilling out, hosing down, moving supplies of sugar, batches of waiting grapes, cleaning out some of the fermentation vessels in an adjoining shed … Shall I go on?’
‘I think you’ve made your point. So it would have been easy for someone to slip into the laboratory without your seeing them.’
‘Right!’
‘Did you hear anything, then? Cars arriving or leaving?’
‘If you’d heard the noise the press makes when the compressor comes on you wouldn’t be asking me that, either.’
Thanet couldn’t make up his mind if Vintage was deliberately being unhelpful, or whether he was just trying to make it clear that although he had been alone here there had been ample opportunity for anyone else to get in if they had watched for the opportunity.
Lineham glanced at Thanet. I don’t think we’re going to get any further.
Thanet nodded. ‘Well, I think that’s all for the moment, Mr Vintage. We’ll need to talk to you again tomorrow, and you can make a formal statement then. But you can go home now, try and get a decent night’s sleep for once.’
‘Will I be able to go on pressing tomorrow?’
Thanet shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, that’s out of the question.’
‘But I have to! We’ve got four batches booked in, from small vineyards, and more the next day. And the day after that! We can’t just not deal with them. This is these people’s livelihood, Inspector, they work all year for this. We’ve just got to go on.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Thanet repeated, ‘but I can’t have people tramping around all over the place tomorrow. The vineyard will have to be closed. But I do understand what you’re saying and I’ll do my level best to make sure you’re able to go on the following day.’
Vintage compressed his lips but could see that it was pointless to argue. With an ill grace, he left.
THREE
Lineham tossed his notebook on to the table. ‘He knows more than he’s telling, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. But is it relevant? That’s the point.’ People were, Thanet knew, prepared to go to astonishing lengths to preserve their privacy and even in a murder investigation would tell the police only what they felt they ought to know. Understandable but infuriating. All the same, he was intrigued by Oliver Vintage. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting there’s more to his condition than just plain tiredness.’
‘He’s ill, you mean?’
‘Not ill, but … Well, I’d say he’s a man with a problem, a problem that’s really getting him down. And he’s having an especially hard time coping with it at the moment, because of the demands his work is making on him.’
‘You think Randish was the problem?’
‘Could be. If so, no doubt we’ll find out sooner or later.’
It was, he thought, an extraordinary way to earn a living. Here he sat, in a dead man’s chair at a dead man’s table, trying to feel his way into a dead man’s life. If anyone had asked him why he did it he supposed he’d say, well, someone has to. And if asked to elaborate, even knowing that he risked sounding grandiose, he’d say that some of us have to try to balance the scales of justice, or evil would flourish unchecked and the world would descend into anarchy. His own contribution towards the struggle might be small, but it was what gave meaning and purpose to his life.
‘Pity they all went tramping into the laboratory,’ Lineham said.
‘I know. No doubt they’ll all have glass embedded in their shoes, so we won’t be able to eliminate any of them that way.’
‘Except Mrs Landers.’
‘True.’
‘So, what now, sir?’
‘We’d better have a word with Mrs Randish, if she’s up to it. Let’s go and see.’
As soon as they entered the sitting room Thanet could sense the tension in the air. It showed in Landers’ aggressive pose in front of the hearth, chin thrust forward, legs apart and hands clasped behind his back; showed too in Mrs Landers’ worried expression and in the rigidity of Alice Randish’s back. Alice was still huddled on the edge of her seat as close to the woodstove as she could get, stretching out her hands to its warmth and rubbing them together from time to time. With her long fair hair falling forward to hide her face and her slight, almost girlish figure, she could easily have been taken for a teenager, Thanet thought. Her mother was still perched on the arm of the chair beside her.
What had they been arguing about? Thanet wondered. ‘Mrs Randish,’ he said, ‘I really am very sorry to have to trouble you at a time like this. I mean that. But it would help us enormously if you could answer just a few questions.’
‘Can’t it wait till morning?’ snapped Landers. ‘I’ve sent for the doctor. Alice will need something to help her sleep tonight. I thought we’d take her home with us. The children too, of course. It’ll mean waking them up, but that can’t be helped.’
‘Daddy, do stop fussing,’ Alice said wearily, without looking up. ‘I told you, I’ll be perfectly all right.’
