A Fatal Night

by Faith Martin

  His clothes were all good quality, she’d noticed, as were his shoes. He’d also been wearing an expensive watch. ‘At least he wasn’t robbed,’ she added as an afterthought, checking his wallet again and finding a lot of folded paper notes, confirming her hypothesis.

  Clement grunted. ‘Got an address for him?’

  Trudy waggled the wallet happily. ‘Inspector Jennings did tell me to start on preliminary inquiries,’ she agreed, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  *

  Terrence James Parker lived in a small terraced house near the turn-off to the very desirable village of Wolvercote, and opposite the entrance to another road full of north Oxford mansions. Not quite close enough to be able to boast that he lived in either area, but his street was not exactly downmarket either.

  Unfortunately, this smaller side street had not seen the attentions of the snowploughs yet, so they had to abandon the Rover on the nearest clear road and make their way as best they could through the snow on foot.

  Luckily, the coroner kept his wellingtons in the car boot, but even so, both of them were aware of numb toes and clammy, cold legs as they made their way up the short path to the front of his house. In addition, Trudy’s cheeks felt as if they were burning – a product of profoundly icy air that she’d always found rather baffling.

  Made of red brick with attractive cream details over windows and door, the residence still had its curtains firmly drawn. Trudy pressed the doorbell, hoping her instincts were right, and that their victim lived alone. Surely, if he’d had a spouse, she would have reported him missing last night – or in the early hours? Or, more likely, she’d have been at the same party with him – in which case, what had she been doing after the car accident?

  There were no sounds coming from inside the house, but she rang the bell again just to make sure. She hated having to deliver bad news to the relatives of people who had died, and she couldn’t help but smile slightly as she turned to the man beside her. ‘Looks as if nobody’s home.’

  ‘No,’ Clement agreed. ‘Let’s try next door.’

  It was starting to get fully light now, but Trudy wasn’t sure if anybody would be up yet. Especially if the neighbours either side of Terrence Parker had stayed up to see the new year in.

  Still, that couldn’t really be helped.

  They walked back up the path, choosing the house on the right first. She banged on the doorknocker and waited. Its sharp, peremptory noise sounded ominous, even to her ears, and she could only wonder what the householders felt at being awakened like this on such a cold, dark morning.

  She knocked again, and was finally rewarded by the sound of someone obviously coming down the stairs. From that she surmised that the front door led straight into the hallway, with the stairs facing them. Whoever it was descending sounded heavy.

  The door opened with a yank, and a large, fleshy woman dressed in a pink flannel housecoat wrapped tightly around her figure, glared out at them. She was probably in her early fifties, Trudy gauged, with short curly brown hair that was almost certainly the result of a permanent wave, and large brown eyes that looked slightly red-rimmed.

  ‘Yes?’ the woman said, her eyes growing wider with alarm as she took in Trudy’s uniform, and then looking even more worried as she regarded the unmistakable figure of authority that was Dr Ryder, standing slightly behind and to the left of her.

  ‘Oh no, it’s not my Frank, is it?’ she said, swallowing hard, all the colour leaching out of her rounded face.

  ‘No, it’s about your next-door neighbour,’ Trudy reassured her hastily, assuming that Frank was a family member.

  ‘Oh, him!’ The woman sagged against the doorframe, breathing out in obvious relief, then instantly looked guilty. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean … What’s up with Terry then? He’s all right, is he?’ Her eyes went from Trudy to the coroner, then back again.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not, madam,’ Trudy said, thinking that there was very little point in beating about the bush. Although it was hardly ever a good idea to give out information, she knew that the news of the fatal accident would be out and doing the rounds before lunchtime. Snow or no snow! And she needed this woman’s help. ‘We’re trying to locate his next of kin. Have you been neighbours long, Mrs …?’ she probed gently.

  ‘Kirk. Kitty Kirk. Er, nearly four years now. What happened?’ the woman asked again, looking eager and curious now that her initial fright had passed.

  ‘We’re still investigating, Mrs Kirk,’ Trudy said firmly. Just because the local grapevine would soon be in overdrive, she saw no reason to add her own tuppence’s worth. ‘Is Mr Parker married?’

