‘Perhaps he didn’t feel like going home straight away, went to a pub, had a few drinks?’
‘Possible, I suppose. Well, we mustn’t get carried away by all this but it’s certainly the most likely scenario we’ve come up with so far.’ Thanet had jumped up, begun putting on his overcoat as he talked. He was eager now to tackle the Swains again, put this new theory to the test. ‘Come on, Mike, let’s go.’
FOURTEEN
The mid-morning traffic was light and they were soon clear of the town. They had decided to talk to Swain first, see if they could get anything more out of him before driving to TVS at Maidstone. Thanet’s spirits rose. He was looking forward to the interview with Mrs Swain. She was a formidable opponent and he enjoyed a challenge. Interviewing was the part of his work that he enjoyed most, when mind and intuition were stretched to the limit and the skills he had built up through years of experience were fully employed.
Although the sun was high in the sky the temperature had still not risen much above freezing, and in the shade of trees and hedges frost still crisped the grass. The ground, Thanet guessed, would still be rock-hard, furrowed ridges in ploughed fields only just beginning to soften as the warmth began to penetrate. Persuaded by these early frosts that winter was upon them, soon now the trees would shed their remaining leaves, the glorious autumn colour would melt away and the woods become no more than dark smudges delineating the graceful curves of fields and Downs.
For a while both men were silent, thinking. Then, picking up the conversation where they had left it, Thanet said, ‘I bet he doesn’t even know she went out that night. She left after him and came back before him.’
Lineham grinned. ‘I can’t see she’d have told him she followed him.’
‘No. In which case, if it was her suggestion, when they heard about the murder, that it might be a good idea to say they’d both been home all evening, he’d assume she was trying to protect him rather than herself.’
Lineham gave a cynical grunt. ‘Typical, I should think.’
‘You really don’t like her, do you, Mike?’
‘You said you weren’t too keen on her either.’
‘That’s true. But I do find her stimulating. Pity she’s at work. I’d like to have interviewed them together, seen how they interact.’ Thanet was always fascinated by the way in which people can change in the presence of their partners. The bold become muted, the shy can blossom, the strong become weak and the weak strong, as if the chemistry which attracted them to each other in the first place is most evident when they are together.
Nettleton, as usual, seemed asleep. Thanet wondered if it ever woke up. They turned into Wheelwright’s Lane and a minute or two later Lineham slowed down as they approached the cluster of houses. Thanet glanced at the cottage where Mrs Marsh their witness lived.
‘Stop short of the Swains’ drive, Mike.’
Lineham pulled up and they both got out of the car. It was immediately obvious that anyone in the front bedroom of either cottage would have an excellent view of the Swains’ front drive directly opposite. The cottages were close to the road, the front gardens tiny, and there were no trees to obscure the view.
‘Can’t be much more than fifty, seventy-five yards to the Swains’ front door,’ said Lineham. ‘And with security lights on …’
‘The sightlines into the Masters’ drive aren’t as good, though. That tall beech hedge gets in the way.’
‘True. But that really doesn’t matter so much, does it, sir? He’s already admitted going to see his wife, and the times tally with Mrs Marsh’s statement.’
‘Quite. Might as well leave the car here. There’s plenty of room to pass.’
The neatly clipped yew hedges on either side of the five-barred gate had obscured their view of the garden and it was not until they were halfway to the front door that Thanet spotted Swain working in one of the flower borders over to the left, at the far side of the lawn. He was bent double cutting down spent herbaceous plants and the wheelbarrow beside him was piled high with autumn debris.
Thanet called his name and Swain straightened up, secateurs in one hand, a clump of dead flower stalks in the other. When he saw who it was he laid the stems on top of the heaped barrow and began to walk towards the two policemen, stripping off his gardening gloves as he came. He was wearing ancient corduroys, an old anorak and Wellington boots. The picture of a healthy countryman was belied as he came closer by the pallor of his face, the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He obviously hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. Guilty or innocent, not surprising in the circumstances.
