A Fatal Flaw

by Faith Martin

  Beside her, she was aware that Sergeant O’Grady was a hiding a grin behind his hand.

  Jennings, perhaps seeing the sense in what she said, subsided somewhat. Although he was fuming, he did have to admit that it made a nice change for the old vulture to be giving someone else a headache and making their life miserable, instead of his own. To be fair, the coroner probably was the chap you wanted on your side when you wanted to get things done.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed gruffly. ‘It’ll be interesting to see if there was anything actually wrong with ’em, though,’ he growled.

  ‘Oh, sir?’ Trudy asked. ‘Do you have reason to suspect that there might be?’ she felt bold enough to ask. ‘Only before, you seemed to think that the possibility that there might be anything really dangerous going on at the beauty pageant was rather remote.’

  Jennings scowled fiercely, sensing criticism lurking somewhere underneath her mild and inoffensive tone, and he shifted uncomfortably on her seat. ‘That was before another contestant turned up dead,’ he had to admit flatly.

  For a second, Trudy felt her heart contract and she went cold. Her thoughts flashed to her recent, newly-made friends. Who was it? Candace, who had been so pleased with her comic turn in the talent contest? Betty Darville, everyone’s big sister? Or the fiery and full of life Sylvia Blane?

  ‘Who…’ Trudy found her voice came out rather strangled, cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Who has died sir? And may I ask, how?’

  ‘Vicky Munnings was found dead this morning by her mother,’ Jennings said flatly. ‘The preliminary findings by our medico and forensic chaps say that she’d been dead since some time the night before. Apparently, yesterday was her day off work and her mother didn’t see her. She has some rooms of her own within the house, or some such nonsense. Until the post-mortem has been done the doctors can’t be sure, but they think she died of carbon monoxide poisoning. There was a heater in her room, one of those that uses a big cylinder of gas. They think it had a faulty valve or something.’

  Trudy leaned forward, her lips unknowingly parting as she looked intensely at the Inspector. The Sergeant, watching her, had to admit that the girl didn’t lack either intelligence, diligence or commitment. She was concentrating intensely.

  ‘They believe,’ Harry Jennings swept on, ‘that she probably died the night before last, in her sleep. So at least that’s something. The poor girl didn’t know anything about it and didn’t suffer. The canister of gas was empty when the technicians tested it, so they think it was probably only half-full or so when it developed the fault. The gas continued to leak all during the night and the next day, when the girl’s mother assumed she was out and about and enjoying her day off. Luckily, most of it had had time to dissipate somewhat during the next twenty-four hours, so that by the time the mother went into the room, only some remaining traces were left.’

  Jennings sighed heavily. ‘As it is, she inhaled some of it when she went in the next morning and found her daughter dead in her bed. But not enough to cause her any harm. She had a bit of a coughing fit, but she was able to stagger out and raise help from her neighbour. Her doctor has attended her, and she’s currently staying with the neighbour whilst we’re investigating at the house.’

  ‘Oh, that poor woman,’ Trudy said. ‘So that was why Vicky wasn’t at the dress rehearsal then? She was already dead!’

  ‘Yes. Naturally, this second death casts a different light on things,’ the DI continued briskly. ‘Mind you, there’s nothing to say that this isn’t still an accident.’

  ‘But sir, the coincidence of th—’

  ‘People do die as a result of faulty gas heaters, Constable,’ he reminded her sternly. ‘And there’s nothing to say that this isn’t still the case here. However’ – he held a hand up in a “shushing” gesture – ‘in light of the fact that another girl from the same beauty contest has also died in… well, ambiguous circumstances… I’ve come around to yours and Dr Ryder’s way of thinking, and am inclined to think this business needs further action. Certainly a more rigorous – and routine – proper police investigation.’

  Trudy blinked, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed by this announcement. At least the DI was taking the whole case more seriously now. But it was beginning to sound as if her days undercover were going to come to an end. Worse still, she suspected that she might be about to be reassigned. When it came to ‘proper’ investigation, she was sure the DI didn’t have one probationary WPC in mind.

