Prescription for Murder

by David Williams

  But even in those circumstances, it made no sense for Larden to have gone on to kill Bodlin. He could only have done so after he knew that Bodlin had told Treasure about the tape, disclosing that Larden had also had the chance to hear it in time to do the killing. In other respects too, Larden could hardly have wanted to harm Bodlin who had been the key figure in Larden’s own commercial future. All this was blindingly obvious – unless Larden had been desperate: unless murdering Bodlin threw suspicion for Hackle’s death away from Larden and on to someone else.

  While he was still debating whether it was right to dismiss Larden as a potential murderer, Treasure registered that the car was on the outskirts of Maidenhead – where the McFees lived.

  It was Alison McFee who had discovered where Hackle was, allegedly by chance, and later disclosed the fact to her husband. But what if she had come upon more than Hackle’s car parked in the Mereworth Court basement?

  What if Alison had seen Jane’s car in the basement too, or watched Jane driving in? Could she even have seen Jane and Hackle together? And would she have avoided disclosing this to anyone to protect Jane. Or could she have murdered Hackle herself, leaving Jane to be implicated for the crime? In fact, would it have taken more than a knowledge of Hackle’s fresh infamy to rekindle the loathing Alison must have previously harboured for her daughter’s seducer?

  And if it was still too fanciful to imagine that Alison had been touring West London with a phial of poison ready to extinguish enemies on impulse, would her husband have done so in a premeditated way, once she had told him what she knew?

  McFee had a triple motive for killing Hackle – outrage over the kidnap scam, retribution for the seduction of the McFee daughter, and finally the prospect of his eventually becoming Managing Director of Closter Drug if Hackle was removed. There was only his word for it, too, that the Scotsman had been with his wife at the time of Hackle’s death – something no doubt Alison could have been warned to confirm.

  And Treasure was almost sure that McFee had figured Hackle to have been the Irish voice on the telephone long before anyone else. He was nearly certain that McFee had begun to say so when he returned to the meeting in Larden’s office, after testing the tape, on Tuesday evening. That the Scotsman hadn’t finished what he had started to say then was capable of several interpretations – the most charitable being that he had been interrupted.

  But it was again the death of Bodlin that saved McFee from being an evident suspect now. As with Larden, he hadn’t lacked the opportunity to kill the scientist, but it seemed illogical that he should want to harm him at all, unless Treasure had overlooked something important.

  Closter-Bennet’s position was different.

  The Finance Director had seemed to dislike Hackle almost as keenly as Bodlin had done. And if keenness was not his usual forte, he was still as outraged as both Bodlin and McFee at Hackle’s duplicity over the kidnap – and more than anyone else over the way Hackle had leaked the confidential reports on Seromig: he had called that the essence of perfidy – strong words for Closter-Bennet. He also had a larger personal expectancy about becoming a future Closter managing director than either of his two colleagues, if with less justification. For that reason, he might have been readier than McFee not to baulk at wasting Bodlin with a shotgun if it was essential. He might also have had time to drive to Bodlin’s place and back this morning while his wife was out riding.

  Added to all of which, Closter-Bennet had just been the one to insist that Hackle must have been murdered by his fellow kidnap conspirators, and that Bodlin had been shot by a boyfriend.

  Except: Closter-Bennet had a witness to his being at the factory at the time Hackle was killed. Mrs Edwards, Bodlin’s secretary, had told Doris Tanner that she was sure she saw him at ten to seven on Wednesday evening, just as she was leaving. Doris had dutifully reported this to Treasure after the meeting this morning, although both she and the banker had been puzzled by the information. It had even gone through Treasure’s mind, after leaving Doris Tanner, to question if Closter-Bennet and Mrs Edwards might be special intimates, or even lovers, which was a choice bit of misdirected lateral thinking: Mrs Edwards, whom Treasure had never met, was a grandmotherly sixty-two, and the worthy Convenor of her local Methodist Sisterhood.

  Bert Tanner had proved to know the lady well.

  Which left only one person.

