Murder of the Bride (14 page)

“Will you call me when you find out anything?” Donna asked.

“Of course. Now take your two lads and stay at your mother's house tonight, just to be safe. And call Mabel immediately.”

He waited to drive off until she was securely inside, hoping she would heed his advice. A lot of strange events were taking place, and even he didn't feel safe.

A Bridge too Far

When Rex had set
out for Aston-on-Trent in the search for
answers, he had not anticipated running into thugs who were
capable of resorting to bodily harm as a means of persuasion. However, as well as taking an unexpected turn, his investigation had turned up a few interesting leads. On the drive back to Newcombe Court, he called Dr. Williamitis at the clinic. The doctor picked up on the first ring.

“It's Rex Graves calling. I had a couple more questions aboot Dr. Thorpe, if you have time.”

“Go ahead.”

“Is arsenic trioxide used as a cure for leukemia?”

“Under the trade name Trisenox, it's sometimes used in cases where the leukemia is unresponsive to first line agents.” Rex strained to hear over the noise of the engine and passing cars. “But due to the toxic nature of arsenic, Trisenox, which works partly by killing cancer cells, also carries significant risks. In Dr. Thorpe's case, the drug caused acute promyelocytic leukemia differentiation syndrome, which ultimately proved fatal.”

“How was the drug administered?”

“Intravenously, at home,” Williamitis stated. “You had another question?”

Clearly, this was the end of the discussion on Dr. Thorpe's
battle with cancer.

“I'm wondering if you might have heard of a Dr. Forspaniak?”

This time a marked pause ensued. “Yes,” said the doctor, drawing out the word with obvious reluctance. “I know a Dr. Forspaniak. Not sure if it's the same person you're enquiring about.”

“Well, tell me about the one you know.”

“He's a gynecologist with a practice in Derby. He also performs abortions. In extreme cases, I refer patients to him.”

After thanking the doctor for his help, Rex pressed his foot on the gas, anxious to reach Newcombe Court before Inspector Lucas departed.

By the time he arrived, noticeably fewer vehicles filled the drive-
way. Night enshrouded the park. The men in anoraks assisting
with the parking earlier that day had been the bartender and carver.

“Had to let the servers and most of the guests go,” the inspector told Rex, meeting him inside the front door of the great hall.

Only a handful of people remained, seated now as one group by the fireplace opposite the one from which the miniature bride and groom had been salvaged. Rex could not see Helen.

“My gut tells me Bobby Carter knows more than he's saying,” Lucas said, “but we can't prove anything. He just waffles on about his attachment to the family and his failure to protect them. Crocodile tears, if you ask me. Now then, you went to Aston.” Lucas put the emphasis on the word Aston, evidently demanding an explanation.

Rex filled him in on his visits with Dr. Williamitis and Donna Thorpe, sticking to the facts for now and skirting around his suspicions and suppositions. “I went to her house on spec and found out more than I anticipated.”

“Donna Thorpe was our next stop,” Lucas informed him. “So her husband was out this morning on some unexplained business, hmm? We'll need to talk to the bookie.” He made a note in his pad. “How much is our Dudley in the hole for?”

“She doesn't know, but apparently enough to make it worth hiring some heavies to retrieve it.”

“It's motive for the poisoning,” the inspector surmised. “Especially if you factor in what you found out about Dr. Thorpe using arsenic to treat his leukemia. Too much of a coincidence, by half. Of course, we would need to prove that Dudley got hold of the arsenic and was able to inject it in the cake without anyone noticing him. No one saw him here this morning.”

Perrin hovered expectantly.

“Well, what is it?” the inspector snapped.

“Call from the divisional commander, sir. Wants to know why you won't answer your mobile.”

“Because I've got my ruddy hands full, that's why.”

“He says it's important.” Perrin gingerly held out a cell phone at the end of a lanky arm.

The inspector swiped it off him. “Yes, sir,” he said brightly into
the phone. “We are making fair progress. Sergeant Dartford is down
at the station going over Jasmina Patel's and Harry Futuro's statements—” As he listened, he fidgeted in his pocket. At length, he drew out an elastic band, which he wound around the thumb of his free hand with his forefinger, pulling tight with a fixed expression of glee as though going through the motions of garroting the senior officer. Suddenly he stopped. “Really, sir? … I see. Romania. Yes, this case does seem to be getting bigger. No, I'm sure we can contain it.”

His caller monopolized the conversation for some minutes. “I'll send Sergeant Dartford over to Worley Station right away,” Lucas said. With an absent gesture, the inspector pressed the call-end button on the phone.

“Developments, sir?” Perrin asked, arms clasped respectfully behind his back as he flexed his calves in his standard issue black shoes.

“You could say that.” Lucas turned to Rex. “The presumed suicide off the bridge at Worley Station has been identified as Thomas Newcombe. A preliminary examination of the body showed a perforation in the heart and a small amount of blood. We are now treating the death as suspicious.”

