Authors: Doris Davidson
The service was quickly over, with no lengthy eulogy in praise of the deceased. In fact, there was only one good thing that Adam Valentine could find to say about her. ‘Miss Souter was a
regular churchgoer who hardly ever missed a Sunday, and she responded to every appeal put out.’
John Black tried not to smile as he recalled the young constable’s remark on the evening the murder was discovered, about her trying to buy her way into heaven, and held his head down in
case anyone had noticed his flicker of amusement. Fortunately, the minister began his final prayer at that moment, so no one was any the wiser.
When the funeral service was over, McGillivray saw that Ronald Baker was deep in conversation with the solicitor – finding out about the will, probably – but eventually the few
mourners dispersed.
Back at the police station, the inspector sat down at the table in the incident room, and accepted with gratitude the cup of coffee PC Paul brought through. Then he and Moore got down to the
business of making up their report of events over the past two days.
While the young sergeant typed it out officially, Callum McGillivray fruitlessly searched for inspiration to help him solve the case. He could see no light at the end of the tunnel, however, and
was glad when Moore said, ‘That’s it finished.’
‘I noticed the two nephews and their wives didn’t make for home when everything was finished,’ he remarked, idly.
His sergeant smiled. ‘Hot-footing it up to Janet Souter’s house, I’d imagine, to fight over her belongings.’
McGillivray chortled. ‘Oh to be a fly on the wall. I can just picture the bickering that’s going on there right now. I’d better go and see what’s happening. Heated
arguments often reveal secrets unintentionally.’
The telephone rang, and he picked up the receiver, still laughing. ‘McGillivray . . . Yes? . . . What? . . . You’re there now? We’ll be with you as soon as we can.’
He turned to Moore. ‘Things are moving now, with a vengeance. That was Spencer. His wife’s in hospital and the doctors say it’s arsenic poisoning, the same as Mrs
Grant.’
‘Good God! Why on earth would anybody want to poison Spencer’s wife?’
The inspector, on his way to the door, stopped to tell John Black about this latest development, so Moore went past him to start up the car.
‘There’s more twists in this case than a bloody spiral staircase,’ McGillivray muttered as he settled into the passenger seat.
Martin Spencer was pacing the corridor outside the emergency ward when they arrived at the hospital. ‘Oh, Chief Inspector, this is really terrible. I got home from the funeral to find
Irene in agony, so I called an ambulance, and the doctor told me later that it was arsenic poisoning. If I’d gone back to the office instead of going straight home, she could have been dead
by now.’
His anguish made McGillivray say gently, ‘I’m very sorry about your wife’s trouble, Mr Spencer, but what made you phone me? Why not the Thornkirk Police?’
‘It was another poisoning. It must be connected with the other two, so I want to find out who’s responsible. Miss Souter died, but her next-door neighbour recovered and I hope Irene
does too.’
‘I certainly hope she does too, and I’m doing my best to find out who’s responsible. I’ll have to find out if your wife has eaten anything which you didn’t have,
and work from there. Can you remember about that?’
‘We’d exactly the same for breakfast and lunch. I normally have a quick snack at the café round the corner from my office at lunchtime, but I went home today because I’d
forgotten to take my black tie with me, for the funeral. Mid-morning would have been the only time Irene could have had anything different.’
‘When you’re allowed to see her, ask her what she had. It’s very important. We’ll wait here with you.’
The solicitor sat down on the wooden bench and leaned forward with his hands between his knees. ‘I can’t think what anybody had against Irene, and she didn’t know a soul in
Tollerton.’
‘She’d never met Miss Souter, or her nephews?’
‘Never. She’d no part in my work at all, and I’d never met the nephews myself until this afternoon.’ The approach of a doctor made him jump to his feet. ‘How is
she?’
‘Your wife’s going to be fine. You may see her for a minute, but remember she’s still very weak.’
The two men disappeared into the ward, and McGillivray looked quizzically at Moore. ‘How did he know Mrs Grant had been poisoned?’
‘I suppose Ronald Baker could have told him that Janet Souter had been poisoned, and the doctor here might have told him about Mrs Grant.’
‘That’s probably right.’ The inspector screwed up his face in concentrated deliberation. ‘This arsenic’s a real bugger.’
