A Lesson in Dying

Chapter Nine

After Kitty Medburn’s suicide Ramsay, according to his colleagues lost all sense of proportion. He spent all day and most of the night in Heppleburn and if he slept at all it was in the chair in his office.

‘It’s the divorce,’ Hunter said. ‘It’s finally caught up with him. That and guilt because the old lady killed herself.’

Hunter, who had always wanted an inspector’s salary, watched Ramsay’s slow disintegration with satisfaction, and took as little part as possible in the inquiry. So Ramsay ran the investigation almost alone and made up his own rules as he went along. He felt he had nothing to lose.

Monday, the day after the second murder, Angela Brayshaw received the letter for which she had been waiting. It had been posted on the preceding Thursday and had been unaccountably delayed in the post. If it had arrived on time, she thought, she would have been saved a troublesome and unpleasant weekend. The letter was from Harold Medburn’s solicitors and informed her that she was the sole beneficiary of his estate. She wondered briefly how her mother would take the news.

Jim had offered to stay at home with Patty. She was touched by his concern but sent him to work. She preferred to be alone. Besides, she felt that only the normal domestic routine would prevent her from dissolving into panic. There was nothing to prevent her following the usual pattern. Jack had insisted on going home the night before. They were worried about him – he seemed so blank and withdrawn – and they had not wanted to let him go, but Patty could understand that he needed to be alone and it was a relief to have him out of the house. So she tried to put the horror of the day before from her mind. Surprisingly she had dreamed not about Paul Wilcox, but about Ramsay. In normal times she might have been concerned by this obsession with a stranger, by the dreams, the excitement. She always considered herself happily married and avoided contacts which might make her dissatisfied with Jim. Now, with her security shattered anything seemed possible and she clung to the image of Ramsay, as if he alone could make her happy again. From the beginning she had been attracted by him. It seemed now he was the only man strong enough to set her world to rights.

That morning she got up a little early. She was calmer and more efficient than she might otherwise have been on a Monday. She even had time to wash the breakfast dishes and make the beds before walking the children to school. They too were quiet and subdued.

The playground was crowded with parents. Even the careless mothers, the slatterns, who usually stood on the doorstep unwashed and undressed, to wave their children out alone, were there this morning. They would have heard of the murder. Patty was aware of stares and whispers. They would have heard too that she had found the body. Patty stood alone and waited until Andrew and Jennifer were safely in the school.

When she got home Ramsay was sitting in his car outside her house. He saw her approaching and got out to stand on the pavement. He might have been a lover impatient to take her into his arms. It would have been warmer, she thought, to wait in the car. The fog had lasted all night, but now, as she walked down the road towards him the sun broke through the mist. It was a hazy globe above his head.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

‘One of your men came last night and took a statement.’

She could not make polite conversation with him; She wanted to be honest but she was not sure what he wanted. It would be easier if he went, then she could resume the ritual of the day.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not that. I need your help.’

‘Do you want to come in?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you out. Where shall we go?’

She thought of the previous day, of the children’s appeal: can’t we take the car and go to Whitley Bay? ‘Let’s go to Whitley,’ she said. It represented safety, the time before the walk up the gloomy lane, the possibility of fun.

‘Why not?’ he said.

It was a big car and he seemed to drive off very fast. There was something reckless and exhilarating about driving to the coast beside an attractive man and she thought again that the old rules of her life no longer applied. He pushed in a cassette which played loud music – opera, she thought. It was hot in the car and she found it hard to breathe. He smelled of pipe tobacco and leather.

A scattering of old ladies were walking dogs on the links, but the beach was almost empty. The mist had disappeared and there was a soft breeze from the southwest. It was like an early spring day. He opened the car door for her with a flourish and they walked along the promenade towards Cullercoats. On the other side of the road there were chip shops, amusement arcades. In the sunshine they seemed less sleazy and dismal than usual. They were jolly, with a fifties innocence. The light was clear and reflected on the wet, ridged sand and the retreating tide. Everything was clean and bright. She saw it all very sharply.

He ran across the road to buy her an ice cream and returned with a huge multi-coloured cornet. It seemed to her a frivolous gesture. She felt the morning had a great significance and wished he would take it more seriously.

‘Aren’t you busy?’ she said. She thought he was being irresponsible. Surely he should be working. There was a murderer in Heppleburn and he was enjoying a jaunt to the seaside. She did not recognize his desperation.

