“Such as the motive behind Adele’s death.”
“Telling me won’t do any good. It’s the Coroner’s job to decide why she would want to commit suicide.”
Miss Wilkinson fluttered her eyelashes and asked, “But supposing it wasn’t suicide? Supposing somebody might’ve had a reason for wanting to get rid of her?”
“Anyone might’ve had a reason for doing anything,” Quinn said. “Why not be a little more specific?”
“Oh, I can be a lot more specific. But if I am” — she looked past him at the open door and dropped her voice lower still — “I don’t want my name to be mentioned.”
“Why? What are you afraid of?”
“My neighbours. I’ve got to go on living round here. And if they thought I kept an eye on their comings and goings, that would be the end of my social life. So anything I say must be between ourselves. Otherwise …” She put a finger to her lips and then waved it in Quinn’s face.
He said, “O.K. If anything results from what you tell me, I promise not to disclose the source. Now let’s hear it. Whose comings and goings have you been keeping an eye on?”
Miss Wilkinson stood on tip-toe to look past him again. Then she said, “Dr. Bossard’s. About a year ago he started calling here pretty often. During the day, at that, when Michael wasn’t at home. He never gets back from the Bird-in-Hand until nearly four … and Mrs. Gregg leaves at one o’clock … so the doctor and Adele had the house all to themselves.”
“Don’t see anything wrong in that,” Quinn said. “She was one of his patients — almost certainly a private patient. He was entitled to visit her whenever she asked him to call.”
Cynical lines etched themselves around the corners of Miss Wilkinson’s nose and mouth. She said, “Two or three times a week? They can hardly have been professional visits.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because if she needed medical attention all that often she must’ve been suffering from some chronic ailment … and I can assure you she wasn’t.”
At the back of Quinn’s mind he could hear Michael Parry saying “… It can’t be true … Adele’s the healthiest person I’ve ever known. Never had a day’s illness in her life …”
Quinn asked, “Did Dr. Bossard only call here in the afternoons?”
With her eyes half-shut and her head titled back, Ariadne Wilkinson stood quite still while she thought. Then her eyelids flicked open like those of a doll.
She said, “It was the afternoons when I saw him … the time of day when Adele would be alone in the house. That’s why it’s obvious —”
“Only if you jump to conclusions,” Quinn said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to tread cautiously. To begin with, what evidence have you got that the doctor came to the house two or three times a week?”
“The evidence of my own eyes. I can see Elm Lodge from the bedroom window of my cottage. It’s” — she pointed vaguely in the direction of the high ground to the west — “it’s over there. The drive here in front of the house is clearly visible … and I can’t mistake the doctor’s car.”
“So for the past year you’ve been keeping watch every day,” Quinn said.
Her mouth drew down again. She said, “How about that? I try to be of help … and for my pains I’m charged with snooping. You’re not very nice to know, are you?”
He said, “That’s not what I want. You say Dr. Bossard started calling on Mrs. Parry about a year ago. I just wondered if these visits of his had gone on up to the time she went away last Monday.”
“If I could answer that” — Ariadne Wilkinson was faintly triumphant — “it would mean I’d been snooping seven days a week for the past year … and I can assure you I haven’t. I lost interest months ago. It was none of my business if our local doctor chose to make a fool of himself with an over-sexed married woman.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say about a professional man,” Quinn said. “You’ve no proof they were having an affaire”
She looked at him with a wide-eyed pretence of astonishment. In a tone that was even deeper than her normal voice, she said, “How about that? Who’d have believed you were never told the facts of life?”
Quinn said, “Let’s cut out the quips. What has all this to do with Mrs. Parry’s death?”
“Just about everything. Can you imagine how Michael would’ve felt if he’d discovered what was going on behind his back?”
“Yes. I can imagine how any husband would feel in those circumstances. Are you suggesting he had found out?”
“No, but he was bound to do so very soon. And then what do you think he’d have done?”
