Suspicious Death

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘How would she have got this to him? Did the postman deliver?’

  Miss Phipps looked amused, displaying an irregular and misshapen set of teeth. ‘Oh no. I shouldn’t think Harry ever has any letters. No, Marcia – Mrs Salden – was going to walk down and give him the news in person. I typed the letter so that, if he were out, she’d be able to leave it there for him to see. She wasn’t taking any chances that he could claim he hadn’t been informed.’

  ‘Why do it herself? Why not send someone else?’

  Miss Phipps shrugged. ‘No idea. Except that getting rid of Harry had become something of an obsession with her.’

  ‘So when did she intend going down?’

  ‘After tea, yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Do you know if she did?’

  ‘No. But I assume so. If Marcia said she was going to do something, she did it.’

  Interesting overtones there, thought Thanet. A hint of – what? Suppressed emotion of some kind, certainly. ‘Are you thinking of anything specific?’

  ‘Oh no. No. But this business with Harry Greenleaf was typical. If she set her mind on something, nothing would sway her.’

  The denial had been too swift, too emphatic. There was more, Thanet could tell. He was about to pursue the matter when she distracted him by adding, ‘She’s always been the same.’

  ‘What do you mean? Did you know her before she moved into the village?’

  Edith Phipps gave a superior, knowing smile. ‘I certainly did. I can see you don’t know … What you said just now about the Saldens being relative newcomers wasn’t strictly true. Not as far as Marcia was concerned, anyway. She was a local girl, born and bred in one of those little terraced cottages next to the pub in Telford Green. We went to school together. The village school …’ She paused, watching him to gauge the effect of what she was telling him. ‘Yes, Marcia certainly came up in the world, didn’t she? But then, she always said she would. Take this house, for instance … She always loved it, admired it, from a distance. I think that’s why she cultivated me, as a friend. I had access to the grounds, you see, because of my father … He was head gardener here, in the days when there were proper gardens, extensive glass houses and so on. We lived in the gatehouse – still do. Mr Gentry let us stay on, my mother and I, when Father died. Marcia never got tired of wandering around the gardens. She’s lie for hours in the grass, just gazing at the house … Mrs Gentry complained about it once, to my father, and after that we were careful to keep out of sight. We weren’t allowed indoors, of course, except for the kitchen … Marcia always said she’d live here one day, and I just used to laugh at her. But she did, didn’t she? That’s what I mean about determination.’

  ‘So how did she bring about this dramatic change in her circumstances?’ Thanet already had a good idea of what she would say. DC Swift had remembered where he had seen Marcia Salden before – in a TVS series on success stories of the South-east.

  ‘She and Bernard own a chain of health food shops. They started with one, back in 1963, now they have a chain, all over the South-east. Marcia foresaw the health food boom, she had an almost uncanny ability to see which way the wind would blow tomorrow, as far as business was concerned. Together with an eye for an opportunity, when it presented itself, and a tremendous capacity for hard work …’ Edith shrugged. ‘She was a very successful businesswoman, believe me.’

  ‘Would you say she was ruthless?’

  ‘Oh yes, undoubtedly.’

  And there was no love lost between you, thought Thanet. He would be willing to bet that Edith Phipps had at some time been one of the victims of that ruthlessness.

  ‘Ruthless people tend to make enemies,’ he said. ‘Did Mrs Salden?’

  She hesitated, and a wary look crept into her eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We have to take into account the possibility that her death may not have been an accident.’

  Thanet watched a slow tide of colour creep up Edith Phipps’s neck and into her face. She took out a handkerchief and pressed it against her upper lip. Did that flush have any significance? Thanet wondered, or was she going through the menopause? She was the right age.

  ‘You’re not implying that … that it could have been murder?’

  Thanet admired her for managing to bring the word out. Most people shied away from actually saying it.

  There was a knock at the door. It was Mrs Pantry, with a tray.

