Jam and Jeopardy (16 page)

‘There was no immediate urgency.’ The man slackened his tie. ‘I asked my aunt and she refused to lend it to me, but I could have found it from somewhere, I’m sure. I
won’t have to, now, of course, because Aunt Janet’s money will be divided equally between my cousin and myself.’

Callum McGillivray eyed him quizically. ‘Her death was extremely well timed, then, wouldn’t you say, sir?’

‘Look here! That’s as good as saying I killed her.’ Ronald was belligerent now.

‘I merely passed a remark, Mr Baker, I’m not suggesting anything. You must admit, though, the facts could be interpreted as pointing your way.’

‘Oh, Ronald.’ Flora stood up in great agitation. ‘I told you they . . .’

‘Be quiet, Flora! There’s absolutely no evidence that I could be guilty, as you very well know, Inspector. My wife and I had not been to see my aunt since the Saturday before she
died, fully five days, so you see I couldn’t have poisoned her.’

Flora, quite oblivious to the sergeant’s scrutiny, had reseated herself on the edge of her chair, consternation and apprehension oozing from every pore of her worried face.

‘As long as that, eh?’ mused McGillivray, extricating himself from the deep confines of the upholstered cushions on which he’d been ensconced. ‘Well, we won’t
bother you any more, meantime, Mr Baker, although we may have to talk to you again.’

It was a rather subdued Ronald who showed them out.

‘Interesting. Very interesting,’ the inspector remarked, as he settled himself in the Vauxhall. ‘He seemed so sure of himself, but he was really as nervous as hell, and the
wife’s on absolute tenterhooks.’

‘Yes, sir. Her nervousness was more than normal under the circumstances, I’d say.’ Moore indicated to turn right at the crossroads and swung round smoothly.

The house at 147 Kingswood Drive turned out to be an old terraced one in the centre of Thornkirk, and Stephen Drummond himself answered the door. Facially, he quite resembled his cousin, but
there the likeness ended. His hair was completely grey, and his stretched jersey hung loosely on him, as though it were several sizes too big.

When McGillivray introduced himself and his sergeant, they were taken into a small, cluttered room, where the high narrow window was darkened by the houses at the other side of the street, and
even the bright-orange scatter cushions on the worn three-piece suite failed to brighten the dinginess.

‘Sit down, Inspector,’ Stephen murmured, ‘and I’ll fetch my wife.’

‘No need, Mr Drummond. It’s you we want to talk to.’

Ignoring this, Stephen opened the door and shouted, as if appealing for a lifeline, ‘Barbara, it’s two detectives.’

Almost at once, his wife came in, her hair drawn back in an untidy chignon, a purple sweater over trousers of the same garish colour. She sat down on a high seat beside her husband’s
armchair.

Moral support, thought McGillivray, who had correctly sized up the situation as the dominant wife syndrome. ‘We are investigating the murder of Janet Souter, Mr Drummond. When did you last
see your aunt?’

‘On the Sunday before she died, four days before.’ It was Barbara Drummond who answered, because Stephen appeared to have been struck dumb at the mention of murder. ‘She was
murdered, was she? How awful.’

McGillivray nodded. ‘I’ve been told that you and your cousin visited her every weekend, Mr Drummond.’ He said the man’s name pointedly, and was gratified to see the woman
bridle at the rebuff.

‘Ronald and Flora went every Saturday, and we went on Sundays.’ Stephen spoke nervously, and his wife laid her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

‘If you’re trying to suggest that we had anything to do with it, neither Stephen nor I poisoned her,’ she said bluntly.

‘Then you knew about the bag of arsenic she had, Mr Drummond?’

‘Y-yes, I did know. She didn’t make any secret of it. Just asking for trouble, I thought.’ Stephen shifted his legs, no sign of a crease in his shapeless flannels.

The thought that Aunt Janet’s arsenic could kill her had crossed his mind, McGillivray was glad to hear. ‘We have been exploring various avenues, and we found that your shop had been
on the verge of bankruptcy about a year or so back.’

‘Yes. Yes, it was, but I was lucky enough to receive a small inheritance from an uncle who died in Canada about that time.’ Stephen’s knuckles showed white against the dark
cover of his chair, and he swallowed repeatedly.

The inspector’s smile was deceptive. ‘Was he a brother of your mother’s, this uncle in Canada?’

