A Death in the Family Read online

  For a moment I thought that she was going to go anyway, but then she turned to her mother and said, ‘Well, it can’t be helped. It just means that I’ll have to stay another day.’

  The doorbell rang again.

  ‘That will be the people to fit a new pane of glass in the door,’ I said. ‘I’d better let them in.’

  ‘I’ll take my case upstairs,’ Christine said, then pausing at the door, she said to me, ‘Make sure you get an invoice from them – the owner of the cottage will have to pay for that. He can claim it on his insurance.’

  It was quite a relief after that to chat to the young man putting in the new glass.

  ‘Bit of a mess,’ he said cheerfully, getting out his tools. ‘Burglary was it?’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked, avoiding the question. ‘I’m just about to make one.’

  The kettle that Janet had put on was still warm and didn’t take long to boil. I poured a cup for the young man and put the teapot and the rest of the tea things onto a tray and took it into the sitting room. Janet got to her feet.

  ‘Oh dear, I was going to do that, wasn’t I? Thank you so much, Sheila,’ she said vaguely.

  I poured the tea for them and took my own cup back into the kitchen. I told myself that they’d want to be alone to talk things over, but, of course, really it was because I couldn’t bear to listen to Christine bullying her mother.

  Back in the kitchen the glass had been fitted and the young man was drinking his tea.

  ‘You’ve been quick,’ I said.

  ‘Straightforward job,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ He put down his cup. ‘Thanks for the tea. I’ve left the invoice on the table – it’s a holiday cottage, isn’t it? So you’ll be wanting to send that to the landlord. Cheerio.’

  As I saw him out I considered how much less irritating that information was coming from him than from Christine. I went back into the kitchen and took my time drinking my own cup of tea and washing up the two cups. When I could spin these tasks out no longer I went back reluctantly into the sitting room.

  ‘Well now,’ I said brightly, ‘is there anything I can do?’

  ‘There’s not much anyone can do,’ Christine said, ‘until we get more information.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I can see it’s difficult for you.’

  ‘I’ll just go and see if the bed’s made up in the other bedroom,’ Janet said, ‘and if the heating’s on.’

  She got up and went out of the room quickly, as though escaping, which I suppose she was. I sat down on the sofa – I noticed that neither of them had taken the chair Bernard had been found in – and said, ‘I’m so sorry about your father, it must be dreadful for you – the way he died…’

  ‘I imagine it was a burglar,’ she said. ‘Presumably he broke in and my father confronted him, which is what he would have done, and the man panicked and hit him over the head.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ I agreed.

  ‘Well, it must have been what happened,’ she said irritably, ‘it’s highly unlikely anyone would have wanted to murder him.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, ‘and down here, too, where he didn’t really know anyone.’

  Christine gave me a sharp glance as if picking up the ambivalence of my remark.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘I was very fond of my father,’ she went on, ‘he was always an inspiration to me. He was a fine headmaster, his school was in the top division of all the school league tables.’

  ‘How splendid,’ I said inadequately.

  ‘Mother never really appreciated what a remarkable man he was,’ she went on, ‘but she was devoted to him. Indeed I don’t know how she’s going to get on without him, and I’m afraid my life is very full so that I can’t give her the attention she will need. I can see it’s going to be quite a problem.’

  ‘Luke seems very devoted to her,’ I ventured. ‘He came down earlier today to see how she was.’

  ‘Oh, Luke,’ she said dismissively. ‘He’s always fussing about her. You may have heard the story. Very unpleasant. I don’t say my father was right, turning him out as he did, but he was a man with very strong principles and I can see his point of view, even if it’s not one that’s currently acceptable. Luke was a great disappointment to him in many ways.’

  ‘He seems to have made a success of his restaurant,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, cooking – that’s hardly a proper career, is it?’

  ‘A lot of people think so nowadays,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway I knew that Mother had been seeing him. Of course I didn’t tell Father, he would have been very upset and, although I didn’t approve of the deceit, I didn’t see any real harm in it. The only thing was Luke kept ringing me up, asking me if she was all right – very tiresome. Actually, he rang me yesterday evening, most inconvenient.’

  ‘He rang you last night?’

  ‘Yes, about eight o’clock, well, it was just before eight because there was a television programme that I wanted to see – an important documentary about global warming – that started at eight. And, of course, it was just the same old thing, asking about Mother. Not that I could hear half of what he was saying, because he was ringing from that restaurant of his and it was very noisy. So I said I didn’t have time to talk and put the phone down.’

  ‘Perhaps Luke could look after your mother now,’ I suggested.

  ‘Good gracious no, that would be most unsuitable, given his circumstances. Besides, it’s a question of where she’s going to live, obviously she can’t stay in that large house all by herself. No, I suppose I’ll have to try and find some sort of flat for her, though, of course, she could go into sheltered housing. I must see what the options are.’

  I was depressed at the thought of Christine taking over from where Bernard had left off and I very much hoped that Luke would encourage his mother to stand up for herself at last. Certainly she had seemed a different person when they were together and perhaps Christine would be ‘too busy’ to bother about taking control of her mother’s life.