  The sheer frustration of it all made her want to scream, but of course, she did no such thing. Instead, she set her mind to thinking of how she could stay involved in the subsequent investigation.

  ‘To this end, I’ve asked the Sergeant to take over the running of the case,’ the DI said flatly.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Trudy said smartly. ‘Sir, I’d like your permission to carry on playing my role at the theatre. As a “contestant” the girls are more likely to talk to me and tell me things. Things they might not tell the Sergeant here, or someone in uniform.’

  Jennings sighed heavily and glanced at O’Grady. ‘Well, Sergeant – do you have any objections?’

  To Trudy’s immense relief, the older man was already shaking his head. ‘No, sir. I think WPC Loveday is right. As you know yourself, witnesses very often get scared when they see a police uniform. Confidences are seldom given when every word they say is being written down in a notebook. If something sinister is going on with this beauty contest… well, it’s happening to a bunch of young women. So it makes sense for the constable here to stay undercover. She’s far more likely to find out stuff than we are.’

  Trudy could have kissed him. (But again, she did no such thing!)

  ‘But if there is a killer lurking about, or even just a nasty prankster, I think we need to take steps to make sure nothing happens to our officer,’ Sergeant O’Grady added, which tempered Trudy’s relief and joy somewhat.

  She regarded him uncertainly. Why did she have the sudden feeling that she wasn’t going to like where this was leading?

  Jennings nodded. He could just imagine the bad press – not to mention the ire of his superiors – should something fatal happen to a young woman police constable.

  ‘But, sir, I can look after myself,’ Trudy began, only to realise, furiously, that neither man was taking the least bit of notice of her.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Jennings said to O’Grady. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, sir, I think we need to keep an official presence at the theatre as well, whenever this pageant is holding its rehearsals. Someone fit and strong and in uniform – someone that WPC Truelove can rely on and call on for help, if she finds herself in any difficulties.’

  At these words, Trudy felt her heart plummet. For she could already guess what was coming next.

  ‘Yes. PC Broadstairs should fit the bill,’ O’Grady said complacently.

  Trudy bit back a groan.

  Rodney Broadstairs was the station’s blue-eyed boy. A big-headed, bone-headed, good-looking buffoon who thought he was every girl’s dream. He’d be like a kid in a sweet shop, surrounded by women in bathing costumes! And the thought that he would get to watch her in her bathing costume didn’t bear thinking about!

  She’d never live it down.

  Trudy could have wept.

  ‘Of course, there will have to be another inquest on this Munnings girl,’ the DI ruminated, then looked at Trudy severely. ‘And this time I think we’ll have to make sure it’s another coroner that hears the case.’

  Instantly Trudy opened her mouth to object, knowing how irate Clement would be when he learned that he was going to be deliberately kept out of things, but again, her superior officer swept aside any of her entreaties before she could make them.

  ‘After all, it was Dr Ryder who insisted on initiating his own investigation into this matter, so he can hardly be called objective now. No, he’s bound to have some preconceived ideas about this latest death, and we simply can’t
have a coroner’s court presided over by someone who is biased. I’m sure everyone will agree on that,’ he added tellingly.

  Trudy flushed but remained silent. She could, reluctantly, see that he had a point, and that the powers-that-be would agree with him.

  But she had no doubt that Dr Clement Ryder would have something to say about it when he was told that he couldn’t oversee the inquest into Vicky Munnings death. And she only wished she could be a fly on the wall when he did it!

  Chapter 23

  The theatre that night, unsurprisingly, was buzzing with the news of Vicky’s demise.

  When Trudy arrived, most of the girls, both of the Dunbars and Dennis Quayle-Jones were clustered together in the middle of the stage, arguing about something, and she didn’t have to listen long to find out what it was all about.

  Should they call the beauty pageant off, or not?

