Friday 25th November
Ronald Baker scowled ferociously at his wife. ‘Would you stop going on about it? I told you – there’s nothing we can do except wait. She’ll have to use the stuff eventually.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you . . .’ Flora ventured.
‘Of course I’m absolutely bloody sure. My brain’s not pickled like yours.’
‘But that’s . . .’ She counted on her fingers. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday . . . and now it’s Friday. Seven days, now.’
‘So?’
I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand any longer of it. I’ll go round the bend. I’ll drop down in a dead faint. I’ll . . .’
‘For Chrissake, stop babbling on about what you’d do. What about me?’ Ronald’s nerves were stretched to near snapping-point and, if his wife had been sober, his expression of sheer hatred would have effectively silenced her.
Flora registered only surprise at his anger. ‘What about you? You’re the one that’s needing her money for your precious business. You’re the one that thought you were clever enough . . .’
‘You’ll be very happy to use the money, though, when it comes to me,’ Ronald interrupted. ‘You’ll spend it like water, the same as you’ve always done with all our cash.’ He became heavily sarcastic. ‘What you spend it on, God only knows, for you’re never stylishly dressed like Barbara, and your hair never looks right, for all your visits to your expensive hair stylist.’
Most of Flora’s spare cash was spent on buying good-quality, sensible clothes, and on paying out a fortune to her hairdresser every week, but she was cut to the quick by this attack on her and burst into tears. ‘You’ve never wanted for anything, Ronald Baker,’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve always had three good meals a day, and you buy expensive suits, and . . .’
‘Stop that! I have to dress smartly to arrange business deals with customers.’ Ronald threw up his hands. ‘I can’t have an intelligent discussion with you these days without you turning on the waterworks. It’s the same thing, day in, day out.’
Not absolutely sure if she deserved this onslaught, Flora lapsed into offended silence.
Their resentful contemplation of each other was brought to an abrupt end by the jangle of the door bell, and the sight of Flora staggering to her feet made her husband snap. ‘I’ll go. You’re in no fit state.’
He stamped through the hall and flung open the door, to be taken very much aback when he found two serious-faced, uniformed policemen standing on the step.
‘Ronald Baker?’
‘Yes, you’d better come in.’ As he led them into the living room, his heart was beating madly now that the crucial moment had arrived, and his tongue felt several sizes too big for his mouth. ‘What can I do for you?’
The taller of the two constables consulted his notebook. ‘You are the nephew of Miss Janet Souter, of 2 Honeysuckle Cottages, Ashgrove Lane, Tollerton?’
‘That is correct.’ He suddenly realised that he should be showing some surprised concern, and added, ‘Nothing’s happened to her, I hope?’
‘I regret to have to inform you that, at seventeen forty, your aunt was found dead in her home.’
‘Oh.’ It came out as a sigh, and he hastily tried to call up some suitable emotion. ‘That’s bad news. Really terrible.’ He glanced at Flora, whose pallor could have been attributed to shock at the information, but Ronald’s guilty brain feared that the callers might suspect something.
When her mouth opened, he spoke quickly, before she could say anything. ‘You’ll have to excuse my wife, she was very fond of my old aunt. Can you tell me how it happened?’
‘We were given very little information, sir.’ The same policeman did the talking. ‘We received a telephone message at nineteen thirty – half past seven, sir – that she had been found in the kitchen of her cottage in Tollerton, and asking us to notify you and her other nephew, as her only known relatives. She had been dead since about midnight, we were told.’
‘It must have been a heart attack.’ Ronald’s face now bore an expression of deep sorrow. ‘She was looking very tired when we visited her last Saturday. It’s only to be expected at her age, of course, she was eighty-seven, but it’s so sudden. I’ll have to arrange the funeral, I suppose.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but the body won’t be released just yet. In all cases of sudden death, an autopsy has to be carried out to ascertain the exact cause.’
Flora moaned. ‘Oh God, Ronald. I told you . . .’
‘It’s all right, my dear.’ He dug his fingers into her arm in warning. ‘Don’t be upset about them having to do an autopsy. Aunt Janet won’t know anything about it, you know.’ He glanced at the policemen apologetically. ‘My wife’s highly strung, and this . . .’ He shrugged his shoulders, expressively.
‘Most people don’t like the idea, sir. If there’s nothing else, we’d better be on our way to notify the other nephew.’
