Chapter 30
THIRTY
When Alec at last had a chance to return Worrall’s telephone call and the operator connected him to Eyrie Farm, the voice answering was not that of a police constable. “Daisy?”
“Darling, at last. I’ve been waiting by the phone for you to ring.”
“Sorry, love, it’s DI Worrall I want to talk to. He left a message—”
“Yes, but he’s gone to find Norman, with Tom and the bobbies. He asked me to let you know.”
One could never tell how provincial detectives would react to Daisy. Alec was resigned—almost—to everything from outright hostility to her being regarded as his deputy and a sort of unofficial member of the force, as seemed to be the present situation.
“He left a message for me. What did he want?”
“To ask whether you wanted him to go and look for Norman. He didn’t come in for lunch—”
“Don’t tell me Worrall’s gone tramping about in the rain hoping to come across him! I thought he had more sense. Norman could be halfway to—”
“Darling, do listen instead of interrupting. The inspector is pretty certain of where to find Norman. It’s Quarter Day, you see.” She started on a lengthy rigmarole about rent and the maids going home. Dr. Knox came into it somewhere, though Alec couldn’t quite understand his r?le in the affair.
Once again he interrupted. “Yes, all right, I get the idea. The inspector couldn’t get hold of me, so he made his own decision. I take it the house search didn’t turn up anything else.”
“No, nothing. He wanted to tell you that, too. And to know what Lorna’s said.”
“I wouldn’t relay that to him through you, Daisy, even if I’d had a chance to interview her. Which I haven’t. I’m just on my way now.”
“What have you been doing? Besides having lunch with the superintendent.”
“Finding the doctor who wrote the prescription for bromide, and interviewing him. Avoiding the press.”
“Oh dear, have they turned up already?”
“Only the Derby paper. I’m hoping it’s not a sufficiently spectacular crime to interest Fleet Street, but local reporting might be useful. I must go. Tell Worrall I’ll be in touch later.”
“All right, darling. Are you coming back to the farm this evening? If not sooner?”
“It depends entirely on circumstances. Probably. Even if Lorna confesses to the murder, there’ll be a lot of questions still unanswered and we’ll need evidence to support her confession.”
“I’ll see you later, then. Good luck with Lorna.”
Alec rang off. The stenographer sent up from Derby was waiting for him, a plain, stoutish young woman in glasses, a grey costume, and sensible shoes. She had a canvas satchel slung over her shoulder.
“I sent for you for two reasons, Miss Stott,” he explained as they walked to the room where he’d left Lorna under guard.
“First, of course, I want a verbatim record of the interview. But also, I want a woman present. I have absolutely no sense of the character of Miss Birtwhistle. I don’t know whether she’s liable to burst into tears, or fits of screaming, or floods of obscenity.
I hope you can cope with whatever happens. ”
“Certainly, sir. Officially I’m just a secretary, but I do a bit of everything that’s needed.”
“Excellent. From what I’ve seen of Miss Birtwhistle, she may simply remain silent.”
“In which case, I’ll have had a wasted journey,” Miss Stott observed dryly, “which is no skin off my nose.”
He grinned at her. “That’s the spirit.”
They entered the interview room. The constable on duty, standing at ease beside the door, came to attention and saluted.
Lorna was sitting bolt-upright at the table, but Alec had the impression that she had straightened from a slump at the sound of the door opening.
Though she didn’t turn her head to look at him, her eyes slewed in his direction.
“Good afternoon, Miss Birtwhistle.” No response. “I trust they’ve been taking care of you, something to eat and a cup of tea?” No response. Alec raised his eyebrows at the constable.
“Yes, sir, lunch was provided, but she didn’t touch it.”
“Ah well, you can lead a horse to water and all that. But perhaps you could find a more comfortable chair for the lady?”
“I’m perfectly comfortable,” Lorna snapped. “Unlike some people, I’ve never coddled myself.”
Alec hid his satisfaction. What she said was irrelevant. What mattered was that she had spoken. Now she would find it very much more difficult to keep her mouth closed. All the same, Judges’ Rules prevailed, and the required caution might be enough to shut her up again. He sat down opposite her.
