Doomed to Die

by Dorothy Simpson

  Likes sex!

  Thanet suppressed a grin. It might be misinterpreted. ‘And Perdita had it, you say? She was sexually attractive?’

  ‘She must have been, mustn’t she? Why else would the boys suddenly have been around her like bees around a honeypot? As I say, we could never understand it.’

  ‘And she encouraged them?’

  ‘That was the interesting thing. No, she didn’t. But it sure didn’t put them off, no sirree. Back they came for more. And yet, the odd thing was …’

  ‘What?’

  She leaned forward, stubbed out the cheroot. ‘Well, you know what it’s like when you’re at school. You’re always being asked what you want to do when you leave, having to make subject choices, filling in questionnaires … We all envied Perdita in that respect because we thought she’d be saved all the agonising. It seemed so obvious that she’d go to Art College, be a painter, or a designer, or an illustrator. We just couldn’t believe it when it came out that she intended to train as a nanny.’

  ‘She never once said she wanted to go to Art School?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. So off she went to some college and got herself trained. Not that she was a great success, by all accounts.’

  ‘Why not? Wasn’t she good at it?’

  ‘I assume you’re just pretending to be naïve, Inspector? Oh, she was great with the children, or so I understand. It was the daddies that were the problem. I heard on the grapevine that she had real problems there. Never stayed in any one job more than six months.’

  ‘Because of this mysterious attraction for the opposite sex.’

  ‘Precisely. Galling, isn’t it? The rest of us spend a fortune on clothes, make-up and hairdos trying to make the best of what Mother Nature gave us, and Perdita did it without lifting a little finger. She really didn’t give a damn and yet they all came running.’

  Including your husband, thought Thanet. And I can imagine how you felt about that.

  ‘You really didn’t like her very much, did you?’

  ‘I don’t go around murdering people I don’t like, Inspector. Otherwise I’d have been put behind bars years ago.’

  Maybe. But it was time, now, to put the all-important question. ‘Nevertheless … Perhaps you could now give us an account of your movements last night?’

  ELEVEN

  Mrs Swain smiled that slow, lazy smile again. ‘Last night? Why, I was at home with my husband of course, Inspector. Like a good little wife.’

  ‘Little’ was scarcely the word he would apply to Mrs Swain. This was precisely the answer he had expected, of course. She must have realised that she would come under suspicion, in the circumstances. And there had been plenty of time for Swain to ring and warn her that they had been around to the house asking questions and to arrange that he and his wife should alibi each other. ‘Could you be a little more specific?’

  ‘Well, let me see. We had supper about 7.30, as usual. Pork and apple casserole, in case you’re interested, followed by gooseberry fool. Afterwards we watched television for a while, then I did some work. Then we went to bed.’

  Pointless to ask which programmes she had watched. Working in TVS she would be certain to own a video. Gone were the days when people could be caught out because they had lied about their viewing habits.

  ‘Did you know that Mrs Master was staying at Mrs Broxton’s house?’

  ‘Not until your men came around this morning. My husband would hardly have been likely to tell me where his mistress had flown to, would he?’ Her voice suddenly deepened in a passable imitation of her husband’s. ‘“Oh, by the way, darling, Perdita’s gone to stay with Vanessa Broxton for a few days.”’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ He rose. ‘Well, I think that’s all for the moment, Mrs Swain. But we might need to see you again.’

  She stood up, grinned. ‘Is that a threat or a promise, Inspector?’

  ‘You’re not planning any trips in connection with your work?’

  ‘No. And if I do, I promise I’ll let you know in advance, like the dutiful citizen I am. Cross my heart.’

  ‘Thank you.’ At the door he paused. ‘Do you see much of Mrs Broxton these days?’

  She grimaced. ‘Vanessa? No. We were never particularly friendly, as I said, and anyway she’s far too busy with her children, her work and her husband, in that order, to have much time to nurture friendships.’

  ‘In that order? You surprise me.’

  ‘Oh, make no mistake about it, her children come first with Vanessa. She’s got all sorts of problems looming, I’m afraid, when they start going to school and want her to watch their Christmas plays and egg and spoon races.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll go to boarding school.’

  ‘Is that a dig at me, Inspector? If so, I suppose it’s justified. Yes, I did take the easy way out. I couldn’t stand all that guilt, you see, it’s not my style. But Vanessa is a different matter. Funny, I’d never have thought she was the maternal type, but I’ve seen it happen before, especially in career women who leave it late to have a baby. They just fall in love with the child, and find themselves in an impossible position, torn between work and missing those few, short years of infancy. And of course, even when the children start school it’s always the woman who has the ultimate responsibility for them. No one expects the father to take time off from work if a child is sick, it’s always the mother who has to make excuses or frantically look around for someone to sit in. I tried it for a few years when my children were young. My husband wasn’t working at home then and believe me, it was hell. It’s the one area in which women will never achieve equality. It’s choices, choices all the way, and compromise most of the time. And then more often than not you end up by pleasing nobody.’

