‘Got visitors today, have we?’ said Janet teasingly.
‘We’re just going,’ said Thanet.
‘Would you like a cuppa, before you go?’ said Mrs Sparrow. ‘Janet’s just going to make me one.’
‘Sure, no trouble,’ said Janet. ‘Won’t take a tick.’
Thanet declined, politely, and they left.
‘Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?’ said Thanet as they got into the car.
‘Janet, you mean? Seemed a nice girl.’
Thanet shook his head in self-disgust. ‘You’d think we’d have learned by now that you can’t judge by appearances. If I’d seen her in the street …’
Lineham grinned. ‘Wait till Bridget starts dyeing her hair orange.’
The radio crackled. There was a message for Thanet. Someone had come into the police station asking to see the officer in charge of the murder investigation. He was refusing to talk to anyone else.
‘We’ll be there in ten minutes,’ said Thanet.
FIFTEEN
Back at the station Thanet went straight to the enquiry desk.
‘This man who’s asking to see me. Do we know what it’s all about?’
‘Not really, sir. He wouldn’t say. Just said he had some information about the murder and asked for the officer in charge. I told him you were out and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but he said he’d wait. I gave him a cup of tea and put him in interview room four.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Bennet, sir.’ The station officer glanced at the Occurrence book. ‘Lives in Pearson Road, number 15.’
‘A crank, d’you think?’
‘I wouldn’t say so, sir. Very sensible sort of chap. Well, you’ll see for yourself.’
Mr Bennet was in his early seventies, tall, thin and mournful. Everything about him seemed to droop – hair, moustache, the pouches under his eyes, the corners of his mouth. He was neatly but shabbily dressed in an old fawn raincoat and a brown suit which, judging by the frayed cuffs, had seen better days. The collar of his white shirt was creased and slightly grubby. A widower finding it difficult to cope on his own?
Introductions over, Thanet sat down. ‘I understand you have some information for us?’
Bennet nodded. ‘I hope I’m not wasting your time …’
Thanet gave a reassuring smile. ‘I can’t tell until I’ve heard what you’ve got to say, can I? But in any case, we much prefer members of the public to come to us if anything is bothering them …’
‘On the television the other night … It said you were trying to trace a jacket …’
So whatever the information was, it concerned Hines’s case, not his. Thanet was disappointed. He glanced at Lineham who, as he expected, was looking interested. Although the sergeant had been taken off the Coddington murder, he had worked on it long enough to want to know the outcome.
‘That’s right.’
‘It was very unusual, it said. Grey leather, with a red dragon on the back.’
‘Yes. You’ve seen someone wearing it?’
Bennet nodded. ‘Boy across the street. Well, a youth, really.’
‘He lives across the street from you, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you know his name.’
‘Kevin Quarry.’
‘You noticed him wearing the jacket before the television appeal?’
‘Oh no. No. I saw him wearing it this morning, for the first time.’
‘I see … Well, we’re really most grateful to you for coming in …’
After getting all the relevant details Thanet thanked Mr Bennet for the information then rang Hines, who listened in silence, grunted and then rang off without a word of thanks.
‘What did he say?’ said Lineham.
‘Not a lot,’ said Thanet, non-committally.
‘Probably furious that the information came to us, first.’
The telephone rang. It was one of the men who had been checking up on cars seen in the vicinity of Steve’s flat, the night of the murder. One of them, apparently, had belonged to Ivor Howells.
‘What time was this?’
‘Between 8.45 and 9 p.m., sir.’
‘Good. Well done,’ said Thanet. He put the phone down and told Lineham.
‘So,’ said the sergeant. ‘I bet what happened was that when he got home he managed to get out of Sharon that Steve had been round to see her, and he decided he’d teach Steve a lesson once and for all.’
‘Maybe. But the question is, what happened when he got there? Did he manage to see Steve? If Frank’s story is true, at half past eight Steve wasn’t answering his door, and we have no idea as yet whether he was already dead or had simply slipped out for a while.’
