No Laughing Matter

by Dorothy Simpson

  Surprise helped her to regain her self-control. ‘How?’

  Thanet put into words what he had been thinking a moment ago. ‘Mrs Redman, there is no way I can soften this blow. But I was at the hospital because Jonathan asked to see me. Specifically, he asked to see the officer in charge of the investigation into your brother’s death. Because he wanted to confess.’

  She blinked, and it was a moment or two before her lips moved. ‘Confess?’ The word emerged as a whisper.

  Thanet nodded.

  ‘You mean …’ It was no more than a thread of sound.

  ‘I’m sorry. Yes.’ He had to spell it out, make sure that there was no misunderstanding. ‘Jonathan has confessed to his uncle’s murder.’

  She was shaking her head. ‘There must be some mistake. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.’

  ‘There’s no mistake, I’m afraid.’

  Her head was still moving from side to side in rejection of what he was saying.

  ‘Mrs Redman. Please. Listen. I have got to tell you.’

  Suddenly she was still, intent. He waited a moment until he was certain she was concentrating and then said, ‘This is what Jonathan has said. He told me that he went out to the vineyard on Friday night, that he had an argument with his uncle, that he lost his temper and started throwing things at him. Your brother slipped and crashed backwards through the window. That was how he died. Jonathan had no intention of causing his death, of course. He was so shocked that on the way back he had the accident. He must have been incapable of driving safely. I have to add that his account of the incident corresponds in every detail with what happened, details he couldn’t possibly have known unless he had been there.’

  She was staring at him, a fixed and desperate stare, as if every ounce of intelligence she possessed was being directed towards attempting to understand the incomprehensible. ‘It can’t be true. Why hasn’t he told me? Why hasn’t he said a word about it till now? And why, why should he have such a violent argument with his uncle in the first place?’

  ‘If you think about it you’ll realise why he hasn’t said anything about this before. As you know, until this afternoon, he didn’t even remember that Karen … what had happened to Karen. Not until you reminded him. But when you did, it all came back to him in a rush. He didn’t say anything to you about his uncle then because it was such a shock to him to remember what he had done that at first he couldn’t even begin to think straight.’

  ‘But why? You still haven’t explained why? I can’t see any possible reason …’ She had wound the loose ends of the waist cord around her hands so tightly in her agitation that her fingers were beginning to turn white. ‘It must all be in his imagination. It’s the blow on the head that’s done it.’ The idea drove her to her feet, twisting her hands to release them from the constricting cord. ‘Yes. That’s what it is.’ She stood looking down at him, her eyes frantic, panting in her terror, agitation and anxiety to convince.

  Thanet was cursing himself for not having had the commonsense to bring a policewoman with him. Was there no end to his blunders in this case? He stood up and grasped her hands. ‘Please, Mrs Redman, sit down, and I’ll explain.’ Gently, Thanet coaxed her backwards into her chair. This time she sat well back, arms laid along the chair arms, fingers gripping the ends as if she needed to anchor herself to something solid.

  Now came the crunch. ‘The reason why Jonathan went rushing out to the vineyard on Friday evening was because before she died, Karen told him something.’ He paused, hoping that she would now have an inkling of what he was going to say, but her expression didn’t change.

  ‘He told me he had never asked her before, but he sensed that she was slipping away and he felt he couldn’t bear never to know who had …’ Thanet struggled to find the right words, conscious that even angels would find it difficult to tread such delicate ground without giving pain. ‘Who had fathered her child. So he pressed her to tell him. And she did.’

  He watched understanding dawn in her eyes. Slowly, her lips parted. ‘Zak?’ she whispered.

  He nodded, thankful that it was over, done, but apprehensive now of her reaction.

  Her eyes glazed and then she was frowning at her lap, gazing down as intently as if she would find there explanations of all that had so mystified her in the past. She was, Thanet realised, reinterpreting all that had happened, rewriting her family’s history. Only the whiteness of the knuckles across her clenched fists betrayed how painful the readjustment was. He hadn’t known what to expect – tears, hysterics, denials, perhaps – but not this silent suffering which was so painful to watch.

  At last she looked up. ‘What will happen to Jonathan now?’

  He hadn’t realised that he had been holding his breath and he released it in a long, slow sigh of relief that she had accepted the truth of what he had told her. He was relieved too that she was thinking now of Jonathan’s future, of the living, not the dead, and thankful that she had not questioned how he had come by his intimate knowledge of Karen’s past. Perhaps she simply assumed that Jonathan had told him, and he certainly wasn’t going to disillusion her.

  With any luck, the worst was over.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Bridget appeared in the hall as Thanet let himself into the house. She looked fresh and pretty in trim jeans and a dark green Dash sweatshirt with a colourful floral design on the front. She had twisted her newly washed hair up into a knot high on the back of her head. ‘Hullo, Dad, you’re earlier than I expected. Your supper’s in the oven. I’ll get it.’

