Authors: Doris Davidson
The local sergeant raised his brows. ‘So the nephews hadn’t put arsenic in her bins after all?’
‘If Janet Souter’s story was true, she must have disposed of the contaminated goods. Of course, Mrs Wakeford may have invented the whole thing herself, because the bag from the shed,
supposedly containing the arsenic, held only ordinary self-raising flour. God, what an involved business this is turning out to be.’ McGillivray scratched his chin.
‘Sir,’ David Moore began, ‘if the old woman was expecting her nephews to try to poison her, maybe she hid the arsenic and laid out the flour for them to use. The arsenic has
maybe nothing to do with the case?’
McGillivray snorted. ‘It has nothing to do with her death, but it sure as eggs is eggs has something to do with the case. I’d think that whoever actually killed her started the story
about the nephews, etcetera, to throw suspicion off himself, or herself, and the only person to speak about that was Mrs Wakeford, who says she got it from the victim herself.’
Sergeant Black looked worried. ‘You can’t possibly suspect Mrs Wakeford. She’s a proper, genteel lady, in the true sense.’ He stood up and pushed in his chair.
‘We’ll stop on for a while, Sergeant. I’d like to go over what we’ve got already.’
‘Yes sir. This room’s at your disposal whenever you need it.’ Black’s voice was rather cold. ‘I have to get back to my own duties.’
‘Of course. Moore and I’ll manage fine. Thanks.’
Ignoring the near slam of the door, McGillivray turned to his sergeant. ‘I think I’ll make a list of suspects. It helps my old brainbox when I see things written down in black and
white. See if you can find some paper, lad.’
David Moore started opening the drawers in the desk, and was successful at his second attempt. ‘There you are, sir.’ He took out several sheets of paper and laid them down.
‘I’ve been thinking. If the old lady had filled a plastic bag with flour, and the nephews had used that, thinking it was the poison, it would explain why there was only flour in her
flour bin, but . . .’ McGillivray screwed up his face, puzzling over it, ‘in that case, there should have been flour in her sugar bin. At least, according to what Mrs Wakeford told us
about the crumbs of toast.’
‘Mind you,’ he said, after a while, ‘if the ironmonger hadn’t vouched that this Davie Livingstone did give her some arsenic, I’d have thought it was pure
fabrication on somebody’s part. But she told all and sundry about it, so it must be true enough. But if she’d hidden the real stuff, where is it now?’
He stood up. ‘I think I’ll get the bobby to turn her shed inside out, to see if he can unearth it. I don’t like the idea of arsenic lying handy.’ He went to issue his
instructions, and returned almost immediately.
‘Now, let’s see what we’ve got, so far.’ Pulling his pen out of his pocket, he drew a sheet of paper towards him, and jotted down his headings. ‘Sus . . . pects and
Mot . . . ives.’ He lifted his head again, beaming. ‘All ready to begin.’
‘We haven’t many suspects yet, have we?’
The inspector tapped his nose with his pen. ‘Never say die, lad. We could surprise ourselves with what we come up with. Number One. Mabel Wakeford. Too vehement in her denials of any
friction with the deceased. Extremely flustered. Was first to mention arsenic and practically accused nephews before it was even found out that the old woman had been murdered. The question is,
why? And what reason would she have had to kill Janet Souter? Circumstantial evidence, but unknown motive.’
‘I don’t think she could have had anything to do with the murder, Inspector, and you offended Sergeant Black by suggesting it. But things look bad for her, I must admit.’ Moore
added the last few words reluctantly.
‘Number Two,’ McGillivray continued. ‘Grace Skinner. Seemed altogether too sure of herself, and omitted to mention their dog had been poisoned, presumably by deceased. Why? She
was quick enough to tell us other things Janet Souter had done to annoy them – little things, she kept emphasising. Now, I’m positive their dog’s death would not have been a
little thing to them, so – so that might be her motive for the murder.’ He scribbled down a few more words, ending up with a question mark.
David Moore shook his head, but said nothing.
‘Number Three. Violet Grant. Scared out of her wits, and knows something she’s not telling.’
‘She would have told you, if her sister hadn’t stopped her. And she might have cracked if you’d carried on questioning.’
McGillivray clicked his tongue. ‘No, I wanted them to feel safe for a little while longer. When the pressure’s off, people sometimes get careless and come out with more than they
mean to. Whatever it was that Mrs Grant wanted to say, it was probably just conjecture on her part.’
