“And the frost caught him napping?” asked Masters. “Fast asleep, more likely. We all knew he’d hit something one day. We’ve been expecting it. How he’s survived as long as he has is a mystery to us.”
“Where is he now?”
“I heard an ambulance, so I expect he’s gone to the local hospital.”
Masters and Green left. Green said: “That’s the second suspect off our hands. Are you going to the hospital?”
“Not yet. We’ll leave the poor devil alone for a bit. I don’t want to hound him if he’s ill. Brant can find out where he is and make regular enquiries. I feel I must have contributed to his crash. He was in such a nervous condition after I’d spoken to him.”
Surprisingly, Green said: “Before you spoke to him.”
“Thanks. Before I spoke to him, perhaps, but my questions can’t have helped a man like that.”
“Be your age,” said Green, as if ashamed of his support for Masters. “He was agitated before we ever came. That means he’d already had some sort of shock.”
“Like unexpectedly getting the sack?”
“And murdering his boss. That type lose their heads and do something daft that they’re sorry about later. Then they can’t cope mentally and so they crack up. It’s as good a sign of guilt as if they’d tried to run away.”
“Which is what they actually do. I know they don’t take off physically, but they do mentally. I see your point. But we can’t act on it. We’d better see if Mouncer can tell us anything.”
Dr Mouncer’s office was as big as Huth’s. Instead of a traditional desk he had three curved pieces which fitted together and enclosed him in a horseshoe. His phones were to the left, his Grundig to the right. The “in” and “out” trays were sunk below the level of the top so that slides could be drawn over them and locked for security. On the walls were framed French market scenes with the red and yellow awnings of stalls predominant. The coffee table, surrounded by club chairs, held a pale green carboy containing a miniature rock-garden. There was also a four-foot safe and above it an old-fashioned fiddle barometer and thermometer combined. Mouncer sat like a well-groomed spider at the centre of his web. He didn’t rise as they went in. He said, rather ungraciously: “Good morning. Didn’t my P.A. tell you I was busy?”
Masters said: “So am I.”
“Obviously. You’re up before your clothes are on this morning. Going the rounds before a quarter past nine! You must understand that a Company of this size has to be kept working even though your investigation is important. I came in especially early to deal with my correspondence. I should prefer to finish it without interruption.”
“Investigations of this sort take precedence. Too many people are involved to risk any delays. I’d be obliged if you’d put your work on one side for ten minutes or so.”
“If you insist. How can I help you this time?”
Mouncer lit a cigar and leaned back. Masters felt a surge of mistrust and dislike. Again he wondered whether Mouncer was naturally supercilious or whether he assumed the pose because he was unsure of himself. If so, why? He knew Green would be taking the worst possible view, seeing Mouncer’s half-lidded eyes and thinking this man considered himself one hell of a tit. Green always jumped to superficial conclusions. That was Green’s main fault as a copper. That and his everlasting sense of grievance with everything and everybody.
Masters said: “I wanted to speak to Mr Dieppe this morning.”
“And now you can’t unless you visit him in hospital.”
“You’ve obviously heard.”
“A minute ago. He crashed on his way through the gate, which meant, fortunately, that he wasn’t going so very fast. I shall know a little later whether or not his doctors will allow you to question him today.”
“It may not be necessary.” Masters swung round one of the club chairs and signalled to Green to do the same. Mouncer took this pointed reference to his lack of good manners without remark. When he was comfortably seated, Masters said: “You’ll probably do instead.”
“Do?”
“As a substitute for Dieppe, As Medical Director you’re responsible for Pharmacy, aren’t you?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Which makes you Dieppe’s immediate superior.”
“Yes.”
“Mr Huth would, therefore, have consulted you about Dieppe’s performance as a manager. Sometime in the last week.”
“How the devil do you know that? And what’s it got to do with your investigation anyway?”
“Please answer. Did Mr Huth speak to you about Dieppe?”
