So, if the conjectural Rod Cotton who worked in the North of England had an alibi for that crucial 13 and a half hour period – and there was a very good chance that he would have – then his usefulness to the murderer as a decoy quickly evaporated.
The real Rod Cotton, on the other hand, the drunken, unfocused, washed-up Rod Cotton, who wandered through London without a name or a home, was a much better proposition. Mrs Pargeter had been very fortunate in discovering his alibi for the time of the murder; he was certainly in no state to provide it himself. Anyway, he had to be found first, and it had taken all of the exceptional skills of Truffler Mason to achieve that.
So the murderer might well have felt pretty safe with the real Rod Cotton as a suspect. Rod was one of the lost people of England, one who had lost his identity completely, had simply slipped off the demographic map of the country’s population.
There was a comforting kind of logic to it. The first suspect is the victim’s spouse, because the first suspect always
Yes, it made sense.
Assuming of course that the murderer knew about what had really happened to Rod Cotton.
It became a priority for Mrs Pargeter to find out how many of the residents of Smithy’s Loam had been taken in by the story of his promotion and transfer to the North of England.
And the resident who warranted most urgent investigation was the one who, Mrs Pargeter suspected, had been rather closer to Rod Cotton than the others.
¦
“Well, obviously,” said Vivvi Sprake, “the news of the last few weeks has been pretty devastating. I mean, first Theresa, and then Rod…it’s ghastly.”
Mrs Pargeter nodded sympathetically. She had had no problem at all in getting Vivvi on to the desired subject. Advice on gardeners had been quickly dispensed, and Vivvi herself had brought up the murder. She had been longing to have a really good natter about it, and she thought Mrs Pargeter might be a more enthusiastic participant in gossip than the other, more stand-offish, residents of Smithy’s Loam. She felt drawn to the older woman; though Mrs Pargeter’s background was London, her relaxed conversational approach struck chords from Vivvi’s northern upbringing.
“I mean, it’s dreadful…you know, to think that people you’ve known…could do that to each other.”
“Dreadful. Impossible to see inside another couple’s marriage,” Mrs Pargeter commented, masking her interest in the platitude, and noting that Vivvi, at least apparently, accepted the prevalent view that Rod had killed his wife.
“Yes. Yes,” Vivvi agreed, and couldn’t help adding mysteriously, “Mind you, I don’t think everything was as sunny as it seemed with the Cottons’ marriage…”
“Oh?” said Mrs Pargeter, without too much emphasis. She didn’t think that Vivvi was going to be too difficult a subject to interrogate; indeed, she thought the problem might later be to stem the flow of confidences.
“Yes…Well, I’m only telling you this in confidence, Mrs Pargeter…”
“Of course, of course…”
“But Rod Cotton once made a pass at me.”
“Really?” said Mrs Pargeter, as if dumbfounded.
“Oh yes,” Vivvi’ Sprake asserted with a harsh woman-of-the-world laugh that didn’t quite come off.
“When was this?”
“Rod was around for a while between finishing the job down here and moving up to the new job in York…”
Vivvi was the first of the Smithy’s Loam crowd to mention ‘York’ as opposed to just ‘the North’. That, like the fact that she had had Rod’s office phone number, confirmed the idea of a special relationship between the two.
“Anyway, I went across one morning round that time – to give something to Theresa, actually – but she wasn’t there and Rod invited me in…”
“And made a pass at you?”
“Well, in a way, yes. The fact is, I was going through a rather unhappy time myself…”
Mrs Pargeter tried another little “Oh?” They seemed to be working very well her little ‘Oh?’s.
This one proved no exception. Vivvi was desperate to pour it all out. “The fact is, you see, that Nigel…my husband, has been married before. I’m his second wife.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I was his secretary and, er, we fell in love and, er, well, that was it. He left his wife for me and, you know, we had the children quite soon, and here we are.” As Vivvi got deeper into confidences, her accent became increasingly northern. “Very happy we are. All works very well.”
“Oh, good.”
“However…” Vivvi paused, almost as if she was considering not continuing. But there was no real chance of that; she was enjoying the drama of her narrative far too much. “Well, there was a patch about six months ago when…I suppose you’d have to say…things weren’t perfect between us for a while…”
“Oh?”
“Just briefly. Nigel was…the fact is…Look, I am telling you this in complete confidence…”
“Of course. I have taught myself to be very discreet, you know, Vivvi.” Only the late Mr Pargeter knew how thoroughly true that remark was.
Vivvi Sprake needed no further reassurance. “Well, the fact is, I discovered that Nigel, my husband, was having a little fling with his current secretary…”
“Oh. History repeating itself.”
“No,” Vivvi contradicted sharply. “Well, not at all in the same way. I mean, this girl was some dreadful little tart who was just infatuated with him – he is a very attractive man – and, you know, she led him on…I mean, it was nothing like our affair…”
“Of course not,” said Mrs Pargeter, translating Vivvi’s words into the fact that the new secretary, unlike her predecessor, hadn’t got pregnant.
“Anyway, everything’s absolutely fine now. I mean, Nigel’s deeply sorry it happened, and of course nothing like that’ll ever happen again.”
Like hell, thought Mrs Pargeter.
“…but the fact remains that six months ago I was feeling pretty bad about it, pretty vulnerable…”
“I’m sure you were. So probably you didn’t respond to Rod quite as you would have done under normal circumstances…?”
Vivvi seemed very grateful to Mrs Pargeter for spelling this out.
“Exactly. That was it. Under normal circumstances I would have just slapped his hand or…but, well, as I say I was feeling vulnerable…”
“And fairly angry, too, I should think.”
“Oh yes, extremely angry. So…”
“I don’t think anyone could have blamed you,” said Mrs Pargeter comfortingly.
“No. Well, I certainly had been provoked.”
“I’ll say. Tit-for-tat’s pretty reasonable in my book.”
“Yes. Oh, you’re very understanding, Mrs Pargeter. It really is a pleasure for me to unburden myself to someone. I’ve been bottling it all up and, you know, well, particularly now, after what’s happened…”
“Yes.”
“And, I mean, Rod was a very attractive man.”
“I’m sure he was.” But all Mrs Pargeter could see in her mind’s eye was the hunched, decrepit figure on the bench in Embankment Gardens.
“And, you know, he got me very relaxed and…”
“What, he gave you a drink?”
“Yes.” Vivvi Sprake giggled mischievously. “Not just a drink…”
“Oh?”
Once again the monosyllable worked a treat. “Recreational drugs, Mrs Pargeter.”
