Still Thursday
At Huddlecourt Manor School the atmosphere was far from
jovial. Cleo hoped that Gary would arrive soon.
Everyone was complaining. Ali might be a good cook, but he
didn’t care how many utensils he used and never tidied up after himself. Mrs
Baines thought that was fairly normal. Mrs Cagney hated having to clean up
after Jessie’s feeble efforts at doing things on her own, and disliked Mrs
Baines because she also had to clean bathrooms every day and the boarders were
pigs.
Mrs Baines told Mrs Cagney that she was being paid to do
what she was told. There was no love lost between the two and Mrs Cagney would
have lost her job had there been anyone else to do it.
Students were fortunately no longer being taken out of
school. Grass had already grown over Mrs Oldfield’s murder. Was it only a week
or so ago? Mrs Baines preferred not to think about what would happen to her own
job if student numbers were depleted any further.
“I’d like to talk to Jessie, Mrs Baines,” said Cleo,
entering the school kitchen through the kitchen door rather than knocking on
the gargoyle and being marched through the whole of the entrance hall into the
part of the manor that had always been the servants’ quarters in the old days.
“Jessie has gone home,” said Mrs Cagney.
“And left you with all the mess? I thought she worked all
day.”
“Mrs Cagney is in charge of the mess, Miss Hartley.”
Mrs Cagney scowled in Cleo’s direction.
“Jessie wasn’t feeling good,” interrupted Mrs Baines. “I
don’t know what’s the matter with her at the moment.”
“I should have passed her in the car coming from Huddlecourt
Minor,” said Cleo, “but I didn’t.”
“You wouldn’t if she went across the fields, and she usually
takes that short cut. Why do you want to talk to her, Miss Hartley?”
Cleo thought it was more curiosity than caring that caused
Mrs Baines to ask that question.
“There’s more than one good reason I need to talk to her
urgently, but I can’t discuss anything with you now, Mrs Baines. I’ll drive
over to the Coppins’ house and talk to her there.”
“As you wish,” replied Mrs Baines haughtily, and Cleo
thought an unpleasant smile crossed Mrs Cagney’s face.
On the way to the Coppins' abode, Cleo phoned Gary and asked
him to come there instead. “I wanted you to come to the school, Gary but it’s
just as well you didn’t because Jessie has gone home.”
“Do I have to?” he had asked. “I was planning to talk to
Coppins.”
“Wait till you’ve been here and talked to Jessie. I think it
will be worth your while.”
“I damn well hope it is,” said Gary, and Cleo wondered if Gary
had already forgotten their love pact and his admiration of the way she had
handled Coppins.
***
“Oh, it’s you again, is it?” was Mrs Coppins’ less than
welcoming greeting. “Jessie’s lying down.”
“What’s the matter with her, Mrs Coppins? Mrs Baines said
she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Jessie says it’s migraine, but I think she’s got another
bun in the oven.”
“Can you explain that, Mrs Coppins?”
“You know. She’s in the pudding club.”
Mrs Coppins mimed a big tummy bulge and Cleo was annoyed
with herself that she hadn’t understood immediately.
“That’s terrible, Mrs Coppins. The father is probably Tom
Crowe.”
“I hope so,” said Mrs Coppins. “When I said she was unlucky
with men, I meant that they tended to jilt her. At least she’ll know where this
one is.”
“Didn’t you hint that Mr Coppins is the father of Jessie’s
two children?”
“She never admitted it, and neither did he, but I wouldn’t
put it past him.”
“Would you mind telling me who Jessie’s father is, Mrs
Coppins? I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”
“I’ll be honest, Miss Hartley,” the woman replied. “At the
time I was doing a bit of you know what on the side to earn some extra cash.
I’m not quite sure who her father is.”
“Rumours have it that Paddy Kelly is her father.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is he? The police can easily check that with a DNA test.”
“Coppins wasn’t at home when it happened. He'd got himself
hired on a container ship and didn’t come home for over a year. That’s why I
had no money. I had the kids to rear, so I went back into my old profession. I
should have married Paddy then I’d have had the best of both worlds..”
“But the three children are close together in age, Mrs
Coppins. Mr Coppins might not have gone away home by then.”
Cleo mused that if one of those worlds was prostitution, the
woman had a very warped view of life.
