Toye, cautiously overtaking a milk-lorry, agreed that on a day like this the country was a bit of all right.
Pollard reluctantly brought his thoughts back from the landscape to his case. Those small glove prints. Were they another pointer to the niece? He couldn’t be too careful to approach the Lang interview with an absolutely open mind.
He went on to consider the implications of a possible elimination of the Langs. It would mean that Audrey Vickers had had an enemy prepared to take the risk of murdering her: an unusual situation, to say the least of it, for a woman in late middle-age leading an uneventful life in a small seaside resort. Surely someone in her circle would know about an antagonism on this scale? The Langs themselves, for instance, or some local friend, or perhaps her solicitor… Pollard roused himself to answer a query from Toye.
‘Yes, the station first. Better just to drop in before we go along to the house.’
The Redbay police station was in the charge of Inspector Morris, a quiet man rather slow of speech, who nevertheless impressed Pollard favourably. He reported that the Langs had arrived at the Vicarage much later than expected the night before, owing to engine trouble as they drove down. They would be along at ten o’clock as the Superintendent had asked.
‘Properly het up, Mrs Lang,’ Inspector Morris said. ‘Said she was being kept in the dark about her auntie, and what exactly had happened? I stalled, and handed out the usual about an enquiry into the cause of death when the doctor couldn’t give a certificate, and how Highcastle was conducting this one. It was before Inspector Dart rang to say you were taking over, sir. She carried on about red tape, and then she asked point-blank if Mrs Vickers had taken her own life. I said I’d no information to give her, and that an officer from Highcastle would tell her all she wanted to know this morning.’
‘How did the question about Mrs Vickers taking her own life strike you?’ Pollard asked. ‘Genuine?’
Inspector Morris looked at him shrewdly. ‘Well, yes, it did. Quite genuine, for all that she was rattled.’
‘Did you know Mrs Vickers?’
‘Not to say know her, I didn’t. I knew her by sight. One of those jerky hurried walkers, she was, going along with her head poking forward and looking tensed up. She’d ring with a complaint now and again — parking outside her gate mostly. Excitable type who’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. There’s never been anything outstanding about her. She never took a big part locally, but you’d see her around with others of her sort. Plenty in the kitty, I’d say.’
‘Thanks,’ said Pollard. ‘This sort of stuff from you local chaps is a great help. You’ve never heard of her having a serious row or a feud with anybody round here?’
‘Nothing in that way, sir. I wouldn’t say she was popular, but I’ve never heard of anything of that sort.’
‘What’s Mrs Lang like?’
‘She’s a little bit of a thing with reddish hair. Mrs Vickers brought her up from all accounts. She’s been away a lot — boarding-school, and then college. Said to be very clever, and there was a piece in the local paper last summer about her degree at Oxford, I think it was. I heard tell there’d been a bust-up with Mrs Vickers about the marriage, and come to think of it, Mrs Lang hasn’t shown up in these parts lately.’
Pollard thanked him again. ‘I’d like to run up for a quick look at the house,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back by ten.’
Lauriston, Audrey Vickers’ house, was in a quiet road in the older, residential part of Redbay. It was of moderate size, double-fronted and with big bay windows overlooking a trim garden gay with flowering trees and a splendid show of tulips. As Pollard and Toye arrived a constable emerged from the summer-house. No one, he said, had turned up since he took over at seven that morning, except a paper boy and the milkman. He produced a key and let the Yard men into the house.
It was stale and frowsty inside. The place hasn’t had a window open since Dart and his lot were here yesterday, Pollard thought, walking into the main sitting-room on the left of the front door. Behind some superficial disorder he recognized decoration and furnishings in rather old-fashioned good taste. Among the pictures were a couple of portraits in oils which he put down as eighteenth or early nineteenth century, some amateur water-colours in Victorian gilt frames, and one or two modern landscapes. There was a fine Chippendale table, and other extremely pleasing pieces, and a display of Rockingham china in a cabinet. All this could have been picked up in salerooms and antique shops, but it somehow looked like family stuff, and suggested a stable and prosperous background. There was a complete absence of clutter, and Pollard was reminded of his maiden aunt’s elegant little cottage, except that here there were chairs representing the last word in luxurious modern comfort. As he went quickly through the rest of the house he found the same emphasis on comfort everywhere. The carpets stretched from wall to wall, and were soft and deep. Mattresses were covered with brocade, and of a positively bloated thickness. The bathroom and kitchen were lavishly equipped with every possible gadget. There was central heating and double glazing. His Aunt Isabel would think it all rather vulgar, if not sinfully self-indulgent, but it all helped him to build up a picture of Audrey Vickers. She had certainly been at pains to cushion herself with a hefty layer of material well-being. Against what, he wondered? The bleakness of an early widowhood?
