The Silent Killer

by Hazel Holt

  I couldn’t make anyone hear at the Norton’s house and I decided to go back and telephone later from the comfort of my own home. Just as I got to the gate the door of the Goddards’ bungalow next door was opened and Betty put her head out.

  “Hello, Sheila,” she called. “I thought it was you standing there. They’re out all day. Was it anything important?”

  “No, it’s just a message for Jim Norton from Anthea about Brunswick Lodge. I can easily phone him later.”

  “Now you’re here, do come in and have a word with Bill, he’d love to see you.”

  I followed her into the sitting-room, where I found Bill sitting watching a quiz show on television.

  “Don’t switch off on my account,” I said, as he reached for the remote control.

  “No, it’s all rubbish, anyway,” he said, “just something to watch.”

  “So how are you keeping?” I asked. “No more bronchitis, I hope.”

  “No, he’s been really fit since we got back from Bournemouth,” Betty said, “haven’t you, love?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Bill said. “Can’t wait for the weather to cheer up so I can get out in the garden again.”

  “The first primroses are out and the snowdrops,” I said. “It won’t be long now.”

  We chatted for a while and, as I got up to go, Betty said, “Can I give a message to Jim for you? Save you phoning.”

  “Oh, would you? It’s just that Anthea wondered if he could pop into Brunswick Lodge sometime and see to the electrics in the Committee room. I’m not sure what’s the matter, perhaps he could ring her. I expect he’s got her number, but anyway she’s in the book.”

  “Jim’s very good with electrics,” Betty said. “He fixed our Hoover, just like that. I was ever so grateful. Well, you know what it’s like if you have to have a man in – the amount they charge, just for coming out!”

  “He’s been marvellous at Brunswick Lodge,” I said. “I don’t know what we’d do without him now.”

  “Doesn’t have a lot to say for himself,” Betty went on, “not like her! Not but what she’s a good soul, do anything for you.”

  “You’re really lucky to have such nice neighbours.”

  As Betty followed me into the hall to see me out I said, “So good to see Bill right back on form again. You must have been so worried.”

  “Oh, I was. It was a dreadful time, you know when things were so bad. All that going out at night and then not sleeping. Luckily I had some sleeping tablets the doctor gave me ages ago when I had that bad go of neuralgia. I don’t usually take them – I sleep like a log, takes a lot to wake me! Anyway, they put him out like a light when he did go to bed.”

  “They can be a blessing,” I said. “I know Mother used to be very grateful for them sometimes when her arthritis was really bad. I must go. I’ve got to take some stuff for the jumble sale back to Brunswick Lodge.”

  The rain had stopped but the air was still damp and there was a bitingly cold wind so I was really glad to get back home in the warm again. The animals made a quick dash out into the garden but were soon back in again, having in that short space of time managed to get their paws thoroughly wet and muddy. I contrived to catch Tris and wipe him clean, but I heard, to my dismay, Foss racing upstairs where he would, no doubt, be leaving muddy paw marks on my newly cleaned bedspread.

  Since I was already awash with tea I decided that, since it had been quite a day, I deserved a gin and tonic. I was just trying to wrest the ice-cube tray from the freezer compartment that I should have defrosted days ago, when the phone rang. It was Brian.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mrs Malory, but I thought you’d like to know that I went to see the police, like you said.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad. How was it?”

  “They were a bit awkward about it at first, said I should have told them right away, but when I explained about Mother the Inspector was OK. He said he understood and was glad I’d come forward about it now. He was really nice. I was very relieved.”

  “I expect he was glad to have it cleared up.”

  “Yes, that’s what he said.”

  “Thank you so much for letting me know. I’m sure you feel better about it now.”

  “Oh, and there was another thing. I’ve just had a phone call from David. He says he wants to come and talk to me about some way he might be able to help Mother. Like I said, he’s been really nice.”

  As I finally settled down with my drink I thought how incredible it was that so much good should have come from one man’s death and how many lives had changed for the better because of it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  I got the review done eventually and was standing in the queue waiting to send it off at the post office when a voice behind me said,

  “Why do they always have fewer people on the counter on pensions’ days?”

  It was Bridget.

  “I know,” I said, “and even those that are on duty go off for their elevenses when the queue stretches right outside the door!”

  “Talking of elevenses,” Bridget said, “do you feel like coming for a coffee when we get through this lot?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “There’s a new place just opened, have you seen it? It’s all lattes and bruschettas and tapenades. I must say I rather want to try it!”

  “Taviscombe’s answer to Starbucks!” I said when we were settled with our coffees (one cappuccino, one skinny latte). “It’s not very full, but I suppose in the Season it’ll be better. Anyway, it makes a nice change from the dear old Buttery.”

  “I rather wanted to have a word with you,” Bridget said, and I couldn’t help contrasting this bright, lively Bridget with the mouse-like one I was used to.

