Suspicious Death

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘He hadn’t actually admitted that he’d heard about all this from his mother-in-law that night.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So all he had to do was say that his wife had told him ages ago.’

  Thanet froze. ‘That’s true. You’re right! I didn’t even think of that! How stupid can you get!’ If Salden’s wits had not been blunted by pain, grief and confusion he could have got away with it, at the very point when Thanet thought he had him. Thanet’s scalp prickled with sweat as he realised how close a shave he had had.

  ‘You’re lucky he didn’t think of it either! Have you finished with that?’

  Thanet held out the saucepan. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Fine, yes.’ Joan was stirring vigorously. ‘Put the lid on, I’m not quite ready.’

  Thanet was recovering. ‘We caught him off balance and he wasn’t thinking straight. And also I think it was a relief to him to confess, get it off his chest. He’s not the sort of man to live comfortably with a secret like that on his conscience.’

  Joan took the plates out of the oven and began dishing up.

  ‘So what did happen that night, exactly?’

  ‘Well, if you remember, Salden had been sitting brooding on a bench on the river bank a few hundred yards away from the bridge on the other side from the Manor. Around twenty past ten he decided he really ought to get back to his mother-in-law’s house. He was worried about her and, besides, there was an unseasonable frost that night and he was feeling thoroughly chilled.

  ‘He was climbing the steps from the footpath when he heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the village. As he came up on to the bridge he saw that it was his wife. Because of the broken parapet she had been walking on the side nearer to him, but now she was crossing the bridge diagonally, making for the opposite flight of steps which lead down to the footpath to the Manor. He called her name and hurried to intercept her. When they met she was standing right next to the warning lights with her back to the gap in the stonework.’

  ‘Marcia! What are you doing here?’

  ‘What d’you think? I’ve been to see my mother.’

  ‘Did she tell you why she wanted to see me?’

  ‘No, she was asleep. Anyway why should she?’

  ‘Because it concerned me.’

  ‘Concerned you? What d’you mean? What are you talking about? Look, couldn’t we discuss this later? We’ve got guests, in case you’ve forgotten. I can’t think what they’ll think of us. You don’t turn up at all and then I walk out on them.’

  ‘To hell with them! Who cares what they think? I don’t. But I can tell you this, Marcia. I cared about what your mother told me. I really did care about that … What did you do with her, Marcia? What did you do with our daughter? With Clare?’

  ‘Clare’s dead. She died thirty years ago …’

  ‘Don’t give me that! I won’t let you get away with any more lies. To think I believed you, unquestioningly … What a fool I was … So tell me. What did you do with her?’

  ‘Let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.’

  ‘What did you do with her? Tell me!’

  ‘I … took her to York.’

  ‘York? Why York?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There must have been a reason why you chose York.’

  ‘I think … Someone once told me it was a nice place …’

  ‘Where did you go, in York?’

  ‘My arm … Please …’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A hospital. I left her … in the foyer …’

  ‘Which hospital? Which hospital?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I don’t know. I didn’t notice. Please. You’re really hurting me. Let go …’

  ‘He claims he can’t remember very clearly what happened then. She was struggling to get away, pulling and tugging, and he thinks she gave an especially violent wrench just as he finally let go. The road was slippery and she lost her balance, doubling up as she fell backwards through the rope barrier. She’d disappeared through the gap in the parapet almost before he realised what was happening.’

  ‘You believe him?’ Joan had finished serving and had put the plates of food in the oven to keep warm while Thanet finished his story.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure, how can I be? He may have shoved her away, in disgust or anger … Whatever happened, I do believe it was an accident, a result of the quarrel.’

  ‘In that case, why didn’t he try to do something to save her, call for help?’

  ‘He says that for a moment or two he couldn’t believe his eyes. One moment she was there and the next she was gone. He’d been so wrapped up in what they’d been saying that he hadn’t been aware of the gap in the bridge wall behind her and he couldn’t understand what had happened. For a moment he just stood there. Then he rushed to the parapet and looked over. There was no sign of her. Neither of them could swim, the river was running high because of the rain and he realised at once that it would be pointless to go for help, it was already too late.’

