Shades of Murder (28 page)

There was a strange atmosphere at Regional HQ, almost a suppressed excitement, in anticipation of the arrival of the men from the Met. Markby, buried memories of school cadet corps aroused, thought there was a whiff of kit inspection about the whole thing. Pearce, who disapproved of the arrangement and faced working directly with the newcomers, stomped around looking grim. Ginny Holding tidied her desk. Sergeant Prescott looked apprehensive. One or two of the younger officers clearly hoped for a chance to shine and find themselves transferred to metropolitan glory. Markby did his best to assume the attitude of a man above all this, but suspected he wasn’t being very successful. All his staff treated him with a kindly consideration which, though it was well meant, only served to irritate him more.

‘Thank you, Ginny, no, I don’t want any more coffee.’

‘It’s just after eleven, sir,’ said Holding.

‘I have a wristwatch, thank you, and there’s a clock on the wall.’

‘They haven’t rung to say they’ve been held up.’

‘Why should they be held up? Are there any special traffic problems today?’

‘We’ve put a desk for Superintendent Minchin in the old filing room.’

‘I know. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.’

‘It’s a bit cramped . . .’

‘Ginny!’ Markby bit back his words and managed to utter in milder if strangled tones, ‘I appreciate all this but can’t we all relax? No doubt Superintendent Minchin and Inspector Hayes—’

There was a clatter of footsteps outside in the corridor and the sound of an unknown voice, loud, assertive, redolent with unfamiliar vowels.

‘I think he’s here, sir,’ exclaimed Ginny Holding and rushed out.

‘What have I got here?’ growled Markby, left alone. ‘A spare copper from the Met or a ruddy pop star?’

Whatever his private reservations about Minchin, Markby had to admit
the man made an impressive entrance. He stood almost six feet four and was solidly built to match. Markby suspected regular sessions at the gym. Despite that, Markby decided with ignoble satisfaction, in later life Minchin would fight a losing battle with weight. Right now he was heavy but fit. He appeared much the same age as Markby, possibly even a year or two younger. His complexion was reddish giving him almost a rustic look and his blond hair clipped short. His features were regular, handsome in a pugnacious way, short straight nose, thin lips, straight brows over small blue eyes. He looked, and Markby feared he would prove to be, an awkward customer. He wore a pale grey suit, turquoise shirt and red tie. Not a man, all in all, to blend in with the crowd.

Trailing in the rear of this glory came Inspector Hayes. As small and wiry as his boss was large and beefy, Hayes was a true child of the inner-city, sharp-eyed, pale-faced, thin-featured. They made, Markby had to admit, a formidable pair.

He had risen to welcome them. They shook hands and exchanged the usual banalities.

‘I’ve arranged a temporary letting for you,’ Markby said, ‘unless you’d prefer one of the local hotels. You’d get more privacy in the cottage, but it’s up to you.’

‘Fair enough.’ Minchin showed little interest in the domestic arrangements made for him and cut straight to business. ‘Have I got an office?’

‘Holding will show you.’ Markby disliked the man’s brusqueness but was determined to remain scrupulously polite. He didn’t want Minchin reporting back that the local superintendent had proved difficult.

I am not difficult, Markby told himself virtuously. I am not a difficult person. No one could say that.

Hayes, in the corner of the room, had been studying everything around him with a flickering gaze. Markby felt an instinctive tingle between the shoulderblades.
Watch Hayes
, it said.
That’s the tricky one of the two
. He wondered whether Minchin and Hayes worked regularly together.

‘I’d be glad to see the file on this case as soon as possible,’ said Minchin. ‘We’ll try not to be in the way.’ Minchin, too, was playing it carefully by the rules until he saw how the land lay.

‘Of course. As yet we haven’t found the source of the arsenic—’

‘Got any factories around?’ interrupted Minchin. ‘Surprising what they use in the industrial chemicals line.’

‘We’re not an industrial area,’ said Markby. ‘We do have some places dealing in agricultural supplies—’

At that moment, there was the sound of some commotion outside. Ginny Holding could be heard saying, ‘It’s not convenient just now, I’m afraid. Mr Markby’s busy. Can I help?’

Three other voices, it seemed, chimed in at once. One was male and vaguely familiar, the other two female and one of those very familiar indeed.

‘Hang on a second,’ said Markby. ‘Let me just find out what all that’s about.’

