The Saint Valentine's Day Murders (21 page)

He set himself to thinking about this old girl he was going to visit. The super had seemed apologetic about asking him to take on another one. But he quite enjoyed talking to them. He was good at it and he didn’t have any ambitions to take on what he wasn’t fit for. It didn’t sound as if there was a lot in it. She was ninety-five, after all, and she hadn’t said much except that Mrs Thomas had been a nasty piece of work. But young Ellis had got all excited and the super seemed to think there might be something in it. And though the coroner had been certain her death was an accident, you never knew. It was a disgrace that that inquest report hadn’t come in till yesterday. Shocking inefficiency on someone’s part. The super had really let off steam with the inspector responsible. He didn’t often do that.

He stopped the car to consult his map, drove on and then turned right and sharp left. That must be it just ahead with the gables. He drove up the short drive and parked in front of the house. He was pleased to see there was a pleasant garden with plenty of seats for the old folks. But as he walked through the open front door he felt less happy with the interior. There was no denying that the place had a pokey look to it. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of old food that hung heavily over the hall and rang the hand-bell on the desk. As he waited he looked at the pictures. Must have come with the house, he concluded. No one in their senses would deliberately choose for a place like this paintings so dark you could hardly make them out.

Hearing footsteps behind him he turned and came face to face with a neat middle-aged woman in a flowered nylon overall. She looked at him enquiringly.

‘Detective Sergeant Pike, ma’am, from Scotland Yard.’ She seemed impressed. It amused him how often the mention of the Yard seemed to add a glamour to the person of a nondescript sergeant.

‘I’m Mrs Oliveira, sergeant. I’m the matron. Will you come in here for a moment?’

She led the way into a small sitting room containing a large television set and about twenty easy chairs.

‘Please sit down, sergeant. I just want a word with you before you see Mrs Jameson.’

Pike took the nearest seat and she sat beside him. She lowered her voice. ‘I gather you have come to see her in connection with that awful poisoning case.’

‘That’s right, ma’am. She saw someone from the local force the other day and I’ve just come to ask her a few follow-up questions.’

‘I just wanted to give you a word of advice, sergeant. I don’t know if you have much experience of old people?’

‘A fair bit, ma’am.’

‘Well then you probably know how they get little fancies and like to make themselves important.’

‘I suppose we all do. From what I’ve seen, I’d say that you’re not much different when you’re old to what you are when you’re young. It’s just that some characteristics get more exaggerated.’

Mrs Oliveira shot him a look of dislike. Pike was untroubled by it. He didn’t care for her either.

‘Much as I’d like to, I haven’t got time to debate this with you. I just thought you should know that you shouldn’t attach too much weight to anything Mrs Jameson says.’

‘Do you mean she’s gaga, ma’am?’

‘We don’t use words like that here, sergeant. We prefer to call it “wandering a little”.’

Don’t tell me, thought Pike. I bet they pass over and don’t die.

She continued, ‘No. She’s got her senses, but she’s inclined to be a trouble-maker. I’m only telling you this for your own sake. She’ll say anything to stir things up.’

‘I’m grateful for the warning, ma’am,’ said Pike, in as natural a tone as he could summon up. He got to his feet. ‘Now, if you’d just ask her to come in.’

Mrs Oliveira was shocked. ‘We don’t allow the residents to have visitors in here. Only in their own rooms. This lounge is for the use of all residents at any time. We can’t have them upset by seeing strangers in it.’

She rose and began to lead him out of the room. ‘Where are they all at present, ma’am?’ he asked her floral back.

‘Asleep. I always make them take a nap between two o’clock and four o’clock. It’s for their own good.’

As Pike followed her through the hallway and down a narrow dark corridor he looked at his watch and saw that it was just three o’clock. He didn’t take the point up with her. He knew a natural bureaucrat when he saw one.

She stopped abruptly and flung open a door on the right. ‘Mrs Jameson, dear,’ she cooed. ‘I’ve brought you a visitor. Now don’t keep him long. He’s a busy man, I’m sure.’

Pike stepped into the little room after her. The old woman sitting ramrod-straight in the button-backed velvet chair by the window looked up at him and nodded. She turned her head towards Mrs Oliveira and said, ‘Dolly, dear. I’m afraid you’re getting very forgetful. You know I like you to knock. Now run away and get us a nice cup of tea.’

