The Colours of Murder

by Ali Carter

  ‘Okay.’

  Sergeant Ayari moved towards the door and DCI Reynolds got up. ‘Off you go and report back to me as soon as you return.’ He closed the door behind her and paced slowly across his office to the window.

  ‘Someone, Susie, is covering something up. Of that I can now be sure.’ He double-tapped the window glass and turned back to his seat. ‘For your own peace of mind, you should know that in their statements Mr Gerald said he was in bed when the alarm sounded and Mrs Gerald in the adjoining bathroom, each acting as an alibi to the other.’

  ‘So, Stanley wasn’t in the billiard room?’

  ‘If the hard evidence doesn’t support this belief, the theory must be held suspect. However, the three people we know who were not in their own beds are the Duke, Mr Furr Egrant and Mr Wellingham. Only the latter wearing the pyjamas you describe. This leaves me wondering,’ DCI Reynolds leant on his desk, his knuckles turning white under the strain of his forearms, ‘is it Mr Wellingham or Mr Gerald who’s playing me for a fool?’

  ‘If I took a guess Inspector…’

  ‘Guesses are unhelpful,’ he interrupted. The speed at which DCI Reynolds dipped his head and sat in his chair suggested he was as surprised by his tone as I was.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Please don’t be. I forgot myself for a moment. In this line of work, we must always test theory against evidence and avoid making any assumptions no matter how logical they might seem. But, Susie, you are free to speculate and I’m now intrigued to hear.’

  ‘After the alarm went off and we gathered in the hall I noticed Primrose was far more attached to her husband than she had been earlier in the evening.’

  DCI Reynolds raised his forefinger to his mouth. I’d piqued his curiosity.

  ‘Her fringe was peculiarly damp and stuck to her forehead, which makes me think something had made her anxious, well before the burglar alarm went off. And Stanley, of course, was in the same pyjamas as the man I saw in the billiard room.’

  DCI Reynolds’s face looked up towards the ceiling and I sat hoping Toby had a book in his car. This ‘chat’ was going on far longer than a supermarket shop, but I couldn’t exactly walk out now.

  DCI Reynolds’s forearm stretched across his desk and his fingers briefly drummed. ‘I like you Susie, and I could really do with your help, so for that reason and that reason only,’ he drummed once more, ‘I’ll let you in on a private matter between Mr and Mrs Gerald.’

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate your trust in me.’

  ‘Mrs Gerald suffers from bipolar disorder. Are you familiar with it?’

  ‘A little,’ I said knowing Toby could fill in the gaps later. ‘Was her anxiety related to this?’

  ‘It could have been a side effect of her condition, yes.’

  ‘Don’t you think the timing was rather fortuitous?’

  The expression on DCI Reynolds’s face said it all – where was my empathy? He paused and his eyes left mine. ‘The Geralds are trying for a baby and therefore Mrs Gerald has come off her medication.’ He looked back at me.

  ‘I understand,’ I said quickly and apologetically. DCI Reynolds’s telephone began beeping, he raised his right hand. ‘Just one moment.’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very helpful indeed.’

  ‘Thank you, Margery.’

  ‘Well Susie, there’s something else to knock off the list. Our visit to the contract cleaners has eliminated any possibility that they could have introduced hazardous acid to Fontaburn Hall as this company, Sparkles, pride themselves on their organic products – which in this case has saved their bacon.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I’m sorry to cut you short,’ he said, ‘but I have a visitor coming in so I must see you on your way.’

  ‘No, no, that’s fine. I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you for speaking with me.’

  ‘Do keep in close touch with us.’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  DCI Reynolds walked me to the lift.

  Clu clunk, it went as it reached the ground floor and I did a double take at the youthful figure in black leather trousers standing with her back to me. Cooee! It was a hot day for such heavy clothing.

  Hearing my step, she turned to face me and I don’t know what startled me more: the aged face coming towards me or the reflection of my startled expression in her silver shades.

  ‘Gee,’ she said, ‘is there nowhere to get a cup of coffee in this place?’

  ‘I should think there’s a machine in the foyer.’

  ‘Thanks lady, I really need it.’

  I headed for the station exit but she kept pace muttering under her breath, ‘Alcohol’s the only answer but coffee will have to do for the time being.’

  I think this woman thought I was going to serve her and as I was too embarrassed to point out her mistake I ended up leading the way to a machine I’d just spotted, by the toilet sign of all places.

  Once I’d set it to fill a hopelessly thin plastic cup, and knowing that for better or worse Americans will tell you anything if you give them a prod, I turned to her and said, ‘I’m sorry for what you’re going through.’ It came straight out just like that and was received by shoulders that shot back with a huff as if to say ‘I’m better than all this.’

  ‘You don’t need to be sorry sweetie, it’s my runaway daughter who should be but that ain’t happening now.’

  This was said without the slightest bit of sorrow, and even though I was finding it very hard to believe a mother could speak of her dead daughter with such resentment, I was sure this must be Mrs Dune. And as I didn’t want to put myself in a compromising or dishonest position at this time I knew – right now – I had to get out of there.

  ‘I hope you sort it out okay,’ I said handing her the cup.

