She dialled the emergency service and was quickly connected with the police operator who promised that someone would be with her within minutes. The operator would also arrange for an ambulance and paramedics to attend, though Mary knew that was simply routine procedure. There was nothing anyone could do for Mikey and Angela.
As she heard the sound of approaching sirens, Mary Stride reflected through her tears that perhaps she should have listened to Mikey after all. She knew what had killed her brother and sister and now she would have to explain to the police why they hadn't come forward sooner when they could have avoided all of this, and she knew, as the guilt built up like a rising tide inside her, that her brother and sister might still be alive if they had done.
The past had come back to haunt Mary Stride, and along with the tears, the guilt and the pain, for the first time in her life, she was not just afraid, but very, very afraid.
A Sudden Twist
Lucy Clay was the lead detective as the two cars arrived at the Stride home. She'd automatically called Connor as soon as the emergency call had been routed to the murder squad's office. He would divert from his intended destination at Judge Tolliver's house and even now was on his way to the double murder scene. DeVere could wait.
Mary Stride was sitting on the bottom stair as Lucy walked into the house. The eldest of the Stride siblings was quietly sobbing, her shoulders hunched and her head sunk into her hands. She barely noticed the police officer's arrival and only looked up when Lucy tapped her very gently on the shoulder and spoke softly:
“Miss Stride?”
“Yes,” sobbed Mary.
“You made an emergency call. Your brother and sister; where are they?”
“Upstairs,” Mary replied, unable to get past one word sentences for the moment. Clay understood her reaction; the poor woman was in shock.
“Come with me,” Clay called to Detective Constable Simon Fox, who'd responded quickly when she'd grabbed him on her way out of the office. Fox had had quite enough of being stuck indoors for the moment and he'd jumped at the chance to accompany the sergeant on the call.
As the two detectives slowly mounted the stairs Mary Stride at last found her voice, enough at any rate to call out to the detectives:
“It's all my fault. I should have done as Mikey said.”
Lucy had heard such utterances before from the bereaved relatives of murder victims and now was not the time to either console or to deny Mary Stride's statement. That was for later. She needed to see the bodies. All she knew so far was that the emergency operator had told her that the caller had reported her brother and sister as having been murdered. She'd said she was a doctor and that she knew they'd been poisoned.
The scene that greeted Lucy and Constable Fox was little changed from the one that had at first assaulted the gaze of Mary stride upon her arrival home. Clay knew as soon as she saw the positions of the bodies that it wouldn't take much to confirm that these two unfortunates had just joined the ranks of those who already lay in the mortuary as a result of the work of the serial poisoner.
“Go back downstairs,” she ordered Fox, “and bring the M.E. up here as soon as he arrives.”
The medical officer was required to pronounce the victims officially dead before the detectives could have the body moved and get down to the `nitty-gritty' of their investigation of the death scene.
Simon Fox was only too pleased to leave that room. The horror of seeing the state of the two recently deceased human beings in such horribly contorted positions was enough to make him wish he'd stayed in the office searching though the computer databases for clues.
Lucy Clay's initial inspection of the death scene produced nothing of value. She could of course ascertain that the victims had died horribly and in all likelihood from the effects of poison, but that was all. The forensic team, when they arrived would carry out a meticulous search for trace evidence and if the killer had left any tiny semblance of a clue or had left a trace of his or her DNA or other means of identification, they'd find it.
As Lucy Clay carried out her fruitless search, downstairs the occupants of the second car were going through the necessary procedures of taping the entrance to the garden, and the front door, identifying the house as a crime scene to any onlooker or passer-by. The yellow tape was soon in place and while Fox paced up and down the garden path waiting for the medical examiner and fighting back his own feelings of nausea and revulsion, the two constables from car two sat and attempted to console Mary Stride, whom they'd assisted into the kitchen of the house, allowing her to sit on one of the dining chairs that sat under the table. They felt safe in letting her do so, as there was little likelihood that the killer had been in that room, and the table and chairs appeared undisturbed.
By the time Sean Connor arrived on the scene less than fifteen minutes later, the two officers had heard the most incredible story told by Mary Stride and which one of them, Detective Constable Sue Rawson had had the presence of mind to record in her notebook as soon as she realised the significance of what the bereaved sister was relating to her.
Upon his arrival Connor had gone straight upstairs to where he'd been told by Fox that Lucy Clay was waiting for him. Also present in the bedroom was Doctor Sally Hawes, the on-duty medical officer who had immediately pronounced both Michael and Angela Stride dead, thus allowing the bodies to be moved as soon as the police had carried out their initial examination of the crime scene, and a forensic technician Connor hadn't met before.
“It's bad Sir,” said Lucy as Connor approached the open doorway from the landing.
Connor nodded to his sergeant and walked past her into the room. The forensic technician was busy taking photographs of the death scene and his continually popping flashlight was disconcerting to Connor who felt as though he'd walked into a scene from a horror movie.
