Suspicious Death

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘And patronises the village pub,’ Thanet said absent-mindedly. His attention was now focussed on the hut, about twenty yards away.

  Throughout the brief conversation with Kimberley he had been keeping an eye on the primitive structure, but had so far detected no sign of life. It was about fifteen feet long, the boarded wall punctuated only by a window festooned with what looked like an old army blanket. In front a neat little vegetable patch had been carved out of the meadow: weedless rows of spring cauliflowers and sprouting broccoli and a seedbed with a row of fluttering seed packets at one end stood as mute testimony to the care lavished upon it. Over to the left, tethered by a long rope to a stout post hammered into the ground, was a goat, and to the right of the hut was a wired-off enclosure where chickens scratched in the earth around a large chicken hut.

  The door, which was on the right-hand side of the hut, facing the chickens, was shut and padlocked. They looked around, but there was no other entrance, the window was not made to open and any view of the interior was obscured by the blanket.

  ‘He’s gone, then,’ said Lineham.

  Their eyes met, each knowing what the other was thinking. Had Harry left because of the bailiffs, or because he was implicated in Marcia’s death?

  Beside the door was a worm-eaten Windsor armchair with broken slats, its surface bleached grey by exposure to wind and rain. Thanet could imagine the old man sitting in it, gazing contentedly down the slope to the river and across to the rising land on the other side. His seemed a harmless enough existence. Why had Marcia been so determined to get rid of him?

  SIX

  ‘We think we’ve found where she went in, sir.’ Swift was looking very pleased with himself.

  It was half an hour later. Thanet had decided that, in view of the fact that Harry no doubt knew the woods like the back of his hand, it would be a waste of time for just three of them to search for him, so they had retraced their steps to the footpath, then continued on to the village. Swift had come to meet them.

  Ahead of them to the left of the bridge the high brick wall which edged the grounds of the Manor delineated the road to the village. At this end of the bridge, near an ominous gap in the parapet, the rest of Thanet’s men were awaiting his arrival. A number of people, many of whom Thanet recognised as Harry Greenleaf’s supporters, were lined up along the parapet at the far end, gaping at the policemen.

  ‘I assume you’re talking about the broken parapet.’ Thanet glanced at Kimberley. He had been impressed by the local man and was surprised and slightly disappointed that such an obvious possibility had not been put forward. Kimberley flushed and opened his mouth to speak, but Swift forestalled him.

  ‘Yes, sir. A heavy lorry skidded into the wall in all that rain yesterday, apparently.’

  They had reached a short flight of stone steps leading up on to the road at the damaged end of the bridge, and Thanet stopped to take a good look. The parapet was of Kentish ragstone and a section about five feet long had been broken clean off, right down to road level. The chunk of masonry which had fallen out was visible in the river below.

  ‘Hope it’s not going to be another “Did she fall or was she pushed?” case,’ muttered Lineham, gazing up at the gap.

  He was referring, Thanet knew, to the Tarrant case, a murder they had solved the previous year in which the wife of an eminent local surgeon had fallen to her death from the balcony of her bedroom.

  ‘Somewhat different circumstances, Mike.’

  Kimberley was now very much on the defensive. ‘Sir … I personally checked the safety precautions after the incident with the lorry yesterday. You can come and see for yourself. The Highways Authority put up a temporary barrier and promised to give priority to the repairs, to come back today if possible.’

  They climbed up on to the road.

  ‘Look, there’s a POLICE ACCIDENT sign, and a big DANGER sign on the road at both approaches to the bridge, warning lamps around the gap and a temporary barrier –’

  Kimberley broke off, and it was obvious why. Two metal rods had been driven into the road, one on either side of the gap, and ropes had been strung between them, one at the top, one halfway up. The latter must have been carelessly attached; one end was trailing loose, exposing a three-foot gap.

  ‘Not your fault,’ said Thanet, after a glance at Kimberley’s appalled expression.

  ‘I should have checked this morning.’

