Mallard, Helen and Joan turned to see what had captured his attention.
‘Doctor Mallard …’
Thanet had been right. The MP did look agitated – distinctly upset, in fact.
Mallard rose.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your afternoon, but I wonder if you could spare a moment?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mallard glanced at the others. ‘Excuse me, will you?’
Fairleigh put a hand under Mallard’s elbow, drawing him away towards the house and stooping to murmur in his ear. Then their pace accelerated.
‘Wonder what’s wrong,’ said Joan.
Helen sighed. ‘I knew he shouldn’t have said that – about everything being perfect. It was tempting fate.’
‘It’s one of the hazards of being a doctor, I suppose,’ said Joan. She glanced at Thanet. ‘Rather like being a policeman. You’re never really off duty.’
Helen smiled. ‘I know. Even on holiday … James never lets on that he’s a doctor, you know, not if he can help it.’
‘I read an article by a doctor once, on that very subject.’ Thanet grinned. ‘It said that if there’s an emergency on the beach, all the men sitting with their heads firmly down reading newspapers will be doctors. One quick glance to check that it’s not their nearest and dearest involved and that’s it, they just don’t want to know.’
‘I can believe it,’ said Helen.
‘Would you like some more tea, while we’re waiting?’ Thanet rose, picked up the women’s cups as they nodded and said, yes, a good idea. Then he paused. ‘Ah, there he is now.’ He had just spotted Mallard come hurrying out of the back door, alone. The little doctor looked grim, he noticed. What now?
‘Look, I’m sorry about this’ – Mallard’s gaze encompassed all three of his companions – ‘but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you, ladies, to excuse both of us.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ said Thanet. He put the cups down.
All three of them instinctively glanced around to see if they could be overheard and leaned forward as Mallard lowered his voice.
‘It’s Mr Fairleigh’s mother. She died this afternoon.’ Mallard patted Helen’s arm and glanced from her to Joan. ‘This is confidential, of course, but …’ He looked squarely at Thanet. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s been murdered.’
TWO
As he and Mallard hurried towards the house Thanet had already begun to make a mental list of priorities: call for assistance, contact Lineham, contact Draco, put someone on the gate to take down names and addresses. Thanet groaned inwardly as he tried to estimate how many people were here this afternoon – a thousand, fifteen hundred? Fifteen hundred possible suspects; no, you could cut that down because a lot of them were children, say seven hundred and fifty, then, or … He shook his head to clear it. What was he doing, counting suspects? There were a lot of them, that was the point. But before doing anything else and certainly before making an appropriate announcement over the loudspeakers he would have to check for himself that there was a strong possibility that old Mrs Fairleigh really had been murdered. Not that there was any doubt in his mind. The police surgeon was, after all, the very person they normally called in to confirm just that. For himself, he would have taken Doc Mallard’s word without question, but he would have to play this by the book. Hugo Fairleigh was an important man and Superintendent Draco might cast off his current lethargy and revert to normal, in which case he would have Thanet’s guts for garters if anything went wrong.
‘You mean to say you informed over a thousand members of the public that you would require them to give us their names and addresses without even bothering to check for yourself that there was good reason?’
‘I knew I could rely on Doc Mallard’s word, sir.’
‘Just listen to me, Thanet. In my patch you never take the word of anyone who is not a trained member of this force without checking. No matter who he is.’
‘But –’
‘No one is infallible, Thanet, remember that. How did you know he wasn’t joking?’
‘He wouldn’t …’
‘And it was a hot day, wasn’t it? Very hot. Hot enough to give someone sunstroke, especially if, like Doctor Mallard, you happen to be bald.’
‘He was wearing a hat, sir. A Panama.’
‘I don’t care what sort of hat he was wearing! Are you being deliberately obtuse, Thanet? I’m simply making the point that a policeman can’t afford to take anything for granted. Ever. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
They had almost reached the house and with an effort Thanet switched Draco off and stopped. There were one or two points he wanted to get clear before they went in. He noted that there were two doors in the back façade of the house: one at the far end of the central block which was the original house, one in the projecting right-hand wing. This was the one to which Mallard had been leading him and was also the one through which helpers had been going in and out to, fetch fresh supplies of water for the tea urns. ‘Who did you leave with the body?’
‘Don’t worry, no one.’ Mallard’s hand dived into his pocket and produced a key. ‘This was in the door, so I used it.’ He grinned at Thanet over his half-moon spectacles. ‘I watch television too, you know.’
‘Where is Mr Fairleigh now?’
‘With his wife. We ran into her on our way in and she came up with us.’
‘Have you told them what you suspect?’
Mallard shook his head. ‘I wanted to have a word with you, first, let you see for yourself.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I suppose I was being a bit of a coward, really, wanted some moral support when I broke the news.’
‘But you’re certain, aren’t you?’
Mallard nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘How did you explain coming to fetch me?’
Mallard looked shamefaced. ‘Just said I wanted to fetch a colleague. Fairleigh seemed to accept it.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘I don’t think he was thinking straight.’
