Doomed to Die

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Only because it was credible in the circumstances,’ said Lineham eagerly. ‘I mean, if she knew Master and his wife were out, it would be a likely thing to happen, wouldn’t it? For the little boy to wake up and start crying? She didn’t mention the crying at first, did she? And didn’t you notice the long pause before she told us about it?’

  ‘Yes, I did … And another thing … If Henry was yelling his head off at nine o’clock, and was still crying at 9.30, when his mother got home, why didn’t either of the Swains hear him – or Master, for that matter, when they were there between 9 and 9.30?’

  ‘I suppose he could have cried himself to sleep briefly, then woken up and started again?’

  ‘Possible, I suppose. What we need, of course, is a definite lead. Let’s hope that forensic report’ll come through soon as promised, and that when it does it’ll give us something definite to go on.’

  ‘No wonder the elderly neighbour said she’d heard several cars,’ said Lineham. ‘It must have been like Piccadilly Circus there that night!’

  As if Perdita were a magnet to which they were all being drawn, thought Thanet.

  ‘Well, where now?’ said Lineham as they got into the car. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s just before one,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘Feeling peckish, Mike? All right, we’ll get a bite to eat in the village.’

  After an excellent ploughman’s lunch in the Green Man (‘Three sorts of pickle and pickled onions!’ said Lineham) they rang in to find out if the forensic report had come through.

  ‘No joy,’ said Lineham, shaking his head. ‘Wish they’d get the lead out of their boots.’

  ‘We’ll call in at my house then, see if Joan needs a hand.’

  Lineham had willingly agreed to help.

  Joan came into the hall as they let themselves in. ‘Oh good, Mike’s with you. I was wondering how we’d manage to get her upstairs.’

  ‘How is she?’ said Thanet.

  Joan pulled a face. ‘Pretty weak. They provided a wheelchair to get her to the car and said that it was all right for her to walk from the car to the house if it wasn’t too far. They said it’s important for her to have a little regular exercise every day, and that in another week or so it should be all right for her to come downstairs as long as she doesn’t climb the stairs more than once a day, until she’s stronger. If you hadn’t managed to get home I was going to make up a bed for her on the settee.’

  ‘Right. Let’s see what we can do.’

  They all went into the sitting room. Margaret Bolton was lying on the settee with her feet up, looking alarmingly pale and fragile. Thanet supposed that the doctors knew what they were doing, but for the first time he appreciated fully the responsibility Joan had taken on. His mother-in-law was going to need a great deal of care and attention for some time yet.

  ‘How are you feeling, Margaret?’

  She attempted a smile. ‘Hullo, Luke, Mike. A bit limp, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Still, it’s good news, isn’t it? They must be satisfied that you’re going to be OK now or they wouldn’t have discharged you.’

  ‘And,’ said Joan, smiling at her mother, ‘they say that there’s no reason why she shouldn’t get back to leading her normal life again before too long, didn’t they, Mum?’

  Margaret Bolton nodded. ‘The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to be a burden on you, Joan. You’ve got your work to think of, as well as your family.’

  ‘Nonsense. Of course you won’t be a burden. How could you? My office is quite happy for me to take a few days’ leave and after that I’m sure we’ll be able to get some help, if necessary.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Thanet, ‘we certainly don’t want you worrying about it. That would be the worst possible thing in the circumstances. Now, let’s see about getting you upstairs.’

  ‘I’ve prepared Bridget’s room for her,’ said Joan.

  ‘I assumed you would.’

  Between them Thanet and Lineham easily managed to carry Mrs Bolton up the stairs and into the bedroom. The bed was made up, its covers invitingly turned back and Thanet couldn’t help feeling a pang of loss when he noticed that the familiar clutter of objects had been cleared from Bridget’s dressing table and bedside table and replaced by the things which Joan had unpacked from her mother’s suitcase.

  They lowered Mrs Bolton gently on to the edge of the bed.

  ‘Anything else we can do?’

