by Rebecca Tope
‘Clinches it?’ he repeated. ‘You think this explains how he died?’
She sucked her upper lip unself-consciously. ‘I think it might,’ she said.
‘So what did you mean by ‘dodgy substances’?’ he urged. ‘What else was he taking?’
‘Henbane,’ she said flatly. ‘I pick it from the hedges and infuse it. It was a ludicrous thing to do, really just an experiment. It’s never done me any harm, and I was sure it had no lasting effects.’
Drew shook his head. ‘I’ve never even heard of it. What’s it meant to do?’
‘Heightens sensation, basically. Gives you a buzz. It’s poison in large doses, but we never had more than a few drops at a time.’
‘But if Jim was okay when he left you … what day was that?’
‘Monday, middle of the day.’
‘Right. So he did an afternoon’s work, went out playing on the computer with Jack Merryfield, went to bed as usual, and died about midnight. I’d say it was unlikely to be your fault. And there’s no suggestion he took a Viagra that evening, either.’
‘You’re just saying that to be nice. You don’t really believe it.’
He contemplated her with a sense of bemusement, aware that she was right. Talking to her – or rather, listening to her – had been an unusual experience. The directness, the dispensing with preliminary niceties, had been exhilarating, in its way. Like a roller-coaster ride. But there was something of an anticlimax in the air, too. If she had given Jim some home-brewed potion, which had killed him by accident, there was no sense in pursuing the matter any further. The case was closed, with no more than a ripple of discernible compunction from Roxanne. There would be little to gain from disclosing the details. Drew could attend the cremation with an easy mind, and forget the whole unfortunate business. It might even explain the death of the dog.
But he simply couldn’t leave it there, without being sure of the facts. ‘I’ll go now,’ he said quietly. ‘Thanks for talking to me. But – just to humour me – if somebody had deliberately poisoned Jim, who’d be your first choice of suspect?’
‘You’re asking me to slander somebody,’ she pointed out, in a reasonable tone. ‘Though I don’t think I could name just one person. There’s a longish list of candidates. A lot of people disapproved of him. Besides, it’s pointless. I’m sure it must have been the henbane.’
‘Never mind. Just run some of them past me,’ he coaxed. ‘So I can get the full picture. I’m new in town, remember.’
‘Nobody murdered Jim,’ she said emphatically. ‘But if they had, I’d go for Frank Dunlop, Gerald Proctor, Sid Hawkes, and maybe the person who supplied him with Viagra. I mean, he might have been threatening to report them, or something. They might have seen him as dangerous.’ She shook her head angrily, and added, ‘If he really was taking that, as well as the stuff he had here with me, I wouldn’t vouch for the state of his heart.’
‘Who’s Frank Dunlop?’
‘Husband of Lorraine. Look, this isn’t to be spread around. It could do a lot of unnecessary damage, and I definitely am not one to gossip. Let’s just say he’d be a jealous husband, if he knew what had been going on.’
‘But if he didn’t know, he shouldn’t be on your list.’
‘If,’ she echoed.
‘Nobody else?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Not really. One or two who might have grudges from way back.’
‘You did say Sid Hawkes, didn’t you?’ he queried. ‘You mean Sid who works at Plant’s? The mortuary man? Why, for heaven’s sake?’
Roxanne grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, really. It’s probably nothing. But there was a bit of trouble with his Susie, a while ago. You’d have to ask my sister for details. Her Craig’s going out with the girl now. Or was. I think Jim stepped over the mark there. Nobody ever talks about it, but I get the impression that Sid isn’t the sort to forget that kind of thing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, with you and him working together. Daft of me.’
Drew shook his head doubtfully. ‘Well, I’ll be off now,’ he said. ‘It was really good to meet you.’ And he meant it.
As he walked briskly back across the field, her face remained vivid in his mind. His body tingled. Never in his life had he met a woman like Roxanne Gibson.