‘I thought you would like ice cream,’ he said. ‘But perhaps you would have preferred the candy floss.’

She held the ice cream awkwardly. It dribbled down the cone and onto her fingers. ‘I don’t want to take up your time,’ she said. She wanted him to say that although his time was valuable he would give it to her.

‘It helps me to get away from it for a while,’ he said. ‘I’ve not had much sleep.’

They walked on until they came to a seat looking out over the beach, and sat there. A woman in jeans and sweater was pushing an old lady in a wheelchair along the promenade. They were laughing together over some joke.

‘How can I help you?’ Patty asked. It was what he had been waiting for and he answered immediately.

‘Give me your time,’ he said, ‘and your local knowledge. Listen to what’s going on in the village and tell me what you find out. I was sure Kitty Medburn killed her husband. Of course I was wrong and I have to start from the beginning again. You and your father discovered more by poking around the village than I ever will. I had a long talk to Jack on Saturday night and I was impressed. Jack’s no good to me now. He’s distraught. He’ll blame himself for Kitty’s death. Besides, he’s lost his incentive. He doesn’t care who the murderer is.’

‘I’ve no incentive,’ she said.

‘But you’ll help,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘ You will help.’

‘I’m not easily bribed,’ she said, to give herself time to think. ‘I’ll want more than an ice cream cornet.’ She knew she would do anything he asked her.

‘You’ll have your village back,’ he said. ‘When the murderer’s found, it’ll belong to you again.’

She looked up suddenly, amazed and flattered because he understood so well. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Later she thought he must have enchanted her because she agreed so readily to his plans. Perhaps the shock of finding Paul Wilcox’s body had left her weak and impressionable. Perhaps it was because she had been attracted to him from the first time they met, in her front room, after Medburn’s murder. She knew she was being manipulated but could do nothing about it. He smiled at her, as if she had lived up to all his expectations.

‘What you’ve been doing all along,’ he said. ‘ Listen. You’re a good listener. You persuaded Angela Brayshaw to talk to you about Harold Medburn. Talk to her again. Medbum left her all his money in his will. Did she tell you that?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘She didn’t mention it. Perhaps Harold hadn’t told her that he was making a will in her favour.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s cleverer than we realize.’ He turned away from her and she quickly dropped the remainder of the ice cream into a litter bin and wiped her face with a handkerchief.

‘Did your father tell you that Medburn was drugged before he died?’ he asked.

‘It was in the papers,’ she said.

‘He was drugged with Heminevrin, a medicine used in the care of old people. It’s a controlled drug. I need to know who would have access to it.’

‘Angela Brayshaw’s mother runs an old people’s home.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve been there. She’s giving nothing away.’

‘Paul Wilcox used to be a nurse,’ she said, trying to be helpful.

‘Did he? That’s hardly relevant now.’

‘Should you be telling me all this?’ Patty said helplessly. It seemed a terrible responsibility. ‘Isn’t it confidential? It doesn’t seem right to discuss the case with me.’

‘I trust you,’ he said. It sounded better than confessing that he was making up his own rules for the investigation. ‘I need a result soon. The press is already having a field day about Kitty’s suicide. They’re blaming the police for her death of course. They have a point. I made a mistake. I should never have arrested her.’

She wanted to console him, to tell him that she did not blame him, but he wanted more than that. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can be much use.’

She hesitated. ‘Have you been to see Hannah Wilcox?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘I suppose she’ll be going home to her parents.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘ I don’t think so. She told me she wanted to stay at the old mill. She thought it would be better for the children.’

‘But she must be so lonely!’ Patty cried.

‘Perhaps you should visit her,’ the policeman suggested smoothly.

‘She needs friends now. And she’ll probably find it easier to talk to you than me.’

‘You want me to interview her for you?’

‘Of course not,’ he said. The disapproval was assumed. ‘Not that. But if you did discover anything relevant to the inquiry you’d have a duty to tell me.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I see.’ She did not have the strength to argue with him, but realized that she had been used again. She had been trapped, not this time by flattering words, but by a ride in a fast car, the sunshine and his attention. It made no difference to how she felt about him. They went back to Heppleburn in silence.

Early the next afternoon Patty called at the old mill. Hannah was alone. Joe was at school and Lizzie, the baby, was upstairs in bed. Hannah was sitting in the window, in the same chair as when Patty had seen her on the day of Paul’s death. She must have seen Patty walking through the trees but she did not move. Perhaps she hoped Patty would see her lack of response as rejection and turn away. But Patty continued up the gravel path and knocked at the back door. There was a long pause and she could hear the burn beyond the garden. There was no sound within the house and she was about to go away when the door opened. Hannah was flushed and her eyes were very bright as if she were feverish.

