A Fatal Flaw

by Faith Martin

  But he’d be watching her closely from now on, and one thing was for certain – when Trudy went to the theatre tonight, he’d be going with her.

  ‘So,’ Trudy said, ‘where do we start?’

  ‘What about the former boyfriend?’ Clement said. ‘He hardly spoke much at the inquest, and if anybody can tell us what sort of girl the victim was, it’s bound to be him.’

  ‘Great! Where does he work?’ Trudy enthused.

  ‘The council offices. He’s a clerk in the roadworks department.’

  Chapter 6

  William Hanson looked surprised to see them but seemed willing enough to answer their questions. To avoid causing a disturbance in the office, however, he’d taken them outside to a nearby bench situated under an old horse chestnut tree, where they’d all sat down to watch some sparrows and starlings fighting over a discarded crust of bread.

  ‘I thought I’d said all I needed to in court, sir,’ he said diffidently, looking at Trudy in her uniform a shade uneasily and with real alarm in his eyes. ‘I really don’t know anything at all about how she came to be poisoned.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right. All we need to know is more about Abby herself,’ Trudy told him with a reassuring smile. It always made her feel rather unsettled to be feared by someone. Whilst she knew that it was her uniform that was instilling the fear in this rather pleasant young man, it still made her feel like squirming inside. So far, the shoplifters and handbag thieves that she’d mostly been dealing with had all treated her with either weary contempt or anger. It wasn’t often that she experienced what it felt like to wield real power – the kind that your average man-in-the-street understood – and feared. And she was not sure she liked it.

  ‘What was Abby like as a person?’ she asked softly. ‘We thought you could help us to understand her.’ To her relief, William seemed to relax a little.

  ‘Well, I only stepped out with her for a few months you understand,’ he began cautiously. He was a good-looking young man, Trudy noted absently, with a haircut in the same style as the younger Everly Brother, and was wearing a well-worn but respectable suit. ‘I knew her originally from school, but even when I got older I didn’t dare ask her out. Well, not back then.’

  ‘Oh, why not?’ Trudy asked casually.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ William smiled ruefully. ‘She was way too popular and scary. And I was nothing much. I mean, I wasn’t captain of the rugby team or what-have-you. I had the feeling that she’d have withered me on the spot!’ He laughed. ‘Or maybe I was just too shy back then.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ Trudy laughed lightly. ‘She was a bit of the “goddess” sort, was she? I’ll bet she was good at everything. Lessons, sport, and had loads of friends? I wish I’d been that sort of girl.’

  William glanced at her uncertainly. ‘Oh I don’t know. You’re so pretty you must have been popular too.’ He suddenly gave an audible gulping sound. ‘I mean, not that I’m saying you’re pretty… No, I mean you are, but I…’ he began to stammer, clearly wondering if you could be arrested for sounding forward with a police officer.

  Beside him Clement Ryder hid a grin behind a cough.

  Before he could get himself more tongue-tied, Trudy laughed lightly and said casually, ‘Thank you! But I understand Abby must have been really spectacular. I mean, to enter a beauty contest…?’

  Clement, watching the by-play, admired her handling of the shy youth. Sitting back, prepared to watch and listen, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a roll of breath mints. He saw Trudy glance at him, at the mints, and then look away.

  Trudy tried to concentrate on what William was saying, but in truth, she felt her mind wandering. For some time now, she had begun to wonder if the coroner might have a bit of a drinking problem. Once or twice she’d seen his hands tremble, and one of the older constables at the office had said that secret tipplers often used breath mints to try and hide the smell of alcohol lingering about them.

  ‘Oh, she was very pretty,’ William said, forcing her to concentrate on the matter in hand. ‘Sometimes, I think she was too pretty for her own good,’ he added a shade darkly.

  ‘Oh? In what way?’ Trudy asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ William said. ‘She could be… a bit bossy, I suppose. As if she thought the world owed her a living because she was so popular. You know what I mean?’

