by Rebecca Tope
The questions continued. What exactly did they know of David Lapsford, who had been a close friend of Rawlinson? Why had Karen believed the body in the field might be that of David?
Glancing at the clock, Drew saw that it was now one forty-five. With a growing sense of disbelief, it dawned on him that they had no suspicions about Jim at all. Was all his work going to be in vain? The following ten minutes, spent discussing the relationship between Craig and Susie, with Drew earnestly trying to convince them that he knew almost nothing about any of these people, confirmed his worst suspicions.
Then something snapped. ‘Tell me – please tell me – why you’re here,’ Drew begged them. ‘We’re getting nowhere and I still haven’t any idea what you’re hoping I’ll say. Is this an investigation into the death of Craig Rawlinson or the death of Jim Lapsford? Or is it just such a quiet day you thought you’d pass it in a pleasant chat?’
The police officers exchanged baffled looks. ‘Jim Lapsford?’ said the man. ‘Why would we investigate him?’
‘He’s dead,’ said Karen with a little laugh. ‘Doesn’t that count for something?’
‘Rawlinson’s dead too,’ said the policeman. ‘And not by natural causes. You seemed to think there was a link to David Lapsford, and we ran his name through the computer in the office and found a file on him. Unstable, missing from home for a year, been in odd bits of trouble. But he’s not dead.’
‘No, but his father is,’ said Karen with a sigh. ‘We thought you knew that.’
Another glance. ‘Did we?’ asked the man.
The woman shrugged. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, because the doctor signed him up,’ said Drew with exquisite patience. ‘He put him down as a heart attack. And when you asked me so politely to accompany you back here for questioning, I assumed it was not unrelated to that fact. Because just at that very moment I was going to instruct a laboratory technician to hand over some evidence than Jim Lapsford was poisoned. I was going to do that to save him – the technician – from being implicated because I thought I had time to go back to the crematorium and insist they phone the police and the Coroner and declare it to be an unsafe certificate in the light of new findings. And then I thought they could do a post-mortem and just possibly find enough tissue – despite his being embalmed – to prove he was poisoned.’
‘Wait, wait,’ pleaded the policeman. ‘You lost me five sentences ago. All we’ve got is a suspicion of some link between Rawlinson and a break-in at Plant’s, where you work, which might have something to do with David Lapsford. David, not Jim. Quite honestly, we thought it was a fool’s errand, just somebody at the station trying to be clever. But when we cottoned onto the fact that Mrs Slocombe here was hit by Miss Plant’s car, it seemed worth following up. Too many coincidences always make the police uncomfortable, you see. And now you’ve gone charging off with some story about poison. You’ll have to start again, sir, if you don’t mind.’
Drew had just opened his mouth to do so when a bleeper went off in the policeman’s pocket. He scanned the room for a telephone. ‘Sounds as if I’m needed,’ he said weightily. ‘Could I use your phone, do you think?’
Drew nodded. ‘It’s in the hall.’ Another glance at the clock: one minute to two. Whether or not Gavin was back from lunch; whether or not Lapsford was next in line for charging, he felt an overwhelming sense of lost opportunity. The great slough of mist and plodding procedure that was the average police mind was certain to defeat any efforts he might make to see justice done. He looked at Karen helplessly.
‘I really think,’ she began, addressing the policewoman, ‘that you should listen to us.’
‘Please don’t worry, madam,’ came the calmly patronising reply. ‘We—’ She never finished. Her colleague came into the room with rather more animation than he left it.
‘We’re needed,’ he said shortly. He turned to Drew. ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll follow up what you’ve told us as quickly as we can. You realise you might be required for a further interview at some stage?’
Drew began to laugh, at first quietly, then with a rising hysteria. ‘Yes, officer. Forgive me. It’s been a very long week.’
Left on their own, Drew and Karen sat together on the sofa, his arm across her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked her, more than once. ‘This can’t be doing you any good in your condition.’
‘I’ll survive,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it.’
‘I wish I could be there when they find they’re too late and Jim’s already ashes.’
