A Slightly Bitter Taste Read online

  Once again he seemed to be searching his memory. Then he said, “I met her about eighteen months later. We got engaged and married in a matter of weeks …”

  While he listened Quinn had a picture in his mind of two beds that had been disturbed and the face of a beautiful woman disfigured in death. Perhaps she had gone into the nursery because she wanted to die surrounded by memories of a time that had been all too brief.

  … Yet that doesn’t explain who used the second bed in the other room. Unless she went from bed to bed until she found the most comfortable one for her last sleep … like Goldilocks. But Adele Parry didn’t have golden hair — she was a red-head …

  A phrase came back to him from his childhood: “… Then Goldilocks woke up and saw the three bears and she was very frightened. So she jumped out of bed and climbed through the window and ran all the way home to her mummy.”

  But Adele had nothing to be afraid of — except life itself. She might have been one of those people who were born under an unlucky star. Whatever happiness she had known with her first husband came to an end when she lost her baby and then he died. After that she’d had nothing.

  So she’d tried to begin again. And this time it hadn’t worked out, either. This time she’d had to stand and watch Michael become a dipsomaniac.

  It might have been too much. Years of frustration and disappointment might well have reached culmination point on this last afternoon.

  … She found her husband in a drunken sleep. It wouldn’t have been the first time but this was once too often. The police should have a pretty straight-forward case …

  Except for two things … They would want to know why she had returned home hours before she was expected: why she had lain down on that second bed in the twin-bedded room — the room that she obviously shared with Michael — and then changed her mind and gone into the nursery.

  Michael Parry was still looking down at the floor. As though following the trend of Quinn’s thoughts, he said, “She never let me know she was coming back early. That’s what I can’t understand.”

  He hadn’t yet shown any signs of grief. When he heard that his wife was dead he’d been shocked but not distressed, confused and bewildered but not sad. Now the look in his eyes was that of a man with a problem in which grief played no part.

  Quinn asked, “Could she have returned before you got back this afternoon?”

  Michael seemed to be enmeshed in his own inner problem. When he managed to rouse himself, he said, “Mrs. Gregg — that’s the daily woman — doesn’t leave until after one … and I came home about a quarter past three.”

  “Well, that means the house was empty for at least two hours … doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. But I can assure you my wife wasn’t anywhere about when I got in.”

  “She might’ve been — if you went straight upstairs for your afternoon nap. You wouldn’t have known whether anyone was in the house or not … providing they didn’t make any noise.”

  After he’d swallowed a couple of times, Michael said, “You think she was in the nursery?”

  “It’s quite possible. After all, you didn’t go in there. Why should you?”

  “Yes, but” — he had to get rid of something in his throat again — “but she must’ve kept very quiet and I don’t see …”

  “She didn’t want you to find her before it was too late,” Quinn said.

  Michael Parry stared down at the floor, his hands dangling loosely, his face empty of all feeling. He seemed to be limp and yet alert — as though awaiting something he knew was bound to happen.

  Upstairs a door opened and closed … careful foosteps walked along the semi-circular corridor … another door opened. Voices murmured at a level that was just audible.

  Dr. Bossard said, “… No, Miss Wilkinson, I’m afraid you can’t come in here. The police are due any moment and, besides, there’s nothing to see. So I suggest you go home. It may sound rude but you’d only be in the way.”

  Ariadne Wilkinson’s deep voice gave him barely enough time to finish. Quinn heard her complain “… be reasonable, doctor. How do you expect me to get home? You were going to take me, if you remember. I don’t mind waiting until you’re free.”

  In a sharper tone, Bossard said, “Now you’re being awkward, Miss Wilkinson, and you know it. I’ll probably have to stay here for quite some time. In any case, it isn’t raining now.”

  “But, doctor —”

  “A quarter of an hour’s brisk walk will do you good. Help to keep your weight down. Aren’t you always saying that’s what you want?”