‘Perhaps we’ll know more after talking to Carpenter, sir.’
‘Quite.’ Thanet sighed. ‘Though I have a sneaky feeling we’re not going to come away from the hospital with a nice cut and dried solution. Have they rung yet, by the way?’
‘No, sir. Any minute now, I should think. It’s twenty past eleven, surely the doctor should have finished his rounds by now.’
Thanet shrugged. ‘Anyway, I think Howells has got some explaining to do, in view of the fact that we now have proof that he lied to us. But I think we’ll wait to see him again until after we’ve talked to Carpenter.’
Just before twelve the hospital rang through to say that Carpenter was now fit for a brief interview.
He was in a small side-ward, up and dressed and sitting in an armchair beside the bed. Head bowed, hands clasped loosely in his lap, he seemed to have shrunk since Thanet last saw him. When Thanet entered the room he slowly raised his head and gazed at him without recognition. Thanet experienced a painful shaft of empathy. If it had been Joan who had been killed in that accident, Sprig who had just died after being kept alive for a year or more on life support machines … Mentally, he shook himself. He couldn’t allow himself to think that way.
‘Good morning, Mr Carpenter.’
Formalities over, Thanet and Lineham drew up two of the stools provided for visitors and sat down.
‘Now then, Mr Carpenter, I suppose you can guess why we’re here.’
Carpenter gazed at him blankly, without response.
‘We’d like to talk to you about the night before last. Tuesday night.’
Carpenter frowned, blinked.
‘Do you remember anything about that night?’
‘No. I …’ Carpenter’s voice trailed away. It was hoarse with disuse, and he cleared his throat, shook his head. ‘No,’ he said again.
Thanet sighed inwardly. This was going to be difficult. It was his duty to try to activate those memories, but he was well aware that by doing so he would also have to tear down the barrier with which Carpenter had anaesthetised himself against the pain of remembering. Nevertheless, a man had been killed, and the loss of one human life does not justify the unlawful taking of another.
‘We found you sitting in your car, just before midnight, in Hamilton Road. You had been drinking heavily.’
Carpenter frowned again, trying to relate this information to himself. ‘Hamilton Road …’ he murmured.
Thanet saw his expression change, his features slacken in shock then begin to harden, settle into grim lines of mingled anger and despair.
‘I see you have recalled what Hamilton Road means to you. It was where Steven Long lived.’
Carpenter’s lips tightened at the mention of Long’s name. For a moment he was silent, then he said slowly, ‘Did you say “lived”?’
‘Yes. He was killed, in his flat, on Tuesday night.’
For several moments Carpenter stared blankly at Thanet, and then gradually, painfully, his features began to change. A spark of animation appeared first in his eyes and then a slow tide of colour began to creep up his neck and suffuse his face. He licked his lips, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry.
It was almost like watching a dead man come back to life, thought Thanet.
&
nbsp; ‘So,’ Carpenter murmured at last, in a tone of wonder, ‘I did it after all.’ His voice strengthened, and he made no attempt to hide the triumph in it. ‘I actually did it!’
‘Did what?’ Thanet knew what the man was going to say, of course, but he felt none of the usual rush of relief at a confession.
‘Killed him, of course.’ Carpenter had straightened up and his whole demeanour had changed. He was no longer vanquished but a conqueror.
‘Perhaps you’d better tell us about it.’
Something in Thanet’s tone must have betrayed his scepticism because Carpenter looked at him sharply and said, ‘Well, aren’t you going to caution me?’
Thanet doubted if there was any point, at this stage, but he decided to play it by the book. He nodded at Lineham, who duly delivered the familiar words.
Carpenter was watching Thanet’s face. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘I’m not sure what to believe at present, Mr Carpenter. One moment you’re saying you don’t remember a thing about Tuesday night, the next you’re saying you killed a man.’
