Wendy realised the landlord was talking about a subject which interested her greatly.
The first customers since she had entered the pub came in. The landlord left to speak to them, sell them some beer, and ask if they wanted to sample his wife’s steak and kidney. They did. Five minutes later, he returned.
‘He made a mistake, or at least, that’s how it’s recorded.’
‘Mistake with what?’
‘He used to mess around with some nasty poisons, arsenic in particular. It used to be in rat poison, not today, though. Anyway, it appears he’s brewing up some rodent killer – accidentally pours some into a glass of water that was sat on his bench in the barn. Dead within minutes, they said.’
‘Do you believe it?’
‘No reason not to, but this is a small community – people gossip.’
‘What did they say, the gossips?’
‘That the wife poisoned him, or one of the children.’
‘What do you believe?’
‘I’m not one for gossip.’
Wendy could see no reason to stay longer in the Lake District. There would be no trouble with her expenses this time. The first thing the next day, she planned to fill out the forms and to get Detective Superintendent Goddard to sign them.
***
It was the first arrest in a case that had gone on for too long. With a clear motive and the knowledge to carry out the murder, Isaac felt he had enough for an arrest.
Farhan knew the address, so he drove. Isaac was the first to enter the small apartment. She was alarmed to see the detective chief inspector, fractionally calmer when she saw Farhan come in behind him. A uniformed policewoman accompanied them.
‘Christy Marigold Nichols, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Charles Sutherland.’
The woman, stunned, collapsed to the floor. Farhan lifted her up and sat her on a chair.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Would you please accompany us to the station,’ Isaac said. It was a time for formality and following the official procedure by the book.
A police car that had followed Farhan and Isaac to Christy’s apartment transported her back to the station, where she was officially charged. Her one phone call Farhan made on her behalf to Eileen Kerr, her lawyer.
She arrived soon after, fuming, desperate for reasons for the arrest.
Isaac explained the situation and informed her that a formal interview would be conducted later in the day. If she wished to have additional legal representation, then there was time to arrange it.
The lawyer, realising the situation was serious, hurried down to the holding cell to meet her client. Christy Nichols sat in a foetal position at one end of the rudimentary bed provided. She was incapable of speech. Eileen Kerr requested a doctor. One was supplied.
A strong sedative, and the accused woman subsided into a prolonged sleep.
‘Tomorrow,’ Eileen Kerr advised. ‘I need to take advice from my client and to consider my position. This may require someone more experienced than me.’
Farhan felt a deep sadness for the woman in the cell.
Chapter 38
Isaac did not feel the sadness that Farhan felt – he felt relief. Christy Nichols who, according to Wendy, had had a turbulent childhood; mitigating circumstances would obviously be put forward in a trial. At least, the defence would put them forward, but murder was murder. The guilty had to pay for their crime, whether the murdered person was despicable or the childhood of the accused atrocious.
Wendy had been jubilant on her return from the north. Christy Nichols was in the cells before she had caught the train back to London. Now came the hard part, at least for her, the writing up of her report. She knew Bridget would not refuse to help.
According to Farhan, Christy Nichols was not handling the situation well, protesting her innocence. He had been to visit her; check she was okay. Apart from needing a shower and a change of clothes, she appeared confused. Farhan arranged for a policewoman to visit her home and obtain what she required.
Isaac felt confident that Jess O’Neill was innocent of one murder.
He had decided to tell Jess if she asked about Linda Harris, tell her if she didn’t. He could always say it was in the course of duty, but he thought it a lame excuse. When would sleeping with someone be an acceptable part of a criminal investigation? He knew why he had slept with her – because he wanted to and because she was available.
As he picked up the phone to make the call, it rang. ‘Isaac, MacTavish wants to see us,’ Richard Goddard said.
‘When?’ Isaac asked.
‘Now,’ the reply.
Five minutes later, both were downstairs waiting for a car. Twenty minutes later, they were in Angus MacTavish’s office. The man was in a jubilant mood. Isaac did not like it; he saw trouble. A possible attempt to interfere with the normal process of law.
Mrs Gregory had entered on their arrival, given Isaac a friendly smile and the choice piece of home-made cake with his cup of tea. He thanked her for her kindness.
‘Great work,’ MacTavish said. Richard Goddard accepted the compliment on his department’s behalf.
‘This wraps up the murders?’ MacTavish continued.
Isaac replied, ‘Only Sutherland’s.’
‘What about the others?’
‘We do not believe they were committed by the person in custody.’
‘Why not?’ MacTavish asked.
‘No motive.’
‘But she’s a murderer? Does she need any more motive?’
Isaac realised that MacTavish knew his statement was illogical; knew that MacTavish wanted the loose ends tying up, and the truth was dispensable.
‘She’ll never be convicted of the other two murders,’ Detective Superintendent Goddard said.
‘Why not?’ MacTavish persisted.
‘She had a clear motive for Sutherland. She never met Richard Williams and Sally