‘I suppose so, but she was positive Douglas Pettigrew didn’t kill Miss Souter. How could she have known anything about that?’
‘It’s been what she wanted to think, no doubt, knowing the boy quite well, but, if there’s more to it than that, we’ll sniff it out eventually.’
The young sergeant twisted his mouth. ‘And her motive would be the same as her sister’s – the dog?’
Nodding his head, the inspector continued with his list. ‘Number Four. Mrs May White. That young woman may be forward, flighty, and a nymphomaniac, but I don’t think she’s a
killer. She didn’t seem all that upset about the end of her affair with young Pettigrew. Still, one never knows.’
Moore laughed. ‘I’ve heard you saying, sir, never discount any suspect until they’re proven innocent.’
‘Right, lad. We’ll make a proper detective of you yet. On with the motley. Number Five. Young Douglas Pettigrew himself. We’ll need to have a chat with him soon. On the face of
it, he’s the most likely one so far, with his passion having been knocked on the head – or wherever.’ McGillivray grinned impishly. ‘And his father’s a
chemist.’
‘So he could easily have got hold of a hypodermic syringe and insulin.’ Moore looked enthusiastic.
‘Good lad. You’re on the ball. Number Six. Ronald Baker, the nephew. I did a bit of telephoning while you were out before lunch. His engineering firm’s on the verge of
bankruptcy and he’s in urgent need of a few thousand to buy equipment for a contract he hopes to land.’
Moore’s eyes lit up. ‘He had a motive, then. He’ll likely get all the money he needs now his aunt’s dead.’
‘Yes, I checked on that, too. Her estate is divided equally between the two nephews, and Martin Spencer, the old lady’s solicitor, told me that a considerable amount is involved. He
couldn’t say exactly how much, but he’s going to find out as soon as possible.’
‘Did he give you any idea of how much it would be?’
‘When I pressed him, he said it would probably run into five or even six figures.’
‘Wow!’ The sergeant was impressed. ‘And murders have been committed for a lot less than that.’
‘True, but it doesn’t automatically follow that Ronald Baker’s a murderer because he’s in desperate need of capital.’
‘No, sir, of course not, but he looks promising.’
McGillivray smiled sadly. ‘Number Seven. Stephen Drummond, the other nephew. His grocery shop is in none too healthy a state either, so he’s every bit as promising.’
‘Oh.’ Moore sounded crestfallen.
‘He was in worse straits some time ago, but he’d produced £20,000 from somewhere, and cleared himself. He said he inherited it from an old uncle in Canada, but there’s no
trace of them having any other relatives. The Thornkirk police checked up on that. And Ronald Baker didn’t receive any money at the time, which would seem odd.’
A puzzled look appeared on the young sergeant’s face. ‘But if Stephen Drummond got all that money, and put his shop back on its feet, he wouldn’t need to kill his aunt for
more, surely?’
The inspector nodded approvingly. ‘Unless she was the one who’d given him the two thousand, and was demanding repayment.’
Moore’s face cleared. ‘That could be it. She could have been badgering him for it, so he killed her.’
McGillivray smiled at his eagerness. ‘All supposition, of course, but we’ll try to get to the bottom of the mysterious benefactor when we go to Thornkirk tomorrow.’
A light tap on the door made him turn his sheet of suspects face down on the table. ‘Come in.’
A youth, about six feet tall, with fair hair standing out in spikes, positioned himself just inside the door. He fiddled with the zip of his leather jacket for a moment, then said, ‘Excuse
me, Chief Inspector? I’m Douglas Pettigrew.’
No flicker of the surprise he felt showed on McGillivray’s face. ‘Ah, shut the door, lad, and sit down.’
‘No thanks. I heard you’d been asking folk about Miss Souter, so you’ve likely been told what I said to her the other week.’ He looked uncomfortably from one to the
other, and, when no response came, he carried on nervously. ‘She was a bloody evil woman, and I hated her guts. She found out about May and me . . . Mrs White, I mean.’
‘The one who lives down the Lane,’ McGillivray said lightly.
‘Yes, and I’d been a proper fool over her, she was married and everything, but I thought she’d taken a fancy to me and I fell in love with her. Besotted with her, would be more
like it.’
He swallowed, and became so agitated that the inspector took pity on him and said, kindly, ‘I think you should sit down, lad, and tell us all about it.’
