Death in Practice

by Hazel Holt

  “It may still be on in the kitchen,” Roger said. “Let’s go and see.”

  There was water there and when we were reasonably clean again Roger said, “I’ll just go and check that window you mentioned in the larder.”

  He moved across and switched on the light.

  “Oh yes, broken sash cord, as you said.” He gave the window a tug and after a couple of tries it opened. “And no lock on it.”

  He pulled the window right up and looked out.

  “Several bushes out here, good cover if you wanted to break in without being seen.”

  “Do you think anyone did break in there?”

  “Don’t know. The window’s very stiff, but it could be done. Not a burglar though, well, not a burglar as such, since nothing seems to be missing.”

  “Except the picture.”

  “As you say.”

  “Do you think the cousin did break in and steal it?” I asked.

  “I’d need to get forensics down here to check the window and the ground underneath it. I really don’t know.”

  “And do you think it had anything to do with Malcolm Hardy’s death?”

  “I would be obliged, Sheila,” Roger said with a smile, “if you wouldn’t keep asking me questions to which I do not have the answers!”

  “It does seem odd though, doesn’t it, that this cousin should appear just before Malcolm Hardy died.”

  “Possibly.”

  “And he is a doctor so he could easily have got hold of the insulin.”

  “True.”

  “But you don’t think he had anything to do with it?”

  “Let’s put it this way. How would he have known about Malcolm Hardy’s condition and the medication he’d been taking? And if he didn’t know about that then he couldn’t be the murderer.”

  “No,” I agreed sadly. “I don’t suppose he could. Unless,” I said, struck by a sudden thought, “he’d been in touch with another member of the family – June Hardy perhaps – who might have said something to him that might have suggested Malcolm’s condition, and, being a doctor, he might have deduced what sort of medication was being used to treat it!”

  “Might, might, might! Come on, Sheila that’s really fantasy-land!”

  “Well,” I said stubbornly, “I could just have a word with June, to see if she’s heard from this Gillespie man.”

  “I fear you will be wasting your time.”

  We went back along the passage into the hall.

  “Hang on,” Roger said. “We didn’t check his study.”

  But there was no Alma Tadema lurking among the modern art on the cream-covered walls.

  “No,” I said, “It’s not here. I think it must have gone.”

  Roger was standing looking around him.

  “It’s funny, you know,” he said, “but I can’t help feeling that there’s something here that we’ve missed.”

  I looked about me at the fancy wallpaper and the trendy furniture but nothing suggested itself to me. My eye fell on the drinks trolley.

  “I suppose the whisky in his flask came from one of these bottles,” I said.

  “It seems likely, but we did check them and there were no traces of any other substance in them.”

  “Were they checked here?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Actually, I didn’t read the report myself – I was out of town at the time it came through. My sergeant gave me the gist. ”

  “I just wondered if the bottles had been tested for fingerprints.”

  “I imagine so – why?”

  “Well, it did occur to me that anyone – not just the cousin – could have got through that window and put something in the bottles, or in the hip flask for that matter if it was lying about near the bottles, which it could have been, and they might have wiped one of the bottles clean.”

  “I think my sergeant would have noticed if that had happened.”

  “Yes, of course. But you do agree that someone could have got in through the larder window.”

  “Yes. As I said, I’ll have forensics go over it thoroughly.”

  “Of course, Julie might still have a key. I know she’d never actually moved in with him, but she must have been in and out of here quite a bit.”

  “I did ask her and she said she’d never had one. I don’t think Malcolm Hardy was in the habit of trusting anyone, even his girlfriend.”

  “No, and after that row they had… oh well, I can’t think of anyone else who might have had access to the place. Unless there was a cleaning woman – I mean, there would have to be someone with a house this size, surely?”

  “He had a commercial firm in once a week, three people who went through the place while he was here. Like I said, he didn’t seem to have trusted anyone. Even the gardener was never allowed into the actual house.”

  I sighed and looked round the room once again. There was something vaguely unpleasant about it – even more unpleasant, in a way, than the bedroom. It seemed wrong, shocking almost, to have taken this room and wrenched it, as it were, out of context. The fact that he had left the drawing room exactly as it was in his father’s day merely emphasised his scorn for the taste of the previous generation. Look at me, it seemed to say, and see how far I have come from that dreary lot, how smart and modern I am and how tedious and dull they were.

  “What is it, Sheila?” Roger asked. “You were scowling horribly!”

  I laughed. “I suppose I was just thinking how ephemeral taste is. In a few years’ time this will be even more old fashioned than that room next door.”

  He laughed and moved back again to the drinks trolley, examining the whisky bottles absently. He unscrewed the cap of one of them and sniffed the contents.

  “Good stuff this. Whatever else you might say about him he certainly knew his whisky.”

  He unscrewed another and sniffed that. Then he sniffed it again.

  “That’s odd,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The Glenfiddich. “

  He took a glass, poured a little whisky into it and drank it.

  “That’s not a single malt.”

  “So?”

  “Why would Malcolm Hardy have a cheap blended whisky in a Glenfiddich bottle?”

