Kill My Darling (12 page)

‘No, thanks,' said Slider. ‘Are you not having one?'

‘I'm up to here with tea,' Wiseman said savagely, and then went and stood by the window with his fists in his pockets again. He seemed to have been working on control, because he said in a quiet tone, ‘Look, she wasn't my own child – you know that?'

‘Yes,' said Slider. He wished the man would turn round. He liked faces to his words.

‘But I did my best by her. Rachel was widowed – you know about that?'

‘Yes, her husband died in the Greenford rail crash.'

‘That's right. And my wife died suddenly, leaving me with Bethany, who was only eighteen months old. So we were both – we needed each other. I don't say there wasn't a bit of – well, I suppose you don't call it rebound when it's a case of bereavement, but it was something like that. We married very quickly. Graham – Rachel's husband – had only been dead just over a year, my wife a bit less than that. Some people were shocked we married so soon. Well, it was none of their business,' he added in a sort of growl.

‘No one else can know what you were feeling,' Slider said, as if agreeing.

Wiseman turned and stared at him intently, perhaps judging his sincerity. Apparently he passed muster. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘I got sick to death of being judged. We dropped all our old friends – friends, they called themselves. There was Rachel with a teenager at the worst possible age for a thing like that, trying to manage all on her own, and I've got a baby, going on a toddler, and trying to hold down a very demanding job. You may think it's a cushy number being a PE teacher, but I can tell you it's not.'

‘I'm sure it's not,' Slider said sincerely. ‘It must take a great deal out of you.'

He seemed mollified. ‘Well, it's not nine to five,' he said forcefully. ‘There's all the out-of-hours coaching, and travelling with teams to competitions, and these days there's all the paperwork that goes with it, too. And one has to keep oneself fit, and that takes time. It was impossible to give Bethany any kind of decent home life. So Rachel and I joined forces, and—' He didn't quite shrug, but Slider got the impression that if he wasn't such a gentleman he would have hinted that the bargain hadn't been evenly balanced. ‘I always tried to do the right thing by Melanie. I did my best.'

‘Did you and she not get along?' Slider asked neutrally.

Wiseman gave an exasperated sort of sigh. ‘Oh, it wasn't that. Not the way
you
mean. But she was sixteen, her father was dead – and she and him were always close. She was bound to be upset and mixed up and so on. She had all the usual teenage problems, only more so – and I wasn't the answer to them, as far as she was concerned. All I could do was give her a stable home and the right influence. I dare say she'd have liked me better if I'd been permissive and let her do whatever the hell she wanted, but that's not how you bring up children. I wouldn't have been doing my duty by her if I hadn't come down hard on certain things. And she thanked me for it in the long run. I mean, she knew I was right, once she got herself sorted out. But for a couple of years it was hard going. And Rachel was no help. Well, she was devastated by Graham's death. I didn't realize until later how much it affected her.' His face darkened, and Slider read between the lines that he wouldn't have married her if he had. ‘She would never take any kind of line with Melanie, it was always left up to me. And she wasn't even my child.'

‘I can see how difficult it must have been. But your relationship did get better in the end?'

‘Oh, we were all right with each other. The last few years – once she'd got herself sorted out. She pulled herself together – got a degree, worked hard and got a good job – and that made all the difference. Once she'd got some self-respect, she knew I'd been right to take a tough line with her. I wouldn't say we were ever really close, not warm, but we respected each other, and that was enough.'

‘Did you see much of her?'

‘Not really. She had her own life, you know what kids are. She rang her mother often, and she came over for Sunday lunch once in a while. You wouldn't expect more at her time of life.'

‘When did you last see her?'

‘About a fortnight ago, it was; she and Scott came over for Sunday lunch. That would be the last time I spoke to her. Though she rang her mother, I think, on the Friday – on the day.' He stopped abruptly, his face dark, his eyebrows pulled together like storm clouds.

‘What did you think of Scott?' Slider said.

