Faith Martin - A Fatal Flaw

‘No, I don’t,’ Clement said, half-amused and half-appalled by the idea. ‘I’d rather watch the cricket!’

Trudy shrugged. ‘I suppose I can see why most of the girls doing them think it’s fun. And the money prizes can be staggering – I did a little research on it after Grace came to me,’ she admitted, seeing the doctor’s thick eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘But I think the Miss Oxford Honey only gives out prize money to the actual winner, and prizes for the runner up and winners of each round. Grace said the shop owners who are helping sponsor it are donating the prizes. You know, stockings from the clothes shops, and cosmetics from the chemists, and stuff like that. I think they’re being rewarded for their generosity by getting to sit on the judging panel, along with Mr Dunbar and the owner of the theatre.’

‘I’ll bet they are,’ Clement grunted, secretly thinking that most of them would be only too glad of the excuse to participate in a little glamorous showbiz under the auspices of a business banner.

‘So, you think it’s unlikely to be murder?’ Trudy got the conversation back on track, trying not to sound disappointed. ‘I suppose that leaves us with accidental death then? I mean, that the dead girl thought she was drinking something herbal and good for her that she’d made herself, and was in fact drinking poison instead. That’s so sad. To think, she thought that what she was doing was going to help her reach her goals in life, when in fact, she was putting an end to her future once and for all.’

Clement blinked at this rather torturous statement and then shrugged. ‘Or perhaps she didn’t make the poisonous concoction herself, but was given it by someone else?’

‘So you do think it’s murder?’ Trudy said, grinning with excitement.

‘Or it’s possible that the person who made the concoction made a genuine mistake, and is now too scared to own up to it?’

‘Her best friend Vicky, perhaps?’ Trudy proffered absently, reading the coroner’s inquest notes in between chatting and sipping her tea.

‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t strike me as the adventurous kind. Not the sort of girl to try making up ointments and such,’ Clement disagreed. ‘She didn’t seem that bright, for one thing. No, I got the distinct feeling she was more the follower, and Abby the leader.’

‘Oh. One of her other friends then?’

‘Or a rival in the competition, perhaps?’ Clement mused. Although he considered it part of his remit to try and rein Trudy in on some of her more fanciful theories, he had to admit that it could be fun to let the imagination run riot now and then. ‘Perhaps this prankster your friend told you about has struck again, but this time went too far? Possibly without meaning to?’

‘Would that be murder then?’ Trudy mused.

‘Manslaughter, probably,’ Clement said. ‘But I’m not a QC, and besides, this is all idle speculation, remember.’

Just then, and before Trudy could reply, the secretary knocked on the door, announced the arrival of Miss Farley and ushered Grace inside.

Trudy took one look at her pale, tired face, and got to her feet. ‘Grace. How’s your mother?’ she asked abruptly and urgently.

Clement took the opportunity to reach into his desk, unroll a pack of strong mints and pop one into his mouth. Another annoying side effect of Parkinson’s was halitosis, and he had got into the habit of sucking on mints on a regular basis.

Grace, shrugging wearily and taking the seat the coroner rose from and offered her, slumped down rather heavily and gave a small smile.

‘Oh, you know. She’s been taking this new medication for a little while now, and at first she seemed to be improving. Now some of the doctors at the Radcliffe Infirmary seem to think that an experimental operation might be her only hope, but others are advising against it. So we’re not sure what to do. Dad’s at his wit’s end. But you didn’t invite me here to talk about all this,’ she said, and with an obvious mental effort, stiffened her shoulder and looked across the desk.

‘Thank you for calling me up Dr Ryder and for taking on Abby’s case,’ she said politely.

Clement, whose previous life as a surgeon made it easy for him to recognise all the signs of someone with a terminally ill loved one, poured her a cup of tea and insisted she take and eat two biscuits.

‘I’m only too pleased to help,’ Clement said and smiled at her gently. ‘So, what can you tell us about Abby? How did you first meet her?’

Grace sighed, and then opened her handbag and reached inside for a packet of Camel’s cigarettes and a small lighter.

She offered them around, but both Trudy and Clement refused.

‘Well, I’ve only really known her since the beauty pageant started when Abby and Vicky showed up at the initial interviews. We’re still having one or two girls coming in even now, though rehearsals are well under way.’

‘I’m not sure I know just how a beauty contest works,’ Trudy admitted, sensing that her friend was very nervous indeed. Whether it was because she knew that the morgue was so close by, or whether Dr Clement Ryder’s somewhat imposing presence was getting to her, she couldn’t tell.

‘Well, neither do I really,’ Grace admitted ruefully. ‘But I know how Miss Oxford Honey is being run. Basically, we want girls from Oxford or within a twenty-mile radius to come for an interview so we can see if they’re suitable. After that, they need to do a piece for the talent contest to make sure they have a certain flair – and that’s really the main reason for the rehearsals, which is why we’re so lucky to have the theatre. What’s more, the resident make-up lady and wardrobe mistress are helping out with the evening wear section and swimsuit catwalk bit.’

‘OK. And Abby was one of the favourites to win, was she?’ Trudy gently led her back on course.

‘Oh yes. Well, perhaps her and three or four of the others. Caroline Tomworthy is very exotic-looking, and a bit older, at 28. So she has a bit more glamour, I suppose, though 30 is the cut-off age,’ Grace explained, puffing assiduously on her cigarette. ‘Then there’s Betty Darville and Sylvia Blane. And maybe Candace Usherwood. But she’s only just 20 and acts much younger, so…’

‘And how did Abby get on with these girls – the ones who were her main rivals?’ Trudy asked curiously.

‘Oh, I would have said they got on fine. I just can’t imagine who’s playing such nasty tricks on everyone. Just last night a girl’s shampoo was doctored with glue! Poor thing, it took us all ages to wash it out. Even then, she had to have a hairdresser come in and cut her hair. Luckily, we all agree the shorter style suits her better than her long hair, but even so she was very upset…’

Grace sighed heavily. ‘Poor Mr Dunbar is at his wit’s end! So far the press haven’t caught a whiff about the sabotage, but when they do…’ She broke off helplessly, stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and wearily folded her hands neatly in her lap. She didn’t really want to talk about Mr Dunbar. She felt bad enough steaming open and reading his private mail, then reporting back the contents to his wife. It made her feel dirty and incredibly shabby. And that was not the only demoralising thing she’d had to do.

‘So it couldn’t have been Abby who was playing the tricks then,’ Trudy said with a quick glance at the coroner. It wasn’t a theory they’d discussed before – but it was obvious that if the prankster was still at work, then it couldn’t possibly have been the dead girl who was causing the nuisances. ‘Unless someone has taken over from her,’ Trudy theorised. ‘Maybe one of the girls might have known or suspected she was behind the pranks, and then decided to simply follow on where she left off? Especially if it was working, and some of the girls were being spooked into leaving the competition!’