A Slightly Bitter Taste

by Harry Carmichael

  She was a plumpish, fair-haired woman dressed in blue jeans and a yellow sweater. Her eyes were shut, her mouth was a gaping hole in her discoloured face.

  That much he saw in the few seconds that he stood looking down at her from the dusty window. Then he ran round to the front of the garage.

  There was nothing at hand to force the door. After he had tried to get his fingertips under the moulding alongside the lock he went hurrying down the track to his car.

  All he found in the boot was the starting handle, the jack, and a spare fan belt. He never carried any tools. In the event of a breakdown he wouldn’t have known what to do with them.

  What he did know right then was that the end of the starting handle would be too thick to get between the leading edge of the garage doors — but he had to do something. So he ran back and made a dozen attempts to lever the handle into the narrow gap.

  It was hopeless. He struggled with it for a couple of minutes, battering at the edge of the door until the moulding was chipped and scarred, and then he threw the handle on the ground and set off at a run down the track to Northwood Lane.

  The nearest house was a quarter of a mile from Rose Cottage. He got into his car, fumbled in every pocket for the ignition key, and then at last bumped and jolted his way out of the cart track.

  That was when he caught sight of Quinn less than a hundred yards from the cottage. Bossard scrambled from the car and shouted, “I need your help! Hurry, man, hurry!”

  Quinn broke into a run. As he reached the car, he asked, “What’s the trouble? Why all the excitement?”

  “Miss Wilkinson asked me to call at half-past twelve. When I got here I found her lying on the garage floor … and the engine of her car is running. Can’t get the door open. Tried using my starting handle but it won’t work.”

  “Aren’t there any windows?”

  “Yes, but they’re fitted with wired glass. Take a long time to get in that way. Maybe between us we can force the door.”

  “What kind of tools have you got?”

  “Only this thing and a jack. But there’s no time to waste and we must try.”

  Quinn said, “All right, I’ll take the jack. Let’s go.”

  As they ran side by side, Bossard asked, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  “I was going to call on Miss Wilkinson, too.”

  “Why?”

  “She phoned Elm Lodge this morning and in view of what she said to Mrs. Ford I thought I’d like to chat with her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Something to the effect that she knew who killed Adele Parry.”

  Dr. Bossard slowed momentarily and took a deep breath. “Did she, indeed? Now that is interesting.”

  They reached the garage. Quinn said, “Let me have a go …”

  He used the jack as a hammer and smashed blow after blow at the strip of moulding close to the lock until part of the wood tore off and left a space wide enough to take the end of the starting handle. Then he said, “Stick the handle in there, Doctor, and I’ll bash it farther in so as to give us plenty of leverage … that’s right.”

  Two or three blows were enough. Bossard took hold with both hands and set himself.

  He said, “Stand back out of the way in case this thing flies open suddenly.”

  Quinn moved aside as the door creaked and groaned. Bossard used every ounce of his strength in one tremendous final effort — an effort that brought the sweat out on his face. He saw the gap widen … the edge of the door bulge outwards … the wood begin to split vertically …

  Then the tongue of the lock broke free with a report like a pistol shot and the door sprang open. It flung him back, his arms upraised to protect himself, and he’d have toppled over if Quinn hadn’t caught hold of him.

  Quinn said, “We’d better open the other side and let some of the fumes out.”

  As he unfastened the top and bottom bolts, he added, “Don’t go rushing in yet. Give it a few seconds for the air to clear.”

  Dr. Bossard said, “We can’t afford the time. Take a good breath and cover your nose and mouth with your handkerchief. While you’re switching off the engine I’ll drag her out. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t loiter.”

  He waited outside until Quinn was reaching into the car for the ignition key. Then he rushed past him to the spot where Miss Wilkinson lay sprawled on the floor beside the lawnmower.

  He heard the drumming noise of the engine stop. With the stench of burned oil stinging his eyes, he got his hands under her armpits, lifted her clear of the mower, and dragged her backwards to the doorway, her feet scraping on the concrete.

