Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night (28 page)

‘Do you, Sidney?’

‘We can’t suspect everyone, can we?’

‘We need to know who made up the lemonade on the day of the cricket match, exactly who drank it, and who washed up the jug afterwards. My suspicion is that there wouldn’t have been enough antimony in the drink to kill a man outright . . .’

‘Which leads you to conclude?’

‘Nothing at this point. Only it may not just be the lemonade. There could be other possibilities.’

‘You mean that the poison could have been applied to a number of different foodstuffs? I think Zafar had an egg sandwich and that was about it.’

‘We must find out everything he ate and drank and touched. I’m worried where the trace of thallium has come from. He could have been taking different poisons at different times.’

‘Are you also implying that there could be more than one murderer on the loose?’

‘We can’t rule anything out, Sidney. You could start by talking to the suppliers. But you will need to be careful not to reveal your role in all this. I don’t want you falling victim to anything untoward. If you feel at all unwell, then you must see your doctor immediately and inform me. In fact, it would be a good idea to keep a diary of everything you eat and drink, where it has come from and who has provided it.’

‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’

‘I do. You are building quite a reputation in these parts. If you let anyone know that you are suspicious of them then you will be putting yourself at risk.’

‘That seems a bit fearful.’

‘You can’t be too careful, Sidney.’

‘What on earth is the matter with these people?’

‘Perhaps they do not spend enough time in church?’

‘I know I certainly don’t,’ Sidney replied.

He had not joined the priesthood to investigate murders and antagonise grocers, and yet here he was, planning to do just that.

Annie’s mother, Rosie Thomas, was a forthright blonde woman with a reddish face, a thin mouth and an upturned nose. Cruel observers would remark that her salad days were over and that she had let herself go, but Sidney could tell that with a proper hairdresser and some instruction from Amanda, she could easily be transformed into a stylish and handsome figure about town should she so wish. However, it was the desire to do this, the need for time, patience and, above all, confidence, that was clearly lacking. She had made a niche for herself as the efficient manageress of the grocery stores and this, she had clearly decided, was her lot in life. Sidney had never seen her without an apron.

Rosie revealed that she did indeed supply the Indian restaurant, and that her daughter Annie made her deliveries every Thursday, although she was unlikely to be resuming her duties soon as she was still confined to her bedroom.

‘They don’t like them on a Friday because they go to prayers all day. Still, it suits us. We can get them out of the way. Although Annie takes long enough about it.’

‘She and Mr Ali were friends, I hear.’

‘I am not sure how much you have heard, Canon Chambers, but it won’t do to listen to gossip. You wouldn’t catch my girl going off with a foreigner, I can tell you that for nothing.’

‘I wasn’t making that suggestion. I was only asking if they were friends.’

‘We are friends with all our customers.’

‘You treat them all equally, I am sure.’

‘We try to. Once you start having favourites they ask for discounts. It never works.’

‘And did Mr Ali pay the full whack?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what did he buy?’

‘Vegetables when we had the right type for him, a few gherkins and pickled onions. He used to order the less perishable stuff on a monthly basis; you know the kind of thing: tinned salmon, peach slices, Carnation milk. I think he went to London for the more exotic ingredients. We don’t sell spices.’

‘But you provided him with the basics? Milk, sugar and tea, and lemonade, of course – as you did on the day of the match.’

‘You can’t blame my lemonade for what happened. It was more likely to be your housekeeper’s cake.’

‘I very much doubt it. Her baking has never caused any trouble in the past.’

‘There’s always a first time.’

‘I am sure there is. But about the lemonade . . .’

‘I can show you the powder we sell – it’s like crystals – they dissolve in water.’

‘And do you also supply Epsom salts?’

‘We are not a chemist.’

‘Baking powder?’

‘Why are you asking? Are you unwell?’

‘No, it’s not that.’ Sidney panicked. ‘Mrs Maguire asked me to get some baking powder.’

‘Mrs Maguire normally does her own shopping.’

‘I thought I would help out.’

‘You need a wife, Canon Chambers.’

‘People keep telling me.’

‘Is your German friend coming again?’

‘Not imminently.’

‘Nothing wrong with an English girl. Have you thought about my niece?’

‘Abigail Redmond? She is far too young for me. And anyway, isn’t she spoken for?’

‘Not any more. We put a stop to all that Gary Bell nonsense as soon as we found out. She’s a good-looking girl.’

‘Really, Mrs Thomas, this is not what I came to discuss.’

‘What did you come to talk about?’

‘I came for baking powder, I remember that now, and to ask about Mr Ali.’

‘Well that’s all over now, God rest his soul; not that he believes in God.’

‘His is a Muslim God. Allah.’

‘That doesn’t really count, though, does it?’

‘We are all children of Abraham, Mrs Thomas.’

‘You mean we are all Jews? I don’t think so.’

‘It is a figure of speech.’

A queue was forming in the shop behind him, and now was not the time to talk to Mrs Thomas about the similarities between the great religions. ‘Could I also have some lemonade crystals?’ he asked.

‘What do you want them for?’

‘For lemonade, of course,’ Sidney answered, knowing that he had every intention of proceeding directly from the grocer’s shop to the Coroner’s Office.

‘You are a funny one,’ Mrs Thomas replied. ‘There are times when I just can’t make you out, Canon Chambers.’

‘You are not the first person to tell me that.’

‘You should spend more time in church rather than poking your nose into other people’s business. It doesn’t do any good, you know.’

