A Cure for All Diseases

by Reginald Hill

  Do you believe in love at first sight, Andy? When you first encoun- tered your partner, Cap Marvell, did you know she was the one for you? I can tell from the way you talk about her how much she means to you - yes, as I'm sure you've worked out by now, I've listened to all your fascinating recordings - but there's no way of telling if it was a long slow burn or a sudden explosion.

  With me and Esther Denham it was explosive. On my side it was like a message stamped on my soul with a white-hot iron - this is the woman for you! On hers, it was rather different. More, oh Jesus, I don't believe this - can I really fancy a guy in a wheelchair? Get out of here now, you crazy bitch!

  I could see she was attracted, could tell how much this shocked her. I knew she was resolved once she got out of the room, she'd make sure she never saw me again. In fact, she made an excuse almost immedi- ately, said she needed to go to the loo. I boldly offered to show her where it was, a bit of behaviour which might have struck Lester and Daph as odd if he hadn't been in such a state of panic and she of lust!

  We got to the bathroom, she opened the door and stepped inside, I pushed in behind her, she turned in anger which became amazement as I rose up out of my chair and kissed her.

  There followed a moment of shock and resistance on her part, and on mine of terror that she was going to start screaming rape and bring the nurses running.

  And then she started kissing me back, only stopping because she was laughing so much. It was, she said, so totally unexpected, so totally unimaginable, that it was comic!

  I knew then I was right. She was the one for me. Except, of course, there was no way in Daphne's eyes that, in or out of my chair, I could be the one for her. And if Ess stuck two fingers up to Daph, it wasn't just her who'd get cut off without a penny, it was dear brother Ted.

  Teddy is not, as you yourself have observed, the sharpest knife in the box. Ess has looked after him all her life. Family loyalties are, I believe, God's way of ensuring that even the most undeserving get a bit of unconditional love. If I wanted Esther, then Ted was part of the bargain.

  We started meeting, or rather she and Emil started meeting, keeping well clear of the smart end of the resort where Daph was queening it up, and mucking down with the students at the Bengel bar where I encountered George Heywood and the lovely Charley. Things got better every time we met and I knew by the end of her holiday that, however things panned out, I had to follow her home. And God, who's an old romantic at heart, wrote the perfect scenario!

  Soon, despite all he did to try to extend his stay, it was time for Les- ter to return to Sandytown. By now we were best buddies and it seemed perfectly natural for me to head home to England with him, to the York- shire that I knew so well, and to settle close to the Avalon and get in- volved with its work.

  I cannot describe with what joy I made the journey - or with what reluctance Lester made his!

  I got myself settled in my cottage. It was as secure as I could make it. Sometimes Ess would come and visit me there, riding on Ted's bike. Sometimes we would meet elsewhere at a distance and I would become Emil and we could manage whole weekends together. I was actually enjoying both my lives, but always I anticipated the day when I could be back on my own two feet permanently with Esther by my side.

  That wasn't going to happen while Daph was alive, but I swear to you, Andy, that not once did I contemplate doing anything to get rid of her! The thing was, I came to like her, to enjoy watching her at play! And I became quite a favourite of hers. She saw I was close to Lester and she thought she was clever enough to wheedle things out of me about how he felt about her, and what was going on with Pet Sheldon! But I think she recognized a fellow spirit in me too, someone who is not perhaps too scrupulous when it comes to finding the quickest way to getting what they want!

  So to the day of the hog roast.

  I was sitting in my chair, enjoying the champagne and watching the great storm bubbling up over the sea when Esther came up to me. I knew instantly something was wrong. In public she usually treated me as if I were a piece of furniture!

  She was extremely agitated. Something dreadful had happened, she told me.

  Teddy had killed Aunt Daphne!

  I was, as you might say, gobsmacked. Esther told me she'd been wandering round the grounds and by chance she'd stumbled across the body in some long grass beyond the hog roast pit. I asked how she knew Ted was responsible. She showed me that fancy fake watch he wears and said she'd found it snagged on Daph's dress. Also, earlier that day, Daph had shown Ted a new will in which he was disinherited and they'd had a furious row.

