Amendment of Life (7 page)

‘And dead, I would say at a guess, sir, under twenty-four hours,' plodded on Sloan. ‘Dr Dabbe'll tell us, of course, when he's got here.'

‘And missing', came back the Superintendent cogently, ‘since yesterday afternoon … we've got the husband here at the station now telling us all about her not having been with their little son at the hospital overnight like he thought.'

‘I see, sir,' said Detective Inspector Sloan. ‘In that case a formal identification would be a great help. If,' he added as an afterthought, ‘visual identification is possible. From what can be seen without touching the body, it might be that the face is damaged. There's some blood about. Not a lot.' There was something curious about the blood around the face that he had automatically registered but not yet explored in his mind.

‘And the cause of death?' asked Leeyes, never one to prevaricate.

‘Not immediately apparent, sir,' said Sloan cautiously.

‘And what,' Leeyes asked irritably, ‘in the name of all that's holy, is this woman who may or may not be Margaret Collins doing lying dead in a maze at Aumerle Court at Staple St James instead of being a good mother in the children's ward at the hospital?'

Detective Inspector Sloan turned and regarded the Minotaur and the figure lying prone in front of it. ‘I couldn't say, but I understand, sir, that a load of ancient symbolism is attached to reaching the very centre of a maze and thus getting to the statue of the Minotaur…' He hesitated. The extent of the Superintendent's knowledge and of his ignorance were both equally unknown, and it was very dangerous to presume either. The man was an aficionado of adult education classes and he could as easily have attended one on Greek myth and legend as the one called ‘French without Tears' which had kept him – and the lecturer – busy the last winter. Sloan took a deep breath and resumed his narrative. ‘The Minotaur, as you know, sir, is half bull and half man.'

Something resembling a strangled snort came over the ether.

‘… and,' hastened on Sloan, ‘he – it – was said to have been the object of human sacrifice in ancient times.'

‘If you ask me, Sloan,' grunted Leeyes, ‘it's a load of whole bull, not half and half.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Sloan. So the Superintendent hadn't done a course on Greek mythology, then. Perhaps it was just as well.

‘And we are, may I remind you, Sloan, now in the early twenty-first century.'

‘Yes, sir.' He looked back at the Minotaur. ‘Would it be possible, sir, to have a description of the woman who has been reported missing?'

‘The husband says his wife's about five foot three inches tall and slightly built.'

Sloan made a note of the height of the missing wife given by the husband.

Leeyes grunted. ‘Actually this David Collins said everything in metric, but five foot three is how tall she really is.'

‘Yes, sir.' So much for ‘French without Tears' and the twenty-first century.

‘Husbands don't always know, of course, Sloan. Can't be absolutely sure and all that. In my experience,' he said largely, ‘the longer they've been married, the less well men can describe what their wives look like.'

‘And what was she wearing?' asked Sloan, ignoring this tempting marital bypath. The woman in front of him fitted the physical description, all right, and that was enough for him to be going on with.

‘When this fellow left his wife at the hospital yesterday afternoon,' carried on the Superintendent, ‘she had on a blue cotton blouse, deeper blue jeans and summer sandals. She was carrying a white cardigan and a largish white handbag.'

The dead woman in the maze was dressed in a blue outfit and wearing a white cardigan. Perhaps, Sloan thought, she had put the cardigan on when it had turned cool. She still had one sandal on. The other was lying on the ground as if it had been kicked off by its owner. He looked around about him, turning his mouth away from the telephone connection with the Superintendent. ‘Crosby, see if there's a white handbag lying about anywhere—'

‘It's over there,' interrupted Pete Carter, jerking a finger. ‘Saw it as soon as I got here. I haven't touched it. Mind you,' he added virtuously, ‘in the ordinary way, I'd have picked it up and handed it in, like always. You'd be surprised what people leave behind in the maze…', he averted his eyes from the deceased, ‘by accident, I mean.'

‘Sloan, are you still there?' The radio started to make spluttering noises. ‘Sloan, can you hear me?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And this woman had shoulder-length brown hair. Does that confirm anything?'

‘In a way, sir. This woman has shoulder-length brown hair, which is why we can't see her face very well.'