Was this the cause of the disagreement? Thanet doubted
it. Whether Alice should go or stay was surely not a sufficiently emotive issue. He said nothing, simply stood, waiting, and in a moment Alice did glance up.
‘Do sit down, Inspector.’
‘Alice …’
‘Daddy, please!’
Thanet took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth, wishing that it weren’t so hot in here. Already he could feel sweat pricking at his back.
‘How old are the children?’ he said, hoping to break the ice.
Landers answered for her. ‘Eight and six.’ He was still standing in front of the hearth, a physical barrier between Thanet and Alice.
Thanet had had enough of this. ‘Would you mind taking a seat, sir? And if you’d like to stay –’
‘Of course I’m staying!’
‘Then I’d be grateful if you would refrain from interrupting. Otherwise I’m afraid I shall have to insist on seeing Mrs Randish alone.’
Landers didn’t like it but with an ill grace retreated to a sofa at the far side of the room.
Thanet guessed that Alice was an only child and had probably been both over-protected and over-indulged. He wondered how Landers would have felt if he knew that Randish had been knocking his beloved daughter about. That was a thought. Perhaps he had known. Somehow Thanet had to find out if there was any foundation for Louise’s suspicions and if there were, whether Landers had been aware of the situation.
But not yet. Such delicate matters could not be rushed.
He turned back to Alice. ‘Now, Mrs Randish, I understand that your husband was away for most of the day.’
For the first time she lifted her head and looked at Thanet properly.
Her eyes were astonishing, he thought, a deep cornflower blue, fringed with long lashes. Her features were regular, the bone structure delicate, its underlying beauty unmarred by the superficial marks of grief. She was aptly named, he thought, remembering Tenniel’s famous illustrations for Alice in Wonderland.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. Her tone was heavy with despair and he felt a surge of pity for her.
Be careful, said a small voice in his head. She could have done it herself. He had a lightning vision of the slender figure before him galvanised with fury, the flower-like face contorted with rage, that ladylike voice hurling imprecations at Randish. It would have taken no strength at all to sweep bottles, test tubes, flasks off the benches, to seize and hurl some of them at her husband.
Thanet shook his head to clear it. He needed all his wits about him to tread the tightrope he always had to walk when interviewing a bereaved husband or wife. Statistics make it more than likely that you are talking to the murderer, but this can never be taken for granted. And you are in any case addressing a person whose private world has been destroyed for ever.
Noticing that her lower lip had begun to tremble and her eyes to fill with tears he tried to make his tone as matter-of-fact as possible. ‘What time did he leave this morning?’ I hate this.
‘I don’t know. I was out on Rosie. My horse.’
‘And what time did he come back?’
‘Just before six, as usual.’
Her voice was steadying, Thanet noticed with relief.
‘We always eat early during harvest, so that he can work right through the evening without stopping.’
‘So you had supper, and then?’
‘He left to go up to the winery, about 6.30.’
‘Did you see him again during the evening?’
She bit her lip and shook her head, the long hair swaying from side to side.
‘What did you do after he left?’
‘Put the children to bed, read them a story. Watched television.’
‘So you were alone for the rest of the evening?’
Suddenly tension was back in the air. She glanced at her father, hesitated. ‘No.’
Her mother also looked at Landers, somewhat apprehensively, Thanet thought.
What was going on?
‘I was here for a while, Inspector,’ said Landers.
Thanet was intrigued. So a father had called to see his daughter. Why this reaction? There could be only one reason. The visit must have a possible connection with the murder, in their opinion at least.
‘Why was that?’ Thanet asked Alice, but she was avoiding his eye, it seemed, staring fixedly at the woodstove and twisting a lock of hair round and round a forefinger.
Mrs Landers had suddenly become engrossed in scraping at an invisible spot on her skirt with her thumbnail.
‘Mrs Randish?’ Thanet persisted. ‘What was the reason for your father’s visit?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Landers exploded. He jumped up and strode across the room towards them. ‘Do I have to have a reason to call on my own daughter? You don’t think I have to ring up and make an appointment, do you?’
What was it that Landers was trying to prevent her saying? The answer to what had originally been a casual enquiry had become important. Thanet noticed with amusement that Lineham had stopped writing and was staring fixedly at Landers as if trying to read his mind, his nose pointing like a gundog on the trail.
