The Sleeping and the Dead (25 page)

‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that Theo’s dead.’

She had been staring at the photograph, apparently lost in memory, and he had to repeat the words to be sure she’d heard. Then she gave a little moan. ‘Oh no,’ she said.
‘Not him too.’

‘We believe he died a long time ago,’ Porteous said. ‘When he was only eighteen.’

‘How?’ Her eyes were bright, feverish. The question demanded an immediate and an honest answer.

‘He was stabbed.’

She seemed almost relieved by the words. ‘Quick then?’

‘Oh yes. He wouldn’t have felt any pain.’

‘That’s good.’ She got up from the table and poured more hot water into the teapot. Then she stood at the sink with her hands over her eyes as if she wanted to pretend Porteous
wasn’t there.

‘Mrs Randle,’ he said gently.

She lowered her hands and asked fiercely, ‘Did Crispin know about this?’

‘I don’t see how he could have done.’ Unless, Porteous thought, he was responsible. ‘The body was only discovered last week.’

‘Crispin didn’t tell me everything,’ she said. ‘He kept things from me. He didn’t want me upset. He said it was for my own good. But I never knew what was going on.
It’s very confusing, Inspector, to be kept in the dark. Sometimes I thought I was going mad.’

‘Would you like me to phone someone to be with you? A relative perhaps?’

She shook her head.

‘I will have to ask questions,’ Porteous said. ‘About Theo and your husband. Would you like me to come back another time to do that? Perhaps now I should call your doctor.
You’ve had a great shock.’ He wasn’t sure he should leave her on her own.

‘No.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘No doctors.’

They sat for a moment in silence, looking at each other.

‘Ask your questions, Inspector. It’ll give me an excuse to talk about it. Talking helps. Isn’t that what the doctors say? That’s what they said after Emily died. It was a
lie of course. Nothing helped. Except the pills. Crispin drank and I became a junkie. Not heroin. Nothing like that. Prescription medicine. All quite legal. Nothing for you to worry about.
Professionally.’

‘Are you still taking medication now?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I took myself off them when Crispin was very ill. I needed to feel angry. The pills stop you feeling very much at all.’

‘That must have been hard.’

‘The hardest thing ever. At least it stopped me blaming Crispin for his drinking. He’d been through more than me. First Maria. Then Emily. How could I expect him to give it up? When
I knew what he was going through. It brought us together at the end.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I did love him, Inspector. People thought I was after him for the
money and the house and there was some of that in it. How could you separate them? It was all a part of what he was. But I wasn’t a gold-digger. I loved him. And Theo. I took them on as a
package.’ She looked at him across the table, gave him her young woman’s smile. ‘So, Inspector, why don’t you ask your questions?’

‘When did Theo stop living at home?’

‘It was after the fire,’ she said. ‘After Emily died.’

‘Would you mind telling me about that?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind but it’s very confused. You mustn’t be cross if I get things wrong.’

‘It’s a long time ago.’

‘No,’ she said impatiently. ‘It’s not that. When Emily was born I was ill. Post-natal depression. I thought it would be easy. Like with Theo. I loved
him
without
any bother. Why couldn’t I do the same with my own child?’

‘Not so easy building a relationship with a baby.’ As if, Porteous thought, I’d know.

‘But she was my own daughter. They wanted me to go into hospital. I refused. I thought Snowberry was the only place I had any chance of getting well. You don’t know what it’s
like, Inspector. Sometimes I’d wake up in the morning feeling better. For no great reason. The sun coming in through a gap in the curtains. The taste of toast for breakfast, though they
brought me toast on a tray every morning. And I’d think – This is it. The start of the recovery. Sometimes the feeling would last for days. Crispin still had his seat in the House then
and I’d send him off to London telling him I’d be fine and I didn’t need him. Then the depression would return, as bad as ever. It was at the end of a really bad period of
depression that we had the fire.’

‘Was Crispin at home when it happened?’

‘Yes. He came back that night. It was unusual to see him in the middle of the week. He’d been spending more and more time in London. He had a flat there of course. I think he
probably had a mistress though I didn’t ask. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t much of a wife.’