Pike noted that Mrs Oliveira’s hands were clenching and unclenching and her lips were tightly pressed together, as if by a physical effort to restrain the appropriate words from tumbling out. Then without a further word she turned on her heel and left.

‘You’ve got to show them who’s boss,’ said Mrs Jameson. ‘Otherwise they’ll take advantage of you. That’s the way I’ve lived and that’s the way I’ll die. Now sit down here opposite me and listen to what I’ve got to tell you about the Thomas family.’

Sunday, 27 February

Milton described a small circle with his glass.

‘Of course I’m bearing her age in mind, but Sammy said he believed her, and on someone like that I’d trust his judgement absolutely.’

Rachel still looked perplexed. ‘All right. Let’s accept for the purposes of the argument that she’s correct. All it seems to reveal is that Bill has been exceptionally long-suffering throughout his adult life.’

‘I just find it all very depressing,’ said Amiss gloomily. ‘It was bad enough that he was negative about everything, but at least I thought he took a twisted pleasure in it.’

‘There’s no reason to suppose he doesn’t by now,’ said Milton. ‘After all, Mrs Jameson said his bids for freedom were made in his twenties. Presumably he settled to liking a life entirely composed of work and Mother. He doesn’t seem to have changed it much since she died.’

‘Unless you count attending the Annual Dinner Dance as a sign of his real desire for the bright lights?’ said Amiss.

Rachel drained her gin and tonic. ‘I can’t believe he’d have put up with her keeping him at home unless he really didn’t mind too much. It wasn’t as if she was bed-ridden or anything. He could just have told her to get stuffed and suited himself if he wanted a different kind of life.’ She got up and went to the bar to order the next round.

‘What about his father?’ asked Amiss.

‘Mrs Jameson only said that he was hen-pecked until he died. Bill was about eighteen then. It was just before he did his National Service, in fact. She did say that Mr Thomas probably deserved it.’

Milton pulled Pike’s report from his pocket and searched for the relevant paragraph. ‘Yes. Here we are. She said he was a nebulous sort of creature who needed to be kept up to the mark. What she complained of was the way Mrs Thomas behaved towards Bill afterwards.’

‘You mean she hadn’t been so hard on him before?’ asked Ann.

‘No. According to Mrs Jameson, Bill had a more or less normal childhood. She remembers him playing in the street like any other kid, even if he was very much trailing along after the local charismatic personalities. It was when he came home after National Service, apparently, that his mother began to stop him socializing.’

Rachel returned bearing a tray of drinks and Amiss filled her in on the information she had missed. As she sat down she asked: ‘How did Mrs Jameson know all this anyway?’

‘Oh, she was quite thick with Mrs Thomas. She rather admired her forcefulness, though they fell out a few times when Mrs Thomas mentioned that Bill had wanted to do X or Y and she’d told him he couldn’t. And then there were a couple of rows in the garden that she overheard. She says that by the time he was in his thirties he was so set in his ways that there was no aggro any more.’

Milton looked at Pike’s report again and then shoved it back in his pocket. ‘There was one more interesting thing she said. Bill didn’t create that garden. It was his mother who planned it and laid it out. He just learned to tend it as a kind of under-gardener. That’s rather changed Sammy’s view of him. He had taken the line up till then that no man capable of such artistry could be a potential destroyer of life. Sammy’s got a romantic streak.’

‘But damn it,’ said Rachel. ‘If he’d been capable of murder, surely he’d have seen off his mother.’

‘Ah,’ said Milton. ‘That’s the other thing. Nearly two weeks after this investigation started, some imbecile has just informed us that, owing to an oversight, we hadn’t been told that Mrs Thomas died from an accident.’

‘What kind of accident?’

‘She fell down the stairs and broke her neck.’

‘Any chance that Bill was responsible?’ asked Rachel. ‘Though I must say it would seem strange that he shouldn’t get homicidal until she was eighty-five.’

‘We don’t know yet. All we’ve got is the bald inquest report. Those bloody clowns haven’t even managed to send us the record of the evidence yet.’

Ann, who had been listening silently for some time, suddenly intervened in a decisive manner. ‘He’s always been my favourite candidate. Now I’m prepared to put my money on him. I bet you’ll find there’s something peculiar about her death, even if the coroner was prepared to accept that it was a
bona fide
accident.’

