Jam and Jeopardy

by Doris Davidson

  ‘How is she, Mrs Skinner?’

  ‘They didn’t have to pump out her stomach, and she seems to be a little better, but there was arsenic in the test they made of her vomit.’

  McGillivray looked uneasy. ‘I have to ask you some questions, I’m afraid. Do you feel up to it just now, or would you rather wait until you’re home?’

  ‘I’d like to get it over as quickly as possible, if you don’t mind.’ She gave her eyes a quick scrub with her damp handkerchief and turned towards him.

  He held up his hands. ‘Just a minute, please. I’ll find out if there’s anywhere more private we can talk, somewhere out of the traffic.’ He dodged a porter with a trolley and knocked on a door marked ‘Private’, where the sister told him he could use her office.

  He showed Grace in. When they were seated, he took out a notebook and said, ‘You haven’t been affected at all?’

  The woman’s erect back gave way, and she slumped in the chair. Her coat was buttoned squint, her hair hadn’t been combed, in complete contrast to her normal spruce appearance.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Skinner. Perhaps we’d better wait until you get over this.’

  She sat up a little. ‘I want to find out who did it as much as you do, Inspector, and no, I was not affected. I wish it had been me – I’ve a much stronger constitution than Violet.’ She gulped and blinked her eyes. ‘We often eat different things, she has a sweeter tooth than me, and I was trying to think, out there, what we did eat last night.’

  ‘That was very sensible of you.’

  ‘I remember I had cheese and biscuits afterwards, but . . . wait. Violet had made a steak and kidney pudding. That’s right. Enough for two days, because we prefer not to have to cook on Sundays. We usually have our main meal at half past six, and just have a snack at lunchtime, an apple, or a cup of soup, or something like that.’

  ‘Did you have anything along with the steak and kidney pudding last night? Something that your sister took and you didn’t?’

  Grace Skinner thought for a moment. ‘It’s dreadful to have such a bad memory, but I can’t seem to recall . . . Cabbage! Cabbage and boiled potatoes. Both of us had that.’

  ‘Any sweet?’

  ‘No, I stopped her making desserts. I felt I was putting on a bit of weight.’

  McGillivray eyed the scraggy woman and wondered what had given her that idea.

  ‘As I told you, I’d crackers and cheese with my coffee. Violet had . . . oh, yes, two of the pancakes she’d made earlier, spread with a little butter and some raspberry jam. Thickly spread, I might add, because I warned her it was very fattening. She didn’t care, though.’

  It crossed the inspector’s mind that food must be the one area where Violet Grant had taken her own way. ‘So the pancakes and jam were the only things she ate that you didn’t?’

  ‘As far as I remember, yes, and I’m almost sure.’

  ‘Excuse me again, Mrs Skinner.’

  He returned to the room in a very short time. ‘I meant to get my sergeant to phone Sergeant Black to have the pancakes and jam collected from your house for analysis, but he reminded me that your door would be locked.’

  She shook her head wearily. ‘You know, inspector, I don’t believe it is. I was in such a state when we left.’ She felt her coat pockets. ‘No, the key must still be in the inside of the door. I haven’t even got my handbag with me.’

  Having passed this information on to Moore, McGillivray seated himself again. ‘There was nothing else your sister may have eaten, that you can think of?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m sure she’d nothing else. We both had a cup of cocoa before we went to bed, which Violet made herself, but nothing to eat, and it was about half past two when she first complained about the pains.’

  ‘Now we come to the most unpleasant bit.’ The inspector stopped to call ‘Come in’ in answer to a tap at the door, and a young nurse carried in a tray.

  ‘Excuse me, but Sister thought you might like a cup of tea.’ She set her burden down on a small table.

  ‘Thank you, Nurse, and thank Sister, too.’ He offered the distraught woman sugar and milk, both of which she refused.

  She took a sip of the piping hot black liquid. ‘Oh, I was needing that. A cup of tea is really the only thing that can revive you. Now, you were saying, Inspector?’

  ‘I was going to ask who’d been visiting your house over the past week or so?’

  ‘We don’t have many visitors. My daughter and her family live in Cornwall, and they only come once a year. They’ve three small children, so they usually bring their caravan with them, because we don’t have enough room for all five of thm.’