‘Come in,’ she said quickly. All her movements were violent and jerky. ‘Do come in.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Patty said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t interfere. But I thought there might be something I could do.’

Patty knew she would never endure even a lesser crisis alone, in a strange part of the country without the support of her family and friends. Hannah seemed not to be listening. Throughout the conversation she was restless, nervous, and Patty had the impression that this was only an intensification of her usual state.

‘If you’d prefer to be alone,’ Patty said, ‘just tell me and I’ll go away.’

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘It was kind of you to come. I must seem very rude.’ She opened the door wide. ‘ Would you like some tea? I expect you would.’

She switched taps full on and filled a kettle. There was a pile of dishes in the sink and she began to wash two mugs, then gave up and took clean ones from hooks on the wall. She banged open cupboards and drawers with a random frenzy.

‘I don’t know where Paul put the tea,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’m not here much and he saw to all that.’

Patty found the tea in a caddy on the work top. There was milk in the fridge. She had never been in the old mill and was reassured by the domestic clutter. Hannah Wilcox was not very different from her after all.

They took the tea into the long living room. It smelled fusty, of stale smoke, and Patty wished she could open a window. The Sunday papers were still lying open on a coffee table. There was a dirty mug and a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast on the window sill. Hannah kicked open the door of a big wood-burning stove and threw on more logs.

‘I feel so cold,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to get warm.’

‘It’ll be the shock.’

‘I suppose it is.’ Hannah looked at Patty. ‘You found his body, didn’t you? That must have been a shock too.’ She walked backwards and forwards in front of the stove then sat on the hearth rug and stared at Patty, waiting for an answer.

‘It was.’

‘Did you know Paul well?’

‘Not well. Only through the Parents’ Association. But I liked him. I thought he was brave. It can’t have been easy for him staying at home with the children. My husband would never manage it.’

‘No, I never realized how hard he found it, not until it was too late.’ Hannah paused. ‘Would you mind if I talked to you about him? I’ve no-one else to talk to. My mother wants to come and look after me but I can’t stand the thought of anyone staying in the house. I haven’t seen anyone since the policewoman went. Except the children. Mrs Irving will pick Joe up from school for me but she won’t stay.’

‘Of course,’ Patty said. She remembered that Ramsay had said she was a good listener. It was nice, she thought bitterly, to be considered good at something.

Hannah was curled up on the rug. She seemed to have shrunk, to be no bigger than a child. She wore large round spectacles which covered most of her face. She was very dark – dark-haired, olive-skinned, exotic. Then she jumped up and lit a cigarette. Patty wished she would sit still.

‘Paul wanted me to give up smoking,’ she said, ‘but I could never manage it.’ She seemed to Patty to have enormous energy. Patty thought she would always be dissatisfied, looking forward to new plans, a new challenge.

‘Did you know Paul had a lover?’ she asked suddenly. Patty was shocked, a little embarrassed.

‘No,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I had no idea. He always seemed so happy.’ It seemed tactless to mention that Jack had seen Paul and Angela together on the night of the bonfire.

‘He thought I didn’t know,’ Hannah said, and she wandered off again to fetch an ashtray.

‘But you found out?’

‘I guessed,’ she said. ‘Paul was an innocent. I could tell he was guilty about something. Then I thought it must be over.’

‘You didn’t ask him?’ Patty imagined the scenes there would be in their house if she suspected Jim of infidelity. She would never pretend that nothing was wrong. There would be thrown plates, shouting, tears.

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘I didn’t ask him. Perhaps I didn’t want to know. It would have been a reflection on our marriage. I couldn’t afford to give it any more time.’ She looked at Patty with dry, angry eyes. ‘ Now I would give all the time in the world to have him back.’

She began to pace again and to talk, as if movement and speech were some relief.

‘He’d written poetry to her,’ Hannah said. ‘I never found out until the morning he died. He’d written poetry to her and the cow had given the poems to Harold Medburn. Medburn blackmailed Paul. He was frightened that I’d find out, that I might leave him, as if I hadn’t in a way left him already.’

‘When did you find out about this?’

‘The morning of the day he died. Sunday morning.’ She began to speak more quickly, a stream of words, part confession of her own responsibility, part a terrible reliving of the hours and days before her husband’s death.

