A Deadly Marriage

by Roderic Jeffries

  “Larraga was George Cabbot.”

  Smith looked at Cathart. After a while, he said: “Was he, by God!”

  “Catalina Plesence has, in effect, committed bigamy?”

  “Inadvertently, I don’t doubt, but in law, yes.”

  “How does that affect her competency to give evidence against her husband?”

  “Bigamy renders a marriage null and void, ab initio, which is a lawyer’s way of saying that everything is as if there never had been a marriage.” Smith again swivelled round in his chair and picked out another text book from the bookcase. It was several minutes before he spoke again. “On an indictment for bigamy, the second woman is a competent witness for the prosecution since the second marriage was null and void, ab initio, and therefore the common law rule against a wife’s not being competent cannot apply. In this case, the same line of reasoning will apply.”

  “Then Catalina Plesence can do what she’s been longing to do from the word go — she can give evidence against her ‘husband’ on a charge of murdering George Cabbot?”

  “Yes,” answered Smith slowly, “she can.”

  CHAPTER XV

  Cathart drove out to Thornton Lees and Marshbourne Farm. The farmhouse, set off the road and surrounded by its own land, offered the kind of peace and quiet that he never knew and, probably, never would since a retired policeman was seldom in a position to pay much for a house and in these days a house that offered peace and quiet was automatically in the luxury class.

  The front door opened as he walked up to it. Patricia looked at him with an expression of worry. “Is...is something wrong?”

  He did not answer her directly. “I’ve learned something fresh and decided you ought to know about it as soon as possible.”

  “What is it?”

  “Might I come in for a moment?”

  “Oh!...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you standing there.” She moved to one side to let him step inside.

  The outshut had been converted into the hall so that his first impression of the house was one of space, even though he knew it was not large.

  “Is it bad news?” she asked, breathlessly.

  “You’ll have to decide that.”

  She shook her head to show she could not understand him and led the way into the sitting-room. She gestured vaguely at a chair. Hunching his shoulders in order not to bang his head on the large centre oak beam, he went forward and sat down.

  She remained standing. “Well?” she demanded, in a tight voice.

  “Mrs. Brakes, at your insistence I made further inquiries following your assertion that George Cabbot was Gual Larraga.”

  “Do you have to talk like some town hall clerk?”

  “I’m sorry. My wife often tells me I’m becoming more and more of a pompous bureaucrat.”

  She spoke jerkily. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s just that...” She did not finish.

  “That you’re worried sick? I can understand.”

  “What about Cabbot?” she demanded.

  “You were right. He was Catalina Plesence’s first husband, Larraga. Because of your help, we’ve been able to make the identification.”

  “Then that means...”

  He broke in, determined not to let her hopes rise. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Brakes, in making these inquiries we also discovered something else new.”

  She drew in her breath. “What?”

  “Gual Larraga and Catalina Larraga were divorced in one state in America whilst they were living in another. The one where they were living didn’t recognise the validity of that divorce.”

  She was bewildered. “But how does all that matter?”

  “In this country we recognise a foreign divorce if it’s recognised in the country where the people are domiciled, which as far as I can gather really means where they are actually living. So in this case, English law doesn’t recognise that divorce. At the time of Cabbot’s death, Mrs. Plesence was still legally married to him.”

  “Are you saying she wasn’t ever married to David?”

  “I am.”

  “But...but I thought you’d come to give me bad news. You looked so terribly serious. This is the most wonderful news.” She half turned. “You could call it a bit early for a drink, but let’s say it’s not too early.”

  “Mrs. Brakes, perhaps you haven’t quite realised all that this means?”

  She picked out a handkerchief from the pocket of the cotton frock she was wearing and fidgeted with it. “What...Then what does it mean?”

  “Because her marriage to Mr. Plesence was legally a bigamous one, that marriage was void from the beginning: in law, it’s just as if there hadn’t ever been a marriage. So now there’s nothing to prevent Catalina Plesence, or Catalina Larraga as perhaps she ought to be called, going into the witness-box and testifying for the prosecution in the next trial of Mr. Plesence.”

  “What if she does? She killed the woman and has done all she can to make out it was David, but she’s not going to admit that. What can even she say that’ll harm him any more than he’s already been harmed?”

  “The prosecution have never been able to produce a motive for the murder of Mrs. Cabbot. But they can produce a very strong motive for the murder of George Cabbot.”

  “You...You’re not saying...”

  “I’m saying that Catalina Plesence can now go into the witness-box and say all the things she wants to say, make all the accusations she’s ever made, and give all the evidence she likes.”

  “Oh, my God!” she muttered. She suddenly sat down on the nearest chair. “But she’ll say he threatened her, was always threatening to kill her, and tried to kill her. She’ll say that because he couldn’t get a divorce, he set out to poison her.”

  “Yes.”

  “She’ll crucify him.”

  He was silent.

  “He won’t stand an earthly and all because I did everything I could to fight for him. You’ve realised that, of course?” Her voice rose. “Because I tried so desperately to help him, you can now make certain Catalina breaks him. Isn’t that wonderfully ironic? That’s the kind of situation that must make you laugh.”

