Rex thought Clive more suspect, however. He clung to Jasmina, who seemed anxious now to get away from his clutches. This made him blink all the more. Most of the guests appeared fidgety as tension built in the hall.
Brass Tacks
Diana Litton produced a bunch of keys, a compartmentalized wallet stacked with bank and library cards, a transparent topped fuchsia lipstick, and a wad of clean tissues. Meredith came up with a comb, a retro clip-purse, lip balm, and breath mints.
Most of the spectators looked disappointed that nothing incriminating had been found. Others were affronted when asked to empty their own pockets and purses. Jasmina in her clinging sequined number patently had nowhere in her clothes to hide anything. PC Dimley, recalled from searching the vehicles, made a clumsy attempt to pat her down all the same, eliciting shocked giggles from the thusly assaulted girl, who stared in wide-eyed entreaty at Clive.
“Watch where you put your hands, you inept clodhopper,” he snapped, one movement away from completing a punch in the constable’s reddening face.
While the detectives questioned Diana and the young nurse’s aide, Rex caught up with Roger Litton at the refreshment table as he was helping himself to coffee.
The Home Ec teacher took a tentative sip from his cup. “Tastes all right. Need something to keep me awake.”
“Roger, I hope you don’t think me a busybody, but someone mentioned seeing you go up the tower steps with the Welsh lady. Did you mention that fact to either of the detectives?”
Litton flushed to the top of his bald spot. “Well, no, I didn’t, actually. I only went part of the way. Up the steps, I mean.” He blushed a deeper shade of pink. “It’s quite a climb up those winding stairs and she was dragging on my arm. I made my excuses and let her continue without me. Chivalry only extends so far, you know.”
“Did she mention why she wanted to go to the roof ?”
“She said the view was breathtaking. The climb alone took my breath away. No view is worth a stroke.”
“Or a broken neck.”
“Quite so. Sorry I can’t help you there.”
“Any indication she was going to meet someone?” Rex asked in a final attempt to discover why the aunt had gone up the tower stairs. Could it really have been for the view on such a dismal day?
Roger Litton shook his head thoughtfully. “She was babbling away about this and that, and I ceased paying much attention. I say, what’s going on over there?”
Rex turned. The older crowd was grouped on one side of the fireplace, giving a wide berth to Detective Dartford’s prodigious posterior as he bent over the hearth. Surgical gloves molded to his hands, he held his tie to his chest to prevent it from catching alight while he prodded in a far corner of the fireplace with an iron poker.
“Ey-up,” he announced to himself.
Among the pile of ashes, Rex spotted two blackened figures, melted and misshapen, but still recognizable as the missing plastic bride and groom. Detective Lucas, who had finished interviewing Diana Litton, watched as Dartford fished them out of the fireplace.
“You were right,” he said, approaching Rex. “Someone got rid of them. Our suspect, more likely than not.”
“Was Mrs. Litton able to shed any light on the miniatures?”
“She left the room once Victoria Newcombe had been taken out on a stretcher. Said she wanted to go and wash her hands. Meredith Matthews escorted the vicar to the ambulance. Someone could have gone in then to get rid of any traces of arsenic. With so many people in the house and all the commotion, it’s hard to know who was where. Seems most of the guests crowded around the main entrance when the ambulance arrived.”
“The poisoner would have realized that once the police got here, there would be no chance of going back into the banquet room.”
“Precisely. Forensics won’t be able to confirm the existence of arsenic in the wedding cake if the evidence was removed, so we only have your hypothesis that it was in the cake in the first place. Here are the facts: The cake was in the kitchen this morning waiting to be iced. Stella Pembleton worked as a pastry chef at Price’s Bakery in Derby before starting her own business. But she’s not the only person who could have mixed in the poison. Her sister and niece were also here this morning, as were the two servers hired for the day. No priors on any of them. We called the station and ran a check.”
