1 First Blood

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Yes, them. They were good. And they used to do parties for Richard Oxford.’

  He lifted his chin at that. ‘Now, that is news to me,’ he said softly. ‘I found out other caterers that he used, but not them. So they did parties for Oxford, too. Hmm. What sort of parties?’

  ‘I thought you might ask that.’ She made a small face. ‘Pretty much what you’d expect, all-male affairs. The boys say they used to do the food, keep out of the way and had to leave before the entertainment started.’ She grinned then. ‘It was rather touching really. They were so shocked by it all. They’re gay themselves, of course, but they clearly had a very low opinion of Oxford and his goings-on. He was a good customer so they put up with him but, as they said, he was a nasty piece of work. He’d have all these men to the flat, give them a great dinner and then, after the caterers had left, lay on some sort of unusual entertainment.’

  ‘How do they know if they’d left before it happened?’

  ‘I asked that too, never fear. Once they saw someone on the way in, a strip act they knew, and he told them afterwards when they saw him in a pub somewhere that he’d never go back again. And once …’ She grinned again. ‘Stephen, who’s the pushier of the two, I suspect, hung around a little longer than he should one night and listened. All very nasty, according to him. But it isn’t that that’s relevant. It’s who was there.’

  ‘They told you?’

  ‘They recognized one of the regulars last night. At my party.’

  ‘So, put me out of my misery.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Professor Dieter.’

  There was a long silence and he said slowly, ‘Charles Dieter was a regular visitor to Oxford’s flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But according to Roop he said he’d never been there before, that night he went to see if Oxford was all right when he failed to turn up at the concert.’

  ‘I know. I was there with him, remember? He admired one of the paintings, made a big thing about it. It never occurred to me he’d ever been there.’

  ‘You have done well,’ he said and looked at her with huge approval.

  ‘Delighted to hear you say so. D’you want to know who else was a regular?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Matthew Herne.’ And she was delighted with his reaction. He was clearly riveted by every word she said.

  ‘So that’s why you think Herne’s in the frame?’

  ‘Yup. And Dieter. It all fits, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Seems so. But don’t jump to conclusions. Who else used to go to Oxford’s parties? Have you more for me?’

  ‘Indeed I have. Dr Neville Carr.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  She explained, leaving out no detail of what she had seen in the small hours outside the medical school building, and he nodded, slowly. ‘So Dieter had an – um – busy private life.’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘Which gives him a motive, doesn’t it? As well as Herne.’

  ‘With that wife, I’d say so,’ George said with some feeling. ‘She has the money, I’m told, and she’s a tough lady. And if she chucked him and told the world about the fact he swung both ways, I think he’d possibly lose his professorial chair.’

  ‘It makes him a very likely candidate. Well, well, what can I say? You’ve been a great help.’ And he beamed at her.

  ‘Umm,’ she said, uncomfortably. ‘I’ve done something else as well.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve – er – well –’ She stopped, not sure how to go on, certain he would not continue to be so pleased with her.

  ‘Is this the ridiculous bit?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You said that you’d had a ridiculous thought.’

  ‘Oh! No, that was to do with Charles Dieter.’ She frowned. ‘It’s a silly sort of long shot, but it suddenly occurred to me that Dieter might be whistling in the wind when he runs those seminars of his. That maybe he’s HIV positive himself and that’s why he’s latched on to this lunatic fringe of people who deny HIV’s a causative agent in AIDS.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She explained as pithily as she could. ‘There are people – doctors – who’re trying to say AIDS isn’t caused by HIV but by other factors, like drug abuse and poor lifestyle. That the fact people who die of the disease have HIV in them doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the cause of their death. It’s daft, in my book, and a lot of people agree with me.’

  ‘But Charles Dieter doesn’t.’

  ‘He gets in these speakers from abroad who say it and argues with those of us who disagree. Well, why should he do that? He’s a highly educated man in medical terms, he must know that he’s backing a four-flush loser with that one. The best reason I can think of is that he’s whistling in the dark.’