  Now you and I, Andy, sensible chaps with one eye always fixed steadily on the realities of life, might have reckoned that when someone has just written you out of their will, that is the last time you should choose to kill them!

  Ted, alas, has rarely let reason cloud his behaviour, and neither Ess nor myself had the slightest problem to start with in accepting his guilt. Nor did his idiocy in leaving his watch at the scene of the crime strike us as anything but typical!

  I asked where Ted was now. She said she didn't know, she couldn't find him. The storm was starting, everyone was heading for the house, so I said, "Show me the body."

  She took me there. There was no sign of Ollie Hollis at the hog roast, which struck me as odd. Seeing old Daphne lying there was truly upsetting. She had been so full of life, so vigorous for her age, such a dedicated goer! She didn't deserve to end up like this. I was furious with Ted, but for Esther's sake, I had to do my best to protect him.

  Esther had removed the watch but God alone knew what other traces the idiot had left. I cast around for some way of obscuring them and also of misdirecting the investigation. It came to me in a flash what I had to do.

  And so with Esther's help, I hauled the roasting cage off the barbecue pit, got the pig out of it, and put poor Daphne in.

  It really broke me up to heap this further indignity upon her. There were tears in my eyes and I have begged her spirit for forgiveness and understanding since. And, knowing as I do what she herself was capable of, I do not doubt I received it.

  Esther was marvellous, doing everything I told her to. By the time we were done it was pouring down and we were both soaking and filthy and Ess had managed to burn her arm.

  I told her to get back to the house, find something to change into, and get hold of Ted and do what she could to make sure he didn't do anything else stupid.

  I meanwhile headed for the lowest bit of the lawn where it was turning really boggy, tipped my chair over, and rolled around in the muck to provide a reason for my dishevelment. Then I lay there, trying to see into the future, and waiting patiently for the storm to abate.

  After Pet Sheldon took charge of me, there was nothing for me to do but head for home and wait until Esther reported on further develop- ments.

  She came herself on the bike later that evening. What she told me was hard to take in. She'd found Ted getting dried off and changed in the house. He had denied any knowledge of Daph's death. He said he'd gone down to the beach with the kids. Sid had gone too. After a while, seeing that there was plenty of supervision, they'd slipped away to the old cave halfway up the cliff where they'd been banging away at each other till the storm started.

  A lover isn't the best provider of an alibi, but as we know, it can be confirmed at least in part by Charley Heywood's testimony. (Oh yes, of course I've had a look at Charley's e-mails. Why not? If the brutal and licentious constabulary can pore and paw over them, why not I? And, though it was much harder, I even managed to slide beneath Ed Wield's defences and take a look at his interesting analysis of the witness statements. Perhaps happiness is making him careless!)

  Myself, all I needed was Esther's assurance of Ted's innocence. No way he could deceive her about something like that.

  Which left the interesting question - what had really happened?

  And who was the clever bastard who had deposited Ted's watch on the body?

  I would have loved
to come clean with you and Peter from the start, but knowing how ready you are, Andy, to put me at the centre of all criminality, that would merely have set the investigation on a time-wasting false trail, and poor Peter had enough of those to follow already! No, I needed to stay free to pursue my own inquiries.

  I worked out that Ollie Hollis's disappearance from the scene before the storm broke was perhaps significant. It occurred to me also to wonder why the hog roast had been delayed. I'd noticed there was some evidence of recent repair to the winding gear. Ollies handicraft? Perhaps. But it was well known that the actual creator of this complicated bit of machinery was Hen Hollis, persona non grata at the Hall since Hog's death, but the first person Ollie would turn to if he experienced any serious problem. So what if Hen had been there, doing a favour for one of the clan and delighting in enjoying Daph's booze and grub without her knowledge? Then she had stumbled across him . . .

