And the nurse, used to many and varied emotions at the viewing of the deceased for purposes of identification, could only gasp at Marina Westwood’s lack of emotion.
Hennessey nodded his thanks to the nurse, who shut the curtains and seemed to hurry from the room, to escape Marina Westwood? To tell her colleagues what she had witnessed? Hennessey thought probably both.
“Your husband died in mysterious circumstances, Mrs. Westwood.” Hennessey and she remained in the viewing room for a few moments.
“Oh?”
“He was found deceased in the company of a woman identified as Wendy Richardson, of Penny Farm, Allingham.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes... no... know of her, not speak to.”
“Do you know anyone who’d want to harm your husband, Mrs. Westwood?”
“I don’t. Dominic had no enemies. Rivals, perhaps, but no enemies.”
“He was a businessman?”
“He had a computer company. Software.”
Whatever that is, thought Hennessey, who was proud to be the last surviving member of the human race who didn’t possess nor know how to use a computer.
“A farm worker found the bodies,” Hennessey continued. “He thought they were two lovers, though it was a bit early in the morning for that sort of thing. Also thought they were a bit long in the tooth for it, as well, but left them at it. When he returned, retracing his steps an hour later, saw they hadn’t moved, he took a closer look. And here we are.”
“I was getting a bit curious.” She sniffed at her hair. “I wondered where he’d got to when he didn’t turn up last night. I thought he had had too much beer again, and stayed somewhere rather than drive home. He’s done that before. He’s sensible like that.”
“Who would benefit from his death, do you know?”
“Me, I suppose, I’m his wife. I’ll get everything. Everything that’s paid for, anyway. Debt didn’t seem to bother Dominic.”
“Were you happily married?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
Yellich drove home to his modest new-built house in Huntingdon, to his wife and son. His wife explained that Jeremy had been “impossible” all day and she needed “space,” so she put on a hat and went for a walk. Yellich went into the living room. Jeremy, cross-legged and sitting far too close to the television set, turned and beamed at his father. Yellich smiled back. Jeremy was twelve years old, he could tell the time and point to every vowel-sound letter in the alphabet, including the letter “y.”
Hennessey too drove home, to his detached house in Easingwold, to a warm welcome from Oscar, his brown mongrel. Later in the evening, he stood in the landscaped rear garden which had been planned by his wife shortly before she died, suddenly, inexplicably, as if she fainted, but it was life, not consciousness, which had left her. “Sudden Death Syndrome” was entered on her death certificate, “aged twenty-three years.” And in the thirty years since her death, her garden, where her ashes were scattered, had matured to become a place of tranquillity. Each day, winter and summer, rain or shine, Hennessey would stand in the garden telling Jennifer of his day. “Just lying there,” he said to the grass, to the shrubs, to the apple trees, to the “going forth” at the bottom of the garden, where lived the frogs in a pond. “The farm worker thought they were lovers at first. Don’t like the widow of the deceased male, she’s an odd fish and no mistake.”
TUESDAY
Hennessey held the phone to his ear. “They drowned?”
“That’s what I said.” Louise D’Acre trapped her phone between her ear and her shoulder, using both hands to read through her notes. “In fresh water, or they had had a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. D’Acre, I don’t follow.” Hennessey moved the phone from one ear to the other as he heard Dr. D’Acre smile down the phone.
“I’m the one who should be sorry, I’m not making a great deal of sense, am I? I was puzzled, because the cause of death was apparent upon investigation. Both corpses show evidence of vagal inhibition of the heart, which brought on a fatal heart attack. Death from such causes is often associated with shock, especially in the frail elderly, but as I pointed out, both died at exactly the same time. So what caused two young and healthy people to die of shock at the same time? That had me foxed. And if their deaths hadn’t been linked, if their bodies had been found miles apart, for example, and at different times, I probably wouldn’t have looked for a link, and would have put death down to heart failure, caused by vagal inhibition. But they were clearly linked, so I had a closer look and found the answer in the marrow of the long bones.”
Thus far Hennessey had written “heart attack” on his notepad but continued to listen patiently.
“I found diatoms in the long bones.”
“Diatoms?”
“Wee beasties, as a Scotsman might say. Microorganisms that live in the water. They get into the marrow of the long bones of a drowning victim. They differ from saltwater to freshwater, these are freshwater diatoms. And the victims’ blood has expanded in the veins, caused by the freshwater joining the bloodstream, saltwater doesn’t do that, so they drowned in freshwater. And I would guess a struggle for life induced vagal inhibition, which brought on a heart attack. No signs of violence, though, except for small areas of light bruising round the ankles of both victims. Both of her ankles, and one of his ankles.”
“The ankles?”
“They were held facedown in a large body of water by someone holding their ankles. The water was clean, not polluted, and heavily chlorinated. A swimming pool, for example.”
“Funny you should say that.”
“Why, is it significant?”
“Very.”
“Well, diatoms differ from one body of water to another. If you could obtain a sample of water from the pool in question, I could tell you if our two friends here drowned in that pool.”
“What are you looking for, boss?” Yellich drove out to the Oast House, Allingham.
“A swimming pool.” Hennessey sat in the front passenger seat and went on to tell Yellich about Marina Westwood’s hair smelling of chlorine. He also told him about diatoms and vagal inhibition.
The Westwood house in Allingham was a sprawling bungalow set in expansive grounds. A large car and a small car stood in front of the building, saying clearly “his and hers.”
Marina Westwood opened the door almost immediately upon Hennessey ringing the doorbell. She looked surprised to see Hennessey. Hennessey remarked upon the fact.
“No... no...” she stammered. She was dressed fetchingly in faded jeans, leather belt, and a blue T-shirt. “Well, I suppose I am... I thought that yesterday was it, just identify him. What do you want?”
“Your husband died in suspicious circumstances. We’d like to look at your house.”
“Do you have a warrant? On television...”
“Do we need one?” asked Hennessey.
“Are you hiding something?” asked Yellich.
“No,” she shrugged offhandedly, and stepped aside, allowing the police officers to step over the threshold.
It was a large, spacious house inside, very light, very airy, with interior walls of unfaced brick.
“Where is the swimming pool?” Hennessey asked suddenly.
“Down there.” Then Marina Westwood’s face paled.
Hennessey saw her pale and he knew a chord had been struck, and he knew this inquiry was drawing to an early close. It was so often the case, he thought: Before you look at the outlaws, look at the in-laws. “If you’d lead the way?”
Marina Westwood led them down a narrow corridor to the indoor swimming pool. Thirty feet long, twenty wide, brick walls on three sides, the fourth wall was given over to tall windows which looked out over the rear lawn. Hennessey took a test tube from his pocket and knelt and dipped it into the pool and sealed the contents. “You haven’t changed the water in this pool since they drowned in it, have you?”