  “Perhaps he was just mean and gave that one to his visitors and kept the best stuff for himself.”

  “I don’t think so. Someone who had a display of drinks like this would want to show off to any visitor.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think,” Roger said, “I’d like this particular bottle examined more carefully for fingerprints.”

  “Really?”

  He looked about him

  “Now what can I put it in?”

  “I’ve got a plastic carrier bag in my handbag,” I said.

  “Good heavens, women are so extraordinary. What on earth do you carry that about for?”

  “Oh,” I said vaguely, “just in case – you know.”

  Roger put the whisky bottle carefully in the carrier bag.

  “I knew,” he said, “that there was something about this room!”

  A couple of days later I was making some mince pies – I always like to have some made well before Christmas to give to anyone who might drop in. I’d just got the pastry rolled out when the phone rang. It was Roger.

  “I thought you’d like to know,” he said. “I’ve had the lab report on that Glenfiddich bottle. It was some sort of cheap blended stuff, but that’s not the interesting thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was in the original report but it somehow got overlooked. Anyway, they have confirmed that the fingerprints on the bottle are blurred.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that someone handled that bottle wearing gloves. And I think it seems likely that whoever handled the bottle put the cheap whisky in it.”

  “And?”

  “And, it’s possible that whoever it was put more than whisky into that bottle.”

  I retu
rned to the mince pies but my mind was in such a whirl that I put too much mincemeat in them and it all oozed out over the edges and they were quite spoilt.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  I saw June Hardy at the Hospital Friends meeting a few days later. I thought she was looking very tired, but when the meeting was over and everyone was moving across to the side table to get a cup of coffee she was making for the door. I caught up with her and said, “Are you all right June, you look thoroughly exhausted.”

  She gave me a slight smile and said, “I was up most of last night with Mrs Hewlett. She had a stroke so we had to call the doctor and get her into hospital. I’m just on my way to see her now.”

  “Oh, do spare a few minutes to have a coffee. You really look as if you need it!”

  She hesitated for a moment, looked at her watch and then said, “Very well. I must say I could do with a bit of a break.”

  “You go and sit down there over by the window,” I said, “and I’ll get the coffees.”

  I put the cups of coffee on the window sill and said “I’m so sorry about Mrs Hewlett. Is she going to be all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. It wasn’t a very severe stroke, but I was afraid she might go on to have a second one – it happens sometimes as you know and then that can be serious.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No, thank goodness. But naturally I’ll feel happier when I’ve seen her.

  “Of course.” I took a sip of my coffee which, as usual, didn’t taste of anything in particular but was warm and comforting. “They’re so lucky to have you in charge,” I said. “You do a wonderful job.”

  “I enjoy doing it – I suppose it’s my life really. They are like a family to me, now that I have none of my own.”

  “Oh yes,” I said casually, as if I’d just thought of it, “that reminds me. Someone said that Malcolm’s cousin – a Donald Gillespie, is that right? – was in Taviscombe recently. Do you know him at all?”

  “Good heavens! I haven’t heard anything about him for a very long time.”

  “Apparently he went to call on Malcolm.”

  “That does surprise me. There was no love lost there!”

  “Really?”

  “There was some quarrel about a picture – I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but it was all very unpleasant.”

  “Did you know Donald Gillespie at all?”

  “Oh no, I never had anything to do with her side of the family. And, of course, I was away in Bristol for many years.”

  “Yes, of course, so you were.”

  June hesitated for a moment and then she said, “Sheila, I believe you know the Inspector in charge of the investigation into Malcolm’s death. Has there been any progress, only it does seem to have been a long time since it happened. Do they have any idea who might have done it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, not being sure how much I could reveal. “I believe they’ve got a few leads, but I don’t think they’re expecting to make an arrest or anything.”

  “I see. Presumably they will tell me when there is anything to tell, since I am his next of kin –” She broke off and thought for a moment and then she continued, “Or, at least I suppose I am, though this girl, this Julie – her baby will be that no doubt, when it is born.”

  “She very nearly lost it,” I said. “Did you hear?”

  June looked startled. “What happened?”

  I told her about the accident at Dunster. “But she’s all right now, and the baby. I saw them recently and she seemed fine. In fact she was the person who told me about Donald Gillespie calling to see Malcolm.”

  “Really?” June looked at her watch. “Good gracious, is that the time? I must be getting on if I want to see Mrs Hewlett. They have lunch just before twelve on Bratton Ward. It’s been nice talking to you, Sheila, and you were right, the cup of coffee was just what I needed.”

  When she had gone I sat for a little while longer, looking down at the people hurrying by in the street below. The Christmas decorations were already up and from above the scene looked quite festive.

  “Nearly Christmas already,” Mr Mortimer said, coming up and joining me at the window. “It seems like only yesterday we were organising the summer fete. I really don’t know where this year has gone! Now are you sure we have enough volunteers to provide the food after the carol concert – a lot of people are down with this flu bug, you know, so there may be some problems.”

