‘No need to apologise. I presume that what you’re trying to say is that because you were glad she was dead you felt guilty and because you felt guilty you thought we might suspect you of having something to do with her death.’
She nodded gratefully.
‘Something of an overreaction, I would have thought.’
She shrugged. ‘People don’t always act logically. That was how I felt.’
‘Why were you glad she was dead?’ Thanet awaited her reply with interest. Would she now confess that she had had a motive, that Marcia had sacked her? To her knowledge no one else knew. She must realise by now that Marcia hadn’t told Bernard and she might well believe that with any luck the police would never find out. So if she did tell them it would weigh heavily in favour of her innocence.
She compressed her lips and shook her head.
‘You really can’t make a statement like that and refuse to amplify it,’ said Thanet gently. ‘Especially in these circumstances.’
‘Well, perhaps I was putting it a little too strongly. Perhaps what I really meant was that I wasn’t sorry she was dead. It was a shock at first, of course, but once the news had sunk in I found I was really rather … relieved.’
‘Any particular reason?’ He couldn’t give her a more specific lead than that. But she was shaking her head. She wasn’t going to take it.
‘Not really. I just didn’t like her. She was hard. Very hard. Look at the way she treated Harry Greenleaf, who never did any harm to anyone … And she was very difficult to work for. Very demanding, hyper-critical.’
Thanet waited but she said nothing more. She had definitely decided against telling them, then. Interesting. The question now was, should he bring the matter up himself? Lineham was watching him, clearly wondering if he was going to.
‘Perhaps I ought to tell you,’ Thanet said slowly, ‘that your conversation with Mrs Salden on Tuesday afternoon was overheard.’
The breath caught in her throat. ‘Which conversation?’
‘The one you’re afraid I’m referring to. The one in which she fired you.’
She seemed to stop breathing, to move into a state of suspended animation. For a minute or more she gazed at Thanet unblinking. Then at last she stirred, sighed, glanced down at the sodden handkerchief in her lap. ‘I see …’
There was a further, brief silence, then she said, ‘How long have you known?’
‘Since this morning.’
‘Mrs Pantry, I suppose.’ But there was no bitterness or animosity in her tone, merely a weary resignation.
‘Actually, no …’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t really matter …’ She gave a wry smile, the first glimmer of humour she had shown since the interview began. ‘Now all I have to do is convince you that whoever it was who pushed Marcia off that bridge, it wasn’t me.’
‘Was it?’
She shook her head. ‘Even if it was, would you really expect me to admit it? But no, Inspector, it wasn’t.’
‘It obviously wouldn’t surprise you if somebody did.’
‘Not really, no. Marcia was the sort of person to arouse strong passions. She was very stubborn and she liked to get her own way. And she didn’t really care what people thought of her.’
‘I gather she’d made herself pretty unpopular in the village.’
Edith pulled a face. ‘I’ll say. But you couldn’t blame her, really.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘For not caring what local people thought. I mean, they weren’t exactly welcoming when she and Bernard bought the Manor, you know. They couldn’t really stomach someone from the cottages buying “The Big House” Honestly! In this day and age … Well I knew just how much that house meant to Marcia, as I told you, so I was firmly on her side, prepared to back her to the hilt. All that drawing aside of skirts made me so angry … And I do think that if only she’d been prepared to be patient, give them time to come round, they would have accepted her in the end. But she wasn’t the patient type and I suppose her reaction was predictable. “I’ll teach them,” she said to me, after one particular snub. “Just you wait and see.” That was when she decided to close the footpath. And then it was just one thing after another.’
‘So you think she did care what local people thought about her, underneath?’
‘Oh yes, she did, beyond doubt. It was a shame, really. For her, buying the Manor was the proof that she’d really made it, the fulfilment of a life-long dream.’
‘And the dream went sour.’
‘I’m afraid so. And it soured her, too. She became much harder, more ruthless. And much more impatient, liable to lose her temper.’
Which could be important in their understanding of this particular crime, thought Thanet. If, as he suspected, Marcia’s death had happened as the result of a quarrel, her attitude could have played a crucial part in precipitating the tragedy. That barely suppressed anger and resentment simmering away just below the surface would have been all too likely to erupt if someone challenged her or took her to task.
‘Can you think of anyone in particular who had a grudge against her?’
Edith frowned, shaking her head. ‘Strangely enough, no. Apart from Harry Greenleaf, of course, and I’m sure he couldn’t have been involved. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Naturally I’ve been thinking about it, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Marcia tended to take on people collectively rather than individually. Which doesn’t really help you, of course.’
‘What about her husband?’ The last time Thanet had spoken to Edith she had said that she wasn’t prepared to discuss the Saldens’ private life, but that she might reconsider if Marcia’s death did turn out to be murder.
‘Oh no. Not Bernard. He’s just not the type to resort to violence under any circumstances. And although I wouldn’t say they were really close, I can honestly say I never heard them quarrelling.’
‘I have the impression he wasn’t too happy about some of his wife’s business interests.’
‘Maybe, but you’re not trying to tell me he’d resort to murder to stop her!’