  ‘I think you’ll be all right in that end bedroom,’ Janet said to Christine as she came into the room. ‘It has a lovely view up over the hills,’ she added in a placatory tone.

  ‘I’m sure it will be perfectly adequate,’ Christine said, picking up the tea tray in a brisk manner that suggested that in doing so she was taking over the reins of government. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Malory – may I call you Sheila, since we are related? You have been most kind.’

  When the door had closed behind her I said to Janet, ‘Shall I call for you to go to the police station tomorrow?’

  ‘Well…’ She hesitated. ‘Christine said she would be going, so…well, perhaps not. I’ll ring and let you know what happens, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, that will be fine. Though, as I’m going there tomorrow anyway we may meet there.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said anxiously. ‘Christine might not like… But no, of course,’ she went on, ‘it would be perfectly natural wouldn’t it? I mean she wouldn’t think we’d arranged it, would she?’

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ I said going to the door. But, having seen Christine, I had the gravest doubts that it would be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As it happened I didn’t get to the police station the next morning. I’d fed the animals and fed myself and I’d finished the washing up when I thought I’d just defrost some prawns as a treat for Foss when I came back. So I got the pack out of the freezer and as I was undoing it the whole thing slipped out of my hands and the contents were scattered over the floor. Putting the animals, enthusiastic to help, out of doors, I collected up the prawns, having to get down on my hands and knees (no easy feat these days) to retrieve the stray prawns from under the fridge and the washing machine. Telling myself they were only for the animals, who wouldn’t mind, I put most of them back in the bag, replaced it in the freezer and left a small amount in water to defrost. I then felt obliged to mop the kitchen floor with disinfectant in c
ase it might smell of prawns.

  The whole incident left me feeling disproportionately exhausted and I was just sitting down to recover when the telephone rang and it was Anthea.

  ‘Sheila, what do you know about this concert they’re having in the Methodist hall?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Who’s organising it?’ she said impatiently. ‘They’ve got that string quartet we always have for the concert at Brunswick Lodge for the restoration appeal.’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Doesn’t it say on the poster?’

  ‘There isn’t a poster, just a notice in this week’s Free Press – surely you’ve seen it.’

  ‘Well, actually, as it happens I haven’t had time to look at the Free Press.’

  Anthea, who always reads the paper from cover to cover the minute it comes out every Friday, gave an exclamation of surprise and disbelief. ‘Well anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’d very much like to know who’s behind it.’ She made it sound like a revolutionary plot. ‘I mean, we’ve always had that quartet and now if these people – whoever they are – are going to use them as well for their fundraising concerts, everyone is going to be very confused.’

  ‘I don’t see why they should. I mean, when they played for us it was at Brunswick Lodge. Quite different.’

  ‘Well,’ Anthea said, clearly unconvinced, ‘if you find out who these people are, let me know. Now what I want to ask you is can you help Monica with the coffee morning on Wednesday. Mrs Galbraith was going to do it but they’ve brought her hip replacement forward so she’ll be going into hospital on Monday.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘It’s only for a couple of hours, I’m sure you can manage that.’

  Since Fate and Anthea can never be denied I said that yes I’d do it.

  ‘Oh good. And if you should happen to be making some scones, they’re always welcome.’

  Sighing, I went out into the kitchen to mark Wednesday’s date on the calendar and let in the animals, who rushed in anxious to see what had been going on in their enforced absence. It had been raining and they were both wet and muddy, so I had to dry them both, which they hate, thereby getting pretty muddy myself. Foss, when he escaped, immediately crouched down beside the fridge, hooked out a prawn that had escaped my notice, and began to eat it noisily. Tris, put out by this, began whining for food, so I had to get out the dry food for them both and was just putting the packets away when the doorbell rang.

  As I went to answer it I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the hall, looking dishevelled and with a streak of dirt down the side of my face, and hoped that my caller wasn’t someone who’d think this was my normal appearance. My caller, in fact, was Roger Eliot.

  ‘Good heavens,’ he said, ‘what have you been up to?’

  ‘Come in,’ I said. ‘It’s been one of those mornings!’

  I led the way into the kitchen, put the kettle on and got out the tin of chocolate digestives. I also got the kitchen towel and wiped my face vigorously.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ I said, ‘but I imagine it’s business and you’re not just dropping in for a chat.’

  ‘I’m afraid so – though the tea and biscuits are a welcome addition.’

  ‘I suppose it’s about Bernard Prior. I was coming down to the station – Bob Harris said you’d be there this morning – but, as you can see, minor domestic problems have held me up.’

  ‘It’s nicer,’ Roger said, taking a second biscuit, ‘like this.’

  ‘We did make statements – Bernard’s wife Janet and I – the night it happened.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen those. Pretty coherent, I thought, after what must have been a horrible experience for you both.’

  ‘Well, yes it was, but do you know, somehow, at the time it didn’t seem real – I can’t explain, but it didn’t seem like a murder at all.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’

  My hand shook as I was pouring the tea, splashing it into the saucer.

