A Slightly Bitter Taste

by Harry Carmichael

Quinn said, “Yes, you’re right.”

  Without taking his eyes off Neil Ford, he added, “I can bear out what Mr. Parry says, Inspector. When I left the Bird-in-Hand it was close enough to twelve-thirty … and neither he nor Ford were there yet.”

  Elvin nodded. He said, “Evidently, Mr. Ford, you’re the one who’s mistaken. So let’s check the measure of your mistake.”

  He glanced at Carole. “Do you agree, Miss Stewart, that Mr. Ford was in your company until twelve o’clock?”

  She shook her head. Then she said in a small voice, “No, it was earlier than that. Not much … but earlier.”

  “How much earlier?”

  “About ten to or a quarter to twelve.”

  “And you left him — where?”

  “The other side of the village.”

  “How long would you say it takes to get from there to Miss Wilkinson’s cottage in Northwood Lane?”

  “About” — she gave Neil Ford a fleeting look — “about ten minutes.”

  He’d been listening with the air of a man who didn’t fully understand what was happening. Now he said in a ragged tone, “It would also take ten minutes to get to the Bird-in-Hand … but I was wrong and I admit it. I didn’t go straight to the pub. I took a walk first.”

  Inspector Elvin said, “And you didn’t arrive at the Bird-in-Hand until some time after twelve-thirty?”

  “Probably — probably not.”

  “So there is a period of at least forty minutes to be accounted for?”

  “I’ve told you what I did. I went for a walk.”

  “Are you seriously asking me to believe that?”

  “Why not? Is there a law against it?”

  “No. But you and Miss Stewart had been walking since before ten o’clock. I’d have thought —”

  “What you’d have thought doesn’t interest me,” Ford said. “Neither, for that matter, does all this talk about where I was and when and for how long. I’m telling you once and for all that I was nowhere near Miss Wilkinson’s cottage this morning or any morning. If you want to find the person who attacked her you’d better look elsewhere.”

  Elvin said, “I’d be more impressed by your attitude, Mr. Ford, if you could provide something in the way of evidence to support what you say. For example, did you meet anyone or see anyone who could corroborate that you were some distance from Northwood Lane at, say, twelve-fifteen?”

  Neil Ford moved uncomfortably. “I don’t think you’ve any right to go on questioning me like this. Unless you intend to make some charge I’ve nothing more to say.”

  “I see. Then you leave me no alternative but to —”

  Inspector Elvin got no further. Irene said, “I can corroborate what my husband says. I was with him at a quarter past twelve.”

  A growing look of confusion darkened Michael’s pale blue eyes. As he was about to speak, Elvin said, “Oh, no, Mrs. Ford. Not this time. It won’t work twice.”

  “But it’s true. When it got to near twelve o’clock and he wasn’t back yet I went looking for him.”

  “Did you know which direction he and Miss Stewart had taken?

  Irene wriggled and took a long time to answer. Eventually, she said, “No … not really … but I had a fair idea. I guessed it would be” — she made an aimless gesture that could have meant anything or nothing— “that way.”

  “And you found him without too much trouble?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “We talked for a little while … if you know what I mean.”

  “And then?”

  Once again she needed time to think. “I came back here to” — she gave Carole a fleeting look — “to fix up lunch.”

  “Were you here when Miss Stewart returned?”

  “Oh, yes, she’ll tell you herself —”

  “Whatever she has to tell me doesn’t require any prompting by you,” Elvin said.

  As Neil Ford opened his mouth in protest, the inspector stuck out a long forefinger. “And that goes for you, too, Mr. Ford. I don’t want you to interfere from now on. Your wife chose to involve herself in this affair and I am, therefore, entitled to ask her any questions I consider necessary — any questions at all.”

  His manner changed as he turned to Carole. “Now, Miss Stewart. Was Mrs. Ford in the house when you came back?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Almost half-past one.”

  “Did she go out soon afterwards?”

  “Within two or three minutes.”