  “Oh yes?”

  “David said he’d told you all about – you know – his father and everything.”

  “Yes, I was glad he did. Of course I’d already learnt a lot about Sidney and how appalling he was from Brian.”

  “Poor man! I haven’t met him yet but from what David said he sounds a really good person. Actually,” she leaned forward and spoke confidentially, “it’s done David so much good to have someone to talk to about it, someone that’s in the same boat, if you see what I mean.”

  “I know Brian feels the same, and I gather that David thinks he might be able to do something about Brian’s mother.”

  “Yes, he’s very anxious to do something there. Well, after the way he felt about his own mother and all she went through. He feels guilty, you know, though I’ve told him that’s absolutely ridiculous and not to be an idiot.”

  Certainly the old Bridget would never have thought of talking to David like that.

  “What does he think can be done?”

  “He’s got a friend who’s the head of the Psychiatry Department at one of the London teaching hospitals and he’s going to ask him to help. Of course Mrs Thorpe may not agree, but she seems to trust David, so perhaps it might work out. Anyway, it’s worth a try.”

  “I think that’s marvellous,” I said. “If she could just be made well enough to accept Brian’s Margaret and the children!”

  “It would be marvellous, wouldn’t it?”

  “You know,” I said, “I was thinking just the other day how much good had come out of that terrible man’s death.”

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it? David’s certainly a different person. I can hardly believe it sometimes.”

  “And you’re different too.”

  “Well, he didn’t affect me like he did David, of course. David kept me away as much as he could, and the boys too. Goodness, it is wonderful to have them home. But before I never knew where I was with David. His moods changed from one minute to the other. Honestly, Sheila, there were times when I was quite frightened.”

  “It must have been really upsetting for you both.”

  “It’s wonderful now, we can be a proper normal family at last. And, do you know, David hasn’t had one of his migraines
for weeks.”

  “Oh, poor soul, migraines are awful. I used to have them myself, but mercifully I seem to have grown out of them in my old age. I suppose David’s were caused by stress?”

  “I think so. He used to have them quite a lot. Actually he had one on the night his father died.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, a really bad one. Well, you’d know what it’s like. He had to go to bed straight after supper and the medication didn’t work so he had a wretched night.”

  “All night?” I asked sharply.

  She looked at me curiously. “Yes. And part of the next day, too.”

  “But that gives him an alibi for when his father was killed. Didn’t you tell the police?”

  “When they asked he said he was at home all evening and I confirmed that – he said he wasn’t very well.”

  “But surely everyone knows that if you have a bad migraine, it’s absolutely crippling. You can hardly move, let alone do anything.“

  “Perhaps only people who’ve actually had one … Anyway, there’s no way of proving it, is there? We might have been just saying that, why should they believe us?”

  I kept thinking of David’s migraine all day and wondering what I should do. It might all be an invention to give him an alibi. He may have hoped that I’d believe the story and pass it on to Roger, who he knew was a friend of mine. After all, although I knew Bridget quite well, she didn’t usually invite me to have coffee with her, so why had she done so today? Perhaps I just wanted to believe her and had seized upon anything that would clear David of the murder. And yet there had been something about the way she told me that rang true. I couldn’t believe that Bridget – even the new Bridget – would be able to lie so convincingly.

  I told Rosemary about it next day.

  “Oh, migraines are awful,” she said. “Colin used to have them, do you remember? We used to be desperately worried in case he got one on the day of an exam, but he never did. He used to say that you only ever get them when you’re able to have them, like weekends or holidays.”

  “I think he’s right,” I said, “now I come to think of it. Though I don’t know how that helps us decide whether or not David really did have one the night Sidney was killed.”

  “I don’t know if Colin still has them or not,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. “That’s the worst of him being so far away in Canada. It’s not the sort of thing he’d ever think of telling me and if I asked him he’d probably say no, he didn’t, so’s not to worry me.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “When Michael was at Oxford he came off his motor bike and injured his leg quite badly, but he never said a word and I only heard about it ages after when one of his friends mentioned it. But then boys never tell you anything. Even now, if I want to know anything I have to ask Thea!”

  “Delia’s just at the age when she never stops talking,” Rosemary said. “Mind you, I sometimes haven’t the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. I think all grandparents should be given a crash course in pop and fashion. Just you wait till Alice is that age. Though I suppose it’ll be all different then, things seem to move so fast nowadays.”

  “I know. When we were young things moved slowly, gradually – until the sixties, I suppose, then it all speeded up. Anyway,” I said, “what am I going to do about telling Roger? Do you think I should?”

  “I don’t see how it would do any harm,” Rosemary said. “In any case he may have drawn his own conclusions, he’s no fool.”

  “No, of course not. I have the greatest respect for Roger’s intelligence, but if he hasn’t got all the facts…?”

  “True.”

  “Well, he knows about Brian’s alibi by now,” I said, “so David’s more or less his last remaining suspect.”