“Miss Birtwhistle, I must advise you that you are not obliged to speak, but if you choose to do so, everything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in a court of law. If you wish for the advice of a solicitor—”
“Solicitor!” She flung herself to her feet and, leaning on the table with both fists, shrieked in his face, “I didn’t kill him! I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Alec remained silent.
“That incompetent ninny who’s too busy chasing the Sutherby woman to take proper care of my brother …
If no one else could see it, I could. What he needed was rest, so I made sure he got it.
Taking bromides to help you sleep never hurt anyone.
I took it myself thirty years ago, when he turned up again like a rotten apple. ”
Alec’s swift glance at Miss Stott showed her pencil racing over the paper.
Without prompting, Lorna’s rant continued—and it was a rant, not the ravings of a maniac.
After her perfunctory attempt to justify her actions, which she had probably thought up since being brought in, she let her hatred of Humphrey flow.
While he was gadding about the world, she and Norman had worked their fingers to the bone on the farm and taking care of their ailing but despotic and penny-pinching father.
At last the old man died. At last they enjoyed the fruits of their labours.
And hardly a year later, Humphrey turned up demanding his share. Not only had he never lifted a finger to keep the place going, he had no intention of helping with the dirty work now he was home.
He’d brought with him a foreign bride who talked a funny kind of English nobody could understand. They had produced a son as useless as his father, with la-di-dah airs, who refused to have anything to do with the farm though he expected it to support him and his equally useless friends.
“The best thing Humphrey ever did was fall ill!” Lorna showed no sign of running out of steam.
“Mrs. Sutherby’s better at turning out that drivel than he is himself.
She brings in a lot more money, even after allowing for the ridiculous salary they pay her.
Two maids, no more doing laundry and scrubbing floors!
It was plain common sense to make sure he stayed out of the way.
And that’s all I did. I didn’t kill him.
The last dose of bromide I gave him was on Sunday morning.
I ran out of the stuff and had to get another prescription. It was good for him to rest.”
“Dr. Harris wrote the prescription?”
“He’s always been our family’s doctor, since long before Dr. Knox came to Matlock. I wouldn’t go to anyone else.”
“So he’s been writing regular bromide prescriptions for you, for the past two years?”
“Isn’t that what I said? It was him that gave it to me in the first place, back when Humphrey came home and I couldn’t sleep. I told him I was having the old trouble again.”
“The old trouble” had been a combination of bile and choler, Alec assumed, though she wouldn’t have admitted that to the doctor. Harris had probably put down the new trouble to the change of life and a man of his generation, even a medical man, wouldn’t have probed any further.
“Let me get this straight, Miss Birtwhistle. For the past two years, or thereabouts, Dr. Harris has been writing regular prescriptions for potassium bromide to treat your ailments, not for Humphrey Birtwhistle?”
“Of course he wrote them for me,” Lorna said scornfully. “Humphrey wasn’t his patient. If I’d told him I was giving the powders to Humphrey, he wouldn’t have let me have any more.”
“Why did you try to burn the medicine?”
“Isn’t it obvious? When Humphrey died, I was afraid I’d be blamed, even though all I did was give him a harmless sleeping powder.”
Alec had heard all he needed, and he had no desire to listen to a repeat of her self-justification. “That will do for now, Miss Birtwhistle.” He couldn’t bring himself to thank her. “I’m just going to have a word with the superintendent. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He beckoned to Miss Stott to follow him, nodded to the constable to stay, and went out, followed by a cry of, “I didn’t kill him!”
Miss Stott closed the door. “Did she, sir?”
“I don’t think so. I doubt she’ll go down for worse than aggravated assault. I’ve got to discuss the proper charge with Superintendent Aves. Will you get that typed for me right away, please?”
“Right away, sir. It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.”
Aves listened gloomily to Alec’s account of the interview and agreed with his conclusion.
“I don’t need to ask a man of your credentials whether she was properly cautioned.
Harris is a bloody incompetent fool,” he went on forcefully.
“He ought to retire. This means we still have a murderer running loose. Where do we go from here? Any ideas?”
“DI Worrall may get something useful out of the brother. Or even better, my man may find a recent prescription for chloral at one of the chemists’. He should be back soon.”