‘Sorry to trouble you. I wonder if we could have another word?’
Shoulders drooping with resignation Swain turned and led them along the narrow paved path at the side of the house around to the back door. Here he stopped, pushed it open and paused to lever off his boots, stepping in stockinged feet on to the doormat inside. Thanet and Lineham followed him in. Swain pulled out a chair and sat down, indicating that they should do likewise.
Thanet waited until Lineham was settled, notebook at the ready, then folding his hands together on the table leaned forward. ‘We don’t take very kindly to people who lie to us in murder enquiries, Mr Swain.’
Swain’s response puzzled him. First there was what Thanet could have sworn was a genuine look of surprise, almost immediately overlaid by comprehension. But Swain’s tone was firm. ‘I haven’t lied to you, Inspector.’
‘There are, shall we say, sins of omission as well as commission.’
Swain hesitated. You could almost see him thinking, How much do they know?
‘Mr Swain, when I asked you if you had seen Mrs Master on Monday night you said no. What would you have said, I wonder, if instead I had asked if you had arranged to see her on Monday night?’
Swain opened his mouth to reply and Thanet had to make a lightning decision: should he give Swain the opportunity to lie? If he did, time would be wasted and a tactical advantage lost. ‘And before you say anything, I should warn you that we have a witness who overheard that arrangement being made.’
Once again Swain’s reaction puzzled him. This time the look of comprehension in his eyes was immediate, but almost at once was overtaken by confusion. Why? If Perdita had told him that the cleaning woman had overheard the call, why should he now be feeling confused? Unless … Yes, that must be it. Perhaps Swain had first thought that his wife might have listened in on his conversation with Perdita, but had at once realised that it couldn’t have been she who had told the police. It would have made nonsense of their agreed alibi.
As he watched Swain trying to make up his mind what to say he decided he would lose nothing by putting him out of his misery and might, perhaps, gain. Let off the hook, Swain would, as Lineham would have put it, owe him one. He explained about the cleaner, watching comprehension leach into the man’s expressive eyes.
Swain made an embarrassed gesture. ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry, Inspector, if I misled you. But I wasn’t lying. I really didn’t see her, you know.’
‘Well, well …’
The unexpected, lazy drawl from the doorway startled Thanet, engrossed as he was in the way the interview was going.
‘The third degree, and in my own kitchen! Who would have believed it?’
Victoria Swain stepped forward, moved indolently to stand behind her husband and rest her hands on his shoulders in a brief caress. Then she slid into a chair beside him. This morning she was wearing narrow black trousers, a silky pale blue blouse and a black knitted jacket with a design of huge pansies in shades of mauve and blue. Another Swain creation, Thanet presumed. Her blue eyes mocked him across the kitchen table.
Well, he thought, you wanted to interview them together, and here they are.
‘Not at work today, Mrs Swain?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but no, Inspector. As a matter of fact I’m working at home. I thought I heard voices, so …’
‘I’m not in the least disappointed. In fact, I’m d
elighted. It will save us that tiresome journey through the M20 roadworks, to Maidstone. We were coming to see you next.’
‘Really. How convenient.’ She raised her hands, palms up. ‘Well, here I am. Do your worst – or should I say, your best?’
Thanet saw Lineham shift slightly and guessed what the sergeant was thinking. She really gets up my nose.
Swain gave his wife an apologetic glance. ‘It’s no good, Vicky. They know.’
Know what? wondered Thanet.
‘Know what?’ said Mrs Swain. Be careful, her frown said. Give nothing away unless you have to.
‘That I arranged to see Perdita on Monday night. The cleaning woman at Vanessa’s house overheard Perdita on the telephone.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, what a calamity!’ She raised an eyebrow at Thanet, inviting complicity. ‘Servants have always been the bane of the middle classes, wouldn’t you agree, Inspector? No privacy.’
