“Don’t you? That’s why you came to see me, isn’t it? He could easily have gone to Newcombe Court this morning. Besides, he had access to the arsenic.”
“Did he?”
“Well, he’d know where to get hold of some. His dad used it to treat his leukemia.”
“What?” Rex asked in astonishment.
“It didn’t work, but it’s in one of the medical books about cures for cancer downstairs.”
Rex had no more time to assimilate this information. A scuffling noise at the front door arrested Donna in the process of switching off the light to Dudley’s room. From the landing, Rex glimpsed a large shadow behind the door pane. A key turned in the lock.
Donna yanked Rex into an airing cupboard at the top of the stairs and swiftly drew the louver doors closed. It felt warm and cramped in the closet, claustrophobically so, and he had to keep his head bowed. Had Mabel returned, her form magnified through the opaque glass in the door? What would she think if she found her daughter-in-law and the Scotsman from the reception hiding in her cupboard? A sharp scent of lavender laundry detergent pricked at his nostrils and he feared he might sneeze. Wrangling an arm free in the limited space, he pressed his hand to his nose. Donna stiffened beside him as footsteps stomped up the creaking stairs.
Perspiration began to pool in the armpits of his jacket. Between the slats of the doors, he made out the back of a broad figure in a dark hooded jacket. The individual paused on the landing, darting his head in both directions, and then pushed open the door to Dudley’s room. The light went on, the door closed. Nudging Donna, Rex eased open the louver doors and led her down the inside tread of the stairs to avoid creaking boards, while the scrape and juddering of displaced furniture on bare floor continued above them.
In the hall, Rex tripped over the plastic poncho Donna had dropped on their way in and held out an arm to brace himself, hitting the door as he did so. They exchanged a panicked look.
Rex stopped her as she bent to retrieve the garment. Turning back the knob on the front door, he shot a look up the stairs. All clear. He gently clicked the door shut after them. Then, grabbing Donna by the arm, he dragged her across the grass beside the boundary hedge and through a gap to the car. Helen’s car beeped as he hit the remote, but it couldn’t be helped. Dudley’s room, in any case, was on the far side of the house. However, on the off chance he’d been heard, he started the engine and pulled out without lights, not wishing to be seen. At the end of the street, Donna broke the silence.
“Did you see who it was?”
“A man with large shoulders wearing a hoodie.”
“Dud doesn’t have a hoodie.”
That you know of, thought Rex. It appeared there were other things about which Dudley kept Donna in the dark. He sped up, lights now on full beam in the rain, and headed down the deserted road toward her house. “If that wasn’t your husband, how did he know which room to look in?” he asked.
“Why would Dud ransack his own room? I hope it’s not him. He’d recognize my poncho and give me grief for sneaking into his mom’s house. I don’t know what Mabel is going to say when she finds it. You should’ve let me take it.”
“It was as squeaky as a wet balloon. And whoever it was must have seen it and would have noticed if it was gone. Best tell Mabel you went over and someone else was there. In fact, call the police right now.” He handed Donna his phone.
He regretted not having apprehended the intruder himself, but he had no idea whom he was dealing with, in addition to which his own presence was a bit sticky to explain.
“Dud would kill me if I called the police.”
“What if your mother-in-law’s house is being burgled?”
“There’s nothing worth stealing at Mabel’s. And it wasn’t a break-in. The person used a key.”
“So did we. Perhaps he was watching us.”
“Look, I’ll call her when I get home, okay?” Donna returned his phone and he dropped it into his pocket with a sigh of resignation and a feeling that events were spiraling out of control.
“Okay, but make sure you do. And tell the police about the threatening phone calls while you’re at it. Things have a way of escalating where loan sharks are involved.”
“Dud should be able to fob them off now that he’s related to the Newcombe family, especially with Victoria out of the way. But if he goes to prison for murder, they might come after me for what he owes.” She bit her lip and gazed numbly out the window.
