Murder of Convenience

by Carrie Marsh

  “So,” Nigel summarized their conversation as he finished eating, “we have one suspect off the list seeing as he can't drive. Then we have a suspect who has all the motive and no means, as far as we know. And another suspect who has some means and no motive.”

  “As far as we know,” Gilding echoed.

  They finished off the meal in silence and, as they did so, Gilding felt some new ideas about the case start to form. He was very glad that they had been to visit Marcie. She had helped a lot of new ideas fall into place in his mind.

  Now all he had to do was meet with Hargreaves to ask him some questions. To tell him what Marcie suggested. And to confront him about what he found. And soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  AN UNEXPECTED TRUTH

  AN UNEXPECTED TRUTH

  “And would you...hold my hand...”

  Gilding groaned and pulled a face. Hargreaves was in his office. And he was singing. A low baritone voice, off key and powerful, Hargreaves' voice filled the corridor, making Ginsberg and Hannah, in the staff room, grin as Gilding passed.

  He waited at the door, calling, “No, I jolly wouldn't,” in answer to the song's question.

  Hargreaves laughed.

  “My dear man! I am terribly affronted. Why ever would you say that?”

  Gilding laughed. “I might. Only on a dark night and slippery terrain.”

  Hargreaves grinned and sat down behind his desk. “Well, I agree to those conditions. And I shall hold you to it, next time that happens.”

  They both laughed.

  “What can I do for you?” Hargreaves asked, raising a brow at Gilding. He gestured to the desk and Gilding took a seat. He cleared his throat.

  “I have something to ask you about.”

  “Ask away. My door is always open.”

  Gilding smiled. “Okay. I have a few questions, actually. First one is: How do you go about a paternity test, and could you do one?”

  “Well certainly! I could get it organized. Who for, if I may ask?” he grinned at Gilding

  “For Tamsyn Fleet.”

  Hargreaves stared at him. “But, come, Gilding! Whatever for? Richard isn't being silly is he? Because if he is, I tell you, I'll sort him out. I remember when Janet got married to him...It was because of Tamsyn or I'm green. He has a real cheek, he has...” he blustered. “He got the best girl in the village for that! He should count himself fortunate.” He looked red faced and angry, and Gilding was surprised.

  “It's not Richard,” he supplied gently. Privately, he was surprised that Hargreaves felt so strongly about it all.

  “Good. Why, then?”

  “I was chatting to Lady Winston-Browne the other day, and she suggested...”

  “She said she doesn't think the girl is his? Well, blimey! I always liked the woman. I wouldn't have suspected her of prejudice.”

  “...she wasn't judging, Hargreaves. She just said she thought she wasn't his. I was surprised.”

  “So am I!” he sighed. “I can do it, but I don't know why it counts.”

  “I can see that it might show Janet had a long-standing romance before her husband, but that's the most we'll find out. If it's correct. Which I can't be sure about.”

  “We can do it.” Hargreaves finished. “I doubt there is anything to see, though.”

  “Me also,” Gilding said. “But then, Marcie is a sharp woman.”

  “She is.”

  “Okay. So you can organize that?”

  “I can.”

  “Good.” Gilding sighed.

  “So you have some more questions?” Hargreaves asked. “Because if you do, we could put the kettle on. This calls for a mug of something.”

  Gilding, remembering the bright Novo-Nordisk mug with a week's worth of unwashed stains, politely declined. “I'm just here for two more questions, then I have to run...I promised Nigel I'd go to the station with him.”

  “Okay,” Hargreaves lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Doesn't stop me, though. Next question?” He reached out to find a tea bag as they talked.

  “Question two is, how likely is it that either of our deceased were under the influence of something at the time. I know we checked for alcohol, and they were sober, but might they have been using drugs? I mean, Grant was...experimental, and I never actually knew if he did the odd joint or not. Have we checked for everything you know of?”

