Seven Steps to Murder

by Benjamin Ford

  “And you fell in love with the place – just as Dr Runcible must have planned.”

  Waterfield gasps as though struck by a sudden realisation of the truth. “How terribly Machiavellian of him!”

  “They always say doctors are some of the smartest people. He had probably been planning this for years.”

  “But why? What could he possibly hope to gain from all this deception?”

  I shrug. “Access to your wealth, perhaps? I guess you’ve made a will?”

  “Oh yes. My will is fairly basic. Most of the wealth is hereditary, and comes through the family from our father. It’s passed down to the eldest son, and to his eldest son and so on, but not to any daughters. That was how my great, great grandfather’s will was set out. There is provision for daughters to inherit, but only in the absence of any male heir.”

  “So, Albert inherited from your father, and as he had no male heir when he died it then passed to you. And as you have no male heir it passes to Herbert on your death?”

  Waterfield nods. “That’s about the sum of it. Even if I had a daughter, because Herbert is alive and is a male heir, he’d still get it all on my death – although, due to the wording of the original will, he’d have to take care of any daughter of mine. If the lineage is broken with no male heirs but with female descendants, then – and only then – does the eldest daughter of the oldest brother inherit.”

  “So if you have a son then he’ll inherit a fortune, but if you have a daughter and Herbert has a son, and you and Herbert both die then Herbert’s son gets the lot?”

  “Yes. Everything’s tied up in trust for descendants, and there’s no way of breaking it. There’s a codicil to great, great grandfather’s will stating that any attempt to break the will would result in everything being split up and sold and all monies obtained from the sales would go to charity. The family would see none of it.”

  “What sort of fortune is it?”

  Waterfield waves a hand dismissively. “There’s land and property to provide income, and a number of companies that are traded on the London Stock Exchange. I have no interest in that side of things. There’s a raft of lawyers and managers taking care of things. I get the private income, and that’s all I care about. Why this sudden interest in my wealth?”

  “We’re trying to decide how Dr Runcible might benefit from your death, aren’t we?”

  Waterfield nods. “Yes, of course. Sadly, I’m none the wiser.”

  “What if the doctor has found a way to gain control of some of those companies?”

  Waterfield looks thoughtful for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No, I don’t see how that would work. The lawyers look after the interests of the family and the companies. The lawyers are from eight different firms in two different countries, so there’s little chance of collusion there.”

  “Perhaps the doctor has found a secret child of Albert’s and has been raising it as his own, and now intends that child to take over?”

  “If there were such a child, not only would I know about it, but there wouldn’t be any need to get me out of the way as that child would automatically become the legal heir to the family fortune. I’d have to give up my stake in it, and there would be nothing I could do about it.”

  “So, Herbert would have something to gain from your death, and you’d have everything to lose if Albert had a secret son. I’d say that puts you in line for a motive to murder.”

  “How have we gone from it being the doctor who might gain something from my death to me being a suspect?”

  I hold up my hand. “You’re quite right, of course. All this talk of your wealth distracted me. I just saw a couple of new motives that’s all.”

  “And you’re quite right, lad: that would indeed be a motive for me to commit murder were it not for two small facts.”

  “Which are?”

  “Albert did not have any children, and I genuinely did not invite all of you here this weekend. You have to believe that!”

  “I do, I do. But that still leaves us with the mystery of why the doctor is so adamant that there’s a secret passage here.”

  Waterfield sighs. “It’s entirely possible that Dr Runcible left the magazine for me to find, but that would also mean he must have been the one who poisoned Annie.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Waterfield frowns. I can tell he’s totally confused by all this talk of varying motives and suspects.

  “Do you know, I can think of no reason for him to kill Annie. I agree with all those other things you said about me and about Herbert. I cannot find anything to link Dr Runcible to recent events, except for that copy of Country Life. His talk of a secret passage might just be his imagination running wild. However, but I think you’ve hit the nail on the head when it comes to Herbert. Everything now points to him being behind everything. He killed Albert before he could father a son, he killed Annie before she could bear me a son, and he must surely have been planning to kill me for a very long time.”

