Masters and Green Series Box Set

by Douglas Clark

  ‘Good. Is that all?’

  ‘You’ve been most helpful over the insulin. I wonder, could you give me some information about emetics. I know there’s ipecac, of course, but I seem to remember that it has a very bitter taste.’

  ‘Not the syrup, so much. You can buy that at any chemist’s. And though it is an emetic, it’s usually used for coughs. An emetic dose would have to be very large. Anything up to an ounce and a half.’

  ‘What other forms are there?’

  ‘You can get it in Dover’s Powders and various cough linctuses, but I don’t think they’d work as emetics.’

  ‘Is the syrup bought very often?’ Masters asked.

  ‘Fairly often. Sales are growing as a matter of fact. You see, certain authorities are now recommending that it should be kept in every household where there are children, so that if a child eats or drinks a poisonous substance, there’s a dose of ipecac handy. It is hoped that a large dose will make the child vomit before it even reaches hospital. If it does, it’s half the battle in putting them right.’

  ‘Are there any other forms—more concentrated?’

  Frane grimaced. ‘There’s the fluidextract. That’s the strong solution—fourteen times as strong as the syrup—from which the syrup is made.’

  ‘Is that freely available?’

  ‘There’s nothing to prevent a chemist selling it, but not many would stock it. Very few make up their own syrups these days; and I think if somebody were to ask me for fluidextract I should look sideways at them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s so bitter and potent. One or two drops could make somebody very ill. I tasted a little when I was an apprentice. Only a little, mark you.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was that sick I thought I’d have flung my pluck up. And the taste! The memory of it’s enough for me. You know how a bitter lemon tastes harsh and draws your mouth? Multiply it a thousand times and you get ipecac fluidextract.’

  Masters stood silent for a moment. Frane went on: ‘It’s no business of mine, but why questions about emetics?’

  ‘The girl was very sick. I just wondered if she could have been given something to bring it on.’

  ‘Not without her knowing. All the emetics are nasty tasting. Take common salt for instance. Think how hard it would be to disguise an emetic dose of that in anything short of a gallon of soup. It would be very difficult indeed to make anybody sick without them knowing.’

  ‘I see. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, Mr Frane.’

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t do more for you.’

  Masters smiled at the chemist, so sure of himself now that he was on his own ground. ‘You’ve done a great deal. All information—even if only negative—is useful. It stops us chasing hares and wandering off the main track. We’re grateful for even those small mercies.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. It all saves work. And talking of work, I’ve got prescriptions to make up.’

  ‘Of course. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  Green said, ‘That’s a new one on me.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘ “I thought I’d have flung my pluck up.” ’

  ‘New to me, too. But descriptive—if a little inelegant.’

  ‘Did you get anything from him—other than the information about the insulin?’

  ‘Perhaps. We shall have to see.’

  They turned into the Bristol. Tea was served in the lounge. Green poured. ‘D’you think anybody would mind if I took my jacket off?’ he asked, glancing round at several other people all engaged with toasted tea cakes and scones.

  ‘Not so long as you haven’t got braces on.’

  Green sat down in his shirt sleeves. The heat had not curbed his appetite. It was some minutes before his mouth was disengaged enough to make conversation possible. He then said, ‘Who’ve we got? Breese, Nurse Ward, Brian Dent. Anybody else?’

  ‘Why Dent?’

  ‘The pass key. You didn’t ask about it.’

  ‘You think it’s important?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Dent senior could have got at it as easily as his son.’

  ‘Maybe he could. But you can’t suspect him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He liked the lass.’

  ‘So did Brian. Enough to want to marry her. And his mother. She liked her enough to give her five hundred pounds.’

  ‘Yes. But you don’t give two people a couple of presents like a thousand quid and five hundred quid at tea time and then start bumping them off an hour or two later. So you can’t suspect the parents. It wouldn’t make sense.’

  ‘Perhaps not. Though I’d say it depends on the way you look at it. I wonder if Hill and Brant have had any luck?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Green wiped his mouth and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘Otherwise we’re in a bit of a hole. I’m beginning to think that I’ve never been so fogbound as I am in this case.’

