Shades of Murder

by Ann Granger

  'Fond of you?" snarled Mr Taylor. 'Mrs Button tells us Mrs Oakley had told her she meant to turn you away. Did you know your mistress intended to dismiss you 0 '

  Miss Joss drew herself up to her full four feet ten inches and stared bravely at her tormentor. 'No. sir. because she didn't. That is just old Ma Button's lies. She never liked me because she caught me giggling about her once with Jenny, one of the maids. She didn't like any of the maids or me. You can ask the others. She gave the housemaids a terrible time and she would've done me if she'd been able and I hadn't been up in the nursery. It was because she couldn't get at me any other way that she's made up these nasty stories. None of what she's said is true, not one word.'

  Stanley scribbled. And the fish is too quick for him.

  Court adjourned for lunch.

  "Pub?" asked the Reuter's man.

  "See you there.' said Stanley. 'Got something I want to do first'

  At this, the Reuter's man's antennae quivered and he parted from Stanley with great reluctance.

  For a moment the two women had appeared uncertain whether to leave their places, but eventually they rose and made their way towards the exit. As they left the courthouse. Stanley followed discreetly in their wake.

  From time to time he glanced back to make sure his shadow, the Reuter's man. wasn't tagging along. But the lure of a pint of ale had

  SHADES OF MURDER

  been greater. No sign of the spy.

  The women walked at a brisk pace. They wanted to take refreshment and then get back in good time so as not to lose their places. After considering and rejecting a couple of busy restaurants, they turned into some tearooms. Stanley followed.

  It was the sort of place which, at this time of day, offered light lunches, mostly in the shape of cold meats and salad. The clientele was sparse and he wondered if this had been the deciding factor in their choice. The women had taken a seat in a dark far corner against the wall.

  'Yes, sir?' asked a thin, harassed female in a rusty black dress and off-white pinafore.

  Stanley glanced hastily at the menu and settled for a pair of poached eggs and a pot of tea. The women had also ordered. He waited. When the food came, she'd have to raise that veil.

  She did so, but again, he could only see her left profile. She kept her head rigidly in position so that he got no glimpse of her full face or right profile. She ate quickly, as if afraid of some interruption.

  She was right to fear it. Stanley dabbed his mouth with his napkin, rose from his table, and approached.

  He was almost upon them when the older woman saw him and uttered an exclamation. In a flash, without waiting to see what was amiss, the young woman had pulled down the veil and he was confronted by a black curtain.

  'Excuse me, ladies,' he began. 'Huxtable of the Bamford Gazette. My card.'

  He held it out but neither moved to take it. so he was forced to place it on their table. The younger woman had frozen. The older one glanced disparagingly at the card.

  'What do you want, young man?'

  'Just a word. I noticed you in court. I'm covering the Oakley trial. There's a lot of public interest in it and I was wondering what aspect of it had attracted you ladies. Are you acquainted with Mr Oakley, or one of the witnesses, perhaps?'

  'No!' snapped the older woman. 'Why we're there is our business, young man, and none of yours. If you intend to pester us, I shall call the manageress and request you are put out!' She picked up Stanley's card at last and thrust it into his pocket. 'And take that with you!'

  He knew then it was no use persevering. This old dragon meant to guard the girl in her charge against all comers. Stanley withdrew, after a last look at the girl who sat, head bowed, features invisible.

  ANN GRANGER

  'Well?' asked Wood that evening of his daughter. 'And what did you think 9 '

  Owing to her absence that day, they were dining on cold ham pie from the grocer's and pickles. Emily had been apologetic about that but he'd assured her he'd always been partial to ham pie.

  She rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her clasped hands. 'I think I am very lucky to have my life here in this house with you. Mrs Oakley was a rich woman with a big house and servants, but she couldn't have been happy and she died horribly however it came about. If she'd lived, after the burns, she'd have been like me, scarred and afraid to let folk see her.' After a moment, she added soberly, "I didn't think people could be so wicked.'

  'Well, they can,' said Wood sourly. 'And how did you think the defendant looked?'

