A Fatal Night Read online

  As the last chimes of midnight came and went, the streamers flew, champagne corks popped, people kissed, and ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was sung with the proper amount of maudlin relish. Indeed, as it was later agreed by all those who had cause to think back on that night, a good time had been had by all.

  It was such a pity that, later, all of those present would be suspected of having just taken the necessary steps to execute a very simple, neat and near-perfect murder.

  Chapter 4

  Trudy was asleep when the banging began on her front door. She opened her eyes with a snap, still feeling groggy from having had too much sherry last night. What on earth …? She lifted her head from the pillow and looked out of the window, feeling confused. It was still dark. What time was it?

  She groped for the bedside lamp and switched it on, blinking in the sudden light, and reached for her watch. She had a slight headache, but nothing worse.

  Her tin alarm clock assured her that it was not quite seven o’clock – hardly the middle of the night. Soon even the mid-winter dawn would break, although her room had that now familiar pale glow from all the reflected snow outside. For a second, she wondered if she’d overslept for work, and it was her mother banging on the door … and then she remembered.

  It was New Year’s Day! And she wasn’t due in to work until two o’clock that afternoon. No holidays for her – but at least she hadn’t been landed with the early shift! With the weather like it was, and so many officers trapped in their homes or off sick with the wretched bug that was going around, she had been wondering if her luck would continue to hold.

  Perhaps it hadn’t?

  She groaned, stuck one leg out into the cold air of her bedroom, shivered and quickly slipped her feet into slippers before her toes could become icicles. She shrugged thankfully into her warm quilted housecoat (a Christmas present from her father) and padded rapidly downstairs as another spate of knocking echoed through the household.

  She went to the door and cautiously opened it. She recognised the blond, good-looking man on the doorstep at once and scowled at him, shivering as the wind blew some flakes of the softly falling snow onto her slipper-clad feet.

  ‘Mornin’, sunshine,’ PC Rodney Broadstairs said with a wide, unrepentant grin. ‘Get dressed, darlin’. The big cheese wants you at the station right away.’

  Trudy sighed but nodded. ‘Give me five minutes,’ she muttered.

  Reluctantly, she let him in to wait in the kitchen. It wasn’t much warmer in there than it was outside, since neither of her parents had risen yet to light the fires, but at least the penetrating wind didn’t reach that far into the Lovedays’ small council house.

  When she came back down again, she discovered that he’d at least had the decency to make a pot of tea – even though she suspected that it was probably incidental that she got to benefit from it too. He was already on his second cup. Still, she was able to gratefully gulp down several hot mouthfuls of it before she had to dash out to the police-issue Land Rover that was waiting outside.

  Even though she’d now passed her driving test (thanks to her friend Clement Ryder, giving her driving lessons) she knew that Rodney wouldn’t let her drive it, and went straight to the passenger seat and climbed aboard. She sat beside him, shivering in her winter uniform and winter coat, and blowing on her hands to try and keep some feeling in her fingers.

  The ancient vehicle had been requisitioned from who-knew-where (since a lot of the police cars were all but useless in streets where the council had been unable to clear the snow) and its heater definitely wasn’t working. And from the way that Rodney had to struggle to keep it on the icy roads, she wondered nervously what other, more vital bits didn’t work either!

  Every now and then they saw cars abandoned in snowdrifts, where their unlucky owners or the AA had failed to dig them out. In St Aldates, a milk lorry was stuck, and the driver and one or two others (irate customers?) were trying to dig it out.

  ‘Any idea what the inspector wants?’ Trudy asked tiredly, tucking a stray strand of her long dark hair back under her police cap.

  ‘He didn’t say,’ Rodney said shortly.

  Trudy wondered if he’d been one of those stuck with the night shift, and wisely kept silent. She wasn’t up to coping with Rodney’s continuous complaints today.

  *

  The station seemed deserted. She was so used to seeing old Walter Swinburne at his desk, drinking tea or hogging the fire, that it felt quite odd how quiet it was. She guessed that the few officers who had managed to make it in were now out and about attending to their many duties – even poor old Walter!