  “No, Mrs. Brakes.”

  “What does it do, then?”

  “It makes me wonder how much you believe in Mr. Plesence’s innocence?”

  “God Almighty, how can you ask that?”

  “Then you should be glad of what’s happened.”

  She stared at him with an amazement that became anger. “You hate him: you’ve always hated him. You’re glad this has happened.”

  “I am, but not for the reason you think. I’m glad because it means the truth may finally come out.”

  “With her lying, doing anything and everything she can to see him jailed because she detests him and me?”

  “Mrs. Brakes, you said the situation was ironical. It is. But there’s a further irony which only Mrs. Plesence will really be able to appreciate. Her hatred will drive her on to do anything she can to get Mr. Plesence convicted — not only because of what’s past but because she’s got to learn that it’ll become public knowledge she’s not married to Mr. Plesence after all and so what about her maintenance? If her hatred becomes as all-consuming as I think it will, it’ll completely blind her to the fact that anyone who gives evidence for the prosecution is subjected to cross-examination by the defence.”

  “And you think...You think that perhaps this will force the truth out of her?”

  “It may. That’s why I was wondering how certain you were of Mr. Plesence’s innocence. If he’s guilty, he hasn’t a dog’s chance in hell now.”

  “And if he’s innocent? You said it might force the truth out of Catalina. But what real chance is there it will?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered sombrely. “But isn’t a slight chance better than no chance at all?”

  Catalina threw the magazine on to the floor. What the hell was the use of looking at photographs of mink coats that cost thousands when she hadn�
��t enough money even to buy a rabbit-skin coat?

  She poured herself out another strong gin and added a little French. Money was so sordid. The company which owned the flat kept asking for payment of the rent and threatening her with a court action if she didn’t pay: but how could she, since the maintenance she had been awarded fell so short of a living income? The judge had been a bumbling old fool. He ought to have known David had lied and lied about his property and income. He couldn’t be worth so little. If only, years ago, she’d known the truth about him.

  She cried a little, then finished the gin. The judge had given her two thousand pounds a year. How could she be expected to exist on so little? She’d never meet the right kind of people if that was all she had...If only that bastard, Castro, hadn’t mucked everything up in Cuba. Gual had been really rich. True, he’d gone off with that lift attendant, but he hadn’t stayed very long with the bitch. When he’d lost all his money, he’d had to use what talents he had to find some more: so he married that American woman who looked as if she’d been constipated since birth. If Gual had still owned all his land in Cuba, he’d never have married that woman and he would have come searching for her, Catalina.

  She poured herself out another gin. She’d suffered as few had been made to suffer. She’d sacrificed herself and married David, done everything to make his home comfortable, his life a pleasure, and how had he repaid her? By spitting in her bed. Not with a reasonable woman, either, but with one who had the body of a cow.

  There was a ring at the front door.

  She cursed. Who now? The man from the company to demand the rent? If so, she’d send him packing. She finished her drink, stood up, and swayed slightly. It wasn’t the drink affecting her, she assured herself quickly, it was just that she wasn’t very well and small wonder with all the trouble she’d had to live through.

  She waited until the dizziness passed and then went into the hall and opened the front door. For a second or two she failed to recognise the man who stood outside. Then she correctly placed him as one of the detectives.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Plesence.”

  “What d’you want?” she demanded.

  “May I come in?” Cathart went in and closed the door. He noticed the strong smell of alcohol and was not surprised: her slurred speech had already suggested to him she had been drinking heavily. Looking at her, he thought he had seldom seen such a raddled wreck of a woman. In a few weeks she had became almost a living caricature. He remembered a line from Shakespeare, learned when he was at school — “Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all”. Was Catalina Plesence an arrant coward because of her conscience?

  “Well? What are you staring at?” she asked shrilly.

  “I’m sorry. I was wrapped up in my own thoughts.”

  “D’you want a drink?”

  “I don’t think so, thanks.”

  “I’m going to have a small one for my cold.” She walked across the hall and into the sitting-room.

  He followed her and looked round the room. It was very untidy and whereas some untidiness made for homeliness, this untidiness made for sordidness.

  She went to refill her glass, but discovered it was still three parts full. She drank eagerly, then looked for a cigarette but could not find one. He offered her one and she took it with hands that shook.

  “Mr. Plesence and Mrs. Brakes have been making certain allegations,” he said.

  She gave herself another gin before she staggered over to an arm-chair and flopped down on it. Some of the gin slopped out of the glass.

  “Once these allegations were made, I thought I ought to investigate them however far-fetched they sounded. Of course, Mrs. Brakes is rather vindictive towards you.”

  “That bitch.”

  “She seems to think she’s found a way of hurting you.”

  “Hurt me? That’ll be the day!” She laughed harshly. “She was very insistent that George Cabbot was neither George Cabbot nor an American.”

  Catalina, suddenly alarmed, struggled to overcome the muzziness in her mind.

  “Mrs. Brakes insisted there was something odd about him and I ought to get in touch with the American police again and see if they could find out the truth. In the end and just for the sake of peace I did as she suggested.”

  “What happened?”

