‘Out of what, Mrs Thoresby?’
‘Out of the man I loved, Mr Masters.’
‘Genuinely loved?’
‘Oh, yes. At first I thought he might be a bit bumptious. He is, you know, with other people. But never with me and the children. Or wasn’t until he found things getting on top of him.’
‘Thank you for telling me, Mrs Thoresby. I’ll remember, and try to make allowances for him.’
‘Will you? You’re a very nice person.’
Masters went out, feeling very pleased with himself.
He found his three colleagues on the covered way in front of the shops. Green was carrying a plastic bag with the trunks inside under one arm and grinning like a riven dish. Hill and Brant were laughing aloud.
Masters said: ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Those kids,’ Green said. He pointed to two boys about ten years old, one carrying a highly coloured beach ball, each with a box of toffee in hand, and a generous lump in mouth.
‘What about them?’
‘They were looking in each shop as they came along. One hopped into the toy shop to buy the ball. The other wandered down here to the sweet shop. He stood looking in till the other reappeared. Then he called him over.’
‘And that was funny?’
Hill said: ‘You’d have laughed if you’d heard him. North country voice—Lancashire or somewhere. “Here, kid, see these spice, they’re choice.”’
Masters grinned. ‘Not Lancashire. Yorkshire. And Sheffield for a bet. Did he say “see these” or “sithese”?’
“Well, I suppose it was “sithese”.’
‘All right. Ask them where they come from.’
Hill was back in a moment. ‘Sheffield it is.’
Green said to Masters: ‘I thought you said you were no Henry Higgins when we were talking about Jessie Bell.’
‘I’m not. “Sithee Kid” is virtually peculiar to Sheffield. And so’s the word spice for sweets and choice for what another child would call lovely or nice. I like it. You get the word choice used in all sorts of ways elsewhere—choice pears, choice grapes—and spice, well, think of the names different people use for sweets—goodies, candies, lollies. You could go on all day. I know . . .’ He stopped in mid-sentence. They all appeared to think the pause significant. All remained quiet for several seconds. Then Green said: ‘You know what?’
Masters took his time. He turned towards the sweetshop window. Looked at the display for a moment and then said slowly: ‘I know all sorts of names for sweets.’ Then he pulled himself together. ‘Here they are. Look at them. Liqueur chocolates, marshmallows, butterscotch, caramels, marzipan . . . the lot.’ He turned away from the window abruptly. ‘Now, let’s go.’
He strode away. The other three stared after him for a moment. Then Hill said: ‘He’s gone broody. By God he’s on to something.’
Green said: ‘Gobstoppers! What the hell could he get out of choice spice? He thinks it’s time for a drink. That’s all.’
‘Think what you like, but I reckon you were a bit premature hiring those trunks tonight,’ Hill said.
They hurried after Masters. When they caught him up, Green said: ‘What’s the hurry?’
‘I’ve not interviewed the vet. It’s only six o’clock so he may still be at his surgery. We might catch him if we hurry.’ He turned to Brant. ‘Sprint and get the car.’
*
As they went down to Throscum village, Masters said to Green: ‘If she’s there, question the receptionist, Carol Astor. Anything Partridge said or did or hinted may be important. I’ll see the vet himself.’
The shed behind Wintle’s house was some sixty feet long, and divided into waiting-room, surgery, office, storeroom and animals’ quarters. Behind it was a compound made from chain link fencing, again divided into smaller runs, with a series of hutches and kennels. There were no animals to be seen. What struck Masters as he entered was the absolute clinical cleanliness of the place. He doubted whether he had ever seen premises catering for human ailments any cleaner.
A girl of twenty, or thereabouts, in a spotless white overall coat, came to greet them. She was fair, with a healthy outdoor look combined with a well-scrubbed air that had an immediate attractiveness. Masters introduced himself and noted that her face dropped slightly. He said: ‘We’ve come at an inconvenient time?’
She blushed when she realized her disappointment at seeing them had been obvious. ‘Only because it’s Saturday night. We were about to close because there’s been no rush of clients this evening.’
‘We promise not to keep you long. Can I see Mr Wintle?’