“Facts of life, Miss Hartley. You don’t have to wean one kid
before starting another.”
“Why didn’t you get a divorce, Mrs Coppins? Things were
obviously not going well in your marriage and you could have claimed social
security with 3 children to rear.”
“Coppins came back suddenly.”
“And you thought nothing more about it, I suppose,” said
Cleo.
“He was quite generous with money for a bit.”
“Does Jessie know that her father could be almost anyone?”
“I expect so. We never talk about it.”
“Talk about what?” said Jessie, coming down the stairs that
led into the living area of the little house.
Cleo and Mrs Coppins had no idea how much Jessie had
overheard.
“Another time, Jessie,” said Mrs Coppins.
“I need to talk to you again, Jessie,” said Cleo. “I’m sure
your mother won’t mind leaving us alone for a while.”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?" said Mrs Coppins.
"Well I’ve got plenty of jobs to do upstairs, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Cleo waited until she could hear Mrs Coppins walking around
in the master bedroom above the living-room. Shortly after, the vacuum cleaner
starting howling its way over the floor. Cleo hoped Mrs Coppins worked slowly.
“Do you feel OK now, Jessie?”
“I would if I wasn’t expecting.”
So her mother had been right.
“Is it Tom’s, Jessie?”
“Dunno.”
Fortunately it could not be Coppins’. He had not been around
long enough, but the girl was promiscuous. Who knows where she had been ‘having
fun’ a couple of months ago.
“What is it you want to talk about, Miss Hartley?”
“Arsenic, Jessie.”
“Arsenic?”
“I want you to tell me when you started adding arsenic to
Mrs Oldfield’s coffee.”
“I never,” said Jessie.
“You put some into Mrs Oldfield’s drinks and it’s time you
told me!”
***
Cleo wondered how Jessie would deal with the situation. She
needed to know exactly where the poison had come from and where Jessie had
found it, but the girl had a mercurial temperament; she could be volatile; she
was often erratic. They were traits that could point to a kind of madness or
fanaticism, but Jessie's strongest feature was her unpredictability. As if to
confirm that, the girl spat out
“Mrs Oldfield is a wicked old crow,” now, adding “I wanted to
teach her a lesson she bloody wouldn’t forget,” for good measure.
“But you gave her a huge dose the day she died, Jessie. That
dose didn't teach her a lesson. It killed her!”
“Is she dead?”
Cleo nodded.
“You know that. Was the arsenic a mistake, Jessie?”
“Dunno.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I only got some powderd weed-killer from Tom Crowe for the
ants. It’s kept in the garden shed. He said I wasn’t to eat it and it tasted
horrible, Miss Hartley.”
“I expect you dipped a finger in it, didn’t you?”
“Yes Miss. Tom said the ants like it so they take it way to
eat later. Like vitamins, he said. ”
“So you started giving her some ‘vitamins’ a long time ago,
didn’t you, Jessie? I expect you got more from the shed when your supply ran
out, didn’t you?”
***
Cleo was no longer sure if Jessie could or would answer
questions about the poison. She seemed to have put the whole incident out of
her mind.
***
“Did I?”
“Did you always put arsenic in Mrs Oldfield’s coffee?”
***
Jessie looked down at her bare feet. She had painted her
toenails bright red, but her feet had not been washed for some time.
***
“Is she really dead?” Jessie repeated.
“Yes, Jessie. She’s dead.”
“Oh.”
“How did you give Mrs Oldfield the vitamins?”
“I dissolved the powder and put it through an injection needle,
like vitamin C.”
Very clever, thought Cleo. Hardly the deed of a nitwit.
“Through a syringe?” she said.
“Isn’t that what you call it?”
“Where did you get the syringe, Jessie?”
“From the kitchen. Mrs Oldfield sometimes injects things
into cakes.”
Cleo noted that Jessie was still using the present tense for
the dead woman. She followed suit.
“What does Mrs Oldfield inject, Jessie?”
“Colour, Miss. I did it, once. Red colouring into a Victoria
sponge."
Jessie laughed and Cleo wondered what would come next.
"When you cut it in half to put the cream in, it looked
like there was blood inside.”
Cleo shuddered involuntarily.
“Is that what gave you the idea with the vitamins?”
Jessie’s eyes lit up as if she had discovered something
really genial.