  ‘Because he’s HIV positive and knows it? And wants to deny it matters?’ Gus said slowly. ‘I think that’s almost as seductive a theory as your earlier one about Herne.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, sir, she said.’

  ‘Any time.’ He sounded a little absent and then his voice sharpened. ‘You still haven’t told me what else it was you did last night. This was your ridiculous thought, which I don’t think is, but it doesn’t end the story, I gather.’

  ‘Ah. No.’

  He sighed. ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘It’s very stupid. Maybe I was a bit smashed at that,’ she admitted. ‘The thing is I said I had locked up here at the lab copies of all the test results for people who’d asked for HIV tests. All the old ones that had ever been done here as well as the more recent ones.’

  ‘You did what?’ he said after a long, almost stupefied moment, and then his voice rose to a shout. ‘You bloody did what?’

  ‘I said you wouldn’t like it. But I thought … Well, one of those people could have been blackmailed for that reason. I’m not sure now whether I don’t think Dieter’s as likely a candidate as Herne. Last night it was Herne I was after, so that was why I said it. It’d sort of flush him out, I thought. With a wife who’s been a – what was it? Tom – he could be vulnerable. But like I said, this morning when I thought about it, I knew you’d be annoyed.’

  ‘Annoyed? Annoyed, you silly cow? I could – I could – ye gods, how can a woman be so bleedin’ daft?’

  ‘You don’t have to go on about it. I admit it was unwise.’

  ‘Oh, unwise? Is that what it is, unwise? I thought you’d been daft enough when you started teasing Herne about having a Tom for a wife, but this is absolutely the end. You’re not safe out without your mummy, lady.’

  ‘OK, OK. You’ve made your point. Now let’s talk about how we use it, eh? It’s done, so it’s done and I don’t think I’ll ever take a chance like it again, if that satisfies you, but there it is. I’ve set a trap with nice bait. How’re you going to catch whoever springs it?’

  He got to his feet again and began to prowl around the room. She watched, amused. It was gratifying to have had such an effect on him. Up till now, whenever she’d tried to surprise him with information, she’d had the feeling he was at least one step in front of her, but this time she really had got ahead of him, and it was agreeable to see how much he cared that she’d stuck out her neck so far and made herself so vulnerable.

  After a while she said cheerfully, ‘Why not sit down again? It’ll get you nowhere, carrying on like that.’

  ‘I think better on my feet,’ he shouted, but came and sat down all the same to glare at her, and she smiled back as sunnily as she could.

  ‘What’s done is done, they used to tell me when I was a kid. No good getting into a state over what you can’t cure. And anyway, maybe HIV status wasn’t the trigger to the blackmail. You could be getting het up over nothing.’

  ‘We should be so lucky.’

  ‘Get you! Speaking good Brooklyn. OK, OK, you’re right. I was wrong. Now what?’

  ‘Who is there?’ He reached into his pocket awkwardly and pulled out his notebook. ‘Let
’s list the damned possibilities. Then I’ll know how to handle ’em. Suspects.’

  She reached into her own drawer and pulled out the paper she had scribbled that night in the medical school library. ‘This might be useful,’ she murmured. ‘I already did some work along those lines.’

  ‘Hmmph. Let’s have a look.’ He sat and read in silence and then nodded and smoothed it on the desk in front of him. ‘All right. Let’s start at the top. Suspects. That’s people who could have killed Oxford and/or Formby, had a good reason to, and who were at your bash last night.’

  ‘They don’t have to have been with me last night.’

  ‘The ones I’m worried about do. They’re the ones likely to turn up here and rearrange your anatomy if they catch you on your own. Silly cow. It’s the only thing I can call you. Silly cow.’

  ‘Moo,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well – all right, suspects to be watched. Felicity Oxford, on your list and at your party. On my list too. Obviously top of it. And not only as his wife. She’s on that committee too.’

  ‘Committee?’

