Detective Inspector Bayles sat behind his desk, looking cosy and avuncular, but also dubious. ‘I agree, it could mean that. But it’s not what you’d call hard evidence. If we actually had the container which the meal was in …’
Yes, all right. Rub it in. I was never going to be allowed to forget my destruction of the evidence.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I don’t know how much longer we can put resources into this investigation.’
‘You mean you’re closing the case?’ I was appalled. In most of the crime series I saw on television, the police were relentlessly tenacious. A setback in a case served only as an invitation to redouble their efforts to nail the criminal.
‘Everything takes time,’ he explained. ‘Time means man-hours in a force that’s already stretched almost to breaking point. So, we have to prioritize. And the death of one elderly man … which might have been murder … well, the investigation could take a long time and come up with nothing.’
‘“Might have been murder”,’ I echoed. ‘You seemed convinced it was murder when we last spoke.’
‘Ellen, Ellen,’ he said wearily. ‘We in the police are not in the habit of abandoning investigations at the drop of a hat. Things stay on file. Cold cases do get revived – if they didn’t, half of the output of television crime series wouldn’t exist. But, as I say, it’s a matter of resources. Also, the likelihood of getting a conviction. And I tell you, the Crown Prosecution Service would not recommend pressing charges on the basis of what you’ve shown me from that laptop. A baby barrister still in pupillage could tear the prosecution case apart in no time.
‘I’m sorry, Ellen. What you’re telling me may well be right. You may have fingered the murderer of Cedric Waites. But the chances of getting a conviction are so infinitesimal as to be invisible. So, I will effectively be closing the investigation … unless you can provide me with more solid evidence for the accusation you’re making.’
It was displacement activity, really. Sooner or later, I had to contact Tim Goodrich. The man I had so nearly gone to bed with. The man who had inherited half of Cedric Waites’s estate.
But there was something else that needed doing. It was late afternoon. Still time to perform a necessary good deed.
The walk from West Stoke car park seemed to take longer this time. I felt a bit light-headed. I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. And the information I had received about Tim Goodrich had unsettled me a great deal.
There was a ranger at the entrance to Kingley Vale. ‘Sorry, madam,’ he said. ‘Not letting anyone else in today. Come back tomorrow, by all means.’
‘I’ve come to fetch someone who’s hiding in the woods.’
The man chuckled. ‘No one can hide in here. We check over every square inch of the place. Oh, people try it on. Travellers, would-be campers, people setting up illegal barbecues. We flush them all out.’
‘There is someone in here. I can lead you to them.’
The ranger looked dubious. Then, he conceded, ‘All right. But I bet we don’t find anyone.’
He called out to a colleague to watch the entrance, and we set off.
It said a lot for Dodge’s woodcraft skills that he had evaded the rangers’ vigilance for so long. Even when we were right beside the copse he had hidden in, there was no sign of habitation. He’d made a burrow covered with yew branches. If I hadn’t known him to be there, I would have moved on to look elsewhere.
I called gently to him. ‘Dodge, it’s Ellen. It’s all right. The police are not pursuing the case any more.’
That shook the ranger. ‘Is he wanted by the police?’
‘No, it’s a misunderstanding. Dodge, come out,’ I said, very softly.
And he did. There was a considerable rustling of grass and twigs, then the tall, dishevelled figure appeared.
‘How long have you been there?’ asked the aggrieved ranger.
Dodge started. He’d expected me to be on my own.
‘Don’t worry,’ I soothed. ‘You can go home now. The police are no longer looking for anyone.’
As we walked back to the entrance, the ranger talked grumpily about trespass, but he didn’t suggest any further action being taken. I think he was divided between annoyance and admiration for Dodge’s concealment skills.
Back in the Yeti, I told Dodge I was worried he might have done a runner again when he saw me.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You told me the police had closed the case.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And I knew you wouldn’t lie.’
Dodge didn’t say anything after that, just a mumbled ‘Thank you’, when I deposited him at his place.
‘Your van, incidentally,’ I said, ‘is no longer in Portsmouth.’
A moment of alarm. ‘Have the police got it?’
‘No. Ben’s got it.’
‘Ah.’
‘We’ll get it back to you as soon as we can.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Well, see you soon.’
‘Ellen …’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d never have put oleander by mistake into anything I cooked for Cedric.’
‘I know, Dodge. And I can assure you that, whoever did put it in the meal, they did so very definitely on purpose.’