  “Thank you.” His eyes flitted to Irene’s thin, anxious face. “All right, Mrs. Ford, let me see if I’ve got this in the correct order. You went out at twelve o’clock to find your husband: you found him some time prior to twelve-fifteen, spent a little while talking to him, and then returned to Elm Lodge: when Miss Stewart came back at about one-thirty you went out almost immediately, again to find your husband. Is that an accurate summary of your movements this morning?”

  Irene looked down and tugged at her skirt. She said, “Yes … but the way you put it sounds funny … if you know what I mean.”

  “It sounds funny because it is funny,” Elvin said. He pointed to Michael. “You, Mr. Parry, would seem to have been the only other person in this house. Miss Stewart and Mr. Ford had gone out … so had Mr. Quinn. That left you and Mrs. Ford alone. When did you go out?”

  “About” — Michael brushed up the ends of his straggly fair moustache — “about half-past eleven. I told Mrs. Ford I was going to the Bird-in-Hand …” He paused, his eyes shifting from Irene to Carole and then back to Inspector Elvin’s face. He still seemed to be trying to come to grips with something which eluded him.

  Elvin prompted, “Yes, Mr. Parry? Go on.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually leave right away. There was no hurry to get down to the Bird-in-Hand because it doesn’t open until twelve on a Sunday. So I thought I’d fill in the time by taking a look at my car. She hasn’t been running too well recently and I had an idea the lead to the coil hadn’t been screwed in properly when they fitted a new radio last week. As it happens that wasn’t the trouble …” He paused again.

  “You can spare us the technicalities,” Elvin said. “From what you’re saying I gather that you spent some time in the garage. What happened while you were in there?”

  “I saw Mrs. Ford leave the house. I’d have called after her but she seemed to be in a hurry. Never thought anything of it then and it’s only now when I’ve heard her say she didn’t leave until nearly twelve that I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “What time would it actually be?”

  “Not five minutes after I’d gone into the garage — twenty to twelve at the latest.”

  Irene tugged at her skirt and wriggled when she saw everybody watching her. Then she stared at nothing, her mouth set in stubborn lines.

  Inspector Elvin said, “Well, Mrs. Ford, don’t you think you’ve been very foolish?”

  She glanced at her husband, caught sight of the look in his eyes, and turned away. She said, “Anybody can make a mistake … and I still say it wasn’t far off twelve. Not that it matters. You’re trying to make out my husband was in Northwood Lane at a quarter past twelve … and it’s not true. I was with him then and I’m willing to swear he never went anywhere near that woman’s cottage.”

  Quinn knew the end was not far off. She’d go on fighting but the façade of her existence had already begun to crumble.

  Elvin said, “It’s no use, Mrs. Ford. Don’t keep on trying to act as his alibi. You were not with him at a quarter past twelve and you may as well admit it.”

  With her face set in lines of bitter obstinacy, she said, “I won’t — I won’t admit it. You can’t make me change my mind. I was with him … I was.”

  “You couldn’t have been. Someone saw him at that time — and he was alone. I have a witness who will say you were not with your husband at twelve-fifteen.”

  Irene d
id a little wriggle but said nothing. In a bemused voice, Neil Ford asked, “Who — who’s supposed to have seen me?”

  “There’s no supposition about it,” Elvin said. “Dr. Bossard was on his way to visit a patient when he passed you walking in the direction of the Bird-in-Hand. Isn’t that so. Doctor?”

  Bossard said, “Yes.” He didn’t sound very pleased.

  “But if” — Ford stumbled and began again — “if you knew I hadn’t been in Northwood Lane why did you try to make out that I killed Miss Wilkinson?”

  Inspector Elvin smiled. He said, “You jumped to conclusions — unfounded conclusions. I didn’t say you killed her. I didn’t say anyone killed her. Actually, Miss Wilkinson isn’t dead — far from it.”

  His eyes shifted from Ford to Irene and then settled on Michael Parry. “You kept doing your best to attract my attention while Mrs. Ford was rather foolishly trying to provide her husband with an alibi that he didn’t need. When eventually I asked you what happened here after everybody but you and Mrs. Ford had gone out you said you had told her you were going to the Bird-in-Hand … but instead you went into the garage and while there —”

  “I’ve explained all that,” Michael said. He looked bewildered and guilty.

