A Good Death

by Chris Collett

  ‘What is it between him and Stone?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll tell you if and when he wants to.’ They’d come to the car park. ‘Anyway, have a good weekend, Tom. Try to switch off.’

  Mariner laughed. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’

  ‘Yeah, all right.’

  On the drive home Mariner realised he’d heard nothing from either Manor Park or the QE, both of which he took to be positive signals. He spent the evening at home. Although he looked forward to seeing Suzy, they had long given up on trying to share the narrow bed in her student room. In addition, the kitchenette in the postgrad block was quite inadequate and there was nowhere to sit, so, by mutual unspoken agreement, Friday nights had become their own. But first thing on Saturday morning Mariner drove over to the university, with an OS map on the seat beside him, and an idea for where they could have lunch. Suzy greeted him with her usual enthusiasm, but looked tired; the strain of getting to know a whole bunch of new colleagues and working procedures telling. Mariner couldn’t imagine it; it was something he hadn’t done for a very long time.

  ‘You look as if you need a break,’ he said. He had to raise his voice above the rowdy group of students who chose that moment to pass by. ‘I thought we’d have a walk and find a good Warwickshire pub for something to eat.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ said Suzy. ‘Just give me a minute.’ She disappeared into the tiny bathroom.

  ‘So how’s the first week been?’ Mariner called after her as he sat down on the bed.

  ‘Good. I’m going to like it,’ came the reply. ‘They’re a really interesting crowd, plus I found out something pretty amazing.’

  ‘Amaze me,’ said Mariner, deadpan.

  Suzy stepped into the doorway, back where he could see her, at the same time threading an earring into her left ear. ‘Yes, well, I’m not sure that you’ll appreciate it in quite the same way,’ she said.

  ‘I might,’ said Mariner, hurt.

  ‘You remember I told you about my part-time colleague, Rosalind?’ Mariner did, just about. ‘Well,’ said Suzy. ‘It turns out that she’s married to none other than Gideon Wiley.’

  ‘Astonishing,’ said Mariner.

  ‘You have absolutely no idea why that’s significant, do you?’ Suzy challenged. The earring in, she went across to the bookshelves they’d erected the previous weekend and took down one of the door-stop books, which she handed to him: Religious Icons of Ancient China by Professor Gideon Wiley. ‘You must be impressed by that.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Mariner, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Inside the flyleaf was a black-and-white photograph of a distinguished-looking middle-aged man.

  ‘It’s so exciting,’ said Suzy.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  Replacing the book, she picked up her coat and bag. ‘Right, I’m ready.’

  ‘I have more good news,’ Suzy said, as they drove off the campus. ‘It’s possible that I’ve also found somewhere else to live. Rosalind and Gideon have got a cottage available for rental. They had trouble with a previous tenant, so had made the decision not to let it again, but since they know me … It’s adjacent to theirs in a village called Woolford, about eight miles away. Do you know it?’

  ‘I do,’ said Mariner. ‘Very smart. She sounds a gem, this Rosalind.’

  ‘She is,’ Suzy agreed. ‘Everybody loves her, including the students. In fact, I understand that one of them last year had a rather unhealthy attachment, but that’s one for another time. Apparently the cottage has been empty for a while, so I’ve arranged to go and look at it this afternoon. I thought we could call in there after lunch? I’d like you to see it too.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Mariner.

  ‘I might even get the opportunity to meet Professor Wiley face-to-face too, which would be wonderful. Anyway, enough of me, how’s your week been?’

  ‘Slow,’ said Mariner. ‘We’re still waiting on Fire Investigation. Not that Vicky minds that. I think she’s developing a thing for their lead investigator.’

  ‘You know what they say about firemen,’ said Suzy.

  ‘Well, Docherty seems increasingly convinced that it was an arson attack, so we’re trying to work out who might have been behind it.’

  ‘You mean a deliberate attempt to kill the old man?’ Suzy was understandably horrified.

  ‘Or someone else in the family,’ said Mariner. ‘And I had another strange thing: a phone call. You remember your property developer, the one who turned up at Charlie’s house?’