‘Do you remember what happened on the night of the fire?’

‘Not very well. As I said, it was all very confused.’

Porteous didn’t push for details. There should be a fire investigator’s report, a coroner’s judgement. But Stella added quickly, ‘I think it might have been my fault. I
smoked then, heavily. We had a nanny for Emily. A nice girl. We hired her before the baby was born even. I thought we’d be friends. We were about the same age. I thought we’d be able to
share Emily. In the end of course she looked after her pretty much single-handed. But that evening she asked for some time off. She bathed Emily and put her to bed and then she went out.’

‘Do you remember the nanny’s name?’ Porteous asked.

‘Lizzie. Lizzie Milburn. She came from Newcastle. Her parents were teachers and she was crazy about babies. Just as well.’

‘You think your smoking might have started the fire?’

‘No one said. I told you Crispin tried to protect me. But going back over the facts I think that’s most likely. I went to look at Emily. Crispin came with me. There were no baby
alarms in those days and I did feel responsible for her. Perhaps if I’d had the nerve to let Lizzie go, if I’d been forced to look after Emily myself things might have been different,
but really I don’t think so. I was very ill.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Crispin and I had dinner together. He’d come back from London in a foul mood.
He’d always been ambitious and someone had said something to make him believe he didn’t have a chance of promotion in the next reshuffle. He probably blamed me. I was hardly an ideal
MP’s wife. Certainly nothing like Maria, who was perfect apparently in every way. A saint is a hard act to follow. Crispin had a lot to drink over dinner. I had a couple of glasses with him.
Not sensible considering the strength of the medication I was on. When we went up to the nursery we were both a bit unsteady. Crispin didn’t stay long. He wanted to get back to the brandy.
But I loved to watch her sleeping. That was the one time I could really believe I loved her . . .’

‘You think you might have been careless with a cigarette?’

‘I think it’s possible. I’m sure Crispin blamed me. I wonder sometimes if he thought I did it on purpose. An act of madness. He thought I was crazy. Certainly he believed I was
responsible for the fire one way or another. That’s why he took Theo away. He said he couldn’t trust me to look after him any more.’

‘She says the boy never lived at home again after that,’ Porteous said. ‘I’ve seen the fire investigator and the coroner’s reports. There was no
real structural damage to the house. The fire started in the nursery and was contained there, but the girl was trapped in her cot and when the bedding and nightclothes caught, there was no hope for
her.’ There had been a photograph in the fire investigator’s report of a small charred body pushed to one end of the cot as if she had been trying to escape the smoke and the heat, the
arms raised in the pugilistic stance common in burn victims.

‘I suppose it
was
an accident.’ It was evening. Eddie Stout had come out to Porteous’s home. It had never happened before. Porteous had reciprocated the Stouts’
hospitality with a meal in a restaurant. He’d told them it was because he couldn’t cook, but that wasn’t true. He liked home and work kept apart.

He’d been home for an hour and had almost finished writing up the notes of his interview with Stella Randle, when his doorbell rang. He’d seen Stout’s car from his window and
had gone down, planning to keep him outside, thinking they could talk in the garden, even walk to the pub at the end of the lane if it was going to take a while. But Eddie had been so diffident and
apologetic that a response like that was impossible. It called for something more friendly.

‘Of course, you must come in. No, really, it’s a pleasure. I was just going to have a beer. I’m sure you’ll join me.’

And Porteous had found it helpful to describe again his conversation with Randle’s widow. They were still standing, each with a glass, looking at the view down the valley. Stout continued
without waiting for an answer to the original question.

‘It couldn’t have been an insurance scam turned tragic? Nothing like that?’

‘No. The fire officer said it was consistent with a cigarette or match having been carelessly dropped, not an attempt at large-scale damage. It started in or near the nursery. If it had
been deliberate they’d not have done that. I know the technology wasn’t so precise then, but the officer was experienced and he was confident of his decision. When the fire really took
hold the parents were at the other end of the house and hardly conscious – Crispin was drunk and Stella doped up to the eyeballs. Luckily the nanny came home earlier than expected or they
might all have been killed.’

‘Where did Randle take the boy?’

