Death of an Innocent (Richard and Amelia Patton) Read online

  I was aware that they believed me to be a bit of a fool. I had come there — oh yes, been asked, but the result was the same — and the expectation was that with my experience I would utter a magical incantation, and it would all go away. The trouble was that I didn’t know what was to go away, and I didn’t know any magic words.

  So I stood on a kitchen chair and solemnly inspected the edges of the windows and the outside door. Although the upstairs windows had apparently been impervious to improvement, all those downstairs had been modernized, though in a tasteful fashion as befitted the prevailing period. The windows were double-glazed, each separate leaded diamond. The alarm system was modern and recently installed.

  There are a number of cunning devices to trap anyone attempting to rob places like museums and art galleries: infra-red rays which must not be interrupted, pressure devices in the floors, even heat detectors that can pick out a heavy breath at a hundred feet. All of these can be circumvented by an experienced crook. And all were far too exotic for a house this size. The system installed was a double one, which would have baffled any local initiates and most of the city professionals. One circuit set off the alarm if the current was broken, one if it was made. And the wires were carefully hidden. Nothing had been interfered with in the kitchen. No one had entered that way.

  ‘Central switch?’ I asked, replacing the chair.

  ‘In the front hall. A cupboard behind the hallstand,’ said Philip, in the same brisk tone I’d used.

  ‘You checked it, of course?’

  ‘Of course. It was switched on, and hadn’t been tampered with.’

  ‘You’re certain of that?’

  ‘That I hadn’t forgotten to switch it on?’ he asked sourly. ‘Yes, I checked. I’d have to. The front door lock activates the whole system as you go out. If you forget the main switch, the key turning in the front door gives a warning beep.’

  I grinned at him. He was proud of all this; one of his personal special defences. ‘So anyone with a spare key, or a copy —’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted curtly. ‘The security company told me that was impossible.’

  ‘Anything’s possible to an experienced crook, if the prize is big enough.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘You’re talking about a top pro. So why wasn’t the house stripped? Down to the last Meissen. There was plenty of time, damn it.’ Then he blushed at his own anger.

  I was well aware that no alarm system would deter an experienced burglar. But there was in the background the strange fact that nothing had been taken. ‘I’ll just take a look in the other rooms, and upstairs,’ I told them soothingly, and left them alone to brood. I heard Amelia say something brightly, in an attempt to break the mood.

  I was away for twenty minutes. When I walked back into the kitchen they were sitting round the table solemnly, as though conducting a silent séance. Three pairs of eyes turned on me.

  ‘It’s as I thought. All the windows and doors are secure.’ Philip was about to burst in, but caught Olivia’s eye and clamped his lips shut theatrically. I went on: ‘But the trapdoor into the loft wasn’t wired. How any reputable company could miss that, I don’t know. I’ve been up into the loft. He removed a few roof tiles, quite a job, that’d be, ‘cause they’re old and weighty. He broke a few laths, and got into the loft. You’ll need to get it seen to, by the way. He had to crack one tile to get started, and he’s put ‘em back as well as he could. But with the laths broken it sags, and you’re getting a bit of rain in. That was how he did it, and once in, he could’ve taken his time. The fact that he appears to have wasted it — as he seems to have done if he’s taken nothing—’

  ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ Olivia demanded, lifting her firm chin.

  I shrugged. ‘It’s your home. If you say nothing’s gone, then that’s that.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Philip gloomily.

  Then what the hell’s going on? I nearly shouted. Instead, I took a seat at the table and tried not to catch Amelia’s eye. I sensed she was on their side in this.

  ‘He would come here,’ I said quietly, ‘in daylight, wearing overalls and driving a van, with ladders. Anyone seeing him — which is unlikely, I’d think — would assume you were having work done on the roof. He would have to be somebody who knew you were going to be away for a week. He’d have time to take it leisurely, and with a van to load stuff in...’

  I looked up, inviting a reaction. Blessedly, Amelia was silent, realizing now that I was placed in an awkward situation. We were guests. I could not say out loud that I thought they had to be lying. One of them, anyway. Olivia said it for me.