“He did. And I was very cross about it.”
“Why?”
“Because Torr had initiated an adverse report, about Dieppe. Torr may be Personnel Manager, but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to interfere in the internal workings of departments. If a complaint about the Company Pharmacist had to be made to the chairman, I was the one to make it.”
Masters sympathized with Mouncer’s anger. The doctor was not one to suffer interference from one of Torr’s calibre lightly.
Mouncer went on, getting more angry at the memory. “For several years now, when the annual reviews of personnel have taken place, I’ve resisted attempts by the board to promote Dieppe to Control Manager. I’ve always agreed that, a post as important as that of Company Pharmacist should carry very senior rank, but I knew that Dieppe was not fitted for promotion.”
“But you kept him on, doing the job.”
“Of course I did. We can’t all be captains of industry or administrative wizards, and be dismissed if we’re not. It would be a poor lookout for a great many people if that ever became the national policy, no matter what slurs are cast against management. The just adequate person is here with us, now. And always will be. We can’t discard him. Dieppe is an adequate pharmacist, completely steeped in our methods of work here — successful methods, I assure you. If I were to get rid of him, what do you think I should get in his place?”
“Just another adequate pharmacist?”
“Right. One who would take years to become as familiar with our ways and policies as Dieppe is now. I know, because I’ve been trying for heaven knows how long to get a really good male pharmacist to understudy Dieppe. But I haven’t succeeded. The young ones who are good enough want to move on after a year or two. The older ones who would be suitable are already settled. I’ve recognized ever since I’ve been here that Dieppe is not ideal, and I’ve shown it by not allowing him to be promoted above his ceiling; but I’ve also recognized that he’s not so useless as to merit dismissal.”
“Didn’t you explain your views to Mr Huth?”
“At length, and in detail, on more than one occasion.”
“But he ignored your advice and last week decided to sack Dieppe?”
“After lunch with a doctor who’s a consultant on migraine.” Mouncer frowned slightly. “I don’t want you to misinterpret A.A.’s action. He went to the trouble to ask the views of a great authority. An expert. A.A. did what he did from the best and kindest of motives.”
Green said: “Giving a chap the boot hardly seems kind.”
“Perhaps not, superficially. A.A. pointed out that my arguments in favour of keeping Dieppe were just as damaging against him. If Dieppe, after all his years with the Company, wasn’t fit for promotion, he should make way for somebody who was. That’s by the way. What really sealed the issue was the idea implanted in A.A.’s mind by this consultant that a chronic migraine sufferer often benefits from taking a less exacting job. A.A felt we were probably putting too great a strain on Dieppe, and that if he were to be dismissed he could take a less responsible job. His migraine would get a chance to disappear, and he’d be a much happier man. That’s where the kindness on A.A.’s part came in. Misplaced kindness, perhaps. But there you are.”
Green said: “Why give him the sack? Wouldn’t it have been even kinder to keep him on and give him an easier job?”
“What as? No, Inspector. Demo
tion to a man like Dieppe would be such a blow to his pride that it might produce all manner of unpleasant mental reactions. Think how you’d feel if somebody junior was promoted above you.”
Green scowled. Masters looked away. There was a moment of awkward silence. Mouncer had really touched a sore spot.
At last Masters said: “In your opinion, Mr Huth took this action in the best interests of the man, and not those of the Company?”
“That’s how I interpreted it. And knowing A.A., I’m sure I was right.”
“His generosity to Dieppe substantiates that.”
“Generosity?”
“We’ve found his memo confirming Dieppe’s dismissal.”
“That’s how you knew? Nobody told you?”
“Nobody. You can rest assured that nobody knows, with the exception of Miss Krick. Does that make you happier?”
“Much. Because the dismissal won’t stand now. But you were talking of generosity.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“No. I suppose it doesn’t. But if you knew Dieppe was to be dismissed, why come and waste my time in asking me?”
