Dead Man's Dinner

by Una Gordon

  It was about this time that the rumour about Derwent dying of Aids had filtered through to Peter. It simply added fuel to the fire. Not only had Bianca left him and found another man, she'd probably left him this dreadful legacy as well. So consumed with self interest was Peter that he didn't think for one minute about Bianca or her lover being affected. If he had thought about it, he would have believed it served them right. Why should he worry about them? All he must concentrate on was getting rid of them and not being found out.

  The man, Hector (whoever heard of a lover called Hector?) was tall and strong, so he'd have to tackle them separately. Peter could think of nothing else. He ignored bills, telephone calls, he neglected his personal appearance and scarcely ate, while his intake of alcohol rose dramatically. At last he was ready. He'd studied Bianca's and Hector's movements carefully and knew that in the evening Bianca arrived home a good half hour before Hector. Peter travelled by tube and from the station he rang Bianca. He spoke carefully and politely. “I've come to my senses. I'm filing for divorce. I've got some papers for you to sign. Please may I come round now?”

  “Yes,” was all Bianca said before the telephone clicked in his ear.

  Once in the flat, he drew some papers from his coat pocket. “I'm sorry I haven't got a pen.” Bianca, as he had hoped, went over to her handbag to get one. While her back was turned Peter whipped an old pair of Bianca's tights from his pocket. In a second they were round her throat. She was strong and she struggled, but he was stronger and the struggle was brief. He felt a kind of satisfaction as she slipped to the floor. He positioned himself behind the door and waited. Hector shouldn't be long, but it was an hour and a half later that Peter heard a key in the door. The hammer was in his hand, ready. As the door opened, Peter brought the hammer down with full force on Hector's head. It was a massive blow and fatal.

  Peter found that because of the way Hector had fallen he could not get out the door. He bent down to try to pull the body out of the way and as he did so, the door was pushed open from the other side.

  “Is it all right if I come in?” a man said. The stranger's eyes met Peter's, then they looked down at Hector's body slumped between them. As horror slowly dawned on the man's face, Peter pushed past him and ran downstairs. He had to get away. It was Peter's bad luck that he had chosen for the murder the very night when Hector had arranged to bring a colleague home for dinner. He had said he'd park the car while Hector went ahead to see if Bianca needed any help with dinner.

  Out in the street Peter found it was drizzling and he was sweating. That had been a close shave. How well had the man seen him? Who the hell was he? Damn and blast! What hellishly bad luck that someone should appear that night. He tried to calm himself down. He looked around to see if anyone was paying him particular attention, but people seemed to be intent in hurrying along to get out of the rain. Peter decided he'd have to get out of the country. He started mentally giving himself instructions. Get on the tube. Go back to the flat. Pack a few things. Find my passport. How much money have I? Just move, move, move, he kept telling himself. Was there any blood on his clothes? Would anyone in the tube station notice his agitated state? No, of course they wouldn't. This was London – no one was interested in anyone else. He ran down the escalator and waited impatiently on the platform. When the train did come it seemed to move from station to station with agonising slowness. As the automatic doors opened and closed, he could feel his nerves stretching and contracting along with them. He was in a hurry, but the rest of the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Eventually he got out at his station and ran up the escalator. He decided against taking a taxi. He was about to cross the road when a voice hailed him from a car. By now the rain was driving down fast. He thought of not answering, but that might look suspicious. A man whom he recognised vaguely was leaning out of his car, speaking to him. “You live in the same block of flats as I do, don't you – want a lift? What a night!

  Peter thought quickly. Which would look more suspicious – if he refused or if he accepted, then couldn't carry on a normal conversation. He decided to accept. The man was so busy concentrating in poor visibility that little conversation was necessary. As the man made incessant and repetitive comments on the foul weather, Peter found all he had to do was make monosyllabic noises in agreement. Like a refrain a line from Macbeth went through his head repeatedly. “So foul and fair a day I have not seen”. How well that summed up his feelings. The weather was foul, but he'd got rid of that bitch and her boyfriend and that made the day fair for him. He wasn't going to be like Macbeth and let the murder get on his conscience. He felt for a moment or two, before the fear set in again, a sense of power. He'd won in the end. Bianca was gone. He'd go abroad – start a new life.

  Perhaps Derwent had done him a favour after all. He became aware that the driver had asked him something.

  “I said I'll drop you here, then garage the car.”

  “Right, thank you, thank you. Goodnight.”

  Peter hurried up to the flat. He grabbed a suitcase, crammed in as many clothes as it would hold, then searched for his passport. Once he was ready he poured himself a stiff whisky. He toasted himself in the mirror. “Here's to you, Peter Dewey. You're a smart fellow. Who knows? Perhaps the best is yet to come.” He felt calmer now. He checked over the flat. He didn't want to leave any lights on. He was in the kitchen at the back of the flat when he heard the police car. He froze. It couldn't have anything to do with him. There hadn't been time. It wasn't much more than an hour since he'd killed Hector.