  “Oh, bother Sidney Middleton,” Rosemary said fiercely. “He’s still causing trouble and messing up people’s lives even after he’s dead. I’m going to put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?”

  I was still wondering what to do the following morning when I met Roger quite by chance.

  I was just taking my car in for a service when I met Roger coming out.

  “Hello. Trouble with the car?”

  “Oh, hello, Roger. No, just a service. How about you?”

  “A couple of new tyres. How are you getting back, would you like a lift home?”

  “Well, I was going to walk, but it’s such a miserable day, so yes, please. Can you hang on while I just hand the keys in?”

  Sitting beside Roger in the car it seemed silly not to tell him about David.

  “That’s what Bridget told me,” I concluded, “and I think it’s the truth.”

  “Could be,” Roger said.

  “I mean, if he was going to come up with an invented migraine story,” I said, “why wouldn’t he have told you about it straight away? Why wait till now?”

  “True.” Roger stopped and waved a vacillating pensioner on over the pedestrian crossing.

  “He’s the person with the strongest motive, so I can’t rule him out, but I’m inclined to agree with you. Which leaves me with absolutely no one in the frame. Your tip about Joseph came to nothing.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I was going to ring you when Michael filled me in about him. You must blame your grandmother-in-law for not coming up to scratch on that one!”

  “Extraordinary! First time I’ve ever known it to happen.”

  “Well, you must remember she was ill in bed at the time and not up to her usual high standard of information gathering.”

  Roger laughed. “I’d hate to think one of my primary sources was failing.”

  “So what happens now?” I asked.

  “I’m following the only other line left,” he said. “I’m making enquiries at the London end. I’ve been getting all sorts of whispers and half-hints of some sort of shady dealing.”

  “Jack said that there’d been rumours. But, as I’m sure I said before, anyone from London would be really quite noticeable in Taviscombe if they’d come down to do the deed.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily have to be someone from London,” Roger said. “After all, Sidney Middleton did give financial advice and it’s quite possible he gave the wrong sort of advice to someone down here. You know, really bad advice that might have ruined them.”

  “Of course! That’s quite possible. So it could be anyone.”

  “I’ll go on making enquiries, but it’s going to be a long job. People aren’t too keen to talk about such things.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Right then, here you are.”

  “Thank you so much. Will you come in for a cup of something?”

  “I’d love to, but duty calls.”

  I went about my household tasks that day with a lighter heart. It was a great relief to know that Roger didn’t believe David was the murderer. Totally illogical, of course, but I suppose we would none of us like to think that one of our acquaintance is a killer, however great the provocation may have been.

  As I was dusting the living room I came to the small Victorian table Sidney had left me in his will. I stood for a while looking at it, then, with a sudden resolution I picked it up and took it out to the garage.

  “It’s no good,” I said to Foss who had followed me out in search of the possibility of entertainment, “I can’t stand it in the house any longer. It reminds me of how that man fooled us all. I think I’ll give it to the jumble sale.”

  Foss, however, was busy hunting down spiders in the cobwebby corner of the garage and took no notice.

  Brian came the next day to finish painting the bookcases and I told him about David’s migraine.

  “I think Inspector Eliot believes him,” I said, “so it looks as if David has an alibi too.”

  “That’s wonderful. I was really worried about him. He’s been so good to us. Did you hear about what he’s trying to do for Mother?”

  “Yes, Bridget told me. Do you think she’ll agree to see anyone?”

  “I don
’t know. We’ll have to go really slowly, but she trusts him, more than she trusts me in some ways, but that’s fine by me if it means she’ll have the treatment.”

  “Have you told Margaret?”

  “Yes. We’re just holding our breath.”

  “I do hope it all works out for you.”

  While Brian was working on the bookcases I busied myself in the kitchen making some cakes for the refreshment stall at the jumble sale. I always find it soothing to measure and mix and bake, a pleasant, almost mindless occupation, especially with the radio on in the background. This time it was a money programme with various experts talking about investments, equities and the financial world in general. It was not exactly easy listening, but the occasional sentence filtered through into my mind and I found myself wondering about Sidney’s dealings in the City, and possibly, as Roger had said, down here. We’d known that when he’d first retired and come back to Taviscombe to live, he’d acted as a financial adviser (though I don’t think it was called that then) to various people. I tried to think if I’d known who any of them had been. I had a vague memory of my mother’s old friend Mrs Warburton talking about how he’d helped her, and her friend Miss Chapman. Sidney was always very good with old ladies. But they were both dead long since and neither of them had any close relatives who might have had any reason to hold a grudge against Sidney over his financial dealings. Miss Chapman, I recalled, had caused a great deal of talk by leaving most of her money to the curate at St James, for whom she had cherished a respectable regard for many years. But there must have been others and no doubt Roger would find them. It was some sort of motive, after all.