‘We all went to the bonfire on the recreation ground on Saturday evening,’ she said. ‘I could tell that something had been worrying him all day. He took the children to the swings in the afternoon and came home in a furious temper. We had a row about the bonfire. He didn’t want to come with us, but I persuaded him. It would be fun, I said. The children would enjoy it. We went to the recreation ground together but early in the evening he disappeared. He didn’t tell me he was going home or that he was feeling ill. He just vanished. I didn’t think too much of it. He was in a bad mood and wanted to be on his own. I expected him to be at home when we returned, but the house was empty. I started to be worried, but I got the children ready for bed, and soon after he came in. He was in a terrible state. He poured himself a drink and his hands were shaking so much that he spilled it. I asked him to tell me what was the matter. Whatever it was, we could sort it out together. He said he’d done something terrible, despicable. I told him I didn’t care and I’d love him just the same. But he wouldn’t talk to me. He went straight to bed and I could feel him lying beside me, rigid and wide awake. He was cold. He’d had a shock too, you see.

‘In the middle of the night he thought I was asleep. He got out of bed and came downstairs. I was worried and followed him down. I didn’t mean to pry on him, but I thought he’d feel better if he could share whatever was troubling him. He was standing here in front of the stove, holding a pile of papers. I thought they were letters. He was tearing them into little pieces and throwing them on the fire.’ She paused for breath, took off her glasses and rubbed them with the hem of her jersey. Without her spectacles Patty could see that the skin around her eyes was tight and strained. ‘I thought he would be angry,’ she continued, ‘ because I’d followed him. I would have been. But I think he was glad. It showed at least that I cared. We sat up all night talking. He told me what had happened.’

Hannah returned to the hearth rug and kneeled in front of the stove.

‘While he was at the swings on the Saturday afternoon he met Angela Brayshaw,’ she said. ‘That was the woman with whom he’d been having an affair. She taunted him. She practically admitted that she had given his letters and poems to Harold Medburn. It must have been a great relief to Paul when Medburn died, but he was worried that the poems were still in the school house and that someone else might find them. He seems to have been completely irrational about it. While we were at the bonfire, he was desperate and decided to go to look for them. He broke into the school house through a kitchen window and had just found them when your father surprised him.’

Hannah looked apologetically at Patty. ‘ He was frightened,’ she said. ‘He didn’t mean to hit Mr Robson so hard. Then he was terrified in case he had killed him.’

‘But he didn’t stop,’ Patty said, ‘to see if my father needed help.’

‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘But he heard someone else outside and realized your father wouldn’t be left alone.’

‘Did he see who that was?’ Patty asked.

‘I think he might have done.’ Hannah thought, an intense effort to remember exactly. ‘ Yes, he must have done. He said he looked out of the window, realized your father would be in safe hands and ran away, climbing out through the kitchen again. Of course he felt dreadful about what happened and was still afraid that he might have killed Mr Robson until Sunday morning when we heard he’d just had a nasty bump on the head. That’s why he was so upset on Saturday night.’

‘Did he tell you,’ Patty asked, ‘who else he saw? Who was in the school house that night?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Hannah. ‘Is it important?’

Patty did not answer directly.

‘He didn’t rig up a dummy, dressed as a witch, to frighten my father away?’

‘Of course not. There was no need. Your father was unconscious.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘What is all this about?’

‘My father was looking into Harold Medburn’s death,’ Patty said. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but Kitty Medburn was an old friend of his and he was convinced that she was innocent. He’d been asking a lot of awkward questions in the village – Paul wasn’t the only person threatened by blackmail. When he regained consciousness there was a dummy dressed as a witch hanging from the kitchen ceiling and a message telling him to mind his own business. It was an attempt, you see, to frighten him off. I think Dad was followed from the bonfire by Harold Medburn’s murderer. Don’t you see, if Paul saw whoever it was, that might explain why he had to die.’

‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘I see.’ She stood up. She was wearing stretch jeans and a long loose pullover. There was no trace of the smart controlled businesswoman. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Did your father send you?’

‘No,’ Patty said. ‘The policeman, Ramsay, thought you might need a friend.’

‘Did he tell you what questions to ask?’

‘Not exactly.’ Patty was impressed by Hannah’s intelligence and thought she deserved honesty. ‘He thought you might find it easier to talk to me. He’s determined to find out who killed your husband. He’s prepared to use unorthodox means.’