  ‘That would be the caravan that Miss Souter complained about?’

  ‘That’s right. Violet has no children, and we’ve no other relatives left alive, and no really close friends. It’s enough that we’ve got each other. Mrs Valentine, the minister’s wife, sometimes calls, though she hasn’t been since just before the Sale of Work, and the minister pays a visit occsionally . . . and I nearly forgot, Mrs Wakeford popped in yesterday morning to see if you’d asked us the same questions as you’d asked her.’

  McGillivray allowed no sign of his elation at this to show on his face. ‘Mrs Wakeford, eh? How does she pop in?’

  ‘She generally comes to the front door, but this time she came in through the kitchen. She’d come over the gardens, I suppose, since Janet Souter wasn’t there to complain.’

  ‘Where were you and your sister when Mrs Wakeford came in?’

  ‘We were both in the living room. I was hoovering and Violet was dusting. We got quite a fright when Mabel opened the door.’

  ‘Ah.’ The inspector scribbled something down, hoping he’d be able to read it later, then underlined a few words twice before laying down his ballpoint.

  The change in Grace Skinner’s expression told him that she had just realised where all the questions were leading. ‘Oh, you don’t think that Mabel . . . ? Oh, no. I’ve known her ever since I came to Tollerton, nearly thirty years ago. I’ve been a widow for a very long time, and when Violet’s husband died, eleven years ago, she moved in with me. We both love the village and our little cottage. No, no, no. It couldn’t have been Mabel that tried to poison poor Violet.’

  McGillivray closed his notebook and drummed his fingers on its hard cover. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Skinner, but by your own evidence Mrs Wakeford is the only person who had been in your house lately, apart from your sister and yourself.’

  The agitated woman was still shaking her head at this, when the door opened and a smallish man in a white coat came in, his round face smiling benevolently. ‘I’m Doctor Fields, Mrs Skinner, and I’m pleased to tell you that your sister’s recovering nicely. In fact, you may go and see her for a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank God!’ Grace hurried out.

  Fields looked at McGillivray. ‘She was never in any real danger, though she’s not very strong anyway. After we gave her an emetic and she got everything up, she soon rallied round.

  ‘It was arsenic, I believe?’

  ‘Just the faintest trace. She was lucky.’

  ‘You don’t know how lucky.’ McGillivray looked grave. ‘It was meant to kill her.’

  ‘Oh.’ The doctor seemed rather taken aback. ‘I thought she’d been careless with some sort of . . . weedkiller, or something like that. Well, if somebody did try to poison her, they didn’t use enough to do much damage, but it’s your problem now.’

  ‘Yes,’ McGillivray said ruefully as he stood up. ‘Thank you very much, Doctor.’

  The two men left the room together, and met Grace Skinner coming out of the emergency ward looking very relieved.

  ‘Violet says she feels much better now. Thank you, Doctor, and all your staff.’

  ‘It’s what we’re here for.’ Doctor Fields smiled and walked away.

  The inspector’s brain was in top gear. Was this woman really innocent, or was she the one who had tried to kill Violet Grant?
She’d seemed so worried and was looking much happier now, but was it all genuine? Or was Mabel Wakeford the guilty party? Had she believed that Mrs Grant knew of her past secrets from Janet Souter, and made this attempt to silence her, too?

  But both these women were unlikely killers, and how could either of them have obtained the arsenic? Unless . . . had one of them helped herself to a little from Miss Souter’s shed before the old lady swapped it for flour?

  ‘May we give you a lift home, Mrs Skinner?’ He had just remembered that she had come to the hospital in the ambulance with her sister.

  ‘No, thank you. I want to be here at visiting time. They’re keeping her in until tomorrow, for observation.’

  ‘It’s probably better.’

  ‘I’ll have to find out where the ladies’ room is. I’ve just realised I must look a frightful mess.’

  ‘Have you any money, Mrs Skinner? You said you forgot to take your handbag with you.’

  ‘Oh, dear, that’s right. Could you please lend me enough for my bus fare home? What a terrible predicament to be in.’

  ‘It’s quite understandable.’ McGillivray had taken a few crumpled notes from his hip pocket and held out two grubby ten pound notes. ‘You’d better have this. You’ll need something to eat, and things to take in to your sister.’

