A Death in the Family (9 page)

‘He rang you last night?’

‘Yes, about eight o’clock, well, it was just before eight because there was a television programme that I wanted to see – an important documentary about global warming – that started at eight. And, of course, it was just the same old thing, asking about Mother. Not that I could hear half of what he was saying, because he was ringing from that restaurant of his and it was very noisy. So I said I didn’t have time to talk and put the phone down.’

‘Perhaps Luke could look after your mother now,’ I suggested.

‘Good gracious no, that would be most unsuitable, given his circumstances. Besides, it’s a question of where she’s going to live, obviously she can’t stay in that large house all by herself. No, I suppose I’ll have to try and find some sort of flat for her, though, of course, she could go into sheltered housing. I must see what the options are.’

I was depressed at the thought of Christine taking over from where Bernard had left off and I very much hoped that Luke would encourage his mother to stand up for herself at last. Certainly she had seemed a different person when they were together and perhaps Christine would be ‘too busy’ to bother about taking control of her mother’s life.

‘I think you’ll be all right in that end bedroom,’
Janet said to Christine as she came into the room. ‘It has a lovely view up over the hills,’ she added in a placatory tone.

‘I’m sure it will be perfectly adequate,’ Christine said, picking up the tea tray in a brisk manner that suggested that in doing so she was taking over the reins of government. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Malory – may I call you Sheila, since we are related? You have been most kind.’

When the door had closed behind her I said to Janet, ‘Shall I call for you to go to the police station tomorrow?’

‘Well…’ She hesitated. ‘Christine said she would be going, so…well, perhaps not. I’ll ring and let you know what happens, shall I?’

‘Yes, that will be fine. Though, as I’m going there tomorrow anyway we may meet there.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said anxiously. ‘Christine might not like… But no, of course,’ she went on, ‘it would be perfectly natural wouldn’t it? I mean she wouldn’t think we’d arranged it, would she?’

‘It’ll be all right,’ I said going to the door. But, having seen Christine, I had the gravest doubts that it would be.

As it happened I didn’t get to the police station the next morning. I’d fed the animals and fed myself and I’d finished the washing up when I thought I’d just defrost some prawns as a treat for Foss when I came back. So I got the pack out of the freezer and as I was undoing it the whole thing slipped out of my hands and the contents were scattered over the floor. Putting the animals, enthusiastic to help, out of doors, I collected up the prawns, having to get down on my hands and knees (no easy feat these days) to retrieve the stray prawns from under the fridge and the washing machine. Telling myself they were only for the animals, who wouldn’t mind, I put most of them back in the bag, replaced it in the freezer and left a small amount in water to defrost. I then felt obliged to mop the kitchen floor with disinfectant in case it might smell of prawns.

The whole incident left me feeling
disproportionately
exhausted and I was just sitting down to recover when the telephone rang and it was Anthea.

‘Sheila, what do you know about this concert they’re having in the Methodist hall?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who’s organising it?’ she said impatiently. ‘They’ve got that string quartet
we
always have for the concert at Brunswick Lodge for the restoration appeal.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Doesn’t it say on the poster?’

‘There isn’t a poster, just a notice in this week’s
Free Press
– surely you’ve seen it.’

‘Well, actually, as it happens I haven’t had time to look at the
Free Press
.’

Anthea, who always reads the paper from cover to cover the minute it comes out every Friday, gave an exclamation of surprise and disbelief. ‘Well anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’d very much like to know who’s behind it.’ She made it sound like a revolutionary plot. ‘I mean, we’ve
always
had that quartet and now if these people – whoever they are – are going to use them as well for their fundraising concerts, everyone is going to be very
confused
.’

‘I don’t see why they should. I mean, when they played for us it was at Brunswick Lodge. Quite different.’

‘Well,’ Anthea said, clearly unconvinced, ‘if you find out who these people are, let me know. Now what I want to ask you is can you help Monica with the coffee morning on Wednesday. Mrs Galbraith was going to do it but they’ve brought her hip
replacement forward so she’ll be going into hospital on Monday.’

‘Well…’

‘It’s only for a couple of hours, I’m sure you can manage that.’

Since Fate and Anthea can never be denied I said that yes I’d do it.

‘Oh good. And if you should happen to be making some scones, they’re always welcome.’

Sighing, I went out into the kitchen to mark Wednesday’s date on the calendar and let in the animals, who rushed in anxious to see what had been going on in their enforced absence. It had been raining and they were both wet and muddy, so I had to dry them both, which they hate, thereby getting pretty muddy myself. Foss, when he escaped, immediately crouched down beside the fridge, hooked out a prawn that had escaped my notice, and began to eat it noisily. Tris, put out by this, began whining for food, so I had to get out the dry food for them both and was just putting the packets away when the doorbell rang.

