by Carola Dunn
He usually followed the path of trying to knock the least likely suspects off his list before he tackled the more likely. In this case, with Daisy able to give him only the vaguest outline of this odd household, and Mrs. Sutherby not much more help, he had turned to Mrs. Birtwhistle in spite of her position at the top of the list.
Husbands and wives were always prime suspects in a murder investigation.
While Daisy was gone, Alec sat at the desk and went over the case against Ruby Birtwhistle. She had more than one motive for wishing to be rid of Humphrey: his savings and a life insurance payment beckoned to her; perhaps she was fed up with nursing an invalid who seemed unlikely ever to recover; perhaps the possibility of leaving her unpleasant in-laws was irresistible. As for opportunity, she had sat with him after dinner, when the dose was probably administered, and she had accompanied him to his room when he retired; he was accustomed to her help with his medicaments.
Means was going to be the key to the case, Alec decided. Chloral hydrate was not something one happened to have sitting about the house. The murderer had to have obtained a prescription from a doctor and bought the stuff from a registered chemist. Somewhere were records waiting to be found.
Mrs. Birtwhistle had said they “all” went into Matlock the day before. Probably she had used the word loosely. Alec made a note to himself to find out exactly who had comprised the party.
A Matlock officer was calling on all the local chemists, according to DI Worrall. How many could there be, even in a spa town crammed with invalids? With any luck they’d soon have irrefutable evidence of who had bought the stuff. It wouldn’t be absolute proof that the same person had poured the fatal dose, but the purchaser was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Frowning, Alec recalled Dr. Knox’s concern that someone might have been drugging Birtwhistle with potassium bromide. Though Knox hadn’t prescribed it for anyone in the house, some other doctor in Matlock might have. The chap who was checking the chemists ought to be asking about that, too.
Alec wrote a note to Worrall, requesting that he telephone the Matlock station and put them on to it.
Daisy returned, with a Black Irishman in tow. “Neil Carey, Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher.”
Carey’s bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “How do you do, Detective Chief Inspector. Is it your charming wife, now, who’ll be taking down my every word? Not quite according to Hoyle, is it?”
“In a moment, Mr. Carey. Daisy, would you take this to Worrall, please?” He gave her the note.
“A secret order for your execution, Mrs. Fletcher. You know too much. Beware!”
Daisy laughed. “Don’t be silly, Neil. Alec, you mustn’t take anything he says too seriously.” She went out.
“I take murder seriously, Mr. Fletcher,” Carey said soberly, “and I assume Birtwhistle was murdered, or you wouldn’t be here. How can I help?”
“For a start, tell me who went to Matlock yesterday.”
“Everyone except Humphrey and Norman Birtwhistle. Oh, and Mrs. Sutherby. She stayed at home to get on with her typing. I gather Norman took some sort of livestock to market in Derby.”
Damn! Alec hoped they wouldn’t have to check all the chemists in a city the size of Derby, let alone along Norman’s route. It was too early in the investigation to set such an immense job in train. From what Alec had heard so far, Norman hadn’t had much opportunity to dose Humphrey, though he could have been in league with his sister.
Alec returned his thoughts to the young man lounging in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Would you mind explaining what brought you to Eyrie Farm?”
“Not at all. I met Simon Birtwhistle in Leeds—he was a student there—and we became friends. He invited me to stay. Being a bit of a rolling stone, I never turn down an invitation.”
A rolling Blarney stone, Alec thought. “Leeds doesn’t have a large Irish community, does it? What took you there?”
“There’s a fair few, but it’s to meet Bonamy Dobrée I went. I happened to hear he was giving a talk at the university, before going off to teach in Egypt, of all places! You won’t have heard of him, I expect. I’m by way of being a playwright, you see, and isn’t it himself wrote a grand book on Restoration Comedy.”
“Quite a gathering of writers here.”
Carey grinned disarmingly. “And would-be writers. You’re not interested in the travails of the unpublished, though.”
“’Fraid not. I’m interested, first, in who did what in Matlock.”