What I now knew about Tim Goodrich made calling him easier rather than more difficult. I had no emotional anxiety about his response. I just felt huge relief not to have got closer to him than I had.
He answered the phone immediately. He must have put my number into his address book because he knew immediately it was me.
‘Very nice to hear you, Ellen,’ he oozed. ‘Sorry our last encounter got rather … nipped in the bud. I hope things were all right at home. And I hope you’re ringing to ask whether we can pick up where we left off.’
‘No,’ I said flatly. ‘That’s not why I’m ringing. Are you still in Chichester?’
‘I am, actually. Staying at least till tomorrow afternoon. Roy and Michelle are coming down. They insist on having a meeting with me and Vi Spelling.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘I think there’s a good chance they want to contest Cedric’s will. Claim he wasn’t in his right mind when he drew it up, something like that. Maybe appeal to our better natures, see if Vi and I are prepared to agree some compromise with them.’
‘And is that likely to happen?’
‘Good God, no. I don’t have a better nature.’
It was said as a joke, and I might have found it funny before I read the diary. I didn’t pass any comment, just asked, ‘Where will you be meeting them?’
‘At the house. Seacrest Avenue. Handy for Vi. Eleven o’clock.’
‘I’ll be there,’ I said. ‘I’ve still got a key.’
‘Oh. Very well. I can’t stop you. So … I’m going to be in Chichester this evening. You’re going to be in Chichester this evening. Maybe we could pick up where—’
‘No,’ I said.
In fact, that evening Ben drove the Commer van back to Dodge’s and I followed in the Yeti to bring him back.
Dodge was grateful but still subdued. He didn’t invite us in for nettle tea.
I was worried about the effect his recent trauma had had on him.
Mind you, I could say the same about Ben.
And Jools, come to that.
But I was more worried about what was going to happen the next morning.
It was a long time since there had been so many people in the front room of 14 Seacrest Avenue. Jools and I had moved the furniture out into the hall ready for disposal at various charities, but by the time I arrived two armchairs had been moved back in. Vi Spelling and Michelle Waites were sitting in them. I was reminded that there are very few people whom pink hair suits. Roy and Tim were perched on piled-up boxes of books. The atmosphere was not relaxed.
Michelle looked up at my arrival. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I have an interest in what went on,’ I replied, sounding cooler than I felt. ‘And you may recall, you did employ me to clear the house.’
‘Yes, but when I employed you, I thought the house would belong to Roy and me. If you think I’m going to pay for your services in a house that doesn’t belong to me, then think again.’
‘Don’t worry, Ellen,’ said Tim. ‘I’ll see you get paid.’
‘Fine,’ said Michelle, still seething. ‘I never realized the old fool would make such a stupid will. He must have been demented. Surely you can challenge a will if it’s made by someone not in their right mind?’
‘You can,’ said Tim, ‘but, according to the solicitors, Cedric was very definitely in his right mind when he made the will.’
‘I’m sure he really meant everything to go to Roy and me,’ Michelle pleaded.
‘The terms of his will,’ Tim pointed out, ‘would suggest the exact opposite. Rather than going to you, he preferred that his estate should be divided between two people he didn’t know very well but who had shown him kindness. Something which,’ he added with considerable edge, ‘according to Cedric, you and Roy never did.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Michelle protested. ‘We offered him kindness and he rejected it. After Flick’s funeral, I sent meals for him to freeze and …’ She stopped herself.
‘Did you?’ asked Tim. ‘So, we have three people in this room, all of whom cooked meals for Cedric. Interesting. All suspects, you might say. I’m the only one,’ he added smugly, ‘who isn’t a suspect. I never cooked anything for Cedric Waites.’
‘Well, I cooked for him,’ said Vi Spelling, ‘and I know there was never anything poisonous in anything I cooked. Because I always ate the same things, just did an extra portion for Cedric. And I’m still here. If one of my meals done for him, then it must have been because he didn’t freeze it properly and he got that bottleism.’
‘Botulism,’ Tim corrected her. ‘Except that Cedric wasn’t killed by botulism. He was poisoned by oleander.’
‘Well, it wasn’t in anything I give him,’ said Vi definitively. She turned a fierce gaze on Michelle. ‘And if you think I’m going to give up what Cedric left me in his will, think again. I’m not saying I wasn’t surprised, but if that’s what he wanted to do, then that’s up to him. I respect his wishes.’
