mercy
or mercenary?
sheila parker
Copyright © 2018 Sheila Parker
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: 0116 279 2299
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks
ISBN 9781789011135
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
With thanks to Gill, Pat and Davina
for all their support and encouragement.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
1
‘What’s the matter? Is it Ralph?’ demanded Isabel, and pushing Joanna aside, she ran up the stairs.
Ralph McGuire, her husband who had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for the last three years and whose condition was deteriorating, was lying on his back, his eyes open and staring, his hands resting on the turned-down duvet.
Three buttons of his pyjama top were undone while two pillows (used when he sat up) were on the floor.
Running forward, Isabel felt his throat, then his wrist and rushing from the room muttered, ‘I must phone the doctor. There’s no pulse or heartbeat.’ And as Joanna, still speechless, followed her downstairs, Isabel asked, ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there.’
‘What do you mean; where were you?’ And as Joanna mumbled, Isabel persisted: ‘Why weren’t you with him? Why did you leave Ralph?’
‘A man called to see him, said he was a friend. He was very insistent.’
Joanna stared as Isabel stated it was an emergency, that the doctor should come at once and then demanded, ‘Who was this man? How long did he stay?’
‘Ten minutes, maybe a little longer. When he left, he told me not to disturb Uncle, he wanted to have a rest,’ Joanna faltered. ‘At first, I wasn’t worried. I had spoken to Uncle earlier and then just sat with him. He seemed rather sleepy, so I was annoyed when this person arrived and that he was so persistent. I waited for about ten minutes after he’d gone.’
Joanna jumped as the front door, which was still ajar, was pushed open and a young man entered, greeted them briefly and ran upstairs. Isabel was immediately behind him, but on reaching the top of the stairs she turned round. ‘Where’s Elspeth?’
‘It’s such a lovely afternoon I suggested she should go for a walk. She’ll probably be back–’
Again, Joanna broke off as Elspeth came through the still-open front door. ‘I saw the doctor’s car. What’s happened?’
Elspeth felt that the minutes she waited on the landing outside Ralph’s room were endless and was sure that Joanna, who was now nervously wringing her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the other, felt the same.
The doctor’s voice was only a murmur, then he and Isabel, looking pale and distressed, emerged. Dr Beresford glanced at Elspeth. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Ralph was dead when I arrived. I suggest some hot, strong tea and, as I’ll be here for some time, I’d like a cup,’ then, looking at Isabel, ‘may I use the phone in the study?’
‘Of course.’
‘Uncle Ralph’s dead so why is the doctor still here, who’s he phoning?’ asked Joanna a few minutes later as they sat around the kitchen table.
‘The police,’ said Dr Beresford as he entered the kitchen. ‘I’m not very happy about the cause of death, that there are no tablets left in the bottle in the bathroom cabinet.’ The doctor nodded his thanks, pulled out a chair and sat down, then picked up a mug of tea, drank some and, glancing at Isabel, repeated, ‘I can’t understand why the bottle that contained his tablets is empty. I’m afraid that this will necessitate a visit from the police.’ He then turned to Joanna. ‘As you were the only person in the house when this stranger called, they’ll want to question you.’
‘I didn’t do anything!’ exclaimed Joanna. ‘I only sat with Uncle Ralph. I didn’t go into the bathroom or near the cabinet where his tablets are kept; he was fine then, just confused.’ The ringing of the doorbell startled them all, but it was Joanna who burst into tears.
2
‘Was your uncle expecting anyone?’ enquired Inspector Kershaw after he had learnt that the caller had given no name and had worn a wide-brimmed hat, making it impossible for Joanna to see his face. Although it wasn’t cold, he had worn a thick overcoat and scarf, and his voice had been muffled.
‘No. I told Uncle Ralph last week that I’d be coming today, but when he saw me he was surprised. I doubt that he remembered.’
In reply to the inspector’s further questions, Joanna repeated that she obviously didn’t know if the caller had removed his hat, scarf or coat and that on leaving he said that her uncle didn’t wish to be disturbed. Nevertheless, about ten minutes later, she had gone upstairs, pushed the door open and, to her amazement, had found Uncle Ralph lying flat on his back as the inspector had seen for himself. ‘I didn’t touch him, I couldn’t. I know it sounds dreadful. I’m twenty-seven and have a responsible job, but I was too frightened. I ran out onto the landing, and although it wasn’t very long, I was so relieved when Isabel returned.’
‘Did anyone else go into your uncle’s room?’
‘No. We were the only people in the house.’
‘Until the so-called visitor arrived,’ persisted Kershaw.
‘He was definitely here.’ Joanna glared at the Inspector, her dark brown eyes emphasising her pallor..
‘We’ve only your word for that.’