“I rode my motor-bike up to Smedley’s Hydro to meet Mrs. Fletcher, Miss Olney, Simon, and Ilkton, who’d gone in his car.”
“Mrs. and Miss Birtwhistle didn’t go with you?”
“No, Ilkton let them off in the town square to do their shopping. Ilkton had to visit a relative at Smedley’s. Myra—Miss Olney—wanted Mrs. Fletcher to admire the view. Ilkton went off to do his duty by his aged relative. The rest of us walked about a bit, then they walked and I rode down into the town. Myra and Mrs. Fletcher looked round the market, and then Myra got bored and talked me into taking her on the motor-bike up to Riber Castle. We arrived back here in time for lunch. The others had already come back in Ilkton’s car.”
“So any of the party could have visited a chemist’s shop without your knowing.”
“Anyone other than Myra. During the time I wasn’t with her, I believe she was with Mrs. Fletcher.”
“What’s that?” Daisy returned. “Someone taking my name in vain?”
Carey explained, and Daisy confirmed she and Myra had stayed together until he turned up and the girl went off with him. “Simon had deserted us in favour of a pint,” she said.
“He wasn’t with you?” Alec asked sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me—?”
“You didn’t ask me about yesterday morning, only the evening.”
“True. How long were you apart?”
“Less than half an hour, I’d say.”
Time enough to fill a prescription, though hardly time to consult a doctor. But he could have done that previously. The same applied to all the family. “Do you know whether Mrs. Birtwhistle and Miss Birtwhistle stayed together?”
“No,” said Daisy and Carey simultaneously.
Daisy elaborated. “No, they didn’t. They’re not on that sort of terms. Later, after the market, I met Ruby and we went for coffee— Oh! She was coming out of a chemist’s. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”
Alec nodded. “Do you recall the name of the chemist?”
“Gosh, no, but it was right by the bridge. Darling, there could be a million things she was buying! I’m always popping into a chemist for something or other.”
“I realise that. No one’s going to be arrested on the strength of a visit to a chemist. Mr. Carey, do you mind if my wife records the rest of this interview? I’m shorthanded at present, but this interview can wait till my men arrive, if you prefer.”
Carey grinned. “It’s only pulling your leg I was. I’ve not the least objection.”
“Let’s get on with this, then. I want your recollections of yesterday evening, from the moment you first saw Humphrey Birtwhistle in the hall.”
Carey had taken Birtwhistle his first pink gin, mixed by Simon, but neither the cocktail he had with dinner nor the third and last. He had no idea who did. At dinner he’d been either talking to Mrs. Birtwhistle and Myra, or getting up to help pass drinks and plates, not watching what anyone else was doing. After dinner, he’d helped Myra find the Happy Families cards and then joined in the game.
Though Alec managed to squeeze a few more precise details from him, nothing of interest emerged. He had been at Eyrie Farm for five days, each much like the last except for particular events that stood out—Daisy’s arrival, Birtwhistle’s emergence from seclusion, the visit to Matlock. The rest blurred together in his memory. It wasn’t surprising, but it was irritating.
Alec was about to dismiss him with a request to rack his memory, when a rap on the
door preceded the appearance of the maid Betty on the threshold. She announced belligerently, “That inspector said to tell you there’s a bunch more coppers come. One of ’em’s about the size of a hephelant.”
“Tom!” said Daisy.
“And what my dad’s going to say about all these carryings-on, casting inspersions on good girls like me and Etta—Well, it don’t bear thinking of!”
“If you haven’t done anything wrong,” said Alec, “you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
“That will be all, thank you.”
Pouting, Betty departed.
“Does your hephelant step on witnesses to make them squeal?” said Carey, grinning. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Come on then, I’ll introduce you.”
Daisy was already on her way. They followed her along the passage and through the door into the hall.
