Dead on Arrival

by Dorothy Simpson

‘And I hope you’re feeling a little better today too, Mrs Long.’

  Once again Thanet noticed her fondness for jewellery. Presents from Steve? he wondered.

  Sharon bit her lip, nodded. ‘It was going to … to identify him, that …’

  ‘I do understand,’ said Thanet, gently. Anticipating that Howells’s reaction to being confronted with a lie might be somewhat disruptive to the interview, he had already decided to tackle Sharon first.

  ‘My sergeant has a few points to raise with you. Do you feel up to answering some questions?’

  Sharon glanced at Howells, who shrugged. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. Then, ‘Yes,’ she repeated, more emphatically. ‘Of course. If it’ll help.’

  Thanet glanced at Lineham. Take over, then.

  ‘The first question we have to ask you, of course, Mrs Long, is whether your husband had any enemies.’

  ‘Enemies.’ She gave an uncomfortable little laugh and her eyes flickered in Howells’s direction. His biggest enemy is sitting right beside me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not what you’d call enemies.’

  ‘What do you mean, exactly?’ said Lineham.

  ‘Well … Steve wasn’t very easy to get along with. He … he tended to put people’s backs up. But not to that extent. Not so they’d want to kill him.’

  ‘There was that bloke who …’ Howells snapped his fingers. ‘Hey, that could be it!’ he said excitedly. ‘You know, Shar, the bloke whose wife was killed in that accident.’

  ‘Mr Carpenter, you mean?’

  ‘That’s it, Carpenter. I heard on the radio his daughter died, on Tuesday … And on Tuesday night Steve was killed … Yeah, that’s it, it must be.’ He turned back to Thanet. ‘There’s your answer.’

  He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who has satisfactorily disposed of a knotty problem and gave Thanet a smug grin. It’s easy when you know how.

  ‘One of many possible answers, Mr Howells.’

  ‘Oh come on, Inspector.’ Howells leaned forward in his eagerness to make his point. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I remember now, Carpenter actually threatened to kill Steve, didn’t he, Shar, after the court case when Steve got off with a suspended sentence …’

  ‘We are aware of all this, Mr Howells,’ said Thanet. ‘And believe me, we’re bearing it in mind. But we can’t afford to neglect other possibilities.’ He ignored Howells’s derisive snort and turned to Sharon, his voice softening. ‘So you can’t make any other suggestions as to who might have wanted to kill your husband?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not want to kill him,’ she repeated.

  Thanet nodded and sat back.

  Lineham took over again. ‘Right. Well, the next thing we want to ask you is whether or not you know if your husband came by car, when he visited you after work on Tuesday.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t actually see the car, of course, but I should think so, because he was here by about twenty to six and he’d have been much later if he’d had to walk or catch a bus.’

  ‘But you’ve no idea if it was his own or if he got a lift.’

  ‘No. But it would be unusual for him to beg a lift. If there was anything wrong with his car, he could usually put it right pretty quick. And it’s only a few months since he was allowed to start driving again, after that disqualification. He loves … used to love driving. He’d never let anyone else drive him if there was any chance of doing it himself.’

  ‘But you don’t actually know how he got here on Tuesday?’

  She shook her head.

  Lineham reached into his pocket. ‘Perhaps you could now take a look at this photograph.’

  He handed it over and she took it by the corner, gingerly, looking apprehensive.

  ‘Oh, you needn’t worry,’ said Lineham. ‘It’s nothing distressing. Just a picture of the top of the sideboard, in your husband’s flat.’ He leaned forward, pointed. ‘What we’re interested in is this clean, circular patch in the dust. Could you tell us what usually stood there?’

  ‘That’s easy enough. A big round ashtray Geoff gave Steve. He brought it back from a holiday in … Italy, I think it was.’

  ‘What was it made of?’

  ‘A pinkish marble.’

  ‘Heavy?’

  ‘Oh yes, ver–’ She broke off abruptly and her eyes dilated. ‘Are you saying … D’you mean …’ She gave the photograph a dazed look, her face crumpled and she began to cry, turning her head into Howells’s chest.

