by Rachel Malik
After Vanstone stood down, a WPC, sergeant and inspector followed (in that order). The first two had come to Wheal Rock; Inspector Miller had interviewed her at Exeter. Quillet’s line of questioning demonstrated that there was agreement among the three about Miss Hargreaves’s demeanour – a word that sounded like an insult in itself. Miss Hargreaves had appeared quite affronted by perfectly straightforward questions, and her replies on occasion had been dismissive and bordered on the rude. Each of them had been left with the strong feeling that the accused was a little prickly, sharp; in the words of one, she ‘thought herself very clever’. In the words of another, ‘she behaved as if she had something to hide’. The press wrote busily in their notebooks. The judge told the jury to ignore both the last remarks.
Rene began to feel a change in the courtroom, some new mood settling, a more probing interest. When Clifford got his chance to cross-examine the police, he couldn’t dislodge it. She was aware of a more insistent attention coming from the gallery; it plucked and pinched at her cheek.
The next witness was the solicitor whom Mr Massey had instructed to make Miss Hargreaves his sole beneficiary. Though money was not the primary motive for the murder, Quillet was keen to emphasize that Miss Hargreaves had made the appointment to change the will barely a week after Mr Massey’s arrival at Wheal Rock. Clifford was able to ascertain from the solicitor that Massey seemed content with the changes and clearly understood them. Nevertheless, Clifford couldn’t seem to dislodge a growing sense that something in this death was underhand.
The rain beat a steady rhythm outside, the witnesses proceeded briskly. Next came Dr Lane, a man of about forty, fine-boned with steely, blue-grey eyes. Rene remembered him from Holloway – he had seemed friendly enough at the time – and kept her eyes on him.
‘Dr Lane, would you share with the court your assessment of the prisoner?’
‘Yes, of course. I had two lengthy interviews with the prisoner, Miss Hargreaves, while she was at Holloway. Overall, I found her friendly and cooperative. I –’
‘You did not examine her physically?’
‘There was no need. She had already been examined by two medical doctors. Their notes were very thorough.’
‘And you are not a medical doctor.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘For the benefit of those who may not be familiar with the procedures of psychiatric medicine, could you explain briefly the form your questioning took?’
There was just a hint of scepticism in Quillet’s tone.
‘Of course.’ Lane smiled politely before continuing. ‘Well, I asked her about her early life and her current circumstances in some considerable detail. Her responses enabled me to evaluate her state of mind.’
‘Her responses?’
‘Her responses to my questions were, in my opinion, quite normal.’
‘Quite normal?’
‘Normal.’
Dr Lane wore horn-rimmed glasses, which he took off when he looked at his notes.
‘Did you question her about her friendship with Miss Boston?’
As one, the press pricked up its ears.
‘Yes, of course, but I do not consider her friendship with Miss Boston to be relevant to the case.’
‘You don’t. I see.’
Quillet sounded surprised and also perhaps a little relieved; the press were a little disappointed. Colin Mackenzie, uncomfortable in his pew with his long legs, stole a glance at the accused, whose eyes remained fixed on the doctor in the witness box.
* * *
‘Just one further question, Dr Lane.’
Making up for his heavy cold and lack of impact so far, defence barrister Patrick Clifford was out to get the court’s attention.
‘Yes.’
‘In your opinion, is Miss Hargreaves capable of murder?’
A brief pause.
‘In my opinion, no.’
‘Thank you, Dr Lane, that will be all.’
The judge rose. Miss Hargreaves would begin giving her evidence after lunch.
16.
In the Dock
Standing in the dock with her hands resting lightly on the ledge, the stance of the accused was almost identical to that of yesterday. She was wearing the same grey sweater, pulled up high at the neck and pulled down long at the sleeves. And yet something was different, Walker thought. Perhaps she was standing up straighter; perhaps her chin had a slight upward tilt? Yesterday, she had said she preferred to stand, and it had sounded polite and unremarkable; this morning, when she had declined a seat, it had taken on an edge. Now, this afternoon, when she must stand and had no choice in the matter, she was compliant, except she was not. She spoke her oath out clear and plain enough, but Walker was bothered by her manner, though he couldn’t resolve the feeling into anything more precise, certainly not a judgement or even an interpretation. Casting a quick glance at the jurors, he saw something of the same in a number of their faces.
In his coverage for the Western Herald, Colin Mackenzie made no comment about Rene’s accent. Had that voice that so startled Ainsley at Starlight changed twenty years on? Could you still taste the smoke?
‘Miss Hargreaves’ – Quillet’s voice was soft, he was determined to go gently – ‘Miss Hargreaves, were you fully apprised of the state of Mr Massey’s health before he came to live with you?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Who informed you?’
‘I saw it myself.’
‘When was this?’
‘When I visited Manchester after …’ She trailed off.