Donna had a point, Rex conceded. She was a brave lass and she had brains, but would prove no match for a gang of vicious hoodlums. The car slushed to a stop outside her home and the front door flew open. Silhouetted in the doorway, Donna’s mother threw them a friendly wave, in which no small measure of relief was apparent.
“Will you call me when you find out anything?” Donna asked.
“Of course. Now take your two lads and stay at your mother’s house tonight, just to be safe. And call Mabel immediately.”
He waited to drive off until she was securely inside, hoping she would heed his advice. A lot of strange events were taking place, and even he didn’t feel safe.
A Bridge too Far
When Rex had set out for Aston-on-Trent in the search for
answers, he had not anticipated running into thugs who were capable of resorting to bodily harm as a means of persuasion. However, as well as taking an unexpected turn, his investigation had turned up a few interesting leads. On the drive back to Newcombe Court, he called Dr. Williamitis at the clinic. The doctor picked up on the first ring.
“It’s Rex Graves calling. I had a couple more questions aboot Dr. Thorpe, if you have time.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is arsenic trioxide used as a cure for leukemia?”
“Under the trade name Trisenox, it’s sometimes used in cases where the leukemia is unresponsive to first line agents.” Rex strained to hear over the noise of the engine and passing cars. “But due to the toxic nature of arsenic, Trisenox, which works partly by killing cancer cells, also carries significant risks. In Dr. Thorpe’s case, the drug caused acute promyelocytic leukemia differentiation syndrome, which ultimately proved fatal.”
“How was the drug administered?”
“Intravenously, at home,” Williamitis stated. “You had another question?”
Clearly, this was the end of the discussion on Dr. Thorpe’s battle with cancer.
“I’m wondering if you might have heard of a Dr. Forspaniak?”
This time a marked pause ensued. “Yes,” said the doctor, drawing out the word with obvious reluctance. “I know a Dr. Forspaniak. Not sure if it’s the same person you’re enquiring about.”
“Well, tell me about the one you know.”
“He’s a gynecologist with a practice in Derby. He also performs abortions. In extreme cases, I refer patients to him.”
After thanking the doctor for his help, Rex pressed his foot on the gas, anxious to reach Newcombe Court before Inspector Lucas departed.
By the time he arrived, noticeably fewer vehicles filled the drive-way. Night enshrouded the park. The men in anoraks assisting with the parking earlier that day had been the bartender and carver.
“Had to let the servers and most of the guests go,” the inspector told Rex, meeting him inside the front door of the great hall.
Only a handful of people remained, seated now as one group by the fireplace opposite the one from which the miniature bride and groom had been salvaged. Rex could not see Helen.
“My gut tells me Bobby Carter knows more than he’s saying,” Lucas said, “but we can’t prove anything. He just waffles on about his attachment to the family and his failure to protect them. Crocodile tears, if you ask me. Now then, you went to Aston.” Lucas put the emphasis on the word Aston, evidently demanding an explanation.
Rex filled him in on his visits with Dr. Williamitis and Donna Thorpe, sticking to the facts for now and skirting around his suspicions and suppositions. “I went to he
r house on spec and found out more than I anticipated.”
“Donna Thorpe was our next stop,” Lucas informed him. “So her husband was out this morning on some unexplained business, hmm? We’ll need to talk to the bookie.” He made a note in his pad. “How much is our Dudley in the hole for?”
“She doesn’t know, but apparently enough to make it worth hiring some heavies to retrieve it.”
“It’s motive for the poisoning,” the inspector surmised. “Especially if you factor in what you found out about Dr. Thorpe using arsenic to treat his leukemia. Too much of a coincidence, by half. Of course, we would need to prove that Dudley got hold of the arsenic and was able to inject it in the cake without anyone noticing him. No one saw him here this morning.”
Perrin hovered expectantly.
“Well, what is it?” the inspector snapped.
“Call from the divisional commander, sir. Wants to know why you won’t answer your mobile.”
“Because I’ve got my ruddy hands full, that’s why.”