  “And the rest of us?”

  “Other victims, so that both the real culprit and intended victim remain hidden, just as you yourself suggested. Your idea is sound; you just had the wrong suspect. Although, it’s entirely possible Dr Runcible is working with Herbert to achieve his ultimate goal.”

  “Well, now you know,” I say without smiling. “Your brother is a mass murderer who wants to gain control of your family fortune.”

  Waterfield nods. “Indeed. Which means, all the rest of us have to do is stay alive until Monday.”

  “If the doctor is in cahoots with Herbert, do you really think his receptionist is going to get the police here on Monday?”

  Waterfield lets out a gasp of horror. “Oh my God, you’re right. And what’s more – Dr Runcible is still free. We must go and find him. We need to get him away from Mrs Draper before he does something to her.”

  “And before he releases your brother again!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I can hear voices drifting down from upstairs, and the hollow sounds of footsteps echoing through the ceiling. Something dropping loudly and then something else being dragged across the floor alerts us to untoward events going on above us.

  Waterfield and I run up the stairs, almost colliding with Mrs Draper as she hurries towards us, her face stricken with fear.

  “What’s happened?” Waterfield demands harshly.

  Mrs Draper grasps hold of his arm, causing him to wince. “Oh, Mr Waterfield, it’s Doctor Runcible: he’s collapsed!”

  She practically drags Waterfield along the upper hallway in the direction of the room the doctor had taken last night, and I follow at a distance.

  “I tried to move him over to the bed, but he’s too heavy, so I dragged the chaise-lounge over to him and managed to manoeuvre him onto it.”

  “Dear God, he’s not dead is he?”

  Mrs Draper shakes her head. “No, Mr Waterfield. He just went white as a sheet and collapsed. He was convulsing a bit, but he was still alive. I think he might have had a heart attack.”

  Waterfield turns back to me wordlessly, and I nod. He seems to believe that Runcible has merely pretended to have a heart attack so that he’ll be left to his own devices, possibly with one of us looking after him, unsuspecting. That person would probably then find themselves at the business end of a knife – or some other murderous implement – leaving the doctor to roam the house unimpeded, perhaps along with a freed Herbert, to kill the rest.

  I’m in little doubt that Waterfield’s not going to allow such a course of action to take place, and I must play my part in his plan to perfection.

  Mrs Draper hasn’t the first idea of what we’ve discussed down in the library, and so her concern about Dr Runcible’s state of health is only to be expected. I know Waterfield well enough by now to realise he will say nothing yet, not wishing to spook the woman in front of the doctor.

  Runcible must not know that Waterfield thinks he has rumbled him.

  I stan
d in the doorway as Mrs Draper all but drags poor Waterfield over to the inert body lying on the blue chaise-lounge set rather obtrusively in the middle of the floor.

  “Dr Runcible,” she calls out shrilly as she approaches, “I’ve brought Mr Waterfield.”

  I notice that the figure on the chaise doesn’t respond in any way. I move slightly further into the room, peering past the two standing figures as I hear Mrs Draper squeal with alarm. Waterfield emits a gasp, and in an instant I know that the doctor is dead.

  I can see his eyes staring up sightlessly at the ceiling, his mouth clenched tight in a grimace of agony. His fingers appear to be clawing at his throat.

  With calm clarity I say: “It would seem to me that the doctor has been poisoned.”

  Mrs Draper is murmuring things beneath her breath, clutching a hand tight to her breast. For a moment I think perhaps she herself is actually having a heart attack, but then when she half turns, I see she’s clutching a crucifix pendant and realise she’s saying a quiet prayer. Whether for Dr Runcible’s soul, or for her own safety, I am uncertain, but nevertheless she has a clear belief in God and thinks He will save her.