The hall seemed to have shrunk. Tom—Detective Sergeant Tring—always looked particularly large in his tan-and-yellow check suit, the wearing of which meant he considered the inhabitants of a farm not to qualify as “nobs.” Two of the men with him, in uniform, were equally tall and broad-shouldered, if less bulky. DC Ernie Piper, who barely met the height regulations, was inconspicuous in his blue serge.
To others, they must seem an intimidating group, standing just inside the front door. DI Worrall was talking to them.
By the fire, Ruby Birtwhistle seemed unconcious of the invasion of her home. She sat, head bent, twisting Alec’s handkerchief between her fingers. Sybil Sutherby and Dr. Knox stood to one side. They appeared to have been talking together and were now watching the invasion with more interest than alarm. Sybil had apparently given up trying to write in the face of constant interruptions and distractions.
A dowdy middle-aged woman, sitting bolt upright, wore a stony face, but her eyes moved restlessly from group to group, person to person. Miss Lorna Birtwhistle, Alec assumed. The pretty girl sitting beside Mrs. Birtwhistle must be Myra Olney. She was looking about with a lively interest.
Near her, a man of about Alec’s age, perhaps a little younger, stood with his hand on the back of her chair. His immaculate tweeds proclaimed the townee dressed for the country. He looked rather as if he was trying to pretend he was somewhere else, while preserving an air of superiority: Walter Ilkton, tied to this unsuitable place by his passion for Myra. The other man, dark-suited, had to be young Simon Birtwhistle. He was obviously bursting with indignation that might explode at any moment in words he’d probably come to regret.
Which could prove instructive, even illuminating.
Piper was the first in the room to spot Alec. He discreetly drew Worrall’s attention to the chief inspector’s arrival. Meanwhile, Carey moved swiftly across to the fireside group, put a calming hand on Simon’s arm and started talking to him in a low voice. Worrall came over to Alec. The remaining four policemen followed him. Two pairs of uniform boots thudded on the stone floor. Tom, despite his size and approach to retirement age, walked almost as lightly as Ernie.
Tom and Ernie punctiliously—and with pleasure—greeted Daisy before getting down to business. Ernie Piper no longer regarded her as infallible, as he once had, but he still considered her an asset to any investigation. Tom, who had been Alec’s sergeant for aeons, was their son’s godfather and a mildly sceptical admirer of hers.
Worrall observed their obvious friendliness with tolerant amusement. He introduced the uniformed men to Alec. “Constables Harwell and Bagshaw, sir. What’s next?”
“Pockets. We’re looking for a bottle.”
“Darling, you don’t expect me to do the ladies’!”
“No. We’re going to go through yours, as a good example for the others.” He raised his voice. “Your attention please, ladies and gentlemen.” As if he didn’t already have it. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to turn out your pockets. All of you.”
“What the hell?” Simon Birtwhistle burst out.
“Simon!” said his mother sharply. “That will do.”
“Daisy, would you mind?”
Daisy was wearing a warm skirt, with a thick cardigan over her blouse. She took off the cardigan and handed it to Worrall. She stuck her hands in the skirt pockets and took out a handkerchief, which she fluttered like a conjurer to show nothing was hidden inside, then she pulled the pockets inside out.
Sibyl was quick to copy her. As Alec had hoped, her example persuaded the others to comply, however unwillingly. The two maids even giggled as they handed their overalls to one of the constables. Alec suspected him of winking at them. He thanked heaven that the girls were decently clad underneath!
No bottle of any description was found. It was too much to hope for, but they had had to check.
“Thank you. And now, I’m afraid, I must request that you all stay in this room while the house is searched.”
Again there were grumbles. “What for?” demanded Simon Birtwhistle.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. We’ll be as quick as we can, I assure you. And in the meantime, I’ll be interviewing those of you I haven’t yet talked to.” Alec turned away and gathered his men—and Daisy—about him at the east end of the hall.
“You’ll stay and keep an eye on them, Harwell. Inspector, I’d like you to take charge of the search. DS Tring and PC Bagshaw will assist. You’d better start with the bedrooms. My wife can show you which bedroom is whose, I hope.” From the corner of his eye he saw Daisy perk up. “You know the layout, Daisy?”
