Vicious Circle

by Douglas Clark

“They came for the pill bottle and the little duty roster I’ve kept. They asked a few questions about numbers, but all the information was on the list, because I’d put down when I got mother’s new prescriptions.”

  “That’s good.” He took a large mouthful of beer. “So’s this. Nicely cellared, Theo.”

  Rainford sat down. Masters turned to Margarethe. “The easiest answer to the problem confronting us, Mrs Rainford, would be if we could truly establish that your mother had fooled one or all of you three ladies who gave her a pill each day.”

  “By not swallowing them, you mean?”

  “And saving them up until she had a lethal dose.”

  “I can’t claim that, Mr Masters. I wish I could. But the whole object of the exercise was to prevent that very thing happening.”

  “So you are unable to confess to failure?”

  “I—we—were at great pains not to fail. For my part I watched mother like a hawk when I gave her the pill. I had the tablet in one hand and a glass of water in the other. I handed them to her in turn and never took my eyes off her. And I’m sure Marian and Nurse Scramsie did the same because we agreed the drill when we first started.”

  “Then, like Dr Whincap, you reject the easy answer?”

  “The easy-to-come-by answer.”

  “Meaning what exactly, love?” asked Green.

  Margarethe turned to him. “I’ve no doubt that the answer will be an obvious one, once you and Mr Masters have found it. It is probably staring us all in the face at this moment. But I cannot believe that mother was clever enough to fool all three of us or any one of us, because we were on the lookout for any tricks. And she wasn’t a practised prestidigitator, I promise you.”

  Masters said, slowly. “Mrs Carlow overdosed herself on several occasions. The last time—previous to her death—was on Christmas Day, I think?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your vigilance and that of your daughter and Nurse Scramsie prevented it happening again.”

  “Until . . .”

  “Quite. But did she, at any time, to your knowledge, attempt to hold back her pill or even to mention the fact that she would again overdose herself if the means were available?”

  “Never.”

  “Did she at any time refer—no matter how obliquely—to the previous occasions when she had overdosed herself?”

  “No. Certainly not to me.”

  “Never? Not even when she was depressed?”

  “She was never depressed.”

  “Between Christmas and May Day, you mean?”

  “I mean ever.”

  “In what state of mind then, would you say your mother had been in on those occasions when she did overdose herself?”

  “I know that sort of thing is supposed to be a cry for help from depressed people, but I can never recall my mother being depressed.”

  “So what state of mind would she have been in?” repeated Masters.

  Margarethe considered this for a moment and then turned to her husband, as if for help. “I saw her on Christmas Eve. She was busy with Mimi, preparing their food and cakes. I told you, didn’t I, that not coming to Marian’s party the next day didn’t seem to be affecting her at all? It was Mimi who was the more upset at not joining us all for Christmas lunch.”

  Rainford nodded. Masters said: “The more upset? That sounds as if Mrs Carlow was showing some signs . . .”

  “I put it badly. Mimi had wanted to come to the party. Mother had refused, and so Mimi couldn’t come either.”

  “Ah,” said Green. “Your mother had refused the invite?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t feel like joining in the fun and games, eh? Not feeling too jolly, perhaps? Sort of depressed?”

  “Honestly,” said Margarethe, slightly exasperated, “you take a lot of convincing. Mother wasn’t depressed.”

  Rainford said: “It’s okay, Maggie. Don’t let them needle you. I said you’d have to watch these two jokers.”

  “Oh, come now,” said Masters. “I thought the D.C.I.’s line of reasoning was completely logical. Unless Mrs Carlow had a prior engagement for Christmas Day, one would expect her—under normal circumstances—to accept an invitation to a family party, particularly as her sister appears to have been keen to go.”

  Neither Rainford nor his wife replied to this statement. Masters looked from one to the other, but still neither volunteered a comment. After a moment or two of noticeable silence, Green said: “You’re not helping us. Now why’s that, I wonder?”

