She opened the door wide. ‘Come in. He really shouldn’t be too long. He’s gone to see his mother.’
They stepped into warmth, light and colour. All along the blank, right-hand wall was a mural: the background was a stylised landscape of distant fields and hills, the foreground a road and on it, a procession. And what a procession! thought Thanet. There were people in wheelchairs, people on crutches, people with groping hands and white sticks, people wasted with illness supported on both sides by companions, mothers carrying deformed children and a small group of Down’s syndrome children holding hands, their faces joyous with anticipation.
Thanet couldn’t help stopping and staring and Lineham, too, was similarly fascinated.
Clare May smiled. ‘It’s a pilgrimage to Lourdes,’ she said. ‘I went, last year – oh no, not for myself, but to accompany a group of handicapped children.’
‘You painted this yourself?’
She nodded. ‘I teach art.’
‘It’s … amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ He would have liked to linger. The longer he looked at the painting, the more there was to see. The detail was incredible – the doll trailing from a child’s hand, the filigree cross on a gold chain around a woman’s neck, an able-bodied man stooping to tie a shoe-lace … and everywhere, on every face, the same steadfast expression of hope.
She turned a knob and part of the painting became a door which led into the sitting room. Reluctantly, Thanet tore himself away and followed her.
The room was sparsely furnished with a cream carpet square, a black and white portable television set and a nineteen-thirties-style settee and armchair, with loose covers in rough-textured milk-chocolate linen. The curtains were beautiful, cream linen with a flowing hand-blocked design of birds and foliage in shades of brown and black. Mrs May’s work again? Thanet wondered.
She gestured to them to sit down. ‘It’s about Steve’s death, I suppose.’
‘Yes. Naturally, we are having to talk to all the members of his family.’
‘You have no idea yet, who did it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s horrible.’ She shook her head, her face sombre. ‘Who could have done such a thing?’
‘That, obviously, is what we’re trying to find out. Did you know of anyone who wished him harm?’
‘Not to that extent, no. Steve was …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, he had this … unfortunate knack of getting people’s backs up.’
‘So we understand. You don’t think it was deliberate, then?’
‘I don’t know.’ She separated a strand of hair with her right hand and began to twist it around her forefinger. ‘I could never make up my mind. Sometimes I thought, yes, he did it on purpose, and then at other times I’d think he just couldn’t help himself.’
‘Did you like him?’
She hesitated. ‘I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I felt sorry for him.’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘Nothing ever seemed to work out for him. Sooner or later, things would go wrong.’
‘Like his marriage, for instance?’
‘Yes. That’s a typical example. He really loved Sharon, I’m sure of that, and yet, somehow, he couldn’t help doing things to set her against him. In the end she couldn’t stand it, and she walked out.’
‘He was hoping to get her back?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure of that. Whether she’d ever have given in and gone back to him is another matter. And yet, she did love him … I just don’t know. Perhaps it would have depended on whether or not he could convince her that things were going to be different between them.’
‘And do you think they could have been? Do you think he was capable of changing, to that degree?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. Then, of course, there was Ivor, Sharon’s boyfriend. He was being very possessive about her. Steve came round here on Sunday, in a terrible state. I felt so sorry for him. It was his birthday, and he’d been to see her, and Ivor threw him out.’
‘Yes, we heard about that. Made quite a scene here, I understand.’
‘Who told you …?’ She shrugged. ‘Why pretend? Yes, it’s true.’
‘Your husband must have been pretty angry about it.’
She looked down, veiling her eyes, and shrugged again. ‘He’s used to it by now.’
‘You mean, Steve made a habit of embarrassing your husband?’
‘I don’t know that I’d put it quite like that … Anyway, my husband has always felt very sympathetic towards Steve.’
‘For any special reason?’
‘There’s no point in hiding it. You’re bound to hear, sooner or later, talking to everybody like this … And I must admit I don’t feel any special loyalty towards my mother-in-law, even if my husband does … The truth is, Steve was ill-treated as a child.’
‘By?’
‘By his step-father, my husband’s father. I don’t know much about it, but I do know that the NSPCC were called in, and that the social services were pretty much in evidence.’
‘And the other two boys? Frank and your husband?’
‘Oh no, they were fine. It was just Steve … So you see, my husband has always felt, well, protective towards Steve.’
So this information had been given them in an attempt to put her husband in a good light. But Thanet wasn’t convinced. Compassion was all very well, but it could wear thin if the demands made upon it were too high.
‘So it was your husband Steve tended to come to, when he was in need of comfort.’
‘Yes.’
What was she hiding? Thanet wondered. Most of the time he had felt that she was being completely frank with him, but for the last few minutes …
‘And Sunday evening was the last time you saw him?’
She jumped out of her chair as though she had been scalded. ‘There’s my husband now.’
While she was out of the room Thanet and Lineham raised eyebrows at each other. Why that reaction to Thanet’s last question? It could scarcely have come as a surprise to her. She must have realised that at some point she would be asked when she had last seen her brother-in-law.