“I think so. I’m pretty certain.”
“Can you get to all of their rooms without returning through the hall?”
“I think so. The house is a bit complicated because of the wings having been added. I’m not familiar with the old part.”
“Do your best. I want you to start with Mrs. Birtwhistle’s, Simon Birtwhistle’s, and Lorna Birtwhistle’s. DC Piper will take notes for me. All right? Any difficulties?”
“No, sir, we’ll get right on to it.”
TWENTY-THREE
Alec hadn’t enough men to cover everything, so he’d made a quick decision that he’d have to trust the two maids, who had no space of their own in the house, to guard the west wing. While Daisy led her detachment through the door to the east wing, he sent Piper to explain to the farm girls that if anyone tried to enter a room, one of them must come and tell him.
He went over to the fireplace. “Those of you whom I haven’t already met have no doubt gathered that I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher. I’m in charge of this investigation, which—in case you’re still wondering—I will here and now officially confirm is a murder investigation.”
The blunt statement was effective in shutting up Simon Birtwhistle, who had been about to burst into intemperate speech, in spite of his friend’s restraining hand.
“Poor Uncle Humphrey!” the girl exclaimed.
“How can you possibly be sure?” asked the well-dressed man.
“Mr. Ilkton, is it? I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, sir. But it does make it imperative that everyone should give us every assistance with our enquiries.”
“Of course, of course.”
“So let’s get on with it. I’ll have a few words with you next.”
“Me? You’re aware that I’m just a guest here, not one of the family?”
Alec had already turned away.
Behind him, Piper said firmly, “This way, if you please, sir.”
Opening the door to the east wing, Alec looked to his right, where the new stairway led directly up from Humphrey’s sickroom to Ruby’s bedroom above. Constable Bagshaw’s boots were just disappearing up the flight. Though the search could not be kept secret, Alec didn’t want attention drawn to it. He appreciated Daisy’s not having led the way up the stairs in the hall, in full view.
Ilkton and Piper followed Alec across the passage to Humphrey’s office. Alec sat down behind the desk. Taking a seat opposite, Ilkton offered a chased silver cigarette cas
e.
“I suppose we can smoke in here,” he said. “They don’t have a smoking room, and with an invalid in the house, one doesn’t care to—”
“Better not. I have ladies to interview still.”
“Miss Olney won’t mind. She’s a thoroughly agreeable young lady, never makes a fuss.”
“But Miss Birtwhistle might.”
“Oh, yes, bound to. I’d forgotten about her. She’s very forgettable. Could be any old farm wife, or even a housekeeper.”
“You’ll excuse me if I say you’re a bit out of your usual milieu, Mr. Ilkton.”
“Rather. I was a bit stunned when I first found out what Miss Olney’s home and family in Derbyshire consisted of, but she’s worth my putting up with them until we’re married. We met at Stansted House.”
Alec raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“The Bessboroughs’ place,” Ilkton elucidated.
“Miss Olney flies high.”
“She went to a good school and met the right sort of people, and she has a gift for making friends. All the fellows are at least half in love with her, of course, but the girls like her, too. She’ll be a very acceptable wife for someone in my position, once she’s cut her ties with these poor relations. Distant relations, fortunately.”
Alec wasn’t sufficiently interested in him to ask exactly what his exalted “position” was. “I haven’t yet the pleasure of Miss Olney’s acquaintance. I’ll be asking her shortly the same questions I have to ask you now.”
Ilkton frowned. “She’s very young. She shouldn’t be interrogated on her own.”
“If she’s uncomfortable, she can choose someone to be with her. We’re not going to bully her. Now, may we get down to business? I’d like your view, as an outside observer, of how the members of this household got on with each other.”
“Oh, is that all? I can’t say I’ve really noticed. One couldn’t miss a certain amount of friction between young Simon and his father. Nothing out of the ordinary. I remember considering my own father a hopeless old fogy when I was about that age. Though it could have been a symptom of a more serious disagreement, I suppose.”