‘I didn’t remember at first, no,’ said Carpenter. He leant forward in his chair, eager to convince Thanet of the validity of what he was saying. ‘But that was because I’ve been ill. Then, when you mentioned Hamilton Road, I suddenly remembered … It all came back to me …’
‘What, exactly, did you remember?’
‘Driving to Hamilton Road. Sitting in the car in front of that Gothic monstrosity where Long lives – lived – having a drink to bolster my courage … I am not by nature a violent man, Inspector.’
And with any luck, thought Thanet, that nature might have saved you. ‘What time was this?’
Carpenter frowned. ‘I’m not sure … Late afternoon, I think.’
‘You can’t be a little more precise?’
Carpenter hesitated. ‘Somewhere between six and half past?’
Thanet noted the question in his voice. ‘But you can’t be certain?’
Carpenter shook his head.
He was beginning to sweat, Thanet noticed. Was he really fit for questioning, after all? Perhaps it would be best to leave it for the moment, come back later, tomorrow, perhaps. In the circumstances it seemed positively inhuman to press the man like this. But if Carpenter really had killed Long, it was grossly unfair to all the other people involved, to have to go on feeling themselves under suspicion, if by a further few minutes’ conversation the truth might emerge.
‘Never mind,’ said Thanet gently. ‘Tell us what you did when you got there.’
‘I … I sat in the car for a minute or two.’ Carpenter took a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it over his forehead, then gave a wry smile. ‘I was trying to pluck up the courage to go up and tackle Long, I think.’
‘And then?’
‘I went up to his flat, knocked at the door.’
‘And?’
‘He opened it.’ Carpenter suddenly began to talk very fast, the sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead and drip into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently with the back of one hand. ‘I was wearing a hat which I’d pulled well down to shadow my face. He’d seen me at the inquest and I didn’t want him to recognise me. I thought he might not let me in. I said I’d heard he was a very good mechanic, specialised in solving difficult problems, and I wondered if he’d be prepared to take a look at my car …’ The words were tumbling out now, becoming almost incoherent, Carpenter’s breath coming in irregular, panting gasps.
Thanet rose and pressed the buzzer, and almost at once a nurse came into the room. She took one look at the patient and reached for Carpenter’s pulse.
‘We’ll go,’ said Thanet. And he hustled Lineham out of the room.
‘Just when we were on the point of getting a full confession!’ said Lineham in disgust, when they were in the corridor.
‘Yes, well there are certain limits beyond which I’m not prepared to go,’ said Thanet.
‘Oh I’m not saying we should have gone on, sir. Just that it was so frustrating to have to stop just there.’
‘Couldn’t be helped.’
Lineham glanced sharply at Thanet. ‘You don’t believe he did it, do you, sir?’
‘I honestly don’t know. Do you?’
They walked in silence for a moment, oblivious of the busy life of the hospital teeming around them.
‘I’m not sure either,’ said Lineham at last. ‘He did admit to it, and on the face of it he does seem the obvious choice …’
‘But?’
‘Well, at the end when he was speaking so fast … In a way you felt you had to believe him, he was giving us so much detail, but I don’t know …’
‘You didn’t feel he was telling the truth?’
Lineham hesitated. ‘I think he was telling us what he believed to be the truth, and at the time yes, I did believe him, but thinking about it now, I’m not convinced it was what really happened.’
‘That’s what I thought. I’m not sure if, in fact, what he was doing was describing a scene which he had enacted so often in fantasy that, when he heard Long really had been murdered, it became for him the reality. That’s why yes, it was frustrating to have to stop at that point. If he’d been able to go on for just a few more minutes and describe the actual murder, we’d have known if it really was the truth or not.’
‘So you still think it could be?’
‘Well, as you say, he is the obvious choice, the man with the most powerful motive of all … And we have to face the fact that it often is the obvious suspect who turns out to be the murderer.’
Lineham paused in the act of opening the car door. ‘Well, I hope that in this case it doesn’t.’ He got into the car and slammed the door, hard.
Thanet got in beside him. ‘Mike, don’t tell me that that heart of stone is softening at last, and you’re actually sorry for the man?’
