PRELUDE TO MURDER: A Rex Graves Mystery

by C. S. Challinor

  Rex nodded in understanding. Furthermore, he could see no reason for Daniel to bump off his elder brother and his sister-in-law who both indirectly contributed to his salary. Nor did the artistically-inclined young man seem as though he had the temperament for murder, though Rex knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving.

  “Do you have any suspicions as to who may have killed Tom and his wife, assuming it was murder?” he asked.

  Daniel shook his head, pulling back in his seat while a girl in a long brown linen apron delivered his green tea. She served Rex his coffee and hot cross bun. “Freak accident is all I can come up with,” the young man said when she left the table. “Like I told the detectives, it’s possible my niece poisoned her parents by mistake.”

  “Hannah?” Rex asked in surprise. “She’s only, what, three?”

  Daniel fiddled with his wrist band. “She has a plastic tea service and likes to invite friends and grown-ups to drink juice with her in her Wendy house. She might’ve found the antifreeze and thought it was apple juice or something. After all, it’s green and tastes sweet.”

  “It’s a plausible enough theory,” Rex agreed. “But, if that’s the case, it’s lucky Hannah didn’t drink any herself.”

  “Too right. And people don’t always react to antifreeze immediately, so Tom or Lydia would’ve had time to replace it before they died, thinking maybe their spouse had used it and forgotten to put it away. I asked to borrow it once. It was kept high on a shelf in the garage, but Hannah is very nimble and incredibly sharp. She might have seen one of her parents taking it down. Most likely Tom, since he was handy with cars. Lydia didn’t much like getting her hands dirty.”

  “Do you know if the police have questioned anyone particularly closely?” Rex enquired, stirring sugar into his coffee, while Daniel squirted honey into his tea.

  “They questioned all the close friends and family members. Most had solid alibis, including myself. No one was at Tom and Lydia’s house that night until Natalie, my brother’s ex-wife, arrived to collect Devin. They were having a quiet Sunday evening in.”

  Since Rex was not investigating in an official capacity and didn’t want to alienate Daniel, he refrained from asking where he had been, but Daniel supplied voluntarily that he was at a pub with his mates.

  “What do you know about an Allison?”

  “Allison Wilkins in Accounting?”

  Rex nodded. “I’m assuming there’s only the one Allison who works in the accounts department?”

  “Yes, in receivables. I heard she and Rob Gladstone had private sessions in his office, and they were spotted in town together on occasion. This was before my time.”

  “She was Lydia’s predecessor, so to speak?” This according to Lydia’s diary.

  Daniel squirmed in his seat. “I feel awkward discussing my late sister-in-law’s affair, but, yeah, that’s what I heard. I don’t think Allison was heartbroken when it ended with Rob. She’s engaged to a stockbroker now, a really nice bloke. In fact, they were at the Rose and Crown the night of the poisoning. Keith and I were participating in a dart tournament, which started at six. Allison and some other people from work were cheering us on. We left the pub well after nine.”

  “How were your brother and Lydia getting along, if you don’t mind my asking?” Rex enquired, dismissing Allison as a crime of passion suspect, thanks to the alibi Daniel had furnished.

  “Okay, I think. I didn’t see Tom much outside work, except for family events. There’s eight years’ difference between us, and when he did pay attention to me growing up, it was mostly to bully me and play pranks on me and my friends. Once, he ripped the nylon strings off my guitar to use as fishing line. I was about eight and I remember crying. He backhanded me and called me a wimp. I kind of avoided him after that until he left for business school. He thought he could get away with anything, and mostly did. I don’t introduce him to any of my girlfriends now because he’s such a flirt and likes goading me.”

  In using the present tense, Daniel appeared to have forgotten his brother was dead. His fists balled tight on the table, while a bitter smile registered on his face. “He had to prove to himself he could get any female who walked within his line of vision, even if she belonged to me.”

  “I hope he showed more tact in front of Lydia,” Rex observed, tearing his bun apart.

  “Yeah. Maybe. Not sure she would have put up with it. Of course, her fling with my uncle could’ve been a way to get back at him. A huge slap in the face, that was.”

