Inspector Crothers thanked the coroner and walked to the break room, sliding his phone into his pocket as he walked down the narrow corridor. After that conversation, he needed a strong cup of tea. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped what he was doing and immediately turned around, rushing back to his office. Tea - that was it, there was another detail the two victims had in common. He could not be certain, but if the coroner was correct, Mrs. Buxby’s last meal could have been tea. The contents of her stomach and the caffeine in her bloodstream all pointed to it.
Switching on his computer at his desk, he accessed the messages and scrolled to the bank records of Mrs. Buxby. Clicking on the file of her recent transaction history, he scrolled down the debits and credits of her chequeing account searching for the hours leading to her death. His eyes fell on the date of her death. It appeared that Mrs. Buxby had been busy that day; her debit card purchases tracked her activities. Before lunch, there was a modest purchase of petrol in Tynemouth on Haye, a purchase of groceries, and three hours later a visit to a local pharmacist.
Inspector Crothers looked at the transactions. These were the last hours of Mrs. Buxby’s life staring at him. He felt like he was on the verge of making the discovery that would crack the case. Peering at the screen, he thought about the three hours between the grocery store and the pharmacist. It was in those three hours that she had met her killer, ingested the poison. He decided to pay a visit to Tynemouth on Haye, as he wanted to speak to the pharmacist.
Walking to his car, he remembered that he had not stopped for a cup of tea. Tea, it was the social glue that held the nation together, it was the one meal that strangers, acquaintances and old friends could gather as equals over. As he slid into the driver’s seat he thought of Mrs. Hedley offering to make tea. She lived in Tynemouth on Haye, not far from the shops, if his memory served correctly.
His afternoon was going to be busy, and he needed a cup of tea. As he headed to the village nestled on the banks of the Haye, he suspected there was a tea shop in the village, a tea shop that he hoped would have a good strong cup of tea and a few answers to go along with it. If the tea shop didn’t hold the answers he was looking for, he would pay a friendly call on a certain Mrs. Hedley, a woman who would undoubtedly offer him a cup of tea.
Chapter 11
Diane was frustrated. There was nothing about this case that was falling into place easily. Two women, over the age of sixty, were dead, both victims of foul play. The women lived in Shropshire, led quiet lives, and shared an interest in charity and little else. Sitting in the garden, an untouched cup of tea on the table at her side, Diane wrote the facts of both cases in a notepad.
As a murder mystery writer, she often outlined the plot of her books using this old-fashioned method of pen and paper, eschewing all modern technology. There was something almost meditative in the act of writing down the details of a case. As Diane stared at the notes written in her neat cursive, she could feel that an obvious clue was staring at her from the page. This clue, this elusive fact she was missing, and so was the Inspector.
They were getting closer to finding the lead, she could feel it, but it was still evading them, like a name on the tip of a tongue. The victims both enjoyed a last meal of tea, both knew the murderer, that was a connection, but it could have also been a coincidence. Was there anything else that may have connected them in a way that neither she nor the Inspector were able to discern? Was it the maid, Mrs. Hedley, or could it be something else?
While Inspector Crothers was spending the afternoon in Tynemouth on Haye, Diane was compelled to spend her time also gainfully employed in the pursuit of the killer, but the question was, how should she pursue a lead when she was left without one? Diane reached for the cup of tea, found it cold but chose to drink it. Cold tea was better than no tea, and she hated to be wasteful. Putting the teacup back on the saucer, she considered the cold tea, and a thought entered her mind that was so unbelievably simple that it nearly made her laugh out loud like a mad woman.
“Cold,” she said to herself as she drank the last sip of the tea from the cup, “that may be it!”
Jumping to her feet, she rushed inside the house, hoping to find her husband still at home. He was due at an emergency meeting of the village council in Apple Mews. Diane prayed he had not slipped out of the house without his customary goodbye kiss before he left.
“Albert!” she called out as she raced upstairs.
“Yes, my dear, whatever is the matter?” he said as he stepped into the hallway.
“What time is your meeting?”
“In less than an hour, why? You look upset, are you well?”
“I am very well, Albert, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” she answered as she beamed at her husband.
“See what?”
“We have been looking in the wrong place. Mrs. Tamarland and Mrs. Buxby were retired, they were our age, don’t you see? We have been looking at the wrong set of facts!”
“My dear, you do realize that I am incapable of following your train of thought, sit down and tell me what you have discovered.”
Albert urged Diane to sit on the edge of the bed, then sat beside her as he said, “There, that’s better.”
“We have been looking at their lives in the present tense, focusing on who they knew just before their death, investigating their activities and their present financial circumstances. Don’t you see, Albert? That may have been the mistake; these women all died at our age and our mistake has been believing that something in their present was the cause, but what if it was a connection from their past, something that these women were involved in when they were younger, in their twenties or forties? Is it possible they have a shared past, like a cold case, unsolved and forgotten for decades?”
