Tanya had a predilection for holidays in primitive, out-of-the-way places.
‘You didn’t smell it, Mike,’ said Thanet. ‘It is truly indescribably awful. If you ask me, Tanya, you deserve a medal for going in there a second time.’
‘Perhaps that’s what it is,’ said Lineham. ‘A hole-in-the-ground latrine which she hardly ever bothers to empty, in the room at the back.’
‘Anyway,’ said Tanya, ‘I saw right away that the postcard was still there. So I told her what my problem supposedly was, laying it on a bit thick and trying at the same time to get a look at the postcard without seeming to show any interest in it. But it was hopeless – the place is so dark and murky, I shouldn’t think the windows have been cleaned in living memory and the walls are a sort of nicotine colour, discoloured I imagine with smoke and accumulated dirt. So I laid on a bit of drama. I hadn’t noticed a well outside and there was no tap in the room so I assumed it must be in the scullery place at the back and I pretended to feel faint and asked for a glass of water. I wasn’t sure if she’d fall for it but she did and the minute she was out of sight I grabbed the card and managed to see where it was from. There was a message on the back but I didn’t dare take the time to read that I put it back in exactly the same position and was sitting with my head between my knees when she came back a second or two later. She was very quick, I don’t think she liked leaving me alone in there even that long.’
‘Well done!’ said Lineham in admiration.
Tanya pulled a face. ‘Of course, I then had to drink from the glass. It was probably crawling with germs so if I go down with a stomach upset you’ll know why.’
‘And where was the card from?’ said Thanet.
‘Callender, in Scotland. So I rang the police station there and inquired if they knew of a Richard or Dick Swain in the area. It’s a smallish town, so I was hoping they might.’
‘And did they?’
She shook her head. ‘But they said they’d look into it, do their best to help. Anyway, they just rang back to say they’d found his name on the electoral roll. Apparently there’s a biggish house not far from the town and he lives in the lodge. I imagine he’s the gardener there.’
‘Married?’
She nodded, eyes sparkling. ‘So they said, yes.’
‘Excellent.’ This would be good news indeed for Mintar and Rachel. But prudence dictated that something should be checked first. ‘Did they actually tell you the Christian name of his wife?’
Tanya looked crestfallen. ‘No. I was so excited they’d found him I didn’t ask. I should have checked, shouldn’t I?’
‘It might be a good idea.’
She left in a rush.
‘Well,’ said Lineham. ‘There’s a turn-up for the book.’
‘Hold your horses, Mike. We’re not certain yet. It could be pure coincidence.’
‘What, another Richard Swain living in Callender, where the card came from? Some coincidence!’
‘Coincidences happen.’
It was a few minutes before Tanya returned. Even before she spoke, her disappointment was evident. ‘His wife’s name is Fiona,’ she said.
There was a brief silence while Thanet and Lineham assimilated this piece of information.
‘Then assuming we have the right Dick Swain,’ said Lineham slowly, ‘whatever happened to Caroline?’
EIGHTEEN
It was Thanet who broke the speculative silence which ensued. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ he said. ‘There are various possibilities.’
‘Such as?’ said Lineham.
‘Well, for a start, as you yourself implied, we could have the wrong Dick Swain.’
‘A bit of a coincidence, if it was, surely,’ said Tanya.
‘That’s what I said.’ Lineham was nodding agreement.
‘Nevertheless, a possibility,’ said Thanet. ‘And there are others. Caroline might have changed her name to Fiona – she might have felt . . . new life, new identity.’
‘Or Fiona might even be her second name,’ suggested Tanya.
‘True. You’d better check.’
‘I suppose it’s possible that Caroline started off with Dick Swain but they found it didn’t work out and both moved on to pastures new,’ said Lineham.
Now Tanya was nodding agreement. ‘Yes. Four years is a long time, after all, and living with someone is very different from having a love affair.’
‘Especially as they came from such very different backgrounds,’ said Thanet.
‘And forbidden fruit is often much more attractive than eating it every day,’ said Lineham.
Thanet suppressed a grin. It wasn’t like Lineham to be so poetic. But he had a point. All in all, it seemed a likely explanation. Caroline’s original attachment to Swain may well have been strengthened by the fact that her parents disapproved of it.
‘But in that case,’ said Tanya, ‘wouldn’t she have returned home?’
Both men thought about that.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lineham. ‘She might have felt it would have been too much of a climb-down.’
‘To play the prodigal daughter, you mean?’ said Thanet. ‘Possibly. We don’t really know enough about her to be able to judge.’
‘If she did take off on her own it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ said Tanya gloomily. ‘We wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.’
‘But, of course,’ said Thanet, ‘we do also have to accept that something could have happened to her, either before she met Dick Swain that night, or after she started living with him.’
‘If it was after, the Callender police would have to be involved in any investigation,’ said Tanya.
‘Quite. But if it was before . . .’
‘Surely,’ said Lineham, ‘if it happened before she met him that night, if she simply didn’t turn up, he’d have come looking for her? And he himself would not have gone at all.’