  “You say ‘fling.’ It wasn’t anything serious?”

  Daniel looked stunned, and then amused. “I wouldn’t have thought so. I mean, the bloke’s fifty-six. I know he thinks he’s all that and throws money about like confetti, but, no, I doubt it was serious.” Daniel chuckled wryly. “My dad went ballistic when he found out. Of course both Rob and Lydia denied it and said they were just working late on project deadlines. Dad told Tom to pay more attention to his wife or it would end up costing him dearly in a second divorce. I think that’s what Paris was all about. They went there a few weeks before they died, ironically enough.”

  Or not so ironic, Rex thought.

  “Look, I know what you said on the phone about sidelining in murder cases, but why the interest in ours? If it was murder…intentional, I mean, and not an accident?”

  “My fiancée knew them. She went jogging with Lydia. Helen. Helen d’Arcy.”

  Daniel continued to look vacant, so Rex whipped out his wallet and showed him a snapshot of his fiancée. He also pulled out enough money to cover the bill.

  “Oh, yes, I do know her. I mean, I’ve seen her a few times at their place.” Daniel checked his phone. “I should get going, unless there was anything else you wanted to ask me?”

  “No, not for now, anyway. And thanks a lot.”

  “No problem. Hope you solve the case. You’ve got my card, yeah? Just call if you need me.”

  “There is one other thing, actually,” Rex said as they both rose from the table. “Do you have the nanny’s number?”

  “Tracy’s?” The young man shook his head slowly. “I don’t. I didn’t know her that well.”

  They parted outside Dilley’s, and Rex sauntered down the High Street in search of a newsagent’s. He found one that sold humbugs, his sweet of choice since he had stopped smoking his pipe. Untwisting the wrapper, he popped the brown-striped confection into his mouth, savouring the peppermint taste of the shell before crunching through to the chewy centre. He spotted a florist and on impulse decided to buy a bouquet of pink and yellow roses for Helen. She truly was a patient woman, he thought with gratitude as he regained the Renault. An independent woman with many friends and varied interests, she did not place undue demands on his time or nag him about his fascination with murder cases. Carefully placing the flowers on the passenger seat, he eased out of the parking space and drove back to Barley Close in a content and carefree mood.

  Helen had not yet returned from her shopping trip to Westfield with her friend Julie from the school, so he put the roses in a vase of water and placed them on the kitchen table. While he awaited her return in the sitting room, he made notes in his legal pad under a section entitled, “Gladstone Case.” He recorded the resentment displayed by Daniel towards Tom, his apparently neutral feelings about Lydia, and how he suspected Hannah of playing with the antifreeze. When he later told Helen about Daniel’s tea party theory, she asked if antifreeze had been found in the toy cups.

  “I didn’t see anything about that in the newspaper articles or on the news,” she said. She deposited her purchases on the rug and took a seat beside Rex on the sofa.

  “Nor I, but does that seem to you like a plausible explanation for the double poisoning?” Rex asked. “Or was Hannah helped along by an adult? The antifreeze may have been administered over a period of time in Tom’s case, the cause of his mysterious illness, with a fatal dose at the end, which knocked out both parents at the same time. There’s been no mentio
n of Lydia getting ill prior to that.”

  “Devin could’ve just as easily put the antifreeze somewhere he shouldn’t. He’s eight, after all, and could have climbed up the shelf in the garage. And he was staying the weekend, wasn’t he?”

  “I’d forgotten aboot the lad, but aye, Natalie came to get him, didn’t she? That’s when she found the bodies. What if she suspected what had happened and rinsed out the cups before the police arrived? Perhaps that’s why she was reluctant to talk to us, because she was protecting her son.”

  Helen shrugged and nodded. “That sounds plausible. There was nobody else in the house that evening apart from the family.”

  “That we know of. Tracy wasn’t usually there on weekends. But a friend or family member could have popped by unnoticed by neighbours and not told the police. Perhaps they’re going with Daniel’s explanation that Hannah, or perhaps Devin, inadvertently poisoned their father and Lydia.”