  She was still feeling low about Alexander, Thanet could tell, but the fact that she had made an effort over her appearance was a good sign, he felt. The girl who had arrived on Friday evening couldn’t have cared less what she looked like. He hung up his coat. ‘No, don’t worry, I’m not hungry at the moment. I’ll have it when I get back from the station. Ben in?’

  Despite the heavy workload which was the inevitable result of the end of a case, Thanet had made a special effort to get home early in the hope of catching Bridget alone. Joan’s car had gone, so he assumed she had left for her meeting.

  ‘Doing his homework, upstairs.’

  ‘Good. I want to talk to you.’ Seeing her expression change, become wary, he realised she assumed he meant he wanted to discuss the situation with Alexander. ‘About Jonathan,’ he hastened to add.

  Her eyebrows arched. ‘About Jonathan?’ She led the way into the sitting room and they both sat down, Thanet careful of his aching back, which was playing up again.

  ‘Yes. I assume you haven’t been in to see him this afternoon?’ Thanet eased himself into a more comfortable position.

  ‘No. I went in this morning. They seem to have endless visiting hours there. Why?’

  ‘This afternoon, his mother broke the news of Karen’s death to him. The shock seemed to act as some sort of trigger, and his memories of Friday night came flooding back.’

  ‘That’s great! I told him it would happen, sooner or later.’

  ‘Yes. It’s good in one way …’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This afternoon the sister in charge of his ward rang the office, saying that Jonathan wanted to speak to me – that is, to the officer in charge of the Randish case, which of course happened to be me.’

  ‘Really? But why on earth …?’

  ‘Just listen, love. So I went to the hospital. Where Jonathan told me that it was he who had killed his uncle.’

  Bridget’s eyes stretched wide. ‘What?’

  For the second time that day Thanet had to tell Jonathan’s story, thankful that this time it wasn’t such a traumatic experience for his audience. Bridget was shocked, yes, upset, but the news obviously didn’t have the same emotional impact on her as it had on Mrs Redman. Her final reaction was the same as Lineham’s.

  ‘Poor Jonathan. And poor Mrs Redman, too. How is she taking it?’

  ‘Very well, considering. It was an awful shock at first, of course.’

&n
bsp; ‘Is anyone with her? I told you before, she just doesn’t seem to have any friends. Perhaps I ought to go around, put off going back to London until tomorrow.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. Mrs Landers is with her – her brother’s mother-in-law. She’s a very nice woman, she’ll look after her. She went to see her on Saturday, in the hospital, as soon as she heard about Jonathan’s accident.’

  ‘What will happen to Jonathan?’

  ‘I imagine his legal representatives will persuade him to plead not guilty to murder but guilty of manslaughter, on the grounds of provocation and diminished responsibility.’

  ‘Diminished responsibility, presumably, because the shock of his sister’s death …’

  ‘His twin sister’s death …’

  ‘… and of learning that his uncle was morally responsible for it, temporarily unhinged him.’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘And provocation?’

  ‘Because, as I told you, when Jonathan tried to make his uncle understand why he was so angry with him, tried to explain precisely why he felt Randish was responsible for Karen’s death, he laughed at him. That was really what made Jonathan snap, and in the circumstances it would certainly be considered provocation, I think.’

  Bridget shivered. ‘He must have been a horrible man.’

  ‘Yes, he wasn’t exactly an admirable character.’

  ‘So what difference will it make, if the jury does find Jonathan guilty of manslaughter? He’ll still go to prison, surely?’

  ‘The difference is that the judge has much greater flexibility in sentencing. It’s even possible that, if the judge is sympathetic, in the circumstances Jonathan might get away with a suspended sentence.’

  ‘Oh I do hope so! After all they’ve been through … It’ll be bad enough as it is, having all their private family affairs broadcast in Court.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And then there’s Mr Randish’s family. Think how they’re going to feel when all this comes out! He’s got a wife, hasn’t he?’

  ‘And two young children, yes.’ Thanet sighed. ‘That’s often the way with murder cases, I’m afraid. So many innocent people get hurt, and the effects go on and on for years.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered how you feel when you have a case like this one, and the murderer turns out to be someone you really feel sorry for, someone who never intended to commit the crime in the first place.’

  ‘That’s a difficult one. There’s no doubt you feel quite different if the murder was deliberate, or the result of mindless, wanton violence. But in cases like this … Well, there is some satisfaction, I suppose, in having brought the thing to a conclusion. But in this particular instance I can’t even claim to have done that. If Jonathan hadn’t confessed he might never have been found out.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. You’d have got there in the end, I’m sure.’ Once again, Bridget was echoing Lineham.

  ‘Your faith is touching, love, but I’m afraid it’s misplaced.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. Come on, Dad, admit it. When you’re working on a case you’re like a dog with a bone. You can’t leave it alone. You go on worrying away at it, worrying away at it until you get there. I’ve lived with you nearly all my life, remember, and I’ve seen it happen over and over again!’