  Peter couldn't have had more bad luck though he had tried. Bianca and Hector entertained very little, but Hector felt he owed John Culroyd a favour and had invited him along for a meal The favour? John had come with him to the flat Bianca and Peter had shared to collect some clothes and other odds and ends which Bianca wanted. She hadn't wanted to return herself in case she met Peter and although Hector had waited in his car outside the flat one Saturday until he saw Peter leave, he had thought it better to take someone along as a lookout. John, who was unmarried and had no family commitments had agreed to come along. They had both got a good view of Peter as he came out of the block of flats and it was agreed that if he returned while Hector was inside, John would give three loud blasts on the horn. He had said he would have no difficulty in recognising Peter again and he hadn't when he saw him bending over Hector's body in the doorway. He had realised that to give chase would probably be pointless, so he rushed into the sitting room where he found Bianca's body. He phoned the police immediately and was able to give them Peter's address. Soon Hector and Bianca's flat was swarming with police, but more police were on their way to docklands to the flat where they were told Peter lived. Not often was a murder solved so easily.

  John was questioned by the police for a long time, but his story seemed quite credible especially since one of the neighbours had seen him arrive with Hector, then park his car. He wouldn't have had time to commit the crime. The same neighbour had seen a man run out from the block of flats, but had not seen him well enough to give a description.

  As John was being questioned by police at Hector and Bianca's flat, another policeman was ringing the bell at Peter's flat. The flat was on the third floor. There was no way he could escape. Peter opened the door. At first he denied all knowledge of the murder – had tried to say it was a put up job by John, but he soon crumbled under police questioning. Peter had never been lucky – that was why he was constantly in financial difficulties, but he had never been unluckier than that evening. Would he have got away with it if he had chosen any other evening? He would have been a prime suspect, but his having been seen at the scene of the crime left no doubt.

  As he sat in his cell, his mind as usual ticking over wondering how he could get himself out of this predicament, he was, as usual, able to make excuses for himself. He was the type never to blame himself for anything. Other people or circumstances and bad luck had all contrived to ruin his life and wasn't it so this time? If D
erwent hadn't sent that invitation, if Bianca hadn't slept with Derwent, if she hadn't walked out on him and got herself another man and worst of all if Derwent hadn't died of Aids...... Surely all this would be taken into account at his trial. Peter was good at playing parts and he now started to prepare himself for the wronged husband act. He was sure he could sway the jury. He was the eternal optimist.

  Chapter Nine

  Gary Potter had stuck to his plan. He collected Diana and the baby – a lovely boy – born a few days after the bombshell had dropped into Gary's life. Gary felt that his manner was stiff and unforthcoming, but Diana seemed to notice nothing amiss. She was so immersed in the baby and he did need a lot of attention as all small babies do. He was one of those who seemed to exist on the minimum of sleep and then never in the middle of the night. In a way that was a good thing from Gary's point of view. Diana did most of the night work with baby Colin as they had decided to call him. She was then asleep when Gary got up for work and because she was so exhausted by the time he got home at the end of the day, he took over, leaving very little time for communication between them. Although Gary felt he was not giving Diana all the support he should, it was she who eventually apologised to him, saying she felt she was neglecting him. Gary, embarrassed, tried to deny this and he even found difficulty in taking Diana in his arms when she burst into tears.

  Frequent visits from his in-laws also reduced the tension in some ways. Gary had thought he would never be pleased to see his mother-in-law, but she had her uses despite the fact she kept telling Diana how to do things. “In my day” became a frequent start to sentences when she spoke and like many mothers and mothers-in-law before her she forgot or ignored the fact that things had changed since her day. Diana sometimes got upset at her interference, but, on the whole, put up with it philosophically. Gary had the feeling that sometimes she was so tired she let most of it wash over her head.

  After a few weeks Colin and Gary settled down. The former slept more and the latter thought less of Derwent's note. It would be true to say than an element of doubt crept into Gary's mind. Diana, although he would never say so to her, had quite a naïve streak in her and Gary could not imagine her planning anything underhand like going to Derwent's flat. Surely he couldn't have come to their flat! The horrible thought struck Gary, but he instantly dismissed it. Still one could never be sure. There was always the seventh veil. There could be depths in Diana of which he was quite unaware.

  They were out pram pushing in the park one day when Diana suddenly turned to Gary. “Isn't it lovely having our own baby especially after what you were told at the hospital. I never thought I'd become pregnant.” For a moment Gary thought Diana was about to make some kind of confession, but she prattled happily on and as she spoke a fresh idea slowly entered and grew in Gary's mind. Suppose Diana had slept with Derwent for the sole purpose of becoming pregnant because she was desperate for a baby or perhaps even because she knew how Gary felt when he heard he was the one to blame for them not having a child. He felt himself warming towards Diana, seeing her in a self sacrificing role. By the time they got home Gary had convinced himself that she may have slept with Derwent, but only for the most altruistic of reasons. For the first time in months he felt really happy and that night he found no difficulty in making love to Diana for the first time since Colin had been born, but he still couldn't bring himself to ask the all important question. Had she or hadn't she? Still, he tried to convince himself, did it really matter?

