Shades of Murder (6 page)

Wood, aware that Patterson looked embarrassed beside him, said loudly, ‘Inspector Wood from Bamford Police Station, come to see your master. He’s here, I take it?’

The maid revised her attitude. For one thing, she was eaten up with curiosity now she knew the identity of the caller. ‘He’s here, sirs, but he’s out at the stables. I believe his horse is lame. He’s waiting for the veterinary surgeon.’

‘Well, while he’s waiting he can talk to us,’ said Wood. ‘Go and fetch him, there’s a good girl.’

She tossed her streamered cap. ‘Very well. Would you like to come in and wait?’

They stepped over the threshold, Patterson looking about him for a mat on which to wipe his boots. Seeing only an expensive Turkey carpet, his visible unhappiness increased.

‘I’ll take your hats, sirs,’ said the maid.

She received their bowlers as if they’d been contagious, set them on a hall table, and showed them into a small sitting room. Wood suspected there was a larger, plusher drawing room somewhere, but they weren’t deemed worthy of it.

Patterson was by now so overwhelmed he’d broken out in a sweat.

Wood asked unkindly, ‘Got your notebook, Sergeant? Then get ready to write it all down. And try to get the spelling right this time.’

They waited eight minutes by the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf before Oakley appeared. He threw open the door and marched in, his manner aggressive, and stared at them. He was dressed to ride out, in breeches and topboots, but was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat above that. He must have taken off his jacket when examining the horse. Wood was interested that Oakley had left the stables so quickly on hearing who was in his back parlour, he’d omitted to put it on again first.

‘I can guess why you’re here,’ Oakley said pugnaciously. ‘It’s as a result of the slanderous gossip put about by that woman Button.’

He was a good-looking fellow, thought Wood. Dark curly hair and a luxuriant moustache of the kind Wood had once tried to grow but
abandoned in the face of his daughter’s mirth. Oakley’s complexion was at present flushed. He was well-built, muscular thighs stretching the material of the breeches, and tall. Oh, yes. The ladies would like Mr Oakley.

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I asked a few questions, sir?’ he said mildly.

‘Of course I damn well mind! But I suppose we’d better get it over with. Sit down, man. And you,’ he added to Patterson, ‘going to write down what I say, are you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ gasped poor Patterson. ‘If it’s all right.’

Wood glared at him.

Oakley didn’t bother to reply. He threw himself into a nearby chair and said, ‘Go on, then. Fire away. I’ve nothing to hide.’

‘Perhaps we could begin with the day your wife died?’ Wood put a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. ‘A painful subject and I’m sorry I have to bring it up.’

‘Are you?’ Oakley gave a short laugh. ‘You could have fooled me. What about it? And she died during the night, after eleven.’

‘Yes, sir. I realise that, sir. But I was referring to the afternoon. I believe you rode into Bamford and visited the pharmacy of Mr Baxter.’

‘So? All this was gone into at the inquest following my wife’s death. She was in great pain from a drawn tooth. Dr Perkins had prescribed laudanum as a remedy and he testified to that at the inquest. I fetched it from Baxter’s pharmacy.’

Patterson was scribbling industriously and breathing heavily through his mouth at the same time as he always did when concentrating.

‘Were you and your wife on good terms, sir?’

Wood saw the glitter in the man’s eyes. ‘That’s a damn impudent question. As it happens, yes, we were on excellent terms, thank you.’ Oakley paused, then shrugged. ‘We had some little differences from time to time as married couples do, but they were trivial in nature.’ He fixed Wood with a sudden direct stare. ‘I had no reason to wish my wife dead. Apart from anything else, we had –
have
– a young son. Would I seek to deprive my son of his mother?’

Wood didn’t answer this. Instead he asked in his inoffensive voice, ‘Your wife was a wealthy woman, as I understand it.’

‘She had some fortune, yes.’

Wood pursed his mouth. ‘As I heard it, she had considerable fortune, sir. Quite a bit of income deriving from interests in manufacturing
companies, factories of one kind and another, some up North, woollen trade. Also, I believe, a London company – London Chemicals, I believe it’s called.’

Oakley said sarcastically, ‘Don’t play the fool, Inspector. You know perfectly well what the place is called. You’ve been there – they told me. You were asking questions about my last visit there.’

