His sergeant smiled. ‘Hot-footing it up to Janet Souter’s house, I’d imagine, to fight over her belongings.’
McGillivray chortled. ‘Oh to be a fly on the wall. I can just picture the bickering that’s going on there right now. I’d better go and see what’s happening. Heated arguments often reveal secrets unintentionally.’
The telephone rang, and he picked up the receiver, still laughing. ‘McGillivray . . . Yes? . . . What? . . . You’re there now? We’ll be with you as soon as we can.’
He turned to Moore. ‘Things are moving now, with a vengeance. That was Spencer. His wife’s in hospital and the doctors say it’s arsenic poisoning, the same as Mrs Grant.’
‘Good God! Why on earth would anybody want to poison Spencer’s wife?’
The inspector, on his way to the door, stopped to tell John Black about this latest development, so Moore went past him to start up the car.
‘There’s more twists in this case than a bloody spiral staircase,’ McGillivray muttered as he settled into the passenger seat.
Martin Spencer was pacing the corridor outside the emergency ward when they arrived at the hospital. ‘Oh, Chief Inspector, this is really terrible. I got home from the funeral to find Irene in agony, so I called an ambulance, and the doctor told me later that it was arsenic poisoning. If I’d gone back to the office instead of going straight home, she could have been dead by now.’
His anguish made McGillivray say gently, ‘I’m very sorry about your wife’s trouble, Mr Spencer, but what made you phone me? Why not the Thornkirk Police?’
‘It was another poisoning. It must be connected with the other two, so I want to find out who’s responsible. Miss Souter died, but her next-door neighbour recovered and I hope Irene does too.’
‘I certainly hope she does too, and I’m doing my best to find out who’s responsible. I’ll have to find out if your wife has eaten anything which you didn’t have, and work from there. Can you remember about that?’
‘We’d exactly the same for breakfast and lunch. I normally have a quick snack at the café round the corner from my office at lunchtime, but I went home today because I’d forgotten to take my black tie with me, for the funeral. Mid-morning would have been the only time Irene could have had anything different.’
‘When you’re allowed to see her, ask her what she had. It’s very important. We’ll wait here with you.’
The solicitor sat down on the wooden bench and leaned forward with his hands between his knees. ‘I can’t think what anybody had against Irene, and she didn’t know a soul in Tollerton.’
‘She’d never met Miss Souter, or her nephews?’
‘Never. She’d no part in my work at all, and I’d never met the nephews myself until this afternoon.’ The approach of a doctor made him jump to his feet. ‘How is she?’
‘Your wife’s going to be fine. You may see her for a minute, but remember she’s still very weak.’
The two men disappeared into the ward, and McGillivray looked quizzically at Moore. ‘How did he know Mrs Grant had been poisoned?’
‘I suppose Ronald Baker could have told him that Janet Souter had been poisoned, and the doctor here might have told him about Mrs Grant.’
‘That’s probably right.’ The inspector screwed up his face in concentrated deliberation. ‘This arsenic’s a real bugger.’
When the solicitor came back, he said, ‘The only thing she ate was a piece of sponge cake she baked herself a few days ago.’
McGillivray frowned. ‘Curiouser and curiouser. I’ll need a sample of it, for testing, I’m afraid. Do you need a lift home?’
‘Thanks, I was wondering which bus I’d have to take. I came in the ambulance with my wife, you see.’
When the car drew up outside his house, he said, ‘If you’re coming in to get a bit of that sponge, you may as well have a bite of dinner. I’d be glad of the company.’
It was wearing on for eight o’clock, and the two detectives had eaten nothing since lunchtime, so this was a welcome invitation and McGillivray accepted gratefully.
An appetising aroma of roast lamb met them when the front door was opened, and Spencer led them into a room gleaming with chromium and pine.
‘We usually dine about seven or half past, because I’m often quite late in finishing, so the meat shouldn’t be too dried up. Irene’s a great believer in long, slow cooking. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen?’
McGillivray smiled. ‘As long as it’s food, I don’t mind where I eat.’