“I see what you mean Sergeant,” he at last responded to Clay's earlier comment, as he took in the sight of the one-legged man, his false leg lying unattached on the floor, and the woman, both lying in the hideously contorted positions that reflected their death agonies.
“What d'you think Doc?” he asked of Sally Hawes.
“We won't know until we've completed the post-mortem of course, but I think you'll find that we have another case of poisoning here Inspector. I'd almost bet my career on it that once we dig a bit deeper we'll also find that it was aconite that was responsible.”
“No Doctor. Aconite wasn't responsible,” said Connor, a mean expression crossing his face as he spoke. “No, some crazy screwed-up bastard of a human being is responsible for this. The aconite is just a tool, like a gun or a knife. Just because it's organic doesn't make aconite any less of a weapon than either of those.”
“Yes, well, I know that of course, I just meant…”
“I know what you mean Doctor, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's this bloody case. It's getting to me. Whatever we do we just can't seem to get a grip on what the damn motive for these killings is, or who's behind it all. Every time we get a lead it just runs up against a brick wall. It's driving me nuts!”
A voice from behind broke into the conversation.
“Alright to move the bodies now Inspector?” asked one of the newly arrived paramedics.
“Yes, right, no problem,” he replied.
“Where's the sister, Lucy?”
“Downstairs Sir, with a couple of constables. She's in a state of shock.”
“Yes, well I think anyone would be after coming home to find what she found. Come on, let's go have a word. We'll have another look around up here after they've removed the bodies and the forensic boys have finished with the place”
Connor and Clay made their way down the stairs and along the hall to the kitchen. As they approached the door they found their way blocked by the diminutive figure of Detective Constable Rawson.
“Hello Constable. Is there a problem?” asked Connor.
“Well Sir,” she replied. “Before you go in I think you shou
ld know what the lady in there has been saying.”
Connor craned his neck a little to try and see past the officer who blocked his way, but the view was obscured by the back of the second constable in the room, D.C. Paul Bowers.
“I'm all ears Constable,” Connor replied and he and Clay both leaned back against the wall of the hallway as Sue Rawson began to refer to her notes.
“Look Sir, I know you really want to get in there and speak to Miss Stride yourself, but while I've been with her she's been babbling on a bit. At first I just thought she was being a bit over the top and melodramatic, a shock thing if you know what I mean. Anyway, I suddenly realised she was saying some pretty scary stuff and I asked her to start again and I wrote it all down. To cut a long story short, she says that her brother and sister's deaths are her responsibility and that if she'd listened to Mikey, as she called him and called the police sooner she might have prevented the murders of her brother and sister. She says it's all her fault and that she just didn't want to dredge up the past. Apparently there's a very old skeleton in this family's cupboard Sir, and according to Mary Stride it's come back to haunt them. She refused to believe that there could be a connection between then and now at first you see, and she kept telling Mikey to drop the subject and in the end he agreed. She does seem a little confused and she was rambling a bit, but in the end she sort of just let it slip out.”
“Let what slip out Constable?”
“Oh, yes Sir. She says she knows who the aconite killer is.”
“Bloody Hell!” said both Connor and Clay simultaneously, and the two of them almost knocked Sue Rawson over as they pushed past her and into the kitchen to get their first view of and to hear the strange story of Mary Stride.
Revisiting the Past
Connor and Clay sat at one side of the well-polished pine refectory table that took centre stage in the Stride's kitchen. At the other side of the table sat Mary Stride, looking pale and visibly shaking as she faced the two detectives. Constable Rawson sat beside Mary comforting her as necessary and Paul Bowers stood guard on the kitchen door with orders from Connor to admit no-one until they'd finished talking with the grieving doctor. Four cups of hot steaming tea stood on the table, made by Sue Rawson. After introducing himself and Lucy, Connor had asked Rawson to put the kettle on and make them all a drink in the hope that it would help to try and compose the grieving woman before asking her to relate her story. He could see the sorry state she was in and knew he'd get little of use from her until she was in a calmer frame of mind. Lucy Clay sat by his side, notebook and pen in hand, poised to record what just might be the words that would help them solve the case.
Mary Stride reached out with a trembling hand and took hold of the cup that Rawson had placed before her. It was all she could do to raise the cup to her lips and take a sip of the tea without it spilling over the lip of the cup and onto her clothes. She managed it, and the hot liquid seemed to have an instant calming effect on her; her hand trembling just a little less as she replaced the cup on the empty saucer.
Connor decided that the time was right to give Mary a little push.
“Doctor Stride? When you're ready I'd like you to repeat a little of what you've already related to Constable Rawson. I believe you seem to think that this is all your fault and that think you know who's responsible for all the recent deaths in and around the town. I need to hear your story for myself. When you're ready, please Doctor, in your own time.”
Mary Stride took a deep breath in an effort to regain a little more of her normal professional composure. She sniffed, reached for a tissue from the box that had magically appeared on the table courtesy of Rawson's forethought, and wiped the tears from her face. She appeared to slump into her chair for a second and then with what was probably a supreme effort on her part, she pulled her shoulders upwards and backwards, raised herself to her full seated height, and began.
