Dead and Gone

by Dorothy Simpson

  One look at Lineham’s face when he got in was enough to tell him something important had come up.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘Good morning to you too, sir.’

  ‘Mike! Come on, what have we got?’

  ‘Veronica Day has been on the phone. She’ll be sending the paperwork over later, but she thought we’d want to know. They’ve come up with a match.’

  ‘Any use?’

  ‘Pretty significant, in the circumstances. If you remember, there’s a metal handle at each side of the well cover to pick it up by and no doubt that’s how both Mrs Mintar and Digby would have lifted it off and replaced it. But whoever put it back that night wasn’t used to handling it and no doubt they were in a hurry too. So they didn’t use the handles, simply grabbed it by the edges. I’m sure you’ll agree that there’s only one way two full sets of four fingerprints could have been found on the under edges of the well cover, with thumb-prints in the appropriate positions on the top—’

  ‘Get on with it, Mike. So, whose?’

  But Lineham was enjoying keeping him in suspense. ‘According to Veronica Day, although some of the prints are blurred several of them are clear enough to make the match conclusive . . .’

  ‘Mike! Whose?’

  Lineham told him.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Right,’ said Thanet. ‘As soon as the morning meeting’s over we’ll be on our way. I don’t suppose Dick Swain’s rung in yet?’

  Lineham shook his head. ‘I thought his wife said he wouldn’t be home until later on this morning.’

  ‘She did. We’ll probably be back by then. It’s just that I don’t want to take this particular call on my mobile – it could be at an inconvenient moment and there may be too many distractions. Tell Tanya if he calls while we’re out I’ll ring him back as soon as I can.’

  Before going downstairs to the meeting Thanet rang Veronica Day to thank her for expediting the matter of the fingerprints and to request that the lab now focus on one particular set of clothes. ‘I’m hoping to bring the suspect in this morning and if you could find anything which indicates contact with the victim, that would be an enormous help.’

  A resigned sigh. ‘I’ll see what we can do.’

  Thanet’s news about the fingerprints at once restored him to Draco’s good books. ‘Excellent, Thanet, excellent. I knew things would start to move once you really focused your mind on getting some evidence.’

  Thanet forbore to point out that they had been waiting for these particular results for days.

  ‘You’ll be anxious to get on with it, then. Well, I won’t delay you. Well done.’

  ‘We haven’t got a confession yet, sir.’

  Draco smiled benignly. ‘You will, I’m sure, Thanet. You will.’

  I hope, thought Thanet as he hurried back upstairs. You could never count on it. Already he was working out tactics. Perhaps it would be better to send someone to bring the suspect in? But no, he didn’t see why he should deny himself the pleasure of seeing that self-assured façade crumble when it became apparent that this time an arrest was being made.

  Lineham jumped up eagerly as Thanet entered the room.

  ‘Right, Mike, let’s go. Did you check his whereabouts?’

  ‘Not expected at work till ten, sir.’

  ‘Good. We’ll pay him a little home visit, then. Where does he live?’

  ‘Palmerston Row.’

  ‘Does he, now. That brings back memories. Remember the Julie Holmes case?’

  This was one of the first murder investigations Thanet and Lineham had worked on together.

  ‘I remember them all, sir.’

  He probably did, too, thought Thanet indulgently. Lineham’s enthusiasm for his work had never waned. Although he himself had not returned to the area for more years than he cared to count, he found that it was little changed. The mean little back-to-back Victorian terraced houses still looked seedy, furtive almost, despite the attempts to smarten them up with inappropriate replacement windows and mass-produced front doors from DIY stores. Number twenty-nine displayed no such signs of proud ownership. Peeling paintwork, grimy windows and the row of bells beside the front door indicated that it was probably divided up into bedsitters by a parsimonious landlord.

  Lineham rang the appropriate bell and they waited.

  No response.

  ‘Probably still in bed,’ said the sergeant, putting his finger back on the bell and leaving it there.

  A minute or two later there were sounds from inside and the door opened a crack. ‘For God’s sake stop making that filthy row!’ A double-take. ‘Oh, it’s you, Inspector.’

  ‘Yes, it’s us. May we come in?’

  A reluctant step backwards. ‘If you must.’

  Lineham was right. Agon had obviously just got out of bed. He was naked except for a pair of boxer shorts patterned all over with hearts. A present from Rachel? Thanet wondered. Or from her mother?

  Agon padded up the stairs ahead of them, his bare feet soundless on the threadbare carpet. No daylight filtered into the narrow hall and staircase and the light from the unshaded low-wattage bulb at the top was obviously on a timer; as he reached the top it went off. He cursed and switched it on again before turning right.

  His bedsitter was at the front, overlooking the road, probably one of the largest rooms in the house. It was furnished with the bare essentials: single bed, sagging armchair, cheap deal wardrobe and a rudimentary kitchen area – table, plastic washing-up bowl and gas ring. The microwave and television set, no doubt his own, stood out by virtue of their newness and only his clothes, visible through the open door of the wardrobe, showed any degree of care – presumably because they were important to his image. Otherwise, the place was littered with the detritus of careless living: there were used mugs everywhere and empty takeaway cartons on the floor beside the chair, forks and spoons still in them. There was a stale, frowsty smell in the air which Thanet thought probably emanated not only from the residue of food in the cartons but from what looked like a pile of dirty washing on the floor in one corner. A glance at Lineham’s face told Thanet what the sergeant was thinking. What a slob! Thanet wondered if Agon had ever brought Rachel here. He doubted it.