  I tried to hint at this possibility to Peter, but his mind was elsewhere. Ollies death went some way to fitting in with my theory, but all it did for Peter was provide a possible culprit, caught apparently in flagrante with regard to one crime, and reported as being at loggerheads with the victim of the other.

  With the enthusiastic support of ace reporter Ruddlesdin, Peter was trumpeted as the fastest gumshoe in the east the following morning, only to discover the bays had withered before even he was crowned. With friends like Ruddlesdin, Peter really needs friends like you and me, Andy!

  Then followed all that weird business about the forged will and Clara Brereton. This brought Teddy right into the foreground. Silly ass! If he'd paid any heed to Esther, he would never have attempted to contact Clara. He is the worst kind of fool - the kind that thinks he is clever!

  But at the same time as Clara's "accident" was leading Peter down another false trail, Claras involvement was stirring up some strange notions in me.

  Wieldy was helpful here, feeding all the evidence and statements straight into his computer and thence straight into mine. As Esther got drawn into Peter's net, I knew that unless I could make some sense out of all this, I would have to come forward and confess to my part. Meanwhile, following the old principle that a good lie is best constructed on a solid basis of truth, it seemed sensible to prepare something to keep Peter happy when he started getting close to Esther's involvement. So we prepared a version that told the truth, except that it left me out.

  Encouraged by the idiot Ruddlesdin, the media were already trum- peting another triumph for Peter. (Incidentally, doesn't it bother you, Andy, that locally at least the media seem so eager to cry, The king is dead, long live the king!) Of course I would never have let it reach the point where Peter laid formal charges, but I was hoping to find a way to test my hypothesis that Hen Hollis must be involved before I came forward and confessed my part in the drama.

  And then the sad discovery at Millstone Farm was made.

  Everything fell into place. Hen, Daph's sworn enemy, at the Hall without her knowledge or approval, had to be a prime suspect, didn't he? His guilt-inspired suicide in the house shed ejected him from, the house where he d first seen the light of day, was the perfect end to what would come to look like Peter's perfect investigation! It was also a result that cleared the Denhams and left me free to make my miraculous recovery (which I hope you've enjoyed!) and walk off with my beloved and now rather rich Esther into the golden sunset. I should have been as happy as Peter and the press at this conclusion to his labours.

  But like you, Andy, I am both blessed and cursed with the kind of mind that cannot leave things alone.

  I found myself recalling Pet Sheldon's description of her encounter with Daph by the stable not long before her death. She was angry, yes. But what struck Pet was that she was hurt, she was upset.

  Making Daph angry wasn't difficult. Upsetting her was a lot harder.

  Also I was troubled by the placing of Ted's watch by the body. That was the act of a mind under control, not a mind spiralling into a panic that would rapidly lead to another murder followed by self-destruction.

  And at a simple practical level, how would Hen have known he would find Ted's watch with his clothes in the room where he changed in the Hall?

  But above and beyond all these doubts, reservations, and queries, I had some special knowledge.

  I have always been fascinated by the behaviour of my fellow human beings, their vanities, their hopes, their fears, their strengths, their weaknesses, above all their deceptions both of themselves and others. So in the months I have been living here in Sandytown I have taken careful note of what goes on about me. It is marvellous how eventually such notes of things apparently disconnected and of very little consequence may, so long as you do not try to force an issue or superimpose a pattern, come together to make a clear and often surprising picture.

  Charley Heywood has an inkling of this and will, I suspect, become a very fine clinical psychologist. You too, dear Andy, are in your own way a painter of such pictures, at times almost an artist. As I say, it is my suspicion you might already be sensing an outline that moves me to talk to you now.

  What I had come to understand was that dear Daphne, a woman of strong appetites that the advancing years had done nothing to take the edge off, needed more than the odd encounter with a reluctant Lester to satisfy her needs. Once she had him chained up in the matrimonial bedroom, I do not doubt he would soon have been taught how to sing for his supper, but while the pursuit was on, she needed someone else to keep her in trim, someone vigorous enough to meet her high standards, and someone with very good reason to keep the liaison discreet.