‘Stephen? Oh, yes, of course. Before you go, Constable, I suppose it’s all right if we go to her house tomorrow, to sort out her things, and so forth?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but no one will be allowed in meantime. It’s the usual formality until the cause of death is established, but it should only be for a few days.’
‘I see. Thank you, and I’ll see you out.’
When the door closed behind them, Flora rose to her feet with an effort and went over to the table. She was standing looking in puzzled amazement from the empty decanter to her empty glass, when Ronald returned.
‘The brandy’s finished again.’
‘Haven’t you had enough, woman? You finished what we had yesterday, and I only bought one bottle of brandy today, so you must have drunk all that as well.’ But he couldn’t stay angry for long, not with the exciting anticipation of imminent wealth surging through him. ‘That’s it. She’s gone at last, and we’ll soon get our hands on all that lovely money.’
‘Yes, and no more trips to see dear old Auntie.’ She laughed, but her fuddled brain was aware that things weren’t as plain sailing as they seemed. ‘There’s something, Ronald . . . it’s not . . .’ It came to her sickeningly. ‘It’s this autopsy. I don’t like the idea of that.’
‘Listen, Flora.’ Ronald spoke patiently, as if to a child. ‘It’s just a formality, like sealing up her house.’
‘Yes, all right, if you say so.’ The empty brandy glass was deposited on the table, and she tottered over to her chair.
‘We’d better go over to see what Stephen and Barbara are saying about it. We’ll have to agree on funeral arrangements, and all that, but we’ll wait till they’ve had time to get over the shock.’
Flora nodded her head, lay back and closed her eyes.
‘You were a great help, I must say.’ Barbara Drummond glared at her husband. ‘Those two bobbies must have thought you were a complete halfwit.’
‘I couldn’t help it. It came as a shock, knowing she was actually dead.’ Stephen wiped his brow with his hand.
‘It shouldn’t have, seeing it’s what you’ve been hoping for. Honestly, Stephen. I thought you were going to pass out when they said she’d been found lying dead in her kitchen. What did you expect? That she’d die neatly in her bed?’
‘No, no, but it was still a shock.’
‘You left me to do all the talking. It’s a good thing I can keep my head in a crisis.’ Barbara’s sneering tone changed suddenly. ‘It’s just a matter of routine, this autopsy and the sealing up of the house. Only for a day or two, they said, then we’ll get in there and find the will before we contact her solicitor . . . For heaven’s sake, man, cheer up a bit. It’s all over now, and you should be happy about it. At least you managed to do something for yourself and didn’t leave it all to me.’
He gave a wan smile in return, but looked startled when the doorbell rang again, and made no move to answer it. Barbara screwed up her mouth before she went to find out who was calling, and was not altogether surprised to see Ronald and Flora.
‘Come in,’ she said, and stood aside to let them pass. She noticed that Flora’s gait was rather unsteady, and guessed that she’d been at the brandy, probably celebrating the old aunt’s demise. If there had been any liquor in her own house, she’d have been celebrating too.
‘What a shock about Aunt Janet.’ Ronald’s eyes had searched for a bottle of some kind before he remembered that Stephen hardly ever had any whisky in the house.
‘Yes, isn’t it awful?’ Stephen nodded his head several times. ‘I could hardly take it in when the police told us.’
‘All’s well that ends well,’ observed Flora cheerfully, then became flustered as she realised that she shouldn’t be saying anything like that at a time like this.
Ronald frowned. ‘Take no notice of Flora. She’s been tippling, I’m afraid.’
Lucky bitch, thought Barbara. The Bakers were rolling in it already, and now they’d be sharing the old bat’s money as well, when they didn’t really need it. She assumed a suitably sad expression. ‘It’s horrible to think she died there on her own.’
‘We’ll have to hope she didn’t suffer,’ Ronald said, equally sadly. ‘Now, Stephen, do you want to arrange the funeral?’
‘You’d better do it, I couldn’t face having to speak to any undertakers. But won’t we have to wait till the police release the body?’
‘We can have it all planned out anyway, and we’ll have to look through her papers for . . .’
‘They said nobody would be allowed in yet.’
‘I meant as soon as we can.’
Barbara butted in. ‘I’d think her solicitor would have her will, so he’ll be attending to that side of things.’