  Trudy nodded. ‘I think so. Somebody said she treated her friend Vicky more like a servant,’ she lied smoothly. Nobody had actually said as much, but from reading between the lines, she felt fairly safe in tossing the supposition into the mix.

  ‘Poor Vicky. Yeah, she hung on Abby’s every word. It was a bit sad really – the way she was so anxious to please her all the time.’

  ‘Everyone said they were best friends.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, his voice a little uncertain. Catching her encouraging look, he swept on. ‘The thing is, I often wondered if it was less about devotion and more about fear, with Vicky.’

  ‘Oh?’ Trudy frowned and wisely kept silent. She had already learned that sometimes keeping silent was the best thing when you wanted someone to talk.

  ‘Yes. Abby was, well, the queen bee at school in many ways, and she made sure everyone knew it! And Vicky was, well, all right and pretty enough in her own way, and sort of smart. But she was nothing special, you know?’

  ‘She wanted some of Abby’s reflected glory, you mean?’ Trudy asked.

  But already William was shaking his head. ‘No, not that so much. I think she buttered Abby up constantly so that Abby didn’t relegate her. You know, a lot of girls wanted to be friends with Abby since she could be really cutting to the lesser mortals – especially the more plain girls. And the safest way not to be the target of Abby’s scorn was to be in tight with her. You know?’

  William paused, then looked at Trudy with a slightly puzzled look. ‘That doesn’t sound very nice, does it?’

  ‘Oh, I remember school,’ Trudy tried to reassure him. ‘Everything was either black or white, wasn’t it? You were either “in” or you were nobody. And if you were nobody… well, it was like being sent to Coventry. Nobody noticed you or talked to you. Sometimes it could make you miserable.’

  William nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it. And I think Vicky was always terrified she’d do something to upset Abby and get sent out into the wilderness.’

  ‘Is that why she joined the beauty competition, do you think? Because Abby wanted her to?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it. It’s not the kind of thing she would have dared do if Abby hadn’t bullied her into doing it. I know for a fact that Vicky’s mum can’t have approved.’

  ‘But she’s a grown woman now,’ Trudy pointed out gently. ‘They weren’t at school anymore.’

  William shrugged. ‘Abby just had power over people. I can’t really explain it. She could be wonderful, and then you felt lifted up, like you were flying among the stars. But woe betide anyone who earned her scorn. She could turn cold on you at the drop of a hat and without any warning, and make you feel utterly miserable.’

  ‘Did she ever do that to you?’ Trudy asked curiously.

  William smiled. ‘Yes. I know I shouldn’t really say this, but when it became clear that she was getting bored of me, and finally threw me over, it was almost a relief. I’m much happier with Shirley now, anyway. You know where you are with Shirley.’

  But Trudy wasn’t interested in his new lady love.

  ‘Did Abby ever talk about what was happening at the beauty contest?’ she asked instead.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he responded, puzzled.

  ‘Never mind.’ Trudy changed the subject quickly. The less people knew about the trouble at the theatre, the better. ‘Do you know anybody who might have wanted to hurt Abby? You said she could be a bit bossy and unkind. Can you think of someone she really upset?’

  William’s eyes shifted quickly. ‘No, not really.’

  Trudy shot Clement a quick look and he nodded back. Both th
ought that the young man was now lying.

  ‘It’s important, William,’ Trudy insisted gently. ‘If we’re going to get to the bottom of what happened to Abby, it’s important that we get a clear picture of what was happening in her life.’

  ‘What does that mean? She drank that poisonous stuff by accident, didn’t she?’ he demanded, looking from Trudy to the coroner a little wildly.

  ‘Perhaps she did, but perhaps she didn’t,’ Trudy said unhelpfully. ‘So, did she ever seem frightened of anyone?’ she tried again.

  William shrugged, clearly unhappy with the turn things had taken. He’d obviously believed in the ‘accident’ theory and the prospect of something more sinister being at work was unsettling him.