‘After Mrs Massey’s death?’
‘Yes. But even before. Aunty was worried that Uncle was on the slide. She was worried what would happen if she went first.’
‘Went first?’
‘Passed on. I told her I didn’t think it was likely to happen. I was wrong about that.’
‘And did you yourself see any signs at that point that Mr Massey was on the slide or in decline – would that be the phrase?’
A brief pause.
‘He did seem confused sometimes, but I didn’t think much of it then.’
‘Moving on to the period just before he came to live with you. Did you speak to his GP in Manchester?’
‘Yes. Yes, I made an appointment with Dr Finch so I would know about his prescriptions. He was very helpful.’
‘“Very helpful.” I see.’ Just the trace of a smile from Quillet. ‘So you felt you were, so to speak, well prepared.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Did you know about his drinking at this stage?’
‘I knew he liked a drink. I didn’t know what it was going to be like.’
In the press gallery, heads were down, hands were writing busily. She had everyone’s attention now.
‘Miss Hargreaves, I must ask why you extended this invitation to Mr Massey. Mr Massey did not make this request himself; he had always lived in a busy city and you were expecting him to settle to a very different sort of life. It must have been clear beforehand that your life and Miss Boston’s would be considerably disrupted. Why did you invite him?’
‘He had nowhere else to go.’
A pause that became a silence.
‘Miss Hargreaves?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is there anything else you wish to add?’
‘No.’
‘I see.’
‘In your statement you said you discussed the situation with Miss Boston before you volunteered the invitation. Did Miss Boston require any persuasion?’
‘We decided.’
‘You both decided?’
‘We decided. Yes.’
Quillet was still not satisfied.
‘Do you think now that you underestimated the difficulties?’
‘No, no, I don’t think so.’
‘Do you think that Miss Boston underestimated the difficulties?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so. You must have talked about it together. After a
ll, you run Wheal Rock on what has been called’ – a pause, a studied consulting of notes – ‘a “partnership basis”, a description that will do as well as any. Miss Boston would surely have been part of any decision about Mr Massey?’
‘Of course.’
‘Of course you talked about it together or of course she was part of the decision?’
‘Both.’
There was another silence, longer this time.
Colin Mackenzie noted a sharpness ‘creeping’ into Rene’s responses at about this point; he wasn’t the only one to register this. Was it the same as the sharpness the police reported: the sharpness of one who thought she was very clever, with ‘something to hide’?
‘Miss Hargreaves, can you confirm that you are the sole beneficiary of Mr Massey’s will?’
Quillet was on more familiar ground now.
‘Yes. Uncle – Mr Massey – signed things over to me, we went to the solicitors. He had three insurance policies. I shall get the money from them, but I don’t know how much.’
‘Do you know why he made you his beneficiary? He had a nephew, after all, with a young family.’
‘It’s what he said he wanted.’
‘I see.’
Rene would have got a total of £131 5s 8d from the policies, rather less than the £314 paid to Marcus Quillet; double what Elsie had in her post-office account.
‘This sum would have made a considerable difference to you, and Miss Boston.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Look, I don’t know why he wanted me to have his money, but he did, he said so. I know it gives me a reason, I know it looks like I had a motive, but I didn’t poison him.’
‘So you insist. But you must admit that you made sure Mr Massey visited the solicitors to change his will in your favour barely a week after his arrival in Cornwall.’
‘He said he wanted to sort things out.’
‘Yes, I understand. But was there such a hurry? Really? He had just made his move from Manchester, in somewhat distressing circumstances.’
‘He said he wanted to.’ She sounded irritated.
Quillet waited. Writing hands caught up; heads came up; a little shuffling and stretching among the public, a yawn and cough. Then it went quiet again; Quillet continued to look at Rene all the while.
The accused looked at the jurors. ‘I know it looks bad, I know it does. But I didn’t poison him and that’s that.’
But then she turned back to face Quillet.
‘I didn’t poison him, and if I had done, I’d have made sure there wasn’t anything left in the glass. I’d have made sure everything was cleaned up properly.’
And there she was again, too clever by half, too conceited. It didn’t help.
‘Miss Hargreaves, when did you realize that you and Miss Boston could no longer cope with Mr Massey?’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’
Quillet was happy to clarify. ‘Miss Hargreaves, you were sick with a serious bronchial infection in the early weeks of November. When Dr Evans called to see you, he found you fraught and tearful as well as sick. When you visited him just a few weeks before Mr Massey’s death, you told him you were concerned about Miss Boston. Did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘This was the main topic of your discussion?’
‘Yes.’
A silence.
‘It sounds as if you were both finding it very difficult to cope with Mr Massey, but that in addition, and particularly, you were very anxious about Miss Boston – you made an appointment to discuss it, after all.’
‘We were both feeling very strained at that time. We had both been ill.’