  Joan shook her head. ‘I can manage now. Thanks, darling.’

  ‘See you tonight, then.’ Thanet kissed her and left her to help her mother undress.

  ‘Doesn’t look too good, does she?’ said Lineham, when they were back in the car.

  Thanet shook his head. ‘I was thinking just a few minutes ago, I hope the doctors know what they’re doing.’

  ‘When I told Louise, last night, she said that this is the best way to treat heart attacks in the elderly. She says it’s essential to keep the circulation going and this is why they now get them up so soon and insist on regular bouts of mild exercise. And the recovery rate, she says, is excellent, if they survive the first twenty-four hours.’

  ‘That’s what Doctor MacPherson said. Let’s hope he’s right … Anyway, we’d better get back to work. Give them another ring, see if that forensic report is in.’

  It was.

  ‘Good,’ said Thanet. ‘Back to the office, then, let’s see what they have to say. Let’s hope they give us something we can use.’

  SIXTEEN

  Superintendent Draco was just getting out of his car when Lineham pulled into the car park at Headquarters. Draco raised his hand in salute and waited for them.

  Thanet thought that the Super looked terrible: all Draco’s bounce had gone, the pouches beneath his eyes were soft and puffy and his sallow skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. Whereas he would once have bounded up the steps to the entrance door, now he plodded and Thanet and Lineham had to adjust their pace accordingly.

  Thanet wondered whether to ask after Draco’s wife, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He wasn’t sure if he was being tactful or just plain cowardly.

  ‘How’s it going, Thanet?’ Even Draco’s voice lacked its usual vigour.

  ‘Not too badly, sir. It’s a bit complicated. Too many suspects, all with motive and opportunity. Trouble is, so far we haven’t got a single piece of concrete evidence to tie any of them in with it.’

  ‘Forensic report through yet?’ But Draco didn’t look as if he were really interested in the answer. Incredible for a man who had once told his team that if anyone so much as sneezed in his patch he wanted to hear about it.

  ‘We haven’t seen it yet, but it’s just come in, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  They parted in the foyer and on the way upstairs Lineham said, ‘D’you think she’s worse?’

  ‘I couldn’t pluck up the courage to ask.’

  In the office Thanet eagerly skimmed the forensic report. He read it again more slowly, conscious of Lineham barely containing his impatience to hear what it said. Then he handed it to the sergeant and went to stand looking out of the window. Something was nagging at his memory. What was it?

  Outside sun glinted off glass and chrome, leaves fluttered down from trees, people went about their business but Thanet saw it all only as a blur. His attention was wholly focussed elsewhere. What was it, that he was trying to remember?

  Lineham’s voice disturbed his concentration. ‘Pretty disappointing, isn’t it? Loads of smudged prints on the polythene bag but nothing clear enough to be of any use. Just one good print on that and we could have nailed him.’

  ‘Not necessarily, Mike. Counsel would have argued that it could have been made at any time.’

  ‘Maybe, but at least it would have pointed us in the right direction … What about this blue fluff?’

  Blue woollen fibres had been found in the polythene bag.

  ‘Perhaps we ought to concentrate on that, do you think, sir?’
r />   ‘I should think only luck will help us there. Just think, Mike. Those fibres could have come from anywhere – from any piece of clothing or item of household goods, past or present, owned by any of the suspects or their families.’

  Thanet became aware that he was massaging his right temple, that he had a slight headache – or perhaps not so much a headache as a build-up of pressure, as if the memory that was eluding him were physically trying to push its way out of his brain.

  ‘Still, it’s a starting point, isn’t it, sir? If you don’t mind me saying so, if we gave up before we began just because we didn’t think we’d get anywhere, well, we never would get anywhere, would we?’

  ‘Point made, Mike. So where do you suggest we begin?’

  ‘We could systematically work through the wardrobes and cupboards of each suspect in turn.’

  ‘Beginning with whom?’

  Lineham shrugged. ‘Mrs Swain?’