  Trudy could tell his mind was working overtime, and she shot Clement another look. He, too, was watching the younger man closely.

  ‘Look, if I knew of anyone who could have hurt her, I’d tell you,’ William finally said, sounding sincere enough. ‘But I don’t. And now I really have to get back to work. My manager won’t like me taking too much time off.’

  ‘All right,’ Trudy said reluctantly, sensing that it would be pointless – at least at this time – to push him further. All three got up from the bench, sending the birds fluttering into the air.

  They all shook hands solemnly, and Trudy and Clement watched the young man walk away.

  ‘Well, that was interesting,’ Trudy said quietly, when she was sure her witness was out of earshot.

  ‘Yes. Wasn’t it?’ Clement agreed. He wondered if Trudy had picked up on the one really revealing thing that William Hanson had said during the interview and hoped that she had.

  You have to pay very close attention to the things people say.

  ‘I have to get back to the office as well,’ Clement said now, glancing at his watch. ‘I have another court case tomorrow and the paperwork is piling up. I’ll pick you up at your house tonight, at about a quarter past seven?’

  ‘Oh, you want to come to the theatre too?’ Trudy said, sounding surprised. ‘I didn’t think beauty contests were your cup of tea,’ she dared to tease him slightly.

  Clement smiled. ‘They’re not. But I have a feeling that there are things going on at that theatre that need properly looking into.’

  Chapter 7

  Robert Dunbar watched a girl with long flowing blonde hair – but a rather ordinary face – sashay somewhat exaggeratedly down the middle of the stage. It was nearly eight o’clock at night, and the lighting wasn’t as bright as he would have wanted it, as they were making do with the run-of-the-mill stage lights.

  On the night though, when the paying public filled the seats, it would be time to pull out all the stops, and the businessman was confident that he could provide the city with a satisfactory spectacle – and get them buying Dunbar Honey in their droves.

  ‘We need to make up our minds what music to play for this section,’ his wife said fretfully by his side. They were seated in the fifth row of seats from the front, watching for flaws in timing and trying to imagine what it would be like when all the scenery was up, and the compere was there to keep things moving.

  Tonight, however, that noted (but not quite so noted as he would have liked) thespian, Dennis Quayle-Jones was nowhere in evidence.

  ‘I think we should have the quartet play something light but elegant. A waltz perhaps?’ Christine said. ‘It is evening wear, after all.’

  Robert sighed. ‘I was thinking perhaps something more modern,’ he said restlessly. ‘Cocktail party music, that sort of thing. Where’s Grace? Isn’t she supposed to have…’

  The Dunbars continued to bicker quietly.

  * * *

  Backstage, Trudy and Clement (having been let in by an octogenarian who had muttered constantly about the theatre’s grand old days) were watching from behind the curtains as one girl after another walked down the length of the stage. A section of coconut matting laid out the route, but Trudy supposed that, on the night, it would be replaced with a genuine red carpet.

  Beside them, Grace Farley was giving them the names of each girl as they passed, but had already indicated her employer and his wife watching from their seats.

  ‘This is Sylvia Blane,’ she hissed now, as a short, curvy girl with short blonde hair and big blue eyes did her stint on the matting. ‘That old woman over there,’ she added, pointing across the stage to the far set of curtains, ‘is Mrs Merriweather. She set up “Friends of the Old Swan Theatre” years ago, when it needed some restoration work.’

  Both Clement and Trudy obediently followed the line of her pointing finger to where an elderly woman stood, watching the action on the stage with a rather wry smile on her wrinkled face. She was very neatly and well dressed, but her shoulders stooped very slightly, marring what would otherwise have been a very elegant carriage.

