The Dudleys of Budleigh

by P A Nash

Frank and Ella added in some vital information on to the whiteboard. They both turned towards each other. “We’ve done it!” They hugged and kissed as they celebrated the cutting down to size of another East Devon criminal.

  ***

  Their elation didn’t last too long as they realised that two questions needed answering that could bring an entirely different slant upon the investigation.

  “Where were you on Monday night?”

  “What was the meeting about?”

  “Before we bring everybody together,” said Frank, “I want to ask each of our suspects those two missing questions.

  “Let’s ask them separately and see if their answers agree.”

  “Let’s ask Doctor Moore as well. See if he can shine any light on the matter.”

  They arranged to speak separately to each of them face to face during the course of the afternoon and evening. First, they went once again to Professor Gosford—Feniton’s elegant house in the exclusive residential area north of the town.

  “Monday night? Yes, we went to a meeting with Anthony Buckerell. About the licensing of this play.”

  “We?”

  “The four Dudleys and two ladies. We were the elected negotiating committee. Daniel Moore was meant to be there but he was on holiday.”

  Dudley Musbury and Dudley Widworthy were together when Frank and Ella asked the questions. Their answers were identical. Both of them were relieved to be able to tell the truth. Their accounts of the meeting were similar in tone to the Professor’s. They confirmed that the four Dudleys were in the group who met with Anthony Buckerell.

  When Frank and Ella arrived at the Weston’s house they were greeted by Mrs Weston. “I’m afraid Dudley doesn’t want to speak to you. He’s sulking.”

  “Did he go out to a meeting on the Monday before Mr Buckerell died?”

  She thought for a moment. “Yes, he did. Something to do with the Budleigh Players, I think.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Weston. That’s all we needed to know.”

  Finally, later in the evening, after surgery had finished they sat in Doctor Moore’s consulting room and asked: “Where were you on the Monday before Mr Buckerell died?”

  “In London. About to board a plane to Thailand. I’m sure I’ve told your police officer friend that already.”

  “You’re sure you weren’t in Budleigh Salterton?”

  “Positive. Why?”

  “Because there was a meeting going on. It involved the Dramatic Society and Mr Buckerell.”

  “Yes, I know. About the licensing. Glad I missed it. I’d have probably wanted to murder him if I was there.”

  ***

  “Good evening, Mr Buckerell. Thank you for coming along to this informal gathering. Are any other members of your committee attending?”

  “No, it’s just me. I’ll report back, of course, but the committee will go along with whatever I decide.”

  “I see. We’ll come straight to the point, then. I’m Professor Dudley Gosford—Feniton. This is Mr Weston, Mrs Tidwell, Mr Musbury, Miss Exton and Mr Widworthy. We are all representing the Budleigh Players.

  “Get on with it. I know who you all are. I’ve got another appointment in half an hour.”

  “OK. We are putting on the most ambitious play the Budleigh Players has ever produced.”

  “And we need a licence to perform it at the Public Halls. We have never had a problem obtaining this licence.”

  “Until now!”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of your play. That’s the problem.”

  “What’s wrong with the play? There’s no swearing, no gratuitous violence. It’s family entertainment. It looks like we’re going to be sold out on all three nights. The enquiries for tickets are at an all—time high.”

  “I don’t care about any of that.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “Your leading man.”

  “Daniel Moore?”

  “Yes”

  “This is his first leading role. He’s perfect for the role.”

  “He may be. But if you want your dramatic production to take place, then you’d better have a word with him and persuade him to drop out. Find someone else to play his role.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “I could try. I’ll give him a ring.”

  “Yes, you’d better. I refuse to grant a license if Daniel Moore is in the leading role.”

  ***

  “I’m beginning to get a feeling of deja—vu once again,” said WPC Elsie Knowle, as she sat in the Raleigh’s front room the next evening.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” asked PC Alf Hydon.

  “Pretty sure. We’ve had the whiteboard out and filled in all the boxes.”