Stephen looked miserable. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

Barbara removed her hand from his shoulder. ‘No, he wasn’t. There were only three sisters in that family. Stephen’s mother, Ronald Baker’s mother, and Janet Souter. The
uncle in Canada was his father’s brother. You’ll have to excuse my husband, Inspector. Finding out that his aunt was murdered has really upset him.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Stephen’s apology was made in a low, flat voice. ‘I
am
very shocked, and yes, he was my father’s brother.’ His eyes slid away
suddenly.

‘That’s quite all right, Mr Drummond. Shock plays funny tricks on the best of us.’ McGillivray soothed the man, while Moore marvelled at his superior’s duplicity.
‘So your father’s brother left you some money? How much was it, exactly?’

‘It was twenty thousand pounds. Enough to see me over my difficulties.’

‘Very fortunate, I would say, and just at the right time, but we can find no trace of this uncle, be he your father’s brother or your mother’s brother.’ The inspector
decided to bluff a little. ‘In fact, this uncle didn’t exist, did he, Mr Drummond?’

‘Oh, here!’ Barbara cut in quickly. ‘I think you’re overstepping your authority, badgering my husband like this.’

‘It’s no use, Barbara,’ Stephen patted her knee. ‘I couldn’t brazen it out, anyway. You’re quite correct, Inspector, that was a lie. Aunt Janet lent me the
money after I practically went down on my bended knees to her. She was a hard woman, with no compassion in her soul.’ He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

‘Stephen! Watch what you’re saying.’ Barbara was alarmed by his look of hopelessness.

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter any more. Aunt Janet was charging me twenty-five per cent interest on that money, Inspector, which meant I’d be paying nearly double the
amount I’d borrowed, by the time I’d finished.’

‘That was a bit over the top.’

‘I offered her ten pounds the last time we were down, but she said it wasn’t enough and laughed in my face. I couldn’t repay her and I didn’t know what to do.’
Stephen buried his face in his hands.

Barbara shook her head in sympathy. ‘Don’t worry, dear. It’s all over now. She’s dead, and you won’t have to worry about money any more.’ She turned to the
Chief Inspector. ‘My husband was at a very low ebb, as you can see, but he didn’t poison his aunt. We weren’t even there at the time.’

‘No, Mrs Drummond,’ McGillivray agreed, seriously, ‘you weren’t even there. Come on, Moore. It’s time we left.’

They saw themselves out, and the younger man could scarcely contain himself until they were once again in their car. ‘You came away just when he was ready to confess that he’d done
it,’ he accused.

‘I don’t think he did do it, lad. In fact, I’m nearly certain he’d nothing to do with his aunt’s death. He may have thought about poisoning her, but that’s
not what we’re after.’

‘Maybe
he
didn’t kill her, but I’m sure Mrs Drummond knows something about it.’

‘I’m going to let it simmer for a while, Moore. We’ve turned on the heat, and the Stephen Drummonds and the Ronald Bakers will just have to stew a bit longer. Whatever the
truth is, it’ll come out eventually, once they’re worked up enough.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I was thinking, though, it’s peculiar, but several of the suspects have been on the verge of admitting something when you’ve upped and left them.’

‘You’ve noticed that, have you?’ McGillivray laughed.
‘There’s
a clever young detective sergeant.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic, sir. But Mrs Wakeford was first. She’d have told you something else, if you’d carried on questioning her, and Mrs Grant said Douglas Pettigrew
wasn’t the murderer, as if she knew who was.’

Moore snatched a quick glance at his boss, who was smiling and nodding. Encouraged, he went on, ‘Mrs Ronald Baker – her husband had to stop her before she came out with something he
didn’t want her to say, and, lastly, Stephen Drummond practically admitted to the murder, and you didn’t pursue it.’

‘Quite right, lad. I don’t understand why, but, as you say, all those people have almost admitted to poisoning the old lady, or to knowing something about it.’

‘One of them must have killed her, though.’

‘You reckon? The really peculiar thing is that they all mentioned the confounded arsenic, yet there was no sign of it in her, nor in any of her foodstuffs. Unfortunately, poor Mrs Grant
did
have a trace of it, but whether her attempted murder was connected with Janet Souter’s death, or was a different crime altogether, I can’t tell yet. So the insulin side will
have to wait till I unravel the arsenic business first.’

David Moore fished for his seat belt and buckled it on. ‘Back to Tollerton now, sir?’