  It was as if Margarethe Rainford tried deliberately to avoid replying to Masters’ last point. Instead she harked back to the earlier part of the conversation. “Mother was not depressed on Christmas Eve nor, come to think of it, was she on Christmas morning.”

  “You saw her then?” asked Masters.

  “I rang to wish her a happy Christmas.”

  “Early?”

  “Quite early. Shortly after breakfast. I had quite a lot to do that morning before we went to my daughter’s house, and I thought it best to get the call in early before I forgot it in all the welter of making the bed and gathering up the presents we were to take with us and so on.”

  “I understand. Your mother was cheerful at that time?”

  “She was her usual mischief-making self,” said Theo Rainford before his wife could reply.

  “Oh?”

  “Margarethe had bought her some very nice underclothes for Christmas. She’d really spoiled her and bought an expensive dainty set that in my opinion would have pleased a young lass about to get married. Maggie had delivered it on Christmas Eve. On Christmas morning the old trout had opened it. When Maggie rang, there was nothing but complaints. First it was the wrong size. After she was told she was mistaken about that, she said it was the wrong colour. I’ve no doubt she’d have said it was the wrong material, too, if Maggie hadn’t said she would collect it next day and change it as soon as the shops re-opened for business.”

  “That calmed her down a bit?”

  “Not at all. She said she didn’t want it changing. If Margarethe couldn’t take the trouble to get the right thing the first time she wasn’t going to put her to all the bother of changing it. And so on. I had to step in. I took the phone and asked for Mimi, wished her a happy Christmas and then rang off.”

  “Could she have regarded your action as some form of rejection which, in turn, led to a sense of emotional deprivation sufficient to cause her to take an immature—but nevertheless dangerous—revenge on the rest of you?”

  “Oh, no,” breathed Margarethe. “Not that.”

  “Yes,” said Theo emphatically. “Yes. That could be it.”

  Masters regarded him steadily.

  “But I wasn’t to know it would happen, was I?” asked Rainford, uncomfortable under scrutiny.

  “No,” agreed Masters reflectively. “But if I accept that your act of rejection had so explosive an effect on Mrs Carlow, I must enquire what similar act of rejection caused her to take a fatal overdose two days ago.”

  Rainford seemed pleased, even relieved at the turn the conversation had taken. “I think that’s an easy one to answer,” he replied.

  “Please tell me.”

  “An even bigger rejection. Elke was always saying how, when she was a girl in Prussia, the family was all-important and how the young took care of their elderly relatives by housing them, feeding them, etcetera.”

  “Theo!” complained his wife.

  “It’s true, love.”

  “I know. But must you tell all this to Mr Masters and Mr Green?”

  “The best plan is to tell them everything, Maggie, because if you don’t they’ll find it out for themselves. You’ve just had a taste of how they can interpret words and actions, and if we hold anything back they’ll interpret that in some way we won’t like.”

  “Don’t frighten your missus, chum,” said Green. “We’re very gentle and we soon forget anything that isn’t relevant.” He turned to Margarethe. “Somebody
you want to protect, love? Your daughter, perhaps?”

  “Well, yes. You see, Marian and her husband have bought a big old barn and are converting it into a house. They’ve got quite a long way with it. It is very habitable, in fact, but their money has run out and they can’t do any more until they’ve saved up for materials. My mother heard from all of us—and Dr Whincap—what a nice house it is and how big. As soon as we’d told her all this, she decided she’d move in.”

  “With the youngsters?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “As luck would have it, the children have only built one bedroom—their own. So Adam thought he had the perfect excuse for not having Marian’s grandmother. He told her—no bedroom and not likely to be until he had saved a lot more money.”

  “Rejection, in other words?” asked Masters.

  She nodded. “But there was worse to come. Mother interpreted Adam’s refusal to have her in entirely the wrong way.”

  “Ah! What did she think it meant?”

  “If they regret they can’t have me because there is no second bedroom, then they will be happy to have me when there is a second bedroom.”

  “Please go on.”