  “My dear man,” Hargreaves sighed. “If you are asking if the two deceased chaps were as high as kites and happened to collide with the same car on two different nights, then my answer would be no. It seems too improbable anyway. But in any case, yes. We did check. We checked for...” he turned to the list he had scribbled on the front of a folder which held the blood tests and their results, “tricyclic antidepressants, sedatives, stimulants, analgesics, hallucinogenic compounds, barbiturates, NSAIDS, and common psychoactives.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing.”

  He flipped the folder containing the test results over the desk, so that Gilding could see for himself. He had looked at them already, but wanted to hear from a doctor that everything had been covered. It seemed it had.

  “Okay. I just had a thought that maybe it really was just two awful coincidences.”

  “Did Gerald say they were?”

  “No,” Gilding admitted. “Gerald claimed to be at home at the time. I have questioned him more than once about this, but he is adamant about it. And his neighbor, Heaven help him if he lied to me, corroborates it. He apparently did not leave the property that day. He knows because he saw him through the kitchen window.”

  “And his car didn't either?” Hargreaves asked.

  “He said it could have been gone. He says he doesn't remember.”

  Hargreaves raised a brow. “It didn't go up there under it's own volition.”

  “I know,” Gilding sighed. “I know it didn't. But he has supplied me with a list of people who borrowed it. And so I called all of them. They all confirmed they had, in fact, done so on multiple occasions.”

  Hargreaves sighed. “Okay. So now we have several people, and all we have to do is decide which one had the car that night. And there we are.”

  “I wish it was as simple as that,” Gilding sighed. “The problem is none of them have a motive. Besides Richard.”

  Hargreaves rested his chin in his hands. “Besides him. Yes. And maybe, if we discover he is not the father of the child, we'll find out he always suspected that.”

  Gilding raised a brow. “True.”

  “In which case, maybe we have a premeditated death.”

  “Premeditated by about nine years,” Gilding added. “But why Grant?”

  “Maybe he's the father?” Hargreaves asked. Then he instantly shook his head. “I doubt it. He only moved in a few years ago, and Janet never left. So it can't be him.”

  Gilding rested his head in his hands. “True.”

  “If question three is about the paint,” Hargreaves mentioned with a smile, “which I think it ought to be because I was at the lab yesterday afternoon and they said...”

  “What?”

  “Don't be impatient,” he said, grinning. “They said something that's probably going to give you more work to do in any case. The paint doesn't match.”

  Gilding stared at him. “Truly? I mean...”

  “As far as they can tell, the composition of the paint is slightly different. It also, apparently, isn't the glossy sort – how they know that from such a small sample like that we scraped off, I have no idea – but our friend's car is glossy, yes?”

  “Yes,” Gilding said slowly. “It is. But...”

  “I know,” Hargreaves lifted a shoulder. “It doesn't make much sense, I agree. And it leaves us with two options.”

  “Either it was a different car – which I don't believe, or why is the bull-bar showing recent damage like it is – or the paint is different and the paint we found on both cars is from another vehicle, not the one that caused the accident.”

  “In wh
ich case, why?”

  “Exactly,” Gilding sighed. He was reaching the point where nothing made any sense.

  “I suppose I should let you get on with your work,” Hargreaves sighed. “It looks like you're a busy man. And a worried one also.”

  “I am,” Gilding admitted. He hesitated to raise the subject of the bottle he had found. He knew he had to, but he also didn't want to risk offending the man. “Uh, Eustace?”

  “Mm?” he raised a brow. It was less common for Gilding to call him by his given name, and they both knew it meant he had something of a delicate nature to raise. “What is it?”

  “I wanted to ask you...No, let me just ask. Straight out. Why might you have poison in your desk?”

  Hargreaves went white. “How did you..?” The he paused. “You scoundrel! Have you been scratching around in my desk drawers?”

  Gilding actually felt himself flush. “No, Eustace. I wasn't scratching around. At least, yes, I was. But I was only looking for Ibuprofen! I know you have some in there somewhere.”

  “Bottom drawer on the right. Yes.” Hargreaves raised a brow. “Remember that next time. Or, Heaven knows, you might find something truly shocking next time you search for something!” He laughed.