‘After a bit of lunch, I think. I’m quite peckish.’

They found a Chinese restaurant on their way out of the town, and it was wearing on for three o’clock when they started their return journey.

‘Quite an interesting morning, wouldn’t you say?’ The inspector’s face wore a satisfied look as he leaned back.

‘Every one of them was nervous and worried, though.’ Moore crashed the gears and winced. ‘Makes you wonder if any of them’s guilty, or if they acted like that because
we’re detectives. I suppose it must be quite daunting, really, to speak to a ’tec for the first time.’

‘That’s a reaction you should’ve got used to by now, lad. Most folk seem to go on the defensive, whether they’ve anything to hide or not. It’s human nature, I
suppose, but you begin to be able to tell the innocent from the guilty after a while. Not that I’m having much success with that at the moment.’

McGillivray reflected sadly that trying to solve a murder was like throwing a stone into a millpond. The ripples spread out in ever-widening circles. There was this illegitmate child of Mrs
Wakeford’s, if that story was true. He, or she, probably had nothing to do with this case, but would have to be sought out and involved, just to be sure. If the person concerned lived in
Tollerton, and Miss Souter had found out . . .

He’d have to visit this ninety-year-old and find out if she knew anything more about it. Old people could often recall events from their younger days much more clearly than happenings over
the past few years, or even what they’d eaten for lunch.

The child would be over forty now, but whether male or female was yet to be established, and he could think of no one connected with the case so far who would fit as far as age was concerned.
Except . . . Barbara Drummond, he realised with a start. But perhaps she was older than that, it was difficult to tell. The same with May White, of course. She could be anywhere between thirty and
forty-five; depending on what she wore and how she was made up.

His thoughts were interrupted when Moore braked suddenly as a tractor emerged from behind a thick hedge straight in front of them.

‘Silly bugger!’ the sergeant shouted, pulling out to overtake and narrowly missing a lorry travelling in the opposite direction.

‘Keep your head, lad.’ McGillivray smiled crookedly. ‘A dead detective never solved a murder.’

The younger man’s outraged face turned a deeper shade of red. ‘It’s all right for you, you haven’t a nervous bone in your body, but I thought we’d had
it.’

His superior shook his head. ‘You’ll get used to scares when you’ve been a bit longer on the job. But cheer up, lad, I’ve been lumbered with a lot worse than you in my
time. Now, just keep your mind on the road and always expect the unexpected.’

Sunday 27th November, afternoon

There was no sign of John Black when the two detectives entered the police station, but PC Derek Paul uncurled smartly when they walked in.

‘The sergeant won’t be long, Inspector. He’s gone to sort out an accident just south of the village, but it’s not serious.’

McGillivray smiled. ‘Thank you, Constable. Tell him we’ll come back later.’

Outside again, he turned to Moore. ‘Stick the car in the Starline carpark then go and check with Douglas Pettigrew’s pals about his alibi. I’m going to have a word with that
old Mrs Gray at the foot of Ashgrove Lane, to see if she can tell me any more about Mabel Wakeford’s past. I’ll see you back at the station, or, if you take too long, I might be at the
hotel giving my feet a rest after my hike.’

David Moore went into the car, and the inspector carried on walking up the High Street. He hoped that the old woman he was on his way to see could tell him where the child had been born, or have
a guess at it. He must find a starting point, and his enquiries must be discreet.

When he arrived at the foot of the Lane, he looked at the name on the first door he came to, and was delighted to find that it was the one he was after. Right next door to the slinky May.

He noticed that the woodwork on the outside of this house needed a coat of paint – bits of it were cracking and flaking off- and the terylene net curtains, once white or cream, were a
shade of dark grey, just screaming for a wash.

He rang the bell, waited, then rang again. After a while, he heard slow, shuffling footsteps, and the sound of the latch being taken off. ‘Mrs Gray? I’m Detective Chief Inspector
McGillivray, Grampian Police. Could I have a few words with you, please?’

The hunched figure studied him for a moment. Her sparse white hair was cut straight across and owed nothing to any hairdresser’s art. The gnarled hand on top of the walking stick was blue
veined and marked with brown pigmentation, but her eyes were alert behind the thick glasses.

‘I suppose you’d better come in, then, and not have the whole street listening to what we’re saying.’ She preceded him, with an effort, into her living room and gestured
to him to sit down.