Deadly Stuff

by Joyce Cato

  Simon Jenks went very pale.

  His solicitor stirred himself. ‘If you have evidence that my client was in Oxford, Inspector, please say so.’

  Trevor smiled.

  ‘On the morning that Mr Raines was murdered, a man was seen, leaving hall, by one of the cleaners at the college. She was able to give us a very detailed description. The man she described fits you perfectly, Mr Jenks. Would you be willing to take part in an identity parade, sir?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t, Inspector,’ the solicitor spoke sharply, before his client could do so.

  Trevor wondered for a moment if Simon Jenks was actually going to pass out. He wouldn’t be the first suspect to do so, not by a long shot. And he had gone that slightly sickly green colour around the corner of his mouth that usually meant something of that kind was in the offing.

  ‘I’m showing Mr Jenks an object,’ Trevor said mildly for the tape, and nodding to Peter Trent. He waited whilst his sergeant handed over the distinctively coloured mobile phone.

  ‘I’m showing Mr Jenks a purplish-coloured mobile telephone. Do you recognize it, Mr Jenks?’ he asked.

  Simon glanced at the object in the plastic bag, and quickly licked his lips.

  ‘It looks like a mobile phone,’ he heard himself say helplessly.

  ‘Does Mrs Laura Raines have a phone like this?’

  ‘I think so,’ Simon whispered.

  ‘I’m going to show Mr Jenks a text message that is stored on the phone,’ Trevor went on carefully. Using gloves, he removed the mobile and called up the message. He then turned the small screen around so that Simon Jenks could see it.

  ‘Can you read the words on the screen, Mr Jenks?’ he asked.

  The solicitor squinted and looked at it closely.

  ‘Yes,’ Simon Jenks whispered.

  ‘Is the message addressed to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it from Mrs Laura Raines?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does it ask you to meet her in the main hall of St Bede’s College at eleven-thirty on the morning of the second of July?’

  ‘All right, this interview is terminated,’ the solicitor said firmly. ‘Inspector, I wish to consult with my client.’

  Simon Jenks stared at the mobile phone, but said nothing.

  Trevor rose from the table. He indicated on the tape that he and his sergeant were leaving the room, and the two men left in silence.

  Outside, Trent slowly let out his breath. ‘What story do you suppose those two are going to concoct now, guv?’ he asked, nodding back towards the interview room. ‘I thought Jenks was going to pass out once or twice back there – that or lose his breakfast. I reckon he’s got jelly for a backbone, that one. Wanna bet he’ll cop to it before the day’s out?’ he crowed.

  Trevor looked at his sergeant’s smiling face, and grunted.

  Somewhat belatedly, becoming aware that his superior didn’t share his confidence, Peter Trent’s smile gradually withered.

  ‘Go and get the widow back,’ Trevor said quietly after some moments had passed.

  The sergeant looked surprised, but quickly jogged downstairs, relieved to see that Laura Raines was still there, waiting patiently, and pretending to read a magazine. She got up when she saw him, and looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see her lover.

  When she didn’t, her eyes fastened back on him. She nodded without comment when he asked her if she would mind returning with him to the interview room. He didn’t understand why the boss wanted to have another go at her when it was obvious that Simon Jenks was their killer, but he’d learned over the years never to underestimated Golder. Perhaps he was sure that, though Jenks might be the actual killer, it was the black widow who was the brains and the motivating force behind it. He was inclined to think that way himself, and was looking forward to see how he set about proving it.

  Laura Raines hesitated briefly when she stepped into the interview room and saw that the inspector was already seated there. She took a seat calmly though, and watched and listened without expression as Golder went through the routine with the recording device, and then sat, waiting tensely for him to begin.

  For a moment or two, Trevor simply looked at her, wondering how best to crack the veneer of her control. Then he decided that finesse wasn’t needed.

  ‘We believe that Simon Jenks was in Oxford on the morning that your husband was killed, Mrs Raines,’ he said flatly. He saw her hands tighten on her bag, which she’d set in front of her on the table, but other than that there was no reaction.

  ‘We have a witness, a cleaner at the college, who saw a man matching Mr Jenks’s description, leaving hall at around the time of the murder.’

