‘You’ve made your point, Mr Dent,’ Masters said. ‘And I might as well say that I’ve heard much the same about Miss Bowker from other people. But I also got the impression that she was a spirited young lady.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘That I have heard Miss Bowker was very much at home with men and evoked a great amount of respect and admiration from them.’
‘Oh yes. Every chap I knew went crackers about her.’
‘But her own sex were not always quite so unstinting in their praise of her.’
Dent flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it must be sour grapes.’
‘Not entirely, Mr Dent. To be fair, I’ve heard only one person openly critical—and that taken alone would, I’m sure, be a bad case of sour grapes. But I heard from an independent source that Miss Bowker’s very open way with men tended to queer the pitch for other women …’
‘Good lord! That’s impossible. Unless …’
‘Unless what, Mr Dent?’
Dent reddened. ‘I was going to say that nobody could possibly give you that idea unless it was Clara Breese.’
‘It wasn’t Miss Breese. She has never mentioned the matter to us, but what we did hear about her case—from a third party—seems to substantiate our information. Miss Bowker did, I believe, replace Miss Breese in your affections?’
‘I suppose she did, in a way. But before he gets married a man can change his girl friends, can’t he?’
‘I think it is generally held to be a good thing, Mr Dent. And the choice was yours entirely—if it was your choice.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Did you take the decision to break your friendship with Miss Breese and to start one with Miss Bowker, or did Miss Bowker intrude or come between you and Miss Breese with the intention of taking her place?’
Dent jumped to his feet. He looked angrily at Masters. ‘Sally’s been dead less than a week, and you’re here suggesting …’
‘Suggesting nothing, Mr Dent. Asking. Please sit down. It’s not uncommon for one girl to fancy what another’s got and go after it with malice aforethought. If I may say so, you’re not a bad catch for a girl. You’re young, good looking, a professional man with tremendous prospects ahead of you both from your own work and a likely inheritance. These things count in a materialistic world, Mr Dent.’
‘Meaning that Sally was marrying me for what she could get?’
‘Not exactly. But the ending of your friendship with Miss Breese was not of that young lady’s making. Or to her liking. She’s been moping ever since, Mr Dent.’
‘So?’
‘So she was given the push, Mr Dent. By you. And I want to know if Miss Bowker was not only the reason for it, but if she was also responsible for it. Please tell me.’
Dent looked stubborn.
‘Well, Mr Dent?’
‘The choice—if it was a choice—was mine.’
‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Sally and I just came together naturally.’
‘You mean you did nothing to assist the gravitation?’
‘There was no need to, I tell you. When two people—what’s the popular phrase?—are made for each other, these things happen of their own accord.’
‘I understand. Now, let’s get back to last Saturday. Miss Bowker lunched at home at one o’clock—to the best of your knowledge?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What were you doing during the morning?’
‘Tinkering with the car, mostly.’
‘And what else?’
‘I read the paper. I always read it more fully on Saturday and Sunday than the rest of the week. I had coffee with my parents.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes. And I went out with Dad for our usual lunchtime drink.’
‘You had made no arrangement to meet Miss Bowker?’
‘Not in the morning. I never did. Saturday morning was what Sally used to call her Dorcas morning. It was the only time in the week when she had time to do all the things there are to be done in a home besides her visits to the doctor and the clinic when they fell due.’
‘Good enough. But after lunch?’
‘We always met in the afternoon. We were getting ready to be married, you know. That day we were looking over a house we thought we might buy.’
‘Just one?’
‘We’d viewed a lot. But this one was the one we thought we liked, so we were paying a second visit. We were being very thorough about it, as you can imagine.’
‘Miss Bowker liked the house?’
‘Very much. So did I, but I wanted to make sure it was structurally sound before we made up our minds. I’m an architect by profession, so I could do the survey to my own satisfaction.’
‘How long were you there? At this house?’
‘I picked Sally up at half-past two. We got back here about five.’
‘Here?’
‘It’s a habit we got into after Sally developed diabetes. On Saturdays we always came here for tea and supper.’
Masters sat silent for a moment. Green appeared lost in thought. Sally Bowker had spent her last five or six hours of normal life in this house. It meant that whoever was present during that time would have to be questioned. ‘It became a habit, you say?’ Masters asked.
‘Yes. It was the only night when I could be sure of seeing Sally, so Mum changed her supper-party night to Saturday.’
‘Changed, Mr Dent? When from?’
‘Sorry. What I meant was that the parent birds used to entertain on any old night at one time, but because of Sally, Mum stabilized it on Saturday nights. They became a sort of “at home” function with her.’
‘Purely on Miss Bowker’s account? That was very considerate of your mother.’
‘She is considerate—was—where Sally was concerned. She looked after her, you know. The menu and the drinks were always chosen with an eye to what was best for Sally.’
‘Didn’t that become a little difficult? With other guests to consider?’
‘No problem as far as I heard.’
‘Your mother knew enough about your fiancée’s condition to be able to cope satisfactorily?’
‘Not about her condition. She had no medical knowledge that I know of.’
