Salwa took a sip of water. ‘My father was a dentist for many years, and he was a good one,’ she began, her voice clear and steady. ‘In his spare time, he set up the advice centre with his friends and had become a respected elder of the community. About a year ago, it became obvious to me at home that he was forgetting things and was sometimes confused and quick-tempered. But his work was important to him; part of what made him who he was. He didn’t want to give it up, so I suppose I tried to ignore what was happening. His doctor prescribed some medication that we thought would help, and my father was advised to think about retirement. But he continued to work. It was what kept him going. Then a girl who he had treated contracted hepatitis. My husband paid her family compensation, but I knew that it might only be a matter of time before something else, perhaps more serious, happened. So I persuaded my father to retire.’ She paused for more water. ‘After that, he was lost. Although he continued to work a few hours at the advice centre, he made mistakes there too. He hated that his powers were failing and that he could no longer play a useful part in the community. He thought his life was over.’ Her voice thickened. ‘It’s the first time I ever saw my father cry. He knew too that his condition would get worse, and he feared for himself but also for me, that I would have to look after him. He didn’t want me to carry that burden, or his grandchildren to see him like that. He wanted to make a decision about his life before he was no longer able to. In our religion it is not an option to take your own life, so he begged me to help him, to make it look like an accident. It was the hardest thing—’ Her voice broke and for several seconds she was silent. Then she gathered her resources. ‘A fire was the best way we could think of. My father didn’t want Mustafa to be implicated, so when he went to Sana’a, and after Talayeh had gone, it seemed like the right time.’ Her tears fell, unstoppable. ‘On that Saturday night my father took extra sedatives, we said our goodbyes, then in the early hours I crept downstairs and set the fire.’
‘It’s why you had your husband fit the new fire doors?’ Mariner asked her. ‘You were preparing, protecting yourselves?’
‘Mustafa knew nothing about it!’ she insisted, her eyes shining. ‘We had planned to change the doors, and I persuaded him to do it sooner. I had to make sure that I could get out with the children.’
‘And Talayeh?’
She looked up at Mariner, her face distorted with anguish. ‘I thought she had gone,’ she whispered.
‘How did you burn your hand?’ Mariner asked, genuinely curious. It seemed an enormous risk if it had happened as she’d described.
‘For our dinner that night I had used some cans of tomatoes. After the children had gone to bed, I turned the oven very high, removed the label from one of the cans and placed it inside the oven. When I was sure that it would be hot enough to burn my skin, I put in my hand and took it out. I held it for as long as I could bear.’ It was a remarkable indication of what she was prepared to suffer.
Mariner didn’t prolong the interview. The letter set out clearly Salwa’s father’s wishes, and was signed by him. The signature had been witnessed, but the solicitor had been ignorant of the letter’s contents until today. Mariner had no option but to charge Salwa Shah for the murder of her father, in an uncanny parallel with Rosalind Wiley. In the circumstances, it was likely that she would be granted unconditional bail, but her punishment would be a matter for the courts.
‘So not an honour killing after all, but a mercy killing,’ said Jesson afterwards. ‘What a thing to do, to kill your own father.’
‘She didn’t want to see him unhappy and suffering,’ said Mariner. It automatically channelled his thoughts towards Jamie.
As if by suggestion, shortly after Mariner returned to his office after the interview with Salwa Shah, he had a call from the medical officer at Manor Park.
‘The good news is that there’s nothing lurking inside Jamie that shouldn’t be there. But he has got a urine infection, which would account for the blood. A course of antibiotics will sort that out.’
It was a huge relief. ‘Does that explain the change in his behaviour too?’ Mariner asked.
‘To some extent, certainly,’ said the doctor. ‘But it may also be down to his age, and the significant changes to his life Jamie has experienced during the last few years. This could be his way of grieving, or showing us that he’s depressed.’
‘So what can be done?’ Mariner asked. It seemed so unfair when Jamie’s life was so limited, that he should be miserable too.
