Dark Undertakings (36 page)

‘She doesn’t know then?’ said Roxanne, in a calm tone. ‘Well, don’t worry about it. We’re not going to tell her.’

‘And what about when she tells her friends that you came? Everybody else in town knows. They’ll assume she does, and the whole thing’ll be out, just at the worst possible moment.’

‘Calm down,’ Roxanne persisted. ‘You always were one for making everything complicated, weren’t you. Never just let things be, Miss Jodie Perfect. I’ve lost count of the times Jim’s told me about the way you stir up trouble everywhere you go. Okay, he was fond of you – I’m not denying that. I don’t want to hurt any feelings. But, Christ, just
relax
for once, will you? Stop looking for trouble. Lorraine and I just wanted to—’

‘And that’s another thing,’ Jodie continued, as if nothing had been said. ‘How come the two of you are so matey all of a sudden? That’s really sick, if you ask me.’ Again she glanced at
the kitchen, ignoring Jack, who sat in the single armchair, apparently sunk in his own morose thoughts. ‘Jim’s two women, turning up here practically arm-in-arm. It doesn’t make sense. Something’s going on.’

‘Nothing’s going on, love. Believe me. Tell her, Lorraine,’ Roxanne invited.

Lorraine met Jodie’s angry gaze warily. ‘We’re not here to make trouble,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘Mrs Lapsford said anyone could come. It looks to me as if she understands that a lot of people loved Jim. She seemed quite happy to see us, anyway.’

‘Nobody loved Jim,’ said Jack suddenly, from the armchair. His narrow face turned on them with a haunted look of sorrow. ‘Not any of you, not me, not his sons, or his wife. Jim was all for himself, you see. All those friends – you women panting after him like bitches on heat – he never cared about any of you. Jim Lapsford was all take and no give, if you want the truth of it. So long as he was all right, he didn’t give a damn about anyone else.’

From the hall, a voice said, ‘Now that isn’t very nice, is it? Speaking ill of the dead.’

When everybody turned towards her, Dottie went on, ‘The door wasn’t properly shut. I hope you don’t mind us letting ourselves in.’

By eight, the last of the visitors had gone, and Monica sat with her sons, still in the kitchen. Philip whistled his relief, as the front door finally closed. ‘Thank God for Jodie,’ he said. ‘We’d never have coped without her. I don’t know what was going on, but there seemed to be quite an argument out there at one point.’

‘Jim knew some funny people,’ Monica remarked. ‘I hope they all behave themselves tomorrow.’

Her sons looked at each other warily. The unsavoury details of their father’s life were only just beginning to creep out from under the carpet, but already they both felt a sense of impending turmoil.

‘Do you want anything to eat?’ Monica asked them. ‘We could have a takeaway.’

‘Most of them are closed on a Monday,’ Philip reminded her. ‘I’m all right, anyway, after all that cake.’

‘David?’

‘It’d choke me,’ he said with a scowl.

‘Oh, here we go,’ groaned Philip. He gave David a disgusted look and pushed back his chair. ‘I’m going to phone Nerina, and tell her I’ll be home soon. Then I’ll sit quietly with Dad for a while. If you two have things to say, keep the noise down, and come and tell me when it’s over.’

Monica turned to David, her manner much calmer. ‘We’re not having any more dramatics, are we?’ she said softly. ‘That’s all behind us, isn’t it?’

David nodded. ‘I didn’t mean anything just now. Philip always assumes the worst. I’m okay, Mum, just tired.’ The twisted smile he gave her confirmed his words. If only his eyes didn’t look so sunken and strange, she might have been able to relax. As it was, she knew she wouldn’t be able to let him out of her sight the next day, for fear of what he might do.

She patted his shoulder gently. ‘Go home and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll all feel much better this time tomorrow.’

‘I’ll wait till Phil goes,’ he said. ‘He’s not the only one to want a few minutes alone with Dad.’ He gripped two handfuls of hair in a sudden spasm. ‘I’ll always wonder how he felt about me,’ he added bleakly. ‘Whether I was only important because I was a part of
her
.’

‘I hope that isn’t true,’ she said softly. ‘But I can understand that might be how it would seem to you.’