‘But she coped.’
‘Food was never a problem. Mother was a dietitian.’
‘Was?’
‘Before she married. She trained before the war. Then during the war she became one of the first area consultants for the school’s meals service. The system was introduced at that time and, as I understand it, dietitians being few and far between, mother got a fairly important job—her war service, in fact.’
‘Has she done any active professional work since?’
‘No. She was already married, and as soon as the war was over and Dad came back, she had me.’
‘That’s a quarter of a century ago. She’d be a bit rusty now, I expect. However, that’s beside the point. She took good care of Miss Bowker.’
‘I’ve told you what Mum thought of Sally. And she proved it often enough. Why, only on Saturday night—well, it was at teatime, actually, when we were all discussing the house we’d been to look over—Dad said that he would give me a thousand pounds to add to the deposit so that the mortgage wouldn’t have to be quite so big, and Mum turned to Sally and said, “If Brian’s getting a thousand to help pay for the house, I’ll give you five hundred to help furnish it.” ’
‘That was extremely generous.’
‘It certainly was.’
‘A spontaneous gesture of affection?’
‘Absolutely. Sally had said that she thought the only major work to be done would be in the kitchen. She said she would want to modernize it, make it labour-saving with all these units and gadgets, and Mum—who’s a great one in that line herself—simply said she would provide the money. That shows you what she thought of Sally.’
‘And what did your father
think of her?’ Masters asked.
Brian Dent said simply, ‘I believe he looked on Sally as the daughter he would have liked for himself.’
Masters relit his pipe. ‘Who else was at supper with you on Saturday night?’
‘Just one other couple. Friends of Dad’s. Alderman and Mrs Bancroft. They’re decent bodies. Not all that old.’
‘Did Miss Bowker know them?’
‘Oh, yes. They knew her parents pretty well in the old days.’
Masters got to his feet. ‘I’ll have to speak to them and your parents.’
‘You can see Mum and Dad now.’
Masters looked at his watch. Then: ‘I’d like to meet them. But I’m a bit pushed for time.’ Green stared in surprise. Masters hadn’t mentioned he was in a hurry. ‘Can I just say hallo and perhaps arrange a meeting for a little later on. I must get back into town and we let our car go on some other business.’
‘In that case, the nearest way to where they’re snoozing is through the kitchen,’ Dent said. ‘I’ll lead the way.’
They followed him. Masters could see how right Brian Dent had been when he said his mother was keen on modern kitchens. This room could have been photographed for the visual of a glossy advertisement. Pale blue units with working surfaces, double sink unit, refrigerator, deep freeze, Bendix, many-clocked electric cooker, infrared grill, Miele dish washer …
Through the kitchen to a small lobby; out under the car port and left round the back of the house on to a flagged terrace half as big as a tennis court. Below this, cut out of the lawn, a swimming pool the same size, lined in blue tiles giving the water a Mediterranean invitation. Mrs Dent was in a candy-striped sun suit, lying at ease in a garden swing-lounge, protected from the direct heat by a scallop-edged shade. She wore sun glasses, giving herself a Garboesque anonymity. Masters didn’t like it. He preferred to see people’s eyes. Dent senior was lying out in a cane chaise-longue. He was wearing sandals, a pair of navy-blue Calpreta shorts and a wide-brimmed hat made out of canary-yellow terry towelling.
‘Chief Inspector Masters and Inspector Green,’ Brian said.
Harry Dent said, without getting up, ‘You’ve had a long chat. You’re not suspecting Brian of harming Sally are you?’
‘That’s a question I can’t answer,’ Masters replied.
‘You what?’ Masters could see why Hook had described Harry Dent as an old blowhard. His question was an attack in defence of his son. Intended to crush opposition. It had little effect. Masters said, ‘I can’t eliminate anybody until the guilt has been squarely placed on one person’s shoulders.’
‘Maybe. But our Brian …’
‘Was the last to see her alive, Mr Dent. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I think he killed her.’
‘I should bloody well hope not.’
‘But I must consider him, just as I must consider you.’
‘Me? Now look here …’ He half rose in his chair.
‘And Mrs Dent and everybody connected with Miss Bowker.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ Brian said. ‘Everybody’s got to go through the hoop on these occasions.’
‘But we loved Sally,’ Mrs Dent protested.
‘I’m sure you did,’ Masters answered. ‘That’s why I’m counting on you to help. Can I call on you later to talk things over?’
‘Oh, dear. Must you?’
‘Why not now?’ Dent asked. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Because I’m in a hurry to get to another appointment, Mr Dent. Otherwise I could think of nothing nicer than to sit here beside your very lovely pool and talk to you. But I’m afraid it will have to be nine o’clock tonight.’
‘That’s what you think. I’m not …’
His wife cut in: ‘Don’t be silly, Harry. We must co-operate with the police.’
‘That’s all very well, Cora, but Saturday night!’
‘Is our night for entertaining.’ She turned to Masters. ‘We weren’t, of course, expecting guests tonight, but now you and the other officer are coming it will seem almost as if we were getting back to normal again. Poor Sally! We shall all miss her so much—not just Brian. But we can’t hide ourselves away because she died. Life must go on, mustn’t it, Mr Masters?’