Masters said: “Because Dieppe says he wasn’t interviewed by Mr Huth and so, as far as I know, he doesn’t know he was going to get the sack. And yet he’s in a very nervous state; almost one of shock.”
Mouncer smiled sourly. “Shock caused by some momentous act on his part — such as murdering A.A.?”
“Maybe. I have to consider it.”
“My God, you’re thorough. But though Dieppe may not have seen A.A., and I don’t suppose he did, he knew he was on the way out.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s important. Tell me why you’re so positive.”
“I told him myself. Not the terms, of course. I knew nothing of any extra payment.”
“Why did you tell him?”
“Because he’s one of my people.” Masters was surprised. He didn’t know this sort of loyalty existed in business. He suspected it was rare outside the forces. Business was a rat race. Too many people to rejoice at a dismissal, at a chance of promotion, for loyalty to flower. Mouncer rose in his estimation. Even Green showed some surprise. Mouncer went on: “A.A. wouldn’t have seen him. He never saw anybody not on the board. But I view things differently. Once the decision has been taken to dispense with the services of a mature, professional man, I consider it to be unethical not to tell him so immediately, to his face, and to announce it to him by one of Torr’s formal memos, which never give any reasons. A.A. was a businessman, and businessmen sometimes overlook these things. But doctors and pharmacists are ethically and professionally allied. In a place like Barugt, probably more so than outside, because we actually work together. And Dieppe was one of my managers, so I had him in here and broke the news to him. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, because I knew he’s emotionally unstable. But it had to be done, even though I realized I might get an unpleasant reaction.”
“And did you get one?”
“Not as bad as I had feared. The poor fellow was so stunned he seemed incapable of any reaction. It was quite difficult to get him out of the office.”
“When was this?”
“Last Friday afternoon.”
“Was Dieppe’s migraine on Tuesday the delayed reaction?”
Mouncer said rather coldly: “What you’re really asking is whether his reaction to dismissal was followed by a blind hatred which caused him to kill A.A. on Monday, after which he experienced one of his normal migrainous reactions. The answer is that I can’t tell you, and if I could, I wouldn’t. Thank heaven I’m a physician, not a psychiatrist or specialist in migraine.”
Masters rose and swung his chair back into its normal position. He said: “Thank you, doctor. You’ve been a great help.”
“You mean I’ve dropped Dieppe in the cart.”
“That I can’t honestly say.”
“Can you say anything? You’ve arrested Torr. Not that his loss worries me, but the reason for it might. When will I be given the courtesy of an explanation?”
Masters appreciated the anger. He felt he knew Mouncer better now. He said: “An arrest is as personal a thing as a medical consultation. Torr has not been convicted. I’m not prepared to noise the matter around. However, if you can spare the time to hear him out, Inspector Green will stay and talk to you about it now.”
“I’d prefer to do the talking over lunch. Will you join me in the dining-room then?”
“At what time?”
“One o’clock if that suits you. Incidentally, I told you I shall be keeping Dieppe on. This crash on top of his other troubles, or probably because of them, will just about break him. I’m going to try to see him before lunch in the hope that the good news might help his recovery. That’s why I can’t stay for Inspector Green now.”
“You’re the boss,” growled Green, not quite knowing how to express his appreciation of the actions of a man who less than ten minutes before had flicked him smartly on the raw.
“For the time being,” said Mouncer wryly. “The States will supersede me soon enough. And of course, you may even decide to remove Dieppe in spite of my intention of keeping him. My authority would seem to be more illusory than real.”
When they were outside Green said: “He’s a snooty bastard.”
“You don’t like him?”
“I’d say he’s all right, but I really don’t get it. He’s what I’d call disdainful, but he’s not as bad as he tries to make you think he is. He’s sticking up for Dieppe at any rate, and there’s not many bosses would do that. I wouldn’t have minded being there when Huth and him were thumping the table at each other.”
“They probably never raised their voices.”
“How the hell can you fight for something without shouting?”