  ‘We’re here, sir. Mr Closter-Bennet’s house.’ Henry Pink was holding the rear door open for Treasure to get out.

  ‘Thanks. I shouldn’t be long.’ He had hardly been aware of their covering the three miles between Maidenhead and Later Burnlow. The weathered brick house was on the edge of the village, its substantial grounds bordering open farmland.

  ‘Mark, what a delightful surprise.’

  But Barbara Closter-Bennet’s welcome had a note of question in it too. She had appeared not at the front door but from the far side of the gravelled drive, advancing with lively steps from the direction of the stables. A tired-looking spaniel was plodding at her heels. Barbara’s almost boyish figure was clothed in a brown shirt, fawn trousers and green gumboots. She had a shotgun tucked in to the crook of one arm, with a large canvas game bag slung over the opposite shoulder. The head of a dead rabbit stared balefully from under the flap of the bag.

  ‘I came on the off chance,’ the banker explained. ‘I rang from the car earlier, but there was no reply.’

  ‘I’ve been out keeping down the vermin, as you can see. Did you expect to see Giles? I’m afraid he isn’t here.’

  ‘I know. I’ve come from the factory. He was just leaving for a meeting at the bank. It’s you I’ve come to see.’

  ‘I’m flattered. Sorry I’m not dressed for the occasion. D’you want to go inside? It’s such a pretty morning the garden might be nicer.’

  ‘Much nicer. Your roses are well advanced.’ They moved along the wide paved pathway around the house to the terrace.

  ‘Everything in the garden’s early this year. After that mild winter.’ She touched a rosebud in passing. ‘How’s Molly? Back at work?’

  ‘No, still resting.’

  ‘I remember now she told me. Do her good. Give her my love, won’t you? Want some coffee? It won’t take a minute.’ They were moving towards chairs set near the lawn. There was a massive copper beech close to the eastern flank of the house here. It was throwing morning shadows over the York flagstones. Barbara dropped the bag at her feet and leaned the double-barrelled gun against the table at her side.

  ‘No coffee, thanks.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve heard. Stuart Bodlin’s been killed. Murdered.’

  ‘Good Lord. No I hadn’t. We only heard late last night about how Hackle really died. But how ghastly. When did this happen?’ She moved a chair so that when she sat it was with her back to the sun. The dog settled beside her.

  ‘This morning, around six. He was shot in the head.’

  ‘Do they know who did it?’ She was sitting very upright, her back and arms not touching the chair.

  ‘The police think they do. They’re on the point of arresting Jane Larden.’

  ‘Oh no. I can’t believe Jane could do such a thing. I mean, she’s sunk to the bottom of everyone’s estimation, but a murderess? No.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so too.’

  She crossed her legs. ‘Is Bodlin’s death linked to the other?’

  ‘To Dermot’s? It seems inevitable, yes.’

  ‘And they’re accusing Jane of both?’

  ‘They’re about to.’ He raised a hand, then stroked the back of his head with it. ‘Do you see much of her?’

  ‘Not that much, no. And it’ll be considerably less in the future, I can tell you. Even if Bob takes her back. More fool him if he does. Cigarette?’ She offered the packet she had taken from her shirt pocket.

  ‘No thanks. I gather Jane’s doing some work for you here?’

  ‘She was,’ came out bluntly, as the speaker lit her cigarette. ‘Making estimate
s to do over two of the rooms.’

  ‘Bob told me you had a meeting arranged at their house on Wednesday morning.’

  ‘To look at some fabrics, yes. I had to cancel it.’

  ‘Because of trouble with a horse?’

  ‘That’s right. I had Parkes, the local vet, here.’

  ‘What was the problem?’

  ‘My grey stallion Fernando. He had a twisted gut, poor old boy. Needed a nasty little operation.’

  ‘Is he all right now?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. He’s a tough old thing.’

  ‘Did the operation involve a full anaesthetic?’

  ‘Yes.’ She blinked quickly several times after replying.

  ‘Did the vet use Bovetormaz?’