  When he stumbled outside, Quinn took her by the legs and they carried her over to a rectangle of lawn behind the garage. Bossard said, “While I’m attending to her you get on the phone and dial 999. Tell them I want an ambulance here as quickly as possible … oh, and emphasise that they’re to bring both oxygen and carbon dioxide. Got that?”

  Quinn said, “Sure, I’ll tell them. You carry on.”

  He trotted along the cinder path and went in by the back door of the cottage. As Dr. Bossard began artificial respiration he told himself it was a waste of time … but he had to go through the motions.

  She had no pulse and her colour was bad. Another case of a stupid person who’d started the engine of her car while the garage doors were shut. That, more or less, was what the Coroner would say — unless it came out that she’d said she knew who had poisoned Adele Parry. Then he might ask some more questions … which could be embarrassing.

  … Not that it will make much difference in the end. Everybody knows she wallowed in malicious gossip whether it had any basis in fact or not. She was a mean woman all her life. Now she looks mean even in death. I doubt if anyone will shed a tear. And a few people with something to hide will feel a lot easier in mind …

  Quinn came back. He said, “Ambulance is on its way. How’s she doing?”

  “Too early to say yet. In a case like this you just keep on working and hope for the best.”

  “If you get tired, show me what to do and I’ll take over for a while.”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary,” Bossard said. “I hope the ambulance will be here before then. But thanks all the same.”

  As he rocked to and fro, compressing Miss Wilkinson’s chest in a regular rhythm, he added, “If you want something to do, take a look in the garage and see if you can find any reason for her being in there … but don’t touch anything. Just look around.”

  “O.K.”

  “And make sure the air’s fit to breathe. Swing the doors backwards and forwards to get rid of the carbon monoxide. No need to go rushing in — unless you fancy getting what she got.”

  Quinn looked down at Ariadne Wilkinson’s blotched and lifeless face. It could have been an accident … but for someone it might be a very fortunate accident.

  … Even if she didn’t realise the danger of letting the engine run in an enclosed place without ventilation, why were the garage doors shut, anyway? It’s a hot day — a damned hot day. Assuming she actually was messing about with the car, why should she have locked herself in? You’d imagine she’d want all the fresh air she could get …

  “No, I don’t,” Quinn said. “I can think of better ways of dying. And if you ask me she’s had her chips.”

  The ambulance arrived fifteen minutes later. Miss Wilkinson still showed no sign of response.

  When they had taken her away, Dr. Bossard asked, “Have you found anything that explains how this happened?”

  Quinn said, “Well, it could be she was checking the oil in the automatic transmission. The long dipstick had been taken out and wiped clean and there was an empty oil-can standing on the battery with the cap off.”

  “Is it the kind of thing a woman would do?”

  “If she was interested in the mechanical side of her car — yes. Not that you have to be clever. You set the lever on the steering column in position P and let the engine idle fairl
y fast for several minutes to warm up. Then you check the dipstick and top up as required. That’s the whole job.”

  “How do you come to be so knowledgeable?”

  “I’m not. Just interested. How long would it take for her to be overcome by the fumes?”

  “In a closed garage, not long. Five or six minutes might’ve been enough. She’d almost certainly not realise what was happening until it was too late.”

  “But, if she’d left the doors open, she’d have been all right?”

  “Probably. The exhaust gets away and so there’s no dangerous build-up of carbon monoxide.”

  Quinn said, “Wonder why she locked herself in? On a cold day you’d expect it, but not on a day like this.”

  “Maybe she did it from force of habit,” Bossard said. “Women sometimes feel nervous unless the door’s locked. And this place is fairly isolated.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  While Bossard watched him Quinn walked over to the garage door and studied the lock. It was hanging loose.

  When at last he looked round, he said, “Yes, it might’ve been that.”

  “Might’ve been what?”