‘You and Miss Boston?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when you both recovered, things returned to normal?’
‘No. There was no improvement.’
‘No improvement in Mr Massey’s behaviour?’
‘He was more and more difficult to … look after. We didn’t, I didn’t think we could look after him properly any more. I was working away all day and Miss Boston had her hands full with the house and the animals.’
‘Had Miss Boston told you that she couldn’t cope with Mr Massey? Had she said this to you?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Of course not? I find it surprising that she made no complaint, no appeal to you. She was spending most of her days saddled with a senile, intractable, alcoholic old man, a labour no one in their right mind could relish. I must ask you again, Miss Hargreaves, did she ever say, “I can’t do this any more” or “This is too much for me” – words to that effect?’
‘No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t.’
‘She wouldn’t, you say, but she is considerably older than you, and you must have been concerned for her, when you were working away, as you call it.’
‘Of course I was concerned.’
‘About Miss Boston?’
‘Yes.’
Quillet knew he must tread carefully.
‘Because you felt responsible for her.’
A pause.
‘I felt … concerned.’
She was cool now, Miss Hargreaves, ‘a chilly customer’ – just as the reporters said.
‘Miss Hargreaves, I put it that you were a great deal more than concerned. This was, after all, your close friend …’
The accused said nothing but continued to look Quillet straight in the eye.
Quillet had hoped to avoid stating the terms of their relationship, but he had no choice now if he wished to press his point.
‘This was your companion, with whom you had made your life for the past twenty years. Her well-being was your prime concern.’
Opting for the oblique to avoid the lurid, he sounded curiously soft.
‘Dr Evans has told us that when you visited him at his surgery you were, I quote, “extremely worried” about Miss Boston, that you told him that Miss Boston was “quite run-down” by Mr Massey.’
‘I was concerned. I may have said that.’
‘Miss Hargreaves, do you think that it is possible that someone else poisoned Mr Massey?’
‘No.’
‘But you must have wondered how it happened?’
‘Not at first. I just thought he’d died – he was old, he’d been ill with his chest. It wasn’t a surprise.’
‘But you’ve known for some months now that he didn’t simply die but died of poisoning, administered over a relatively long period. Remember, we are not talking about a single event here. You must have wondered how it could have happened, surely? You must have some ideas of your own? You’re clearly a woman who knows her own mind.’
A silence. But Quillet didn’t want to let go.
‘What do you think happened, Miss Hargreaves? Could somebody from outside Wheal Rock have poisoned Mr Massey?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Or Miss Boston? Do you think that Miss Boston poisoned Mr Massey?’
‘Of course not. She could never have done such a thing.’
‘Well, yes. I think we can all agree on that. So what do you think happened?’
‘He did it to himself.’
‘He took his own life?’
‘No, no. He wouldn’t do that – he wasn’t unhappy. I mean, he did it by accident.’
‘Mr Vanstone has shown that the poisoning must have occurred over a number of days at the very least, and probably over more than a week. That doesn’t sound like an accident.’
‘Yes, yes, I know that. But I don’t think you appreciate. He had very odd tastes. Very odd. There was an occasion when Miss Boston was making jam when he drank most of a bottle of sterilizing liquid. He drank methylated spirits quite regularly in the shed. Of course we tried to keep such things out of his way, but we couldn’t always. I said all this in my statement. The sugar.’
There was distaste in her voice. She spoke haltingly, as if she too could taste these bitter, noxious substances, as if their residues still bothered her and got in the way of her speech.
/> ‘No further questions.’
Outside, the rain continued to fall. Rene’s look swept around the courtroom; regaining her balance, she soon found the woman in the green hat. And then a rather odd thing happened: the woman nodded, as if she was pleased Rene’s ordeal was over, as if she approved of what she had said. Just a little nod but it was certainly there. What was it that made her familiar? For she was familiar, a face from the past.
17.
Land of Water
The following morning Elsie and Margaret waited in the hotel lounge, watching from the window for the ‘taxi’ that would take them to the court. The rain had stopped, though the water level was some inches higher than the day before. The scene was peaceful. Underneath an overcast sky the dark water rippled gently; the reflections of the tall, thin houses glimmered softly in the water. The town was adapting to its aqueous form: the trees in the little square were content to grow shorter, the streets had yielded gracefully, everything was now riverside. It was quiet, some had left and many were staying indoors, unable or unwilling to leave their homes. Those few who ventured outside were well prepared. There were a number of men in waders, clearly on errands; one had a little child on his shoulders. Everyone moved slowly – no one was willing to take a chance with the water. Seen from a distance, these careful semi-pedestrians also seemed becalmed. A woman passed underneath the hotel window, she was inching along in long boots that were too big for her and carried a floppy, black Labrador puppy. Voices seemed muted or muffled by the water.