  ‘The fundraisers. For the new children’s ward. They were there the afternoon Formby died.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘What were they doing there?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Inspecting where their money went, I imagine. Anyway, it turns out from what May Potter said in her statement that Formby had agreed to meet the committee on site that afternoon, so Felicity Oxford had the opportunity to push him off, if she hung around after the others had left. So she’s well and truly in the frame. Now, who else? Toby Bellamy. Well, that’s a comfort at least.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You’re not letting love’s young dream blur your vision.’

  ‘Don’t you talk such rubbish,’ she said furiously. ‘I’m not in – I mean, there’s no question of –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said impatiently. ‘Let’s get on, shall we? Bellamy, in on all three counts. Your list, the party, my list. And could have been at the building site. We can’t check all his movements that day. He said he was all over the place, but getting people to corroborate is sheer hell. That applies to a lot of people, not just Bellamy. But he belongs on any shopping list. Then there’s Jerry Swann. That one’s a surprise to me. But I take your point. It’s a meagre motive but it’s there. And he had the opportunity and the rest of it. And he was at your party. So he’s in on two counts. And, of course, Charles Dieter, since he was there on site when Formby died as well as knowing Oxford’s flat well. And who better to play around with digitalis than a professor of medicine? Definitely on the list. Now the rest of ’em. Matthew Herne in on three counts. Yes, he was on my original list too, lady. Don’t look so surprised.’

  ‘You didn’t say.’

  ‘I don’t have to if I don’t choose to. I had him in for the same reasons you did, apart from the bit about knowing Oxford so well. Not that tricky, was it? And his wife? Hmm. That’s a thought. Why should she want to kill? How could she? Oh, in case she didn’t tell her old man she had a past history that was colourful to say the least? But I doubt that. You said he showed a strong reaction when you talked about married prostitutes last night.’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Then her place on the list is a pretty weak one. He already knows.’

  ‘It’s worth putting her there, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Opportunity?’

  ‘I agree, not a lot,’ she admitted. ‘Still …’

  ‘Well, she can go on the doubtful list.’ He scribbled fast. ‘The people who were at your party, and who heard what you said. Kate Sayers, you told me. Who else was it?’

  She listed the rest of the guests and he wrote them in, then snapped the notebook shut and got to his feet. ‘All right. I’ll get on to it, then.’

  ‘On to what?’

  ‘Getting you covered, of course. I can’t let you just wander around here all Mary-had-a-little-lambish and not have you protected, can I? Someone on this bleedin’ list could be turning up to take a pot shot at you, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘No point, except when I’m here in the lab to give them the forms with their results on them, is there?’ she said, trying to sound relaxed, though she had to admit that her pulses were knocking hard against her ears. She hadn’t expected him to react quite so seriously to what she knew had been an act of foolishness. Trailing bait for murderers was never wise, to say the least of it. But she had to try to keep her head, however anxious he showed himself to be.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said and stopped marching about. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He thought for a while, not taking his eyes from her face, and then nodded sharply. ‘It’ll have to be a stake-out, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with some relish. ‘I’ll tell people I’m working late and sit here and wait for whoever turns up and –’

  ‘Bugger that for a game of soldiers.’ He was brusque. ‘If you think I’m going to let you sit here like a goat tied to the stake you’re potty. No need. I’ll have a policeman to do it.’

  ‘No you won’t –’ she began but he shouted her down.

  ‘I do what I choose, lady, and don’t you forget it. You can be in the car with us. See what happens.’

  She was mollified at once and to tell the truth deeply relieved. She would have hated to miss the end of the case, but at the same time was not stupid enough to want to expose herself to real harm. She had a sudden mental picture of Formby’s body on the mortuary slab and the range of his injuries and shuddered. It might be a commonplace sight in her life but not when she applied the possibility to herself.