  This was true. Thanet had often heard Joan bemoaning the fact. And he had sympathised with her. But he didn’t really see that there was much that could be done about it. He knew that in some households, where the man worked at home or in a job where flexible hours were possible, he would occasionally assume responsibility for the children. But this was rare and it was generally the woman who had the unenviable task of juggling the demands of home, children and career against each other. Vanessa Broxton’s dilemma when her children’s nanny had been rushed into hospital was typical, and had in a way led directly to Perdita’s death. If she hadn’t been desperate to find someone to look after them, if Perdita hadn’t been looking for a sanctuary, if she and Vanessa hadn’t met on the steps of the hospital … If, if, if, he told himself irritably as they walked back to the car. Always a pointless exercise.

  ‘Cool customer,’ said Lineham.

  ‘You didn’t like her.’

  ‘Did you, sir?’

  ‘Not particularly, no.’

  ‘Think she was telling the truth about last night?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Difficult to tell. I imagine she’s a good liar. But I have a feeling that no, she wasn’t.’

  ‘You think she might have done it, then?’

  ‘She has a motive. And the nerve. I can just imagine her going around to have it out with Perdita …’

  ‘She’s got the build, too. If they had an argument she could have knocked her flying quite easily.’

  And yes, Thanet could imagine Mrs Swain coolly stooping to examine the unconscious woman, then grabbing a plastic bag and slipping it over Perdita’s head.

  Lineham had obviously been thinking along the same lines. ‘Perhaps we’ll find some nice juicy prints on that bag.’

  ‘Mmm. Well, we’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, we’ll put Bentley on to questioning the other householders in Wheelwright’s Lane. If either of the Swains did go out that night, someone might have seen them.’

  Back at the office Thanet reported briefly on the day’s findings to a still subdued Draco. There was no word from Mallard about the post mortem; presumably nothing unexpected had emerged. No doubt the written report would arrive tomorrow.

  He and Joan had arranged that Ben should spend the evening
at a friend’s house, so Thanet went straight from work to the hospital. He found Joan sitting in the small waiting room near the intensive care unit, head back, eyes closed. She looked exhausted. He sat down beside her, laid his hand gently on her knee.

  She opened her eyes and gave a weary smile.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘So far, so good. I’ve been allowed to look in on her from time to time and they say that the more time that elapses without a second attack, the better the prospects.’

  ‘Good. Excellent. Will I be able to see her?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure you will, shortly. The doctor’s with her at the moment. Have you finished for today?’

  ‘There’s someone I have to see, here at the hospital, then yes, I have. Will you be coming home, soon?’

  ‘Probably, yes, depending on what the doctor says.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Yes I am.’ She rubbed her eyes and smoothed back her hair. ‘If we can just get through today … How has your case been going?’

  ‘So-so. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, last night. Do you remember a Perdita Master – sorry, no, that’s her married name. I don’t know what her maiden name would have been. Her stepfather’s name is Harrow, but she might well have kept her father’s name … Anyway, a Perdita somebody, at school?’

  ‘Perdita Bly?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘I only remember one Perdita. It’s an unusual name. She’s two or three years younger than me. Small, slight, with lovely fair hair. She’s an artist, she’s getting quite well known now.’

  ‘Was, I’m afraid. Was two or three years younger than you.’

  Joan’s eyes opened wide in shock. ‘Luke, you don’t mean she’s the one who’s been killed?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘How awful. How dreadful.’

  ‘I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you yet. You’ve got enough on your plate at the moment.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I mean, I was never particularly friendly with her. It’s just that when it’s someone you know …’

  Thanet nodded, understanding.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear all this just now?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll take my mind off Mother. Oh dear, that does sound callous, but you know what I mean.’

  Thanet had always talked to Joan about his work. It made such heavy demands upon him and therefore upon his marriage that he had always felt it important to share it with her and she, he knew, appreciated the fact that he trusted her enough to confide in her. She listened intently as he talked, her clear grey eyes fixed on his, a small frown of concentration between her brows. He noted the spark of recognition as he mentioned Vanessa Broxton’s name and then, when he came to Ms Edge/Swain, she interrupted for the first time.

  ‘Does she work at TVS?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not sure what she does, exactly. She’s tall, heavily-built, fair …’

  ‘Victoria Edge. How extraordinary, Luke! They were all in the same form, at school.’

  ‘So I gathered. Can you tell me anything about them?’

  Her eyes glazed in thought and she was silent for a minute or two. ‘Not much that’ll be of any help, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Tell me what you remember.’

  But Joan was right. She couldn’t tell him much that was new. Not having been in the same year she hadn’t come into close contact with any of them. But she did remember them, partly because each of them had in her own way stood out from the crowd, and partly because none of them had moved away from Sturrenden as had so many of their contemporaries and inevitably Joan had run into them from time to time – Vanessa Broxton, especially, in Court. Vanessa, she said, had always been serious, had already, by the time Joan left school, been acquiring a reputation for intellectual ability; her name had always been prominent at prizegivings.

  Victoria Edge had stood out by virtue of her size, but also because she had had a talent for getting herself into hot water and it had occasionally fallen to Joan, as a prefect, to reprimand her.

  Joan grimaced. ‘Not that she ever paid any attention. She was pretty much a law unto herself.’