“I'm the one responsible for all of this Inspector, because if I'd listened to my poor brother Mikey we could have helped you put a stop to this before it got this far and both he and Angela would still be alive. You see, I stopped him from calling the police despite his fears and his desire to `do the right thing' because I felt that our family had suffered enough and because I thought that there couldn't be a connection between what happened all those years ago and what's happening now. I know now that I was wrong. Inspector, my father was Terence Stride!”
She spoke the last sentence as though she expected Connor to know instantly to whom she was referring. If that was her hope, she was wrong.
“I'm sorry Doctor. I've never heard of him.”
“Oh, yes, well perhaps it was a bit before your time I daresay. I was only thirteen myself when it all began. Anyway, as I said my father was Terence Stride and thirty three years ago he was accused of the murder of a man named William Prentice.”
There was still no sign of recognition from the police officers.
“William Prentice was a private investigator who specialized in divorce cases; you know the sort of thing I mean. He'd get the dirty photographs that were popular in the courts in those days in order to prove infidelity and so on. Well, one day his body was discovered in the garden of a house on Fuller Road about two miles from here. It's gone now, all pulled down when they built the new industrial estate. Anyway, Prentice had a partner named Andrew Forbes who told the police that Prentice was investigating a case of adultery involving a woman who lived in Braintree Close, about half a mile from Fuller Road. Her husband was convinced that she was having an affair with a married man who lived on Watson Street. We of course live on Watson Street as you know. A witness later gave a statement to the effect that she saw a man following Prentice a few minutes after midnight on the night of his death. She gave the police a description of the man. That description matched the appearance of my father Inspector, and from that moment onwards our lives were turned upside down. The police came to interview everyone who lives on Watson Street and as soon as they saw my father I'm sure they thought they'd got their man. To make matters worse my father had no real alibi for the night of the murder. He was a taxi driver and according to his statement he was just sitting in his cab waiting for a call to his next fare by the side of a road at least three miles from the scene of the murder at the time the police said it had taken place. The radio controller at the taxi company who my father worked for confirmed that he wasn't on an actual call at the time but obviously couldn't confirm his exact whereabouts.
He was taken in for questioning and vehemently denied any involvement in the killing. He also denied having known the woman who was at the centre of the Prentice investigation, which she confirmed, but the police thought she was lying in order to try and save her marriage. It seems her husband was a violent man and the police assumed she'd deny the affair anyway to try to deflect the police from the belief that she herself could have been involved in the murder. Anyway, it was discovered that Prentice had gone out on the night of the murder with his camera, and the camera was missing. In fact, it was never found. Eventually, faced with a lack of any tangible evidence to link him with the murder, the police had no choice but to release my father, but the damage had already been done.
Almost as soon as he came home, the gossips started their character assassination. I'm sure you'll know what I mean. The previously happy family man that was my father became a figure of hate Inspector. Everywhere he went he'd hear comments about the murder, the women in the area began a campaign of innuendo and slander, calling him everything from a philanderer and an adulterer to a murderer. Of course my mother wasn't immune to all of this and she was only too aware of what was being said and the strain began to tell on their marriage.
Even when someone else was arrested for the murder and eventually convicted, the backstabbing and the innuendo and the whispering went on, until my mother couldn't stand it any more. She started to believe that my father had been unfaithful Inspector, can you believe that? After all his denials, and after someone
else was convicted, she actually believed all the lies that were being circulated about him and, anyway, she threw him out. They were divorced soon afterwards and our lives went from bad to worse.
My father couldn't live without my mother Inspector Connor and three months after the divorce he drove his car into the middle of a level crossing late at night and stopped the engine. The driver of the express train that hit him never even saw him in the dark. He was killed instantly, so they said. My father had left a note back at the cheap little flat he'd rented when he left home in which he wrote of his love for my mother, of how he was innocent of everything that had been said about him and of his love for his children, but his mind was gone you see Inspector. He couldn't live either with the shame that the lies had heaped upon him or without my mother, who was without a doubt the love of his life. The inquest verdict was a simple `suicide whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed' but in fact he was murdered Inspector; murdered by the campaign of nasty and vicious lies and innuendo that the wagging tongues of the day had directed at him. He was an innocent man who was driven to his death by gossip and tittle-tattle.”
The tears welled up in Mary Stride's eyes again and Sue Rawson, moved by the story that the doctor had told them so far, reached out her hand and placed it reassuringly on Mary's left arm. Lucy Clay reached into the box of tissues on the table and extracted one which she passed to the tearful woman. Connor realised that this was a very stressful situation for Mary who, after all had just found her brother and sister dead upstairs a very short time ago and compassion dictated that he offer her a break to gather herself before continuing her story. She refused, wanting instead to go on and relate the rest of the tale to the inspector.
Purple Death Page 13