“He says it’s important.” Perrin gingerly held out a cell phone at the end of a lanky arm.
The inspector swiped it off him. “Yes, sir,” he said brightly into the phone. “We are making fair progress. Sergeant Dartford is down at the station going over Jasmina Patel’s and Harry Futuro’s statements—” As he listened, he fidgeted in his pocket. At length, he drew out an elastic band, which he wound around the thumb of his free hand with his forefinger, pulling tight with a fixed expression of glee as though going through the motions of garroting the senior officer. Suddenly he stopped. “Really, sir? … I see. Romania. Yes, this case does seem to be getting bigger. No, I’m sure we can contain it.”
His caller monopolized the conversation for some minutes. “I’ll send Sergeant Dartford over to Worley Station right away,” Lucas said. With an absent gesture, the inspector pressed the call-end button on the phone.
“Developments, sir?” Perrin asked, arms clasped respectfully behind his back as he flexed his calves in his standard issue black shoes.
“You could say that.” Lucas turned to Rex. “The presumed suicide off the bridge at Worley Station has been identified as Thomas Newcombe. A preliminary examination of the body showed a perforation in the heart and a small amount of blood. We are now treating the death as suspicious.”
“Thomas Newcombe, as in Victoria Newcombe’s husband?” Perrin asked. Rex could tell the youth was having a field day and doubtless enjoyed the diversion from routine shifts on the beat writing up reports on acts of vandalism and public disturbance.
“The same. Seems he flew into Heathrow from Bucharest last night and got a train to Worley this morning.”
“That’s about twenty minutes from here, isn’t it, sir?”
“That’s right.”
Rex stood by while Lucas got back on the phone and relayed the information to Sergeant Dartford at the police station. “He arrived at Worley at 9:15 this morning. There was a note in his briefcase. I want you to bring it to me … No, the note was addressed to him, giving instructions where to meet and signed ‘M.’”
“‘M’ for Murder?” Perrin asked Rex in an excited aside.
“This isn’t a Hitchcock movie, Perrin,” Lucas sniped, and switched his attention back to the phone. “Hole consistent with a small sharp instrument. Go and see the coroner … No, cause of death looks like the fall and/or impact of the train. The briefcase contained his boarding pass stub and return flight information. He was planning to return to Romania Tuesday … No, only the briefcase; perhaps he left a bag at the hotel or wherever he stayed last night. Find out what you can.” Lucas flipped the phone shut and stared meditatively at the floor.
“The plot thickens?” Rex asked the inspector with a wink at Perrin.
“The body count is certainly mounting. Vicar dead, Mrs. Newcombe dead, Polly Newcombe in limbo, the aunt dead, and now her brother turns up dead.”
“On the subject of Tom Newcombe, I found out something that may have some bearing.” Rex repeated the gossip he had heard at the pub relating to the dead man and the au pair from Eastern Europe. “Jessop is the old man’s name. Claims to have witnessed some domestic disturbance while working here as head gardener. Not sure how reliable his information is, but the landlord at The Malt Shovel can let you know where to find him.”
Inspector Lucas wrote in his notepad. “Thanks.” He punctuated his gratitude by stabbing the page with his pencil. “Who’ve we got left here among the guests?” he asked Perrin.
The constable looked around, sparing the inspector the trouble. “The solicitor, the Thorpes, Littons, Helen d’Arcy, Meredith Matthews, and her boyfriend Reggie Cox. And the two caterers.”
“Ask who knew Thomas Newcombe was on his way to the wedding today. A clipping of the announcement of his daughter’s engagement was found at his home in Romania, according to my superior. Stands to reason he was back in the country to see her get married.”
“Was this his first time back in England in ten years?” Rex inquired.
“Appears so. The home address on his EU driving licence is a farm in a small village outside Bucharest. The local police went to notify the residents of his death this afternoon. A woman who identified herself as his wife confirmed that he had travelled to England on business, but she didn’t know much else except that he was aware of his eldest daughter’s engagement. Seems she and Newcombe have a young daughter together.”