‘What about poor Monica?’ she said suddenly. ‘This isn’t the end for her, is it? Shouldn’t you try to see her, perhaps warn her? I can tell you’re not just going to settle down here to wait for whatever happens next.’
He kissed her gratefully. ‘If you’re really all right, I think I might just do that. I knew the police were dim, but this is ridiculous. You show them an obvious murder, right under their noses, and they go running round in circles like a dog chasing its tail, following up everything but what’s important.’
‘That’s not really fair,’ she objected. ‘You were miles ahead of them, by a whole week. And they have connected the scraps of the story that have come their way. I think they’re doing quite well, under the circumstances. I bet you they’ll be wide awake once they’ve had a chance to think.’ Drew pursed his lips doubtfully. ‘Go to Primrose Close,’ she said, giving him a little push. ‘The story’s not over yet. There’s a fat lady waiting to sing somewhere, you see if there isn’t.’
* * *
In Primrose Close something seemed to be happening. Cars clustered along the road, as close as they could get to number 24. The front-room curtains were closed, which seemed odd, and Dottie from next door was standing in her own garden gazing in puzzlement at Monica’s upstairs windows. When she saw Drew she urgently beckoned him to her. ‘I heard some shouting,’ she said. ‘There seems to be some sort of disagreement going on.’
‘Who’s there, do you know?’
She shook her head and indicated all the cars. ‘We didn’t think they would come back here – not after yesterday. She hasn’t got any food in, you know. Sarah and I said we’d keep an eye on it while they were all at the funeral. You know – in case of burglars.’
Drew nodded. ‘I think I’ll go and see if I can find out what’s going on,’ he said. ‘Don’t you worry.’
He began to walk up the short front path. Before approaching the door, he stepped sideways to peer through the front window, where there was a slight gap between the lace curtains. He saw Monica and Jodie sitting together on the sofa, both heads turned towards him, as if they’d been expecting him. Jodie got up and came to the window, pushing back the curtain.
Drew waved his hand in a circle, forefinger pointing at the front door, indicating his wish to be let in. Jodie disappeared into the hall and he moved expectantly to the doorstep, leaning his head towards it to catch the sound of her approach.
Louder than expected, her voice came clearly. ‘Can I let him in, then? David? Can I?’ A very muffled reply seemed to give her permission and the door was unlocked and slowly pulled inwards.
‘Didn’t expect to see you again,’ were her welcoming words. ‘Hurry up. Things have got a bit … complicated … here.’
In the hallway, Drew automatically looked up the stairs, which had become almost familiar to him. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.
Jodie’s face was drawn, grooves running from nose to the corners of her lips, revealing fear, shock and a kind of horror. She moved stiffly, as if under someone else’s will rather than her own. She spoke flatly. ‘He wants you upstairs. Don’t worry – I don’t think he’ll hurt you.’
‘Who? Who are we talking about? Who’s here?’
‘Monica’s with me. And Jack’s upstairs with David. Philip went to get some food, a few minutes ago. That was when it happened. I think David was just waiting for him to go.’
Dr
ew felt cold with apprehension. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Something’s going on up there?’ Now who sounds like a slow-witted policeman? he asked himself ruefully.
Jodie shook her head slowly. ‘It’s got to be straightened out, once and for all. I said I’d sit with Monica until they settled everything. But … well, you never know with David. He told us not to go up there, but I think he might let you in. He probably wants you to understand.’ She gripped her hands tightly together.
As if in a dream, Drew began to climb the stairs. Something had happened in the short time since the funeral; something he couldn’t even guess at. His own part had shifted dramatically from a peripheral doubter, uneasy about the cause of Jim’s death, to a place right at the heart of things. He wasn’t at all sure that he liked it.
David appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom, where Drew and Vince had come only a week before to collect Jim’s body. ‘What do you want?’ he snarled. ‘Bit late now, isn’t it? We should have listened to you sooner, shouldn’t we?’ He held a large knife tightly in his hand and spun round at a sound from inside the bedroom. ‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. ‘Just you stay where you are.’