“It was a good idea, wasn’t it? It worked, too.”
“It certainly did,” said Cleo, more than ever convinced that
the girl’s mind was unbalanced. She was also sure that the girl was acting up;
giving answers she thought were the ones Cleo wanted to hear.
“Was it always out of
the same packet, Jessie?”
“No. I had to open a new packet the last time I went for
some, but I sealed it again so I don’t think Tom missed it.”
“And that’s what you put in Mrs Oldfield’s coffee that day.”
“What day?”
“Last week, Jessie. The week Mrs Oldfield was stabbed.”
“Stabbed?,” said Jessie. “I’m glad I told you about the
vitamins. I’ll go back to bed now.”
“No, Jessie. You can’t go now. We haven’t finished.”
“I want to sleep now.”
“First you’ll have to tell me who stabbed Mrs Oldfield.”
“I’m not saying anything else.”
“She was dead when she was stabbed, Jessie. I’m sure you remember
who did it.”
“I said I’m not saying anything else,” screamed Jessie. Her
mood had changed. She was now fearful rather than triumphant.
***
The doorbell rang, Mrs Coppins flew down the stairs. Cleo
thought Mrs Coppins was not only startled at Jessie’s screaming, but that she
was afraid that somehow her estranged husband would turn up. Cleo was sure that
Mrs Coppins had been eavesdropping. The vacuum cleaner noise had not gone on
for very long.
***
“It’s probably Mr Hurley,” said Cleo. “We have a business
appointment.”
“Here?” said Jessie.
“Can you let him in, Mrs Coppins?”
“I’m on my way, aren't I?”
“Have I missed anything,” Gary wanted to know.
“Has Mr Hurley missed anything, Jessie?”
“I wouldn’t bloody know, would I?”
Gary sat down and Cleo indicated to him that she would
continue with the interview. Cleo continued. Gary watched.
“Did your father visit you at the school, Jessie?”
As often happened, Jessie heard a slightly different
question from the one Cleo had actually posed.
“How do you bloody know?”
“Never mind that. Did he visit you on the day Mrs Oldfield
died?”
***
Jessie was in a predicament caused in all probability by the
promise she had had to make to her father not to tell anyone she had seen him.
***
“Would you like to tell me what happened, Jessie, or shall I
tell you?”
“You weren’t there. You can’t know what bloody happened.”
“I do know.”
***
Gary, who had been sitting a couple of yards behind Jessie,
moved to sit where he could see her face, but she could still not see him. He
was amazed that Cleo had got this far without confiding in him. He had not
realised that the girl was so involved in Mrs Oldfield's murder. In fact, he
hadn't yet got round to investigating it.
***
“I’ll tell you what happened, Jessie,” said Cleo. ”Your
father came to find you and saw that Mrs Oldfield was dying. He forced you to
tell him what you had given her. Minutes later she really was dead. Your father
grabbed a knife, turned Mrs Oldfield onto her stomach and stabbed her, thinking
that everyone would assume that she had been stabbed to death by an
intruder. That’s what happened.”
Silence.
“It is what happened, isn't it?”
Gary waited with baited breath.
“Yes, Miss.”
“Then your father ran off and the next time you met up with
him was when you went to meet Tom Crowe.”
"No. I saw him a few times. He made me … you know what."
"OK. I should
have known that. He forced you to have sex with him again, didn’t he?”
"And me carrying Tom’s baby, Miss.”
Gary was disgusted. He exchanged looks with Cleo.
“He bloody killed ‘im, Miss.”
“Your Dad killed Tom, didn’t he?” said Cleo for Gary’s
benefit..
“Yes, Miss.”
“But you killed Mrs Oldfield, Jessie.”
Gary looked astonished.
“That’s not the same.”
“I think you’ll find it is, Miss Coppins,” said Gary,
getting up and moving to where she could see him.
“I tell you it’s not the same.”
“I’ll have to arrest you for the murder of Mrs Kitty
Oldfield, Miss Coppins.”
Jessie looked on silently while Gary locked handcuffs around
her thin wrists.
“You said you wouldn’t tell on me, Miss.”
“Miss Hartley didn’t tell on you, Jessie,” said Gary. “She
didn’t say a word. You have just confessed.”
No comments:
Post a Comment