  Clement, as a medical man and a good judge of the human form, put her in her early seventies. She was of the lean and rather wiry variety of old lady, with iron grey hair that was short and curly. ‘Her family are among Oxford’s oldest and used to be very big landowners and in banks and shipping back when fortunes could be made in that sort of thing. Everyone around here makes sure to keep her sweet, obviously,’ Grace added, with a rather cynical smile. ‘Of course, Mrs Merriweather and the rest of the committee are quite happy to come and watch plays, but the beauty pageant isn’t really her thing. Mind you, having said that, the old thing has been a bit of a sport about it all, and the girls are getting rather fond of her. She’s a nice old stick, in a way. Sometimes she can be quite funny too – you know, witty. Oh, this is Caroline Tomworthy – I told you, she’s the oldest of the competitors.’ Grace broke off as another woman swept by them and began to walk gracefully down the stage.

  Clement smiled at the young lady who looked to him to be about 22. Although he had to admit, after a second look, she had a certain elegance and élan about her that some of the girls in their late teens lacked. Perhaps it was because she was taller than most, and slim rather than curvaceous. She had long black hair and sloe-like dark eyes that hinted at some sort of Asian ancestry in her distant lineage. She had sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin, with striking-looking, rather than strictly beautiful, features. But she certainly had ‘presence’. And he had no doubt she was one of those women who looked good in fashionable clothes. He could understand why Abigail Trent might have considered her a serious rival.

  ‘Has anything happened to Miss Tomworthy whilst she’s been here?’ he asked curiously. ‘Has she fallen prey to the prankster?’

  ‘Not yet. Or if she has, she hasn’t said anything,’ Grace amended.

  Trudy frowned. ‘But why would anyone keep quiet about it? If something had happened, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Dunbar has given us all a lecture. With the press on the alert after Abby died, he’s warned us all that we mustn’t speak about… you know, anything odd that might be happening. We’ve all agreed, naturally. We’re only about two weeks away from the big night, and nobody wants anything to spoil it. That would be letting her win, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Her?’ Clement repeated sharply, and Grace bit her lip.

  ‘The prankster, I mean. I sort of assumed it was a woman we’re dealing with?’

  Clement nodded thoughtfully. Looking around he could see that the vast majority of people around them were all women, with very few men in the mix. So perhaps Grace was right to conclude the joker in the pack was female. Even so, he had a feeling that Trudy’s friend might have had someone specific in mind.

  Or was he just over-reading things?

  ‘Come on, let me introduce you to Mr and Mrs Dunbar,’ Grace said nervously. ‘I haven’t told them who you are or that I’ve invited you over,’ she added, feeling suddenly rather sick. ‘I just hope I won’t lose my job over this. Mr Dunbar might not be happy with the police being here.’

  She shot her friend a nervous look. Even though Trudy, out of her uniform and wearing a long dark-green dress, didn’t look in any
way constabulary.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she backed away from the stage and showed them where they could descend into the audience area via a narrow set of steps.

  It was Christine who noticed their approach first and visibly nudged her husband in the ribs. Robert winced, and then frowned at Grace and the two strangers.

  ‘Mr Dunbar, this is my friend Trudy, and, er, Dr Clement Ryder.’ Grace introduced them in a rush. She didn’t dare look at Christine. Only last night she’d ordered her to rifle through her husband’s private chequebook at the first opportunity and report back any purchases of jewellery or flowers or other suspicious purchases.

  Christine held out her hand to Clement, who took it with a polite smile. But her eyes immediately ran over Trudy, who had left her long, dark curly hair loose in a very attractive manner.

  ‘Have you come to audition for the pageant, Miss… er?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘Loveday,’ Trudy put in quickly. And then smiled ruefully. ‘And no, definitely not. I don’t think I’m beauty queen material, Mrs Dunbar.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Robert said at once. ‘You’re just the kind of girl we’re looking for. Can you sing or dance?’

  Trudy blinked. ‘Er, no,’ she admitted, totally caught out by the question.

  ‘Please, sir, I’ve brought Trudy here because I thought she might be able to help us,’ Grace rushed in before either of the older couple could say anything really embarrassing.

  ‘Help? With what?’ Robert asked blankly, peering at Trudy more closely in the dim light. ‘She doesn’t look old enough to have had experience in the theatre.’