  Miss Wilkinson said, “You’re a beast. Dr. Bossard, nothing but a beast. What harm is there in letting me take a peep at an old friend before they take her away?”

  “The answer’s still no. You can pay your respects when you attend the funeral.” There he raised his voice. “Good night, Miss Wilkinson.”

  Quinn heard the door close firmly. Then Ariadne Wilkinson came down the stairs.

  She scowled at Quinn and said, “How about that? Who’d have thought a man would make me walk home at my time of life?”

  Her little hazel eyes flitted to Parry and she went on, “Hallo, Michael. Sad affair, very sad. You have my sympathy.”

  Without looking up, Michael said, “Thanks.”

  “If there’s anything I can do just let me know.” She opened the door and poked her head out and then she looked back at Quinn.

  She said, “I hate that man. He’s so right. It has stopped raining. But I’ll guarantee it’ll come down in buckets before I’m half-way home. Serve him right if I get pneumonia and he has to visit me three times a day.”

  When she was going out she looked back again and added, “Don’t forget, Michael, if there’s anything I can do … Nighty-night.”

  Parry raised his head just long enough to say, “I won’t forget.” Then at last she had gone.

  Part of the overcast had lifted and the banked-up clouds in the western sky burned red in the light of the setting sun. As Ariadne Wilkinson crossed the drive she walked into a broad swaithe of that fiery light, her shadow bobbing behind her like a monstrous companion.

  She seemed to lose substance the farther she went. Quinn watched her until she was hidden by the clump of elm trees glistening wet and green after the rain. He told himself he would scarcely have been surprised if she had come sailing over the topmost branches on a broomstick.

  Inside his head he could hear her saying “… Do you think it’s because I’m the seventh child of a seventh child? … I’ve often thought I was born three hundred years too late. I should’ve been a witch.”

  Perhaps she was merely being facetious. Perhaps, on the other hand, he had been meant to take it seriously. She was a strange woman — a strange and somewhat unpleasant woman. ‘

  … Funny how I didn’t notice she wasn’t downstairs when I went down to use the phone. Wonder where she was all the time Dr. Bossard and I were talking together in the nursery? Probably hidden in the bathroom next door with both ears flapping. She’s not the kind to miss very much …

  He pushed her out of his mind and thought instead about Irene Ford and her reason for going into the nursery. According to Parry, no one ever went in there.

  Could be that Michael Parry wasn’t very reliable. His wife had evidently not had much faith in him … or he’d have known she was coming home sooner than arranged … assuming that was true and she hadn’t really told him. With someone like Parry a lot of things had to be assumed.

  5

  Inspector Elvin was a spare, wiry man with protruding cheekbones and a head of silver hair brushed smoothly back without any parting. His tie matched his dark blue suit, his collar was crisply white, his shoes had been meticulously polished.

  The plainclothes officer who came in with him was big and burly and heavy featured. Elvin introduced him almost as an after-thought.

  “… Oh, and this is Sergeant Taylor. He knows the district very well or we’d have taken a lot lon
ger to find the house.”

  The sergeant bobbed his head and grunted something unintelligible. Then he hid both hands inside his hat and looked up at one of the light fittings as though he had never seen anything like it before.

  When the introductions were over, Elvin shared a roving glance between Quinn and Parry and murmured, “Very unfortunate business … very unfortunate. I won’t trouble you any more than I can help, Mr. Parry, but I have to make certain inquiries … certain necessary inquiries. You understand, I’m sure.”

  In a faraway voice, Michael Parry said, “Yes, of course. But there’s so little I can tell you. This has come as a great shock to me.”

  “That’s only natural, sir, very natural. We’ll talk the whole thing over later when I’ve had a word with Dr. Bossard. For the moment I suggest that you try to relax — just relax.”

  His face and his tone changed as he turned to Quinn and said, “You’re the gentleman who phoned me, aren’t you? Was it you who found Mrs. Parry?”

  “No, it was Mrs. Ford, her sister-in-law.”

