Mercy or Mercenary?

by Sheila Parker

  Marina glared at Fritz. ‘Trust you, a hotelier, to think that work is more important than me.’

  ‘That’s not true but my job is very necessary,’ said Kieran, who stood behind Fritz.

  Again, Marina’s composure snapped. ‘But what about me? You can’t leave me here like this.’

  Kieran turned to Kershaw. ‘Is there anything I can do? Any way in which I can help?’

  ‘No thank you, Mr O’Brien. I know where you are if I need to contact you. I’m going to take Miss Bushell back to the station for further questioning,’ and ignoring Marina’s ‘Surely you’ve asked enough questions?’, Kershaw persisted, ‘in the presence of a solicitor.’

  ‘I’ll be responsible for his fees and any other expenses that are incurred,’ said Fritz but Marina ignored this. ‘It’s no good asking Mr Hoskins – he’s useless.’ she said.

  Sometime later, Inspector Kershaw watched as Marina fidgeted in her chair and asked impatiently, ‘How much longer is this going to take? I’ve answered all these questions before. I thought I would be back at work by now.’

  Marina scowled as Kershaw reminded her that this time it was for Mr Pritchard’s benefit. Nothing she had said when still at Henleaze or now, before his arrival, would be admissible as evidence. The middle-aged solicitor had arrived at the station fifteen minutes after receiving Tom’s phone call and had been quickly advised of the situation.

  Kershaw resumed, ‘However, we’ll arrange for some coffee and take a break.’

  ‘Wasting more time,’ muttered Marina as Kershaw left the room, and Tom, after stating that the inspector had left the room, switched off the tape.

  ‘Why is this taking so long, so repetitive?’ asked Marina, turning to look at Mr Pritchard.

  ‘You were the last person to see Mr McGuire, your father, alive.’ The solicitor glanced up as the door opened.

  A uniformed PC placed a tray of coffee on the table, the inspector returned and resumed, ‘You were also wearing garments that didn’t belong to you, in other words, a disguise. We’ve all heard that, in addition to this, a paper handkerchief in which miniscule grains of Ralph’s medication were embedded, was found in the right-hand pocket. We also know that the owner of the coat never uses paper handkerch… It’s all incriminating evidence. However, shall we continue?’

  Mr Pritchard nodded. Marina muttered, ‘Let’s get on with it.’ Tom switched on the tape and passed cups of coffee around.

  Kershaw was aware of Marina’s mutinous expression but persisted. ‘I realise we’ve asked and you have answered these questions, but Mr Pritchard wasn’t present at the time. Ralph McGuire indicated that he wanted a drink, which you gave him, ensuring that he swallowed the entire contents. We know that you returned to the bathroom to wash the glass.’

  Kershaw did not refer to the two pillows which had been on the floor, beside the bed, or that Ralph had been lying flat on his back when Isabel returned, and asked, ‘Was your father still leaning against his pillows when you came out of the bathroom and, soon after that, left the room?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve already told you that,’ retorted Marina as she brushed aside Mr Pritchard’s restraining hand and ignored his comment: ‘You must have been very upset at seeing your father so ill.’

  ‘I’m quite sure Marina is capable of saying that herself,’ commented Kershaw.

  ‘What would you have done if it had been your father?’ Marina glared defiantly at the inspector. Then, under her breath, she muttered, ‘In any case, he owed me.’

  Marina’s words, which were not as inaudible as she intended, reached Kershaw, whose gaze met Pritchard’s agonised expression and, aware of Tom sitting beside him, still and expectant, the inspector intoned, ‘Marina Bushell, I hereby charge you with the murder of your father, Ralph McGuire.’

  Marina’s hiss of disapproval smothered Kershaw’s inaudible conclusion: ‘But what was your motive – MERCY or MERCENARY?’