‘I disagree,’ said Tanya. ‘If he thought she’d changed her mind about eloping he might have been so fed up he took off anyway.’
‘Possible,’ agreed Thanet. ‘Obviously, the first thing we have to do is make sure we’ve got the right man – get him on the phone and talk to him. I’d like to speak to him myself. Then we’ll take it from there. You’d better start trying, Tanya. He might well be out at work, of course, but you’ll be bound to get through eventually.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘D’you think we ought to tell Mr Mintar about this?’ said Lineham, when she had gone.
‘Not yet. Let’s try and find out a bit more, first. I don’t see any point in either raising his hopes or frightening him unnecessarily. He’s got enough on his plate at the moment.’
‘You think she might be dead, sir?’
‘What’s the point of speculating, Mike? Let’s wait and see, shall we?’
But Lineham couldn’t leave it alone.
‘Because if so, do you think the two murders might be connected, or do you see them as separate issues?’
‘How can we possibly tell?’ Thanet was becoming exasperated.
‘If something did happen to her on her way to meet him, we’d have the devil of a job to find out what it was. The trail would be stone cold.’
‘It doesn’t take a genius to work that out! Let’s hope the eventuality doesn’t arise. I said, leave it, Mike! Obviously it’s a potentially serious situation but we can’t say more than that at the moment. In any case, I’d better go down and give the Super an update or he’ll be complaining about being kept in the dark again.’
Draco listened with his usual concentration. ‘You’re right,’ he said when Thanet had finished. ‘Talk to Swain first then take it from there. I agree that the most likely explanation is that she found him too much to stomach at close quarters and moved on to pastures new. Let’s hope so, anyway. Keep me posted – and meanwhile, don’t forget you’re conducting a murder investigation. Done anything about evidence yet?’
‘Well in hand, sir.’ Tha
net had difficulty in keeping a straight face and on the way back upstairs allowed himself the luxury of a broad grin.
‘You’re looking more cheerful, sir,’ said Lineham.
‘Not really. I’m afraid we’ve got a frustrating time ahead.’
He was right. They did. He had set things in motion and now they had to sit back and wait. Very early on in their careers policemen learn to cultivate patience but Thanet always found it especially frustrating to be entirely dependent upon the activities of others to provide him with further impetus in an investigation. There was invariably work to do, of course, dangling ends of other cases to be tied up, but today he found it virtually impossible to concentrate. He felt in limbo, as if everything were on hold. He saw little point in further interviews with any of the suspects in the Mintar case until he had some material evidence, if only the merest scrap, to guide him in one direction or another. And it was equally pointless to speculate on Caroline’s fate or discuss how best to proceed in finding out what had happened to her until they were certain that she was in fact missing. He wondered how Mintar would react if this proved to be the case. According to other witnesses, the QC had for the last four years been behaving as though Caroline were dead and gone, but that episode at Marah Swain’s house yesterday had convinced Thanet that this was just a front, a mechanism by which Mintar had attempted to cut himself off from the pain of believing that she might still be alive and had not cared enough about her family to get in touch. If she really were dead, had been dead all along . . . It didn’t bear thinking about. To lose, in effect, wife and daughter within the space of a few days and on top of that to be suspected of killing one of them . . . Tentatively, Thanet tried to imagine what it would be like, but in view of Bridget’s current vulnerability it was too painful and he gave up; he tried to immerse himself in routine, failed once more, and found his thoughts going round and round in the same vicious circle yet again.
It would have helped to find relief in activity but he dared not go out in case Tanya managed to get through to Dick Swain. Swain might well be out at work but if her guess was right and the fact that he lived in the lodge of a big house meant that he was employed to work on the estate, he might well drop in from time to time or hear the telephone ring as he was passing by. And the truth was that as time went on and Thanet had more and more time to brood he was becoming increasingly concerned that something had indeed happened to Caroline on the night she eloped. It was, after all, surely unlikely that she would have allowed four whole years to go by without so much as a phone call to her parents, to let them know that she was all right and give them the opportunity to heal the breach between them. By all accounts she had been a much loved daughter, on good terms with them until she fell for Swain. Staring at the phone, willing the call to come through, Thanet compared himself with wry amusement to a love-sick teenager to whom the ringing of the telephone was the most longed-for sound in the world.
The occasional interruption was a welcome relief. At one point Tanya put her head around the door to tell him that Caroline’s second name had been Anne. So that was one possibility out of the window. And as he had predicted, the laboratory manager was kicking up a fuss over the amount of stuff Thanet’s team was bringing in for examination. Lineham had to field more than one irate phone call and eventually Thanet said, ‘Let me speak to her.’ He was, he realised, spoiling for a fight, ready to do anything, in fact, to relieve the tension that was steadily building up in him. Careful now, he told himself. It would be pointless and counter-productive to antagonise her.
‘Hullo, Veronica. Luke Thanet here. Look, I really must apologise about this. I do appreciate how fed up you must be to have this avalanche descend upon you, but as DS Lineham says, the Super is insisting that we concentrate on finding some useful scientific evidence and I can’t see any other way to get it. Unless . . .’ He allowed a thoughtful pause.