  He folded his arms around her protectively and murmured into her ear, glowering at Lineham across the candyfloss curls. Now look what you’ve done.

  Lineham raised his eyebrows at Thanet and gave a helpless shrug.

  Thanet shook his head. Not your fault. The question had to be asked.

  ‘I didn’t mean to distress you, Mrs Long,’ said Lineham.

  ‘Rubbish,’ snarled Howells. ‘You couldn’t care less, as long as you get what you want.’

  ‘We have a job to do, Mr Howells,’ said Thanet. ‘And, believe it or not, we don’t like upsetting innocent people unnecessarily.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t choose the bloody job in the first place!’

  ‘Someone has to do it. Just as someone has to repair the roads … Anyway, we’re getting off the point. The point is, that we have only one or two more questions to ask Mrs Long, then she could go and lie down, if she wishes. Perhaps you could make her a cup of tea …’

  Howells was not deceived, and Thanet had not expected him to be. The message was clear. We want you out of the room for a few minutes. He hesitated then eased away from Sharon, put his forefinger under her chin and tilted up her head so that he could see her face. Taking out a grubby handkerchief he gently wiped the tears from beneath her eyes. ‘Would you prefer me to stay, Shar? I will if you want me to.’ He pressed the handkerchief into her hand.

  She blew her nose, sniffed, shook her head. ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘You’d like a cuppa?’

  She essayed a smile. ‘Yeah, I would. Ta.’

  He went out, leaving the door ajar, and without a word Lineham got up and closed it.

  Thanet leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Now then, Mrs Long, I’ll make this as quick as possible. First, can you remember exactly what time Mr Howells got back here on Tuesday night, after helping his friend to move the furniture?’

  She hesitated and a faint colour crept into her pale cheeks. ‘About half past eight, I think.’

  She was a bad liar, thought Thanet. No doubt Howells had put her up to this.

  ‘But I couldn’t be sure,’ she added quickly. ‘I was washing my hair, you see …’

  Thanet nodded. He had no intention of putting any pressure on her at this stage. She was in too fragile a state. Later on, if the point became crucial, yes. ‘There’s just one other matter, then. When your husband came here on Tuesday, did he by any chance bring you a present?’

  She stared at him. ‘How did you …?’

  ‘A rather expensive present, perhaps?’

  She bit her lip, glanced uneasily towards the door and nodded. ‘A gold bracelet. Steve was ever so upset, because I didn’t want to take it, in fact I refused. I knew Ivor would be mad, if I accepted it …’

  ‘So what happened to it?’

  ‘Steve wouldn’t take it back. Said he’d bought it for me and I was going to keep it. He tried to persuade me to put it on, but when I wouldn’t he just put it down on the table and left it there, when he went.’

  ‘So where is it?’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ She hurried from the room.

  It was a heavy gold link bracelet, with a tiny gold padlock and safety chain.

  ‘What shall I do with it?’ she said despairingly. ‘I don’t want to keep it, it would always remind me of what happened to Steve that night.’

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’

  She nodded, eagerly, and he explained the trick that Steve had pulled on Frank over the television set. She was clearly upset at the news that Frank had lost his job a
s a result.

  ‘It was his wife’s idea that your husband might have done it in order to have some spare cash with which to buy you a present. What I would suggest is that you give the bracelet to Frank, so that he can sell it and give the money back to the man your husband defrauded.’

  ‘I will.’ She shook her head in despair. ‘Oh Steve …’

  ‘Shar?’ called Howells.

  Quickly she snatched up the bracelet.

  Howells came in. ‘I’ve put your tea on the table by the bed.’

  ‘I’ll go and fetch it,’ she said, rising. ‘I’m all right, now.’

  ‘I think it would be best if you did lie down for a while, Mrs Long. I want to talk to Mr Howells for a few minutes.’

  She hesitated, nodded. ‘All right.’ She left, the clenched fist holding the bracelet concealed in the folds of her skirt.