  ‘You had your hands full, with Harry Greenleaf’s eviction. And the erection of the barrier was not your responsibility.’

  ‘All the same …’

  Thanet squatted to examine the gap more closely. Halfway down the broken section of wall a solitary spike of rock stuck out, some five inches long. Caught in a split in it were some long blonde hairs and its tip was discoloured by a brownish stain. He peered down into the river below. At the edge of the water, at the bottom of the river bank, was a woman’s brown walking shoe.

  Marcia Salden’s?

  It certainly seemed likely that this was where she had met her death.

  Thanet stood back and tried to visualise what had happened. Was it possible that it had been a simple accident? Surely not. Anyone walking across the bridge from the village towards the entrance to the footpath in the dark would obviously have to be careful, yes, but Marcia would have known of the danger; she would have seen the damage and the warning lights on her way to her mother’s cottage. Unless the accident had happened while she was there, of course. He turned to Kimberley and asked the obvious question.

  ‘At 4 p.m. yesterday afternoon, sir.’

  ‘And it took you how long to get it sorted out?’

  ‘A couple of hours.’

  So the temporary barriers would have been up by about six.

  Thanet glanced at Lineham. ‘What do you think, Mike?’

  ‘I really don’t see how she could have fallen in by accident. Those red lights are a good three feet out into the road.’

  ‘She could have stepped back to avoid a car?’

  ‘Only a lunatic would drive fast over this bridge, especially at the moment, with all these warning signs.’

  ‘Oh come on, Mike. There are plenty of lunatics about, as we know too well.’

  ‘True. But surely anyone walking across this bridge and knowing about that gap in the parapet is going to be hyper-careful. He probably wouldn’t even walk on that side of the road.’

  ‘Unless he – or she, as we’re talking about Mrs Salden – had to pass that gap, in order to get to the top of the steps leading down to the footpath.’

  ‘Even so …’

  ‘And the road might well have been icy, remember, Mike. The temperature dropped like a stone last night, and after all that rain …’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s just possible she could have slipped,’ said Lineham doubtfully. ‘But one thing’s certain. If anyone wanted to get rid of her, he would have had the perfect opportunity, with the parapet down and a slippery road surface. One little shove and she’d be gone.’

  ‘Yes, well, obviously we’ll have to go on considering the possibility, so we’d better go through the motions and get the rest of the team out. The CCTV team as well as the SOCOs. They’ve been warned they might be needed.’ His stomach gave a loud, protesting rumble and he glanced at his watch. A quarter to four. He’d had no idea it was so late.

  ‘Have you all had something to eat?’

  ‘We took it in turns to have sandwiches in the pub.’

  ‘Sir …’ It was Kimberley. ‘If you and the Sergeant would like a bite … I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind rustling up a few sandwiches.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ It was a tempting thought. Thanet suspected that they would be here for hours yet and the pub wouldn’t be open again until six.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Thanet issued his instructions: house to house enquiries were to begin, and the river bank was to be searched when the SOCOs and CCTV crew had finished. A couple of divers were to search the river bed
and Mrs Pantry asked if she could identify the shoe. Also, someone must fetch his car and Kimberley’s motorcycle from the Manor. ‘We’ll walk to your house. I want to take a closer look at the village.’

  Most of Telford Green lay on the far side of the bridge. Only a few cottages straggled back along the road opposite the boundary wall of the Manor. Behind them lay open fields through which the Teale rushed eagerly towards its union with the Sture.

  Once past the bridge, the road widened. On the right the pub, the Crooked Door, lived up to its name, the hinges on the front door sloping downwards in a way reminiscent of the famous door of the old King’s School shop in Canterbury. The black and white building itself was equally eccentric, with every wall out of true and a roof which looked in imminent danger of collapse. Thanet suspected that this quaintness had been carefully nurtured as an attraction to customers, and Kimberley confirmed this. Behind it, well-tended lawns optimistically sprinkled with benches and parasolled tables led down to the river.

