‘You can trust me, Inspector. I’ve never wished her any ill, for she’s her own worst enemy. I’ll look after her as long as she needs me.’
‘Thank you very much.’ McGillivray held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Gray. I won’t be seeing you again, but I’ve really enjoyed our little chats.’
‘Me too.’ She grinned, toothlessly.
When he reached the waiting car, he sat in front with John Black. Behind them, Derek Paul and Douglas Pettigrew were on each side of the minister, whose bowed head lifted at McGillivray’s entrance.
‘Janet Souter was threatening to tell my wife about my . . . adultery, Inspector. She’d seen me going up the Lane very early one morning, and guessed where I’d been.’
‘She was good at that,’ the youth muttered.
‘She accused me last Tuesday, when she called me in to give me a jar of jam. She wouldn’t listen to reason, so I went back on the Wednesday night to try to persuade her to change her mind, but it was useless. She said it wouldn’t be long before the whole place knew about my infidelity, and taunted me so much I lost my head completely.’
‘You must have gone there with the intention of murdering her, though,’ McGillivray pointed out. ‘You’d the syringe and insulin with you. Where did you obtain them?’
Adam Valentine sighed. ‘I took them from a house where an old lady, a diabetic, had just died, and it was quite innocent on my part. Her daughter had just received a fresh supply of insulin, and I told her I’d return it to the chemist, to save her the bother. That was on the Monday night, but my mind was so occupied on the Tuesday with the worry of what Miss Souter meant to do, that I forgot all about it. I was practically out of my mind with fear, remorse . . . self-pity.’
‘Carry on,’ murmured McGillivray.
‘It was when I was arguing with her on the Wednesday night that it came to me I had the means of silencing her in my pocket. I didn’t really intend to use them, but . . . a desperate man takes desperate measures.’
‘How did you know insulin would kill her?’
The minister gave a dry laugh. ‘I studied medicine for a time, before I went in for the ministry.’ He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘I know there’s no excuse for what I did, but it was so that Muriel wouldn’t be hurt by hearing about what I’d done.’
Callum McGillivray couldn’t help snorting coldly. ‘She’s going to be far more hurt at what you did tonight in addition to what you did before.’
Valentine’s head went down again, and McGillivray turned to John Black. ‘Right, let’s get going, but take me to the manse before you go back to the station.’
As the sergeant switched on the engine, Valentine said, ‘Will you please tell my wife how much I regret . . . everything?’
‘I’ll pass on your message, and I’ll see that she’s well cared for.’
‘Thank you.’ Adam Valentine leaned back.
David Moore and Mrs Valentine were still in the kitchen when the DCI went in. ‘We’ve arrested him,’ he told her, quietly. ‘And we got there in time to save Mrs White.’
‘Thank God!’ Her hands fidgeted for a moment. ‘Did he say anything?’
‘He told me exactly what had happened, and he wants you to know that he regrets everything he did to hurt you.’
‘It wasn’t my Adam,’ her voice was low and sad. ‘That woman changed him completely.’
‘She could put a spell on a man,’ McGillivray agreed. He experienced an unexpected surge of pity for the minister, who had stood no chance against May White’s wiles, and who had sacrificed his career, his marriage and his freedom because of her.
‘Inspector,’ Moore said, eagerly. ‘I’ve told Mrs Valentine about her . . . about Mrs Wakeford, do you think . . . ?’
Looking at the miserable, defenceless woman, McGillivray changed his mind about not interfering. ‘Pack some things, Mrs Valentine, and we’ll take you up there, but I’d better go in and talk to her first.’
‘I understand, and thank you.’ She hurried out.
‘What have I let myself in for?’ he groaned, then, brisk once more, ‘Bring the Vauxhall down here, Sergeant.’
When Mabel Wakeford answered his knock, the inspector first apologised for calling so late, then asked, ‘May I come in?’
In the kitchen, she waited for him to state his reason for being there, finally prompting him. ‘Yes?’
‘Have you ever wondered what became of the child you gave away all those years ago?’
She was taken somewhat by surprise, but answered readily enough. ‘Very often. If I hadn’t agreed to the adoption, I wouldn’t be on my own now. I do have an old aunt and uncle in Thornkirk, but it’s not the same.’ She stopped, puzzled.
‘I thought you might like to know that we’ve traced her.’
‘Her? A girl?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Can you tell me who she is and where she lives?’ There was a breathless expectancy in her voice.
He could think of no way to break it to her gently. ‘It’s Mrs Valentine.’
‘The minister’s wife? Oh, I couldn’t wish for a better daughter . . . Does she know about me?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, and she’s as delighted as you are.’
Mabel stood up, full of excitement. ‘I’ll go to her this very minute.’
McGillivray’s hand detained her. ‘I’m afraid there’s something else you ought to know, Mrs Wakeford.’
The two words he’d used to prefix his caution alarmed her, and she stared at him anxiously.
‘Adam Valentine’s been arrested for the murder of Janet Souter, and he was attempting to strangle Mrs White when we reached him.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ She sat down weakly. ‘What a tragedy. Poor woman. But . . . she needs me more than ever, now.’
‘She’s waiting in the car outside. I’ll bring her in.’
When Muriel Valentine walked through the door, she stood uncertainly for a moment, then she took a step forward, and, in the next instant, their arms were around each other and tears streamed down both women’s faces.
The inspector closed the door quietly behind him and walked to the car. ‘They’ll be alright, Moore,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Come on. Our work here’s finished.’
Once inside, he observed, ‘That Janet Souter must’ve been a real number-one bitch, to have four different people trying to do away with her, not to mention the Reverend, who made a proper job of it. It’s unbelievable.’
‘You’re right there, sir.’ Moore released the handbrake. ‘But you nailed him in the end.’
Pulling out his seatbelt, McGillivray laughed modestly. ‘Not without the help of my friend Mrs Gray, although Douglas Pettigrew could have put us on to him earlier, if he’d remembered a bit sooner.’
He relaxed against the back of the seat and sighed. ‘You know, I couldn’t believe it when the old lady told me she’d seen the minister sneaking away from the house next door, and even when Mrs White confirmed it, I thought she was kidding. It’s funny how the mind refuses to credit anything it doesn’t want to. I’m slipping, lad.’
‘It’s because he was a minister,’ Moore sympathised. ‘We don’t want to believe bad things about ministers.’
‘I’ve come across a few bad ministers in my time, and doctors, and any other profession you can think of, including ’tecs, but . . . I don’t know. Valentine struck me as a decent sort, and I was obsessed with getting to the bottom of the arsenic racket.’
‘And so you did, sir. Everything’s explained now.’
‘Aye, but I wasted a lot of valuable time on it, when it really had nothing to do with the case at all. Anyway, it’s back to the Granite City tomorrow, so you can make out the final report there.’
This gave David Moore the opening he’d been needing to ask about something that had niggled at the back of his mind for some time. ‘Inspector, what are you going to do about Mrs Wakeford and the raspberry jam?’
Callum McGillivray turned his head, and his mischievous eyes met his sergeant’s br
iefly. ‘What raspberry jam, lad?’
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