  Emily said thoughtfully, 'He reminded me of that stray dog which ran around the streets here last year and caused so much trouble. Do you remember it? It must have been a beautiful dog once. It wasn't a mongrel, it looked like some sort of carriage dog. But it had got so dirty and starved and wild. Some men decided to trap it with a net. They drove it into a doorway. It turned on them as they came up, snarling and snapping, but it seemed sure it must be caught. And then,' Emily hesitated and gave him a slightly nervous look, 'and then, at the very last minute, when it seemed impossible, it gave a great leap over them all and ran off. We didn't see it again.'

  There was silence. Wood pulled himself together and asked as calmly as he could, 'And will you and Mrs Holdsworth be going again?"

  'Oh no,' said Emily, reddening. T suppose I was curious, no matter what I said. But my curiosity's satisfied now and anyway, I couldn't give you another cold dinner this week.'

  SHADES OF MURDER

  'And now he's dead,' said Winsley. 'Which is deuced awkward, you've got to admit.'

  'I know he's dead! But why the dickens should he commit suicide -and with ruddy arsenic?' Markby fairly shouted. He made an effort to calm himself. 'I discussed this with Painter and Dr Fuller. We all thought it unlikely. Look, this was a man who had high hopes of some considerable financial gain—' He snapped his fingers. 'Got it. He saw I might be an obstacle and he wanted me warned off. So he wrote that letter. I've got to hand it to him, Jan Oakley had initiative.' He eyed the creased sheet of notepaper. 'May I see the letter, sir?'

  Winsley hesitated, then reached it across his desk.

  Markby took it, scanned it, and tossed it back. 'Not only initiative. He had a lot of imagination, too. It's a complete fabrication. He couldn't have proved any of this.' He reflected. 'For my money, he was playing the same trick as he was trying on the Oakley sisters with his story about a will. He was playing for time, just trying to get me off his back for a week or two.'

  'Nevertheless, I can't let it lie there in my in-tray and do nothing about it, not now.' Winsley shook his head. 'It must form part of the investigation into his death and be itself investigated.'

  7 am to be investigated, you mean?' Markby said tightly.

  'No use taking offence. But for his death, it'd be a routine thing, cleared up in no time at all, I don't doubt. But as it is, here's a man who, within days of penning a letter accusing you of harassment, is dead. Some of these foreigners,' added Winsley, 'can be deuced unstable. Think they're being persecuted, that sort of thing.'

  Markby said angrily, 'I think we'll find he was murdered, though by whom and why is something I can't tell you now. We'll find out.'

  'I should hope so,' Winsley growled. 'Confound it! Who in his right mind would choose arsenic? There are pills galore of all sorts around if you want to spike someone's food.'

  'Much the opinion of Dr Fuller,' Markby agreed. 'Dr Painter thinks the same and has reason to wish it had been anything but arsenic. It was simply bad luck that we were all discussing the historical Oakley case and indeed, arsenic poisoning, at his house-warming party. Even worse luck that Painter's planning a book and lent papers on the case to Meredith.'

  'Maybe,' said Winsley, 'and maybe not! You say there was a room full of people at the time of this conversation. Who knows who might have been listening?'

  Goaded, Markby retorted, T don't think the vicar did it.'

  ANN GRANGER

  Winsley's bloodshot pale
blue eyes bored into him. 'Can't discount a chap just because he wears a dog-collar. I knew an army padre once who ran a gambling syndicate.'

  'A far cry from murder.' Markby pointed out.

  Winsley disliked opposition in whatever form it might come. He hit the desk with his fist. 'I didn't bring you in here to quibble. Superintendent!'

  'Quite.' returned Markby. "I'd like to suggest that if we can find out where the arsenic came from, we'd be well on the way to finding out who administered it. It's not something anyone can just lay a hand on. It should be traceable."

  'Motive?" demanded Winsley in a challenging tone.

  This was the bit Markby had been dreading. 'That's the tricky part. The two people with the strongest motive for wanting him permanently out of the way are the Oakleys, two women aged eighty and eighty-two respectively. I've known them all my life and I'd be loath to believe it of them. He was living in their home and ate his breakfast with them. Lunch he ate there sometimes. Dinner he ate at a local pub. Inspector Pearce is checking out the pub this morning. It's called The Feathers, rather an indifferent place." Markby cleared his throat. 'And on the afternoon of his death, he had tea at my house.'

  l WhatT Winsley appeared in danger of an apoplectic fit. 'What the devil was he doing there?'

