Jam and Jeopardy (7 page)

‘Thank you. That seems straightforward enough. Your directions are very clear. There’s just one thing, Constable . . . um?’ The inspector’s voice rose, in
interrogation.

‘Constable Paul, sir.’

‘Well, Constable Paul, when someone walks into a police station and finds the person left in charge lolling all over the front desk, it doesn’t give a very good impression. Smarten
yourself up, lad, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere in the Force.’ McGillivray turned and walked to the door.

‘Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.’ Derek Paul wondered if that would be the last he’d hear about his indiscretion, or if the inspector would report it to Sergeant Black. The
sarge would give him hell if he found out. Anyway, that chief inspector was one to talk about people not being smart. He looked like something out of a ragbag himself, and that hadn’t stopped
him from getting where he was.

The young man sighed at the injustices of life, and started on the crossword again.

When the green Vauxhall drew away from the kerb, DS David Moore said, ‘This shouldn’t be a long job, sir. Rich old ladies are usually knocked off by their
relatives.’

‘Quite. And this one was loaded, according to the PC, but things are not always what they seem, Moore. There might be more to this than meets the eye.’

‘There’s the police car,’ Moore remarked in a few minutes, indicating right and waiting until an oncoming car had passed. ‘The middle cottage, I think.’ He turned
the steering wheel and entered Ashgrove Lane.

They had almost reached Janet Souter’s back door, when it opened and the local sergeant came out. ‘Detective Chief Inspector McGillivray?’

The inspector nodded. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Moore, who’ll be helping with the investigation. I gather there’s been a bit of a problem?’

John Black caught the almost imperceptible cautioning look in McGillivray’s eyes, and said, ‘Yes, sir. When I questioned Mrs Wakeford, next door, she told me a most peculiar story,
and that, along with one or two other things being said in the village, is the cause of the trouble. It’s going to be a most complicated case, as far as I can make out, much more difficult
than was anticipated at first, sir.’

‘Where exactly was the body found, and who found it?’

Sergeant Black did not need to consult his notebook, the facts were printed indelibly on his mind. ‘Miss Souter was found lying dead on her kitchen floor, just there.’ He pointed to
the spot as they went in.

The two detectives looked at the chalk mark on the floor. ‘She didn’t have much choice about where to fall,’ Moore observed. ‘There was just room for the body, and no
more.’

The inspector surveyed the tiny room. From the back door, working clockwise, there was a deep porcelain sink under the window, a wooden draining board over a cupboard, then a set of wooden
drawers. A folding table, covered with Fablon-type plastic, and a step-stool took up the short wall, and, on the wall opposite the sink, a wide kitchen cabinet reached almost to the low roof. The
door leading into the passage was on the other short wall, and a narrower kitchen cabinet took him to the back door again.

The body had been lying on the strip of matting which covered the vacant floor area. As Moore had said, it was the only place there had been room for it to fall.

McGillivray’s attention returned to Sergeant Black, who continued with his report. ‘Doctor James Randall and myself were the only persons present at the discovery of the
body.’

‘What brought you up here in the first place?’

In his eagerness to tell the facts, Black forgot to be official. ‘It was Willie Arthur, the paperboy. When he’d been here, about twenty to nine in the morning, he’d noticed the
old woman’s milk at her door, which worried him a bit because she’s an early riser. But he didn’t really start to panic till he came back on his evening round, about ten past
five.’

‘He informed the police then, did he?’

‘No, he told Mrs Wakeford next door, so she phoned the station, and then the doctor. Randall said it was heart failure, and that she’d died somewhere between midnight and two
o’clock.’

McGillivray interrupted. ‘It was found later, however, that her death was not due to natural causes, after all?’

‘That’s correct, sir, but the weird thing about the case was the information received from Mrs Wakeford, just after we found the old lady lying on her kitchen floor. I think it would
be best, sir, if you talked to her before you go any farther. If you follow me, I’ll show you the way.’

‘Lead on, Macduff.’

David Moore thought that the inspector was being rather too breezy given the circumstances, but supposed that murder, to him, was only another part of his job. McGillivray had been in the CID
for quite a number of years, while to him, Moore, this was his first case of murder and, as such, would be something of an ordeal.