‘I
have
to know who my real father was. Can’t you remember Julia having a boyfriend? Am I the result of a one-night stand? There can’t be too many people to choose from.’ He was pleading, and she put a hand on his wrist.

‘It might be better not to know,’ she said gently. ‘He isn’t going to accept you now, any more than he would then. Jim did tell me one thing: when Julia told the father she was pregnant, he threatened her, persuaded her to keep his identity secret. Perhaps he was married. That’s really why she handed you over to us. She knew she would have to reveal who he was, or at least ask him for money, if she kept you. He can’t have been a very nice person.’

‘Did he go to her funeral, do you think?’ David’s train of thought was obvious, as he looked towards the living room and the coffin standing in the middle of it. There was no sound from Philip, and neither gave him a thought.

‘I don’t think so,’ she shook her head. ‘It was a very small affair. She’d been in a nursing home for nearly a year, and people here just seemed to forget her. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. It was very sad. I remember watching that little coffin sliding away, and thinking that there really wasn’t anything to show for her life except for you. Jim said the same. It made him more ambitious, in a way. After that, he got started at the printworks, and worked harder than I’d have believed possible for those first few years. I think he was doing it for her. And for you, David. And now he’s gone as well.’ She sighed.

‘Taking the secret with him, damn him,’ said David bitterly. ‘If only I’d known—’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ she consoled him. ‘He’d never have told you. He promised Julia, you see. Now, we’ll have to tell Philip he’s safe to come back. We’re still friends, aren’t we, darling?’

Tears stood in her eyes as she took his hand. The pathos in her voice filled his chest with a choking cloud of emotion, and he put his face close to hers.

‘Course we are, Mum,’ he said.

Drew collected Karen from the hospital at seven. The nurses had tutted disapprovingly and made irritated remarks about the bed going to waste for a whole night: people went home in the
morning
, not the evening. Karen was made to sign an alarming form in which she promised to take all responsibility for her own welfare. Then she was free.

They went to bed early. He stroked her bruises with butterfly fingertips and hummed her a lullaby. ‘Stop it, you idiot,’ she giggled. ‘Don’t be so sloppy.’

‘I
feel
sloppy,’ he said. ‘I feel as if I’m being rewarded for good behaviour at last. Just when I was thinking it might never happen. And it’s all much too good to be true. We’ll wake up
tomorrow and find it was all just a dream.’

‘Stop talking about it. You’re spoiling it.’

‘Am I? How?’

‘Tempting fate, for one thing. Two days ago you were telling me it was all my imagination. Now I suppose you’re writing your speech for when she gets married.’

‘She?’

Karen giggled again and then followed it with a long sigh. ‘All right – I’m just as bad as you. I can see her now, with your nose and my hips. Aren’t we stupid.’

‘Yeah.’

The bedside phone roused them from a long, contented cuddle. Drew reached for it. ‘Drew?’ came Daphne’s voice. ‘You’re not in bed, are you?’

‘I am, actually,’ he said, making no attempt to disguise his irritation.

‘Ah. Sorry. But I thought you should know now – just in case you were still thinking stupid things about Lapsford …’

‘What should I know?’

‘I had the dog’s body examined. You might have noticed it was missing. I went round late last night – accidentally setting off the alarm, as it happened; I wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders – and took it to a friend of mine at the animal hospital lab. They did a post-mortem
this afternoon. She died of a large ovarian tumour. Nothing sinister at all. Must have had it for some time, but they don’t always show symptoms until the vital organs become affected. There wasn’t anything else.’ She was speaking slowly, with considerable emphasis. ‘I hope you understand what I’m saying. I don’t want any more nonsense. Jim Lapsford died of a heart attack in his own bed, and there’s nothing more to be said on the matter. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he said, and put the receiver down.

So that was that, then.

Waking early, with Karen warm and solid beside him, Drew felt a weight of worry and apprehension descend, the moment he opened his eyes. Outside it was drizzling; summer was definitely finished. Even if there were more weeks of sunshine to come, the long days and high temperatures were over with for another year. And for Jim Lapsford, they were over with for ever. Jim Lapsford would be cremated today and Drew would have to let it happen. The dog had died of natural causes; wild tales about poisoned teabags and overdoses of herbal aphrodisiacs would only make him a laughing stock if he tried to convince the Coroner or police now. And yet, the conviction that Lapsford had
been murdered still would not go away.