“The same thing as most other husbands … if she’d been like most other wives. He’d have divorced her. But she was different from other wives. She was a rich woman. Because of that he might’ve been prepared to turn a blind eye to —”
“You’re no judge of human nature,” Miss Wilkinson said roughly. “There are very few men who’d put up with that sort of thing. Besides, if he wanted money, he could get it by suing for divorce and charging the doctor with enticement … or whatever it’s called. That way he’d get a tidy sum, wouldn’t he?”
Quinn said, “This isn’t getting us very far. What you say may be true but it doesn’t provide a motive for her death … assuming that she didn’t commit suicide.”
“Of course she didn’t! Why should a young, rich and attractive woman poison herself? Not because she’d been crossed in love — that’s for sure. A man-eater who’s been married twice doesn’t voluntarily give up the delights of the flesh.”
The question echoed in Quinn’s mind and roused a memory of Irene Ford’s voice. He could hear her whining complaint again as clearly as he had heard it when he was going downstairs to phone the police.
” … It doesn’t seem right. She had so much to live for. It just doesn’t seem right … “
He said, “I can give you one reason. Maybe she poisoned herself because she couldn’t face a divorce action and all the notoriety that goes with it.”
With a knowing smile, Ariadne Wilkinson said, “No, not Adele. She wouldn’t be scared of notoriety. But I can tell you somebody who would — somebody who’d have been ruined if he were cited in a divorce suit …”
They were Quinn’s own thoughts clothed in another person’s words. Now he could understand what lay behind the fear in Carole’s eyes. It had to be one of two things: either she had poisoned Adele Parry … or she guessed that Dr. Bossard had done it.
Miss Wilkinson’s deep masculine voice ran on as though she were savouring each phrase with relish. This was her big moment.
“… Adele was his patient. Once she had her claws in Bossard I doubt if he could ever have made her let go. And hanging over him all the time was the threat of what Michael would do when he found out … as he was bound to find out in the long run. Maybe not so long, at that.”
Quinn said, “You’re making a very serious allegation.”
“Oh, yes, I know just how serious. But, of course, it’s strictly entre nous”
“Now you’re being silly. That sort of thing can’t be kept secret.”
“Who says it’s a secret? Who says I’m the only one who’s aware of the intimate relationship between Adele and her — for lack of a better term shall we call him her medical adviser?”
“I can’t see how that has any bearing on —”
“Perhaps it hasn’t … but you never can tell. The main thing is that a doctor gets struck off for what’s described as unprofessional conduct. And adultery with a female patient isn’t considered to be ethical treatment — even if that’s the medicine the patient prescribes for herself.”
For a moment longer Ariadne Wilkinson stared up at Quinn with wide hypnotic eyes. Then she said, “He was hooked, Mr. Quinn. Nothing could save him. Whether he realised it or not, the risk that Michael Parry would find out was becoming greater every day.”
Quinn heard footsteps coming down the stairs
. She must’ve heard them, too, because she drew back.
With a farewell wiggle of her fingers, she added, “Strange are the workings of Providence. Just in time his mistress let him off the hook. She went and died. How about that, Mr. Quinn of Fleet Street? How about that?”
9
When she reached the spreading shade of the elms her brisk pace slackened and Quinn thought she was going to turn back. But it was only a momentary pause. Seconds later he lost sight of her beyond the trees.
Then Carole came out and joined him in the porch. She said, “Good morning. Who was that?”
“Your friend Miss Wilkinson.”
A look of distaste spoiled the shape of Carole’s mouth. She said, “No friend of mine … but that’s by the by. What did she want?”
“Nothing particular. Just a social call.”
“Which means she was on the prowl for gossip. Whose reputation did she try to blacken?”
“Nobody’s,” Quinn said. “She wasn’t here more than two or three minutes.”
“That’s long enough for Ariadne to bring down the government. Have you had any breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you. I helped myself. Hope that was all right?”