  Facing the pub was the village green, the road dividing to sweep around it in a half-circle and join up again further on. On the far side of the expanse of rough grass was the church, flanked on one side by a couple of large detached houses, one of which was presumably the vicarage, and on the other by a row of pretty brick and tile-hung cottages with white picket fences and well-tended gardens.

  On the right past the pub were two short rows of terraced cottages, with four houses in each. In the second cottage of the first terrace, Kimberley told them, had lived Mrs Carter, Marcia Salden’s mother. It stood out by virtue of its well-groomed air – its crisp paintwork, newly pointed brickwork and neat front garden now a mass of many-coloured wallflowers. Their sweet, musky scent, liberated by the sun, drifted out to greet the policemen as they passed. All eight cottages had once belonged to Telford Green Farm, having been built for the men who worked on it, but Marcia had bought her mother’s cottage from Mr Tiller some years ago – at a grossly inflated price, rumour had it. The rest of the cottages were still tenanted and now presumably belonged to Bernard Salden. Just beyond them was a narrow metalled road leading to the farm – Thanet could just glimpse the conical roof of an oast house with its white-painted cowl sticking up beyond some trees. Beyond the green, on both sides of the road, were some rather larger houses, a mixture of old and new, the latter, Thanet guessed, having been built in the gardens of the former, this being the only possible way these days to acquire building plots in rural areas. The village ended with the usual cul-de-sac of council houses. Opposite them was the police house, a typically unimaginative square brick box, with a noticeboard outside.

  Mrs Kimberley, a plump little woman with a frizz of black hair and bright dark eyes welcomed them warmly and half an hour later, fortified by roast beef and pickles with homemade bread, Thanet and Lineham set off with renewed enthusiasm to interview Nurse Lint.

  From some distance away they could see that a hearse was parked in front of old Mrs Carter’s cottage, and as they approached two men carried a canvas stretcher bag out of the front door, deposited their burden in the van and drove off.

  ‘The undertakers,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Mmm. The doctor must already have been and signed the death certificate.’

  A woman in nurse’s uniform had been standing at the front gate gazing after the departing vehicle and now she went back into the cottage and shut the door. A minute or two later, when she answered Thanet’s knock, he could see that she had been crying.

  ‘Mrs Lint?’

  ‘Miss.’

  He introduced himself and Lineham and she stood back. ‘Come in.’

  The front door led directly into a small sitting-room with a brightly patterned brown, orange and yellow carpet, green curtains and a mustard-coloured settee and matching armchair. Thanet wondered how people could stand the effect of so much pattern and colour in so small a space. He found it overwhelming, claustrophobic, even.

  She blew her nose and perched on the edge of the chair, gesturing at the settee. ‘Do sit down.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Thanet could see that she was making an effort to compose herself. She was much younger than he had expected. He had visualised a plump, matronly woman, a widow perhaps, whose children had grown up and moved away and was therefore free to devote all her time to a patient. Nursing someone terminally ill in a village miles from anywhere wouldn’t have much appeal for most young people. Presumably this girl preferred to work in a one-to-one situation. She was in her late twenties and woefully plain, with lank brown hair caught back at the nape of her neck with an elastic band, and metal-rimmed glasses.

  ‘It’s about Mrs Salden’s death, I suppose. Miss Phipps rang …’

  ‘Yes. We’re trying to find out what happened –’ He broke off. ‘What’s that?’ There was a scratching sound at the door which presumably led to the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, that’s Spot. Mrs Carter’s dog. He’s upset, he knows something’s wrong. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him. D’you mind if I let him in?’

  ‘Not at all. Perhaps,’ Thanet added as she got up and opened the door, ‘Mr Salden will take him.’

  It was a mournful-looking spaniel, ears down and tail drooping. It followed Nurse Lint back to her chair and flopped down beside her, burying its nose in its paws.

  ‘Possibly. But I don’t feel I can bother him at a time like this; he’ll have enough to worry about as it is.’ She rubbed her eyes wearily before leaning over to stroke the dog’s head. ‘Perhaps Mrs Pepper will look after you for a few days, eh, boy? At least you’re used to her.’

