‘Did she have a diary?’ Ramsay asked. ‘You can see that it’s vital that we find out where she went yesterday.’
‘Yes,’ Cassidy said. ‘ It was one of those big page-a-day affairs. She was always losing it and throwing the whole house into panic. Her memory was appalling and she wouldn’t have survived without it.’
‘What about a handbag?’ Ramsay asked. ‘We didn’t find one with her.’
‘Yes, though it was too big really to be called a handbag. She had brought it back from Africa. It was made of brown leather with an embossed pattern of birds on the flap. She was very fond of it.’
For the first time in the interview Ramsay wrote in his notebook.
‘And you have no idea at all where she might have gone yesterday?’ he said. ‘Did she have any regular Thursday appointments?’
But Cassidy only shook his head sadly and absent-mindedly. He stood up and walked to the window and looked out at his son.
‘I must ask you some questions about your movements last night,’ Ramsay said. ‘You do understand. In a murder inquiry we have to take statements from everyone.’
‘Yes,’ Cassidy said. ‘Of course.’ He still seemed preoccupied with his son.
‘Where were you yesterday evening? Perhaps we could start at about five and go on until this morning.’
‘This morning?’ Cassidy said. ‘But Dorothea went missing at seven thirty yesterday evening. Annie phoned from Armstrong House to tell me.’
‘We think she must have been murdered rather later than that,’ Ramsay said. ‘Though of course we’ll have to trace her movements to find out where she was in the early evening. So, where were you at five o’clock?’
‘I was here in the vicarage but only until about quarter past,’ Cassidy said. ‘From half past five until half past seven I was in the cottage hospital visiting the patients. Most of them are geriatric and many are quite confused but they seem to welcome the visit. It’s a regular commitment. I go every week.’
‘Then Dorothea could have returned to the vicarage during that time without you knowing?’
‘I suppose so. Patrick might have been in, of course, at least for some of the time.’
‘But there was no indication that she had been in the house? No sign, for example, that she had prepared herself a meal?’
‘No,’ Cassidy said. ‘ I don’t think so, though if she had just made coffee and a sandwich I probably wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘What time did you return from the cottage hospital?’
‘At about a quarter to eight.’
‘Was your son here then?’
‘No,’ Cassidy said. ‘He had come home from the university but he’d gone out again. He has a very active social life. I find it hard to keep up with him.’
‘Soon after you arrived home Annie Ramsay phoned from Armstrong House to say that Dorothea hadn’t turned up for the talk?’
‘Yes,’ Cassidy said. ‘That must have been at about eight o’clock.’
‘Were you concerned?’
‘Not at first. To tell the truth I was a little irritated. Dorothea was sometimes so busy that she over-committed herself. I presumed that she was late because a previous appointment had taken longer than she had expected.’
‘Did you go out to look for her?’
‘Not then. I had arranged for a young couple who plan to marry in St Mary’s to come to see me. They came at half past eight and stayed for about twenty minutes. By then I was starting to be a little worried about Dorothea. Usually if she was that late she phoned me and it was unlike her to miss an appointment altogether. I phoned some of her friends but no one had seen her. At about ten o’clock I went out to look for her.’
‘Did you have any idea where to look?’
‘None at all. It was hopeless. With the fair and the festival there was traffic everywhere. I’d planned vaguely just to drive around the by-pass in case her car had broken down but it all took much longer than I anticipated. It was a foolish thing to do but I felt so helpless, just waiting here on my own. I suppose I just hoped that when I returned she would be here waiting for me with some perfectly reasonable explanation for why she’d gone missing…’ He paused. ‘It happened once before, you know, after an argument, one of those trivial arguments that develop out of nothing. We both lost our tempers and said some unpleasant things. Dorothea left the house and didn’t come back all night. Patrick and I were frantic with worry. At dawn I went out to look for her and when I came back she was here, sitting at the kitchen table as if nothing had happened, drinking coffee. She offered to make me breakfast. Later, when I asked her where she had been she said it didn’t matter. She had needed to be on her own, a time almost of retreat. She hadn’t realised, I think, how anxious I would be.’
‘But yesterday there was no argument?’
‘Oh no,’ Cassidy said. ‘There was nothing like that.’
‘Yet you didn’t contact the police?’
‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘Dorothea would have been furious if there had been a fuss. Thursday was her day and I’d promised not to interfere. The police did phone, when I got back, to see if I’d heard from her. Apparently Annie had alerted them.’
‘What time did you return from your search for her?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps half past eleven.’
‘Was your son back then?’ Ramsay asked.
‘No,’ Cassidy said sadly. ‘The house was still dark. I went to bed in the end. There seemed nothing else to do. Patrick came in at half past twelve. I heard his footsteps on the drive and looked out of the bedroom window in case it was Dorothea. He saw me and waved but we didn’t speak.’
There was a silence and then Cassidy said simply: ‘I’d like to be on my own for a while now, Inspector. I’m sure you understand. If you have any more questions you can come back later.’
‘Of course,’ Ramsay said. ‘ There’s just one more thing. Had Mrs Cassidy cut herself when she left home yesterday morning? Perhaps there was some accident? There appears to be a wound on her wrist.’
Cassidy seemed confused. ‘No,’ he said. ‘ There was nothing like that. I’m sure I should have noticed.’
Ramsay thanked him and left him alone in the room that was full of memories of his wife.
Chapter Three
Patrick Cassidy was in love and from the beginning that clouded his judgement. Later he was amazed at his own stupidity. He should have realised at once that Ramsay was an intelligent man who needed careful handling. He should have thought the thing through more clearly. His mistakes came, he saw afterwards, from an inflated idea of his own importance. He should have used that time in the garden while Ramsay was talking to his father to prepare his story. Instead, when the inspector came out of the house and sat beside him on the grass, he was confused and uncertain.
Ramsay too was feeling his way. Apart from his work he had little contact with young people. He distrusted them and envied their freedom and irresponsibility. He was not sure how to talk to them. Patrick Cassidy had flattened a path in the long grass between the house and the patch of open sunlight where he sat. As he walked along it Ramsay could feel the boy looking at him and he was nervous too. The vicarage garden backed on to the river though the water was hidden by the shrubbery beyond the lawn. Cassidy’s wait, the night before, must have been accompanied by the music of the roundabouts at the fun fair along the bank. On the opposite shore the pathologist and the scene-of-crime team would be looking at Dorothea’s body. From an upstairs window it might even be possible to see them.
When Ramsay reached Patrick Cassidy the boy stood up, not it seemed because of an old-fashioned respect for authority but because he found it impossible, any longer, to sit still.
‘Please,’ Ramsay said. ‘ Sit down.’ He took off his jacket and sat on the grass. But then he did not know how to continue.