The inspector proceeded to consult his notes. “Pollard, the bartender, twenty-six years of age, lives alone in Derby. Drake, forty-two, serves at the buffet table, a family man from Aston. Rachel, Lydia Pembleton’s daughter, is a student at the University of Derby and works for the catering business part-time. Don’t see any of them risking their jobs to jolly up a party with a lethal dose of arsenic. The DJ came too late to have tampered with the cake, which was already iced by then. Always assuming it was the cake that had the arsenic in it, but I’m holding to that opinion since it was the surest thing that everyone would eat. Some people are vegetarians, others are allergic to shellfish, others don’t like avocados. You get my drift.”
“Aye, it’s tradition to eat cake at a wedding,” Rex added, supporting his argument that the inspector now seemed to have adopted as his own.
“So, if it was the cake, the catering staff had opportunity, as did the people at the house this morning. Polly, Mrs. Newcombe, Mabel Thorpe, Robert Carter,” the inspector listed from his notes.
“And Amber, the maid of honour. She spent the night here.”
“Must have missed that,” Lucas said, flipping back through his pages, clearly miffed. “Odd sort of girl. Got the impression she has some sort of chip on her shoulder. Still, can’t be easy being a young single mum. As for the other family members, Timothy and Dudley Thorpe were in Aston this morning, Timothy at his mother’s house where he still lives, and Dudley Thorpe with his wife. I never met such an arrogant ponce.” The inspector, evidently remembering his position, quickly forged on with his review. “It’s unlikely Polly or Victoria Newcombe accidentally poisoned themselves. That would seem to limit possible suspects to eight, unless someone snuck in.”
“Agreed,” Rex said. “The two caterers and the three staff, Amber, Bobby Carter, and Mabel Thorpe all had access to the cake. Sticking by our theory, that takes care of opportunity. But what about motive?”
“I think we can assume the vicar’s death was unintentional, unless someone had a specific grievance against him and was prepared to kill a pregnant girl and a middle-aged woman as collateral damage. But then there’s the aunt as well, killed by other means.”
“I don’t think Victoria Newcombe would have liked to be referred to as middle-aged,” Rex remarked. “She certainly didn’t look it.”
“I only saw her in an unflattering hospital gown with tubes snaking out of her.” Lucas passed a hand wearily across his freckled face. “Hope the daughter makes it. She was being prepped for the operating room when we got there.”
A polite cough from PC Perrin interrupted them. “Inspector, the coroner is here.”
“About time,” Lucas grumbled. “Just as well he only attends to patients who are already dead. What’s going on round back?”
“The patio’s been cordoned off and a tent placed over the body,” the constable reported. “Looks like rain, but SOCO1 has finished processing the area.”
“Right, I’ll be out directly. Any luck with the snuff boxes?”
“No, sir.”
Rex had his own ideas in that regard, having had time to mull over the day’s events, but decided to keep those ideas to himself for the time being on the off chance he was wrong.
1. Scene of crime officer.
Secret Assignation
Rex looked across the hall to where the young guests either sat around aimlessly or else frenetically texted on their phones. He considered each in turn as potential suspects. Jeremy and his girlfriend, Elaine, had driven straight from Derby to the church service in Aston-on-Trent. Ditto Reggie and Meredith, who had come up from London by train. Little chanc
e those four had tampered with the cake.
Taking advantage of Mabel’s temporary absence, Rex approached Timmy Thorpe once more. “Do you mind?” he asked, indicating the chair vacated by the groom’s mother.
“Go ahead,” Timmy replied, somewhat revived since Rex had last spoken to him. “I just heard that I have a son, safely delivered as of fifteen minutes ago.”
“Congratulations!”
“Son and heir to Newcombe Court,” Dudley jeered.
“He’s in an incubator, but doing well,” Timmy explained, ignoring his brother.
“And your wife?” Rex inquired.
“Not out of the woods yet. The doctor performed a caesarean earlier than scheduled because the baby was showing signs of fetal distress. I’m going to the hospital now. My mother is getting her hat. A dad. I can hardly believe it.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Drained.”
