“Drunk?” repeated Angela, although she’d heard perfectly clearly.
“Reeling,” Doug asserted, nodding his head. “I marked him in the book to show that he was there, like, for Health and Safety. Then I got worried when he didn’t come back, but by then my back was playing up something awful and I didn’t have any painkillers with me; I’d left them at home.”
“Did you tell the person who came to cover you that Petar was in the club somewhere?”
Once again Doug found something absorbing to study in his beer, the level of which, Angela noticed, hadn’t moved since she’d arrived. “Well, no, they’d see it from the book, wouldn’t they?” After a moment, Doug’s slightly defiant eyes met Angela’s. “One or two of those blokes over at the club – well, they’re always on the lookout for a bit of news or scandal. They can be a bit star-struck; the bigger the name the more they’re interested. Gets on my nerves, it does. If I’d said that Petar Belic was sleeping off a bender somewhere about the premises, we’d have had him all over the front pages of the tabloids before you could blink.”
Angela stared, speechless, at him before finding her tongue. “You didn’t want to tarnish his reputation?” she said eventually.
Doug’s expression became distinctly sheepish. “Well… He never did me no harm, old Pete. And the club doesn’t need that kind of publicity, does it? Specially not on the first day of the tournament. I’ve had a decent living out of them for a good few years now.”
Angela didn’t know whether to go over and give the man a hug for his loyalty or a tongue-lashing for withholding vital information.
Doug grinned. “There are security guards and there are security guards.”
Angela chuckled at the momentary rapport between them. She stayed with him for another ten minutes, double-checking people coming into the club before, after or with Petar, but she got nothing new. However, Doug’s information meant that the time of death could now be narrowed down.
Petar had still been alive at one o’clock in the morning. Nobody had mentioned him drinking too much in the restaurant and Angela felt pretty certain it wouldn’t have gone unremarked. They would check it out, of course, but in all probability he’d left Le Grand Accueil sober.
Doug’s testimony had him reeling drunkenly through the gates of Wimbledon two hours later. So where had he gone to drink? And, more importantly, had he been alone?
Angela tapped her ballpoint against her teeth. Danny Moore had admitted to dining in a nearby restaurant until about midnight and this had been verified by the waiter who had served him. What if he didn’t go straight home? Jim and Rick had spoken to the waiter but maybe another trip was indicated.
She put away her notebook and took her leave, smiling pleasantly in the face of Connie Travers’ obvious relief at her departure. Now that she’d spoken with Doug, she understood. Connie’s hostility was specific to the events of last Sunday. The tiny, fierce protector must have feared for Doug’s job once the details of his oversight came out. Worse, he could have become an accessory to the crime. Angela felt nothing but sympathy for the woman. She hoped the cordial visit had set her mind at rest. She was sure that when she sent Leanne and Derek round on Monday to take an official statement they wouldn’t experience the same frosty reception.
The question of Petar Belic’s drunkenness occupied her mind all the way back to the club. She wanted a quick peek at the signing-in book for the night of the murder. She was also hoping to find out which guard had replaced Doug.
Deciding first to get a sandwich, she went to the cafeteria. Amazingly, in almost a replay of her previous visit here, she found herself standing near Gracie in the queue.
“Hi, Gracie, how are things?” began Angela, but even as she spoke she could see that all was not well with the other woman. Gracie’s previous jauntiness had disappeared and, when she turned towards her, Angela was shocked by the change in her expression. Where there had been ebullience there was only now a downturned mouth in a pale face and sorrowful, lacklustre eyes. However, Gracie came from the generation that tried to put a good face on things, and attempted a smile.
“Oh, hello, Inspector,” she said and paused.
“Gracie?” asked Angela in a concerned voice. “Are you all right?”
Gracie nodded and had another brave stab at a smile. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Inspect…” She stopped, looked Angela firmly in the face and apparently decided to junk nearly seventy years of social training. “No, I’m not. I’m not all right at all, Inspector,” she said, her eyes filling up with tears.
Mentally, Angela postponed her plans. She couldn’t leave this woman in her distress. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. She looked around the crowded cafeteria. Gracie would be mortified to be the centre of attention. “The police have a private room here; we can use that, if you like.”
Gracie looked like a drowning woman who’d just been thrown a lifebelt. “Oh, please, Inspector. Edith’s still away,” she explained through tears that were now rolling down her cheeks, “and I haven’t been able to talk about it to anybody.”
Angela remembered that Edith was Gracie’s lifelong friend and that she was hoping to buy a flat near her, to enjoy her long-awaited retirement.
“Okey-dokey,” said Angela, falsely cheerful. “Let’s just pay for our food and get out of this crush.”
Once in the room, Angela allowed a little time for Gracie to wipe her eyes and compose herself.
“You’re very kind, Inspector.”
Angela smiled encouragingly at her. “Please call me Angela.”
“Angela – what a lovely name. I suppose you’ll think me a silly old woman.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” replied Angela in a robust tone. “I don’t think for one moment you’d get upset for no reason.”
Thus encouraged, Gracie continued. “It’s the will, you see.”
“The will?”
“Yes, my cousin Margaret’s will. Margaret, Stewart’s great-aunt.”
“Oh, that will!” said Angela. “Yes, you were telling me the other day that she had made provision for you, hadn’t she?”
“Yes, well, she had. She had it drawn up a couple of years ago and showed it to me. ‘Just to reassure you, Gracie,’ she said. ‘You see, I’ve made it clear that you’re to have enough for your own place and a pension.’ Well…” Tears began to roll down Gracie’s face once more. “It seems she made another will about six months ago.”