  “— while there you saw Mrs. Ford leaving the house, some time between twenty-five to and twenty minutes to twelve. If that’s true …”

  He glanced at Irene. “Is it, Mrs. Ford?”

  In a tone little more than a whisper, she said, “Yes … I think so.”

  “Then there’s one thing you’ve succeeded in doing, Mr. Parry, that you may not have realised. You’ve put yourself in a position where no one can say what you were doing from that time on until you arrived at the Bird-in-Hand a little after twelve-thirty. Would you like to account for that period of close on an hour?”

  Sudden anger drove the guilty look from Michael’s face. He said, “No, I wouldn’t. I don’t know what’s going on here … but you’ve shoved me around long enough. So far as I’m concerned —”

  “You still say you spent the time tinkering with your car until you went to the Bird-in-Hand?”

  “Yes, I do … for a very good reason. It happens to be the truth.”

  Inspector Elvin said, “There’s a saying: ‘Great is truth and shall prevail.’ You may be glad to know that I believe you — without qualification.”

  “I’m neither glad nor sorry. For your information, I couldn’t care less.”

  With a little nod, Elvin said, “Perhaps I don’t blame you.”

  He looked at Irene and his voice changed. “Well, Mrs. Ford? I said you’d been very foolish, didn’t I? You were so anxious to provide your husband with an alibi, you didn’t think you might need one yourself. And now it’s too late. I won’t bother to ask you where you were around twelve o’clock to-day — I know.”

  She stared at him as though waiting for him to go on, as though he hadn’t finished saying all that had to be said. When he remained silent, she began to tremble, her hands plucking at her skirt, her eyes sick with terror.

  Carole turned away and put her face against Bossard. Quinn saw Sergeant Taylor come a step nearer. Like a man talking to himself, Michael Parry murmured, “I don’t believe it … no, I don’t believe it.”

  In a voice he couldn’t control, Neil Ford asked, “What the hell are you talking about? What is all this?”

  Inspector Elvin said, “Kindly remain quiet. I told you not to interfere.” His eyes hadn’t left Irene’s face.

  Then he went on, “Well, Mrs. Ford. You thought there was no hope for Miss Wilkinson, didn’t you? You thought she’d be dead before she was found … and so she’d never be able to reveal that she saw your husband’s car in front of this house last Friday afternoon. She assumed it had been one of his usual visits until she learned that Mrs. Parry must’ve been given a dose of poison at or about that time.”

  Neil Ford said huskily, “Oh, my God! I never guessed —”

  He caught hold of Irene and forced her to look at him. “You pretended you didn’t know about Adele and me. And all the time …” He choked down the rest.

  When he released her she didn’t move. She was still staring at Elvin as if hypnotised.

  He said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Ford, your wife knew all right. What finally drove her to kill Mrs. Parry is something that only she can explain. I’d say, however, that she probably made that decision during a phone call she received from Adele Parry on Friday morning …”

  Quinn saw Dr. Bossard whisper something to Carole. She nodded and they walked towards the door. As they went outside, Elvin’s voice ran on.

  “… The switchboard operator who’d put through the call was off duty yesterday. When she came back this morning and heard the news she gave the hotel manager certain information that he passed on to me. It seems the operator cut in on the conversation, thinking it was finished, and overheard your wife arranging to meet Mrs. Parry at Salisbury …”

  Slowly and heavily, Michael began walking to the foot of the staircase. He didn’t look back.

  “… It gave me something to go on … but it wasn’t proof. For that I needed Miss Wilkinson. And as soon as I heard what had happened to her I knew there could be only one thing she’d seen last Friday that made it vital to stop her talking.”

  Irene Ford was trembling again, her face tormented like the face of a woman wracked with pain. Twice she tried to speak but the words refused to come out.

  Then the inner struggle exhausted itself and she became quite still. Her eyes were no longer afraid.