  She supposed that, given all the parties that must have been going on last night, the drunk tanks all over the city were now probably full to bursting, and the paperwork for that alone would be mind-boggling. She hoped that wasn’t what she’d been called in early to help with.

  ‘Go on in, the inspector’s been in since six. He’s in a foul mood though, so watch out,’ Rodney advised her gruffly.

  Duly warned, Trudy checked her cap was on straight, knocked on Inspector Jennings’s door, and heard the familiar bellow for her to come in.

  She flinched, but put a bright smile on her face.

  Harry Jennings raised his head as she entered and gave her a jaundiced look. He was a fair-haired man of medium height and build, with a rather large nose and hazel eyes. Right now, his eyes appeared rather bloodshot and Trudy wondered if he’d been partying himself last night and now was suffering from the subsequent hangover.

  ‘Oh, so you’re here at last,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Sir,’ she said smartly. She wondered, briefly, if she should point out that she wasn’t due in for a good six hours yet, but knew better.

  ‘Well, you’d better get yourself off to Five Mile Drive then,’ he said grimly. ‘We’ve got a dead body.’

  Trudy blinked and stiffened in surprise. Had he really just said what she’d thought he said? ‘Sir?’ she asked timidly. Usually the inspector wouldn’t let her handle cases more important than shoplifting or old ladies mugged for their pension money. Well, apart from the odd occasion when Dr Clement Ryder needed her official police services, and the inspector was given no other choice but to comply.

  Was it possible that the inspector was taking her seriously at last?

  ‘Oh, don’t get excited, Constable,’ Jennings said wearily, catching the excitement in her eye. ‘We’ve got reports of someone being found dead in their car in a snowdrift. Almost certainly he was out drinking and partying last night, crashed, and either died of his injuries or exposure. If I had the men, I’d send—’ He broke off and sighed as he contemplated his depleted forces. ‘Bloody snow!’ he muttered.

  He slumped back in his chair and eyed her belligerently. ‘I just need you to go to the scene, organise the paperwork, oversee the removal of the body and make general inquiries. General inquiries, mind!’ he emphasised. ‘Although when a medical officer will be able to get out to confirm death with everything they’ve got on their plate … it’ll probably take them hours.’ His eyes glinted in malevolent, sudden good humour. ‘So try not to freeze to death, Constable.’

  ‘Sir,’ Trudy sighed.

  ‘Once someone more senior becomes available you can hand it all over to him,’ Jennings informed her. ‘If I can get Sergeant O’Grady on the phone, and if he’s feeling better, he might be able to take it on,’ he muttered, but didn’t sound very hopeful. ‘If not, you might have to carry on doing the basics until I can find someone.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ she said eagerly. Even if it did turn out to be something so run-of-the-mill, this was the first time her superior officer was willing to trust her with something substantial, at last!

  ‘All right then, off you go. You know the drill,’ he added vaguely. ‘Preliminary inquiries only, mind,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, sir. Er …’ Trudy hesitated.

  ‘Well?’ Jennings snapped.

  ‘I was just wondering, sir, if the po
lice surgeon’s office is so busy … Might it not be a good idea to call on Dr Ryder? In a pinch, he’d have the authority to confirm death, and allow the mortuary people to move the body? Otherwise …’

  The inspector’s first thought was to roar out, ‘No, you bloody well can’t call on the old vulture!’ This was the nickname for the coroner that most members of the police force (and several not in the police force) often used behind Clement Ryder’s back. The inspector didn’t like it when his WPC and the coroner got together – they very often discovered more trouble than he would like.

  But then he caught back the knee-jerk reaction, and instead a crafty smile spread across his face. It was blowing freezing snow out there, and he doubted Dr Clement Ryder would be pleased at being winkled out of his cosy home on New Year’s morning to go to the scene of a road traffic accident, and perform so humble a task as to pronounce a death. The former surgeon would think it well beneath his status and dignity.

  Serve him right!