‘The husband,' said Superintendent Leeyes, ‘seemed to think his wife'd been under rather a lot of strain lately.'

‘We'll be looking into that, sir, naturally—'

‘And while you're about it, Sloan, and out there in Staple St James, you can send Crosby over to Pear Tree Farm at Almstone. It'll save another journey out into the country and get him out from under your feet.'

‘Sir?'

‘They've had a young kid taken from the farm yesterday—'

‘A child?' Sloan stiffened. An abduction was the very last thing he needed now or at any other time.

‘A young goat – and they're very upset about it. Right up Crosby's street, I should have thought.' He gave the seal-like bark which did duty for his laugh. ‘Getting their goat, instead of mine…'

*   *   *

Captain Prosser was waiting with Kenny Prickett where Sloan had left him. He was standing strained-faced but silent as the Detective Inspector and a very subdued Pete Carter emerged from the maze. Prosser tightened up his stance, bringing his heels together immediately he saw the policeman emerge.

‘I shall want to interview everyone living at Aumerle Court and on the staff here,' announced Sloan baldly.

‘Certainly, Inspector,' said Prosser, his eyes on Sloan's face.

‘Especially anyone with access to the maze yesterday,' said Sloan.

‘Found something, have you?' said Kenny Prickett informally. ‘There now, I didn't think Pete here would holler for nothing. Not Pete.'

Pete was silent.

‘He hasn't,' said Sloan, noticing Prosser run a tongue over dry lips. ‘And I'll need that bin of yours kept untouched from now on, as well as his. The forensic scientists are going to want to examine that.'

Kenny backed away from his refuse bin as if it had been alive. ‘You've found someone then—'

‘And I'll have to have a proper chat with you and your mate,' said Sloan, one eye still on Jeremy Prosser. He turned and said to the estate manager, ‘And with you, too, Captain Prosser, if I may…'

The man stiffened. ‘Of course, Inspector.'

‘One of the things I would like to know', said Sloan, ‘is why there isn't a map of the maze available.'

‘You might well ask,' said Prosser.

‘Dr Dabbe,' said Sloan, ‘who's our forensic pathologist, will be here any minute now and he's going to want to get in there quickly.'

‘I quite understand,' Captain Prosser said thickly, ‘but it's not quite as simple as that—'

‘And I would have thought', pressed on Sloan, ‘that there would have been a plan of the maze in your files.'

‘So there should have been,' replied Prosser smartly, ‘but Miss Pedlinge won't hear of it.'

‘Likes to keep in charge, does Miss Daphne,' observed Kenny Prickett.

‘Miss Pedlinge', said the Captain stiffly, ‘has given me to understand that she regards the maze as her own province.'

‘Keeps all the estate papers in the Long Gallery,' Prickett informed them, ‘so that Mr Bevis can't get his hands on them when he comes over.'

‘Mr Bevis?' asked Sloan.

‘Her great-nephew,' said Kenny. ‘He can have everything when she's gone, Miss Daphne says, and not a minute before.'

‘Ah,' said Sloan, tucking the name away in his mind.

‘I have also been given to understand that Mr Bevis is Miss Pedlinge's heir,' put in Captain Prosser.

‘I see,' said Sloan.

‘He's a bit of a lad,' said Kenny Prickett. ‘Always was.'

‘I see,' said Detective Inspector Sloan again, adding Bevis Pedlinge to his mental list of those to be interviewed.

‘Always liked being in charge has Miss Daphne,' repeated Kenny conversationally. ‘Ever since I was a boy, anyway. Knows her own mind, does Miss Daphne.' He turned to Pete Carter. ‘Doesn't she, mate?'

‘Yes.' Carter nodded. He seemed stunned by what he had found and unwilling to speak further.

‘I have to say that Miss Pedlinge does know the maze like the back of her hand,' admitted the Captain, ‘and although I have several times expressed a willingness to draw up proper working plans of it she has always indicated—'

Kenny Prickett chortled. ‘Indicated! Miss Daphne! That's good, that is. Miss Daphne's not one to indicate. She always calls a spade a bloomin' shovel.'

‘… made clear, then,' Prosser swiftly rephrased this, ‘that she would prefer me not to undertake the exercise.'

