Wednesday May 3rd
The cause of death was probably poisoning, but the
definitive analysis was not yet available. The poison theory was Chris’s own,
but there was already evidence to support his suspicion. Forensics had
confiscated a cup and spoon from the draining board. Unsealed jars and
containers had been removed. Test samples of foodstuffs and liquids in the kitchen
had not shown any sign of poison, but a cup contained traces of arsenic. The
DNA test would tell whether Mrs Oldfield had drunk out of the cup. Since the
cook had also been viciously stabbed, it was probably a revenge or hate
killing. Someone had wanted the woman out of the way.
On Wednesday morning Chris Marlow delivered the
initial forensic report to Gary Hurley. It stated categorically that the stab
wounds had been delivered soon after death but were not the cause of death.
Though they had made a lot of mess, they were relatively superficial and
probably only meant to mislead. The police were to believe that Kitty Oldfield
had been stabbed to death by an intruder.
Gary was sure that narrowed down the list of
suspects, but when he told Cleo about Chris’s findings she remarked that there
was a much larger choice of suspects, since theoretically all the girl students
could have done it, not to mention Mrs Baines (less likely) and Jessie Coppins
(more likely).
“Even if it was a one-off killing, we need much
more information on those two women since they frequented the kitchen most,”
Cleo told him. “Dorothy has already tracked down Mrs Oldfield’s best friend, or
someone who says she is the best friend, but as best friends go she had little
to offer in the way of information and had liked the cook. She had been quite
tearful. Do you have anything in the records that could point to Mrs Baines,
Gary?”
“No, but I’ll look,” said Gary.
***
Cleo decided that she would get on with the job
herself rather than wait for Gary to get results. Undeniably, the affair
between the two of them was not going well. Cleo wanted to ask Gary why, but
she suspected that he was wrapped up in Sybil Barnet, whom he had set up in a
job at a boutique and for whom he had organized a flat where she could have her
daughter Anna with her. Gary lived alone. He swore that his relationship with
Sybil was only platonic, but Cleo was dubious and would have broken with Gary
had she not loved him almost to distraction.
Her marriage to Robert was going better than she
expected, fortunately, after Gary had predicted that it was time she cut loose
from the family butcher. Not only was Gary upset that Cleo had run into a
loveless marriage out of a sense of duty, but he was giving her the impression
that he had moved on. They were both cut up about the situation but seemingly
unable to patch things up at least on a friendship level.
***
“I’m going up to the school this morning,” she
said. “It would have been nice to be armed with information, but I’ll manage
without. Something has got to happen.”
“You have my blessing!” said Gary, acting neutral
since the sarcasm was directed at his dearth of communication.
On his part, Gary was sure the murderer must have
come from outside, been let into the kitchen by Mrs Oldfield herself, accepted
a drink into which a fast-working poison was dropped, watched her die, then
took the first available kitchen knife and stabbed her in the back.
However, he would not tell Cleo about this theory.
Every murder case she had helped him to solve had in the end been solved by her
intervention representing the Hartley Agency, though Dorothy had a knack of
contributing mind-boggling hunches that were often on the mark.
This case was going to be the exception. He would
win though strictly speaking, he should not have been competing when solving
the case was vital and not who solved it. He could not stop Cleo investigating.
Mrs Baines had set that ball rolling. Was that a blind? Was Mrs Baines capable
of such brutality?
***
Of course, it would have been better if Cleo and
Gary had compared notes, since for the moment they seemed to be harbouring more
or less the same theory. What Cleo had not told Gary was that she was more
interested in Jessie’s activities than in Mrs Baines’s. She thought Jessie had
the strongest motive. Gary might be fooled by Jessie’s girlish charms, meagre and
disgusting though they were, but Cleo was not taken in. Jessie was a sly,
cunning individual and Cleo was sure that the drunkenness the previous day had
not been entirely genuine and thought she should mention that to Gary.
“Just one thing,” she started.
“Go on” replied Gary, sounding resigned to the good
advice Cleo usually imparted.
“Did you test Jessie Coppins’ alcohol level on
Monday?”
“No. She was obviously drunk.”
“She might have been play-acting.”
“I doubt it.”
“It’s a thought though, isn’t it?”
Gary thought that a young woman who dressed like a
vamp and behaved so vulgarly would not be a capable of acting, let alone
murder.
Cleo let Gary’s opinion stand. He would have
noticed that her idea was a criticism, which it was, and may have reacted to
it, but how, given that Jessy would have recovered from any alcohol indulgence
by the time she could be tested. Cleo had taken care not to call the lack of
breathalizing negligence, but it was.