  ‘Of course, Constable,’ he said sweetly. ‘A good idea. It might not be very orthodox, but given how much the police surgeon has been complaining how backlogged they are, I’m sure I can square it with their office.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Trudy said, beaming, and shot out the door before he could change his mind.

  Jennings chuckled, then winced as his head began to throb. Glumly, he saw the day stretching grimly ahead. Just how many of his officers could he expect to straggle in?

  He sighed heavily. Well, at least this time not even Dr Ryder and his troublesome WPC would be able to make anything out of something so straightforward as a dead motorist.

  Chapter 5

  Trudy very rarely had cause to visit Dr Clement Ryder at his private residence, and she felt a moment of apprehension as she walked up South Parks Road towards the attractive Victorian terrace where he had his home. She was pushing her bicycle somewhat awkwardly, as the roads here hadn’t been totally cleared yet, but she was confident that the main Woodstock and Banbury roads to the north of the city would have been. And that Dr Ryder’s heavy Rover would probably be able to cope with the conditions.

  But what if he wasn’t interested in her new ‘case’ – if it could even be called that? She doubted that there’d turn out to be anything actually criminal going on, and he might not appreciate being dragged out into the cold just to do the police surgeon a favour. On the other hand, they hadn’t investigated anything together since last May. She couldn’t be the only one who was looking forward to getting together again – could she?

  She sighed as she opened his gate, relieved to see that the short front path had recently seen the attentions of a snow shovel. She was dressed in wellington boots (not regulation, but the weather had made even the most hardened stickler for uniform turn a blind eye) and as she rang the doorbell, she conscientiously stamped her footwear clear of clinging snow. If she had misjudged things, the last thing she wanted to do was track unmelted snow into the house.

  She was still looking down at her feet when the door opened, and she looked up with a bright smile, already saying ‘Happy New Year, Dr Ry …’ when she realised that the man standing in front of her was not, in fact, the coroner.

  Somewhere in his late twenties, he was around six feet tall, with light brown, almost blond hair and large, hazel eyes. He was good-looking in a foxy-faced kind of way, and at the moment he was looking over her uniform and frowning. ‘Yes, officer? Is there something I can help you with?’

  Trudy quickly wiped the smile off her face, feeling like a fool, and stiffened slightly. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to Dr Clement Ryder?’

  The stranger on the doorstep looked at her with wary puzzlement. Her complexion had become reddened by the coldness of the day, but she couldn’t know that he thought she still managed to look quite lovely. ‘It’s New Year’s Day,’ he said flatly, apparently unimpressed by the caller’s charm. ‘I believe he’s not officially on duty until the beginning of next week?’

  Trudy flushed. She was right to be worried – she shouldn’t have come. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll …’

  ‘Who is it?’ she heard Clement call from somewhere in the hall beyond.

  ‘Not sure, Dad. It seems to be the police. Hope you haven’t been misbehaving,’ the young man said teasingly, but still regarded Trudy without any particular benevolence.

  ‘Who?’

  Trudy, who was already turning away, swung back as she heard her friend’s voice calling her. Clement’s face had appeared over one of his son’s shoulders and he was now smiling widely in welcome. ‘Trudy? My dear girl, come in out of the cold. I was just about to make some cocoa,’ he lied. He never drank the stuff, and Vincent, who clearly knew it too, shot him a quick look of puzzlement. ‘This ill-mannered oaf is my son Vincent,’ he added mildly.

  Trudy saw the younger man shoot her a slightly shame-faced look.

  ‘Oh, no, it’s all right. I have to …’ she began, still eyeing Vincent nervously. By now, she’d worked out why he was being so antagonistic of course. The family members of public servants must get used to protecting them from intrusion and unwarranted calls on their time. The children of GPs, she suspected, learned at an early age how to sort the wheat from the chaff when it came to out-of-hours callers.

  ‘I won’t take no for an answer. Come on in,’ Clement said firmly, more order than suggestion, and Vincent hesitated only a moment longer before reluctantly stepping aside, opening the door wider to admit her.

  ‘Well, just for a moment then,’ Trudy said uncomfortably. Why hadn’t she realised that the coroner would probably have family in residence? It was the holiday season after all. She was just so used to thinking of him being alone in the world, she supposed.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ she said, flicking her gaze between Clement and his son.