  “And where is Mrs. Ford now?”

  “Upstairs. Her husband’s with her and so is Miss Stewart, a friend of the family. They’re keeping Mrs. Ford company because she’s been very distressed.”

  “Then I won’t disturb the lady just for the moment. There’s no hurry, no hurry at all. Dr. Bossard’s still in the room where Mrs. Parry was found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I’m glad of that … very glad. Now would you take me to him, please?”

  Sergeant Taylor remained downstairs, his eyes shifting from one light fitting to another, his flabby face quite impassive. Michael Parry never even looked up when they left. He was still sitting in the same position, his head bent, his hands clasping and unclasping between his knees.

  At the top of the stairs, Quinn said, “The Fords and Miss Stewart are in that room there. The one next to it is Mr. and Mrs. Parry’s room.”

  Without taking his eyes off Quinn’s face, Elvin said, “I see.”

  “There’s something I’d like to show you, Inspector, if you’ve got time.”

  A pale smile passed over Elvin’s face. He said, “For the necessary things I make time, Mr. Quinn. It’s the only way, in my experience, the only way. There’s always to-morrow.”

  Quinn led him into the empty bedroom. When the door was shut, he said, “Mr. Parry told me he returned home about half past three, went straight upstairs, and took a nap It would seem he was still asleep when Miss Stewart and I arrived at seven-thirty.”

  Once again, Inspector Elvin said, “I see.”

  “You don’t — not yet. But I think you will. Parry says there was no one in the house when he got back. His wife had been to a place called Wood Lake and she wasn’t due back until this evening …”

  Elvin listened to the story, his face remote. Then he said, “M-m-m … Strange affair, very strange. Didn’t anybody see her return home?”

  “Not that we know of. But it must’ve been quite a while before Miss Stewart and I got here. I’d say she’d been dead some time when we found her just before nine o’clock.”

  With a leisurely glance at his watch, Inspector Elvin asked, “Have you much experience of these things, Mr. Quinn?”

  “A fair amount.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’m crime correspondent for the Morning Post. Over the years I’ve had a lot of dealings with the police and this sort of business.”

  Elvin raised his silver eyebrows. He said, “Interesting … yes, indeed, very interesting. Have you some idea at the back of your mind that Mrs. Parry’s death is not entirely what it would seem to be?”

  “Hardly an idea, Inspector. Just a teeny-weeny thought that worries me.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Those two beds. They’ve obviously been lain on … both of them.”

  With slow deliberation, the inspector stared at one bed and then at the other. He said, “Yes, so it would appear. But there’s nothing unusual about that … nothing unusual at all. What’re you trying to say?”

  “Just this. Unless Parry slept in more than one bed, someone else must’ve taken a lie-down in this room. And the odds are it was Mrs. Parry. But she was found dead next door in the nursery. So I’ve been asking myself why she flitted from one room to the other. What difference did it make which bed she died in?”

  Inspector Elvin gave Quinn a sidelong look and nodded thoughtfully. He said, “That’s a good question … a very good question. You may be quite a useful man to have around, Mr. Quinn.”

  “It’s been known,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sure it has … quite sure. When I’ve spoken to Dr. Bossard I’d like to hear if you have any other ideas.”

  Elvin looked down at the twin beds again. In the same remote voice, he asked, “Are you an old friend of the Parrys’?”

  “Never met them before to-day.”

  “Then how do you come to be here?”

  “Miss Stewart invited me to spend the week-end at Elm Lodge. We’d hardly been in the house five minutes when Michael Parry dashed off to meet the bus his wife was supposed to be on … so I haven’t had much chance of getting really acquainted with him. And the first time I set eyes on her she was dead.”

  “Not a very auspicious start to your week-end … not very auspicious, at all. On the other hand” — there was a questioning light at the back of Elvin’s eyes — “they say all is grist that comes to the mill. There may be a story in this for you.”

