‘She didn’t eat anything else?’
‘Nothing.’
Masters got to his feet. ‘Thank you all very much. I think I’ve got a complete picture. If I haven’t I can always get in touch to clear up any points.’
‘Has it helped?’ Mrs Dent asked.
Masters smiled. ‘Who can tell, ma’am? I firmly believe that everything helps in some way. I’m wrong at times, but one thing I can say is that I’ve never been successful without getting the whole picture. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t got a lot of imagination, or I can’t visualize what I don’t actually see.’
Harry Dent said, ‘Don’t try to fool yourself—or us. We’ve heard of you, you know. I reckon I wouldn’t mind having you in business with me.’
‘I’ll remember that, Mr Dent. Policemen retire early, you know. When the time comes I might be glad of a job.’
When they were in the car Green commented, ‘Well, that appeared to be all square and above board. But I don’t think you pressed that key issue half hard enough.’
‘Sorry. Why didn’t you step in?’
Green shrugged. It was now dark and the gesture was lost on Masters, who said to Hill, ‘What about prints?’
‘About six sets on the syringe case. All male except Bowker’s.’
‘And the handbags?’
‘Male and female on all of them.’
‘Did you find one with a turquoise and green bikini in it?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s the one. We’ll try to identify the prints tomorrow.’
‘That’s not going to give us much time for a lie-in,’ Hill said.
6 |
Hill and Brant had delivered the floorcloth to the hospital pathology laboratory and were back at the Bristol before Masters and Green came down for breakfast on Sunday. When he arrived, Masters asked, ‘Did they say what time the result of the test would be ready?’
‘Nobody there to ask,’ Hill replied.
‘Then who did you give it to?’
‘A lab technician. He said Heatherington-Blowers and Bruce, the bacteriologist, would begin work about half-past nine.’
Green said, ‘I’m ordering a mixed grill. I’ve never been in a pub before where they actually advertise a mixed grill for breakfast. I’ve concocted my own now and again. You know, ordered bacon, eggs, kidneys, sausages, the lot, all on one plate. I wonder whether their idea of a mixed grill will be the same as mine.’
‘They’ll probably put a lamb chop in it and bring you the mint sauce,’ said Brant. ‘Mint sauce is lovely at breakfast time.’
‘The one you’re talking about and the one I won’t get’ll make two.’
‘As it looks like being another hot day,’ Masters said, ‘I’ll have orange juice and boiled eggs. Meanwhile I could do with a cup of coffee.’
Hill poured. ‘Those prints …’ he began.
‘Yes?’
‘How will we identify them?’
‘Perhaps you won’t be able to just yet. But separate out Sally Bowker’s, mine and the Inspector’s. Dr Sisson will have handled the carrying-case, so get his by going and asking for them. Then go to the Station and ask who went to the flat, and get theirs. After that, see what you’ve got left.’
‘That’s a load of mullarkey,’ Green exclaimed. ‘Talk about shots in the dark!’
Masters’ eggs arrived in a double cup. As he took the top off one he said, ‘You don’t think the prints are important?’
‘No. And neither do you. You’re just casting around, seeing what you can dredge up.’
‘This is a very good egg. Free range, I should think. And done just right. White hard, yolk soft. You were saying?’
‘That you haven’t got a clue.’
‘Oh yes I have. Several.’ The mixed grill appeared. ‘Now that’s a fine foundation for a man to go to work on. No mutton, I see. But a nice helping of the offal you swore you’d never touch again. I assure you, as far as this case is concerned I know exactly where I’m going. The only fly in the ointment will be proof. Certain facets of that may present difficulties. The trouble is that I shall have to sit back and wait for some time. So I shall arm myself with several of the more lurid Sunday papers and retire to the garden for an hour or so.’
‘What are you trying to do?’ Green asked. ‘Boost morale among the troops faced with a hopeless situation?’
Hill and Brant said nothing. Masters had surprised them too often [[illegible]] them to doubt his word. Green, who had been more in the swim than they had, was in a stronger position to scoff. But Green had the unhappy knack of scoffing at the wrong things. They knew this very well. They left the table together. When they were out of ear-shot Hill said, ‘Do you really think he’s got it sewn up?’