The pale tormented face of David Lapsford floated in front of him, and Drew wondered again what dark secrets lurked in that young man’s background. Something more than ordinary grief and shock was certainly preying on his mind, and was proving alarming to his family and friends. For why had his mother insisted so vehemently that the funeral go ahead? Almost certainly because she wanted to protect someone; if not her son, then perhaps her lover. If Gerald Proctor had administered some lethal potion, then Drew was on hopelessly shaky ground. Such an act could not be argued away on some dubious moral pretext. Society took an especially unsympathetic view of a man bumping off his lover’s husband ever since King David took that doomed route in order to win Bathsheba.

The suicide of Craig Rawlinson was another factor. It had been devastating to Sid, which was a surprise; he’d evidently thought the boy was no good for his daughter. Guilt, Drew concluded, was the only explanation. Only guilt knocked a griefless person sideways.

Karen stirred beside him; he was immediately attentive. ‘How are you?’ he whispered. ‘Did you sleep?’

‘I’m stiff,’ she said. ‘And sore.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ He peeled back her nightshirt
and inspected the bruises. They were yellowing now and much less angry. The skin looked tired and grubby, a greyish tinge marking the outline of the bruising. ‘It’s a miracle you weren’t badly hurt,’ he said. ‘You could have broken your back.’

‘I know. But this is bad enough. Do you really think … I mean, can there
really
be a baby in there?’ She stared at him anxiously. ‘It doesn’t seem possible.’

‘Time will tell,’ he said. ‘We should make a big effort not to get too excited. It’s early days.’ He leant down and brushed his lips across her belly. ‘But we’ll do everything we can to make sure it’s all right. You’re staying in bed today, and probably tomorrow as well.’

‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if today was Wednesday and the Lapsford funeral all over and done with? Everything would be back to normal and you wouldn’t be so preoccupied. We have to admit, we make lousy detectives.’

He tried to smile, but made a poor job of it. ‘Tell me honestly,’ he said, ‘do you think he was murdered?’

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I think he was helped on his way,’ she prevaricated. ‘He was living on the edge and several things combined to tip him over. But I’m not sure I believe that anybody deliberately killed him. No.’

It was a rush, making Karen a proper breakfast, getting himself ready for work, ensuring that there was something tasty for her to eat at lunchtime. The phone rang five minutes before he was due to leave.

‘Drew? It’s Laz here.’ Drew’s heart missed a beat. ‘Bet you thought I’d never get back to you – it’s been bedlam here. I ain’t supposed to do jobs like this, you know. But just for you I came in early for one last look at your stomach contents sample. Just in the nick of time, eh? And guess what I found?’ The excitement was crackling in Drew’s ear.

‘What?’ he choked.

‘Codeine! Good old-fashioned pain-relieving narcotic. Simple way to knock someone off his perch. Tastes a bit bitter, but works a treat. Plenty of it, I’d say, judging from the amount I found. Water-soluble and available over the counter. Probably the key to any number of unnoticed poisonings. Does that help you, old friend? Please tell me it does.’

‘I think so,’ said Drew slowly. ‘It’s rather a surprise – but yes. Thanks, Laz. Yes, it helps.’

As he put the phone down, there was a loud knocking at the front door. Still struggling to make sense of this latest revelation, he went to answer it, apprehension swelling inside him with every step.

The door was pushed back as soon as he unlocked it, and a tall brown figure strode in. ‘I’ve got to talk to you,’ she announced. ‘If we’re not careful, it’s going to be too late. I can’t give you any rational explanations, but I just bloody
know
that Jim Lapsford was murdered.’

Trotting alongside her, into the dining end of their main room, Drew ran a hand through his hair. ‘How did you know where I live?’ he asked inanely.

‘I asked Olga,’ she said, throwing herself down at the table. ‘Can I smoke?’