‘Not in cold blood, perhaps. But I’ll be frank and tell you that in my opinion this was no premeditated crime. Someone quarrelled with Mrs Salden, grabbed her by the arm, perhaps, and she tried to get away, slipped …’
Edith folded her arms across her plump body and shivered. ‘And then he just walked off, without raising the alarm, leaving her to drown.’
Thanet had no intention of telling Edith that Marcia had been dead before she reached the water. ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
She was shaking her head. ‘I just can’t see Bernard doing a thing like that. He’s … well, not only is he the type of man to do everything he can to avoid a quarrel, but I just can’t see him leaving anyone to drown, let alone his wife, not under any circumstances.’
‘What can you tell me about a man called Hammer?’
The question surprised her. ‘Reg Hammer?’
‘Yes. His mother lived in the village. She died earlier this week.’
‘What do you want to know about him?’
‘Anything, really.’
‘Well, he was born and brought up in Telford Green. He’s married and lives in Sturrenden. Used to work at Chatham Dockyard, but was made redundant when it closed a few years ago and hasn’t been able to get work since … Funny you should ask, really.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw him in the village yesterday, for the first time in years. He and his wife were clearing out his mother’s cottage.’
For some reason she suddenly understood why he was enquiring about Hammer. Thanet saw the comprehension in her eyes.
‘He wasn’t a regular visitor to his mother, then?’
‘No. Which I expect is one of the reasons why …’ She stopped short.
‘What were you going to say just then?’
‘When?’
‘You said, “Which I expect is one of the reasons why …
” Then you stopped.’
She shrugged. ‘It was automatic, I suppose. A sort of built-in reaction. I don’t normally gossip about my employers’ business.’
‘This isn’t gossip, I assure you. It could be highly relevant.’
‘I suppose there’s no reason why you shouldn’t know. It’s all in the files up at the house. I was merely going to say, I supposed the fact that Reg never bothered to visit his mother was one of the reasons why Mrs Hammer applied to join Marcia’s Golden Oldie scheme.’
Thanet raised his eyebrows.
‘It was one of Marcia’s new business ventures. Lately she’d been getting a little bored with the health food business. It was very successful, yes, but the thrill of building it up had gone.’
‘I thought she was contemplating moving into health food restaurants.’
‘That’s the latest idea, yes.’
‘Do you know anything about the negotiations with Mr Lomax, by the way? What price he was asking, for example?’
‘I don’t think they’d got as far as that, not on paper anyway. Bernard is doing a feasibility study.’
‘Sorry I interrupted. You were talking about Reg Hammer’s mother …’
‘Well, as I say, Marcia had been looking for ways to … diversify, I suppose is the best way of putting it. She spent some time considering various ideas and eventually she decided that the best investment these days is property. So she thought up this scheme.’
‘The Golden Oldie scheme.’
‘Well, that was her private name for it, yes. Officially it was Salden Investments Ltd. The idea was that she would approach elderly people living in small period village properties, terraced houses chiefly, which as you know have rocketed in price lately, and would propose to them a scheme whereby they would sell her their house but would retain the right to continue to live in it until they died. In return, instead of an outright payment of the full market value of the house, Marcia would offer them a lump sum down and a guaranteed annual income for life. It was a gamble, of course. The pensioner could continue to live way beyond the age at which Marcia would have made a profit out of the deal, or he could die soon after the agreement was made and she could make a killing.’
Not the happiest expression in the circumstances, thought Thanet. ‘Perhaps you could give us an example?’
‘Well, she was careful always to choose someone well into their seventies and without any close family likely to make a fuss if they felt they’d been deprived of their inheritance.’
Thanet was beginning to see where Hammer came into the picture.
‘Take Mrs Hammer, for example, though she was a little different in that, as I say, she approached Marcia, not the other way around. She’d heard about the scheme from some friend of hers and she was seventy-seven when Marcia first heard from her earlier this year. She was in very good health for her age and I know Marcia calculated on her living another ten years. The old lady was very hurt at her son’s neglect and had no compunction about applying to join the scheme. She positively jumped at the offer Marcia made. Marcia offered her £5,000 down and £3,500 a year for life. For pensioners these are substantial sums of money, perhaps more than they have ever seen in their lives. With that sort of guaranteed income on top of their pension, even allowing for income tax they can afford luxuries they may never have been able to enjoy before. The scheme hasn’t been going long, and of course it’s all properly drawn up by solicitors, but out of the fifteen people Marcia approached only one turned the offer down.’
Lineham had been working it out. ‘So if a cottage was worth £50,000, she would calculate on paying out £5,000 down and a further £35,000 over ten years, making an expenditure of £40,000 in all.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So she’d make a tidy profit as well as cashing in on the fact that house prices are rising by between ten and fifteen per cent a year here in the South-east.’
‘True. But you must remember that her capital would be tied up for a period of ten years – and don’t forget that the scheme only worked because the elderly people welcomed it. And Marcia was very fair about it. She never tried to mislead them. I always went with her, when she approached people and explained how the scheme worked, and she always presented the snags of the scheme as well as the advantages. But it really seemed to appeal to them. It gave them more money in their pocket than most of them had ever had before, together with the guarantee of being able to stay on in their own homes for the rest of their lives – which is, above all, what most old people want. Given that, they just didn’t care whether or not they would receive less than the market price for their properties. It really was a scheme which benefited everybody.’