A rapid inspection of cupboards and drawers led him to Dart’s conclusion. Audrey Vickers had kept her affairs on an orderly footing.
‘It shouldn’t take long to go through this lot,’ he said to Toye, as they stood in front of a handsome bureau-bookcase. ‘If there’s time after seeing the Langs, and I can contact the solicitor, I think I’ll cut back to Highcastle while you start having a bash here. She doesn’t seem to have kept letters, but we might come on something useful.’
Toye subjected the room to a contemplative gaze. ‘Lush, but a bit chilly,’ he pronounced at last. ‘Impersonal, somehow.’
‘Have you noticed there isn’t a photograph in the place?’ Pollard asked. ‘Nothing of the late Mr Vickers, or of the niece she’s brought up from a kid. Odd, isn’t it? Here, I must be going.’
Pollard’s immediate impression of Drusilla Lang was that she was trying to conceal acute unhappiness under a show of aggressiveness. Telling Inspector Morris that he would rather introduce himself, he had walked into the small room where she was waiting with her husband, Toye following him.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m Superintendent Pollard of the CID, and this is Sergeant Toye. You are Mr and Mrs Lang, I understand, and Mrs Lang is the late Mrs Vickers’ niece? I’m afraid her death must have been a great shock to you. May I express my sympathy?’
‘I’d far rather you gave me some information,’ Drusilla Lang replied truculently. ‘I haven’t been able to get a word of sense out of the local police. What happened to my aunt?’
She stood confronting him, small and slight in a beige linen suit with a diminutive mini-skirt, her long tawny hair making her look like a child until the observer’s eyes moved to her intelligent face and determined chin. Her husband appeared large and even massive by comparison, although only of average height. Intelligent too, Pollard registered, although quite a different type. He stood close to his wife, and gave the impression of being anxious about what she might say or do.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Pollard suggested.
The Langs subsided on to two upright chairs on the far side of the table, facing him. Toye effaced himself somewhere in the background.
‘Naturally you’re entitled to know what has happened to your aunt, Mrs Lang,’ Pollard told her. ‘You’re Mrs Vickers’ next-of-kin, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she replied impatiently. ‘I believe she had some distant cousins up north somewhere, but she had lost touch with them.’
‘At about a quarter past nine yesterday morning,’ Pollard stated, ‘Mrs Vickers was found dead by her daily woman, a Mrs Young. She was lying on her bed, and appeared to have gone there to rest after her lunc
h on Friday. There has been a post-mortem examination, and the estimated time of death bears out this theory. Mrs Young rang for Dr Cross, who came round immediately. He found himself unable to give a death certificate, and notified Inspector Morris here. The Inspector in his turn reported the matter to his superiors at Highcastle, and Chief-Inspector Dart of the Highcastle CID took over the enquiry.’
As he talked, Pollard watched the Langs closely. Keith was frowning as if with intense concentration. An angry flush spread over Drusilla’s face.
‘Then why isn’t he here, if he’s supposed to be in charge?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘I should have thought he’d have come over to see me out of common decency. Or perhaps the police haven’t time for that sort of thing. Who are you, anyway?’
‘Sergeant Toye and I are members of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, Mrs Lang. The Chief Constable has asked the Yard to take over from Highcastle.’
There was an electric silence. Either they’re consummate actors, Pollard thought, studying the stupefaction of the two faces in front of him, or they just haven’t a clue…
‘But what the hell’s the idea?’ Keith broke out unexpectedly. ‘It seems pretty obvious that Mrs Vickers killed herself, but suicide’s not a crime now.’