He nodded automatically and stared at her. He wondered whether he was dreaming.

Roxanne observed his confusion and gave his arm a cuff with the back of her hand. ‘Now come on,’ she said. ‘I need you to pull yourself together. You’re the detective around here. Olga and I go way back, in case you’re wondering. She was my bridesmaid. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Who says I am?’ He felt the chilly anxiety that came from the knowledge that people have been talking about you behind your back.

‘Never mind that. Look, this is important to me, as you might realise. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if my henbane killed him. And poor Susie’s admitted that she supplied him with Viagra, so she’s feeling just as bad. But knowing Jim and how fit he was, I just
don’t believe either of those things were enough to kill him. There
has
to be something else.’

‘There was,’ said Drew. ‘I’ve just found out about it. When he died, his system was full of codeine. In fact—’ He stared at her unseeingly; his head seemed full of electricity as connections were made. ‘In fact I think we might still be able to prove where it came from. Would you say it was possible to doctor a teabag without anyone noticing?’

‘
Codeine?
’ Roxanne was having trouble keeping up. ‘The headache stuff? Jim would never take that. He didn’t believe in painkillers – or any pharmaceuticals.’ She spoke emphatically, but Drew could see the doubt in her eyes. ‘At least …’ she amended.

‘Viagra’s a pharmaceutical,’ he supplied.

She nodded reluctantly, obviously disturbed. ‘You don’t think he took it himself? Tell me the bit about the teabag again.’

Drew explained briefly, adding, ‘I’d say someone gave him a teabag full of ground-up codeine and told him it was some new sort of herbal infusion, best taken at bedtime. Probably spiced it up with something about it being good for his sex life.’ He spoke with an irony not lost on Roxanne.

‘That wouldn’t be difficult,’ she confirmed. ‘Obviously not those flimsy paper ones all sealed
up – but you can get proper little muslin bags with the top corners turned down and stapled shut – with a string and a paper tag. But who?’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘It must have been someone who knew his movements well. It seems such an odd way to poison somebody. I mean – there’d be the evidence of the teabag itself, for a start.’

‘Teabags get thrown away. Teapots and mugs get washed up. If this
is
what’s happened, I think it’s rather clever.’

‘So how do you know about it?’

‘Mrs Lapsford told me. She found it. It looked peculiar, with white crystals attached to it. And they tasted bitter.’

‘Then come
on
,’ she urged. ‘There’s no time for messing about. We’ll have to go and get it and take it to the police.’

He hesitated. ‘Probably too late,’ he said. ‘She’ll have got rid of it. She said she was going to. Besides – are you sure you want to call the police? Isn’t it enough for you to know it wasn’t you that killed him?’

She inhaled impatiently and blew out smoke like a raging bull. ‘I thought it was, but now I’ve changed my mind. I want revenge. I want to spit on the miserable swine who did this to Jim.’

‘Christ! Look at the time!’ Drew jumped up as if on fire. ‘I should have been at work
five minutes ago. You’ll have to go. My wife’s upstairs in bed and I’ve got things to do.’

‘Okay,’ she said, stubbing out the cigarette on a convenient plate left over from supper the night before. ‘Can I reach you this morning? I might need to speak to you again before the funeral.’

He frowned. ‘Difficult – Daphne doesn’t like us getting personal calls. I think you’ll have to get along without me. Sorry.’

‘Well then, that cuts both ways. You’re going to have to keep your wits about you and see if you can get the cremation stopped. This is murder, you know. Without question. I’m beginning to realise that just about the entire population of Bradbourne wanted Jim dead. Everyone
except
his son David, oddly enough.’

Drew shook his head wonderingly. ‘He seemed the most obvious one to me, at first. Now please go. Being late is a hanging offence at Plant’s.’

Roxanne grinned at him, a sudden beam of fellowship and sympathy. ‘Good luck, then,’ she said, and let herself out.

In a whirl, Drew slammed out of the house at ten to nine.

He had his excuse ready when he parked his car in the small yard behind the office, and ran full tilt into Daphne as he hurried up the stairs to
the workshop. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ he panted. ‘Karen’s home from hospital, and sorting her out made me late.’ He took some pleasure from pressing what had to be a sensitive nerve in his employer; he watched her as she winced.