  ‘I thought you might like some coffee.’

  ‘Very kind of you.’

  The housekeeper poured in silence, handed the cups around and was about to leave when Thanet thought of a question he wanted to ask her.

  She shook her head. No, Mrs Salden hadn’t come back into the house last night to say the car wouldn’t start. Mr Salden had tried it this morning, though, it was the first thing he thought of checking, and he’d said he couldn’t get it to go.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As soon as she had gone Edith Phipps said, ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Officially,’ said Thanet, ‘this is a suspicious death, and we are treating it as such. It could be accident, it could be suicide, or it could be murder. We shan’t know for sure until after the post mortem, and we can’t afford to waste the interim period doing nothing.’

  ‘But you must have some reason, for thinking it might have been …’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you any more.’

  ‘Marcia would never have committed suicide. Not in a thousand years.’

  ‘That’s what people usually say.’

  ‘But it’s true. If you’d ever met her you’d agree with me.’

  ‘Perhaps. But if so, we’re down to two alternatives, aren’t we? Could Mrs Salden swim?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. She hated the water.’

  She fell silent, staring at him, eyes blank. If only he could have known what she was thinking …

  ‘So one of the things we have to do is try to build up some sort of picture of Mrs Salden’s movements yesterday. Perhaps you could help us there?’

  Edith gave her head a little shake, as if to tug her attention back to the present, and reached for a book at the edge of her desk. ‘Yes, of course. This is Mrs Salden’s appointment book.’

  ‘May I see?’

  She handed it to him. It was a conventional desk diary. Some of the entries were made in a neat, precise script, some in a bold scrawl. He glanced quickly through it. Marcia Salden seemed to have led a very busy life.

  The previous day held several entries. In the morning there were three: Tunbridge Wells, Tonbridge and Sevenoaks, all bracketed together. At 12.30 she had met someone called J for lunch. The afternoon was blank except for the scrawl: Deliver letter Greenleaf.

  Edith Phipps explained. Marcia made a point of visiting all her shops at least once a fortnight. It kept her managers on their toes, she said. Accordingly, every morning was spent in a different area of the South-east and yesterday had been the turn of Tunbridge Wells, Tonbridge and Sevenoaks. J was Janet, the manageress of the Sevenoaks shop. Marcia always called on the shops in a different order, and made a practice of taking the manager of the last shop visited in the morning out to lunch. If made for good public relations, she believed, as well as keeping her up to date with local problems. In the afternoons Marcia would work here, dealing with administration.

  ‘And Mr Salden? You seemed to imply just now that they owned the businesses jointly. Does he take an active part, or is he a sleeping partner?’

  ‘Oh active. He deals with the financial side – he’s a chartered accountant. There’s plenty for him to do, believe me.’

  ‘I can imagine. We must be talking about substantial sums of money.’

  ‘There’s an annual turnover of just over £2.5 million.’

  ‘I see.’ He also saw that as sole owner Bernard Salden would now be a wealthy man.

  ‘Husbands and wives don’t always find it easy to work together,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘True. But Marcia a
nd Bernard seemed to get along pretty well. I think because they had clear demarcation lines, and didn’t actually spend much time together during the day. Bernard has a separate office.’

  ‘Did they never disagree about policy?’

  She hesitated. ‘Not usually, no.’

  ‘But sometimes?’

  ‘Not as far as the business was concerned, no.’

  ‘But in other ways?’ he pressed.

  Colour stained her neck and face yet again, and once more she dabbed a folded handkerchief at her upper lip and at the sides of her nose with quick, almost furtive movements.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said primly. ‘I don’t mind answering questions about the business, but I’m not prepared to talk about their private life.’

  ‘Even if it does turn out to be murder?’

  ‘If it does … then I’ll have to reconsider, won’t I?’

  ‘Very well … Though there is one question about Mr Salden I shouldn’t think you’d mind answering … Sheer curiosity on my part, really … There’s a photograph in the drawing-room. Is that Princess Anne, shaking hands with him?’

