“Did he coerce her in any way, make her add him to the will?” asked the Inspector.
“If he did, I didn’t see it or hear about it. I think she felt sorry for him. She was kind-hearted like that, same as she did with me, although I always paid her back until this last time.”
Inspector Crothers looked intently at Mrs. Hedley as he said, “Mrs. Hedley, you were the only member of her staff, possibly her closest friend, you must have known who she was having tea with the afternoon of her death. In a life as private as hers, she must have mentioned the arrival of a visitor.”
Ruth Hedley shook her head as she answered, “I have racked my brain every moment since I found Mrs. Tamarland on the rug, dead.” Mrs. Hedley’s voice cracked as she continued, “I should have known who did this to her, have some idea but I don’t. I didn’t know she was having anyone to tea, I never heard her mention plans to have a guest to the house.”
“Were there any unusual phone calls, or letters?” asked Sergeant Webster.
“I only came in once a week, if she received an odd phone call I may not have known about it. The letters and mail she kept in her desk in the study or upstairs at the antique writing desk in her bedroom.”
Inspector Crothers looked at the Sergeant, “Unless you have any further questions for Mrs. Hedley, I think we are done here.”
Sergeant Webster answered, “No, none that come to mind.”
“Mrs. Hedley, thank you for your time, please contact me if you remember any information that may help. We will be in touch,” Inspector Crothers said as he handed his card to the woman.
“Yes sir, I will,” she said as she walked the officers to the door.
Inspector Crothers and Sergeant Webster were quiet on the drive back to the office, until Sergeant Webster broke the silence, “Since it can’t hurt anything to have one more look, I may inspect the letters and mail Mrs. Hedley was talking about. We might have missed something the first time around.”
“That is not a bad idea, Sergeant, what did you make of Mrs. Hedley?”
“Mrs. Hedley? She seemed like a sweet lady, her house was neat as a pin and I bet you anything she can cook. What do you think about the husband?”
“That is hard to say but she acted nervous every time she mentioned him. I may be wrong, but she is hiding something about him and possibly more than that.”
“Hiding something, that dear old woman?”
“She was a textbook kindly old lady, offered to make us tea, had a small dog, kept a perfect house. It could all be an act.”
“I just don’t buy it, she seemed so real.”
“You are probably right, but there is a clue in this case that we are missing and until I find what that is, I am going to assume that nothing is as it appears. The murderer must have left us a scrap of evidence to go on and we are not seeing it.”
As Inspector Crothers parked the car, his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. He turned off the vehicle as he answered the call, “Crothers here.”
Sergeant Webster could not hear the conversation but he watched as the Inspector’s face tightened into a deep scowl.
“Yes sir, we just got back, we are walking in the office now.” The Inspector powered off the phone and let out a deep sigh that sounded like a rush of air.
“Inspector?”
“Webster, you won’t believe this, but we have another one.”
“Another one, sir?”
“Another murder, this one is in that idyllic village we just left. The victim was Mrs. Cranston Buxby, she was over sixty, widowed and lived alone.”
Chapter 9
The Shrewsbury Daily Post sat on a silver tray, folded neatly at the breakfast table. The headline Retired Bank Employee Found Dead printed in a bold large font was clearly visible in Diane’s peripheral vision as she drank her first cup of tea of the day. She did not need to reach for the newspaper, as she already knew the details of the latest unsolved murder, a luxury few people in Apple Mews could claim.
The second unsolved murder in less than a month was not just unsettling to Diane, but to everyone in her acquaintance. The mood had changed in the quiet village of Apple Mews; tea shops that were once bustling centers of community news and local gossip had become hotbeds of fear and speculation. Villagers were locking their doors at night and checking their windows, retirees were sleeping with the lights on and refusing to venture out in the evening. The town was living in fear, especially women living alone.
Mrs. Cranston Buxby was not from Apple Mews, but she was from a village in Shropshire and that was all the connection that the population of Apple Mews needed to justify their growing anxiety. Two women, both widows, both living alone were dead, their murders unsolved. That was enough justification to warrant a growing demand that something, anything be done.
As Diane picked at the egg white omelet on her plate, she dreaded to think the unthinkable, that the murderer was targeting retired women, an unsettling thought as she herself had only recently fallen into the very same category.
Albert finished his cup of tea as he watched his wife fretting over her breakfast, “Any word from the Inspector this morning?”
Diane shook her head, “Not yet.”
“I would not want to be in his shoes today, Mrs. Tamarland’s murder left unsolved and now this one, the public will be demanding answers soon.”
“They already are, have you seen the editorial pages in the papers this week? I can’t bear to read it.”
“Diane, do you think the public is being rash? Jumping to conclusions, there doesn’t seem to be much connecting the two victims; one lived in Apple Mews the other in Tynemouth on Haye.”
“You know I am not prone to hysterics, but Albert, those women could have been me, they could have been any one of our friends or neighbors.”
“I understand, I do, but there isn’t much of a connection. Didn’t you say that the lady, Mrs. Buxby, was poisoned?”
“She was poisoned, found in her home by a concerned neighbor.”