‘I must tell you both that there is no question of suicide, nor of an accident in the ordinary sense of the word. We are treating the case as one of murder, Mr Lang.’
‘But it’s — it’s simply preposterous,’ Drusilla exclaimed, bringing her hand down on the table. ‘There’s some absurd mistake!’
‘Briefly, the facts are these,’ Pollard said, ignoring this remark. ‘A small parcel addressed to Mrs Vickers arrived at Lauriston by the second delivery on Friday. This is vouched for by Mrs Young. It contained half a pound of chocolates. After her lunch, when she had gone to her bedroom to rest, Mrs Vickers ate two of these chocolates, and the post-mortem has established that she died from a lethal dose of cyanide. Analysis of the remaining chocolates has found a lethal dose of cyanide in each one. With the box was a compliments slip from Odyssey Tours Limited. We are contacting the firm, of course, but I think we may rule out any possibility of the chocolates having been sent out from their office.’
Drusilla had gone very white. She made an involuntary movement towards her husband, who shifted his chair closer to hers.
‘Now that you know the facts,’ Pollard went on, with a more official note in his voice, ‘you’ll both realize, I’m sure, that we have to ask everyone closely connected with Mrs Vickers a lot of what may seem very tiresome questions. But before I begin, I have to remind you that you are not obliged to answer any of them, and that your solicitor may be present if you wish.’
He thought the pair looked young and frightened. Then Drusilla flared out at him. ‘I suppose you’ve already decided that I did it, to get her money? Well, let me tell you there wasn’t any as far as I was concerned. Aunt Audrey had cut me out of her will.’
Keith grabbed her arm roughly. ‘For God’s sake don’t talk such bloody rot,’ he adjured her angrily. ‘The chap’s got to do his job.’
‘Forcibly put, but all too true,’ Pollard remarked.
The tactic worked. Drusilla shook back her hair, mumbling something shamefacedly. ‘Bit of a shock. What is it you want to know?’
‘Let’s begin at the beginning,’ Pollard suggested. ‘You were left an orphan, weren’t you, and Mrs Vickers brought you up?’
‘Yes. Both my parents were killed in a plane crash when I was three. There wasn’t a penny — they’d been living it up — and Aunt Audrey took me on. She was a well-off widow, and — well — gave me everything. Top school, holidays abroad, Oxford — the lot.’
‘What went wrong, then, since you say she’s cut you out of her will?’
Drusilla indicated her husband. ‘It was bound to happen. Aunt Audrey was a pathetic frustrated person, and madly possessive. She just lived on me — emotionally, I mean. I was hopelessly immature when I went to Oxford, but I soon came to. I’d just realized that I’d have to make a breakaway when I met Keith, you see. College had offered me a research studentship — I got a first, actually — but instead we went off and got married without telling anyone. I honestly thought it was better for everyone to have the row with Aunt Audrey afterwards.’
‘Did your marriage lead to a complete break?’
‘Not at first. She even wanted to make me an allowance, but there were strings, so I wouldn’t take it.’
‘Strings relating to me,’ Keith put in. ‘I haven’t a nine-till-five job, you see. I write — or try to. Mrs Vickers disapproved.’
‘Keith’s going to make the grade,’ Drusilla said with passionate conviction in her voice. ‘Thrale’s have just taken his first novel, and think a lot of it. I’ve got a part-time teaching job at the Fulminster Tech so that we can make out till he gets going. We were getting along perfectly well until we both went down with flu rather badly in January. Keith sprang pneumonia, and was very ill. I think Aunt Audrey really tried to be decent at this point. She offered to take us both on a Mediterranean cruise in April, to get fit again. Keith wasn’t keen, but I thought it would do him good, and insisted on going. And,’ she paused, fumbling for words, ‘I am — was — awfully sorry for her, you know. And grateful for all she’d done. I knew she’d be difficult on the trip, but we were someone for her to go with. You know.’
‘I see,’ said Pollard.