“Oh dear,” responded Angela, anticipating what was to come. “And is there no provision for you this time?”
“Oh, Margaret has made provision for me – she would never forget me – but it’s not specific. Stewart is instructed to make sure that I’m ‘looked after’ but the whole estate goes to him.”
“Ah… but surely he’ll honour your cousin’s wishes? I expect he knows about the previous will and about your hopes for your own place, doesn’t he?” Even as she spoke Angela realized that things weren’t going to be as simple as they seemed.
“Oh, he knows, you can be sure of that, but he’s been discussing it with his parents and they’re interpreting the provision for me according to their own convenience.”
“What does that mean?”
Gracie looked bleakly into Angela’s eyes. “Stephen and Julia live in a large house. They’re going to make a couple of rooms into a self-contained granny flat for me.”
“Ah,” replied Angela, trying to keep a note of puzzlement out of her voice. “That won’t be so bad, will it?”
“You don’t know them like I do, Inspector. I’m going to end up as the unpaid help. It’ll start off nice and gently – ‘Oh, I’m a bit busy this morning, Gracie, would you be a sweetie and run the vacuum over the living room carpet for me?’” she mimicked.
“Ah,” said Angela.
“Before I know where I am, I’ll have a set list of jobs to do and they’ll tell their friends at their dinner parties, to which I shall never be invited, that they’re giving me a sense that I’m still useful and wanted, because old people can become very depressed at the thought that they no longer have a useful function in life.”
“It sounds a bit grim,” admitted Angela.
Gracie’s face was pale. “I’m trapped, Inspector,” she said.
“Surely, though,” added Angela, trying to find a silver lining in this cloud, “you’ll still be able to get out and visit your friend Edith, won’t you?”
“Oh, it’s not going to be nearly so easy to get over to see her. And I’m certain she won’t be able to stay with me. Julia will always have some excuse as to why it’s not convenient. Edith was a frequent and very welcome visitor to Margaret’s house, and the three of us had such jolly times together. I don’t know what Edith’s going to say when I tell her.”
Gracie’s tears were rolling freely down her cheeks again. Angela felt very sorry for her but, apart from showing sympathy, knew there was nothing she could do. A will was a legal document, after all, and she had no doubt that this one was watertight. Gracie’s story cast a not very flattering light on the Bickerstaffs, however. Given what she already knew of Stewart, Angela was fast coming to the conclusion that they were a very unpleasant bunch of people, and anyone facing the prospect of living under the same roof as them deserved a great deal of sympathy.
She had no doubt that the late cousin Margaret had indeed doted on Stewart. It was also quite possible that Stewart’s frequent visits and the assiduous attention he paid his great-aunt had some influence in the drawing up of the latest will. But unfortunately, it didn’t sound as though anybody could do anything about it.
Angela made them both a cup of coffee and listened to more stories of happier times with Edith and Margaret. After about an hour, seeming much more composed than when she had arrived, Gracie left, thanking Angela profusely for her kindness.
Discovering that Doug’s replacement on his night shift wasn’t on duty that day, Angela decided she shouldn’t be either, and went out to where her car was parked.
Three hours later she was gazing with unconcealed affection across the dining room table at Patrick, as he tucked appreciatively into a sole bonne femme she had just prepared.
“Drunk?” he said, unconsciously repeating the words she used that very morning to Doug Travers.
“Yes, which ties up with the staggering on the CCTV shot. It’s very odd because at no point in the investigation so far has anybody said anything about him drinking a great deal in the restaurant. That’s the trouble; we’ve got a black hole here. We’ve still got that gap between him leaving the restaurant and being found. In theory he could have gone somewhere, or even gone home, and got legless.” Angela frowned in frustration. “That doesn’t seem to fit in with the picture I have of him, though.” She looked up to find Patrick grinning at her. “What?” she asked.
“You’re right. It doesn’t tie up with what you know of him. I think the chances are that he was stone cold sober.”
Angela’s eyebrows shot up into her forehead. “What? But he was staggering, drunk as a skunk. Why would Doug lie?”
“I don’t suppose he did,” replied Patrick, smiling.
Angela narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you playing at, Paddy? There’ll be no dessert until you tell me.”
“Oo-er,” he laughed. “It’s very simple. I don’t know from which case I picked up this snippet, but the fact is that if somebody receives an overdose of insulin they’ll reel about and get woozy, exactly as if they were drunk.”
“Oh wow! Doctor Costello, you’re a star.”
“I do my best.”
Angela narrowed her eyes as she thought through the implications. “I wonder if it’s possible to speak to a doctor today.”
Patrick feigned a hurt look. “You don’t trust my medical expertise?”
“Idiot,” she smiled back at him. “OK then, how long after the injection would this woozy state last?”
“Ah, there you have me.” He grinned. “OK, I give up. You need to talk to a proper doctor to get the full information. As it happens…”
“Yes?”
“The pathologist on the case and I have played our share of squash together and I’ve got his mobile number. I might just reveal it to you, if you’re nice to me.”
Angela bunched her fists. “I’ll throw you to the ground and wrestle your phone off you.”
“Oh, result! I didn’t realize you’d be that nice. I tell you what. I’ll give you the number if you promise to throw me to the ground and wrestle with me anyway.”
“You’re on,” laughed Angela. “Of course, this means…”
“That the insulin was administered outside the club and he then staggered in. You’re absolutely right. This dessert – is it that chocolate mousse I saw you putting in the fridge earlier?”
“Yes.” She beamed at him. “Take a double helping, darling.”