No Laughing Matter

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Very profound, Mike. But I agree. If it’s not Mrs Vintage, it could be someone else.’

  ‘I wonder how Mrs Randish’s father would have taken that, sir. I mean, if Randish was in the habit of playing around. And especially if what Louise suspected was true, and Randish got a bit rough with his wife from time to time. Landers certainly wouldn’t have liked that.’

  ‘Quite. We certainly can’t count him out, I agree. Which is one of the reasons why I want to see him next. I’d like another word with Mrs Randish too. With any luck we’ll catch her there.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better get a move on.’ He began to stack the letters back in the drawer and Lineham joined in. ‘Make sure you lock these up again. And then we’ll be on our way.’

  EIGHT

  Landers and his wife lived on the far side of Charthurst. Most of the village lay just off the main road and although Thanet had passed through it on a couple of occasions he had never looked at it properly before. Last night, of course, it had been dark, but even by daylight it was unremarkable, typical of the hundreds of villages scattered all over Kent, with a nucleus of older houses, mostly brick and tile-hung, weather-boarded or Tudor black and white, a sprinkle of Victorian cottages, a rash of new houses squeezed in wherever possible and the ubiquitous council estate. There was a church, a dilapidated village hall, a pub, a post office-cum-stores and a village school, which like so many had unfortunately long since been converted into a house. That, no doubt, mused Thanet as they drove past it, was where the bonds of rural loyalty between Landers and Mason had been forged. Landers had probably been sent away to school later on, but to begin with he and Mason would have shared a classroom, perhaps even a desk. The amalgamation of so many small schools like this one was, he believed, one of the many factors responsible for the decline in rural life. Ferried by school bus or by accommodating parents, children were taught from infancy to look away from their communities for their activities, hobbies and satisfactions. It was scarcely surprising that when they grew up they either moved to the towns or regarded the villages as little more than dormitories.

  By daylight Mason’s house still looked as if it were trying to proclaim the prosperity of its owner, an impression marred by the fact that the sole vehicle parked in the drive was an old pick-up truck which looked as though it were on its last legs – the only transport Mason was now able to afford, Thanet presumed.

  Trews Farm was about a mile beyond the village and looked prosperous – probably was, thought Thanet, remembering the Mercedes. The house itself was about four hundred yards from the road and the surface of the long drive was smoothly tarmacked, the verges mown, the hedges well trimmed. On one side were orderly rows of raspberry canes trained on wires, on the other an orchard which had recently been picked; the branches were bare of fruit and the windfalls had been raked into little piles at the end of each line of trees. If first impressions were anything to go by, Landers was to be congratulated. Farmers, Thanet knew, had been having a very bad time. Over the last few years there had been more bankruptcies and more suicides in the farming industry than there had ever been before and Kent had been badly hit. But it looked as though Landers was efficient enough – or perhaps lucky enough – to have escaped the worst of the recession. Perhaps he had weathered the storm by having long-standing contracts to supply some of the larger supermarket chains.

  In any case, Thanet guessed that the packing sheds, cold store and other, larger agricultural buildings associated with the work of the farm were elsewhere; the cluster of buildings at the end of the track was too picturesque to be businesslike on the scale which successful modern fruit farming demanded. It was characteristically Kentish: a brick and tile-hung farmhouse, an oast house with conical roof and white-painted cowl, a wooden barn and a range of open-fronted cart-sheds in which were parked the Range Rover Alice Randish had been driving earlier and a trim little silver-blue Rover Metro.

  ‘Glad it’s stopped raining,’ said Lineham as they got out of the car.

  ‘Mmm.’ Thanet was watching Mrs Landers, who was crossing the yard with the little boy they had last seen bundled up in a duvet. He was riding a bright red tricycle which reminded Thanet of one Ben had had when he was that age. They were accompanied by a golden Labrador which now came bounding across to investigate the newcomers, sending up sprays of water as it splashed through the puddles.