Fairleigh had looked pretty agitated, Thanet remembered. Even MPs are human, after all, and finding one’s mother dead is a shock to anyone. And of course, if he had brought about that death himself, he wouldn’t have liked to query anything Mallard suggested, however much he wanted to, in case it brought suspicion upon himself.
‘What about locking the bedroom door? Didn’t he find that a bit odd?’
‘He doesn’t know I have – or didn’t, anyway. His wife was upset and he took her off somewhere.’
‘So how did the old lady die?’
‘She was smothered. A pillow over the head, I imagine. She was in bed, of course, and considerably weakened by the stroke Fairleigh told me she’d had about ten days ago. I suppose someone decided it was a good opportunity to finish her off.’
‘Any sign of an intruder? Anything taken?’
Mallard shook his head. ‘I don’t suppose it would have entered Fairleigh’s head to check. He seemed to take it for granted that the death was natural – it’s the attitude you’d expect him to take whether he did it himself or not.’
So the murderer was almost certainly a member of the family, thought Thanet, as it usually was in such cases. Of course, the police would have to go through the motions, take all those names, conduct perhaps hundreds of interviews, but it would all be a monumental waste of time.
‘Right, let’s go in.’
The back door opened into a short quarry-tiled corridor leading off to the left. They could hear voices and the clatter of crockery coming from an open door a few yards along. A moment later a woman came out carrying a tray of clean cups and saucers. She frowned when she saw them.
‘Can I help you?’
‘No, thank you. We’re on our way up to see Mr Fairleigh,’ said Mallard.
Apparently satisfied she nodded and they flattened themselves against the wall for her to pass.
‘Good thing you look so respectable,’ said Thanet when s
he had disappeared through the back door. ‘She might have thought we were burglars.’
But it wouldn’t have been too difficult for someone to have waited until the coast was clear and then slipped in and up these stairs, he thought as he followed Mallard up a narrow staircase which had once, he guessed, been used exclusively by servants to gain access to the first floor.
He was relieved to find that, strangely enough, he was not experiencing his usual apprehension of the first sight of the corpse. Normally he dreaded that moment, had to brace himself for it to the degree that for several minutes before he was almost incapable of coherent thought. It was a weakness with which he had never quite come to terms and he was grateful that this time he seemed to be getting off lightly. Was it perhaps because he knew that old Mrs Fairleigh’s death had involved no obvious violence, that it had apparently appeared sufficiently peaceful to deceive her son – or allow him to hope that he could deceive others – into thinking that it had been natural?
They had almost reached the top of the stairs and Mallard turned. ‘To the left,’ he whispered, laying a finger on his lips.
Thanet understood at once, and nodded. Mallard didn’t want Fairleigh to hear them.
Fortunately this upper corridor was thickly carpeted and their feet made no sound as they moved silently along. There were several doors set at intervals along the right-hand wall and windows spaced out along the left, overlooking the paved terrace and the tea tent on the lawn beyond.
This is ridiculous, thought Thanet. We look like a couple of conspirators. But he could understand Mallard’s caution. The police surgeon wanted to be certain that he had the backing of the police before facing Fairleigh.
This was the calm before the storm.
Mallard had the key ready in his hand and now he stopped, inserted it and turned it as quietly as he could.
The bedroom was light and spacious, with pale green fitted carpet and floor-length chintz curtains at the tall sash windows. Thanet had no time for more than a fleeting impression; his attention was focused on the still figure in the high, old-fashioned mahogany bed. He and Mallard advanced and stood side by side looking down at the old woman. The pillow beneath her head, he noted, was slightly askew.
Even in death her strength of character was evident in the firm chin, jutting prow of a nose and deeply etched frown lines on her forehead. She must, Thanet thought, have been a rather formidable person; intolerant, probably, and uncomfortable to live with – ultimately, perhaps, her own worst enemy. Which of her nearest and dearest, he wondered, had finally found her living presence intolerable?
What did you do, or say, that drove someone over the edge? he asked her silently.
What had she thought or felt in those final moments when she must have realised that a familiar face had become filled with murderous intent? If only, he thought, we could wake the dead and hear what they had to tell us. How much simpler it would all be, how much pain could be avoided for those innocent bystanders caught up in the merciless searchlight of a murder investigation.
Apart from the pillow – and its position could so easily be taken for normal that in itself it would certainly not have alerted anyone to a suspicion of foul play – he could see no sign that she had met a violent end, but Mallard was bending forward, pointing out this and that, lifting an eyelid to reveal the burst blood capillaries in the eyes. Thanet’s sense of smell had already drawn his attention to a further common sign of suffocation, the voiding of bladder and rectum.
Mallard straightened up. ‘So, you see what I mean.’
‘Now you’ve pointed it out, yes. Otherwise I’d never have suspected.’ He sighed. ‘I wonder just how often murder is committed and no one ever does suspect.’
‘More often than we’d care to think, I’m sure, especially in circumstances like this. GPs are busy people, and if a patient has had a major stroke, as she had, death would come as no surprise, her doctor would be half expecting it.’
‘So you’re saying that if Mrs Fairleigh’s own doctor had been called in, instead of you, he would probably have issued a death certificate without a second thought?’