‘What?’ The voice at the other end was understandably eager.
Faced with that mountain of time-consuming work, who could blame her? thought Thanet. ‘I understand the fingerprint comparisons with those on the well cover aren’t ready yet?’
‘Not yet, no. Yours isn’t the only case we’re dealing with, you know, Luke. We do have other matters to attend to – in fact we’re absolutely snowed under at the moment. Which is why—’
‘There wouldn’t be any way of hurrying them up, would there?’
‘Why, specifically?’
‘It’s just occurred to me . . . If one of them gave us a definite lead, you might not have to bother with most of the stuff that’s been coming in today.’
‘I see what you mean. Yes.’ A long-suffering sigh. ‘Well, I suppose I could try to expedite matters a little on that front . . .’
‘If you could, that would be great!’
‘But I hope you realise that this puts me in a very difficult position. You’re not the only one breathing down my neck, you know.’
‘I appreciate that, Veronica. But this way—’
‘Oh God. Here’s another load of stuff arriving. Look, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what we can do.’
And the connection was cut.
‘Very neat,’ said Lineham, grinning.
‘Had to hurry them up somehow, didn’t we?’
But the small glow of satisfaction soon faded and it was back to waiting again.
It was five o’clock when Tanya again put her head around the door. ‘I’ve got through at last,’ she said. ‘To Mrs Swain. Her husband’s not there. D’you want to talk to her?’
Thanet nodded and picked up the phone. ‘Mrs Swain?’
‘Yes.’
Even in that single monosyllable Thanet detected a Scottish accent and his heart sank.
‘Mrs Richard Swain?’
‘Yes. What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Please don’t be alarmed. I don’t know if DC Phillips explained, but we’re trying to trace a Mr Richard Swain in the hope that he might be able to give us some information in connection with an investigation we’re conducting. I wonder if we could just check that we have the right Mr Swain. Is your husband normally called Dick?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘Do you happen to know how long he has been living in Callender?’
‘About four years, I think. Something like that, anyway. We met three years ago, and he’d been here a wee while before that. If there’s nothing wrong, why are you asking all these questions? Is he in trouble?’
‘No, not at all. It’s just something we need to clarify, that’s all. If you could just bear with me a little longer . . . Could you tell me if he originally came from Kent?’
‘Yes, he did. He was raised in a village called Paxton. Why can’t you tell me what all this is about?’
So they did have the right man. Good. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that. No doubt your husband will explain, when I’ve spoken to him. What time will he be back, do you know?’
‘Not until sometime tomorrow. He’s away to the Midlands overnight visiting nurseries, choosing plants to order in the autumn for Mr McNeil.’
His employer, Thanet presumed. ‘Can I get in touch with him?’
‘I’m afraid not. I don’t know where he’ll be staying. He said he’d find a bed and breakfast place. He’s travelling around, you see.’
‘Will he be ringing you tonight?’
‘I don’t think so, no. It’s only the one night he’s away.’
‘Well, if he does, would you ask him to ring me? And if not, could you get him to ring the minute he gets back tomorrow?’ Thanet dictated his office and home numbers and rang off.
Then he gave up and went home.
But for once he did not find his usual consolation there. Both he and Joan were too on edge about Bridget to be able to relax and it was a relief finally to go to bed, switch off the light and know that tomorrow should bring an end to the waiting and answers to the interminable questions which tormented them: Would Bridget be all r
ight? Would the baby be all right? Would it be healthy, perfectly formed? Would its internal organs be properly developed? What would be its chances of survival? How would Bridget react if anything went wrong?
But nothing would go wrong, Thanet told himself fiercely. It was a good hospital and she was in expert hands. Because of the complications they were keeping a close eye on her. Everything would be all right.
Joan too was finding it difficult to get to sleep. Normally they slept back to back but tonight, needing her proximity, Thanet turned on to his left side and curled himself around her. She responded at once, snuggling in close to him, but whereas the natural consequence of such a manoeuvre would normally have been that they made love, this time neither of them had the heart for it. With their daughter in such a potentially dangerous situation it just wouldn’t have felt right, that’s all.
Thanet’s arm tightened around Joan’s waist. ‘She’s in good hands,’ he whispered. ‘She’ll be fine.’
‘I know.’
But the fact that they couldn’t be certain continued to torment them through the night.
Next morning Thanet was shaving when the telephone rang. He jumped and nicked himself. ‘Damn,’ he whispered, dabbing at the drop of blood which oozed out and reaching for the styptic stick. Joan had answered the phone in the hall downstairs and he went to the top of the staircase. ‘What?’ he said, almost afraid to ask.
‘Alexander,’ she said, putting the phone down. ‘Just confirming that they’re going ahead with the induction this morning.’
‘Good.’ It was a relief to be certain that one way or the other the matter should be resolved before too long. Thanet felt he couldn’t have faced another day like yesterday. As it was today promised to be action-packed. Dick Swain should be ringing back and with any luck Veronica might come up with some useful information on the fingerprint comparisons.
Dead and Gone Page 21