  ‘That’ll be fun when we get to Swain’s workroom,’ said Thanet, remembering his brief glimpse of the floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with cones of wool, the sample swatches trailing multi-coloured strands.

  Lineham grinned. ‘The lab boys’ll go mad!’

  ‘Anyway, perhaps it would be sensible to ask …’ He stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter, sir?’

  Thanet became aware of how he must look: dazed stare, mouth half open in astonishment.

  ‘Mike! Just a minute.’ Thanet sank down into the chair behind his desk. He needed a moment to readjust. It was as if he had been looking at the whole thing from the wrong end of a telescope.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lineham’s face loomed at him as the sergeant bent forward in concern and Thanet flapped him irritably away. ‘Yes, yes! I just need to think, that’s all.’

  He watched Lineham retreat, trying unsuccessfully not to look hurt.

  ‘Oh all right, Mike, I’m sorry. It’s just that I suddenly realised …’

  Lineham’s face changed, became eager. ‘What?’

  Thanet leaned forward. ‘We’ve been over and over the timing of all the suspects’ movements on Monday night, trying to work out the sequence of events. We’ve queried all those timings, checking and crosschecking, believing or disbelieving. But there’s one person whose statement we’ve never questioned.’

  Lineham frowned. ‘Whose?’

  Thanet told him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the look of astonishment on his sergeant’s face. ‘Now you know why my jaw dropped just now.’

  ‘Mrs Broxton?’ Lineham was still looking incredulous.

  Thanet nodded.

  He recalled the image his memory had presented him with just now. As clearly as if she were sitting before him in his office he had remembered Vanessa Broxton as he had first seen her on Monday night. Huddled in a corner of one of the big sofas, feet tucked up beneath her, she had been wearing the clothes she must have worn in Court that day, a straight charcoal grey skirt and white blouse. And, slung loosely around her shoulders, a thick blue knitted jacket.

  ‘Remember when we interviewed her on Monday? She was wearing a blue woollen jacket.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean a thing. I mean, even if the fibres did turn out to be from that jacket, it wouldn’t be any help to us. Counsel would argue that the bag in which the jacket had once been was lying around in the kitchen and the murderer just saw it and grabbed it.’

  ‘Unlikely, Mike, with small children in the house. The danger of leaving plastic bags lying around is so well known by now … I bet you and Louise don’t, do you?’

  Lineham shook his head.

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine Mrs Broxton doing so either. But she is the one person who’d be able to find one in that house in a hurry, isn’t she?’

  ‘But why would she want to?’

  ‘Ah well, now that’s what I suddenly realised. She did have a reason, a powerful one … Just think, Mike. She’s devoted to those children. Her nanny, Angela Proven, told me that she’s “potty about them”, that she absolutely hated having to leave Henry when she went back to work. That she’d even told her that for two pins she’d chuck it all in. I quote. And you remember what Mrs Swain told us? That Vanessa’s children came first with her, that motherhood had overwhelmed her. She said she’d seen it happen before, especially in career women who leave it late to have a baby. They fall in love with the child, she said …’

  ‘So? I’m sorry, I still don’t get it.’

  ‘Well don’t you see, the one thing that would arouse Vanessa Broxton’s fury is ill-treatment of her children. And Perdita leaving them alone in the house at night would certainly count as that, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Lineham nodded.

  ‘So, just say Mrs Master senior was telling the truth. You remember she said she heard a child screaming while she was ringing the bell just before nine …’

  The light had finally dawned, he could see it in Lineham’s face. Lineham raked his hand through his hair. He looked stunned. ‘Draco’s going to love this.’

  ‘So what? We’ve never treated her any differently from any of the other witnesses. Why should we, just because of her position?’

  ‘True. So, you mean, supposing Mrs Broxton didn’t return at 9.30 as she claimed, say she got back earlier, while Mr and Mrs Master were still out …’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘And Henry was in a real state, practically hysterical … Yes, she would have been livid, wouldn’t she? No, hang on a minute. That won’t work. That means she would have been in the house when Mr Swain came knocking.’