‘He brushed past me, didn’t give me a chance to speak or protest and went straight upstairs. Someone must have seen him.’
‘Was there a car parked outside?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe one of the neighbours saw him arrive.’
‘That’s possible; it is Saturday.’ Kershaw told Detective Sergeant Small, who had been taking notes, to arrange for the neighbours to be questioned and turned back to Joanna. ‘You’ve referred to this visitor as a man but could it have been a woman?’
‘It’s possible.’ Joanna frowned. ‘Because the hat was pulled right down, the scarf covered the mouth and nose so I couldn’t see much of their face.’
‘Did you notice the colour of their eyes, shape of their eyebrows or nose?’ persisted Kershaw.
‘No. As I’ve already told you, the hat had a very wide brim.’
‘Thank you, Miss McGuire. You
’ve been very helpful.’
‘How are you feeling, Mrs McGuire?’ enquired Inspector Kershaw.
‘I still can’t believe Ralph’s dead.’ Isabel sank into a shabby armchair and gazed at the chief inspector, grateful for his consideration and empathy. Learning his rank , she had expected an older man but guessed that this tall, well-built man wearing a smart suit was in his mid-forties. She had also noticed that the sergeant, who was copiously taking notes, had thick wavy hair, a smooth complexion and a pleasant manner. ‘We knew he was suffering from Alzheimer’s, that he was deteriorating but…’ Isabel hesitated and, looking at the inspector who was sitting opposite her, asked, ‘How did he die?’
‘We don’t know yet but as you already know, the bottle containing his tablets is empty.’ Kershaw noted her pallor and said gently, ‘I realise this is all very upsetting and you don’t have to tell me now, but have you any idea how many tablets were left?’ On learning that there were approximately fifteen left, he wondered what had been used to crush these before they were added to Ralph’s drink, considered that the perpetrator had acted very quickly and, without elaborating on this, he resumed, ‘There’ll have to be a post-mortem, but now I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
Isabel nodded when Kershaw learnt that Ralph always refused to see any unexpected callers. ‘I’m amazed that anyone should be wearing a heavy overcoat on such a warm day. It must have been someone who didn’t want to be recognised.’ She then stated that Ralph only tolerated Joanna and, since his return, Duncan Sinclair, a colleague who was now helping her with the biography of Leo Adare.
‘He occasionally saw Hugo.’ Isabel explained that Hugo Forrester was the managing director of the company who published the biographies and had become a personal friend. Although he knew that Ralph was deteriorating, Hugo had been shocked to hear of Ralph’s death. He had offered to drive down to Bristol immediately but agreed that, at the present time, there was nothing he could do, and offered to tell Leo Adare.
‘I understand that Elspeth was also out?’
‘Yes. Apparently, Joanna suggested that as it was such a lovely afternoon Elspeth should have some fresh air.’
‘So neither of you saw this unexpected visitor?’
‘No, and I certainly don’t know any of Ralph’s friends, acquaintances or colleagues who own a wide-brimmed hat. Perhaps Elspeth can help you.’
Inspector Kershaw knew that Elspeth and Isabel had been close friends since their schooldays and were the same age but considered that Elspeth, with her gleaming chestnut curls, flawless complexion and wearing a cream linen suit, looked considerably younger.
He was surprised that she had lived in the old family house with her brother for so long, remaining there after he had married and had learnt that she was a proofreader for a well-known publishing company.
But before he could speak, Elspeth said, ‘I wish I hadn’t gone out this afternoon. I certainly wouldn’t have let someone we don’t know see Ralph. Joanna shouldn’t…’
‘I don’t think you can blame her, Miss McGuire. Apparently, this person just pushed past her. However, although you didn’t see him, can you recall anyone who wears an Austrian-style winter coat, fedora and scarf, visiting your brother? And I don’t mean recently.’
Elspeth looked thoughtful then shook her head. ‘No, but it’s possible he may have called on occasions when I was out and, as for his hat and scarf, he could have disposed of these.’
‘Good thinking.’ Kershaw glanced at his sergeant. ‘Make a note that the neighbouring gardens and litter bins are checked.’ Then turning back to Elspeth, ‘Apart from Joanna, who were your brother’s regular visitors?’
‘There weren’t any. He didn’t want to see anyone, even Hugo Forrester who, as you already know, is the managing director of Ralph’s publishing company, and also a friend.’
‘What about Leo Adare?’
Again, Elspeth shook her head. ‘Ralph hasn’t seen him since they first discussed the biography. At the time, Leo agreed to give Isabel the names of friends or theatrical colleagues, and any assistance she required. Isabel has been doing all the necessary research over the past eight years and she’s done most of the actual writing for the last four. Ralph, of course, received all the praise. The Alzheimer’s started three years ago, but in the last few weeks his condition has deteriorated considerably. It’s no wonder Isabel looks so tired. Fortunately, Duncan Sinclair has returned to help with the research.’
