Thanet risked a question. Swain was well launched now. ‘Wasn’t Mr Master suspicious of you, living next door and working at home?’
‘Oh God, yes. In fact, Perdita and I had to pretend we couldn’t bear the sight of each other. In public we treated each other with icy politeness, no more. We knew that if either of us showed even the slightest sign of interest in the other Giles would up sticks and go, and then Perdita would have been totally isolated … And that wasn’t all she had to put up with. There was his mother, too. She couldn’t stand Perdita. Well, I don’t know if that’s strictly true. What she couldn’t stand was the thought of her son having a wife, with first claim upon him. Especially if he was as obsessed with her as Giles was with Perdita. Not that she showed it overtly, mind. On the surface she was all sweetness and light, but she never missed a chance, by innuendo, to underline Perdita’s failings and make her miserable. But it was all done so subtly that I don’t think Giles was even aware of it … Anyway, it got to the stage where we were both sick and tired of the situation, and decided to pluck up the courage to tell our respective partners simultaneously, on Saturday night. We were both dreading it, but Perdita especially, as you can imagine. She was afraid of what he might do. I begged her to let me be with her when she told him, but she was adamant that she wanted to do it alone. She said she owed him that much, not to humiliate him in front of me … So we arranged that I would be here and that if there was any trouble she would ring me …’
He paused, gave Thanet a rueful glance. ‘You’ve guessed what happened, or some of it, anyway. There was an almighty row and Giles dragged Perdita up to their bedroom and locked her in. Fortunately there’s an extension below their window, and she managed to climb out and get away while he was here. He came around straight away, of course, as soon as he’d locked her up. The second I opened the door he came bursting in, knocked me flying. I tried to retaliate, but he’s much bigger and stronger than me and it only took a few blows to floor me.’ Swain’s hand went up and gingerly touched the strip of plaster along his jawline. ‘I hit the back of my head on something and passed out. Apparently he just stood there shouting at me to get up and fight like a man, but when he saw I was out cold he gave me one final kick in the ribs and stormed off.’ This time Swain’s hand massaged the left side of his rib cage. ‘I’ve got the most psychedelic bruise you ever saw, down here.’
‘You said, “apparently”. Your wife was a witness to all this?’
‘Yes. It was she who told me what happened after I passed out. The whole thing was a nightmare.’ Swain rubbed a hand wearily across his eyes. ‘Thank God the children are away at boarding school.’
‘And it was presumably Mrs Master who told you how her husband reacted when she broke the news to him.’
‘Yes, when she rang me on Saturday night, from her mother’s house. We arranged to meet on Sunday morning, to discuss what she was going to do next. Obviously she couldn’t go home again …’
So that was where Perdita had gone. Her stepfather had told them that she had already left when he got up on Sunday morning. Thanet was pleased that they were gradually building up a picture of her movements over the last couple of days before she died. ‘How long did you stay together?’
‘Until after lunch. She was going to visit her mother in hospital in the afternoon. Mrs Harrow has been ill for some time, and they’ve never succeeded in finding out exactly what is wrong with her. She’s been waiting for a bed at Sturrenden General so that they could take her in and really try to get at the root of it. Apparently they rang up on Saturday morning to say that a bed had unexpectedly become available and could she come in straight away. She didn’t tell Perdita because she didn’t want to worry her. She knew Perdita was having a bad time at home, and she was only going to be in for a few days. It wasn’t as though they were going to operate …’
‘So when Mrs Master went to her mother’s house on Saturday night she didn’t know Mrs Harrow wouldn’t be there?’
‘No. She didn’t find out until she got there.’
‘Was she upset, that she hadn’t been told?’
‘Yes. And angry with her stepfather, that he hadn’t let her know in spite of her mother’s wishes.’
Remembering how ill Mrs Harrow had looked, Thanet wasn’t surprised. If Perdita had been fond of her mother, as apparently she was, she would have wanted to know exactly what was happening, however worrying it might be.
‘So when you parted, after lunch on Sunday, Mrs Master had no specific plan in mind?’
‘No. She said she’d probably go and stay in a hotel for a few days, give Giles a chance to calm down and get used to the idea that she’d meant what she said, about a divorce. She said she’d be in touch, when she found somewhere. But then later, oh, it must have been about six, she rang to tell me she’d run into an old friend at the hospital, Mrs Broxton. She said Mrs Broxton was in a fix because her nanny had been rushed into hospital with appendicitis and she herself had a case starting the next day which involved her staying away from Monday to Friday – she’s a barrister, well, you must know that by now, of course. So they’d agreed to help each other out. Perdita would look after the children until Saturday, while Mrs Broxton tried to find a temporary nanny. Perdita thought that Giles would never find her there …’
The implication was strong. But she was wrong, wasn’t she? Here was someone else who was convinced of Master’s guilt.
Thanet would have loved to know how Swain’s wife had taken all this, but felt that it would be better to find out for himself. It could be highly relevant. Mrs Swain could be considered to have as good a motive as anyone for getting rid of her rival. Harrow had said she was ‘something high-powered in TVS’, so presumably she wouldn’t be the type to take this sort of situation lying down. Yes, a visit to Mrs Swain should come fairly high on the agenda, depending on how the next interview with Master went.