‘
He
's all right,' Wiseman said, and Slider thought the emphasis revealing. ‘Steady lad, good job, nice manners. He wanted to marry her, you know,' he burst out as though it was impossible to bear, ‘but she was the one holding back. I didn't approve of them living together like that. It's not respectable. But Scott was working on her, bringing her round.
He
had the right ideas. It was—' He stopped again, brooding. ‘If she'd married, this would never have happened. If she'd listened to me . . .'

‘Do you know if Melanie was worried about anything, the last few weeks?' Slider tried. ‘Was there anything you and her mother were concerned about?'

‘Apart from her not marrying Scott? No, not that I know of.'

‘She wasn't in money trouble?'

‘She never said she was. And Scott earned plenty.'

‘Or mixing with any unsavoury types?'

‘Scott would never have allowed that. No, she was all right, as far as I knew.'

Slider drank off his tea. ‘Well, thank you, Mr Wiseman. You've been very helpful. Just one last thing – were you at home on Friday evening?'

Something happened. Slider had been going to ask about phone calls during the evening, but Wiseman stiffened like a fox smelling the hounds. ‘What d'you want to know that for?' he asked, suppressed anger all present and correct again.

‘Purely routine,' Slider said soothingly. ‘We like to know where everyone was at the time.'

‘If you're thinking I had anything to do with Melanie's death, just because I'm her stepfather—'

‘Not at all. It's just a routine question, nothing to worry about. Where were you, in fact?'

Wiseman scowled horribly. ‘I was coaching a school soccer team in the early part of the evening, if you must know, and after I got home I watched television with my wife until bedtime. As she'll tell you, if you can't take my word for it.'

Slider made a placating movement with his hands. ‘There's no need for that. I assure you, the question was not meant disrespectfully. We ask everyone, just to clear the field.'

Wiseman evidently liked the word ‘disrespectfully' and his hackles slowly went down. Through the kitchen window Slider could see the school friend playing with the dog, but Bethany was nowhere to be seen. He wondered what Wiseman would think of her absenting herself without permission – but there had not seemed anything particularly cowed about Bethany in the brief time he had observed her. More pertinently, he wondered how Connolly had got on; and that, at least, he could do something about.

SIX

Thirst Among Equals

M
argie was hanging around in the hall as he passed through.

‘Rachel's gone upstairs to have a lay down. I think that little talk with your lady upset her. I left them to it – private, you know – but I think I'd better stay on a bit in case I'm wanted,' she concluded wistfully.

‘Has my colleague left?'

‘Oh yes, a few minutes ago. Was – is Ian OK? Such a lovely man. P'raps I'd better go and make him a cup of tea? It can't be easy talking about something like this.'

There isn't something like this, Slider thought. But some malicious sprite prompted him to say, ‘Good idea. I expect he needs a cup.' She scuttled off with a new mission in life and Slider escaped through the front door. The first thing he saw was Connolly, down the side of the house, deep in conversation with Bethany, so he turned his back on them and talked to Dave Bright for a bit, to give her space. He'd have gone and sat in the car, but that would have left him vulnerable to the crowd.

Connolly had been surprised when Mrs Sutton had offered to leave her alone with Mrs Wiseman, levered herself up on tiptoe and crept out: an elephant of tact. She had thought missing the interview would be the last thing Mrs Sutton would want to do, and gave her points for having more depths than was at first apparent.

Mrs Wiseman had been only too eager to talk. Grief had made her loquacious, though rambling. She kept weeping, like a slow bleed, but it did not interfere with her speech.

‘I knew, when that other police-lady came, I knew she was gone. I had this premonition, somehow, that she was dead. My Melanie. I can't seem to make it real in my head, d'you know what I mean? I keep thinking she'll ring me any minute. And yet I just knew the moment she said she was missing that she wasn't coming back.'

She wiped at her nose hopelessly with a soggy tissue that was in danger of disintegrating. Connolly passed her another and murmured something about a ‘mother's instinct'. Mrs Wiseman jumped on that eagerly.

