Dark Undertakings

by Rebecca Tope

  The pale tormented face of David Lapsford floated in front of him, and Drew wondered again what dark secrets lurked in that young man’s background. Something more than ordinary grief and shock was certainly preying on his mind, and was proving alarming to his family and friends. For why had his mother insisted so vehemently that the funeral go ahead? Almost certainly because she wanted to protect someone; if not her son, then perhaps her lover. If Gerald Proctor had administered some lethal potion, then Drew was on hopelessly shaky ground. Such an act could not be argued away on some dubious moral pretext. Society took an especially unsympathetic view of a man bumping off his lover’s husband ever since King David took that doomed route in order to win Bathsheba.

  The suicide of Craig Rawlinson was another factor. It had been devastating to Sid, which was a surprise; he’d evidently thought the boy was no good for his daughter. Guilt, Drew concluded, was the only explanation. Only guilt knocked a griefless person sideways.

  Karen stirred beside him; he was immediately attentive. ‘How are you?’ he whispered. ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘I’m stiff,’ she said. ‘And sore.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ He peeled back her nightshirt and inspected the bruises. They were yellowing now and much less angry. The skin looked tired and grubby, a greyish tinge marking the outline of the bruising. ‘It’s a miracle you weren’t badly hurt,’ he said. ‘You could have broken your back.’

  ‘I know. But this is bad enough. Do you really think … I mean, can there really be a baby in there?’ She stared at him anxiously. ‘It doesn’t seem possible.’

  ‘Time will tell,’ he said. ‘We should make a big effort not to get too excited. It’s early days.’ He leant down and brushed his lips across her belly. ‘But we’ll do everything we can to make sure it’s all right. You’re staying in bed today, and probably tomorrow as well.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if today was Wednesday and the Lapsford funeral all over and done with? Everything would be back to normal and you wouldn’t be so preoccupied. We have to admit, we make lousy detectives.’

  He tried to smile, but made a poor job of it. ‘Tell me honestly,’ he said, ‘do you think he was murdered?’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I think he was helped on his way,’ she prevaricated. ‘He was living on the edge and several things combined to tip him over. But I’m not sure I believe that anybody deliberately killed him. No.’

  * * *

  It was a rush, making Karen a proper breakfast, getting himself ready for work, ensuring that there was something tasty for her to eat at lunchtime. The phone rang five minutes before he was due to leave.

  ‘Drew? It’s Laz here.’ Drew’s heart missed a beat. ‘Bet you thought I’d never get back to you – it’s been bedlam here. I ain’t supposed to do jobs like this, you know. But just for you I came in early for one last look at your stomach contents sample. Just in the nick of time, eh? And guess what I found?’ The excitement was crackling in Drew’s ear.

  ‘What?’ he choked.

  ‘Codeine! Good old-fashioned pain-relieving narcotic. Simple way to knock someone off his perch. Tastes a bit bitter, but works a treat. Plenty of it, I’d say, judging from the amount I found. Water-soluble and available over the counter. Probably the key to any number of unnoticed poisonings. Does that help you, old friend? Please tell me it does.’

  ‘I think so,’ said Drew slowly. ‘It’s rather a surprise – but yes. Thanks, Laz. Yes, it helps.’

  As he put the phone down, there was a loud knocking at the front door. Still struggling to make sense of this latest revelation, he went to answer it, apprehension swelling inside him with every step.

  The door was pushed back as soon as he unlocked it, and a tall brown figure strode in. ‘I’ve got to talk to you,’ she announced. ‘If we’re not careful, it’s going to be too late. I can’t give you any rational explanations, but I just bloody know that Jim Lapsford was murdered.’

  Trotting alongside her, into the dining end of their main room, Drew ran a hand through his hair. ‘How did you know where I live?’ he asked inanely.

  ‘I asked Olga,’ she said, throwing herself down at the table. ‘Can I smoke?’

  He nodded automatically and stared at her. He wondered whether he was dreaming.

