Lacey.'
Jennifer and Angus Norris got there first. She was a plain young woman, dumpy and freckled, who resembled her mother. She was also about seven months pregnant and Wexford remembered Adela Knighton speaking of another grandchild 'on the way'.
Her brother Roderick turned up soon afterwards in a yellow Triumph TR7, having driven very fast from London. He was handsome and tall like his father, though anxious-looking and a good deal older than his sister. A barrister also, Wexford gathered. The law was well represented in the Knighton family to whom this lawless thing had happened. The spry little son-in-law, no taller than his wife and with a shock of dark curly hair surrounding a bald
91
spot, he had sometimes seen in the Magistrates' and Crown Courts.
Young Mrs Norris had a manner Wexford had met before in women of the upper middle class who have led indulged lives. She called her parents Mummy and Daddy and spoke of her family and its immediate circle as of an elite.
'It's so awful, I feel it just can't be happening to us. Daddy was at the criminal bar, you know, and I remember Mummy saying how that really brought home to one what a horrendous lot of murders there actually are. And Daddy used to say she needn't worry because only a fraction of those murders happened to people like us, they were nearly all confined to the lower classes. And now poor Mummy . . . I mean, it seems so unfair. You lead a decent life and try to keep up some sort of standard and then an appalling thing like this has to happen.'
No doubt she would have found the murder more comprehensible if Renie Thompson had been the victim. But for those remarks of hers Wexford might not have asked where she and her husband had been on the previous night.
'What sort of time had you in mind?' said Norris. 'what does "night" mean?' He spoke in the style he used when cross-examining nervous witnesses. 'What time did all this take place?'
'Let's just stick to "night" for the moment, Mr Norris.'
'I asked because it so happens I took my wife out for a while during the evening.'
Jennifer Norris made a sound which in the circumstances couldn't have been laughter but which came very near it, an unamused grim laugh. Her brother turned cold magisterial eyes on her.
'Yes, but really, Angus,you took me out! What he means, Rod, is that we walked down to the river and back and had a drink at the Millers', the usual extent of our wining and dining these days . . .'
Wexford coughed.
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.
'Yes, well, Chief Inspector,' began Norris who had gone rather pink, 'we went to bed early, we . . .'
'Oh, Angus, let me tell him. My doctor gives me a mild sedative and the result is I sleep like a log. And lately we've been taking the phone off the hook, so if poor Mummy had tried to get through . . .' It was plain to Wexford that she couldn't for a moment imagine she or her husband might come under suspicion. This was murder in the course of robbery. This was a 'lower class' crime. 'We live in Springhill Lane, actually,' she volunteered. 'In one of the old houses.' This was a facet of local snobbism Wexford had encountered once or twice before. People living in this prestigious district of Sewingbury had an edge on their neighbours if they possessed one of the original seventeenth-century houses. There were perhaps half a dozen of these, around and among which new building had taken place during the past twenty years.
'Mummy can't have heard that glass breaking. She had a phone by her bed and even if she couldn't get through to us she'd have tried to phone the police. I mean, how could she have hoped to deal with some rough type like that?'
'He forced an entry by breaking a window?' said Norris.
'Not exactly, Mr Norris. Rather let's say a pane of glass was cut out from a window. And what were your movements last night, Mr Knighton?'
Roderick Knighton had a breezy manner. He glanced frequently at his watch. Already he had made several phone calls, declaring during the
Jennifer and Angus Norris got there first. She was a plain young woman, dumpy and freckled, who resembled her mother. She was also about seven months pregnant and Wexford remembered Adela Knighton speaking of another grandchild 'on the way'.
Her brother Roderick turned up soon afterwards in a yellow Triumph TR7, having driven very fast from London. He was handsome and tall like his father, though anxious-looking and a good deal older than his sister. A barrister also, Wexford gathered. The law was well represented in the Knighton family to whom this lawless thing had happened. The spry little son-in-law, no taller than his wife and with a shock of dark curly hair surrounding a bald
91
spot, he had sometimes seen in the Magistrates' and Crown Courts.
Young Mrs Norris had a manner Wexford had met before in women of the upper middle class who have led indulged lives. She called her parents Mummy and Daddy and spoke of her family and its immediate circle as of an elite.
'It's so awful, I feel it just can't be happening to us. Daddy was at the criminal bar, you know, and I remember Mummy saying how that really brought home to one what a horrendous lot of murders there actually are. And Daddy used to say she needn't worry because only a fraction of those murders happened to people like us, they were nearly all confined to the lower classes. And now poor Mummy . . . I mean, it seems so unfair. You lead a decent life and try to keep up some sort of standard and then an appalling thing like this has to happen.'
No doubt she would have found the murder more comprehensible if Renie Thompson had been the victim. But for those remarks of hers Wexford might not have asked where she and her husband had been on the previous night.
'What sort of time had you in mind?' said Norris. 'what does "night" mean?' He spoke in the style he used when cross-examining nervous witnesses. 'What time did all this take place?'
'Let's just stick to "night" for the moment, Mr Norris.'
'I asked because it so happens I took my wife out for a while during the evening.'
Jennifer Norris made a sound which in the circumstances couldn't have been laughter but which came very near it, an unamused grim laugh. Her brother turned cold magisterial eyes on her.
'Yes, but really, Angus,you took me out! What he means, Rod, is that we walked down to the river and back and had a drink at the Millers', the usual extent of our wining and dining these days . . .'
Wexford coughed.
92
.
'Yes, well, Chief Inspector,' began Norris who had gone rather pink, 'we went to bed early, we . . .'
'Oh, Angus, let me tell him. My doctor gives me a mild sedative and the result is I sleep like a log. And lately we've been taking the phone off the hook, so if poor Mummy had tried to get through . . .' It was plain to Wexford that she couldn't for a moment imagine she or her husband might come under suspicion. This was murder in the course of robbery. This was a 'lower class' crime. 'We live in Springhill Lane, actually,' she volunteered. 'In one of the old houses.' This was a facet of local snobbism Wexford had encountered once or twice before. People living in this prestigious district of Sewingbury had an edge on their neighbours if they possessed one of the original seventeenth-century houses. There were perhaps half a dozen of these, around and among which new building had taken place during the past twenty years.
'Mummy can't have heard that glass breaking. She had a phone by her bed and even if she couldn't get through to us she'd have tried to phone the police. I mean, how could she have hoped to deal with some rough type like that?'
'He forced an entry by breaking a window?' said Norris.
'Not exactly, Mr Norris. Rather let's say a pane of glass was cut out from a window. And what were your movements last night, Mr Knighton?'
Roderick Knighton had a breezy manner. He glanced frequently at his watch. Already he had made several phone calls, declaring during the
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