The Lifeline

by Margaret Mayhew

  He headed for the greenhouses where he remembered seeing plants for sale put outside on long benches. There were no other customers around and no sign of Tanya or anyone else. He took his time, wandering up and down the benches, pretending to examine the plants closely and hoping she would come by. No such luck. In the end, he picked up a tall plant with purple flowers and a long Latin name, which would impress the old girl. It gave him the excuse to wander about some more, searching for someone to pay. He caught sight of a woman in the distance, but the old peepers weren’t quite up to scratch these days and before he could get closer, she’d vanished. Just as well. It might have been the golf widow – the last person he wanted to run into. He walked on and, as he was passing one of the greenhouses, the loony chap, Jacob, came blundering out straight into him, knocking Marjorie’s Latin plant out of his hands. The Major then watched him rush off without a word of apology. Damned fool! What on earth was all the panic about?

  He peered into the greenhouse. All quiet on the Western Front. Nothing to frighten the horses. Just green things growing up long strings towards the roof. There was a nice smell in the air and he suddenly realized that the green things were tomato plants. He could see big bunches of them hanging down, ripening away. He sniffed appreciatively, thinking that tomatoes smelled a whole lot better than they tasted. Chopped up in one of the old girl’s salads they were all water and pips, but these seemed quite different.

  He walked on, wondering if he dared risk picking one to test. Nobody around. Better make sure, though. It wouldn’t do to get caught red-handed, as it were. He wrinkled his nose as he approached the far end of the greenhouse. There was a different smell now, not nearly as pleasant as the tomatoes. Not nice at all.

  The Major stopped in his tracks.

  Some chap was sprawled face down on the ground ahead, a wooden stool overturned beside him. He edged closer. Great Scot! Blood everywhere! He’d never seen so much of it in his life. All over the back of the man’s head. Pools of it in the soil. A blood-soaked spade lying on the ground.

  The Major clutched at his chest. He could feel the old ticker banging away like a hammer. Keep calm! Steady the Buffs! Rally the troops! He turned and bolted for the door.

  NINE

  The Colonel answered the phone, bracing himself for yet another round with his daughter-in-law on the subject of bungalows and vitamins. Instead, he heard Ruth’s frantic voice.

  ‘Hugh? Can you come at once? Something simply terrible has happened.’

  He didn’t waste time asking what it was. He sprinted for the Riley like one of The Few scrambling in 1940. As he skidded into the Manor driveway he saw several cars parked there – two of them marked police cars. Ruth opened the front door at once.

  ‘Thank God you’re here, Hugh!’

  He made her sit down on one of the hall chairs. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘Lawrence Deacon has been murdered.’

  ‘Murdered? Are you sure?’

  ‘Unless he managed to commit suicide by hitting himself over the head with a spade, then, yes, I’m very sure. And so are the police. Inspector Squibb is here with them. You remember him?’

  Indeed he did, and the memory was not at all agreeable. Inspector Squibb had been in charge of the investigation into Lady Swynford’s death at the Manor. Ruth’s mother had been suffocated with a pillow in her bedroom while the annual summer fête took place merrily in the gardens below. There had been a number of police suspects – one of them Ruth herself, who had happened to discover her mother’s body – and the young Inspector Squibb, cocky and confident, had managed to make himself offensive to everyone. The Colonel had encountered him again when the famous actress, Lois Delaney, had been found dead in her bath at one of the Hall’s newly converted flats and Squibb had reappeared to direct the proceedings. The second experience had been no improvement on the first.

  ‘Where are the police?’

  ‘Out in the greenhouse where Lawrence was found.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘I’d asked him to pinch out the tomato side shoots for me. I showed him how to do it and gave him a stool so he could sit down whenever he wanted. Then I left him alone.’

  ‘Who found his body?’

  ‘The Major.’

  ‘The Major?’