Propelled by a grim curiosity, Drew followed David into the room. Jack Merryfield sat on the foot of the bed, hands gripping his own thighs. His glasses were huge on his face, hiding his expression.
‘Why the knife?’ asked Drew. He looked again at the implement, a serrated-edged carving knife, which would not make a clean wound if stabbed into someone. It would not slice through flesh like a razor blade. It would hack and saw. It would bite and sting. It would hurt to be attacked by such a knife, but it would not easily kill.
‘He says he’s my father,’ David accused, staring at Jack, eyes bulging. ‘He called me son, said I could go and live with him now. Don’t you think that’s disgusting? He was my dad’s best friend. All those years, without saying a word. And now …’ He choked on the strength of his own feelings.
Drew said nothing, silenced by the shock of his own observation being so quickly confirmed. The sense of being in a dream persisted.
‘Then why—’ he managed faintly, nodding at the knife.
David looked down at the weapon in his hand with a momentary surprise. ‘I just want to kill him,’ he said. ‘Look at him.’
‘He looks harmless enough to me,’ Drew ventured. ‘Can’t you just talk about it, without all this drama?’
‘You don’t understand,’ David grated. ‘You haven’t got it yet, have you?’
‘Please, Davy, calm down,’ came a voice from the landing. ‘Do as Drew says and let’s talk about it properly. Like grown-ups.’ Monica stood there, looking sadly at Jack Merryfield sitting dumbly on the bed.
‘Go away!’ David screamed. ‘I told you to stay out of it. You’ve done enough damage. Go downstairs and stay there. Don’t let anybody else up or I’ll cut him. Not even Philip when he gets back. I’ll cut his throat.’ He waved the knife wildly at Jack, who turned his face away.
Monica held her ground.
Then without warning, Jack stood up, his hands in tight fists at his sides. Automatically, Drew looked from face to face, checking the similarities; they seemed to have faded somewhat since that morning, but they were still discernible.
‘It’s true,’ said Jack. ‘Whether you like it or not. Do what you like with me, I am your father. I promised Jim and Julia not to tell you, so that the adoption would work out. So I wouldn’t be around to unsettle you. It was them, not me, who wanted to keep the secret. So I got the job at Capital with Jim, so I could watch you grow up and hear about what you were doing.’
‘And Jim took you on, knowing you were my father?’
‘We were friends. He was okay about it, as long as it was never mentioned.’ Jack kept his gaze on the floor, his shoulders awkward with strain. ‘I planned how I’d tell you, after the funeral. I thought you’d be pleased. I just couldn’t go on any longer, you see.’ The pathos of these final words affected each listener differently. Drew closed his eyes on the sudden wash of tears that filled them; Monica moaned briefly. But David was further enraged.
‘Pleased!’ he repeated, and lifted the knife in a swift under-arm swing. As Drew opened his eyes, he judged the knife’s trajectory, calculating that it would catch Jack in mid-chest. His medical training flashed signals of alarm – pneumothorax at the very least; at worst extensive lung damage, possibly the heart involved as well. Yet the swing could not be stopped – both David and Jack were beyond Drew’s immediate reach. He flung himself forward and pushed Jack back onto the bed just as the knife connected. Jack and Monica both cried out loudly. David made a hissing sound and pulled back, still holding the knife, before blindly lunging a second time. Stumbling, Drew tried to keep his eyes on it, aware that David was using all his force in this attack. When the pain struck his right side, Drew flinched away, landing on top of Jack.
Jack pulled himself free and began to talk, the words flooding out, as if the violence were irrelevant. ‘Yes, pleased,’ he said. ‘Jim was a lousy father. I couldn’t stand to see it any more. The day you came and asked him for a job – the look in your eyes when he sent you packing. And he was going back on his promise.’
‘Promise?’ echoed Monica, torn between agonised concern for David and a need to understand exactly what Jack had done. Jack’s voice was close to Drew’s ear, the sounds merging with his panic at the continuing pain in his side.
