Dead and Gone

by Dorothy Simpson

  Thanet nodded. ‘My guess too.’ He made up his mind. ‘We’ll get a search warrant in the morning, see if we can find the rest of them. Interesting that Digby didn’t breathe a word about Virginia and Squires when we were interviewing him. I suppose he wasn’t going to risk losing a potentially lucrative source of income.’

  ‘No. He was far more interested in pointing the finger at the old lady.’

  ‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he? But it does occur to me, Mike . . .’

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘If he really was in the habit of spying and, as we now suspect, of taking photographs, who knows what else we might turn up?’

  ‘Ye-e-e-s!’ breathed Lineham. ‘You’re right.’

  They had reached their cars and Thanet paused to glance at his watch. Six-thirty.

  ‘What next, sir?’

  ‘We’ll call it a day here, I think. Better get back to the office, do some reports. The Super’ll expect every last detail in the morning. Actually, come to think of it, I’d better give him a ring tonight, in case he’s back.’

  It was a quarter to ten by the time they had finished and, anxious to put work behind him when he left the office, Thanet tried Superintendent Draco’s number. The answerphone was still on and he didn’t bother to leave a message. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

  On the way home his anxieties about Bridget came rushing back and when he got there he was dismayed to find the house in darkness and Joan’s car missing. Something must have gone wrong. Why hadn’t she got in touch with him? He must ring the hospital at once.

  Heart-rate accelerating he hurried into the house, switching on lights everywhere. There was a note propped against the telephone on the table in the hall. He snatched it up.

  2.30. Can’t stand hanging around waiting for news. Am driving up to visit Bridget in hospital. Back for supper. Love, J.

  Back for supper? They usually ate around seven. Where was she? Perhaps there had been a crisis at the hospital and she was staying on? If so, she would surely have let him know? He saw that there was one message on the answerphone. Perhaps it was from her? But it wasn’t, it was from Ben.

  Ben, their son, who was still determined on eventually making a career in the police force, had graduated in computer studies from Reading University and was now on a VSO scheme in Africa. Thanet was annoyed and disappointed to have missed him as living out in the wilds Ben rarely had the opportunity to get to a telephone.

  ‘Hi, Mum, Dad. Just to let you know everything’s OK. And I was wondering about Bridget, of course. Not long now, is it? I’ll ring again as soon as I can. ‘Bye.’

  Perhaps it was just as well that they had both been out when he rang, after all. Bridget and Ben had always been close and it would be especially worrying for him if he knew what was happening, when it was so difficult for him to keep in touch. With any luck, by the next time he managed to get through it would all be over, for better or for worse.

  Joan had left the hospital number beside the phone and he rang it, listening impatiently to the recorded messages and pressing the appropriate keypad numbers when necessary. At last he was through to the maternity ward. No, there was no change in Mrs Highman’s condition, which was being closely monitored. Visiting hours finished at eight and the nurse had no idea whether or not Mrs Highman’s mother had been in earlier. Thanet asked her to give Bridget his love and rang off.

  So where was Joan? Even if she’d stayed until the end of visiting time, she should be home by now. It took only an hour and three-quarters to drive back to Sturrenden – but via the M25, the most crowded stretch of motorway in Europe. There must have been an accident. One was always hearing tales of horrendous delays because of overturned lorries, collisions on contraflows and multiple pile-ups. Please God, if there had been, Joan had not been involved.

  He crossed to the window and peered out. The last remnants of light were fading from the sky. If she were simply held up, why hadn’t she rung him on her mobile? He could try ringing her.

  But there was no reply. Another phone call, to the police operations room, ascertained that no, there had been no major incident on the M25 and traffic was flowing normally.

  Keep calm, he told himself. There’s probably some perfectly simple explanation. Perhaps she’s got a puncture, or the car has broken down. Suppressing memories of the many occasions when, as a young policeman, he had had to break the news of a fatal road traffic accident to a stunned family, Thanet went into the kitchen and began to hunt around for something to prepare for supper. She would be hungry when she got home.

