The Night She Died

by Dorothy Simpson

  Parrish’s eyebrows swooped into a frown. ‘Now look here, Inspector, what are you implying?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. But you must see that, as a matter of course, we have to put that question to everyone who had anything at all to do with Mrs Holmes.’

  Parrish was clearly sceptical. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I was at home all evening from about six o’clock. I was bushed, as a matter of fact – had a heavy day yesterday. So I thought I’d stay in, have an early night.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can corroborate that?’

  ‘I doubt it. We don’t exactly live in each other’s pockets.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I’ve got a flat in Maddison House.’

  The only block of luxury flats in the district. ‘You’re sure you saw no one, spoke to no one, all evening?’

  ‘I don’t think so. No, hang on. I saw Morrison, on my way in. He’s the caretaker, lives in the basement with his wife.’

  ‘And that would have been at …?’

  ‘About six, as I said.’

  ‘Good. Fine.’ Thanet closed his notebook with a snap. ‘Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, Mr Parrish. Thank you for being so helpful.’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all.’ Parrish accompanied him to the door, effusive now in his relief. ‘Anything we can do to help. Any time.’

  ‘You won’t mind my having a word with your receptionist, then?’

  ‘Er … no. Not at all.’ Parrish waved him into the outer office. ‘Help yourself.’

  Maureen Waters stopped typing as Thanet approached. She had been crying; her mascara was smudged. He perched on the corner of her desk and smiled down at her encouragingly.

  ‘Tell me about Mrs … about Julie,’ he said.

  ‘D’you think you could sit on a chair? You make me nervous, looming over me like that.’ She gave an apologetic little laugh.

  ‘Sure.’ Thanet pulled up a chair, sat down and waited.

  ‘She was very nice. Quiet … Good to work with.’

  ‘You got on well with her,’ Thanet encouraged.

  ‘Pretty well, yes. We both did – Joy and I, that is.’ Maureen hesitated.

  ‘But …?’

  She gave him an embarrassed, sideways glance. ‘Oh, I don’t know … it seems so awful …’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Well, she’s dead. I don’t like to say anything that might give you the wrong impression …’

  ‘Look, Miss Waters, I can see you’re not a gossip,’ Thanet said, meaning it. ‘So if there’s anything, anything at all which might help us to understand Mrs Holmes better …’

  Maureen sighed. ‘Yes, of course.’ Then she went on hesitatingly, picking her words with care, ‘It’s not that it’s anything against Julie, not really. I mean, she seemed unconscious of it. Well, she had this attraction for men, you see. You only had to watch … If a male client came into the office … I don’t want you to think I was jealous … no,’ she said painfully, ‘that’s not true. I was jealous, but only of that … power she had, not of Julie herself, if you see what I mean. Well, any girl would be jealous. She didn’t even have to make any effort, you see, it just happened. But you couldn’t hold it against her because, well, how can I explain, it didn’t mean anything to her. She just wasn’t interested, really. But that didn’t seem to make any difference, to the men, I mean.’ She stopped, glancing uneasily at Thanet. ‘It’s so difficult to explain.’

  ‘You’re doing fine. Go on. Tell me a little more about this … power she had.’

  ‘Well, she was very quiet. Withdrawn. Dreamy. Very attractive, of course. And not shy, exactly, just … reserved. She was perfectly fit, physically, so far as I knew, anyway, but she gave the impression of being frail, a bit helpless, I suppose. Anyway, men seemed to go for it – jumped to open doors for her, picked things up if she dropped them … sort of hovered around her. I’m a woman and I honestly couldn’t see what it was she had, but there was no doubt she had it.’

  ‘There’s something I must ask, and you might find it difficult to answer,’ Thanet said. ‘But please try. Was there anyone, either in the office here or amongst the clients, who showed her special attention?’

  Maureen’s eyes flickered to the door of Parrish’s office and she shook her head, a tight little shake as though she were holding something back with difficulty.