‘I’ve never known him say he has when he hasn’t.’
‘So you think he’s sure he knows who it is, but he’s short on proof?’
‘That’s what he says. I’m not going to argue.’
Green was reading the News of The World. Masters was attempting a crossword too difficult for him. He put it aside and filled his pipe. Green grunted at some item that he was reading, and put his feet up on a nearby chair. ‘D’you think Harry Dent belongs to some club or goes to a particular pub at lunchtime on Sundays?’ Masters asked.
Without looking up, Green said, ‘How the hell should I know?’
‘I want to talk to him privately.’
Green lowered his paper. ‘What for?’
‘And I want a word with Alderman and Mrs Bancroft.’
Green lit a Kensitas. He blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth and said, ‘Now I know you’re up the creek. With a fishing-line. You’re casting like mad. With little hope of a bite, I reckon.’
‘You read your paper for a bit,’ Masters suggested. ‘And order some coffee. I’ll get Bancroft’s address from the phone book.’
‘Order the coffee as you go through. I’m involved in less mundane things.’
‘If you’re reading the bits I think you are, they’re of the earth, most earthy.’
Over coffee, at which the sergeants joined them, Masters said to Green, ‘As you’re so immersed in the newspapers, you and Brant can stay here in case Heatherington-Blowers calls. If he does, take a message, or if he particularly wants to speak to me, tell him I hope to be back for lunch, and I’ll call him then.’
‘Right. You’re going to see Bancroft?’
‘I’ve said I’ll be there by eleven-fifteen, so Hill and I will be off.’
‘You’ll get nothing from him except confirmation of last Saturday’s menu.’
‘The trouble with you is you know what you’re going to hear in advance. I don’t. I’m continually being surprised. I like it that way.’
‘Suits me.’
Masters and Hill passed through the hotel to the car. Hill drove through the almost deserted Sunday streets and made good time round the by-pass to an area of Edwardian houses, still well maintained, and obviously in what the house agents usually call ‘a select area’. Bancroft opened the door to them, and Masters felt faintly surprised to find him a man of—at a guess—some years short of fifty. For Masters the term alderman conjured up the justice in fair round belly, with an agate-stone ring on the forefinger; and a nose that rolled its loud diapason after dinner. Bancroft didn’t fit the picture. He was a small man, not more than five feet six, but carefully made and well cared for. His hair was greying slightly, but there was a lot of it, brushed neatly. The face was brown, not thin, not fleshy, but handsome with an air of character that allows certain features to be picked out in a crowd as being above the common ruck. His clothes were well pressed, but gave no hint of being Sunday suitish. Masters liked him on sight. ‘Come you in and sit you down,’ he said. ‘I’ll call Cordelia. She’s picking parsley for the lunchtime potatoes.’
Cordelia was taller than her husband. Not much. And the disparity was not obvious unless looked for. She didn’t surprise Masters. Having seen Bancroft, this was the woman he would have
expected as his wife. A good figure, just thickening slightly round the beam to indicate she was not quite as young as—without artificial aid—she appeared to be. She wore a pale blue linen skirt and a white pique shirt open at the neck. Masters wondered why all women couldn’t buy such simple shoes to enhance their under-pinning. He didn’t realize that most could probably not afford to do so: that in all forms of female clothing simplicity comes dear and is synonymous with quality.
‘I heard from Harry Dent that you would likely be calling,’ Bancroft said. ‘I’m pleased you have.’
‘Why, Mr Bancroft? Have you something you particularly wish to tell me?’
‘Good heavens, no.’
‘We’re as big a pair of scalp hunters as you could hope to find in a day’s march, Mr Masters,’ Cordelia explained. ‘We like meeting famous people.’
Masters grinned, delighted at the compliment. He said, but not at all modestly, ‘Infamous is what you mean, ma’am. I’m never mentioned except in the same breath as crime. An uncomfortable partnership; and a man’s known by the company he keeps.’
‘Not necessarily. Not when he overcomes his environment—as we often hear you do.’
