Death in Practice

by Hazel Holt

  “Actually,” Thea said, “I believe it’s quite difficult to trace insulin in the body after a certain time. Was it injected or taken orally, do you know?”

  “Kathy didn’t say. But it couldn’t have been injected, could it? Not if someone killed him – I mean there’d have been a struggle surely and someone would have heard something. But can you take it orally?”

  “Oh yes, I had a cousin who did. There was some reason why she couldn’t be injected – I forget what – I think she took tablets, but I suppose you could just pour the stuff into a drink or something, though I don’t know what it would taste like!”

  “Oh well, I suppose it’ll all come out at the inquest.”

  Thea poured the tea and cut me a slice of cake.

  “Goodness,” I said, “this is a gorgeous Victoria sponge! I’m all right on ordinary sponges, but I never seem to be able to get these right. I don’t think I cream the fat properly.”

  “Well, I’ll never be able to manage a Dundee cake like yours!” She laughed. “It is nice to have people to tea now I’m not working. It makes me feel just like my mother – that was mostly when she saw her friends.”

  “It’s a generation thing. Most young people are at work now, even after they’ve had children. I suppose they have to.”

  “Yes, we’re lucky that we can manage without me having to go back.”

  “Of course,” I said tentatively, “you’d have been much better off if Michael had taken that job in London.”

  “I know. We talked about it a lot. But I wanted Michael to be the one to make the decision – I didn’t want him to have any regrets later on.”

  “That was very noble of you!”

  “I think I’m probably a people person rather than a place person,” Thea said thoughtfully. “If I’m with the people I want to be with then I think I could live anywhere – within reason. Anyway, Michael decided to stay. I’m so glad he did. I love it here. I mean, all my happy childhood memories are here, just like Michael’s. And I did make that decision for myself once, and decided to come back to Taviscombe, to come back home.”

  “I need hardly tell you how pleased I was when Michael told me you were staying – well, you can imagine.”

  Thea smiled. “All’s well that ends well. Will you be able to stay and help me give Alice her bath? She really loves the water now and splashes around like anything.”

  As if on cue Alice, who had been peacefully asleep in her carrycot beside us, woke up and began to cry, not a whimper or a little grizzle, but a full-throated, “I’m here and I want attention now” bellow.

  Thea went over and picked her up and the crying ceased as if by magic.

  “Tea time for Alice too,” she said. “Have another piece of sponge while I see to her.”

  Since I actually did need some more flea stuff for the animals I went along to the surgery a few mornings later. I must confess I waited until the place was empty before I went in and found Alison alone in the reception area. We discussed the merits of the various flea treatments on offer and I made my purchase.

  “It must have been pretty awful for you,” I said, “finding Malcolm Hardy like that.”

  “Oh yes, Mrs Malory, it was really dreadful.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, he came back early from lunch, which was a bit surprising – I mean, he didn’t have any appointments that afternoon – and he was in a filthy temper.”

  “Really! What about?”

  “I don’t know, but he was slamming about, that’s the way he had when he was upset. He asked for some coffee – well, he opened the door of his room and shouted for it, actually – so rude! Anyway, I made him some, and that was a nuisance because he has a special sort and he likes it very black and strong. I was just going to take it in for him when Diana called me to come and hold a dog she was giving an injection to – it was very nervous and needed two people to hold it down – and when I got back he was furious that I hadn’t taken it in straight away.”

  “That wasn’t very fair.”

  “Oh well, he wasn’t. Anyhow I kept well away from him after that, as you can imagine. But just before surgery started I was washing up the coffee mugs the others had had at lunchtime so I thought I’d better collect his. He always makes such a fuss if I leave the empty mug in his room, says it looks slovenly. I knocked but he didn’t reply so I wondered if he’d gone out again – like I said he didn’t have any appointments – so I went in. I didn’t see him at first and I’d just picked up the mug from off the desk when I saw him lying on the floor the other side of it.”

  “It must have been a terrible shock.”

  “It was! I couldn’t believe it at first. You know, when you’re not expecting something you don’t really take it in, do you? But when I looked again I could see that he was unconscious.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I called Diana and she had a proper look at him and said, ‘It looks serious,’ or something like that and then she went and called an ambulance.”

  “What did you do with the mug?” I asked

  Alison looked surprised at my question. “That’s what the police asked,” she said. “I told them. I put it in the washing up bowl in the kitchen with the others. What with all the bother I didn’t get around to washing them all up until after the ambulance had been and we were all getting back to normal – not, of course,” she added, “that it was normal, but we didn’t know that then. I mean, if I’d known it was going to be important I’d never have washed up his mug. The police weren’t too pleased about that. I suppose they thought that the stuff that killed him – the insulin or whatever – was in the coffee and I’d destroyed the evidence. I don’t know, perhaps they think I poisoned him.”

  “Oh I’m sure they don’t think that,” I said soothingly. “Anyway the coffee was sitting around for a bit while you were helping Diana with the dog.”

