Ken McClure - Chameleon

'Maybe she found out what you think Dr Richardson found out. Something about the infections?'

Jamieson had the distinct impression that Sue was trying to lead him down a particular road. A pointer here, a question there. He suddenly thought he saw what she was getting at. He said, 'But if she found out about Thelwell's involvement in the deaths she wouldn't have gone to see him would she?'

'My feelings exactly,' agreed Sue.

'On the other hand,' said Jamieson thoughtfully, 'Thelwell was responsible for her sister in law's death. People do strange things when matters get personal. She may have gone there, knowing that Thelwell was the killer.'

'For revenge, you mean?' said Sue. 'Poor girl.'

They fell to silence and Sue looked at her watch. She said, 'Good Lord, look at the time.'

Jamieson smiled thinly and put his hand round her shoulder. 'Let's turn in.'

There was no indication on her desk or work bench of what Moira Lippman had been doing that had made her so anxious to contact either Jamieson or in the end, Thelwell. Jamieson searched all through her desk drawers and when that proved fruitless he examined all the cultures in the incubators with her writing on them. There was nothing that could not be attributed to the routine work of the lab. He was cursing under his breath when Clive Evans' voice behind him said, 'I've already done that. There's nothing.'

'Strange,' said Jamieson. 'She must have written something down.'

'Maybe she took it with her to see Thelwell,' suggested Evans.

'Ye gods,' said Jamieson not relishing a second visit to the Thelwell house.

'Will you check?'

Jamieson nodded.

'Want me to come with you?'

'No need,' said Jamieson. He left Evans and telephoned Chief Inspector Ryan to arrange access to the house in Latimer Gardens. He was relieved to be told that Marion Thelwell and her daughters had gone off to stay with relatives for a few days. The forensic people had finished in the house and garden and he would be able to get the keys from the officer stationed at the front of the house to keep the morbidly curious at bay.

The policeman at the gate stiffened when he saw Jamieson approach and moved from one foot to the other. Jamieson sensed that he was preparing to bar his way. He probably thought that he was yet another journalist after some lurid copy to satisfy the insatiable needs of the tabloids. Jamieson showed his ID and said that he had permission from Chief Inspector Ryan to enter the house. The constable checked through the radio clipped to his lapel and after a burst of static Jamieson caught the word 'Affirmative.'

The house was silent, a brooding silence that Jamieson felt was oppressive. It was as if the walls and floors resented his presence there. He climbed the stairs slowly, reluctant to create any noise and feeling like an intruder in private grief. He opened the door to what had been Gordon Thelwell's study and stepped inside.

He found nothing on Thelwell's desk to indicate any contact between Moira Lippman and Thelwell at all. Jamieson looked through the drawers and finally the waste paper basket and again drew a blank. He felt sure that Moira would have had notes. She had told Sue that she wanted to talk about the results of some tests. That meant that there must be lab notes somewhere. Apart from routine procedure it was in the nature of people who worked in labs to keep notes.

Had Thelwell destroyed them? He had to acknowledge that this was a possibility but if he had, how had he done it? He had not left this room. His wife had said so. There was no fireplace and there was no document shredder in the room. He conducted another search but again drew a blank. Maybe Moira hadn't brought them with her but if they weren't here and they weren't at the lab where else could they be? Her own flat? Jamieson decided to make that his next port of call. He started to tidy up by putting back the contents of the waste paper basket when suddenly he heard footsteps on the stairs. His first thought was that it must be the policeman from the door but the sound was wrong. What he was hearing were the footsteps of a woman.

The door opened and Marion Thelwell stood in the doorway. Jamieson felt guilty and embarrassed. He started to apologise by saying that he had understood that the house was going to be empty.

'I had to come back for some things for the girls,' said Marion Thelwell, her voice devoid of emotion. 'Did you find what it was you were looking for?'

Jamieson looked at her dull eyes and the deep lines in her face. It was obvious that she had had no sleep.

'Actually no,' he said softly.

'What was it?'

'When Miss Lippman came to see your husband last night. I think she had some notes, perhaps a lab notebook with her. I was looking for it.'

Marion Thelwell looked long and hard at Jamieson as if he were a stain on the ground and then said slowly and deliberately, 'The Lippman girl phoned Gordon last night and said that she had to speak to him. He did his best to dissuade her, in fact, he told her point blank not to come. But she must have come over anyway, only she never got here.'

'But…'

'I repeat; she never got here. She must have been murdered outside somewhere and her body placed in our summer house.'

Jamieson looked at the floor in an attempt to hide his disbelief which he felt sure must show in his face. 'And your husband, Mrs Thelwell? Where was he at the time?' asked Jamieson with as much delicacy as was possible in the circumstances.

'Gordon was locked up in his study as I've already told the police. He never left the house.'

Jamieson eyes moved involuntarily to the study window and confirmed to himself that it overlooked the garden. Thelwell could have left the room by the window.

'Can I ask how you know that it was Moira Lippman who called him on the phone?' said Jamieson

'I took the call.'

'And how did you know what was said?'

'I listened in on the extension in the hall,' said Marion Thelwell without a trace of guilt.

Jamieson looked at her without speaking until she felt obliged to elaborate.

'I knew that Gordon had stopped going to choir practices some time ago. I thought there might be another woman even though I found that hard to believe.'

'Why?' asked Jamieson, detecting an odd note in Marion Thelwell's voice.

She gave a mirthless shrug and said, 'Gordon was never very physical if you get my meaning. Not even in our courting days.'

Jamieson nodded. 'Weren't you ever tempted to find out where your husband went when he went out?' he asked.

'At first but then I became frightened. I decided that I didn't want to know…'

Marion Thelwell started to shake with pent-up emotion. Jamieson found the sight alarming for there was absolutely no sound coming from her, just a series of silent shuddering convulsions. He pressed her further. 'Because the killings had started in the city?' he asked.

Marion Thelwell continued to shake. She nodded. She made no attempt at argument.

Jamieson put his arm round her and led her to a seat. 'You need a drink,' he said softly. 'Is there anything up here?'

Marion Thelwell indicated with her right hand and Jamieson opened up the bureau she had pointed to. There was a crystal decanter sitting there on a silver tray with four glasses. He poured Scotch into one of them and handed it to her. He watched her take a long gulp and said, 'You've been through a lot. You must be absolutely exhausted.'

'That's nothing to what's to come,' replied Marion Thelwell distantly and Jamieson could not disagree. 'It's not so much for myself I worry but the girls… Other children can be terribly cruel. I'll have to take them away somewhere, somewhere where we'll not be known. Start a new life. Isn't that what they say?' A new life. Marion Thelwell put her hand to her head and closed her eyes. There was silence in the room.