‘You only get to hear about the good bits. Successes make news. Routine failures don’t.’
She laughed. It was a good sound. Musical. ‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. That’s right. In the big chair.’
When they were seated, she asked, ‘Can I stay? Or am I to be banished to the kitchen?’
‘You’d better stay, Coddy,’ Bancroft said. ‘I expect the Chief Inspector wants to talk about last Saturday night, and you’re far better at remembering details than I am.’
Cordelia settled back in her chair. ‘Quite right,’ Masters said. ‘I’d like to speak to both of you, and it is last Saturday night I’m interested in. And first of all, the meal. Can you remember it?’
‘Steak and stewed fruit,’ Bancroft said. ‘Rather good, I thought.’
‘Oh, Ken,’ his wife protested. ‘Just like a man. It was a lovely meal. Cora Dent is a wonderful cook, Mr Masters, and she knows how to put on a properly balanced meal. She was catering for a diabetic girl, two middle-aged women with average appetites, two elderly men who eat too much anyway and a young, vigorous man who needs good meals. All at once. And she succeeded admirably. Everybody was beautifully satisfied. And she always manages to get that wonderful effect that you see in coloured photographs when her meals are on the plates. Those little green peas beside the lovely colour of the young carrots. The steak looking just right and every potato exactly the same size, shape and colour, with a little sprinkling of parsley butter on top. That’s what I was doing when you came. Trying to achieve the same effect. But I can’t do it, no matter how hard I try.’
Kenneth Bancroft said, ‘This sounds like a meeting of the selection committee for the local art exhibition.’
‘It was certainly a vivid description. Now, what about the rest of the meal?’
Mrs Bancroft confirmed the full menu as described the previous evening by Mrs Dent.
‘Did either of you two suffer any ill effects from the meal?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘It was as good and fresh as it could be. Cora is a dietitian, you know. She makes a god of kitchen cleanliness and food storage.’
‘I was a bit loose the next day,’ Bancroft said. ‘I remember saying to you, Coddy …’
‘Nonsense, Ken. You ate a bowl of stewed prunes for breakfast last Sunday morning because you were too idle to boil yourself an egg.’ She turned to Masters. ‘He came down so late I’d cleared away an hour before he appeared, so he just had what he could find in the fridge.’
Masters grinned. He took his pipe from his breast pocket where it was wedged, bowl upright, by a white silk handkerchief. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
She gave him permission. He said, as he rubbed the Warlock Flake, ‘What about drinks? Did they upset you?’
‘Brandy helps the digestive juices, I find,’ Bancroft answered. ‘The girls drank some of that pinkish stuff—German Liqueur—not kummel …’
‘Anisette?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I liked it,’ Cordelia said. ‘But I don’t care for kümmel. I never liked seedy cake when I was a child.’
‘Cumin seeds,’ her husband said.
‘No. Caraway.’
‘Never mind, Coddy.’
‘Did any of you eat or drink anything else, after supper?’
‘The men had more brandy. That’s why Kenneth was so late up the next day. But we women had nothing else to drink. Cora and I both had After Eight mints, but Sally wouldn’t touch them. Sensible child. She knew she’d had her full allowance of carbohydrates or calories or whatever for one day. For ever, I suppose you could say now. It is a shame, Chief Inspector. She was a nice lassie.’
‘Somebody didn’t think so, Mrs Bancroft.’
‘No I was forgetting. You think she was murdered, don’t you? It seems impossible to me. We were all laughing and joking over our meal …’
Hill said, ‘About the meal, ma’am. Didn’t you have any wine at table?’ He blushed as he asked. Masters realized with a shock that table wines had not occurred to him. Mentally he gave Hill full marks.
‘We didn’t have wine, Sergeant, because Cora Dent said Sally couldn’t have any, and as a good hostess she didn’t want one guest to feel out of it. In any case, too much wine is drunk with meals. It makes you feel too full, so I didn’t mind, and I don’t suppose the men did.’
The alderman agreed that he’d not missed the wine. He’d made up for it later with Harry Dent’s brandy in any case.