  Her knuckles went white, but again she said nothing. Trevor had the uncanny feeling that she was waiting for something, but he had no idea what it could be. The two statements he’d just made should have been enough to poleaxe her, and the fact that they hadn’t left him feeling extremely wrong-footed. A cold, hard feeling was beginning to claw its way up his spine, as he began to wonder just what the hell was going on.

  ‘For the tape, please, can you identify this?’ Trevor plugged on relentlessly, holding out the plastic evidence bag with the mobile phone inside, watching her closely.

  And for the first time, Laura Raines showed emotion. Her shoulders slumped dramatically like a puppet that had just had its strings cut, and she let out a long shaky breath. But the face she turned to Trevor was tearful with relief, and the hand she held up to her mouth was to half-cover a trembling-lipped smile of joy. ‘You found it. It was there. My phone! He wasn’t lying!’ She began to shake. ‘Don’t you see?’ Laura Raines was openly crying now, but also laughing. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s all right now.’

  She looked from the gobsmacked face of Peter Trent, to the surprised and confused face of the inspector. ‘He wasn’t lying!’ Laura Raines said simply.

  And in her voice was the unmistakable ring of vindication and utter joyous relief.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jenny smiled across at James Raye and clicked her mug of tea against his in a silent toast to the future. They were in his room at the college, and discussing possible summer holiday destinations. Although the conference was due to end the following day, and he had to drive back to Harrogate, neither one of them were assuming that that would be the last time they’d see each other.

  ‘Of course, you can always come down for the weekends, until my contract here runs out,’ Jenny mused.

  ‘Mini-breaks in the city of dreaming spires with you sounds wonderful,’ he agreed. ‘Mind you, I’ve got two full weeks due in July.’ He let the sentence hang delicately in the air, and Jenny smiled wistfully.

  ‘I wish I did. Unfortunately, I’m here for the season, which doesn’t end until Michaelmas term begins, in September.’

  James sighed. ‘Pity.’

  ‘After that, I’m free and will be looking out for another job somewhere. I could always head vaguely north.’ She too let the sentence hang delicately. But she wasn’t surprised when he grinned happily, and nudged a bit closer to her on the sofa. ‘It’s lovely up north,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve got York Minster, the dales and rugged coastline. And me.’

  Jenny’s eyes sparkled. ‘The rugged coastline sounds good.’

  They were still laughing when a knock came at the door and Jenny, who’d been anticipating a nice, long, lingering kiss, sighed instead. James, frowning, put his mug down and got up to answer the summons.

  Norman, who’d escaped from his tank yet again, sauntered very slowly and hesitantly across the glass-topped coffee table in front of her, and eyed James’s steaming mug with one interested eye, whilst his other eye tracked the progress of a spider up on the ceiling.

  Jenny was vaguely assessing the arachnid’s chances of living to see another day – not good – when she heard a familiar voice coming from the doorway, and slowly rose to her feet. Over James Raye’s shoulder, Peter Trent saw the movement and apologe
tically he coughed into his hand.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Miss Starling, but the inspector wonders if he could have a quick word,’ he murmured, trying not to look at either of them. Jenny found his diplomacy touching.

  She smiled, already walking towards him. ‘Of course, Sergeant. James,’ – she reached out and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze – ‘we’ll talk later, all right, and get something sorted out.’

  James returned the squeeze and looked at her carefully. ‘Yes, we must do that,’ he said.

  Peter Trent went a shade pink and turned away, and Jenny smiled again as she followed the stiff-backed sergeant to the incident room. Not so much diplomacy as an unexpected streak of shyness, it seemed.

  Trevor was sitting at his desk, scowling down at the transcript in his hand. He looked up as the statuesque cook entered, and wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Then he sighed. At this point, he was willing to accept any help that he could get, and he couldn’t help but think that Jenny Starling was as good a place to start as any. He’d be surprised if she couldn’t add something helpful and, even if she couldn’t, it would be good to bounce his ideas and thoughts off someone with her brains and perspicacity.

  ‘Thank you for coming. I can see by the abashed look on my sergeant’s face that this might not be a convenient time for you.’