  ‘Oh, surely!’ Masters said, handing his cup over for a refill.

  ‘It’s right. In fact I’m beginning to think the girl wasn’t seen off at all. She just died. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And I’ll bet what that chemist had to say made you think you were right. No chance of making her puke artificially. So she just took ill and died.’

  ‘She was feeling sick, did vomit. And her insulin was useless. And she died because of it.’

  ‘I know. The two sides balance out.’

  ‘They don’t. Her death is a positive fact. The fact that emetics are difficult to disguise is a negative point. She may not have been given an emetic. It was just a thought of mine.’

  ‘Quite a reasonable one,’ said Green graciously. ‘But how about this for a theory? Are you listening?’

  ‘With bated breath.’ Green was always anxious that nobody should miss his pearls. They were cast so rarely.

  ‘That carrying-case of hers. There was room for two bottles of insulin.’

  Masters nodded.

  ‘She must have taken two with her.’

  ‘Because there were two compartments in the case?’

  ‘No. Because her old stock was due to last until Saturday evening. So she’d take the last dose out of one bottle just before supper that night at the Dents’, and she’d have the new bottle with her as well just in case of accidents. Right?’

  ‘By the lord Harry I’d overlooked that.’

  Green smirked. ‘Well then, if the new bottle was mucked about with, why not the old bottle, too? That would mean she had useless insulin before supper. Without the insulin to counteract it the food made her feel sick. When she got home she started the new bottle. That was duff, too, so she grew worse and died. No emetic needed.’

  Masters began to fill his pipe. Green waited expectantly for comments. Masters kept him in expectation for some moments before saying, ‘You may be right, at that. Sisson should be able to tell us.’

  Green, slightly disappointed, said, ‘You don’t think much of the idea.’

  ‘I certainly do. So much so, in fact, that I shall proceed using your theory as a fact. It must have happened as you say. It’s a natural. But! And here you’ll remember better than I do what Sisson said about insulin-hunger—it takes a hell of a long time to come on. Now, Sally Bowker would be perfectly normal until seven or half-past at night. Then she had a useless injection. By eleven o’clock—less than four hours later—she wouldn’t be far gone. Nowhere near approaching a coma. So I still think she was given something that positively upset her, as well as having her insulin rendered useless. And I think the two combined killed her, where only one or the other might not have done.’

  ‘So my theory doesn’t help us on.’

  ‘It does, tremendously. It irons out one of my mental reservations. But I don’t think it will stand alone.’

  Green squeezed the teapot, draining the last trickle from the leaves. Masters knew he felt that his theory should have been receiv
ed with more acclaim. But what the hell! Green was paid for it. What more did he want? Medals?

  The two sergeants came into the lounge. ‘Order another pot, quick,’ Green demanded.

  ‘So’s you can have it?’ Hill asked. ‘I like that!’

  Brant sat down. ‘Any joy?’ Masters asked him.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘On either of them?’

  ‘We got a little on Breese to help confirm her story, and nothing to show she was lying. There’s not a sausage on Nurse Ward.’

  ‘Now where do we go for honey?’ Green asked.

  Hill joined them. ‘Why? What’s up? Case fallen through or something?’ he said.

  ‘Or something,’ Green answered. ‘We can’t get a lead.’

  Brant, through a mouthful of sandwich, said, ‘So we’ve started giving up in less than twenty-four hours now, have we?’ He looked inquiringly at Masters, who shook his head slowly.

  ‘Apart from seeing the Dents tonight, what are we going to do?’ asked Green.

  ‘I think I’ll go and see Hook,’ Masters said. ‘If somebody could drive me there.’

  Hook wasn’t at the Station. Masters and Hill found him at his home. He welcomed them warmly. Asked Masters for an account of his activities and conclusions, and declared himself satisfied, though it was fairly obvious from his manner that he had hoped for more startling revelations even at this early date.