As I went to answer it I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the hall, looking dishevelled and with a streak of dirt down the side of my face, and hoped that my caller wasn’t someone who’d think this was my normal appearance. My caller, in fact, was Roger Eliot.

‘Good heavens,’ he said, ‘what
have
you been up to?’

‘Come in,’ I said. ‘It’s been one of those mornings!’

I led the way into the kitchen, put the kettle on and got out the tin of chocolate digestives. I also got the kitchen towel and wiped my face vigorously.

‘It’s lovely to see you,’ I said, ‘but I imagine it’s business and you’re not just dropping in for a chat.’

‘I’m afraid so – though the tea and biscuits are a welcome addition.’

‘I suppose it’s about Bernard Prior. I was coming down to the station – Bob Harris said you’d be there this morning – but, as you can see, minor domestic problems have held me up.’

‘It’s nicer,’ Roger said, taking a second biscuit, ‘like this.’

‘We did make statements – Bernard’s wife Janet and I – the night it happened.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen those. Pretty coherent, I thought, after what must have been a horrible experience for you both.’

‘Well, yes it was, but do you know, somehow, at the time it didn’t seem real – I can’t explain, but it didn’t seem like a murder at all.’

‘It wasn’t.’

My hand shook as I was pouring the tea, splashing it into the saucer.

‘But – but I was there, I
saw
him.’

‘You saw a dead man in a chair, but he hadn’t been murdered.’

‘He’d been struck on the head,’ I said. ‘I saw the blood.’

‘Very little blood, though.’

‘Well, yes – I can remember thinking…’

‘That’s because he was already dead when someone hit him on the head.’

‘Already dead?’ I echoed stupidly.

‘We have the forensic report. He died of a heart attack.’

‘No! When?’

‘The times are a bit tight, but they think there was a gap of about an hour between his heart giving out and the attack by whoever it was.’

‘He must have died soon after Janet left,’ I said. ‘Of course! She said he’d been complaining of indigestion all afternoon, that’s why she stopped off at the supermarket to get some tablets for him. What an extraordinary thing!’ I got a fresh saucer and poured the tea. ‘But surely,’ I said, ‘the burglar would have seen that he was dead, wouldn’t he?’

‘Not necessarily. He was sitting in that low-backed chair, with his head back and his eyes closed. The burglar – if it was a burglar – may have thought that he was asleep.’

‘I suppose that’s possible,’ I conceded.

‘Though, actually, I’m not really sold on the idea that it was a burglar.’

‘But there was a forced entry,’ I said. ‘That smashed glass panel in the back door and the front
door left open when he – the burglar that is – panicked and ran away.’

‘Hmm, yes, but it all looks a bit pat, don’t you think?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just what you’d expect to find if there had been a burglary – the sort of thing you see in television cop drama – all carefully set up.’

‘Well, yes, I see what you mean. And, of course,’ I added, ‘nothing was taken.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But if the burglar hit Bernard over the head, not realising he was dead and then saw that he
was
, and thought he’d killed him, then he’d panic and run away.’

‘True. But I still think the whole set-up is too good to be true.’

‘But if it isn’t a burglary that went wrong, what
is
it?’

‘How about attempted murder?’

‘But the whole thing’s bizarre!’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘And really horrible,’ I went on, ‘if you come to think of it. Striking a dead person.’

‘But if you didn’t know he was dead? Which is worse – murder or this?’

‘If you put it like that, I suppose… But presumably if you catch whoever it was, they’d be guilty of murder, wouldn’t they?’

‘No.’

‘But what would they be guilty of?’

‘In this particular case? I daresay we could have them for breaking and entering.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘In law, hitting a dead person over the head is not a criminal offence.’

‘Good heavens. Not even grievous bodily harm?’

‘Not in this case.’

I drank the rest of my tea in an effort to clear my mind.

‘Does Janet know?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I saw her and her daughter at the station before I came to see you.’

‘Poor Janet. How did she take it?’

‘She was very upset. I’m afraid she more or less collapsed. Her daughter took her home. Not, however, before she – the daughter that is – favoured me with several scathing comments concerning police inefficiency, with especial reference to our outdated and dilatory methods. She was particularly concerned that I couldn’t give her the date of the inquest or when the body would be released. Apparently the entire educational system of the Southwest has had to be put on hold until she gets back.’

‘There will be one, then? An inquest, I mean.’

‘The circumstances are unusual enough to warrant one, certainly. I imagine it will simply confirm that death was from natural causes.’

I shook my head. ‘I just can’t take it in.’

‘It’s unusual, certainly.’

‘So whoever thought they’d killed Bernard doesn’t know he was already dead and…’

‘And they needn’t have bothered. That’s right. It’ll come as a bit of a shock when they do find out.’ Roger took the last biscuit. ‘Sorry, do you mind? I didn’t have time for any breakfast.’