‘Highly likely, I should think. Not that I’m casting doubt on the competence of her GP, I don’t even know who he is.’
‘Unlucky for whoever did this, then, that Mr Fairleigh happened to alight on you. I gather he knew you’re a doctor. Did he also know you’re a police surgeon?’
‘Not to my knowledge. He might, I suppose. I only know him slightly, we’ve met a few times at local Conservative functions.’
‘But why fetch you? Why not send for Mrs Fairleigh’s own GP?’
Mallard shrugged. ‘I assume he wanted to get a doctor to her as quickly as possible just in case anything could be done, unlikely as that seemed. It was a perfectly understandable reaction, in my view. She was still warm, you see, very recently dead.’
‘So you’d say she died within the last hour, say?’
‘Yes. I don’t think I could narrow it down further than that.’
Thanet glanced at his watch, made a mental note. Four-ten. He made up his mind. ‘Right, we’ll get going, then. We’d better have some photos before you make any further examination.’
The door had opened as he was speaking and Hugo Fairleigh came in. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ He gave Thanet a searching look and said to Mallard, ‘Who’s this? What further examination? What’s going on?’
The MP was tall and well groomed, with straight fair hair brushed back and Cambridge blue eyes. He had inherited his mother’s firm chin and strong nose. He was immaculately dressed in cream linen suit, white shirt and discreet tie. He possessed, as Thanet knew, considerable charm, which at the moment was conspicuously absent. The blue eyes were frosty, the jutting chin more prominent than usual.
Thanet did not envy Mallard the task of breaking the news.
The little doctor had obviously decided to waste no time beating about the bush. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr Fairleigh.’
Fairleigh’s eyebrows rose.
‘I have good reason to believe that your mother did not die a natural death. I therefore felt it my duty to call in the police before proceeding any further. This is Detective Inspector Thanet of Sturrenden CID. I knew he was at the fête, I’d seen him earlier.’
There was a moment’s silence. Fairleigh blinked, then his eyes travelled briefly over Thanet’s off-duty attire of cotton trousers and pale blue T-shirt.
Something would have to be done about clothes, Thanet realised. He could hardly launch into a murder investigation dressed like this, especially in a house like Thaxden Hall. He must remember to ask Lineham to bring something more appropriate out with him. Fortunately he and the sergeant were roughly the same build.
‘You can’t be serious.’ Fairleigh’s tone was icy.
‘I’m afraid I am. All too serious.’
Fairleigh glanced from Mallard to Thanet and then advanced to look incredulously down at his mother’s body. ‘But she was ill. Seriously ill. I told you, she had a severe stroke ten days ago, and we were told then that she could well have another one that could be fatal. So this came as no surprise. A shock, of course, but no surprise.’ He turned back to Mallard. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I must insist on a second opinion.’
‘That is your right, sir,’ said Thanet politely. ‘But before you proceed perhaps I should inform you that Doctor Mallard is our police surgeon, and is very experienced in such matters. If you could listen, first, to his reasons for having come to this conclusion …’
Fairleigh’s eyes narrowed and he hesitated.
Thanet watched him closely. He could understand the man’s dilemma. If he was himself the murderer he must be kicking himself now for not having called in his mother’s own doctor, and especially for having called in one who turned out to be a police surgeon. So what should be the best course of action? Should he play the outraged innocent, make as much fuss as possible, invoke perhaps the influence of higher au
thorities? Or would it be better to try to hush the whole thing up as far as possible? Guilty or innocent, it would be in his own interest not to antagonise the police, and in either case he would want to be seen as a right-minded citizen, anxious to cooperate with the authorities and detect his mother’s murderer as soon as possible.
Yes, Fairleigh would now back-track, Thanet decided.
He was right.
Fairleigh’s lips tightened. ‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. His eyes focused on Mallard in fierce concentration as the little doctor began to talk.
When Mallard had finished Fairleigh turned away and walked across to the window, his hands clasped behind him. The knuckles, Thanet noticed, were white. The man was restraining himself only by a considerable effort of self-control and was no doubt thinking furiously.
Thanet and Mallard waited.
Finally Fairleigh took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a long release of tension. Thanet saw the rigid shoulders relax, the grip of his hands slacken. He turned to face them.
‘Very well,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve convinced me.’ He shoved his right hand in his trouser pocket and began to jingle the coins or keys in it. ‘My God, it’s against all belief or reason, but you have convinced me. You’d better get on with whatever you have to do.’ The chinking sound betrayed his agitation and he must have realised because he snatched his hand out of the pocket and rested it instead on the windowsill. He glanced out at the crowds below. ‘You’re going to have your work cut out, aren’t you?’
The implication was obvious. Fairleigh was trying to ensure that from the outset it was accepted that the crime had been committed by an intruder.
Thanet decided to play along for the moment. It would be to his advantage to allow the murderer, if he were one of the family, to be off guard, think himself safe.
‘You may already be too late, of course. I shouldn’t think he’ll have hung around.’
Thanet became brisk. ‘I’ll get things moving, then. First, we’ll have to put someone on the gate to take names and addresses.’
‘Our local bobby is outside, directing traffic,’ said Fairleigh.
Doomed to Die Page 24
