The Best of British Crime omnibus

by Andrew Garve

  ‘And you thought getting rid of Dermot would put Giles on top again?’

  She hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘In the end I was mad enough with Dermot to destroy him whatever the consequences. For his perfidy. He disgusted me. Still does. But I didn’t set out to kill him. Just to frighten the bloody life out of him. With the syringe. If I could get him seated. Then rush him.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘I don’t know. I imagined holding the thing over him. While I made him confess everything to Bob Larden on the phone. That’s roughly what I planned. While I waited for Jane to come out.’

  ‘You didn’t try to catch them together?’

  ‘No chance. They’d never have let me in. You were right, as soon as she’d left, I pretended to be her so he’d open the door. And when he did, he panicked as soon as he saw me. Fought to shut me out again. We struggled. I’m much stronger than I look. He never saw the syringe. It was under the flap of my handbag. I wasn’t certain I’d caught his skin with the needle. Not quite certain. In the end he pushed me back into the hall and slammed the door on me.’

  ‘And you didn’t send for anyone?’

  ‘I was going to call Giles. Or Bob Larden. As soon as I found a phone box. To tell everything. What Bodlin couldn’t bring himself to do. Do you see that? He’d been sitting in his car till I came along, still not really crediting what he’d heard on that tape. And if Jane had since wiped the tape, nothing could have been proved. I realised that. It’s why I followed her in the first place.’

  ‘But after the struggle with Dermot, you still didn’t phone anyone?’

  ‘No. When I got to a phone box it dawned on me I might have killed him. All right, probably had killed him. In which case I knew there was a chance I’d get away with it. I did the incinerating on the way home.’

  ‘You realised that someone else would be blamed for the murder?’

  ‘Certainly not. Death from Bovetormaz looks the same as a cardiac arrest. Heart failure. Giles told me that years ago. I’ve never forgotten it.’

  ‘But an autopsy— ’

  ‘Wouldn’t necessarily have proved anything different. If they hadn’t got all conscientious about the scratch on his neck they mightn’t have looked for another cause of death. And don’t tell me they’re more thorough than that, because I know that often they’re not. Depends on who does the autopsy. I was just unlucky.’

  ‘Which left your future in Bodlin’s hands? You know he still believed that Dermot had died from a heart attack?’

  She looked up at Treasure. ‘Until you told him differently. Then he put two and two together. On the phone last night he swore he hadn’t told anyone he’d seen me. Or that I’d followed Jane.’

  ‘So why— ’

  ‘He hadn’t told anyone up till then, that is,’ she interrupted. ‘And when he promised not to he was hedging. I simply couldn’t believe he’d hold to it. Not once he was sure it was I who’d killed Hackle. His conscience was worrying him already. Can you credit, he had a conscience about the bugger who’d swindled him out of millions?’ She took another deep breath. ‘I came to the conclusion I couldn’t live with my freedom dependent on Bodlin’s conscience. Why should I when my own was clear? I woke up early this morning knowing I had to silence him. It was him or me. Or that’s the way I saw it in the small hours. All right, it was selfish as well as brutal. And I know he was an important scientist. But he brought it on himself all the same. For being so bloody wet.’

  ‘How much does your husband know of all this?’ Treasure asked woodenly.

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ She made the words sound the most convincing she had spoken. ‘He was asleep when I left this morning. I had to wake him when I got back. He assumed I’d been riding as usual.’

  ‘At the meeting this morning he was unusually bullish and confident. Seemed to be trying to take command. Almost as though he’d been programmed.’

  ‘Good. In a way he had been programmed. I’d told him he had to stake his claim to be the next MD. With Hackle dead and Bob Larden probably having to resign over his wife’s behaviour. I’ve ended Giles’s chances now, of course.’ But her tone still suggested there might be some doubt in the matter. ‘Look, before you turn me in, can I ask a favour?’

  ‘Naturally. In any case I’d rather you turned yourself in.’