‘You’re hung up on the psychopath theory,’ observed her husband.

‘Maybe I am. And I admit that I am a bit out of touch with how this case has been progressing while I’ve been away. But I’m convinced that whoever sent those chocolates suffered from a severely warped personality. I think someone should be trying to work out a profile of the murderer, so that you’d know what traits to look for.’

‘You’re not in Los Angeles now,’ said Milton wearily. ‘Anyway, as far as I can see we’ve got several suspects who could be accused of being distinctly odd. I don’t think Bill Thomas stands alone as a candidate for the funny farm.’

‘I agree with Jim,’ said Amiss. ‘I think you’re getting carried away by the idea of Bill just because he has no motive. Anyway, you said something just now about being prepared to put money on him. How much and at what odds? And will anyone give me 4-1 against Tony Farson?’

Milton’s face assumed an expression of distaste. ‘I think that’s the most contemptible suggestion I’ve heard in a long time, Robert.’

Amiss looked uneasy. ‘Oh, come on Jim…’ he began.

‘No Robert. I really do. I think it’s downright greedy to expect anyone to give you better than 2-1.’

30

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Monday, 28 February

I’m getting neurotic, thought Milton, as he fingered the little stack of paper. I shouldn’t be going over and over this ground again. Tony Farson, still the favourite, and agreed to be generously priced at 7-4. Graham Illingworth 4-1, largely because Sammy’s belief that there was some domestic trouble had carried so much weight with Rachel. Bill Thomas was running strongly in third place at 8-1 because Ann had put her shirt on him. Henry was 100-8 since Amiss had decided to hedge his bets. Tiny was still a rank outsider, with only the Commander showing the faintest interest in him. He seemed to think that the intelligence brought back by Robert and Rachel that Tiny was totally absorbed in his Kenya plans vindicated the theory that he had had an overwhelming desire for freedom but lacked the guts to abandon Fran. Milton struggled yet again to understand why someone should think mass poisoning an easier option than abandoning his wife. He sighed and awarded Tiny a price of 50-1.

When there was a knock at the door he guiltily thrust the slips into his drawer. He was relieved that his visitor was Pooley rather than Romford. Though he regretted that Romford should so obviously be keeping out of his way, their estrangement had its compensations. Until the contretemps over Henry, Romford had seemed to resent the direct contact between Pooley and Milton. Now, apparently having washed his hands of his superintendent, he was doing his routine work and refusing to get involved in what he termed highfalutin speculation. Except in his morals, reflected Milton, Romford was daily becoming more and more like a denizen of PD2.

Pooley was looking rather downcast. ‘I’ve got some stuff for you here, sir, but it’s pretty negative on the whole.’ He thrust several files in Milton’s direction.

‘No. Sit down and give me the gist. I can look at the papers later.’

Pooley, clearly discouraged, slumped on to his chair. ‘Come on,’ said Milton, ‘Don’t forget that elimination is important too.’

‘Oh, I realize that, sir. It’s just that I had some real hopes of the National Service checks, and now it all looks like a waste of time.’

‘Whatever the result,’ said Milton gently, ‘I think it was a clever idea. Now get on with it.’

‘Well, sir. None of them got into any formal trouble. The only one with whom there was any divergence from the norm was Bill Thomas. Apparently he insisted he was a pacifist but was too unconvincing to be excused conscription. They made a gesture by assigning him to admin work.’

‘I suppose it’s a point in his favour? No, it isn’t really, is it? He might just have wanted to be allowed to stay in Civvy Street.’

‘It’s impossible to judge, isn’t it? I mean the fact that he was unconvincing doesn’t mean he wasn’t a pacifist. From what you and Sammy said about him, I can’t imagine him easily persuading anyone of anything.’

‘No. I’ve never seen him as an alumnus of the “How to win friends and influence people” school that whatshisname used to run.’

Pooley looked blank.

‘Sorry, Ellis. You’re too young to remember. Continue.’

‘There isn’t much more to say about it, really. Bill Thomas and Henry Crump spent most of their National Service with the army in Germany. Tony Farson was in the army in Hong Kong for a year. Graham Illingworth was a sort of unskilled fitter in the air force and never went abroad. And Tiny Short had a spell in Singapore. He got to be a sergeant. No one else was promoted except Farson, who made it to corporal.’