  ‘Apparently, he’d come to choose a plant for Marjorie’s birthday. He says he was looking for someone to pay when Jacob came rushing out of the greenhouse in a big panic, collided with him and ran off. When he went to look inside, wondering what was wrong, he saw someone lying on the ground, face down, with blood all over the place. Tanya heard the Major yelling for help and ran to the greenhouse. As soon as she saw Lawrence she came and fetched me from the stables.’

  ‘She knew it was him? Even though he was lying face down?’

  ‘She must have done. She told me it was him. I phoned Tom and he came home at once. He said Lawrence was dead and nothing could be done for him. He called the police and stayed till they arrived. Then he had to go and take evening surgery and I called you.’

  ‘I’m very glad you did. Where’s the Major now?’

  ‘In the drawing room. On his third whisky. Inspector Squibb ordered him to wait there for further questioning. Poor old Major, he’s pretty shaken up. Apparently, there was some blood on his blazer and Squibb’s treating him like a major suspect. The Major, for heaven’s sake! It’s ridiculous.’ She looked up at the Colonel. ‘Do you think Jacob could have done it, Hugh? He’s never hurt a fly, as far as I know, but he was very upset about having other people working in the gardens, and he didn’t like Lawrence Deacon at all.’

  ‘Have the police interviewed him?’

  ‘They can’t find him. He’s vanished. Run off and hidden himself somewhere, I suppose. Just about the worst thing he could have done, isn’t it?’

  The worst thing Jacob could have done, the Colonel thought, would have been to murder Deacon. And it certainly seemed possible. Who could know what had been building up in his mind? What fears and uncertainties for his future?

  ‘Where was Jacob working?’

  ‘He’d been digging over the potato bed in the kitchen garden.’

  ‘With a spade?’

  ‘Yes, he would have used a spade.’

  ‘The same one that was lying by Lawrence Deacon?’

  ‘I don’t know. There are several others, though Jacob often uses that particular one. It’s very well made.’

  ‘Was there any reason for him to go into the greenhouse?’

  ‘The only one I can think of is that he probably didn’t trust Lawrence to pinch out the tomatoes properly. I usually give the job to Jacob because he’s very good at it – surprisingly nimble and quick with his fingers – whereas Lawrence was slow and clumsy. I only asked Lawrence to do it because he was getting very bored and needed something to keep him occupied. Oh, Hugh, it looks very bad for Jacob, doesn’t it?’

  He said, ‘There’s no proof of anything at the moment. Shall I have a word with the Major? See if I can calm things down there?’

  ‘Would you, Hugh? Tanya’s been looking after Alan but I ought to go and take him off her hands.’

  A shirt-sleeved Major was slumped in an armchair in the Manor drawing room, glass cradled to his chest.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here, Colonel?’

  ‘Ruth called me. She’s told me about Deacon.’

  The Major gulped at the glass. ‘Hardly knew the fellow. Only met him once to talk to, and it was only a few words. Inspector Squibb seems to think I might have had something to do with it. Me? I told him I was looking for a plant for my wife, minding my own business, and that lunatic comes tearing out of the greenhouse, knocks the plant out of my hands and runs off without a word. Plant a complete goner, I might say, after all the trouble I’d taken to choose the damned thing. Then I go in and find a dead body. Some chap lying on the ground, blood everywhere. I hadn’t a clue who it was. Not till later.’

  ‘It
must have been quite a shock for you.’

  The Major took another gulp from the glass. ‘Bit of an understatement. Thought I was going to have a heart attack. And now the cops have taken my best blazer. They found blood on it, they say, so they’re keeping it as evidence. Evidence of what? I’d like to know. I had nothing to do with any of it. That mad man must have had blood on his hands when he ran into me, after he’d bashed Deacon with a spade.’ Yet another gulp at the glass. ‘I’ve a good mind to take myself off. If the Inspector wants to talk to me again, he can come to Shangri-La.’

  The Colonel said soothingly, ‘I’d wait here, if I were you. It’s always wise to cooperate with the police as much as possible.’