  ‘He should have, all the same.’

  ‘Of course he should. I think the truth is that, even though he may not deliberately have pushed her, at that point he still felt so angry and cheated that he just didn’t care if she was alive or dead. A child of his own would have meant so much to him. If his wife had lived I don’t think he could ever have forgiven her for what she did.’

  ‘I expect he’ll get a verdict of manslaughter. I wonder if he’ll go inside.’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Depends on the judge. He might get a suspended.’

  ‘Highly probable, I should think. From what you say, he isn’t likely to be a danger to the public.’ Joan grinned. ‘Though I wouldn’t say that was exactly the impression conveyed by Superintendent Draco on Coast to Coast.’

  ‘You saw him?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world! Anyone would think he’d conducted the entire investigation single-handed!’ Joan came and put her arms around Thanet’s neck. ‘It’s not fair. You should have got the credit.’

  ‘Some credit! When I think how I was within a whisker of it going the other way, and I didn’t even realise …!’

  Joan kissed him. ‘Well, it didn’t. Tell me, what put you on to him in the first place?’

  They moved apart and sat down.

  ‘Oddly enough, it was Vicky, poor girl. I was thinking about her a lot last night, of course, while you were at the hospital. While I was waiting for you to come home I dozed off and I had a rather nasty dream in which she turned into Marcia. I suppose that, subconsciously, I had spotted the similarity between them: they’d both had severe post-natal depression. Vicky had been driven to try to kill herself. What if Marcia actually had killed her baby?

  ‘You see, I knew she hadn’t wanted that baby. I also knew that she’d been very ambitious, that she’d hated living up North and that when her husband was posted abroad and she was left alone there with the baby it must have been the last straw. Looked at like that, the baby’s death had been very convenient for her. It had meant that she was free again to pursue whatever career she wanted, and that she had an excuse to run away from the area she hated and return to Kent. In the circumstances no one would blame her.

  ‘Well, we checked, and discovered that the death had never been registered. The fact that there’d been a funeral, presided over by the vicar and witnessed by at least one neighbour who couldn’t possibly be suspected of complicity, was a bit of a stumbling block. Until we discovered that it hadn’t been a proper burial service in the churchyard at all – the vicar would have needed a death certificate for that – but a simple sort of blessing ceremony, a scattering of the ashes on the village green … Stupid of me, really. I just assumed the baby was dead, it never occurred to me that she could have just abandoned it. I can imagine how Salden felt when he found out. He adored that child, by all accounts.’

  ‘So how is he taking this now?’

  ‘All he can think of is how
to trace his daughter. He’d already started making enquiries.’

  ‘That won’t be an easy road. And if he does succeed, who knows if she’d want to be found?’

  ‘Quite. Still, that’s his affair. As I say, I can understand how he feels … Which reminds me … I think I’ve had a brilliant idea, about Bridget’s problem.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What if we said to her, “Look, what if you planned, afterwards, to do something for which you don’t need to do particularly well in these exams, would that help you to stop worrying?”’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, we’ve always thought in terms of catering college, haven’t we? But there’s no reason why we shouldn’t consider sending her to one of the private cookery schools. Some of them have excellent reputations. And I read somewhere that their academic entrance requirements aren’t too exacting. In any case, with all Bridget has already achieved in the cookery field, I’m sure they’d be only too delighted to take her.’

  ‘Could we afford it? They’re terrible expensive.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be worth it?’ Thanet took Joan’s hands. ‘I know it wouldn’t be easy, we’d have to make economies, but later on, if Ben manages to get to university, we’ll have to help him through, and over the three years that would mount up. Most of these Cordon Bleu courses are only a year, or less. Surely we ought to be prepared to spend the same on Bridget.’

  ‘True. It’s just that it’s a new idea …’ Her tone became more positive. ‘It would certainly take the pressure off her as far as these exams are concerned.’