  ‘Not knocking, Mike, ringing. And the doorbell was out of order.’

  ‘He did say he knocked as well.’

  ‘But he also said the door was so solid that unless he had really hammered at it it would have been difficult to make much impact. And I don’t suppose he would have liked to do that, not like Master who was determined to make as much noise as he could. No, if she was busy trying to calm Henry down she might well not have heard him. It’s a big house and we’ve found this ourselves, haven’t we, when we go to big houses, even when the doorbell is working and there’s a knocker too. How many times have you heard people say, “But I was in, all the time”?’

  Lineham nodded, conceding the truth of this.

  ‘So, say all these people have been telling the truth: Mrs Master senior came and went away just before Mrs Broxton arrived home; Mr Swain came and left soon afterwards; his wife did just what she said she did, followed him, watched him leave and set off again without coming near the house …’

  ‘And then the Masters arrived home.’

  Thanet nodded eagerly. ‘Quite. Now, just visualise it: this was at twenty past nine. Mrs Broxton has probably just managed to calm Henry down – you know how long it takes when a child is in a real state. And all the time she’s seething. Where is Perdita? She hasn’t had time to look all over the house, probably just had a quick look in the kitchen and the bedroom before attending to Henry. And then she hears the front door slam. Until now it probably hasn’t even occurred to her that Perdita could actually have gone out and left the children alone in the house, but now … She spends another minute or two making sure that Henry is thoroughly settled and then she races downstairs, absolutely furious. Meanwhile Perdita, reassured by the silence from upstairs, goes into the kitchen to make herself a hot drink … And from then on it happens just as we’ve suggested.’

  Lineham had been nodding from time to time but now he stopped. ‘OK, say it did happen like that, they had a row, Mrs Broxton is so angry she goes to grab her by the shoulders to shake her, Mrs Master steps back, slips and so on … I still can’t buy Mrs Broxton looking around for a polythene bag and deliberately finishing her off.’

  Thanet stared at him in silence. Carried along by the excitement and impetus of what had seemed a brilliant new explanation of what had happened he had chosen not to face that final stumbling block. He sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘You’re right, Mike. I can’t see it
either.’

  ‘I think,’ said Lineham, obviously determined to drive the point home, ‘that she’d have been horrified when she saw Mrs Master lying there unconscious. She’d have been much more likely to rush to the telephone.’

  ‘Yes, yes. You’re right, you’re right.’ Thanet felt for his pipe. He was in need of consolation and for once he was going to ignore what Lineham felt about it. ‘Ah well, back to the drawing board, as one might say. Pass that report back, will you, Mike, let me have another look at it.’

  While he was studying it he lit up.

  Lineham got up to open the office door.

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t make me feel such a pariah, Mike.’

  ‘Sorry sir. Lineham glanced pointedly at the curls of smoke beginning to wreath their way towards him. ‘It’s just that …’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Disappointment was making Thanet unwontedly irritable. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better do as you suggest about the fibres, beginning with the Swains.’ He sighed. This was going to take for ever. ‘Get a search warrant and put a team of four on to it. As you say, the lab boys are going to love this. But if it’s the only way …’

  ‘Right, sir.’ Lineham was already lifting the telephone.

  Meanwhile, where did they go from here? Thanet looked at the reports stacked on both his and Lineham’s desks and groaned inwardly. He knew, really. They had reached the stage in a case that he disliked most of all, the point where they needed to have a thorough reassessment of everything that had come in. He and Lineham must now each work his way systematically through every single report. It was surprising how often some hitherto disregarded scrap of information could acquire a new significance in the light of subsequent findings, and it was also the only way to get a clear overall view. Always, in the first day or two, there was so much to try and assimilate, so many people to interview, that it was impossible to do anything but follow up one lead after another. But there usually came a point when the pace slowed, even ground to a standstill. And then …

  He sighed, shuffled his chair closer to his desk, pulled the pile of reports nearer to hand and took the first one off the top.