Close Call (7 page)

Philip laid his paper down on the table and looked at her seriously. ‘Got things to hide from the fuzz, have you, darling?' He decided that he would tease her a little about this. Too often the boot was on the other foot in their marital dealings, with him defending himself after some sexual peccadillo. No sense of proportion, women. Well, wives, anyway.

‘Of course I haven't got things to hide!' She had come in too vehemently. She realized that immediately. What chance was she going to have with the police, if she couldn't even carry things off with Phil? ‘If you're not going to be serious, there's no point in us talking about this.'

Phil thought how attractive Carol was when she was a little flushed. She was eight years younger than him, pleasantly plump rather than running to fat. She looked to him wholly bedworthy this morning in the pink blouse and filmy scarf she had adopted for the police. Sometimes, as in moments of sudden tenderness like this, Philip Smart knew what a fool he was for playing the field as he did.

He said a little ponderously, ‘But I
am
serious. Perfectly serious, my dear. Each of us is quite innocent in this, so neither of us has anything to worry about, surely? Unless you're about to tell me that you slung a cord around Robin's neck and throttled the life out of him!' Phil laughed, knowing that was in bad taste. He never meant to show bad taste, but his tongue often ran away with him.

‘How do you know that he died like that?'

‘I don't know. I was talking to Ron Lennox and Lisa this morning, whilst we were all still so shocked. When all those police cars were around. One of them must have told me. I expect Ally Durkin's sister must have told them: I think they'd been talking to her before I spoke to them. What a funny question to ask me, Carol Smart!'

He used her full name when he was trying to make jokes with her, as if by invoking that formula he could go back to the early, happy days of their marriage. She brushed a strand of fair hair which had fallen across her face angrily away, as if like him it was trying to divert her. ‘It's not a funny question at all! It's the kind of question the police will ask, isn't it? They wouldn't have asked us to put off going on to work if they didn't think we were important, would they? You're very naïve at times, Phil.'

‘I don't believe we live in a police state, if that's what you mean. I don't believe we'll be woken in the middle of the night and dragged away to prison!' Phil looked out at the golden morning in Gurney Close and smiled a superior smile at the absurdity of the thought.

‘And we don't live in some Peter Pan Never-Never land either.' That's what he was, her husband. The worst kind of Peter Pan, who never grew up and recognized his responsibilities as an adult. Who thought he could chase any woman in sight without there being any consequences for him. A man with a stupid, superior smile above a white polo necked shirt which emphasized his florid complexion and was surely too young for him. A tiresome fifty-one-year-old who hadn't the sense of some twenty-year-olds.

Carol Smart tried to control her irritation with him. It might be important to get her point across to Phil. ‘Let's consider this from the police point of view. Let's assume for the moment that they don't know who did this, any more than we do.' She glanced up at him to see what he made of that, but he was still looking at her with that amused, superior expression. At least she had his attention. ‘They're going to be looking for a culprit. If we make silly mistakes – if we say things like you just said about the way Robin died, for instance – they'll be on to it right away. And they'll be looking for someone to pin this crime on. We could land ourselves in a lot of trouble if we don't give a little thought to what we're doing.'

Phil looked at her, still with the little smile at the corners of his mouth which he knew was annoying her. He didn't disagree with what she was saying. Indeed, he might have been counselling her on similar lines himself, if his dear wife hadn't got in first. But he was enjoying feeling superior. And in the long series of conversational skirmishes which was their marriage, he couldn't easily let that feeling go. ‘You really think they're going to arrest us for a brutal murder when we haven't done anything?'

She stood opposite his comfortably-seated figure, gripping the back of the chair, recognizing the sense of what he was saying. ‘You're right, I suppose. I suppose I'm over-reacting because I'm not used to the police and they make me nervous. No, I don't believe these policemen will want to arrest and convict innocent people, once I stop to think about it. But I do believe that they could cause us a lot of embarrassment if we're careless in what we say to them. I do believe that it behoves us to be careful.'