  There was a sudden thunder of feet on the stairs: Ben in a hurry. The door burst open. ‘Oh, hi, Dad, thought I heard you come home. Just nipping over to Tim’s. Got a bit of a problem with my Maths. You off soon, Sis?’

  ‘Any minute now,’ said Bridget, smiling.

  ‘See you, then.’ He hesitated.

  He probably wanted to offer comfort over Alexander, but didn’t know how to do it, thought Thanet.

  ‘Been nice to have you home,’ Ben said awkwardly. And fled without waiting for a response.

  There was a brief silence. It was obvious that Bridget, too, recognised what Ben had been trying to do. She flicked a glance at Thanet and gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Good to be appreciated.’ Then she looked at her watch. ‘Time to be off, Dad.’

  Her green and orange squashy bag was already packed, waiting in the hall. Thanet picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he said as they walked to the car, ‘it goes without saying that all this is in the strictest confidence. Only you’ve been so involved with Karen, in the past, and with Jonathan, over the last few days, that I felt I owed it to you to explain what happened.’

  ‘I appreciate it, Dad. And, of course, I shan’t say a word, to anyone.’

  A few minutes later they were approaching the scene of Jonathan’s accident. Earlier, curiosity had made Thanet check and yes, there was no doubt about it, it was Jonathan he had seen on that stretcher on Friday night, being loaded into the ambulance. He pointed the place out to Bridget.

  ‘You actually saw the accident?’

  ‘No, I arrived just afterwards. Naturally I had no idea who was involved. I’m afraid I was more concerned with being held up and not getting to the station in time to meet your train.’

  It seemed a lifetime away. So much had happened in those few short days. He had penetrated deep into the lives of those who on that Friday evening had still been strangers to him, equally unaware of his existence. For him the Randish case would one day be no more than an interesting memory, but for them the effects would, as he had said to Bridget, linger on, reverberating into the future. How was Jonathan going to live with the fact that he had killed a man? How was his mother going to come to terms with the fact that her much-loved brother had not only violated her young daughter but ultimately caused Karen’s death and made her twin a murderer? Then there was Alice. She would find it very hard, having been so fond of Karen, but her passion for Zak had survived both physical abuse and repeated infidelities and eventually she would, he felt, forgive her dead husband his transgressions as she had forgiven him so many in the past. But what about the children, Fiona and Malcolm? Would their mother and grandparents always be able to keep from them the truth about their father’s death?

  ‘What’s the matter, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. Why?’

  ‘You sighed. You’re not worrying about me?’

  It was the first time, since she had been so angry with him yesterday morning, that either of them had broached the subject. He was tempted to tell her the truth, that he had been thinking about the case, but he couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Instead, he avoided a direct answer. ‘I am concerned about you, naturally. We all are.’

  He glanced at her, but it was difficult to make out her expression. Despite the occasional streetlamp the light in the car was dim. Then, briefly, the flare of passing headlights illuminated her face. She was, he realised with surprise, looking contrite.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to say … I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday morning,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been worrying about that! I’d forgotten all about it.’ Not true, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  They had reached the station and he pulled into a parking place. Neither of them moved, unwilling now to leave unfinished business between them.

  ‘I was thinking about it, afterwards,’ said Bridget slowly. ‘And I guess I was angry with you because I couldn’t forgive you for being right about Alexander.’

  Thanet knew how much that double admission must have cost her. But he was glad, too, that she had been able to make it. It was the first, important step back towards recovery. He put out his hand and touched hers, lightly. ‘I’m sorry, love. I really mean that. I can’t bear to see you unhappy.’

  ‘I know.’ Suddenly she was brisk again. ‘It’s all part of growing up, I suppose. But I must admit, it’s a part I could do without.’ She opened the door and got out.

  Satisfied now that the healing process had begun, he followed suit.

  They walked together on to the platform and waited for the train. It arrived on time and he saw her in, waved her off. He watched until its light
s had vanished in the distance and then went back to the car. As he pulled away his mind moved ahead, to later on that evening when Joan would come home and he would be able to tell her all about the case.

  Not for the first time he felt sorry for all those lonely, divorced or separated detectives in fiction.

  As far as he was concerned, there was no substitute for having a wife to go home to.

  About the Author

  Dorothy Simpson was born and brought up in South Wales, and went to Bristol University, where she read modern languages before moving to Kent, the background of the Thanet novels. After spending several years bringing up three children, she trained as a marriage guidance counsellor and subsequently worked as one for thirteen years, before writing her first novel. She says, “You may think that marriage guidance counsellor to crime writer is rather a peculiar career move, but although I didn’t realise it at the time, of course, the training I received was the best possible preparation for writing detective novels. Murder mysteries are all about relationships which go disastrously wrong and the insights I gained into what makes people tick, into their interaction and motivations, have been absolutely invaluable to DI Thanet, my series character, as have the interviewing skills I acquired during my years of counselling.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1993 by Dorothy Simpson

  Cover design by Michel Vrana

  ISBN 978-1-5040-4561-2

  This edition published in 2017 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.