  She smiled and the atmosphere in the room lightened, as Thanet had hoped it would. ‘Yes. Bernard is heavily involved in children’s charities and as I’m sure you know the Princess Royal is chairman of the Save the Children Fund. The picture was taken at a fund-raising event last year.’

  ‘I see. Thank you. Well, I think there’s just one other matter, Miss Phipps … You yourself last saw Mrs Salden – when?’

  ‘At half-past five yesterday afternoon, when I finished work.’

  ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Fine. She said she was just going to have a cup of tea, then she was going to walk down and see Harry Greenleaf.’

  ‘And you went home to the gatehouse.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You live with your mother, you said?’

  ‘Yes. She is elderly and unable to look after herself. It’s very convenient, living so close, it means I can pop home in the lunch hour to see her. We were very lucky, being able to stay on when Mrs Gentry sold the house to Marcia, after Mr Gentry died. I used to do secretarial work for him and Marcia needed a secretary on the spot. There I was, so …’ She shrugged. ‘She sort of inherited me, so to speak.’

  ‘Very convenient for both of you.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Did you find it difficult, working for an old school friend?’

  She looked surprised. ‘No, not at all … I was only too thankful to be able to stay on.’

  But there was a reservation in her voice. What was she holding back?

  Thanet rose. ‘Well, I think that really is all for the moment, Miss Phipps.’ He and Lineham handed her their empty cups and she put them on the tray.

  As they walked to the door Thanet said, ‘Mrs Pantry tells me she has been with the Saldens for about eighteen months. I assume they engaged her when they moved in.’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘She seems … Well, I know we couldn’t expect her to be very cheerful this morning, in view of what’s happened, but she does strike me as being a rather unhappy person.’

  Miss Phipps grimaced. ‘Yes, she is. She had rather a bad time of it before she came here.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I believe her husband left her. It was a tied cottage and she found herself homeless. She went to live with an unmarried daughter, who then got married. The new son-in-law and Phyllis – Mrs Pantry – didn’t get on, so she decided to find a live-in job as housekeeper – she’d trained as one when she was younger. I believe she had one or two jobs before coming here. She may seem a bit, well, dour, on first acquaintance, but she’s all right when you get to know her.’

  They had reached the door and Thanet turned. ‘Oh, there was just one other point …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘As you live in the gatehouse … When you’re at home, I suppose you must be aware of the comings and goings at the Manor?’

  ‘To a certain extent, I suppose, if I happen to be in the kitchen, which looks out on to the drive. But there’s quite a lot of traffic noise from the road to the village, you can’t always distinguish.’

  ‘I can imagine. But in the evening …’

  ‘It’s pretty quiet, yes.’

  ‘And you were in, last night?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘All evening?’

  She nodded.

  Had there been the merest hesitation there?

  ‘So, did you hear any vehicles at all entering or leaving the Manor drive last night?’

  She considered, head on one side. ‘I saw Bernard – Mr Salden – drive out just before half-past seven. I was in the kitchen, washing up after supper. And then I saw Mr Lomax’s car drive in, about twenty minutes later. But that’s all.’

  Thanet was more convinced than ever that she was holding something back.

  FIVE

  In the hall Lineham said, ‘What now, sir?’

  What Thanet would really have liked was a good, long discussion with Lineham about his impressions so far, but that would have to wait. ‘Down to the …’

  ‘Oh, Inspector …’ Edith Phipps had appeared at the door of the room they had just left. ‘I forgot to tell you … I hope you don’t mind, but I took it upon myself to telephone Nurse Lint and tell her about Mrs Salden. I thought she ought to know, because of Mrs Carter, and the arrangements that have to be made.’

  ‘I believe the Vicar is going to have a word with you about that. What, exactly, did you tell Nurse Lint?’

