Perils and Dangers

by Peter Turnbull

  "Mrs Hargrave, we have this morning arrested your husband in connection with the murder of Nathan Ossler. There are some questions we have to put to you."

  "Good for him." Clarissa Hargrave drew deeply on the cigarette in the holder.

  "You don't seem surprised?"

  "I am surprised in that I didn't think the little twerp had it in him. Just goes to show how you can be married to someone and not know him at all." Hennessey thought, "you don't know the half of it, madam, not the half of it", but kept the words in his head.

  "Well, well, well. I read about Ossler, getting shot, of course. So my husband did it…he avenged me. Do you know what Ossler did to me in the bar of the golf club? Poured beer down my front, not over my dress, but inside my dress…the effrontery. I was the talk of the golf club…still am. So Little William has something about him after all, he's really worth more than just standing there looking neat giving off essence of man. Honour is satisfied."

  "We have not yet the proof we really need."

  "But you suspect him enough to arrest him? That's good enough for me…that invertebrate Ossler got what has been long coming to him. He was a pushy man, not at all universally popular. I told my husband that I wouldn't be happy until I saw him dead."

  "You said that?"

  "I said a lot of things that night, but the thrust of my emotions was that I wanted Ossler dead, I wanted his death to be both slow and immeasurably painful. So a bullet in the head was too quick, but you can't have it all." She drew on the cigarette, burning it to the butt. She unscrewed the filter out of the cigarette holder, tossed it into a huge cut glass ashtray which was half full of similar filters, took a cigarette from a gold-plated case, pushed it into the holder and lit it with a gold-plated lighter. "I dare say it's obvious what my doctor has advised me to do, but it's my only pleasure and at my age…so—"

  "Your husband had a motivation to shoot Ossler, you say?"

  "Of course, to keep me…to keep this house…this standard of living…men do that for me, you know. My late husband fought a duel to satisfy my honour, do you know that? A real duel, not, fortunately to the death, but a duel none the less. A man dared to imply that I married my dear husband for his money, not for my deep abiding love for him, my origins being a little more humble than my husband's, you see."

  "Ah…" Hennessey nodded. Yellich sat with his hands held together, looking a trifle uncomfortable, and responded to Mrs Hargrave's explanation with a brief smile.

  "He wouldn't retract what he said and so a duel was fought in the form of a bare-knuckle boxing match in the grounds of this house at dawn, all proper, ten three-minutes rounds, with seconds…I sat on a chair and watched it as the sun rose. Two men bloodying themselves for the sake of my honour…the romance…my husband fighting to defend my honour…how many women can say that?"

  "Not many."

  "Not at the cusp of the millennium. The twenty-first century has dawned and here am I, probably the only woman in all England who can say that a duel was fought over the question of her honour. Of course my husband would kill for me, for the sake of my honour. I'll have to divorce him now that he's been stupid enough to be caught, he'll be in prison for a long time now, so he's no use to me."

  "Mrs Hargraves, where were you on Sunday evening?"

  "Why? Am I under suspicion? How exciting. Will I be arrested and have my rights read to me or is it only the Americans who do that?"

  "Just answer the question."

  "Out."

  "Out?"

  "Yes, it means not in. Not at home. Not in residence. I was out. You see, it's the state of not being in. Like a man who plays cricket, he's in until he's out. And when all those who are in are out, then the side that's been out goes in."

  "Yes, I've got a tea towel with that on as well, Mrs Hargraves," Hennessey said icily. "Where were you when you were out?"

  "With my girlfriends. I have a very cast-iron alibi. We played bridge at Lucy Bingham's house. Tonya Villiers and Miranda Courtney-Smyth were there too. They'll vouch for me." She dictated Lucy Bingham's phone number and Yellich wrote it in his notepad.

  "And your husband was at home when you were out?"

  "He was at home when I left, and he was at home when I returned shortly after midnight, but he'd gone out and returned in the interim."