‘That’s all right, Drew. How is she now?’

‘Still very bruised,’ he said, his face serious. ‘I don’t think she’ll be going back to work this week.’

‘It could have been very much worse for both of us,’ Daphne said. ‘As for my poor car—’ She turned down the corners of her mouth in a parody of grief. Drew wondered at her manner. She seemed a lot more light-hearted than he had expected. Remembering the phone call of the previous evening, he thought she ought to be at least slightly embarrassed. Instead, she looked relaxed and completely in charge. Her dark hair, with its metallic flashes of grey, was smoothed down and her make-up was immaculately applied.

‘You’ve got twenty minutes before loading up for the nine forty-five funeral,’ she reminded him. ‘Pat’s getting worried – he wants you to drive the lim. Vince and Little George have gone over to St Bridget’s on a removal. Then there’s Lapsford at eleven-thirty. I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten about that?’

She was looking hard at him; he had no idea
how to respond. If he was going out on the first funeral of the day, that put the kybosh on any chance he might have for some last-minute detective work. Was Daphne deliberately making sure this would be the case? Or had she let fate decide? If Vince and Little George were out, that left Pat, Sid, Drew and Big George to carry the coffin. ‘You’ll be conducting, then, will you?’ he asked her. This was something that happened once or twice a month, if demands on the men were heavy.

Daphne nodded. ‘Looks as if I’ll have to,’ she said.

Drew changed into the black suit, with the neat striped waistcoat, and gave his shoes a belated polish. Driving the limousine was a favoured job, and he would normally have been grateful to Pat for choosing him. As it was, he could hardly concentrate on the directions to the house where he was to collect an elderly widower and his bossy daughter. The two sat in the back of the car and bickered heatedly all the way to the crematorium. Drew’s head felt as if full of flapping moths, stirring up his thoughts until they made no sense, and he could barely remember how to drive. The drizzle had lightened, but not yet stopped completely. The swish of the windscreen wipers only added to the chaos in his mind.

As Daphne led the coffin into the chapel, and they deposited it neatly on the catafalque, he realised that in not much more than an hour, he would be doing this very thing again with Jim Lapsford’s coffin. The thought was enough to clear his head. Walking in step with Sid, back to the waiting room, he murmured, ‘Will you be on the next one? Or am I carrying with Vince?’

Sid shook his head slightly. ‘We’re all going. Pat’s conducting. You, me, Vince and Big George’ll carry. We’ll be off now. See you later.’

Drew watched the other three bearers drive away in the hearse, no longer needed. Daphne had driven herself in her own car – or rather the borrowed substitute for her own wrecked vehicle – and would return to the office once the mourners had all gone. Drew would wait, too, until they were ready to climb back into the limousine and be taken home again. Only then did he realise that he had even less time to himself before the Lapsford funeral than he thought. He would probably get back to the office at about ten to eleven, possibly even later. He’d be lucky to grab a cup of coffee before setting off again for Primrose Close.

And so it turned out. Before he knew it, he was sitting in the hearse with four other men, drawing up outside Monica’s house. Working
hurriedly in the front room, Pat screwed down the lid of the coffin, and then laid discreet pieces of non-slip webbing across it, to anchor the three large wreaths in place on the top. The house seemed to be full of people, and Drew lost any hope of trying to find any kind of clue as to Jim’s death by codeine.

They only had four or five minutes in which to load the coffin and set off for the five-mile drive to the crematorium. Philip was driving his mother and brother in his own car, and a couple of other cars were drawn up lower down the road, ready to follow the hearse. Vince would drive the hearse, while Pat walked in front of it to the top of the Close, in the time-honoured, time-consuming ritual which so often took families completely by surprise. Just as often, it seemed to embarrass them. Now and then, someone would call a halt to it after barely a dozen yards.

Today, they were about two minutes late when they turned out of the Close, and Pat was showing signs of anxiety. Drew turned to look at the cars behind them, wondering how their occupants were feeling. Was one of them a deliberate murderer? If so, was he now complacently assuming that the crime would go forever undetected?