  He was defrosting an M&S ready meal in the microwave when the phone rang. He rushed to answer it, flooded with relief when he heard her voice. Joan! Where are you?’

  And the explanation was, after all, just as mundane as he had tried to convince himself that it might be. A puncture on the slip road leading from the M25 to the M26 had complicated a relatively simple repair job. In that situation it had been too dangerous for her to attempt to change the wheel herself and she had had to walk to the nearest telephone and call the RAC.

  ‘Why didn’t you ring them on your mobile?’

  ‘I daren’t tell you.’

  ‘You left it behind!’ exploded Thanet.

  ‘Just as bad, I’m afraid. Flat battery! I’m using the repair man’s.’

  ‘Oh, Joan, for God’s sake . . .’ Thanet caught himself up. What was the point of recriminations? She was safe, that was the main thing. ‘How long do you think it’ll be before you get home?’

  It was, in fact, almost midnight.

  ‘Don’t ever do that to me again!’ he said as she walked in. He held out his arms and she came to him, laid her head against his shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, Luke.’

  ‘Never mind. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.’ He pulled away, studied her face. ‘You look exhausted. Are you hungry? I’m keeping something hot in the oven.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s too late and anyway I’m too wound up for a proper meal. It was such a ghastly place to break down, Luke, the cars come whizzing around the bends on those slip roads.’

  ‘I know. It must have been awful for you. What would you like to do now? Go straight to bed? I could bring you up some tea and toast, if you like.’

  ‘Would you? That would be lovely.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a quick bath first, to relax you.’

  ‘Perhaps I will.’

  Joan dropped her handbag on the table and trailed wearily up the stairs. Thanet waited until he heard the bath water running out and then made the tea and toast, taking up a cup for himself.

  ‘It’s such a relief to be home, I can’t tell you,’ said Joan as he sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I just hate driving on the M25. And believe me, I’ve learned my lesson about making sure my mobile is charged up.’

  ‘I should think so! Honestly, love—’

  ‘I know, I know!’ Joan took a bite of toast then sipped at her tea. ‘Oh, this is lovely.’

  ‘So,’ said Thanet. ‘Tell me how Bridget is.’

  Joan pulled a face. ‘She’s putting a brave face on it. What else can she do? But they’re obviously both worried to death, you can tell.’

  ‘Alexander was there?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think he’s staying with her all the time he’s allowed to. He’s being wonderful.’

  ‘And what, exactly, is happening at the moment? Doc Mallard was saying something about some injections she might have. To mature the baby’s lungs?’

  ‘That’s right. She has to have two, twelve hours apart. She had one at ten this morning and she’ll have had the second by now. After that they have to wait forty-eight hours before they induce. Then the baby should apparently have a good chance of survival.’

  ‘It’s definite that they will induce?’

  ‘Oh I should think so, yes. There doesn’t seem to be any question of that. They just can’t get her blood pressure down.’ Joan shook her head and squeezed her eye
s tight shut, trying hard not to cry, but despite her efforts tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘Oh Luke, I’m so frightened for her.’

  Thanet moved the tray on to the floor and put his arms around her. ‘I know.’

  Joan pulled away, reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry, darling. There’s no point in carrying on like this, is there? Tell me what you’ve been doing today.’

  ‘Chasing my tail, as usual on the first day of a case. Do you ever recall Bridget mentioning a girl called Caroline Mintar? She also went to Sturrenden High, but she’d be – let me see – about three years younger than Sprig.’

  Joan repeated the name. ‘It does have a familiar ring. Yes. Wasn’t there some sort of scandal? But it was several years after Bridget left school.’

  ‘That’s right. Four years ago. She eloped with the gardener, when she was eighteen.’

  ‘Of course, I remember now! It was in the local paper, caused quite a stir at the time.’

  ‘Yes, well it’s her mother who was found dead this morning. Apparently she never got over it.’

  ‘She committed suicide, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no. Everyone seems to rule that out.’

