Jam and Jeopardy Read online

  ‘There are times when he has to stay with relatives of a dying person, or with somebody who’s in trouble. He’s like a doctor, really, always on call.’

  ‘Aren’t you scared, being alone in this big house on the dark winter nights?’

  ‘A bit nervous, sometimes, but some of the Guild ladies call occasionally to ask about things we’ve planned to raise money.’

  The sound of a key in the lock heralded the return of the minister. ‘Oh hello, Inspector,’ he said cheerily, when he came in. ‘And Sergeant. Were you waiting to see me? Just a minute till I hang up my coat.’

  He disappeared into the hall and came back rubbing his hands together. ‘It doesn’t get any warmer, does it? But we’ve Christmas to look forward to. What can I do for you?’

  What a striking couple they made, Moore thought, fleetingly. She with her blonde, wavy hair, pink and white complexion and liquid blue eyes, and he with his dark good looks, piercing brown eyes and tall, muscular body.

  ‘We’re trying to trace anybody who came in contact with Miss Souter over, say, a week before she was killed,’ the inspector was saying. ‘They may have noticed, or heard her saying, something which could give us a lead, though they don’t think it’s important. We’ll be able to sort the chaff from the grain. When did you see her last, sir?’

  ‘Let me see.’ Adam Valentine lifted his hand to his broad forehead, but, after thinking for a moment he said, ‘No, I’m sorry. It was three weeks before her death that I paid her a visit, and I haven’t seen her at all since then.’

  ‘So you won’t be able to help us?’ McGillivray shrugged. ‘Ah, well, it’s all in the game. It’s a pity, in a way, that there aren’t more people like Miss Souter herself. She noticed everything that was going on, more than she was meant to sometimes, I imagine.’ He chuckled softly.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ Mrs Valentine said. ‘But she was a cruel, malicious gossip, and we’re very glad that there aren’t more like her in our village.’ Her voice had risen slightly.

  The inspector smiled. ‘It’s just as well everybody’s made differently, but old Mrs Gray at the foot of Ashgrove Lane has been telling me quite a few things.’

  ‘I wouldn’t give too much credence to what Mrs Gray says,’ remarked the minister. ‘She’s failing, you know.’

  ‘She’s still got all her faculties, Adam.’ His wife sounded rather indignant.

  ‘She was telling me what she saw from her window,’ McGillivray went on. ‘And Mrs White, next door to her, was doing a bit of boasting about her various lovers – likely greatly embroidered, of course, to impress a bit more. It must be a lonely life for her, with her husband away so much.’

  As far as Moore could see, the minister’s only reaction to this was a slight tightening of his jaw, but Mrs Valentine’s laugh was full of scorn.

  ‘Don’t waste your sympathy on her, Inspector. She has lots of comforters. As I told you before, she’s one of Adam’s failures. You’ve tried to reform her several times, haven’t you, dear?’ Her tone was lightly sarcastic as she glanced at her husband.

  ‘To little avail,’ he replied sadly.

  ‘I blame the men as much as her,’ Mrs Valentine went on, hotly. ‘Married men, most of them, and should know better. It’s their poor wives I feel sorry for.’

  ‘I suppose it’s her husband’s fault as much as anyone’s,’ observed McGillivray. ‘He should stay at home with her.’

  Valentine surprised them all by jumping up abruptly and making for the door, his face expressionless.

  His wife frowned. ‘Where are you going, Adam?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered. I promised to call on Alice Dawson tonight. Excuse me, Inspector, Sergeant.’ He rushed out.

  Mrs Valentine laid down her knitting. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him these days, he’s so forgetful. He did see Janet Souter recently, a few days before she died. She gave him a jar of jam. Remember, Sergeant, the one you took away for some reason.’ Her fidgeting hands betrayed her anxiety.

  ‘We’d reason to believe the jar had been contaminated with arsenic,’ Moore murmured.

  Her alarm was greater at this, and was made even more so when McGillivray leapt to his feet.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am, may I use your telephone?’ His face was dark and grim.

  ‘It’s in the hall.’