‘Indeed it must, ma’am.’
‘There you are, you see, Harry.’
Harry Dent grunted and pulled his towelling cap lower over his eyes. His son said to Masters, ‘I’ll run you into town if you like.’
‘I should be very grateful.’
When they left the E-type at the town centre Green said: ‘What’s all this about an appointment?’
‘I haven’t got one. But I want to get to a chemist’s shop before they shut.’
Green grunted and stepped out alongside Masters, glancing at his reflection in shop windows as he went. He decided the Palm Beach suiting looked very smart on him. He hoped the hot weather lasted.
5 |
Green said to the girl behind the medicines counter, ‘We’re police. We’d like to see the pharmacist.’
She left them without a word. In a moment a middle-aged man appeared from behind a frosted-glass dispensing screen. He was bespectacled and bald, with greying side patches of dark hair neatly brushed. He looked nervous, questioning, as if expecting bad news. Masters guessed it cost him quite an effort to approach them and speak.
‘I’m the pharmacist. Frane. I own the shop.’
‘We’d like a few words with you in private,’ Green said.
Frane looked even more perturbed. ‘Of course. If you’d come round the end of the counter.’ The girl was standing by, saying nothing, but looking slightly apprehensive. Masters smiled at her and said, ‘Don’t worry. We only want some information.’ She smiled back at him, gratefully. Frane heard the message. He seemed a little more cheerful as he ushered them into the dispensary.
‘We’re investigating the death of a diabetic girl, Mr Frane.’ Masters explained.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘You’ve heard about the case?’
‘The one there was an inquest on a few days ago?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I didn’t have anything to do with supplying her insulin.’
‘No. We realize that. All we’re here for is to get some information about insulin and the amounts the patient takes. You see, Mr Frane, all the talk about diabetes and its treatment is way above our heads, so we’ve come to an expert to help us out.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Will you be willing to answer a few questions?’
‘If I can. Yes.’
‘Thank you. Now the dead girl was using Rapitard insulin.’
‘Rapitard? Yes. That’s the neutral insulin with the bluey-green colour code. Easy to remember, Rapitard. Both labels have very similar colour triangles.’
‘Perhaps you would explain? Colour triangles?’
‘Let me see, now, there are how many different types of insulin? Soluble, protamine, globine, isophane …’ He counted on his fingers as he went through them. ‘Nine. Yes, nine types. And every type is designated by a different colour.’
‘Rapitard is bluey-green?’
‘Correct. But there are two strengths of all those nine. Forty units per mil and eighty units per mil. And strengths, too, have to be colour-coded.’
‘I see.’
‘The colour for U forty is blue, and for U eighty, green—on all types. So what we do is to divide the square packing label into two triangles. The bottom left triangle is coloured either blue or green to denote the strength. The top right triangle has its individual colour to denote the type. Well, like I said, Rapitard is easy to remember, because its own colour is bluey-green, while its strength colours are blue and green.’
Green looked a little lost and Masters wasn’t quite sure he’d got it, but he said to Frane, ‘That’s very clear. Now to talk about the amounts in the syringe at each injection.’
‘Very small. Very small. But, of course, they differ with every patient accor
ding to his or her needs.’
‘Do they?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘I see. So you can’t tell me how much this girl would inject each time?’
‘Not unless I knew how much …’
‘She got four ten mil phials to last her exactly four weeks.’
‘Ah! Well in that case …’ Frane took a pencil from the breast pocket of his white coat and drew a pad towards him. ‘Forty mils for four weeks means ten mils a week means ten-sevenths of a mil a day.’ He looked up. ‘Rapitard is a combination of quick and slow acting insulins. Its effects last something like ten or twelve hours so it’s usually given in two injections a day.’
‘That’s right. The dead girl had one before breakfast and one before supper.’
‘So she had ten-fourteenths at each injection which is point seven of a mil.’
‘And how big’s a mil?’
Frane picked up a ruler and marked off a centimetre with his two thumbs. ‘A cubic c.c.’
‘That’s pretty small.’
‘It might appear so. But in fact it’s quite big so I would say. Her doctor must have been giving her U forty.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘An active young woman like her would need a good dose but not a massive one. One mil of U forty contains forty units. Point seven would contain …’ He did a quick sum on the pad. ‘… twenty-eight units; and that would be about what I’d expect her to have.’
Masters took from his pocket the slip of paper Dr Sisson had given him. ‘Can I buy ten mils of Rapitard from you? Against this?’
Frane read the note and nodded.
‘And a one mil syringe?’
‘A BS 1619?’
‘If that’s the standard?’
‘It is. Fitted with Luer needles.’
‘I’ll take that.’
Frane went to the back of the dispensary and got the goods. ‘You’re not going to practise injecting yourselves?’ he asked.
‘Not bloody likely,’ Green replied. ‘I’ve had enough jabs in my time without any experiments.’
Masters and Green Series Box Set Page 76