  ‘Good boy,’ said Lineham placatingly, putting out a slightly nervous hand to pat the dog’s handsome head as it skidded to a halt. He flinched and shuffled backwards as it sat down and lifted a friendly but very wet and muddy paw to greet him.

  ‘Timon, here!’ called Mrs Landers, and the dog trotted obediently back to its mistress.

  ‘He’s well trained,’ said Thanet with some relief as he and Lineham approached her. He liked dogs as long as they were kept under control. Like postmen, policemen all too frequently have to suffer from the unwelcome attentions of badly behaved pets watched admiringly by their doting owners.

  Last night Mrs Landers had taken so little part in the conversation that he had not paid her much attention. Now he looked at her properly. She was, he guessed, used to being overshadowed by her husband, and her unremarkable physical appearance matched the unobtrusive role she habitually played: neatly styled greying hair, clothes chosen for comfort and serviceability rather than elegance or style. Her eyes were a faded version of her daughter’s. But Thanet remembered the fierce, protective stare with which she had watched Alice last night and reminded himself not to underestimate her; there was steel beneath that misleadingly innocuous exterior.

  ‘I don’t like badly behaved dogs,’ said Mrs Landers, her expression softening as she glanced at the Labrador. ‘Especially big ones. If you don’t train them properly your friends soon stop calling.’

  ‘And what’s your name?’ said Lineham, smiling down at the child.

  ‘Malcolm,’ said the boy shyly. He had his father’s sturdy frame, thick dark curly hair and regular features.

  ‘I’ve got a little boy like you,’ said Lineham, squatting. ‘Well, a bit older, I suppose. He’s called Richard.’

  ‘Has he got a tricycle?’

  ‘He used to. But he’s got a bicycle now.’

  ‘When I’m a bit bigger Daddy’s going to teach me to ride a bicycle.’

  A shadow fell over the conversation.

  Thanet and Lineham glanced at Mrs Landers, who shook her head. ‘We’ve told them, but he hasn’t taken it in.’

  ‘He’ll need time,’ said Thanet.

  They all turned as a car approached at speed up the drive: Landers’ white Mercedes. It slowed as it entered the yard and rolled neatly into one of the sections of the cart-shed. Landers got out, looking grim.

  Of course, Thanet remembered, this morning Landers had had the unenviable task of breaking the news of her brother’s death to Randish’s sister, whose daughter had also died last night.

  The dog had gone bounding to meet him, followed by Malcolm on his tricycle, and Landers stooped to pat one and smile at the other before coming on. He nodded a greeting at Thanet and Lineham and said, ‘Excuse me for a moment, will you?’ He took both his wife’s hands and drew her aside. ‘You won’t believe this, Dulce …’ The dog was nuzzling at his hand and he said, ‘Stop it, Timon. Lie down.’

  The dog subsided obediently on to the ground.

  ‘What?’ said Mrs Landers, watching her husband’s face. ‘Not more bad news, surely? There just can’t be.’

  ‘When I got to Rachael’s house there was no reply. So I went next door. The neighbour told me Rachael was still at the hospital. Because’ – and Landers gave his wife’s hands a little shake, as if warning her to brace herself for what was coming – ‘because Jonathan had an accident last night.’

  ‘Oh, no … I don’t believe it. Poor Rachael!’

  ‘Apparently the police came around last night shortly after she got back from the hospital – it must have been just after she rang Alice’s house and spo
ke to me – to tell her. She went straight back and she’s been there all night.’

  ‘So how is he? You went to the hospital?’

  ‘Yes.’ Landers shook his head. ‘It’s not good, Dulce. He’s still unconscious.’ Landers released his wife’s hands. ‘Jonathan is Zak’s nephew,’ he said to Thanet, ‘the twin brother of the girl who died last night. He and his sister have always been very close.’ He turned back to his wife. ‘Apparently Jonathan was with Karen when she died. Rachael says she can only assume that he was so upset he was driving carelessly. And of course, on a motorcycle you’re so vulnerable.’

  ‘So how badly hurt is he?’