  “So we’re going to go all Murder in Paradise again?”

  “Why not,” replied Ella, “it worked last time.”

  “And I’ll say what I said last time.” Elsie looked slightly exasperated. “You can’t just take over solving the crime. We’re the police and it’s our job to serve and protect you.”

  “Yes, but begging your pardon for my rudeness, but this time, you’ve spent hardly any time on the investigation. You keep telling us how busy you are.”

  “That’s true!” Alf nodded.

  “Point taken!” Elsie agreed.

  “If we can get the murderer to confess then, once again, you’ll get the credit.”

  “OK,” said WPC Knowle, “I don’t think my superiors need to know about this little scenario. I can see why you want to confront the murderer with the truth. If you can apply as much psychological pressure as possible, you’ll have a confession made in front of everybody.”

  “Let’s do it. Is there a door to guard?” asked Alf.

  “No, we’ll be in the middle of the auditorium at the Public Hall in Budleigh Salterton. It’ll be difficult for anyone to quickly escape. Anyway, you’ll be close at hand to apprehend them. The long arm of the law?”

  PC Hydon stretched his right arm out in front of him. His open hand snapped shut.

  “We’ll sit them all down in the audience and you two can be on stage.”

  “Just like a real play.”

  “No,” said PC Hydon. “Imagine it, Stein and Cinders — mind readers extraordinaire — top of the bill.”

  WPC Knowle looked baffled. “Stein and Cinders?”

  “Yes, Frank N Stein and Cinders Ella!”

  “That’s so preposterous that it might just work.” Ella laughed.

  Everyone laughed and made suggestions on how the two performers might construct their stage act.

  Frank and Ella looked at each other. The two police officers were quickly joining in with the spirit of the occasion.

  “Just remember,” cautioned Ella, “we’re attempting to catch a murderer.”

  ***

  Just like in Sidmouth, PC Hydon and WPC Knowle reminded the four Dudleys about the arrangements for the meeting after the dress rehearsal. They also invited Doctor Moore, Alice Aylesbeare and Mrs Weston along.

  WPC Knowle mused that the presence of three women amongst the group may lessen the chance of any violent or unruly behaviour. She had her own suspicions about the identity of the murderer but was willing to allow Frank and Ella to do things their way.

  After all, if it was good enough for Hercule and a Caribbean copper, then it was good enough for her, too.

  Chapter 17 – The Denouement

  “Phone App working?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fully charged?”

  “Of course! And now…‌ switched on!”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a special performance by Stein and Cinders.”

  The announcement by an unseen voice was broadcast over the loudspeaker system in the Public Hall. The Budleigh Player’s rehearsal had finished a while ago. All those involved in the production had left the building except for the group sitting in the front row. The four Dudleys, Gosford—Feniton, Weston, Musbury and Widworthy, together
with Doctor Daniel Moore, were sitting in the centre of the row looking uncertain and a little disorientated.

  They had been there since the conclusion of the rehearsal talking quietly and awaiting developments. They were in a familiar place in an unfamiliar situation. They had been joined in the past few minutes by Mrs Aylesbeare, Mrs Weston, WPC Knowle and PC Hydon. The house lights had been kept dimmed since the rehearsal. As the curtain opened, the stage lights were illuminating not only the stage but the front two rows of the auditorium.

  Ella came out from the wings and stood centre stage.

  “Good evening and thanks to all of you for agreeing to attend our little meeting.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” cried out Dudley Weston. “Are you going to tell us who killed Anthony Buckerell?”

  “We’re going to present some facts and allow you to draw your own conclusions.”

  “First of all, let me introduce you all to each other. My name is Ella Raleigh. I’m joined by my husband, Frank.”

  Frank ventured on stage holding a clipboard.

  “It’s Dennis Norden!” shouted Dudley Weston.

  “That’ll do, Weston. Give them a chance.” Dudley Gosford—Feniton’s voice was quiet but firm.