He and Lineham rose as the Mays came in together. Clare May gave a nervous little smile. ‘My husband, Inspector. Chris, this is Inspector Thanet, and Sergeant …?’
‘Lineham.’ Lineham was used to people forgetting his name.
They all sat down and Thanet spent a few minutes on preliminaries, while he studied the elder of Steven Long’s half-brothers.
Christopher May was as tall as his brother Frank, but thinner, almost to the point of emaciation. He had the stoop of tall men who are not proud of their physique, and he was all angles – beaky nose, high, bony forehead, sharp knees and elbows. If May’s disposition matched his physical make-up, Thanet thought, he must be a very uncomfortable person to live with. His wife, Thanet noticed, was watching him covertly. What was she afraid of?
‘Your wife was telling us that you always got on pretty well with Steve – I hope you won’t object to my using Christian names, but your family relationships are a little complicated …’
‘Not at all … We got on well enough, I suppose.’
‘She was saying …’ Now, this was tricky. According to Steve’s twin it was Christopher who had always been his mother’s favourite … ‘That Steve had rather a tough time as a child – for some reason your father took against him.’
Christopher gave his wife a fleeting glance. What have you been saying to them? Almost imperceptibly she shrank back a little.
Did her husband bully her? Thanet wondered. Or was it simply that a man who has managed to haul himself up out of a deprived family into the respectability of a post at the local Grammar School does not like to be reminded of the more sordid aspects of his background. Perhaps both …
‘Step-fathers often find it difficult to take to step-children.’
A neat side-step. Well, if Christopher May didn’t
wish to discuss the matter, Thanet wasn’t going to waste time trying to pry it out of him. There were other sources available.
‘Do you think that, for this reason, Steve was especially jealous of his twin?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I would have thought it might have been pretty galling to compare their relative positions – Geoff’s adoptive parents seem to have been very fond of him, and since his adoptive mother’s second marriage, he’s also been pretty well off. That car of his, for instance …’
‘Well it was only natural that Steve should have been a bit envious. Wouldn’t you have been, in his position?’
‘Quite. How did Geoff react to this?’
Christopher shrugged. ‘Tried to play it down, naturally. He always treated Steve as an equal, in every way. Though of course there’s no point in trying to pretend that they were.’
‘Steve used to pretend to joke about it,’ said Clare. ‘But you could tell he didn’t really think it was funny. I think you’re right, he did find it pretty galling, understandably.’
‘They seem to have got on all right, though. I understand they used to see each other from time to time.’
She nodded. ‘That was mostly Geoff’s doing. I think he’s always felt guilty about the difference in their situations.’
‘It was all talk, though,’ said her husband. ‘Since his mother died I haven’t exactly noticed him being over-generous with the goodies.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s even got any of the money yet,’ said Clare defensively. ‘Probate takes ages, always does.’
‘Well it’s a bit late as far as Steve’s concerned anyway, isn’t it?’ said her husband.
His spitefulness had wounded her. Thanet guessed that she didn’t like her image of him tarnished, and that disillusionment lay ahead.
‘Anyway,’ said Christopher, ‘I’m not sure of the relevance of all this.’
‘You never know which pieces of information might come in useful,’ said Thanet. ‘But to get back to the matter in hand … I understand Steve came here on Sunday night, and caused quite a scene.’
‘Who told you that?’ said Christopher, with an accusing glance at his wife.
‘Not Mrs May, I assure you,’ said Thanet.
‘Debbie, then,’ said May. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned it to her … My God, if you can’t discuss family matters without having them bandied about all over the town …’
‘For all we know,’ said Thanet icily, ‘this murder could be a family matter. Most murders are – sixty per cent of them, to be precise.’
‘Are you implying …?’
‘I’m implying nothing. Merely attempting to obtain information, much of which, I am well aware, may turn out to be completely irrelevant, but some of which may not … I can’t imagine you were very pleased about Steve’s behaviour on Sunday night.’
‘Would you have been?’ May’s nostrils were pinched and white with suppressed anger.
‘Maybe not. But that’s not the point. The point is that your brother – sorry, half-brother,’ Thanet corrected himself as May opened his mouth to interrupt, ‘has been killed, and I am trying to find out why.’
‘You’re not seriously suggesting that I would have killed him just because of mere social embarrassment!’
‘When did you last see Steve, Mr May?’
There was an instant of shocked silence. Thanet had the impression that the young couple were preventing themselves from consulting each other with a glance only by exercising the most rigid self-control.
‘Well?’
May exhaled slowly, then sat back with a resigned shrug. Now he did look at his wife and their faces said it all. We’ll have to tell them.
‘I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later,’ said May. ‘We saw him last night.’
TWELVE
So they were at last going to learn something about Steven Long’s movements last night. Thanet was careful not to allow his satisfaction to show in his face. Instead he deliberately settled back into his chair and appeared to relax.
‘What time was this?’
‘About seven o’clock, wasn’t it?’ May glanced at his wife for confirmation, and she nodded.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘There’s not much to tell.’