  “And when I was making it,” Alison continued. “I had to leave it half-way because the phone was ringing out here and no one was answering it.”

  “Well, there you are then, anyone could have put something in the mug. If that’s how it happened.”

  “The police seem to think so.” She sighed. “Oh dear, I did think all our troubles would be over with him gone, but things are worse than ever now.”

  “So it does look as if it was someone at the surgery who killed him,” I said to Rosemary when I was telling her what Alison had said. “I know he was a ghastly person and impossible to work with but surely that wouldn’t be enough to get him murdered.”

  “I don’t know,” Rosemary said. “People react in peculiar ways to things. If someone was really on the edge, for whatever reason, if he did something really horrible, then that might just be enough.”

  “I suppose so,” I said doubtfully. “I wonder what Roger thinks.”

  “I haven’t seen him for a while and, of course, now that he’s based in Taunton I don’t even know if he’s dealing with this particular case.”

  “If it is murder – and it does look like it – then I’d think he’d at least want to see the report. Anyway, if you remember, I saw him at the surgery after it happened.”

  “Oh yes, so you did. More coffee?”

  “Just half a cup. That’s fine. Incidentally, I wonder why Malcolm Hardy was in such a bad mood the afternoon he died?”

  “Money? Girlfriend trouble? Or just someone who didn’t jump quickly enough when he gave an order? I should think it was a pretty constant state with him.”

  “Mmm, I suppose so, but I got the impression that Alison thought that something in particular had upset him. He’d just got back from lunch – perhaps he’d met someone then, had an argument or something.”

  “Perhaps it will all come out at the inquest.”

  But when the inquest was held we were none the wiser.

  “Such a waste of time,” Anthea said. “I went with Kathy because she was told she might have to give evidence, not a very nice thing
to have to do, so I thought I’d go along and give her moral support. But she wasn’t called after all. The police asked for a, what do you call it? an adjournment, so that they could make further investigations, they said. Such nonsense! Surely they’ve had enough time to work out what happened – all those post mortem reports and so on. It’s so unpleasant for those girls at the surgery having that sort of thing hanging over them all the time.”

  “Poor Kathy,” I said. “It must be horrid.”

  “The police are in and out all the time badgering them with questions.”

  “Questions?”

  “Yes, you know the sort of thing. Where were they between two and three? Did they see any strangers hanging about? Where were the drugs and things kept? Did they see the coffee mug before Alison took it in to him? Why did Alison wash up the mug afterwards? I must say,” Anthea said with some asperity, “I’ve never approved of all this drinking out of mugs. What’s wrong with a nice cup and saucer, I’d like to know!”

  I wondered whether Anthea felt that the abandonment of proper crockery led directly to the act of murder.

  “Autre temps, autre moeurs?” I suggested mildly.

  “As far as I can see,” Anthea replied firmly, “all change is for the worse.”

  And really, there are times when one can only agree.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  “I wonder,” I said, “who will get all that Hardy money now that Malcolm is dead?”

  We were out on the moor, Thea, Michael and I, having what would probably be our last picnic of the season. It was a lovely day, not as hot as summer but with, as yet, no hint of autumn in the warm air. The heather was still out, though browning in patches and the bracken was becoming brittle, a foretaste of what was to come. We were sitting on a rug in the shade of one of those hawthorn trees twisted into a fantastical shape by the winter winds with Alice propped up in her carrycot, surveying with interest the strange world around her.

  “Actually,” Michael said, struggling with the straps of the picnic basket, “it’s held in a rather odd trust. We set it up for old man Hardy, Malcolm’s father; just before he died.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. By then June had left home. There wasn’t an open quarrel but I don’t think that they parted on very friendly terms so she only got a few thousand pounds. The main estate was left to his wife for her lifetime and then to Malcolm for his lifetime.”

  “You mean he couldn’t leave it to anyone in his will?”

  “Only to his direct heir.”

  “Which he hasn’t got.”

  “Exactly. At least, not that anyone’s aware of.”

  “So what happens now?” Thea asked.

  “In the case of Malcolm dying without a direct heir then the money would go to June if he predeceased her, which given that she was a lot older than him didn’t seem likely.”

  “And if he hadn’t?”

  “Then it would all go to some distant relation of June’s mother who lives, as far as I can remember, in British Columbia.”

  “Good heavens!” I said. “What a peculiar thing. Why couldn’t he just leave it to Malcolm, I wonder?”

  “I don’t know. Edward – he drew up the Trust – said he rather got the feeling that the old man had in some way turned against Malcolm. He never said why, it was just a feeling. Anyway, there it is. June Hardy is going to be a very rich woman.”

  “Ah!”

  “What do you mean – ah?” Michael enquired. “Oh, you mean that gives her a motive for knocking off Malcolm.”

  “Oh surely,” Thea said, unwrapping the sandwiches and laying them out on a plate, “you can’t imagine June Hardy murdering anyone!”