The solicitor carved the lamb with the touch of an expert, and dished it up along with the roast potatoes, sliced green beans, carrots and peas that had also been cooking in the oven. ‘I’m sorry I can’t make mint sauce, but . . .’
‘Don’t worry about that. This looks fit for a king.’ The inspector lifted his knife and fork eagerly. ‘Mmmm,’ he said, with his first mouthful, ‘it is fit for a king.’
Enjoying the delicious repast, they ate in silence, then Spencer stood up. ‘I’ll take you through to the sitting room, gentlemen, it’s more comfortable for you to sit there while I organise some coffee.’
The large, beautifully furnished room he showed them into was already warm, and he motioned to them to be seated, then went back to the kitchen to attend to his duty as a host.
David Moore sat down, then hoisted himself further back, and was delighted when he discovered it was a reclining chair. Lying back, he stuck his legs out in front of him. ‘This is the life, eh, Inspector?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed McGillivray similarly angled. ‘I could get used to this.’
The solicitor returned, beaming. ‘That’s the percolator filled and gurgling, so we’ll have our coffee shortly. Would you like a drink while we’re waiting?’
The inspector would indeed have enjoyed a tipple after such a satisfying meal, but he thought it wiser to decline. ‘It’s very kind of you, but we’ll just have the coffee, thanks.’
‘Just as you please. Sit there and I’ll bring through the sponge that Irene made.’
When the plastic cake box was placed in his lap, McGillivray lifted the lid. A good-sized wedge had been cut from the tempting round of sponge, oozing with cream and jam. He halted as he was replacing the cover. ‘Just a mo! That’s home-made raspberry jam, isn’t it? Did your wife make her own jam?’
Spencer looked bewildered. ‘No. We hardly ever use jam, and she said it wasn’t worth the effort. I got a jar from Miss Souter when I was there, last Monday, to be exact, and Irene baked the sponge to use some of it up.’
David Moore saw that the Inspector’s bushy eyebrows were quivering. This was a definite tie up with Violet Grant’s pancakes and jam.
McGillivray said, ‘I’ll take the jam, too, if you please.’
‘Certainly. Do you think that’s where the poison is?’
‘In Mrs Grant’s case it turned out to be in raspberry jam, but I don’t know yet if her jar came from Miss Souter.’
‘It must be the work of a maniac. Janet Souter would never have given away the jam if she’d known there was arsenic in it.’ Martin Spencer went back to the kitchen and returned in a moment with a half-used jar. ‘Here you are, Inspector, and I hope to God you catch the murderer quickly.’
‘So do I,’ the inspector said in heartfelt tones. ‘Just for the record, can you tell me why you went to see Janet Souter last Monday?’
‘She wrote asking me to call as she wanted to make out a new will.’
‘Aha!’ McGillivray jerked up suddenly and his feet fell to the floor as the footrest disappeared under the chair. ‘Did she cut her nephews out?’
‘No. When I went there, she told me she had changed her mind again and was leaving her nephews as her beneficiaries after all.’
Before they left Thornkirk, McGillivray made Moore take him to the police station, where he left the cake tin and the jar of jam to be tested. ‘I want the result pronto, if not sooner,’ he told the sergeant on the desk.
It was af
ter nine thirty when they drew up at Tollerton police station, and Constable Paul told them that Sergeant Black had gone off duty at nine. ‘But he lives next door, if you want to see him.’
‘Thanks. We may as well pop in for ten minutes or so.’
Between sips of Glenfiddich, with very little water added, McGillivray recounted the details of their visit to Thornkirk, while John Black listened with interest.
David Moore paid little attention to the conversation as he was rather discomfitted by Black’s appearance. The local sergeant was sitting in front of a roaring fire with checked bedroom slippers on his feet, and his uniform jacket had been replaced by an old red pullover. His grey hair was tousled and falling over his eyes, and his face was as red as his jersey, probably as a result of having had several drinks before the detectives arrived. He looked very different from the official, slightly officious, Tollerton police sergeant.