Meanwhile, there was one more question he wanted to ask and there was no way of putting it tactfully. ‘Did you see Mrs Master last night?’
‘Last night?’ Briefly, something flickered at the back of Swain’s eyes, then he shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
The statement was so unequivocal that Thanet felt there was no point in pursuing the matter at the moment. He was in no mood for a patient breaking down of Swain’s resistance at this stage of the interview. But he was left wondering: what was the question he should have asked?
NINE
‘Why didn’t you ask him where he was last night?’ said Lineham, as they walked to the car.
Thanet shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem much point. He was so positive about not seeing her it would have taken a lot of pressure to get him to change his tune. And frankly, I wasn’t prepared to exert it at that stage. I felt he’d had enough for today. Anyway, I really don’t think he’s involved. What possible motive could he have?’
‘With respect, sir … What are you grinning at?’
‘You. Every time you say, “With respect, sir”, I know you’re going to disagree. And before you go on, just put through a call to headquarters, will you? Get them to fix up an appointment with Mrs Swain at TVS at 2.30 or thereabouts.’
This took a little longer than expected, owing to the fact that at work Mrs Swain was apparently known under her maiden name of Edge. When the appointment was at last arranged Thanet suggested having lunch at the village pub before seeing Master again. ‘We could do with a break.’
‘Good idea. I must admit I’m feeling a bit peckish.’
When they had collected their beer and sandwiches and were seated in a quiet corner Thanet picked up their interrupted discussion, quoting Lineham with a grin. “‘With respect, sir …”’
Lineham grinned sheepishly. ‘It’s just that I don’t necessarily agree with you about Swain. Just say, for example, that he and Mrs Master arranged to meet at the Broxtons’ house last night. When he gets there she tells him she’s decided not to go ahead with the divorce after all, that she can’t
face all the hassle it would involve with her husband. They’re in the kitchen, she’s about to make a hot drink. They have an argument, he grabs her, she pulls away, knocking the saucepan of milk off the cooker. She’s off balance and, as we said before, she slips, knocking her head on the corner of the table –’
‘And when he sees she’s passed out, instead of trying to revive her he whips a handy polythene bag out of his pocket, slips it over her head and waits until she’s stopped breathing before leaving. Oh yes, highly credible, I must say!’
Lineham said nothing, just looked slightly crestfallen and took a large mouthful of ham and tomato sandwich. He chewed for a few moments and then shook his head. ‘It’s that polythene bag that’s the trouble, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Mind, even if there were no polythene bag I find it difficult to imagine Swain resorting to violence. He’s just not the type.’
‘I’m not talking about violence, sir. Not really. Just a heated argument which got out of control.’
‘Yes, I appreciate that. It was the wrong word to use, for the scenario you were describing. Nevertheless …’
‘I still think it’s possible. We all know that even the mildest of men can get pretty worked up, given the right circumstances. And in this case’ – Lineham leaned forward in his eagerness to convince – ‘in this case, if she was telling him the affair was over … I mean, he’d naturally have been upset wouldn’t he, if he was in love with her? And pretty angry too, going through all that for nothing!’
‘All that?’
‘Telling his wife he wanted a divorce, for one thing. She might have known nothing about the affair until he told her, on Saturday night. And getting beaten up by Master, for another … All, as I say, for nothing!’
‘I suppose so.’ But Thanet was still doubtful. ‘This is all wild guesswork, of course. But even if you’re right, it’s still, as you say, that polythene bag that’s the problem. Not so much in terms of availability, it could well have been lying around to hand somewhere in the kitchen, but in terms of the murderer’s behaviour. There’s a world of difference between causing someone to slip and fall during the course of an argument and cold-bloodedly putting a plastic bag over her head to finish her off. I’m not sure that I could see Master doing that either.’
‘I disagree with you there! He’s a nasty bit of work, if ever there was one. I can just see him standing there looking down at her and saying to himself, “If I can’t have her, no one will.” He might regret it afterwards, when he had time to think about it, but at the time … For that matter, I found it difficult to swallow that after taking her back to the Broxtons’ last night he just went meekly home.’
‘I’m not so sure. He could have decided to give her a few days to cool off, before trying again.’ Thanet opened up his beef sandwich, and peered inside. ‘They’ve been a bit light-handed with the mustard.’ He took another bite, chewed. ‘The impression I’ve got is that he wasn’t going to give up easily. If he didn’t succeed in persuading her one day, he’d just come back the next. And the next. No, I think that whoever killed her truly wanted her dead. And I don’t think you could say that about either Master or Swain.’
‘Truly wanted her dead,’ repeated Lineham thoughtfully. ‘The only person I can think of who might possibly fit that description is Mrs Swain.’
‘“Might” is the operative word. For all we know she’s been longing to get rid of her husband for years and Mrs Master is the last person in the world she’d want dead. No doubt we’ll find out when we see her this afternoon.’ Thanet drained his glass. ‘Finished, Mike?’