  Roxanne observed his confusion and gave his arm a cuff with the back of her hand. ‘Now come on,’ she said. ‘I need you to pull yourself together. You’re the detective around here. Olga and I go way back, in case you’re wondering. She was my bridesmaid. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Who says I am?’ He felt the chilly anxiety that came from the knowledge that people have been talking about you behind your back.

  ‘Never mind that. Look, this is important to me, as you might realise. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if my henbane killed him. And poor Susie’s admitted that she supplied him with Viagra, so she’s feeling just as bad. But knowing Jim and how fit he was, I just don’t believe either of those things were enough to kill him. There has to be something else.’

  ‘There was,’ said Drew. ‘I’ve just found out about it. When he died, his system was full of codeine. In fact—’ He stared at her unseeingly; his head seemed full of electricity as connections were made. ‘In fact I think we might still be able to prove where it came from. Would you say it was possible to doctor a teabag without anyone noticing?’

  ‘Codeine?’ Roxanne was having trouble keeping up. ‘The headache stuff? Jim would never take that. He didn’t believe in painkillers – or any pharmaceuticals.’ She spoke emphatically, but Drew could see the doubt in her eyes. ‘At least …’ she amended.

  ‘Viagra’s a pharmaceutical,’ he supplied.

  She nodded reluctantly, obviously disturbed. ‘You don’t think he took it himself? Tell me the bit about the teabag again.’

  Drew explained briefly, adding, ‘I’d say someone gave him a teabag full of ground-up codeine and told him it was some new sort of herbal infusion, best taken at bedtime. Probably spiced it up with something about it being good for his sex life.’ He spoke with an irony not lost on Roxanne.

  ‘That wouldn’t be difficult,’ she confirmed. ‘Obviously not those flimsy paper ones all sealed up – but you can get proper little muslin bags with the top corners turned down and stapled shut – with a string and a paper tag. But who?’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘It must have been someone who knew his movements well. It seems such an odd way to poison somebody. I mean – there’d be the evidence of the teabag itself, for a start.’

  ‘Teabags get thrown away. Teapots and mugs get washed up. If this is what’s happened, I think it’s rather clever.’

  ‘So how do you know about it?’

  ‘Mrs Lapsford told me. She found it. It looked peculiar, with white crystals attached to it. And they tasted bitter.’

  ‘Then come on,’ she urged. ‘There’s no time for messing about. We’ll have to go and get it and take it to the police.’

  He hesitated. ‘Probably too late,’ he said. ‘She’ll have got rid of it. She said she was going to. Besides – are you sure you want to call the police? Isn’t it enough for you to know it wasn’t you that killed him?’

  She inhaled impatiently and blew out smoke like a raging bull. ‘I thought it was, but now I’ve changed my mind. I want revenge. I want to spit on the miserable swine who did this to Jim.’

  ‘Christ! Look at the time!’ Drew jumped up as if on fire. ‘I should have been at work five minutes ago. You’ll have to go. My wife’s upstairs in bed and I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, stubbing out the cigarette on a convenient plate left over from supper the night before. ‘Can I reach you this morning? I might need to speak to you again before the funeral.’

  He frowned. ‘Difficult – Daphne doesn’t like us getting personal calls. I think you’ll have to get along without me. Sorry.’

  ‘Well then, that cuts both ways. You’re going to have to keep yo
ur wits about you and see if you can get the cremation stopped. This is murder, you know. Without question. I’m beginning to realise that just about the entire population of Bradbourne wanted Jim dead. Everyone except his son David, oddly enough.’

  Drew shook his head wonderingly. ‘He seemed the most obvious one to me, at first. Now please go. Being late is a hanging offence at Plant’s.’

  Roxanne grinned at him, a sudden beam of fellowship and sympathy. ‘Good luck, then,’ she said, and let herself out.

  In a whirl, Drew slammed out of the house at ten to nine.

  He had his excuse ready when he parked his car in the small yard behind the office, and ran full tilt into Daphne as he hurried up the stairs to the workshop. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ he panted. ‘Karen’s home from hospital, and sorting her out made me late.’ He took some pleasure from pressing what had to be a sensitive nerve in his employer; he watched her as she winced.

  ‘That’s all right, Drew. How is she now?’