  The leading proponent for cancelling the show, funnily enough, was the theatre owner, which Trudy found a little odd. Wouldn’t that mean he would lose a considerable amount in revenue if the show didn’t go on? ‘I’m just not sure if it’s in good taste to continue any further,’ the actor-manager said clearly, his trained voice easily rising above the babble of the others. ‘After all, that’s two of our young ladies hors de combat as it were. Don’t you think it’s just a teeny bit insensitive to carry on?’

  This comment caused a slight pause in the hubbub. Nobody wanted to be considered lacking in sympathy for Vicky and her family, and a certain sense of uneasiness and embarrassment snaked through assembly.

  Robert Dunbar sighed heavily. ‘Well, naturally, I don’t want our customers to think we’re being hard-hearted,’ he began uncertainly, and it took Trudy a confused moment to realise that he was thinking and talking about the people who bought his line of honey and jams.

  ‘I agree,’ Christine said quickly – very quickly. ‘The whole point of this contest is to bring our products to the notice of a wider buying public. But that’s no good if they associate our honey with something… well… tragic. I think we should just forget about the whole thing.’

  At this, some of the girls looked at one another sceptically. Apparently, they all thought that her reasons for wanting to cancel the show had nothing to do with public opinion, and far more to do with finally having an excuse to keep her husband away from pretty young girls.

  Trudy wondered if Grace was right to be so sure that Christine Dunbar was the prankster.

  She’d discussed Grace’s fears, among other things, with Clement Ryder that afternoon. She’d also spent her lunch hour in the coroner’s office warning him that moves were afoot to keep him from presiding over the Vicky Munnings case, and bringing him up to date on everything else that she’d learned that morning.

  As expected, Clement had been furious to think of the Munnings case going to one of his colleagues, but once he’d made some phone calls – and for once, been unable to get his own way – he’d calmed down in a surprisingly short time.

  He’d then told her that fighting a losing battle was pointless, and it was far better to keep your powder dry for the battles you could win. And, as Trudy had pointed out in consolation, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have enough things to keep them busy.

  Surprisingly, he hadn’t seemed to give Grace’s revelations that much credence, pointing out that she hadn’t actually offered them any sort of proof of Christine Dunbar’s involvement. Now she looked around to see if Clement was at the theatre, but couldn’t see him. Perhaps none of the judges had been called in for that night?

  ‘Well, I for one, think that we definitely should carry on with the contest,’ Caroline Tomworthy’s clear voice rang out, and she was quickly backed up by most of her fellow contestants.

  ‘So do I!’ Sylvia Blane said. ‘I want my shot at that Miss Oxford title. And I don’t think Abby or Vicky would mind! They’d want us to carry on.’

  Trudy wasn’t quite sure how true that might be, and Sylvia was probably being less than candid with her assessment of her fellow competitors’ largesse. Or was she just getting cynical? Perhaps the two dead girls really wouldn’t have begrudged the rest of the girls their shot at ‘fame’ and a modest fortune.

  But the other girls fastened on eagerly enough to this somewhat questionable premise.

  ‘Yes, it seems a shame to stop now,’ Betty Darville said, a little less certainly. And Trudy noticed that Candace and one or two others, made no comment at all. Perhaps they were actually considering pulling out of the competition? Clearly, some of the girls were more scared than the others, and for a while the debate continued.

  Suddenly Trudy was distracted by the sight of Rodney Broadstairs swaggering down the centre aisle of the seating and coming to a stop in front of the stage. Not quite six feet tall, he removed his helmet, showing off a head of full blond hair, and grinned up at her.

  Square-jawed and classically good-looking, with big blue eyes, it didn’t take long for the other girls to notice him.

  When they did, the conversation faltered.

  ‘Hello there, ladies,’ Rodney called up. ‘I’m PC Broadstairs. I’ve been assigned to keep you all company for the duration,’ he declared confidently, his eyes moving from one pretty face to another.

  Trudy gave a mental groan, and bit back the urge to kick his shins. No doubt he was wondering which lucky lady he would try and woo first. She only hoped that all of them had more sense than to fall for his obvious charms. He was known at the station for being a bit of a love-’em-and-leave-’em type.