  Will He save all our souls?

  I have my doubts. There are some in this house who are beyond divine intervention, and will certainly go straight to Hell.

  Waterfield bends on one knee and peers closely at Dr Runcible. When he stands again, I see he has closed the poor old doctor’s eyes. He turns, his face grim. “I believe you are correct, lad. Dr Runcible has been poisoned.”

  Mrs Draper wails, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. “But how? When could he possibly have been poisoned, and with what?”

  Waterfield shakes his head solemnly. “I’m afraid I am no expert in poisons, Mrs Draper, but I do know that there are some which are slow acting. He could have ingested the poison at any time during the past day.”

  “I’d say that puts paid to your theory about him, Mr Waterfield.”

  Mrs Draper, sobbing like a widow at a wake, turns to me her face a mixture of apprehension and confusion. “What are you talking about? What theory?”

  “In the course of our search downstairs, Mr Waterfield and I discussed the possibility that Dr Runcible was in cahoots with Herbert.”

  “What on earth makes you think that?”

  I stare pointedly at Waterfield. “A huge family fortune which would become Herbert’s upon Cuthbert’s death.”

  “Presumably Herbert promised him a handsome payoff,” Waterfield adds cautiously. I can see doubt creeping into his eyes. It’s as if he not only now believes Dr Runcible innocent, but that his brother might not be guilty either.

  “Herbert might have double crossed him,” I say. “Surely if a murderer has an accomplice then there’s always the possibility that the accomplice might get cold feet and go to the police? Perhaps your brother discovered that’s precisely what Dr Runcible planned on doing, and so silenced him.”

  Mrs Draper wipes her eyes. “Why did you think the doctor was involved?”

  “His insistence that there must be a secret passage made it seem likely,” I say.

  Mrs Draper shakes her head. “That makes no sense. If he was involved, and knew of a secret way out of this house, then he wouldn’t have told us all about it and persuaded us to search for it. He’d have kept it a secret until after we were all dead, and then used it to get out himself.”

  “We discussed that. Mr Waterfield and I are of the opinion that he knew about a secret passage but either didn’t know where the entrance was, or had forgotten where it was. By getting us all to search for it he would have drawn suspicion away from himself.”

  Mrs Draper is silent for a moment, and then shakes her head again. “I don’t accept that. While we were searching up here, I pressed the doctor again about the secret panel we were all searching for. He didn’t seem convinced one way or the other about the likelihood of there being one, and I’m not convinced he actually believed there was one. I think he was clutching at straws in the desperate hope of a quick way out of here before he died at the hands of the killer.”

  “Do you think he knew he’d been poisoned?” I ask.

  “He didn’t seem unduly concerned about his state of health. His collapse was really quite sudden.”

  “As a physician, he must have known something was wrong, surely?”

  Waterfield says: “I’m disinclined to agree with that supposition, Wilbur. A slow acting poison might have no outward symptoms until right at the end.”

  Mrs Draper isn’t best pleased at this statement. “But then that means any one of us could have been poisoned too!”

  I nod. “Yes. It’s rather unsettling, don’t you think?”

  Waterfield straightens, having placed a blanket from the bed over Dr Runcible’s body. “I think we should check that Herbert and Major Simmons are all right, and then return downstairs. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  Mrs Draper and I exchange a look of alarm.

  “All this talk of poisoning, and all of a sudden you’re hungry? Seriously?”

  “Wilbur, whether or not you choose to believe Dr Runcible to have been poisoned by food or drink from this house, we must still eat. There are sealed tins and jars of food in my larder that cannot have been tampered with. If you have concerns then might I suggest we eat from those, and drink only water and unopened bottles of wine?”

  “I believe that’s acceptable. Mrs Draper?”

  Mrs Draper nods slowly, clearly unconvinced.