  When I left the hospital I didn’t feel like going home to prepare a solitary lunch so I went into the Buttery to get a quick snack. I’d just settled down to my ham roll and coffee when a voice said, “Hello, Mrs Malory, can I join you?” It was Ben Turner’s daughter Tina.

  “Yes, of course. How nice to see you. How’s your little boy, William, isn’t it?”

  “He’s fine,” Tina said, putting her tray down on the table. “He’s with my mother-in-law this afternoon, she has him sometimes to give me a break.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I’m going to see my mother after I’ve had lunch. She’s been ill lately, I mean as well as the Alzheimers.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s her heart you see.” She ate a little of her quiche and then pushed it to one side and said earnestly, “I just wish she could slip away, die quickly. Isn’t that awful? To think such a thing about your own mother!”

  “Not really,” I said. “My own mother suffered a lot at the end of her life and there were many times when I felt as you do.”

  She gave me a grateful smile. “She has no sort of life really, especially now that she’s so weak, and it’s so awful for my father.”

  “I can imagine. I was so glad, by the way, to hear that he’s staying on at the practice.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. But, oh I do wish things could come right for him.”

  “Come right?”

  She hesitated for a moment and then she said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s in love with someone and of course they can’t be together with the situation as it is.”

  “You knew?”

  She looked at me in surprise. “You knew?” she asked, “about him and Kathy?”

  “Kathy did confide in me,” I said. “She hadn’t anyone else she could tell – she felt her parents wouldn’t understand. I know she feels terrible about it, because of your mother. How do you feel about it?”

  Tina stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I think I’m glad for him. He’s had so much misery, I’m pleased he’s found someone who can make him happy.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” I said.

  “I love my mother, but I love my father more and, quite honestly, it can’t affect her now so what does it matter.”

  “I think you should tell them that,” I said. “They’ve been terrified you might find out and be hurt. Incidentally, how did you find out?”

  Tina smiled. “My father is very transparent. He couldn’t help mentioning her from time to time and – well, I found a letter. I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I did. She obviously loves him very much.”

  “They’re both good people, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “So please do tell them that you know and that you understand. It would mean so much to them.”

  She nodded. “If you think it would help then I’ll talk to my father.”

  “Thank you.”

  “At least things seem to be better at the surgery now that that dreadful man isn’t there. Do they have any idea yet who killed him?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well,” Tina said finishing off her quiche with a better appetite. “I hope they don’t catch whoever it is who did it – the world’s a better place without him!”

  That did seem to be the general opinion and I heard it echoed by Kathy when I went round to see her. I couldn’t resist telling her about my conversation with Tina so that evening I’d telephoned to ask if I could come r
ound.

  “It’s nice to see you Sheila,” Kathy said as she welcomed me in. “Ben had a call from his daughter saying she wanted to see him this evening so I’m on my own. I don’t know why she wants to see him – I suppose it’s about her mother. Poor Ben, it’s so difficult for him, he hates deceiving people.”

  “Well,” I said, “at least he won’t have to deceive Tina any longer.” And I told her about my conversation that lunchtime.

  “I know I should have waited to let Ben tell you,” I said, “and you mustn’t let him know that I told you, but I couldn’t resist, I was so pleased and excited for you. I do hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, no, of course not, I’m so pleased, so relieved! Do you think that’s what Tina wants to talk to him about tonight?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Oh thank you, Sheila!”

  “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.

  “Yes you did. If you hadn’t spoken to her like that she might never have told Ben that it was all right.”

  “Well, if you think I did some good I’m very glad.”

  “Of course we won’t let anyone else know – it wouldn’t be fair. But it was Tina who was worrying us. It was Tina that Malcolm threatened to tell. That hateful man – I’m glad he’s dead after all that he put us through. Oh if only we’d known!” She was almost in tears.

  “Don’t think about any of that now,” I said. “Just enjoy the fact that you can be happy together without feeling guilty.”

  I stayed a little while with Kathy and when I got home I found myself thinking about what she had said. If only they’d known – what? Kathy had been so vehement, so upset when she spoke about it. Had they decided to silence Malcolm Hardy so that he couldn’t reveal their secret? I could hardly bear to consider that possibility, especially now that things seemed to be coming right for them at last. It would be dreadful if there were to be no happy ending. But the fact remained that they both had the means and the opportunity (not to mention the motive) to kill Malcolm Hardy.

  I poured myself a glass of wine – Kathy had offered me something but I ‘d refused, not wanting to be there when Ben arrived with his good news – and settled myself on the sofa. The animals, who had consumed their tribute of food in the kitchen, came and joined me as I thought once more about Malcolm Hardy’s death. Of course, I told myself, the discovery that Roger had made about the whisky made it seem most likely that it was from that bottle the hip flask had been filled and that’s where the insulin had been. Therefore, I thought, it meant that the people at the surgery were all in the clear – Kathy and Ben and Diana and Keith and, probably, Julie. That only left Claudia, who would almost certainly have been in the house at some point during their affair, and the cousin, Donald Gillespie, who we knew had called at least once and might very well have called again.