  “If the only obstacle in the way of building the necessary bedroom is lack of money, then if the money is provided, I shall be taken in.”

  “She offered to pay for the room?”

  “Worse. Adam is doing the work himself. He said he was too busy trying to earn money to devote time to more home building, so mother sent a carpenter round to the house to measure up and start the job.”

  “Unbeknown to the young Whincaps?”

  “Completely. It happened two or three weeks ago. On Good Friday actually. Adam, of course, sent the man away.”

  “I see. So it was now patently clear to Mrs Carlow that she wasn’t wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  “There you are,” said Rainford. “Total rejection. It fits in with your theory. Her day-to-day behaviour follows a pattern. Completely understandable. She repeated the trick she pulled at Christmas, but this time she went too far or Mimi didn’t send for David Whincap quickly enough or . . .” He shrugged. “You seem to have got hold of the gist of your problem.”

  “Maybe. I’d be slightly happier, however, if I knew how Mrs Carlow got hold of the lethal substance she used for killing herself.” Masters got to his feet. “Thank you, very much, Mrs Rainford. We’ll be on our way now and let you feed your husband. No doubt we shall meet again before we return to London.”

  “Won’t you stay to lunch? Just a salad and biscuits and cheese . . .?”

  “No, ta, love,” said Green. “We’ve this and that to do.”

  “Of course. But Theo must bring you in one evening for supper.”

  “We’ll hold him to that. If we’ve time, that is.”

  Rainford ushered them out. “I expect you’ll want to talk to Marian?”

  “This afternoon perhaps. We’ll give you a ring if you’d like to be there?”

  “I would.”

  “In that case you can act as guide again. We’ll be in touch.”

  *

  “You were pretty anxious to get out of there,” said Masters as he drove in the direction of the town.

  “So were you,” accused Green. “After having had no breakfast you weren’t all that happy at the prospect of a lettuce leaf and a cream cracker for lunch. Any more than I was. And as we came through the town I lamped a healthy-looking pub with a food sign outside. Meat and spud pie at the bar! That’s more like it for me.”

  “Actually,” said Masters, slowing gently for a crossing, “I agree about lunch, but I was even more anxious to get away so that we could talk.”

  “I know,” grumbled Green.

  “Was it so very obvious?”

  “To me. Not to them.”

  “Good.” He pulled away. “Now, where’s this pub?”

  “Follow your nose. It’ll be on your side going this way, but I reckon you’ll have to risk a parking fine because it’s bang on the main road.”

  Masters grimaced in reply as he slowed to pass a cyclist going in the same direction. Then he asked, “Did you guess what I wanted to talk about?”

  “Something to do with Theo Rainford, not his missus.”

  “Right.”

  “He seemed to change his tune in the middle of that little conversation. First off they hadn’t given the old girl cause to feel rejected at Christmas. His missus got quite hot under the collar at the very idea. Then Theo himself steps in and says yes, that’s what it must have been. A feeling of rejection at Christmas and again at Easter.”

  “That’s how I saw it, too,” agreed Masters. “But didn’t you think his willingness to accept that explanation was a little too ready?”

  “Stuck out a mile.”

  “So there’s some other explanation.” He was by now negotiating the busy main street. “Where’s the pub, Bill?”

  “Up ahead. I can see it. About forty yards. On your right.”

  “Double yellow line, dammit. I’ll have to turn left somewhere . . . ah! Parking sign ahead.”

  “Arrow pointing the way. Down the alleyway, George.”

  When they entered the bar it was Reed who called: “Over here, Chief.”

  “What are you two doing?” demanded Green.

  “The same as you, I expect.”

  “Good. Make mine a pint and shove over one of those menus.”

  “We were just going round the corner of the bar. It’s all laid out there and you can choose from the dishes.”

  “Tables?” asked Masters.

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “Go and get one. I’ll bring the drinks. Bill, I’ll have a helping of anything that looks decent.”