  Agon thrust his arms into a striped towelling dressing gown, kicked a pair of dirty socks into the pile and scooped up the cartons before dropping them into a waste bin. ‘Wasn’t expecting visitors,’ he said.

  ‘So I see. A bit of a contrast to your fiancée’s house, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see what business that is of yours.’ Agon folded his arms defiantly.

  ‘Oh, but it is very much our business, sir.’ Thanet nodded at Lineham.

  ‘Matthew Agon, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Virginia Mintar . . .’ Lineham went on to deliver the caution.

  Agon raked a hand through his hair and his mouth dropped open. ‘On suspicion of murder? I don’t believe it! On what grounds?’

  At this point Thanet knew he had a choice. He could either proceed with the interview here or take Agon back to Headquarters for questioning. Agon was no fool and if Thanet took him in the tennis coach would probably insist on a solicitor being present. Here, this might not occur to him.

  ‘Why don’t we all sit down and discuss it?’ he said.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Agon. ‘I know my rights. If I’m being arrested, I’m not saying another word without a solicitor present.’

  Thanet caught a rueful glance from Lineham. Nice try, sir. ‘Very well. That’s up to you. So if you wouldn’t mind getting dressed . . .’

  Agon ran a hand over his chin. ‘I haven’t even had a chance to shave yet.’

  ‘We don’t mind, do we, Sergeant?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Well I bloody well do!’

  ‘You use an electric razor, sir?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Then you can bring it with you. We wouldn’t like you to feel uncomfortable, would we, Se
rgeant.’

  ‘And if you don’t mind I’d like to pee as well.’

  ‘I think we might accommodate you there, sir. Sergeant Lineham will go with you.’

  Agon scowled but seemed to accept that he had no choice.

  Back at Headquarters they put him in an interview room and left him to organise his legal representation.

  ‘We’ll let him sweat for a while,’ said Thanet. ‘Let’s go and see if Dick Swain has rung.’ He glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen. He wondered how Bridget was getting on. It would be some time before they heard anything, he supposed.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Tanya, in response to their inquiry about Swain, so they settled down to wait. Half an hour later they were still discussing tactics for the forthcoming interview with Agon when the call came through.

  ‘Mr Swain?’ Thanet indicated that Lineham should listen in to the conversation and then introduced himself before quickly establishing that this was indeed the Dick Swain they were looking for.

  ‘What the hell is all this about? You ring up out of the blue, frightening my wife out of her wits . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry if she was alarmed. I did tell her that there was no reason to be.’

  ‘Well, she was. Is. So what’s the story?’

  ‘You remember Caroline Mintar?’

  ‘Yeah.’ At once his tone was wary.

  Thanet cursed the fact that this conversation was being conducted by phone. You could learn so much from looking at a witness while speaking to him. Facial expressions, gestures, movements of hands and feet were all signals, unspoken indications of what the person being interviewed was thinking and feeling. Over the phone you had to rely on tone of voice alone and subtleties were usually lost. ‘We are trying to trace her. I’m afraid her mother has died and we’re sure Caroline would want to know.’

  ‘So what’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘The last time her family had any communication from Caroline was when she left home four years ago, leaving a note to say that you and she had gone away together.’

  Silence, so prolonged that Thanet said, ‘Mr Swain? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Swain sounded shaken, the belligerence gone. ‘I’m just trying to take in what you’re saying.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let me get this straight. For the last four years her family has believed that Caroline was with me?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was obvious what was coming.

  ‘Well, she isn’t. She never has been. That night . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She never turned up. I waited and waited, but when she didn’t come I thought she’d changed her mind. Her family was dead against me. And I was all packed up and ready to go, so I thought, what the hell, I’m not staying around here. I’m off to make a fresh start somewhere else.’

  ‘So why Scotland?’

  ‘Paid for the tickets, hadn’t I? We were going to Gretna Green. Big romantic stuff.’ Even four years later and presumably happily married to someone else, the residual bitterness could still be heard in his voice.

  ‘You never tried to get in touch with her?’

  ‘Nah. What would have been the point? We had our chance and she blew it. That was that, as far as I was concerned . . . But look here, if she did leave that night, where the hell did she go? You say her family hasn’t heard a word from her since?’

  ‘No. As far as they were concerned she had gone off with you and that was all they knew. They tried to trace you both in the interim but without success. They had no idea where to start looking.’

  ‘So what happened to her?’

  ‘That’s what we’re beginning to worry about.’

  ‘I mean, if she came away, leaving a note . . . But like I said, I waited and waited . . .’