This was patently untrue. May clearly found the memory disturbing. His lips were compressed, his nostrils pinched white again, his eyes angry.
‘All the same …’
May shrugged. ‘If you must know, he made a scene. Outside.’
‘Outside?’
So this was why May and his wife had shied away from admitting to seeing Steve last night. It was equally obvious that May had decided to get in first with his version, rather than allow Thanet to hear about the incident from neighbours.
‘I’d made it quite clear, after that performance on Sunday night, that we didn’t want him here again.’
‘So you refused to let him in?’
‘Yes.’ May was sullen but defiant. ‘I was fed up with him making a laughing-stock of us in front of our friends. Sunday was the last straw.’
‘It’s got worse and worse since Sharon left him,’ said May’s wife, determined as ever to present her husband in as good a light as possible. ‘Some of the things he’s done have been pretty awful. He even went up to the school …’
‘The inspector doesn’t want to hear about that,’ cut in May.
‘Oh, but I do. I’m interested in hearing anything which will help me to understand Steve better.’
May gave his wife a quick glance. Now look what you’ve done. ‘My wife,’ he said tightly, with barely controlled irritation, ‘is referring to another occasion when Steve had had too much to drink. He rolled up to the school, insulted the secretary and humiliated me in front of a class of thirty fourth-formers.’
‘That must have been very unpleasant for you.’ Thanet was genuinely sympathetic. Any teacher would have found such a situation humiliating. And May, to whom respectability obviously mattered so much? Thanet was beginning to wonder if, in the case of this man, repeated doses of extreme humiliation could indeed have finally driven him to violence.
May gave a brief, cynical bark of laughter. ‘Unpleasant! Talk about understatement! Anyway, as I said, Sunday was the last straw, as far as I was concerned. Steve could look for moral support elsewhere.’
Thanet couldn’t make up his mind whether this moral support, of which both May and his wife had spoken, had been real or imaginary. It was difficult to tell. On the face of it, it would be difficult to conceive of a less comforting person to turn to than May. But even the prickliest of people are capable of compassion, especially towards those even more vulnerable than themselves, and perhaps, when Steve had been less extreme in his behaviour, less desperate … Yes, that was it. Thanet felt as though he had groped his way towards a significant insight into the dead man. Steve had been desperate …
He became aware that the silence had become too protracted, that they were all looking at him expectantly. With difficulty he forced his mind back to what May had been saying.
‘Was that what he came for, last night? Moral support?’
May shrugged. ‘Probably. Ostensibly, he came to apologise.’
‘For his behaviour on Sunday?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately, past experience has shown that his contrition would only last until the next time he needed to make a spectacle of himself in front of me. So I told him that this time I’d really meant what I said. He just wasn’t welcome here any more.’
‘Needed,’ murmured Thanet. ‘You said, “the next time he needed to make a spectacle of himself …” Was that true, do you think?’
May hesitated. His face softened and briefly Thanet glimpsed the young man May’s wife had fallen in love with. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘If Steve was hurt, or upset, he’d usually try to make light of it by turning it into a joke. He’d start fooling around, making people laugh …’
&nb
sp; ‘It was his way of dealing with pain.’
‘Yes … But lately, it always seemed to misfire. It just wasn’t funny any more. The way he’d do it was all wrong. He’d have a few drinks to cheer himself up, try and get himself into a light-hearted mood, but it didn’t seem to work and he’d end up drinking too much …’
‘He was drinking steadily?’
‘Oh no, don’t get me wrong. He only ever used to drink if something had especially upset him. On Sunday, of course, it was that visit to Sharon. Ivor threw him out.’
‘And it was his birthday, too,’ said Clare May. ‘Steve’s, I mean. It was so sad. You could see how miserable he was, but it was so difficult. He really was very drunk. We had some friends here to supper, and he …’
‘No need to go over all that again,’ said May sharply. ‘The long and the short of it was, he’d gone too far this time, and I wasn’t going to change my mind – not for a while, at least. Not that I told him that, mind. As far as he was concerned, that was it. But I thought it might teach him a lesson, pull him up short, show him you can’t go around barging into other people’s lives, embarrassing them right left and centre, without paying for it in some way. Then, after a while, I’d have relented …’
Now it’s too late. The words hung on the air as clearly as if they’d been spoken.
‘So what did he do, last night, when you refused to let him in?’
‘Wouldn’t take me seriously at first. Then he began to argue. So I … I shut the door in his face … I should have known better, really.’
‘That was when he made a scene?’
‘Yes.’ May was hunched in his chair, frowning as he brooded over the memory. ‘Banging on the door … shouting … kicking at it …’
‘You opened it, eventually?’
‘No,’ snapped May ‘What was the point? He’d roused the whole street by then, things couldn’t have got any worse … He went on and on, for a good ten minutes, then he left.’
‘Had he been drinking?’
‘No, I don’t think so. If he had, it certainly didn’t show.’
‘What was he wearing?’
May frowned. ‘Jeans and a navy anorak, the one he usually wore.’
Dead on Arrival Page 10