Jodie was also walking fast, her head tipped forward, shoulders hunched, deep in thought. There had been something very odd about that funeral chap turning up yesterday at the printworks, for no real reason. She’d been a fool to assume he’d come about the service sheets. Thinking about it afterwards, she recalled his look of surprise and quick agreement, making it obvious that he’d seized on it as a convenient pretext. The way he’d snooped about, examining the various stacks of work was most suspicious, in retrospect. Why should someone who worked at an undertaker’s be so interested? The more she puzzled over it, the stranger the whole business seemed. But then, ever since Tuesday she’d had the feeling that there was something missing – some piece of information or logic which would help to make sense of Jim’s death. Every time she thought about it, or talked to someone, the feeling became stronger, making her more restless and miserable with each day that passed.
She knew she would have to go and see David again. Amidst all that was going on, the anger and grief and confusion, David kept bobbing up to the top of her list of priorities.
Weekends had never been her favourite time. They reminded her how lonely she was, and how empty her life. Sometimes she went to see an elderly uncle of whom she was very fond, a hundred miles away; occasionally she treated herself to a weekend in the Derbyshire Dales or the Yorkshire Moors, staying in small B&Bs, and roaming the hills. But mostly she stuck to Bradbourne and its surrounding area. There were organised walks and rambles which could fill most of a day, but could also be frustrating. Large groups walked too slowly, and fragmented into small cliques of friends, leaving Jodie marching out on her own, more often than not. Pointless, really – when she could do that for herself on a more interesting route.
She walked into town and bought a bagful of groceries. Then she made a wide detour to take in Primrose Close, in case David’s car was outside his mother’s house. It wasn’t, and the extra two miles had brought her up to lunchtime, when she got home. A quick bite to eat at home, and she’d be off again to visit David. For that, she’d have to take her car. He lived nearly five miles away, on the edge of Woodingleigh, and she hadn’t time to walk there and back.
But the plan never materialised. Five minutes before she was intending to set out, someone knocked on her door. She lived in a big old house, using the basement for her main living area, with its own entrance down a flight of steps. Only someone who knew her would come to that door. Intrigued, she went to open it.
Philip Lapsford stood there, worry almost comically acute on his face. ‘Oh, Jodie, thank goodness you’re in,’ he said, and pushed past her into the corridor. ‘I didn’t know who would be able to help me, until I thought of you.’
She stood back to let him in, and waited for an explanation. She knew Philip least well of all the Lapsfords. He had never seemed to know what to say to her, and there had never been the slightest rapport between them. She was mystified.
‘There is one hell of a mess brewing,’ he burst out. ‘Some bloke from the funeral place came round to Mum’s yesterday and took away the dog – it died, you know. Some young chap, it was – very sympathetic, nice manner and everything.’
Jodie nodded. ‘If it’s the one I’ve met, that’s true. Quite a little charmer, he is.’
‘And he got Mum talking about Cassie and led her round to admitting she couldn’t really believe it was a heart attack that killed Dad. Cassie licked his face, after he died, and in some mad way that’s led this bloke to think about poison, apparently. He left Mum all worked up, and suspecting terrible things about David. She’s talking about calling in the police, though I don’t think she’ll do it.’
He threw himself down on one of Jodie’s dining chairs. She
followed him slowly into the room, frowning deeply as she absorbed the import of his words.
‘Cassie died?’ she said blankly. ‘That’s awful. Jim loved that little dog. Had she been poorly?’
Philip shook his head impatiently. ‘Apparently not. Though nobody but Dad is likely to have noticed.’
‘What in the world made him think about poison? I’d say he was treading on very dangerous ground, putting the wind up people with no trace of evidence. It must be the same one that came sniffing round the works yesterday, with no good reason. Sounds as if he’s conducting some amateur detective exercise. Cheeky bastard. And now he’s got your mum all upset.’ She sat down opposite him, and adopted a look of sympathy. It still wasn’t clear why Philip had come to her.
Philip’s face contorted. It was plain that he had something difficult to say. ‘The trouble is—’ he began. ‘Well, Mum’s scared shitless that it might have something to do with David. As you can imagine, the more she thinks about it, the more sure she gets. She told me that you and she went to see him during the week, and he wasn’t exactly calm and collected. In fact, she thinks now that he might have been suffering from a very guilty conscience.’
