M.C. Beaton - Death of a Prankster

“Don’t you want to find out who did it?” demanded Jeffrey.

“Of course I do,” said Charles. “My fiancée has been murdered. But I wish they would start looking in other directions. They keep going on at me. They should be looking for some homicidal maniac.”

The door opened and Paul and Melissa came in. Jan looked at her son sharply. “I’m glad someone’s happy,” she declared. “Don’t tell me that idiot Blair has actually found the murderer.”

Paul took Melissa’s hand in his. “We’re to be married, Mother. Melissa and I are engaged.”

“That’s all I needed,” said Jan. Everyone else murmured their congratulations. Priscilla looked at Melissa and thought, she’s not in love with him. After all this is over, she might regret it.

♦

While Jim Gaskell was being interrogated, the preliminary autopsy report on Titchy Gold came through. She had died from an overdose of sleeping pills. Furthermore, the forensic experts had already discovered traces of sleeping pills in the dregs of the chocolate.

The gamekeeper listened impassively and then said, “So what are you wasting time questioning me for? I didnae kill the lassie, nor had I any reason for doing so.”

Daviot sighed and dismissed him but told him to be available for more questioning.

“Was that dummy found?” Hamish asked suddenly. “I mean, the first joke that was played on Titchy was with a dummy.”

“Yes, we found it,” said MacNab. “It was down in a store room next to the games room along with a bunch o’ other tricks.”

“What did they all really think of Andrew Trent?” said Hamish, half to himself.

“Whit does that matter?” demanded Blair.

“Whoever killed him hated him, really hated him,” said Hamish. “If we solve the first murder, we’ll know the answer to the second. Although they may not be connected.”

“Never say that,” groaned Daviot. “But you have a point. Let’s have ‘em all back, one after the other.”

Jan Trent was the first to be asked to reply to the simple question, “What did you think of Andrew Trent?”

She looked at them, slightly goggle-eyed with amazement. “What did I…? Well, not much. Just a silly old man. Jeffrey didn’t like his brother much and did not see much of him, which meant I didn’t see much of him either.”

“What did your first husband do?” asked Hamish.

“He was a bank manager.”

“What did he die of?”

“A heart attack,” snapped Jan. “What has all this got to do with…?”

“Quite,” said Daviot, throwing a curious glance at Hamish. “Let us revert to the original question. What were your feelings towards Mr Andrew Trent?”

She sat silent for a few moments and then said, “Impatience, mild dislike, that’s all.”

When she had gone, Hamish asked, “Where did her husband die?”

“John Sinclair died in a nursing home in Baling,” said Anderson, consulting a sheet of notes.

“An ordinary nursing home?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I just wondered whether it might have specialized in mental patients – whether there’s any insanity that might have been passed on to the son.”

“I’ll check,” said Anderson and picked up the phone.

Charles Trent was next. Asked what he had thought of his adopted father, he said in a puzzled way, “Well, not much. Irritating old cove. I mean, I was sent away to boarding-school early on and left there as much as possible. It suited me. I didn’t like holidays at home. Then, after a bit, some of the boys used to invite me to their homes for the holidays and I liked that. I wished he’d been more like a real, ordinary father, you know. But I’ve always been pretty popular, lots of friends and all that, and he did pay up for a good education. I kept away from him as much as possible. It suited both of us.”

“And you didn’t hate him?” asked Daviot, thinking again what a singularly beautiful young man Charles Trent was.

“Not enough to murder him, if that’s what you mean,” said Charles.

He had no sooner left the library than Anderson said cheerfully, “You might hae something, Hamish. John Sinclair was as nutty as a fruit-cake. He did die of a heart attack. But the nursing home takes mental patients. He got out one night and was found running around the grounds in the middle of winter without a stitch on. They had to put him in a strait jacket, and while he was fighting and struggling, he had the heart attack that killed him.”

“Right,” said Daviot. “Let’s see what Paul Sinclair has to say to that.”

Hamish thought Paul Sinclair was thoroughly prepared for this line of questioning. Priscilla must already have asked questions about his father and that had alerted him.

He said quietly that his father had been perfectly sane until the divorce, which had turned his mind. “And do you blame your mother for your father’s death?” asked Daviot.

Cold anger blazed momentarily in Paul’s eyes but he had himself well in check. “Of course not. I blame Jeffrey Trent. He took my mother away. He told her that if she married him I would have the best schools, the best of everything. It was all his fault.”

Daviot leaned forward. “And what did you think of Andrew Trent?”

“I couldn’t stand him,” said Paul. “Filthy old fool and his disgusting jokes.”

Daviot’s voice was cold and even. “Did you murder him?”

Paul snorted with contempt. “No. I was getting away. I had planned to leave in the morning with Melissa. We all hated him. I’m the only one who’s honest about it.”

Betty Trent was next. She looked shocked when asked to tell them her feelings towards her father. “Well, how odd of you. I mean, he was my father. I loved him. His jokes were very tiresome, I admit, and Angela and I would not have come to visit him had we not believed him to be dying. You are very insensitive, Superintendent. What a horrible question to ask a recently bereaved daughter! It is possible to love a parent without liking him, you know.”

They did not get much farther with Angela, although she was more forthright than Betty. She said she and Betty had dreaded coming to Arrat House because of the practical jokes. They had not lived with their father for over twenty years. When they were both in their early thirties, Andrew Trent had had a house in Perm but had moved north when Arrat House and the land came up for sale. Although not Scottish, he had always wanted to be the laird, said Angela. She and Betty had persuaded him to let them go to London and live there. Hamish Macbeth said quietly, “Neither you nor your sister ever married. Did your father have a hand in that?”

“I suppose he did in a way,” said Angela, “but if you think either of us killed him because of that, you’re mistaken. Oh, I know people say, “The poor Trent sisters, they were quite good-looking in their youth and could have got married had it not been for their father.” Sometimes I would like to believe that myself. He did play his awful tricks on any fellow we brought home. But the fact is,” she said, her voice becoming harsh, “no one ever loved either of us enough.”

There was a long silence in the room while Angela fought for composure. By God, Hamish Macbeth thought, if the auld scunner were alive this day, I would be tempted to kill him myself!

After Angela, Jeffrey Trent came as something of a relief. He was dry and brisk. No, he had not liked his brother much, but as he had had little to do with him, he had not entertained any strong feelings against him. At present, he felt quite fond of his late brother because of the inheritance. It had given him the freedom he craved.

“Both Paul and Mrs Trent say you took her away from her first husband, John Sinclair, thereby causing the man to have a mental breakdown,” said Hamish.