Kershaw glanced at the list of people who had been in the house during the morning and early afternoon, didn’t see anyone of that name and asked, ‘Why isn’t Sinclair listed here?’
‘He’s away interviewing some of Adare’s colleagues.’
Having learnt that Duncan had recently returned from Guernsey, quickly becoming absorbed in Adare’s biography and the research, Kershaw asked ‘I would like to see Mr Sinclair when he returns. Do you know when that is?’
‘No. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.’
‘Ralph’s dead!’ exclaimed Duncan early that evening when he phoned, then after Isabel’s brief explanation and regardless of the fact that he had more appointments on Monday, he asked, ‘Would you like me to come back now?’
Isabel hesitated and then said, ‘No thanks. You’ve interviews scheduled, so it’s best that you carry on as arranged.’
‘I don’t like the thought of the police pestering you and Elspeth with questions,’ said Duncan.
‘Hopefully, there won’t be any more.’ Isabel paused and then said quickly, ‘I suppose that depends on the post-mortem.’
‘Don’t worry; I’m sure there’s nothing untoward.’
Then, as the thought occurred to him, Duncan asked, ‘Does Hugo know, and what about Joanna?’
‘She was here at the time and I spoke to Hugo earlier.’ Isabel recounted Hugo’s offer to inform Leo Adare and his insistence that they should continue with the biography.
‘You surely didn’t expect him to say anything else, did you? You’ve always done most of the work and let Ralph take all the credit!’ Duncan ignored Isabel’s protests. ‘Although I was out of the country most of the time, I know what’s been happening. I must say that I’m disappointed that Hugo, who knew you were coping with the research and the writing, didn’t ensure that you received due praise.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ said Isabel and, as requested, handed the phone to Elspeth.
‘What happens after the post-mortem?’ asked Joanna later as they sat around the kitchen table eating lasagne and salad. It was after she had been questioned by Inspector Kershaw that Joanna had become hysterical, and Dr Beresford, who was still in the house, had been concerned about her. Isabel and Elspeth had quickly suggested that as Joanna lived alone she should spend the weekend with them. Joanna had quickly accepted this invitation and looking at them, now waited for an answer.
The two friends exchanged a warning glance and it was Elspeth who spoke. ‘I shouldn’t think or worry about that. One way or the other, we’re going to be busy so, if and when you have any spare time, we’ll be pleased with your help.’
‘Work,’ echoed Joanna. ‘I don’t know that I’ll feel up to it on Monday.’
Joanna was head receptionist at a large hotel near the centre of Bristol and, suppressing her exasperation, Isabel said, ‘I think you should. You often tell us how busy you are but that you enjoy hotel life.’
Joanna nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s not as though Ralph was my father.’
Then glancing at Isabel, ‘I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but, according to Mother, he was very unpleasant, even as a child. Although younger, he used to bully her into doing all sorts of things for him, helping with and even doing his homework.’
‘So he hasn’t changed in that respect,’ said Isabel, stacking the plates and standing up. Aware that Joanna was gazing at her curiously, Is
abel continued, ‘Obviously, I’d known Ralph for years, ever since Elspeth and I became friends, and I was amazed that he should choose me as his research assistant. It’s always been very interesting, even when he was doing the television series and he could see that I was willing to help him.’
‘To the extent that you gave up your job as English teacher at Redmaids which, although I didn’t say so at the time, I thought was a great pity. You were popular and respected by the other teachers, and your pupils.’
Elspeth ignored Isabel’s protests and resumed, ‘Ralph always knew that you were very thorough and methodical but never admitted that you were also highly intelligent.’
‘Now you’re talking rubbish,’ but in spite of herself Isabel smiled. ‘I was even more surprised when he proposed. At the time I was doing so much writing of the biographies that I didn’t bother about clothes or my appearance, but that didn’t matter to him.’
‘And now you can carry on, at your own pace.’
3
That night, as she lay in bed, Isabel still felt guilty that she was unable to shed any tears over Ralph’s death. She realised that Joanna was still shocked at the manner of his death, particularly as she had been in the house at the time, the arrival of the inspector, and his subsequent questions.
Elspeth had been marvellous, agreed that Joanna should stay with them and, as always, had been a tower of strength. Isabel recalled Duncan’s offer to cancel his arranged interviews and return but still felt that, at the present time, there was little one could do.
It was good to know that Duncan was back in England and, turning over, she recalled their unexpected encounter in the library and the events that had occurred in the following weeks…
Isabel stood on tiptoe and reached for a biography on an upper shelf, but the dust jacket slipped from her grasp, then a hand covered hers and a voice, somehow familiar, breathed, ‘Can I help?’
Mercy or Mercenary? Page 1