  Jenny shook her head, and grinned. Obviously, the inspector was well aware of where she’d been and with whom. Otherwise, how would Peter Trent have known where to come calling?

  ‘It’s fine, Inspector,’ she assured him. ‘You have something to tell me?’ she asked, taking a seat and looking around. The incident room was empty of personnel for once, and she didn’t think that was necessarily a matter of chance. Clearly, the inspector didn’t want to be overheard.

  ‘I want to fill you in on a few developments and get your angle on what’s been happening,’ he agreed, cautiously.

  Ah, Jenny thought. That explained it! He didn’t want to be caught out speaking to a mere civilian. ‘OK,’ she agreed affably. ‘Shoot.’

  Trevor nodded. ‘First, the stuff found in the coffee cup next to Maurices’s body was definitely the same brand of pills used by the victim’s mother.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, they would be,’ she said mildly.

  ‘And the mobile phone that you found definitely belonged to Laura Raines, the victim’s widow, as we thought. She admitted as much.’

  Again Jenny nodded, and Trevor’s eyes gleamed. ‘And something tells me that you already knew that it would be.’

  Jenny nodded, then realized she was probably beginning to look like one of those nodding dogs you saw in the back of car windows, and stopped.

  ‘You’ve questioned Mrs Raines, I take it?’ she said, calmly.

  ‘Yes, and, even more interestingly, we’ve talked to the man she was having an affair with.’

  Jenny let out a long, slow breath. ‘Ah. So that’s it. I did wonder.’

  Trevor’s lips twisted slightly. ‘Yes, I’m sure you did, Miss Starling.’

  ‘Please, call me Jenny.’

  ‘His name is Simon Jenks. He’s a self-employed photographer, a good-looking man, a few years younger than the new widow, and currently unattached.’

  Jenny smiled slightly. Nothing surprising there, then.

  ‘The text we found on the telephone, from Laura Raines, was addressed to him. In it, she was asking him to meet her in hall at the college. What’s more, he’s the man your scout’s daughter saw leaving the hall at around the time of the murder,’ Trevor said. But if he’d hoped to surprise, or even disconcert her, he was in for a disappointment.

  ‘Yes, it fits,’ she said simply. Then she looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I take it you’ve arrested him. And her?’

  Trevor shifted slightly on his seat. ‘Let’s just say that they’re currently helping us with our enquiries. We’ve got some time to go yet before we can charge them with anything. Besides, after answering a few of the more mundane questions, both of them have now clammed up and are discussing things strictly with their solicitors. Neither of them have admitted to anything.’

  ‘And you’re being cautious,’ Jenny said, beaming a smile of approval at him. ‘I don’t blame you. With all the problems you’ll have making a charge stick, I’m not surprised.’

  Trevor caught Peter Trent’s questioning eye, and scowled.

  ‘Problems, Miss Starling?’ he said silkily. ‘I’m not sure that we’ve got too many of those,’ the inspector said with understandable satisfaction. ‘We’ve got means, motive and opportunity,’ He ticked them off on his fingers as he talked. ‘It seems to me that it’s a classic case of its kind.’

  Trevor leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘The trouble is, proving that they’re in it together. Which is where I wondered if you might have any thoughts.’

  Jenny opened her mouth, caught the inspector’s puzzled eye, and closed it again. Rapidly, she ran through her options, and decided that it would probably be more diplomatic to approach things obliquely. Let the inspector come gradually to the realization that his case was hardly all sewn up. In fact, far from it.

  ‘I see,’ she said cautiously. ‘I take it that Debbie Dawkins has been able to confirm that Simon Jenks is the same man she saw that day?’ she asked innocently. ‘I mean, with a rock solid identification that will make your superiors happy?’ She rained as gently as she could on his parade, and genuinely without any enthusiasm.

  Trevor scowled. ‘No. Unfortunately, her testimony is a bit uncertain.’

  ‘Has he admitted to being there?’

  ‘No, not yet, but he’ll crack,’ Trevor said. Even as he heard himself say the words, he was not, in fact, quite so sure. The weak type could be oddly stubborn at times, and Simon Jenks had been adamant at demanding a solicitor and, so far, had yet to be persuaded to make a formal statement.