After long conversations with the Ali family, Harold Streat, the undertaker, and the staff at the Mill Road cemetery, Sidney organised a simplified Christian funeral ceremony followed by Muslim prayers in which the imam spoke out the Takbirs. Members of both cricket teams were in attendance, and there was a large turnout from both the Muslim community and patrons of the Curry Garden. It was clear that Zafar was much loved and that his future would have been bright. It made his loss hard to understand and the thought of the crime horrifying.

Annie Thomas had chosen to read a Christina Rossetti poem for the service. She wore a black dress and had a pale, determined look that commanded attention and refused interruption. She wanted it to be publicly acknowledged that she was unembarrassed by her affiliation with the deceased, and was determined to let everyone know she had loved him:

He was born in the spring,

And died before harvesting:

On the last warm summer day

He left us; he would not stay

For autumn twilight cold and grey.

Sit we by his grave, and sing

He is gone away.

After the service, Sidney took pains to tell her how brave she had been and that she should come and see him if she ever felt vulnerable or afraid. He hoped that she would not return to the confines of her bedroom. ‘I know it is hard,’ he began. ‘Eventually, I hope, this grief will lessen. Time will pass.’

‘What if I don’t want it to pass? If I forget this pain then I will forget him, and I don’t want to do that.’

‘I don’t think he would want to see you like this.’

‘Anything less would be a betrayal.’ She looked at Sidney for as long as she had ever done. ‘I want my parents to know it wasn’t just some teenage thing.’

‘I am sure they don’t think that. It’s why they were so concerned.’

‘Mum said you came round asking weird questions.’

‘I just needed to put my mind at rest.’

‘You think it was the lemonade?’

‘I am not sure.’ Sidney did not want to arouse any suspicion or provoke any blame, and Annie’s conversation forced him to be far more careful than he might normally be. ‘Will you be going home?’ he asked.

‘No, Canon Chambers, I am going to stay with Zafar’s family for a few days.’

‘Do your parents mind?’

‘Yes. That’s why I am going.’

‘And do they have a room for you?’

‘It’s the room Zafar slept in. That’s why I want to go there.’

‘Are you sure that’s good for you?’

‘I don’t want it to be good for me, Canon Chambers. I want to do what is right.’

Sidney could tell that it was going to take years for any grief to lessen or for the tensions in the Redmond family to die down, and he needed some guidance from the coroner if he was going to pursue his suspicions.

‘There is nothing untoward about the lemonade crystals that you brought me,’ Derek Jarvis told him. ‘We would have anticipated that. You can’t expect the family to have handed over the poison.’

‘You think they are responsible?’

‘I think they could be as guilty as hell. It’s often the closest family members. But proving that is a job for you and Keating.’

‘The supply could have been adulterated without their knowledge, I suppose. At the cricket ground, for example.’

‘It could,’ Derek Jarvis agreed.

‘Which would mean anyone?’ Sidney asked.

‘Anyone and everyone. The whole bloody village, if you like.’

The next morning Amanda telephoned to ask how the funeral had gone. She also wanted to tell Sidney that she had been to hear Claudio Arrau continue his cycle of Beethoven sonatas at the Festival Hall and wished Hildegard could have heard it with her.

‘I am still so glad you like her.’

‘Of course I like her,’ Amanda replied. ‘And you must be careful not to lose her. If you don’t watch out someone else will snap her up.’

‘I don’t think she intends to marry again . . .’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Sidney.’

‘I can’t think about all this.’

‘Honestly, Sidney, I know a man may have been killed and that you have your duties to attend to, but your future happiness is equally important. You can’t spend your whole life in pursuit of murderers. Are you still involving yourself in the inquiry into the death of that poor Indian boy?’

‘I was there, Amanda, just before he became unwell.’

‘And is there evidence of foul play?’

‘I am afraid there is.’

‘What kind?’

‘Antimony poisoning.’

‘I have heard of that. It’s the same as tartar emetic, isn’t it?’

‘I believe so. How on earth do you know?’

‘They give it to horses to bring down their temperature.’

‘Horses?’

‘It’s called “Hind’s Sweating Ball”. It can be quite dangerous if taken in large quantities . . .’

‘And is it difficult to get hold of?’

‘Not if you are a vet. I could put you in touch with one if you wanted to pursue that particular line of enquiry.’

‘The captain of our cricket team is a vet.’

‘Oh, good gracious, Sidney.’

‘I will have to go and see him.’

‘You will be careful, won’t you? I am always fearful when you embark on your investigative escapades.’

‘I’ll be perfectly safe, Amanda.’

‘That’s what I thought in the past but now I worry about you all the time. I only wish Hildegard was there to look after you . . .’

Andrew Redmond lived in an end-of-terrace house on the edge of Grantchester which opened out into farmland. The third Redmond child, and something of an afterthought, he was twenty-nine years old and unmarried. This was surprising given his relative good looks, his sporting abilities and his professional assurance. A few cards from a recent birthday stood on the mantelpiece but this was clearly the home of a man who lived on his own, with horse brasses and fire tongs, and framed photographs of cricket teams from both school and university. Andrew was always in the centre of the front row: A.P.D. Redmond (Capt.).

The house smelled faintly of antiseptic. On being asked if he would like a cup of tea, Sidney noticed that, unlike in many a bachelor’s house, everything had been tidied from the kitchen, the surfaces had been newly wiped and the floor had been mopped so recently that it still carried a faint, wet gleam.