  Silence. A clock ticked. Clarissa Hargraves pulled deeply on the cigarette holder and smiled as though she knew she had said something of significance and was enjoying the game.

  "The flower was crushed, you see."

  "The flower?"

  "I permit my husband restricted use of my second car. He's allowed two hundred miles per month. My maid tells me when he has used up his allowance upon which he must surrender the keys to me. It is handed back to him on the first day of the next month. We are now near the beginning of June, he has a few miles to play with. I thought he might sneak out and so I did what I always do on such occasions, I plucked a flower from the garden and placed it under the rear wheel of the car. When I returned the car was in the same place, almost, but the flower had been crushed. So he'd gone for a little drive, not far, but the bonnet of the car was still warm. He would have left shortly after I left and returned…well how long does it take for a car's bonnet to cool down completely, an hour, half an hour? No rain or cold weather to cool it down…a warm June night. I returned at half past midnight…there was still a slight trace of heat in the bonnet, very slight."

  "It's a small car?"

  "A Ford Fiesta."

  "A small engine, it wouldn't generate a lot of heat."

  "No…the Bentley, the bonnet of the Bentley remains warm for an hour after the car has remained parked, longer sometimes, depending on the weather."

  "The bonnet of a Ford Fiesta would cool within fifteen minutes," Yellich offered.

  "So he could have returned as late as quarter past midnight." Hennessey turned to Yellich.

  "It would give him the time, boss."

  "Oh good." Clarissa Hargrave grinned. "Do I sense the net closing on my husband?"

  "No comment. But he told us he was in the house all Sunday evening."

  "Well the little toad's lying to you. The second car moved and only he was in a position to drive it. He has a capacity to lie, it's part of his nature. He told me he'd been in all evening as well, I didn't tell him about the flower under the wheel of the car."

  "You didn't challenge him?"

  "No…but I did add it to a certain little list I am keeping, the sum of which is already greater than the constituent parts and one day I shall drop it in front of his little self when I want something special. Generally he does my least bidding, but occasionally I need a little something to hold over him…he's scared of losing me you see, men are, and I like things on my terms at all times. We married on my terms, we live on my terms, and that's how I like it. I learned the art of that from my first husband, he tended to do things on his terms."

  "What time did you leave home on Sunday evening?" Hennessey asked, bringing the interview back on track.

  "About eight p.m. I returned after midnight and William was waiting up for me like the dutiful Labrador he is and he told me he'd been in all evening watching television. He told me what he'd watched but he could have got that information from the TV guide."

  "Easily."

  "But I'd already checked the flower so I went up the stairs, had a shower and went to bed feeling very smug. I do like having things to hold over my husband, my mother told me that. Mr father was a burly deckhand and my mother was a small fisherwoman but she had him jumping through hoops. It's all about knowledge you know, it's all about knowing things that he doesn't know you know. Knowledge is power."

  "But your information is interesting." Hennessey leaned forwards. "Apart from anything else, it means we were right to detain him."

  "What other reason could you have to detain him?"

  "Well…" Hennessey said quietly, as beside him he felt Yellich stiffen. "You see we have found out that
your husband may have had another motive for murdering Ossler other than to avenge your indignity…we know that Ossler was blackmailing your husband."

  Clarissa Hargrave's jaw sagged. "Why?"

  Her eventual scream, high pitched and piercing, brought the maid running to the room, by which time Clarissa Hargrave was standing up, fists clenched by her side, screaming at the ornate ceiling. After explaining to the maid that her employer had had a little bad news, Hennessey and Yellich let themselves out of the huge house. As they walked from the front door towards their car, Clarissa Hargrave's scream was clearly audible and showed no sign of abating, penetrating the interior of the officers' car and following them as they drove towards the gate and the road back to York.

