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Paul Edmund Norman's Monthly Online Literary Magazine ~ July 2005 Issue No. 81

DEATH OF A PRIME SUSPECT

by Paul Edmund Norman

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Vanessa's eyes opened slowly, dragging her into a lazy consciousness from a strange dream peopled with her brother and sister-in-law, and a symmetrical round symbol of fire enclosing them. She stretched, yawned, and glanced at the clock beside the bed. She had been asleep for only an hour. Rain was lashing noisily against the leaded windows and the wind was beginning to get up to gale force as the weatherman had promised on the nine o'clock news.

            But it was not the rain that had woken her.

            The noise.

            The noise had woken her.

Somewhere in this vast, unmanageable house, with its myriad rooms and twisting staircases and unexplored cellars, something had made a noise, waking her up.

            Not loud, not a bang, or a crash.

            A soft noise, like a drawer being opened, or a door.

The landing light was on, and her bedroom door was open by a few inches. She never slept completely in the dark.

            She allowed her eyes to become accustomed to the dim light for a while, waiting, as people do, to see if the noise happened again. Of course, with the wind howling and the rain battering the windows, there was bound to be noise in an old house like this. But she had made sure every window was fastened securely, every door to the outside locked and bolted. She did this every night, but in view of the weather warning, she had made doubly sure, so that she could sleep soundly.

            It had not been the noise of something being caused by the wind, or the rain.

            She strained her ears to listen, hearing only the staccato rap of rain and the howling whistle of the wind. When both of those died down, there was nothing, she had imagined it, there had been no noise. Her eyelids drooped, she turned onto her side and snuggled against the pillow, wondering why she had ever agreed to come and live in this rambling old mansion in the first place.

            Why had she not told George Massingham to put the place on the market and have done with it?

            She knew the answer to that perfectly well, of course.

            She owed it to Richard and his young wife.

            They had both died because of this place, though if the accounts she had read were true, not in it.

            She had come to the Manor House for a reason, and nothing was going to frighten her away. Besides, she liked the place. She liked the expanse, and the vastness of the rooms, she liked the exterior, which had been well looked after by generations of previous owners. She particularly liked the grounds. She thought she would get herself a dog. A house with grounds like this deserved a dog, she thought. A big dog, a gun dog, or something showy, like a mountain dog, or something like that. Maybe a boxer, or a mastiff, or a border collie, straining against a brown leather leash.....

            She heard the noise again.

            This time, with her good ear off the pillow, it was unmistakable.  There was someone in the house. She was frightened, but not terrified. She had lived alone for several years, and although she had never been confronted with an intruder, she was, she thought, ready to investigate. She slid her feet into her slippers, pulled on her dressing gown, and opened the bedroom door fully. She went to the top of the stairs and peered down into the comparative dark. 

            It seemed silent, for a while, and she wondered if maybe there were rats, or mice downstairs.

            Then she heard the same noise, properly this time, and knew beyond any doubt that someone was going through the furniture drawers in the study.

            She wished she had something with which to protect herself, but all she could see was the book she had been reading before she went to sleep. Better than nothing, she thought, and ventured cautiously downstairs.

            Whoever was in there was using a torch. He was being very quiet, and very careful, but the furniture was old, the drawers were sometimes noisy.

            Vanessa pushed open the study door.

            'Mr Hegan!' Hegan was the estate manager. Alex Hegan’s stepbrother. It had been he who had met her at the front door of the Manor House and handed over a set of keys. He had even offered to help her to move in, but she had declined, knowing that her few bits and pieces, arriving by van later in the day, would only take her a short while to put in place. The house was fully furnished. All she had brought with her were her books and magazines, clothes, of course, and a personal computer.

He spun round, startled, shutting the drawer he was in the process of searching quickly.

            'What are you doing?'

            'I........'

There was evidently no explanation he could give that would not be an out and out lie.

            'What are you doing?' she demanded again.

            'Looking for something.'

            'In my house, in the middle of the night?'

            'Don't get in a temper, I can explain.....'

            'I think I have every right to get into a temper! You obviously have a key to my house. Please hand it over!'

            'Miss Lake, I can explain.....'

            'I doubt that. Whatever you were looking for, if it were legitimate, you would have done it during the day, before I moved in, or else you would have asked my permission. Now, hand over the key before I call the police!'

            'Don't do anything hasty, Miss Lake......'

            'Give me the key!'

He thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out a door key and placed it on the table.

            'Thank you. Now explain to me why you found it necessary to break into my house during the night, and exactly what you were looking for.'

            'It was something - I - '

            'If you don't tell me, I shall have to call the police.....'

She was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door. Hegan looked even more startled than when she had surprised him.

            'Don't open it,' he said, holding out his hands as though to restrain her.