Douglas took the vacant chair and ran his hand over his hair. ‘It’s been a total mess. I thought she was serious, but I know now she was only having a bit of fun. At the time, I
thought it was great. This experienced woman, and she didn’t laugh at me for being . . . So I started staying all night. I went home about five in the morning, and if my Mum noticed my bed
hadn’t been slept in, I told her I’d been sleeping at my pal’s.
‘Mum and Dad didn’t suspect anything, till that old . . . till Miss Souter told them. She’d seen me going home one morning, and she collared me in the High Street and sneered
about May. I was so mad at what she said . . .’
‘You told her to mind her own bloody business,’ McGillivray finished for him, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘You know? I suppose a lot of folk heard me.’
‘You also said you’d “get her”.’ Moore had been looking back his notes to Violet Grant’s recollection of the incident.
The boy looked perplexed. ‘Get her? No, I told her I’d sort her out, but that was just . . . I wasn’t really going to do anything to her, I just wanted to stop her
interfering.’
‘You didn’t plan to finish her off altogether?’ The Inspector watched Douglas’s face whiten.
‘No, honestly. I know it looks bad for me, and I knew about the arsenic, everybody did, but I wouldn’t have poisoned her.’
‘Not even after she told your father about your nocturnal assignations?’
‘No, Inspector.’ His eyes met McGillivray’s squarely. ‘Dad was raging, of course, and told me to stay away from May’s house or he’d give me a leathering. Some
hopes he had of that. I could have stopped him with one hand tied behind my back. I would have defied him, I meant to, but my mum had a long talk with me later on and made me see I’d been
making a proper fool of myself. She said I wasn’t the first with May, and I wouldn’t be the last.’
McGillivray smiled. ‘A sensible woman, your mum. So you got over your infatuation?’
‘I was hurt at the time, but I calmed down. I never poisoned Miss Souter. To tell the truth, I began to feel sorry for her. A lonely old maid, getting her kicks from annoying other
people.’
‘Yes, she did seem to have a way of putting people’s backs up.’ Callum McGillivray leant his elbows on the table and pursed his lips. In a few seconds, he straightened up.
‘Thank you for coming to see me, Mr Pettigrew, and for explaining your situation. Have you any ideas as to who might have killed her?’
Douglas had risen to his feet and looked startled by the question. ‘N . . . no. I hadn’t even thought about it.’
‘No matter. Thank you again.’
When the door closed behind the boy, the inspector turned his sheet of paper over and picked up his pen. ‘Back to business, and back to Number Five. Douglas Pettigrew. Denies poisoning
victim, but had motive and possible opportunity at any time.’
‘Don’t you believe him, sir?’ The sergeant reddened at the look he received. ‘No, of course. Never discount a suspect till he can prove his innocence.’
McGillivray smiled grimly. ‘Never forget that, lad. He said he hadn’t poisoned her, but as you and I both know now, the old woman wasn’t poisoned. He had motive, opportunity,
and easy access to insulin and a needle, as you said yourself.’
‘So did lots of other people, I’d imagine. You don’t honestly think he did it, do you, sir? After all, he came here of his own free will.’
‘He could’ve been ferreting about to see what we’d found out.’ The inspector folded his list and placed it in his breast pocket. ‘You thought we hadn’t many
suspects, but there’s seven names on my sheet already, and that’s six too many.’
David Moore spent the next hour typing a detailed report of all that had transpired since their arrival in Tollerton that morning, while McGillivray made a few telephone calls checking on
Stephen Drummond’s mysterious windfall, with no success. Then he sat so deep in thought it appeared that he had fallen asleep, but he sat up alertly when the noise of the typewriter
stopped.
‘You know, Moore, if that arsenic hadn’t been dragged into it, I’d have gone about this investigation in a different way. I’d have concentrated on finding somebody with
easy access to insulin, and enough medical savvy to know the stuff would kill her. Not many people would know that.’
‘No, sir. Is there anybody who would fit the bill?’
‘The doctor, the chemist and his son are the only three who spring to mind, and I can’t think Randall had any cause to do it. The other two – well, Sydney Pettigrew surely
wouldn’t turn killer because an old woman knew his son was carrying on with a married woman? Douglas, now, is a different matter. His animal instincts were aroused anyway, by May, and, I
suppose, in an emotional state like that, he could easily be carried away by the desire to take revenge on Miss Souter for telling his father. But surely not in such a devious way?’