  "So, where were you?" Hennessey asked William Hargrave. Yellich and another duty solicitor were present on this occasion, a slightly built but very serious minded woman called "Miss Smith". Hennessey at least found her serious minded and utterly humourless, having met her on previous occasions. The red recording light glowed, twin cassettes spun silently, slowly. "You're getting yourself in deeper and deeper…all you can do now is to come clean."

  "Did you tell her why Ossler was blackmailing me?"

  "Yes. We had to. We couldn't keep that sort of information from her."

  "How did she take it?"

  "As you'd expect."

  Hargrave's jaw set firm. "She can cheat but she can't be cheated…she has to be in control but she wasn't in control at all. No more easy life for me, but at least I was there on my terms all the time…no, I can imagine she had known happier moments in her life."

  "So, where were you?"

  "I wonder what's going to happen to me now?"

  "Sunday night!" Hennessey slapped his palm on the desk top. "That's all we are interested in. Sunday night. You drove from your home to Ossler's house and you shot him. Yes?"

  "No."

  "Look, you've got no alibi, you've got a strong motive and you've got the means. Even with your alibi the CPS would have run with it, now your alibi's shot, you have no defence. Best you come clean."

  "Well that's where you're wrong. My alibi's not shot, my alibi's as strong as strong can be. I was with my girlfriend."

  Hennessey groaned. "You'll excuse my cynicism, Mr Hargrave or Humby…"

  "I was with my girlfriend." Hargrave spoke calmly. "I was with my girlfriend. But I can't tell you her name."

  "That's the sort of alibi we get from delinquent youths."

  "I can't tell you her name."

  "Because she doesn't exist."

  "Oh, she exists all right…we met through a dating agency…you might have seen it advertised…Dangerous Liaisons…it puts people in touch with each other who are in a bad marriage but are holding on for one reason or another, children usually…but in my case, it's good living, and who want a secret lover to help them, help us, get through, one day at a time until we have a rendezvous."

  "So tell us her name. It's in your interest. If she exists." Hennessey pressed. "If not, you're in deeper. We'll have to keep you here."

  "Keep me here. It's safer. Nowhere to go anyway. So it's cheaper as well."

  "This interview," Hennessey said coldly, "is terminated at sixteen forty hours."

  Hennessey sat at his desk writing up the content of the interview with Hargrave, adding that he was not losing sight of the possibility of Nigel West as a suspect. Presently he became aware of someone standing to his left. He looked up. Commander Sharkey stood in the door frame. Hennessey thought he looked worried. He'd seen Sharkey look like this before and he knew what was pressing on Sharkey's mind.

  "There's nothing to worry about is there, George?"

  "Nothing at all, sir."

  "Had all I want of that in Hong Kong you know. The entire force was run on it. Just don't want it here. Nothing like that with us, not here in York."

  "Don't worry, sir," Hennessey smiled. "None of us want it either. Any indication of that and we'll all squeal like stuck pigs. Thanks again for the book."

  "My pleasure. No hurry to return it."

  Yellich didn't want to do it, but his wife had prevailed upon him. Being the secretary, he thought, was sufficient, but Sara had pressed and prodded and eventually he had conceded and they hosted the York District Special Needs (Parents') Support Group in their home on a bi-monthly basis. Soon Yellich was able to admit that he enjoyed the evening. The other parents of children similar to Sam had, over the years, become their friends, and the children had become friends with each other. Usually it was "business", negotiating the Health Service maze and/or the Social Security maze, advice about parenting issues, but occasionally a day trip to the coast had been organised.

  On this occasion, a psychologist had agreed to talk to the group for no fee about an issue which was pressing on two other sets of parents in the group whose children were older than Sam, but which issue Yellich and his wife knew was ahead of them: sexuality and learning difficulties. It was the worrying minefield of issues when juvenile mentality is mixed with developing adult urges and attraction. Not easy. That meeting was well attended and at the end, over tea and biscuits, the parents each agreed that the meeting had succeeded in allaying fears and immense was the gratitude shown to the young female psychologist who seemed to Yellich to be mollified by it all.

