Die Happy (14 page)

‘Yes. But I can quite see why a person with a different opinion would take offence, if you called him a philistine. Could we now have some names, please?'

‘Yes. Well, I am on the Oldford Literary Festival Committee. I have experienced some hostility there, in response to my sincere but trenchantly expressed views.'

‘I expect there has been hostility, yes. Names, please.'

Hook had more success than Lambert in pinning down this exotic linguistic butterfly, perhaps because Preston considered it beneath him to waste his sweetness on the desert air around a mere detective sergeant. ‘The committee is chaired by a woman. I have, of course, no quarrel with that.' Everything about him said otherwise.

‘So you have no quarrel with Mrs Dooks?'

It disconcerted him a little that they knew the woman's name. Then he remembered that John Lambert's wife was herself a member of the committee in question. Probably they knew all about the committee members; lists of information were something the pedestrian police mentality could cope with. Perhaps they had even come here equipped with some thoughts of their own. ‘Marjorie Dooks is an unimaginative woman who shouldn't be in charge of anything creative. But she has a lot of experience of running committees. I suppose that might have influenced the very predictable people who put her in charge.'

Lambert said irritably, ‘Would you say she was an enemy of yours?'

‘No I wouldn't, Chief Superintendent. We have our differences of opinion, but we respect each other for our different strengths, I'd say. Of course, if you want to know exactly what she thinks of me, you'd have to ask her.'

Lambert allowed himself a sour smile and Peter realized with a shaft of dismay that they might have already done that. With his first hint of nervousness, he said, ‘There are people on that committee who dislike me, I'm sure. The younger ones simply don't understand that one can reject their standards without intending any personal affront.'

Lambert suspected that this man's rejections would be very personal indeed. He said, ‘What about the people of your own generation? Sue Charles, for instance; wouldn't she understand your arguments?'

Preston bristled with indignation. ‘Sue Charles is hardly my generation, Mr Lambert, She is thirteen years older than me!'

They saw not only his vanity but the emotion it aroused in him; emotion of whatever kind makes people vulnerable, and thus is always of interest to CID men. Lambert said easily, ‘But a kindred spirit, would you say?'

‘No, I would not! She is a writer, but in a field which by definition rules her out as a serious novelist. She writes what I believe is usually referred to as crime fiction.'

‘And you don't think even a much published and well-reviewed writer of detective novels should be regarded as a proper artist?'

‘Not as a woman of letters, as we used to say in my youth. You may not be familiar with the expression. An old-fashioned term, but a useful one, in my view.'

‘And you informed Mrs Charles of your views?'

‘Indeed I did. I had little choice, if I was to retain my own integrity. Sue Charles is planning to import a well-known practitioner of detective fiction into our festival. I had to tell her that I felt this would lower the tone of the whole enterprise. You may in fact be aware of this, Chief Superintendent.'

‘Indeed I am. I have been asked to occupy the platform alongside David Knight and thus further lower the tone.'

Peter decided not to comment on this. He had a feeling that this was not a man to be added to his growing list of enemies. He said, ‘I expect Sue Charles has taken offence at my sincerely held views. Women tend to be thin-skinned about these things.'

‘On the contrary, it seems that Mrs Charles regards your rather extreme views with what I'd call an amused tolerance, Mr Preston. I gather you have not won the argument within the festival committee.'

‘The ignorant and the ill-informed have prevailed, as they tend to do all too often these days.'

In a rare lapse, John Lambert allowed his irritation to get the better of him. ‘I shall regard it as an honour to occupy the same platform as Sue Charles and David Knight. Who else have you offended on that committee?'

Peter tried not to show how shaken and isolated he was beginning to feel. He thought of his locked filing cabinet upstairs, but decided it was best not to use the secrets within it when talking to these men. ‘The younger members have no standards – and no sympathy with anyone who has. I expect they dislike me; I'm almost prepared to admit it's mutual.'

‘Details, please.'

‘Well, there's Ros Barker. She's a painter, of sorts. I can't say that I'm familiar with the girl's work.'

‘Ms Barker is thirty. You will be able to see an exhibition of her work at the Barnard Art Gallery in Cheltenham next month, if you wish to enlarge your knowledge of her art. You don't consider her a friend of yours?'

‘We have little in common. When I chose to question the invitation the committee was offering to a young northern versifier to parade his wares at our festival, she aligned herself with the unenlightened.'

‘Bob Crompton.'

‘I think that is the young man's name, yes. His work would benefit from discipline, like that of so many of his contemporaries.'

‘You are familiar with Crompton's work, then?'

Surely policemen were not in a position to challenge him about poetry, of all things? Peter said uneasily, ‘I have a passing acquaintance, that's all.'

‘Which you consider is enough to allow you to veto his appearance in Oldford. I see. This no doubt means that you have made an enemy of young Sam Hilton, who, as a friend of Bob Crompton's, has been instrumental in securing his appearance at the festival.'

It was a statement this time, not a question. Peter was disturbed by how much they seemed to know, how much homework they seemed to have done before coming to his house. ‘Sam Hilton has little in common with me. I considered it my duty to oppose the appearance of his more celebrated contemporary in Oldford. It was because Ms Barker sprang to his defence that I consider both of them my enemies.' He watched DS Hook making a note in his round, surprisingly rapid hand. ‘May I ask what is the purpose of your visit here this morning?'

Lambert said with some relish, ‘You may indeed, Mr Preston.'

He nodded to Bert Hook, who delved into his briefcase. He produced a single sheet with a terse message in large black letters, within a transparent plastic sleeve, and passed it across the room to Preston. There was a moment of tense silence before Lambert said calmly, ‘That is a letter delivered by hand to Sue Charles. Identical messages have been delivered to Marjorie Dooks and to Ros Barker. Can you tell us anything about them?'