‘Well, now you’re here, Mrs Swain, I will say to you what I said to your husband. We don’t take very kindly to people who lie to us in murder enquiries.’
The blue eyes opened wide, baby-innocent. ‘Lie to you, Inspector? Who’s been lying to you?’
‘As I also said to your husband, there are sins of omission as well as commission. He may have been guilty of the first, but you are most certainly guilty of the second.’
‘Oh?’ The innocence overlaid by wariness, now.
‘Yes.’ Thanet allowed the heavy monosyllable to hang on the air, the silence to stretch out. No harm in making her sweat a little. This wasn’t a game and the sooner she realised it the better.
‘All these tales of a cosy evening at home. Pork and apple casserole, wasn’t it, as I recall? Followed by gooseberry fool. Then a little work, television and bed.’
‘My, you have got a good memory, Inspector. Didn’t even need to refer to your notebook … But, as a matter of fact, that was precisely what we did have for supper on Monday night. Down to the last detail.’
Thanet was tired of sparring. ‘Was that before or after you both went out?’
Their expressions changed. Thanet was certain that it was the word ‘both’ which caused Swain’s eyebrows to rise and the look of enquiry he turned on his wife.
Victoria Swain, however, did not even blink. ‘I think you must be misinformed,’ she said icily. The blue eyes were frosty now but Thanet thought that deep within them he detected the first flicker of unease.
‘Reliably informed, as a matter of fact, and by a witness who could have no possible reason to lie.’
At the word ‘witness’ she tried to conceal her dismay, but failed. She shifted uneasily on her chair and Thanet could see that she was struggling against the temptation to look at her husband and gauge his reaction to all this.
‘Witness, Inspector?’ said Swain.
Thanet glanced at Lineham and nodded at the sergeant’s notebook. Lineham obediently began to thumb through it. Both men knew that as Bentley had given the report by telephone there would be no written report in its pages. Thanet hoped the sergeant would make it sound good.
‘Let me see … Here we are …’ Lineham held the book up as if to see it more clearly. ‘“On Monday evening Mr Swain drove off towards the village at about nine o’clock and Mrs Swain followed immediately afterwards …”’
Swain’s head snapped around to look at his wife and Victoria Swain burst out, ‘How could anyone possibly say that, even if it were true. It was pitch dark by then.’
‘“I could see clearly because they have security lights which come on automatically as soon as anyone comes out of the front door and crosses the drive …”’
Mrs Swain simultaneously thumped the table in frustration and stood up. ‘Must be that old biddy across the road, damn her eyes. Twitching her net curtains all day long, and nothing better to do than spy on her neighbours …’ She marched across the room and stood with her back to them at the window, folding her arms tightly as if to hold her anger in, prevent it getting out of control. Her back was rigid and her head turned slightly to one side, so that from where he sat Thanet could see the muscles of her jaw working.
It was a tacit admission. But why so violent a reaction? he wondered. Was it because she had lost face, been caught out in a lie? Because she was going to have to bear the humiliation of admitting to her husband that she had followed him? Or was there a more sinister reason? Was she in truth the murderer, faced now by the fact that her alibi had crumbled?
She swung around to face him again. ‘No!’ she said, startling him. Had she read his mind?
But she was merely contradicting herself, it seemed. ‘No, it couldn’t have been her. She’s away, isn’t she? I saw her son carting her off plus suitcase on Saturday morning. So it must have been little Mrs butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth Marsh.’
‘Does it matter who saw you? The fact is, you were seen, both of you.’
‘Of course it matters!’ she said savagely. She glanced at her husband. ‘For God’s sake stop looking at me like that, Howard! I had a right to know where you were going, didn’t I? I am your wife.’
‘You mean, you actually followed me?’
Thanet saw her realise, too late, that she could have claimed to have gone somewhere else. It was unlike her to miss a trick. It could only be because the shock of being discovered had temporarily affected her judgement. He watched her collect herself and prepare to make the best of the situation. How would she do it? he wondered. And who would she tackle first? Himself, or her husband?