  Hennessey sat with the woman at the long table in her dining kitchen. Upstairs the children ran to and fro and squabbled about the use of "their" bathroom. They didn't speak, but held hands and gazing into each other's eyes, and he saw again how warm those eyes were, as warm as he remembered Jennifer's eyes being. He had returned home to Easingwold, eaten, exercised Oscar, phoned his son -just to retain contact, as had developed their relationship, their father and son friendship. He had then made another brief phone call, packed an overnight bag and driven to Skelton, to a half-timbered house in the village, a gravel drive, a double garage which he knew housed, if not "homed" a 1947 Riley, the beloved possession of the owner of the property, the red and white car in pristine, as new condition, being the only car ever owned by her beloved father.

  "It's gone quiet," the woman said softly. "Peace in our time."

  "They've settled quickly tonight," Hennessey replied.

  "Diane and Fiona are tired, they've been at the stables all evening getting Samson ready for the show at the weekend. Dan's just tired."

  "Ah…my great rival in love." Hennessey squeezed her hand. "I worked out that I'm eighth in your life in terms of importance. I humbly take my place behind three children, a career, a horse and two rabbits, lop-eared at that. But I'm pleased to be here. So, so pleased. It's been a long time…"

  "For both of us." Louise D'Acre returned the squeeze. "Shall we go up?"

  Six

  In which Hennessey meets a timid woman in a large house and a second suspect moves into the frame for the murder of Nathan Ossler.

  "He went to the gun club. He's gone to the gun club."

  Hennessey's heart missed a beat. "Excuse me?"

  "The gun club," the timid woman repeated. "He's gone there." She sat stiffly in the chair, occasionally glancing out of the twelve foot high window pane at the children playing in the garden. "They're convalescing," she said by means of explanation. "Summer cold. But they're better now…back to school tomorrow for the last few days of term. A little bit of peace before the summer mayhem, but I dare say I'll miss them when they're gone. What's that condition…empty nest syndrome? But summer in France and then ten blessed peaceful weeks of the Christmas term."

  "The gun club?" Hennessey repeated. "I didn't know he had an interest in guns?"

  "Oh he has. He was there on Sunday evening. Stayed late. Got back after midnight."

  "Really? Confess I was surprised when he wasn't at his school. I would have thought that like all teachers, he was committed from nine to four p.m.…but I was told he'd gone out for the morning."

  "Well, headmasters are more akin to managers than teachers, he can leave the hour-to-hour runnin
g of the school to the deputy head, or to the heads of departments if he needs to attend meetings with the senior people in the Education Department for example."

  "That I can understand, but to leave school to go to the gun club…it's not a very professional attitude."

  The woman shrugged. "You'll have to ask my husband that…but the end of term, a few days of soft pedalling before the summer break…he probably thought he could afford to take an hour off."

  "And the gun club is open at this hour of the day?"

  "It's like a golf club. The premises are always open, there's often another few members in the bar or coffee shop. The range is accessible to fire off a few rounds. It's a recent interest of his…"

  "Recent?"

  "A few years, as opposed to a lifelong interest."

  "I see, but interesting, nonetheless."

  "They can't have handguns any more…but the passion for handguns hasn't gone away and I have to suspect quite a few handguns haven't been surrendered."

  "I confess you and I are of like mind on that point, Mrs West," Hennessey smiled. "You wouldn't be suspecting that your husband is in possession of one such weapon?"

  She shook her head. "I have no reason to suspect it."

  "But he could have one?"

  "Oh yes…he could…as I told you." She shuffled nervously.

  "Point taken." Hennessey relaxed in the chair. Nigel West was not at home and Hennessey's initial annoyance at West's absence had evaporated once he sensed the opportunity to gather a little background information on him; the headmaster with a photograph of part of the University of Cambridge on his study wall, when by all accounts he should be a gym teacher with a certificate from Derwent Teacher Training College. He asked. "How long have you been married?"

  "Eleven years."