The Dudleys of Budleigh

by P A Nash

  He turned towards the gaggle of gawping neighbours and, in a firm voice, uttered the well—worn cliche.

  “Move along, there. Nothing left to see here. Haven’t you got homes to go to?”

  The gaggle sighed and dispersed.

  ***

  PC Hydon rubbed his chin and ambled back into the house to find Ella standing on her own in the hallway.

  “Where’s Frank?”

  “In the kitchen making mugs of tea.”

  “Excellent idea.” He called towards the kitchen. “Three sugars for me!”

  Ella stood there, feeling redundant, not knowing what she should do.

  “It’s like a tomb in here,” remarked PC Hydon.

  “For a policeman, that was most un—PC!” Ella snapped. Then, considering her reply, she grinned, “Must tell Frank that one!”

  “I heard it!” Frank came out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with mugs and biscuits. “Sugar’s on the worktop by the sink, PC Hydon! Teaspoons in the drawer by the cooker.”

  Frank deposited the tray on the table and turned back towards the door to leave WPC Knowle and Dudley to their silence.

  “Don’t go,” said Dudley in a quiet voice.

  “OK,” replied Frank.

  “I’ve got something to say and I want you to hear it as well.”

  Frank sat down on one of the two vacant chairs at the table.

  “Anthony Buckerell was blackmailing me. So I killed him.”

  “Pardon,” said WPC Knowle.

  “It’s true, I killed him. Take me away. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “Are you telling me, you killed Anthony Buckerell at Otterbury Police Station?”

  “Yes, wherever it was. I killed him. Where do you take your murderers? Can we go there?

  “Right, if you say so. Dudley Musbury, I’m arresting you for the murder of Anthony Buckerell.”

  And for the second time in recent days Frank heard a police officer recite “Sir, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  “I understand. Let’s go.”

  PC Hydon had heard all that had been said. He came in and helped Dudley Musbury up and shepherded him out to their police car.

  WPC Knowle quickly closed all windows and doors and ushered Frank and Ella out of the house.

  ***

  “That was horrible,” sighed Ella as they drove home to Otterbury. “I feel so sorry for both of them. I find it hard to believe he’s our murderer.”

  “Even though he might have just killed his wife?”

  “That’s a dreadful thing to say.”

  “I know, but this is a dreadful business. We’re mixing with some desperate people and, at least one of them is probably a murderer!”

  “You’re right, but sometimes, I find what we’re doing to be so difficult…‌”

  “Well, we may just have handed it all over to the police. If he’s our murderer than our job is done.”

  ***

  That night Ella said a quick but earnest prayer for Mrs Musbury. It must have been heard because next morning, WPC Knowle phoned to say that Mrs Musbury was alive.

  “Very weak and fragile, but alive.”

  “That’s great news,” enthused Frank. “What about Dudley?”

  “Dudley Musbury is still in our custody. The detectives at Exeter are interviewing him. I sat in on the first interview and he’s talking a load of rubbish. So far, he’s told us three different ways in which he killed Anthony Buckerell. He even told us about a blowpipe with which he fired a poisonous dart. When someone asked him how he’d fired it through the walls of the cell, he said actually it was a drone that flew down the chimney. I remarked that there was no chimney in the room. Then he said he shot him with a high—velocity rifle from a room overlooking Exeter police station.”

  “But Anthony Buckerell died in Otterbury?”

  “Exactly. They’re going to release him as long as he stays in the area. I’ll make sure that Mental Health in Exeter takes up his case.”

  When Frank explained about the overdose Dudley said he gave his wife, WPC Knowle sighed. “Well, she’s not dead yet. We’ll cross that bridge if anything horrific comes of it.”

  “Where will he stay? He can’t go home, can he?”

  “No, he’ll be going to stay with another Dudley for a few days. When he’s not visiting the hospital, that is.”

  “Another Dudley?”

  “He mentioned some of his friends to us. We rang around and talked to Dudley Widworthy. They seem to be friends. He told us that they met at the local amateur dramatic society. They’re both members. Widworthy’s an actor and Musbury the stage manager.”

  “I wonder if all four Dudleys are in the same society?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. You’ll need to check it out! Have you been to see the good doctor yet?”

  “No. Ella’s on to that. She’s booked an appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Is Budleigh Salterton your local surgery?”

  “Yes, there’s no surgery in Otterbury so it’s either here or Sidmouth. When we first arrived we chose Budleigh because the name sounded nicer!”

  “Perfectly sound reason to choose a medical practice!”

  “We’ve been in East Devon all these years and this is only about the third time we’ve had to go.”

  “What’s her reason for her appointment?”

  “She’s suffering from a lack of well—being, whatever that means? Still, it gets you an appointment with the doctor!”

  ***

  The doctor’s surgery in Budleigh Salterton was crowded but Ella arrived armed with her Kindle and was prepared to wait patiently. Eventually, her name was called and she found herself sitting opposite Doctor Moore.

  “Good morning and how are you feeling?”

  “A bit down.”

