Birthdays Can Be Murder (16 page)

Her expression changed abruptly. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice pinched and tight, her already pale and ill-looking face going even paler. ‘One of the nurses told me about you,’ Alicia said accusingly, her voice, weak and exhausted though it was, still clearly echoing across the suddenly thick and motionless air.

Obviously she was still unwell. It was not surprising that she swayed weakly against her father’s supporting arms. The poison may have been pumped out of her system, but its effects would obviously make her feel ill for some time to come, Jenny guessed. Not that Alicia seemed to be taking much notice of its effects now. Her eyes were large, bright with burning emotion, and fixed on Jenny.

Behind her, the cook saw Mollineaux’s silver head appear.

‘What are you talking about, dear?’ Sherri Greer asked anxiously. Having her daughter return home had rallied her spirits considerably. It had been the only thing that had managed to drag her from her bed. But she wondered now if the hospital hadn’t released her too soon.

‘That woman,’ Alicia said, pointing imperiously at Jenny, ‘was arrested for murder once before. I know. A nurse told me. She’d been reading the papers about Justin’ – The young voice faltered as tears threatened – ‘and she remembered Miss Starling’s name before. One of her other employers was murdered too!’

This dramatic announcement made Martha gasp in delight. Chase gave a very happy sniff of displeasure. Jenny met Mollineaux’s eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. Well, it had been bound to happen. Her thoughts stopped abruptly as by her side Keith Harding swung around to face her, his eyes murderous. Jenny took a very hasty and utterly instinctive step back.

‘You lay a hand on her,’ Keith hissed, his face wild, ‘and I’ll kill you. Do you hear?’ And since he was shouting fit to be heard in Alaska, Jenny had no trouble at all in hearing him.

She sighed in relief as, out of nowhere, Mollern – good, squat, very
solid
Mollern – appeared at her right shoulder and laid a restraining arm on Keith Harding, who didn’t even seem to feel it. He was too busy staring at the cook in animalistic rage. And in that moment, Jenny had no doubt at all that Keith was capable of murder. Hers.

‘I can assure you, sir, that Miss Greer is in no danger,’ Mollern began soothingly. ‘Both myself and Inspector Mollineaux are staying on at the house. And Miss Starling, I can assure you, has never murdered anyone.’

Keith Harding continued to stare at Jenny, hate and loathing and fear emanating him from him like a noxious cloud.

‘That’s as may be,’ Keith gritted, his voice cold and hard. ‘But I’m staying too. I’m moving into the room next to Alicia’s and anyone,
anyone
,’ he reiterated, leaning closer to Jenny menacingly, ‘who comes near her is going to answer to me.’

As he turned and headed towards Alicia, Jenny couldn’t help but notice that for once, and at last, Mark and Sherri Greer were openly approving of him. Alicia, however, wasn’t quite through yet. ‘And there’s another thing,’ she said spitefully. ‘Where did she get that watch she wears?’

Jenny, taken by surprise, instinctively raised her watch and looked at the obviously expensive gold and diamond timepiece. Everyone else looked at it too. Mollineaux raised a questioning eyebrow.

Jenny shrugged. ‘It was a gift,’ she said flatly, definitely in no mood to explain herself, or her father’s extravagance.

Alicia snorted. ‘More likely you stole it,’ she accused.

Mollineaux coughed warningly. Taking the hint, and together as one family, the Greers and Keith Harding turned and walked into the house, Alicia between them, the most precious object in all their lives. Keith shot her a final, hate-filled warning look over his shoulder.

Mollineaux joined Jenny out on the gravel, looking relieved that the nasty scene was over. ‘You can’t blame him,’ he said softly, glancing at the now closed door. ‘He almost lost her.’

‘No,’ Jenny said, robustly beginning to rally. The whole episode had shaken her more than she’d care to admit. ‘I don’t blame him at all,’ she assured him stoutly.

The two policemen exchanged relieved glances. They both felt a renewal of respect for the impressive cook as, in unspoken accord, they also began to head for the house. ‘And I meant what I said,’ Mollern added reassuringly. ‘Alicia Greer will be well protected.’

But Jenny was hardly listening. Somehow, she needed solid proof before she could voice her theories out loud.

‘By the way,’ Mollineaux said, as neutrally as possible, ‘that tip you gave us about the housekeeper turned out to be right on the button. We finally got confirmation this morning. Daphne Carter, as she was then, gave her son up for adoption seventeen years ago, almost to the day.’

‘Oh? Good,’ Jenny said, and then wondered. What was so good about it? It meant poor Daphne was now in for a grilling, and just when she was at her lowest ebb.