‘In the short term I’ll recommend that he stays on the Ritalin, and we’ll monitor him to see if there’s any improvement once the infection clears up. We could then explore options with anti-depressants. But obviously your continuing visits are important, as are keeping active and having as many varied experiences as he can. I don’t know if you’re aware that people with autism have a shorter life expectancy. It’s something you need to be prepared for. But meanwhile it’s all about Jamie’s quality of life.’
Mariner rang Suzy to tell her. She was having her lunch.
‘I’m so glad that he’s OK,’ she said.
‘It’s a wake-up call,’ said Mariner. ‘I’ve been complacent. I need to see Jamie more often and do more with him. Maybe we can take him out more?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Actually, I’ve got something to tell you too.’
‘Can’t you tell me now?’ asked Mariner, intrigued.
‘No, I want to do it face-to-face.’
‘Give me a clue,’ Mariner pressed. ‘Is it good or bad?’
‘Well, I think it’s exciting,’ said Suzy. ‘But I’m not sure if you’ll feel the same way. It’s something …’ she paused, searching for the right words, ‘… life changing.’
‘OK …’ he said, uncertainly. He went on to tell her about Salwa Shah.
‘How extraordinary,’ she said, of the coincidence. ‘But well done; you have a result.’
‘Somehow it doesn’t feel like that,’ said Mariner. ‘Just incredibly sad. Especially as it looks now as if Talayeh’s death might just have been down to a terrible set of circumstances.’
‘Do you want to come over tonight?’ asked Suzy.
‘Yes, I might do that.’
It was after dark when Suzy left work, and, driving into the village, she saw that there were lights on at the Forge. As Tom had predicted, Rosalind must have been released on bail. Suzy couldn’t imagine her friend would feel much like cooking, and she wanted to be supportive, so she threw together some bits and pieces she had into a kind of picnic bag and took it round. There was no immediate reply when she knocked, but the door was unlocked so she slipped in, with the intention of leaving the food in the kitchen.
‘Hello? Rosalind?’ Everything was quiet. Rosalind must be having a nap. Not surprising; she must be exhausted. Suzy took the food into the kitchen, but as she was hunting round for a paper and pencil to leave a note, she became aware of sobbing, coming from upstairs. Going into the hall, Suzy called out softly again, but there was no answer, so she started to climb the stairs. It was as her eyes drew level with the landing that Suzy could see that most of the doors were closed. Only one was open and she saw Rosalind, lying back on the pillows. What Suzy couldn’t at first fathom was the other head, belonging to a man, and that loomed over Rosalind’s, eyes closed. Rosalind’s sobbing had become rhythmic and was growing in intensity. Horrified, Suzy was about to retreat when Rosalind turned her head, and for two long seconds looked Suzy full in the face.
Suzy hurried back down the stairs, her heart pounding and her thoughts in a turmoil. What should she do? She couldn’t un-see what she had just seen; besides, Rosalind had caught her. Retreating back to her cottage seemed like the coward’s way out, but nor could she stay while that was happening up there. It felt as if she should apologise but that didn’t seem quite right either. The sobbing she’d thought she had heard had stopped now, replaced by hushed and urgent voices, then Rosalind appeared, drifting serenely down the stairs,
tying the belt of her robe. ‘Well, this was unexpected,’ she said, in a study of understatement. ‘Do you make it a habit to walk into other people’s houses uninvited?’
‘I was worried about you,’ said Suzy, trying to remain calm and poised. ‘I thought you were crying. I’m so sorry.’
‘Well, now you know.’ Rosalind went into the living room and sat down, so that Suzy was obliged to follow.
She heard further footsteps pounding down the stairs and saw a man flash by the doorway, before hearing the front door slam shut. She only glimpsed him for an instant, but it was long enough for her to see the collar. ‘Father Peter?’ said Suzy in disbelief.
