A Fatal Flaw. Faith Martin
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understand the poisonous possibilities of yew?’
‘So?’ Inspector Jennings tried to sound off-hand, but his unease was growing.
Clement shrugged. ‘I think the owner of the theatre and the organiser of the contest, not to mention the girls themselves, might take it amiss having big-footed male constables tramping about all over the place. Catching them out “accidentally” in their undies during the changes, gawping at them in their swimsuits and generally making a nuisance of themselves.’
Inspector Jennings flushed. ‘I hardly think that’s likely! My men are professionals through and through.’
‘Hmm. But men will be men. You don’t think they’re going to take advantage of so many pretty witnesses?’
‘I do not!’ Jennings huffed.
‘Because if they do, and there are any complaints… Can you just imagine the headlines in the papers?’ Clement gave a mock shudder.
‘It won’t happen,’ Jennings said flatly. ‘I’ll make sure of that!’
‘But why risk it? Don’t you think, since you’re lucky enough to have a woman police constable assigned to you, that it makes perfect sense to make use of her in a situation that’s clearly calling out for her services?’ he asked mildly.
The Inspector – who didn’t feel at all lucky to have had a woman foisted onto his previously all-male police station – eyed the older man warily. He didn’t like it when the old vulture talked in such a mild and reasonable tone. It made him feel very wary indeed.
Besides, he was damned if he was going to let the older man bamboozle him into doing what he wanted.
‘WPC Loveday is too inexperienced to be given any real responsibility yet,’ he said adamantly.
Clement, who was wearing his usual impeccable suit (today a dark-grey creation with a dark-red pinstripe so thin it was almost invisible), casually crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and regarded thoughtfully the short length of his burgundy-coloured sock which his actions had just revealed.
‘But unless she’s given the opportunity to gain experience, she’ll never get to learn, will she?’ he pointed out reasonably.
The Inspector sighed softly. ‘This is an ongoing case thanks to y… to the verdict brought in by the jury,’ he gritted. He was, of course, well aware that the coroner had directed the jury into the verdict, and was determined that the interfering old so-and-so wouldn’t get his way this time. For once, he and his little pet would have to learn they couldn’t win every time.
‘And for that reason,’ he swept on with a blithe smile, ‘I’ve decided to appoint a more able police officer to continue the inquiries into Abigail Trent’s death.’
Clement looked at him curiously. That the Inspector was being deliberately obstructive didn’t really surprise him. But he wondered, idly, what was behind it. Misogyny perhaps? Or was it Clement himself that Jennings objected to?
Either way, it didn’t really matter. He was in no mood to cross swords with such a feeble opponent. It was far easier – and quicker – to simply go over his head.
‘Well, if that’s the way you feel about it,’ he said with a pleasant smile, putting both his feet to the floor and rising abruptly from his chair. As he crossed to the door, putting his hat on his head as he went, he was aware that the policeman was watching him with both surprised and wary eyes.
‘Good day, Inspector,’ Clement said pleasantly from the doorway, before walking through the outer office and nodding every now and then to the polite greetings from the few officers who were working at their desks.
Back in his own office, it took the wily old coroner only two minutes to decide which of his friends he needed to call. There were several men who owed him a favour – and now he thought of one in particular. Back in the old days, he’d saved one of his colleagues from making a potentially disastrous mistake when he’d misdiagnosed a patient with a rare condition. It had been a mistake almost any doctor would have made, but Clement had been lucky enough to have had a similar case early in his own career, and thus he’d recognised the very subtle signs.
His friend was now a VIP on a large scale, with thumbs in many pies, and had been itching to get out of Clement’s debt for years. So it would make his day to hear that he could finally do Clement a good turn in exchange and feel that they were now even.
Ten minutes later, a fuming DI Jennings received a phone call from above ordering him to offer the coroner the police liaison services of WPC Trudy Loveday for the Abigail Trent investigation.
* * *
At that moment, Trudy was in the cells going through the handbags of several prostitutes while they watched, calling her names and offering her suggestions that would have made her mother’s ears burn.
She gamely tried to pretend her own weren’t burning at some of the more raucous jeering coming from the confined women, but in truth she was rather glad when she was relieved by another officer who told her that she was wanted in the DI’s office.
Naturally, this set off a whole barrage of innuendo from her tormentors, and she could only hope that her cheeks weren’t still burning when she knocked on the DI’s door a few minutes later and was bade, crisply, to enter.
Right from the start, she could tell by her superior officer’s sarcastic tone and short, sharp sentences, that he was in a right royal tizzy. But she hardly cared, when he told her the good news that she was going to be working with the coroner again.
And the fact that she was going to be working with the coroner again on Abigail Trent’s case was the icing on the cake. Grace Farley would be so pleased!
At least now, Trudy thought with some satisfaction as she collected a bicycle and pedalled off towards Floyd’s Row, where the coroner’s office was situated, she might be able to give her friend some peace of mind.
‘So where do we start?’ Trudy asked, beaming a thank-you smile at Dr Ryder’s secretary as she delivered a tray containing a large pot of tea, three cups and a tin of Huntley and Palmer biscuits, and then left with her usual silent discretion.
By now, Trudy was beginning to think of Dr Ryder’s office as a home-away-from home, and as she took a sip of tea, she looked across his big, but neatly ordered desk-top with an expectant look on her face.
‘Well, I thought we might start with your friend Grace,’ Clement said. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of telephoning her at work, and she’s agreed to come down here in her lunch hour’ – he checked his watch – ‘which should be in about ten minutes’ time.’
Trudy nodded happily. ‘So, what are your thoughts so far?’ she demanded eagerly.
Clement smiled. ‘I have none, in particular,’ he said, amused, as ever, by her eagerness. He reached for a biscuit and put it on the side of his saucer and with no trace of tremor in his hand today, lifted the full cup of tea with confidence.
In due time, he knew his speech would become slurred, and he’d begin to shuffle. But with luck he could still eke out a few more years before anyone would guess he had serious health issues, and he might even get another year or more after that before anyone dared challenge him on it.
In the meanwhile, he was determined to make the most of these last precious, golden years of his life before enforced retirement and illness finally got the better of him. Besides, as he listened to the young girl in the chair opposite him, he was very much aware that acting as Trudy Loveday’s mentor and champion was going to give him an investment in life for the foreseeable future.
‘But surely you got a picture of what we’re dealing with from the inquest? I only wish I’d been able to attend,’ she