  ‘Exactly! Then, if she did pass … Well, I suppose then we’d have to leave it to her to choose which she wanted. We could hardly offer her the chance then take it away if she passes!’

  ‘Quite. Oh darling, the more I think about it … Let’s go and talk to her now, before we have supper, shall we? She badly needs cheering up.’

  ‘If you like.’

  Faced by the sight of both parents entering her room, Bridget’s look was less than welcoming.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Thanet. ‘This isn’t what you think.’

  ‘No post mortem,’ said Joan. ‘Daddy’s come up with a brilliant idea.’

  ‘Oh?’ Bridget was wary. She looked ill, Thanet thought, pale and listless. He couldn’t bear the thought that his bright, lively daughter had been reduced to this. He began to explain his idea. ‘Your mother and I wondered …’ He watched her face as he talked. Almost at once her cheeks became tinged with colour, her eyes began to sparkle and before he had finished she jumped up out of her chair and flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh Dad, what a wonderful idea. That would be terrific!’ She turned to her mother, hugged her too. Then she stood back to study their faces. ‘You mean it, don’t you? You really mean it!’

  Thanet and Joan, relieved and delighted at her reaction, beamed at her and at each other. They both nodded. ‘We certainly do,’ said Joan. ‘We thought it would take the pressure off you. As Daddy says, even if you didn’t do too well in your exams, you’d be sure to get in, after winning that cookery competition and writing the column for the Kent Messenger.’

  ‘Terrific!’ Bridget’s look of excitement faded. ‘But wouldn’t it be terribly expensive?’

  Joan explained what Thanet had said about Ben’s education. ‘It won’t be easy, there’s no point in pretending it will. But we see no reason why you shouldn’t have the same chance as Ben, in a different way.’

  Bridget burst into tears.

  Joan got up and took a handkerchief from a drawer, handed it to her.

  She wiped her eyes, smiling and biting her lip. ‘It’s such a relief …’

  Joan reached for Thanet’s hand and squeezed it.

  He smiled and returned the pressure. It looked as though another of life’s minor crises was over.

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Inspector Thanet Mysteries

  ONE

  Thanet lifted the edge of the curtain aside and peered out into the dark street. ‘It’s nearly half-past twelve. Where can she be? She’s never been as late as this before. And – yes – it’s beginning to snow, look!’

  Joan joined him at the window. ‘So it is. The temperature must have risen.’

  Earlier on it had been freezing hard.

  She returned to her seat by the fire. ‘Darling, do come and sit down, you’re driving me mad prowling about like that.’

  ‘How you can sit there so calmly I just do not know. She’s always home by half-past eleven. Anything can have happened.’ Thanet, who had seen far more than his share of broken bodies during his years in the police force, blanked off hideous images of Bridget mutilated, injured, suffering appalling pain or even now dying, perhaps. He plumped down beside Joan on the settee and, leaning forward, put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

  Joan put her hand on his shoulder. ‘“Anything” includes perfectly ordinary things like being delayed at work, Tim’s car not starting, being held up because they witnessed an accident …’

  Their daughter Bridget was now nearly seventeen. She had managed to scrape one or two respectable grades in her GCSEs last summer and, always keen to have a career in cookery, was taking a year off to gain some practical work experience in the kitchens of a local restaurant before starting a year’s Cordon Bleu course in September. Tim was one of the waiters, and gave her a lift home each night that their stint of duty coincided.

  Thanet’s shoulder twitched impatiently. ‘Yes, I know … But in that case, why hasn’t she given us a ring?’ Perhaps Tim wasn’t as trustworthy as he had appeared. A married man with two children, he had seemed a decent enough young man, but what if his offer of lifts for Bridget had had an ulterior motive, what if …?

  Thanet jumped up and crossed to peer out of the window once more. ‘It’s coming down more heavily now.’

  The snow was already beginning to lie, mantling the ground with a thin gauzy veil of white. Huge soft wet flakes swirled around the fuzzy orange globe of the street lamp on the pavement outside their house and hurled themselves silently against the windowpane like moths attracted to the light, melting from the contact with the warm glass as they slid down. Thanet peered hopefully down the street. Nothing.

