Brothers' Tears (19 page)

D
ominic O'Connor's widow chose to meet them in the front part of the big late-Victorian house, even though the office at the rear was still cordoned off with the blue-and-white plastic ribbons which forbade entry to a scene of crime. Ros had the high red front door open as they arrived. Peach and Northcott could see down a long hall into the kitchen, where a variety of crockery and utensils lay on sink and units, waiting to be washed. They noted this, as they noted the coat flung carelessly over the banister of the stairs. CID officers acquire the habit of observation early in their careers.

Ros O'Connor saw these things also, but did not seem at all upset. ‘I've not got myself properly organised since this happened.'

Peach hastened to reassure her. ‘That's entirely understandable in these circumstances. And it's still only just after nine in the morning.'

‘That's true and it's nice of you to make excuses for me. Truth to tell, I'm a bit of a slut about the house. Dominic used to say that. Well, he did when we were younger and closer.'

She led them into a dining room which looked as if it had not been used for months and invited them to sit on the opposite side of the table from her. ‘There's dust on this table, isn't there? I really am a bit of a slut, you know. Mrs Rigby comes in to help me clean on Wednesdays, but I haven't used her in here for ages.' She sat down, then half stood again. ‘Do you want to see where Dominic died? It's at the back of the house. I can easily—'

‘That isn't necessary, thank you, Mrs O'Connor. It was Detective Sergeant Northcott and I who found him on Saturday.'

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Of course it was! I remember now. You must think me a very stupid woman!'

‘We don't think anything of the sort, Mrs O'Connor. This is a time of great stress for you and we understand that. Now, I know that my wife saw you at your sister's house in Settle on Saturday to break the news, but we need to ask you a few questions.'

‘Of course you do! I understand that. The spouse is always the first suspect, isn't she, until you can clear her? John told me that.'

‘John?'

‘Oops! There I go again. John specifically told me he didn't want to be involved in this, and I drag him in straight away. Well, it might be all for the best in the long run. I'm sure you'd have found out about the two of us sooner or later! You can call me Ros, by the way. I think I'd prefer you to do that.'

Peach wanted to tell her to calm down and listen quietly, but you had to be tactful in the face of what might be no more than a manifestation of grief. He slowed his own tone, hoping that she would take her rhythm from him. ‘A murder victim can't speak for himself. We'd like to piece together Dominic's last day, if we could.'

‘We were here in the morning. Dominic was working at home. We haven't any children, you know. Dominic used to say that it might have kept us closer together if we'd had them, but I don't know about that. I thought he might go up to Settle and see Jane with me, but he said he had a lot of work to do.' She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Between you and me, I think Dominic used to find my nieces and nephew a bit of a trial. He wasn't good with kids. Might have been different if we'd had our own, I suppose.'

Northcott opened his notebook, perhaps hoping that the gesture of formality would slow down this fluttering bird. ‘Can you tell us exactly what time you last saw him on Friday, Ros?'

She smiled at the big black man, so that Peach thought for a moment that she was going to compliment him on his appearance or his voice. Her small features were very animated, like a kitten's when it is concentrating all its attention on playing with a ball. She frowned suddenly. ‘We had lunch together before I left. We didn't talk a lot – I rather think Dominic read the paper for most of the time. That would be about one o'clock. I looked after him quite well as regards food, you know. So I'm not entirely a slut!' She gave a gay little laugh which rang oddly in the unused room. ‘He said he was going to be busy, so I made him some sandwiches and left him a large orange and a flask of coffee. Oh, and a big piece of fruit cake: he was very fond of fruit cake.'

Northcott made a careful note of this, noticing how it tallied with the pathologist's report on the stomach contents. ‘Can you remember what time you left him during the afternoon?'

‘It must have been about three o'clock, I think. I know I was with Jane and the kids by around half past four.'

Peach tried to be as casual as he could. ‘So you finished your lunch at around half past one. When would you think Dominic would get round to eating this tempting and substantial cold meal you'd left ready for him?'