This, clearly, was what the argument had been about. Landers had wanted to hold something back from the police, his daughter had disagreed with him.
‘Mrs Randish?’ Thanet said again.
Alice looked at her father. ‘Oh, what’s the point, Daddy? Can’t you see you’re just making matters worse? I told you they’d be bound to find out sooner or later.’
Very neat. Landers was no match for his daughter, thought Thanet. Alice was obviously skilled at getting her own way. She hadn’t openly gone against his wishes but had yet managed to manoeuvre him into the position where it had become obvious that he had something to hide.
Landers was understandably looking baffled and exasperated.
Thanet glanced from one to the other. ‘Know what?’ He guessed who would be the one to reply.
‘Oh, very well!’ said Landers. He took up his original position in front of the hearth, unconsciously betraying his agitation by shoving his hand in his pocket and jingling some coins. ‘It’s just that it’s a private matter and rather complicated and as it had been resolved anyway it seemed pointless to mention it, especially as it has no bearing whatsoever on what happened here tonight.’
Thanet said nothing; waited.
Landers shifted from one foot to the other. ‘My daughter and her husband have been having some work done by a local builder.’
‘Reg Mason,’ said Thanet, remembering Vintage’s evasiveness on the subject. Perhaps he was now going to find out what all that was about.
They all looked startled.
‘Yes. How did you …?’
‘Mr Vintage told me he’d called to see Mrs Randish this evening.’
Alice shot a triumphant glance at her father. You see?
‘Go on, Mr Landers.’
It was the sort of sad little tale which had become all too familiar during the recession years. Landers was patently reluctant to tell it and Thanet had to prompt and probe in order to get the details.
Reg Mason’s firm was small and he tended to take on only one big project at a time. In the boom years of the late eighties when there had been so much work about that builders could pick and choose and virtually name their own price, he had, like many people, overstretched his resources by buying a much bigger house, with a correspondingly huge mortgage padded out by a bank loan. At that time the future seemed golden, the supply of work endless and confidence was high. Then in ’90 and ’91 everything went wrong. The bottom fell out of the property market, building work virtually ground to a halt, interest rates shot up. The mortgage became crippling and there was no money coming in. Reg had realised he must retrench. He had put his house on the market but no one could afford to buy it at the price he had to ask. He had reduced it, repeatedly, to no avail. He had had to lay off some of the small team of workmen he had employed for years.
Then Randish’s project came along, the
conversion of a group of farm buildings into holiday cottages, and Mason had jumped at the chance to tender for it. Randish’s credit was good and Mason saw it as a safe enterprise which would keep his firm ticking over until the economic situation improved. Work had started about eighteen months ago and to begin with there had been no problems, Randish paying up reasonably promptly once a month, as agreed. Mason could not afford to pay his suppliers without a regular income from his client.
As always with such work the most expensive months were the last, when floors were tiled, central heating put in, kitchens and bathrooms installed, and it was when these larger bills started to come in that the trouble began. Randish disputed them, claiming that they were far beyond the original estimate. Mason said that this was because Randish had altered the initial specifications, choosing more expensive finishes and introducing additional features. The dispute had been put into the hands of solicitors and had been running for over six months.
Until the matter of the disputed bills, which over three months amounted to a sum of some sixty thousand pounds, Mason had managed to limp along. But after that the situation had become increasingly desperate. His building merchants, unpaid, refused to provide further supplies, thus preventing him from taking on other work until the matter was settled. Both bank and building society pressed progressively harder as unpaid mortgage and interest payments mounted up. A month ago they had lost patience and today he had received a letter from the building society’s solicitors saying that they were seeking a court hearing with a view to repossession. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that Mason’s wife had a heart condition which was being adversely affected by the strain and anxiety.
Mason had come tonight to make one more attempt to persuade Randish to pay at least a part of the sum owing, much of which was well within the original agreed estimate. Alice had advised him against attempting to talk to her husband that evening. Zak was tired and overworked and would not be in a receptive mood. But she felt sorry for Reg, whom she had known since she was a child, and she promised to do her best to try to persuade her husband to change his mind. Knowing, however, that this was most unlikely, when Reg left she had decided to ask her father’s advice. She had rung Landers and asked him to come over.
No Laughing Matter Page 3