  “We have in the front row the four Dudleys, Gosford—Feniton, Weston, Musbury and Widworthy, accompanied by Doctor Daniel Moore. Behind them, in the second row, we have Mrs Alice Aylesbeare, Mrs Weston and WPC Knowle. Over by the fire doors, we have PC Hydon.”

  “Get on with it. Some of us have got lives to lead,” muttered Daniel Moore.

  Ella continued. “As you know, Anthony Buckerell died in the police cell at Otterbury Police Station.”

  “Both WPC Knowle and I were with him and our first thoughts were that he had died of a heart attack. In a way, we were correct.” Frank stepped back.

  “In fact, Mr Buckerell died as a result of poisoning. He had been injected with Thamacin. It is a deadly poison extracted from a plant found only in South East Asia. A small amount of this poison causes a fatal heart attack exactly two days after the administering of the poison. The poison clogs up the arteries around the heart and after exactly forty—eight hours, the heart ceases to function.”

  Frank continued. “I’m sure you’ve worked out that Anthony Buckerell may well have died in the cell but the poisonous injection was administered two days previously.”

  Mrs Aylesbeare let out a gasp of surprise.

  “So,” asked Ella, “who murdered Anthony Buckerell?”

  “To begin with, we need to consider the three factors behind most premeditated murders.”

  “Motive,” announced Ella.

  “Opportunity.”

  “And means.”

  The Frank and Ella show continued.

  “We looked at each of the Dudleys…‌”

  “Why just us,” piped up Dudley Musbury.

  “Because,” continued Ella, “we received a phone call from Anthony Buckerell entirely by chance.”

  “Our phone number is exactly the same as WPC Knowle’s private number, except that the last two digits are reversed.”

  “Anthony was in such a state that he almost dialled the number he was intending to ring.”

  “His cry for help stated that Dudley was out to get him,” Frank added.

  “After some research, it transpires that four Dudleys, all clients of his, sent him letters of complaint. All four Dudleys, it turns out, were being blackmailed by Anthony Buckerell.”

  “We looked at each of the Dudleys and deduced, that all four of you had a motive to do harm to Anthony Buckerell.”

  “Each of you considered the blackmail to be both unfair and life—changing.”

  “We interviewed each of you and you all showed a degree of animosity towards the deceased.”

  “Having confirmed a motive we then went on to the opportunity,” Ella concluded the motives.

  “Wait a minute. I agree with your comments so far, in respect of my motive. I told him, I wanted to kill him, “ said Dudley Widworthy.

  “Yes, then we went to the reading of the will,” added Dudley Weston. “Each of us got our blackmail money back. In fact, I for one am better off than I was!”

  “However, none of you knew the contents of the will at the time of the murder,” replied Ella.

  “True. But why are these other people here?” Dudley Widworthy pointed behind him and then towards Doctor Moore.

  Frank took up the explanation. “WPC Knowle and PC Hydon are here to make sure that law and order and justice prevails. Mrs Aylesbeare is here because she has helped us throughout the course of our enquiries and, it’s only right and proper, that she hears the full story of how her employer died.”

  “Is she a suspect?” shouted Dudley Weston.

  “We’ve already ruled her out. Mrs Weston demanded to be here.”

  “So Doreen can keep an eye on me.”

  “If you say so, Mr Weston.”

  “And Doctor Moore is here because he is,” Ella paused for effect. “The fifth Dudley!”

  “You’ve got that wrong. My name is Daniel, not Dudley. I thought I was here because of my medical expertise.”

  “You are. But,” Frank replied, “ although your first name is Daniel, one of your middle names is Dudley. I believe that Anthony Buckerell was extremely fond of the jazz piano.”

  Mrs Aylesbeare nodded in agreement.

  “He nicknamed you Dudley Moore.”

  “Who was, as you know, not only a comedian but also a talented jazz pianist.”

  “When we realised that possibility then we looked around for a motive. This drama production provided us with a motive. You were all set to achieve your life’s ambition — a starring role.”