“Certainly. Adele always liked people —”
Carole shivered and looked away. In a small voice, she said, “I keep forgetting … What I meant was that nobody stands on ceremony in this house. You don’t need to ask for permission.”
“I’ll remember that,” Quinn said.
She left him and went into the kitchen. A little while later, Neil Ford came downstairs, followed not long afterwards by Michael Parry.
Ford gave Quinn a nod but no other greeting. He looked as churlish as he had been the night before. Quinn heard him talking in an undertone to Carole until one of them shut the kitchen door and blotted out everything except the intermittent murmur of their voices.
Parry seemed to have benefited from a night’s sleep. His faded blue eyes were brighter and he was less subdued.
With the same air of bonhomie that he had worn when he welcomed Quinn to the house, he said, “Good morning, old man. Carole’s not much good as a weather prophet, is she? Forecast rain … and it’s as fine a day as you could wish for. Had breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve been down quite some time.”
“So I gathered from Irene. Says you two had a very interesting chat. Seems to have taken a liking to you, old man.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Quinn said.
… She did most of the talking and all I had to do was listen. That’s why she likes me. Don’t suppose anyone ever listens to her — least of all her husband. Wonder if she was born inadequate or if parents and family and environment crushed her spirit? Marrying a man like Neil Ford would be the last straw …
Michael brushed up his moustache with the back of his hands. He said, “O.K. then. Think I’ll go and see what’s cooking.”
He used both hands to point the ends of his moustache. Then he asked, “What do you intend to do with yourself to-day?”
It sounded like nothing more than an idle question. He was just being sociable.
Quinn said, “I think I’ll enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. Don’t often get much of either.”
“Good idea. You do that. And if you want to do it the lazy way, borrow my car. The keys are in the ignition.”
“Thanks … but won’t you need it yourself?”
“I shouldn’t think so. The odds are that Inspector Elvin will be calling on me again some time to-day.”
“Did he say so?”
“No. But I’ve got a feeling in my kidneys that he’s still got some questions up his sleeve.”
Parry turned away. Then he glanced back and asked, “Have you heard from him since last night?”
It sounded like another artless question. But this time Quinn was not so sure.
He said, “No.”
Mrs. Gregg arrived soon after nine o’clock. She was a sturdy woman with thick legs and a bovine face and black, skimpy hair. Her eyes were the type that missed nothing.
Quinn saw her studying him as she went round to the rear of the house. A minute or two later she came out of the kitchen and walked with a solid tread to where he stood just outside the front door.
She said, “They told me you were Mr. Quinn.”
Her voice conveyed a mixture of protest and accusation. Then her mouth closed firmly and she stared at him with unmoving eyes.
Quinn said, “Whoever they are, they were right. I can’t deny it.”
Nothing changed in her stolid face. She said, “I’m Mrs. Gregg.”
“Glad to know you.”
Her mouth relaxed momentarily in a pretence of a smile. She said, “They’re all in the kitchen except Mrs. Ford so I can’t get started in there … and she’s taking a bath … and there’s a lot to do … so I hope you won’t mind.”
“Whatever it is, I won’t mind at all,” Quinn said. “But just out of sheer curiosity, what is it?”
In a patient voice, she said, “I’d like to make the bed and tidy up in your room. If I don’t start somewhere I’ll never get done.”
Quinn said, “That’s a very good thought. So far as I’m concerned, go right ahead.”
“I won’t be in your way?”
“No, you needn’t worry about that. The room’s all yours. Take as long as you like.”
As though she hadn’t heard him, Mrs. Gregg said, “I don’t want to cause no trouble. Sometimes it’s not very convenient … and I like to make myself a convenience for people. But not everybody’s like that, are they?”
“Offhand, I can’t think of many,” Quinn said.
“Yes, that’s what’s wrong with the world — no consideration. We shouldn’t be surprised when terrible things happen.”