  ‘Only that Mrs Salden has been drowned. And I asked her to stay on at the cottage until the undertakers have been.’

  Thanet smiled. ‘Good. That’s fine.’

  Edith Phipps gave a satisfied little nod and retreated into her office.

  ‘You were saying …?’ said Lineham.

  ‘Mmm? Ah, yes. That I think we ought to take a stroll across to the wood.’

  ‘Take a look at this chap Greenleaf?’

  ‘Amongst other things, yes. And I’d like to see the lie of the land, especially around the river, and have a chat with Kimberley to get some local background …’

  PC Kimberley was waiting patiently outside. He was in his early thirties, tall and well-built, with thick straight fair hair and broad flattened features. At first sight he could well have been taken for a lingering shade of the archetypal rural PC Plod, but Thanet had already noted the alertness of those sharp blue eyes and guessed that there was more to Kimberley than first impressions conveyed.

  ‘Been having some interesting thoughts, Kimberley?’ said Thanet.

  Kimberley grinned. ‘Some, sir.’

  ‘Then I’d like to hear them. Manage to get that car started?’

  ‘No, I think the battery’s flat.’ He handed the keys back to Thanet.

  ‘Hmm. Well, it seems that Mrs Salden was last seen alive just after half-past nine last night, when she left to go to the village to see her mother – who, incidentally, died in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard, sir. She’s been very ill for some time.’

  ‘So I understand. Anyway, Mr Salden seems to think that if Mrs Salden couldn’t start her car she’d have walked to the village via a footpath. A torch is missing from her car and of course she’d be familiar with the terrain.’

  ‘Probably, sir. It wouldn’t take much more than five minutes.’

  ‘Does this footpath run anywhere near where Harry Greenleaf lives?’

  ‘Depends what you mean by near. He lives in that wood over there. The footpath runs direct to the village. I suppose it passes within, oh, let me see, perhaps four hundred yards of Harry’s hut, as the crow flies.’

  ‘I see. Fine. So we’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone. Come on.’

  ‘You want me to come too, sir?’

  ‘Of course. To show us the way … And give me a chance to pick your brains, as well.’

  Kimberle
y fell in alongside them with alacrity.

  ‘You lead the way, then.’

  ‘Right.’

  Kimberley set off at a brisk pace along the broad path in front of the house and across the lawn beyond. Thanet inhaled appreciatively. It was good to be out in the open air on such a fresh spring morning. Fallen blossom from a flowering cherry tree lay scattered like confetti on the grass, a few tenacious clusters of the delicate sugar-pink petals still clinging obstinately to the branches which here and there were breaking into leaf.

  Beyond the lawn Kimberley cut around the end of a border of tall shrubs and they came to a high hawthorn hedge on which the buds were just bursting into tender green, the dense thicket of spiky branches broken by a small flimsy rustic gate made of split chestnut palings and secured only by a metal hook and eye. Kimberley unhooked the latter and pushed it open.

  ‘This is the footpath, sir.’

  ‘Don’t think much of their security,’ muttered Lineham as they stepped through. The path was of beaten earth and although muddy after yesterday’s rain was well-maintained, clear of weeds and encroaching branches. On the other side of it a stretch of open grass sloped gently up to the edge of the wood.

  Thanet glanced to the right. ‘I presume the footpath goes across to the Sturrenden road?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Used a lot, is it?’

  Kimberley grimaced. ‘That’s a bit of a sore point locally. Mrs Salden has just closed it to the public.’

  ‘Can she do that? I thought it was virtually impossible to close a public right of way.’

  ‘Well, it was all gone into, as you can imagine. Apparently, if a specific route has been in regular use for in excess of twenty years, then that’s it, a public right of way is presumed, unless there is a notice on the path saying Private, or Permitted Path. In which case, permission can be withdrawn at the owner’s discretion.’

  Thanet turned left and the others fell in, one on each side. ‘I gather there is such a notice?’