The inspector delved into his pocket and pulled out his container of aspirin, which he upturned into his mouth, staring up at the remote ceiling through bloodshot eyes.
“Shall I get you some water, sir?” Perrin offered.
His superior ground down on the pills, looking as dazed and woebegone as a man waking up from a hangover. He gave the plastic bottle an inquiring shake of the contents.
How many more did the man intend to take? Rex wondered. “Perhaps some coffee,” he told the constable. “It looks like it’s going to be a long night.”
Ransom
Carter coaxed his cigar to life through a quick succession of drawn-in breaths, seemingly unconcerned about smoking indoors, even if it was in a spacious room with a lofty ceiling. “I saved these Cuban cigars for the occasion,” he said wistfully.
Rex felt for his pipe, and then stuffed it back down in his pocket. “A small sharp object, the coroner said,” he recounted, expanding on the details of Tom Newcombe’s death.
“The point of an umbrella? It was raining today, after all.”
“Those don’t have very sharp points though, do they? I was thinking more along the lines of an ice pick, such as the one the bartender was using.”
“They don’t search you at railway stations, so any kind of weapon would have been possible, I suppose. Hm! To think Thomas has been living in Romania all these years with the au pair. The sly old dog. Victoria would be furious.” Carter took a puff and lowered his cigar. “You don’t think his murder has anything to do with the deaths here, do you? Could just have been an argument on the bridge, perhaps with one of his old antique dealer colleagues.”
Rex shook his head doubtfully. “Seems a bit coincidental to me that we have these murders at Newcombe Court, and the owner finally turns up after ten years for his daughter’s wedding, and he’s murdered as well.”
“Why not just feed him some wedding cake like the others?”
“Too risky. By then, people would have known whom he’d been in contact with.”
“Who?”
“Therein lies the key to the whole mystery.”
“Mind if I borrow him?” Helen asked Carter with a determined smile. Linking Rex’s arm, she drew him to an empty sofa by the fireside. “I didn’t know you were back. I was having tea with Stella Pembleton in the kitchen.”
“What are Meredith and Reggie still doing here?”
“We were supposed to give them a lift back to Derby. They’ve missed their train to London so I said they could spend the night with us.”
“Could they not have stayed with Elaine and Jeremy?”
“Their flat is too small. And, anyway, Reggie is hoping to sell his story to a tabloid. A couple of reporters have already been ’round here.”
“I just don’t want to keep them waiting. There have been further developments. You get on home. I can find my own way back to Derby.”
Helen gave a patient sigh. “What developments?”
Rex explained about the body at Worley Station.
“The one that Reggie and Meredith were talking about on the way here?”
“Exactly. Looks like Tom Newcombe was stabbed before he took a dive off the bridge. So Inspector Lucas has reopened the round of questioning.”
Helen sank back on the sofa. “This defies belief, Rex. Someone is out to kill every member of the Newcombe family. That means the first murder occurred before the poisonings and before Aunt Gwen was pushed from the tower. And doesn’t that sound eerily like the way poor Mr. Newcombe died? Was he fatally stabbed or was he killed when he fell in front of the train?”
Rex felt Helen shudder and squeezed her hand. “I overheard Inspector Lucas say the fall or the train finished him off.”
At that moment his phone vibrated. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw it was a local number. “Rex Graves,” he answered, wondering who the caller might be.
“It’s Donna. You left your business card, so I hope you don’t mind …”
“Donna? Are you okay?” Instinctively, he got up and started to pace.
“I’m in serious trouble. You’ve got to help me.” Her words sounded strained and effortful. “I told them you would arrange to get them the money.” A sob escaped into the phone. “They’re threatening to take my ring and my finger with it if I don’t pay up,” she cried, her voice rising in panic.
“How much do they want?”
“Four thousand quid,” she blurted. “That’s what Dud owes.”
“Are ‘they’ the people you mentioned earlier?”
Murder of the Bride Page 14