‘Rubbish!’ Jodie interrupted angrily. ‘That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. Wait till I get my hands on that bloke. What’s he think he’s up to? It’s criminal. Look, you just tell your mum to forget all about it. She knows why David’s upset. He’s found out that he was adopted. Surely she’s told you about that?’
Philip nodded. ‘She only hinted at it on the phone, but David told me. He wanted to know if I could remember anything. He’s still waiting for Mum to tell him the whole story. You can see her point – it isn’t something you can just dump, especially not in the middle of coping with your husband dropping dead. You think that’s all that’s bothering Dave?’
‘There was the row on Friday, of course,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘I’ve been trying not to think about that.’
‘When he went to ask Dad for a job?’
‘Right. He told you, then?’
Philip nodded. ‘Actually, I assume that’s what Mum’s thinking about – wondering if Dave was so furious about it, he did something stupid. She’s not thinking clearly, obviously.’
‘No,’ Jodie agreed solemnly. ‘I should say she isn’t. David wouldn’t kill Jim. If he did, it wouldn’t be with poison. He might fly at him with a knife, on the spur of the moment. But he’s not the calculating type.’ She spoke firmly, as if to a child, anxious for her words to take root. Philip looked at her dubiously. ‘Honestly,’ she insisted.
‘You’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘But the fact remains that he’s in a pretty bad state, and somebody ought to go there and try to calm him down. And quite frankly, I don’t much fancy doing that on my own.’
‘All right, then. I was going to see him today, anyway. I know he’s going through a bad patch. Monica is going to have to tell him the whole story of who he is and she’s going to have to do it soon. But this is a tough time for everyone – we ought to stick together, cheer each other up, not run around accusing each other of murder.’ Her temper was rising, and once up she’d have difficulty in calming it down again. The fury she felt against that Drew Slocombe from Plant’s was overwhelming. How dare he! First thing Monday morning, she was personally going to make a complaint to his boss. It was bad enough that Jim had died at all, without this sort of mess being stirred up. A fierce desire to protect the Lapsford name increased her agitation. Jim had been a good man, a welll-oved man, and nobody was ever going to say different – not in her hearing, anyway.
‘Come on,’ she chivvied him. ‘There’s no sense in sitting around here.’
They left together, and Jodie got into Philip’s car without a second thought. They drove in silence for a mile or so, clearing the last houses in Bradbourne, and taking a small road through the brief stretch of countryside still remaining between the two conurbations.
Jodie spoke first. ‘Do you think the funeral chap’s planning to go to the police?’
Philip shook his head. ‘I doubt it. He doesn’t know that Mum thinks it might be David. If he had that much evidence, presumably he’d have done something by now. I get the impression he’s just taking a bit of a shot in the dark.’
Jodie was thinking ahead. ‘Only, it’s getting so close to the cremation.’
‘So maybe we should think about stopping him.’
‘And how do you suggest we do that?’
Philip shrugged again. ‘Any number of alternatives come to mind.’
‘Philip Lapsford! Are you suggesting we kidnap the wretched man? Be reasonable, will you.’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. But it’s a tempting idea, all the same. Once the cremation’s over and done with, nobody’s ever going to prove anything, are they? And I for one would very much prefer it to be that way.’
‘Me too,’ she agreed forcefully. ‘Me bloody too.’
Sid and Vince often ran into each other on Saturday afternoons, usually in the company of their wives. Brenda liked Alicia, but the feeling was not reciprocated. Vince’s wife would do her best to vary their shopping routines, in an attempt to avoid the other woman, but somehow it nearly always failed to work. ‘You plan it in advance,’ she accused Vince. ‘It’s all a put-up job. Don’t you see enough of him all week? It’s not as if he’s a particularly nice person.’
‘He’s all right. You have to get to know him.’ Alicia didn’t notice that he hadn’t denied her accusation.
‘Well, he might be bearable, but Brenda is a monster. That woman has no humour, no charitable feelings towards anybody. She makes me want to wash after being with her.’