  ‘You’re on,’ she said. ‘What, when and how and –’

  ‘Tonight and with unmarked cars and I really could hit you – you – you –’ He threw up his hands in despair and went to fetch his coat which was in a heap on the floor where he’d left it. ‘I don’t often get lost for words, but you really are the – Well, let it be. Don’t stay here after the others have gone, whatever you do. Wait for me. I’ll pick you up in the residence at, oh …’ He looked at his watch. ‘Say at six? It’s getting dark by then and we’ll have to make a night of it. I’ll behave like a nice date, then, OK?’ He grinned suddenly, showing all his teeth. ‘And mind your manners. I only take ladies out, not silly cows. I’ll see you at six.’ And he went, slamming the door behind him.

  30

  She was ready well before six, dressed in a pair of black leggings under close-fitting black boots and with a black polo-necked sweater under a thick ski jacket, also in black. She felt like something from the Addams family, but had an obscure notion that being as invisible as possible would be an asset even though she’d be hidden away inside a police car. Really, of course, she wanted to impress Gus Hathaway with her common sense, because she knew perfectly well just how stupid she had been to trail her coat quite so outrageously. Whoever had committed these crimes was dangerous, and had little to lose from trying to kill again if he or she felt it necessary; why had she been so arrogant as to think it was up to her to flush out such a person? To impress Gus Hathaway, her secret voice jeered and she almost blushed at the thought. Was there no end to her liking for male attention? Probably not, she thought mournfully and went to the residents’ sitting room to wait for Gus to collect her.

  There were two or three of the doctors there, mostly sleeping beneath copies of the BMJ or the Lancet, though one, a highly industrious Indian who was famous for never reading anything but proctology text books, was engrossed as usual at the corner desk. She was glad there was no one she’d have to talk to; she was nervous and was sure it showed. If one of the suspects came in and started to talk to her, she wouldn’t know what to do. She almost got up and went out again to wait by the front entrance to avoid the risk, when Toby Bellamy put his head round the sittingroom door. She was sitting in a high-backed chair facing the other way, towards the fireplace where a tw
o-bar electric fire glowed in a dispirited fashion, and saw his reflection in the mirror above it. She stiffened but then relaxed as he went away, and wasn’t sure whether he’d gone because he’d seen her and didn’t want to be where she was, or whether he was actually looking for her and hadn’t observed her there. She suspected it was the former, and why not? She had after all refused to tell him why she had behaved as she had at her dinner party and that must have offended him deeply if, that is, he was innocent. If he was the murderer of course, it put a whole different complexion on it. She sighed and stared miserably at the fire, all too painfully aware of how complicated her feelings were getting about this man. If only I weren’t so susceptible, she told herself, how easy life would be. Just death and disaster to think about, rather than life and love. Ah well.

  Gus turned up precisely on time and lifted an eyebrow when he saw how she was dressed. ‘Commando, are we? Very nice,’ he murmured and led the way out to the car. ‘As long as you’re warm. It’s bloody cold out, considerin’ it’s supposed to be spring. There’ll be a frost tonight, shouldn’t wonder. It’ll ruin my garden.’

  ‘Garden? You live in a flat.’

  ‘Got window boxes, haven’t I? Never was a Londoner who didn’t grow something around the place. Famous for it, we are. Now, settle down and make yourself at home. You’ll be there a while, I reckon. There’s a packet of sandwiches in the back pocket and I brought a flask of coffee.’

  She looked over the back of the seat at Michael Urquhart and said demurely, ‘Good evening, Mr Urquhart,’ and he, looking ahead, said nothing but nodded his acknowledgement.

  ‘You don’t have to be so formal,’ Gus said as he got into the front passenger seat, next to Urquhart. ‘Call him Mike. We’ll be spending a lot of time together tonight so we might as well be comfortable.’

  ‘Then you must call me George, Mike,’ she said, as Urquhart put the car into gear and moved off into the main road traffic. ‘Rather than Dr B., which tends to be used by quite a lot of people.’

  ‘Oh, get you,’ Gus said easily. ‘Very fussy, aren’t we? You should ha’ said sooner, Georgie girl.’