Читать книгу Deadlock - Emma Page - Страница 12

In the sitting room Conway appeared to have slipped into a doze. He stirred and opened his eyes at the sound of their return.

The Chief made no mention of anything they had come across in the bedroom and Conway asked no questions. He put a hand up to his mouth, suppressing a yawn. He shook his head to clear it, blinked his eyes wide open.

Kelsey asked in a casual manner if Conway could put his hand on a copy of his marriage certificate.

‘Yes, of course.’ Conway stood up and went to a bureau. He came back with the certificate and handed it over.

The Chief ran his eye over the details: DAVID MALCOLM CONWAY, bachelor, an address in Northcott. Occupation: sales representative. Age: 30. ANNA MARIE REARDON, widow, an address in Whitbourn, a town fifteen miles from Northcott. Occupation: housewife. Age: 19. The ceremony had taken place in Whitbourn.

The Chief read aloud the entry relating to Anna. As he spoke the word widow he permitted his voice to take on a note of surprise. He glanced inquiringly at Conway.

‘That’s right,’ Conway confirmed.

‘Did you know her first husband?’

Conway shook his head. ‘I never met him. Anna was a widow when I met her. I didn’t know her all that long before we were married.’

‘Can you tell us anything about this first husband – Walter Reardon?’

Conway shook his head again. ‘I’m afraid not, I know nothing at all about him. Anna never talked about him. I didn’t press her, it seemed to upset her.’

‘Do you know how or when Reardon died?’

Again he shook his head. ‘All I know is that she’d been widowed about three months when I met her.’

‘When did you meet her? And where?’

‘I met her in Whitbourn, last November, almost a year ago now. I often went to Whitbourn on business when I worked at Ackroyd’s. I was over there one morning, driving into the town, and I almost knocked Anna down. She stepped out into the road without any warning, not looking where she was going. I had to swerve to avoid her, I missed her by inches. She was pretty shaken. It shook me, too, I can tell you.

‘I drove her home – she was living in a rented flat, not far away. She’d moved to Whitbourn after her husband died. I asked her if there was some friend or neighbour who could come in but she said there wasn’t anyone.

‘I made her some tea. She was still very shaky so I stayed and talked to her. I was concerned for her, she seemed so young to be widowed, all alone. I was in the town again a few days later and I called to see how she was. She’d got over her shock, she seemed pleased to see me. I asked her if she’d like to come out for a meal that evening, after I’d finished work.’

He spread his hands. ‘We were married three months later. We moved here, into Ferndale, at the beginning of March. I’d already fixed myself up with the job at Zodiac, I started work there the week after we moved in here.’

‘Did Anna have a job when you first met her?’

‘She had a part-time job. She worked in a woolshop in the afternoons.’

‘Was that her regular work? Shop assistant?’

‘I don’t think so. I know she worked in a café before she married Reardon, she mentioned it once. She did say the name of the café but I can’t remember what it was.’

A brief silence descended on the room. Conway suddenly blurted out: ‘I can’t help feeling I’m to blame for Anna’s death. I ought to have realized what was going on inside her head.’

His words came out in a rush. ‘I should never have brought her to this house, it’s far too lonely and isolated. Anna told me she wanted somewhere quiet and peaceful, in the countryside. I thought Ferndale would be ideal, but I see now it was no good at all for her. She’d never lived in the country, she had no idea what it would be like, on her own all day, with me out at work.

‘I thought she’d soon make friends but she seemed to find that difficult. Then, when she wasn’t well, she found it harder than ever, she couldn’t face going out among strangers.’

His voice broke. ‘I should never have allowed myself to be talked into persuading her to go away for a holiday on her own. I’ll never forgive myself for that.’ Tears glittered in his eyes. ‘It was far too much to expect of her, I can see that now as clear as day, I can’t understand how I could have been so blind to it before.’

He shook his head helplessly. ‘One of the last things I said to her was about going shopping tomorrow afternoon. We were going to buy her clothes for the cruise.’ His face was drained and haggard. ‘The state she must have been in, that would have been just about the last straw.’

Eight o’clock on Wednesday morning found Chief Inspector Kelsey and Sergeant Lambert setting out for Whitbourn, a workaday town of no great size or beauty.

Anna’s address in Whitbourn, at the time of her marriage to Conway, turned out to be the middle flat of three in a converted Edwardian house in a respectable suburb.

When repeated rings at the door of the flat produced no response they went down to the ground-floor flat, but they fared no better there. They mounted the stairs to the top flat and here they had better luck. A powerful smell of frying onions percolated out on to the landing; a radio played inside.

The sergeant’s ring was answered by a cheerful, busy-looking old man wearing a brightly-coloured plastic apron, and clutching a fork. When the Chief identified himself the old man’s face lit up at the prospect of a little excitement to enliven his day. He urged them inside – he must attend to his onions, he was preparing a casserole for his lunch.

He stood by the cooker, jabbing away at the contents of the frying-pan while Kelsey explained why they had called. Did he remember a young woman who had lived in the middle flat for some months, leaving there at the end of February? A Mrs Anna Reardon.

The old man shook his head with an air of deep regret. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I only moved in here at the beginning of June.’ The middle flat was empty at present, it had been empty for the past two weeks. ‘You’d better talk to Mrs Hudspeth,’ he advised them. ‘Down in the bottom flat.’

He began to chop a slab of beef into ragged cubes. ‘She’s lived here for years. She won’t be home till well turned six, she’s a supervisor at a discount store.’ He made a face. ‘Bit of a tartar, but decent enough. Divorced, lives here by herself.’ He gave them directions for the store, on the outskirts of town.

‘We won’t bother with Mrs Hudspeth now,’ Kelsey decided as they went down the stairs again and out to the car. ‘We can catch her later.’ Instead, they drove to Ribbenford, to the address shown for Walter Reardon at the time of his marriage to Anna.

Ribbenford was just such another town as Whitbourn, somewhat larger, equally busy, equally unremarkable. It took them some time to locate the house; it stood in a little rural enclave not yet invaded by the forces of progress. An attractive detached property, late Victorian, medium size, substantially built.

Kelsey looked up at it as he got out of the car. Worth a pretty penny these days. He knew at once there was no one at home: all the windows closed, not a sound to be heard. But Sergeant Lambert pressed the bell all the same. They went round to the back and tried again, expecting, and getting, no response. A long rear garden, sheltered and secluded; a tall hedge of mixed shrubs running the entire width of the garden, some yards from the house.

There was no near neighbour but the Chief remembered passing a newsagent’s a few minutes back. They got into the car again.

The shop was doing a brisk trade; they waited outside for a lull. The young woman behind the counter gave them a friendly, inquiring glance as they came in.

The Chief revealed his identity. ‘We’re looking for some people by the name of Reardon,’ he added. He mentioned the address. ‘We’ve called at the house but there’s no one at home. We wondered if you might know what time anyone’s likely to be in.’

‘There’s no one by the name of Reardon living there now,’ she told him. ‘It’s a young married couple there now, with kids. He’ll be out at work. She was in here half an hour ago. She always calls in on Wednesday to pay the papers. She leaves the kids at the play-group and goes into town, shopping. She usually goes by again about half past twelve. I’m sure you’ll find her at home around lunchtime.’