She paused in the hall and lowered her voice to a concerned whisper. ‘Is her father …? Have you seen him?’
Thanet nodded, lowered his voice in response. ‘Yes, but prepare yourself for a shock. He’s been arrested and charged with Perdita’s murder.’
She stared at him, her eyes opening so wide that the whites showed clear all around the irises. She was silent for a few moments absorbing the news and then she said, ‘She suspected, didn’t she, poor lamb. That was what she was holding back.’
Thanet nodded. ‘Probably.’
‘I wonder if this will … She really worries me. She’s bottling it all up inside, hasn’t shed a single tear, even over her mother’s death.’
Mrs Bonnard opened a door to the right of the narrow hall and led the way into the room. ‘Inspector Thanet is here, Stephanie.’
Like its owner, this room was clean but dowdy. It looked as though it had been furnished to last. The predominant colour was a safe fawn, the carpet a practical all-over pattern, the three-piece suite covered in a hard-wearing uncut moquette.
Stephanie was sitting bolt upright in one corner of the settee, arms folded tightly across her chest as if to prevent herself from flying apart. Her face was pale, the delicate skin beneath her eyes bruised by insomnia and anxiety. She was wearing her school uniform of navy skirt and blue and white striped blouse, and the mass of curly hair so like that of her dead stepsister was tied back with a dark blue ribbon. She looked heartbreakingly vulnerable and much younger than her thirteen years.
‘Hullo, Stephanie. We met once before, at the hospital.’ He gave her only the briefest of smiles, feeling that she would find it inappropriate to be less restrained in the circumstances, but the genuine warmth and goodwill he felt towards her must have communicated themselves because her expression lightened just a fraction and she gave a stiff little nod of acknowledgement.
Mrs Bonnard sat down beside Stephanie and Thanet took an armchair facing them. ‘I was very sorry to hear about your mother,’ he began. ‘I’m not just saying that, I really mean it.’
Her lips tightened and she nodded again, her knuckles whitening as her fingers dug harder into the striped material of her blouse. Still she said nothing. Perhaps she couldn’t trust herself to speak.
‘But of course, that’s not why I’m here.’ He paused. Stephanie would be expecting him to talk to her about the matter of her father’s prosecution for child abuse, but first he had to surmount the hurdle of breaking to her the news of his arrest for murder. There was nothing he could do to soften the blow. ‘First, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you.’
Apprehension flashed into her eyes and she glanced at Mrs Bonnard, who patted her knee.
‘Your father …’ He had to say it. ‘Your father has been arrested, and charged with the murder of your stepsister.’
She stared at him blankly. Had she taken in what he said? Mrs Bonnard was watching her anxiously.
‘I have a feeling,’ he said gently, ‘that you might have been half expecting this.’ He waited a few moments and then said, ‘Am I right?’
Her lips tightened and then she gave a barely perceptible nod.
Thanet hadn’t known that he had been holding his breath. Slowly he exhaled with relief.
So far, he realised, she still hadn’t said a word.
Now her lips parted. ‘Where …?’ It was scarcely more than a whisper and she cleared her throat, tried again. ‘Where … Where is he?’
‘In custody.’
Stephanie’s arms had remained tightly folded throughout the interview so far, her body stiff with tension. Now, at last, she stirred, the grip on her upper arms relaxed and slowly her hands drifted down to her lap. She looked at them as if they did not belong to her and then, gently, began to massage one hand with the other. If her fingers had maintained that tight grip for so long they were probably aching, Thanet thought. Did the fact that she seemed to have relaxed a little betray the extent of her fear that her father would be released and she would be expected to go back to live with him? Briefly Thanet was so filled with pity and anger that his throat closed and he had to swallow hard to speak in anything like his normal tone.
‘I expect you’re worried about what will happen to you.’
She stopped rubbing her hand and again glanced at Mrs Bonnard. ‘Mrs Bonnard said I could stay here.’
Mrs Bonnard took her hand, squeezed it and nodded. ‘Of course you can.’
‘Yes. You will be able to. For the moment, anyway – and probably indefinitely,’ he added hastily as he saw the fear flash back into the girl’s eyes.
‘Only probably?’
‘Almost certainly.’ Now it was his turn to glance at Mrs Bonnard. ‘I don’t know how much Mrs Bonnard has told you about the procedure in circumstances like yours?’ He watched Stephanie absorb the implication: she was not a freak, there were other children like her, sufficient indeed for a procedure to have been established for dealing with them.
Mrs Bonnard shook her head. ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid. I thought it would be best to wait until you came – beyond telling her that she was welcome to stay here with us, that is.’ She glanced at Stephanie and squeezed her hand again. ‘I don’t think she’s really been able to think beyond that.’
‘I see.’ Thanet became brisk, matter-of-fact. ‘The situation has changed, of course, since your father’s arrest. But even so, it’s all quite simple, really, and I don’t anticipate any problems.’ Especially now that I’ve met you, Mrs Bonnard. ‘When someone is left in your circumstances, Stephanie, and there is no relation to look after you – you haven’t any relations, I understand?’ He waited for her headshake before continuing. ‘Well, in those circumstances, normally the child becomes the responsibility of the Social Services, and is put into care. No!’ He held up his hand as panic flashed in Stephanie’s eyes. ‘I told you, in your case that won’t happen, you’ll almost certainly stay here.’