Timmy looked it. Dark rings, accentuated by an unhealthy pallor, circled his washed-out blue eyes.
“Timmy, I wanted to ask how much cake you ate.”
“Just a forkful. I was feeling a bit queasy.”
“What about you, Dudley?”
“What sort of daft question is that?”
“If you could just answer the question?” Rex said curtly, out-staring him.
“I didn’t have any, did I? I already told you that. I don’t have a sweet tooth. My body is my temple and all that. I don’t fill it with junk.” He gave Rex a look implying that perhaps the large Scotsman should reassess what he put into his own temple.
“Are you saying the arsenic was in the wedding cake?” Timmy asked.
Dudley rolled incredulous eyes. “That’s exactly what he’s saying, you daft pillock. Haven’t you been listening?” Dudley turned to Rex. “He has a head for figures but not much else.”
“Who would do that?” Tears welled in Timmy’s eyes.
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. Any ideas?”
“It had to have been an accident.”
“I’d ask those Pembleton sisters,” Dudley suggested.
“I have.”
“Course, if it was them, they did Timmy here a whopping great favour getting rid of his mum-in-law. Wish I could be so lucky.”
“Shut up, Dud.”
“Don’t pretend you’re not pleased about it,” Dudley said, apparently not caring who heard. “Now you have this whole place to yourself.”
“Just piss off.” Timmy’s face had turned an unhealthy red and his eyes bulged with fury.
“Shame about the vicar, though,” his brother went on. “Still, he was getting on.”
“Have you no feelings?” Timmy asked querulously.
“Don’t be so soft.” Dudley jumped out of his armchair and stalked off in the direction of the refreshment table.
“No love lost between you two, I see,” Rex commiserated.
“Do you have brothers?” Timmy asked.
“I’m an only child.”
“Lucky you.”
“Didna feel that way growing up. My mother had me late in life and it was like being brought up by a grandmother.”
Timmy nodded in comprehension. Mabel Thorpe stood before a heavily framed mirror fastening on her cloche hat with a large metal pin. She cut a rather prim and timid figure. Ignoring Rex, she joined her son, and together they made for the entrance, Timmy walking with his hands cupped in loose fists at chest level, as though anticipating a blow or else reluctant to take up another person’s space. The young man clearly lacked confidence. He was at the mercy of the world—and, evidently, a person or persons in it.
As mother and son left by the front entrance, Rex glimpsed two figures in white lift a black body bag into the back of a white panel van. Poor Aunt Gwen. She had arrived in a party dress for her niece’s wedding, little suspecting the gruesome fate awaiting her at Newcombe Court.
Lucas stepped into the great hall. “Broken neck, the coroner confirmed. The autopsy might tell us more. A note was found on the body.” The excitement in the inspector’s voice contradicted his impassive expression.
“A suicide note?” Rex asked in surprise.
Lucas showed Rex a slip of white paper protected within a transparent bag. “Meet me at the top of the tower. An admirer,” it read in a scrawled hand.
“An assignation,” Rex corrected himself. “That explains why she went up to the rooftop.”
“It was stuffed down her brassiere. If only we knew who wrote it. We could get handwriting samples, but if the intention was to bump off Gwendolyn Jones, the perp would likely have disguised his writing.”
“I wonder if she knew her admirer.”
“If only the dead could speak! The bartender claims the note was left on his tray when his back was turned. The name ‘Gwen’ is jotted on the other side.” Lucas flipped the plastic bag so Rex could see. “After inquiring who Gwen was, the bartender delivered it to her.”
“Is there any record of anyone being seen descending the tower after the cake-cutting?”
“That’s when people started dropping like flies. The guests’ memories are a blur.”
“The DJ saw Roger Litton escort the Welsh woman up the stairs,” Rex imparted. “But Litton told me he didn’t go to the top and he can’t remember if she mentioned meeting someone.”
“We’ll have to dig into all these people’s backgrounds.” The inspector looked decidedly frazzled, his freckles about ready to pop off his face. He extracted a plastic container of aspirin from his coat pocket and proceeded to munch on a handful of pills. One mystery solved, Rex thought with wry amusement. But what of the murders and missing snuff boxes?