  ‘You’re very considerate, Inspector. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’ She folded the notes more carefully and placed them in her pocket before she went down the corridor.

  McGillivray walked back to the waiting area, where his sergeant had been sitting patiently. ‘Come on, you can’t sit there all day.’

  ‘No, sir. Which of the two nephews do you want to . . . ?’

  ‘Good God! This damned business made me forget what we were supposed to be doing in Thornkirk, and it’s not often I’m put out of my stride. Right, Ronald Baker first.’

  As they pulled up outside 36 Newton Avenue, a smart modern villa on the outskirts of the town, David Moore noticed the net curtains move a fraction, and the door was opened almost immediately after he rang the bell.

  The stout, middle-aged woman looked at them questioningly. ‘Yes?’ Her voice was breathless.

  ‘Mrs Ronald Baker? I’m Detective Chief Inspector McGillivray and this is Detective Sergeant Moore. We are investigating the murder of Miss Janet Souter. Your husband’s aunt, I believe?’

  ‘Murder? Oh, God!’ Flora’s hands, and eyes, fluttered madly, but she led them into a large airy room, with picture windows along one wall, and a feeling about it of not being in regular use, although it was comfortably warm.

  ‘Sit down. I’ll get Ronald.’

  Her fluffy slippers sank into the deep shaggy pile of the biege carpet, and, a moment later, she returned with a tall man, greying at the temples, who motioned smilingly to them to remain seated.

  ‘Flora tells me Aunt Janet was murdered?’ Ronald sounded suitably awestruck. ‘We were very upset about her death when we thought it was just heart failure, but this is a real shocker. Are you anywhere near finding out who did it?’

  ‘We’re making progress, Mr Baker.’ Callum McGillivray wished that he was as confident as he was making out. ‘We have a number of suspects, but we’re trying to narrow the field.’

  ‘I take it I’m a suspect?’ There was an edge to Ronald’s voice. ‘The next of kin usually are, aren’t they? Especially when they expect to inherit a large sum of money. But I can assure you that I did not poison my aunt.’

  The inspector decided that the ‘real shocker’ hadn’t been severe enough to make the man lose his composure, and noted that he had already mentioned poison. ‘We have to investigate every avenue, Mr Baker. You obviously knew about the arsenic your aunt kept in her garden shed?’

  Flora’s hands clenched convulsively at this, and Moore made up his mind to watch her closely.

  ‘Er . . . yes, we did.’ Ronald was hesitant at first. ‘She told us she’d been given some, and when Flora said it could kill her if she wasn’t careful, she said that should please me.’

  ‘That was a nasty thing to say, wasn’t it?’

  ‘She was nasty, and mean, and spiteful.’ Ronald sounded very bitter, and McGillivray was surprised by his vehemence.

  ‘Ronald, you shouldn’t be saying things like that to the inspector.’ Flora was nervous and worried. ‘He’ll think you wanted to kill her yourself.’

  Her husband laughed. ‘Rubbish! I’m just telling him the truth. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ He smiled disarmingly at McGillivray, who felt the cheerfulness was much too forced.

  ‘That’s right, sir. We’re trying to get at the truth. Now, we’ve been led to believe your engineering business is in some financial difficulty at present. Would that be the case?’

  Observing Flora, Moore saw that she had become even more nervous and jumpy, and was twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger, her eyes resting anxiously on her husband.

  ‘I don’t know where you got your information, Inspector, but you’re almost right. Things have been a bit sticky for a time, but there’s no great problem.’ Ronald’s rigid back showed that he was not entirely at ease, and his fingers kept pulling at his cashmere sweater.

  ‘I was told that you urgently required some capital to fulfil a contract you were negotiating.’

  ‘There was no immediate urgency.’ The man slackened his tie. ‘I asked my aunt and she refused to lend it to me, but I could have found it from somewhere, I’m sure. I won’t have to, now, of course, because Aunt Janet’s money will be divided equally between my cousin and myself.’

  Callum McGillivray eyed him quizically. ‘Her death was extremely well timed, then, wouldn’t you say, sir?’