  Landers shrugged. ‘No bones broken, but he’s seriously concussed. As I say, he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. He’s just … lying there.’

  Poor woman, thought Thanet. He’d occasionally come across this type of situation before, when someone seemed to suffer a positive avalanche of disaster. The resilience of the human spirit never failed to amaze him. He’d often wondered how people could bear it when they lost their entire family at one fell swoop, in a fire, perhaps, or a car crash. How did they cope, when suddenly there was not a single member of their family left to turn to for consolation? This lad was not dead yet, of course, and with any luck would survive, but even so, Randish’s sister must meanwhile be in a pretty parlous state.

  ‘So how is Rachael taking it?’ said Mrs Landers. ‘Did you tell her about Zak?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t want to, mind, but I thought, if I don’t she’ll only read about it in the papers or hear it from a neighbour or on television and I didn’t want to risk that. But I think she’s in such a daze about Karen and Jonathan she didn’t really take it in. She just stared at me, didn’t say a word.’

  ‘I’ll have to go to her.’

  ‘We’d better tell Alice about Jonathan, first.’

  ‘Do we have to, for the moment? She’s still reeling from hearing about Karen, after last night.’

  ‘I suppose we could leave it until tomorrow, when there might be better news. Where is she?’

  ‘Lying down. Ever since she and Fiona got back from seeing to the horses.’

  Landers turned to Thanet again. ‘Sorry about all this, Inspector.’

  ‘No need to apologise! I’m only sorry to hear that you’ve had yet more bad news.’

  ‘It’s not as though we’re especially close to Zak’s sister, but she is all alone and you can’t help feeling sorry for her. And we’re naturally concerned as to how our daughter will take it … Are you just leaving, or arriving?’

  ‘Arriving, I’m afraid. There are some more questions I really must ask you.’

  ‘We’d better go in.’

  ‘Did you want me for anything, Inspector?’ said Mrs Randish. ‘Because if not, I’d really like to go down to the hospital.’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘Go, by all means.’

  ‘Thank you. Fiona’s in the playroom, Owen. I’ll take Malcolm along to join her. If you could just look in on them from time to time, while Alice is lying down …’

  She went off upstairs with her grandson.

  ‘I could do with a cup of coffee,’ said Landers. ‘Would you like one?’

  They accepted the offer and followed him to a door at the end of the wide corridor which served as a half, the Labrador padding along behind.

  The kitchen was big, with a huge pine table in the centre and a dresser at one end, and had a pleasantly lived-in air. Thanet guessed that it had been modernised recently, but the alterations had been cleverly done: the pine units looked mellowed by time, as though they had always been there. Landers filled a kettle and put it on the Aga. In what seemed a matter of seconds it had boiled, the coffee was made and they were seated at the table, the dog sitting down beside Landers and watching its master expectantly.

  He caressed its broad head absent-mindedly and took a long swallow of coffee. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’

  Landers seemed in a much more cooperative mood this morning, thought Thanet. Good. Perhaps it was because he was no longer trying to protect Reg Mason, or perhaps because he was pleased that his daughter was back under his roof. And possibly, from what they were learning about Zak Randish, because he was relieved that his son-in-law was permanently out of the picture. That, Thanet reminded himself, was what they were here to find out: what had been Landers’ attitude towards Zak Randish? ‘I was hoping you’d be able to fill me in a little on Mr Randish’s background, sir.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Anything you care to tell me. I gather he’s known your daughter a long time.’

  Landers’ lips tightened. ‘Since she was sixteen.’

  ‘How did they meet?’

  ‘Look, what possible relevance can this have? It’s ancient history now.’

  ‘Believe me, Mr Landers, anything I can learn about Mr Randish will help, anything at all. Bear with me, will you?’

  Landers was reluctant to talk but little by little an amplified version of what Vintage had told them emerged. Alice and Randish had in fact met when Randish was fruit-picking on Landers’ farm during the school holidays.

  ‘It doesn’t sound as though you were too keen on the relationship,’ said Thanet.

