Free Jam and Jeopardy by Doris Davidson Page B

and wiped them away.
    Her interrogator persisted, his training forcing him to pursue the important part of her answer. ‘Was? Your dog is no longer with you, I take it?’
    Grace Skinner shot a warning glance at her sister, and spoke quickly, before Violet could reply. ‘Benjie died last week, I’m sorry to say.’
    ‘What was the cause of his death, ma’am?’ The inspector heard Mrs Grant draw in her breath sharply.
    ‘He contracted some kind of canine disease,’ Grace said, evasively.
    Moore was surprised that McGillivray probed no further, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and Violet visibly relaxed at his next question.
    ‘What other complaints did Miss Souter make?’
    ‘She was offensive about my daughter’s caravan sitting in the Lane for a few days.’ Grace looked indignant even at the memory. ‘She said it obscured her view – yet
they were only here for two weeks every year.’
    ‘Not a very sound reason, then?’
    ‘Not really. It was just another excuse to find fault. Then she complained about my sister playing the piano on a Sunday, said it spoiled her afternoon nap.’
    ‘I only played sacred songs, or something quiet,’ Violet volunteered, unexpectedly. She seemed less afraid now, and watched, with pride, as McGillivray looked with admiration at the
old mahogany upright, lovingly polished to a high sheen.
    ‘I can’t remember everything,’ Grace continued, ‘for they were all rather trifling, but she was growing worse and we couldn’t have stood much more of it.’
    ‘I see.’ He placed his finger tips together, as if in prayer, and considered for a moment before he went on. ‘Did she ever speak to you about her nephews?’
    ‘She didn’t speak much to us at all, except to complain about something, and she didn’t discuss her nephews or their wives, but we saw them coming and going every
weekend.’ She shook her head as an unwelcome thought struck her. ‘You’re not thinking that one of them used the arsenic on her?’
    ‘It would seem the obvious conclusion to make.’
    Violet gasped and jumped to her feet. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Inspector?’
    ‘No, thank you.’ McGillivray smiled politely. ‘Mrs Wakeford very kindly made tea for us when we were in there. Please sit down, Mrs Grant.’
    Grace had clearly welcomed the diversion her sister had caused. She’d been rather shaken by the interview after all, and the respite gave her the chance to reassemble her nerves.
‘Was there anything else, Inspector?’ Her voice was steady.
    ‘No, I don’t think so, for the present.’ McGillivray stood up, then added, ‘Did Miss Souter ever tell you that somebody was trying to poison her?’
    Grace looked startled. ‘Did she say that?’
    A small sigh disturbed them, as Violet Grant slowly slid off her chair in a faint.
    When Sergeant Black arrived back at the police station, he saw James Randall coming out of his surgery, on the other side of the High Street. ‘Good morning,
Doctor,’ he called. ‘Have you a minute? We’ve had the result of the autopsy.’
    Randall frowned, but walked over. ‘You sound pleased about it. Don’t tell me it was a suspicious death after all?’
    ‘Not just suspicious, Doctor, murder!’ Black tried not to look too triumphant that the other man had been proved wrong. ‘The first examination showed a needle mark in the back
of her neck, so they sent the body to Aberdeen. The pathologist found that she’d been injected with insulin.’
    ‘Insulin? But she wasn’t a diabetic . . . Oh, of course. That’s why it killed her. By God! That was a crafty move on somebody’s part. It gives exactly the same symptoms
as a heart attack. Years ago it wouldn’t have been detected at all, but they’ve new methods of spotting things now. As far as I was concerned, she gave every appearance of having
suffered a coronary.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Black wore an expression which plainly said, ‘Pull the other one!’ and Doctor Randall was stung