  ‘How many times do we have to tell you that nothing was taken! Call us liars, and have done with it.’

  ‘It’s just...’ I smiled in apology, ‘that if nothing was taken, and if you couldn’t see how he could have got in, how the devil did you know you’d had a burglar?’

  Olivia clamped her lips into a thin line. There was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She’d planned it as she would a chapter, with a lead-up to exactly this.

  ‘Show him, Philip.’

  Philip’s embarrassment had been growing. She’d let it go on too long. He got to his feet with relief, skittering his chair back. The kitchen cupboards reached to the ceiling. Up at the top were the items rarely used. He grabbed his chair before it toppled, put it down in front of the cupboards so that he could stand on it, and reached high to one of the top ones. What he brought down was a biscuit tin. This he brought over to the table, put it down, levered off the lid with his thumb, and brought out a clear plastic bag, its top tied in a knot.

  Why this had not been brought out earlier I couldn’t imagine. Perhaps it lacked climax and demanded a build-up. I looked from face to face, not wishing to reach out an eager hand.

  ‘So?’

  Olivia did the talking. ‘This is what really upset us. We were being told: I have been here. A kind of gesture of contempt. When we came in here, with our first thought a cup of tea, there was a mug, face down on the draining-board, a spoon, and three tea bags lying in the sink. Those,’ she said, pointing at the bag. ‘He’d...he’d made himself a mug of tea. Three mugs! How dared he...how...’

  It was Philip who took it on. Still on his feet, hands on the table, he managed to convey a hint of authority. ‘I mean, it hit us. Somebody had been in. He’d made himself free with our kitchen. It was quite appalling. I thought...better keep them, and I put them in that bag. Foolish, but I had to do something. There was some idea that the police would want to see them — but that was before we found out that nothing had been stolen.’ He glanced at Olivia’s lowered head. ‘My wife was...’ He hesitated. ‘She was very upset.’ And so had he been, judging by the tense and jerky way he was speaking.

  She lifted her eyes to me. ‘Of course I was damned-well upset. We don’t use tea bags. He’d brought his own. Go on...open it up. They’re Earl Grey. A burglar! His own Earl Grey!’ She stopped, her fingers going to her lips.

  Amelia reached past me and took the bag, in which the tea bags were a brown blob, barely visible through the now misted plastic. She had sharper nails than mine. Philip had tied the knot tightly. At last she had it open. She peered inside. She sniffed, then she handled it to me. ‘Earl Grey,’ she said definitely. ‘You can still smell the Bergamot oil.’

  I sniffed. In spite of being a pipe smoker, I too could detect it.

  ‘All right.’ I glanced sideways at Amelia. ‘Tie it up again, my dear. Keep in the smell. Right!’ I looked round me. I don’t suppose my smile was very convincing. ‘The position is that you decided not to call the police. With only the tea bags to show for it, you didn’t think they’d believe you.’

  Olivia lowered her eyes, and Philip launched into what was clearly intended as a long statement. ‘I mean, if the tea bags meant anything to them —’

  ‘You nevertheless assumed they wouldn’t believe you, and that they’d go away with raised eyebrows, and chuckle in their own
time.’

  ‘Not exactly —’

  ‘So in the end you decided to try it on me. And, surprise, surprise, I do believe you. We now know there was a break-in. The roof proves it. So why not — now — contact the police? They wouldn’t be pleased that there’s been this delay, but they’d still like to know.’

  ‘We don’t want the intrusion...’ Philip began, but this time it was his wife who cut him short.

  ‘We may have seemed...well, lacking in politeness,’ she admitted. She had herself well in control now. ‘But you didn’t appear to be sympathetic. I’m sorry, but you were sceptical.’

  ‘Until I found the hole in the roof?’ I made it a question.

  ‘But we do not — do not — want the police involved.’

  ‘There’s still the strange fact that nothing was taken,’ Philip explained anxiously. Olivia tutted him to silence.