‘Behoves! I like that word. It has a solemn and archaic ring to it, don't you think, dear?'Phil made a show of changing from his humorous mode to his earnest and caring mode, as he dropped his smile and gave her a grave little frown. ‘But you're right, my dear, of course you are. As you usually are, if I'm honest. We shall be careful, as you suggest. Now, what exactly is it that you advise?'

But it was too late. The grey Ford Focus was turning into their drive. The tall, gaunt man was levering himself rather stiffly from the passenger seat, whilst the driver was locking the car and turning to gaze at the front of their house. Carol Smart felt a blazing resentment at her husband's nonsense, a fury out of all proportion to his failings.

It was his mistaken humour and ponderous teasing which had taken away the chance for them to prepare themselves for this meeting.

Ten miles further down the River Wye, just over the border into Wales, Jason Ritchie was building a fence in the pleasant little town of Monmouth. The flimsy panels the builder had put up when he built these houses ten years earlier had finally disintegrated. Jason was putting in new concrete posts and much stouter wooden panels between them.

‘I'd have done it myself at one time, you know.' The elderly man gave him a smile and shook his head, as though he were apologizing for employing him. Old people were always saying things like that, Jason thought. Telling you they'd been as strong as you, as skilful as you, in their heyday. Always looking back to the years which were gone.

The old were almost a closed book to Jason. When his parents had divorced, it had meant that grandparents had disappeared from his life whilst he was still quite small. And he was as yet too young to have any conception of how quickly life would pass, how close this youth they kept talking about still seemed to the elderly. Nor had he any old people close enough to him to remind him with unamusing persistence about that idea.

‘Be finished this afternoon,' he said. He lifted one of the heavy concrete posts and dropped it into the hole he had made for it, exulting in his physical strength, delighted with the little gasp of admiration the performance elicited from his elderly patron. He shovelled some of the concrete he had just mixed into the hole and reached for his spirit level to check that the pole was vertical: best to show the old codger that there was skill and craftsmanship in this, and not just brute strength. That would help to justify his price. It was a fair one, as the old man had no doubt found out when he got other quotations for the job, but old people never kept up with inflation. They always thought that labour should cost less than it did.

‘I'll get this border back into some sort of order when you've finished the fence,' said the old man.

Jason looked at the scrubby perennials and shrubs, covered with dust after the hot weather and his efforts with the fence. There were seedlings of ash and sycamore growing among the lesser weeds. ‘Take a bit of shifting, that lot. I'll give you a bit of help, if you like. Get the rough work out of the way for you. Turn it over and leave it ready for planting.'

It was a tempting picture, the old man thought. His wife would tell him to jump at the offer, to spend his money and protect his back. But he said cautiously, ‘I'll have to see if I can afford it. We hadn't budgeted for replacing the fence, you see. It's not easy, when you're on the pension.'

Jason Ritchie was saved from any reply by Mrs Old Codger, who called him from the house and offered him a big mug of tea and a seat in the shade. ‘It's got the two sugars in, the way you said,' she said as he sat down. ‘Neither of us takes sugar, these days.'

Jason gave her a grateful smile and sampled a mouthful of her tea. ‘Just the way I like it, that, Mrs Williams.' It was actually a little weak for his taste, but she was looking anxious and he wanted to please her. He looked round the garden, then over towards the field beyond it to where the Wye ran out of Monmouth. ‘Nice spot, this,' he said appreciatively.

Old people always liked it when you said that about where they lived. But at that moment, he meant it. It was certainly good to be as far away as possible from Gurney Close.

‘We want to get your account of the events of Saturday night.' Bert Hook opened his notebook after Lambert's introductions.

‘Surely you already know all about it. You've talked to Ally Durkin already. You were in there yesterday afternoon.' Carol Smart came in too quickly, her nervousness making her unnaturally aggressive.