She showed him into the office. Wintle was a studious-looking man in his mid-thirties, with close-cropped hair and big spectacles. He rose to meet Masters and Hill, who came on behind.
Wintle said: ‘I wondered whether you’d call.’
‘It all started here, sir.’
‘No. It came to light here, but it didn’t start here.’
‘No?’
‘No. After the news of Mrs Partridge’s death came, and it appeared likely that the dogs had died from the same causes as their mistress I did post-mortems.’
Masters took out his pipe and started to fill it. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear, Mr Wintle. What did you find?’
‘Massive diffuse toxic necrosis in both livers.’
‘Go on.’
‘In addition, one poodle had renal distal tubular necrosis, and the other had cerebral oedema.’
‘I think you’d better explain in lay terms.’
‘Renal means pertaining to the kidneys. Tubular means what it sounds like—in this case the little winding canals which make up the substance of the kidney—and distal means furthest from the centre. O.K.?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Oedema means an abnormal accumulation of fluid in intercellular spaces—in this case of the cerebrum or larger part of the brain.’
‘Water on the brain?’
‘That would be one way of describing it.’
‘These two conditions are significant in some way, Mr Wintle?’
‘I’m not a doctor. But I know enough about humans and other animals to assure you that disorders like these don’t come about overnight. That’s why I’m stating that nothing started here in this surgery, thank God.’
Masters said: ‘You’ve been a great help. Thank you.’
Wintle smiled for the first time. ‘Actually—apart from Mrs Partridge’s death—I was pleased to have the excuse to do a bit of real work for once. There’s often the opportunity with dead animals, but rarely a good reason for going to the trouble.’
Masters took his leave. Green and Brant were waiting for him. Green said: ‘The girlie wanted to rush off. She had a date. But she told me one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘When Mrs Partridge arrived she said the reason for her visit was because the poodles had been sick on the Friday before, and hadn’t seemed to pick up properly after it.’
‘Thanks. That confirms Syme’s evidence that they were too out of sorts even to growl at him when he was helping Mrs Partridge get over her own attack.’
They said goodbye to Wintle. In the car, Green said: ‘Does it help?’
‘Immensely, I think. It gives us two more conditions which the substance caused. That should help the medics pin-point it.’
‘What now?’
‘I’ve got several things to do. If I could meet you in the bar in about half an hour’s time?’
‘We’ll line one up for you.’
‘Thanks.’
Syme was wearing a black tie and white sharkskin dinner jacket. Masters thought he looked twee. He sounded it.
‘Really, Mr Masters, you can’t expect me to talk to you now. It’s seven o’clock. The ball begins at half past. And this is the first dance for the new visitors. It must start on time to give a good first impression.’
‘I won’t take half an hour. In your office. Now.’
The
little room smelt of Turkish tobacco. Masters said: ‘You don’t do much of the arranging for the dances, do you?’
Syme looked affronted. ‘I do the programmes and novelties and . . .’
‘Mr Compton told me he did all the arranging.’
‘Oh, prizes and that sort of thing. Yes. But I do the lion’s share.’
Masters thought Syme was some lion. But he said: ‘I want to know exactly how everything is done. In the smallest detail. Now start talking if you want to ring up your curtain on time.’
Resignedly, Syme started. ‘Well, first of all, I make out a programme, marking which dances are novelty and which have prizes. I give one copy to the maestro, one to Mr Compton, and keep one myself. The maestro arranges the music, Mr Compton arranges the prizes, and I arrange the novelties. This is done in the morning of the day of the dance . . .’
Masters let him talk, only interrupting occasionally to steer him back on to the right course. After less than a quarter of an hour, he left the dance professional’s little room and made for bungalow 42.
Sprott answered his knock.
‘Why, hallo there, Chief Inspector. Come along in and meet Emmy. And help me lower this brand-new bottle of Scotch I had sent up from the House.’