  'Meredith, my - the person who's sharing my home - invited him. She had hoped to talk him into going back to Poland. He was causing a lot of trouble.'

  'So he wasn't in her best books, either? Were you all ganging up on him? No wonder he felt harassed. Did anyone have a good word to say for the fellow 0 '

  Markby had to deny this. Jan hadn't had the gift of making himself popular.

  Winsley sat back in his chair and smoothed his moustache as an aid to thought. 'You've informed the Polish Embassy. I take it? Fellow was a Polish citizen.'

  'Yes. They're sending down someone from their consular department in London. I've given them Oakley's details and asked if they can help us by filling in any background on him. Just in case his death is as a result of something he was involved in at home and which followed him here.'

  'Right!' Winsley grew excited, fairly bouncing on his chair. 'One of

  SHADES OF MURDER

  these East European gangster types. They've been causing trouble all over Europe. That would be a convenient explanation for us and it's more than likely. Those fellows could get hold of arsenic. They can get hold of any damn thing they want.'

  'There is no evidence as yet. . .' murmured Markby.

  His bubble of enthusiasm pricked, Winsley subsided. Tt would suit us very well,' he said wistfully. 'Now, look here. Markby, normally I'd consider you the ideal man to put in charge of this. We have to be very careful whenever there might be international repercussions, dealing with embassies, all that/ Winsley frowned. 'Isn't your young woman in the Diplomatic?'

  'She's currently working at the Foreign Office in London,' said Markby mildly. T don't know that I'd call her my young woman. I don't think she'd fancy that/

  Winsley looked disconcerted for all often seconds. 'Harr-um! Quite so, yes. As I was saying, normally I'd say you were the ideal chap, but in view of the fact that not only you, but everyone you know seems to have been involved in this, to say nothing of your long acquaintance with the Oakley women and now this blasted letter, I can't let you have a free hand in this particular show.'

  Markby said quietly, T have never been taken off a case in my entire career.'

  'Dare say you haven't, but you must see how it looks. Don't take it personally, my dear chap. It's no reflection on you. But we have to be so damn careful these days. Frankly. I'd like you to handle it entirely. It's inconvenient to involve others and doesn't look good. But I'll have to bring in someone else, someone from outside the area, to relieve you of the responsibility of this investigation.'

  This was going further than Markby had anticipated. The sub-text was clear. 'Is it being suggested I would seek to influence any officer at Regional HQ? Or that Inspector Pearce is incapable of independent judgement?' He could hear the anger welling up in his voice.

  Winsley leaned as far across his over-size desk as his physical stature allowed. 'There's no question of taking your whole team off this. Only of replacing you as officer in charge. It's no use taking umbrage. If the press get hold of this, and I dare say they will, can you imagine what they'll make of it? Besides, Painter is also involved. The whole thing is virtually a family affair! It may be a little irregular, but I've decided I've no choice. My hand is forced. I've made a request to the Metropolitan Police.'

  ANN GRANGER

  'The Met?' Markby almost leapt up in protest but managed to keep his seat. 'Surely you don't think some London man will be the best person to come down here and pick up the reins of a case in a rural backwater like Bamford?'

  'Come now,' objected Winsley. 'Bamford is hardly a backwater. I can remember when it was, not so many years ago, but with all those houses they've built there and the new roads, I don't think Superintendent Minchin will find it too strange. The problems of the countryside and those of the city are much the same these days.'

  'Minchin?' asked Markby suspiciously.

  'The chap who's coming. Didn't I mention his name?' Winsley's expression was suspiciously bland.

  'No, you didn't,' Markby said. 'Look, sir, I must question the advisability of bringing in someone from London. There are forces nearer to us who could probably spare someone . . .'

  'Alan -' Winsley's use of his first name grated, 'you must see how it is. Yes, a neighbouring force could send a team. But the chances are it would consist of officers known to you; you would be known to them. These would be men you'd sat by at dinners, shared Christmas drinks with, played golf with—'

  Markby interrupted to say he didn't play golf and went out of his way to avoid police social functions.