Her face creased in thought for a moment, then lit up as she felt able to help. ‘Almost certainly at around half past six, I should think. He loved sandwiches and fruit and cake – liked stuff like that much more than bigger meals, he said, because he could eat it wherever and whenever he fancied. And he liked to listen to
The News Quiz
, that programme on Radio Four, which is on after the six o'clock news. I reckon he'd almost certainly stop his work to listen to that and eat what I'd left for him at the same time. That was one of the ways he liked to relax.'

That would put the time of death at around nine: approximately two hours after he'd finished eating the sandwiches and fruit, the PM report had said. ‘Thank you. This is very useful for us; you're helping us to piece together his last hours just as we hoped you would.'

‘That's good, isn't it? Perhaps I'm not such an airhead as I thought I was.' She brushed a strand of blond hair away from her left eye and sat back in her chair, like a schoolgirl who has been congratulated on speaking well.

‘You mentioned John at the beginning of our conversation. Would that be John Alderson?'

Peach had thought she might bridle at the name, but she seemed quite pleased to have it set on the table between them. ‘You've been talking to other people, haven't you? Who told you about John? Oh well, it doesn't matter. I think it's better that I tell you all about John, whatever he thinks.'

‘So do just that, please.' Peach allowed himself a touch of acerbity. You had to make great allowances for grief, but he thought the widow might just be exploiting her position a little.

She looked at him silently for a moment, then put her hands together on the table in front of her and stared down at them, as if the physical movement was an aid in marshalling her thoughts. ‘My marriage to Dominic was less than perfect. It's no use trying to disguise that, because other people are going to tell you about it – perhaps they already have, if you know about John. Dominic had lots of affairs. Most of them were with women I never even knew and he was careful not to leave much evidence around. He wasn't sentimental, like me; Dominic didn't keep things. But I knew about his women, all the same.' She smiled knowingly and rocked gently backwards and forwards on her chair, pressing her hands on the table to facilitate the movement.

Peach said gently, ‘You were starting to tell us about John Alderson.'

‘I was, wasn't I? Well, I was lonely and John was kind to me. Neither of us intended it, but over two or three months we became what used to be called an item. Can a married woman be part of an item?'

She stopped and looked at Peach in what seemed genuine enquiry, her small head with its perfect miniature features held a little on one side. But all he said was, ‘Carry on, please.'

‘We've been sleeping together whenever we could over the last six months – well, we've not managed to sleep together all that often, but we go to bed whenever we can. I'm sorry if that shocks you: I got used to the idea a long time ago.'

Peach gave her a wry smile. ‘Policemen are trained to be professionally unshockable, Mrs O'Connor.'

‘Ros, please. Well, there isn't much more to tell. I realise now that I should be married to John, not Dominic.' She lifted her curiously childlike visage and looked her examiner full in the face. ‘We'll be able to do that now, won't we? Get married, I mean. After a few months, that will be. Mustn't shock Father Brice and the church folk, must we?' Her laugh tinkled round the room again. The two men with her found it an uncomfortable sound.

Peach allowed silence to seep back into the room before he said, ‘Who do you think killed Dominic, Ros?'

‘I don't know that. He was all right when I left him. And he ate his meal, so he must have been all right much later than that.'

‘You've said that your marriage wasn't going well. Perhaps it was over, as you imply, but that isn't our business. You still know far more about a murder victim than any of us and you must help us to find out who killed him.'

The kitten-like head nodded earnestly and repeatedly. ‘Yes, I can see that. But I can't help you. I've thought about it ever since I heard Dominic was dead, but it's a mystery to me.' A contented smile stole over the delicate lips, as if she found that a satisfactory state of affairs.

‘We shall be questioning John Alderson in due course. Do you—?'

‘He won't like that! John wanted to be kept out of all this. But it's rather exciting, isn't it? Much better to be part of it than left outside it. Well, that's my view, anyway!'

‘I was about to ask you whether you thought Mr Alderson had anything to do with this death. I'd like you to answer that question, please.'