  ‘Thanks, nice meeting you.’ She turned to go but I could tell by the hesitation in her hips that she’d forgotten where the lift was.

  ‘That way,’ I pointed and she sashayed off towards it.

  ‘You look shell-shocked,’ said Toby as I got into the car.

  ‘I think I just met Hailey’s mother.’

  I was staring straight out of the windscreen, focusing on the diminishing white wall of the police station as Toby reversed the car.

  ‘Not that woman in drag I saw going into the station a few minutes ago?’

  He was joking.

  ‘Yup, the one in the leather trousers and silver sunglasses.’

  ‘Come on?!’ Toby braked hard as he’d only just noticed the light at the junction was red. ‘That’s unbelievable.’

  ‘It’s more unbelievable that she didn’t show an ounce of emotion considering her daughter has just died.’

  ‘Well it can’t be her.’

  ‘It was, I know it was. She mentioned her runaway daughter and Charlotte told me Hailey wasn’t on speaking terms with her mother.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right then.’

  ‘Isn’t it wretched? I don’t think I should ever mention I’ve met her.’

  ‘It’s probably best.’

  Once we were out of Norham, back on a two-lane country road, I asked Toby to pull over when he could. Immediately, without even questioning it, he swung his car off the road into a large empty lay-by.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I just want to tell you in private what DCI Reynolds said.’

  ‘Go on then.’ He turned the ignition off and I opened the passenger door. It was hot and I needed air. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘The pathologists are testing Hailey’s vital organs for unusual things and there are investigators at Fontaburn Hall searching for domestic or unfamiliar chemicals.’

  ‘At the same time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well that means they must’ve uncovered some evidence that has led to another search of the house.’

  ‘The only evidence they have is kidney failure.’ I’d decided to keep my disc
ussion with Toby purely medical. It was where he could be most useful.

  ‘Well there must be something else they’re not telling you and my guess is a toxin of some kind.’

  ‘DCI Reynolds was frustratingly vague but,’ I took out my telephone, ‘I’ve got photographs of the autopsy report.’

  ‘Susie!’ A disapproving smile swept across Toby’s face, ‘I won’t ask.’

  Then, saying nothing, he plucked the telephone from my hands and began zooming in and out of the pictures.

  I did try to justify my actions, ‘Any inquisitive person would have looked. I was left alone in DCI Reynolds’s office and the folder was just lying on the desk,’ but Toby wasn’t listening. He was completely engrossed in the autopsy.

  Very quickly, I ran out of patience. ‘What does it say?’ I asked.

  Toby, totally unaware I might have been longing for him to speak, popped out with, ‘There was calcium oxalate in her urine alright and they’ve found kidney stones.’

  ‘So, she did die of kidney stones?’

  ‘No, she couldn’t have.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They were only in one kidney, you need them in both to kill you.’

  ‘Was her other kidney healthy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Toby’s eyes were straining at the screen and I wondered if he wears glasses. I hope not. I’ve never found it easy to kiss a spectacled person passionately and taking them off can spoil the moment.

  He was now talking to himself. His lips were actually moving even though no sound was coming out.

  ‘What else does it say?’ I asked.

  And without raising his head Toby answered, ‘It’s confusing. This shows a very high concentration of oxalate in Hailey’s system.’

  ‘From something else?’

  Finally, Toby looked at me and said, ‘When fats and nutrients aren’t absorbed properly calcium may bind to the unabsorbed fat instead of oxalate, and this causes a build-up of oxalate.’ His head reverted straight back to the telephone and although he was talking to himself again I didn’t mind. His jargon had gone over my head and I was quite happy to wait for a simpler explanation.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘This report shows a much higher concentration of oxalate than would ever build up from stones in one kidney… Yes!’ he exclaimed, ‘I knew it!’ he looked at me. ‘Irritable bowel syndrome is mentioned here.’

  ‘Fat lot of use that is.’

  Toby laughed and went silent again.

  It was time to throw in my own suggestion, ‘I think Hailey had filler in her face. Could this have poisoned her?’

  ‘Nah, but to be fair, with IBS as severe as hers it’s no surprise she had filler in what would otherwise be a severely drawn face.’

  Toby reached across to hand me my telephone but accidentally dropped it in my crotch. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said giving me a cheeky smile.

  ‘So, you reckon it was IBS?’

  ‘Hmmm… IBS causes a build-up of oxalate but Hailey’s system had far more in it than I would ever expect.’

  ‘Where else could it come from?’

  ‘It can come from drinking or eating anything with oxalic acid in it; could be bleach, metal cleaners, floor polish, stuff for getting rust off metal, plants or even rhubarb leaves!’

  ‘Rhubarb leaves?’

  ‘It sounds ridiculous but it’s the truth.’

  ‘How funny.’

  ‘There’s your answer anyway. They’re searching the house for a product containing oxalic acid.’

  ‘I doubt they’ll find any.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I overheard a call between DCI Reynolds and the contract cleaning company. They only use organic products.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean they won’t find old products or rhubarb leaves in a cupboard.’

  ‘I wish we could visit the house.’