Albert nodded his head as he stared at his wife. “You may be right. When I look back at my past and the number of people I have met over the years, it only stands to reason that these women may be the victims of someone they knew many years ago.”
“Precisely, like an old friend, or acquaintance, someone they knew, someone they would enjoy catching up with over tea.”
Diane could feel it, the lead she sought for so long was right there, she just had to find a place to begin. As her mind raced, she knew that she needed somewhere to begin the search. Two women were dead, a killer was on the loose and the village of Apple Mews was gripped by fear, as evidenced by the meeting that Albert was due to attend that afternoon, the subject of which was the security of the residents.
Diane sat on the edge of the bed as Albert opened the closet and selected a jacket. Mrs. Buxby was outgoing; her work as a bank secretary and her involvement in the garden club meant that she probably had a wide range of acquaintances. As Diane thought of forty years’ worth of her own friends and neighbors, the task ahead of her was daunting. She needed to find a way to narrow down her search. As she watched Albert she remembered a detail that she overlooked. Mrs. Tamarland was a client of Albert’s, she was reclusive, which would limit her circle of friends and acquaintances. If there was a connection, someone both women may have known, the person would be easier to spot in Mrs. Tamarland’s past.
“Albert, Mrs. Tamarland was a client of yours for years, she carried your card in her purse, what do you make of that?”
“I would say that she must have been pleased with the firm.”
“Very pleased to have considered your firm important enough to carry your card with her.”
“I consider it a compliment,” he said with a smile.
“Yes, I do too, but it may also be proof of how few people she considered friends. I was wondering if we could look at her files. There may be mention of a relation or a person that she might have known in her past.”
“She is deceased, the only matter left to settle is the will, I don’t see why not. I could drop you off at the office while I’m at the meeting.”
“I have to be honest, I don’t know what I am looking for, but I know you and your sta
ff. I am counting on your attention to detail in this case.”
“I don’t want to discourage you but Mrs. Tamarland was the quiet sort, I am not sure what you will find.”
“Albert, I honestly don’t know what else I can do. All I know is that our methods for locating the killer aren’t working and your firm has a connection to her that extends into her past. I agree it's tenuous, but it’s a place to begin.”
Chapter 12
An hour later Diane sat in a conference room of Albert’s law firm, a box of old files beside her. She sneezed as she pulled decades’ worth of paperwork pertaining to Mrs. Tamarland from the box, disturbing the fine layer of dust. A notepad and a pen sat in front of her, her mobile phone silent on the table. She did not want to inform Inspector Crothers of her activities until she had something substantial that he could use. As she opened the first file, she came to the realization that this was not going to be quick or painless. She had years of legal documents and notes to search; the clue, if it was in there, was going to remain hidden unless she was thorough in her search.
Diane was unaware of the passage of time as she meticulously examined every note, every word regarding Mrs. Tamarland. Stifling a yawn, she was unaware that she had spent the better part of two hours reviewing paperwork that stretched back several decades. Albert returned from his meeting, a cup of tea in his hand.
“I thought you might need this,” he said with a smile as he set the tea down on the table.
Diana looked up from the file she was reading, rubbing her eyes. She saw the tea and her face lit up. “How wonderful, I needed a cup of tea.”
“I thought you might, how is the search going?”
“Slow, I haven’t found anything really useful but then again, I have never been one for tedious legal documents regarding ownership of property and other documents of the sort.”
“Strange,” Albert said as he reached for a file inside the box, “I never cared for legal documents either. I am fortunate I had a good staff I could rely on to supply the reams of paperwork that were required for even the simplest of cases.”
“Reams of paperwork is right, that is all I have been reading since you left me. I haven’t come across a single interesting note or document.”
“It’s not surprising, these files are just the history of any property Mrs. Tamarland or her husband may have bought or sold,” Albert said as he flipped through the files. “These are not the complete files. Her late husband’s will and her own would have been filed separately, I will get those files for you.”
Albert soon returned with a stack of files. Handing them to his wife, he said, “Here we are, you may find this reading to be less tedious. You read through these and I will continue to search the property files. If I see anything interesting I will let you know.”
“Thank you, two sets of eyes are better than one.”
Albert sat down at the table beside Diane as she pored over the paperwork regarding the will. Digging into the box, he removed a file commenting, “How strange, this is a civil matter, what is it doing in this box?”
Diane was entranced in the details of the will and failed to notice her husband’s reaction as he read the paperwork in front of him until he exclaimed, “Diane, have a look at this.”
Diane leaned over the table, her gaze drawn to the faded writing on the paper, handwritten notes in a style she knew well. It was written by her husband and dated over thirty years prior. Diane could feel her heart race as she read the words, their meaning becoming clear.
“Albert, do you realize what this is?”
“Notes from a divorce case. I must have interviewed Mrs. Tamarland regarding the matter of a divorce. Yet she was never divorced,” he said as he moved quickly to his feet and exited the conference room before Diane could ask him a single question.