“I’m never surprised at anything,” Quinn said.
He knew what was coming. This was another one who wanted to talk.
… Must be something about me … yet it doesn’t have the same effect on Bossard or Neil Ford. Maybe that’s significant. Maybe it’s because they’ve got something to hide and the others haven’t. All the rest unburden themselves freely — even that smooth character, Elvin …
Mrs. Gregg spread her feet farther apart and folded her arms. With no trace of sentiment in her voice, she said, “Very sad about Mrs. Parry, isn’t it? I always say life’s short enough without dying.”
Quinn said, “How right you are.”
“Oh, yes, always look on the bright side, that’s what I say. But it makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does. Did you see Mrs. Parry before you left here yesterday?”
“No, she hadn’t come back yet. And down in the village they’re saying —”
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to what they’re saying down in the village,” Quinn said. “Anything you know you’d better keep to yourself. There’s a police inspector making inquiries and he’ll want to talk to you later on. If he hasn’t arrived before you go I’ll take your address so that he can call on you at home.”
Mrs. Gregg’s eyes became more intent. She said, “If the police are in it they must think there’s something funny going on.”
“Not necessarily. They always ask questions in a case of this kind. That’s the way they do things.”
“Oh, I know that well enough. I’ve seen it lots of times on the telly.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll be very helpful. When Mrs. Parry went away last Monday did she tell you she’d be home Friday evening?”
“No, never said a word to me about going away. It was Mr. Parry what told me when I came on Tuesday.”
“So you didn’t know until then that she’d gone to London?”
With a slightly puzzled look on her dull face, Mrs. Gregg said, “It wasn’t London she went to. It was that place they call Wood Lake … or something.”
“How did you know that?”
“Mr. Parry told me. I asked him where she was and that a
nd he said she’d gone off for a few days to —”
“Yes, I see. And I suppose he mentioned she’d be coming back on Friday?”
“Oh, no, he didn’t mention when she’d be back.” Mrs. Gregg raised her folded arms a little higher and gave Quinn a shrewd look. “I’d have been surprised if he had the way things have been in this house … not that it’s my place to talk about them but when the poor lady’s dead and I’m the one what knows better than anybody why she done it … well, it’d be wrong of me to keep quiet, wouldn’t it?”
“Very wrong,” Quinn said. “How have things been recently?”
“Nasty. That’s the only word for it — nasty. Of course, they weren’t suited to each other from the start. I could see that. He wasn’t” — she glanced over her shoulder to the kitchen door — “he wasn’t anything like Mrs. Parry’s first husband. Now there was a fine man for you. Never any arguing or quarrelling with him.”
“You mean that Mr. and Mrs. Parry quarrelled a lot?”
Mrs. Gregg unfolded her arms and rested one hand on the jamb of the door. She said, “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that. You couldn’t rightly say they quarrelled. No time for each other, I’d say. At least, she hadn’t no time for him. Found out too late, you see. And after that there was nothing she could do about it. Trouble never does run smooth, does it?”
“Something like that,” Quinn said. “What was it she found out too late?”
“Well, he wasn’t” — Mrs. Gregg held Quinn’s eyes with a long, unwinking look — “he wasn’t exactly the man she’d expected … if you get my meaning.”
“I don’t. Many a woman has found that her husband didn’t come up to expectations: it’s more the rule than the exception. But most marriages don’t end like this one.”
“Too bad if they did. I believe in what it says: For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health … and all that. We can’t all be like Mrs. Parry, can we?”
“Now I’m not with you,” Quinn said.
“Ah, that’s because you don’t see what I mean. We’re not all the same, are we?”
“No … but I’m afraid you’re getting away from —”
“Well, there’s the whole point. Mrs. Parry was rich. Not like me. And it makes a difference, doesn’t it? We wouldn’t look at things the same way, would we?”
A Slightly Bitter Taste Page 15