‘Of course not. Would you like some cake or something more substantial – a sandwich perhaps?’

‘No, these are fine.’

‘So,’ I said, ‘will you still be looking for who did it?’

‘Obviously there’ll be some sort of enquiry, but not top priority, like it would have been if it was murder.’

‘I see.’

Roger brushed a few stray crumbs from his jacket. ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?’

‘Goodness yes!’ I began. ‘Well, the person who had the most reason to be glad he’s gone is his wife – he was an appalling bully, he ruined her life – but it can’t be her because she was with me the whole time. His son had every reason to hate him too, but he was in Bristol, and so was his daughter Christine – though she seems to have been quite fond of her father.’

‘Not promising.’

‘But Bernard was a thoroughly unpleasant person and the most terrible bore. He must have annoyed a lot of people.’

‘Much as one would like to one doesn’t usually kill people because they’re boring,’ Roger said. ‘And down here, away from his home territory, who would have a strong enough motive?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He had several relations round here, and I know he went to visit all of them – because of this family history thing – before he died. There may have been some dark disagreement that I don’t know about. I suppose Janet might be able to tell you. Not,’ I added, ‘that he’d have been likely to tell her anything important.’

‘Well,’ Roger said, getting to his feet, ‘have a think and if you come up with anything let me know. By the way,’ he added smiling, ‘you still have a great smear of mud on your forehead.’

After he’d gone I went upstairs to tidy myself. I felt I must go and see Janet. No wonder she’d collapsed. This extraordinary piece of news – such a loathsome thing to have happened – coming on top of finding Bernard dead. She’d taken that with apparent calm, but this new revelation was enough to upset anyone.

When I got to the cottage Christine opened the door.

‘I came as soon as I heard,’ I said. ‘How’s Janet?’

‘She’s calmer now,’ Christine said leading the way into the sitting room, ‘but she was quite hysterical for a while. She’s lying down at the moment, so it’s fortunate you came. I need to go out
for a while – there’s no food in the house, so inefficient. But I do feel someone should be with her, if you wouldn’t mind staying till I get back.’

‘Of course I will,’ I said, surprised at Christine’s comparatively conciliatory tone. ‘I was so sorry,’ I went on, ‘to hear of this new development. It’s perfectly horrible to think of such a thing happening. It’s no wonder poor Janet’s so upset. And apparently there’s nothing in the law to punish whoever did it.’

‘I shall certainly want my solicitor’s ruling on
that,
’ Christine said. ‘It would be unthinkable if someone who did such a thing were to go unpunished. Right then,’ she said briskly, ‘you can go on up, I don’t think Mother is asleep.’

Actually Janet was sitting in a chair by the window. She had the same stunned look that she had when we discovered Bernard’s body. She turned as I knocked and went into the room.

‘Sheila?’ she said vaguely, then, obviously trying to pull herself together, ‘how kind of you to come.’

‘You must be feeling awful,’ I said. ‘Such a shock.’

‘Yes,’ she echoed, ‘such a shock.’

‘An unspeakable thing to have happened.’

She was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘He was dead, you see. Dead when…’ Her face contorted and she began to cry. ‘Horrible,’ she kept repeating, ‘horrible…’

She was sobbing violently and painfully now,
every vestige of her previous calm quite gone. I knelt down beside her.

‘I know,’ I said, ‘it’s a really dreadful thing to have happened, but you mustn’t upset yourself like this, you’ll make yourself ill.’ I spoke soothingly as if to a child. If it had been a child I could have said that everything will be all right, but, in spite of her childlike helplessness, Janet was not a child and I knew that everything was going to be far from all right. After a few minutes her sobs grew less and she was obviously making an effort to control herself.

‘I’ll go and make you a cup of tea,’ I said, seizing on the one thing we feel we
can
do in difficult circumstances. ‘That’s if you’re all right for a moment?’

She nodded without speaking and I went downstairs. In a way, I was glad to see the tears, it made the whole situation seem more normal. A wife should cry for her dead husband, shouldn’t she? Well, possibly not in some situations. But I could see that the unusual and unpleasant circumstances of Bernard’s death might well have stirred depths of feeling that had little to do with sorrow. It occurred to me, though, that I was glad that Bernard had died a natural death and that he hadn’t known of the blow someone had delivered so cruelly. I hoped Janet might feel the same. As for Christine, well, I didn’t know. Surely she must have been moved by this new aspect of her father’s death. The
impregnable carapace of self-satisfaction might hide some real emotion, but she was certainly not going to show it to me, nor, probably, to her mother.

When I took the tea upstairs Janet seemed to have recovered – she was no longer crying, but her face wore a look of desolation that I found more upsetting than her more overt signs of grief.