  “Very well, then. Let us check on the others.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Waterfield, who is still in possession of the keys to our prisoners’ rooms, withdraws them from his pocket as we approach the door of the room in which Major Simmons is locked. I’m not certain who’s more unnerved by the silence from within.

  Waterfield presses his ear to the door. “I know the Major is alone in his room, but there should be some sort of noise from within.”

  As I nod in agreement, Mrs Draper covers her mouth to stifle a moan of fresh despair.

  “Do you think he’s dead too?” she whispers falteringly.

  Waterfield inserts the key in the lock. “There’s only one way to find out,” he says as he turns the key and then the doorknob, pushing the door open cautiously. “Major Simmons? Are you all right?”

  The drapes have been pulled shut, enshrouding the room in a twilight-gloom. I can only just make out the bed, on top of which lies the figure of the Major.

  “Major Simmons?” calls Waterfield again, fumbling for the light switch to the side of the door. “I’m going to turn the light on. You’d best shield your eyes.”

  From the light coming into the room from the hallway I can see that the body on the bed isn’t moving. The Major could be just asleep – or there again…

  Suddenly Waterfield’s hand locates the switch and the room is bathed in golden light.

  Groggy from sleep, the figure on the bed slowly rouses, and rubbing his eyes and blinking from the intrusion of light, Major Simmons sits up and glares at the three of us crowding into the doorway.

  “What on earth’s going on?” he demands frostily. “First you lock me up in here like some common criminal, and then when I decide I might as well get some shuteye, you burst in, blinding me with light!”

  Waterfield steps slightly into the room. “I’m sorry, Major, we don’t mean to intrude. It’s just – well, Dr Runcible has been poisoned, and we wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Major Simmons swings his legs off the side of the bed and raises himself to a standing position. I can feel Mrs Draper tensing beside me, obviously prepared to bolt if the Major comes too close. He remains standing by the side of the bed.

  “Poisoned, you say? Well, I’ve been locked in here for some hours now, so you know it wasn’t me. What say you let me out of here?”

  I stare at him pointedly. “Actually, Major, we don’t know anything of the sort. We were none of us left alone aft
er you were locked up in here, so we believe it must have been a slow acting poison, administered some considerable time ago.”

  “Therefore,” adds Mrs Draper bravely, “we cannot rule you out at all!”

  Major Simmons sinks back onto the bed. “So you were all with Dr Runcible when he died? What were the symptoms? I might be digging myself into a grave here, but I do have some experience with poisons from the work I did after the war.”

  Mrs Draper points at him. “There you are – he’s as good as admitted his guilt.”

  Major Simmons shakes his head. “Far from it, my dear woman. Why would I announce that I know about poisons if I was the murderer? That would foolishly incriminate myself.” He looks at each of us in turn. “Now tell me – what were the symptoms?”

  I nod in Mrs Draper’s direction. “Perhaps you’d be better asking this good lady that question? She was with the doctor when it happened.”

  Major Simmons frowns. “Wait. I thought you said you were all together?”

  Waterfield shakes his head. “We split into pairs searching for a hidden passage that the doctor was convinced would lead us out of here.”

  The Major laughs incredulously. “A secret passage? Seriously? You fell for that? Did the doctor convince you one existed, or did she?” He points at Mrs Draper.

  Mrs Draper clutches a hand to her chest in disbelief. “What are you implying?”

  “You were apparently alone with the doctor when he died. If there was no-one else around to witness such an act it would have been easy for you to administer one of several types of fast acting poison.”

  Waterfield and I exchange glances. It’s quite clear that the idea of Mrs Draper being the killer has not occurred to him. I concede harshly that the idea hasn’t occurred to me either by whispering: “That does make sense, Mr Waterfield. Why didn’t it occur to us?”

  Mrs Draper whirls on us, her face filled with rage. “It didn’t occur to you because it’s not true.” She points at the Major. “He’s trying to deflect you into thinking he’s innocent so that you’ll free him and lock me up instead.”