  ‘You mean Gaby? The girl who is determined to find me somewhere to live? I suppose I should contact her now, to let her know I’m fixed up.’

  ‘You won’t need to, I can tell her,’ said Mariner. ‘She called me on Tuesday evening, at home. Her fiancé seems to have gone AWOL.’

  ‘That’s worrying,’ said Suzy.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Mariner. ‘He hasn’t been seen since last Saturday night, so it’s a week now, but we don’t know for sure yet that he hasn’t disappeared voluntarily. We’re getting some strong hints that there may be another woman, past or present, who’s distracted him. But obviously the longer it goes on the more concerned people are getting about him.’

  ‘There seemed to be some tension between him and his prospective father-in-law,’ Suzy remembered.

  ‘Yes, there was, wasn’t there?’ said Mariner.

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘As an adult male, he’s not a high risk, so there’s a limit to what we can do at this stage, beyond monitoring the situation,’ said Mariner. ‘I’ve got Millie working on it, making some enquiries.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Millie’s back. How’s she getting on?’

  ‘She’s good. Missing Haroon, naturally, but she’s picked up again remarkably quickly. And then we’ve got Bingley, aka Brown, who’s a catastrophe on legs, though paradoxically, quite a resourceful one, as it turns out.’ He told Suzy about the name confusion. ‘I can’t work out what’s going on with him,’ he admitted. ‘It’s almost as if he’s afraid to own up to his own competence.’

  ‘And what about Jamie?’ asked Suzy.

  ‘I haven’t heard anything yet, from either his doctor or the hospital. I’m taking it as a good sign.’

  After a walk and lunch, they drove over to the picturesque Warwickshire village of Woolford. The sky was pale, with the occasional glimpse of a bright sun and some signs of early spring, though the air was sharp, and foggy-smelling. They parked next to the village green and followed Rosalind’s directions along a winding lane past the church, to the Forge, where Rosalind and Gideon lived. Following along the high perimeter wall, they could hear the grunting sounds of exertion, and turned into the path of a wide, untamed garden to find a woman engaged in a tug of war with a deeply embedded tree root.

  ‘Rosalind!’ Suzy called to her.

  Rosalind broke off from what she was doing and waved. ‘Suzy! How lovely to see you.’ As she straightened to ease her back, Mariner saw she was tall and rangy, with startlingly blue eyes and a ready smile. She’d made a largely unsuccessful attempt to tie her nest of rust-coloured hair back with a bandana. She came over, still breathing hard from the effort and wiping her hands on her jeans. ‘And you must be Tom?’ It was heavy work, but even so she seemed lightly dressed for the time of year in jeans and a loose cotton top under which her breasts swung freely.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘Well, I’ve nearly got it, but it’s a stubborn brute,’ she said. ‘I daresay you’re stronger than I am. If you don’t mind applying a bit of force?’ The accent was pure cut-glass.

  ‘Not at all.’ Mariner gave his jacket to Suzy, and while Rosalind applied some leverage with the spade, he managed to wrench the root out of the ground, staggering backwards as it finally gave way.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ gasped Rosalind. ‘Thank you so much. I was sure I’d have to pay someone to come and finish the job. Oops, so
rry, you’ve got dirt all over you now.’ She reached over and brushed a chunk of loose soil from his thigh. ‘Let’s get cleaned up, then I’ll take you round to the cottage.’

  The house was a long, irregular, half-timbered building with a traditional farmhouse kitchen that was chaotically untidy. Mariner sluiced his hands under the tap then cast around for something to dry them on, settling eventually on what looked to him more like a drying-up towel. Rosalind meanwhile had gone to change into corduroys and a more substantial jumper, and at the same time check on her husband who was resting.

  They walked round the corner to the cottage, even though it shared a gated back fence with Rosalind and Gideon’s house. On the other side it became clear why. Its garden was like a jungle, growing high and effectively blocking the narrow path. A fraction of the size of the Forge, the cottage was almost literally two-up two-down, with a faded sign to the right of the front door that announced, in alarmingly modern text-speak ‘Y worry’.