As they went over the fence, the inspector asked, ‘Had anything been stolen, or disturbed?’

‘Not that we could find out, sir.’ Black knocked loudly on the door, which was opened immediately by Mrs Wakeford.

She appeared very nervous, but led the three men into her living room, though not before McGillivray hit his head on the low door frame. Black introduced the detectives and told her to sit down
and feel at ease. She sat gingerly on the edge of a chair, and waited for the inspector to speak.

‘Sergeant Black tells me that you have a statement to make, Mrs Wakeford. Just take your time, and give me as many details as you can.’ McGillivray glanced towards Moore, and was
pleased to see him ready, notebook and pen in his hands.

The woman did not seem willing to talk, looking beseechingly from one man to the other, until Black said, ‘Perhaps you would feel more at ease over a cup of tea?’

‘What? Oh, yes I would. Will I go and make a pot?’ She glanced at McGillivray uncertainly.

‘Why not? I’m sure we could all do with a cuppa.’ He sat down on the settee, motioning to the other two to follow suit, while Mabel Wakeford disappeared through to the
kitchen.

Black remained standing, but leaned forward and whispered confidentially, ‘You’d think she was the guilty party, she looks so damned scared, but she doesn’t want to tell her
story, you see, because it involves, incriminates, somebody else.’

‘I see.’ McGillivray never condemned anyone before he had sifted through all the evidence he could unearth.

David Moore had been sure of the woman’s guilt at first sight of her terrified face, but he now decided that it was too early to make snap judgements, and that she was far too much of a
lady to be a possible killer.

Mrs Wakeford carried in a tray. ‘Do you all take milk and sugar, gentlemen?’ She seemed to have recovered her composure a little.

‘No tea for me, Mrs Wakeford,’ Sergeant Black lifted his hat from the sideboard. ‘I’ll have to be getting back, but I’ll leave you in the inspector’s capable
hands. Tell him everything you told me, and anything else that comes to mind.’

‘I’ll do my best, Sergeant Black.’

‘That’s right.’ He opened the door and went out.

Mrs Wakeford filled three cups and added the sugar and milk as indicated by the two detectives. ‘Would you care for a biscuit, or a scone, or something?’

She hovered over them until they smilingly refused before she took her own seat. ‘It’s Earl Grey,’ she confided. ‘I always use it. It’s much better than
teabags.’

David Moore nodded intelligently, hoping that he wouldn’t disgrace himself by dropping the delicate rose-patterned cup and saucer, which appeared to be part of an old and valuable set.

The inspector looked round approvingly as he stirred his tea. The furniture and furnishings were of fine quality, and in very good taste. The place wasn’t overburdened with ornaments,
either, just a few fine pieces here and there.

His turned to the woman sitting opposite him. Quite slim, with blue-rinsed hair beautifully coiffed, she wore a neat twinset with a single strand of pearls round her neck. Her well-cut tweed
skirt and well-crafted suede shoes made him put her down as having a substantial income from some source or other, and her age would probably be between fifty-five and sixty.

He caught her timorous eyes and smiled. ‘This is much more friendly, better than being all stiff and formal, don’t you think? Shall we begin now, Mrs Wakeford?’

‘Yes, if you like.’ She relaxed a little, then asked, timidly, ‘Will what I say be taken down in writing?’

‘Some, but don’t think about it. It’s only to help us make up a picture of what has happened – a background, as you might say.’ Taking a mouthful of tea, he was
pleased to find that it was a good strong brew. Some old dears made tea so weak it needed crutches to come out of the pot.

Mrs Wakeford took a dainty sip of hers, black with no sugar, then sat forward. ‘Janet Souter has been my neighbour for nearly thirty-five years,’ she began. ‘Ever since she
came back to Tollerton from Edinburgh, and bought her cottage, though we were never very friendly. I mean . . .’ she looked confused. ‘We were on quite good terms, but we didn’t
pop in and out of each other’s houses all the time, if you know what I mean?’

She paused to take another sip of tea, blotted her lips with a lace-edged handkerchief and looked across at McGillivray, who smiled encouragingly.