  ‘Oh no, love, not him!’ Kitty Kirk said with a sudden and knowing smile. Trudy nodded, taking on board the tacit message. Their victim was something of a ladies’ man. Probably not relevant, but still interesting to know.

  ‘I don’t suppose you happen to have an address for his parents?’ Trudy asked next, but without much hope.

  ‘Oh no, love,’ the older woman said, right on cue. ‘He’s not one to be over-friendly like. Well, not with his neighbours anyway,’ she added, with another knowing smile.

  Trudy sighed. ‘Is there anything you can tell us about where he might have been last night?’ she asked, again without much hope.

  But this time, her luck seemed to be improving. ‘Oh, he was sure to be at that fancy party,’ Kitty said, her lips twisting into yet another smile that was just a little crooked. ‘I heard from Doris three doors down that he’d been invited. Well, I’m not that surprised. He was the sort who would be, if you know what I mean.’

  Trudy didn’t, but she definitely wanted to find out. ‘Fancy party? Do you know where this was?’

  ‘Oh, Doris said it was in one of those mansions down along Banbury Road. A widow-woman,’ she added with heavy emphasis. ‘Mrs … Oh, what was the name? Doris said everyone who was anyone was going … well, that rules me out then, don’t it, love?’ Kitty added with a laugh. ‘Mrs Vander!’ she suddenly squealed loudly, making both Trudy and Clement jump. ‘Yerse, that was her name. Mrs Vander … like I said, a widow-woman. Well-heeled. Just Terry’s type if you ask me,’ she added, nodding with satisfaction at her ability to recall the name. ‘Terry’s a nice enough lad, but he’s got ideas above his station, you ask me.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know the exact address of this party?’ Trudy asked.

  ‘No, but Doris will,’ Kitty predicted smugly. ‘Do you want me to go round and ask her?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Trudy said hastily, then added, more gently, ‘It’s perishing out here, and I don’t want to inconvenience you more than necessary. If you can just tell us which house belongs to Doris?’

  Reluctantly, Kitty Kirk pointed out the house, then watched them as they retreated up her garden path. She continued to watch them all the way to Doris’s house, Trudy noted, and almost certainly she was still waiting and watching as they knocked on the door and got her friend out of bed.

  No doubt, the moment they left the area, she’d be dressed and around Doris’s house to compare notes, Trudy mused with a wry smile.

  *

  The helpful Doris didn’t know the address as such, but was able to give them such an accurate description of the house, and its position on Banbury Road, that they were able to find it without much trouble. It was slightly nearer St Giles than Summertown, which put it somewhere around two miles from the scene of the crash.

  It was now fully light. The house was large, whitewashed and maybe Georgian, with big wide windows and the simple, elegant dimensions that a lot of the houses in this part of the city seemed to prefer. The wide, semicircular gravel drive had obviously been cleared last night for the event, but that morning’s fresh snow was starting to lay another blanket on top of the cleared spaces.

  It was clear that a few cars had been parked on the spacious driveway recently, and as they approached the impressive front door (oak, painted dark blue) Trudy was sure she could see movement in an upstairs window.


  ‘Somebody’s up and about,’ Clement said, indicating that he too had noticed. ‘We’re being watched, I think.’

  Trudy turned around to regard the large garden, full of laurels and several other evergreens, now bowed down under the weight of snow. Clement, doing the same, murmured thoughtfully, ‘This is a long way, socially, from his own place, isn’t it? Any idea, from his identification, what he did for a living?’

  ‘No,’ Trudy said, then tensed as the door opened behind her.

  The woman who stood on the threshold looking at them was small – not much more than five feet, Trudy gauged. She had long red hair left loose around her shoulders, and wore some sort of fancy silk black lounge pyjamas with a matching black-and-gold floating negligee thing that she now pulled tightly around her. Unlike Kitty Kirk’s warm housecoat, she doubted it gave the woman much protection from the freezing air.

  But something told Trudy that this woman would rather look good and freeze, than be warm but look dowdy.