  “Ella Raleigh, isn’t it? I’ve got your records up on the screen. You’re healthy. We’ve hardly ever seen you here. I’m bamboozled. My colleague normally deals with the out of town patients.”

  “You were recommended by Mrs Aylesbeare, Anthony Buckerell’s secretary.”

  “Anthony’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, it’s so sad.”

  “Yes, I heard about it when I arrived back from Thailand.”

  “Well, that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you, Doctor.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “You knew him, didn’t you? You treated him for a number of years.”

  “I did, on a regular basis. Yes.”

  The Doctor sat there contemplating.

  “Wait a minute. Did you come here because you’re depressed or is there an ulterior motive?”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor. You see my husband and I are helping Mrs Aylesbeare sort out Mr Buckerell’s affairs and there are questions that need answering.”

  “I don’t think this is the time or place for an interrogation, Mrs Raleigh.”

  “Well, I…‌”

  “You’re not ill, are you? Befogged, maybe, but not ill?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Look, meet me this evening at the Otter Inn in Colaton Raleigh. It’s quiet and we can talk.”

  “No.”

  “Sorry?”

  “No, I won’t meet you there. My husband and I will. He thinks you know something about Mr Buckerell’s death. He says you could be most helpful especially with the reading of the will at the end of the week. Otherwise, people might think you were taking me out on a date.”

  “I never meant…‌”

  “And I wouldn’t want to sully the reputation of a well respected local doctor!”

  ***

  “That visit to Doctor Moore did my well—being a power of good!”

  “Excellent, I didn’t even know your well being was ill.”

  “He tried to ask me out for a meal!”

  “
Excellent, you could have pumped him for information.”

  “Frank Raleigh, are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

  “Yes, of course. We’ve been married long enough for me to trust you totally.”

  “Thank you. But I’m not sure I trust the good Doctor to behave himself.”

  “If he lays one finger on you, I’ll knock his block off!”

  “He won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’ll be there as well!”

  “Charge up your phone!”

  ***

  The Otter Inn was quiet. The food was excellent and both Frank and Ella vowed to return there as a couple in the near future. The conversation was stilted at first. However, Doctor Moore had a glass of wine and was soon breaching some code of confidentiality.

  “I heard he was poisoned by the police. Probably the food!”

  Frank looked around at the half–empty room. No—one was near enough to be able to listen in on their conversation.

  “No, he wasn’t poisoned by the police,” replied Frank.

  “He was poisoned and the police have identified at least four suspects.” Ella carefully told the doctor some of the salient facts about the case — the letters and the blackmail.

  “Four Dudleys? I know them all. They’re all members of the local amateur dramatic society, the Budleigh Players. My word, you’ve got a tough task there.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, as I told that lovely young lady police officer the other day, they’re all pretty suspicious people. I could easily imagine any one of them could be your murderer.”

  “Really, even Dudley Musbury?”

  “Especially Dudley Musbury. Ever since his wife was maimed in that sad accident, Dudley’s behaviour has been excessive. They say he becomes very violent. I haven’t treated him for it, but I have heard.”

  “What?”

  “No, I’ve said too much. He’s normally such a pleasant, quiet character. Works wonders behind the scenes. Although saying that, he has to be the untidiest stage manager I’ve ever worked with in all my acting career.”

  “What about Dudley Gosford—Feniton? He writes plays, doesn’t he?”

  “The professor? No, just pantomimes. However, I’ve never seen Anthony in one of his pantomimes. Well, never in an important role. Back in the chorus or the back of the horse!”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, the word is that Dudley lost out on some inheritance. People thought Anthony was to blame. I can’t imagine the Professor killing. Although you said it was poisoning. With all his tropical plants — we share a passion for the exotic in botany — he might know something about poisons. It’s all way beyond me!”

  Doctor Moore took another swig of wine.

  “Now, Dudley Weston. I have treated him. And without giving too much away, he’s sick — lovesick. Mr Buckerell bamboozled Mr Weston’s sweetheart in marrying him and not Dudley. As you can imagine, Dudley was not a happy man. You don’t think he could have killed him because of that, do you? No!”

  Ella’s phone was lying in her lap recording every word.

  “Well, who does that leave us with?” Doctor Moore looked around him as he wracked his brain for the last Dudley.

  “Oh, I know. Dudley Widworthy. Now he was, and probably still is, his own worst enemy. He was a terrible businessman. If I was befogged enough to want to lose ten thousand pounds, I would give it to him. He’d lose it in a week!”

  “We heard that he had a business selling herbal medicine. Did he contact you?”

  “I saw straight away the business was doomed. He was soon bankrupt. Now you come to mention it, didn’t he blame Anthony Buckerell for his failure?”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, I think so. Well, that was stupid. He had only himself to blame. I wouldn’t have touched his herbal business with a barge pole!”

  “What about you, Doctor Moore? Did Anthony Buckerell ever cause you any problems?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Blackmail?”