Masters followed the American into the sitting-room of the bungalow. He shook hands with Mrs Sprott, whose appearance rather surprised him. Sprott, himself, though fifty, or thereabouts, seemed youthful, hard, in good trim and full of vigour. Emmy was small and rather faded—a woman that Masters would have taken to be the wife of a much older man. Not like most American women he had met, who take advantage of every aid to youth and beauty that the cosmetic and dress houses can dream up—and their husbands can afford. No dyed hair, no over-generous make-up, no nail lacquer. And a dress of indefinite mauve voile which seemed to be all of a piece with the colour of her cheeks and hair. Her hand-shake was gentle. He said: ‘I hope your headache is better, ma’am.’
A gentle voice, too. ‘Much better, thank you. Thanks to Cy’s headache powder.’
Sprott said: ‘I hope it stays that way, honey. We’re getting low on Sprotamol.’
‘Oh dear, you’ve been giving it away again.’
‘That’s what it was brought for, honey.’
Sprott handed Masters a drink. ‘Now, Chief Inspector, you’ve come visiting at a very opportune moment. We’ve got Emmy up and about and a new bottle of Scotch. What could be better?’
Masters smiled. ‘I really wanted a chance to talk to you.’
‘Alone?’
‘Not necessarily, if it won’t inconvenience Mrs Sprott to have to listen to business.’
‘Sure, it won’t inconvenience Emmy none, will it, honey? To hear Mr Masters and me talk?’
When Masters left the bungalow twenty minutes later he was carrying a few sheets of rotaprinted foolscap. He folded them carefully and tucked them into his inside breast pocket. As he walked towards Throscum House he noticed that fewer people were now outdoors, and most seemed to be making the same way as himself, for dinner or the ballroom from which already he could hear faint sounds of music.
Green said: ‘This beer’s mawly warm. They should have some way of cooling it. It’s what comes of no longer keeping draught in a cool cellar. Everybody puts it in kegs on the counter or barrels just behind the bar.’
‘I’ll have one, nevertheless,’ Masters said.
Garry Welton was so busy, Hill had to shoulder his way to the bar to get served. Masters waited until he had the beer in his hand before saying to Green: ‘I’ll come with you to see the Meeths.’
Green’s face dropped. He stared at Masters’ face. He said quietly: ‘Oh, yes?’
‘Don’t look so woebegone. I only want some information. I’m not thinking of charging Meeth with murder and his wife with being an accessory.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
Masters turned to the sergeants. ‘Drink up. We’ll have something to eat, sharpish. After that I’ve got work for you two to do.’
Brant said: ‘On a Saturday night, Chief? With a fresh load of talent here? Have a heart.’
Hill said quietly to his colleague, ‘Hold your water, you thick.’
His tone caused Brant to stare for a moment. Then he picked up his glass and drained it.
*
While they were at table Masters gave Hill and Brant their instructions. Immediately afterwards he phoned Dr Thurso, then he and Green made their way silently to the Meeths’ house.
Mrs Meeth said: ‘You both look very solemn.’
‘We’re feeling solemn,’ Green replied. ‘The Chief Inspector wants your help.’
‘In what way?’
‘The substance which caused massive diffuse toxic necrosis in Mrs Partridge,’ Masters said, ‘caused the same disorder in her poodles, together with renal distal tubular necrosis in one and cerebral oedema in another. What substance was it?’
‘You’re asking us to tell you?’
‘Please.’
‘It might take some finding.’
Larry Meeth said: ‘If you could give us another clue—like what the substance is used for—pesticide or cough cure . . .’
‘I can even tell you that.’
Chapter Eight
It was ten o’clock. Masters was using the Meeths’ telephone to speak to Superintendent Mundy.
Mundy said: ‘You want me over there at this time of night?’
‘If you please, sir. It’s your case.’
‘You mean it’s completed? You’ve made an arrest?’
‘I haven’t made the arrest. That’s your affair. You’ll need to bring the warrant with you. I’ll be in my bungalow. After you’ve heard what I’ve got to say, you and your people can do as you think best.’
‘Right. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.’
‘We’ll be waiting.’
Masters rang off and turned to Green. ‘I don’t think we shall need the doctors again tonight. But please tell them you will be here to take detailed statements tomorrow. If you think you can fit your bathing parade in as well, don’t cancel it.’
‘I’ll join you at the bungalow.’
