Jam and Jeopardy (26 page)

He glanced at his wife, who was listening to the questioning, and smiled to her. She smiled back. There was no anger or suspicion on her face, and their relationship appeared to be genuinely
warm and loving.

Watching him watching the inspector, David Moore felt that Pettigrew wasn’t in the least affected by the ominous silence with which McGillivray was trying to break his nerve.

Pettigrew lifted his pipe from the mantelpiece and took a box of matches from his pocket. ‘D’you mind if I light up?’

McGillivray waved his hand dismissively, so the chemist struck a match and drew on the stem of his briar, his hands quite steady.

At last, the inspector spoke. He’d been debating on whether or not he should accost the man about his infidelity, and had decided against breaking up a seemingly happy marriage. ‘You
supply hypodermic syringes, I presume?’

Pettigrew appeared to be genuinely puzzled. ‘Of course, just a few, to diabetics with a doctor’s prescription. We’ve to be careful nowadays, in case of drug takers.’

‘I see.’ Callum McGillivray stood up, aware that his strategy hadn’t paid off this time. ‘Thank you.’

The chemist showed them out, more polite than he had hitherto been. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you, Inspector. You know, I was rather annoyed when you came in,
about you suspecting Douglas, and . . .’

‘He’s in the clear now. I’m sorry if you thought we were badgering him . . .’

‘I realise you’ve your job to do. Murder’s a terrible crime, and if there’s anything you want to know, don’t hesitate to ask me.’

Outside, McGillivray sighed. ‘Either he deserves an Oscar, or he knows nothing. I believe he might have been involved with Mrs White at some time, but it’s not our business, unless .
. .’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Doctor,’ McGillivray said when John Randall opened the door to them himself. ‘We’ve a few questions to ask
you.’

‘Come in, come in. You’re not interrupting anything. I was just reading the
Evening Citizen
. He ushered them into a large square room, obviously furnished in the twenties or
thirties – and lovingly cared for since. Probably his childhood home, Moore guessed . . .

Indicating the tray of dirty dishes sitting on the table, he said, ‘Don’t mind me. I generally eat off a tray. My daily prepares a meal for me, I just carry it through, and, being a
bachelor, I don’t always bother to clear things away.’

‘I’m the same myself,’ the chief inspector admitted.

‘Good. Now I don’t feel so remiss. What can I do for you?’

McGillivray decided to take off the kid gloves this time. ‘We believe that you were one of Mrs May White’s callers?’

Randall’s face turned a deep scarlet. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I’m glad you’re not denying it. It came from the lady herself.’

The doctor was obviously thinking how to explain his behaviour, but decided to brazen it out. ‘A year or two ago I was attending her for a bout of shingles, and . . . we . . . she
persuaded me to be more than her physician.’

‘Weren’t you afraid you might be seen?’

‘I suppose you mean Janet Souter. Now I see what you’re after. No, I had no worries about being seen. I am a single man and it is nobody’s business what I do.’

‘Yes, you’re quite right, Doctor, but you have a position to uphold . . . ?’

‘I’ve never given a damn what other people think of me, Inspector, and I’ve no intention of apologising to you for that.’

‘No, of course not, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . we’ve . . . run out of suspects and . . .’

‘You were going to put the blame on me? My God! You’ve got some nerve!’

‘No, Doctor. You’ve got me all wrong.’

Randall suddenly exploded with laughter. ‘Good God, man, I haven’t enjoyed anything so much for a long time. To think you’ve got me down as a profligate! I only . . . dallied,
shall I say, with the ravishing May once, and it left me feeling dirty and ashamed. I did not repeat the experience, though the next time she called me in, on some trivial pretext, it took all my
willpower to refuse her. You don’t know what she’s like.’

McGillivray grinned ruefully. ‘Ah, but I do know, Doctor. I’d the devil’s own job to keep from . . . I’m sorry if I stepped out of line earlier, but you can surely
understand . . .’

‘Don’t be sorry, McGillivray, I do understand. You have your job to do in the way you see fit, and I had a damned good laugh out of it.’

‘It’s good of you to take it like that, sir, and goodnight to you.’

Moore, who had said nothing since they entered the house, couldn’t help smiling as Randall winked at him while they went out.

In the car again, McGillivray said, ‘Don’t say a word, lad. I know I handled that badly, so just learn from my gaffe.’

‘Yes, sir. Where to now?’