  She found him in Alan Hollis. He was in her employ. More, he was going to receive the reward of the freehold of the Hope and Anchor when she died. She could see him on a regular basis to "go over the ac- counts." The frequency of these meetings surprised no one who knew her attention to detail in matters of money. The living accommodation at the pub was used only by Hollis himself, and by lawyer Beard and his secretary when they came to town. (Your own feeling that Miss Gay might be worth talking to suggests that your mind was already drifting in this direction, Andy. Am I right?)

  So she felt safe and secure in using Alan as her source of regular servicing. And had she continued to regard this as a simple mechanical transaction, perhaps all might have been well. Alas for her (and this is often the case with the wilful and self-centred personality) familiarity bred not contempt but something like affection.

  She came to like and to trust Alan Hollis, and to believe her feelings were reciprocated.

  Oh, Andy, there is a lesson here for you and for me. Never believe that those whom we use actually like us!

  And now I must reach to the uttermost limits of hypothesis, based on such a flimsy ground of evidence and tragic hints that I can only justify it to myself by presenting it in the form of narrative fiction. Indulge me a while!

  Daphne Denham, her soul in a state of considerable agitation after her confrontation with her deceitful nephew, looked out of her window and saw at his work the one man she knew could restore her inner harmony.

  "Alan," she called. "Would you step inside a moment, please. There is a matter of accounting I need to discuss with you."

  Hollis obeyed, they went up to her room, and a little while later she emerged, with the placid smile on her face of a woman whose entries have been double-checked and whose books are in perfect balance.

  For the next hour or so she moved serenely among her guests, receiving their compliments and gratitude with graceful condescen- sion, till a rough encounter with the uncouth Mr. Godley, a guest at her party only because he was a protégé of her neighbour Mr. Parker disturbed the even tenor of her ways. Seeking solitude to recover her equilibrium of spirit, she moved away from the main body of the party and found herself approaching the site of the actual hog roast. Irritated already that her man Ollie Hollis had sent word of a delay in preparation caused by some defect in the machinery, she was further annoyed not to find him by the r
oasting cage, basting the revolving pig.

  A sound, or a combination of sounds, caught her attention.

  It came from the machine hut. It sounded like a champagne cork popping, accompanied by upraised voices and raucous laughter.

  She approached, angry reproaches forming on her lips, an anger increased when she recognized one of the voices as that of her pet hate, Hen Hollis.

  And then she stopped in her tracks as another voice, even more familiar, rang in her ears. It was the voice of Alan Hollis, her servant, her server, and, so she foolishly believed, her friend.

  What he was saying chilled the blood in her veins.

  "Aye, fill us up, Hen, it's been hard graft today. And the hardest bit of all was tupping her ladyship! By God she's a handful - nay, she's a barrowful! It's like being in bed with a prize porker. And that's just what she sounds like when she comes, tha knows, like one of her own pigs when you slit its throat. Whee whee whee, it squeals, and that's the noise Daph makes too. Whee whee whee - oo, don't stop, Alan - whee whee wheee!"

  Lady Denham turned and rushed away, not stopping till she reached the stables. Here, to her beloved old horse, Ginger, she poured out her heart. For the time being anger had been drowned by hurt, that this man to whom she had given herself with abandon, this man whom she had trusted and even liked, this man who had been the beneficiary of her generosity in life and who would be an even greater beneficiary on her death, this man had betrayed her, had mocked her, had bandied her name around in the company of his low relations, had given her archenemy, Hen Hollis, a weapon to mock her with. . . . How could she bear the pain? she asked dear patient Ginger. How could she bear the shame?

  There was a noise behind her. She turned to see another object of her hate approaching, Nurse Sheldon, her rival for the affections of Dr. Feldenhammer. What had she heard? Had she said anything to the horse that Sheldon could use against her?

  The creature was daring to look sympathetic, to ask if she was all right! This was not to be borne! She dashed the tears from her eyes and set out to put the creature in her place. A few moments later she had reduced her to a quivering wreck capable of nothing more than the futile gesture of hurling a glass of wine.