Miss Stott brought in three copies of the verbatim report. Aves quickly read through it. “Just as you said, Mr. Fletcher. The silly woman condemns herself out of her own mouth.”
“It left an unpleasant taste in mine. She’s taciturn as a rule, I gather, and it was as if once the floodgate opened, she couldn’t stop herself.”
“It sometimes takes ’em that way. Shall I have my Inspector Kennedy deal with the arrest, or would you prefer to handle it yourself?”
“I’d much sooner he did. Thank you. Strictly speaking, it’s none of my business.
I was sent to investigate the murder.” Actually, to keep Daisy out of trouble, but he wasn’t about to admit that.
“This part is all yours, though I’ll write up a summary of the supporting evidence while I wait for DC Piper. ”
Miss Stott, who had lingered unobtrusively, offered, “If you’d like to dictate it, sir, I’ll type it before I go back to Derby.”
“Wonderful woman!” said Alec.
Miss Stott blushed. “If you have more reports to be typed, I could stay the rest of the day, I expect. I’m sure they can spare me.”
“My wife typed a couple.” He turned to Aves. “I hope you don’t mind, sir. Daisy knows shorthand,”—sort of—“so she can be quite helpful. We had rather a lot of interviews to cope with and not much manpower.”
The superintendent grinned. “Yes, I had a word with Mr. Crane on the subject of Mrs. Fletcher’s inclination to ‘assist the police,’” he said, to Alec’s dismay. “Don’t worry, I shan’t breathe a word.”
“Thank you, sir.” Not that it would make the slightest difference. Crane would be convinced of Daisy’s meddling, whatever he was told.
The stenographer looked disappointed. She was in no hurry to return to Derby.
Anxious not to lose her services, Alec said, “I do have some notes in need of typing, and DI Worrall must have a lot, too.…”
“Of course, sir.”
“Make sure I get copies of everything as soon as possible, Fletcher. Oh, by the way, Mr. Crane is expecting to hear from you today.”
“No doubt,” Alec muttered.
* * *
In due course, Ernie Piper returned, steaming from the combination of bicycling up hill and down dale and the rain that was now falling lightly but persistently.
“Not a thing, Chief. I went back through all their prescription books for three months. Several listings for chloral, but the chemists concerned swore they were well-known customers having no connection with Eyrie Farm.”
Alec sighed. “You realise what this means?”
“I can see three possibilities, Chief.”
“That’s one more than I can.” He rubbed his eyes. “No sleep last night. Go ahead, Ernie.”
“Could be someone planned this more than three months ago.”
“Yes. We’ll have to find out how long the stuff stays potent after it’s dispensed.”
“I asked. It’s all right indefinitely if it’s stored properly. Could be was got hold of somewhere else.”
“I suppose we’ll have to have every chemist on the road to Derby and in the city called on. The county people aren’t going to like that a bit.”
“It’s not only Norman Birtwistle had the chance, Chief. Simon and Miss Olney have both been away. And didn’t I hear that Mrs. Sutherby was in London?”
“You did. Seeing ‘Eli Hawke’s’ publisher and lunching with Daisy and Lady Gerald. Damnation!”
“It’s a tall order,” Piper agreed. “And then there’s the doctor.
Dr. Knox, I mean, not Dr. Harris. He wouldn’t need a prescription to get hold of the stuff, would he?
He likely keeps some in his surgery in case it’s needed when all the chemists’ are closed.
None of ’em would think twice about supplying it to him. ”
“I’d rather dropped Knox from the picture,” Alec admitted.
“He had the means. He was there in the house, and no doubt Humphrey would have swallowed anything he offered. On the other hand, his motive is thin. But before we start a major operation hunting down prescriptions for chloral over half the country, we’ll take a good hard look at it. ”
“You mean Mrs. Sutherby losing her job, Chief, and having to marry him? Love’s all very well, but maybe he’s got a financial motive we don’t know about. Maybe Mr. Birtwhistle remembered him in his will. Maybe his practice isn’t doing too well— There’s plenty of competition in the town.”
“Mrs. Birtwhistle told me that Mrs. Sutherby will continue to receive half of all royalties coming in from the books. I haven’t the slightest idea how much that might amount to, but if she marries him…”