  ‘There’s a possible explanation for that,’ I told them. ‘Sometimes a collector, of, say, porcelain, will hear of a piece possibly existing somewhere, which would complete a collection. He’ll hire a professional to steal it for him. That pro will be well briefed. He’d know exactly what he was after, and if it didn’t turn out to be here after all, he’d leave with nothing.’ I spread my hands. For all I knew, that could well be the answer.

  ‘Well...’ said Philip, almost ready to accept it, but frowning all the same.

  ‘I don’t believe,’ said Olivia flatly, ‘that he’d leave empty-handed.’

  ‘Come, my dear.’

  ‘I do not believe it,’ she repeated. ‘There’s too much tempting stuff here.’

  ‘Very well. Then what do you expect me to do about it?’ I was determined to get something positive from them.

  ‘Find him,’ said Olivia flatly. ‘You’ll know how. You’re no longer in the police, so you can...what’s the phrase? Lean on him. Yes, I want to know what he came for.’

  ‘But Livia,’ said Amelia brightly, ‘hasn’t it occurred to you —he would have had time to photocopy what there is of your new book? Pirate it. It would be valuable.’

  Olivia gave a bark of flat amusement. ‘Nonsense, Mellie. Quite apart from the fact that I was only in chapter two at that time, a complete version would have been useless to anybody. I don’t flatter myself I’m a great writer. It’s the name, the reputation that I won’t deviate from what is expected. It’s fairy tales for grown-ups, like children who like to hear the same story over and over. It’s my name on the cover that matters.’

  She came to her feet and smoothed her skirt over her hips, as far as it could be smoothed. Now she was all decisiveness.

  ‘I’m relying on you, Richard. Now, would you like another drink before we retire? No? I’m off to bed, then. Breakfast will be early. Seven-thirty. I like to be at my desk at nine. Good-night.’

  And because there was something in her eyes remarkably like tears, which she wished to hide, she stumped out of the kitchen.

  I scooped up the plastic bag. Philip was trying to recover the situation, but he couldn’t keep his hands still, one sweeping back his hair, one plucking at the edge of the table. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose it’s left to me. We won’t discuss a fee, but I’ll make sure...’ He scanned our face anxiously. ‘Out-of-pocket expenses, then? Yes. You’ll have to trust me on this. Now, I’m sure you’d like a nightcap. No?’ We must both have shaken our heads at the same time. ‘Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get to Olivia. I’ll wish you good-night.’

  He followed his wife through the door, not managing quite such a dramatic exit.

  Amelia looked at me. I was probably grinning, because it all seemed very amusing to me. But not, apparently, to Amelia. ‘Well!’ she said.

  3

  In the morning, breakfast was a silent meal. It was as though the burden had been hoisted on to my worthy shoulders, and the whole problem could be put in abeyance. Philip fidgeted, his anxious attention on us, but quietly. Olivia was sunk in dour contemplation of something mysterious, from which she emerged only to shake my hand and kiss Amelia’s cheek. The inference was that we would not be expected to be around when she once more appeared from her den. No invitation to stay on for a few more nights was made.

  We headed out to her car, Philip and the dogs watching from the door. The wind was whipping in over the mere, the reeds bending to it. The sky was purple. I managed to turn and smile and wave, during which Amelia claimed the driver’s seat. Apparently she intended to savour the leaving as she had the arriving. Two doors slammed together, Philip’s back door and mine.

  For a few moments Amelia sat silent behind the wheel. Then she burst out: ‘She’s so changed, Richard!’ It could have been an accusation or an excuse.

  ‘It’s been twenty years.’

  ‘Even so...’ She turned to me, her eyes wide. ‘She was so alive! Enthusiastic — emotional. In tears because a boyfriend had dropped her, the next day in ecstasy because another had smiled at her. And now...’ She shook her head, unable to accept it. ‘She works too hard of course.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that. Not entirely.’

  She wasn’t listening. ‘We were so close, and now...’ Then she burst out violently. ‘How dare she! To put me in such a situation. Put you, rather.’ She placed a hand on my knee. ‘Of course, she can hardly hold you to a promise she’s forced on you.’

  I took her hand and held it. ‘I didn’t promise anything.’

