Dead by Morning

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘Of course.’ Thanet caught Lineham’s eye. They had already arranged that the sergeant should question her about the two periods when the van had stood idle in the yard.

  ‘You may be interested to know, Mrs Hamilton, that it has now been confirmed that it was your van that ran your brother down. We don’t yet know whether this was deliberate or an accident, but in any case, as we explained before, it does seem from the position of the body in the ditch that whoever was driving must have moved it afterwards and can’t claim ignorance of the accident. So we are questioning again everyone who had access to the van.’

  He paused.

  Delia Hamilton’s lips had tightened, but she said nothing.

  ‘We have therefore been trying to draw up a timetable of the van’s movements on Tuesday evening. And there are two gaps unaccounted for, when the van was standing outside in the stable yard, unattended. So naturally we are now concentrating on those gaps.’ He made a pretence of consulting his notebook. ‘The first is between 8.10 and 8.30 that evening, the second between 10.30 and 11.15. Now, when we first talked to you, you told us that you got back from meeting Adam’s train at twenty to eight, but unfortunately Adam and Tessa interrupted us before you could tell us what you did after that. We know, from what you told us subsequently, that you joined your guests for drinks, so if you could give us a summary of your movements from, say, eight o’clock onwards …’

  ‘I see. So this is the inquisition, is it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, ma’am.’

  She stood up abruptly, folding her arms as if to protect herself. ‘This is preposterous. I refuse to answer any more questions without my solicitor present.’

  ‘It’s up to you, Mrs Hamilton. You have every right to do that, if you wish, but …’ Lineham glanced at Thanet.

  Thanet intervened. He knew that the sergeant was asking his senior officer to use his authority to back him up on this.

  ‘Mrs Hamilton, Sergeant Lineham is simply trying to say that although the choice is yours, there really is no need for you to take this attitude. These are routine questions, which we are asking of everyone who had keys to the van.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Inspector! I appreciate that, but at the same time it does seem to me sensible to protect my own interests.’

  ‘Not if you have nothing to hide,’ said Thanet.

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘Very clever, Inspector. By implication, if I still refuse, then I do have something to hide.’ She sat down in her chair again, an angry, petulant movement, and tapped the polished wood of the desk with one crescent-shaped fingernail. The tiny, repetitive clicking was like the ticking of an alarm clock – or perhaps a bomb, thought Thanet. He watched her with interest. Would she explode?

  Suddenly she folded her arms with that same defensive, self-protective movement he had noticed before. ‘Oh very well. It irritates me to play your game, but when all’s said and done, you’re right. If I have nothing to hide there’s nothing to be afraid of. And as I don’t have anything to hide … From eight o’clock onwards, you say? Let me see. I know it’s only a few days ago, but in a place like this our routine is such that one evening tends to merge into another …’

  But it didn’t take her long to work it out. After the guests went into dinner she had gone along to the kitchen to check that everything was running smoothly. At around five past eight she had gone up to have a brief word with Adam and make sure he had everything he needed before she retired to her room for half an hour. This was her usual practice, apparently, one of the rare periods of the day when she had time to herself, to relax.

  ‘That would have been from, say, ten past eight until around twenty to nine?’

  She pulled a face, aware that this covered the first period in question. ‘Yes.’

  After that she had gone down to the dining-room to check that all was running smoothly, then watched television with Adam and her husband until ten o’clock. After another trip downstairs she had retired to her room to take a leisurely bath before an early night. She had, she claimed, been in bed by around ten to eleven. She gave a wry little laugh and said, ‘Hence my irritation just now, Inspector. I suspected that I might be unlucky and have no one to confirm my movements during the two periods in question.’

  Thanet made no comment. Delia Hamilton qualified as a suspect in any case, having driven the van during the crucial period. Finding out what she had been doing during those two blank periods was at this stage not as important as it could have been. On the other hand it could prove vital later, if for example a witness was found who claimed to have seen Martindale leaving the house during one of them. ‘What about your husband?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. This is a big house, we don’t exactly live in each other’s pockets. He has a bed in his dressing room and if he’s late coming to bed for any reason he sleeps there, so as not to disturb me. He did that night, after going to fetch Tessa.’

  ‘So you don’t know what he was doing, during either the earlier or the later period in question?’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’ She reached for a sheaf of papers, pulled them towards her. ‘And now, if you don’t mind …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Thanet, ‘we’re not quite finished yet.’

  She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘For heaven’s sake … I’m never going to catch up on my work at this rate.’

  ‘One or two more questions about Mr Martindale. He left the area in 1965, didn’t he? Could you tell me exactly when? Which month, I mean.’

  She frowned. ‘What on earth d’you want to know that for?’

  ‘Please …’

  ‘It was the end of June.’

  ‘Can you remember who his girlfriend was, at the time?’

  The frown was deeper now.

  ‘The last time we talked to you we asked if Yvonne Fever had been your brother’s girlfriend, before he went away … We have reason to believe that you were less than frank with us.’

  ‘Really, Inspector, what can it possibly matter? We are talking about twenty-four years ago …’

  ‘Let me put it this way. Mr Martindale left in June 1965. The Fevers were married in August. Toby Fever was born in January 1966.’