Jack was silenced by Monica’s interruption. Slowly the three men began to assess the aftermath of David’s attack.
Liver, Drew was thinking. He’s stuck the knife in my liver.
There were footsteps and voices on the stairs. A strange, high-pitched twittering came from Jodie, threading through curt phrases from the policemen. Somehow Drew registered that Philip Lapsford had summoned the police to the house, having realised that David was behaving dangerously. Without ceremony, they stroke into the room, flanking David and easily taking the knife away from him. Drew realised that he had been waiting for further blows to come raining down on himself and Jack. The relief was pathetically disabling, removing all vestige of dignity. ‘He’s hurt me,’ he whimpered. ‘Look.’ Fearfully, he took his hand away from the hurt place and looked at it, pulling up his shirt warily. The amount of blood was much less than he’d expected, the wound disappointingly superficial.
One of the policemen also looked. ‘We’ll have that seen to, sir. There’s an ambulance on its way. Is the other gentleman injured?’
Clumsily, Drew and Jack got themselves off the bed and made a more careful examination of the damage. Jack was found to be unhurt. ‘He was going to kill me,’ said Jack wonderingly. ‘He tried to kill his own father.’ He stared up at David. ‘You’d have been better off with me, you know. Jim Lapsford was a bastard, through and through. He never cared about you.’ He glared around the room. ‘He never cared about any of you.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Monica firmly. ‘Now tell us what he promised you.’
‘He conned me,’ Jack spat. ‘Took me for a right fool. After I let him use my computer, wasting his time on stupid dirty pictures, thinking about nothing but sex. He owed me something. Owed me for him—’ he dipped his head at David, ‘as well as all the rest.’
Monica had turned crimson. ‘Dirty pictures?’ she repeated.
‘And the rest. But that wasn’t it, not really. He promised to give me a good reference, when I went for his job.’ This time he swivelled round to glare at Drew, who was still tremblingly fingering his injury.
A silence fell as everyone tried to absorb this bizarre new twist. ‘His job?’ queried Jodie. ‘You must be mad – surely you never wanted to be an undertaker?’
‘I wanted to be close to Daphne,’ Jack muttered. ‘Jim knew I’d been carrying a torch for her for years, getting nowhere. But when her bloke moved out, I decided I was in with a chance. Jim said he’d do me a good reference – but he conned me. Told Daphne I wasn’t good with people and would ne
ver make the right impression on a funeral. Sid Hawkes showed me what he’d written.’
David, now in the tight grip of the flanking policemen, semed not to have heard anything since Jack’s first remark. He struggled briefly and then shouted, ‘I didn’t kill anyone. And you are not my father!’
‘No, you didn’t kill anyone, Davy,’ came Jodie’s voice from the small crowd on the landing. ‘But he did. I’ve been stupid, haven’t I, Jack? It was all there from the start and I never saw a thing.’
Jack looked steadily at her. Then he took off his glasses. ‘He’s like me, isn’t he?’ he said with a little smile. ‘Nobody ever noticed how like me he is, now he’s grown up. The glasses were Jim’s idea. I don’t need them, you know. Then he suggested a beard as well. I’ve worn this disguise for ten years now, just in case some clever dick thought young David looked like me. Jim made sure I never got the chance to betray the secret. Always kept me dangling with his promises and phony friendship. But he was just using me, the same as the rest of you.’
‘So you poisoned him,’ Jodie said faintly. ‘After all these years? When he was your best friend?’
Jack’s smile grew more cunning. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘And nobody’s ever going to prove anything, now he’s been cremated.’
In stunned silence the whole party clattered down the stairs. A paramedic appeared and inspected Drew’s wound. ‘Nothing serious,’ he concluded. ‘Just a shallow cut.’
Drew struggled to recover some of his poise; he had, after all, saved Jack Merryfield from a probable nasty injury. Muzzily, he looked at the people in the room. ‘I won’t prefer any charges against Mr Lapsford,’ he said with an effort. ‘I’m sure you can let him go now.’