  He closed the door behind him, and dialled the police station, then waited impatiently until the receiver at the other end was lifted. ‘Black? Will you . . . ? What?’

  His eyes narrowed as he listened, then he said, crisply, ‘No, Sergeant. He’s not mistaken, and he’s corroborated my suspicions. Take him in the car with you, collect your constable if he’s not there, and pick me up at the manse. What . . . ? Lock the place up, you damned fool! I’ll take full responsibility.’

  He returned to the living room, where Muriel Valentine was sitting on the edge of her seat, her eyes troubled and her face ashen, the reason for all the activity having dawned on her.

  ‘You think Adam’s the murderer, don’t you?’ she whispered. ‘And that he’s gone to silence May White as well?’

  David Moore had also just fully come to terms with the situation, and his sympathy went out to her even as his adrenaline started flowing with excitement.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to tell me.’ Her voice was stronger, quite calm now. ‘I’ve suspected, deep down, that his interest in her didn’t lie altogether in her soul.’

  McGillivray took a seat near the door. ‘It looks very black for him, Mrs Valentine. Do you have any relatives, or close friends, you could call on for support?’

  Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I’ve no family left now. Both my parents are dead, and a minister’s wife can’t really make close friends in a small place like this without causing offence to others. I’ll be quite all right.’

  She was putting a brave face on it, but McGillivray knew the anguish she must be experiencing. ‘I’ll leave my sergeant with you,’ he said, compassionately. ‘He’s quite a decent human being, in spite of his appearance.’

  She summoned up a wan smile. ‘I’m sure he is. Thank you.’

  A car horn sounded outside, and McGillivray rose and went out without another word. Moore jumped up and followed him into the hall. ‘Can I tell her about . . . ?’ he whispered.

  ‘It might be a comfort, lad, but maybe she’s had enough shocks tonight. Play it by ear, though.’ He strode out into the night.

  The young sergeant went slowly back inside. ‘Would you like me to make tea or coffee for you, Mrs Valentine?’

  She got to her feet quickly. ‘Please let me do it myself. It’ll help to take my mind off . . .’

  He held the door open for her. ‘I’ll come through with you.’

  ‘I don’t intend to do anything silly, you don’t need to guard me.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ He was disappointed that she’d taken his offer the wrong way. ‘I just meant to be company for you, and the kitchen’s usually the most homely place in a house.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m a bit on edge. I should have understood.’ She busied herself filling the kettle, switching it on, laying out mugs, sugar and milk, while Moore sat down at the table.

  ‘I’ve never felt really happy since we came here,’ she said pensively. ‘It wasn’t the people. They made us very welcome, and we were soon part of their community, but Adam changed not long after we arrived. It was about the time he started telling me how worried he was about Mrs White and her behaviour, now that I come to think of it.’

  Her preparations ready, she sat down to wait for the kettle to boil. ‘I think his intentions were good to begin with, but she must have ensnared him and he visited her more and more often. Then he stopped telling me when he was going, and that’s when I began to worry. If only I’d had somebody to . . . An outsider might have realised what was going on before it was too late.’

  Pouring milk into the mugs, she carried on, almost as if she were speaking to herself. ‘I suppose I was too tangled up w
ith my own emotions at the time. My mother had just died, and I was devastated, though she wasn’t my real mother. She told me about that when I was old enough to understand.’

  Elated that she’d brought up the subject, David Moore felt sure that it wouldn’t come as such a shock to her now, if he told her about Mrs Wakeford, and it might compensate her for the terrible ordeal she was about to face.

  Her monologue continued. ‘My mother and father – I’ll always remember them as that – couldn’t have any children, but their solicitor knew of a young, unmarried girl who was having a baby, so he arranged for them to adopt it. I’ve always felt sorry for that poor girl, having to give up her love-child like that, and I’ve often wondered what became of her.’

  The sergeant had been trying to figure out a way of letting her know, and he admired her all the more for the concern she was showing for the mother she’d never known. ‘Mrs Valentine,’ he ventured at last, ‘wouldn’t you like to find out who your real mother was?’