Moore shifted his gaze, met the amused eyes of Mrs Black and coloured, realising that she knew what had been going through his mind. He looked away in confusion, and concentrated on what was being said by the other two men.
Callum McGillivray was speaking. ‘You know, this case is like a flaming maze. We think we’re on the home stretch, then another path opens up or comes to a dead end. It’s this business of the two actual poisonings that’s the devil of it. I’m beginning to doubt if they’ve anything to do with the murder at all, but I can’t figure either of them out.’
Black shook his head in sympathy. ‘I’m glad it’s not up to me to unravel it, that’s all I can say.’
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday 29th November, morning
‘Oh! It’s you, Inspector.’ Violet Grant looked startled. ‘What . . . ? You’d better come in.’
McGillivray smiled, and motioned to David Moore to follow him. ‘Thank you. I hope you’re quite recovered now?’
Violet gave a tremulous smile before she walked ahead of them. ‘It’s the inspector again.’ She hovered beside her sister, leaving her to deal with the unexpected visitors.
Grace Skinner remained seated at the kitchen table. ‘Good morning. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company at this early hour?’
The calculated flippancy was not lost on McGillivray. It was a common enough reaction when guilty people tried to cover up their nervousness, but also sometimes with innocent people unfortunately. ‘Good morning, Mrs Skinner. I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I won’t bother you long.’
‘It’s quite all right, and, before I forget, I must pay you back the money you lent me.’ She turned round and lifted an envelope from a shelf on the kitchen cabinet. ‘It was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.’
Highly embarrassed, he placed it in his breast pocket. ‘Thanks. Now, will you please tell me where you obtained the raspberry jam that Mrs Grant used on her pancakes?’
‘That’s easily answered. Janet Souter handed it to me over the fence the day after we found our beloved Benjie’s dead body in her garden. She said it was to compensate us for our loss. She hadn’t realised that the poison she laid out to kill the rats would kill our dog as well. She had the gall to say she was sorry. Old hypocrite! She meant to do it.’
She had told him the truth about the dog’s death at last, but the inspector let it pass without comment. ‘Why didn’t you tell us before that the jam came from her?’
‘I don’t know. I never thought about it, I was so worried about Violet.’
‘It may interest you to know that the arsenic was contained in the jam.’
‘Good gracious!’ Violet clutched at the edge of the table. ‘Do you mean she was trying to kill us as well as Benjie?’
‘We’re not sure of that, Mrs Grant. Someone else may be responsible for adding the stuff to the jam, with the intention of killing Miss Souter herself. The thing is, she also gave a jar to her solicitor, whose wife has been affected in exactly the same way as you.’
‘What does it mean, Grace?’ Violet appealed to her sister.
‘I’m sure I don’t know. Do you, Inspector?’
‘Not yet, ma’am, but we’re doing our best to find out.’
Violet Grant slumped into her chair. ‘You didn’t put it in the jam as well as the flour, did you, Grace?’ She stared accusingly at the other woman. ‘You should have told me. I’d have known not to use it.’
‘Oh, Violet.’ There was no trace of reproach as Grace laid her hand over her sister’s.
The rather touching tableau gave McGillivray no satisfaction, and after a few minutes, he coughed discreetly.
Grace looked up at him, hopelessly. ‘I may as well confess, Inspector. I killed Janet Souter. She was an evil woman and deserved to die after what she did to poor Benjie. We went round to her house on the Friday night when she was out, and I took some of the arsenic from her shed and put it in the flour bin, where I thought it wouldn’t be seen.’
‘Did you add some to the raspberry jam, too?’ McGillivray asked, gently.
‘No. I didn’t even see any jam there. I was concentrating on the one thing I had to do. I knew where she kept her flour, because I once had to borrow a cupful though I never asked for anything again. She was really quite sarcastic at that time, and said I should be more organised. What happens now? Will you arrest me?’
‘Oh, Grace, it was my fault as much as yours,’ Violet sobbed, but her sister’s look silenced her.
‘Nonsense! I was the one who suggested it and carried it out. Violet had no part in it, Inspector.’