‘But …’ she interrupted.
‘What?’ he said, gently.
‘You said, almost certainly …’
‘Only because there are certain formalities to go through. You see, as I said, because the Social Services are responsible for someone in your circumstances, they really have to be sure that someone like Mrs Bonnard, who offers to look after that child, is a fit person to do so.’
‘Fit?’
‘Suitable, responsible, someone who will have the child’s – your – welfare at heart.’ He smiled at Mrs Bonnard. ‘And as I’m sure there’ll be no problem in Mrs Bonnard’s case, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’
‘So what will actually happen?’ said Mrs Bonnard.
‘A social worker will come here to talk to you both, look at the house … Just to make sure it’s a suitable place for a child to live,’ he added, as Mrs Bonnard gave an anxious frown. ‘And I assure you, from what I’ve seen you needn’t worry on that score. And then you will be made Stephanie’s guardian, probably for a trial period. And finally, if everything works out, as I’m sure it will – it’s not as if Stephanie is a stranger to you, after all – then eventually you will be made her permanent guardian.’ He smiled at Stephanie. ‘Does that help?’
She nodded. ‘But what …?’ She glanced at Mrs Bonnard, bit her lip. ‘It’s a bit awkward …’
Thanet understood at once what she meant. ‘You mean, about the financial side of it?’
She nodded.
‘You’re afraid of being a burden on Mrs Bonnard, is that it?’
She and Mrs Bonnard spoke together.
‘Yes, I don’t want to …’
‘Stephanie, you really mustn’t worry about that. We’ll manage, somehow.’
‘It shouldn’t be as difficult as all that, Mrs Bonnard,’ said Thanet, smiling. ‘You will receive Stephanie’s Child Benefit and also a Guardianship Allowance.’
‘Really?’ Her surprise was genuine, Thanet was sure of it. ‘I thought we’d probably get the Child Benefit but I�
�d no idea there’d be any more.’
‘It’s not that much,’ said Thanet, ‘but enough to get by.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Mrs Bonnard, smiling at Stephanie. ‘And I can’t say it’s not a relief. I do work, but I don’t earn that much and it’s a bit of a struggle sometimes. I’m not qualified for anything better, that’s the trouble. That’s why I always say to the girls, get yourselves educated. Then you’ll always know you’ll be able to support yourselves, whatever happens.’
‘I agree, absolutely.’
‘What will happen to our house?’ said Stephanie.
‘Nothing, for the moment,’ said Thanet. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to think about that later on.’ The Social Services had in fact told him that if Harrow were convicted and imprisoned the house would either have to be sold or rented out, in order to support Stephanie until she was of age. But there was no point in worrying Stephanie with this information at the moment. Let her have time to begin to adjust, first. Which reminded him …
‘There is one other thing that the social worker will want to discuss with you.’ This was delicate ground and again Thanet cast around for the best way to put it. One thing was certain: he must be as matter-of-fact as possible. Above all things Stephanie must not be made to feel bad, or a freak. ‘Children in your position, children who have been abused by their parents, usually need help to come to terms with what they have been through.’
Already Stephanie had hung her head, her pale cheeks stained with red flags of shame, and again Thanet had to exert considerable self-control to hide his anger at what this girl had had to suffer. He thought of Harrow’s bulging flesh, his sweaty hands, and his flesh crawled. ‘They often have to be helped, you see, to understand that what happened was not their fault, that they were not responsible for it, and above all that they are not bad, immoral or different in any way from other children who have not had to suffer as they have.’
He thought of Perdita and the seeds of self-disgust which Harrow had sown in her. Thanet was certain now that it was he who had made her feel a pariah, been the cause of her self-chosen isolation at school. No doubt it was he, too, who was responsible for her dark vision of the world revealed through her art, the sense of impending doom which had so distressed her mother. Had Stephanie been rescued in time? He hoped so, he fervently hoped so. But what about all those others, the secret victims of adult lust and perversion, those too frightened for one reason or another to betray their tormentors? It didn’t bear thinking about. He would have to be satisfied that he had perhaps rescued one child from that particular purgatory.
Stephanie had still not raised her head but he could tell by her sudden stillness that she was listening intently. Had he said enough? Should he wait for her to respond, or just quietly leave? He desperately wanted to do the right thing.
She raised her head to look at him and he found he was holding his breath.
‘You mean …?’ She stopped.
Go on, he silently urged her. Go on.
She must have sensed his silent encouragement because she tried again. ‘You mean … they’re not going to blame me?’
Thanet shook his head, filled with rage. What had Harrow said to her? ‘No, I’m sure of it. Not in the least.’
‘They won’t say …’ She glanced at Mrs Bonnard, who put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a protective hug. Then she looked back at Thanet. ‘… I led him on?’
The desperation in her eyes was almost more than he could bear. Again he shook his head. ‘No, Stephanie, they won’t. Believe me, they won’t.’