  He wouldn’t put it past Parrish to have his ear glued to the keyhole, Thanet thought. He’d have to get Maureen out of the office. He glanced at his watch in pretended surprise. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to go,’ he said. ‘Could you walk as far as the car park with me, so that we could go on talking? It would save me time.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She followed him reluctantly.

  Outside he said, ‘I thought it might be easier for you to talk out here. You didn’t really answer my question just now, did you? Do you know of anyone who was interested in Julie?’

  When she didn’t reply he glanced at her. Her mouth was set in an obstinate line. He didn’t press her but waited until they had reached the entrance to the car park. Then he stopped, turned to face her. ‘Look Miss Waters, I’ll be frank with you. I think I understand your problem. You have some information which you know I ought to have but something, loyalty I would guess, is holding you back. Am I right?’

  She wouldn’t look at him.

  He tried again. ‘Put it this way. If it turned out that the person you are reluctant to talk about had killed Julie, would you still want to protect him?’

  That shocked her. ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘And if he didn’t, how could anything you say harm him?’ His point had gone home, he could tell. He waited a moment longer then went on softly, It’s Mr Parrish, isn’t it?’

  She hesitated, then nodded miserably, biting her lip.

  ‘Then you really must tell me.’

  But still she stood silent.

  ‘He was interested in Julie?’

  Maureen nodded again then finally made up her mind. ‘I suppose there’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell you really, there’s nothing much to tell. In fact, that’s about it. He was interested in her.’

  ‘You mean she didn’t respond?’

  ‘No. Not at all, so far as we could tell. Of course, she was married, but Mr Parrish can be very … persuasive, when he wants to be.’

  ‘He likes women,’ Thanet prompted.

  ‘Yes. Oh dear, that makes him sound awful, and he’s not. He’s great fun to be with – yes, I’ve been out with him, in the past. So has Joy, for that matter. But it was never serious, not with either of us, and we both knew it. And it was ages ago, anyway, months before Julie came. I think he’s had a girlfriend somewhere else, for some time, until Julie arrived. And then, well, I told you, she just had this terrific attraction for men, and I suppose working with her all day … It was obvious he’d fallen for her.’

  ‘But she didn’t respond, you say?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘How did she react to him, then?’

  Maureen shrugged. ‘She just took no notice of him, when he tried to flirt with her. Just ignored it or, if it was very obvious, brushed it aside.’

  ‘And how did he feel about that?’

  ‘Well, he pretended to laugh it off, but he didn’t like it, obviously. He’s not used to that sort of treatment. He’s usually the one who calls the tune.’

  Maureen obviously had Parrish’s measure, Thanet thought. It was interesting, though, that there was no bitterness. ‘But you’re quite sure there was nothing between them?’

  ‘I’d swear to it, yes. And in any case, lately …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I should say this. I might have got quite the wrong impression.’

  ‘Go on, please.’

  ‘Well, it seemed to me that lately Julie had something else on her mind. Something that was upsetting her. I mean, she was always quiet, like I said, but for the last couple of weeks sh
e’s been acting strangely, sort of jumpy. And she’s been looking unwell, pale, as if she hadn’t had enough sleep.’

  ‘But you’ve no idea what was bothering her, if there was something?’

  ‘None, no.’

  ‘Just one other thing. Did anyone here know that Mr Holmes went to night school on Tuesdays?’

  ‘Yes. We all knew. It came up over coffee one day.’

  ‘Mr Parrish was there too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Thanet gave a last, thoughtful look at Parrish’s car as he drove off. Interesting that the man had pretended not even to have noticed Julie’s charms. Guilt, or merely caution? In any case, unwise. He might have guessed the other girls in the office would have noticed his attempts to win her over.

  So, some checking was now necessary. Someone would have to go out to Maddison House, to find out if anyone had seen Parrish go out last night. If Bentley had managed to track Carne down, he might perhaps have been able to find out the registration number of that green Triumph. If not, further enquiries would have to be made to find out if anyone else had noticed it. It certainly seemed too much of a coincidence, that Julie’s boss should own one.

