Lost causes

TEN

Melissa Carlisle’s expression could best be described as neutral, Steven thought, as she held the door open and gestured that he should come in. The fact that she kept her right hand on it suggested that she had no intention of shaking hands, so he stepped smartly inside and waited.

‘This way.’

He followed her into the drawing room and sat down on the chair that she indicated to him by way of a languid hand motion.

‘I don’t have much time. I’m leaving the country tomorrow.’

‘Holiday?’ Steven asked.

‘South Africa. A period of recovery.’

‘Ah yes, your sad loss.’

‘I’ve never heard of the Sci-Med Inspectorate, but I assume it’s John you’ve come here to discuss; the woman who telephoned me made it clear I didn’t have much choice in the matter. We get more like a police state every day. What is it this time? Ye gods, my poor husband isn’t cold in his grave. What exactly does the great voting public want now? His eyes?’

‘As I understand it, your husband committed suicide after making a fraudulent expenses claim over a property he didn’t actually own, and being found out,’ said Steven.

‘A complete misunderstanding.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ exclaimed Melissa, assuming an expression of wide-eyed disbelief.

‘As you don’t have much time, Mrs Carlisle, I though we should cut to the chase,’ said Steven, who had decided before coming that his only chance of success might be to go on the offensive. ‘I’m not interested in expenses claims. I’m not the press, and I am not under any obligation to report our conversation to anyone. What I need to know is just how a man of limited intellect, by all accounts, reached cabinet rank, received universal acclaim for the design of a revolutionary health scheme he didn’t actually design, and then plunged into obscurity before topping himself over a seedy little expenses fiddle.’

There was a long silence, during which Melissa stared at Steven unflinchingly. Just as he thought his gamble wasn’t going to pay off, she broke eye contact and said, ‘His suicide surprised me too. I didn’t think he’d have the balls.’

Steven remembered that Arthur Bleasdale had said much the same thing. It set off alarm bells, but he maintained an expression that indicated he was waiting for more.

‘Christ, I don’t know how he ever became a minister,’ said Melissa. ‘He was unbelievably thick.’

‘But he had the looks and the right accent,’ said Steven. Another gamble.

Melissa broke into a small smile. ‘You don’t mince words, do you, Dr Dunbar? But you’re right. It was something I learned too late. He was an empty shell, the mouthpiece of others.’

‘It’s the others I’m interested in,’ said Steven.

‘I don’t think I can help you there. I wasn’t privy to what arrangements he had. I was the dutiful little woman in the background, as befitted my role in the party.’

Steven smiled. ‘Does the name Charles French mean anything to you?’

‘He and John were at university together. John maintained they were friends but I could never see it.’

‘How so?’

‘I first met John when he was a young MP. He was handsome and charming and I fell for him. I suppose I just assumed he had ability, so I ignored certain warning signs, including the advice of my father who thought he was an idiot. Charles was introduced to me as one of John’s researchers but I got the impression that he lacked respect for John. He always had an air of quiet superiority about him.’

‘How did he feel about you?’

‘He seemed to like me. Encouraged the relationship between John and me.’

‘Saw you as a suitable wife?’

‘It could have been that.’

‘Do you think Charles French could have been the brains behind John?’

‘He was certainly much brighter than John,’ said Melissa, looking doubtful. ‘But he was young, the same age as John. He couldn’t have had any influence within the party, so I don’t see…’

‘Could he have been part of a larger, more influential group, d’you think?’

‘You know, I recently asked my father about that. Mistake. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. Demanded to know what had made me ask.’

‘What did?’

‘John and I had a fight. I said some very cruel things. Told him exactly what I thought of him, and how the party were going to fling him out on his ear. He seemed to suggest they couldn’t because he “knew things” and “they” owed him.’

‘For what?’

‘I don’t know. I was past caring by that time. I’d had enough of listening to his drivel. I stormed out and went home to my mother and father’s place.’

More alarm bells. Two people who knew him well didn’t think Carlisle had the balls to take his own life, and now the suggestion that he might have been considering some kind of blackmail. Steven asked, ‘I know it seems insensitive, but do you think I could see where John died?’