  Gilding smiled, but gave him a fixed look. “You still haven't answered my question.”

  Hargreaves looked down at his hands. “I had hoped to avoid answering that particular question. I keep it for...emergencies. Of a personal nature.”

  “Emergencies?”

  “I had a friend once,” he sighed. “He was a wonderful chap. Loved life, loved speed. Loved cars. He had a sports car. Couldn't tell you what kind. Maserati or something. Wicked looking thing. He had saved up for years and it was his pride and joy. He was on the road one evening – glorious road, lots of bends. Perfect for driving. He got a bit...carried away. Went too fast. Hit a wall. The car caught fire. Dave was caught inside. Burned to death.” He was looking down at his hands and Gilding saw a tear slowly trace its way down his weathered cheek. He reached across and put a hand on his.

  Hargreaves looked up. His slate pale eyes were pits of torment. Gilding bit his lip. “So you...”

  “I always thought, if I had to go, Heaven help me I'd rather go quickly. So I keep the odd bottle around of something lethal, wherever I am. Seeing as you never know when you might need to...go. It wouldn't be painless...or even that quick, actually. But a lot quicker than burning to death would be. And I trust myself – I know I won't get carried away and take it when I'm too depressed. But there. Now you know.”

  Gilding sighed. He believed him. He knew Hargreaves and in all the years he had known him he had only seen him cry twice. This was the third time. And, given what he knew Hargreaves had seen in his time, he knew that if he cried he meant it.

  “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to make you tell me. I shouldn't have pried. And I should have trusted you.”

  Hargreaves smiled at him. He cuffed away the traces of his crying. “You should have. And no, you shouldn't have pried. But then again I should have given you the box yesterday,” he smiled and reached into his drawer to pass over the Ibuprofen.

  Gilding smiled. The two of them sat together quietly a while while they both calmed down and thought about what they had learned.

  After a moment, Gilding cleared his throat. “I should go,” he said. “I have things I should do.”

  “And I have two bodies in the morgue, waiting for me to figure out something new. They won't get any more dead.” Hargreaves smiled. “Don't get stressed.”

  Gilding pulled a face. “I'll do my best.”

  They smiled at each other, and Gilding walked out of the room, relieved that that mystery, at least, was understood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE PICTURE CLEARS

  THE PICTURE CLEARS

  “Tamsyn?”

  “Yes?”

  Marcie was behind the little girl, pushing her on the swing. Though Marcie still felt a little drained after the meeting with the police, the afternoon had cleared to be surprisingly sunny, and Tamsyn had burst out of doors at once. Marcie was tired, but glad: not only because it was her last day to take advantage of the garden before returning home, but also because in the garden no one could overhear them. It was the ideal place to talk. There were some loose ends she needed to gather up, much like her embroidery, but the picture was becoming more clear. She did not want to push the child too hard, though.

  “You were sick a few days ago, yes?”

  “Mmhmm,” the little girl replied carefully.

  “You went to the doctor?”

  Her body stiffened. “Yes.”

  Marcie wanted to ask more, but she didn't want to press her. She waited a moment. She pushed the swing up and down, noting the play of sunlight on the child's dark hair, and the way her shoulders had tensed and not yet softened. “Your mommy knew the doctor, yes?” she asked after a moment.

  “Yes.” Tamsyn stopped the swing then, and looked up into Marcie's eyes. Her wide brown eyes were bright with indignation. “I don't like him, Marcie. I don't! I wanted to tell mummy, but she didn't listen...”

  “I am listening, Tamsyn.”

  “He was friendly, like he wanted to make friends. But I didn't like him. I didn't. He talked on his phone when she wasn't there. Laughed. He said he was on call. But he was with us, in the field...why? Why did he say it?”

  Marcie drew in a breath. Doctor Marlborough was married. He had probably been talking to a colleague or his wife when Tamsyn overheard him. She might not have had any idea about why the doctor lied, but she knew he was lying. She mistrusted him, clearly. Marcie paused to consider her answer to the question.