  ‘Glad you made it, darling. It’s really great fun,’ Molly Treasure enthused. ‘Bit crowded. More so this afternoon, for the Highland Games. Junior Highland Games really. More like a school sports day, but still very Scottish. You should have seen them tossing the caber. Weather’s been idyllic, of course. They say it’s the start of a heatwave. I gave out some of the prizes at the end. Tonight is just the dancing and a barbecue. Very superior barbecue.’ She slipped an arm under her husband’s as they weaved through the crowd. ‘Come and look at the river. It’s rather romantic. The food and drink are down there too.’

  It was nearly eight o’clock on the day following Treasure’s confrontation with Barbara Closter-Bennet. He and Molly had arrived separately at the Scottish Festival in Maidenhead, she several hours before this as the McFees’ special guest. The event was being staged on a big river meadow next to the McFees’ house, north of the town. There was a canvas pavilion with a bandstand and dance floor. The Treasures, who had just found each other, had been watching from outside. The tent sides had been removed because of the warm weather. It had been dry and sunny in the afternoon, then balmy as the evening lengthened.

  A seemingly endless eightsome reel was being performed, expertly, by a troupe of swarthy young men in kilts, and lithe young women in white dresses with tartan sashes, all to the accompaniment of Scottish pipes.

  ‘Would you believe, the dancers are from Basingstoke, and the pipers from Milton Keynes? Rather incongruous but perfectly genuine,’ said Molly as the two moved away.

  ‘More national barriers tumbling before the onward march of the European Market,’ Treasure observed dourly. ‘They’ll be offering haggis on the Champs-Élysées soon, I expect. And welcome to it. Sorry I was so late.’

  ‘Poor you.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘You’ve worked the whole day.’

  ‘And not the only one. Though the City’s pleasantly empty on Saturdays.’

  ‘Your dedicated secretary got here about an hour ago. She’s over there somewhere, decked out like a mature Flora Macdonald, and dying to dance when the demonstration stuff is over. The McFees have been treating me like royalty. There aren’t so many Closter people here. Not the ones I know, anyway.’

  Treasure glanced about, failing to recognise anyone. ‘Miss Gaunt left the office around five,’ he said. ‘It was the police who delayed me at the end. Detective Inspector Furlong turned up just as I was leaving. Wasn’t awfully pleased. Can’t blame him, I suppose. Except the case was as good as wrapped up for him.’

  ‘Had the Closter-Bennets’ solicitor called the police?’

  ‘As promised. As soon as he had the confirmation that Barbara’s plane had landed.’

  ‘And the solicitor told them she’d followed Jane to the flat on Wednesday?’

  ‘And confronted Dermot there.’

  ‘And that was all?’

  ‘That was the deal I made with Barbara. The police were also told that she went abroad yesterday afternoon and doesn’t intend to return. Ever.’

  ‘And that was enough?’

  ‘Enough for them since to have released Jane.’

  ‘So they know Barbara did the murders?’

  ‘That circumstances indicate she did, yes. They still need to prove it if they want. But they’ve stopped treating other people as suspects.’

  ‘Even though there’s been no actual confession? Not to them?’

  ‘That’s true. But they now have the same evidence I had.’

  ‘Which wasn’t much, you said.’

  ‘Because I had to bluff Barbara a good deal of the time. The only really damning fact was Bert Tanner seeing her in Chiswick.’

  ‘Whi
ch you dismissed at first?’

  ‘Only because Mrs Tanner said it was Giles Closter-Bennet he’d seen, not Barbara. And I knew he couldn’t have. The Tanners had misunderstood each other. Anyway, the police now know Barbara was there. They also have the Closter-Bennet shotgun.’

  ‘Can they prove it was the gun that killed poor Stuart Bodlin?’

  ‘Not for certain, apparently. It seems that kind of identification works with a pistol or a rifle, but not a shotgun. Especially if the gun’s been used again later.’

  ‘Do you suppose Barbara knew that? Purposely went rabbit shooting?’

