Conway gave a brief acknowledging nod.
‘Had your wife made any similar attempt previously? Or ever talked of making such an attempt?’
Conway shook his head with vigour. ‘She never made any kind of attempt to kill herself. She never threatened it, never even hinted at such a thing. Never once. I never dreamed for one single moment she’d ever contemplate—’ He dropped his head into his hands. Kelsey waited in compassionate silence till he had recovered himself.
‘I’m sorry.’ Conway took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. ‘I thought she was so much better,’ he said unsteadily. ‘She seemed so much calmer and brighter. I was so sure she’d be completely better before long. She was so young, she had everything to look forward to.
‘We planned to start a family after we’d found a place of our own, that was something she wanted very much indeed. We went looking at houses a lot when we first came here, then we had to stop when she wasn’t well, it was too much of an effort for her. I hoped we’d be able to start looking again quite soon.’
‘Had your wife made a will?’
Conway nodded. ‘We both made wills when we got married. Very simple and straightforward, leaving everything to each other.’
‘Was her life insured?’
He shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t, she’d never taken out any insurance on her life. I don’t think it ever occurred to her, it certainly never occurred to me. I took out a fairly substantial term insurance on my own life when I got married, so Anna would be all right if anything happened to me. I’m on the road a good deal, there’s always the risk of an accident.’ He shook his head again. ‘But I never took out any kind of insurance on Anna’s life. I had no reason to.’
Early afternoon somnolence brooded over the neighbourhood when Sergeant Lambert drew up before Dr Peake’s elegant villa. The doctor was expecting them after a phone call from the Chief. He received them in his consulting room; Anna Conway’s file lay on the desk before him.
Anna had first called to see him towards the end of June; she had come alone. It became clear in the course of the visit that she hadn’t told her husband she was consulting him. She was clearly in a distressed state though she was equally clearly exercising a considerable degree of self-control. She complained of a fairly standard assortment of nervous symptoms of varying degrees of severity.
At the end of the visit Dr Peake had asked her if she didn’t think it might be a good idea to bring her husband into the picture, at least to the extent of telling him she was seeking medical help. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
‘I spoke to her about it again the next time she came to see me,’ Peake added. ‘That time she wasn’t quite so decided about it. She said she’d think it over.’ On her third visit she told him she’d spoken to her husband. He’d been very kind and understanding. She seemed very relieved it was out in the open.
Dr Peake had seen her four or five times since then and he had also spoken to her husband more than once when Conway had called in for repeat prescriptions for his wife.
Kelsey asked if he knew anything of Anna’s family or background.
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’ Peake removed his gold-rimmed spectacles and polished them on a snowy handkerchief. ‘She would never talk about her family – except to say that she no longer had anything to do with any of them. I tried to bring the matter up more than once but it upset her so much I thought it best to let it go – for the time being, at any rate.’
He gave Kelsey a direct look. ‘She never confided in me about any personal matter. She hadn’t come here in order to confide in me, she made that very plain. What she wanted was medication to deal with the symptoms that were troubling her.’ He put his spectacles on again.
‘I’m pretty sure from her reaction that it was the break with her family, and whatever had caused the break, that lay behind her anxiety and depression.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Of course the attempt to push the whole thing down below the level of conscious thought is counterproductive. It tends to blow the matter up out of all proportion. In the end it can start blotting out everything else.’
He looked reflective. ‘I did suggest psychiatric help but she rejected that out of hand. I particularly thought hypnosis might be useful. I’ve seen excellent results where the patient has been trying to suppress the past, wouldn’t open up, wouldn’t respond to direct questioning.’
‘It would be something from her childhood that Anna was suppressing?’
‘Not necessarily. It might very well have been, but it could also have been something much more recent – or possibly a combination of the two. That’s not uncommon, a disturbed childhood with later anxieties on top of it. In those cases the habit of suppression seems to be formed in childhood, it’s resorted to again, later on, whenever anything traumatic takes place.’ He waved a hand. ‘As she wouldn’t confide in me, all I can do now is make guesses.’
‘How would you describe her personality?’ Kelsey asked.
Peake put the tips of his fingers together. ‘Average intelligence,’ he said judicially. ‘A naïve girl, immature for her age. Over-dependent, always ready to latch on to someone stronger, someone willing to take responsibility for her. A strong craving for security, for love and affection.’
He pursed his lips. ‘It all ties in with this business of suppression, it’s all part of the inability to face unpleasant facts, do something constructive about them, or at any rate, come to terms with them. The attempt to keep pushing them down out of the conscious mind prevents the personality developing, maturing. It interferes with normal healthy growth, emotional and psychological.’
He inclined his head. ‘It doesn’t help the learning process, either. With a youngster of school age you tend to get a pattern of unsatisfactory school reports, general lack of interest, poor concentration, inability to make friends. And there’s often a history of being bullied.’
He had last seen Anna ten days ago when he had called in at Ferndale in passing, one morning. He had found Anna busy with household chores. She told him she felt a good deal better and was looking forward to her holiday. He was very pleased with her progress; she appeared much improved, calmer and more cheerful. No, he had never at any time considered her a suicide risk; there had never been the slightest hint of it. He had always been struck by her great determination to get well.
He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s easy to be wise after the event. I believe now she was nowhere near as calm and cheerful as she made out, she was doing her best to put a good face on things. I believe she was terrified of going off alone on the cruise, even more terrified that she might have to face a psychiatrist if she came back from her holiday no better. I believe she was struggling very hard to master her fears, to force herself to do everything I had advised, everything her husband was encouraging her to do. She was determined not to let either of us down.’
He put a hand up to his face. ‘It was entirely my idea, sending her off on a cruise. I persuaded poor Conway it would be money well spent.’ He looked old and weary. ‘It was all done with the best will in the world – and with this appalling result.’
He closed his eyes briefly. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, the crippling blow it must be for her husband. She thought the world of him and he was devoted to her. I don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t have done for her.’
He looked across at Kelsey. ‘Men can get very critical of nervy wives, very short and snappy with them, downright abusive, sometimes. Some men walk out altogether. There was never anything like that with Conway, he