  Quinn said, “I don’t want a story. I’m on holiday. The paper will have to get on without my works of genius for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Ah, yes, but there’s such a thing as a busman’s holiday.”

  “Neither busman’s nor boatman’s. My interest in this affair is purely academic. I’m puzzled by Mrs. Parry’s strange behaviour, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I can see that. It is peculiar … very peculiar.”

  “Of course, people who are about to commit suicide often do peculiar things.”

  “That sounds like a question,” Elvin said.

  He sucked in his cheeks while he gave Quinn another sidelong look. Then he added, “You have a suspicious mind, Mr. Quinn. I always thought that was the special privilege of the man in my job.”

  Quinn said, “Newspaper men share it as well. They learn the facts of life at an early age.”

  “I’ve no doubt they do … no doubt at all. And talking about facts” — he gave the twin beds a final scrutiny and then he opened the door — “I think it’s about time I heard what Dr. Bossard has to say.”

  “Let’s hope he tells you more than he told me/’ Quinn said.

  “Wasn’t he very communicative?”

  “I’m not sure he even admitted that Mrs. Parry was dead.”

  “Does he know you’re a newspaper reporter?”

  “Oh, yes. Everybody in the house has learned my ghastly secret by this time.”

  “Well, there’s your answer. Dr. Bossard is police surgeon for this area and as such he doesn’t make statements to the Press. But there’s nothing personal in his attitude, nothing personal at all.”

  Inspector Elvin gave Quinn a nod and added, “Would you mind waiting here until I come back?”

  “No, I don’t mind … but is there any special reason why I shouldn’t go downstairs? I could do with a drink.”

  “I’m sure you could and I won’t delay you a minute longer than is necessary — absolutely necessary. Soon as I’ve got a little information from Dr. Bossard I’ll be back.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why I have to wait here.”

  “It should … if you think about it.”

  “Thinking tires me,” Quinn said. “Life’s a whole lot easier when I get things spelled out for me in simple language.”

  “More often than not, it’s the use of language that makes life complicated — very complicated.”

  “Now you’re trying to blind me with seman
tics. Why not just answer my question?”

  “All right. Until I get back I don’t want anybody to disturb this room before I’ve had a chance to search it.”

  Quinn said, “Now who’s got a suspicious mind? If you feel that way, what makes you think you can trust me?”

  “One thing — and one thing only.” A little frown put lines in Inspector Elvin’s smooth face. “You’re a stranger in this household, Mr. Quinn. That’s why I think I can trust you.”

  As he was closing the door, he added, “I hope you don’t do anything to spoil that trust … anything at all.”

  For a quarter of an hour, Quinn paced the room backwards and forwards, passing and re-passing the long landscape window which looked out on fields and woods fresh from the rain. Slanting russet shadows now lay everywhere as the sun went down.

  He had a new problem. No policeman he had ever known went out of his way to confide in a stranger. Yet Elvin had talked as though they were close confidants.

  … He says he trusts me but his reason is a load of codswallop. For one thing, he talks too much. And any copper who agrees with me all the time and chucks compliments around is suspect from the word go. Trouble is I can’t see what he’s after …

  Voices murmured in the room where Neil Ford and Carole were taking care of Mrs. Ford. The set-up there was peculiar, as well.

  … Why is Ford keeping out of the way? You’d think he’d be somewhat curious to know what had happened to Adele. After all, his wife could’ve been wrong. How does he know Adele Parry’s dead? She might’ve had a heart attack … or nothing more serious than a fainting fit. Yet he’s been stuck in there ever since his wife passed out with hysterics. And not because he’s a devoted husband. That I won’t believe …

  Michael Parry’s behaviour was also rather odd. He acted like a man crushed by the weight of events … but it was a piece of acting and not very good acting, at that.

  He didn’t really care. His wife was dead but the fact of her death hardly seemed to have impinged on him. If anything, his chief reaction could almost have been one of relief.

  … You’d think he was glad. Well, maybe not exactly pleased but near enough …