Mollineaux coughed. ‘We will, of course, have to question her again,’ he remarked, and glanced across at Mollern, who was studiously inspecting his shoes. ‘We thought it might be best if she had someone with her. Another woman, I mean.’

Jenny glanced quickly at him, just managing to keep the horrified look from her face. ‘Me, you mean?’ she asked bluntly.

‘Well, it either has to be you, or Mrs Greer. And considering the delicate nature of our enquiries …’ He trailed off, having no need to go any further.

‘No,’ Jenny sighed. ‘And if it turns out to be irrelevant, there’ll be no reason at all to tell the Greers about Jimmy Speight’s true parentage. Right?’ she asked, her chin rising in challenge, and was satisfied when Mollineaux agreed with her.

If she was going to have to fight Daphne’s corner, she’d make sure she did it properly.

T
HEY FOUND DAPHNE
Williams in the library, catching up on the household expenses. Mollern carefully closed the door behind him and checked that the windows were closed. The housekeeper glanced apprehensively at the policemen, curiously at Jenny, and then, quite suddenly, as if aware of what was to come, became very calm.

‘Inspector Mollineaux,’ she acknowledged quietly.

He coughed. ‘Mrs Williams, I’m afraid we have a few questions that we have to put to you. I’ve asked Miss Starling to be present to … er …’

‘For moral support, Daphne,’ Jenny said firmly and went to sit beside the housekeeper. ‘In a few days I shall be gone and I expect you’ll never see me again. Often we can turn to strangers for help when our friends are the last people we’d want to see.’

Daphne smiled, but her calm blue gaze went quickly back to Mollineaux. ‘Ask away, Inspector. I shall be quite truthful and as concise as I can be, I assure you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Williams. I’ll try to be as brief as possible.’ Mollineaux walked to the empty fireplace and turned. ‘You were the natural mother of Jimmy Speight, were you not?’

If he expected consternation, he was disappointed.

‘Yes I was,’ Daphne agreed quietly and without any sign of surprise that they should know this.

‘And you followed the Speights down here to be near your son?’

‘Yes I did. I learned, quite by accident, who had adopted my son, and, well, I became curious. And once I’d seen him, I had to keep on seeing him. Not to tell him who I really was, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘No. I made my decision seventeen years ago and I could see that he was very happy with his adopted family. I had no intention of causing either Bernie or Jean or Jimmy any trouble.’

‘That’s why you made friends with Jean Speight,’ Jenny said softly. ‘Just so you’d have the excuse to be around Jimmy from time to time?’

Daphne glanced at her, and gave a wry sort of smile. ‘Exactly. And then I was able to get him a job here. It was me who recommended him to Thorne and Mr Greer. So I could see a bit more of him. It was enough,’ she added quietly.

Mollineaux sighed. ‘And on the morning that your son died, did you see him arrive?’

‘No. He came early that morning, because of the football. I was going to go into the village and watch him play. I’d already arranged to have the afternoon off.’ Her voice began to crack, just slightly. Jenny took her hand and squeezed it. After a startled pause, Daphne squeezed back.

‘So you don’t know what his movements were likely to have been?’

‘I expect the first thing he did was make himself a cup of tea, Inspector. As all the staff do.’

‘So everyone has access to the kitchens when Martha Vaughan is not around?’ Mollineaux asked.

‘No, Inspector.’ Daphne smiled. ‘They keep a little gas stove and kettle in the little shed, by the greenhouse. Teabags and some sugar too, but not milk. It goes off too quickly in the summertime. They prefer to have their own hidey-hole.’

‘I see,’ Mollineaux said, and glanced at Mollern. The police had found no evidence of tea-making facilities in the shed, but that was not surprising. That wily old gardener had probably cleared it out as soon as the police had arrived. ‘I see. Mrs Williams …’

‘It’s not really Mrs Williams,’ Daphne said, with another wry smile. ‘It’s always been Carter. I never married, but when I started seeking housekeeping jobs it was easier to play the widow. You understand?’

Mollineaux did, but was not about to be sidetracked. ‘I’ll stick with Mrs Williams then. Mrs Williams, had you heard about the argument Justin Greer had with your son just prior to his death?’

‘Yes,’ Daphne said quietly. ‘Jean had told me that Jimmy wanted to be a reporter. He wrote a lot of pieces for various magazines and papers. Quite a few were accepted,’ she added proudly. ‘I knew that he was insatiably curious about life and people, but also that he could get into trouble because of it. Not everyone understood him as I did.’

‘And what did you think of Justin giving him a dressing down?’ Mollineaux asked neutrally.

Jenny felt herself tense, but Daphne seemed unaware that she was heading for dangerous ground. ‘Well, I didn’t like it, of course, but I understood it. And Justin was quite within his rights to resent Jimmy poking around in his private things.’