Feeling the eyes of Roy and Michelle on him, Tim said, ‘I feel exactly the same as Vi. I’m not going to raise the issue of deserving. I’m sure I don’t deserve what Cedric left me. But it was his decision and I, like Vi, will respect his wishes.’
Time for a change of subject. I announced, ‘I saw Detective Inspector Bayles yesterday. He told me the police are giving up the investigation into Cedric’s death.’
The relief this brought to Roy and Michelle was palpable. ‘It was always pointless,’ he said. ‘No one deliberately poisoned Dad.’
‘Of course they didn’t,’ Michelle agreed.
‘The inspector told me,’ I said, ‘that the case would go on file and only be revived if there was evidence of the crime strong enough to stand up in court.’
‘Which there never will be,’ said Michelle. ‘Pity the container from which he took his final meal was never found.’
Was that a deliberate shot at me? I couldn’t be sure. How could she have known that I had taken the containers to the dump?
Time to throw petrol on the dying fire. ‘Did you know,’ I asked, ‘that Cedric kept a diary?’
‘No,’ said Michelle.
‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ said Roy.
‘Oh, he did. On his laptop.’
‘He didn’t have a laptop.’
‘Oh, he did,’ I said again. ‘My daughter found it when she was helping with the clearance here. And,’ I went on, ‘in his diary he had interesting things to say about all three of you.’
‘Me too?’ asked Tim, surprised and a little taken aback.
‘Yes, he had a lot to say about you.’ I let a silence elapse before I said, ‘And, in the diary’s final entry, Cedric said what he ate for his last meal.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t!’ Roy burst out.
‘Oh, he did. Every day he detailed what he’d had for supper. And his … “last supper”, shall we call it … was a vegetarian meal.’
‘Then I didn’t cook it,’ said Vi. ‘Vegetables are meant to go with things, not be meals in their own right.’
‘Michelle,’ I said, ‘you said you cooked some meals for Cedric after Flick’s funeral …?’
‘We’re talking eight years ago. And I never got any thanks from him, so I stopped sending them.’
‘Were any of those meals vegetarian?’
‘Possibly. I can’t remember.’
‘And do you grow oleander in your garden in Worcester?’
‘No,’ said Michelle defiantly.
‘Oh, now come on, love,’ came a gentle interpolation from her husband. ‘There’s no point in lying. You’ll just make people suspicious of you where there’s no cause. You have mentioned having oleander in the garden.’
‘What do you know about it? You do bugger all in the garden!’
‘Oh, that’s not fair. I do the mowing and the digging.’
‘But I do the artistic side of it. That’s all down to me.’
‘Yes, love. I’m not going to argue about that.’ He spoke as if he’d closed the subject, but then continued, ‘And it’s just silly to lie about us having oleander in the garden.’ He chuckled. ‘You remember, at one stage you talked about sending an oleander salad to your Enemy Number One, Bobbi.’
‘I didn’t.’
Roy, who seemed to find what he was telling amusing, explained for his audience, ‘Bobbi’s a particularly unpleasant academic who works at the same university we do – or I do and Michelle did. She organized things so that Michelle got sacked, though it’s gone to a tribunal and I’m confident that she’ll get her job back.’
‘You don’t know that,’ snapped Michelle.
‘As I say, I’m quietly confident, love. Anyway, I don’t need to tell you that Bobbi is not Flavour of the Month chez Waites. And Michelle, quite understandably, swore all kinds of revenges on her. One of which …’ he chuckled again, ‘was sending her an oleander salad!
‘Well, I knew how furious Michelle was, but I did tell her that that wasn’t the right way of going about things. Wait for the findings of the tribunal, I said, then everything’ll be sorted out.’
‘Like hell it will,’ said Michelle bitterly.
‘And,’ I asked, ‘did Michelle get as far as making the … “oleander salad”?’
‘She went through the motions,’ Roy replied.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘She got everything prepared on the kitchen work surface – the oleander, the other ingredients, a container to put the meal in.’
‘Didn’t you try to stop her?’ asked Tim.
Roy shook his head sagaciously. ‘Oh no, I know my wife too well for that. Even Michelle herself would admit she’s got a temper on her. Haven’t you, love?’ His wife did not respond. ‘Anyway, experience – painful experience at times – has taught me not to tackle Michelle at the height of her fury, but wait till she calms down. Then you can have a rational conversation with her. So, I waited till she’d finished the salad and packed it neatly in its plastic container – and then I told her why there was no way she could give it to Bobbi.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because …’ Roy beamed at his own cleverness ‘… unbeknownst to Michelle, I had filmed her making the salad on my phone!’