David Moore’s face was a study in perplexity. ‘But sir . . . the flour . . . you know . . . Inspector, you can’t . . . it wasn’t . . .’
A hint of a smile lurked at the corners of McGillivray’s mouth. ‘What my sergeant is trying to say, although not very coherently, is that the flour, along with all Miss Souter’s other foodstuffs, was completely free from any contamination.’
‘What?’ Grace Skinner’s chin dropped in amazement. ‘But I tell you, I did . . .’
‘I understand you had provocation and were under a great deal of stress, but I swear to you that you did not kill Janet Souter. There were no traces of arsenic in the contents of her stomach, nor in her bloodstream.’
‘But I’ve been living with the terrible guilt ever since that Friday – it’s only just over a week, but it feels like eternity.’
‘Clear it from your conscience, dear lady, and think twice in future before you try dispensing justice. The plastic bag in full view in her shed contained ordinary flour, and we think she made the substitution herself. She told Mrs Wakeford that her nephews were trying to poison her but they’d be disappointed, so she must have laid out the flour for them to use. We found the arsenic later – hidden under her barrow.’
Looking intently at the haggard woman sitting whitefaced in front of him, McGillivray added, ‘She must have made the swop before Ronald Baker was due on the Saturday, so you’d only put more flour in her bin. Now, Mrs Skinner, I’m going to forget we’ve had this conversation, and I’d advise you to put the whole thing out of your mind.’
Her eyes filled with tears, but as he turned to leave, she said, ‘Inspector, you said she wasn’t poisoned, so can you tell me how she was killed? It must have been murder, otherwise you wouldn’t be investigating her death.’
He didn’t look round. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. Good morning to you both.’
David Moore glanced at Violet, who was weeping silently into her handkerchief, then smiled to Grace and followed the inspector out, happy that Mrs Skinner was no longer a suspect.
‘There’s no need to report any of that,’ remarked McGillivray, gruffly. ‘And if you’re thinking of saying anything, don’t.’
‘No, sir.’ Moore could view his superior in a different light now. He was just a big softie.
Halfway down the path, McGillivray halted. ‘It might be worth paying another call on Mrs Wakeford when we’re here. We’ve broken down one of our prime suspects, and we may as well try for
a second.’
Mabel Wakeford’s greeting was quite bright. ‘I hope you don’t mind talking in the kitchen, Inspector. I’m just finishing my breakfast, as you can see.’
‘Not at all. It’s very cosy in here.’
‘That’s because the cooker’s been on. May I offer you both a cup of tea?’
‘That would be very acceptable, thank you.’
As she poured tea into the two extra cups she set out, she looked at McGillivray, waiting for him to state his business.
‘We’re making enquiries regarding jars of raspberry jam,’ he obliged.
‘R . . . raspberry j . . . jam?’ she echoed faintly, her face blanching.
‘It appears that Miss Souter had presented a jar to one or two people, and we wondered if you were also a recipient?’
‘No, no. Please, Inspector, who did she give them to?’
‘Mrs Grant, for one.’
The blood rushed from her face. ‘Oh, no! It was the jam after all, was it?’
‘I’m very much afraid so, and . . .’
‘Who else?’ she interrupted, her eyes staring wildly.
‘Her solicitor, and his wife had also to be taken to hospital.’
‘Oh, dear God, what have I done?’ Mabel dabbed her eyes with her serviette. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt anybody else, just Janet.’
‘What had she done to you that you wished to hurt her?’ The inspector had a good idea of the answer to his question, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips.
Her blue eyes lost their wildness. ‘I may as well tell you. She was so two-faced, pretending to be friendly, but waiting for a chance to stab you in the back. She’d found out, or remembered, that I was . . . that my mother . . . that . . .’
‘That you were an illegitimate child, Mrs Wakeford?’
‘Oh! You knew about that?’
‘I’ve known for some time, and it’s really nothing to be ashamed of. Many famous people were born out of wedlock.’
She shuddered at the word. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of people sniggering at me.’
‘Only people like Janet Souter would snigger, but there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?’
Jam and Jeopardy Page 16
