There was a stunned silence. Angela was to clearly remember it later. They could have been in a soundproof room. There were no sounds of cars from the road outside, no birds, no planes going over. It was as though every person present had been turned briefly to stone.
A gasp of disbelief and shock from Stephen broke the spell. Angela kept her gaze fixed firmly on Stewart. She saw the colour drain from his face. A look of horror and fear came into his eyes.
“You were witnessed withdrawing insulin from the cartridges in her home and replacing it with plain water; this led directly to the hypoglycaemic coma which caused her death.”
“Bitch!”
“You don’t have to say anything,” continued Angela calmly, “but it may harm your defence if you don’t mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
There was a strangled sob from Stephen. “Aunt Margaret – Stewart?” He moved towards his son but it seemed his legs wouldn’t carry him. Stewart started to lunge at Angela but quick movements from Rick and Jim on either side checked him.
“Biiitch!” His face was a mixture of fury and anguish as he struggled against the grasp of the two officers.
Now, thought Angela to herself. Now, or it might be too late. Go on, risk it, you silly woman. “And the insulin you’d taken – Petar Belic,” she said simply, almost as an afterthought.
“I had to, you stupid cow!” Stewart, so caught up in his own overwhelming emotions, took the bait without thinking. He spat the words out at her. “He was going to ruin everything. He thought he could stop me. Me! Who did he think he was?”
Angela was aware of feeling both anger and elation; she couldn’t have said which emotion was the stronger. I’ll tell you who, you bastard, she thought. He was ten times the man you’ll ever be, and you killed him.
“Stewart, I don’t think…” In spite of what he was hearing, Stephen retained enough sense to realize the implication of Stewart’s words and tried to caution him.
“Too late,” Angela muttered, but Stephen Bickerstaff didn’t seem to hear her. He gazed with horror and disbelief at his son. He opened his mouth again and tried to speak. This time, no words came out.
Angela nodded at Jim and Rick and they edged the still-protesting Stewart away. Stephen was left, standing forlorn. He raised unseeing eyes towards Angela and Stanway.
“Aunt Margaret – I don’t… I can’t…” He shook his head in bewilderment. After a moment, he took a deep breath that was more like a sob. “Of course,” he said, his voice unsteady, “we’ll get him the very best representation.”
Angela nodded. “Yes, Mr Bickerstaff.”
Stephen stared around him. He seemed to have aged ten years in the previous few minutes. He shook his head again. “Aunt Margaret… I don’t understand. She doted on him. We’ve always done our best for him. We always gave him everything. I don’t under… I must find Julia.”
He finally found enough strength in his legs to move and he disappeared in the direction he had come.
Angela let out a huge sigh of relief. Then suddenly she felt weak. A supporting arm came round her back, helping her to stay upright. She turned her head and found herself gazing into the sympathetic face of Stanway.
“Well done, Angie,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Nice little rider that, at the end. Just the mention of Petar’s name, no accusation.”
“Yes, sir. Well, as far as Petar’s murder goes, he was right. We had no evidence.”
“Indeed, indeed. We don’t need it now, do we?”
“No, sir.”
There was a brief silence and then Stanway spoke. “Well, you might as well get off home now. We have a lot of paperwork waiting for us tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir. Goodnight, sir.” Angela moved away. It seemed so strange, after all the emotion and tension; she’d just arrested a murderer and now she was going home after a day at work. Job done, she thought.
“OK,” said Patrick, the following Sunday afternoon. “Let’s get this open before the match begins.” There was a gentle pop as its cork finally left the champagne bottle. “Oh, very nice,” he said, as he poured the golden stream into the two glasses Angela was holding out to him.
“So,” he said, relaxing back on the sofa. “He ended up accusing himself out of his own mouth.”
“Hmm, he blurted it out without thinking. It’s funny, you know; we’re all aware that criminals often forget some small detail and that’s what nails them in the end. But in this case, it was me that overlooked something.”
“What was that?”
“When Gracie and I had a sandwich together the first time, and she was telling me about Great-aunt Margaret. She said it would be most unusual for a person to be as old as Margaret Bickerstaff without having some sort of chronic condition and I didn’t pick up on it. It didn’t occur to me that she could have insulin-dependent diabetes.”
Patrick smiled at her. “So you’re not superwoman, you’re just a regular cop.”
Angela grinned and joined him on the sofa. “Mind you, I still would have had the same problem of linking the facts to Petar’s death.”
“Yes, indeed. What Gracie witnessed turned out to be the linchpin of the whole case. You don’t think she’ll retract her evidence – family solidarity and all that?”