‘Where do you think?’

Muriel Valentine came to the door of the manse when McGillivray rang the bell. ‘We’d like to speak to your husband, if you don’t mind.’

‘Adam’s out on one of his calls, but he shouldn’t be long. Please come in and wait.’

She was neatly, if not stylishly, dressed in a pleated skirt and woollen jumper, and her knitting was lying on the small table where she’d laid it before answering the door.

‘Does your husband make many evening calls?’

‘Quite a lot. Most families are all out working during the day, so he finds it easier to get them at home in the evenings.’ She picked up her knitting and carried on with it.

McGillivray persisted. ‘Is he ever out till the early hours?’

‘There are times when he has to stay with relatives of a dying person, or with somebody who’s in trouble. He’s like a doctor, really, always on call.’

‘Aren’t you scared, being alone in this big house on the dark winter nights?’

‘A bit nervous, sometimes, but some of the Guild ladies call occasionally to ask about things we’ve planned to raise money.’

The sound of a key in the lock heralded the return of the minister. ‘Oh hello, Inspector,’ he said cheerily, when he came in. ‘And Sergeant. Were you waiting to see me? Just a
minute till I hang up my coat.’

He disappeared into the hall and came back rubbing his hands together. ‘It doesn’t get any warmer, does it? But we’ve Christmas to look forward to. What can I do for
you?’

What a striking couple they made, Moore thought, fleetingly. She with her blonde, wavy hair, pink and white complexion and liquid blue eyes, and he with his dark good looks, piercing brown eyes
and tall, muscular body.

‘We’re trying to trace anybody who came in contact with Miss Souter over, say, a week before she was killed,’ the inspector was saying. ‘They may have noticed, or heard
her saying, something which could give us a lead, though they don’t think it’s important. We’ll be able to sort the chaff from the grain. When did you see her last,
sir?’

‘Let me see.’ Adam Valentine lifted his hand to his broad forehead, but, after thinking for a moment he said, ‘No, I’m sorry. It was three weeks before her death that I
paid her a visit, and I haven’t seen her at all since then.’

‘So you won’t be able to help us?’ McGillivray shrugged. ‘Ah, well, it’s all in the game. It’s a pity, in a way, that there aren’t more people like Miss
Souter herself. She noticed everything that was going on, more than she was meant to sometimes, I imagine.’ He chuckled softly.

‘Yes, she did,’ Mrs Valentine said. ‘But she was a cruel, malicious gossip, and we’re very glad that there aren’t more like her in our village.’ Her voice had
risen slightly.

The inspector smiled. ‘It’s just as well everybody’s made differently, but old Mrs Gray at the foot of Ashgrove Lane has been telling me quite a few things.’

‘I wouldn’t give too much credence to what Mrs Gray says,’ remarked the minister. ‘She’s failing, you know.’

‘She’s still got all her faculties, Adam.’ His wife sounded rather indignant.

‘She was telling me what she saw from her window,’ McGillivray went on. ‘And Mrs White, next door to her, was doing a bit of boasting about her various lovers – likely
greatly embroidered, of course, to impress a bit more. It must be a lonely life for her, with her husband away so much.’

As far as Moore could see, the minister’s only reaction to this was a slight tightening of his jaw, but Mrs Valentine’s laugh was full of scorn.

‘Don’t waste your sympathy on her, Inspector. She has lots of comforters. As I told you before, she’s one of Adam’s failures. You’ve tried to reform her several
times, haven’t you, dear?’ Her tone was lightly sarcastic as she glanced at her husband.

‘To little avail,’ he replied sadly.

‘I blame the men as much as her,’ Mrs Valentine went on, hotly. ‘Married men, most of them, and should know better. It’s their poor wives I feel sorry for.’

‘I suppose it’s her husband’s fault as much as anyone’s,’ observed McGillivray. ‘He should stay at home with her.’

Valentine surprised them all by jumping up abruptly and making for the door, his face expressionless.

His wife frowned. ‘Where are you going, Adam?’

‘I’ve just remembered. I promised to call on Alice Dawson tonight. Excuse me, Inspector, Sergeant.’ He rushed out.

Mrs Valentine laid down her knitting. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him these days, he’s so forgetful. He
did
see Janet Souter recently, a few days before she
died. She gave him a jar of jam. Remember, Sergeant, the one you took away for some reason.’ Her fidgeting hands betrayed her anxiety.