  Helen pulled in her lips and thought for a moment. “What if Natalie didn’t want to share custody of Devin and wanted revenge on her cheating ex and his new wife?”

  “I know I called him a philanderer, but do we know for a fact he left her, and not the other way round?” Rex asked. “After all, she remarried and was on decent terms with them both—enough, anyway, to attend their parties.”

  “Funny how well everybody got on with each other, isn’t it?” Helen remarked. “But perhaps they put on a brave face for the sake of the children. What did you make of Daniel? Nice-looking young man, don’t you think? Doesn’t have his brother’s panache, though. Tom sort of eclipsed everybody when he was in the room. I wonder if Daniel resented it.”

  “I can’t say he seemed devastated over his brother’s loss. Or Lydia’s. But he came across as helpful. I liked him.”

  Helen rose from the sofa and picked up her bags. “I’ll just hang up these clothes in the bedroom and I’ll be right down.”

  “Did you get anything nice?” Rex asked, which he had to admit to himself was a nonsensical question, but he wanted to show interest and not seem as though he were completely consumed by the case.

  “Actually, yes. There was a sale at Debenhams. Julie made out like a bandit. And I may have found the perfect wedding dress.” Helen smiled and winked at him.

  “Cause for celebration.” Rex suggested they go out for a pub lunch in one of the neighbouring villages and take a long walk in the countryside afterwards. The rain had held off, which was unusual for March. The rest of the day he would stay off the case. In any event, there was no one left to interview until he met with Madame Mathilde the following weekend, and he had gleaned everything he possibly could online. He even resisted calling Cheryl to see if she had turned up anything new in Lydia’s diary.

  He would be seeing her next Saturday at the séance. She was desperate to find out what had happened to her late friend, as was he, and he was happy to pay the psychic her exorbitant fee. He began to look forward to the séance with much anticipation, along with a liberal dose of scepticism. Helen said at the very least it could be a hoot.

  Chapter 9

  Rex was busy at the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh during the week and consistently worked late in his chambers, not returning to his mother’s house in Morningside much before dinner time. After the meal, he would put in another hour or so of work on the documents he had brought home with him, and was thus able to clear his desk of the most urgent matters by Friday afternoon and catch the train back to Derby.

  Helen was waiting for him at the brightly lit Derby Midland Station wearing black leather boots beneath her tightly cinched raincoat. She beamed when she saw him enter the terminal.

  “Right on time!” she exclaimed as she hugged him. “You must be famished.”

  They decided to go to a popular steakhouse close by in the city. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.

  “Aye. Alistair sends his best.” Alistair Frazer was a legal colleague and close friend. “He wanted to know if we’ve set the date for the big day.”

  “Something we should try to settle on this weekend,” Helen said as they walked to the parking lot.

  The following evening, Rex waited with Helen in her living room for Cheryl and Madame Mathilde, who were due to arrive at six. He paced the carpet and thumbed the bowl of the pipe buried in his jacket pocket, a soothing mechanism he had adopted since he stopped smoking.

  “Sit down and have some wine,” Helen remonstrated. “You’re making me nervous. She rearranged the pink and yellow roses on the coffee table. “These haven’t lost their bloom since last weekend.”

  “Madame Mathilde sounded a bit flighty on the phone. I’m worried she might cancel at the last moment.”

  “It is the last moment, just about,” Helen told him. “It’s five to six.”

  Rex glanced at the mantelpiece, but couldn’t help consulting his watch to make sure the carriage clock showed the correct time. At that moment the sound of a car slowing in the street in front of the house sent him striding to the bay window. “It’s Cheryl,” he announced, seeing her white Volvo.

  Helen got up from the sofa to greet the young woman at the door. Rex heard amiable chatter in the hallway, and then Helen reappeared with their first guest, who carried a shiny red gift bag. He smiled and said hello while Helen poured a glass of wine and handed it to Cheryl.

  “Thanks, I really need this,” the younger blonde said, accepting the drink. “I so want to make contact with Lydia, but at the same time I’m scared to death.”