“Thomas Newcombe, as in Victoria Newcombe's husband?” Perrin asked. Rex could tell the youth was having a field day and doubtless enjoyed the diversion from routine shifts on the beat writing up reports on acts of vandalism and public disturbance.

“The same. Seems he flew into Heathrow from Bucharest last night and got a train to Worley this morning.”

“That's about twenty minutes from here, isn't it, sir?”

“That's right.”

Rex stood by while Lucas got back on the phone and relayed the information to Sergeant Dartford at the police station. “He arrived at Worley at 9:15 this morning. There was a note in his briefcase. I want you to bring it to me … No, the note was addressed to him, giving instructions where to meet and signed ‘
M
.'”

“‘M' for Murder?” Perrin asked Rex in an excited aside.

“This isn't a Hitchcock movie, Perrin,” Lucas sniped, and switched his attention back to the phone. “Hole consistent with a small sharp instrument. Go and see the coroner … No, cause of death looks like the fall and/or impact of the train. The briefcase contained his boarding pass stub and return flight information. He was planning to return to Romania Tuesday … No, only the briefcase; perhaps he left a bag at the hotel or wherever he stayed last night. Find out what you can.” Lucas flipped the phone shut and stared meditatively at the floor.

“The plot thickens?” Rex asked the inspector with a wink at Perrin.

“The body count is certainly mounting. Vicar dead, Mrs. Newcombe dead, Polly Newcombe in limbo, the aunt dead, and now her brother turns up dead.”

“On the subject of Tom Newcombe, I found out something that may have some bearing.” Rex repeated the gossip he had heard at the pub relating to the dead man and the au pair from Eastern Europe. “Jessop is the old man's name. Claims to have witnessed some domestic disturbance while working here as head gardener. Not sure how reliable his information is, but the landlord at The Malt Shovel can let you know where to find him.”

Inspector Lucas wrote in his notepad. “Thanks.” He punctuated his gratitude by stabbing the page with his pencil. “Who've we got left here among the guests?” he asked Perrin.

The constable looked around, sparing the inspector the trouble. “The solicitor, the Thorpes, Littons, Helen d'Arcy, Meredith Matthews, and her boyfriend Reggie Cox. And the two caterers.”

“Ask who knew Thomas Newcombe was on his way to the wedding today. A clipping of the announcement of his daughter's engagement was found at his home in Romania, according to my superior. Stands to reason he was back in the country to see her get married.”

“Was this his first time back in England in ten years?” Rex inquired.

“Appears so. The home address on his EU driving licence is a farm in a small village outside Bucharest. The local police went to notify the residents of his death this afternoon. A woman who identified herself as his wife confirmed that he had travelled to England on business, but she didn't know much else except that he was aware of his eldest daughter's engagement. Seems she and Newcombe have a young daughter together.”

The inspector delved into his pocket and pulled out his container of aspirin, which he upturned into his mouth, staring up at the remote ceiling through bloodshot eyes.

“Shall I get you some water, sir?” Perrin offered.

His superior ground down on the pills, looking as dazed and woebegone as a man waking up from a hangover. He gave the plastic bottle an inquiring shake of the contents.

How many more did the man intend to take? Rex wondered. “Perhaps some coffee,” he told the constable. “It looks like it's going to be a long night.”

Ransom

Carter coaxed his cigar
to life through a
quick succession of drawn-in breaths, seemingly unconcerned about smoking indoors, even if it was in a spacious room with a lofty ceiling. “I saved these Cuban cigars for the occasion,” he said wistfully.

Rex felt for his pipe, and then stuffed it back down in his pocket. “A small sharp object, the coroner said,” he recounted, expanding on the details of Tom Newcombe's death.

“The point of an umbrella? It was raining today, after all.”

“Those don't have very sharp points though, do they? I was thinking more along the lines of an ice pick, such as the one the bartender was using.”

“They don't search you at railway stations, so any kind of
weapon would have been possible, I suppose. Hm! To think Thomas
has been living in Romania all these years with the au pair. The
sly old dog. Victoria would be furious.” Carter took a puff and
lowered his cigar. “You don't think his murder has anything to do
with the deaths here, do you? Could just have been an argument on the bridge, perhaps with one of his old antique dealer colleagues.”

Rex shook his head doubtfully. “Seems a bit coincidental to me that we have these murders at Newcombe Court, and the owner finally turns up after ten years for his daughter's wedding, and he's murdered as well.”

“Why not just feed him some wedding cake like the others?”

“Too risky. By then, people would have known whom he'd been in contact with.”

“Who?”

“Therein lies the key to the whole mystery.”

“Mind if I borrow him?” Helen asked Carter with a determined smile. Linking Rex's arm, she drew him to an empty sofa by the fireside. “I didn't know you were back. I was having tea with Stella Pembleton in the kitchen.”