  ‘We should have refused Tim’s offer, insisted on fetching her ourselves.’

  ‘That would have looked really churlish, as he actually has to pass our house on his way. Anyway, it’s ridiculous turning out late every night if we don’t have to.’

  ‘Better than having to sit here and wonder where she is and what’s happened to her.’

  Joan laughed. ‘It looks as though you’re in for a really bad time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t look so alarmed! I simply mean that this is only the beginning. We’ve been unusually lucky up to now but no doubt this is only the first of many, many nights over many, many years when we’re going to lie awake waiting for the sound of her return, wondering where she is, if she’s all right …’

  ‘How can you make so light of it?’

  ‘I’m not making light of it. It’s just that I … well, I’m a little more resigned to it, I suppose. I can remember how my own parents used to fuss when I was late home after going out with you.’

  ‘Do you? Did they? I never knew that.’ Thanet took her hand, momentarily distracted.

  ‘They certainly did. But I wasn’t going to tell you, naturally. It would have made me sound like a little girl, to be fussed over.’

  He grinned. ‘The ultimate insult.’

  ‘Exactly. And that’s precisely how Bridget will take it if she gets home and finds us sitting here like a reception committee.’ Joan stood up, decisively. ‘So come on, let’s go to bed.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Luke! Come on.’

  Grudgingly, he allowed himself to be persuaded upstairs. ‘But I’m not going to let it go, mind. If she’s going to be late like this she really must let us know.’


  ‘All right. I’ll speak to her about it. Tactfully.’

  Thanet caught her eye and grinned. ‘Not too tactfully.’

  She smiled back. ‘Agreed.’

  They had just got into bed when outside in the street a car door slammed. A few moments later they heard the front door close. Quickly, Joan switched off the bedside light. When Bridget had crept past their door on the way to her room, Joan said, ‘That wasn’t all that was worrying you tonight, though, was it?’

  Thanet turned to face her in the darkness. There was no point in denying it. ‘No,’ he admitted.

  ‘Draco again.’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I should think you’re sick and tired of hearing about him.’

  ‘Nonsense. It enlivens my days no end.’

  He could hear the laughter in her voice.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ she said. ‘What’s he been up to this time?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, we’re not sure. There’re all sorts of rumours flying around. Some new campaign he’s planning … But one thing’s certain, it’s sure to make life even more uncomfortable for the rest of us.’

  Just over a year ago Superintendent Parker had retired and Goronwy Draco had taken over at divisional headquarters in Sturrenden, the small country town in Kent where Thanet lived and worked. The new Superintendent was a fiery, dynamic little Welshman who was firmly of the opinion that a new broom should sweep clean as quickly as possible. Suffering under the new regime of regular morning meetings and tighter control, Thanet had grudgingly to admit that under Draco’s ever-watchful eye divisional headquarters at Sturrenden had become a much more stimulating place to work. Enlivened by newly-decorated offices and higher standards of cleanliness and efficiency, the place now crackled with a new energy and there had been a gratifying increase in crimes solved and villains safely ensconced behind bars. Draco may not be popular, but he certainly got results.

  Thanet sighed. ‘I expect we’ll survive.’

  As soon as he opened his eyes next morning he was aware of the difference in the quality of the light. There must have been more snow overnight. He hoped that the fall had not been heavy. Snow was very picturesque but it brought problems. However hard the local authority tried, it never seemed to make adequate preparation for bad weather. A mere skim of snow brought its crop of traffic jams and minor accidents; anything over six inches, severe disruption. And of course, there was the cold. Thanet hated the cold and the tip of his nose told him that the temperature in the bedroom was at a far from acceptable level. February was definitely bottom of his personal popularity chart of favourite months. He allowed himself the indulgence of a few more moments in the warm cave that was the bed, then braced himself and slid out, careful not to allow a gush of cold air to disturb Joan who was still sleeping peacefully. He padded across to the window. Might as well know the worst.