  “She’s a very determined sort of person,” I said, “at least on committees she is. She’ll hang on like anything to get her own way.”

  “Still,” Thea protested, “that’s not the same as actually killing someone.”

  “Besides,” Michael said, “how could she have got into the vets’ without being seen?”

  “Oh that would be easy,” I said. “It’s all open at the back because of bringing in some of the animals that way. Beyond Reception there’s a sort of open area with doors to the kitchen and other rooms leading out of it. Then there’s a door into the yard and another into a sort of side alley and they’re all unlocked. I know because when poor Tess had to be put down I went round the back to collect her body – they don’t like to bring them through the waiting area. There’s a big table just outside the kitchen and if Alison put the coffee mug down there and left it several times, like she said she did, then absolutely anyone could have put something in it.”

  “But surely,” Thea said, “only people actually working in the surgery would have had a chance to do that. I mean, no outsider could possibly know that the mug of coffee would be there at just that moment. Or, indeed, that it was meant for Malcolm anyway.”

  “All the mugs have their names on them,” I said. “Kathy told me that she did them with nail varnish.”

  “Still,” Thea persisted. “No outsider would know exactly when the coffee would be there to be tampered with.”

  “I suppose not,” I said reluctantly.

  “So there you are then.” She added pieces of pie and some delicious-looking chicken drumsticks to the sandwiches. “Come on both of you, have something to eat – it’s far too nice a day to brood about Malcolm Hardy and his untimely end!”

  * * *

  But of course I couldn’t help worrying away at the problem and when I met Roger (quite by chance) the following weekend I couldn’t help raising the subject. I’d been out to get the Sunday papers, something I always combine with giving Tris a bit of a walk by the sea, and I met Roger, obviously doing the same. Fortunately Tris and their spaniel get on well together and the two of them were soon engaged in an amiable game of chasing while I was able to have a word with Roger.

  “How’s the Malcolm Hardy case going?” I asked.

  Roger smiled. “Why did I know you were going to ask me that?” he said.

  “I gather,” I said casually, “that June Hardy is the sole beneficiary.”

  “Whatever became of lawyer-client confidentiality?”

  “No, really, Roger, the Will has been published!”

  “It’s all right, I was only teasing. I know Michael is the soul of discretion.”

  “It’s a lot of money – and I remember what you always say about money being the strongest motive for murder.”

  “Do I always say that?”

  “Oh come on, you know it’s true.”

  “Very well. But I’m afraid I have to disappoint you in this case. It couldn’t have been June Hardy. She spent the whole of that day at the hospital in Taunton. Apparently one of the elderly inmates at the Larches had to go there to have an endoscopy and she was with him all the time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  “She couldn’t have slipped out somehow?”

  “I gather she went for a bite to eat in the canteen, but one of the nurses – someone she used to work with – had lunch with her. Anyway, it’s the best part of thirty miles away so she couldn’t have got there and back anyway.”

  “No, of course not. Oh well, I’m glad because I like June and I wouldn’t have wanted it to be her really. It’s just that she seemed to have the strongest motive.”

  “That’s the way it goes, I’m afraid.”

  “Mind you,” I went on, warming to my theme, “Malcolm Hardy was so vile I’m sure a lot of people are glad he’s dead.”

  “Quite a lot of people are disagreeable, but they don’t all get murdered.”

  “Well, somebody killed him – at least, you don’t think it could have been an accident, do you?”

  He shook his head. “It’s all very odd, really. I mean, the amount of insulin alone wouldn’t have killed him – and, in that case, why insulin? There were plenty of other things in that drug cabinet (assuming that that’s where the
insulin came from) that would have done the job completely.”

  “Was the insulin from the surgery then?”

  “Unfortunately we can’t be sure. Apparently Malcolm Hardy said he didn’t trust any of the others to check the drugs (a sore point with them, as you can imagine) and he doesn’t seem to have kept the records up to date, so we have no way of telling; but it seems likely.”

  “I gather it was a combination of the insulin and the beta blockers he had to take for his very high blood pressure that killed him.”

  Roger looked at me quizzically. “You have been busy,” he said.

  “Well, Kathy who works there is Anthea’s daughter, so naturally we’ve discussed it.”

  “Naturally.”

  “She seemed to know about the beta blockers so presumably the others did too. Still, it does seem a risky way of murdering someone – I mean, you couldn’t be really sure that they’d interact and actually kill him.”

  “There was alcohol as well, which aggravated the situation. He went out to lunch so he was presumably drinking then.”

  “But people at the surgery wouldn’t have known that, would they?”

  “I don’t know – they might have done. His behaviour may have suggested it.”

  “Alison certainly said he shouted for his coffee – but I gather he did that anyway. Though she did say that he was in a specially bad mood, which might have been because he’d been drinking. I suppose you’ve no idea if he had lunch with anybody, or where? I mean, if it was in a private place the other person could have given him the insulin somehow.”

  “Not an easy thing to do, I imagine.”

  “I suppose not.”