Lambert smiled. Nervousness, even aggression, wasn't unwelcome to him. Tetchiness, like any other emotion, could make people reveal more of themselves than calmness did. ‘That's a natural reaction, I suppose, Mrs Smart. I presume that you've never been involved in a murder enquiry before. Let me explain how we proceed. We speak to everyone who was close to the victim, asking them to recall what they can remember of the time—'

‘We weren't particularly close to this victim. We didn't know the Durkins at all until we moved in here a month ago and they became neighbours.'

She had interrupted him, challenging what he said as if they were in the midst of some petty domestic argument. Interesting. Yet John Lambert was at his most urbane. He said patiently, ‘But you were physically close to Robin Durkin, in the hours before his death. What we shall do is get recollections of those hours from everyone who was present during them.'

‘Why? You know what went on, if you've talked to Ally. Why waste your time talking to the rest of us, when you know what happened? Why don't you leave us alone and spend your time and your expensive resources on trying to catch the person who killed Robin Durkin?' Carol's hand reached up and gave a needless, nervous tug at the chiffon scarf at her neck.

‘We may be doing just that in beginning our investigation here, Mrs Smart. It must surely have occurred to you that one of the people present at the party on Saturday night may in fact have killed Mr Durkin.'

‘That's absurd!' She felt the colour rising to her face, lifted her hand involuntarily and set the back of her fingers against her cheek for a moment, testing the temperature. She was glad she had thought to cover her neck with the scarf; bare necks could flush far too easily.

‘It's not absurd, Mrs Smart. Not by any means. It may be an unwelcome thought to you that someone you knew, whether intimately or just as a neighbour, killed Robin Durkin, but it's perfectly possible. Indeed, statistically, CID figures would say that it is probable.'

‘Not in this case, it isn't.'

Lambert pursed his lips, taking his time, pointing up the contrast to her haste. ‘Your confidence in that is interesting. You may be right, of course. In your position, I should probably be feeling the same sort of loyalty to my neighbours. But I can assure you that this is where we have to begin. We have a large team, and it may reassure you to know that enquiries are going on in other places as well at this very moment. But we shall talk to everyone who was with Mr Durkin on Saturday night, and then put together their impressions of the evening. Where people's recollections coincide, we shall feel that we are getting an accurate picture of a murder victim's last hours. Where they do not coincide, that will obviously be of interest to us.'

He managed to make it sound like a threat, and was quite pleased to do so, if threats would make this spiky woman more cooperative. Carol Smart shook her head sharply, her fair, slightly frizzy hair bobbing with the movement. She looked at Lambert hard for a moment, unwilling to give ground to him. ‘I can understand that. But you should bear in mind that you won't be talking to the person who killed Robin. He came in from outside, after our party was over.'

‘Have you any grounds for saying that?'

‘Knowledge of people. I'm certain that no one from Gurney Close killed Robin. That's all.'

‘In that case, perhaps you will now give us your account of the hours between eight o'clock and one o'clock on Saturday evening.'

Her mouth set in a hard line, and it looked for a moment as if she would refuse. It was at this point that Philip Smart uncrossed his legs and said, ‘Come on, old girl, these chaps are only trying to do their job, you know.'

Carol glared at him. She knew she had been unreasonable. She didn't need this fool of a husband to call her to order. If he hadn't pratted about before they came and got her annoyed, she'd have been properly prepared for this exchange. She wanted to snarl at Philip that she wasn't his ‘old girl'. But this grim-faced superintendent and his lumpish sergeant would no doubt enjoy that. So instead she said, ‘I'm only trying to defend people who have become my friends.' Then she turned back to Lambert and forced a smile. ‘All right, Superintendent. I can see the sense of what you're telling me. Perhaps everyone in the close is still a little tense and shocked, after what happened.'

She then proceeded to give an account of the Saturday night celebration which coincided so exactly with that they had had on the previous day from Alison Durkin that they were left wondering whether the two of them had got together on this. Lambert listened carefully; Hook asked her one or two small questions as he made his notes, then answered the queries she made of him. He explained that the body couldn't be released yet, that a defence lawyer, when they eventually made an arrest and the case came to trial, had the right to a second, independent, post-mortem examination, in case he wanted to challenge the findings of the one already conducted.