‘That's what it was! That's what it must have been. A mother's instinct. Because Ian's been saying he always knew it would end up like this, but that's not right. It's not right to say something like that, just because she had that bit of trouble. That was years ago, and she's turned her life right round since then. It's not right to keep harping on about it. She was just a girl, and her dad had been killed, and it's no wonder she went off the rails a bit. I said at the time he ought to be more sympathetic, but he's so hard, Ian, he never makes allowances. He thinks everybody ought to be as together as he is. Oh, I know he thought he was doing right by her, being strict and everything, and I expect it did help her, in the long run, but to be saying a thing like that now, all these years later, when she's such a lovely girl, and she's really made something of herself. She's got a lovely job and a lovely boyfriend and there's no reason
at all
to say “I told you so” about something like this. I mean, nobody deserves to have that happen to them, and she was a good girl, a really good girl.'

‘What was the bit of trouble she got in?' Connolly asked. ‘When her Dad died?'

‘Well, it wasn't right away, that's the funny thing. She was wonderful at first, a tower of strength to me – because I just went to
pieces
, I can tell you. It was the most terrible, terrible time; but Melanie was so wonderful, and she really adored her dad, you know, they were so close, but she supported me and did all the things that needed doing, and she was so calm and everything. I suppose in the end it was bound to come out, like a sort of – of . . .'

‘Belated reaction?' Connolly offered.

‘That's right,' said Mrs Wiseman. ‘Anyway, it all seemed to come over her suddenly, after Ian and I got married.' She frowned. ‘She didn't really approve of that, she thought it was too soon, and anyway you know what children are, they think you should never look at a man again, but I was only twenty when I had her so I was much too young to throw myself in the grave with him, so to speak. And Graham – Melanie's dad – well, he was a charmer all right, but he wasn't a good husband. Melanie had no idea, of course – well, that's not the sort of thing you tell your daughter, is it? Especially when she adores her dad like she did. But he was always in and out of different jobs and running up debts, and spending what we didn't have. It was hand to mouth the whole time with him. You never knew where the next meal was coming from. He was the sort of man who'd leave the gas bill unpaid but take us away for a weekend in a hotel. Always bringing home presents and useless things for the house – he was gadget mad, that man. But Melanie had holes in her shoes and no winter coat.' She shook her head at the memory and wiped her eyes again. ‘So when Ian proposed to me, I wasn't thinking about it being too soon, I can tell you. A good man – a churchgoer and everything! And with a steady job –
and
ready to take on a stepdaughter just at the difficult age? I'd have been mad not to snap him up. But then Melanie sort of went to pieces. She sulked, and she was rude to me, and she'd barely talk to Ian, and Ian – well, I don't think he had the knack of handling her, not that anything would have helped much, the way she was then. But they were like two cats glaring at each other, and if one said white the other said black and off they'd go. Well, anyway, the upshot was my poor Melanie got into bad company. She started smoking, she was always out late and not saying where she was – you know the sort of thing.'

Connolly nodded helpfully.

‘And all the time it was like she was defying Ian to stop her. Oh, he tried, and the rows were terrible, but it just seemed to make her worse. And then she—' She stopped, biting her lip.

‘She got into trouble?' Connolly said, to help her along.

Mrs Wiseman nodded her head, lowering her eyes in shame. ‘She got pregnant. We didn't know she'd been going with boys. You know – having sex, I mean. Because she was always a pretty girl and naturally boys liked her and we knew she had boyfriends, but not that she was – doing that. Well, it was like the world came to an end. I mean, Ian – he's really strict about anything like that. The rows before were nothing to what happened then. And she wouldn't say who the father was. Ian was raging, he wanted to go round and make the boy face up to it, but she wouldn't say who it was. And then in the middle of one row – I don't know if it was just to wind Ian up, or if it was true – I can't believe it was true – she said she
didn't know who the father was
.' She put a weak hand to her face. ‘Ian just went mad.'

Connolly handed over more tissues in silent sympathy. She could imagine the cataclysm. And she could imagine the young Melanie facing her stepfather down, sixteen or seventeen, confused, miserable, pregnant and frightened, having it made clear to her she had nowhere to turn.
I hope he dies roaring for a priest
, she thought with unexpected savagery.