  ‘Yes, what on earth is it?’ the woman asked, looking at Trudy in her uniform with some trepidation.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you … is it Mrs Vander?’ Trudy asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m Millie Vander.’

  ‘Can we come in please? You must be freezing,’ Trudy said, following up the suggestion with a small forward step. She couldn’t have said why, but she had the feeling that the petite redhead didn’t want them in her house, which only made Trudy all the more determined to conduct the interview inside.

  Millie Vander visibly hesitated a second, then stepped aside to let them in. The house was warm everywhere, and Trudy realised they had central heating. She’d heard about it, but no one she knew had it in their own homes. But chilly draughts and inadequate real fires were not for someone who lived in a house like this! The hall was otherwise small but nicely proportioned.

  ‘I’ve only just risen, as you can see,’ Millie began. ‘I hope this won’t take long – whatever it is?’

  She eyed Clement curiously, and Trudy saw her preen a little in the presence of a handsome man. It seemed to come from a habit born of a lifetime’s practice.

  ‘I hope we won’t have to take up much of your time, Mrs Vander. I’m WPC Loveday, and this is Dr Clement Ryder.’

  ‘Hello, Doctor,’ Millie said at once, holding out a slender, pale hand to the coroner, who took it and shook it with a smile. Trudy noticed Mrs Vander was wearing pink nail varnish. She was also, Trudy noted, wearing a certain amount of make-up. So much for having just risen, she thought. The lady of the house must have been up for at least a quarter of an hour and had been in the process of making herself presentable for the day.

  ‘We understand you threw a New Year’s Eve party last night,’ Trudy began gently.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Millie said, tossing her long red hair in annoyance. ‘This can’t be about a noise complaint? I simply can’t believe it of my neighbours – besides, most of them were here themselves!’ She laughed lightly, throwing another smile somewhat perfunctorily at Dr Ryder.

  Beneath the veneer of gaiety, however, Trudy was sure she could detect nervousness in their witness. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean much – most people, even thoroughly law-abiding people, felt nervous when they had an unexpected visit from the law.

  ‘No, I’m afraid I have more serious news than that. Could we talk somewhere more …?’ Trudy glanced around the hall, which had a small grandfather clock ticking pretentiously in one corner, a marble console table with a black Bakelite telephone on it, and a staircase, sweeping up and around to the top floor.

  ‘Oh, come on through to the morning room,’ Millie said with a slightly petulant sigh, turning and heading to the second door on the right. Here, the curtains were still drawn, and she went straight to the window to let in some light. The room was square, the walls painted a duck-egg blue. A large gilt oval mirror reflected the room back at them over a marble fireplace. The air smelt faintly of cigarette smoke. A large sheepskin rug lay in front of a small walnut coffee table and a two-seater settee. If any of last night’s party had overspilled into this room, it had either been cleaned in the interim, or else the guests had been very well behaved.

  ‘Please, take a seat,’ Millie said, indicating the Queen-Anne-style settee and chairs. Clement chose the sturdiest-looking chair, and Trudy another. After a moment’s hesitation, their hostess chose the two-seater settee and settled herself in it. She tossed one silk-clad leg over the other. On her feet were backless mules, fluffy with dyed black feathers. With her unbound long red hair and exotic (to Trudy) outfit, she looked a bit like one of the stars of the silver screen from a decade or two ago. She should, Trudy thought cynically, ideally be holding a cigarette holder, and saying something witty.

  Instead, she looked wary and unhappy. Her green eyes danced around the room, seemingly unable to settle.

  ‘So, what time did your party break up last night?’ Trudy asked, getting out her notebook. The sight of such officialdom made Millie go slightly pale under her face powder, and her brows puckered.

  ‘Everyone had left by around one o’clock, because of the awful snow, of course. People were worried they might not get back … Look, do you mind telling me just what this is all in aid of?’ she said, definitely petulant now. She jogged her loose foot in the air in agitation, the ridiculous slipper threatening to fall off.