  As he drove, Thanet mused on the possibility of Parrish’s guilt, reproaching himself as he realised that he would be quite pleased if Parrish turned out to be the murderer. Really, just because he didn’t like the man … Where’s that famous impartiality we’re supposed to cultivate, he reprimanded himself. Not to mention the open-mindedness he was always advocating to Lineham.

  The preliminary path. report was awaiting him and after despatching someone to Maddison House he skimmed through it eagerly, then read it again more slowly, twice. Julie had been stabbed in the heart, but in such a way that it was difficult to tell whether death had been instantaneous or whether she might have lived for some minutes afterwards. Why should there be any doubt on that point? Thanet wondered furiously. Surely they should have been able to tell? But in his experience Mallard was meticulous in his work. Thanet would raise the question next time he saw the pathologist but meanwhile he would just have to accept his findings. So, Thanet thought ruefully, bang goes any neat elimination of Holmes.

  The report went on to say that the entry to the wound was slightly ragged and the angle such that it could not have been self-inflicted. There was bruising on the back of both her hands, too.

  Thanet laid the report on his desk, sat back and thought. Not suicide, then. Julie had been holding the knife, but had not killed herself. The bruising confirmed that there had been a struggle. Had she picked it up to attack someone, or to defend herself?

  Try as he would, Thanet couldn’t visualise the quiet Julie lying in wait for her husband with a carving knife. Nor, for that matter, could he see Holmes calmly taking the knife to night school with the intention of killing her when he got home. Yet if he were guilty, it couldn’t have been any other way, there wouldn’t have been time, with only those fifteen or twenty seconds to play with. In any case, it was Julie’s prints that were on the knife – and not only on it, Thanet discovered, glancing at the written report which had now come in – but superimposed on many others in such a position as to indicate that she had been holding the knife as a dagger, not as a breadknife. Was it possible that Holmes could have killed her, that when she was dead he had simply taken her hand and pressed it around the dagger, holding it in the right position to give the impression she had been gripping it herself? He must ask Doc Mallard. But again, would there have been time? Thanet honestly could not see that there would. And in any case, his original objection still held: he could see Holmes driven into a stabbing, committing the crime on impulse in a fit of jealous rage, perhaps, but this way? Unconsciously he shook his head. It just didn’t feel right.

  Then, too, there was the question of why Julie had been dressed to go out.

  No, he would guess that there must have been a quarrel. Not with Holmes, of course, but with someone else. He closed his eyes, tried to visualise the scene. Julie is either about to go out with someone or has just arrived home with him. In any case, she is wearing her brown tweed coat, the mermaid brooch on her lapel. They quarrel. Perhaps the atmosphere has been building up between them for some time. Finally it erupts into violence. He threatens her, she becomes frightened. They are in the kitchen and she snatches up the carving knife, runs into the hall. He follows, tries to take the knife away and in the ensuing struggle she is killed. She falls. He panics and runs, having enough presence of mind, however, to take her handbag in order to try to make it seem that she had been killed by an intruder. The struggle must have been brief, the murderer gloved; despite an exhaustive search nothing had been found that could lead to an identification of the killer.

  Thanet gave a slow nod of satisfaction. Yes, this was a much more feasible reconstruction of what had happened. Gradually, now, he was feeling his way closer to the truth. Proving it, of course, was quite another matter. Thanet turned back to his desk.

  During the next hour information began to trickle in. First, Lineham arrived to report on his visit to Homerights. Holmes had not gone into work this morning and Lineham had been able to question people without the embarrassment of having him around. Holmes, it seemed, was fairly popular at the supermarket. He was efficient, good at dealing with the staff and the only criticism seemed to be that he was somewhat over-ambitious. ‘On his way up,’ as they put it, Lineham said. ‘Personally I think comments like that have arisen from jealousy. I gathered that at twenty-five Holmes is one of the youngest managers in the chain.’ There were no whispers of any involement with another woman and the consensus of opinion was that he was too fond of his wife for there to have been any possibility of one.