‘I suppose so.’ Ronald looked thoughtful. ‘You’ll have to tell him about the twenty thousand you got from her, Stephen, so everything can be fairly divided.’
‘Who told you about that?’ Barbara barked.
‘Janet told us herself, so you’ll have to come clean with Martin Spencer.’ Ronald gave a low laugh.
‘You greedy devil!’ Barbara burst out. ‘You don’t really need her money. You’ve got plenty already.’
‘That’s not the point.’ It was better not to mention his pressing need for capital, Ronald reflected. ‘Fair’s fair.’
‘He’s right, Barbara,’ Stephen said, quietly. ‘I’ll tell him about that loan, Ronald, so you won’t be done out of anything.’
‘Well, I like that!’ Barbara stopped at Stephen’s glare.
‘There’s no sense quarrelling about it,’ he said. ‘The old woman has just died of a heart attack, and we’re at each other’s throats already.’
‘She didn’t die of a heart attack.’ Flora’s voice rang out loud and clear.
Her husband gripped her arm. ‘Never mind what she’s saying. I told you, she’s drunk. Come on, Flora, it’s time to go.’
He shepherded her towards the door, turning as they reached it to say, ‘I’ll contact the undertaker in George Street in the morning, Stephen. I’ve heard he’s quite good, and quite reasonable. I’d better choose a fairly decent coffin, though, seeing she’s our last relative. We’ll leave the actual date open, but I suppose she’d want to be buried beside her father and mother?’
Stephen shrugged. ‘Whatever you think.’
‘No problem about expense, anyway. There’ll be plenty to give her a decent send-off. Cheerio, and I’ll let you know the arrangements.’
‘Hang on.’ Barbara held up her hand. ‘Flora, what did you mean when you said she didn’t die of a heart attack?’
‘Did I say that?’ Flora considered for a moment, then her hand flew to her mouth, and she glanced at her husband. ‘I’m sorry, Ronald, I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘Don’t say anything else, you’re absolutely pissed.’ He pushed her through the door. ‘She’s speaking rubbish, Barbara.’ He followed his wife out and closed the door.
‘That’s dashed funny. How could she know it wasn’t a heart attack? It floored me that they knew about the twenty thousand, but that . . . and you let them walk all over you.’ Barbara spat it out.
Stephen sighed. ‘The workings of Flora Baker’s mind, and yours, too, for that matter, have always been a closed book to me, and I’ve had to knuckle down to Ronald all my life. Now, don’t start any more arguments with me, Barbara. I’ve had enough of them – and your nagging.’
The astonishment on his wife’s face made him feel quite proud of the way he had stood up to her, and he realised, in a flash, that things had turned out very well for him after all. Once he received his aunt’s money, he meant to be master in his own house, and Barbara may as well start getting used to it now.
After having spent half the night with police from Thornkirk General Enquiry Department, Sergeant Black was feeling rather ragged. They’d searched Janet Souter’s cottage thoroughly, but had found nothing suspicious, apart from the bag of arsenic in her shed. They’d pounced on that, happily assuming that this had been used to murder the old woman, although Doctor Randall had been outraged at his word being doubted.
‘I know heart failure when I see it,’ he’d said indignantly, when he was called back to the cottage. ‘She didn’t die from the effects of poisoning, and that’s definite.’
‘Did she have a history of heart trouble, Doctor?’ Sergeant Watt of Thornkirk had looked at him questioningly.
‘No, she hadn’t, but it often happens like that. Nothing at all, then poof! A massive coronary. I’ve seen it before. Death by poisoning’s different altogether.’
Watt had smiled sarcastically. ‘If I’d a pound for every time a doctor’s been proved wrong, I could have retired a wealthy man long ago.’
James Randall had turned puce and picked up his bag. ‘I’m going home. I’ve got to get up early in the morning. I’ve my living patients to consider.’ Then he’d slammed out of the house and left Sergeant Watt looking uneasily at John Black.
The Grampian men had recorded everything they found, and had made a list of all the foodstuffs in the cottage before packing them in boxes and sending them off to Aberdeen to be tested for contamination, along with the little plastic bag from the shed. The public analyst would be delighted with all the extra work, the local sergeant had thought, wickedly, when he left them just after three in the morning.
Now it was half past six in the evening, and he was standing at his own front desk, half asleep, and thanking his lucky stars that the buck had been passed to somebody else.