Ten minutes later, he set a box of files on the conference table. Flipping through the box, he removed a sizable file stuffed with paperwork. As he rifled through the pages, Diane tried to restrain herself. She was overwhelmed with curiosity until he handed a photocopy of the notes that he found in the enormous file, “There it is, that would explain it.”
Diane could no longer wait, “Explain what?”
“Why I completely forgot about this case, it was so long ago and Mrs. Tamarland was a witness and not a defendant or a plaintiff.”
“What case is that?”
“The Beacourt case. I represented Doctor Grant Beacourt.”
Diane remembered a kind, older man that served the residents of Apple Mews for many years. “I did not know he was divorced. I thought he was only married one time.”
“To be entirely honest I had forgotten about it. He was married briefly to a woman who sued him for divorce citing infidelity. Mrs. Tamarland was subpoenaed, she was one of three women with whom he had allegedly conducted relations. The evidence was circumstantial and I defended the doctor and won the case. He was granted a divorce and proven innocent of all charges.”
“Who were the other two women cited in the case?”
Albert read over the notes of the case and his answer was one of surprise. “Joan Rigdon and Eileen Campbell.”
“That was over thirty years ago, I wonder where they are now,” Diane said as she reached for her mobile phone.
She reached Inspector Crothers’ voicemail and left a message as she made notes regarding the case. Mrs. Tamarland was a witness in a case that was over thirty years old and may not have any bearing on her murder, but it was possible and as frustrated as Diane and Inspector Crothers were regarding these murders, any possible lead was well worth researching.
Diane and Albert continued searching through the files but found nothing else in Mrs. Tamarland’s history to rival the divorce case. They discovered that the other two women and the former Mrs. Beacourt were not clients of Albert’s firm. As Diane and Albert tidied up the files and cleaned up the conference room, Inspector Crothers returned her call.
“Inspector, please tell me that your day was productive.”
“No, I am afraid to say that we are back to square one, Mrs. Hedley was an interesting lead but she proved to be a dead end. Sergeant Webster thinks he may have found something at Mrs. Tamarland’s residence, a piece of mail we missed on a previous search, but that is where we stand at the moment.”
Diane was disappointed to hear that the Inspector was no closer to solving the case. She could hear the sound of disappointment in his voice, the days of exhaustion taking their toll. “I may have something for you, are you in a position to write down a few names?”
“Names?” he said. “Plural?”
“I am not going to lie to you, this may be nothing, but it’s the best we’ve got right now. Do you remember Doctor Beacourt?”
“I do, but he died last autumn, how is he connected to this business?”
Mrs. Tamarland was named in his divorce case, she and two other women.”
“Named how?”
“She was accused of infidelity with the doctor. She appeared in court as did two other women who would be around my age if they were still alive.”
“That seems slim, but I will take it considering I have nothing to go on.”
“Check out Miss Joan Rigdon and Eileen Campbell, they may have married since this case went to court.”
“Ask him about Mrs. Beatrice Beacourt,” added Albert.
“Be sure to check into the other woman, the ex-wife of the doctor, she would be in the same age group as well.”
“I will research these people and get back to you. They would be the same age as our victims, there may be something to that. Joan may be a common name, but that was the first name of Mrs. Cranston Buxby.”
Diane wished him good luck as she powered off the phone. Looking at Albert, she picked up a box of files and followed him out of the conference room.
Chapter 13
The drive home was unusually quiet as Albert and Diane were both lost in their own thoughts. Diane wanted to be hopeful that
she had information that the Inspector could use in the investigation but the other three names in the case were not familiar. It seemed promising and also a dead end, just like everything else in this case.
Albert’s silence was caused by another reason, a reason he soon revealed. “Diane, I pray that the murderer is found soon, but I have to confess, I hope this divorce case is not the connection you have been looking for.”
“Albert, whatever do you mean? I hope it is.”
“Diane, if it is then I am at fault, I am equally as guilty as the murderer of killing Mrs. Buxby.”
To say that Diane was in shock was an understatement. “You guilty? Albert, how can that be?”
“Inspector Crothers asked me if I remembered anything about Mrs. Tamarland, anything of a legal nature and I said no. If I had only remembered this case, would that have made any difference?”
“You can’t blame yourself, how were you supposed to remember every single client, every single meeting or case? What’s important is that you may have helped solve this case if any of this information proves to be useful.”
Albert nodded his head slowly. “If you think so.”
“I do,” Diane replied as the mobile phone rang in her hand. It was Inspector Crothers.
“Diane, you and your husband are to be commended, Miss Joan Rigdon married and became Mrs. Cranston Buxby.”
“And Miss Campbell?”
“Never married but lived in Durry before her untimely death early this year of anaphylactic shock, a reaction which, according to the notes from the coroner, was brought on by something she consumed at tea. It was never investigated as a murder by the police in that county because it was ruled accidental.”
Murder at Teatime Page 6