  ‘Then we can leave it there and do nothing?’ Yet she clearly didn’t want to do that.

  ‘I’m not sure I can drop it so easily,’ I said. She withdrew her hand. ‘Look at it like this. They say nothing was taken. Of course something was. The man had a full week to work on it, and clearly he was prepared to take his time. He must have got his instructions from somewhere. And so — he wouldn’t leave until he’d found what he was after. One of those two people in there knows what that was. Not both, I shouldn’t think. One is trying to keep it from the other. And the other one, sensing it, is very uneasy indeed. You’ll notice that our illegal visitor, spending all that time in the house, resisted the temptation to take even one small item of valuable porcelain or a picture or a rare first edition. That means he was being careful not to leave a valid charge that the police could throw at him. Yet he left a definite trace, which could well lead straight to him. But not for the police. Oh no. For someone like me. He’s waiting. And in the house, there, someone is also waiting, for exactly that to happen. Heaven help us, Amelia, I’m supposed to recover this whatever-it-is. I’ve virtually been given an open cheque to buy it, if necessary. Out-of-pocket expenses, Philip called it. He’s as subtle as a house fire.’

  I stopped, to give her a few moments to think about it. She took a deep breath.

  ‘You should have been a barrister, Richard. So lucid! But I’ve got a nasty feeling there’s a punchline you haven’t got to.’

  ‘Just a thought. If it’s so important, this thing nobody admits was stolen, then I’d be expected to return it, sight unseen, wrapped if it’s wrappable, or in a package or whatever, and never know or care what all the agitation’s been about.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  I laughed. ‘Can you imagine it?’

  She reached forward and started the engine. ‘No. You’re far too nosy. So what do we do? Norwich, and find an hotel?’

  ‘No. That’d be the city force. I’ve got an idea this’ll interest the county people more. Let’s try Cromer way, and start from there.’

  She negotiated the causeway with care. The wind buffeted the car. ‘You’re not going to involve the police?’ There was surprise in her voice, protest.

  ‘Minimally. Head for the coast, and then north. Where’s the map?’

  We were soon driving along that portion of the coast road which is open to both the north and the east winds. Any rotten weather around, and they got it.

  I had picked the name Cromer out of my memory, but in practice we didn’t reach there. We were heading north up the coast
road when I spotted an hotel up ahead, set back a little from the road. Amelia slowed. This, at least, might add a flavour to our visit, I thought.

  It was called an inn, and had been one of those post-houses on main connecting roads, where the horses were watered and changed. It was a genuine beam and lath-and-plaster building, seeming to lean outwards, but still in business. We turned into the courtyard, beneath a low beam that would never have allowed room to a high chaise. It seemed deserted. It was the off-season, so was likely not to be heavily patronized, except for the public bar part of it. I got out on to the cobbles and tried a door, which opened.

  There was a short passageway, then a deserted lobby with a half-circle of desk formed out of slab oak, and a bell that I had to ping. It fetched me the manager, and yes he could find us a double room, and would we be requiring meals? I was indefinite on that, not knowing what we were going to be doing.

  As soon as we’d unpacked and settled in our room, I sat on the edge of the bed and got busy on the phone. They were modern enough for that. What I wanted to do had to be discreet, so I tried my home patch, where my old friend, Ken Latchett, was now an Inspector. I needed a Norfolk contact, somebody who’d be willing to part with information without asking too many awkward questions.

  ‘Inspector Latchett?’ they asked at the desk. ‘I’m afraid he’s on leave. Would anybody else do?’

  ‘Is Tony Brason still with you?’ This was tentative. After the tragedy that had struck his marriage, Tony, then a constable, had plunged head on into a conflict with his Chief Inspector. I hadn’t heard the outcome, so perhaps he’d been dismissed, or even promoted. But it seemed that the latter applied.

  ‘Sergeant Brason’s available, sir. Who shall I say’s calling?’

  ‘Richard Patton.’

  ‘Hello there, Mr Patton. And how are things with you?’ he asked cheerfully.

  This took a minute or two to dispose of. It was pleasant to discover I still had friends there. Then: ‘I’ll put you through.’