Masters was thoughtful as he walked back to the camp. At the door of Throscum House he paused. Hill, sitting in one of the armchairs in the hall, looked up and saw him. Came across. Out of earshot of Cathy York, Masters said: ‘Everything all right?’
‘I’ve got it. Brant’s still on the job. He’s got him in view.’
‘Good, he can stay. You come along with me.’
Masters had smoked a full pipe before Mundy arrived with a sergeant and a constable driver. Mundy said: ‘I didn’t ask who you’ve put the finger on over the phone, in case you didn’t want to say.’
Masters ignored the implied question. ‘It’ll be a bit of a crush in here. Could your chaps stay in the car outside?’
Mundy sent his people away. Hill arranged the chairs. Green handed round his Kensitas amid general chatter.
Masters said impatiently: ‘Shall we begin, sir?’
Mundy sat down. ‘Sorry. Please go ahead.’
‘The questions we’ve had to answer in this case are: What was the poison? When was it administered? How was it administered? By whom was it administered? For what reason? And finally, how was the poison obtained by the murderer?
‘Normally we would expect medical and forensic experts to give us the answer to the first, second and probably the third of these questions. This time they couldn’t help, because it appeared that whatever substance was used had apparently been totally eliminated from the body, leaving no sign of its actual presence in the liver or other organs, but causing the severe symptoms from which the victim later died. So we did not know what substance had been used.
‘Nor could the medical and forensic experts tell us when the toxin had been administered, except that for so much physical damage to have been sustained it was thought that the substance had been ingested more than just a few hours before the victim
’s collapse.
‘You, sir, learned that Mrs Partridge hadn’t been away from Throscum for four days before her death, and yet she was reputed to be one who got out and about a lot. As this stay-at-home business appeared to be out of character it immediately interested me. Perhaps the reason for it had some bearing on her subsequent death. I learned that on the previous Friday she had suffered a severe bilious attack.’
‘Had she, by jove?’ Mundy said.
Masters went on. ‘The doctors Meeth were very helpful at this point. In a general discussion they mentioned second-stage poisons—those that don’t kill until days after they have been ingested. I was particularly interested in this. You will remember that from the beginning I was convinced that Mrs Partridge could not have been poisoned with a quick-acting poison at breakfast time on the day of her death, because her dogs were ill before then; nor could she have been poisoned with a quick-acting poison the night before, because she would have been ill much earlier had this happened. And as I have just mentioned, the severe necrosis which caused her death would normally take more than just a few hours to develop.
‘Now it is a feature of second-stage poisons that they cause a relatively minor illness shortly after ingestion, then the complaint appears to clear up for three or four days, after which lethal disorders flare up. If we accept that Mrs Partridge’s illness on the Friday before her death could have been the first phase of second-stage poisoning, I feel we have a classic example of this phenomenon, because I am assured by Syme that though still a little weak, she was able to move around and even to attend an Olde Tyme Dance on the Monday evening. This shows that she was conforming to the second phase of this type of reaction. The events of last Tuesday were the third phase.’ Masters looked towards Mundy. ‘Are you with me so far, sir?’
Mundy nodded vigorously. ‘Amazing. The complete jumping-off point.’
Masters was pushing Warlock Flake into his pipe. His slim fingers never faltered at this compliment, but he smiled at Mundy’s enthusiasm. After lighting the pipe, he went on: ‘I have now answered—in general terms—the second question, which was “when was the poison administered?” The answer being not entirely specific, but a general one—namely before Friday lunch-time. I also knew the category of poison—second stage. But the first question remained—“What was the poison?” I’ll admit that this had me worried. It linked in so closely with question number three—“How was it administered?” It seemed obvious that Fay Partridge had taken the toxin unwittingly. That meant that to all intents and purposes it had to be tasteless and odourless, or else disguised so heavily as to cause her to suspect nothing when she took it. Now remember that she was sick by two o’clock on Friday after eating fish and chips. An unlikely vehicle for poison. And she had been in her own flat all morning where there was very little in the way of food. But I reckoned that to be sick by two o’clock, the poison would have necessarily to be ingested during the preceding four to six hours at the most.
Masters and Green Series Box Set Page 66