  ‘Look here! That’s as good as saying I killed her.’ Ronald was belligerent now.

  ‘I merely passed a remark, Mr Baker, I’m not suggesting anything. You must admit, though, the facts could be interpreted as pointing your way.’

  ‘Oh, Ronald.’ Flora stood up in great agitation. ‘I told you they . . .’

  ‘Be quiet, Flora! There’s absolutely no evidence that I could be guilty, as you very well know, Inspector. My wife and I had not been to see my aunt since the Saturday before she died, fully five days, so you see I couldn’t have poisoned her.’

  Flora, quite oblivious to the sergeant’s scrutiny, had reseated herself on the edge of her chair, consternation and apprehension oozing from every pore of her worried face.

  ‘As long as that, eh?’ mused McGillivray, extricating himself from the deep confines of the upholstered cushions on which he’d been ensconced. ‘Well, we won’t bother you any more, meantime, Mr Baker, although we may have to talk to you again.’

  It was a rather subdued Ronald who showed them out.

  ‘Interesting. Very interesting,’ the inspector remarked, as he settled himself in the Vauxhall. ‘He seemed so sure of himself, but he was really as nervous as hell, and the wife’s on absolute tenterhooks.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Her nervousness was more than normal under the circumstances, I’d say.’ Moore indicated to turn right at the crossroads and swung round smoothly.

  The house at 147 Kingswood Drive turned out to be an old terraced one in the centre of Thornkirk, and Stephen Drummond himself answered the door. Facially, he quite resembled his cousin, but there the likeness ended. His hair was completely grey, and his stretched jersey hung loosely on him, as though it were several sizes too big.

  When McGillivray introduced himself and his sergeant, they were taken into a small, cluttered room, where the high narrow window was darkened by the houses at the other side of the street, and even the bright-orange scatter cushions on the worn three-piece suite failed to brighten the dinginess.

  ‘Sit down, Inspector,’ Stephen murmured, ‘and I’ll fetch my wife.’

  ‘No need, Mr Drummond. It’s you we want to talk to.’

  Ignoring this, Stephen opened the door and shouted, as if appealing for a lifeline, ‘Barbara, it’s two detectives.’<
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  Almost at once, his wife came in, her hair drawn back in an untidy chignon, a purple sweater over trousers of the same garish colour. She sat down on a high seat beside her husband’s armchair.

  Moral support, thought McGillivray, who had correctly sized up the situation as the dominant wife syndrome. ‘We are investigating the murder of Janet Souter, Mr Drummond. When did you last see your aunt?’

  ‘On the Sunday before she died, four days before.’ It was Barbara Drummond who answered, because Stephen appeared to have been struck dumb at the mention of murder. ‘She was murdered, was she? How awful.’

  McGillivray nodded. ‘I’ve been told that you and your cousin visited her every weekend, Mr Drummond.’ He said the man’s name pointedly, and was gratified to see the woman bridle at the rebuff.

  ‘Ronald and Flora went every Saturday, and we went on Sundays.’ Stephen spoke nervously, and his wife laid her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

  ‘If you’re trying to suggest that we had anything to do with it, neither Stephen nor I poisoned her,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Then you knew about the bag of arsenic she had, Mr Drummond?’

  ‘Y-yes, I did know. She didn’t make any secret of it. Just asking for trouble, I thought.’ Stephen shifted his legs, no sign of a crease in his shapeless flannels.

  The thought that Aunt Janet’s arsenic could kill her had crossed his mind, McGillivray was glad to hear. ‘We have been exploring various avenues, and we found that your shop had been on the verge of bankruptcy about a year or so back.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it was, but I was lucky enough to receive a small inheritance from an uncle who died in Canada about that time.’ Stephen’s knuckles showed white against the dark cover of his chair, and he swallowed repeatedly.

  The inspector’s smile was deceptive. ‘Was he a brother of your mother’s, this uncle in Canada?’

  Stephen looked miserable. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  Barbara removed her hand from his shoulder. ‘No, he wasn’t. There were only three sisters in that family. Stephen’s mother, Ronald Baker’s mother, and Janet Souter. The uncle in Canada was his father’s brother. You’ll have to excuse my husband, Inspector. Finding out that his aunt was murdered has really upset him.’