Ruth Rendell - From Doon with Death

Someone had just eaten a solitary meal. The cloth was still on the table and the dirty plates had been half-heartedly stacked.

“My wife’s away,’ Drury said. ‘She took the kids to the seaside this morning. What can I do for you?’

He sat down on a dining chair, offered another to Burden and, observant of protocol, left the only armchair to Wexford.

‘Why did you ask if it was something to do with Margaret, Mr Drury?’

‘I recognized her photograph in the paper. It gave me a bit of a turn. Then I went to a do at the chapel last night and they were all talking about it. It made me feel a bit queer, I can tell you, on account of me meeting Margaret through the chapel.’

That would have been Flagford Methodist Church, Burden reflected. He recalled a maroon-painted hut with a corrugated-iron roof on the north side of the village green.

Drury didn’t look scared any longer, only sad. Burden was struck by his resemblance to Ronald Parsons, not only a physical likeness but a similarity of phrase and manner. As well as the undistinguished features, the thin sandy hair, this man had the same defensiveness, the same humdrum turn of speech. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. Anyone less like Douglas Quadrant would have been difficult to imagine.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Margaret Godfrey,’ Wexford said.

Drury looked startled.

‘It wasn’t a relationship’ he said.

What did he think he was being accused of? Burden wondered.

‘She was one of my girl friends. She was just a kid at school I met her at chapel and took her out… what, a dozen times.’

‘When did you first take her out, Mr Drury?’

‘It’s a long time ago. Twelve years, thirteen years … I can’t remember.’ He looked at his hands on which the crusts of earth were drying. ‘Will you excuse me if I go and have a bit of a wash?’

He went out of the room. Through the open serving hatch Burden saw him run the hot tap and swill his hands under it. Wexford moved out of Drury’s line of vision and towards the bookcase. Among the Penguins and the Reader’s Digests was a volume covered in navy-blue suede. Wexford took it out quickly, read the inscription and handed it to Burden.

It was the same printing, the same’ breathless loving style. Above the title - The Picture of Dorian Gray - Burden read:

Man cannot live on wine alone, Minna, but this is the very best bread and butter. Farewell. Doon, July, 1951.

Drury came back, smiling cautiously. He had rolled up his sleeves and his hands were pink. When he saw the book Wexford was holding the smile faded and he said aggressively:

‘I think you’re taking a liberty.’

‘Where did you get this book, Mr Drury?’

Drury peered at the printing, looked at Wexford and blushed. The tic returned, pumping his chin.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘she gave it me. I’d forgotten I’d got it.’

Wexford had become stern. His thick lower lip stood out, giving him a prognathous look.

‘Look here, she gave me that book when I was taking her out. It says July here and that’s when it must have been. July, that’s right.’ The blush faded and he went white. He sat down heavily. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? My wife’ll tell you. It's been there ever since we got married.’

‘Why did Mrs Parsons give it to you, Mr Drury?’

‘I’d been taking her out for a few weeks.’ He stared at Wexford with eyes like a hare’s caught in the beam of headlights. ‘It was the summer of - I don’t know. What does it say there? Fifty-one. We were in her aunt’s house. A parcel came for Margaret and she opened it. She looked sort of mad and she just chucked it down, chucked it on the floor, you see, but I picked it up. I’d heard of it and I thought… well, I thought it was a smutty book if you must know, and I wanted to read it. She said, “Here, you can have it, if you like.’’ Something like that I can’t remember the details of what shesaid. It was a long time ago. Minna had got fed up with this Doon and I thought she was sort of ashamed of him.. ‘

‘Minna?’

‘I started calling her Minna then because of the name in the book. What have I said? For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that!’

Wexford stuck the book in his pocket.

‘When did you last see her?’

Drury picked at the cord that bound the seat of his chair. He began pulling out little shreds of red cotton. At last he said:

‘She went away in the August. Her uncle had died..’

‘No, no. I mean recently.’

‘I saw her last week. That isn’t a crime, is it, seeing somebody you used to know? I was in the car and I recognized her. She was in the High Street, in Kingsmarkham. I stopped for a minute and asked her how she was, that sort of thing.. ‘

‘Go on. I want all the details.’

‘She said she was married and I said so was I. She said she’d come to live in Tabard Road and I said we must get together sometime with her husband and Kathleen. Kathleen’s my wife. Anyway, I said I’d give her a ring, and that was all.’

‘She told you her married name?’

‘Of course she did. Why shouldn’t she?’

‘Mr Drury, you said you recognized her photograph. Didn’t you recognize her name?’

‘Her name, her face, what’s the odds? I’m not in court I can’t watch every word I say.’

‘Just tell the truth and you won’t have to watch your words. Did you telephone her?’

‘Of course I didn’t I was going to, but then I read she was dead.’

‘Where were you on Tuesday between twelve-thirty and seven?’

‘I was at work. I work in my uncle’s hardware shop in Pomfret. Ask him, he’ll tell you I was there all day.’

‘What time does the shop close?’

‘Half past five, but I always try to get away early on Tuesdays. Look, you won’t believe me.’

‘Try me, Mr Drury.’

‘I know you won’t believe me, but my wife'll tell you, my uncle’ll tell you. I always go to Flagford on Tuesdays to collect my wife’s vegetable order. There’s a nursery there, see, on the Clusterwell Road. You have to get there by half five otherwise they’re closed. Well, we were busy last Tuesday and I was late. I try to get away by five, but it was all of a quarter past. When I got to Spellman’s there wasn’t anybody about. I went round the back of the greenhouses and I called out, but they’d gone.’

‘So you went home without the vegetables?’

‘No, I didn’t. Well, I did, but not straight away. I’d had a hard day and I was fed up about the place being closed, so I went into The Swan and had a drink. A girl served me. I’ve never seen her before. Look, does my wife have to know about that? I’m a Methodist, see? I’m a member of the chapel. I’m not supposed to drink.’

Burden drew in his breath. A murder enquiry and he was worrying about his clandestine pint!

‘You drove to Flagford along the main Pomfret Road?’

‘Yes, I did. I drove right past that wood where they found her.’ Drury got up and fumbled in vain along the mantelpiece for cigarettes. ‘But I never stopped. I drove straight to Hagford. I was in a hurry to get the order … Look, Chief Inspector, I wouldn’t have done anything to Minna. She was a nice kid. I was fond of her. I wouldn’t do a thing like that, kill someone!’

‘Who else called her Minna apart from you?’

‘Only this Doon fellow as far as I know. She never told me his real name. I got the impression she was sort of ashamed of him. Goodness knows why. He was rich and he was clever too. She said he was clever.’ He drew himself up and looked at them belligerently. ‘She preferred me,’ he said.