  ‘Alice was too young to have a steady boyfriend – any steady boyfriend.’

  It took all Thanet’s skill to extract any further information, but he gathered that for Landers’ precious only daughter the fruit farmer had wanted an altogether more advantageous match. Randish’s background was undesirable – his father had been a mere labourer on the roads and the family had lived in a council house.

  ‘Any father wants the best for his children,’ said Landers defensively.

  And he was right, of course. Any father did. Thanet did. But people’s ideas as to what ‘the best’ was varied enormously. Landers had disapproved of Randish because of his humble background, Thanet had disapproved of Alexander because of his privileged one. Which of them was right? Neither, thought Thanet. We’re both judging by the wrong criteria. He tucked the thought away for future examination. ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘And Zak never was “the best” as far as you were concerned, was he, Dad?’ Alice was standing in the doorway and her tone was bitter.

  Thanet wondered how long she had been listening.

  She walked across to stand with her back to the Aga, holding out her hands to the warmth as she had to the woodstove last night. A sleepless night had bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes and the long fair hair hung lank and lustreless on her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you tell the Inspector some of the good things about him? Yes, his background was poor, his father a drunken lout and his mother pathetic, downtrodden, but it was the fact that he was able to rise above all that and put it behind him that made him so special. And you certainly couldn’t complain that he was lazy. He worked like a slave to get the vineyard where it is today and you know it.’

  ‘Alice …’ Her father got up, followed by the dog, and went to put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I know all that. It’s just that …’

  She shook his arm off and put her hand up to run her fingers through her hair. The loose sleeve of her blouse fell back and all three men saw it, a large discoloured patch on the tender flesh of the inside upper arm.

  Thanet and Lineham exchanged glances. There was only one way that such a bruise could have been inflicted in that particular position. Louise had been right.

  And Landers had seen them noticing. Not realising that he was offering the policeman a weapon to use against him, he was unable to resist casting a triumphant glance at Thanet. You see what I mean?

  Intent on her grievance Alice was unaware of what she had unintentionally revealed. ‘“It’s just that” what?’ she said. ‘It’s just that it really doesn’t matter any more if you come out into the open and say what you really think of him? It’s just that he’s been such a thorn in your flesh for so long you’re merely relieved he’s gone? You never did like him
, did you, Dad, and I bet you’re delighted you’ll never have to set eyes on him again!’

  The Labrador was standing watching them, tail drooping, clearly unhappy about this argument between two of its people.

  ‘Alice …’ Landers attempted to put his arm around her shoulders again but once more she shook him off.

  ‘Don’t “Alice” me!’ she cried. And rushed out.

  Landers’ glance at Thanet and Lineham somehow contrived to be apologetic, humorous, indulgent and rueful, all at once. He returned to his seat. ‘She’s upset,’ he said, the understatement intended as a joke.

  The dog pushed its nose into his hand, seeking reassurance that all was now well and again he patted it automatically.

  ‘She’s very loyal,’ said Thanet, unsmiling.

  ‘She’s always been the same, as far as Zak was concerned.’

  Time to stop pussy-footing around, thought Thanet. ‘How long have you known that he was ill-treating her? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. We all saw that bruise and it was obvious you realised its significance.’

  ‘I’ve known for years,’ said Landers bitterly. ‘Have you got any children, Inspector?’

  Thanet nodded. ‘Two.’

  ‘Either of them married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Just wait,’ said Landers grimly. ‘I hope, for your sake, that you like the partners they choose. Because believe me, there’s nothing you can do about it. If you disapprove and say so, you risk losing them altogether. You just have to stand by and watch it happen, hope it’ll all work out for the best in the end.’

  ‘Which is what you did with your daughter.’

  ‘Didn’t have much choice, did I? I’ve only got one child, more’s the pity. And I had to stand by and see her throw herself away on that … on Randish. I did my best to smooth the way for her, of course, but when it comes down to it there’s nothing you can do about their day-to-day relationship. You just have to let them get on with it.’