Peter studied the sheet impassively for a moment, feeling the tension building around him in the quiet room. Then he said, ‘Excuse me for a moment, please.' He rose and left the room and they heard him climbing the stairs to his study. He was back within seconds, holding an identical white sheet to the one Hook had just shown him. He set it before his visitors without a word.

Lambert looked into the lined, anxious face, which had now lost all traces of pretension. ‘When did you receive this?'

‘It was delivered by hand, at about four o'clock yesterday afternoon. Edwina was out, but I was upstairs in my study. I heard the sound of the letter box but I assumed it was just a circular. As a result, I didn't find this for another hour.'

He watched fascinated as Hook inserted the sheet carefully into a plastic sleeve identical to the one around Marjorie Dooks's letter. He started a little as Lambert said quietly, ‘What were you intending to do about this, Mr Preston?'

‘I didn't take it very seriously. I suppose I considered it preposterous that anyone should be intending real violence towards me.'

Lambert did not give voice to the thought that from what he had seen of Preston he thought it by no means unlikely. Instead, he pointed out, ‘Nevertheless, you chose to retain this message rather than to destroy it.'

‘Yes. My first concern was to keep it from Edwina, who would probably have been much more disturbed by it than I was. Then, as tends to happen during the dark and silent hours of the night, it began to seem a little more serious. I was wondering exactly what I should do about it when the phone call came this morning, announcing that I was to receive a visit from the district's leading policeman. Dilemma solved, I thought.'

‘Have you any thoughts on the origin of these letters?'

‘Well, my first reaction is a selfish one. I am happy that I am not alone as a recipient. If all and sundry are receiving them, there can surely be no serious threat intended.'

‘That is logical. I think you and the other three people who have received identical letters can take it that this is probably an ill-judged and tasteless prank. But that cannot be the end of the matter for us. You can imagine the impact of this threat on someone like Sue Charles, an elderly lady living alone. She was very disturbed by it. The police cannot allow anyone to threaten people with violence and get away with it.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. You asked me where these might have originated. I would think from their content and their recipients that they must have a connection with the literature festival committee. I – I don't think I would care to speculate on the sender. I'd rather leave that matter in your capable hands.'

With this shameless piece of flattery, he released them from their uncomfortable tenure of his chaise longue. Lambert left him with the routine instruction to contact them immediately if he had further thoughts on the issue.

Hook reversed the car out of the drive and drove carefully down the tree-lined avenue beyond it before he spoke. ‘I heard you volunteer yourself to be on that platform at the festival, as the representative of real policing.'

‘These things are confidential, DS Hook. There is no reason why my moment of weakness in the face of a very annoying man should be taken any further.'

Bert stared ahead at the road and the burgeoning trees as steadily as his chief, but a smile broke steadily over his rugged features. ‘I think you did the right thing, John. You are much the best man for the task. It's good to have the matter settled.'

There were long minutes of silence which Hook enjoyed and Lambert did not. Then Hook said, ‘Christine's on that committee.'

Lambert nodded. ‘And I can confirm first that she has not received one of the notes and secondly that I am confident she is not the sender of them.'

‘The local press will be disappointed about that. It would have given them a lurid story.'

‘If we rule out Christine, it leaves only one member of the committee who has not received one of these threats.'

‘And who thus becomes the leading suspect for the crime of sending them. The man I interrogated about drug offences yesterday. Young Sam Hilton.'

TEN

‘
I
t looks like a squalid little side-show, but we've got to follow it up. We can't allow idiots to go round threatening people, if only because the odd idiot might turn out to a psychopath.' John Lambert, sitting in his favourite armchair, delivered this judgement on the anonymous notes to his wife.

Christine smiled. ‘Or a paranoid narcissist. That seems to be the latest one for a dangerous man with a firearm.'

‘Do you think there's anyone on that literary festival committee of yours who's a potential danger to society?'

‘I notice that as soon as there's a problem it's become my committee.' But Christine was secretly rather pleased; it was the first time in the long years of his police career that she'd had a direct involvement in one of his cases. ‘For what it's worth, no, I don't. But that view's worth very little; sometimes even wives and husbands know nothing about the secret lives and desires of their spouses, so what can we really know of people we meet once every two or three weeks on a committee? You've much more experience of the criminal mentality than I have.'

‘Yes. It's amazing that I remain the relaxed, even-tempered, balanced individual that I am, isn't it?'

‘Self-delusion must be one of the dangers of prolonged contact with crime, I suppose.'

‘I don't want this business to get out to the press. Peter Preston may not be paranoid, but he's certainly a narcissist. If it suits his purpose, he'll have the local press, and probably radio and television as well, reporting that he's been threatened – probably with an addendum about police incompetence and insensitivity.'

‘Is there anyone on that committee apart from me who hasn't received one of these damned notes?' She noted his hesitation and grinned. ‘I can easily find out, you know. Once you start questioning people, the word spreads pretty quickly.'

The television news and weather were over. Lambert watched three seconds of a lurid trailer for a programme about Miss Nude Australia and switched the set off decisively. ‘Sam Hilton seems to be the only one who hasn't received one.'

‘So you think he must have sent them.'

‘I don't think anything. I think the situation has to be investigated. What do you think? You know the young man; I've never even met him.'

‘I knew him better when he was ten and in my class at school. He was a rather secretive boy, but good with words. And fascinated by them. He loved poetry. And he loved writing bits of verse of his own, even then.'

‘So at twenty-two, he might well be a writer of anonymous threatening letters.'