‘We’ve fallen in love,’ said Rosalind. ‘Don’t look so shocked. It can happen to anyone; even Catholic priests. In fact, it’s much more common than you might think. Did you know that in Ireland there’s even a support group for women who have an affair with their priest? The notion of celibacy is so outdated these days, don’t you think?’ Decisively, she slapped her palms lightly on her thighs and stood up. ‘Well, I’m going to have a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
It was surreal. Dazed, Suzy nodded, but sat rooted to the spot as Rosalind disappeared into the kitchen, returning minutes later with the tea tray, as if this was a routine social call.
‘But what about Gideon?’ Suzy said, automatically taking the mug from Rosalind.
‘We haven’t had that kind of relationship for years,’ said Rosalind. ‘Even before he became ill. But then he found out of, course, clever old sod. Peter came to see Gideon one afternoon, but he was too tired and needed to rest. It was an opportunity not to be wasted, but we had to be quick; no time to undress. I was careless. Gideon called it my “Monica Lewinsky” moment. I don’t think he was as much offended by my infidelity, as he was by Peter breaking his vows. He wouldn’t let it drop.’
Suzy was trying hard to focus on what Rosalind was saying, but the long day was catching up with her and she was beginning to feel drowsy.
‘Contrary to what I told you, as Gideon approached the end, he became more devout than ever,’ said Rosalind. ‘Fanatical. He was outraged, and would have happily seen Peter and me disgraced. When you told me that Kirsten had visited, I knew Gideon was going to change his will and cut me out completely. He’d already talked about it. And that afternoon he asked me to make an appointment for his solicitor to come round.’
Rosalind’s words were beginning to run into one another and Suzy was having difficulty deciphering them. Her head felt so heavy.
Rosalind must have noticed. ‘God, Suzy, here am I prattling on, and you look all in,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a long week. Why don’t you put your head down for a few minutes?’ Coming over she took Suzy’s empty mug from her and eased her down on to the sofa, tucking her legs up, and pulling a rug over her. Suzy felt sure there was something important she should do, but relaxing on to the soft cushions felt so good that she just had to give herself up to it …
Mariner was later setting off to Suzy’s than he’d planned. On the drive over, his mind was racing. What could she have to tell him that would be potentially exciting and life-changing? She’d just moved jobs, so it couldn’t be that. Finally, he had to concede the other possibility. Could it be that she was pregnant? Christ, they were at it like rabbits again at the moment. And if she was, what did he think about it? A baby. His baby; a son or a daughter. By the time he got to the cottage he was bursting with anticipation, but Suzy wasn’t there. The cottage was dark and empty. She must be over at Rosalind’s house. He rang the bell, but it was a while before Rosalind came to the door, in her dressing gown.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mariner. ‘I hope I haven’t woken you? I thought Suzy might be here.’
‘No,’ said Rosalind. ‘I haven’t seen her today. Perhaps she’s working late? There’s always so much to do when you start a new job, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ said Mariner. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you,’ he said absently, before remembering himself. ‘How are you?’ he added. ‘Suzy told me about—’
Rosalind pulled a wan expression. ‘Oh, you know.’
It was one of those rare occasions when Mariner wasn’t really sure that he did. Heading back to the cottage, the first thing he saw as he rounded the corner was Suzy’s car, parked on the drive. He realised then, that it had been there all along. Something was going on here. This time when Rosalind came to the door, Mariner pushed past her and into the house. ‘Where is Suzy? What have you done?’ Then he saw her, motionless on the sofa. He tried to wake her, but she was out cold. ‘What have you given her?’ he demanded, taking out his phone to call for an ambulance.
Mariner found the empty sedative packs in the kitchen bin while the paramedics were tending to Suzy, though Rosalind denied having used them. Suzy was taken straight in to Warwick Hospital, where she could be monitored, though the paramedics had no concerns that she was in any immediate danger. Mariner stayed with her until she came round, but she was in a stupor. Whatever she had to tell him would have to wait.
TWENTY-FIVE
The following week was a strange one. The Wellington Road fire had been solved and Salwa Shah, as expected, was remanded on bail, for the manslaughter of her father and Talayeh Farzi. Rosalind Wiley had been charged with her husband’s murder, following her confession to Suzy, and Father Peter had been relieved of his duties, pending an inquiry. But they still seemed no nearer to knowing what had happened to Sam Fleetwood.