  ‘My turn for a grilling, eh, Inspector?’ said Howells, sitting down and folding his arms belligerently across his chest. Now that Sharon had left the room he was allowing his animosity free rein.

  ‘Your word, not mine,’ said Thanet. ‘But the matter is fairly simple. We just want to know why you lied about your movements on Tuesday night.’

  Howells tensed, and Thanet was reminded of his first impression of the man. He looked feral, dangerous.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, according to what you told us yesterday, on Tuesday evening you went straight from work to help a friend who was moving house. You then came directly home, arriving here at about eight thirty. You had supper and then you and Mrs Long went out for a drink with some friends, returning here at around eleven fifteen.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘If all this is true, perhaps you would explain how your car came to be parked in Hamilton Road – Hamilton Road, Mr Howells, where Steven Long lived – between eight forty-five and nine o’clock that evening?’

  Howells’s eyes glittered like cut jet. ‘You have to be joking.’

  ‘Far from it, Mr Howells. On the contrary, I’m very serious.’

  Howells lifted his hands in apparent incomprehension. ‘It’s obvious. Someone has made a mistake.’

  Thanet shook his head. ‘No mistake.’

  ‘But it must be. Or they’re lying.’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘Well, to land me in it, obviously.’

  ‘And who do you suggest “they” are?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘So you absolutely deny being anywhere near Hamilton Road on Tuesday night.’

  Howells folded his arms. ‘Absolutely.’

  As they walked down the interminable flights of stairs Lineham said, ‘You’re not going to let him get away with it?’

  Thanet shrugged. ‘Depends on whether we eventually decide it’s important or not. I certainly don’t intend pulling him in at this stage. We’ll leave him to stew for a while.’

  ‘I must say I wouldn’t like to have him for my enemy on a dark night.’

  ‘Dangerous, I agree.’

  ‘But did he do it? That’s the question.’

  ‘Patience, Mike. One thing’s certain, if he did, we’ll get him, in the end.’ Thanet wished that he felt as positive as he sounded.

  In the car a message came over the radio: Chief Inspector Hines was at the station, waiting to see Thanet.

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘No, sir. But they’ve picked up the boy with the jacket. He’s in one of our interview rooms.’

  ‘And Mr Hines?’

  ‘In the canteen, with the rest of his team. Said they might as well grab some food while they could.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.’

  Thanet glanced at Lineham. ‘Hear that? Better put your foot down, Mike. We’ve a treat in store.’

  ‘That,’ said Lineham, ‘is a matter of opinion.’

  SEVENTEEN

  At this hour in the afternoon the canteen was deserted except for Hines and his team, DS Draycott and DCs Roper and Flint. An aura of celebration surrounded them.

  ‘Good grief, sir, he’s actually smiling,’ whispered Lineham as he and Thanet approached the table.

  It was true. With a broad grin on his face Hines looked positively unfamiliar. He was a mountain of a man, tall and grossly overweight, with a thick neck, balding head and small, piggy eyes sunk in folds of flesh.

  ‘Ah, Thanet,’ he said. ‘Our TV appeal paid off, then.’

  ‘He’s confessed?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Hines. He glanced around at his men and winked. ‘But he will. Any minute now. We’re just leaving him to sweat it out for a while.’

  ‘Good … You wanted to see me, sir?’

  ‘Just wondered how your own case is going.’

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘Ah.’ Hines leaned back, tucking his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, which strained across his huge belly in a series of horizontal creases. ‘You know your trouble, don’t you, Thanet?’ He glanced around at his men, to make sure he had their attention. ‘You’re too soft.’

  He curled his meaty hand into a fist and thumped the table. ‘Punch, that’s what you need, punch – metaphorically speaking, of course.’ He waited for the dutiful little ripple of laughter from his team. ‘Go in there and let them have it, I say. It’s the only way.’

  That is a matter of opinion, you great fat insensitive oaf. But Thanet had no intention of allowing himself to be drawn into an undignified argument in front of junior officers. ‘We can’t all work in the same way.’

  Hines sat forward. ‘Tell you what, Thanet, chummy’s just about ready to cough now, by my reckoning. Why don’t you come down and see how it’s done, eh?’

