Chapter Nineteen
Truffler got back to her early the following morning, the Thursday. Lindy Galton — or rather the mortal and muddy remains of Lindy Galton — had been taken to one of the local hospitals the night before, and there — surprise, surprise — she had been certified ‘Dead on Arrival’.
As yet, Truffler had not been able to find out what level of investigation would be conducted into the ‘accident’ at Brotherton Hall, though Mrs Pargeter was not anticipating anything very rigorous. She felt certain there would be a cover-up — which, considering the circumstances of Lindy Galton’s demise, was perhaps an unfortunate expression.
So the two deaths had been treated differently. Though Mrs Pargeter had no doubt that both were suspicious, Lindy Galton’s had gone through the official channels, while the body of Jenny Hargreaves had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth.
Assuming that it was the body of Jenny Hargreaves. Particularly since she had met Tom O’Brien, Mrs Pargeter couldn’t repress her hope that the girl who had starved to death had been someone else. She only had Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s assurance on the identity of the corpse, and he had certainly not been telling the complete truth.
She knew from her own checking of the computer that ‘Jenny Hargreaves” registration document had been invalid and, although death had removed the opportunity of confirming her suspicions, Mrs Pargeter felt convinced that Lindy Galton had falsified the record on Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s orders.
But, if Ank’s aim was simply to obscure the identity of the first dead girl, why had he used the name and address of a real person? The fabrication of a name would have left no leads to be followed.
It was becoming increasingly urgent for Mrs Pargeter to have a straight talk to Ankle-Deep Arkwright.
He wasn’t in his office. The girl on Reception said that Mr Arkwright would be away for a few days. No, she was afraid she couldn’t say where. But his absence would have no effect on Mrs Pargeter’s status at Brotherton Hall. Mr Arkwright had been very insistent before he left that Mrs Pargeter’s ‘Special Treatment’ should continue and that all the facilities of the ‘Allergy Room’ should be at her disposal for the remaining days of her stay.
It reeked to Mrs Pargeter of guilty conscience. Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s message was effectively saying, ‘I’m going to be away until after you’ve left Brotherton Hall, so you won’t be able to ask me any awkward questions; but, to show there are no hard feelings between us, I’m making it possible for you to enjoy the rest of your time here.’
Just as she was about to leave Reception, Mrs Pargeter had another thought and asked the girl where she might find Stan the oddjob man (she didn’t know how official his nickname ‘Stan the Stapler’ was). But there again she drew a blank. ‘Mr Bristow’ had a few days’ leave owing to him and would not be back until after the weekend.
Maybe it was all coincidence, but Mrs Pargeter couldn’t help sensing a conspiracy to block her investigation. Lindy Galton was dead and the other people she wanted to talk to were suddenly unavailable. She supposed she could try to get more information out of Dr Potter, but wasn’t optimistic of success. He had been less than forthcoming in the Dead Sea Mud Bath unit the previous evening.
What distressed her most about the situation was the involvement of Ank. How deeply he was in she didn’t know, but she reckoned this time it was well above the ankles.
And that hurt. She had had dealings with a great many of the late Mr Pargeter’s associates since his death, and had found in every one of them unswerving loyalty and willingness to provide any services she might require. The thought of Ankle-Deep Arkwright being deliberately obstructive to her was an unattractive one.
Still, she concluded with weary philosophy, it wouldn’t be the first time. The late Mr Pargeter had given his complete trust to Julian Embridge — and look what happened in Streatham.
‘Well, Ank always had an eye for the main chance,’ Truffler conceded cautiously. ‘Was prepared to do some nifty footwork to get out of one set-up into another that looked more profitable, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Mrs Pargeter’s hand played restlessly with the cord of the telephone. ‘It’s just the change in his behaviour was so sudden. He was all over me until I told him about having seen the body, then he clammed up. Which must mean he had something to do with the girl’s death, mustn’t it?’
‘Not necessarily. Could just mean that he knew a corpse was bad for business and wanted it hushed up.’
‘Yes. Oh, it’s so frustrating.’ Mrs Pargeter looked out of her window to the front drive of Brotherton Hall, where she had seen the ambulance only a few nights before. ‘If only I could talk to someone else who saw Jenny Hargreaves’ body… I even have moments when I start wondering if I imagined it.’
‘Mrs Pargeter…’ Reproach made Truffler’s voice sound even more funereal. ‘This doesn’t sound like the Mrs Pargeter I know and love. I’ve never before heard you not being sure about things.’
‘No, you’re absolutely right. Not my normal style at all. I must snap out of it.’ She did, and her tone changed instantly. ‘Truffler, I want you to find out where Ank’s gone. Can you do that?’
‘Mrs Pargeter-’
She stopped the tone of reproach from intensifying. ‘Sorry, shouldn’t have asked. Right, if you could find out where Ank is now, and if he’s been anywhere else in the last twenty-four hours…? And could you do the same for Stan the Stapler? I need to talk to him too.’
‘No problem, Mrs Pargeter. Anything else?’
‘Erm… Dr Potter. Yes, I’d be glad of any background you can get on Dr Potter.’
‘Leave it with me.’
‘And I suppose the other question we ought to be asking is — if Jenny Hargreaves’ body wasn’t taken to a hospital…’
‘Hm?’
‘Where was it taken?’
Mrs Pargeter’s uncharacteristic lapse of confidence was quickly behind her. Suddenly she felt more positive. And she realized that there was one very simple piece of investigation she could do straight away.
The girl at Reception made no demur about giving her the Dead Sea Mud Bath booking sheets.
‘Just want to see if I can fit another one in before I go. Felt so terrific after the last one I had,’ Mrs Pargeter lied breezily. ‘There aren’t any problems with the baths at the moment, are there?’
The girl looked blank. ‘No. Why should there be?’
‘I thought I heard one of the staff saying there’d been a mess-up last night with a bath getting clogged up or something…?’
‘First I’ve heard of it.’ So the news of Lindy Galton’s death had, so far at least, been kept from the rest of the Brotherton Hall staff. ‘No, they would have told me if there’d been any problem.’
The telephone’s ringing conveniently diverted the receptionist’s attention. Mrs Pargeter stopped looking at the current booking sheet and flipped back to the day before. She wanted to identify the three mud-camouflaged guests who, along with Stan the Stapler, might have overheard her arranging to meet Lindy Galton.
Her own bath had been booked for ten o’clock. Other guests were booked in, two at nine and one at nine- thirty.
The first two names, presumably belonging to the person who had been drying off under the sunlamp and the one in the shower, were unfamiliar.
But the third, the name of the mud-covered figure in Cubicle One, did mean something to Mrs Pargeter.
It was ‘Sue Fisher’.
Chapter Twenty
That day was the first time that Mrs Pargeter had entertained in the ‘Allergy Room’, but Gaston had been delighted when she mooted the idea. The prospect of having a larger audience for his underused gastronomic