  Trudy knew little about the coroner’s private life; only really the basic facts that he’d been a widower for some time, and had a son and daughter – twins – who had long since grown up and moved away from the city.

  ‘Happy New Year to you too,’ Clement responded, ushering her ahead and leading the way to the kitchen. There he went straight to the refrigerator where he extracted a milk bottle and began to pour some milk into a pan. ‘Vincent, you want some?’ Clement asked his son, who stood leaning against one side of the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching them.

  ‘No thanks,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Sit down, Trudy,’ Clement said as he noticed that his young friend was hovering uncertainly by the kitchen table.

  Trudy had already noted that he was dressed in a heavy tweed suit, but no tie, and looked to have a lost a little weight since she’d last seen him. She obediently drew out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. ‘I really can’t stay long, Dr Ryder. I have to make my way to Five Mile Drive. We’ve had a fatality,’ she added.

  As she’d known it would, Clement’s handsome head turned swiftly to look at her, eyes already alight with interest, and she felt a small but distinct sense of satisfaction at his reaction. ‘Oh?’

  ‘A driver found dead in his car.’ Whilst she had been pleased to discover that her mentor was as eager as she was to work another case together, she felt as if the rather prosaic nature of it let them down somewhat.

  Not that he seemed to feel the same way. ‘You need me?’ Clement asked eagerly. He put the saucepan of milk onto the stove and turned on the heat and glanced at her.

  Trudy shot the young man hovering in the doorway a quick look and wondered what to say. If Vincent Ryder hadn’t been there, she’d already be eagerly giving him all the details, including Inspector Jennings’s strict and limiting instructions (and how they could get around them!) but now she felt as if she really was intruding. What if Dr Ryder wanted to stay at home in the warm with his son? Before she could think of a way to frame a polite refusal, however, Clement was already talking.

  ‘Sorry, that was stupid of me. Of course you need me.
I heard from Dr Robbins only yesterday that he was up to his eyes in cases, with half his staff off with this bloody bug and others snowed in out in the suburbs. He’ll have no manpower to spare for something so routine. I’ll give him a call now and offer to have a look and pronounce death. That way, they can at least move the body, tow the car and get the obstruction cleared before the day gets really started.’

  Vincent moved out of the doorway to allow his father to pass by, and a moment later Trudy heard a door open and close somewhere in the front of the house. Presumably a study or library?

  ‘Do the police really need to call on my father for something so basic?’ Vincent asked resentfully. His dad was no spring chicken anymore, and they’d had a late night, seeing in the new year. He should be taking it easy today. ‘He is on holiday you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Trudy said uncomfortably.

  Vincent sighed, and began absently ladling two heaped spoonfuls of cocoa into a mug and mixing it with a little milk. From somewhere further back in the house they could just hear the coroner’s deep, rumbling voice.

  A short while later, it fell silent and then Clement reappeared in the kitchen, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. ‘Well, that’s all sorted. Robbins was delighted to have one less thing to worry about, as I thought.’

  Vincent smiled grimly, wondering if that was the case or if, as happened so often, his father had simply told the poor man what was going to happen and expected to be obeyed. He noticed that a similar smile was hovering around Trudy’s own lips and Vincent’s gaze sharpened on her.

  He felt an unexpected but definite sense of anger creep over him. Just who was this attractive girl, to know his father so well? And think she could smile about it?

  ‘The milk’s about to boil over, Dad,’ Vincent said sharply and watched as Clement made a brief noise of annoyance and reached for the saucepan on the stove.

  Vincent handed over the mug, and he and Trudy watched as Clement poured out the milk. His hand shook slightly as he did so, spilling some milk on the draining board. Clement looked up quickly, no doubt checking to see if either of his guests had noticed, and Vincent saw the pretty young police officer glance carefully away. There was something in the way she pretended not to see it that made his hackles rise in growing alarm. Just what the hell was going on here? Who was this young woman, and how well did she know his father?