He looked up as Sergeant Watt walked in. ‘Found anything?’
‘Not a damned thing!’ The Thornkirk sergeant sounded disgruntled. ‘You know, I’d have been quite happy to have found some proof that the old woman had been murdered so I could hand the whole thing over to Regional Headquarters. There’s something definitely fishy about this case.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ Black looked pleased.
‘It’s this story of Mrs . . . Wakeford’s that puzzles me. I can hardly believe that any woman in her right mind would do what she says the dead woman did. But maybe the old biddy wasn’t in her right mind?’
‘She never gave any indication that she wasn’t, but I’m beginning to wonder about it myself.’
‘Or maybe it’s Mrs Wakeford that’s got delusions?’ Watt sat down on the bench when Derek Paul handed him a mug of tea.
‘No, I think Mrs Wakeford’s telling the truth.’ John Black stepped back to let the constable deposit another mug on the counter in front of him. ‘What happens now?’
‘There’s really nothing we can do until we have the result of the post-mortem, but I left word for them to ring straight through to here. They’re taking a heck of a long time, though.’ Watt took a sip of tea, and willed the telephone to ring. ‘Maybe he has found something.’
It was only two minutes later that the telephone made them all jump up expectantly. ‘Tollerton Police. Sergeant Black speaking.’ He held out the receiver.
Sergeant Watt stood up. ‘Watt here . . . No traces? . . . What’s that?’ He listened for a few minutes. ‘Oh, so it’s definitely murder? Thanks.’ He laid the phone down. ‘Well, so that’s it!’
John Black waited, rather impatiently, for him to explain, but Watt sat down and took another gulp of tea first.
‘That was the pathologist. Apparently, the doctor at Thornkirk found no traces of arsenic in the body, but he did find the mark of a hypodermic needle on the back of the dead woman’s neck. So he sent her off to Aberdeen, with the details of the discovery of the body, etcetera, etcetera.’
‘So it wasn’t the arsenic?’ Black made a face. ‘Was our doctor right, then? Was it heart-failure?’ Randall would be cock-a-hoop if it was.
‘No, it wasn’t heart failure either. The Aberdeen pathologist discovered that she was full of insulin, injected into her system through her neck.
‘I didn’t know that insulin could kill.’
‘He says it can, if it’s introduced into the system of a person not suffering from diabetes.’
‘Well, well!’ John Black was impressed. ‘There’s never been a murder in Tollerton before, as long as I’ve been here.’
‘There’s always a first time. But that’s it taken off our hands now. It goes to Grampian CID, and the procurator fiscal has already been notifed. He has to receive reports of all murder investigations in his region.’
He straightened his tie and put on his hat. ‘I’ll go and call off my boys at Honeysuckle Cottages. It’s up to the Homicide boys from Aberdeen now, though I don’t expect you’ll see them till tomorrow. I wish them luck, they’re going to need it. Mind you, I think Mrs Wakeford’s probably right. Not about her being poisoned with arsenic, but about the nephews being the ones who disposed of the old woman. So long.’
Sergeant Black was left with only his young constable with whom to discuss this extraordinary new development. ‘Fancy her being killed with insulin. That’s a new one on me.’
Derek Paul nodded sympathetically. ‘You’re always learning. Who could have done it, though? It must have been somebody with medical knowledge, and access to insulin and a needle, but there’s only Doctor Randall in the village, and you surely don’t think he did it?’
‘Thank God we don’t have to figure it out, Derek. That’s what the CID are paid for. The trouble is, they’ll likely be real whizzkids, setting the whole place’s teeth on edge with their efficiency.’
The constable had been thinking. ‘There’s old Mary Lawson, of course, the district nurse. Health visitor, she’s called now.’
‘Eh?’ John Black’s mind had to be jerked back from the horrifying prospect of the CID men upsetting his villagers. ‘What are you on about now?’
‘The health visitor from Thornkirk, Mary Lawson. She’d know about hypodermic needles and insulin.’
‘Oh, aye,’ the sergeant sneered. ‘She’s just the one to kill an old woman around midnight. Mary Lawson’s an old woman herself, nearly retiring age, if not past it. Have some sense, Derek, for God’s sake.’
‘I was only trying to think of somebody in the medical line. There’s nobody else, is there?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Black said, testily. ‘And get on with typing that report.’