“Inspector Crothers is here to see you,” Deidre announced to Diane as she walked into the breakfast room.
“Show him to the drawing room,” Diane said as she turned to Albert. “It must be important for the Inspector to make an appearance this early in the day.”
“From the looks of things, I would say that he needs all the help he can manage,” Albert answered.
Diane left the breakfast room and joined Inspector Crothers in the drawing room. The dark circles around the Inspector’s eyes and wrinkled suit gave Diane the distinct impression that he had not slept or been home to change clothes. He looked haggard, with a frown set on his face as he greeted Diane.
“Please excuse the intrusion at this early hour, I would not have come but I need to speak with you.”
“There is nothing to excuse, Inspector. I know I’ve said this to you before, but you look exhausted.”
He broke into a smile as he looked down at his clothes. “I look terrible, but that is not important, not when we have a killer on the loose.”
Diane was not accustomed to hearing dire comments and dramatic statements being spouted by a man she knew to be reliable, steadfast and stoic. His tone matched the hysteria in the village and she wondered if it was a product of his lack of sleep that was creating the rash judgment he voiced.
“Inspector,” Diane said as she fought the rising anxiety she also felt, “Mrs. Tamarland was shot in Apple Mews. Mrs. Buxby was poisoned in Tynemouth on Haye. Do you believe that they were both killed by the same person?”
“Diane, I never like to rush to conclusions, but can you tell me that you don’t believe there is a connection? The evidence is mounting that we may have a serial killer in our midst.”
Diane decided that the best course of action was to review the facts of the new case. “Let’s not speculate, let’s focus only on the facts. You have not slept in more than day or two, you must have been busy, what have you learned about the death of Mrs. Buxby?”
“How was it administered?”
“The coroner seems to think the poison was in food or drink, although there doesn’t seem to be any residue or sign of poison in the residence, and believe me we have combed every room in the house, especially the kitchen.”
“Tell me about the poison, what do you know about it?”
“That is what makes this so frustrating. The poison itself appeared to be similar to a painkiller, a morphine-based compound with a twist, arsenic may have been added.”
“That sounds like a potent cocktail.”
“The presence of the poison would be obvious in an autopsy,” Inspector Crothers replied. “That is one of the reasons why these two cases seem connected. It’s not only what the victims have in common that begs the conclusion that they are connected, but the same cavalier method of murder. In both cases, the murderer was not concerned with concealment of the crime.”
“There was no evidence of a theft, nothing missing?”
“All valuables and personal possessions were present at Mrs. Buxby’s home, her purse was found on the sofa, the car keys lying beside it. The home was in good order, nothing appeared disorganized.”
The Inspector and Diane sat in silence, deep in thought. Diane could feel the weight of the responsibility to the other women in Shropshire to find the killer before there was a third murder to discuss. Her mind was racing, going in a thousand directions, each one leading to a dead end.
“Once again, if you will indulge me, Inspector. May I go over the facts that we know about Mrs. Buxby? The facts help me see the case clearly.”
“Yes, very well.”
“Mrs. Buxby was a retired secretary, she worked for the president of Midlands Banking and Trust, she lived alone in Tynemouth on Haye. She was in her sixties, widowed and had one child, is that correct?”
“It is, the daughter, Mrs. Alice Buxby Upton, lives in Leeds, married to a prominent business owner.”
Diane continued with the facts of the case, “The neighbors did not report any unusual activity, her banking records are devoid of any suspicious transactions, her will seems to be in order.”
“Precisely, she lived a nice, neat, predictable life. She went to church, was a member of the local gardening club and popped over to Leeds now and again to see her daughter.”
“Retired, predictable and now dead, just like Mrs. Tamarland. Do we have any information about her social activities? Was she dating, did she have friends, was she involved in community service?” asked Diane as she tried to find a promising lead.
“She was not seeing anyone, or if she was she kept the fact to herself. Her friends were like her, retired, and she was active in her community, volunteering at her church for charity events.”
“She sounds like Mrs. Tamarland, only slightly more social,” Diane remarked. “Is there any possibility that she and Mrs. Tamarland may have known each other, they both shared a penchant for church charity events?”
“Good idea, but different churches, Mrs. Buxby attended church in Tynemouth on Haye.”
“Tynemouth on Haye,” repeated Diane, “Mrs. Tamarland’s maid lives in Tynemouth, does she not?”
“She does, but Mrs. Buxby did not employ a maid.”
“It is a small village, smaller than Apple Mews, perhaps they knew each other socially? Is it possible that Mrs. Hedley is the connection you have been looking for?”
“I can’t say that thought has not crossed my mind, but a retired bank secretary and a maid would have frequented different social circles even in a tiny village.”
“If these women followed conventional social norms, that may have been the case. They may have known each other, gone to school together. What about their husbands, any affiliations between Mr. Tamarland or Mr. Buxby?”
“Mr. Tamarland, as you may know, was from Apple Mews, Mr. Buxby was from a village in Kent. I have not discovered a connection or affiliation between the two husbands.”