‘So you did nothing about it?’ Mollineaux prompted, and Daphne frowned.

‘Of course not. Why would I?’

‘Mrs Williams, do you think that your son’s accident really
was
an accident?’ he asked softly, and saw her stiffen in shock.

‘Of course I do,’ Daphne said, and then paled as the realization hit her. ‘You think someone
killed
Jimmy?’ she whispered, aghast.

‘In view of what happened the other night, I think it’s a possibility,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘Do you have any idea who might want either your son or Justin and Alicia Greer dead, Mrs Williams?’

But Daphne seemed hardly to be listening. Finally she shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I don’t.’

Mollineaux glanced at Jenny, who gave a very slight, almost imperceptible shrug. ‘Well, I think that’s all for now, Mrs Williams. We will, of course, keep this conversation strictly confidential,’ he added. But as the housekeeper rose and walked on stiff legs to the door, he doubted whether she understood or appreciated his discretion.

Once the door closed behind her, the tension eased.

‘I believed her,’ Mollern said at last. ‘About thinking her son died accidentally, I mean.’

Jenny stared at the empty fireplace, thinking furiously. ‘If Jimmy Speight was having tea in the shed,’ she eventually spoke her thoughts out loud, ‘then he’d have had a clear view of the greenhouse.’

‘And anyone who’d gone into it to steal some paraquat.’ Mollern, quick as lightning, picked up the thread.

‘Which means either a stranger,’ Mollineaux continued. ‘Or someone from the village he knew.’

‘Why a stranger?’ Jenny asked, so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

Mollineaux shrugged. ‘I can’t see either Sherri or Mark Greer poisoning their own children. Justin is dead and Alicia nearly died. That leaves the staff. I can’t see timid little Vera nor Martha Vaughan wanting to do away with Justin or Alicia.’ His lips twisted wryly. ‘And I refuse point blank to say that the butler did it. No. It had to be someone else. And Jimmy Speight saw who, and had to be silenced.’

Mollern scratched his head. ‘Arbie Goulder wouldn’t need to steal paraquat, having plenty of poisonous stuff at his own nursery. And Babs hadn’t even arrived by then, nor had Watkins. I don’t get it. The more we find out, the less clear this case becomes,’ he said plaintively.

But Jenny didn’t agree. It was becoming clearer by the moment.

‘Well, thank you for your help with Mrs Williams,’ Mollineaux said to Jenny. ‘I know your presence helped us all through a difficult interview,’ he added, in obvious dismissal.

Jenny smiled, took the hint, and left.

Having left the library, however, Jenny didn’t want to go to the kitchen to face Martha’s self-righteousness after the morning’s fracas. Instead she wandered about her room for a bit, generally feeling sorry for herself. Restless and unable to settle, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, relieved to see that the hall was deserted. Outside, however, Mollineaux and Mollern had re-emerged and were standing on the porch, discussing tactics.

No doubt they’d settled Alicia down and asked their preliminary questions. She wondered what they’d found out, but knew better than to ask. ‘Hello again. All finished?’ she asked instead, bright and cheery and showing no signs of her previous strain.

‘Yes,’ Mollineaux agreed, as unforthcoming as she’d expected.

‘Off somewhere?’ she tried again.

‘We thought we’d left Tom Banks to stew long enough,’ Mollineaux commented mildly, not fooled by her delicate questioning, but not dissatisfied either. He was beginning to realize that Jenny Starling could be very useful, if you handled her right. ‘No doubt, by now, he thinks he’s missed the police net. It’s about time we pointed out he hasn’t. As a motive, his is as strong as any,’ he added, unnecessarily.

‘Hmm,’ Jenny said thoughtfully. ‘When you get there, ask him about the paper knife he stole from the library.’

‘What?’ It was Mollern who asked the startled question and Jenny sighed and dutifully related the events of the night of the party and her interruption of Tom Banks pursuing some, to say the least, enigmatic activities.

Mollineaux’s face had grown more and more grim with every word she uttered. ‘You should have told us all this before,’ he snapped when she’d finished, and she had the grace to look a little abashed. However, she quickly rallied.

‘Well, Inspector, if Justin had been found stabbed with a rather pretty, oriental-type paper knife, I no doubt would have done,’ she parried neatly, and this time it was Mollineaux’s turn to look discomfited. To cover it, he gave her a killing look and left the porch at a leisurely pace, heading towards their police car, parked out of sight on one of the long bends in the drive.

Jenny followed his lead without even thinking about it, Mollern bringing up the rear.

