The Killings at Badger's Drift(73)
Chapter Nine
It was a lovely day for a wedding. Falls of hops entwined with summer jasmine were attached to the stone arches; old-fashioned nosegays starred the end of every pew. The altar rails were covered with tuberoses. The bride stood, a glittering column of frosty satin and foaming lace, incomparably lovely. The groom wheeled his chair down the aisle. As he came to a halt at the chancel steps the bride turned and stared at him, her face gradually becoming transformed into a mask of horror. Set square on his immaculate shoulders was a grinning skull. The vicar said, ‘Dearly beloved . . .’ The congregation smiled. No one seemed to notice anything amiss. The bells rang. And rang. And rang.
Barnaby groped around on his bedside table. He turned the clock round. Half-past five, for God’s sake. He tumbled the receiver off the hook. ‘Barmby.’ He listened and was wide awake. ‘Christ almighty . . . have you called Bullard? . . . No . . . I’ll be in straight away.’
Joyce turned over. ‘Darling . . . what’s the matter?’
He was out of bed, dressing. ‘I have to go . . . don’t get up.’
She struggled to sit, rearranging the pillows. ‘You’ll want some breakfast.’
‘The canteen opens at six. I’ll get something there.’
‘How long do you think she’s been dead?’
Doctor Bullard placed the blanket over Phyllis Cadell’s marmoreal profile. ‘Ohh . . . two . . . three hours. Early morning some time.’
Barnaby sat down heavily on the lavatory, the only other piece of furniture in the cell. ‘God, George - this is all we need. A custody death.’
‘Sorry.’ Bullard smiled - quite cheerfully, considering the hour. ‘Can’t rejuvenate that one for you. Anyway from what I’ve heard she’s better off where she is. Don’t you think?’
‘That’s hardly the point.’ Barnaby looked across at the grey flannel hump. He could see what Bullard meant. What had the dead woman to look forward to? The pain and humiliation of a public trial. Years in prison. A lonely and unloved old age. And all the while having to live with the knowledge that Henry and Katherine were alive and happy together at Tye House. All the same . . .
The custody sergeant entered Chief Inspector Barnaby’s office and closed the door as tenderly as if it had been made of glass. He looked once at the figure behind the desk and once was enough. Throughout the interview he kept his eyes on the floor.
‘All right, Bateman - let’s have it.’
‘Yes, sir. It wasn’t -’
‘And if you say it wasn’t your fault I’ll ram this filing cabinet down your gullet.’
‘Sir.’
‘From the beginning.’
‘Well, I accepted the prisoner but before I could make out a custody record she asked to go to the toilet.’
‘You didn’t let her go on her own?’
Bateman cleared his throat. ‘Point is, sir, Policewomen Brierley and McKinley were searching a pair of scrubbers we’d picked up on the precinct. I sent someone with the prisoner as far as the door -’
‘Oh wonderful, Sergeant. Brilliant. He watched her through the wood, did he? See what she was up to?’
‘No, sir.’
‘No, sir. Did she take anything to the toilet with her?’
Bateman swallowed, stopped staring at the floor and stared out of the window. ‘. . . Handbag . . .’
‘Speak up! I’m feeling deaf.’
‘A handbag, sir.’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Barnaby buried his face in his hands. ‘Go on.’
‘Well . . . I did the record . . . then took her down. We listed her stuff, wrote a receipt. I settled her and gave her a cup of tea. When I did my first check she was sound asleep.’
‘So when did she take the tablets?’
‘With the tea, I suppose. She must’ve palmed them when she was in the toilet. She had a cardigan with a pocket and a handkerchief. When I checked the contents of her bag’ - the man started to babble in self-justification - ‘there was a bottle of sleeping tablets in there with half a dozen tablets in it. She actually asked me if she could take one. She was very clever -’
‘She was a damn sight cleverer than you, that’s for sure.’
‘If the bottle had been empty, obviously I’d have been suspicious -’
‘The very fact that she’d got them in her handbag at all should have been enough to make you suspicious, man. Or do you think people take them as they go about their daily business?’
‘No, sir.’
‘In Sainsbury’s or Boot’s? Or the library?’ Silence. ‘When did you first discover she was dead?’