“You tell me. You’re the left-wing pacifist. Me, I’m just an ordinary, hum-drum, take-it-as-it-comes warmonger who believes in talking quietly.”
Green said: “That’s all right. If you know who to talk to and when.” Masters ignored this. It was a reference to his own promotion. An accusation of string-pulling.
When they reached Huth’s office Hill poured them coffee from a trolley in the P.A.’s room. Green said: “Well, what about it?”
“What?”
“Dieppe getting to know last Friday he was to get the sack, and having all week-end to brood over it. He could have thought up a plan to poison Huth and then gone in to see him on Monday, pretending to beg for his job back.”
Masters said: “It’s a nice theory, but how did he administer the phenobarbitone?”
“In place of the Nutidal.”
“How did he know Huth was taking Nutidal?”
“From Mouncer. The doc was used to discussing things with him on a professional basis.”
“Perhaps.” Masters picked up the internal phone. After a few seconds of conversation he put it down again. “Mouncer swears he never told anybody that Huth was taking Nutidal. I believe him. First because doctors are like that and second because Mouncer is smart enough to know that by claiming he spread the word around about Huth’s Nutidal he would be diverting suspicion away from himself. And he’s not doing that.”
“Skip it,” said Green. “Dieppe doesn’t smoke cigars either, and with hands as shaky as his he wouldn’t be able to do any drug juggling in that bottle without making a snarl-up, anyway.”
Hill said: “We do seem to be eliminating them today. There’s only Dr Mouncer and Mrs Huth left of Inspector Green’s suspects.”
“Elimination’s useful,” said Green.
“And there’s nothing to stop us adding more names to the bottom of the list as we cross them off the top,” said Masters.
Hill asked: “Are you changing your ideas, Chief?”
“My ideas? I didn’t know I’d had any.”
Green said: “About Mouncer …”
“Yes?” Masters held out his cup to Hill for a refill.
<
br /> “He was in Huth’s office on Monday morning; he does smoke cigars, and could have been carrying one of another sort same as I sometimes have a few Kensitas in one packet when I buy a packet of something else just for a change; he did know Huth was taking Nutidal; he can get any drug he wants at any time; and he’s got a motive, as big as the Shell building — a chance of stepping into a very comfortable pair of dead man’s shoes.”
Masters said: “It sounds like an open-and-shut case, and I can’t go as far as saying you’re wrong, but it seems a little too easy to me. My opinion of this case is that it’s as tough as Billy Whitlam’s bulldog. You say that opportunity, motive and knowledge all point to Mouncer. Perhaps the murderer wanted it to look like the doctor’s crime. If so, it’s clever. But it may have happened by accident and not design. Even then it doesn’t benefit us. The facts are there, but I think a clever doctor — and I’m sure Mouncer is clever, really clever — could have found a more subtle way of poisoning a victim.”
Green said: ‘“More subtle? When we haven’t a clue as to how Huth was given the poison? We could get Chummy into the dock and pleading guilty, but we’d not get a verdict if we couldn’t show how the phenobarbitone was administered. If that isn’t subtle enough for you, what is?”
Masters agreed. “It’s as odd as old Nick’s hatband. But the thought had occurred to me. And lots of other little points such as where the poison came from.”
Brant said: “Oh lord, in a dump like this!”
Masters turned to Green: “Take Brant and comb this bungalow from top to bottom. Discover every person who could possibly lay hands on phenobarbitone, and where they could get it. More important, find out who got some recently, and how.”
“Whoever got it won’t have left any leads.”
“He’s bound to have done. Phenobarbitone is a scheduled poison. Every grain that moves is signed for. If it isn’t, there’ll be a discrepancy in some accounts somewhere. Find out where.”
Green and Brant left. Masters poured himself a third cup of coffee. He said to Hill: “My next port of call is to see Barraclough, the Financial Director. Hold the fort.”
“You really think it’s tough going?”
Nobody's Perfect Page 13