Diane continued in her task, trying to find the detail that would lead to the killer. “Mrs. Hedley has a dog and you found canine hair at Mrs. Tamarland’s home. Was there any hair found in Mrs. Buxby’s residence? Did she have any pets, did you find any dog hair?”
“She did not have any pets and we did not find any canine hair, although there were a few strands of feline hair in the carpet in the hallway, suggesting someone she knew has a cat.”
Diane could feel in her gut that there was something just beyond her knowledge. She knew there had to be something connecting the two women in some way, some detail that she was overlooking. Rarely had a case frustrated her, but this one was beginning to worm its way under her skin.
“Not to sound too glaringly obvious, but Thomas Tamarland did not have a connection to Mrs. Buxby, though Mrs. Hedley living in the same village might have known both women.”
“It is possible, Tynemouth on Haye is that kind of place.”
“Tell me Inspector, the poison was slow acting and you have not had any luck whatsoever finding evidence that it was introduced inside her home. The neighbors did not report any strange visitors or unusual activity. You may be too narrow in your area of concentration.”
The Inspector frowned as he asked, “Too narrow, what do you mean?”
“The house was clean, nothing disorganized you said, yet Mrs. Buxby’s purse was left on the sofa, her keys lying beside it. That seems strange, for a person as neat and predictable as she was, she would have had a place for her purse and her keys other than the sofa.”
The Inspector’s eyes lit up. “I did not think of that, for all we know she may have always left her purse on the sofa, but it doesn’t fit with the housekeeping in the rest of her residence. The clothes in her closet were sorted by color, her shoes in neat rows, the dishes in her kitchen were carefully lined in rows inside the cabinets, Diane, you may be on to something.”
“Regarding her clothes, was she dressed casually for an afternoon at home, or was she dressed to have been on errands or paying a social call?”
“I am not an expert in fashion, but she was wearing shoes suitable for outdoors, a cotton twill pair of pants and a lightweight sweater if that helps.”
“Any jewelry?”
“Yes, now that you mention it, a watch on her left arm, a pair of gold earrings and a small gold pendant.”
“Inspector, she was dressed to go out, which proves my theory that the poison was not administered at her residence. If she was suffering from the effects of a morphine-based poison, she may have been poisoned somewhere else and managed to make it home before she died. Depending on the severity of the symptoms, you may find that her car may not be parked properly, her front door left unlocked, that sort of thing.”
“Her car was parked at an odd angle, the driver-side back tire wedged against the curb, the car was turned off in drive and not park. I noticed those details, but I thought she was in a hurry or a terrible driver. The front door of her home was unlocked when the neighbor came to check on her when her body was found.”
“I would wager that she knew her killer and met that person earlier on the day of her death. If you can establish an exact time of death and an estimation of how long it took before the poison went into effect, you may have a solid lead. I do not mean to be indelicate, but the contents of her last meal may be a good indicator of where that meeting could have taken place if such a meeting occurred. It would align with the evidence that coroner suggested that the poison was administered in food or drink.”
“That is not much to go on, but it’s a start, thank you Diane.”
“Inspector, one more thing, don’t forget Mrs. Hedley. It seems odd, but she may be a connection.”
“I will check into it, you have my word. Diane, thank you for your help,” Inspector Crothers said as
he stood to leave.
“Anytime, let me know what you find out.”
“I will, you can be sure of that.”
“One last thing. Try to get a few hours rest, at least change your clothes, you will feel better,” Diane said with a sympathetic smile.
Chapter 10
Inspector Crothers left Diane’s house with a sense of reluctant optimism. In his present exhausted state, he was aware that his thinking about the case was dulled by fatigue. He needed rest, but the public and his own sense of duty were keeping him from slowing down long enough to sleep. The day ahead was going to be a long one, but Diane was right, he needed rest. Yawning as he pulled out of the driveway, he should have headed for the office but instead, he headed for home. An hour’s nap and a quick shower would do him an enormous amount of good.
It was quarter past eleven when Inspector Crothers walked into his office; his face was freshly shaved, and he was sporting a fresh suit. The circles around his eyes were still dark reminders of his lack of rest, but he felt better, calmer. Sergeant Webster was in Tynemouth on Haye, his job being to dig up any information about Mrs. Buxby that could be useful.
Inspector Crothers reached into his pocket and checked for messages, though did not see any waiting as he called the coroner’s office. He was pleased that the coroner was available for a quick chat. As Inspector Crothers listened to the coroner’s detailed explanation of the inner workings of the human digestive tract and how long it takes food to digest or break down in a living subject versus a dead one, he felt mildly queasy. He had seen stabbings, gunshot wounds and much worse during his days in the army and on the police force, but any conversation with the coroner always managed to turn his stomach.
The coroner was not able to provide the exact breakdown of Mrs. Buxby’s last meal but it appeared to be dense like cake or bread, and a high amount of caffeine was found in the toxicology report. Mrs. Buxby’s time of death after the poison entered her system was approximately two to three hours. The coroner also suggested that the poison being morphine based may have caused Mrs. Buxby to exhibit symptoms as early as an hour after ingesting it. He further suggested that the painkillers may have masked some of the arsenic’s nastier side effects.
Murder at Teatime Page 5