  “She could’ve got locked in accidentally, if the door had swung shut, because it’s a spring lock. Not that she couldn’t have got out again without any trouble … but she might not have bothered if she was busy with the car.”

  “That’s probably the answer,” Bossard said. “However, it’s not our problem. A Coroner’s jury will decide … If you want to go, don’t wait for me. I’ll have to stay here until the police arrive.”

  Quinn said, “Then I’ll be off. May see you later.”

  He’d got as far as the wicket gate when he stopped and looked back. “There’s just one thing …”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it would take a fair gust of wind to swing that door shut and there hasn’t even been the slightest breeze all morning. So either she did it herself because she liked the hot stink of oil and petrol in a stifling garage … or someone else shut it. What do you think?”

  With a look of disapproval, Dr. Bossard said, “I think you should leave this sort of thing to people who are more qualified. And didn’t you yourself say she was checking the oil in the automatic transmission of her car?”

  “I said she could have been,” Quinn said. “I didn’t say she was. If she’s dead her death will have come as a merciful release — for several people in and around Castle Lammering.”

  Bossard shook his head. “That’s a wild allegation. You’re suggesting —”

  “No, I’m not. I’m making a plain statement of fact.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

  “What’s happened to her isn’t gossip. It’s a very convenient accident.”

  “There’s no evidence to show it was anything more than that.”

  Very hastily, Bossard went on. “And don’t twist my words. I didn’t mean it was convenient. From all I’ve seen she was overcome by exhaust fumes. Perhaps she realised her danger and tried to get out but hadn’t enough strength to do so. Carbon monoxide causes extreme muscular weakness. When she fell she struck her head on the lawnmower … and that finished any chance she might’ve had of escape.”

  Quinn said, “That’s your version. I’ll admit it’s very plausible, too.”

  He opened the wicket gate and went out. When he’d fastened the latch he looked back again.

  “Now I’ll tell you mine. Ariadne Wilkinson knew too much. What was worse, she talked too much. So she had an accident that stopped her talking any more. Simple, Doctor, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Bossard shook his head again. In a tone of dismissal, he said, “That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily true.”

  “You’re entitled to your own opinion,” Quinn said. “But I’m sticking to mine. I always prefer a simple explanation.”

  14

  He got back to the house at half-past one. Carole Stewart was alone in the living-room. She said, “You’re just in time. I was about to have lunch.”

  “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Well, Irene told me Michael’s gone to the Bird-in-Hand for a drink … so we won’t see him until after they’re shut. I’ve only just got in myself.”

  “Enjoy your walk?”

  With her mouth drawn in, Carole said, “No. I should’ve known better than to go out with Mister Neil Ford. His idea of a walk is to get behind the nearest hedge with an obliging female.”

  Quinn said, “I could say it’s your own fault … but I won’t. What did you do?”

  “I gave him a smack across the face that he won’t forget in a hurry. Then I went for a walk by myself until I’d cooled off. If I’d come straight back here I’d have been tempted to tell Irene exactly what I thought of her precious husband.”

  “You might be doing her a favour if you did. What time was it when you left Ford?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Twelve o’clock, perhaps.”

  “Any idea where he went?”

  “No … and I don’t care, either. When he started pawing me I could have killed him.”

  “You seem to have been unlucky with the men you’ve met recently,” Quinn said. “You told me you didn’t like being pawed when I kissed you at Charlie Hinchcliffe’s party.”

  She looked uncomfortable. “That was different. I only meant it as a figure of speech.”

  “Good job, too. If you’d taken a hefty swipe at me I’d have been out for a week. I felt dizzy enough that night, as it was. And, talking about being dizzy, where’s precious husband’s wife?”

  After a moment’s thought, Carole said, “Oh, you mean Irene. She’s gone out.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “To find Neil. I think she guessed there was something wrong when I came back alone. I hadn’t been here five minutes before she suddenly decided she needed some exercise. I heard her say it was time for lunch and she’d walk down to meet him … but you know the vague way she rambles from one thing to another.”

