‘I wonder why. I’ll ask Isabel about them tomorrow.’
Afew minutes later, and looking very thoughtful, Kershaw asked himself, ‘Who was that caller and, if he was responsible for Ralph’s death, why?’
‘Perhaps he’s someone who anticipated a substantial legacy,’ ventured Tom and when Kershaw shook his head, suggested, ‘jealousy, revenge.’
‘Why? Ralph led a very private life since he became a biographer.’ Kershaw studied the statements given by the three women who had been in the house on that Saturday afternoon, noting yet again Joanna’s arrival, Isabel’s, then Elspeth’s departure and Ralph’s annoyance at the persistent ringing of the doorbell. He recalled Joanna’s astonishment when asked about the bedroom furniture, in particular the chairs on either side of the bed and the bedside table; she thought these were in the same place as when she arrived. She had looked even more puzzled when questioned about the door leading to the bathroom and agreed this could have been pushed open – her main concern had been her uncle.
Isabel had confirmed that these items of furniture were in their usual place and that the bathroom door had been slightly ajar when she left. Dr Beresford’s fingerprints were amongst those on the door and bathroom cabinet, while the bottle containing Ralph’s medication had been wiped clean.
It was unfortunate that none of the wardrobe mistresses at the various theatres had been able to help, and the problem of identifying the hat, scarf and coat was still being pursued. Kershaw grunted with frustration when Tom looked up and offered, ‘The clothes definitely sound Austrian. Perhaps the caller comes from there or bought those items while on holiday.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll ask Isabel and Elspeth tomorrow.’ Tom’s suggestion that he should organise tea and biscuits was accepted with alacrity, and as the door closed behind him Kershaw leant back and considered that the McGuire household had been a strange one.
He had learnt from Isabel and Elspeth that Ralph had attended one of the lesser colleges of Oxford University where he acquired a degree in History, and followed this at a redbrick in Kent where he acquired an MA in Modern History. Ralph had then spent the following five years as a lecturer at a college of further education in Bournemouth and then moved back to Bristol where he held a similar position at another college of further education.
At the age of forty-one, he had negotiated a contract with the specialist publishers of which Hugo Forrester was the managing director, to write a series of six biographies of lesser-known actors. Isabel, highly intelligent and an academic in her own right, had taught English at her old school but somehow found time to assist Ralph with the research on the television series on aristocratic families.
Ralph was already beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s when they started on the third biography of the second contract so that Isabel had not only researched for this and the previous two biographies, but had written them. For a while, Ralph seemed to improve, and it was during this period that he met and agreed to write, certainly supervise, Leo Adare’s biography. However, Ralph’s rapidly accentuating dementia had thrown more responsibility onto Isabel’s shoulders; she was working completely on her own and had been grateful for Elspeth’s help and continued friendship. Kershaw considered that Isabel and Elspeth had both been very loyal when talking about Ralph. In spite of all the work she had done, Isabel had not complained or criticised, while Elspeth had merely said that Ralph was not an easy person to live with.
Kershaw silently admitted he had never heard of Ralph McGuire until his death (he was not a reader of biographies) and that he had been surprised to learn that Duncan Sinclair, well-known author of historical novels and a younger man, was helping with the biography on Leo Adare. He had also been amazed that Isabel had not known of Ralph’s arrangement with Sinclair – that this had been done while Duncan was in Guernsey. Once again, Kershaw considered it strange that this island should have a distant connection with one of his cases.
Duncan had said that although working on his book, he had thoroughly enjoyed his stay and hoped to return to Guernsey for a holiday at a later date.
Kershaw recalled Isabel saying that Ralph had become more confused and forgetful, disliked being dependent on them and the nurses, hated the commode being in the bedroom and dreaded becoming incontinent. She had also feared the inevitable – Ralph being hospitalised, the indignities he would have to suffer and stated adamantly that, despite this, she had not given him the overdose. Kershaw remembered that Elspeth had almost used the same words, and Joanna’s suggestion that by admitting this stranger she was partially responsible for her uncle’s death. Joanna had, of course, returned to her own flat, and now there was just Isabel and Elspeth living in that large house with all that old-fashioned furniture.