  ‘It’s possible. Even so, the police still have enough material to start building a case. And Barbara certainly knew that.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Mr Furlong that she’d admitted anything more to you?’

  ‘No. That was also part of the deal.’ His serious expression deepened. ‘I didn’t see it as my task to send the guilty to jail. Only to keep the innocent out of it.’

  ‘And to lift the cloud from Closter Drug?’

  ‘That too, of course. The rest really is up to the police.’

  ‘They can extradite Barbara from Argentina can’t they?’

  ‘They can try, but they’ll have problems. Without a confession, and with a case still largely based on deduction. Most justice departments, including ours, need pretty strong indications of guilt before authorising an extradition. Remember, Barbara has dual nationality.’

  ‘Because her mother was Argentinian?’

  ‘That’s right. Very well-to-do Argentinian. Barbara has a lot of influential connections out there.’

  ‘More than Scotland Yard perhaps. So what about Giles?’

  ‘The police have already had him in for questioning, and let him go again.’

  ‘But he won’t be staying with the company?’

  ‘No. He gave me his resignation this morning.’

  ‘And you’ve settled the future of Closter Drug?’

  ‘Hardly that. But we’ve made some decisions today. I shan’t be giving up the chairmanship, and Bob Larden will carry on as MD. We’re going to oppose takeover bids from whatever quarter, unless someone offers a lot more than we think is the company’s present worth. I have a solid group of institutional shareholders supporting that view. Effectively they make a majority.’

  ‘But you’re still saying Closter Drug is going to be taken over by somebody? Eventually?’

  ‘That’s up to the shareholders to decide. What’s important immediately is for the company to get back its credibility. Its dignity, if you like.’

  ‘Which is why you didn’t want a murder trial?’

  ‘Mmm. To further muddy the waters. Seromig is the key, of course. If we’re first with a migraine cure the price of the company could double. Otherwise it’ll still be valuable for its other interests, only it may not be able to develop them on its own. You’re right, this is very peaceful,’ he ended.

  The two had wandered to a point on the river bank away from both the pavilion and the barbecue area, and where the music was very much only in the background. There was gentle activity on the water appropriate to the hour and the temperature. Two swans glided past parallel with the reedy bank where a family of ducks was exploring. Pleasure craft – crews idling, engines muted, lights diffused by the gloaming but reflected in the darkening water – were slipping past, making down river to Windsor or up it to Henley.

  Molly was watching the ducks. ‘And as part of un-muddying the waters,’ she said, ‘have the Closter-Bennets really given away their Closter shares to the Hackles?’

  ‘Yes. Giles transferred them into a trust for Rosemary and the two children this morning. The trust will be administered by the bank.’

  ‘And that was part of your deal with Barbara? For letting her fly away yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘It was the key part of the deal. I honestly believe it’s the fairest outcome for the Hackles. Having Barbara Closter-Bennet tried and imprisoned would have provided nothing for those children.’ He ruminated for several seconds. ‘It was a horse trade of a particularly uncomfortable kind, of course. I hope it proves the right decision.’ But there was more heaviness than uncertainty in his voice. ‘Giles had to agree to the transfer, of course. The shares were in his name.’

  ‘Well that’s to his credit.’

  ‘I thought so.’ But the tone was less than magnanimous.

  ‘Will he join his wife in Buenos Aires?’

  ‘That’s the intention. They’ll have to rub along on what’s left of her capital. The sale of the Later Burnlow house should fetch quite a bit, I suppose. But they won’t be as comfortable as they were in this country.’

  ‘Well they don’t deserve to be, either. She doesn’t anyway.’ Molly was deep down disquieted that justice hadn’t been properly served. Like her husband, though, she saw what was happening as the best solution for the Hackle family – and one that would not have been achieved if Barbara Closter-Bennet had been brought to trial. ‘Of course, Barbara’s certainly not in the clear. And she’ll have to live with her conscience for the rest of her life,’ Molly ruminated aloud.