  ‘How is her family taking it?’

  ‘Badly. Especially as they never saw or heard from Caroline again.’

  ‘Oh Luke, how awful.’

  ‘Yes. And to make matters worse, Rachel, her other daughter, who is now the same age as Caroline was when she eloped, has just become engaged to someone equally unsuitable. I’ve met him and believe me, I’m only too thankful that Bridget never got tangled up with anyone like that. Ralph Mintar, the husband, is bound to be a suspect, of course, but I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor bloke.’

  ‘We’ve been very lucky so far, haven’t we, Luke?’

  ‘Yes, we have.’

  Then they were both silent, thinking of Bridget.

  So far.

  ELEVEN

  Lineham was hard at work when Thanet arrived at the office next morning. It wasn’t that Thanet was late, just that the sergeant was always early.

  ‘Morning, sir. Going to be another scorcher, by the look of it.’

  ‘Yes. I remembered to pick up a couple of bottles of water on the way. And to bring a cool bag to put them in.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Lineham with a grin.

  ‘Well, at least we won’t get dehydrated!’ Thanet sat down at his desk. ‘So, anything interesting come in?’

  ‘Doc Mallard looked in. The PM’s starting around now.’

  ‘Good. Anything else?’

  ‘Not unless you count Tanya’s interview with the local witch.’

  WDC Tanya Phillips was proving to be a useful member of the team. She had been with them over a year now.

  ‘Local witch?’ Thanet remembered what Mintar had said. ‘Ah, yes, the mother of the lad Caroline eloped with.’

  ‘There’s nothing relevant to our case in Tanya’s report, but it’s just up your street. Look.’

  Thanet took the proffered paper. ‘What is my street, Mike?’

  ‘Anything a bit off-beat.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Thanet, reading. ‘I see what you mean. Real Hansel and Gretel stuff, isn’t it.’

  The interview with Marah Swain had been part of routine house-to-house inquiries. In the literal sense she was, like the Squires, Mintar’s next-door neighbour, although her house was half a mile further on down the lane and invisible from the road, being in the middle of a clearing in a wood.

  She claimed not to have seen or heard anything unusual the night of Virginia Mintar’s death and appeared to be unmoved by it. At the end of the report Tanya had written: Thoroughly uncooperative. Locally has the reputation of being a witch.

  Intrigued, Thanet called Tanya in. ‘This Mrs Swain,’ he said, tapping the report. ‘Bit of an oddball, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Miss, actually, sir. Apparently she’s never made any secret of the fact that her son was illegitimate. But yes, you can say that again!’ Tanya laughed, eyes sparkling at the memory. She was in her mid twenties, a stocky girl with a mop of unruly dark curls. ‘It wasn’t exactly the easiest of interviews. I don’t know if she’s a bit deaf but her radio was playing full blast the whole time I was there, and requests to turn it down were simply ignored. And you ought to see the inside of that cottage! It’s like something out of the Middle Ages!’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, it’s dark and gloomy, doesn’t look as though it’s been cleaned for about a hundred years, with bunches of dried herbs and stuff hanging from nails all along the beams in the ceiling and every windowsill crammed with jamjars full of things I wouldn’t like to examine too closely.’

  Lineham grinned. ‘What, frogs legs and eyeballs and suchlike?’

  Tanya shuddered. ‘Something like that, I imagine. As I said, I didn’t really want to know. And the cellar is Apparently stuffed with more of the same, according to a girl I interviewed in the village. She – the girl – is married to a man who went to school with Dick Swain. The two boys used to play together after school and Dick took him down to the cellar one day. Dick’s mother caught them there and was furious, apparently, forbade the boy ever to come to the house again.’

  ‘All right, so she’s a bit weird. But this comment at the end of your report . . .’

  ‘About her being a witch, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Somewhat far-fetched, isn’t it?’