  Now that was an interesting comment, thought Thanet. ‘A law unto herself.’ Did this mean that Mrs Swain regarded it as her right to do as she pleased, even if it were outside the law? And if so, how far would she go, in applying this principle? To murder?

  ‘And Perdita …’ said Joan. ‘Well, I remember Perdita because she was always by herself, usually in a corner with a sketchbook in her hand. I used to feel sorry for her. She missed so much, I felt, by cutting herself off from the others.’

  ‘You think it was a conscious choice on her part? She was a loner because she wanted to be one, not because she had resigned herself to the inability to make friends?’

  ‘I would say so, yes. I certainly never got the impression, as you do with some people, that she was hanging around wistfully on the edge of things, hoping to be asked to join in. She was very self-contained. And forever drawing, as I said. It always seemed to me that she was doing what she wanted to do. I could be wrong, of course. Maybe she gave that impression because it was less humiliating than admitting she couldn’t make friends, but I didn’t think so and neither did anyone else, to my knowledge.’

  ‘I see. And you never thought that there was any connection between the three of them?’

  ‘No more than there always is between members of the same form. They were so different, I wouldn’t have said they had anything in common.’

  But they did now, thought Thanet grimly. Perdita’s death had linked them for ever. It was the nature of that link that intrigued him. Or was he trying to read too much into the situation? Perhaps it had been sheer coincidence, nothing more. There was one thing that still puzzled him, though, as it had puzzled other people. Perdita’s mother had mentioned it and so had Victoria Swain. He had intended to discuss it with Lineham, but had forgotten. Why had Perdita, so engrossed in her painting and drawing that her career seemed a foregone conclusion, deliberately turned her back on art and chosen instead to train as a children’s nanny? He put the question to Joan.

  She frowned. ‘I didn’t know she had. I assumed she’d studied art. I lost sight of her for years, but then I began to notice her name cropping up in local exhibitions. Then a couple of years ago the Kent Messenger ran a feature on her. Apparently for several years running she’d managed to get a painting hung in the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition and was beginning to exhibit regularly in galleries in London.’

  Thanet was nodding. ‘I thought you’d have heard of her, even if you didn’t remember her from school.’ He knew that Joan, who was very interested in art, kept a close eye on what was going on in the area. ‘She was becoming very successful and I’m not surprised, having seen her work.’

  ‘Yes, it’s really good, isn’t it? I’ve been wishing for ages that I’d bought some of her paintings years ago, when she was still unknown. They’re way out of our price range now, of course.’

  ‘I’ll say!’ Thanet was hearing Lineham’s voice. ‘Two thousand quid for one painting!’

  ‘Anyway, to get back to what you were saying, yes, I am surprised that she didn’t go on to study art. A children’s nanny! It seems so … inappropriate, somehow, for someone like her. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a children’s nanny, it’s just that … Well, I’m more than surprised, I’m astounded.’

  ‘Her mother says that she was going through a rebellious stage, that perhaps it was because it was taken for granted that she would go to Art College that she had to go off and do something entirely different.’

  ‘Mmm. Could be, I suppose. Were there any children by the second marriage?’

  ‘Not at that stage. There is a stepsister, but she’s only thirteen now, so Perdita would have been in her twenties when she was born. And according to the stepfather Perdita was very fond of her.’

  ‘So at
the point when she was having to make up her mind what she was going to do, she was still an only child … Were she and her mother close, do you think?’

  ‘I would say so, yes. I think Mrs Harrow would have liked Perdita to have gone to Maidstone College of Art, or Medway.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s your answer. Perhaps Perdita felt that what her mother really wanted was for her to stay at home. And with two Art Colleges so close she might have felt her mother would have been hurt if she’d said yes, I want to study art but I want to leave home to do it. Perhaps she needed her independence and felt that the only way to get it without upsetting her mother was to choose a career where she would have to go away to do her training. Seems a bit drastic, though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Mrs Harrow is desperately ill at the moment and I understand her health has been poor for years. Perhaps Perdita has always felt protective towards her.’

  ‘Could be. Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ll ever know, now. The only person who could really explain it would be Perdita herself.’

  ‘Incidentally, talking about Mrs Harrow’s illness reminded me … You know I said the Super has been somewhat subdued lately? He told us this morning that his wife is ill, that she has to go to London for treatment. And apparently Louise told Mike that Angharad Draco has leukaemia.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s terrible isn’t it? I heard this morning. I ran into Louise when I went into the town to buy some odds and ends for Mother.’

  Thanet remembered his promise to Lineham, to ask Joan to have a word with Louise. But Joan, it seemed, had preempted him. She was telling him now that Louise had seemed rather low herself, and that with only a little prompting she had confessed to feeling depressed and nervous about going back to nursing when Mandy started school.

  ‘Had you told her about your mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was typical of Louise, Thanet thought, to spill out her troubles during such a brief encounter when she must have realised Joan was pressed for time and anxious to get back to the hospital, and he experienced, not for the first time, a spurt of resentment against her self-centredness and insensitivity. He didn’t know how Lineham managed to put up with it.