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll find that too hard,’ Treasure commented. ‘Her crimes were motivated by ambition and revenge. And according to her own very twisted logic they were justified.’

  ‘The ambition being for herself?’

  ‘No, for Giles. And Closter Drug. The revenge was against her father. For failing her.’

  ‘And how does Giles feel about being married to a murderess?’

  ‘It’s something he’ll choose permanently to ignore, I should think. He’s always been totally dependent on her. His only true career aspirations were the ones she forced on him. He’ll be happy to drop out of the business scene now. He has no proper regard for his own industrial acumen – and that’s an opinion he shares with many others, including me.’ Treasure’s tone had remained sombre.

  Molly wrapped both arms around one of his and began steering him towards the bar. ‘So altogether you’ve made the best of an appalling situation.’

  ‘That’s a charitable way of putting it.’

  ‘And you richly deserve a large Scotch. Followed by a slice of whatever it is they’re roasting on that spit, before we recklessly plunge into a round of the Gay Gordons at … at nine forty.’ Molly had checked the time and her programme.

  Treasure sniffed, then stared around defensively. ‘I’m not sure that bagpipes don’t sometimes give me migraine,’ he said in an overly self-protecting way.

  ‘Good for trade,’ his wife answered firmly, and with enthusiasm.

  Epigraph

  Discover Prescription For Murder in more depth

  at Thrillers4u.com:

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  A GAME OF

  MURDER

  Francis Durbridge

  Francis Durbridge

  Francis Henry Durbridge was an English playwright and author born in Hull. In 1938, he created the character Paul Temple for the BBC radio serial Send for Paul Temple.

  A crime novelist and detective, the gentlemanly Temple solved numerous crimes with the help of Steve Trent, a Fleet Street journalist who later became his wife. The character proved enormously popular and appeared in 16 radio serials and later spawned a 64-part big-budget television series (1969–71) and radio productions, as well as a number of comic strips, four feature films and various foreign radio productions.

  Francis Durbridge also had a successful career as a writer for the stage and screen. His most successful play, Suddenly at Home, ran in London’s West End for over a year.

  Chapter 1

  Douglas Croft parked his car in a side-street, checked the doors and boot to make sure he had locked them securely, then walked the fifty yards or so back to the Finchley Road. It was the morning rush-hour and traffic was streaming down from Swiss Cottage towards Lord’s cricket ground about a quarter of a mile farther on.

  Rather than move up the road to the pedestrian c
rossing, Douglas Croft chose his time and slipped across the road on a weaving course, rather like a centre forward cutting through the defences of an opposing team. He gained the footpath exactly opposite a shop window filled with sporting gear of every imaginable kind. Over the windows and entrance a sign proclaimed ‘Tom Dawson’s Sportstore’.

  The neon light which burned all night to illuminate any possible intruder for the benefit of the patrolling police was still burning. As Douglas inserted the second of the two keys which were needed to open the shop door he glanced up and saw a girl coming across the crowded pavement. He opened the door and waited for her to go in past him.

  ‘Morning, Liz. Did you see the guv’nor on Sports Profile last night?’

  ‘No.’ Liz shook her head and paused, glancing at the montage of blown-up photographs which occupied the centre of the window display. They were action-shots of Tom Dawson in his hey-day, when in the space of a single year he had represented England at rugby football and cricket and had also been runner-up in the Amateur Golf Championship. ‘I didn’t watch it last night. It’s my practice night and I have a race next weekend. One hundred metres back-stroke.’

  She moved on into the shop. Douglas closed the door and turned one of the keys on the inside. There were still ten minutes till opening time. He collected the letters from the box and followed Liz Mason towards the small glass-partitioned office at the back of the shop. Not for the first time he took pleasure in watching the lithe way her trim figure moved. At nineteen Liz was like a breath of fresh ozone miraculously surviving in the fumes and dust of London.

  ‘How did Mr. Dawson come over?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘Nervous was he?’

  Douglas gave a short laugh. ‘Not him! What they call a strong screen image. He’ll be getting his own show next.’