On a note of triumph, he continued, ‘And when Michelle realized I had evidence, she began to see the funny side. Yes, Bobbi was a cow who would get her comeuppance in time, but there was no need for Michelle to take risks in trying to get a private revenge. I think I manged the situation rather well,’ he concluded complacently.
‘So, what happened to the container with the salad in it?’ I asked.
Roy shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I assume Michelle binned it.’
‘And how long ago was this?’ asked Tim.
‘Few weeks back, month maybe.’ Roy turned to his wife. ‘I remember, it was a day before you went down to London for those lectures on gender dysphoria.’
‘That’s right,’ said Michelle dismissively. She rose from her chair. ‘The only reason we’re here this morning is to see whether you two …’ she cast accusatory looks at Tim and Vi ‘… would admit the invalidity of Cedric’s will. Since you clearly won’t, we may have to consult solicitors about the situation.’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ said Tim. ‘And you know it.’
‘We’ll see.’ Michelle Waites spoke with more bravado than logic. ‘Right, Roy, I think we should be on our way.’
‘Just a minute,’ I said. A memory was crystallizing in my mind. Of the time when I had first met Vi Spelling, when she had tapped on the Yeti’s window outside this very house. And how she’d ended our conversation that day. I reminded her of the occasion.
‘Yes, yes, I remember it,’ she said. ‘I’m not senile, you know.’
‘And back then, Vi,’ I went on, ‘you mentioned that you’d seen Michelle down here another time, since Flick’s funeral.’
‘I told you,’ said Michelle icily, ‘we stayed down here for a while afterwards.’
‘I’m talking about more recently.’
The pleading look I’d turned on Vi produced immediate results. ‘Oh yes, I remember. I seen her only a few weeks back.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ said Michelle, defying argument.
‘Comes back to me,’ Vi insisted. ‘Must’ve been a Tuesday or a Thursday … because I delivered a meal to Cedric’s back doorstep. And when I got there …’ she slowed down as she took in the implication of her words ‘… there was another food container already there … and what’s more, my fiver had gone.’
She faced Michelle. ‘You. You put it there.’
Cedric’s daughter-in-law looked around and saw no sympathy in any of the faces. ‘What if I did? I was only doing what Roy had told me to do.’
Her husband stared at her in shock. But his wife turned on him. ‘I told you it was a bad idea! He would have died soon enough, anyway. We only had to wait.’
‘Except, of course,’ Tim pointed out, ‘what you were waiting for never existed. Cedric had already decided you weren’t going to benefit at all from his estate.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said Michelle.
‘I would have thought it was very much the point,’ argued Tim. ‘If Roy asked you to deliver a poisoned meal to his father, we’re talking about murder.’
‘Maybe,’ Michelle grinned grimly. ‘But Ellen said the police have shelved the case.’
‘Until they get more solid evidence.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Tim, but they haven’t got more solid evidence.’
‘No, Michelle? You’ve just said that Roy told you to deliver the poisoned meal to his father.’
‘Coerced me more like. Anyway, whatever he did, it doesn’t change the situation.’
‘No?’
‘No. Because I would never testify against Roy. Which means that, so far as Detective Inspector Bayles’s investigation goes, things haven’t advanced at all. There’s no proof, only conjecture.’
There was a long silence. Then Roy Waites spoke. And he spoke with a vehemence I had never expected from him, a vehemence that implied painful years of saying nothing. ‘I can’t let this go on! Blaming me for planning the murder won’t wash. It was you, Michelle, all you!’
His wife was so taken aback by this sudden transformation of his character that she was momentarily lost for words. It didn’t matter. Roy had plenty.
‘You talked about doing it, but I never thought you would. Since Bobbi kicked you out of your job, you’ve been obsessed about money. You talked about “hurrying Dad on his way”, but I didn’t think you were serious. And all in the hope of winning a jackpot that didn’t exist.
‘Dad was ahead of the game, though. It wasn’t me he wanted to cut out of his will, it was you. He knew if I inherited anything, you would only take it from me. Just as you have taken so much else from my life.
‘It’s ironic, really, to see how I made exactly the same mistake as Dad. We both married women who were as cold as ice, women who were bright and cheerful with other people, reserving all their hatred for their husbands.