By dint of further questions he formed the opinion that Audrey Vickers had been unreasonably demanding on the cruise, but the Langs had contrived to enjoy themselves within limits until there was a major blow-up almost at the end.
At this point he thought that the Langs became ill at ease. Pressed to explain how the trouble had arisen, they gave an unconvincing account of Audrey Vickers’ sudden indisposition on the Acropolis, her insistence on their returning with her to the ship, and their walk-out for the rest of the day in order to see something of Athens. On their return, Drusilla told him, her aunt had been in an uncontrollable rage, and said such unforgivable things that she had decided then and there that they’d reached the point of no return. For the rest of the cruise they had barely spoken, and had parted at Heathrow with no attempt at reconciliation from either side.
‘And there has been no contact between you since?’ Pollard asked.
‘None,’ Drusilla replied with finality.
‘As a matter of routine I must ask you both how you spent your time after parting from Mrs Vickers at Heathrow.’
Pollard was aware that Keith had begun to look at him fixedly.
‘Aunt Audrey didn’t offer us a lift in her taxi to Waterloo,’ Drusilla said. ‘In any case we’d decided to go down to Fulminster by a later train to keep clear of her. We went into London by bus, and went to the British Museum to see the Elgin Marbles. Then we had some tea, and got buses to Waterloo, and caught the five-thirty down.’
‘And what about the following days?’
‘Term began on Wednesday. I was at the Tech all day, and stayed late to do things in the lab. And Thursday. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are my days there.’
‘I was in the flat all Wednesday, except for going out to get some food and things,’ Keith said steadily. ‘On Thursday I went up to London to see Thrale’s about my novel. There was a letter waiting when we got back saying they’d like to see me on Thursday.’
There was a perceptible pause. Toye turned over a page in his notebook.
‘Mrs Lang,’ Pollard asked, ‘Mrs Vickers only got back to her home here on Tuesday afternoon or evening. If, as you say, you had no contact with her after you parted in London, how did you know that she had cut you out of her will?’
Drusilla looked taken aback, but met his eyes quite frankly. ‘I don’t know in the sense of knowing some demonstrable scientific fact,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m morally certain. She told me that the moment she got home she was going to ring her solicitor in Highcastle for an appointment t
he next day, and make a new will there and then, and wasn’t leaving me a penny. She was the kind of person who always rushed off and did things at once, even if she wasn’t in a flaming rage, wasn’t she, Keith?’
He nodded assent.
Pollard took a small booklet from his briefcase. ‘Naturally the Odyssey Tours compliments slip with the chocolates doesn’t prove that there is any connection between the cruise and your aunt’s death,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to run through the passenger list with you both. Try to remember if Mrs Vickers seemed to be seeing much of anybody.’
‘She didn’t. People sheered off her,’ Drusilla said bluntly. ‘She talked a lot. Mostly about herself, and I’m quite sure about us, and how ghastly we were to her.’
‘All the same, we’ll have a bash,’ Pollard insisted. ‘Stop me if you do remember anything.’
He read the list aloud, pausing at intervals to tick the names of their table companions and those of one or two other people with whom Audrey Vickers had attempted to fraternize.
‘Strode, Mrs Olivia,’ he read, and stopped abruptly.
‘She was awfully nice,’ Drusilla remarked with warmth. ‘She was around that morning on the Acropolis, and even offered to take Aunt Audrey back to the ship, so that we could stay up there, but it was no go. Aunt Audrey was beastly rude to her, actually.’
‘Was Mrs Strode shortish, and rather plump? About sixty?’
‘Yes, she was. Do you know her?’
‘I think I do.’ He ticked the name and went on with the list.
‘I suppose there’ll be an inquest?’ Keith asked, when he had finished.
‘I was coming to that,’ Pollard said. ‘It will be opened here at two-thirty tomorrow afternoon, simply to establish Mrs Vickers’ identity, so that the coroner can issue the burial certificate. The inquest will be adjourned at once, probably for a fortnight, so that further enquiries can be made. I suggest that you or Mrs Lang contact Mrs Vickers’ solicitor. He will undoubtedly come over, and can tell you if she has left any wishes about her funeral. You will be staying for it of course?’
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