Kershaw’s thoughts turned to the small terraced house in which he had been brought up. His parents had been strict but very affectionate; however, there was one thing for which he had never forgiven them: his name. To be christened Oswald was bad enough but with a surname like his, he was constantly ridiculed or called ‘OK’ by his classmates. It was after the death of his parents, who died in a car accident on a busy motorway, and at the age of nineteen that he decided to change his name but strangely enough chose ‘Oliver’. He had thought about this for some time but did not want to hurt their feelings while they were alive. However, after obtaining the necessary letter from the family solicitor, he applied for a passport in the name of Oliver Kershaw. Since joining the force, he had been called by his surname, and those with whom he became friendly called him Oliver.
Over the years he had met and known a number of attractive girls and women but eventually discovered that none of them were prepared to tolerate the irregularity of his hours. There had been one particular young woman whom he had met through different investigations, but unfortunately, she was engaged and later married. He had immediately been attracted to Elspeth McGuire, amazed that such an attractive and intelligent woman should still be single and had decided that as soon as a satisfactory conclusion had been reached he would ask her out for a drink, or even dinner. In the meantime, he had to ascertain the identity of the mysterious visitor and if this person was responsible for Ralph’s death.
8
‘Who is this Kieran O’Brien and why is he asking me to dinner?’
Duncan noticed that Isabel was studying an identical invitation and raised his eyebrows as she told him, ‘He’s Leo Adare’s nephew. But I can’t go; it’s too soon.’
‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go. You’ve hardly been out of the house since the funeral. It would do you good to meet other people.’
‘That’s just it. I don’t feel up to meeting other people, talking about Ralph, his death.’
Duncan nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m sure Kieran will understand if you do decline.’
‘I don’t know that he will. On each occasion Ralph or I suggested that Kieran might like to contribute an interesting or amusing anecdote, even something about the family, Leo rejected the idea. He said that Kieran could be awkward.’ Isabel studied the invitation again. ‘It says small – that could be six or eight.’
‘Ring and ask. Say you haven’t been out since Ralph’s death so you’re feeling rather apprehensive. Would you like me to phone?’
‘No, I’ll do it.’
Five minutes later, Isabel replaced the receiver. ‘I didn’t expect that; he sounded polite and quite charming. He suggests I wait until the day and if I don’t feel up to it that morning, to let him know.’
‘That’s fair enough, but I can’t back out. However, it will be interesting to meet him. Is he Leo’s only relative?’
‘No, there are two elderly aunts who live in Sidmouth. They’re very sweet and most helpful; however, in spite of Leo’s remarks, I must admit I’m rather curious about Kieran.’
At the same time that Isabel and Duncan were discussing Kieran’s invitation,
Marina Bushell, Kieran’s partner, was muttering to herself, ‘I can’t understand Kieran having a party in a place like this.’ Kieran had left early for the hotel and Marina now critically scrutinised the lounge and small dining area, still grumbling. ‘It’s not as though we’ve anything to show off – none of these people are friends. We know Belinda and Stefan because they’re neighbours – their house is larger than this and everything about it is very luxurious, but why did he have to ask Isabel McGuire and Duncan Sinclair?’
Marina adjusted the curtains and peered out into the road. ‘Although Ralph’s dead, they’re still working on this stupid biography of Leo Adare, but what am I going to get out of this party? Ralph must have been very rich living in a large house, double garage, so two cars, and she… Isabel probably has a wardrobe full of designer clothes.’
Marina had met Kieran six years ago, and a year later they had moved into the house at Henleaze. It was three months after they met that Marina learnt of Kieran’s dislike for his uncle, Leo Adare, and that he did not approve of the biography which was being written by Ralph McGuire, but she had said nothing.