  Her forehead creased. ‘He may have done. D’you know I’m not sure?’ She blew smoke from her nostrils, while holding the cigarette between the very straight fingers of a hand held at eye level, to one side, and well away from her body. ‘There are several anaesthetics of that type. All much of a muchness, I imagine.’

  ‘And all equally dangerous?’

  ‘To humans? Probably. One is so used to handling these things though.’

  ‘Did you assist in the operation?’

  ‘Assist? I mucked in, yes. Owners do, you know. It was fairly straightforward.’

  ‘Was there anyone else present? Did the vet bring an assistant?’

  She smiled. ‘He doesn’t have one. There was only me. Why?’

  ‘Were you in charge of the antidote? In case the vet got any anaesthetic on his skin?’

  ‘Yes, but Reggie Parkes is very careful. Old, but very careful.’

  ‘But he had the antidote handy, and showed you what to do in an emergency?’

  ‘It was there, yes. One knows what to do. I’ve been around horses a long time. I don’t understand— ’

  ‘What happened to the syringe afterwards? The disposable syringe with the anaesthetic in it?’

  ‘It went into Reggie’s sharp box.’

  ‘Sharp box?’

  ‘Little plastic bins vets carry around with them. For things destined for the incinerator. Doctors use them too.’

  ‘So who put the syringe in the sharp box – you or the vet?’

  ‘Reggie, I expect.’ She inhaled deeply on the cigarette.

  ‘You expect?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Perhaps not. And he took the sharp box away with him?’

  She shifted in her chair. The spaniel looked up nervously. ‘As a matter of fact he didn’t. It was full of used bits. He always forgets to get rid of his boxes. Left it for me to incinerate.’

  ‘You have an incinerator here?’

  ‘No. There’s one at the hospital. I’m often there. On voluntary work. Lady Bountiful stuff.’

  ‘Did you go on the same day?’

  ‘Probably. That or the next day.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘No, it was Wednesday. The hospital’s on the route to practically anywhere from this house. Look, Mark, if you’re suggesting that syringe had something to do with Dermot’s death, forget it. The box would have been locked in my car boot till it went for burning.’

  ‘And you went to London later on Wednesday?’

  ‘Yes. In the afternoon. To my dentist. Bloody inconvenient as it happened, but I didn’t want to cancel that appointment. Not unless I absolutely had to. It’s so difficult to get another these days. I got a girl from the local livery stable to sit with Fernando.’

  ‘And you incinerated the vet’s sharp box on the way up or the way back?’

  She hesitated. ‘On the way up to London.’

  ‘I see. And on the way home you dropped in at the Lardens’?’

  She jerked forward. ‘I didn’t say that.’ Her eyes squinted at the cigarette as she stubbed it out in the large glass ashtray on the table.

  ‘Let’s just say you did go there, all the same. Hoping to catch Jane. To see the fabrics after all.’

  ‘But I did no such thing.’

  ‘Only because you ran into Bodlin outside the house.’ A confused, jibbering Bodlin. You wouldn’t be his natural confidant, but he was desperate to unburden on someone. And what he told you made you see red. About the tape he’d just heard. Of a conversation between Jane and Dermot. That made it very plain there’d been no kidnap. So they’d tricked everyone into selling their Closter shares. It also proved that Jane and Dermot were lovers, with a meeting planned for four thirty. And I imagine all that made you angrier than you’d ever been in your life.’

  Her shoulders lifted and dropped again. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I think you do. You followed Jane, and told Bodlin you were going to. He wouldn’t have done the same, of course. Or gone with you. Not his style. You found out which flat she was in by checking the bays in the basement at Mereworth Court. Then waited for Jane to leave. You knew she’d be a while, of course, which is why you had time to go shopping. At a guess, for some strong household gloves? Something you didn’t have with you, but which in view of the plan you’d concocted you knew you’d be needing? For handling something dangerous? They’d also ensure you left no fingerprints in the flat.’

  ‘Really, Mark, is this a game? I was never in— ’

  ‘You were seen leaving the supermarket. By a reliable witness who followed you.’ He paused for a moment. Barbara stayed silent. ‘You got Dermot to open the door of the flat immediately after you saw Jane leave,’ he continued. ‘Probably because he thought you were Jane coming back for something. You took him by surprise. Was he trying to slam the door on you as you stabbed at him with the syringe? And did he know what you’d done to him? I don’t think he did. Not till it was too late.’