‘Which took place a month before your wife died,’ Wood said. ‘You administered your wife’s business affairs.’ It wasn’t really a question, but Oakley answered it, even so.

‘Of course I did. My wife was a married lady with a household to supervise. You don’t expect her to have run round factory floors asking questions about profit and loss? Besides, when we married she was only eighteen. For your information, I visited all the enterprises in which she had a financial interest on a regular basis. If no one keeps an eye on things, that’s where problems start.’

Too true, thought Wood, and I’ve got my eye on you. Aloud he said, ‘You’re well-known in gambling circles, Mr Oakley.’

‘I don’t know who told you that.’ Oakley paused as if he expected to be told who. When Wood remained silent, he added, ‘So?’

‘You have debts?’

There was a silence. Oakley said evenly, ‘You are an impertinent fellow. However, I suppose you’re doing your job. I have, Inspector, such debts as a gentleman normally has. I am scrupulous in settling them. You may ask around. Anyone will confirm that.’ He leaned forward so suddenly that Patterson jumped and nearly dropped his pencil. ‘I know what you’re suggesting and I can tell you, I take a damn poor view of it. I’ve never misused my wife’s money in any way.’ He sat back again and added more calmly, ‘Nor can you prove that I did.’

No, I can’t, thought Wood and felt a brief apprehension. The Home Office hadn’t wanted this case reopened. Without Oakley’s father-in-law’s friends in high places, it wouldn’t have been.

Seeking surer ground, Wood went on, ‘If we could return to your visit to the London Chemicals factory. You’re quite right, I’ve been there. They make all kinds of products. I was impressed. Domestic, horticultural, agricultural . . . Rat poisons, too.’

Oakley said drily, ‘They’re much in demand.’

‘Most of them arsenic-based,’ Wood went on in a conversational tone. ‘I’ve always bought the arsenic direct myself from Baxter’s, signed the Poisons Book, and put the stuff down. Not that we’ve got rats in the house these days. Get the occasional mouse. I find a trap
set with a bit of cheese works well for them.’

Oakley looked as if he’d like to kick Wood down the front steps. His hands, resting on the carved oak arm of his chair, twitched. Perhaps it’d been a good idea to bring Patterson, after all. Oakley would think twice before tackling the sergeant’s burly frame.

‘Are you aware, sir, that during the process which produces the arsenic in commercial form, a highly toxic vapour is also produced?’

‘So I believe. I am not a chemist.’ Oakley was keeping a tight rein on his emotions, but his voice crackled with tension.

‘But you must have seen the process at work? During your visits to the factory?’ Wood raised his eyebrows.

‘Possibly. I can’t recall a precise occasion.’

‘You’ll know, then, that this vapour has a strong smell, very like garlic. Not a flavouring I’m fond of,’ added Wood. ‘I’m not one for foreign food.’

Oakley said in a dry voice, ‘You’re not suggesting that on my visits to the factory I was exposed to this toxic vapour? I have no idea what it smells like. Or I didn’t until you told me.’

‘Really?’ asked Wood. ‘To return to the night of your wife’s death. Could you run through the sequence of events for me?’

‘I can’t think why you should need me to. All this came out at the original inquest. Well, let’s see.’ Oakley frowned and steepled his fingers. ‘I took the laudanum and a water jug to my wife’s room. I offered to mix a dose but she indicated she would do it herself. A lamp was left burning by her bedside to give her light. I bade her goodnight. I dined alone downstairs. I smoked a cigar in the library and read the newspapers. Then I went up to bed myself.’

Wood asked curiously, ‘Did you look in on Mrs Oakley, to see how she did?’

Very quietly, Oakley said, ‘No. Do you think I don’t regret it? I presumed she’d be sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb her. I didn’t have any idea anything was wrong until Button awoke me, some time between eleven-fifteen and midnight. Don’t ask me to be more precise since I wasn’t interested in looking at clocks at the time. Button was in a very distressed state and told me there’d been a dreadful accident. I ran to my wife’s room at once. I found that she’d fallen while attempting to get out of bed and her nightgown had caught alight. She had suffered severe burns. I sent the groom at once for the doctor but he was unable to help her. She was dead by the time he got here.’

In the following silence, the ormolu clock ticked softly. Patterson rustled the pages of his notebook.