  Quinn said, “Yes, I know. Did she tell you what time Michael went out?”

  “Before twelve … I think. She mentioned something about him having to wait for the pub to open.”

  “Funny how I didn’t see him. After I’d wandered around for a while I called in at the Bird-in-Hand after twelve o’clock … and I didn’t leave until almost twelve-thirty. But Michael never showed up while I was there. Maybe he didn’t actually say he was going for a drink but Irene took it for granted.”

  A little frown narrowed Carole’s eyes. She said, “It’s possible … Why all these questions, anyway? Has Inspector Elvin asked you to keep a check on everybody’s movements?”

  “No, this is entirely my own idea,” Quinn said. “Nevertheless, when he hears the news, he’ll want to know where you all were this morning between twelve o’clock and half-past.”

  “What news?”

  “About Miss Wilkinson. After I left the Bird-in-Hand I decided to call on her. When I got there I found Dr. Bossard trying to break into the garage. He asked me to help him force the door because she was locked inside and the engine of her car was running.”

  Carole put a hand to her mouth. In a thin voice, she said, “Oh, no …”

  Quinn said, “I’m afraid it was oh yes. We got her out eventually, phoned for an ambulance, and she was taken to hospital. Not that anybody could do much for her. I’m quite sure she was already dead when we forced open the garage door.”

  After a long silence, Carole asked, “Why do you say the inspector will want to know where we were between twelve and half past?”

  There was a look of horror in her eyes — a look that Quinn couldn’t believe was assumed. He said, “Because I’d say she must’ve been lying in the garage at least half an hour. She’d been hit over the head and locked in the garage no later than twelve o’clock, in my opinion.”

  “So that means you think —”

  “Yes, I do. I think she was murdered by one of three peopl
e — the one who killed Adele Parry. It’s a question of choosing between Mrs. Parry’s husband, her doctor and her latest lover. Has anyone told you that Miss Wilkinson phoned early on this morning and said she knew who poisoned Adele?”

  Carole said, “No.” She sounded as though she had something in her throat.

  “Well, I was having breakfast in the kitchen when she spoke to Mrs. Ford. The gist of it was that she’d be coming here this afternoon with some kind of proof. I passed that on to Michael … and I’ve no doubt Mrs. Ford told her husband when he came back after you smacked his face.”

  “But he wasn’t in the house —”

  “He could’ve been and gone. And if he’s the one, we know where he went.”

  In the same difficult voice, Carole asked, “Did you mean Neil when you talked about Adele’s latest lover?”

  “Yes. I heard him trying to explain to his wife that he’d been the victim of a designing female and just managed to get away from her with his chastity intact.”

  A car changed gear at the foot of the long climb up from the village. Carole walked to the window and stood looking out, her sleek dark hair glistening in the sunlight, her pretty hands clasped tightly together.

  Quinn still thought she was a cute little girl. Pity that things couldn’t have been different. Now she would have to work out her own salvation.

  With her back towards him, Carole said, “If you suspect it was Neil, why drag anybody else into it? Michael, for example, has gone through a lot and —”

  “Michael, for example, doesn’t mean two hoots to you,” Quinn said. “All you’re concerned about is dear Geoffrey. You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you?”

  She swung round. “Well, after all, he is my husband.”

  “Taken you long enough to think of that … hasn’t it?”

  “Perhaps. But I know now. Whatever’s happened doesn’t matter. I intend to stand by him.”

  Quinn said, “Three hearty British cheers … With Adele Parry dead, he doesn’t need your wifely support. Michael can’t sue for divorce and anyone who dared suggest that Dr. Bossard’s relationship with his late patient wasn’t strictly ethical would risk an action for criminal slander. So he’s in the clear. Not a breath of suspicion attached to him … now that Ariadne Wilkinson’s had her mouth shut, too.”