  “I know what you mean,” Helen said, conducting her to the sofa. “That’s lovely perfume you’re wearing.”

  “It’s Joie de vivre, Lydia’s favourite.”

  “Joy of living,” Helen murmured to herself. “How tragically ironic.”

  “I wear it to remember her by.”

  “Our Gallic psychic is late,” Rex declared from the window in a displeased tone. He highly valued punctuality and didn’t see that mediums should be excused, even if they could transcend time and space. “Wait,” he said. “She just pulled up in a Jag. She must be quite good at her job. I suppose we'll know soon enough.” But at least she had met Lydia and might have something useful to contribute from her ordinary powers of observation.

  Cheryl clenched her hands in her lap. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled.

  While Helen consoled her, Rex went to answer the door. He had expected a gypsy-type woman and was not disappointed, except that this psychic was well-heeled and soignée: Abundant dark hair to her shoulders that was glamorously streaked with silver, dangling jade stones in her ears, and eyes matching in colour… They exchanged pleasantries as he took her expensive faux fur coat. A silk scarf in myriad shades of green draped the shoulders of her black dress.

  “This way,” he invited, leading her into the sitting room in front of the curious gazes of the two women on the sofa. She exclaimed in delight upon seeing the roses. Rex made the introductions.

  Helen, remembering her manners, jumped up and extended her hand. “Enchantée,” she greeted the psychic.

  “Ah, vous parlez français?” Madame Mathilde said in polite surprise.

  “J’essaie,” Helen replied modestly. In reality, her French was quite good, as Rex had discovered early on in their relationship.

  The psychic turned to the younger woman. “You must be Cheryl,” she said, whether by deduction or divination, and pronouncing her name as Shereel.

  “So glad you agreed to come,” Cheryl said with a slight stammer and looking a wee bit pale, Rex thought.

  “Venez,” Madame Mathilde said kindly. “There is no need to be nervous.” She had perfect diction, with a distinct French accent. “You are Lydia’s dearest friend. You have nothing to fear from her spirit if she chooses to communicate with us.”

  “I brought a couple of her belongings, as you asked,” Cheryl said, dipping into the bag she had brought. She gave the clairvoyant the diary and also a cashmere cardigan with wide sleeves, fashionab
ly longer in the front than the back, which she explained Lydia had lent her.

  “Parfait,” Madame Mathilde said with satisfaction, taking the items.

  “Would you like some wine?” Helen offered.

  The Frenchwoman declined and requested herbal tea instead, which Helen went off to prepare while her guest wandered about the downstairs, seeking a suitable room for the séance. She selected the little-used dining room. “This will do very well,” she announced. She crossed to the buffet and took one of a pair of candelabras and placed it in the center of the table.

  Rex lit the white candles with a lighter kept in the top buffet drawer. “Should I switch off the lights?” he enquired.

  Madame Mathilde acquiesced with a nod of her chin.

  “Ehm, how does this work exactly?” he asked. “And what are we required to do?”

  “We link hands and focus on the dearly departed with welcoming thoughts in an effort to summon her into our circle.”

  “And then what?” Cheryl asked, eyes green and round with fear in her elfin face.

  “That depends. With the visions comes a feeling, sometimes calming, sometimes apprehensive, and at times frightening, especially when a violent death is concerned. Often the victims speak to me, but not with speech, precisely. It is usually more of an emotional communication.” The psychic took in the attentive faces of her audience seated around the table and sipped the tea Helen had brought her. “Commissariats in Paris have utilised my services on occasion. Eh, oui. I once helped them locate the body of a young American student drowned in the Seine by the Pont Neuf. I described the bridge to the police and how he had taken a dose of sleeping pills and drunk a bottle of wine on the bank before slipping into the water. As well, I saw a vague, dreamlike image of a broken heart. And, sure enough, on his person was a billet doux written in his hand to a French girl who had spurned his proposal of marriage. C’était très triste.” Madame Mathilde shook her head sadly and wrapped her shawl tighter around her although it was not cold in the room.