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Peter Lovesey: Wobble to Death

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Peter Lovesey Wobble to Death

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‘We didn’t put it down to tetanus or heart failure, so your plan went wrong. You had to provide us with a culprit. Monk was the obvious choice. But how did you force him to write the note?’

‘There was no force in it, Sergeant. It was pure luck. He was an illiterate, man, you know. When he thought that tetanus was the cause of death he felt responsible. He shouldn’t have let Darrell run barefoot, you see. So he asked me to help him write a note to Cora. Afterwards, I saw that it made a perfect suicide note.’

‘And you fixed him at night, after Jacobson had left him in the hut?’

‘Yes. I could walk about the tents and huts as a matter of routine. But even that went wrong. I shouldn’t have stunned him. You would never have known. But you did find out- and the rest is a nightmare.’

‘Jacobson, you mean?’

‘That bloody idiot! Yes. He unknowingly stumbled on the one thing that could incriminate me-my evening with Cora Darrell. I was ready to pay anything to keep you from investigating that relationship. So I opened the safe, and he took what he wanted.’

‘What made you report it as a theft?’

‘What else could I do? The runners had to be paid tonight. If there was no money they’d have been on me like starving hounds. I gave Jacobson a reasonable time to escape, and then informed you. I couldn’t announce at the last minute that the money had been taken. That’s been tried before, and you know what happens. I don’t believe they’d have left one brick of this Hall standing, and God knows what they’d have done to me. I hoped that if the word got round in time, the story of theft might be believed. Jacobson might have got clean away, and I could have paid off the debts later. As you know, it didn’t happen like that.’ Herriott slumped, exhausted, over the desk.

‘Come on Thackeray,’ said Cribb. ‘We’ll get him down to the local station. He needs a rest-even if it is in a cell. What’s the time? Before midnight is it? Just made it in the six days.’

‘I’d like to know how you got Jacobson to talk,’ said Thackeray. He and Cribb were being transported out of Islington by hansom.

‘Jacobson? Never said a word.’

Thackeray was incredulous.

‘Well if he didn’t, whatever led you to Herriott, Sarge?’

‘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.’

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