‘Who are you?’
He was used to this sort of doubt, because he didn’t look like the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State
‘Sir Thomas Arkenshaw’ people expected. But it was beginning to become irritating, that disbelief. ‘You are Mrs Cole, are you? Basil Cole’s daughter-in-law?’
‘Yes—’
‘Then I am Sir Thomas Arkenshaw, of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Mrs Cole.’ He reached inside his jacket.
‘And this is my identification.’
She examined his warrant card carefully before returning it to him.
So she had guts. But he knew that already.
“Thank you… Sir Thomas Arkenshaw.‘ She watched him return it to its place. But then she waited.
And she wasn’t scared, thought Tom. So he had to be brutal. ‘How did he die, Mrs Cole?’
‘He fell out of a tree.’
She wasn’t scared. But there was more to it than that. ‘He did what
—?’
‘He fell out of a tree.’ She repeated the statement so obstinately that he was all the more certain of its inadequacy.
‘What the devil was he doing up a tree, Mrs Cole?’
‘He was cutting off a branch.’ She grimaced at him. ‘All these old trees around the house… the copper beeches… they were planted back in the 1930s, Sir Thomas. And the fool who planted them stuck them too close to the house.’ She reached to turn the percolator off, on the working-surface beside her. ‘So there was this big one, at the back… He had put a ladder up, to get at it. He should have got a professional tree-feller to do it.’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Tom was unbearably reminded of an Irish joke about ‘tree-fellers’, the punch-line of which he couldn’t remember, except that it had something to do with ‘three fellas’ and ’tree-fellers‘. But that had nothing to do with the fixed expression on her face.
Her nerve broke as he tried to remember the end of the joke.
‘When he cut the limb, it knocked him off the ladder… so it seems.’ She uncoupled the coffee percolator from its plug. ‘At least, that’s what the policeman thought… Apparently, people are always killing themselves, messing about with trees.’
Not good enough! She was a fine-looking woman, high-breasted and with a high IQ to match the lift of the twin-set under the pearls; and she had quite properly defended her mother-in-law from their blundering ignorance in the doorway, when they hadn’t known what was happening.
‘But there is something you can do, Sir Thomas.’ She recognized his doubt, and faced it honestly, breasts and IQ lifting together. ‘I never imagined that I’d ask such a thing. But it seems I can.’
Tom watched her reach towards a line of cups hanging on hooks under an old-fashioned glass-fronted cupboard and then search for matching saucers. ‘Ask what thing, Mrs Cole?’
She looked at him. “There’ll be an inquest, of course.‘
He wondered how much she knew about her father-in-law’s work.
Or, if she didn’t know, whether she had guessed. ‘Yes. But with an accident like this, it’ll be pretty much a formality.’
She moistened her upper lip. ‘It may not be, I’m afraid.’
He could legitimately frown now. ‘Are you suggesting it wasn’t an Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State accident, Mrs Cole? But you said . . the policeman said—?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. But… my father-in-law worked for the Ministry of Defence, I believe—even after his retirement. I am presuming that you have influence. Isn’t that the way the world works?’
Tom frowned again. ‘What do you want, Mrs Cole?’
She stared at him, her mouth primly compressed. ‘It would be better… for my mother-in-law’s sake, it would be better if certain questions weren’t asked at the inquest. It won’t hurt anyone if they aren’t asked—no harm or injustice will be done.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘You see, Sir Thomas, I know exactly how he fell out of the tree—and why.’
Well, that was something! thought Tom gratefully. But then his gratitude evaporated as he realized that what he’d been thinking and what she evidently thought no longer matched at all. And one of them had to be wrong.
5
‘Well?’ said Audley.
Tom caught a last glimpse of the two Mrs Coles in his rear-view mirror: they were standing together in their doorway in a pool of yellow light. Then the dark mass of the rhododendron bushes erased them.
‘Well?’ Audley stabbed the word at him again. ‘What did she want Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State to say to you which she couldn’t say in front of the widow?’
The digital clock registered 7.30, and Tom’s stomach confirmed its accuracy. But now there were more pressing matters than hunger.
‘She wanted me to nobble the coroner before the inquest.’
‘Indeed?’ Audley pointed. ‘Go back to the village and stop at the pub. I want to make a phone-call or two. There’s a call-box just opposite.’
That was convenient. ‘Okay.’ But a little honest curiosity would be natural. ‘May one ask to whom?’
‘One may. When one has answered my first question more adequately.’
‘The old lady didn’t tell you, then?’
‘That he fell off a ladder, do you mean?’
‘No. That he was drunk when he fell.’
‘Ah… No, she didn’t add that ingenious embellishment.’ Audley shifted slightly. ‘But, since he only fell this morning, just how has that been so quickly established beyond a peradventure?’ Audley sniffed. ‘Although I can now well understand why Mrs Cole junior might not wish such choice circumstantial evidence to be emblazoned in the local paper.’ Another sniff. ‘But don’t tell me!
He smelt like a distillery and had an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker stuffed in his pocket—right?’
‘Substantially right. Except it was twelve-year-old Bunnahabhain malt, and it was only half empty. And it was in his garden shed, complete with a half-full tumbler.’ Tom could see the lights of the village ahead. And there was nothing behind. ‘Christine Cole says Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State it’ll make her mother-in-law very unhappy, if that comes out.’
‘Bunkum! The old girl’s used to what’s always been the truth—it will make Mrs Christine Cole, who is teetotal, and the Reverend Brian Cole, her husband, unhappy… although they might equally have taken the view that the poor old devil ought to be held up as a horrible example of the evils of drink in death, just as he had been in life. That would be what I would have expected, actually—
hmmm… In fact, I would have bet on it even, now that I come to think about it. Damn!’ Audley thumped the dashboard. ‘ Damn!’
‘What?’ The man’s sudden vehemence took Tom by surprise.
‘I was just being mildly ashamed of myself for being flippant. He was a drunken, difficult old devil. But—’ He pointed again ‘—the pub’s just ahead, on the corner—remember?’
‘But what?’ They were back to the awkward turning, and there was still nothing behind. ‘But what?’
Audley ignored him.
He negotiated the corner and swung the car on to the pub forecourt.
Audley still didn’t reply, and made no effort to move. ‘Damn!’
Very well! Tom decided. ‘But that didn’t give anyone the right to kill him, were you going to say?’
Audley turned slowly towards him. ‘Evidence?’
‘I hardly think there’ll be any. Not if it was professionally done. Is that what you think, David?’