  He let her work it out for herself. Delia Hamilton was no fool and he was rewarded by seeing the colour seep out of her face, leaving it chalk white. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

  ‘You’re not suggesting …’ It was scarcely more than a whisper.

  Thanet said nothing. He had his answer. He stood up.

  She put out a hand. ‘No, wait … You’ve … Have you … Does anyone else know about this?’

  ‘That,’ said Thanet, ‘is what we would like to know.’

  He and Lineham turned to leave but she rose, pulled by invisible strings. ‘Will you tell them?’

  ‘That depends, I’m afraid.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether it becomes necessary.’

  She sank back into her seat and he left her sitting at her desk, motionless as a statue.

  TWENTY

  By comparison with the last time they’d been in, the Drovers seemed positively crowded. There were eight other customers, five of them a group of young men in near-uniform of formal suit, white shirt and sober tie. Salesmen attending a conference nearby?

  Sam Tiller was also there, enjoying a lunchtime pint with a couple of cronies. He gave the two policemen a hostile glance before firmly turning his back on them.

  Thanet and Lineham waited until they had collected their beer and sandwiches before continuing their discussion. Delia Hamilton’s reaction had convinced Thanet that the idea of Toby being Leo’s son was entirely new to her, but Lineham was sticking to his guns.

  ‘I think she’ll tell whatever lies are necessary to get her off the hook.’

  ‘Telling lies is one thing. Changing colour like that is another. I’d say it was virtually impossible to do it at will.’
>
  ‘I don’t know. Actors and actresses cry real tears.’

  ‘Maybe. But they have years of practice, of thinking themselves into other people’s skins, other people’s moods. I imagine even the most experienced actor would need at least a few seconds to produce real tears, longer, probably. And she reacted just like that.’ Thanet snapped his fingers in the air. ‘One second she was her normal colour, the next she was white as a sheet.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Lineham was still grudging, reluctant to relinquish his conception of Delia as a devious, scheming woman.

  Thanet was shaking his head. ‘Come on, Mike, you can’t tell me she could have faked that.’

  Lineham took a huge mouthful of sandwich and began to chew thoughtfully. A moment later he made an inarticulate sound.

  ‘What?’ said Thanet.

  The sergeant’s eyes were bulging with frustration as he tried to reduce the quantity of food in his mouth to manageable proportions.

  ‘Serves you right,’ said Thanet with a grin. ‘I bet you tell the children never to bite off more than they can comfortably chew.’

  Lineham swallowed, chewed, swallowed again. ‘It’s just that it occurred to me … The fact that Mrs Hamilton doesn’t know Toby is her nephew doesn’t mean that Mr Hamilton doesn’t.’

  Presumably the three negatives made a positive. ‘You mean, perhaps he does know?’

  ‘Yes. Leo Martindale could have told him.’

  ‘And Hamilton didn’t tell his wife? I doubt it, Mike. They seem pretty much in cahoots, those two.’ Thanet took a thoughtful swig of beer. ‘Besides, come to think of it, I’m not sure why it’s especially important anyway for us to decide whether they knew or not. It’s interesting, I grant you, but is it relevant to the case? If we’re right about this and Toby really is Martindale’s son, it could certainly matter whether Martindale himself knew, and also whether Fever knew. But the Hamiltons? I’m not so sure.’ He paused. ‘In fact, it could even be a point in their favour. Surely, if there was even the slightest chance of Toby inheriting the Hall the last thing they’d want to do is to get rid of Leo. At least with him in charge they’d be able to stay on, carry on their lives much as before, but with Toby installed there they would presumably have had to get out … We really must check whether or not he could inherit.’

  ‘So are we going to see Mr Hamilton now?’

  Thanet chewed the last mouthful of his sandwich – ham and pickle, this time – while he considered. ‘No. I don’t think we’re going to get anything new out of him at the moment, I think he’ll stick to whatever story he and his wife have prepared. If you’re feeling brave enough to face the dog, I think we’ll go and see Jack Talion next.’

  ‘Are you, sir? Feeling brave enough, I mean?’

  Thanet laughed. ‘I’m counting on you to protect me, Mike. What else are sergeants for?’

  Privately, Thanet wasn’t looking forward to this interview. If Talion’s daughter really had committed suicide because of Leo Martindale, it wasn’t surprising that Talion had been dead against the idea of Martindale settling down in Sutton again. But that didn’t necessarily mean he had killed him and, if not, Thanet hated the idea of reopening old wounds best left undisturbed. On the other hand, if Talion were guilty … Thanet sighed. He had meant it when he told Delia Hamilton that he sometimes found his job distasteful.

  It took them some time to track Talion down. The farmyard at Home Farm was deserted and when they went up to the house there was no answer to their knock. Thanet shivered while they waited. During the morning the sky had clouded over again, the sunshine become fitful and now, suddenly, a chill wind began to blow.

  Thanet turned up his collar. ‘We’ll have to come back later, Mike. Let’s see if we can find Fever instead.’

  They were heading back to the village when Lineham spotted a tractor coming towards them. ‘Wonder if this chap works for Talion. If so, he might know where he is.’ He flashed his lights, sounded his horn and pulled up. The tractor stopped and Lineham got out of the car.