            'Who is it?' Vanessa called.

            'Alex,' came the reply. 'Alex Hegan.' Alex Hegan. Thirteen years ago they had fallen in love. Thirteen years ago they had stood in his house while the police investigated the murder of Alison Bailey.

            'I'm coming.'

            'Don't let him in, Miss Lake,' Hegan said again, but she ignored him and went into the hall to open the front door.

            'Are you all right?'

Alex Hegan strode into the study where he had evidently seen the light from his step-brother's torch.

            'You!'

He turned back to Vanessa.

            'Are you all right?'

            'Yes, I'm all right, Alex.'

            'I was just leaving. I thought I saw an intruder, I thought I ought to check on Miss Lake,' Mark Hegan stammered.

            Vanessa said nothing. She watched him back nervously towards the front door, then turn and dash through it into the night.

            Alex could tell by her expression that everything was not as it should be.

            'What was he doing?'

            'He said he was looking for something.'

            'Did he say what it was?'

            'No.'

            'Is anything missing?'

            'He was going through the drawers. It was papers he was after, I imagine.'

            'Do you have any idea what papers?'

            'No, I don't.'

            'Something to do with your sister-in-law, do you suppose?'

Vanessa stiffened.

            'Why do you say that? Anyway, what were you doing here, at this time of night?'

            'I often walk late at night. I saw the light from his torch in the study, and then I heard you talking to him. I just thought I would check on you, that's all.'

            'Thank you. But you haven't answered my question. What makes you think Mark was looking for papers to do with my sister-in-law?'

            'I'm afraid I have exceptional hearing,' he said with a grin. 'I heard you say that whatever it was he was looking for he would have looked for before you moved in. It has to be something you might have brought with you.'

            'I suppose you're right. But what can it be?' Vanessa said, pretending innocence. Now she was convinced that Hegan had organised an earlier search of the Manor House, and when that failed to turn up what he was looking for, he had waited for her bedroom light to go off tonight, then let himself in with his spare key and started to look for himself. She knew that he must be looking for the letter her sister-in-law had written to her, though precisely why he should want it, she had no idea.

            'I'm going to have a drink. Would you like something?'

            'That depends what you mean by drink. I don't touch alcohol,' Alex said with an apologetic smile.

            'I don't have any alcohol in the house, in any case. I was thinking more in terms of coffee, or tea.'

            'Coffee would be fine. Can I bring Toby in?'

            'Of course.'

They went through to the kitchen, where he unbolted the back door and let the dog in.

            While she put the kettle on, he poured a half-pint of milk into a cereal bowl for Toby, then sat down at the kitchen table. He looked quite at home, as though he belonged there. But she still felt that she could not trust him. Yet.

            'Why did you come here in the first place? You strike me as the sort of girl who had her career all mapped out for her. What made you chuck it over and come back to Sharringford?' he asked, sipping the coffee she had made. What you really mean is, did you come back because of me? Maybe. Maybe, Alex, what we had all those years ago was more special to me than I realised.

‘I wanted to find out about Kim. Thompson says you and I are in danger. It was Donald Clitheroe!’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. He said he would kill us if we told anyone. And Kim told, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, she did.’

            'My brother died in mysterious circumstances, and so did his wife. You already know that.'

            'But what did you hope to achieve by moving here?'

            'To find out the truth, I suppose. Somebody must know something.'

            'You didn't get anything out of Thompson, I take it?'

            'No. For some reason he has a complete mental block about the time my sister-in-law died. Either he can't remember or doesn't want to.'

            'But you came here to find out the truth, you say? It seems, then, that my devious step-brother doesn’t want you find out the truth.'

            'I'm afraid that's the only conclusion I can come to, as well.'

            'But you let him go?'

            'We know where he lives. He's not going to run away just because I caught him red-handed, is he?'

            'I suppose not. You'll tell Thompson in the morning?'

            'I don't think I have any choice, Alex.'

He smiled at her, and for now she felt relaxed, and safe. It was past midnight.

            'I'd better be going,' Alex said, and picked up his hat.

            'You wouldn't consider staying, I suppose?'

            'You'd feel safer with me around?'

            'I would, yes,' she admitted frankly.

He walked round to where she sat and put his hands on her shoulders.

            'Of course I'll stay,' he said softly. She reached for his hands with hers, was surprised to find them soft but immensely strong. 

            'There's a couch in the living room,' he said, and started to walk away. She kept hold of his hand. He turned to look at her.

            'There are plenty of rooms upstairs, Alex,' she said, but he shook his head.

            'I'll be fine. In the morning we'll go and see Thompson. You go back to bed. Me and Toby'll keep an eye on things. Don't worry.'

            'I'm not worried.'

She squeezed his hand, then kissed his cheek impulsively.           

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