  “Blackmail? Don’t be so silly. I’m not a businessman. The surgery is run by a very efficient business manager. I play no part in the finances. He didn’t nab my wife. I’m single. And I’ve never had the opportunity to inherit any money. I live a quiet life. My work, my plants and my drama.”

  “No other problems?”

  “No, apart from the licence. But that was sorted.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “The theatrical licence for my latest starring role. I heard on the grapevine that Anthony was amongst a dwindling few who were opposing the licence. Probably on the grounds that the noise and congestion on opening night would bring Budleigh Salterton to a standstill.” He laughed. “So, so absurd.”

  Daniel finished off his wine and sat back with a contented look upon his face.

  “Yes, we had some problems. At one point recently it was cancelled. But we persevered and nothing came of it. Anthony died before the committee could meet. The show will go on.”

  Frank looked around at the room which had almost emptied since the start of their meal. Even the waitress was nowhere in sight.

  “When did you last see Anthony Buckerell alive?”

  “Well, I’ve been on holiday for the last while or so. I suppose I must have seen him just before Christmas, maybe late December. Sometime before he died, I guess.”

  “Didn’t you meet up with him each month to give him a vitamin supplement?”

  “Yes, who told you that? He didn’t like pills and tablets but would willingly let me inject him each month.”

  “When was the last time you injected him?” Ella asked.

  “I used to inject him at the beginning of each month. Mind you, the Dudleys you all mentioned did meet up with him at around the same time. Maybe, even a little later than I did. They attended a meeting about the licensing issue. I was unable to go, I was just about to leave for my holiday. But I’m pretty sure that the four met up with him to discuss the problem.”

  The waitress had appeared from the bar area so Frank asked her for the bill.

  “No, let me pay for all of us. I’m in a celebratory mood. You’re sitting opposite the star of Table for Four, the Budleigh Players’ biggest ever production at the Public Halls. With that licence approval last week, nothing is going to prevent the world from discovering that Daniel Moore was born to be a star.

  “Well done!”

  “Thank you. This time next year, I will be on the stage in the West End!”

  ***

  Frank and Ella arrived home in Otterbury at just after half–past ten. They had just settled down to a cup of late–night tea when the phone rang.

  “Bit late for a phone call,” said Frank.

  As he about to pick up the receiver, Ella hissed. “Activate the recorder.”

  “Good idea.”

  He did and then picked up the phone. “Hello, good evening. How can I help you?”

  “You’re way beyond that! You can’t help anyone, can you? You’re just plain stupid.”

  “You again! What do you want?”

  The voice was again a little muffled and obviously disguised. It still wasn’t possible to tell if it was male or female.

  “Still calling yourself detectives? You interview people and you never ask the right questions.”

  “Thank you for your opinion but who am I listening to?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m not the failure. Dudley told me all about your efforts. You’re no stars. You’re the laughing stock of East Devon. Baffled? Befogged? Bested? Befuddled? Bamboozled? Beleaguered? The list goes on!”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Only on the sweet taste of my impending, my continuing success. I’ve said too much!”

  The connection was immediately broken.

  “That was our killer again. I wonder if he’s made his first mistake. If so, then I think we’ve got him!”

  Chapter 15 – Where There’s a
Will, There’s a Way

  The next morning Alice Aylesbeare phoned and asked to speak to Ella.

  “The reading of the will is this afternoon at three o’clock. I’d like to invite you two along. Mr Buckerell didn’t leave anything to you, of course, but I thought you’d find it interesting.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Who else is going to be there?”

  “The four Dudleys, the good doctor, a solicitor from Sidmouth to make sure I do everything correctly and your two police friends. Just, in case…‌”

  “You mean, in case it gets out of hand?”

  “No, we’re very civilised in Budleigh Salterton.”

  “Of course, we’ll be there. Three o’clock at the late Mr Buckerell’s office?”

  “Indeed!”

  “Do you need any help beforehand?”

  “Well, I’ve made some cupcakes and I’m bringing tea and coffee.”

  “Frank and I will be happy to play the part of waiter and waitress.”

  “That would be most efficacious.”

  ***

  Ella explained to Frank about the plans for the afternoon. They decided to start the day with a short walk from Budleigh Salterton followed by a leisurely lunch before heading for the solicitor’s office in time to help to dispense the refreshments.

  The weather was decidedly pleasant for the time of year so that donned suitable clothing, put their walking boots in the car and set off via Newton Poppleford for Budleigh. They’d discovered a little car park in Brook Road behind the High Street. They parked there for free and headed into the High Street. They crossed straight over and walked up Cliff Road towards the sea. They joined the South West Coast Path but unlike the other week, they were not headed for West Down Beacon, but eastwards towards the mouth of the River Otter.

  Ella had been reading about the derivation of Budleigh Salterton’s name: “The Abbot of Otterton Priory employed thirty—three salters who made a living out of salt panning.”

  “Hence the Salter’s Town?”

  “Yes. However, the parish of Budleigh Salterton only came into being during the last decade of the nineteenth century.”

  “It’s quite the new town.”

  “Even though salting may go back to Roman times.”