  “I think Doctor Marlborough didn't want someone to know he was with your mother,” she said honestly. She didn't feel the need to elaborate, but nor did she see sense in deflecting an honest question with a platitude or lie.

  “Oh,” Tamsyn said shortly.

  However she chose to take this information, it seemed to satisfy her for the moment, because she went back to the swing and sat down. “I'm going home today?”

  “Yes, dear,” Marcie agreed. She felt sad about that.

  “You'll come and visit me?”

  “Of course,” Marcie soothed.

  Marcie was not sure how deeply the mistrust ran, and whether the doctor was guilty of anything more than simply telling untruths where Tamsyn could overhear him. She would have to wait for a few more clues before she could decide anything more.

  “It's okay to be at home?” Marcie asked. “You feel safe there?” She pushed the swing as it returned to her, and saw the little girl turn around.

  “I do feel safe,” she said. She sounded contented. “I don't like being there because...Mummy was there and now she isn't.”

  Marcie closed her eyes, feeling tears start as she considered the child's own pain. “I know,” she said gently. She knew she did not know. Her own mother had passed away years ago, after she had become an adult, and the adjustment was nothing like the earth-shattering change this child had experienced.

  “Daddy's sad all the time. I don't like it when daddy is sad.”

  “Daddy is usually happy?” Marcie couldn't help it – the question was genuine, as she had never thought of Richard as a happy person before.

  To her surprise, the child giggled. “Mummy said daddy's like Eeyore. He's never happy.”

  Marcie bit her lip. It was a fair comparison. “But mummy was happy?”

  “She was happy when she was out of the house,” Tamsyn said candidly. “Grant made her happy. He visited lots. Especially...” she stopped.

  “Especially a few weeks ago, no?” Marcie saved her from having to say, during the weeks before she died.

  “Yes.”

  Marcie sighed. That was one piece in the puzzle, placed so effortlessly she couldn't believe her ears. Grant and Janet had been planning something together, clearly.

  “They talked a lot?”
/>
  “Yes,” the child said, turning around in the swing again. “I didn't know about what. It was funny. They got very excited about it. Grant was always waving his hands around, saying that people...destroyed the planet?” she wrinkled her brow, repeating the statement as she heard it. “He said they were greedy. Like Mr. Gerald. He hated him.”

  Marcie nodded. “I think Grant cared a lot about the planet,” she agreed. The information about Gerald spoke volumes. “Did your mom hate him too?”

  “Mummy didn't hate anyone,” Tamsyn said solemnly. “But she got cross about people destroying the planet, too.”

  Marcie raised a brow. “I didn't know she cared about that kind of thing?”

  “Mummy cared about lots of things,” Tamsyn said. “She and Grant were funny. They used to make up funny rhymes and giggle.”

  Marcie sighed. She wished Janet and Grant had met under more favorable circumstances. They went very well together. She was glad they had had some time together, though it was sad it ended so tragically.

  She pushed the swing a few more times, before she heard the sound of a car in the drive. She glanced at her watch before the swing returned. It was five-thirty in the afternoon. It must be Richard, coming to fetch Tamsyn.

  “Daddy!” Tamsyn shouted a moment later, when the tall, gaunt form of Richard appeared at the side of the building, followed by Harry. She leaped out of the swing mid-air and ran to him. He scooped her up into his arms and kissed her.

  “Sweetheart!” he said, face alight with joy. He kissed her cheek again and she clung to his collar, fingers just losing the stubby appearance of childhood.

  “Daddy.”

  Marcie, watching them, felt her heart ache. She wondered if Gilding had approached Richard with her suggestion. She doubted it, since she had only made it an hour before.

  I don't want to do anything to hurt the closeness between them. She sighed. What could she do?

  Harry caught her frown and raised an eyebrow. She gave him a watery grin. Together, the four of them walked back into the house. Marcie slipped her hand into his on the way up the stairs, feeling unusually unsteady.