He strode out briskly into the corridor. Holding was dealing as well as she could with a party consisting of Ron Gladstone, Juliet Painter and Meredith. Since Meredith would only have come to HQ if the matter was important enough to warrant it, Markby demanded, ‘What’s happened?’

‘Oh, Alan,’ she said in relief. ‘Ron’s got something to tell you.’

‘It’s about the arsenic,’ burst out Juliet.

‘It was there and now it’s bloody gone,’ declared Ron.

Markby was aware of a large presence at his shoulder.

‘Someone come in to make a statement?’ asked Minchin. ‘Inspector!’ Hayes scuttled up. ‘Best find this office we’ve been given and see what these people have got to say.’

Holding, after a questioning glance at Markby, offered to lead the way. They set off, Holding in front, Minchin and Hayes behind, Ron, Juliet and Meredith bringing up the rear. Meredith turned her head to pull a quizzical face at Markby, standing in the doorway of his office.

Dave Pearce, attracted by the rumpus, had emerged from his room into the corridor. Markby grabbed his arm. ‘For God’s sake, Dave, get down there and sit in on that.’

The former filing room was, as Holding had feared, rather small even for two people. Filled with six people, it suggested one of those torture devices called Little Ease, in which the victim could neither sit, lie nor stand with any degree of comfort.

Minchin, presumably in order to establish his rank, had claimed the chair behind the desk. Hayes stood at his elbow. Two more chairs had been found and offered to Juliet and Meredith who sat facing him. This left no more space for chairs. Ron Gladstone and Dave Pearce were left standing.

‘This won’t do,’ said Meredith firmly, getting to her feet.

‘What won’t, madam?’ asked Minchin giving her a suspicious look.

‘The person giving the information ought to have a chair, surely? I can stand. Sit down, Ron.’

‘Perhaps you can leave the arrangements to us, miss?’ Hayes spoke for the first time. His voice was reedy.

But their visitors proved impervious to official reproach and were busily rearranging themselves. Ron uttered a protest about ‘a gentleman not sitting when a lady stood’, but was outvoted by the combined voice of the two ladies present.

‘You’ve had a nasty shock, Ron,’ said Juliet. ‘Of course you must sit down.’

‘When you’ve all finished playing musical chairs . . .’ said Minchin unpleasantly.

Eventually, Juliet and Ron sat facing Minchin and Hayes. Meredith and Pearce stood behind. This shuffling around and changing of places occupied some five minutes and then it was discovered there were no official statement forms in the drawers of the desk and Pearce had to go out and bring some back. He also brought another chair which was promptly claimed by Hayes, to Ron’s disapproval. (‘Leaving a lady standing. It was never the thing in my day!’) Somehow or other Hayes found a corner for his chair and settled himself there with a copy of a statement form and a pen.

When some kind of order reigned, Minchin put his forearms on the desk and clasped his hands. He nodded to Hayes who got ready.

‘Right, then. My name is Superintendent Minchin and I’ve come down from London to take over the investigation into the death of Jan Oakley.’

Meredith looked down at the floor. Unbidden, into her head had come a scrap of the sort of dialogue once attributed to constables.
As I was proceeding in a northerly direction, I observed the accused . . .

When she raised her head, Minchin’s small sharp blue eyes were fixed on her even more suspiciously. She felt he’d read her mind. Any temptation to find him funny disappeared. He wasn’t funny. He would make, she decided, a bad enemy.

‘This is Inspector Hayes,’ Minchin went on. He looked at Pearce, inviting him to identify himself.

‘I’ve met all three of the people here already,’ said Pearce woodenly. ‘They know who I am. Inspector Pearce.’

‘So perhaps you’ll favour me with your names?’ Minchin invited the visitors.

Juliet spoke first. ‘I’m Juliet Painter. I act in an advisory capacity to Damaris and Florence Oakley in the matter of the sale of their house.’

Pearce contributed an explanation. ‘The house is Fourways, where the murder occurred.’

‘You’re an estate agent?’ Minchin said in a flat voice, ignoring Pearce.

Oh dear, thought Meredith.

Juliet bounced on her chair. ‘I am not an estate agent! I am a property consultant. I do not buy and sell properties. I advise people who wish to do so.’

Clearly unimpressed, Minchin said, ‘Sounds much the same sort of thing to me.’

‘Well, it isn’t!’ snapped Juliet. She drew a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should know that my brother, Dr Geoffrey Painter, is the poisons expert who identified the arsenic in the body.’

There was a silence. Minchin said, ‘In the body of Jan Oakley?’