‘Good!’ For the first time in the conversation Hannah seemed to find a sort of peace. ‘Well, perhaps he was right. I do find it easier to talk to you. Do you need to ask me any more questions?’

‘What happened on Sunday morning?’

‘We all had a long, late breakfast together,’ Hannah said. ‘It was lovely. Like a new beginning. All the pretence was gone. We were talking about the future. Paul said he was longing to go back to work. We decided to go into the possibility of employing a nanny. Then I went to the paper shop to see if there was any news of Mr Robson. That’s when I heard he was okay and staying with you.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual on the way out?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘The police asked me that, I think there may have been a car parked in the lane, but I can’t remember anything about it, not even the colour. I hadn’t put in my contact lenses and I wasn’t wearing specs, so I was nearly blind.’

‘When did Paul go out?’

‘At about mid-day. We’d decided to eat in the evening. He said he wanted some exercise. I could understand that. It had been a traumatic evening.’

‘You don’t think he had arranged to meet someone?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure not.’ She drew on the cigarette. ‘He could have made a telephone call while I was at the paper shop, but he would have told me. I explained. We had decided there would be no more pretence. Besides, he was a hopeless liar. I would have known; I’m sure it was a spur of the moment decision.’

‘I see.’ Patty hesitated. She felt awkward. ‘Paul was a nurse, wasn’t he, before he stopped working?’

‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘ He was a psychiatric nurse. He worked in a special unit for alcoholics.’

‘Does he still have friends there?’

‘A few. Why? Is it important?’

‘Harold Medburn was doped with a drug called Heminevrin before he was murdered. I’m trying to find out who would have had access to it.’

‘But Paul couldn’t have murdered Harold Medburn!’

‘I have to ask,’ Patty said, ‘if you want to find out the truth. Are you sure you really want to know?’

‘Yes.’ Hannah looked at her intensely, her dark eyes magnified by the strong glasses. ‘You will do your best, won’t you? Whatever you find out.’

‘Of course,’ Patty said. It was a similar responsibility to her commitment to Ramsay.

She looked at her watch. It was time to fetch the children. As she left the old mill she walked past the window. Hannah was back in the rocking chair, her arms around her knees, staring out towards the road.

It seemed to Patty that Ramsay spent all his time that week in the village. Wherever she went in Heppleburn she saw his car, his distinctive back at doorsteps or disappearing round corners. Everyone was talking about him. In the playground she stood apart and listened to the mothers talking, because Ramsay had said she was good at listening. He’s bewitched me, she thought, in the same way as Kitty Medburn bewitched my father. They speculated about Ramsay’s background and marital status and through listening to them she gathered that he was trying to find out who had taken the witch’s costume from the pram on the night of the bonfire. He or his men must have spoken to everyone who was on the recreation ground that night. Rumour had it that these investigations had so far proved unsuccessful. Many people admitted to having seen the confrontation between Matthew Carpenter and the boys, but then there had been so many distractions – the excitement of the fire and the noise and colour of the fireworks – that the costume was forgotten. The pram had been pushed into the shadow and no one saw it again until the boys fetched it to take it home. They realized that the costume was missing, but thought it had been confiscated by Matthew Carpenter. Despite his persistence Ramsay seemed to have got no further.

That Tuesday afternoon the policeman was back at the school. His car was parked in the playground and Patty could see his dark head through the staff room window. She waited a long time for him to emerge. She wanted to share the information given to her by Hannah. She thought he would be pleased. But there was no sign of the inspector leaving the school. All the other parents and children disappeared, but Matthew Carpenter, Irene Hunt and Stephen Ramsay remained inside. Eventually Andrew and Jennifer became so cold and fractious that she left without talking to him. It would be impossible to have a serious discussion with the children in that mood.

On the way home she called at her father’s house. She was worried about his continued depression, but she felt too that she needed his support. She had some vague hope that he would have come to terms with Kitty’s death and she would be able to share with him Hannah’s information. The hope was not realized. When Jack Robson came to the door he was clean and tidily dressed. He was polite, thanked her for calling and said he was fine, but he did not invite them in and made it clear that he wanted them to go. Nothing she could say would console him.

Jack stood at his window and watched them go with relief. He could not bear his daughter’s pity. He walked back to the mantelshelf and took down the note which Kitty Medburn had written before hanging herself from a curtain rail in the shower room at the remand centre.

He knew the words by heart but read them again.

‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ it said. ‘I could never live up to your dreams.’