  ‘Mrs Pepper?’

  ‘Mrs Carter’s friend. She lives next door. She used to take over, from time to time, so that I could get out. They’re old friends, they’ve known each other for years.’

  She stroked the dog for a moment or two longer, then looked up at Thanet. ‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’

  ‘Only that we’re trying to work out Mrs Salden’s movements last night. She came here to visit her mother, I believe?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What time did she arrive?’

  The girl frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’ She rubbed her eyes again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  ‘So I gathered. Surely you’re not on duty night and day?’

  A shadow of a smile. ‘More or less.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous!’

  ‘No, not really. It’s not as bad as it sounds. In fact Mrs Carter didn’t need a lot of attention during the night. And she was a very easy patient, a real sweetie, so looking after her wasn’t the strain it sometimes is.’

  ‘You were fond of her.’

  ‘It’s difficult to live with someone as nice as she is for nearly a year and not get fond of them. Oh, I know nurses aren’t supposed to become emotionally involved with their patients, but when there’s only one, and you spend all your time with her … It’s easier said than done.’

  ‘I can imagine … Look, it really is rather important that we work out the timings of Mrs Salden’s movements last night. Perhaps it would help you to remember if you started earlier in the evening, and worked on from, say, when you rang Mr Salden, to tell him Mrs Carter wanted to see him. That wasn’t unusual, I understand?’

  ‘Oh, no. She was very fond of Mr Salden, he was more of a son … more like a son than a son-in-law.’

  Had she been going to say ‘more of a son than Mrs Salden was a daughter’? Thanet wondered.

  ‘And he of her, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. Mind, she didn’t often actually ask him to come. He used to call in regularly anyway, so there was no need.’

  ‘When did he last come, before yesterday?’

  ‘The previous day. Yes, he was here at teatime.’

  ‘Do you know what she wanted to see him about last night?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘She’d been restless all afternoon. I think she knew, really, that she was near the end.’ She bit
her lip. ‘I think she just wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘To him and not to her daughter?’

  She shook her head. ‘She knew Mrs Salden had a dinner party, and she wouldn’t have wanted to upset that. She was … proud, like that. Hated to ask.’

  ‘She was prepared to ask Mr Salden.’

  ‘Yes.’ Miss Lint considered. ‘I know it sounds odd if you didn’t know her, but she was like that, where Mrs Salden was concerned. I imagine she probably thought that if Mr Salden saw how poorly she was he’d go back and tell Mrs Salden and she would come.’

  ‘You’re saying it was an indirect means of getting her daughter to come?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs Salden was very good to her, bought her this house, I understand, and made sure she had everything she could possibly want … Including,’ she finished, with an attempt at a smile, ‘me.’ She leant over to pat the dog again. ‘Didn’t she, Spot?’

  Thanet returned the smile, glad to see that the girl was becoming a little less stiff. And now indeed she did relax, sitting back in the chair for the first time and leaning her head against the back. She looked very tired. The last twenty-four hours must have been a strain.

  ‘And of course that is precisely what did happen, isn’t it?’

  She frowned. ‘Well, not exactly. By the time Mr Salden got here, Mrs Carter had drifted off to sleep, and he didn’t want to wake her up. So he hung around until she did wake.’

  ‘Perhaps we could just recap a little. What time did Mr Salden arrive?’

  ‘I rang the Manor at twenty past seven. I remember that, because I looked at the clock. I was wondering if he’d have time to get down and back before the guests arrived. And he came straight away, so he must have got here about half-past. Unfortunately, as I said, Mrs Carter had dropped off to sleep by then. I told him I was sure she wouldn’t mind if he woke her up – she had been asking for him, after all, but he said no, he’d wait. He’d promised to ring Mrs Salden at eight, so he did. I heard him say not to wait dinner.’ She glanced at the telephone, which stood on a small table near the door to the kitchen. ‘I couldn’t help hearing. This is a very small house.’