  “Mr Anthony Buckerell’s committee were going to prevent your starring role by refusing the Budleigh Players a licence for their production.”

  “Rubbish. They granted our licence. We’ve been rehearsing this evening, haven’t we?” Daniel Moore aggressively countered.

  “Let’s come back to that in a while. Opportunity,” said Frank.

  “Every Dudley here had the opportunity to poison Anthony. Four of you met up with him in the days before his death. You could easily have manufactured a further meeting and then injected him.”

  “Doctor Moore. You used to regularly inject Mr Buckerell with his vitamins.”

  “Yes, but that was days before his death. You said Thamacin takes effect in exactly forty—eight hours.”

  “I’ll give an answer to that comment in a few minutes. First of all, Ella wants to explore the exotic plants you collect.”

  “Yes, we’ve concluded that each of you had the motive and the opportunity to murder Anthony Buckerell. Now, what about the means?”

  Mrs Aylesbeare’s face was a picture of subdued excitement. She was imagining herself as a witness in an episode of Miss Marple.

  “Professor Gosford—Feniton, you’re an expert in African plants?”

  “Correct.”

  “Just African and not Asian?”

  “Correct. You are welcome to check my records at any time.”

  “Thank you. We believe you, but we will — if we need to. Now, Dudley Weston. Your specialism is ferns from New Zealand?”

  “Yes, you know that already. You’ve been to see them all. Nothing from Asia. Again, check my records.”

  Doreen Weston nodded in approval.

  “Mr Widworthy?”

  “All my herbs were from South America. That was a long time ago. You can check my records as well. And, I’m sure, Mrs Aylesbeare will be able to find Anthony Buckerell’s records from our transactions!”

  “Mr Musbury?”

  “I’ve never collected exotic plants or made poisons from them. I spent all my waking time looking after my wife. Please feel free to search my old house.”

  “So none of you, travelled to Asia or dealt with Asian plants?”

  “Except one. Daniel Aldous Huxley Dudley Moore.”
>
  All eyes turned towards the doctor.

  “You regularly visit Thailand. The poison came from a plant called,” Ella consulted Frank’s clipboard. “Ot—tan Etti—na—reem. Our research found out that a Jesuit priest called Father Amuccin discovered it whilst travelling in Siam in South East Asia. Siam, as you know, nowadays goes under the name of Thailand.”

  “You regularly visit Thailand? Your receptionist told us you go every year. As regular as clockwork!”

  “But I wasn’t in Budleigh Salterton when you say the poison was administered!”

  “No, you say you were in the process of travelling to Thailand.”

  “Or were you?” ventured WPC Knowle. “According to my investigations, the airline has no record of you travelling to Thailand three days before Mr Buckerell’s death.”

  “That’s rubbish. They must have made a mistake.”

  “Maybe, but they do have a record of a Daniel Moore travelling the day before Mr Buckerell’s death. It’s a common name. Could that be you? Or is it just coincidence?”

  Dudley Musbury raised a hand. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes, Dudley,” said Ella.

  “As Stage Manager and not an actor or writer, I was the one nominated to phone Dudley about our meeting. I didn’t think anything of it until this evening.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That he had to give up the starring role or else Anthony Buckerell would get the committee to refuse the licence.”

  “When did you call him?”

  “I’ve just been working it out. It must have been about three days before Mr Buckerell died. I called him on his mobile. It sounded like he was in a railway station or an…‌ airport.” Dudley Musbury looked as if a light—bulb had just been switched on inside his head. “He was at Heathrow!”

  WPC Knowle stood up and turned towards the doctor. “So you travelled back to Budleigh Salterton and gave Anthony Buckerell one more injection?”

  “Except this time it wasn’t vitamins but Thamacin,” concluded Ella.

  Daniel Moore looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a ten—ton lorry.

  “I’m a star. He couldn’t take that away from me. He may be able to bamboozle your lives with his blackmailing ways but not me. I’m better than you people— I’m a star.”