He decided to help out in one matter, whether his assistance had been requested or not.
Boxed in
Rex found Helen standing among the cluster of teachers from her school and told her to keep her fingers crossed that his hunch, which he was about to act upon, did not blow up in his face.
“What hunch?” she asked.
“It has to do with those two love birds, Clive and Jasmina.”
In point of fact, the pair seemed far less lovey-dovey now, but then everyone appeared more jaded. He drew the svelte beauty aside, while Helen looked on in curiosity.
“I wonder if you would permit me to look inside your gift box.”
Jasmina’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Your wedding gift.”
Asking Helen and Clive to accompany them, he led the three guests into the reception room, where he bade them stand inside the door, out of the way of the forensics team who were packing up their equipment, while he made for the table of unopened wedding presents.
“Whatever it is you’re up to, you’d better be right,” Helen warned after him in a low voice. “I have to work with Clive, remember.”
“This is yours, is it not?” Rex asked Jasmina, returning from the table and handing her a large box.
Hesitantly she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Rex looked inside. The box was empty, save for a few remnants of scrunched tissue paper.
“What was in here?”
“A fruit bowl.”
“Where is it now?”
“I have no idea.”
“I have an idea.” Rex took the trio into the caterers’ temporary kitchen and picked up off the pine table a bowl decorated with a row of pears and cherries. “This looks the right size for the box. Is this the fruit bowl you brought to the wedding?”
“Why—yes,” Jasmina replied. “What is it doing here?”
“You tell me.” He handed her the bowl. “We got Polly and Timmy a fruit bowl too. Luckily, not the same one.”
Jasmina giggled. Rex began to wonder if the high-pitched laughter might be a nervous tic. Even Clive looked disconcerted.
“Why did you need Clive and me there?” Helen asked as they exited the manor wing.
“As witnesses. I suppose I should have cleared it with Inspector Lucas first. The police, sensitive to the
occasion, must have been leaving the wedding gifts until last, hoping to find the missing antique collection elsewhere.”
“But Jasmina’s box was empty. The poor girl is terribly embarrassed. Why pick on her box?”
“It was a long shot, but I saw her stealing down the stairs with it and she was reluctant to accept my offer of assistance.”
“I wonder where the snuff boxes are now. And what was Jasmina’s bowl doing on the kitchen table?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to see the wood for the trees.”
“What do you mean?”
Smiling at Helen’s confusion, Rex went to find PC Perrin. “Any luck with the snuff boxes?”
“They seem to have walked.”
“Nonsense. Snuff boxes don’t walk.”
“That’s not what I meant, sir.”
“Where haven’t you looked?”
“We’ve searched everywhere. The cellar, the attic, every knook and cranny.”
“Use your brain, lad,” Rex said in paternal fashion. “If this was an outside job, the hiding place has to be somewhere familiar. Our criminal wouldn’t have had time to go rummaging around looking for a good hiding place.”
“But we searched the vehicles thoroughly,” the young constable insisted. “The wheel wells, under the seats, you name it. That Dudley Thorpe was right incensed when we poked around the bonnet of his new Miata. He called us PC Plod and PC Dimwit. Dimley gets called that a lot.”
“He’s a good lad but he’ll probably never get off the beat. A smart lad like you, however, could go places.”
“I’d love to make detective one day, sir.”
“Then dig deeper. What is in the house that wasn’t here before?”
“Oh, you mean the mobile ovens and catering boxes with the crockery and glasses? Those are the first places we looked.”
“What else was brought into the house?” Rex prompted.
“Well, the DJ’s gear, the catering staff’s bags, you know, with a change of shirt in case something got spilt.”
Rex all but burst at the seams now. “The DJ has quite a sophisticated setup,” he reflected aloud. “Mikes, lighting, amps, speakers. Shame he never got to demonstrate their full potential.”
Murder of the Bride Page 9