  ‘I’m sorry to say that we have reason to believe that one of your guests was the victim of a fatal accident last night,’ Trudy began gently. ‘You don’t happen to have a guest list, do you?’

  Millie abruptly uncrossed her legs and leaned forward on the settee. ‘Who?’ she cried, her face growing ever more pale now. ‘Who died?’

  ‘Did you invite a man named Terrence Parker to your party, Mrs Vander?’ Trudy asked gently.

  And then she watched, stunned, as the pretty green eyes rolled back in the woman’s head, and the petite figure of her witness pitched forward and landed with a graceful fold onto the sheepskin rug.

  Clement was the first to move. He took the few steps necessary to get by her side, then knelt on one knee. Trudy, by now, was also on her feet, her heart thumping in her chest. She had expected the woman to be upset – after all, nobody liked to think a guest in their house had left it only to meet their end. But she had not anticipated such a strong reaction.

  She watched nervously as the coroner lifted one of Mrs Vander’s hands, his expert fingers quickly searching for a pulse on her wrist, and held her breath as she waited for his verdict. If her witness had had a heart attack …

  ‘She’s only passed out,’ Clement said calmly. ‘She’ll soon start to …’

  It was then that a young man walked in, took in the scene at a glance, and snarled, ‘Who the hell are you? Get away from my mother before I rip your damned head off!’

  ‘That’ll be enough of that, sir,’ Trudy said sharply, moving forward hastily and putting herself between Dr Ryder and the newcomer.

  The young man reared back in surprise, not having realised she was there, his mouth falling open. He was very good-looking, Trudy noticed clinically, with black hair and grey eyes, but he wasn’t particularly tall. At five-feet-ten herself, she thought she had a good four or so inches on him, and he took a step back and watched her resentfully, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘Police?’ he said, noting her uniform with a brisk, unimpressed glance. ‘What have you been saying to my mother? Why is she lying on the floor?’

  Just then, Millie gave a sigh and opened her eyes. ‘Hello, Mrs Vander, don’t be alarmed,’ Clement said, still kneeling beside her. He’d paid barely any attention to the young man, his focus on the woman he suddenly considered as a temporary patient. ‘You’ve had a bit of a faint that’s all. You’ve had a nasty shock. Just lie still for a moment and take some deep breaths. When you’re ready, I’ll help you back into your chair. All right?’

  To the young man standing uncertainly in the doorway, he added crisply,
‘Your mother’s had a shock. Go and make some hot sweet tea. Now,’ he ordered curtly as the newcomer continued to stare at him blankly.

  The young man flushed, his anger at being spoken to so peremptorily making him look ugly for a moment, before he nodded without much grace and stalked back out into the hall.

  Trudy hadn’t realised she was so tense until she felt her shoulders slump in relief.

  With the son of the house gone, she turned her attention back to Millie, who was beginning to turn on her side, putting a hand out and levering her elbows upwards so that she could sit up.

  Trudy rushed forward and helped her lean back against the settee, and with a nod from Clement, they both put a hand under each of her armpits and helped her up and back onto the settee. She was so slight it didn’t require much effort.

  Under her make-up, however, Trudy could see that she was still deathly pale.

  ‘Did … Did I hear you say that Terry … Terry’s d-dead?’ she asked, the last word little more than a whisper.

  ‘We don’t yet have a formal identification, Mrs Vander, but yes it seems very likely,’ Trudy said with genuine sympathy. ‘A car was found crashed earlier this morning. A Riley.’ She cited the number plate, which she had written down in her notebook, but it was clear from the dazed look in her eyes, that Millie was in no state to either confirm or deny that she recognised it. ‘The man inside had a driver’s licence made out to Terrence James Parker. Did he attend your party in a Riley, Mrs Vander?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes, he did,’ Millie confirmed miserably.

  ‘I take it he’s a good friend?’ Trudy persisted softly. ‘Have you known him long?’

  Millie drew in a long, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. Then her shoulders straightened and her lips pinched tighter together. Trudy recognised all the signs of a woman getting herself firmly under control. A long, tense moment passed in silence, then the older woman pushed back the hair from her face and hugged herself around the middle.