  ‘Why indeed?’ murmured Mariner, as Rosalind unlocked the door and they crossed the threshold and into a musty atmosphere. ‘It’s all a bit retro,’ said Rosalind encouragingly. ‘It was a shepherd’s cottage originally.’ She sniffed the air. ‘It’s been empty for a few months, so I’m afraid it does smell a bit damp. But once the air gets through …’

  Inside the furniture and rugs were mismatched and harked back to a bygone era, crowding the small, dimly lit rooms. The floorboards creaked underfoot as they walked, and everything was slightly off-kilter. Rosalind watched Mariner duck his head to get through a doorway. ‘There’s a concussion waiting to happen,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s no central heating, I’m afraid, but you have got a cosy open fire. There’s hot water from the geyser in the kitchen, and we put in an electric shower for the last tenants.’

  An electronic bleep brought them back into the twenty-first century, and Rosalind hunted her pockets, coming up eventually with a paging device. ‘Gideon,’ she smiled. ‘I need to get back to him.’ She held the keys out for Suzy. ‘Why don’t I leave these with you and you can have a good look round and test things out without me breathing down your neck. Then stop by the house to let me know what you decide. I hope you’ll have time to have a cup of tea and say hello to Gideon, too. Once he’s managed to get up and about, he’d love to meet you both.’ And she disappeared back around the side of the cottage.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ said Mariner after she’d gone. He ran his fingers over the flaking paint on the window frames, feeling cool air wafting through where the fit was far from snug. ‘It’s a bit isolated.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be able to practise my violin, without driving the neighbours insane,’ said Suzy. ‘Rosalind’s right about the smell, though.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Body under the floorboards, do you think?’ she murmured as they climbed the narrow stairs.

  ‘I think it might be the drains,’ said Mariner. She’d always had a stronger sense of the macabre than him.

  Upstairs were a bathroom, circa 1950, and two tiny bedrooms with low, uneven ceilings. ‘It’s all so quaint!’ Suzy exclaimed.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Mariner. His own place was far from modern but he did like some comfort.

  Having had a good look around, they came to the larger of the two bedrooms overlooking the jungle of a back garden, where they could see the ivy creeping over the gate in the fence that led into Rosalind and Gideon’s garden. This room was furnished with an old mahogany wardrobe and chest of drawers, but the brass bed frame and its bare mattress looked brand new.

  They were, through necessity, standing close together and now Suzy slipped her arms around him. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, leaning back so that he could feel the pressure of her hips against his.

  ‘Rosalind or the cottage?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘Both, I suppose. Rosalind’s sweet, isn’t she? A free spirit. No bra today, but of course I don’t suppose you noticed that.’

  ‘Can’t say that I did,’ he lied.

  ‘Oh really?’ She reached down between them and gave him a squeeze. It had an instant effect. Suzy glanced over at the bed. ‘Rosalind told us we should try things out,’ she said artfully.

  On another occasion Mariner would have resisted, afraid of disappointment, but this time, caught up in the moment, he didn’t. And perhaps it was the adrenaline rush of removing the tree stump, maybe it was Rosalind’s attire or the frisson of something slightly illicit, but this time he didn’t falter, not even distracted by the banging of the bedstead against the wall.

  Afterwards Suzy stretched luxuriantly. ‘A welcome return to form, DCI Mariner,’ she said. ‘If this is what the place does to you, I need to move in right away.’

  ‘So what do you think?’ When they got back to the Forge, Rosalind smiled expectantly, looking from one to the other of them. Mariner wondered if she could tell what they’d been up to, perhaps from the look on his face.

  ‘I love it,’ said Suzy. Mariner thought it best not to say anything. He wasn’t the one who would be living here, after all.

  ‘I’m so glad,’ Rosalind beamed. ‘As I said, you can move in whenever you like.’

  ‘As soon as possible, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Suzy, casting a mischievous glance at Mariner. ‘It will be good to get out of the noisy halls. I could start bringing over some of my things tomorrow?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Rosalind.

  They both turned to Mariner.

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Mariner, knowing that Suzy was reliant on his much bigger car.