When the solicitor came back, he said, ‘The only thing she ate was a piece of sponge cake she baked herself a few days ago.’
McGillivray frowned. ‘Curiouser and curiouser. I’ll need a sample of it, for testing, I’m afraid. Do you need a lift home?’
‘Thanks, I was wondering which bus I’d have to take. I came in the ambulance with my wife, you see.’
When the car drew up outside his house, he said, ‘If you’re coming in to get a bit of that sponge, you may as well have a bite of dinner. I’d be glad of the company.’
It was wearing on for eight o’clock, and the two detectives had eaten nothing since lunchtime, so this was a welcome invitation and McGillivray accepted gratefully.
An appetising aroma of roast lamb met them when the front door was opened, and Spencer led them into a room gleaming with chromium and pine.
‘We usually dine about seven or half past, because I’m often quite late in finishing, so the meat shouldn’t be too dried up. Irene’s a great believer in long, slow
cooking. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen?’
McGillivray smiled. ‘As long as it’s food, I don’t mind where I eat.’
The solicitor carved the lamb with the touch of an expert, and dished it up along with the roast potatoes, sliced green beans, carrots and peas that had also been cooking in the oven.
‘I’m sorry I can’t make mint sauce, but . . .’
‘Don’t worry about that. This looks fit for a king.’ The inspector lifted his knife and fork eagerly. ‘Mmmm,’ he said, with his first mouthful, ‘it
is
fit for a king.’
Enjoying the delicious repast, they ate in silence, then Spencer stood up. ‘I’ll take you through to the sitting room, gentlemen, it’s more comfortable for you to sit there
while I organise some coffee.’
The large, beautifully furnished room he showed them into was already warm, and he motioned to them to be seated, then went back to the kitchen to attend to his duty as a host.
David Moore sat down, then hoisted himself further back, and was delighted when he discovered it was a reclining chair. Lying back, he stuck his legs out in front of him. ‘This is the
life, eh, Inspector?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed McGillivray similarly angled. ‘I could get used to this.’
The solicitor returned, beaming. ‘That’s the percolator filled and gurgling, so we’ll have our coffee shortly. Would you like a drink while we’re waiting?’
The inspector would indeed have enjoyed a tipple after such a satisfying meal, but he thought it wiser to decline. ‘It’s very kind of you, but we’ll just have the coffee,
thanks.’
‘Just as you please. Sit there and I’ll bring through the sponge that Irene made.’
When the plastic cake box was placed in his lap, McGillivray lifted the lid. A good-sized wedge had been cut from the tempting round of sponge, oozing with cream and jam. He halted as he was
replacing the cover. ‘Just a mo! That’s home-made raspberry jam, isn’t it? Did your wife make her own jam?’
Spencer looked bewildered. ‘No. We hardly ever use jam, and she said it wasn’t worth the effort. I got a jar from Miss Souter when I was there, last Monday, to be exact, and Irene
baked the sponge to use some of it up.’
David Moore saw that the Inspector’s bushy eyebrows were quivering. This was a definite tie up with Violet Grant’s pancakes and jam.
McGillivray said, ‘I’ll take the jam, too, if you please.’
‘Certainly. Do you think that’s where the poison is?’
‘In Mrs Grant’s case it turned out to be in raspberry jam, but I don’t know yet if her jar came from Miss Souter.’
‘It must be the work of a maniac. Janet Souter would never have given away the jam if she’d known there was arsenic in it.’ Martin Spencer went back to the kitchen and returned
in a moment with a half-used jar. ‘Here you are, Inspector, and I hope to God you catch the murderer quickly.’
‘So do I,’ the inspector said in heartfelt tones. ‘Just for the record, can you tell me why you went to see Janet Souter last Monday?’
‘She wrote asking me to call as she wanted to make out a new will.’
‘Aha!’ McGillivray jerked up suddenly and his feet fell to the floor as the footrest disappeared under the chair. ‘Did she cut her nephews out?’
‘No. When I went there, she told me she had changed her mind again and was leaving her nephews as her beneficiaries after all.’
Before they left Thornkirk, McGillivray made Moore take him to the police station, where he left the cake tin and the jar of jam to be tested. ‘I want the result pronto, if not
sooner,’ he told the sergeant on the desk.