***
Cleo wondered if the gaudy outfit Jessie had been
wearing was the result of changing clothes in a hurry, but after Gary’s
reaction to the play-acting idea, did not make that suggestion.
After all, the person who stabbed Mrs Oldfield must
have had blood on his or her clothing after the vicious attack, and would no
doubt have wanted to change it, so Cleo's first call would be at the address
she had made out for Jessie’s family, where Jessie still lived, in chaotic
conditions, as it turned out.
***
“She’s not ‘ere,” said her mother at the door. Mrs
Coppins was reluctant to let Cleo in, but eager to hear the news about Jessie’s
new job that she assumed was the reason for Cleo’s visit.
“She’s a good girl most of the time,” Mrs Coppins
volunteered, tidying clothes and other objects from a chair before inviting
Cleo to sit down. “Like a drink, Miss?”
“No thanks. I’ve just had breakfast.”
“A drink is always welcome. Are you from overseas,
Miss?”
“Chicago, but I live here now.”
“You aren’t the new headmistress, are you? She’s
white, isn’t she, and you’re sort of brown?”
“No. I’m just helping out,” Cleo explained.
“Mrs Oldfield’s murder came as a shock,” Mrs
Coppins went on, pouring an inky brew into Cleo’s mug, which was stained from
many previous brews. “Help yourself to sugar and milk.” Since Cleo had refused
a drink, she was not quite sure what to do next. She was not entirely sure
whether it was tea or coffee in that mug. She would drink it out of politeness.
If she let it cool a little, it would not taste quite as fierce as it looked.
There were nine chairs round the table at which Cleo and the woman were
sitting. Mrs Coppins saw Cleo looking around the room. Washing hung from a
wooden contraption you let down from the ceiling. The house was old, built long
before central heating was fashionable. In those days washing was draped over
the wooden slats and the contraption was pulled up on a pulley. Even then the
simplest wives must have known that heat rises, Cleo thought.
“Jessie did some washing on Monday night. It’ll all
be dry by now.”
Mrs Coppins pulled the washing down and took it off
the slats.
“Jessie can iron it later. It’s mostly hers anyway.”
“I expect Jessie is at work now,” said Cleo,,
thinking that her clothes-change theory was being confirmed on that level.
“Oh yes. She’s in charge now,” Mrs Coppins replied
with pride in her voice. "Isn't that what you’ve come about?"
"Not exactly."
“The other kids are at school or working, and he
scarpered,” Mrs Coppins added.
“He?”
“Went off with a woman he fancied at the pub”
“And left you with eight children?”
“Six. Two are Jessie’s. She’s ‘ad bad luck with
men. She’s concentrating on her career now.”
“She had a free afternoon on Monday though, didn’t
she?” said Cleo.
“Monday? Let me see. That was the day of the
murder, wasn’t it? Came in and went out, then came in again and went out all
dressed up. I asked her where she was going in all in her finery and she said
to work and then meeting Tom. That’s her current fella.”
So Jessie had a boyfriend.
“Is Tom the school gardener, Mrs Coppins?”
“Yes. A really good catch, Miss Hartley. Especially
…. Well, he’s a good catch.”
“Do you remember what time she came home on Monday
afternoon, Mrs Coppins?”
“About two, I think, then much later when she was
phoned by Mrs Baines and told she had to work. But ask her yourself. What do
you want to know for, anyway?”
“Mainly curiosity.”
There was a shout from upstairs.
“Are you comin’ up, Betty, or shall I fetch you?” a
man’s voice shouted.
Mrs Coppins shouted back that she was on her way.
Then she decided to explain.
“When the kids are out I need a bit of fun myself,”
she said. “You’ll have to go now. He gets narky if I don’t look after him.”
Cleo got up and made for the door. So the mother
had a boyfriend, did she? One for when the kids were out. Mrs Coppins wasn’t
bad looking and only about 38. My age, Cleo decided. Cleo wondered if Mrs Coppins was indulging in
a bit of prostitution. Should she hang around and see who the guy was who
visited Jessie’s mother during school hours? Was it relevant or was that merely
curiosity on her part?
***
Back outside, Cleo decided that Mrs Coppins did not
suspect her daughter of any wrongdoing. Jessie was at home for some of the time
on the afternoon of Mrs Oldfield's murder. She would have reacted differently
to the questions about Jessie's whereabouts if she had wanted to hide
something. It was quite fortunate that the man upstairs had demanded her
attention because it had stopped the woman asking questions that Cleo might
have found it difficult to answer truthfully. As it was now after 11 a.m., the
Huddle Inn would be open, so Cleo decided to ask a few questions there.