  ‘I suspect she didn’t turn up because her grandmother unexpectedly returned home that evening a day early from a long trip abroad, and traditionally they always have a family celebration on those occasions. I imagine Caroline wouldn’t have been able to get away as early as she intended without arousing suspicion. Her grandmother says she was like a cat on hot bricks all through dinner. Where were you supposed to meet?’

  ‘In the lane, at the entrance to her drive. I had an old van . . . I even had her bag in the back, she’d given it to me ahead of time so no one would see her leaving with it that night.’

  ‘With her clothes in, you mean.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did you do with it? The bag?’

  ‘Chucked it in the river when I got to London.’

  ‘Bit drastic, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I was bloody well pissed off, wasn’t I. The train got in to Charing Cross and—’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Thanet cut in. ‘You said you were driving your van.’

  ‘I was. To begin with. Broke down, didn’t I, just after Dartford. I tell you, it wasn’t exactly the best night of my life. So I hitched a lift to the nearest station. And don’t ask me why I didn’t just leave her bag in the back of the van because I couldn’t tell you. I think at that point I must still have been hoping she’d somehow catch up with me. But by the time I got to London I’d seen how stupid that was, and it’s only a few steps from Charing Cross down to the river so I thought, what the hell? It was sort of a . . .’ Swain groped for the word, and found it triumphantly, ‘ . . . a symbolic gesture, you might say.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ And Thanet did.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I would if I could, honest. You will try and find her? Let me know, if you do? I feel sort of . . . responsible, even if I’m not, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m afraid we shall have to request that your local police verify your wife’s identity.’

  A brief silence, then, ‘Yeah, I see. Sure. That’ll be OK.’

  ‘Good.’ Thanet thanked him and rang off.

  He and Lineham looked at each other.

  ‘Doesn’t look too good, does it, sir.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  The telephone rang and Lineham answered it. He covered the receiver. ‘Mr Agon’s brief is here and complaining about being kept waiting, sir.’

  ‘Tell him we’ll be right down. That was quick!’ said Thanet as they went downstairs.

  ‘Double quick time!’ agreed Lineham.

  The ‘him’ was in fact a ‘her’, they discovered. Thanet had come across her in Court, an attractive young woman in her early thirties and a recent arrival in the firm of Wylie, Bassett and Protheroe, a leading firm of solicitors in the town. Thanet had had dealings with Oliver Bassett, the senior partner, on several occasions. He was surprised to see Barbara Summers here, though. Her normal field was juveniles and family matters. Since when had Agon been her client? Thanet wondered. Then, catching the smug, almost possessive glance which Agon cast at her while Thanet was greeting her, realised that in all probability their relationship until now had been that of coach and pupil. Faced with the urgent necessity of summoning legal representation, what more natural than that Agon should have thought of a solicitor he knew? This would also explain why he had been able to get hold of her so quickly. He would be used to snapping his fingers and have his female clients come running. A glance at her left hand told Thanet that Ms Summers was unmarried and no doubt as susceptible to Agon’s charms as any other member of her sex.

  Barbara Summers caught Thanet’s sudden look of comprehension and her lips tightened. ‘Let’s not waste time, Inspector.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Lineham started the recording and began the interview by repeating the caution. Thanet was careful to play by the book and wanted it on tape. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

  ‘Now then, Mr Agon,’ said Thanet. ‘You must understand that you are in a very serious position.’

  ‘My client is well aware of that an
d so am I,’ said Barbara Summers coldly. ‘We wish to know the grounds upon which you have made this preposterous arrest.’

  ‘All in good time, Ms Summers. These things can’t be rushed. I don’t know how au fait you are with the situation . . . ?’

  ‘Mr Agon has explained it to me.’

  ‘Good. Then you will know that prior to his engagement to Miss Rachel Mintar, he had an affair with her mother, Mrs Virginia Mintar, in connection with whose murder he has now been arrested. I’m sure he has also told you that we have photographic evidence of this affair.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Agon has given me a very full and frank account of all this. And he wishes it to be put on record that Mrs Mintar was the initiator of that affair. She, in effect, seduced him.’

  Looking at Agon leaning back with apparent nonchalance in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, genitals bulging in his tight jeans, Thanet wondered what a jury would make of this claim. The man couldn’t help but exude sexuality and it was difficult to imagine him playing a passive role in any love affair. ‘I see,’ he said drily.

  ‘And he also wishes to point out that he has absolutely no motive for committing this crime.’

  ‘Perhaps one will emerge,’ said Thanet. ‘As you yourself were not present that night, Ms Summers, it might be helpful for me to set the scene for you.’

  ‘Helpful to whom?

  ‘To you.’

  ‘I’m not here to listen to stories, Inspector, simply to reiterate that these charges against my client have no foundation and should be dropped forthwith.’

  ‘In that case, hearing what I have to say should merely strengthen your conviction of his innocence. From his point of view, would that not be a constructive course of action?’ Thanet was rather enjoying this sparring. Both of them knew that he wasn’t going to leave this room until he had said what he wanted to say and that she would continue to go through the motions of putting obstacles in his path. It was all part of the process, in some ways almost a kind of bizarre foreplay to the real action to come.

  She gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Very well, then. If we must.’