  ‘See, we now have a police presence.’ It was, not surprisingly, Caroline who again picked up the baton and ran with it. ‘Nothing can go wrong now. Whoever’s been playing these silly pranks will have no choice but to stop it or risk getting caught.’

  There was a vague murmur of happy agreement that helped to swell Rodney’s head even more, for he again grinned as dozens of thankful female eyes turned his way. He gave a brief bow.

  Trudy felt vaguely nauseous.

  Then she wondered. Why was Caroline Tomworthy, of all of them, so determined to carry on? More than all the others, she seemed hell-bent on making sure the show continued. Was she so confident that the pranks that had been played at the theatre were totally unrelated to the death of the two girls? In which case, what did she know that nobody else did? Or did she simply not care if they were? And if that was the case, why was she being so brave? Did she think she was immune from being a third victim?

  ‘Perhaps we all need to calm down and think things through.’ Robert Dunbar tried to take back control, but nobody now seemed willing to listen.

  In truth, he wasn’t sure if stopping the contest was the best thing to do. Surely doing so would only bring more unwanted attention to the beauty pageant? If they pulled out now, would it send the message to the press that he did think the deaths of the two girls were down, in some way, to the Miss Oxford Honey contest?

  After all, the death of this girl Vicky Munnings sounded like a very sad, but simple, accident – and one that happened often enough. You could open a newspaper any day and once or twice a year read about how people were found dead in their houses due to faulty gas heating. Nobody suspected foul play then, did they?

  And at Abigail Trent’s inquest, no real connection was made to the beauty contest either. Oh, some newspaper articles had been a bit snide, saying that if she hadn’t been entered, she wouldn’t have been looking for herbal remedies to give her an edge over her competition. But he’d been sure that most right-minded people wouldn’t blame them for that!

  But the publicity might turn bad with this second death. The press could be so silly sometimes, inventing stuff to sell papers. Look at all that ‘curse of the pharaoh’ stuff they came up with back when Howard Carter found Tutankhamun’s mummy!

  The last thing he needed was for Dunbar Honey to be associated with a curse in the minds of the public.

  On the other hand… handled right, could this turn into a goldmine for him? If
only…

  Trudy noticed that most of the judges had now arrived – including Clement. She backed away as the debate continued to roar around her, and went to meet him.

  ‘I see things are heating up,’ Clement said wryly.

  ‘I know. I’m worried they might call the whole thing off. And then we might never get to the bottom of things,’ Trudy said worriedly.

  ‘Never mind. Perhaps my news might help calm the nerves,’ Clement said, somewhat mysteriously, and walked onto the stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please, your attention,’ he said, not particularly loudly, but such was his strong personality that everyone fell obediently silent.

  ‘As you know, I was asked to have the contents of a box of chocolates, sent to this theatre last night, analysed.’

  The Dunbars, who hadn’t been informed of either the mysterious box of chocolates, or the request for the coroner to get its contents checked, looked at one another in surprise, as did several of the judges, who also knew nothing about it.

  But the majority of the contestants suddenly perked up, and listened intently – as did Trudy, who was feeling a little miffed that the coroner hadn’t told her first!

  ‘I can tell you now that nothing deadly was found in any of the chocolates,’ Clement said, and Trudy, along with everyone else, felt her shoulders suddenly loosen. Until then, she hadn’t realised just how tense she’d felt.

  There was a general susurration of relief that swept across the stage, and several of the girls began to smile and even laugh.

  ‘However,’ Clement swept on, and again the stage became deadly quiet. ‘We did find traces of a laxative in all of them. So clearly, someone was playing a trick on you.’

  In the silence, it was yet again Caroline Tomworthy’s voice that spoke up. ‘But only a trick! A silly little trick. I for one won’t let someone with a warped, schoolboyish sense of humour spoil the contest for us. Why should they? Right, girls? We want to carry on, don’t we?’