Jam and Jeopardy (8 page)

At last she was coming to the nitty-gritty, McGillivray thought, and smiled to make her feel more at ease.

She hesitated then said, in a low voice, ‘She said she’d made a point of telling Ronald and Stephen about the arsenic she’d got.’

Swallowing nervously, she went on. ‘As I told you, I was shocked at that, and I warned her she’d been stupid . . . she could be putting ideas into their heads, but she just
laughed
.’

Again, Mrs Wakeford paused, as if unwilling to say more. ‘Then she said she
hoped
they’d try to poison her.’

David Moore looked up from his note-taking with interest, but the inspector signalled to him with his eyes and he bent over industriously again.

‘I was worried about it for a while, but I came to the conclusion she must have gone out of her mind and was speaking a lot of nonsense. But after Stephen and his wife left on the next
Sunday – this past Sunday, the twentieth – she came in and said her nephews
had
tried to poison her. Both her flour and sugar bins had been tampered with.’

The two CID men glanced at each other, then McGillivray asked, ‘How did she find that out? Did she say?’

Mabel shook her head in doubt. ‘I don’t know if she was telling the truth, or if it was something she’d dreamt, or even made up to make me feel sorry for her.’

‘Let me judge for myself, Mrs Wakeford. What did she say?’

‘She said she’d put a crumb of toast on both bins, and the one on the flour had gone after Ronald had been on Saturday. She’d put on another one and the two crumbs had
disappeared after Stephen left on the Sunday. She said that both men had made an excuse to be on their own in her kitchen.’

She took a shivery breath and leaned back as if glad that she had got it all off her chest.

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ McGillivray wasn’t often surprised by any information he received, but he’d never heard anything like this before. ‘I’m sorry,
Mrs Wakeford. It just slipped out.’

‘It’s quite all right, Inspector.’

‘She was a devious one, wasn’t she, if she actually laid traps for her nephews?’

‘It seems like it, and she laughed about them doing it, and said they were going to be disappointed. She didn’t tell me why. But she did say she was looking forward to seeing their
faces the next weekend, this weekend of course, when they discovered that she was still alive.’

The inspector was silent for a moment, going over what he had just been told, then he leaned forward. ‘Just a minute, Mrs Wakeford. If Miss Souter said she knew about it, and didn’t
use the stuff, how do you think she died?’

She clutched at her pearls, and hesitated briefly. ‘I think she must have used some of it by mistake, before she threw it out, or whatever she meant to do with it. Her mind must have been
going mustn’t it, it she was laying traps for people? It’s too awful to think about, really, but she kept on about them having tried to poison her. She even said she was going to give
them some home-baked cakes the next time they came down, so that she could watch their faces. Of course, she didn’t live to carry that out, but she was glorying in the idea. A wicked, wicked
woman, Inspector.’

‘With a twisted mind, it seems.’ McGillivray ran his fingers through his short hair, each curl springing back into its original position.

‘But remember, Inspector,’ Mabel went on hastily, ‘she may have been imagining it all, or making it up out of spite. I told you she was a nasty person, and I just can’t
think that either Ronald or Stephen would have done anything like that. They looked such quiet men. And yet . . .’

‘And yet?’ McGillivray waited expectantly.

‘And yet, she’s dead, isn’t she?’ She buried her face in her hands.

‘Yes, she’s dead, Mrs Wakeford, but don’t upset yourself. We’ll find out who murdered her. Now, is there anything else you haven’t told us?’

‘No, that’s everything. Sergeant Black knew on Thursday that I was holding something back, and he made me tell him.’

‘You couldn’t have kept that to yourself, anyway. It would have preyed on your mind, and you’d have had no peace.’

‘It’s just that . . . I didn’t want to cast suspicion on Ronald and Stephen, when her story was maybe a pack of lies to land them in trouble.’

McGillivray smiled, and rose to his feet. ‘We’ll get to the truth, don’t you fret. If they’re innocent, they’ve nothing to fear. We may have to speak to you again,
Mrs Wakeford, but we’ll leave you meantime. Will you be all right?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ve got over the initial shock of her actually being poisoned. I’m quite strong, really.’

‘Good. We’ll see ourselves out, and thank you for talking to us so frankly.’