She had been eleven when she learnt that Ralph was her father and was hurt that he had never written to her, wanted to meet her. Her maternal grandparents, who had been affectionate, kind and never referred to him, were both dead by then and she had often wondered if they had known his name. Her mother and grandparents had been delighted at her flair for languages – she had received a good education, made a lot of friends who were envious of her fluency in French and German and often invited her to spend holidays abroad with them. Although she accepted and enjoyed these, she always considered that family holidays were an unknown luxury. Her mother had died a few days before her twentieth birthday.
Marina’s thoughts reverted to Ralph and she muttered, ‘Why should Isabel inherit everything?’
Marina had her birth certificate on which Ralph McGuire was named as her father, and letters that he had written to her mother, so there shouldn’t be any difficulty in claiming against his estate.
Marina knew it was highly improbable that Leo – who at fifty-four was likely to die – in spite of owning a flat in London and cottage in the Mendips, would leave much to Kieran. Although she agreed that Kieran had good reason to dislike his uncle, he was the only blood relative, and it seemed a great pity that Leo should leave everything to whoever was his partner at the time. While she earned a reasonable wage and Kieran was as generous as his salary and the mortgage would allow, Marina thought how wonderful it must be to live in a large house (she had walked past Ralph’s on several occasions) and dine out regularly at the most expensive restaurants. Shopping trips to London could be on a weekly basis when she would indulge in whatever designer creations appealed to her, while holidays to exotic and far-off destinations were also essential.
Insidious ideas sprang to mind. She knew what Kieran intended to cook for the main course – boeuf bourgignon – which would disguise other ingredients that could be added. Don’t be ridiculous, Marina told herself. You can’t possibly do anything like that, but nevertheless she started to work out a plan.
A week later, Isabel smiled politely, masking her surprise as she shook hands with Kieran. For some reason she had expected him to resemble his uncle: thickset and overpowering. Instead, she was greeted by a slim, quietly-spoken man whom she guessed to be about thirty.
She quickly noted his wavy black hair, grey eyes and smiled when he apologised for his casual appearance – smart open-necked shirt and dark blue trousers; he was cooking the meal. She was then introduced to a tall, well-built man, probably middle-aged, called Stefan Baumgarten and his wife; a tall, thin woman called Belinda; and finally, Marina, Kieran’s partner, an attractive young woman.
During the course of the evening, Isabel learnt that Stefan’s parents had moved to England in 1959, that he and Belinda had spent many enjoyable holidays in Austria and often visited the village where his grandfather had lived. ‘Stefan is the general manager at one of the best hotels in Bristol,’ said Belinda and after naming this, added, ‘and Kieran is the restaurant manager there.’
This led to an interesting conversation as Marina recounted amusing incidents from her days as a courier when, together with a coachload of holidaymakers, she visited many European countries. It was on these occasions that she had received many compliments on her fluency in French, German and Italian. When not travelling, she had used her knowledge of the geography, culture and cuisine of these countries to become a travel writer. Currently, she was working for an escort agency where she was often called upon to accompany groups of European businessmen to places of interest in and around Bristol.
‘You’ve also been a standby air courier, haven’t you?’ said Kieran.
‘Couldn’t that lead to complications?’ enquired Duncan.
‘I didn’t have any problems. I only did it for two years,’ and seeing Duncan’s interest, Marina enlarged, ‘anyone over eighteen and in good health can do this. Nationality is unimportant; you don’t have to be the same nationality as the airline used.’
‘Did you handle any of these packages yourself?’ enquired Stefan.
‘No. Usually company representatives at the departure and destination airports load and unload whatever needs accompanying, but the courier has to wait for customs to clear the items.’
‘Weren’t you worried that you could be accompanying suspicious packages or parcels?’ asked Belinda.
‘No. On each occasion that I travelled it was always for the same reput—’
‘Darling, what about the pudding?’ interrupted Kieran and as Marina carried the plates from the main course into the kitchen, ‘I’m sorry about that.’
