A Shock to the System

‘They sleep so heavily,’ said Graham in a dull voice. Then, feeling an outburst might be timely, added, ‘Oh God! If only they’d woken! If she’d got to a hospital in time, she might have been saved.’

‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t have helped, sir. Death must have been instantaneous. She wouldn’t have felt a thing.’

‘I suppose that’s some kind of comfort.’ Graham allowed his voice to break a little. Then he swayed and reached for the wall to support himself.

The constable was instantly solicitous. ‘Here, you sit down, sir. Come on, you’ve had a terrible shock. Look, I’ll go and make you a cup of tea.’

Graham sat and waited, rationing out occasional sighs and sobs when he thought the policeman was in earshot. The tea came; standard practice in dealing with shock had been followed and it was very sweet. Not to Graham’s usual taste, but he drank it gratefully.

When he reckoned sufficient time had elapsed for him to have recovered, he decided to show more curiosity. He didn’t wish to appear unsurprised by what had happened. ‘But how? Why was the switch live?’

‘Old wiring, sir, I’m afraid. The insulation was perished. She’d probably have survived just touching the switch, but supporting herself between it and the water pipe, she didn’t have a chance.’

‘Oh God,’ Graham intoned. Then threw in another for good measure. ‘Oh God. I knew the wiring was dangerous. We were about to have it done. I’d got the estimate in. It was going to be started next week. He couldn’t do it. . any. . earlier.

He was rather pleased with the way he let this sentence tail off. Lilian was not the only member of the family with dramatic talent.

‘Our people have looked at the wiring, and made it safe temporarily,’ said the constable. ‘Death trap they reckon, the whole house. If it hadn’t been the loft switch, it could easily have been somewhere else.’

Good, thought Graham, good. That all helps to make the killing more plausible. He felt the welling confidence, which had been so slow to arrive after the old man’s murder, that he was going to get away with it. An involuntary smile began to twitch at the corner of his mouth. To maintain appearances, he bit on his knuckle and shook his head in ostensible disbelief.

It was as well he was looking away, because the constable’s next speech was tinged, for the first time, with suspicion, and Graham had to plan his reaction.

‘One thing that did puzzle us, sir. .’ the policeman began diffidently, ‘was why your wife went up to the loft, anyway. .’

‘Why?’

‘Seemed a strange thing for her to do, while you were away. According to her mother, she had never been up there before. .’

Trust Lilian to put her oar in. ‘No, no, I don’t believe she had.’

‘Her mother said your wife was planning some tidying, but not in the loft. Presumably she was looking for something.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘We had a look round up there to see what it might be she was after.’

‘Oh yes.’ Graham gave little. He would wait until the direction of the man’s words became clear before he chose his reaction.

‘What we did find. . the policeman paused, assessing his impact, ‘was some magazines.’

‘Magazines?’

‘Pornography.’

‘Oh. But surely it’s not illegal to — ’

‘No, no. Fairly soft stuff, these were. No grounds for prosecution or. . No, the interesting thing about them was that they’d been put up there quite recently. Get a lot of dust in a loft, you know. There was hardly any on them.’

Graham met the constable’s eye, which was curious and unyielding. Embarrassed honesty, Graham knew, was what was called for, and that was what he supplied.

‘All right. I put them up there.’

‘Thought that must have been the case, sir.’ The policeman nodded complacently.

‘Yes, I. . I mean, lots of men buy material like that. It’s no reflection on how well or badly your marriage is going. .’

‘No, no, of course not, sir.’

‘So, anyway, I would sometimes look at that sort of stuff and. . Anyway, one day I found my son in my study. He was looking for something in my drawers. . something quite innocuous, a stamp or an envelope or. . and it struck me that I didn’t really want him finding the magazines, so I moved them up to the loft. Preparatory to chucking them out of the house.’

‘Of course, sir. When was this?’

‘Last week.’

‘Hmm. About what we reckoned. So you did actually go up to the loft last week?’

‘Yes.’

‘What interests us about that is. .’ the man paced his sentence ponderously, ‘why you didn’t get a shock when you switched on the light?’

Graham had not been prepared for that. He felt himself colour and begin to sweat. ‘Well, that’s simple. I … I didn’t switch it on.’

‘No?’

‘No. You see, we only moved into this house last year and, quite honestly, since getting the removal men to chuck various bits up into the loft, I’ve hardly been up there. I couldn’t remember whether there was a light rigged up or not. So I used a torch. I was in a hurry, you see, because, well. .’ A little embarrassed cough. ‘Merrily was out just for a few minutes and. . she didn’t know I had these magazines and I didn’t really want her to. . to. .’

‘I quite understand, sir.’ The policeman’s soothing voice was another part of his training in the treatment of shock.

Graham could still feel his face burning and the sweat starting on his temples. Still, a recently bereaved man has cause to look upset. He decided to capitalise on his physical symptoms and stage a little breakdown. ‘Oh God, to think of those magazines — deceiving Merrily — they didn’t matter — but it just seems so petty — and now she’s dead and. .’ He managed to produce some quite presentable sobs.

‘Have some more tea, sir.’ But the constable didn’t let him off the hook. ‘We still haven’t established why your wife wanted to go up to the loft, sir. She couldn’t have had any suspicion that the magazines were up there, could she, sir?’

‘What? No, it’s — oh my God!’ Graham manufactured a larger sob. ‘The sewing machine.’

‘What?’

‘The sewing machine was up there. Oh, and she said she was going to make some curtains for the spare room. Yes, she talked about it Saturday lunchtime a couple of weeks back. Her mother was here, I remember.’ (If Lilian was going to tell the police her recollections, then she could also make herself useful and corroborate his.)

‘Yes, that must have been it — the sewing machine was up in the loft.’ Time for the big, weepy finish.

‘Oh God, she was going to do the curtains for me … As a surprise. . For when I came back. . Merrily. . And now she’s gone. .’ He judged it to be the moment when tears would be more eloquent than further words.

The policeman was very sympathetic. He apologised for having to ask the questions, realised that Mr. Marshall was in a state of shock, and asked if he would feel all right to be left on his own.

The last suggestion appealed strongly to Graham. The strain of curbing his glee was beginning to tell. Only one more thing he needed to know. ‘Where is Merr. . my wife. . her body?’

‘At the police mortuary, sir.’

‘Oh. I suppose I’ll have to sort out funeral arrangements and. . We both agreed we’d want to be cremated if. .’

His voice faltered while his mind thought, Destroy the evidence, destroy the evidence.

‘I’m sure that’ll all be possible after the inquest, sir.’

‘Inquest?’