  ‘Well we can’t!’ said Toby as if he didn’t trust me not to come up with a way of having a sneaky peek.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Well, if toxic acid is found the police can’t prove anything without evidence that it links to someone. You can busy yourself with that for the time being.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s clear you’ve won DCI Reynolds over and therefore you know he’ll fill you in as things progress. In the meantime, you can search for the motive to murder and be all ready to complete the circle.’ Toby sounded genuinely confident in me.

  ‘I’m so pleased you’re in on this,’ I said, immediately wanting to stretch across the gear stick and kiss him, but I’ve never been the forward type and wasn’t going to try now.

  ‘I’m just here as a sounding board, you’re the one who gets fired up about playing super-sleuth.’

  ‘It’s the attention to detail I enjoy. I can’t help it, I’m an artist!’

  ‘And being a visual person is what makes you not a bad detective.’

  ‘Not bad,’ I joked. ‘I have a hundred per cent hit rate so far.’

  ‘Well, the pressure’s on to maintain that.’ Toby nudged my shoulder with the back of his hand. ‘C’mon, pull that door shut, you owe me another drawing lesson.’

  Toby and I had a very amusing afternoon joking around drawing High Maintenance. His suggestion of laying a trail of straw finally got her trotting around the field and while he went in circles dropping clumps I got a lot more work done than I’d achieved that morning.

  When Toby’s concentration lapsed he left me to it and took himself off on a walk. I longed to go with him but if I was ever going to get home this week, which I must as I have a friend coming to stay for the weekend, I knew I had to stick at it.

  Other than the fact Toby wouldn’t be with me, I was looking forward to returning home and getting back to my studio. It’s daunting to have such a big project, six horse portraits, in front of me but there’s also the excitement of starting something new. I’ve already decided I’ll begin with the geldings. They’re such gargantuan animals.

  I have a huge sheet of MDF in my studio, waiting at the ready, for me to pin my preliminary sketches on. And when I get home, I’ll load all the photographs on to my computer, ready to use as a reference for the overall drawing.

  Mel, my friend who’s coming to stay, has horses of her own and I know she’ll be a great help in advising me on all sorts of things a non-horsey person such as me doesn’t know. Is a horse sitting down acceptable? Do they even sit down, or do they only lie down? Does it really matter if their ears are forward or back? Can I draw a tail in the air? I need answers to all of these before I can choose a pose for each. Every drawing must be different; it’d be a dull collection if not.

  In a way, it’s a shame Mel’s coming alone. I’m godmother to her second child, Henry, and I’d like to see him. He is after all one of only two godchildren I have. It surprises my mother I don’t have more but I tell her it’s because I’m Catholic, not unpopular. ‘Well maybe you should’ve made more Catholic friends then,’ comes her uncompromising reply.

  Oli, Mel’s husband, is one of those great hands-on dads who can cope without her. And I know part of the reason Mel likes a weekend with me is because I don’t have the distraction of children – not to say I wouldn’t like to be a mother one day.

  Mel and I will workshop my situation with Toby I’m sure. All my married friends like to live vicariously through my romantic escapades. I think it’s because when I ask them for relationship advice, it makes them still feel part of the scene.

  At last! This final sketch had High Maintenance’s hefty behind down on paper. I stood up and placed the drawing on my chair. It looked good. I’d done it! The enormous horse was bursting out of the page and I was filled with that great sense of achievement you get when you look at something you can’t believe you drew.

  I hummed with happiness as I packed up my things and I would have skipped out of the field if I hadn’t been carrying such a load.

  I dumped my stuff at the stable-yard gat
e and, as I couldn’t see anyone around to ask, I went in to look for Lucy. Red-Rum was the only being about, licking his paws – a clear sign he’d recently caught a mouse. On seeing me he attached himself to my heel and I was pleased to see we were friends again. Ever since I shooed him out of my room I’ve been making it up to him. Feeding him tit-bits under the table and tickling his belly, proving to myself I’m not harbouring cold-hearted instincts from being raised an only child.

  I felt sorry for High Maintenance being separated from her friends, so went back to the field and wound up the cordon on my own. The horse was so lethargic she didn’t even move when I patted her nose nor when Red-Rum playfully paraded around as if he was boss. I thanked her for modelling and turned away. My work here was done and it was now time for a long rewarding soak in the bath.

  Six horses in seven days wasn’t bad, although you’ll have come to understand why most artists never make much money. If we charged by the hour no one would ever believe it.

  Knock knock came through my bedroom door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ asked Toby edging it open.

  I shifted around in the vanity-table chair. I was in my dressing gown, all clean and red in the face. My fresh underwear was on full display in the corner and I spotted Toby’s eyes drawn towards the ivory silk lace. He quickly looked back at me with a coy expression.

  ‘Great cast-iron bath here isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘The best.’

  I patted the bed. ‘Sit down.’

  Both of us giggled as his bottom almost toppled off the very soft edge.

  ‘Whoops!’ He shuffled back a bit more.

  ‘I love a bath at any time of day,’ I said as I checked my dressing gown was tightly done up.

  ‘Me too. Although what I really like is when someone comes to talk to me. Our family always had communal bath time.’