“Oh no. She saw what she saw and there isn’t any doubt about it. It’s true that she’s not happy to be giving evidence against a member of her own family. It’s all very distasteful to her; a case of what she was brought up to call washing your dirty linen in public. But then, Margaret Bickerstaff was family too. And Gracie also has a very deep regard for the truth. And, of course, there’s the business of the will.”
“Yes, run that by me again. You were getting so excited, talking about sending the team off to collect what was left of the insulin cartridges and gather fingerprint evidence, that I think I missed it first time round.”
“Well, from what I gather that’s what triggered everything in the end – the solution, I mean. Gracie and Edith were having a glass of sherry at Edith’s place. Gracie was bringing Edith up to speed with all that had been going on while Edith had been in Australia. Edith was commiserating with her about the new will and saying what a rotten trick etcetera. Edith has no high regard for Stewart and didn’t mince her words whenever she mentioned him, apparently. She talked about how she had watched him worming his way into the old lady’s affections for a long while, fetching and carrying. She had no doubt it was all to curry favour.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, so then Gracie said, ‘Oh, he’s even helping her out with her injections now,’ and Edith’s ears immediately pricked up. She’s right, Gracie seems to have led a sheltered life. The thing is that Margaret was completely compos mentis, had been dealing with her own injections for years and didn’t need any help.”
“Surely Gracie knew that.”
“Oh yes, Gracie wasn’t so naïve that she thought Stewart was actually giving the injection. She’d seen him handling the insulin cartridges, though, and simply thought that he was tidying them up or putting them in the place where Margaret kept the next one that would be needed.”
“Ah.”
“But, of course, Edith, just back from Australia, was hearing all about the death of Margaret and the death by insulin of Petar Belic all in the same information chunk, as it were.”
“I see, so she immediately joined up the dots.”
“Well, to be fair, even she didn’t like to make the ultimate leap at first. She hesitated to think Stewart would stoop so low but she was alerted enough to make Gracie go very carefully through what she had seen. And what Gracie told her didn’t leave a lot of room for doubt.”
“Well, Stewart might have found an argument to explain it, I suppose, but you said Derek and Leanne found cartridges still there that had been tampered with and were full of water.”
“Absolutely, and he very kindly left us fingerprints. And what with Gracie’s evidence…”
“Oh,” said Patrick, slapping his head. “I’m being a bit slow. I was just about to say, ‘So where does the will come in?’ when I realized – of course. If Stewart is found guilty of Margaret’s murder, that invalidates the will naming him as beneficiary and the previous will is the one that goes to probate.”
“Yes. So Gracie’ll get her little flat near her friend and a pension after all.”
“Well done, Inspector – and your team, of course,” he added quickly as he saw her open her mouth to speak. “But I still say you found out the pivotal information because you’re talk-to-able.”
Angela smiled. Patrick put down his glass and moved closer to her.
“You’re very something-else-able as well,” he said. Their kiss lingered until their attention was drawn to the television screen by the sound of cheering which announced the arrival on court of the Wimbledon men finalists.
“Do you know anything about these two players?” asked Patrick.
“Not a thing, but I reckon the Slovakian must still be knackered after that five-setter with Philip, so my money’s on the Argentinian.”
“Yeah, shame Philip didn’t quite make the final, but it was so close that things bode well for the future.”
“They certainly do,” agreed Angela. Just at that moment, the camera, panning round to find famous faces in the crowd, had located one.
There’s Tessa Riordan, said the voice of the commentator. Fresh from her victory in the ladies’ final yesterday.
“My goodness,” said Patrick. “It was a victory and a half, wasn’t it? She blasted Candy off court.”
“Not half,” agreed Angela. “But I think Candy’s mind might not have been wholly on her game. She’s been trying to disassociate herself from Stewart ever since he was arrested. I even saw in one of the papers this morning that she’s quoted as saying that they were already drifting apart and she was beginning to think that he ought to sort out his relationship with Joanna and take responsibility for his child.”
“Ha! The words ‘rats’ and ‘sinking ship’ come to mind.”
“Don’t they just.” Angela sipped at her champagne and wondered idly if Stewart would be able to watch the match in the remand centre where he was being held. She even felt a stab of sympathy, but a picture of Petar Belic lying dead flashed into her mind and it passed.
The cameras panned back to Tessa to show that Philip Turnbull was sitting beside her. The commentator continued, I’m sure Tessa Riordan must be looking forward to the ball tonight. While it’s certain that she’ll dance once or twice with today’s winner, there can’t be any doubt that her escort will actually be Philip Turnbull. What an impressive fight he put up in that semi-final match. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the champion next year. It’s entirely possible.