She glanced at Thanet. ‘I should like to speak to my husband alone.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ve had plenty of time to talk to him, if you wished, and there’ll be plenty of time after we’ve gone.’
The blue eyes flashed ice at him but she did not hesitate. Swiftly she crossed to sit once more beside Swain, half turning her back on the two policemen as if to shut them out.
So her husband took priority. That was interesting. Had he in fact been mistaken? If Mrs Swain had truly felt herself to be in danger, would she not have tried to save her own skin, first? Was she innocent after all?
Thanet glanced at Lineham. The sergeant’s eyes were sparkling. He was enjoying this.
Victoria Swain laid her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘I just wanted to know what was happening,’ she pleaded. ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like, being left in the dark …’
No response.
‘I just thought, if I could talk to her …’
Swain’s eyes narrowed. ‘You saw her?’
‘No. How could I? You know yourself that she wasn’t there.’
Swain glanced quickly at Thanet, then back at his wife. Calmly, deliberately, he shook her hand off his arm, a telling gesture of rejection.
She drew back as if stung. Anger sparked in her eyes and her tone changed. ‘Well what did you expect me to do? Sit back and do nothing while you ran after that little –’ With an effort she stopped herself, glowered at Thanet. Now look what you’ve done.
Thanet didn’t mind being blamed if the results were so fruitful.
‘Well,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I think we’re beginning to get somewhere. Correct me if I’m wrong, won’t you? On Monday evening you, Mr Swain, set off for Mrs Broxton’s house to see Mrs Master and you, Mrs Swain, followed. What interests us is what happened when you got there.’
They looked at each other.
‘Nothing,’ they said simultaneously, united at least in this.
‘Could you be a little more specific?’
Swain shrugged. ‘I rang the bell several times, but there was no reply.’
Lineham was scribbling something. He held his notepad out for Thanet to see. Bell out of order, he had written. Thanet nodded. He hadn’t forgotten.
‘Did you knock?’
‘Yes, but there’s no knocker and it’s a great big thick door, so I doubt that anyone would have heard.’
Unless, like Master, you had been determined to make as much noise
as possible, thought Thanet.
‘So what did you do then?’
‘I didn’t quite know what to do. I couldn’t understand it. There were lights on in the house and anyway I knew the children would be in bed, so she couldn’t have gone out. I thought she might be in the bathroom or something, and failed to hear. So I hung around for a few minutes more then tried again. When she still didn’t open the door I gave up. I thought she might have fallen asleep or something, she’d had a pretty exhausting couple of days, but since then …’ He faltered. ‘I’ve wondered, since … Perhaps she was … Perhaps she’d already been …’
But he couldn’t say it. He gave Thanet a beseeching look. ‘D’you think that’s possible? I couldn’t bear it if I thought she was … if I could have helped her, and she …’
If the man was lying he was putting on a pretty good performance, thought Thanet. He shook his head. ‘It’s impossible to be precise about time of death, Mr Swain. What did you do then?’
‘I …’ Swain avoided looking at his wife. ‘I went for a drink.’
‘Where was that?’
‘The Dog and Fiddle, in Barton.’
‘How long did you stay there?’
A shrug. ‘I’m not sure. I had a couple of drinks. Half an hour, perhaps.’
‘And you got home when?’
‘Around a quarter past ten, I think.’ For the first time Swain looked at his wife. ‘Something like that, wasn’t it?’
As Mrs Marsh, prisoner at the nursery window, had confirmed.
Victoria Swain was nodding.
‘So let me be quite clear about this. You left here around nine, arrived at Mrs Broxton’s house some ten minutes later and stayed only five minutes or so. So you would have got to the pub at about … say, nine thirty, and left around ten. Is that right?’
‘More or less.’
Thanet glanced at Lineham to check that he had got everything down, then turned his attention to Mrs Swain. ‘And what about you?’
Doomed to Die Page 14