‘Like I said,' Prickett grinned, ‘Miss Daphne knows her own mind. And she doesn't like change either.'

‘And I shall also need to know', swept on Sloan, ‘about how access is ordinarily obtained to the grounds and Aumerle Court.'

‘The house closes to visitors at five o'clock in the summer,' said the agent, ‘but members of the public are allowed to walk in the grounds until dusk.'

‘I meant how are people let in and kept out?' In what passed for his spare time Detective Inspector Sloan was a gardener, specializing in growing roses. It was a hobby that went with shift work. And there was a horticultural expression lurking at the back of Sloan's mind that covered enclosed gardens – it would come back to him in a moment –
hortus inclusus,
that was what it was. With a bit of luck, the grounds of Aumerle Court might constitute a
hortus inclusus
and thus make life easier for a pair of busy policemen. For one busy policeman, anyway. He didn't suppose for one moment that Detective Constable Crosby was doing anything except stand guard over the body of a woman.

‘They have to come in by the main gate, where they pay—' began Prosser.

‘Although there's a tradesman's entrance round the back,' Kenny Prickett added, ‘where you don't.'

‘That's the postern gate,' explained Prosser. ‘It leads to the back of the Court and the old stables and so forth.'

‘And to the tea garden and the shop, as well,' said Kenny Prickett, continuing gratuitously, ‘where most of the money is made.' He nudged Pete Carter. ‘That's right, mate, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' said Carter, still monosyllabic.

‘And the men's bothy is there,' added Captain Prosser. ‘That's where they keep all their tools. That's behind the stable yard.'

‘Where it doesn't lower the tone of the place,' said Kenny Prickett, straight-faced. ‘Not that we're around much any longer on Sundays, Pete and me. No overtime, these days, you see.'

Captain Prosser's face turned a ripe shade of red, but he kept silent. Pete Carter stood unresponsive at his mate's side.

‘And when do the staff come off the gate and the maze?' asked Sloan.

‘Five o'clock,' said Prosser.

‘Sharp,' added Prickett.

The other men looked at him.

‘Everything's sharp here,' said Prickett pointedly. ‘Isn't it, Mr Prosser?'

‘Punctuality helps oil the world's wheels,' said the soldier.

‘And how, may I ask,' enquired Sloan, ‘can you be sure that there's no one left in the maze when you all go home?'

‘We count them in,' began Prosser.

‘And we count them out,' chanted Kenny Prickett.

‘And?' said Sloan.

‘And if the numbers don't tally,' said Prosser, ‘we ask Miss Pedlinge to check.' He gave a thin smile. ‘She likes that.'

‘One evening she caught a couple in her binoculars canoodling under the statue of that fancy lad in there,' chortled Kenny Prickett.

‘Androgeos,' said Captain Prosser.

‘They wanted to stay there all night,' said Kenny, giving a loud cackle. ‘Found that Androgeos an inspiration, I daresay.' He grinned. ‘Reckoned without Miss Daphne and her long-look glasses, didn't they? Soon winkled them out.'

‘The postern gate,' said Detective Inspector Sloan, rising above this and unerringly putting his finger on the weakest security spot, ‘when is that locked?'

‘That's locked to vehicles at five o'clock, too,' said Captain Prosser. ‘The pedestrian access gets locked last thing at night by Milly Smithers when she goes home.'

‘She puts Miss Daphne to bed,' volunteered Kenny, ‘and opens up first thing in the morning when she comes in to get her up.'

Detective Inspector Sloan noted the information with relief. Fixed points of reference were always a help in a police investigation.

There was another fixed point of reference worth exploring, too.

‘Perhaps you'd take me over to see Miss Pedlinge again,' he said to Jeremy Prosser.

A woman with nothing to do but look out of a window could be a great help in any investigation, but her probity as a witness would have to be established, too. With her history she might well have been trained in misinformation, let alone disinformation.

Besides, an old lady at odds with an heir was someone to be watched in her own right. But there was something else about the elderly that Sloan had been trained to keep in mind; their increasing indifference to matters of supreme importance to the young and the middle-aged. As his old station Sergeant had been fond of reminding him, ‘Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.'