They left by the back door, and were walking down the garden towards the Lane, when Sergeant Black came out of Number Three. ‘Hop over the fence,’ he instructed. ‘I’ve
just told the two ladies here that you’d be calling. I think you should see them.’

He went over one fence, while McGillivray and Moore cleared the other one, and they met at Janet Souter’s door.

‘What d’you think so far?’ John Black asked.

The inspector turned to his sergeant. ‘Let’s hear you.’

‘Well, Mrs Wakeford seems to be sure about it being the arsenic,’ Moore began, pleased at having been consulted. ‘So it looks fairly certain that one of the nephews must have
succeeded in killing the old lady. But which one?’

McGillivray looked amused. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear, lad. That story takes a lot of swallowing.’

John Black scowled. ‘Mrs Wakeford wouldn’t lie, sir. She’s a pillar of the church, and works a lot for charity.’ He was obviously incensed at the idea of her veracity
being doubted.

‘They’re often the worst kind,’ McGillivray observed dryly. ‘But I didn’t say I thought
she
was telling fibs. It’s the dead woman’s story I find
hard to credit. Now, fill me in about these other ladies.’

When Mrs Skinner took them in, McGillivray recognised, immediately, the signs of fear in Mrs Grant, so he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m trying to fill in some
background. What type of woman Miss Souter was, that kind of thing.’

It was Grace who answered, quietly and deliberately. ‘She was difficult, disagreeable, quarrelsome, and constantly complained about the least little thing. Now she’s gone, my sister
and I will have peace to live our lives without her interference.’

Before he bent his head to the task of note-taking, David Moore noticed that Violet Grant was breathing rapidly, and had her eyes fixed apprehensively on her sister as if she were afraid of what
she was going to say and was willing her to tread more carefully. If they hadn’t been such genteel ladies, he could have believed that they had something to hide, but it was likely pure
nervousness on Mrs Grant’s part.

The inspector was admiring the forthrightness of the tall, thin woman sitting in front of him. Most females, when faced with a situation like this, wouldn’t have admitted so readily to bad
feelings about a murdered person, but this one exuded an air of confidence, a will of iron.

‘What sort of things did she complain about, Mrs Skinner? We must make a picture of Miss Souter’s personality, you see, to help us to find a reason for her murder.’

‘Yes, of course. I quite understand.’ Grace smiled. ‘They were trivial things, usually, just enough to niggle us. About our dog digging in her garden, for instance.’

McGillivray gave no indication that he’d seen Mrs Grant’s extreme agitation at this point. Her face had blanched and her hands were clutching at her skirt. ‘Does your dog often
go into her garden, Mrs Skinner?’

‘I’m sure she put out bones and things to entice him in the first place, then she started throwing stones at him, or even kicking him if she was near enough, so he hadn’t been
going there so much.’

Callum McGillivray shifted the focus of his penetrating gaze to Violet, whose cheeks suddenly flooded with colour. ‘What breed of dog is he, Mrs Grant?’

‘He was a Skye terrier . . . mostly,’ she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears. She fumbled for her handkerchief and wiped them away.

Her interrogator persisted, his training forcing him to pursue the important part of her answer. ‘Was? Your dog is no longer with you, I take it?’

Grace Skinner shot a warning glance at her sister, and spoke quickly, before Violet could reply. ‘Benjie died last week, I’m sorry to say.’

‘What was the cause of his death, ma’am?’ The inspector heard Mrs Grant draw in her breath sharply.

‘He contracted some kind of canine disease,’ Grace said, evasively.

Moore was surprised that McGillivray probed no further, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and Violet visibly relaxed at his next question.

‘What other complaints did Miss Souter make?’

‘She was offensive about my daughter’s caravan sitting in the Lane for a few days.’ Grace looked indignant even at the memory. ‘She said it obscured her view – yet
they were only here for two weeks every year.’

‘Not a very sound reason, then?’

‘Not really. It was just another excuse to find fault. Then she complained about my sister playing the piano on a Sunday, said it spoiled her afternoon nap.’

‘I only played sacred songs, or something quiet,’ Violet volunteered, unexpectedly. She seemed less afraid now, and watched, with pride, as McGillivray looked with admiration at the
old mahogany upright, lovingly polished to a high sheen.

‘I can’t remember everything,’ Grace continued, ‘for they were all rather trifling, but she was growing worse and we couldn’t have stood much more of it.’