  She rose to make the tea, and her sudden silence disquieted him. Had he made a mistake? Perhaps he hadn’t been sensitive enough, and should apologise, try to explain that he’d only said it out of kindness and to find someone to care for her, but the proper words wouldn’t come.

  Placing a cosy over the teapot, she resumed her seat. ‘It’s funny you should say that, Sergeant. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Mum died. It would be nice to have somebody of my own, especially now. I’m scared I won’t be able to cope if . . .’

  She gulped, and he hoped that she wasn’t about to dissolve into tears. He’d never known how to deal with weeping women.

  Fortunately for him, she carried on speaking. ‘I don’t know where to start looking, though, because the old solicitor, the only link I know, died a few years ago.’

  Taking the plunge, Moore burst out, ‘I know, but we traced her.’ Seeing her mouth fall open, he rushed on. ‘We’d unearthed this illegitimate child in the course of our investigations, you see, and we had to check it out.’

  ‘Do you mean . . . ? My real mother . . . ? Is she someone here in Tollerton? Somebody I know?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Not Janet Souter.’ The horror of this possibility was quite unthinkable.

  ‘No, no. It’s . . . Mrs Wakeford.’ He held his breath.

  ‘Mrs Wakeford? But that would be marvellous, she’s such a kind, gentle person, but . . . Are you sure of the facts?’

  Her delighted smile, and her ensuing abstraction, told Moore that she was dreaming of a new relationship which could be about to open for her, so he rose and poured the tea. ‘There’s one thing you’ll have to consider.’ He looked apologetic.

  The smile was still on her face as she said, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Would Mrs Wakeford want to be reminded of her indiscreet past? She’s kept it hidden for a long time.’

  He thought of Mabel Wakeford’s desperate attempt to stop Janet Souter from spreading this very information – adding arsenic to the jam, to which Muriel Valentine herself had almost fallen a victim. That would have been the ultimate irony, but the poor woman had been driven to it. The minister’s wife would fold up altogether if that came out.

  ‘So you think I shouldn’t approach her?’ Mrs Valentine asked, after a pause.

  ‘It’s none of my business. If you feel strongly enough that you want to make yourself known to her, just go ahead and do it. She’d probably be pleased her daughter was a minister’s wife.’

  The mention of her husband brought the clouds back into her eyes. ‘She wouldn’t want to be related to a murderer’s wife.’

  Moore hastened to console her. ‘It’s just suspicion on the inspector’s part. Your husband could be innocent.’

  They both knew it was a false hope.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Endings

  There were no doubts in McGillivray’s mind that Adam Valentine had killed Janet Souter. Douglas Pettigrew’s story, as relayed by John Black over the telephone, had been the final proof. Now, it was only a case of hoping he’d be in time to avert a second, and perhaps third, murder.

  He was furious with himself for endangering old Mrs Gray’s life, as well as Mrs White’s, but he’d thought the minister would break down and give himself up, not boldly attempt to silence them under the very noses of the police.

  When the inspector came out of the car, a short distance before Mrs Gray’s house, he was in a quandary. Which one should he go to first? He took a gamble. ‘Constable, you come with me, and Sergeant, you take young Pettigrew round to Mrs White’s back door. He might try to escape that way, if he hears us at the front.’

  Walking stealthily in front of Derek Paul, while John Black and Douglas Pettigrew went round the back of Mrs White’s house, he prayed that he hadn’t made the wrong choice.

  If he had – and the thought caused him to break out in a cold sweat – another old lady could be dead by the time he discovered his mistake. When he reached May’s door, he paused to take a deep breath, then he turned the handle inch by inch, trusting that she hadn’t locked it behind Valentine if he was in there. Luckily, the door gave and he edged it slowly open.

  Tiptoeing into the narrow hallway, with the constable at his heels, McGillivray could hear the murmur of voices from the living room. Mrs White was still alive, but could he be sure it was the right man who was with her?

  Indecisively, he took up his position at the inner door, and before he could do anything, May’s voice rose in alarm.

  ‘Adam, darling, you know I wouldn’t kiss and tell. That inspector’s been having you on.’