  Thanet sensed rather than saw Lineham tense beside him and flashed him a warning glance. He knew that Hines was deliberately trying to needle him and had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing that he had succeeded. It was obvious that the chief inspector was still smarting from having to return Lineham before he was ready to do so.

  ‘I’ve got rather a lot on my plate at the moment, sir. Some other time, perhaps.’

  He turned away and was startled when Hines, moving surprisingly fast for such a heavy man, was at his side in a flash, grasping him by the arm and hustling him towards the door. ‘Oh come on, Thanet. This shouldn’t take too long.’

  Unthinkable that he should allow himself to become involved in a brawl with a superior. Short of tearing his arm out of Hines’s pincer-like grip or shoving him away with his left hand, Thanet had no option but to comply. He clamped down on the anger surging through him, took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder at Lineham. ‘Mr Hines seems rather keen to have my company, Sergeant,’ he said with an attempt at lightness. ‘Looks as though you’ll have to carry on without me for a while.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said Lineham in a strangled voice, his face wooden. The two DCs studiously avoided looking at Thanet, embarrassed no doubt by their chief’s boorish behaviour, but Hines’s sergeant was watching with something approaching satisfaction. Perhaps he was enjoying the spectacle of someone other than himself suffering humiliation at the hands of his superior.

  Hines snapped, ‘You too, Draycott.’

  Half-way down the stairs, satisfied that Thanet had resigned himself to accompanying him, Hines released Thanet’s arm. ‘This character fits to a tee the description of the chap seen in the pub on Sunday with Marge Jackson – medium height, slight build, brown hair …’

  A description which could fit a large proportion of the adult male population of the British Isles, thought Thanet.

  ‘But he’s denying the whole thing, of course. Claims he found the jacket in a rubbish skip, yesterday. Some story, eh? Who’d chuck an expensive jacket like that away?’

  A murderer trying to get rid of a piece of highly incriminating evidence? thought Thanet. Was Hines really so stupid as not to have thought of this, or had he simply fallen into the all-too-common trap of refusing to consider any explanation w
hich did not fit in with his current theory?

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Quarry.’ Hines gave a great bark of laughter. ‘Rather appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you think?’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Nineteen. Here we are.’ Hines flung open the door of the interview room so hard that it crashed against the wall behind and rebounded.

  The boy slumped at the table leapt up as if at a signal. ‘I didn’t do it!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t know nothing about it!’

  He had a bad case of acne, Thanet noticed.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said Hines, advancing towards the table. ‘We are getting upset, aren’t we? Now I wonder why that is. Could it be guilt, I ask myself?’ He thrust his face to within inches of the boy’s and bellowed, ‘Could it?’

  ‘No! No! I told you, I don’t know nothing about it!’

  ‘Sit down,’ snarled Hines. And when the boy didn’t respond, ‘Sit!’ as if he were talking to a disobedient dog. Putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder he shoved him down into a sitting position with such force that the chair almost overturned.

  ‘Now listen to me, Mr Quarry, let’s get one thing clear. You’re not leaving this police station until we’ve got the truth out of you. If it takes all day and all night, we’ll do it, d’you hear me?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Do you?’ bawled Hines.

  ‘Yes, but …’

  Hines turned on his heel and stalked out, nodding to Draycott. Take over.

  It was obvious to Thanet that they were playing the bad-cop-good-cop routine. Theoretically Quarry, having been frightened out of his wits by Hines, would now respond all the more quickly to an apparently sympathetic Draycott. This had never been Thanet’s favourite modus operandi and it had little appeal for him even though he knew that it was often highly effective. He followed Hines out of the room.

  ‘He’ll crack soon now,’ said Hines, nodding with satisfaction. ‘Getting really twitchy, isn’t he?’

  But for the wrong reason? wondered Thanet. Was it anger, not panic, which had caused Quarry’s outburst? If so, the boy might well be innocent and Hines doomed to disappointment. Thanet felt no shame at the glow of satisfaction which this prospect afforded him.