‘My parents went as far as having a child. How often I wish they hadn’t. But no, you ruled out that scenario, didn’t you, Michelle? At first, I was disappointed, but soon I became grateful that we didn’t have a child, someone who might suffer as I did when I was growing up. You can’t imagine the stress of living in a household where, if ever there was an outsider present, the parents would maintain a front of togetherness. And the instant they were alone, or alone with me, the shoutings and recriminations started. Not from Dad. He didn’t say much. No, all the bile came out of the mouth of the universally loved Flick.’ He put a lifetime of bitterness into the name.
‘Can you imagine what it was like to grow up in a household when you never saw your parents touch each other unless there was someone else present?
‘And to think I was fool enough to make exactly the same mistake. Maybe it’s just something that happens if you grow up seeing no evidence that a woman could ever be nice to a man? Was it some death wish that made me seek out a woman identical to my mother?’
‘I’m nothing like your mother!’ Michelle protested.
‘You are where it matters,’ Roy bellowed. ‘You are in your inability to love anyone but yourself!’
‘Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed venting your spleen,’ said Michelle, in the manner of someone calling a recalcitrant puppy to order. ‘We’ll talk about this further when we get home. When there are less people listening,’ she added pointedly.
‘I don’t think you’ll be going home for a while, Michelle,’ said Roy. ‘I think you may be having a rather uncomfortable interview with Detective Inspector Bayles.’
‘Nonsense! As Ellen has pointed out, whatever conjectures you care to spread about, there is still no solid evidence against anyone.’
‘Really?’ said her husband, suddenly icy cool. ‘I’m thinking you’re forgetting I still have on my phone the footage of you preparing the meal with the oleander in it.’
‘I don’t believe you!’
‘It’s true. And I made a note of it in my diary.’
‘Diary? You don’t keep a diary!’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I realized what a terrible mistake I’d made in marrying you. So let’s say … since our honeymoon.’
I was beginning to wonder how many more parallels there would be between father and son in this chronicle of misery.
‘The fact that you made a diary entry,’ Michelle spat out, ‘is still not solid proof.’
‘The phone footage might be more convincing, though,’ he said, ‘particularly when taken with Vi’s testimony that she saw you down here on the day an unexplained food container appeared on the back doorstep.’
‘But Roy …’ She was weeping now, hot tears of frustration. ‘You wouldn’t shop me to the police, would you?’
She moved towards him. He recoiled, as if from some venomous snake. ‘Yes, I would, Michelle. My mother tried to raise a barrier between me and my dad. You did exactly the same. But neither of you could change what I felt for him. And I’d certainly shop to the police anyone who killed the only person I ever loved.’
Michelle Waites was docile while I rang Detective Inspector Bayles. He sounded sceptical but sufficiently interested to want to see her. He offered to send a car but Roy said he’d drive her to the police station. I hoped to God that, on the short journey, she wouldn’t manage to reassert her iron control over him.
But I wasn’t really worried. Roy Waites had changed for life. I wonder if he too would become a recluse, living alone and not letting any outsider into the house in Worcester.
Their departure, of course, left me and Tim Goodrich alone in the sitting room,
‘What you read in Cedric’s diary,’ he said, ‘presumably referred to my reputation in Chichester as something of a ladies’ man …?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not trying to exonerate myself,’ he said. ‘I did behave pretty badly back then.’
‘Right.’
‘I have changed.’
I grinned ruefully. ‘Two things I’ve learnt. One, the obvious – women always think they can change men. And they can’t. Second – never believe a man who says he’s changed. Because he hasn’t.’
‘Fair enough. Harsh, but I suppose fair enough.’ He turned on me a look which, the previous week, would have melted my resistance. ‘My attraction to you is genuine. I’m not making it up.’
‘My attraction to you was genuine too.’
‘“Was”?’
‘Yes. Was.’
‘Hm.’ He seemed to take that on board. ‘I must get back to Oxford.’
‘Where there must be at least one avid graduate student waiting for you.’
‘That’d be telling,’ he said, with some of his old bravado. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way.’ He moved towards the door, then stopped. ‘I was thinking, Ellen, what broke up what was promising to be a pleasant evening on Saturday …’
‘Yes?’
‘… was an SOS from your son.’
‘Via my daughter, yes.’
‘Family’s always going to come first with you, Ellen.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right, Tim.’
‘And family still includes your late husband.’
I couldn’t deny it. He was right there too. Damn it.