The remainder of the evening passed swiftly and Isabel was glad that no reference was made to Ralph’s death or Leo’s biography. It was as she said goodnight to their hosts that Isabel felt a strange pain in her stomach but said nothing. A few minutes later, she was home and was grateful for Duncan’s hand on her arm as they walked the short distance to the front door when he took the key from her, inserted this and, at the same time, asked, ‘Are you feeling all right? You haven’t spoken since we left.’
‘Just tired, I’ll be fine by the morning.’
Slowly, Isabel made her way upstairs and with fumbling fingers undressed, not bothering that her clothes fell in an untidy heap, and climbed into bed.
But as she lay down, the pain began again, this time much worse, then with an effort she pushed the bedclothes aside and stumbled into the bathroom, just in time!
It was after she had been violently sick three times, but still felt terribly ill, that Isabel realised she should call Elspeth – they both slept with their doors ajar – but couldn’t find the strength. Fortunately, her door was pushed open and Elspeth hurried in.
‘What’s happened? Are you ill?’
‘I …’ Isabel almost fell out of bed, moving awkwardly towards the bathroom and had barely reached it when she was violently sick again and collapsed.
‘Oh my God!’ gasped Elspeth, pulling Isabel back in the bedroom, and wiping her face with a cool flannel. She quickly noted that while her pulse was weak, Isabel had a very high temperature. Placing her friend in such a position that she wouldn’t choke if she was sick again, Elspeth dashed back to her room for her mobile, dialled for an ambulance and, after checking that Isabel was still conscious, phoned Dr Beresford and told him what she had done.
‘I don’t like the sound of it. It doesn’t sound like an ordinary case of food poisoning,’ said Dr Beresford. ‘I’ll go straight to the hospital.’
‘Where did Isabel go this evening? What did she eat?’ asked the doctor some time later. Isabel was now in a side ward, on a saline drip, weak and exhausted.
‘She and Duncan were invited to a small dinner party given by Kieran O’Brien, Leo’s nephew, but I’ve no idea what they ate.’ As she sa
id this, Elspeth gasped. ‘I wonder if Duncan’s all right? Shall I phone him?’ and when the doctor nodded, reached into her bag for her mobile.
Although it was two o’clock in the morning, Duncan’s voice was brisk as he demanded, ‘Who’s that? What’s happened?’ and while Elspeth was still explaining, ‘Is she conscious? Do you want me to come to the hospital?’
At this, Elspeth handed her mobile to the doctor who said, ‘I’m glad to hear you haven’t been sick; however, can you tell me what you ate this evening?’
After writing for a few seconds, the doctor read this out and asked, ‘Is Isabel allergic to any of this?’
‘No, she usually enjoys spicy dishes and sauces.’
Elspeth paused. ‘Duncan only said avocado and prawns, no mention of sauce but there probably was one, and Isabel usually enjoys boeuf bourgignon.’ Then, wrinkling her nose in distaste, Elspeth continued, ‘The ambulance came so quickly I couldn’t clean the bathroom. Poor Isabel didn’t reach the toilet the last time she was sick.’
‘That’s good; I’d like to know what caused this. Whatever it was didn’t affect Duncan,’ and without pausing, the doctor asked, ‘would you like a lift home?’
‘Thank you.’
Detective Sergeant Tom Small had ignored the ringing of the inspector’s phone but now looked up from his computer screen as Inspector Kershaw exclaimed, ‘Isabel McGuire’s in hospital!’ and then, ‘Would you mind repeating that, Dr Beresford?’
Tom continued to watch the inspector’s changing expressions and his frantic scribbling, unable to comprehend the gist of the one-sided conversation. At last, Kershaw replaced the receiver and said, ‘You probably understood some of that; however, thanks to Elspeth’s promptness, Isabel was rushed into hospital late last night with food poisoning. At least that’s what Beresford thought at the time – he was very worried about her. Now he’s waiting for the results of some tests as to what caused her to be so violently ill.’
Mercy or Mercenary? Page 5