  ‘You’re quite mad.’

  ‘No, but you were. When you cut him with that needle.’

  ‘Leaving Bodlin to tell everyone I’d gone there, I suppose?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s just what he did eventually.’

  ‘But he’s dead.’ She glanced to one side, directly at the gun.

  ‘I’m afraid he told people before he died.’

  ‘You’re lying. He promised me— ’ She stopped in mid-sentence.

  ‘Promised you he’d tell no one?’ He watched her carefully. ‘But he went away to think about it. Last night he came to see Molly and me. At home.’

  ‘Oh? At what time was that?’

  ‘After dinner. About nine.’ He noted the relief on her face. ‘Did he phone you after that? And did he swear he’d kept his word to you? To that point? But from the way he talked, did you have serious doubts he’d stay the course? And in the end did you figure you’d have to silence him? That it wasn’t too late to do it this morning? Well you were wrong about that. After he’d spoken to you he had a call from his actor friend.’

  ‘You couldn’t know that. You’re lying again.’

  She was right, of course, but her eyes showed doubt.

  ‘You can risk thinking that if you want,’ Treasure replied. ‘But there are other witnesses to what I’ve said.’ He looked at the gun. ‘Incidentally, it’d be pointless trying to shoot me too. Even if you were quick enough on the draw. You’d have to do for my chauffeur afterwards, and my office knows where we are.’

  She gave a snort. ‘The gun isn’t loaded.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind my taking charge of it.’ He rose, picked up the gun, and opened the breech. Both barrels were empty. He went back to his seat, placing the open weapon beside it. ‘So, going back to Chiswick on Wednesday evening.’

  ‘I wasn’t in Chiswick on Wednesday evening.’ She rubbed the dog’s head: it had sat up expectantly when Treasure moved the gun.

  ‘I’ve told you someone will swear to seeing you there. Leaving the supermarket. And going into Mereworth Court.’ The last claim wasn’t true, but it hit home because the first one had been. ‘And once the police know about that, you can be sure they’ll find other witnesses. Someone who saw you with
Bodlin near the Larden house. Someone who’ll remember you driving into or out of that mews this morning. Once they have a strong lead to follow the police are very dogged. Their enquiries take time, but they have plenty of that. You haven’t. Not before they come to arrest you. And I imagine they’ll be doing that quite soon. As soon as they’ve interviewed Bodlin’s friend Julian. I’m deadly serious.’

  For the first time in several minutes there was a prolonged silence between the two.

  Eventually, when the woman lifted her gaze to meet his, there was resolution, not panic or even surrender, in her eyes. She breathed in and out several times, deeply and slowly, before speaking. ‘Bodlin was the risk, of course,’ she said slowly. ‘Either way. Yes, I was mad when I went after Hackle. I don’t regret what happened to him.’ She looked away defiantly, across the lawn. ‘Bodlin was different. He was so bloody weak and wet. He only had to promise he’d keep his mouth shut. Permanently. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t stop quibbling. No guts, that kind.’

  ‘Or in his case too much, perhaps?’

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’ Her gaze was strangely remote as she turned to Treasure again and added, ‘Honestly, I didn’t want to kill Bodlin. But what else could I do?’

  The spaniel’s head lifted. The animal looked up pleadingly at its mistress, wiggled its rump, then let out a whimper.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘My grandfather started the company. He was very successful. I think I’ve always known my father deserved to lose control of it,’ Barbara Closter-Bennet was relating in a monotone. She seemed oblivious to time and her plight. ‘It was still humiliating when Daddy sold out. For so little. If only I’d been a man. I’d have gone into the business. With proper training, who knows? I might have stopped the collapse.’ She shook her head gently. ‘Daddy didn’t believe in education for daughters. Even a daughter who was an only child. I didn’t complain, of course. Not at the time. I was only interested in horses.’