‘Come on,’ Vince demurred. ‘She works at the hospital. She’s Secretary of the League of Friends. You’ve got her completely wrong.’
‘I haven’t. She’s a horrible old busybody. And she’s foul to Sid. I don’t know why he sticks with her.’
Vince said nothing. The mystery of people’s marriages was forbidden territory to him. Live and let live, he told himself.
‘Damn it, there they are,’ hissed Alicia, as they reached the end of the first aisle of Waitrose.
Vince shrugged. ‘We don’t have to speak to them. Where’s that list? Didn’t we want some Worcestershire sauce?’
‘She’s seen us. If this happens much more, I’m moving house. We’ll go and live in the Orkney Islands, and you can start your own funeral business.’
‘Shouldn’t think there’d be much custom,’ he remarked. ‘Sid, my old mate. Fancy meeting you here!’
The men nodded at each other, with a brotherly familiarity. Alicia watched them, trying for the twentieth time to understand the relationship between them. As always, she was distracted from her puzzlement by the overbearing Brenda, who habitually came too close and breathed too hard. She smelt of talcum powder inadequately masking a sour body odour. She looked perfectly clean – Alicia believed it was the smell of Brenda’s unwholesome soul, overflowing into the physical world.
‘We’ve had such a busy day,’ Brenda began, in a complaining tone. ‘I don’t know where the time goes. Sid’s supposed to be stripping the paint off the banisters today. I never did like that yellow he put on them, and now it’s got to come off. Susie came over, unannounced, bringing a streaming cold with her, the little pest. Never thinks, that girl. Wanted to see her dad about something. Shut me out, they did. They don’t realise how hurtful something like that can be, having secrets from her mother. Always was very thick with Sid, pushing me away.’ She threw a spiteful look at Sid, who was studying the range of canned soups, with Vince beside him, seemingly quite relaxed. He gave no sign of having heard what she said.
Alicia tried to edge away, keeping her gaze on the back of Vince’s head, hoping to force him to choose some soup and move on. But he had charge of their trolley, which left her feeling superfluous and vulnerable. She didn’t even try to reply to Brenda’s monologue. There was nothing she could
say that would make the woman stop.
‘I bet she’s thinking of throwing up her job, or something stupid like that. Though Sid says she’s too fond of Doctor Lloyd to walk out on him. Mind you, if that’s true, maybe she ought to make a change. Get herself a bad name if she’s caught carrying on with her boss.’
Another of Alicia’s objections to Brenda was her lack of logic. She seemed to throw remarks together at random, whether or not they had any meaningful connecting thread. It was far from anything that could be termed conversation, and Alicia could think of no reason why she should be made to stand there and endure it. She took a deep breath.
‘Sorry, Brenda, but we’re running late ourselves. Vince wants to be home by three at the latest. Good luck with the banisters. Vince, I think we’ll have to get on.’ She was tense with the effort not to become shrill. Her husband caught the edge in her voice and obediently turned towards her.
‘Right then,’ he said. ‘See you, Sid.’
Sid raised a hand in a little wave. Brenda paused in mid sentence, mouth slightly open. Alicia wanted to hit her, and cut those thin lips. The depth of her dislike disturbed her.
‘Milk, yoghurt, cheese, spaghetti—’ she read in a gabble from the list she was holding. ‘Let’s get on with it.’ As they trundled the trolley away, she muttered, ‘I could kill that woman. If this happens one more time, I won’t be responsible. I’m warning you.’
‘Don’t blame me. I can’t help it if we bump into them.’ Vince was all innocence.
‘Well, you’d better help it. Find out where they’re going, and be sure we go somewhere else. I mean it. She ruins my whole day.’
‘You’re paranoid. Anyway, I like old Sid.’
‘I know you do, though God knows why. I’ll never understand men.’
‘You try too hard. What you see is what you get, as Daphne often says.’
‘That’s rubbish. If that was true, there’d never be any adultery or embezzlement or slow poisoning of old people.’ She was shouting, and shoppers thronging the aisle were giving her hostile glances.