“Beer, m’dear?” asked Molly Moss, proprietor of the
pub.
“Just mineral water, please. I’m driving,” said
Cleo.
“Fizzy?”
“Yes, please.”
“Are you American?”
“Yes, but I live in Upper Grumpsfield.”
“I think I’ve seen you around.”
“I’m memorable with my dark skin,” said Cleo. She
found it easier in this backwater to come straight out with the skin factor.
“And you came here for a drink? They’ve got a good
pub in your village. New-fangled though. Calls itself a bistro now. They do that
Japanese thing with microphones.”
“Karaoke. I just happened to be driving past up
here.”
Molly did not believe her, but If she knew exactly
who Cleo was, she was not going to let on just yet.
“Oh yes? A little bird told me you were parked
outside the Coppins’ place.”
News travels fast here, thought Cleo.
“About that murder at the school, I suppose.”
“Murder?”
“Pull the other one. I know who you are, Cleo
Hartley. Jessie Coppins wanted that job and now she’ll get it.”
“Why didn’t you come straight out with my name?”
“I didn’t want to be forward,” said Molly. “Anyway,
you didn’t use my name, either.”
“I thought you put on quite a good act of not
knowing me,” said Cleo. “Now we’ve got our identities straight, may I ask if
you suspect Jessie Coppins of murder?”
“Do you?”
“Well, she does have a motive.”
“She’s too timid, Cleo. What about that boyfriend
of hers?”
“Boyfriend?”
“The one she shares with her mother.”
“Shares?”
“Didn’t you see him when you were there?”
Cleo decided to promote Molly’s eagerness to talk
by talking herself.
“I heard a man’s voice,” she said conspiratorially.
“But it sounded too old for the boyfriend of a girl like Jessie. Isn’t she
friendly with the school gardener?”
“Possibly, but Jessie also goes in for older men.
She’s got two kids from two men old enough to be her father if it wasn't him.
What did her father scarper for, is what I’d like to know,” said Molly. “And
with my barmaid. You’re a detective. Can’t you find out where Polly is?”
“You need DNA samples for establishing fatherhood,”
Cleo explained. “Mrs Coppins doesn’t seem to know where her husband is.”
“I don’t suppose she wants to, either,” said
Molly. “Jessie’s kids look just like Mrs Coppins’ kids. They were all born
before she branched out, and she’s bringing them up as her own.”
“Branched out?” said Cleo.
“Don’t they call it hookery in the USA?”
“I don’t think so, but I get your meaning,” said
Cleo. “Jessie’s mother’s genes are enough to explain the likeness.”
"Anyway, between you, me and the gatepost, I
think Jessie is Patrick Kelly's daughter or even that solicitor. He didn’t just
solicit wills, Cleo."
"Do you mean that scruffy Irish farmer on the
Lower Grumpsfield Road?"
"That's him. Betty Coppins carried on with him
round about the time Jessie was thought of. Then Betty ditched the farmer and
went for Joseph Coppins instead. She probably couldn't face farm work."
"Awesome, what these villagers get up
to," said Cleo, wondering if Robert knew the story.
"Then Magda turned up and got into Kelly’s
good books. She was a prostitute, too. Patrick Kelly likes experienced women.”
Cleo wondered if Molly knew that from personal
experience.
“No, I didn’t and I wasn’t,” said Molly, reading
Cleo’s thoughts.
"So
Betty Coppins was also a hooker before she turned respectable," said Cleo.
"Believe me, they never turn respectable. Betty
didn't, either, even when she was having kids one after another, and she’d had
two boys with Coppins before Jessie came."
Those words rang in Cleo’s brain-. What would Molly
have said about Sybil?
“Penny for your thoughts, Cleo. Things not going
well with that cop?”
Cleo frowned and shook her head.
“It’s that woman, isn’t it? Sybil. I’ll bet she
gives him a run for his money.”
“He says it’s platonic, Molly.”
“And you believe him?”
“I’m concentrating on my marriage.”
“That’s the best thing you can do, Cleo. Robert is
a kindly man and you could do worse.”
***
"Getting back to Jessie, do I understand that
Mrs Coppins pretended that Coppins was Jessie’s father?" said Cleo.
“We’re back on that, are we? Well, you can always
talk to me about the other, Cleo. My lips are sealed,” said Molly. “I think
that’s why Mrs Coppins kept quiet about the incest gossip, Cleo.”
“Incest?”
“If Coppins isn’t Jessie’s father, she isn’t
related to him, so her kids are not incestuous, are they?”