  Tanya shrugged. ‘Before interviewing her I would have agreed. But now, well, I wouldn’t be too sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She looks the part, for a start. She’s got long, grey hair which straggles down over her shoulders and chest, and the way she dresses is like something out of the nineteenth century – shapeless ankle-length black skirt, woollen shawl, thick stockings and old leather boots which look as though they once belonged to a tramp. Put a witch’s hat on her and sit her on a broomstick and she could model for the illustrations in a book of fairy tales any day.’

  Thanet was amused at the graphic description.

  ‘Then there’s the way she looks at you, sir. Suspicious and sort of well . . .’ Tanya groped for the right word. ‘Malevolent, yes, that’s it. Malevolent.’

  ‘Charming!’ said Lineham.

  ‘She certainly sounds something of a throw-back,’ said Thanet. ‘Is she supposed to practise? If that’s the right word for it?’

  Another shrug. ‘Rumour is that she does. Though I gather it’s all very clandestine, no one would actually admit to consulting her. And frankly, I can’t see anyone going there unless they were desperate. The place absolutely stinks – and I really do mean stinks! Handkerchief over the nose stuff!’

  ‘Glad it was you not me, then,’ said Lineham.

  But Thanet rather wished he had interviewed Dick Swain’s mother himself. Not that there had been any reason to do so, but Lineham was right, the off-beat always intrigued him. ‘Thanks, Tanya. How’s the house-to-house going?’

  ‘Slowly, as usual. We’re just on our way back out there now.’

  ‘Good.’

  When she had gone Lineham said, ‘Not surprising the Mintars were dead against Caroline going out with Dick Swain, is it? Can’t say I blame them. His mother doesn’t sound exactly the sort of mother-in-law I’d choose for my children. And on top of that Swain was illegitimate too. I wonder who his father was? Probably the tramp she got the boots from!’

  Thanet glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go.’ If he wasn’t careful he’d be late for the morning meeting and Draco did not take kindly to unpunctuality. Added to which, Thanet thought it quite likely he would be hauled over the coals for not having contacted Draco over the weekend. Leaving Lineham to arrange the morning’s appointments, he hurried downstairs.

  He made it with one minute to spare. They were all waiting for him in characteristic manner, Draco drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk, Chief Inspector Tody with his self-depr
ecatory half-smile, Inspector Boon with his ironic twinkle.

  ‘Ah, Thanet,’ said Draco. ‘Perhaps we may now begin.’ At last, his tone implied. He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, snapping dark eyes focused on Thanet like laser beams. Even his shock of black curly hair seemed to crackle with energy. ‘With a report on the Mintar case, I think.’

  His tone was ominous and Thanet’s heart sank. He was definitely in for it later. Why did Draco always succeed in making him feel he was back in the headmaster’s study? Still, at least the Super showed consideration in such circumstances. He was not in the habit of reprimanding his men in front of colleagues.

  Succinctly, he made his report.

  ‘So,’ said Draco when he had finished, ‘you seem pretty certain it wasn’t suicide, or an accident.’

  ‘I don’t think it could have been, sir. Not one of the people who knew her thought it could have been suicide and the wall around the well really is too high – about the height of her hips – for it to have been an accident.’

  ‘Even if she had a heart attack and collapsed on to it?’ said Tody.

  ‘I think in that case she’d have been found slumped across it. It’s a pretty thick wall. She’d have needed extra momentum to tip right over.’

  ‘In that case you’re looking for someone pretty strong, aren’t you?’ said Boon.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Thanet. ‘I don’t think it would have been too difficult. She was fairly slight. One good shove would have done the trick, I should think.’

  ‘Pointless discussion!’ said Draco, who had been impatiently tapping a pencil on his desk throughout this exchange. ‘Let’s find out the cause of death before we start speculating. Do we know when the PM is?’

  ‘It’s taking place now, sir, I believe.’

  ‘Good. Now, the search warrant for this photographer’s place . . . I agree, it sounds a sensible idea. But to justify it before the magistrates I think we really must be certain that this is a murder case and Mrs Mintar did not die of natural causes. So again, we wait for PM results, right?’