  ‘What I really came for, sir, was to talk about the post-mortem findings,’ Masters said.

  ‘You’ve got the report. Slight traces of alcohol. No signs of any toxic substance in the body. No signs of stomach irritation. Serious lack of mineral salts, chiefly potassium, due to dehydration brought about by excessive vomiting.’

  ‘Who did the post-mortem?’

  ‘The pathologist at the hospital. He’s not a fool. He’s an able man.’

  ‘I’m sure he is, but I’ve known cases where sometimes some indication has been missed because the doctor wasn’t specifically looking for it. For instance, did he specifically look for traces of ipecac? Can he definitely state there were none?’

  Hook scratched his ear. ‘See what you mean. He’d explore for every poison he knew, but he might not test for emetics. That what you mean?’

  Masters nodded.

  ‘Best thing to do is ring him up and ask. Hang on a bit. I’ll call you to the phone when I get him. Name’s Heatherington-Blowers. Likes both barrels.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  Hook went to the telephone in the hall. Masters heard him dial and speak. Then he reappeared. ‘He’s on now.’

  Masters picked up the phone. ‘I’m interested in emetics, Dr Heatherington-Blowers. I was wondering whether you had tested for them in the post mortem.’

  ‘No. I’m inclined to think it would be a waste of time to do so, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Could you tell me why, sir?’

  ‘Because emetics are not usually metabolized. You know what that means?’

  ‘Absorbed into the living substance of the body?’

  ‘Roughly that. Of course some substances which are metabolized bring on nausea, but an emetic as such is usually an irritant to the gastric mucosa—stomach linings—to put it in layman’s terms. That’s what causes the vomiting. And if the vomiting is severe the emetic, being unmetabolized, is discharged from the body in the vomit. But had you any particular emetic in mind?’

  ‘I only know ipecac.’

  ‘Yes. That’s the most likely, but the dose would have to be a big one, and so I’m certain I’d have noticed if it had been given. You see, ipecac in a dose large enough to act as an emetic would also cause diarrhoea, and there was no sign of that.’

  Masters paused before replying. He was so long silent that Heatherington-Blowers asked, ‘Are you still there, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thinking.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You said that an emetic would be discharged in the vomit?’

  ‘Yes, almost certainly and in this case, almost entirely.’

  ‘Did you test the vomit by any chance?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t asked to, nor was I given a sample.’

  ‘But if she had been given an emetic there would be traces of it in the vomit?’

  ‘I should say so. But you’re too late. There is no sample. Never was as far as I know.’

  ‘There may be, sir.’

  ‘I understood the girl had vomited into the lavatory basin—however many times there was emesis—and had managed to flush it away. Very plucky young woman she must have been, because the amount she got rid of must have left her very weak.’

  ‘She certainly was plucky, sir, because we have found a floorcloth. It was hanging on the U bend behind the lavatory pan. And from the smell of it, she used it to wipe up vomit.’

  ‘You mean she may have splashed the floor and had enough hold on herself to clean it up?’

  ‘That’s my belief, sir.’

  ‘You may be right. Everybody feels a bit better—if only temporarily—after being sick. She may have mopped up during a short period of relief.’

  ‘Could that floorcloth be tested, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so. I’m not a forensic expert, you know, but Superintendent Hook could get it done, I feel sure. He’ll know the nearest forensic laboratory. Bristol, Birmingham maybe. Ask him.’

  ‘It couldn’t be done here?’

  ‘You mean you’d like me to try.’

  ‘If possible.’

  ‘In that case, my best bet is to ask the bacteriologist to assist. When can we have the floorcloth?’

  ‘Within half an hour.’

  ‘It’s Saturday evening. Wouldn’t tomorrow morning do? There’ll be a host of qualitative and quantitative analyses to be carried out.’

  And with that Masters had to be content. He promised to send the cloth to the hospital in good time for an early start.

  At dinner, Green asked, ‘So even Heatherington-Blowers has given you the thumbs-down sign, has he?’