‘Everybody except the heirs,’ said Lineham.
‘True. But, as I say, Marcia was careful to approach only those who appeared to have no family or were estranged from them … Do I gather that Reg has been kicking up a fuss?’
‘Not surprising, is it?’ Lineham sounded indignant on behalf of the unknown Reg. ‘Presumably Mrs Salden in effect bought his mother’s cottage for £5,000.’
‘And half the first annual payment of £3,500.’
Lineham waved a dismissive hand. ‘Even so.’
‘What I can’t understand,’ said Thanet, ‘is why, if Mr Salden is the accountant for all their business affairs, he didn’t know about this.’
‘Marcia never bothered to consult him on her pet projects. He does the annual accounts for them, of course, and keeps an eye on the books from time to time, but the payments to Mrs Hammer only went through earlier this month, so they wouldn’t have filtered through to him yet.’
‘Edith?’ The quavering voice again.
They had finished here for the moment. Besides, time was getting on and Thanet was anxious to get home early tonight because of Bridget. He had to ring Draco too, give him a brief progress report for the media statement. And he wanted to see Reg Hammer, first.
They thanked her, asked for directions to Mrs Hammer’s cottage, and left.
NINETEEN
‘You really wouldn’t believe a house like that could be worth £50,000, would you?’ said Lineham.
He had parked across the road from Mrs Hammer’s cottage, which was in the middle of a terrace of eight, on the Manor side of the bridge.
It certainly had very little to recommend it in Thanet’s eyes, being only about fourteen feet wide and built of ugly yellow Victorian brick with a slate roof. Prices indicated, however, that people were queueing up to buy such houses, village properties being especially in demand. ‘The property world’s gone mad,’ he agreed.
‘There’s the Vicar,’ said Lineham as they got out of the car. He grinned. ‘Looks as though his car’s gone wrong again. Can’t say I’m surprised.’
Fothergill had just come into sight around the bend which lay between them and the bridge, and was heading in their direction on a bicycle. Thanet and Lineham waited for him to pass, but he raised his hand in greeting and pulled up beside them.
‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ he said with a cheery grin.
‘What happened to the car?’ said Lineham, grinning back.
Fothergill gave him a reproachful look. ‘You are insulting the vehicle I love. She is sitting in the garage at the Vicarage, resting after her exertions. We had to go to Canterbury this morning. Anyway, I never use her for visiting within the village. Much too extravagant. I told you, vicars have to be seen to be poor. Makes people respect them more. How’s it going?’
‘Slowly,’ said Thanet. ‘We were just talking about the ridiculous price of terraced cottages these days. Especially in the villages.’
Fothergill held up a hand. ‘Don’t start me off. That’s one of my favourite hobbyhorses. People have these fantasies about living in a village, about enjoying the peace and quiet and the rural life. The young people especially are soon bored stiff and depart to the town again, looking for more excitement. They’re not usually interested in village life at
all. They don’t join the village organisations or come to church. They don’t realise that living in a village is like marriage – the more you put into it, the more you’ll get out. The other thing, of course, is that it means all the old village families are disappearing. When the local young people get married they simply can’t afford to buy anything and unless they’re lucky enough to get a council house – and there are far too few of them – they have to move away.’ He grinned. ‘I told you, once I get launched … Anyway, I mustn’t stand here gossiping. See you around.’
He wheeled his bicycle to the last cottage in the row, propped it against the fence and disappeared around the side.
There was no reply to their knock at Mrs Hammer’s front door.
‘Must’ve finished clearing up and gone home,’ said Lineham. ‘There’s no car parked in front.’
‘He may not have a car. He’s supposed to be unemployed, remember. Try again.’
But there was still no answer and they turned away. As they were walking down the path, Thanet glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of movement behind the net curtain at the downstairs window. He caught Lineham’s sleeve. ‘There’s someone in there.’
They marched back to the door and knocked again, loudly. Still no reply.
‘Try once more, then call “Police” through the letterbox,’ said Thanet.
Lineham complied and this time they heard movement within.
The door opened a crack. A middle-aged woman peeped out. ‘What do you want?’
‘Mrs Hammer?’
‘You want the old lady? She’s …’
‘No. We’re looking for her son. Sturrenden CID.’ Thanet produced his identity card.
‘He’s out.’
The door began to close, but Lineham stuck his foot in the gap, quickly.
‘A brief talk with you, then,’ said Thanet.
Slowly, the door opened, revealing the reason for her reluctance. One side of her face was badly bruised, from forehead to chin. Avoiding Thanet’s eye she stood back. ‘My husband said not to let anyone in.’ Unconsciously, her hand went up to her face, touched her cheek. She was in her late forties, wearing a tight, shoddy black skirt and a short-sleeved scarlet sweater which had seen better days. Her hair was an improbable shade of orange, a frizzy uncontrolled bush, and she was heavily made up. Despite the gaudy, defiant colours, her shoulders sagged and she exuded an aura of defeat.
Suspicious Death Page 18