‘I see.’ He placed his finger tips together, as if in prayer, and considered for a moment before he went on. ‘Did she ever speak to you about her nephews?’

‘She didn’t speak much to us at all, except to complain about something, and she didn’t discuss her nephews or their wives, but we saw them coming and going every
weekend.’ She shook her head as an unwelcome thought struck her. ‘You’re not thinking that one of them used the arsenic on her?’

‘It would seem the obvious conclusion to make.’

Violet gasped and jumped to her feet. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Inspector?’

‘No, thank you.’ McGillivray smiled politely. ‘Mrs Wakeford very kindly made tea for us when we were in there. Please sit down, Mrs Grant.’

Grace had clearly welcomed the diversion her sister had caused. She’d been rather shaken by the interview after all, and the respite gave her the chance to reassemble her nerves.
‘Was there anything else, Inspector?’ Her voice was steady.

‘No, I don’t think so, for the present.’ McGillivray stood up, then added, ‘Did Miss Souter ever tell you that somebody was trying to poison her?’

Grace looked startled. ‘Did she say that?’

A small sigh disturbed them, as Violet Grant slowly slid off her chair in a faint.

When Sergeant Black arrived back at the police station, he saw James Randall coming out of his surgery, on the other side of the High Street. ‘Good morning,
Doctor,’ he called. ‘Have you a minute? We’ve had the result of the autopsy.’

Randall frowned, but walked over. ‘You sound pleased about it. Don’t tell me it was a suspicious death after all?’

‘Not just suspicious, Doctor, murder!’ Black tried not to look too triumphant that the other man had been proved wrong. ‘The first examination showed a needle mark in the back
of her neck, so they sent the body to Aberdeen. The pathologist found that she’d been injected with insulin.’

‘Insulin? But she wasn’t a diabetic . . . Oh, of course. That’s why it killed her. By God! That was a crafty move on somebody’s part. It gives exactly the same symptoms
as a heart attack. Years ago it wouldn’t have been detected at all, but they’ve new methods of spotting things now. As far as I was concerned, she gave every appearance of having
suffered a coronary.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Black wore an expression which plainly said, ‘Pull the other one!’ and Doctor Randall was stung into saying, ‘If you don’t believe me, ask the
pathologist.’

‘It’s not me you’ll have to convince, it’s the Grampian CID men. They’re questioning the ladies at Honeysuckle Cottages at the moment but I’m sure
they’ll want to see you too.’

‘Fine by me, I’ll go up there as soon as I’ve made my first call.’ James Randall walked angrily over to his car. Almost fifteen minutes later, he’d arrived at the
top of Ashgrove Lane, and was sitting trying to make his mind up which of the two cottages to try, when two men came out of Number Three and made to go into the middle house.

He stepped out on to the road and called out, ‘Good morning. I’m Doctor Randall.’

The older, and scruffier, of the two hurried down the path. ‘Ah, I’m Detective Chief Inspector McGillivray, Grampian Region CID. I was wanting a word with you.’

‘So I believe. I was speaking to Sergeant Black, and . . .’

McGillivray turned round and shouted to David Moore. ‘Carry on in there yourself, Sergeant. I won’t be long.’ He waited until the young man disappeared inside before he turned
back.

‘Black tells me Miss Souter was killed by insulin being injected into her system?’ Randall was still smarting at the sergeant’s manner.

‘A clever dodge, wasn’t it, Doctor? Unfortunately for the killer, it can be detected in a post-mortem these days, otherwise it would have passed for a heart attack.’

Randall laughed ruefully. ‘I wish you’d tell Black that. His opinion of me hit rock bottom, because I’d sworn the old lady died naturally.’

‘Did you know her very well?’

‘Not really. She was one of that disappearing breed of women, strong as an ox, who never need the services of a doctor. I could safely say that I haven’t seen her more than five
times in the twenty-three years I’ve been here, and three of those were when she fell on the ice and broke her ankle. The last time I saw her was . . . oh . . . must be seven years
ago.’

‘Was that for anything serious?’

Randall laughed. ‘I called on her to tell her that, because she’d reached eighty, I’d be looking in from time to time to see that she was keeping well. She informed me, in no
uncertain terms, not to bother, and that she’d send for me if she needed me.’