  When they were sitting round the small table, Masters asked Reed how they were getting on.

  “Not too badly, Chief. We’ve definitely established that the old lady only had enough pills to average out to one a day since Christmas.”

  “Assuming she had no initial stock and taking into account the number remaining on the present prescription?”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “So you’re happy you can appear in front of the deputy coroner and tell him that there is cause for further inquiries to discover the source of the extra digitalis and then to decide how it found its way into the body of the deceased?”

  “Just that, Chief. Then he’ll adjourn, leaving you free to tackle the job in any way you like.”

  Green sighed and put his empty plate on the table. “Just the job that. Real tasty. Stopped my belly thinking my throat was cut. I’m tempted to have another helping.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t want to appear greedy.”

  Berger spluttered with laughter as he drank.

  “You? Greedy?” said Reed in mock surprise. “Who could possibly think such a thing?”

  “In that case,” said Green, “you can go and get it for me. And make sure there are some of the crispy scallops of spud on top. I like them.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to go and see a coroner about an inquest.”

  Green grunted, whether in approval or disapproval was not clear. As the sergeants prepared to leave, Masters reminded them that Patrick Dean had promised him a copy of the pathologist’s report. They were to collect it from the court and take it to the office in police HQ.

  “Now,” said Green when he and Masters were alone. “The Rainfords.”

  “Ah, yes. To my way of thinking, Theo accepted the rejection theory too easily. Why?”

  “Tell me.”

  “If it were true, it would substantiate suicide. But the question would still remain, where did the toxic substance come from?”

  “True. But the theory could still be right.”

  “I tend to think not, Bill. Compare the timings of Mrs Carlow’s reactions. The Christmas Day overdose was taken at the time she was rejected—that is, when the party was due to begin.
The May Day episode was two or three weeks after her rejection at Easter time. I don’t think that a long gap like that would be typical of a would-be suicide who previously had reacted immediately.”

  “I see what you mean, George, but that raises another point. At Christmas she had the means to overdose herself, so she could react immediately. But what if she hadn’t the means at Easter? She could have wanted to overdose at the moment of rejection, but had to wait until she could get hold of the poison. It could have taken her those intervening weeks to lay hands on it. Only after that could she take it.”

  “Not quite, Bill. Granted she hadn’t the means at Easter, but if we accept that once she had the poison she would take immediate action, she could only have got the poison on May Day itself or—possibly—the day before.”

  “Fair enough. So now we check on her movements for those two days. It’ll be a good job for the lads.”

  Masters nodded. “But we mustn’t forget Rainford. I refuse to believe that he worked all this out for himself in the comparatively short time we were in his house.”

  Green agreed. “He isn’t thick, our Theo, but he had some more down-to-earth reason for falling in with the rejection theory. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’d bet on it.”

  “So would I. So he’s protecting somebody. Wife? Daughter? Son-in-law?”

  “Somebody, certainly.”

  “How the hell are we going to find out which?”

  “I’ll get us another drink,” said Masters rising and collecting the glasses.

  “Which means you’ve got a bright idea,” grumbled Green. “Okay, I’ll wait. Do you reckon you could bring me a couple of those sausages while you’re on your feet? The big ones with sticks in?”

  “I’ll sprout another pair of hands to carry them with.”

  “One hand will do for a couple of fried dogs.”

  When Masters returned, Green accepted his beer and sausages and immediately demanded to be told what Masters was thinking.

  “We were told that Mrs Carlow refused to go to the family party on Christmas Day.”

  “Which means she wasn’t rejected.”

  “No, no. Hold on to the rejection bit. Ask yourself why she should refuse to go to the party.”

  “Any number of reasons,” said Green, taking a bite from the end of a sausage held in mid-air. “She probably didn’t like turkey for Christmas dinner. I think I’ve heard it’s not traditional in central Europe. The Prussians probably eat pork and wurst with pine cone stuffing or some such. When young Mrs Whincap refused to alter her menu her gran got uppity and refused to attend.”