“What are Meredith and Reggie still doing here?”

“We were supposed to give them a lift back to Derby. They've missed their train to London so I said they could spend the night with us.”

“Could they not have stayed with Elaine and Jeremy?”

“Their flat is too small. And, anyway, Reggie is hoping to sell his story to a tabloid. A couple of reporters have already been 'round here.”

“I just don't want to keep them waiting. There have been further developments. You get on home. I can find my own way back to Derby.”

Helen gave a patient sigh. “What developments?”

Rex explained about the body at Worley Station.

“The one that Reggie and Meredith were talking about on the way here?”

“
Exactly. Looks like Tom Newcombe was stabbed before he took
a dive off the bridge. So Inspector Lucas has reopened the round of questioning.”

Helen sank back on the sofa. “This defies belief, Rex. Someone is out to kill every member of the Newcombe family. That means the first murder occurred before the poisonings and before Aunt Gwen was pushed from the tower. And doesn't that sound eerily like the way poor Mr. Newcombe died? Was he fatally stabbed or was he killed when he fell in front of the train?”

Rex felt Helen shudder and squeezed her hand. “I overheard Inspector Lucas say the fall or the train finished him off.”

At that moment his phone vibrated. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw it was a local number. “Rex Graves,” he answered, wondering who the caller might be.

“It's Donna. You left your business card, so I hope you don't mind …”

“Donna? Are you okay?” Instinctively, he got up and started to pace.

“I'm in serious trouble. You've got to help me.” Her words sounded strained and effortful. “I told them you would arrange to get them the money.” A sob escaped into the phone. “They're threatening to take my ring and my finger with it if I don't pay up,” she cried, her voice rising in panic.

“How much do they want?”

“Four thousand quid,” she blurted. “That's what Dud owes.”

“Are ‘they' the people you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes, but I can't talk about them. I said you could get the money from Bobby Carter. He looks after the family interests and Dud is family now.”

“Do you want me to bring Dudley to the phone?”

“No! They don't trust him. I said you were my lawyer and you could get them the money. Please!”

Rex waved his arm in the air and waggled his fingers, attempting to get the inspector's attention at the far end of the hall. “Get Lucas and Carter here,” he mouthed to Helen. “Okay, Donna,” he resumed. “But it's the weekend. How do they propose we get that amount of cash at short notice? Presumably they won't take a cheque …”

“They want a banker's draft made out to bearer delivered first thing Monday morning. They'll release me until then. If I don't get the money, they'll kidnap me again whenever they get the chance and dump me somewhere. And you can't talk to the police.”

“Can I speak to your abductors?”

“They won't speak to anyone directly.”

“Where are your lads?”

“At my mom's.” Rex heard her blow her nose. “I was leaving my house with an overnight bag when they bundled me into a van and blindfolded me—Ow!”

“What happened?”

“One of them hit me. I'm not supposed to give away any information.”

Inspector Lucas and Bobby Carter approached. Rex held them at bay with one hand and motioned for them to be quiet. Helen returned to her spot on the sofa and watched his face with rapt attention.

“Donna, I have Bobby Carter with me. Let me see what I can sort out.”

Inspector Lucas, who must have received the gist of the call from Helen, gestured for the phone. “Hello, Donna, I am Robert Carter, the Newcombe family solicitor,” he impersonated. “So Dudley has got himself into a spot of bother, has he? … To the tune of four grand. I see …”

Lucas was doing his best to refine his normal voice and sound more like a solicitor than a copper. Rex only hoped the men demanding the ransom were unaware of the police presence at Newcombe Court. If they were keeping a low profile, it was possible they had not heard about the murders yet. Doubtful that Donna in her plight had felt the necessity of filling her captors in on what Rex had told her in Aston regarding the poisonings. “Well, I'm sure it won't come to that,” Lucas said after listening for a moment. “Can I speak to the person in charge? … Yes, I'll hold.”

The inspector raised pale ginger eyebrows at Rex as he waited. “As if we didn't have enough to deal with,” he muttered. “Any problem about raising the cash?” he asked Carter, holding the phone to his chest. The solicitor shook his head as Lucas returned the phone to his ear. “No, we're not recording the call, Donna … How do we get the banker's draft to you? … Yes, I'll tell him—”

The inspector turned to Rex. “She rang off. The people holding her wouldn't speak to me. She'll make contact with you Monday morning. Let's see what the incoming number is. She said she was calling from a pay phone.”

He then summoned PC Perrin. He decided the constable should
go round to Donna's mother's house and interview her in case she had seen or heard anything that might lead to the kidnappers, and
he should then talk to the bookie. Dispersing the guests in the
immediate vicinity, Lucas informed Dudley of the situation and got his mother-in-law's address off him.

Dudley leaned forward on the sofa with the heels of his palms cupping his eyeballs. “I don't believe this,” he groaned.

Rex almost felt sorry for him, even though he had brought it upon himself.