  ‘Still very bruised,’ he said, his face serious. ‘I don’t think she’ll be going back to work this week.’

  ‘It could have been very much worse for both of us,’ Daphne said. ‘As for my poor car—’ She turned down the corners of her mouth in a parody of grief. Drew wondered at her manner. She seemed a lot more light-hearted than he had expected. Remembering the phone call of the previous evening, he thought she ought to be at least slightly embarrassed. Instead, she looked relaxed and completely in charge. Her dark hair, with its metallic flashes of grey, was smoothed down and her make-up was immaculately applied.

  ‘You’ve got twenty minutes before loading up for the nine forty-five funeral,’ she reminded him. ‘Pat’s getting worried – he wants you to drive the lim. Vince and Little George have gone over to St Bridget’s on a removal. Then there’s Lapsford at eleven-thirty. I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten about that?’

  She was looking hard at him; he had no idea how to respond. If he was going out on the first funeral of the day, that put the kybosh on any chance he might have for some last-minute detective work. Was Daphne deliberately making sure this would be the case? Or had she let fate decide? If Vince and Little George were out, that left Pat, Sid, Drew and Big George to carry the coffin. ‘You’ll be conducting, then, will you?’ he asked her. This was something that happened once or twice a month, if demands on the men were heavy.

  Daphne nodded. ‘Looks as if I’ll have to,’ she said.

  Drew changed into the black suit, with the neat striped waistcoat, and gave his shoes a belated polish. Driving the limousine was a favoured job, and he would normally have been grateful to Pat for choosing him. As it was, he could hardly concentrate on the directions to the house where he was to collect an elderly widower and his bossy daughter. The two sat in the back of the car and bickered heatedly all the way to the crematorium. Drew’s head felt as if full of flapping moths, stirring up his thoughts until they made no sense, and he could barely remember how to drive. The drizzle had lightened, but not yet stopped completely. The swish of the windscreen wipers only added to the chaos in his mind.

  As Daphne led the coffin into the chapel, and they deposited it neatly on the catafalque, he realised that in not much more than an hour, he would be doing this very thing again with Jim Lapsford’s coffin. The thought was enough to clear his head. Walking in step with Sid, back to the waiting room, he murmured, ‘Will you be on the next one? Or am I carrying with Vince?’

  Sid shook his head slightly. ‘We’re all going. Pat’s conducting. You, me, Vince and Big George’ll carry. We’ll be off now. See you later.’

  Drew watched the other three bearers drive away in the hearse, no longer needed. Daphne had driven herself in her own car – or rather the borrowed substitute for her own wrecked vehicle – and would return to the office once the mourners had all gone. Drew would wait, too, until they were ready to climb back into the limousine and be taken home again. Only then did he realise that he had even less time to himself before the Lapsford funeral than he thought. He would probably get back to the office at about ten to eleven, possibly even later. He’d be lucky to grab a cup of coffee before setting off again for Primrose Close.

  And so it turned out. Before he knew it, he was sitting in the hearse with four other men, drawing up outside Monica’s house. Working hurriedly in the front room, Pat screwed down the lid of the coffin, and then laid discreet pieces of non-slip webbing across it, to anchor the three large wreaths in place on the top. The house seemed to be full of people, and Drew lost any hope of trying to find any kind of clue as to Jim’s death by codeine.

  They only had four or five minutes in which to load the coffin and set off for the five-mile drive to the crematorium. Philip was driving his mother and brother in his own car, and a couple of other cars were drawn up lower down the road, ready to follow the hearse. Vince would drive the hearse, while Pat walked in front of it to the top of the Close, in the time-honoured, time-consuming ritual which so often took families completely by surprise. Just as often, it seemed to embarrass them. Now and then, someone would call a halt to it after barely a dozen yards.

  Today, they were about two minutes late when they turned out of the Close, and Pat was showing signs of anxiety. Drew turned to look at the cars behind them, wondering how their occupants were feeling. Was one of them a deliberate murderer? If so, was he now complacently assuming that the crime would go forever undetected?

  Beside Drew, Sid coughed, a single barking sound, which attracted comment from Vince. ‘Sounds rough,’ he said.