‘Knock it off, sir. Don’t try and tell me you don’t feel exactly the same, because I wouldn’t believe you.’
‘You’re quite right, Mike, and I apologise. I do feel exactly the same. Nevertheless, we have to face the fact that he might well turn out to be our man, in the end.’
‘I know. In that case the only consolation would be that he wouldn’t get much of a sentence, in the circumstances. Might even get a suspended.’
‘Possibly.’
‘So, what now, sir? Are we going to see Howells?’
‘Yes, but I think we’ll take a breather first, get a bite to eat.’
‘How about the Cow and Mistletoe, sir?’
‘Down on the river, isn’t it? I’ve passed it but I’ve never actually been in.’
‘I go there quite a bit. The food’s good and it’s very quiet at lunchtimes. Gets a bit crowded in the evenings, though.’
Thanet buckled his seat belt. ‘Lead me to it,’ he said.
SIXTEEN
The Cow and Mistletoe was everything Lineham had promised, quiet and unpretentious. While they waited for the food to arrive, the sergeant went off to check Howells’s whereabouts.
‘He rang in this morning to say he was sick,’ Lineham reported when he came back, ‘so he’s probably at home. D’you want him brought in for questioning?’
‘No, we’ll go to the flat. With any luck we might find Sharon there, too. Kill two birds with one stone. This looks good.’
The food had arrived and Thanet tucked in to a generous slice of succulent cold beef and a baked potato, garnished with a salad which was more adventurous than usual, while Lineham enjoyed a home-made leek and potato soup and a ploughman’s lunch of hot, crusty French bread and well-matured cheddar. The beer was good, too, and the two men left feeling well-fortified against the cold.
‘Shouldn’t think the temperature’s risen above freezing all day,’ said Thanet, turning up his collar and pausing to admire the inn-sign, which depicted a rather endearing cross-eyed cow standing under a huge branch of mistletoe growing from the fork of an apple tree.
�
��I rather like this weather,’ said Lineham, gazing at the river sparkling in the sunlight. ‘Just the day for a good, brisk walk along the towpath. That’s how I discovered this place.’
‘Not much chance of that today, Mike. Come on, let’s see if Howells is at home.’
Sharon answered the door.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Long. Is Mr Howells in?’
‘Who is it, Shar?’ Howells loomed up behind her. ‘Oh, it’s you again.’
‘I’m afraid so. Could we have a word?’
Howells stepped reluctantly back and putting an arm around Sharon’s shoulders led the way into a depressing sitting room. All along the outer wall the ceiling was blotched and stained with damp, and in one corner it sagged dangerously. In many places the peeling wallpaper had been torn away, revealing irregular areas of crumbling grey plaster, and the battered furniture looked as though it had passed through countless salerooms.
In all this drabness Sharon looked as out of place as a fairy in a pigsty. She was wearing a spotless long-sleeved white blouse with frills at neck and wrist and a bright red corduroy skirt gathered in to a wide belt which emphasised her tiny waist. Her spun-gold hair seemed to halo her head with light. It was easy to see why Steve had been so reluctant to let her go, why Howells had been determined to hang on to his prize.
He was still standing with his arm possessively around her shoulders.
‘What do you want?’
‘Perhaps we could sit down …’
Howells gave a grudging nod.
‘I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Mr Howells,’ said Thanet pleasantly, when they were all seated.
Howells frowned. ‘Feeling …?’
‘We understood you’d reported sick, this morning.’
‘Ah, yeah … I was feeling a bit off, wasn’t I, Shar? Had a bit of a temperature, so I thought it would be stupid, like, to go and work outside all day in this cold.’
Thanet’s guess was that Howells had simply wished to spend the day with Sharon, fearing, perhaps, that if he left her too long under her mother’s influence she might not want to come back to him. Thanet couldn’t really see Mrs Pinfold approving of her daughter’s latest boyfriend, and who could blame her?
Dead on Arrival Page 13