‘We’re still going to see Mr Master next?’
‘Of course. Despite what I said about the polythene bag he’s still top of our list. Statistically, he has to be.’
There was a silver-grey Peugeot 205 parked in Master’s drive alongside his Mercedes.
‘Visitors,’ said Lineham, as they got out of the car. ‘I wonder who.’
‘From what we’ve heard about her, could be his mother.’ Thanet hoped it was. He was curious about Mrs Master senior.
While they waited for the door to open he looked around at the garden. Here again was evidence of devotion, skill and artistry. Carefully trained climbers clothed the walls of the house, tubs of winter-flowering pansies stood on either side of the front door, and mixed borders of shrubs and perennials curved away around the beautifully tended lawn, each group of plants a harmonious composition of colour, form and habit.
The door opened.
Not Mrs Master senior, then. This woman was in her mid-forties, a good ten years too young. She was slim, elegant in black and grey silk dress, expensively-styled dark hair curling around her narrow, sharp-featured face. Her reception was cool. ‘Yes?’
‘Could I have a word with Mr Master, please?’
‘He’s not seeing anyone at the moment. Can I help? I’m his mother.’
Astonished, Thanet looked again more carefully, but she still didn’t look any older to him. No one’s idea of a mother-in-law, this.
She was evidently used to this reaction. She was watching him with a spark of amusement in her eyes.
He introduced himself.
‘How can I help?’
‘We really do need to see Mr Master, I’m afraid.’
‘Really! Must you bother him at a time like this?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t essential, Mrs Master.’
‘Well I think it’s disgraceful! He’s shattered, poor lamb, absolutely shattered. He’s only just got back from identifying the … from the mortuary. I believe it was you who arranged it, Inspector.’ The implication was clear. I’m blaming you for the state he’s in and the least you can do is leave him alone.
‘I know. And I’m sorry. But we really must talk to him again.’
She frowned, deep creases appearing between the neatly plucked eyebrows. ‘Couldn’t you at least leave it till later?’
‘I’m afraid not. We have a great deal to do, as I’m sure you can imagine. And now we’re here …’
She hesitated for a moment longer, clearly debating whether to hold out, calculating her chances of success. She was obviously used to getting her own way. Then she sighed, capitulated. ‘Oh, very well, if you must. But do try not to upset him any further.’
Reluctantly she stood back and let them in. She indicated a door at the back of the hall. ‘In the kitchen. I was just trying to persuade him to eat. He’s got to keep his strength up.’
She followed them into the room and Thanet did not demur. He was eager to observe the relationship between mother and son. Perdita had apparently found it very difficult to cope with. Thanet wasn’t surprised.
Master was sitting head in hands at the kitchen table, which was laid for two: silver cutlery, crisply folded napkins and shining crystal wine glasses. Again, the message was clear. She’s gone, but I’m still here to look after you. The arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums in the centre of the table was a small explosion of colour in the room, which was all white – white ceramic tiled floor, white units, white furniture. It was, Thanet thought, as clinical and impersonal as an operating theatre. Perdita’s choice? he wondered. If so, what did it say about her? Apart from the painting in the sitting room he had as yet seen nothing of her personality imprinted anywhere in the house. Yet she had lived here for years … It was as if she had deliberately chosen to hide herself from public view. Perhaps she’d had some private corner to which she could withdraw and truly be herself. Of course, her studio! No doubt she had one. If so, Thanet determined to see it.
‘It’s the police, Giles. They insisted on seeing you.’ Frosty disapproval in Mrs Master’s voice.
As Master raised his head she edged around the two policemen to stand behind his chair and rest her hands on his shoulders.
Thanet saw the barely perceptible flinch. Mrs Master must have felt it too for her forehead creased and she withdrew her hands, sat down beside Master instead.
So his m
other’s attentions were unwelcome. A brief glance at Lineham’s face told Thanet that the sergeant had missed none of this.
‘They’re only doing their job, Ma.’
Mrs Master’s lips tightened, but she said nothing, merely flicked her hair back from her face with an impatient gesture and folded her hands in her lap. The knuckles were white, Thanet noticed.
‘May we sit down?’
Master waved a hand. ‘Help yourself.’
‘How cosy!’ The muscles along her jawline tightened. ‘Am I supposed to offer you a drink, Inspector? Or lunch, even?’
‘Ma, please! What did you want to ask me, Thanet?’
Master looked haggard. His eyelids drooped as if he had not slept at all last night, and the extensive bruising to his left cheek didn’t help. He had cut himself shaving and there was a smear of blood on the collar of his shirt – the same shirt that he had been wearing last night, Thanet realised. The jacket of fine tweed draped over the back of Master’s chair was also the same, Thanet now noticed. It looked as though the man hadn’t even bothered to go to bed.
There was no doubt about his grief and once again Thanet suppressed the twinge of compassion. A woman had been murdered and it was his duty to get to the bottom of it.
Doomed to Die Page 8