  Gary remained in this buoyant mood until he heard the rumour several months later. Philip, a friend of his came up to him in the wine bar at lunchtime. “Derwent Mollosey was a friend of yours, wasn't he?”

  “Well, I knew him.”

  “Coo,” said Philip, “that secret was well kept.”

  Gary felt his heart plummet. “What secret?” he asked through dry lips.

  “He died of.....” Here Philip lowered his voice and looked round. “The big A.”

  Gary's jaw dropped open in horror. “Aids,” he repeated stupidly. “Who told you that?”

  “It's all over town, old boy. What's the matter?” asked Philip, seeing Gary's pale face. He laughed coarsely. “You weren't having it off with him, were you?”

  Gary didn't even bother to answer, He gulped down the last of his drink and strode back to the office. Fortunately he had nothing urgent to do that afternoon and it was just as well for Gary's mind was a jumble of confused thoughts. Oh, God, I've got to do something. This could affect three lives. Should he make an appointment for a test? Should he tell Diana and see how she reacted? He felt nearer to panic than he had ever felt in his life. Could it just be a rumour? No, that was wishful thinking. Colin was now six months old. How soon did symptoms appear? Oh God, oh God, what shall I do?

  Gary left the office early, determined to get this whole thing sorted out. When he entered the flat, Diana came out of the nursery. She was smiling and had a kind of bloom about her. For a moment as he gazed at her, Gary forgot his problem and thought how attractive she was. She came running towards him with her arms outstretched, rather like a little girl. He realised she was very pleased about something.

  “You'll never guess, you'll never guess.” She drew back from him and giggled almost coyly. “Colin is not going to be an only child.”

  Gary failed to take in immediately what she meant. She looked at him. “You are pleased, aren't you? Remember before we were married we used to say we'd like four. Well, now, perhaps it's possible.”

  “But, but how has this happened?”

  Diana looked amazed. “Well...” she began.

  “You know what I mean. I know we weren't using anything, but after what they said I thought...” His voice trailed away. One thing for sure, Derwent Mollosey could not be the father of this child. Not even he could do this from the grave. What was Diana up to? Did she have a secret lover? Could women have artificial insemination without the consent of their husband?

  Gary was worried about Diana, Colin or himself having Aids and now added to this was a worry about this second baby. Eventually he went to his own doctor and told him his fears about the children. Were they really his? In view of the hospital report the doctor understood Gary's concern and gently reassured him that it was quite possible for him to be the father of both babies.

  “We could, of course, do blood tests to set your mind at rest. These are not conclusive, but at least it would show if it was possible for you to be the father.”

  At that point Gary plunged in with a long, garbled story about how he was worried they all had Aids. At times he became almost incoherent and the doctor could not follow who was supposed to have slept with whom. He did realise that Gary was a very worried man and he arranged for the whole family to have tests done. He assured Gary it would be easy to get a blood sample from Diana and test it without her knowing the reason why, but he thought this was rather unethical. “It has been suggested that all pregnant women should be tested for the virus, so your wife should see nothing sinister in having the test.”

  The look of relief on Gary's face made the doctor wonder what Gary had been up to, but he asked no further questions. If any of the results were positive, then was time enough to start asking questions, but, of course, none of them was positive.

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  Marcus had put up with Perry's behaviour until he just couldn't any longer. It took an enormous amount of effort to tell him to go and an even greater amount to put up with his recriminations, but Marcus put a steel shutter down in his mind, gritted his teeth and insisted that Perry had to go. He gave him a large sum of money and thought it was worth it. He struggled through the next lonely months like any heartbroken lover and, in time, the pain decreased. By the time Marcus heard the rumour about Derwent, his new lover, Seth, had moved in. Marcus didn't hesitate. He knew the risks and he also knew he had to be fair to Seth. The test he had for Aids was negative and he resumed his normal happy life in all respects. A
s far as he was concerned the interlude with Derwent and Perry was over.

  Melissa and Fiona were still trying to work out how to trace the others to warn them when a third white envelope appeared. This time Gresham took it into the dining room where Fiona was having breakfast. It was a Saturday and Gresham had no business appointments that day.

  “It's another of those,” said Gresham, holding the envelope as if it were something unclean.

  “Open it then. Let's see what Derwent is up to now,” replied Fiona.

  Inside was a cassette tape – and that was all. There was no indication who it was from. By silent consent Fiona and Gresham finished breakfast, then went to the study. Gresham popped the cassette into the machine. After a few seconds Derwent's oily tones started to fill the room. Fiona and Gresham sat in absolute silence.