‘Stella was very vague about that.’ After her description of the fire and her daughter’s death she’d hardly seemed to hear his questions. ‘Perhaps to stay with
relatives until Crispin could arrange a boarding place for him.’

‘We’ve finally found out where he was at school then?’

‘No. Crispin would never tell her where Theo was. Not precisely. It was as if she’d relinquished all her rights over the boy. A way of punishing her for the death of his daughter.
Theo came home occasionally for holidays, she said, but she was never allowed to be alone with him. As he got older he seems to have found better things to do. It can’t have been much fun at
Snowberry. Randle had resigned his seat in the Commons and was drinking. I presume Theo invited himself to friends’ homes for the vacations. By all accounts he was a charmer. I don’t
suppose it was difficult. Or there may have been other relatives.’

‘Where do the Brices fit in?’

‘I don’t know. Stella didn’t recognize the name.’

‘Not much further forward then.’ Eddie didn’t sound too disappointed by the lack of progress.

‘Oh, I think so. We should be able to trace Theo’s school with the information we’ve got now. Two schools probably if he was only ten when he went away. There must be someone
who remembers him . . . I’ve been thinking that the reason for his leaving boarding school could have been financial. Crispin could have run through the family money very quickly. Perhaps he
just couldn’t afford the school fees.’

‘Is this background relevant to the murder do you think?’

Is it? Porteous thought, and realized that he’d hardly considered the real business of the murder investigation all afternoon. He’d been wrapped up in the domestic tragedy.
They’d all suffered – Crispin, Stella, Theo and Emily. When the wedding pictures were taken they must have seemed an ideal family. Porteous could imagine them posing for a similar photo
to go with the constituency Christmas card. But the happiness had been shattered even before the fire.

‘I can’t imagine Stella Randle tracking down Theo and sticking a dagger through his ribs if that’s what you mean. She wouldn’t know where to start. And why would
she?’

‘Could she have blamed the boy for the little girl’s death?’

‘She might have been psychotic when she was very ill, and dreamed up something like that, but she didn’t strike me as delusional today.’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t a delusion.’

‘What do you mean?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘Perhaps he did kill his sister. An unsupervised boy playing with matches could have the same result as a cigarette fire.’

‘There was no mention of that at the time.’

‘It would give another slant on Crispin keeping Theo away from his stepmother. Perhaps she was threatening to harm him even then. Much easier to blame the boy than take responsibility for
her own negligence.’

‘It’s a possibility . . .’

‘But you don’t think it’s likely.’ Eddie finished his beer and grinned. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to humour me. I’m not a kid. I’m . .
.’ he paused. ‘What’s that technique they always use on the team-building courses? Brainstorming.’

‘I’m not dismissing any ideas. It’s just that Stella
did
take responsibility for Emily’s death as soon as I asked her about it. And she’d almost forgotten
about Theo. I don’t think she’d have been able to do that if she’d killed him.’

‘Did you ask her about the Gillespie girl?’

‘Yes.’

On the way out. He’d stood on the doorstep looking across the garden to the wide sweep of the bay, with the lighthouse at one end and the mouth of the Tyne at the other, then turned back
to her as if the question had just come to him: ‘Does the name Melanie Gillespie mean anything to you?’

She’d stood with her arms clasped across her chest as if she were cold. A breeze was coming off the sea and her cardigan was thin, but Porteous still felt warm. Then she’d giggled.
‘What’s this, Inspector? A sort of quiz?’ Then she’d gone into the flat shutting the door behind her without answering the question.

The sun was so low now that it shone up at them through the long window of the barn and they were dazzled. They turned away and sat down. Porteous offered Eddie another beer but he shook his
head and for the first time Porteous saw how excited he was. It had been a struggle to contain himself in the conversation about Stella Randle.

‘What is it, Eddie? What have you got for me?’

‘I went to see Jack Westcott. You remember, he was the history teacher in the high school. Just retired.’

Porteous nodded.

‘I turned up before opening time this morning. Caught him when he was completely sober. We went for a walk in the park. His wife’s the house-proud sort. You could tell she was glad
to have him out from under her feet. He was glad of the company, I think. He’ll miss those kids.’