‘Very occasionally, she came in and had a cup of tea with me, or I went and had one with her, but usually only when she wanted to tell me, or ask me, something. And we went to the
Women’s Guild meetings together every Friday night in the winters, because it seemed more sensible than each going on our own. She would tell me about her nephews sometimes, complaining about
them mostly, because she didn’t think very much of them.’

‘Why was that?’

‘She said they couldn’t run their businesses properly, and that their wives weren’t much help.’

‘She didn’t think much of their wives either, then?’

‘Not much. She called Flora, Ronald’s wife, a great fat pudding.’ Mrs Wakeford gave a little smile. ‘She did tell me once, though, that Stephen’s wife, Barbara, had
more sense than the rest of them put together.’

‘She liked Barbara, did she?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as say she liked her. She didn’t like anybody, really, but she admired Barbara’s spirit. Stephen’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, apparently,
and his wife prodded him and kept him up to scratch as much as she could. He always looked harassed and worried any time I saw him, not like her. Brassy blonde, cheap showy clothes, mutton dressed
like lamb. And she tottered about on her high heels with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, most of the time.’

Mabel paused, checking to see if the inspector was interested in this, and was pleased to see him listening carefully.

‘She wasn’t the type of woman I’d have expected Janet Souter to tolerate, even, but it seemed there was something in Barbara that appealed to her. Maybe it was because Barbara
was the boss, and ordered Stephen around all the time – henpecked him, in fact.’

McGillivray was on the point of asking her to give him their names and addresses, when he remembered that the young constable had handed him a sheet of paper with all the details of the nephews
and their wives, so he contented himself by prompting, ‘And what about the other nephew, Ronald, wasn’t it?’

‘Ronald? He’d a bit more sense than his cousin, as far as I know, and was master in his own house. He always looked the proper businessman, with his navy suit – rather the
style of your sergeant, there, but maybe a fraction taller.’

David Moore looked up and smiled to her in return for the perhaps unintended compliment on his appearance.

‘He’s not as tall as you, though, I don’t think, Inspector.’ Saying this, Mrs Wakeford permitted herself a little smile, too, recalling how McGillivray had hit his head
on her doorway when he first came in.

He understood what was amusing her, and thought ruefully that low-roofed cottages were hell when you were six feet four.

The woman continued with her descriptions of her neighbour’s relatives. ‘Ronald’s wife, Flora, was different altogether. She was never what you’d call elegantly dressed,
though her clothes looked very expensive. She was rather stout, and, with being so short, she was really quite dumpy. She let Ronald have his own way over everything, and never argued with him.
Mind you, I’m only going by what Janet Souter told me. I didn’t know them myself, except to see them coming and going.’

She stopped speaking when McGillivray stood up to help himself to a second cup of tea. ‘May I?’ he asked, holding up the teapot.

‘Oh yes, I’m sorry,’ she twittered. ‘I forgot to ask you. Go ahead, Inspector. There is plenty.’

Before she was finished, he was laying down the teapot again. ‘The two nephews and their wives came quite regularly to visit her, I presume?’ He added two spoons of sugar to his cup
before resuming his seat.

She nodded. ‘Yes, Ronald and Flora came every Saturday afternoon, and Stephen and Barbara came on Sundays.’ She was talking much more freely than she had done at first, and even
seemed to be enjoying it. ‘Not this past Saturday but the Saturday before, Janet told me that Ronald was furious because she wouldn’t lend him the money he’d asked for. I know she
was charging Stephen a high interest on what she’d lent him, because she told me that weeks ago.’

‘I gather from the way you’re speaking, that she took great pleasure in all this?’

‘She was a dreadful woman, with a cruel streak in her. Oh!’ Mrs Wakeford’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t be saying that, should I, when she’s just
been poisoned?’

The inspector looked sympathetic. ‘You can’t change your opinion of a person because she’s dead.’

‘No, I suppose that would be hypocritical. I must admit that I never liked her very much. In fact, there were times when I positively hated her, to be perfectly honest, and I think most
people in the village felt the same way. I was more or less accustomed to her, of course, and she
was
somebody to talk to, but . . . well, I was shocked at what she told me next.’
Mabel moved uncomfortably in her chair.