"Of course, it was only incest if he thought
the girl was his daughter, but thinking or not thinking she was would not stop
that kind of guy from molesting a girl, would it?” said Cleo.
"It’s a moral mess, Cleo. I suppose Mrs
Coppins did not want to admit she’d had sex with Kelly."
“But that was before her marriage, wasn’t it?”
She was carrying on with both of them, Cleo.”
Molly loved an audience. Her performance had become
more enthusiastic by the minute.
“On the other hand, Betty Coppins has never
admitted anything. It could have been a client,” Molly said. “I don’t listen to
gossip, but I could tell you a lot about the Coppins woman. There’s always a
chance that she got money for sending Jessie to have sex with men old enough to
be her father or grandfather. Mrs Coppins had it off with all the local men before
she started her new business.”
“Business?”
“Massage,” said Molly.
“You mean, she invites men in and gives them
massages?”
“Let’s call it treatment. Sounds more respectable
and less dodgy than soliciting.”
Cleo wondered what stories were still waiting to be
told. Molly was now in full swing.
“I’ll tell you something else. This district is a
black hole of deep, deep...”
Molly had difficulty in finding the right word.
“Depravity?”
“That’s it. I wouldn’t work here if trade wasn’t so
good.”
Cleo did not leave the pub without giving Molly her
office visiting card and promising to call in again for some more news about
this and that. She had declined the offer of a pub lunch because it was
Wednesday, the only afternoon when she and Robert had time to catch up on
essential shopping.
As she got into the car a thought occurred to her.
The pub would probably be getting supplies from Robert that day, so she decided
to offer to meet him when he delivered to the pub that very day. She phoned
Robert and he said he’d meet her there. Cleo
could not resist asking Robert how well he knew Molly so she went back into the
pub.
“I know all my customers, Cleo. It’s my business.
But I’m not about to trade you in for one of them! I’ll be there in a few
minutes and I’ll bring Gloria. I’ll enjoy seeing what she makes of Molly.”
“What about the shop?”
“Business is over for the day, Cleo. No one comes
in at lunchtime on a Wednesday.”
After phoning Dorothy and inviting her to supper
that evening so that she could tell her about Mrs Coppins., Cleo told Molly,
who was surprised that Cleo had come back, that she would have lunch there
after all. There would be three of them. The chef, an Egyptian named Ali who
was fascinated by Molly and happy to share her bed, would serve something
stupendous.
At twenty past one Robert arrived with Gloria.
“Nice to be here for a meal, Molly.”
“Why, it’s Mr Jones!”
“You ordered steaks and sausages, Molly, so I’d
have come anyway.”
“I’m Gloria Hartley,” said Gloria. “And that’s my
daughter over there.”
“I didn’t
know for certain that you were married until Cleo came in and told me, Mr
Jones,” Molly fibbed. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks Molly. But didn’t you call me Bob last time
I saw you?”
“I just thought you might not like that, seeing as
you’ve got your wife here.”
Molly was being coy, though she had no reason to
be.
“Hey, Molly, Bobby’s taken,” Gloria said.
“So am I, Gloria,” replied Molly.
“I hope you are not being taken in,” said Gloria,
laughing wickedly.
Some regulars who had been listening to the
repartee found it all very amusing.
Molly was a bit put out.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
An hour later, after a really tasty North African
seasoned lunch, the threesome moved to leave. Cleo did not think Molly would
contribute any more helpful information. What she had said about Betty Coppins
was rather shocking, but probably true.
Molly had been understandably careful about giving
information on that two-timing boyfriend. Business of any kind was welcome at
the pub and Mrs Coppins often sent her clients over for a drink or a meal. Most
men who go in for that kind of erotic interlude do not want to be caught out,
so they choose venues where they won’t be recognized. Cleo wondered how Mrs
Coppins found her clients. Cleo would find out more about Jessie Coppins’
boyfriend soon and by other means. Did the young woman know what her mother got
up to?
“Remember me to Ali!” called Robert over his
shoulder as they left the pub. “That steak was a real treat even with the fancy
trimmings.”
“That butcher delivers good steaks, Bob!”
“Thanks. Phone your next order in Molly. I’ll bring
it a.s.a.p.”
***
“Who’s Ali?” Gloria wanted to know as they drove
down the steep hill to Upper Grumpsfield.
“An Egyptian guy. Cooks at Molly’s”
“And shares her bed, no doubt,” said Gloria.
“Molly runs the pub, Mother.”
“Ali is a respectable Muslim, Gloria,” said Robert.
“He’s a man,” retorted Gloria.
Cleo was glad her mother had been quiet at the pub.
She might not have been had she known more about Ali.
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