  “They couldn’t discover anything about George Cabbot except that his in-laws knew his Christian name had been Gual.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “It’s a lie. That’s not his name.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t know one way or the other?” Catalina stared at him.

  Cathart continued as if there had been no interruption. “I told Mrs. Brakes that the American police had only been able to discover this one fact and she told Mr. Plesence. Mr. Plesence remembered your first husband’s name was Gual. He swore it couldn’t be a coincidence and must be important. I told him that however important, we couldn’t do anything until we knew the surname.” He paused.

  “So what happened?” she demanded hoarsely.

  “Mrs. Brakes managed to discover what that was.”

  “How?”

  “Surely you know?”

  “How could I?”

  “Can you not remember a telephone call asking you what was the name of your first husband? The caller said she was a secretary working for Padlow, your solicitor.”

  “Well?”

  “In fact, that was Mrs. Brakes.”

  After a while, Catalina began to swear in Spanish.

  “The American police were now able to learn a few things about Gual Larraga. They discovered something even you may not know?” He looked at her.

  “What?”

  “Your divorce in South Dakota wasn’t valid in Massachusetts. Because of that, it isn’t valid in this country.”

  Catalina suddenly began to cry. Tears welled out of her eyes and slid down her blotchy cheeks.

  “Your marriage to David Plesence, of course, is null and void. When I told Mr. Plesence that, he laughed. He said it was wonderful news because no marriage, no maintenance.”

  Catalina moved suddenly and jerkily and the glass of gin fell to the floor. She picked up the glass, then stood up and went over to where the gin was. She poured herself another drink. The tears still trickled down her cheeks as she began once again to swear in Spanish.

  “There’s one odd result of all this,” said Cathart. “If you’re not his wife and never have been there’s nothing to stop you giving evidence against him now if he’s tried for the murder of George Cabbot.”

  “Is that true?” she asked, in little more than a whisper.

  “It’s only a wife who isn’t competent to give evidence. You’re not his wife and never have been: you weren’t Mr. Plesence’s wife at the time of George Cabbot’s death.”

  “I can go into court and tell them what happened?”

  “If that’s what you wanted.”

  “Of course I want to.”

  “Are you quite certain of that? I mean, even if the marriage...”

  “She’s ruined me,” she said, in a voice that was piercingly shrill. “D’you understand? Ruined me. If only to God I’d known it was her on the phone.”

  “You do realise it might be your evidence that’s responsible for sending David Plesence to prison?”

  “I pray that’s so.”

  He tried to hide his dislike for her. “I suppose you’re quite certain that he did threaten to kill you before the day Cabbot called at your house...I should say, at his house, since you’ve no claims on him now.”

  Cathart was shocked by the look of vindictive hate she gave him.

  Smith, Detective Superintendent Danby, Cathart, and a member of the Director of Public Prosecution’s department were in Smith’s office at county H.Q.

  “I’m not certain,” said the senior legal assistant from the D.P.P.’s department. “With the case against him for the murder of Mrs. Cabbot on the book
s...”

  “There’s surely nothing, sir, prohibiting us switching to a charge of murdering Mr. Cabbot?”

  “There’s nothing in black and white, no.”

  “It’s a tighter case.”

  “Surely the other’s tight enough if you can be certain there’s no repetition of the handkerchief incident?”

  “That’s rather a big if sir.”

  Danby looked quickly at Cathart, but said nothing. Cathart hurriedly went on talking. “We’ve got motive here, motive enough for any murder. He hated her guts — with all the cause in the world — and she’s ready to say so. Out of spite, she decided on a decree of judicial separation, not divorce. That really had him wild.”

  “D’you say he was trying to murder her, or just frighten her?” asked the senior legal assistant.

  “He wanted to give her a thumping good fright to make her hurry up and change over to a divorce.”

  “And George Cabbot, or Larraga, was unlucky enough to get in the way?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why didn’t he warn Larraga? Not directly, of course. Why didn’t he say something such as: ‘Don’t eat that, it’s gone stale’?”

  “Too panicky, maybe.”

  “We’ve gone through all this often enough before,” said Danby wearily.

  “I doubt you can go through it often enough,” corrected the senior legal adviser. He tapped his teeth with the pencil. After staring at his brief case for a while, he looked up. “Very well. He’ll be charged with the first murder.” Cathart sat back. With an air of what was almost detachment, he wondered whether he had just wrecked the whole of his future career? Why had he done what he had? Because of the look of anguish and pain in Patricia’s soft blue eyes? It was a hell of a stupid reason for a hard, ambitious detective inspector to plead.

  CHAPTER XVI

  David smoked his fifteenth cigarette of the afternoon. His mind was filled with conflicting emotions. When Patricia had visited him, she had been all optimism and he had tried to match her spirit in order not to upset her. But all the time he wondered what she was really thinking and how much of what showed was play acting for his benefit? He found himself wondering more and more about the real feelings and motives of others, yet in the old days he had been too busy, too determined in anything he did, to worry over such things. Imprisonment made a man frighteningly and introspectively questioning. He remembered reading how long imprisonment, on the other hand, acted as an anaesthetic, deadening everything, every instinct, every original thought.