It was after nine thirty when they drew up at Tollerton police station, and Constable Paul told them that Sergeant Black had gone off duty at nine. ‘But he lives next door, if you want to
see him.’
‘Thanks. We may as well pop in for ten minutes or so.’
Between sips of Glenfiddich, with very little water added, McGillivray recounted the details of their visit to Thornkirk, while John Black listened with interest.
David Moore paid little attention to the conversation as he was rather discomfitted by Black’s appearance. The local sergeant was sitting in front of a roaring fire with checked bedroom
slippers on his feet, and his uniform jacket had been replaced by an old red pullover. His grey hair was tousled and falling over his eyes, and his face was as red as his jersey, probably as a
result of having had several drinks before the detectives arrived. He looked very different from the official, slightly officious, Tollerton police sergeant.
Moore shifted his gaze, met the amused eyes of Mrs Black and coloured, realising that she knew what had been going through his mind. He looked away in confusion, and concentrated on what was
being said by the other two men.
Callum McGillivray was speaking. ‘You know, this case is like a flaming maze. We think we’re on the home stretch, then another path opens up or comes to a dead end. It’s this
business of the two actual poisonings that’s the devil of it. I’m beginning to doubt if they’ve anything to do with the murder at all, but I can’t figure either of them
out.’
Black shook his head in sympathy. ‘I’m glad it’s not up to me to unravel it, that’s all I can say.’
Tuesday 29th November, morning
‘Oh! It’s you, Inspector.’ Violet Grant looked startled. ‘What . . . ? You’d better come in.’
McGillivray smiled, and motioned to David Moore to follow him. ‘Thank you. I hope you’re quite recovered now?’
Violet gave a tremulous smile before she walked ahead of them. ‘It’s the inspector again.’ She hovered beside her sister, leaving her to deal with the unexpected visitors.
Grace Skinner remained seated at the kitchen table. ‘Good morning. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company at this early hour?’
The calculated flippancy was not lost on McGillivray. It was a common enough reaction when guilty people tried to cover up their nervousness, but also sometimes with innocent people
unfortunately. ‘Good morning, Mrs Skinner. I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I won’t bother you long.’
‘It’s quite all right, and, before I forget, I must pay you back the money you lent me.’ She turned round and lifted an envelope from a shelf on the kitchen cabinet. ‘It
was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.’
Highly embarrassed, he placed it in his breast pocket. ‘Thanks. Now, will you please tell me where you obtained the raspberry jam that Mrs Grant used on her pancakes?’
‘That’s easily answered. Janet Souter handed it to me over the fence the day after we found our beloved Benjie’s dead body in her garden. She said it was to compensate us for
our loss. She hadn’t realised that the poison she laid out to kill the rats would kill our dog as well. She had the gall to say she was sorry. Old hypocrite! She meant to do it.’
She had told him the truth about the dog’s death at last, but the inspector let it pass without comment. ‘Why didn’t you tell us before that the jam came from her?’
‘I don’t know. I never thought about it, I was so worried about Violet.’
‘It may interest you to know that the arsenic was contained in the jam.’
‘Good gracious!’ Violet clutched at the edge of the table. ‘Do you mean she was trying to kill us as well as Benjie?’
‘We’re not sure of that, Mrs Grant. Someone else may be responsible for adding the stuff to the jam, with the intention of killing Miss Souter herself. The thing is, she also gave a
jar to her solicitor, whose wife has been affected in exactly the same way as you.’
‘What does it mean, Grace?’ Violet appealed to her sister.
‘I’m sure I don’t know. Do you, Inspector?’
‘Not yet, ma’am, but we’re doing our best to find out.’
Violet Grant slumped into her chair. ‘You didn’t put it in the jam as well as the flour, did you, Grace?’ She stared accusingly at the other woman. ‘You should have told
me. I’d have known not to use it.’
‘Oh, Violet.’ There was no trace of reproach as Grace laid her hand over her sister’s.
The rather touching tableau gave McGillivray no satisfaction, and after a few minutes, he coughed discreetly.
Grace looked up at him, hopelessly. ‘I may as well confess, Inspector. I killed Janet Souter. She was an evil woman and deserved to die after what she did to poor Benjie. We went round to
her house on the Friday night when she was out, and I took some of the arsenic from her shed and put it in the flour bin, where I thought it wouldn’t be seen.’