‘A liqueur seemes to be a funny sort of drink for a diabetic to take,’ Hill continued.
‘Only one drink a week, Sergeant. And a very little one at that.’
‘But it’s very syrupy and sweet. According to the books they’re not forbidden, but they’re not good.’
Mrs Bancroft said simply, ‘Sally liked liqueurs.’
‘You’re sure Mr Dent did give her a little one when he poured out?’ asked Masters. ‘He didn’t try to be overgenerous—because he’s a generous host or because he was out to play a joke or anything like that?’
‘Nothing like that. Mr Dent poured the brandy for the men, but Mrs Dent poured the women’s drinks. She was always very careful to see that Sally got no more than was good for her. And I think that answers the sergeant’s question, too.’
Masters lit his pipe. ‘Well, that seems to dispose of the meal. Was there anything at all about the evening that struck you as out of the ordinary? Any remark, any action, any coming and going that struck you as odd?’
‘Perfectly ordinary evening as far as I can recall,’ Bancroft said. ‘Just general chatter. Nothing very serious. Nothing very remarkable. That’s what makes it seem so improbable as a prelude to murder. Are you absolutely sure there was foul play? I mean, a girl in her condition is very likely to fall into a coma, I understand, and if there was nobody with her to help …’
‘Medical opinion is that her coma was too rapid to be natural and its seriousness too great to be normal. And her insulin was found to be useless,’ Masters explained.
‘Quite. Then why are you so interested in what she had to eat?’
‘I like to cover every possibility, Mr Bancroft. As a point of fact, what I am doing by questioning you about the food is eliminating it from the list of causes. When I’ve eliminated what I can, what’s left must contain the truth.’
‘Of course. Stupid of me, one forgets that elimination is as important as elucidation, and that the one complements the other.’
‘What are you going on about, Kenneth? Mr Masters asked if we’d noticed any odd comings and goings.’
‘I know. I was telling him we didn’t.’
‘Not at the Dent house. But when he said comings and goings he reminded me.’
‘What of?’
‘When we were going there on Saturday night. Do you rememb
er? The girl we saw.’
‘Of course. The handsome one that young Brian used to knock about with at one time. I always liked the look of her. Cora didn’t care for her, though. What was her name?’
‘Clara Breese.’
‘That’s it. I ought to have remembered. I met her at that Friends of the Hospital affair.’
Masters noted that Hill stiffened visibly in his chair at the mention of Clara Breese. He himself felt a surge of excitement. Something? Or nothing? He would have to find out. Clara Breese somewhere near the Dent house at seven or thereabouts on Saturday evening. She hadn’t mentioned that to Green. He could imagine Green’s reaction when he heard about it. Particularly as he’d taken something of a shine to Miss Breese. ‘What affair was this?’ he asked Bancroft.
‘I’m chairman of the Hospital Friends. An organization which devotes its energies to bettering the conditions in local hospitals. We achieve quite a bit, but we’re chiefly concerned in raising money. Garden fêtes, coffee mornings, raffles. You know the sort of thing. Everybody who has used the hospital in the past year is asked to sell a book of raffle tickets. We collect a fair amount that way. But when it comes to spending the money, the fighting starts. One wants this and one wants that. Committees!’
‘It’s not quite as bad as that, but Ken’s right,’ Cordelia added. ‘We collect the money amicably and then squabble over how to spend it. Ken had a good idea when he took over the chair. He formed an advisory committee of specialists. That’s where people like Cora Dent came in. Being a dietitian, she could see what the food in hospital was like, and although we could do little to change it, we could use her recommendations as a basis for buying simple extras. Then there are the library trolleys and kiddies toys and so on. We got teachers and people like that to help and do the buying. It has worked quite well.’
‘Where does Clara Breese fit into this?’
‘Clara? It was when we decided to buy new curtains for the wards and redecorate some of them. Brian and Clara were friendly at the time, so Cora Dent brought in Clara to design and choose materials. That’s when Kenneth met her. Clara made little models to show off her suggestions to the committee. Very good they were, too. Just made out of cardboard but cleverly done.’
Sick to Death Page 11