  ‘Huh! You may be right, but it’s still a damned disgrace to treat honest, law-abiding citizens like this. I can’t imagine what Marjorie will say.’

  The Colonel could imagine quite well. He fetched the whisky decanter and refreshed the Major’s glass.

  ‘Would you like me to give her a call? Tell her what’s happened?’

  ‘No point. She’ll still be at her damned committee meeting. They go on for ever.’

  ‘I’ll wait with you, if you like.’

  The Major said gruffly, ‘Very good of you. Much obliged. I must say the whole thing’s got me a bit rattled.’

  ‘Understandably.’

  ‘I mean, when Ursula Swynford got herself suffocated at least it was done decently with a pillow and no mess. Not like this time. The place looked like a slaughterhouse.’

  Nearly an hour passed before Inspector Squibb came into the room. He was even sleeker and cockier than the Colonel remembered. Sharp suit, silk tie, hair artfully combed forward to disguise its retreat, and a time-added layer of confidence – or arrogance, depending how you interpreted it. His Sergeant Biddlecombe – a contrast with his baggy clothing and ruddy, country face – trundled along in his wake.

  The Inspector said in his no-particular accent from no-particular place, ‘No need for me to detain you, Colonel.’

  ‘Major Cuthbertson has asked me to stay and I’m happy to do so.’

  ‘I’m not quite so happy. I need to ask the Major some more questions concerning the murder of Lawrence Deacon. As far as I am aware, Colonel, you are not involved in any way.’

  With Dutch courage to hand, the Major spoke up from the depths of his armchair.

  ‘I’d like the Colonel to stay.’

  A shrug. ‘If you insist, Major.’

  ‘I damn well do.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The Inspector sat down on a sofa, the Sergeant at the opposite end with his notebook at the ready. The Colonel remained standing by a window.

  ‘Let’s run through your account again, shall we, Major?’

  ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you, Inspector.’

  ‘There’s always more, sir. What time exactly did you arrive at the Manor?’

  The Major didn’t know. Some time after two, he thought. He hadn’t looked at his watch, for God’s sake. There’d been no reason to do so. Prompted relentlessly by the Inspector, he went through his story again.

  ‘When you were looking for a plant for your wife, was anybody else in the vicinity?’

  ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘No other customers?’

  ‘I didn’t notice any.’

  ‘None of the other workers?’

  The Major frowned. ‘I saw some woman in the distance but I don’t know who it was – she was too far away. Then she disappeared.’

  ‘How do you know it was a woman?’

  ‘Because it looked like one.’

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Was she old or young?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘What sort of build?’

  ‘Build?’

  ‘Was she fat or thin? Heavy or light?’

  The Major shrugged. ‘She was only there for a few seconds and I couldn’t see her properly. My sight’s not so good these days.’

  ‘But you’re sure it was a woman?’

  ‘I can tell the difference, Inspector.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘That gardener chap, Jacob, came tearing out of the greenhouse and ran slap into me.’

  ‘Did he say anything to you, sir?’

  ‘Not a word. Not even sorry.’

  ‘Did you say anything to him?’

  ‘I think I said something like, “Mind where you’re going”. I might have put it a bit more strongly. He’d knocked the plant out of my hands and wrecked it.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘I wondered what the hell had upset him so much and I went into the greenhouse to take a look. I couldn’t see anything at first, then I saw a man lying on the ground at the far end. There was a stool knocked over beside him and I thought maybe he’d fallen off it and hurt himself.’

  ‘You didn’t recognize him?’

  ‘How could I? He was face down and covered in blood.’ The Major shuddered. ‘There was a spade with blood all over it as well.’

  ‘Did you touch or move anything?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘But there was blood on your jacket.’

  ‘I didn’t touch a damn thing, Inspector. That maniac, Jacob, touched me when he ran into me.’

  ‘Did you see blood on his hands?’

  ‘No, but there must have been. It’s obvious he killed Deacon.’

  ‘So, what did you do next, Major, after you had discovered the body?’