  Masters was waiting for a steak. It was being grilled by a chef who was tumbling it under a lighted gas jet at the end of the dining-room. He said, peevishly, ‘It takes a season to do a bit of meat. I ordered a quarter of an hour ago.’

  ‘It’s a thick one,’ Hill answered. ‘Black as the ace of spades on the outside and bloody inside. Me, I prefer minute steaks, thin fillets, not rump or porterhouse uncooked and looking like the result of a pile-up on the M1.’

  ‘Shut up. I’ve got to eat that.’

  ‘Not “got to”, Chief.’

  ‘Never mind. You know what I mean.’

  The steak arrived.

  ‘Now you’ve got it,’ Green said, ‘perhaps you’ll tell us whether the pathologist was hopeful or pessimistic.’

  Masters helped himself to mushrooms. ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Judging from your attitude, he didn’t have to. You’re not hopeful. You’re crabby.’

  ‘Sorry. Perhaps I was. But I’m beginning to think I’ve no reason to be.’ He turned to Hill and Brant. ‘I don’t suppose Sally Bowker’s handbag or that little aluminium box have been tested for prints. I’d like that done tonight.’

  ‘We’ve all handled the box,’ Green pointed out.

  ‘I know. Pity. But it can be tested.’

  ‘What if she’s more than one handbag?’ Hill asked.

  ‘Try them all. And get a set of her own prints for comparison. There should be plenty of sets about.’

  Green said, ‘You’re letting that bloody steak get cold—if it was ever hot through.’

  Masters forked a piece into his mouth. ‘It’s a lovely steak. Just lovely.’

  They set out for the Dent house at a quarter to nine.

  Masters asked Brant, ‘How long is it going to take you to get those prints?’

  ‘Half an hour.’

  ‘Right. Come back here as soon as you’ve got them, and wait outside. We may be longer than you, but I’ll make it as
short as possible.’

  He and Green walked up to the Dents’ front door. It was still full daylight and warm. But not uncomfortably so, as it had been earlier in the day. The night-scented stock was perfuming the air beside the path, and the Livingstone daisies had closed up for the night. A midsummer evening. Not the time to be thinking of murder and hell-brews. Masters felt a surge of distaste for his job. He wondered what Green was thinking about.

  Brian Dent opened the door and showed them into the same sitting-room. Harry Dent was in dark grey trousers and a cream linen jacket. Mrs Dent was on the sofa with her feet up. She made no attempt to rise to greet them. Masters eyed her well. He felt she ran true to type. Blue-rinsed hair, an overpowdered face with sharp features. Shrewd eyes with wrinkled peripheries. Large dangling earrings in yellow metal and a long chain of the same material round her neck. The dress was thin wool—blue—cut square at the neck, with short sleeves. Her hands showed her age. On the third finger of her left hand she wore three rings. The nails were red and too long for Masters’ liking. Her stockings had the modern, anaemic white sheen; her shoes were blue suede with a large bow at the instep. She offered her hand. Masters would have preferred not to take it, but he did so, bowing slightly more in the effort to get down to it than out of courtesy.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Masters. We have waited for coffee until you came. Brian, darling, bring in the trolley.’

  When they had all been served, Masters began, ‘I’d like to learn exactly what Miss Bowker did and ate between teatime last Saturday and the time when she left here. But first one other minor point which concerns both you gentlemen.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Harry Dent said.

  ‘The master key to Wye House. It is, I understand, in your possession.’

  They both stared at him for a moment. He watched them closely. They didn’t appear to be following the drift. ‘Anybody with a master key to the block could have entered Miss Bowker’s flat at will.’

  ‘What for?’ Brian Dent asked.

  ‘To doctor her insulin, maybe.’

  ‘Are you accusing us of entering her flat?’ Harry said angrily.

  ‘No. I merely want to satisfy myself that the key was not used.’

  ‘You must see that a spare key could be important,’ Green added.

  Brian Dent looked at his father, who said, ‘Our key wasn’t used, either by Brian, myself or anybody else.’