  'Nevertheless,' said Winsley, overruling his objections, 'it remains a matter of justice not only being done, but being seen to be done. Superintendent Minchin will be with you tomorrow, together with Inspector Hayes, first thing. Perhaps you could arrange somewhere for them to stay?'

  Dave Pearce, unaware of the bombshell dropped on his boss, had arrived at The Feathers.

  It was not a pub he knew well. He vaguely remembered having been there for a drink with Tessa, his wife, on one occasion. Tessa hadn't liked it there and they'd not returned. He stared at it without enthusiasm. Its tiny upper windows peeped out from beneath the eaves as if they resented being obliged to let in any light at all. Its sign showed the feathered crest of the Prince of Wales. The main door stood propped wide to the world although it was well before opening time. As Dave approached, a smell of beer, smoke and stale food drifted out, along with the sound of a vacuum cleaner. At this hour of the morning - it was half-past nine, any pub in the land would have presented the same

  SHADES OF MURDER

  welcome. Last night's fug and debris were being cleared out.

  Pearce ducked his head under the low lintel and made his way towards the sound of domestic chores. He found himself in the main bar. The impression he got would have tallied well with Meredith's, and he remembered why he and Tessa hadn't returned. It was a gloomy old place. He stared at the dark walls, lined with oak-stained pine strips to the halfway point, and papered with nicotine-stained painted anaglypta from there to the ceiling. All the chairs had been upended on table tops to facilitate cleaning. A small man with receding collar-length fair hair and an earring, who might have been any age between thirty-five and fifty, pushed the vacuum cleaner back and forth with little enthusiasm and moderate efficiency. A Jack Russell terrier which had been wandering around, sniffing at the stained red carpet, ran towards the intruder uttering short sharp barks.

  'Police!' called Pearce above the grind of the vacuum and the yapping of the dog. He held up his warrant card and edged his trouser-legs away from the Jack Russell's teeth.

  The cleaner switched off his machine. 'He don't bite,' he said.

  In fact,
the Jack Russell had stopped barking as soon as the vacuum's roar ceased. It now stood watching Pearce with bright-eyed interest, ears cocked. Its manner indicated it thought the visitor was about to do something exciting.

  'I'd like to see the landlady, Mrs Forbes,' said Pearce.

  'What's it about?' the cleaner demanded.

  'Is she here?' asked Pearce in a tired voice. 'Just go and get her, will you?'

  'She'll want to know why you're here,' retorted the cleaner, standing his ground. The Jack Russell uttered an impatient yelp.

  'Enquiries,' snapped Pearce.

  'It's not likely to affect our licence, is it?' persisted the cleaner. 'We haven't had any trouble here. Dolores won't allow it.'

  'I'm making enquiries into the death of Mr Jan Oakley,' Pearce admitted at last. He could see himself standing here all day arguing with this pipsqueak. The information had the desired effect.

  'Gawd,' said the cleaner in awe. 'I'll go and get Dolores.' As he hastened towards a door in the further wall, he turned his head and called back, 'She's not going to like this, you know.'

  Pearce realised he was being given fair warning. He braced himself. Even so, he was almost bowled over by the force with which Mrs Forbes erupted through the door and into the bar. She presented a fearsome

  ANN GRANGER

  sight. Her blonde hair was tortured round large rollers which studded her head like some sort of helmet. She wore a tight black sweater and tighter black trousers and was balanced on four-inch heels. She looked like an avenging Valkyrie.

  "What's all this?' she demanded, descending on Pearce who managed, just, not to step back. 'Darren says you're asking about that fellow Oakley. I heard he'd died. What's it got to do with us?'

  'I understand, Mrs Forbes,' Pearce quavered, 'that he ate here every evening.'

  'So what?' snarled Mrs Forbes.

  Pearce pulled himself together and tried to take charge of the conversation. 'We're trying to trace his last movements and we're particularly interested in what he ate during that day. He ate here every evening. So you can help us if you tell us what he had that Saturday, if you remember."