  Sid gave a shaky laugh, but said nothing. ‘We’re going to be for it,’ grumbled Pat, driving slightly faster than was strictly dignified. ‘There’s another big funeral following this one. We’re never going to be out in time. That Father Barry never knows when to stop.’

  ‘Stop moaning,’ said Vince. ‘We’re in plenty of time. So long as Sid doesn’t let us down.’

  Sid was coughing again, drawing whistling breaths between spasms. Drew looked at him. The man was shaking. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked.

  Sid shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he choked. ‘Something went down the wrong way, that’s all. I’ll be fine in a minute.’

  ‘You’ve got three minutes,’ said Pat unfeelingly, from the driving seat. Sid took a deep careful breath, then another, and nodded.

  ‘He’s okay,’ said Drew, catching Vince’s eye. Vince scratched his head, and shrugged. ‘Bit pale, though.’

  ‘I don’t care what colour he is,’ laughed Pat. ‘Just so long as his legs are working.’

  Drew sneaked another look out of the back window, his view partly obscured by the coffin and its surrounding flowers. ‘Who’s in that third car?’ he wondered. ‘The second one looks like people from the printworks.’

  ‘Probably some of his lady friends,’ muttered Sid, with a hint of bitterness. Drew remembered Sid’s comment, almost exactly a week earlier, when he and Vince had carried Jim into the mortuary. Women all over him. His wits sharpened, now that the eleventh hour was upon him, Drew wondered whether perhaps Sid’s wife had been one of Jim’s ladies, hard to believe though that would be. There was certainly some resentment in the man’s tone.

  ‘That could liven things up,’ laughed Vince. ‘I gather there were quite a few of them. I bet yesterday’s wake was a barrel of laughs, if they all showed up.’

  ‘They say he was careless about his dalliances,’ remarked Drew, hoping to provoke further disclosures. He was well rewarded.

  Sid turned and smacked the coffin beside him, hard. ‘Careless was his middle name,’ he spat. ‘And being careless can kill, as everybody knows. I wouldn’t mind, except my girl’s got herself all tangled up in it and she’ll be lucky if she’s not in real trouble when the truth gets out.’

  The crematorium gates in sight, Drew rushed in to prompt, ‘What do you mean?’

  Sid smacked the coffin a second time. ‘Selling Viagra prescriptions to the randy old so-and-so, that’s all,’
he burst out. ‘Her and that Craig. Criminal offence, that is. When I saw him on Saturday – doing as Susie asked me to, telling him to leave her alone – he went to pieces. Topped himself the same afternoon. How was I to know there was more to it than she told me? How’m I supposed to feel now, eh? And all because of this … bastard.’ Coming from Sid’s lips, the word carried enormous force. No wonder he was shaking, thought Drew sympathetically. Calculations and conclusions were clicking together at the back of his mind. That’s one mystery cleared up, then, a small voice said.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said gently. ‘Buck up, now. It isn’t your fault, Sid. None of it’s down to you.’

  His coughing fit seemed to have passed, but Drew noticed that Sid’s hands were still unsteady as they slid to an immaculate halt outside the entrance to the crematorium chapel. Quickly, they climbed out of the hearse, and Pat tugged automatically at his sleeves, as he stood waiting for Philip Lapsford’s car to disgorge Monica and her sons. A second woman stood close to Philip, small and dark. Must be his wife, thought Drew automatically. His own hands were unsteady, and his guts were churning. This is it, he told himself. The point of no return.

  As he’d assumed, the second car held Jodie, Jack and Ajash, who had been driving. They stood together, an ill-assorted trio, Jodie so tall, Jack so pale as to be almost green, Ajash groomed to such perfection, he could easily have substituted for one of the bearers.

  And as Drew had partly feared, the third car proved to contain not just Roxanne, standing broad and defiant, and clearly intent on meeting his eye, but also a woman who looked like her sister and a younger blonde woman who all too obviously fitted the description of Lorraine Dunlop. She too looked a greenish hue, with vivid eye make-up that only increased her tragic appearance.