  ‘But you’ve found other witnesses, in Walton Street, or in college, who saw him?’ Jenny carried on, studying her fingernails.

  Trevor again exchanged a glance with his sergeant. ‘No one in college admits to having seen him,’ he admitted reluctantly.

  Jenny nodded. ‘But if he killed Maurice, he’d be covered in blood. Yet, Debbie said his T-shirt when she saw him was bright white and spotless. So, you must have witnesses in the city who saw someone matching his description with bloodstains on him, right?’

  ‘No,’ Trevor said heavily. ‘But Mrs Raines had access to the heart medication, the same kind that was found in the poisoned coffee cup. Oh, I know what you’re going to say,’ he pressed on, as Jenny once again opened her mouth, and then closed it without actually saying anything. ‘A lot of people could probably have got their hands on the same kind of medication. It’s a fairly common heart pill, apparently.’

  Jenny, who hadn’t been about to say that at all, merely smiled slightly. ‘And you have an explanation for why the coffee was poisoned with it in the first place?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Well, obviously, their plan was to poison Maurice with it. But something went wrong, and Jenks had to resort to plan B. Plan B being an improvization. In the event, he simply picked up the nearest sharp object, which happened to be a very sharp fleshing tool, as we know, and stabbed Maurice Raines in the neck with it.’

  ‘Huh,’ Jenny said. ‘Except we know Maurice didn’t drink coffee,’ she pointed out. ‘I knew that the first morning I had breakfast with him. Most of the conference people knew about it too. But you think his wife, of all people, wasn’t aware that he only drank his own favourite brand of tea?’

  The silence went dead and flat. This time it was Trevor Golder who opened his mouth and then closed it again without speaking.

  ‘Damn,’ Peter Trent said softly.

  Trevor rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, but wouldn’t be defeated. ‘OK, so perhaps there’s something else going on. We know the wife has a cast-iron alibi whilst lover boy does not. She must have arranged it that way. Suppose she didn’t tell lover b
oy about her husband’s drinking habits. Perhaps she forgot.’

  Jenny shot him her best are-you-serious look, and he had the grace to hold up his hands in defeat. ‘OK, not that.’ He shuffled uncomfortably on his chair for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. ‘Perhaps it was deliberate. Perhaps she was playing some other kind of game. What if she wanted to drop Jenks in it somehow? Perhaps she didn’t really want to kill her husband, just scare him? Or maybe this was some sort of sick game that Maurice and Laura Raines were in on together, the joke being on Simon Jenks somehow.’

  Trevor met her sceptical gaze and knew his arguments sounded absurdly weak and far-fetched, but he was unwilling to give up on his two prime suspects just yet. ‘You’d be surprised at the lengths some jaded married couples will go to to spice up their love lives,’ he heard himself say insistently. ‘Just stay with me for a minute on this. Say this was some kind of fantasy scenario they set up together, Maurice and his wife, I mean. They arrange to get Maurice and Jenks together in the same room, hence the text message from her phone, in order to play out some sick game on the poor sod. I don’t know, perhaps Maurice is supposed to tell his wife all about it later, and they’ll have a good laugh. Maurice comes across as the outraged husband or what-have-you, but Jenks panics and kills him for real.’

  Jenny looked at Trevor, but kindly said nothing.

  Peter Trent looked at the inspector and also kindly said nothing.

  Trevor Golder grimaced. ‘OK. Seriously grabbing at straws there,’ he muttered with bad grace. ‘But in that case, just what the hell is going on then? Peter, tell Miss Starling about our interview with Laura Raines.’

  The sergeant, although clearly uncomfortable with bringing a civilian up to date on police matters, nevertheless obliged.

  ‘And I could swear,’ he concluded, ‘that when the guv’nor confronted her with her so-called missing mobile phone, she looked positively relieved.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, I imagine she would be,’ she murmured, unaware that her mild comment had just made the inspector start to grind his teeth. ‘I expect she was happy that he hadn’t lied to her,’ she said, unknowingly further compounding her mistake.