‘Yes. We will definitely bring the paper knife up,’ Mollineaux conceded. ‘Not that I can see how the two incidents connect.’ He paused and rubbed his chin wearily. ‘I just don’t see how the poisoning was done,’ he said helplessly, his voice full of defeat. ‘However it works out, I can’t help but believe that the murderer, to get the poison to Justin and Alicia Greer, must have taken some incredible risks, and most of all with the other partygoer’s lives. It makes me shiver to even think it, but perhaps the killer didn’t
care
if others died as well. Perhaps it was only luck, or divine providence, that steered the poisoned champagne so that it hit its intended target right away.’

For a long while the three people stood in silence, each contemplating that hideous thought. Eventually Mollineaux shook his head again. ‘To take such a risk is beyond belief.’

Jenny, her eyes narrowed and her thoughts far away, slowly nodded. ‘Yes,’ she agreed thoughtfully. ‘It was such a
desperate
risk to take. Quite, quite reckless in fact.’

Both the policemen looked at her quickly, struck by an identical thought. Namely, that Jenny Starling wasn’t thinking along the same lines that they were. She seemed, in fact, to be thinking about something else entirely. And not just thinking, but
knowing
.

Tom Banks looked up from his paper as three short sharp raps came on the door. His wife looked up from the houseplant she was pruning and frowned, but made no attempt to answer it. With a sigh, Tom rose and went to the door and found himself face to face with officialdom.

‘Mr Banks?’ Mollineaux didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘I’m Inspector Mollineaux, and this is Sergeant Mollern. May we come in for a few moments? We’re making routine inquiries about the murder of Justin Greer.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Come in.’ He veered off to the left. ‘Let’s use the little front room, shall we?’ he murmured. ‘It gets the sun this time of year.’

Comfortably seated in an old but well-made armchair, Mollineaux nodded to his sergeant, who, less comfortably perched on the edge of a very low sofa, retrieved his notebook and pen. Tom Banks, standing nervously in front of the unlit fireplace, didn’t seem to notice the policeman’s telling gesture.

‘Now, Mr Banks. You were invited to Mr Greer’s party, more or less at the last minute, weren’t you?’ Mollineaux began nice and easy.

‘That’s right. I daresay Alicia never thought of it. Mark invited me.’

‘That was nice of him,’ Mollineaux agreed blandly, then added silkily, ‘It was by way of a retirement farewell, wasn’t it?’

Tom Banks flushed. ‘Yes.’

‘You’re fifty-five, aren’t you, Mr Banks?’

‘Yes.’

‘A bit early to retire, isn’t it?’

Tom began to fidget. He reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a pipe, then stared at it, realizing he had nothing to light it with. ‘Yes,’ he finally agreed. ‘When Mark’s son took over the firm he started like a new broom. Mark thought a twenty-year-old whizzkid was good for business,’ he added grimly. ‘And since he’d made enough personal money to enjoy an early retirement, well, that was that.’

Mollineaux tut-tutted sympathetically.

‘Greer Textiles used to be a happy firm to work for.’ Tom, obviously embittered, had the bit well and truly between his teeth now. ‘The workforce was well motivated and contented. Mark really knew how to run a company. But Justin, well, he only cared about making himself his own fortune. And it didn’t seem to matter to him what he had to do to get it, either.’ He seemed to run out of steam momentarily, and Mollineaux watched him carefully.

‘You didn’t like Justin Greer, did you, Mr Banks?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Tom admitted readily enough, then suddenly looked up from his pipe, as if only now scenting danger. ‘But I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Do you do much gardening, Mr Banks?’ Mollineaux changed the subject, not commenting one way or another on his declaration of innocence.

Tom blinked, totally wrong-footed. ‘Huh? Er, no, I don’t. That’s Fran’s province. She’s in the sitting room now, as a matter of fact, tending to the houseplants. She loves to potter about in the garden. A result of spending all her time at home alone, I suppose,’ he acknowledged, as if, for the first time in all their long years of marriage, wondering how his wife must have spent her time during all the hours he’d been at the office.

His statement had the unerring ring of truth in it, and Mollineaux and Mollern exchanged glances. Damn. No use asking
him
about paraquat then.

‘I see. Tell me, Mr Banks, what were you doing rifling in the Greers’ library on the night of the murder, and what, exactly, did you want with a paper knife? Come to that, what were you doing in Mr Justin Greer’s bedroom? You were seen on both occasions,’ Mollineaux added quickly, just to nip in the bud any blustering denials.

But Tom Banks didn’t seem all that interested in denials. He shrugged his shoulders and put his pipe back into his pocket. ‘It was bound to come out, I suppose,’ he acknowledged with a heavy sigh. ‘I was looking for evidence, Inspector. That’s what I was doing in the library and in his bedroom.’