  They were standing in the kitchen, and as they talked, Rosalind had been moving around, putting tea things on a tray. ‘Now, come and meet Gideon,’ she said, adding the newly filled teapot. ‘He’ll be cross that I’m keeping you to myself.’

  Gideon was sitting by French windows in an armchair, a rug over his knees, looking out over a beautifully tended garden; a stark contrast to Y Worry. He’d diminished somewhat since the photograph in the book had been taken, and Mariner would have placed him at about seventy years of age, so twenty or thirty years older than his wife. He was slight but unfolded from his chair would have been tall, and his dark, intense eyes under bushy brows would have made him imposing. Sparse white hair grew down over his collar, and his beard growth probably owed more to the inconvenience of shaving than a conscious style decision. His movement was limited, but his face remained expressive, and it looked as if intellectually he was still sharp; a research journal, with tiny, close-packed print, was set up beside him on a kind of lectern. He seemed delighted to see them, especially Suzy.

  ‘I’ve told him all about you,’ said Rosalind. ‘And this is Suzy’s partner,’ she added.

  Gideon’s hands lay loosely in his lap, so, unsure of whether a handshake would be appropriate, Mariner simply raised a hand in greeting. ‘Tom Mariner,’ he said.

  Gideon murmured something unintelligible in response.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ replied Rosalind, though Mariner was at a loss. ‘Like Sir Neville, the conductor,’ she repeated for his benefit. ‘Are you musical?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mariner, thinking that his back catalogue of the Sex Pistols probably didn’t count.

  ‘Gideon does like his Radio Three,’ Rosalind replied, confirming this. She urged them to sit on a rather sagging sofa and, when she had served them, fussed over Gideon, helping him to sip tea through a spouted cup, finishing up by wiping the saliva that trailed from his mouth.

  ‘Right,’ said Rosalind, ‘now we can switch on ARNIE.’ ARNIE turned out to be Gideon’s electronic aid that spoke for him, with rather a forthright delivery. ‘Don’t know what I would do without it,’ the robotic voice said, in its slightly belligerent monotone. Suzy cued into how the machine worked straight away, but it took time for Gideon to compose his sentences, so conversation was stilted. ‘You do get used to it after a while,’ said Rosalind, in one of the lengthy pauses.

  ‘Where were you?’ the machine demande
d, and Mariner realised that Gideon was addressing him.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘He wants to know which university you studied at,’ said Rosalind.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t,’ said Mariner, to Gideon.

  ‘He’s a police officer,’ Suzy told him.

  Gideon inclined his head politely, but it was obvious that as of that moment, Mariner ceased to be of any interest. Suzy, though, more than made up for his shortcomings and before long she and Gideon were discussing the finer points of the article Gideon had been reading, while Mariner and Rosalind sat looking on, their presence irrelevant. Mariner listened for a while, feigning an interest, but when Rosalind got up to clear the tea things, he picked up the tray and carried it out into the kitchen for her.

  ‘Sorry, that must have seemed rude,’ said Rosalind. ‘Gideon’s always been very academic, but since he’s been ill his focus is even more on the cerebral. I suppose it’s the one area that is still within his capabilities.’

  ‘It’s completely understandable,’ said Mariner. Normally it would have rankled, but nothing this afternoon could dent his good mood. He felt like a different man. ‘It must be hard work,’ he went on. ‘Taking care of Gideon, I mean. Do you have help?’

  ‘Oh yes. There’s a carer who comes in to enable me to go to the university. That’s an absolute godsend, I’d go mad without it. And the local doctors are regular visitors, of course. Gideon’s in quite a lot of pain, so needs powerful relief. But the GPs are often locums these days and I’m not sure of the extent to which they really understand his condition.’ She and Mariner returned to the conservatory and sat for a further half hour before Gideon suddenly seemed to deflate, the energy draining out of him, and Rosalind announced that he needed to rest.

  ‘I hope you weren’t too bored,’ said Suzy as they drove back towards Birmingham to stay the night at Mariner’s place.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Mariner. ‘You and Gideon seemed to hit it off.’

  ‘It was fascinating,’ said Suzy. ‘He’s thinking of writing another book, and asked me if I might like to co-author it.’