  Satisfied that he’d found his prey, McGillivray held up a cautionary finger to the constable. ‘Any minute now,’ he mouthed.

  The man’s voice was droning on, but the woman’s scream galvanised the inspector into action. He flung the door open and rushed across the room to pull Adam Valentine’s hands away from her throat, while Derek Paul raced forward to prevent him escaping.

  The minister put up no fight, however. He slumped down on the settee and covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh, God! Oh, God!’ he moaned.

  McGillivray felt no pity, no exultation, only a great relief that he’d got there in time. ‘Let the other two in,’ he instructed Derek Paul, then, looking over at the woman who was cowering against the wall, her face a red-blotched grey, her hands at her neck, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded, and swallowed painfully. ‘If you’d been any later . . .’ Her voice was low and rasping.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, curtly. ‘You were lucky.’

  When Douglas Pettigrew appeared from the back door with John Black, he made a bee-line towards his former lover. ‘You got what was coming to you,’ he said, vindictively. Then, casting a glance at the pathetic creature on the settee, he laughed mirthlessly and added, ‘He’s not so bloody marvellous now, is he?’

  After McGillivray made the formal arrest, Adam Valentine remained silent and motionless until John Black stepped forward, then he stood up. ‘I’m ready to go with you, Sergeant.’

  Turning to face the inspector, he said, ‘Will you please make sure someone looks after my wife? This will be a dreadful shock to her, and I’m deeply ashamed. I don’t know what possessed me to get entangled with . . .’ His voice tailed away.

  McGillivray knew. He knew only too well. ‘My sergeant’s with your wife meantime, and I’ll make sure she’s not left alone tonight.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The minister walked out behind John Black, with Derek Paul bringing up the rear.

  Addressing Douglas Pettigrew, the inspector said, ‘Will you be stopping here?’

  ‘Not me! I’ve learned my lesson.’ The young man hastily followed the others out.

  Left alone with the still-recovering woman, McGillivray said, ‘I hope you’ve learned your lesson, too, Mrs White. You were playing with fire and you were bloody nearly burned to a cinder.’

  ‘I know.’ It was a hoarse whisper. I thought it
was great, leading all those men on, and making them unfaithful to their wives, but . . .’

  ‘That gave you a thrill, did it?’ McGillivray’s sarcasm was all the greater because he knew how close he’d come to being another of her trophies.

  ‘Yes, at the time. I suppose I was trying to pay Gilbert back for being away so much, but I was worse than a prostitute.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re seeing sense at last.’

  ‘I’ll never do it again. Oh! Gilbert won’t have to know about . . . everything, will he?’ Her eyes were less wild, and she looked forlorn and miserable.

  McGillivray hardened his heart. ‘He’ll have to know, Mrs White.’ Then he realised, with a sense of remorse, that she’d be quite alone when he left, and after what she’d been through . . . ‘Have you a friend you could go to? Or what about your parents?’

  Her eyes darkened. ‘The women are all jealous, and Mum and Dad have hardly spoken to me since Sydney Pettigrew went and had that row with them.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be on your own, not tonight.’

  After a moment’s thought, she said, ‘Mrs Gray next door might take me in. She never treats me like dirt, the way some of the other women do, and she can be very kind.’

  The inspector smiled. ‘She’s quite a character, your Mrs Gray. She’s the one who tipped me off about Adam Valentine, though I thought she was blethering at first, and didn’t take her seriously.’

  ‘I’ve nobody else till Gilbert gets home in about three weeks. He said he’d be back for Christmas.’

  McGillivray, suddenly compassionate, thought that she likely wouldn’t have her husband either when he learned what had been going on during his absences. Poor bitch! ‘Get whatever you’ll need for an overnight stay, and I’ll take you next door.’

  When Mrs Gray came to her door, he said, ‘Can Mrs White stay here tonight, please?’

  ‘She’s very welcome. Just go through, May.’ The old woman hobbled to the side to let the trembling young woman past, then she looked at the inspector. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve arrested Valentine, but not before he attempted to strangle Mrs White. She’s been through a terrible experience, so go easy on her.’