  Next the phone rang with the information that Julie’s handbag had been found in the dustbin of the end house in Disraeli Terrace. Refuse was collected in that area on Wednesdays and a dustman who had heard the news of Julie’s death on the radio that morning had recognised the importance of his find and had handed it in.

  Thanet had the bag sent up and examined its contents; the wallet section of Julie’s purse was empty. Holmes confirmed that it should have contained at least five pounds in notes, the remnants of the previous Friday’s house-keeping money. The murderer, then, had had enough intelligence to carry through his plan of deflecting suspicion on to a house-breaker. Thanet was still not inclined to believe that she really had been killed by a thief; past experience had taught him otherwise. He could not yet, however, entirely dismiss the idea.

  The next report came from the man who had been sent to check on Parrish. There was apparently nothing to prove or to disprove Parrish’s claim that he had spent the previous evening in his flat. The caretaker confirmed that he had seen Parrish arrive home at about six, but he and his wife had gone out to visit a married daughter shortly afterwards, and no one else had seen Parrish all evening. His neighbours had been cooperative but unhelpful.

  ‘Keep asking,’ Thanet said.

  Thanet and Lineham were still discussing Parrish when the phone rang again. Lineham could see the interest which sparked in Thanet’s face as he listened. Thanet scribbled and put the phone down with an air of satisfaction. ‘Bentley,’ he said. ‘Something positive at last. Carne remembered the letters of the registration number on that green Triumph – GKP – because of some personal association. They match the letters on Parrish’s Triumph. It’s not enough, of course, for a positive identification, but I think we can try a bit of bluff.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He’s probably out at lunch at the moment. We’ll have a sandwich at the pub, then go and see if he can wriggle out of this one.’

  4

  Parrish was clearly none too pleased to see Thanet back so soon. ‘I was just leaving, to show a client over a property. It’s an important sale, so I hope this won’t take long.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so, sir,’ said Thanet pleasantly. ‘There are just one or two small points …’

  Parrish d
id not invite them to sit down and remained standing himself, as if to emphasise that the interview would be brief.

  ‘If we could sit down …?’ Thanet said.

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Parrish ungraciously and sat down behind his desk with an air of resignation.

  ‘Now, about last night,’ Thanet began, pretending to consult his notes, ‘you say you were at home all evening?’

  ‘I was at home all evening.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure that there is no one who can corroborate this? Please,’ Thanet said, holding up a hand as Parrish opened his mouth, obviously to protest, ‘do give the matter some thought. It really is very important.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s no one. But then, why should there be? I live alone, as I told you, and unless I’m entertaining there rarely is anyone who could confirm that I’m there.’

  ‘No phone calls from friends?’

  Parrish thought again, shook his head.

  Thanet sighed. ‘Where do you keep your car, Mr Parrish?’

  ‘In a lock-up garage at the back of the flats. There’s a block of them, for residents.’ Parrish shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Look here, Inspector, what is all this about?’

  ‘And last night your car was in your garage?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then perhaps you could explain,’ Thanet said softly, ‘how it is that we have two independent witnesses who swear that your car was parked last evening in front of the shops in Parnell Road?’

  Parrish stared at him without expression for a few moments and then, lifting his hands in a gesture of submission, said with a rueful smile, ‘All right, Inspector, it’s a fair cop, as they say. I give in. Yes, I was out last evening, my car was parked in Parnell Road, and if you want to know why I didn’t say so before, it’s because there was a lady involved. She’s married, and I didn’t want to embarrass her.’

  ‘I thought you made a point of avoiding married ladies, sir?’

  ‘Fate occasionally pushes one in my direction. It’s unfortunate, but it happens, and of course, when it does, discretion is called for.’