  ‘Have you any idea where we can find Mr Talion?’

  Talion, it seemed, was repairing fences and after following the tractor driver’s directions they donned their boots and had to plod across two huge fields of winter wheat. It was hard going. The soil, sodden and sticky in the aftermath of the snow, adhered to their boots in heavy lumps and after a few hundred yards it began to feel as though their feet were weighted down with blocks of concrete.

  ‘Should be at the far side of the next field,’ panted Lineham.

  ‘Mm.’

  The interlude had given Thanet time to think and he was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. It was all very well to joke about the dog, but it was distinctly inhibiting to have to watch every word he said in case he provoked a hostile reaction from its master.

  ‘There they are.’

  They had reached another five-barred gate set into a thick hedge backed by post and wire-mesh fencing. On the far side of the next field were a tractor and trailer and a group of three men working on the boundary fence nearby.

  The words were no sooner out of Lineham’s mouth when a furious barking confirmed his guess and Talion’s Alsatian jumped out of the trailer and began to streak towards them. The two policeman faltered. Would Talion call the dog back?

  Talion allowed the dog to get halfway across the field before shouting a command. ‘Rhett! Stay!’

  To Thanet’s relief the dog skidded to a halt.

  ‘Rhett! Here!’

  Reluctantly, it seemed, the animal turned back and trotted towards its master. Thanet and Lineham exchanged relieved glances before continuing on their way. After a word to the other two men Talion advanced to meet them with the measured stride of a countryman, the dog beside him.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your work, Mr Talion,’ said Thanet when they were within speaking distance.

  ‘Sit!’ said Talion as they came up to him, and the Alsatian obeyed, ears pricked.

  Thanet gave the animal a wary glance. This was definitely a bad idea. It was virtually impossible to concentrate out here in the open with the rising wind whistling about his ears and the dog alert to every move. It would have been more sensible to ask Talion to come into headquarters to make a statement. Here, on his own ground, legs planted firmly apart, Talion looked as sturdy and unlikely to bend as one of his own oak trees.

  ‘Well?’ said Talion, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his windproof jacket. His eyes were wary, hostile.

  ‘There are one or two more questions …’

  Talion said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows a fraction.

  ‘We’re still checking on the movements of everyone who has a key to the van.’

  Still no reaction.

  ‘Could you give us an account of your movements after you returned to the Hall that night.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A man is dead, Mr Talion. It has been confirmed that he was knocked down by the van. We now also know, from the post-mortem, that it was not the impact which actually killed Mr Martindale. After the incident his body was moved into the ditch where he was found, and where he later died from exposure. This is therefore now definitely a murder investigation, and the movements of every person with access to the van naturally have to come under close scrutiny. So if you would just give us the information we need …’

  Talion shrugged. ‘I don’t see that it’ll help you much, but for what it’s worth I went straight home, and spent the rest of the evening there.’

  ‘You walked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Along the footpath which links Home Farm with the Hall.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can confirm that you were at home all evening – apart from your wife, that is?’

  Talion’s expression hardened. ‘No. And I don’t want you bothering my wife, either. I told you, she’s not well. You’ll just have to take my word for it.’

  ‘It would only be to …
’

  ‘No!’

  The dog’s hackles were up and it again gave that alarming deep-throated growl. Thanet could see the muscles in its front legs bunch as it tensed, ready to spring on command. Time for a strategic withdrawal, he decided. The death of Talion’s daughter would, understandably, be a very touchy subject indeed, and even to mention that they now knew Talion had good reason for hating Martindale and therefore a possible motive for leaving him to die would provoke the man even further. Thanet had no intention of putting either Lineham or himself at risk. From now on, if they wanted to talk to Talion it would be on Thanet’s terms.

  He shrugged. ‘We’ll have to leave it there for the moment, then.’

  Moving with unprovocative care he and Lineham turned away. They had gone only a few paces when Talion shouted after them. ‘Remember what I said. Just keep away from her!’

  Thanet raised a hand in acknowledgement but did not look back until he and Lineham were safely in the next field. Talion and the dog had almost reached the tractor and as they watched the animal leaped up to its former position. Thanet could see the silhouette of its head and shoulders above the boarded side of the trailer. It seemed to be watching them.

  Lineham grinned with relief. ‘I was beginning to work out when I’d had my last tetanus jab.’

  ‘Yes. Not very clever of me, was it, to interview him on his own ground again. Talk about inhibiting! If there has to be a next time, it’ll be safely back at headquarters, minus that dog.’

  They began to plod back across the fields, collecting more mud on their boots on the way.

  ‘D’you think there will have to be a next time, sir?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Difficult to tell. We haven’t exactly made much progress with him, have we? But he’s got as good a motive as anyone.’

  ‘Will we talk to his wife?’

  ‘Not at this stage. No point in provoking him unnecessarily.’

  ‘Beats me why people keep animals like that,’ said Lineham as they struggled on. ‘I wouldn’t trust that dog within a mile of my kids.’

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Let’s hope Mr Fever is feeling a bit more cooperative.’