She stared at him for a moment longer and then, the first sign that her rigid self-control was beginning to crack, her lower lip began to tremble. A moment later a solitary tear tracked its way down her cheek and then suddenly her face crumpled and, turning her head into Mrs Bonnard’s shoulder, she flung her arm around the older woman with the frantic grasp of a drowning man clutching at a rock, and began to weep.
Thanet knew that, heart-rending as the child’s grief might be, it was far better that she should let it out. It was what Mrs Bonnard had been hoping for. She put both arms around Stephanie and began to rock her, to stroke her hair and comfort her as she would a much younger child. Over the girl’s head her eyes met Thanet’s and she nodded her satisfaction and dismissal.
His mission was accomplished.
He left.
TWENTY-ONE
Thanet awoke, remembered that it was Saturday and he didn’t have to go to work, and stretched luxuriously. Yesterday had been hectic, completing all the paperwork inevitable at the end of a murder case, and Joan had been in bed when he got home. Knowing that she would be up early to tend to her mother he had left a note on her bedside table: WEEKEND OFF! As yet they had had no opportunity to talk properly since the case finished and he knew she would be eager to hear all about it. But there was no hurry. The delicious empty space of Saturday and Sunday stretched ahead of them. There would be plenty of time to relax, catch up.
He opened one eye and squinted at the bedside clock. Nine-thirty. Time to move.
He stretched again, sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His nose twitched as he became aware of the beckoning smell of coffee and – yes, surely, bacon! He couldn’t remember when they had last had bacon for breakfast, Joan’s healthy eating campaign had banned it from their diet, except as the special occasional treat. Suddenly he was very hungry.
He went to the bathroom, showered and shaved. On the way back to the bedroom he paused at the half-open door of Bridget’s room, peeped in. His mother-in-law was sitting up in bed, having breakfast. He went in.
‘Morning, Margaret. How are you feeling?’
‘Much better, thank you, Luke.’
She looked it, too. The unhealthy greyish pallor had disappeared and her skin had regained a little of its natural colour.
‘You look it. Good.’
‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, though. It’s such a lot of work for Joan.’
He sat down on the side of the bed, took her hand. ‘Look, the main thing is that you’re getting better. If you start worrying about Joan you’ll hinder your recovery and defeat the whole object of the exercise. You gave us a nasty fright, you know.’
‘I can imagine. Even so …’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Thanet smiling, ‘that just for once in your life you’re going to have to resign yourself to other people doing things for you, instead of the other way around. Think how virtuous you’ll make them feel!’
‘You always did have the knack of turning things around,’ she said, smiling. ‘All right, I’ll try.’
‘Good. Anything you want?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m allowed up for a few hours later. Not downstairs, yet, though, I understand.’
‘No. Doctor MacPherson said you should wait a week before attempting to climb the stairs, and then only very slowly.’
She grimaced. ‘I hate being treated like an invalid.’
‘Look at it this way. The more you behave like one to start with, the sooner you’ll stop being one.’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘You’d better get dressed. By the smell of it your breakfast’s just about ready.’
‘See you later.’
He called into her room to collect the breakfast tray on the way downstairs. The kitchen was filled with sunshine and appetising smells. Joan turned to greet him, smiling. ‘I thought you’d like a lie-in today.’
He put down the tray, went to put his arms around her, kiss her. ‘Is the smell of bacon a product of my over-heated imagination?’
She grinned. ‘A treat. To celebrate the end of the case. And the fact that it’s Saturday. And that for once we’ve got the whole weekend free.’
Thanet nodded at the table, which was laid for two. ‘Ben not here?’
‘He left half an hour ago. He’s gone into town.’
They ate in a companionable silence and it was not until they were on their
second cup of coffee and Thanet had lit his pipe that Joan said, ‘Now tell me all about it.’
‘About what?’ he said, raising his eyebrows in feigned ignorance.
‘Luke! Stop teasing. You know perfectly well what I mean.’
‘Oh, sorry, you mean the case. Yes, well …’ he added hurriedly, seeing her eyes flash with pretended anger. ‘Where d’you want to begin?’
He’d already told her the bare facts, of course, that Harrow had confessed, and why the murder had been committed, but very little more.
‘Where we always begin. With how you worked it out. That’s what always fascinates me. I can never understand how you do it. I’d never have guessed in a million years.’
‘Don’t exaggerate! You’re simply trying to boost my ego.’
‘No! I mean it, honestly. You’d told me everything you knew, everything you’d learnt, and I can honestly say the idea would never have entered my head.’
‘That’s because you hadn’t met the people concerned. You hadn’t seen how they behaved, how they looked, how they reacted. If you had –’
‘I still wouldn’t have worked it out, I’m sure of it. So come on, tell me how you did it.’
He removed his pipe, took her hand with exaggerated courtesy, dropped a kiss on the back of it and bowed his head. ‘Your wish is my command.’ Then he sat back, frowning. ‘Though it’s easier said than done. I’ll have to think, if I want to get it in sequence.’
‘All right then, think. I’ll clear these things away – no, you stay there and concentrate on working it out.’
Doomed to Die Page 21