‘Sorry! My mind runs away from me sometimes – I've got that sort of brain. No, of course John had nothing to do with this. He's not that sort of man at all.'

‘We shall speak to him and form our own opinions. But from what you have told us in the last few minutes, this death is very convenient for the two of you. It means that there is no longer any obstacle to you and Mr Alderson marrying, if that is what you wish to do.'

‘That's true. We've both got a motive, haven't we?' Ros hugged her folded arms against her chest in what seemed like physical delight. ‘And Dominic was a practising Catholic who didn't believe in divorce. He'd have made it very difficult for me to leave him.'

‘But you weren't involved in his death. And as far as you know, neither was Mr Alderson?'

‘No, certainly not. And I can't imagine who else might have done it, but I'll go on thinking about that.'

As Peach drove back to the station, Clyde Northcott looked at the facts he had recorded in his notebook. Then he said in his deep, usually confident, voice, ‘I'm out of my depth with women like that. I've never had to try to make sense of an interview like that one before.'

Peach grinned as he conceded right of way to a cheerful-looking Brunton mongrel. ‘All part of your widening education, DS Northcott.'

‘Do you think she's unbalanced?'

‘If that's a technical term, you'd need to define it. But no, I don't think she is. I think she's a strange lady. I think she'd drive me up the wall if I had to live with her. But beneath the girlish mannerisms and the pretty face, there's a brain at work and she's used to getting her own way. We shouldn't underestimate her, because that's probably what she wants.'

Northcott nodded over his notes. ‘Well, she's given us a time of death. All we have to do now is find out who was there last Friday night.'

Peach arranged to see John Alderson at three thirty. He was due to see Tommy Bloody Tucker to update him before then. Wednesday was becoming a bizarre day. When he climbed the stairs to meet his chief, it rapidly became more bizarre.

Tucker wasn't there when he arrived, which was unusual in itself. Percy pulled up an armchair in front of the huge empty desk and sat down to wait in comfort. He wasn't delayed for long. Tucker came to the top floor in the lift and bade a noisy goodbye to some anonymous fellow-traveller. He fumbled a little with the door handle, then half-fell and half-stumbled into the room.

He seemed glad to reach the haven of the big leather chair behind his desk and slumped thankfully into it. ‘Ah, Percy Peach!' he said affably, belatedly sighting his DCI. ‘How the devil are you, sir!'

He's pissed, thought Percy. Tight as Andronicus. Tommy Bloody Tucker's pissed! There must surely be mileage in this.

But it was Tucker who took the initiative, as drunks often do. ‘Bloody awful job this, isn't? Glad to get away from it 'casionally, tell yer the truth!'

‘It is a little taxing at times, sir. But you asked me to—'

‘Been saying goodbye to an old mate, Perce. Member of the Lodge anallthat! Movin' away, you see.'

‘Yes, sir, I do. But if you remember—'

‘Did us proud.' He leaned forward confidentially over the big desk. ‘Might just 'avad a bit too much, you know.'

Percy recoiled hastily from the spirit fumes. ‘Really, sir? I'd hardly have noticed. You carry it so well, you see.'

‘I do, don't I?' Chief Superintendent Tucker tried to lever himself to his feet, then thought better of it and slumped back contentedly into his pilot's chair. A look of astonishment stole slowly over his face. ‘I feel bladdered, Percy.'

‘Pleasantly pissed, I'd say, sir,' ventured Percy daringly.

‘Presently pissed, that's about it!' said Tucker contentedly.

‘Perhaps I'd better come back when you feel—'

‘We had some good jokes today. Private room, you see. Now listen to this, Perce. Man 'as a gorilla to work for him. Thirty bloody stone. Cleans the 'ouse, digs the garden, lifts the piano across the room for 'im. Where does it sleep?'

‘Anywhere it fucking likes!' said Percy, with the air of a man answering a routine question.

‘You've 'eard it!' said Tucker, deflated with a huge disappointment.

‘About 1993, sir, I think. It was a good one, in its time.'