Oakley said very slowly and clearly, ‘I believe the tragedy occurred because my wife was drugged with laudanum and not able to control her movements. That was also the opinion of Dr Perkins and of the coroner. Those who have spread malicious rumours suggesting otherwise have much to answer for.’

Wood replied, just as evenly, ‘The housekeeper, Mrs Button, behaved with great courage and initiative on that night. She smothered the flames with a coverlet from the bed. Yet you dismissed her from your employ only two weeks later.’

‘Yes.’ Oakley’s voice was cold. When he saw that Wood meant to wait for an explanation, he went on reluctantly, ‘It upset me to see her about the place. It – reminded me. I felt I couldn’t bear to have her continue under this roof. I gave her an excellent reference and a month’s wages. She has repaid me with vile lies.’

Oakley got to his feet. ‘Now I’d be obliged if you’d leave my house. I’m expecting the veterinary at any moment. I don’t intend to answer another one of your tomfool questions.’

There was nothing more to be gained here today. Wood and Patterson left, the Sergeant clearly only too pleased to be out of the house.

As they walked back down the drive they heard a child’s laughter. A little boy, perhaps four years old, ran out from a small shrubbery towards them. Seeing strangers, he stopped.

‘Master Edward, just you come back here!’

A girl burst out of the shrubbery. Her uniform proclaimed her a nursemaid. She was remarkably pretty, her cheeks flushed rosy red, lips parted to reveal perfect teeth. She stopped short, just as the child had done, on seeing Wood and Patterson, but like her charge, showed more curiosity than alarm. Despite this, Wood was sure she had no trouble identifying what business the gentlemen were on. He noted wrily that it didn’t ruffle her composure beyond a momentary blink of her bright eyes. He thought to himself that here was a pert little madam and no two ways about it!

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ she said, favouring them with a pleasant smile. She walked to the child and picked him up. ‘Excuse me, won’t you? It’s time for his tea.’

She bore the boy away towards the house. Slipped the net before he could ask her a single question, Wood felt a mixture of annoyance and admiration.

Patterson, who’d straightened up when bathed in that smile, now relaxed again and looked a trifle wistful.

‘Daisy Joss,’ murmured Wood.

‘What, that nice little girl?’ asked a shocked Patterson.

‘Yes, that nice little girl!’ snapped Wood. ‘It might’ve been a bit more clever of Mr William Oakley to have dismissed
her!
’

The following Monday evening Meredith stood on the Paddington concourse, waiting for the train home. It had been a stressful day and the main cause of her annoyance was called Adrian.

Her office was large but she was obliged to share it. There was plenty of room and the desks were at opposite ends. Up till now the arrangement had worked fairly well. The other desk had been occupied by Gerald. But Gerald had moved on and Adrian had come in his place.

Meredith had never thought she’d miss Gerald so much, his love of gossip, his devotion to the tabloid press, his drawer full of Mars bars and other sweet and savoury snacks. Adrian was in a different mould altogether. On the plus side, he was young, tall, well-built and possessed of a first-class university degree. On the minus side, he had a complexion as pink as boiled shrimp, gingery-fair hair, a receding chin and a fondness for bright blue shirts and Italian suits.

In Roman times, certain categories of convicted criminal had the nature of their offence branded on their foreheads as a warning to others. It was Meredith’s opinion that Adrian might profitably have had ‘ambition’ tattooed on his brow. She had established quickly that he was an eavesdropper, a toady, a man who ‘ran with the hare and the hounds’ as the saying went. He sought the acquaintance of those who might be of help to him in his career and was careless of those who wouldn’t be. Meredith, he’d obviously decided, was of no use in aiding him to scale the heights of success. As a result, his manner towards her veered between the off-hand and the downright rude. She also had reason to think that when she was out of the room, he rifled through the contents of her in-and out-trays. Gerald’s curiosity had been insatiable but of the harmless kind. Adrian’s was to a purpose. He wanted to get something on her, something he might use in future if need be. It was in the nature of the beast. He had the instincts of a blackmailer and was the type to rejoice in the discomfiture of others. She had to watch out.

The usual home-going commuter crowed milled about the station.
They stood singly and in small groups, polystyrene cups of hot drinks in their hands, their eyes fixed on the departures board. At this time of the evening the trains filled quickly and if you didn’t want to stand up for half your journey, then the moment the platform number flickered up there on the screen, you were off like a greyhound from the traps.