‘In the absence of a body, we may need to accept that we never will,’ Mariner said, as he, Jesson and Bingley sat reviewing what evidence they had, yet again. Samples had been taken from the incinerator at Carter’s to try and extract any DNA material, but the likelihood of successful identification was slim, meaning that there was insufficient evidence to bring a prosecution against either the Carters or Clive Boswell. Everything felt a little flat.
In certain circumstances, Mariner would have appreciated this hiatus. It was an opportunity to make a dent in the pile of material in his in tray. But he could only view it as a mixed blessing, when what was at the top of his ‘to-do’ list was the preparation of a statistical report on the department’s activity for the last three months. It had been a mind-numbingly tedious task the first time, when there was at least some novelty value, but he’d been doing them for years now, since the Home Office had first demanded it, and it hadn’t got any more compelling in that time. His attention was wandering. He looked up, suddenly aware that Vicky Jesson was addressing him from the doorway.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘I just asked you three times if you want a coffee. Is it Suzy?’
‘In a way, it is,’ said Mariner. ‘No, she’s fine,’ he added hastily, seeing Vicky’s concern. ‘But before all the excitement she said she’d got something important to tell me.’
‘What do you think it is?’ Jesson’s curiosity was piqued now.
‘The only thing I can think of is that she might be pregnant,’ said Mariner. ‘I mean, is that possible?’
‘I’m sorry – you’re asking me?’
‘I mean, at her age, she’s forty-four. How likely would that be?’
‘That’s nothing these days,’ said Jesson. ‘More and more women are having children at that age and way beyond. None of my beeswax, I know, but haven’t you been taking any preventative measures?’
‘I haven’t,’ said Mariner. ‘Suzy’s always said it wasn’t necessary. I assumed that meant that she was taking care of it.’
‘And if she is pregnant. What do you think?’
‘That depends on what time of day you ask me.’ The problem was that Mariner had been here before. Twice. And on both occasions the pregnancies had failed to go to full term. He’d often wondered if that was more than just coincidence; if he had a faulty gene or something. And now he was fearful that, because of him, Suzy might be about to go through that same trauma.
&nb
sp; When he arrived at Suzy’s on Friday evening, as he hugged her, she held him for that bit longer. Did she feel different, look different? Not to him. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine, apart from feeling a bit stupid,’ she said. ‘How did I not see that coming?’
‘You liked her,’ said Mariner, of Rosalind. ‘You trusted her.’
‘More fool me,’ said Suzy. She got him a beer, and they settled down in front of the log burner. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming over. I wanted you to know before I tell Mum and Dad. I’m being a bit of a coward, I suppose. I don’t think they’re going to like it very much, so I’d appreciate some moral support.’
Mariner’s heart started thudding. It was now or never. ‘Would they feel better about it if we were married?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Is it the being-a-bastard thing that’s going to make them unhappy? I mean, we hadn’t exactly planned this, but in the circumstances perhaps we should get married and give him or her that security. Sorry, I know this isn’t the most romantic way of doing it, but—’
Suzy was staring at him wide-eyed. ‘Oh my God. You think I’m pregnant.’
‘Well, aren’t you?’
It was some seconds before Suzy could control her laughter and by the time she did, her face was wet with tears. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She wiped them away. ‘I’m not pregnant,’ she said. ‘That really isn’t it.’
‘Well what then?’ said Mariner.
‘I’ve got the opportunity to go and do some work in China,’ Suzy said. ‘Another guy in the department had arranged a sabbatical, but, rather ironically, his wife is pregnant, so now he doesn’t want to go.’
‘Well,’ said Mariner going from scared to relieved to actually quite irritated, in the space of just a few seconds. ‘That’s great.’
‘It would be for a year in the first instance, maybe for longer. Trouble is, it’s quite sudden. I’d leave at the beginning of next month.’
‘That’s two weeks away,’ he pointed out.
A Good Death Page 25
