Peter Lovesey: Wobble to Death

‘Process of elimination,’ Cribb declared. ‘Why should anyone kill a man like Darrell-good runner, popular celebrity?’

‘For profit, I thought,’ admitted Thackeray.

‘That was the first possibility. Someone with a lot to win on the race. But look at the suspects. Chadwick? He expected to win. Didn’t need to kill the opposition.’

‘That’s true, Sarge. But Darrell went ahead, and surprised him proper. Chadwick could have decided to poison him after that.’

‘Not so,’ said Cribb. ‘He wouldn’t have had the strych-nine ready. Couldn’t have walked into Darrell’s tent, come to that. Now Harvey-’

‘He was a worried man,’ said Thackeray. ‘He would have killed, I’m sure.’

‘Might have,’ agreed Cribb. ‘He wanted watching. Could have had some strychnine with him too, as a tonic for Chadwick.’

‘What made you discount him, then?’

‘The second murder. Monk’s note. Man like him couldn’t get Monk to write his own suicide note. Harvey didn’t get on with Monk.’

‘All right. It couldn’t have been Harvey. What about Jacobson? He was a man in plenty of financial trouble.’

‘Couldn’t get a bet on, though. Every bookie in London knew he was in debt. No profit for him in killing Darrell. That’s why he had to blackmail Herriott.’

Thackeray was convinced.

‘You don’t need to go through the other suspects, Sarge. You was left with Herriott and Cora Darrell. Cora wanted to keep her husband.’

‘Good. You realised that,’ Cribb congratulated him. ‘Her story rattled like this old hansom. In all the lies she told- and there were plenty-one fact shone through. Her fury at Darrell’s death, whatever the cause. He was just coming into the big money. Star billing. She didn’t want him killed.’

‘Why did she cover up so much, then, Sarge?’

‘Understandable,’ said Cribb. ‘Lonely wife takes a lover or two. Don’t look so good when husband gets murdered, does it? Scandal, Thackeray. Powerful force. Could ruin a woman’s chance of remarrying. People have lively imagina-tions where philanderings are concerned. So I was left with Herriott, and then it had to be a crime of passion, you see. Profit couldn’t be the motive. We found out from the maid that Cora dined out that Monday with someone. Cora tried to cover up with a false story, so it had to be someone we would know. That had to be Herriott-the only man out of the Hall that evening. It was-I confirmed that by checking on their stories. But it still wasn’t proof of murder. I needed a confession.’

‘But you had the report in from the place where he bought the strychnine,’ Thackeray pointed out. ‘That was evidence enough.’

‘Pure bluff,’ said Cribb. ‘Still got no idea where the stuff came from. It broke him, though, didn’t it?’

The cab turned into the street where Thackeray lived. Before climbing out, the constable addressed a final ques-tion to Cribb.

‘If you knew it was him, Sarge, why didn’t you confront him earlier? We might all have got home before now.’

‘That would have ended the race too soon. Done the peds out of their money.’

‘You did it for them?’

‘Not really. Ain’t a betting man myself. Never have been. But Mrs Cribb had ten quid on Chadwick. Good night to you.’