‘Yes, who else?’ snapped Juliet.

Minchin’s stony gaze moved on to Ron Gladstone. ‘You’re the gentleman who wishes to make a statement? Your name is?’

‘It’s not a statement, it’s information,’ said Ron. ‘My name’s Ron Gladstone. I’m the gardener at Fourways.’

Minchin tightened the clasp of his broad hands but otherwise gave no reaction. He turned his gaze at last on Meredith.

‘Meredith Mitchell,’ she said. ‘I was the first person to meet Jan Oakley. I met him on a train and took him to Fourways. I was visiting the house with Juliet this morning when we met Ron and – and as a result we came here.’

‘Right,’ said Minchin.

‘You should also know that I share a home with Superintendent Markby.’

‘Blimey,’ murmured Hayes. ‘No wonder they sent for someone outside the area.’

Minchin gave him a quick warning glance. ‘Now, Mr Gladstone,’ he said, ‘you understand I haven’t yet had time to study the file. I’ve just arrived. But if you’ve got some information, perhaps you would care to let us know what it is? Inspector Pearce can slot it into place, I’m sure.’

Ron leaned forward. ‘It’s about the arsenic. You see, I didn’t know he died of arsenic. I knew he was poisoned, but I didn’t know, until these two ladies told me this morning, that it was arsenic.’ He paused to check that Minchin had followed so far.

‘Go on,’ said Minchin. ‘I’ll stop you if I don’t get it.’

Ron cleared his throat. ‘I have to go back to the day after he arrived.’

‘He being?’

‘Jan Oakley. Or that’s what he called himself,’ said Ron. ‘We only had his word for it, that’s what I say.’

‘I saw his passport,’ said Juliet. ‘It was the first thing I asked for. He was called Jan Oakley all right.’

‘There must be more than one lot of Oakleys around!’ argued Ron.

‘Not in Poland, I shouldn’t think,’ said Meredith.

‘Can we stick to the point?’ This from Minchin whose expression suggested an animal trainer whose lions were getting out of hand. Any minute now he’d take drastic disciplinary action.

‘Right,’ said Ron. ‘There’s an old potting shed in the grounds. It’d been locked up for donkey’s years. I’d never been inside it, but when Miss Oakley told me they were going to sell the house, I thought I’d better take a look. Clear it out, you know.’

He paused and waited for some comment. When none came, he was forced to go on, his face reddening, his rooster appearance becoming increasingly marked.

‘The door was locked with a padlock and I hadn’t got a key so I had to unscrew the whole hasp. I got the door open and went in. You never saw such a mess. It was a real museum. Stuff had been put in there I reckon forty years ago or more and was still there. Well, most of it
is
still there,’ added Ron, ‘because what with one thing and another, I was interrupted and never got back to the job.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I started to take a look round. There were a lot of old bottles and tins, gardening stuff, fertiliser, weed-killer, that sort of thing. All the old-fashioned chemicals. You can’t buy most of them now. Right at the back on one shelf I found a dark glass bottle, all dusty. The cap had rusted so I couldn’t turn it, but I reckon from the weight it was half-full. The label had turned brown but I could see it was a fancy thing. They took a lot of trouble over everything in those days, even a label. You should see some of the old tools . . .’

Minchin shifted his bulk slightly and drew a deep breath.

Ron hurried on. ‘I had a closer squint at the label and could make it out. I remember it pretty well.’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the knot of his tie, and straightened his spine.’
Universal Rat and Mouse Poison,’
he declaimed.
‘Guaranteed to free your home from vermin. Internationally acclaimed medal-winner.’
Abruptly his voice subsided to a stifled croak.
‘Warning: Poisonous. Contains purest quality arsenic.’

‘What?’ Minchin, Hayes and Pearce all spoke together.

‘Now, I know what you’re going to say . . .’ began Ron.

‘Do you, indeed?’ growled Minchin.

‘You’ll say I should have gone straight up to the house and told Miss Oakley. But just at that very minute, I heard someone coming. It was a heavy step, not one of the ladies. So I put the bottle back on the shelf and went out to see who it was. It was him.’

‘Who?’ snapped Minchin.

‘Jan. It was the first I’d heard or seen of him. I was suspicious. I thought he was a trespasser. We get them. I told Mr Markby – people just walk in like it was a public park. Anyway, after I’d finished sorting him out, I shut the door of the shed because I’d decided to carry on clearing it out later.’