  In a calm, resigned voice, she said, “I don’t care what you do now. Nothing matters any more. Adele had everything. She was rich and beautiful. Between her looks and her money she could have whatever she wanted. The whole world was hers — but she was going to steal my husband. I couldn’t let her do it. She deserved to die and I’m glad I killed her.”

  Neil Ford had been staring at her as though he had never seen her before. Now he said, “Be quiet … for God’s sake, be quiet! If you keep your mouth shut, they don’t stand a chance of proving …” He ran out of breath and couldn’t go on.

  She turned to look at him, her hands fondling each other like creatures which possessed a life of their own. She said, “You don’t care what happens to me … not really. Adele wasn’t the first. There have been other women … but you always came back to me. That’s where she was different. She thought she could bribe me to let you go … like she was going to bribe Michael.”

  “But I wouldn’t —” He broke off again.

  “You wouldn’t have left me?” She shook her head. “I wonder …”

  With a touch of colour in her pallid cheeks, she went on, “I didn’t do it just because of you, Neil. I hated her. She was the kind of woman I’ve always despised … and don’t try to stop me. I may as well admit the whole thing and get it over and done with. Even if I don’t, Ariadne can tell them all they want to know.”

  Inspector Elvin cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid she can’t. That was merely subterfuge on my part. Miss Wilkinson is dead.”

  Irene stared at him, her eyes filled with indignation. She said, “You cheated me. That isn’t fair. You had no right to tell lies — not really.”

  “Perhaps we’ll discuss that some other time,” Elvin said. “Right now you are not obliged to say any more. If, however, you choose to make a statement, it is my duty to warn you that anything you say …”

  16

  The inquest on Adele Parry took place Monday morning. It lasted three-quarters of an hour and the coroner returned his verdict just after a quarter to twelve.

  Then Quinn asked someone, “Is there a pub round here where the beer isn’t luke warm?”

  He was told to try the Wheatsheaf. “… It’s along there to your left. You can’t miss it.”

  Quinn said, “If I do there must be something wrong with my homing instinct …”

  The lounge of the Wheatsheaf had a half-moon bar, a quiet atmosp
here, and a barmaid who knew how to pull a good pint of bitter. He was thinking of ordering a second when Inspector Elvin came in and joined him.

  Elvin looked at the empty glass and asked, “Can I buy you another?”

  “That’s the best invitation I’ve had so far to-day,” Quinn said. “You’ve arrived just in time. I’ll be glad to drink your health.”

  “My pleasure. I owe you more than just a beer.”

  “Well, if you feel that way you can go on buying them until the debt’s paid off.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Elvin said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  Quinn waited until the barmaid had served them. When she went away, he said, “I think you’re right. My humble efforts did help to speed the course of justice. Incidentally, I don’t mind drinking beer with you but I wouldn’t sit down to a game of poker.”

  “I never play cards,” Elvin said.

  His silver hair was immaculate, his lean face remote and thoughtful as ever. He wore a tie in keeping with his discreet grey suit.

  Quinn said, “Maybe you don’t. But you know how to work a very slick bluff. Even I fell for that story about Miss Wilkinson.”

  Inspector Elvin looked down as though admiring the shine on his well-polished shoes. With a faint smile, he said, “You fell for something a lot more important.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes. Dr. Bossard didn’t see Ford walking by himself in the direction of the Bird-in-Hand. If I hadn’t persuaded the doctor to tell a little white lie I’d never have proved that Mrs. Ford wasn’t with her husband around twelve o’clock yesterday.”

  In the recesses of Quinn’s mind, Ariadne Wilkinson was talking again like a voice out of the far distant past. “ … I’m going to teach you a lesson in good manners. Next time you won’t be so abrupt with a lady.”

  He said, “Now you mention it, I did wonder about that. Of course, it shouldn’t have been necessary. If I’d been a little more civil to Miss Wilkinson on the phone that business at Rose Cottage would never have happened.”

  “You appear to be a man with a conscience,” Elvin said. “Take my advice and don’t let it get out of hand. Some things are destined to happen. I think it was Shakespeare who wrote: ‘There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.’ Remember it?”