Melissa appeared taken aback but simply said, ‘I suppose so.’ She led the way through to the back of the house, where she donned a jacket before opening the door and crossing to the stable block. ‘I found him here, hanging from that beam.’ She pointed. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’

‘How he did it,’ replied Steven, deciding not to beat about the bush.

‘It’s not rocket science: even John managed it,’ said Melissa bitterly. ‘He tied the rope to that beam, looped it round his neck and jumped off. Look, I really don’t see the need for this. It’s positively macabre…’

‘Jumped off what?’ Steven interrupted.

‘The top rail of the stall, I suppose.’

‘Why the top rail?’

‘Because of the… height he was off the floor when I found him.’

‘Quite a gymnast.’

Melissa fell silent as she took Steven’s point. She examined the route her husband would have had to take to get onto the top rail of the stall, and thought about the physical ability it would have demanded. Then she shook her head.

‘Unless there was a stepladder…’ suggested Steven.

‘No,’ said Melissa. ‘No stepladders, no chairs, no boxes. Nothing. You think he was murdered, don’t you?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘But he left a note…’

They returned to the house. ‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Melissa, sounding very subdued.

‘In the circumstances, I suggest we do nothing for the moment. Go to South Africa for your “period of recovery”.’

Melissa nodded, and Steven sensed her relief, although her expression betrayed nothing.

‘Apart from Charles French, do you remember anyone else who was around your husband at the time of the Northern Health Scheme?’

‘He was a minister. Lots of people.’

‘No inner circle?’

‘Paul Schreiber, I suppose. I think he was in charge of pharmaceuticals. And Gordon Field, the hospital manager.’

‘No one else?’

‘I’m not sure if you could call her inner circle, but a very unpleasant woman named Freeman kept popping up. She was the wife of a surgeon at the hospital but she behaved as if she had some kind of official position, although I never worked out what exactly. The others were very respectful towards her.’

‘Lady Antonia Freeman,’ said Steven.

‘That’s right. Do you know her?’

‘She’s dead. So is Charles French.’

Melissa swallowed. ‘I knew about Charles.’

‘These “things” that your husband said he knew. Are you absolutely sure you don’t know what he was referring to?’

‘Positive. He’d never mentioned anything like that before.’

‘Good.’

Melissa looked surprised, but then she understood. ‘You mean there are some things it’s better not to know?’

‘Enjoy your holiday.’

Steven left Markham House feeling satisfied with what he’d established. He called Jean Roberts from the car. ‘Jean, I need as much information as you can dig up on two people from the old Northern Health Scheme: Paul Schreiber and Gordon Field. Schreiber was concerned with the supply of medicines, and Field was the manager of College Hospital at the time.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, but-’

‘It was a long time ago. Yes, I know. Do your best. I also need more information about the people who died in Paris — not French or Freeman, the others.’

‘Very well. Have you heard how Sir John is?’

‘Not yet. I’ll let you know.’

First Steven called Charlie Malloy. ‘I know this isn’t your bag, Charlie, but I’m beginning to have doubts about John Carlisle’s suicide. Any chance of someone taking a discreet look at the circumstances surrounding it — and I mean discreet?’

‘You know, Dunbar, I’m beginning to wish you hadn’t come back,’ joked Malloy. ‘I’ll see what I can do. What exactly’s your problem with it?’

‘His jump-off point. According to his wife, his feet were about five feet off the ground. That meant he had to have come off the top rail of a horse stall. There was no chair or ladder around so he would have required considerable arm strength to get up there. If he’d been a fit Royal Marine, fair enough, but he wasn’t.’

‘I’m not sure how we could prove something like that now,’ said Malloy.

‘We couldn’t. So if nothing comes of your foraging maybe we’ll just keep it as our secret.’

‘Fair enough. Let’s both forget we just said that.’

Steven called the hospital and was told that John Macmillan was stable and comfortable. He had not been allowed to regain full consciousness yet. That would probably happen tomorrow. ‘Good luck, old son,’ he murmured as hung up.