  ‘Just what I told you before. I ran out of the greenhouse and shouted for help. And Mrs Carberry came.’

  ‘How long did she take to arrive?’

  ‘A few minutes, I suppose.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I told her there was a body in the greenhouse. She took a look and then she went to find Mrs Harvey and tell her what had happened.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Waited outside the door.’

  ‘You didn’t go back inside?’

  The Major shuddered again. ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘How did Mrs Harvey react to the news?’

  ‘She was damned upset, of course. What do you think, Inspector? Ghastly thing to have someone murdered in your own home. Not the first time it’s happened to her either.’

  ‘Indeed it isn’t. Most unfortunate. What did Mrs Harvey do?’

  ‘She went to phone her husband and he turned up almost at once. He called the police as soon as he’d seen Deacon’s body and been sure he was dead.’

  The Inspector smoothed his tie carefully. ‘What did you think of Mr Deacon, Major?’

  ‘I didn’t think of him at all. I’d only ever spoken to him once.’

  ‘Well, what did people in Frog End think of him?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘People always talk about other people in villages, Major. You must have heard something. In the Dog and Duck, for example.’

  ‘I don’t listen to gossip, Inspector. Not my sort of thing. All I know is the chap had had a stroke a while ago and that Dr Harvey thought it’d do him good to get out and do a spot of gardening at the Manor.’

  ‘Do you know Mr Deacon’s wife?’

  ‘Never even spoken to her. Only seen her once at the village hall. I think she runs some sort of shop in Dorchester. They were newcomers to Frog End, you know.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ The Inspector turned his head towards the window. ‘Since you’re staying, Colonel, it would be interesting to learn what you know about the Deacons.’

  ‘I’ve never met Mrs Deacon either and only spoken to her husband a few times when he was working here.’

  ‘How did he get on with Jacob? Or rather, how did Jacob get on with him?’

  ‘The same way that Jacob gets on with most people, Ins
pector. You know how he is.’

  ‘Crackers like the biscuit box he was dumped in as a baby. Yes, I know all about him, Colonel. And now he’s absconded from the scene of a crime.’

  ‘That’s no proof that he committed it. He may have discovered Deacon’s body and run away because he thought he’d be blamed. There’s no record of violence attached to him, as you must know from your investigation into Lady Swynford’s death when he was already working here.’

  ‘But the man’s hardly normal, is he, sir? And who knows how he might react if he felt his job and his cosy home at the Manor were being threatened.’

  The Colonel hesitated. This was a murder investigation, which obliged him to help Inspector Squibb with his legitimate enquiries in any way that he could.

  ‘Mrs Harvey thought that Jacob seemed rather unsettled by some of Dr Harvey’s patients working here as a form of therapy. Dr Harvey had recommended it for Lawrence Deacon after his stroke. Mrs Carberry, Johnny Turner and Mrs Reed are also patients of his.’

  ‘So Mrs Harvey told me. I’ve already spoken with Mrs Carberry who seems unlikely to have presented much of a worry to Jacob and I’m keeping an open mind about the wheelchair boy. I haven’t questioned Mrs Reed yet but apparently she wasn’t working at the Manor today. Mr Deacon could have been a different matter. What was he like as a person?’

  The Colonel hesitated again. ‘I think his stroke had affected him emotionally as well as physically. He seemed bitter about life.’

  ‘Not what you would call an easy man?’

  ‘Not a very happy one. Apparently, he and his wife lost their only son in a tragic accident many years ago and I don’t think he ever got over the loss. But I don’t see how his state of mind could have induced someone to murder him.’

  ‘Bitter and unhappy people can cause a lot of trouble, Colonel. Whoever hit Mr Deacon’s head with a spade must have had a strong reason for it, wouldn’t you say? They did it several times, you know – to make very certain that he was dead.’

  The Major spoke up again from his chair. ‘How much longer are you going to keep me here, Inspector? It’s damned inconvenient.’

  ‘Oh, you can go now, Major. No more questions – for the time being.’