‘We’d reason to believe the jar had been contaminated with arsenic,’ Moore murmured.

Her alarm was greater at this, and was made even more so when McGillivray leapt to his feet.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, may I use your telephone?’ His face was dark and grim.

‘It’s in the hall.’

He closed the door behind him, and dialled the police station, then waited impatiently until the receiver at the other end was lifted. ‘Black? Will you . . . ? What?’

His eyes narrowed as he listened, then he said, crisply, ‘No, Sergeant. He’s not mistaken, and he’s corroborated my suspicions. Take him in the car with you, collect your
constable if he’s not there, and pick me up at the manse. What . . . ? Lock the place up, you damned fool! I’ll take full responsibility.’

He returned to the living room, where Muriel Valentine was sitting on the edge of her seat, her eyes troubled and her face ashen, the reason for all the activity having dawned on her.

‘You think Adam’s the murderer, don’t you?’ she whispered. ‘And that he’s gone to silence May White as well?’

David Moore had also just fully come to terms with the situation, and his sympathy went out to her even as his adrenaline started flowing with excitement.

‘Don’t be afraid to tell me.’ Her voice was stronger, quite calm now. ‘I’ve suspected, deep down, that his interest in her didn’t lie altogether in her
soul.’

McGillivray took a seat near the door. ‘It looks very black for him, Mrs Valentine. Do you have any relatives, or close friends, you could call on for support?’

Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I’ve no family left now. Both my parents are dead, and a minister’s wife can’t really make close friends in a small place like this without
causing offence to others. I’ll be quite all right.’

She was putting a brave face on it, but McGillivray knew the anguish she must be experiencing. ‘I’ll leave my sergeant with you,’ he said, compassionately. ‘He’s
quite a decent human being, in spite of his appearance.’

She summoned up a wan smile. ‘I’m sure he is. Thank you.’

A car horn sounded outside, and McGillivray rose and went out without another word. Moore jumped up and followed him into the hall. ‘Can I tell her about . . . ?’ he whispered.

‘It might be a comfort, lad, but maybe she’s had enough shocks tonight. Play it by ear, though.’ He strode out into the night.

The young sergeant went slowly back inside. ‘Would you like me to make tea or coffee for you, Mrs Valentine?’

She got to her feet quickly. ‘Please let me do it myself. It’ll help to take my mind off . . .’

He held the door open for her. ‘I’ll come through with you.’

‘I don’t intend to do anything silly, you don’t need to guard me.’

‘Oh, no.’ He was disappointed that she’d taken his offer the wrong way. ‘I just meant to be company for you, and the kitchen’s usually the most homely place in a
house.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m a bit on edge. I should have understood.’ She busied herself filling the kettle, switching it on, laying out mugs, sugar and milk, while Moore sat down at
the table.

‘I’ve never felt really happy since we came here,’ she said pensively. ‘It wasn’t the people. They made us very welcome, and we were soon part of their community,
but Adam changed not long after we arrived. It was about the time he started telling me how worried he was about Mrs White and her behaviour, now that I come to think of it.’

Her preparations ready, she sat down to wait for the kettle to boil. ‘I think his intentions were good to begin with, but she must have ensnared him and he visited her more and more often.
Then he stopped telling me when he was going, and that’s when I began to worry. If only I’d had somebody to . . . An outsider might have realised what was going on before it was too
late.’

Pouring milk into the mugs, she carried on, almost as if she were speaking to herself. ‘I suppose I was too tangled up with my own emotions at the time. My mother had just died, and I was
devastated, though she wasn’t my real mother. She told me about that when I was old enough to understand.’

Elated that she’d brought up the subject, David Moore felt sure that it wouldn’t come as such a shock to her now, if he told her about Mrs Wakeford, and it might compensate her for
the terrible ordeal she was about to face.

Her monologue continued. ‘My mother and father – I’ll always remember them as that – couldn’t have any children, but their solicitor knew of a young, unmarried girl
who was having a baby, so he arranged for them to adopt it. I’ve always felt sorry for that poor girl, having to give up her love-child like that, and I’ve often wondered what became of
her.’

The sergeant had been trying to figure out a way of letting her know, and he admired her all the more for the concern she was showing for the mother she’d never known. ‘Mrs
Valentine,’ he ventured at last, ‘wouldn’t you like to find out who your real mother was?’