  ‘But – but I was there, I saw him.’

  ‘You saw a dead man in a chair, but he hadn’t been murdered.’

  ‘He’d been struck on the head,’ I said. ‘I saw the blood.’

  ‘Very little blood, though.’

  ‘Well, yes – I can remember thinking…’

  ‘That’s because he was already dead when someone hit him on the head.’

  ‘Already dead?’ I echoed stupidly.

  ‘We have the forensic report. He died of a heart attack.’

  ‘No! When?’

  ‘The times are a bit tight, but they think there was a gap of about an hour between his heart giving out and the attack by whoever it was.’

  ‘He must have died soon after Janet left,’ I said. ‘Of course! She said he’d been complaining of indigestion all afternoon, that’s why she stopped off at the supermarket to get some tablets for him. What an extraordinary thing!’ I got a fresh saucer and poured the tea. ‘But surely,’ I said, ‘the burglar would have seen that he was dead, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Not necessarily. He was sitting in that low-backed chair, with his head back and his eyes closed. The burglar – if it was a burglar – may have thought that he was asleep.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible,’ I conceded.

  ‘Though, actually, I’m not really sold on the idea that it was a burglar.’

  ‘But there was a forced entry,’ I said. ‘That smashed glass panel in the back door and the front door left open when he – the burglar that is – panicked and ran away.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, but it all looks a bit pat, don’t you think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just what you’d expect to find if there had been a burglary – the sort of thing you see in television cop drama – all carefully set up.’

  ‘Well, yes, I see what you mean. And, of course,’ I added, ‘nothing was taken.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But if the burglar hit Bernard over the head, not realising he was dead and then saw that he was, and thought he’d killed him, then he’d panic and run away.’

  ‘True. But I still think the whole set-up is too good to be true.’

  ‘But if it isn’t a burglary that went wrong, what is it?’

  ‘How about attempted murder?’

  ‘But the whole thing’s bizarre!’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘And really horrible,’ I went on, ‘if you come to think of it. Striking a dead person.’

  ‘But if you didn’t know he was dead? Which is worse – murder or this?’

  ‘If you put it like that, I suppose… But presumably if you catch whoever it was, they’d be guilty of murder, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But what would they be guilty of?’

  ‘In this particular case? I daresay we could have them for breaking and entering.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘In law, hitting a dead person over the head is not a criminal offence.’

  ‘Good heavens. Not even grievous bodily harm?’

  ‘Not in this case.’

  I drank the rest of my tea in an effort to clear my mind.

  ‘Does Janet know?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I saw her and her daughter at the station before I came to see you.’

  ‘Poor Janet. How did she take it?’

  ‘She was very upset. I’m afraid she more or less collapsed. Her daughter took her home. Not, however, before she – the daughter that is – favoured me with several scathing comments concerning police inefficiency, with especial reference to our outdated and dilatory methods. She was particularly concerned that I couldn’t give her the date of the inquest or when the body would be released. Apparently the entire educational system of the Southwest has had to be put on hold until she gets back.’

  ‘There will be one, then? An inquest, I mean.’

  ‘The circumstances are unusual enough to warrant one, certainly. I imagine it will simply conf
irm that death was from natural causes.’

  I shook my head. ‘I just can’t take it in.’

  ‘It’s unusual, certainly.’

  ‘So whoever thought they’d killed Bernard doesn’t know he was already dead and…’

  ‘And they needn’t have bothered. That’s right. It’ll come as a bit of a shock when they do find out.’ Roger took the last biscuit. ‘Sorry, do you mind? I didn’t have time for any breakfast.’

  ‘Of course not. Would you like some cake or something more substantial – a sandwich perhaps?’

  ‘No, these are fine.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘will you still be looking for who did it?’

  ‘Obviously there’ll be some sort of enquiry, but not top priority, like it would have been if it was murder.’

  ‘I see.’

  Roger brushed a few stray crumbs from his jacket. ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?’

  ‘Goodness yes!’ I began. ‘Well, the person who had the most reason to be glad he’s gone is his wife – he was an appalling bully, he ruined her life – but it can’t be her because she was with me the whole time. His son had every reason to hate him too, but he was in Bristol, and so was his daughter Christine – though she seems to have been quite fond of her father.’

  ‘Not promising.’

  ‘But Bernard was a thoroughly unpleasant person and the most terrible bore. He must have annoyed a lot of people.’

  ‘Much as one would like to one doesn’t usually kill people because they’re boring,’ Roger said. ‘And down here, away from his home territory, who would have a strong enough motive?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He had several relations round here, and I know he went to visit all of them – because of this family history thing – before he died. There may have been some dark disagreement that I don’t know about. I suppose Janet might be able to tell you. Not,’ I added, ‘that he’d have been likely to tell her anything important.’

  ‘Well,’ Roger said, getting to his feet, ‘have a think and if you come up with anything let me know. By the way,’ he added smiling, ‘you still have a great smear of mud on your forehead.’