Common Murder

Her words and her delivery cut the ground from under Lindsay’s feet. All the standard approaches professing a spurious sympathy were rendered invalid by the widow’s coolness. The journalist also sensed a degree of hostility that she would have to disarm before she could get much useful information. So she changed the tactics she had been working out in the car and settled on an equally cool approach. “How long had you been married?” she asked.

“Almost twenty-six years. We celebrated our silver wedding last May.”

“You must have been looking forward to a lot more happy years, then?”

“If you say so.”

“And you have two children, is that right?”

“Hardly children. Rosamund is twenty-four now and Simon is twenty-one.”

“This must have come as an appalling shock to you all?” Lindsay felt clumsy and embarrassed, but the other woman’s attitude was so negative that it was hard to find words that weren’t leaden and awkward.

“In many ways, yes. When the police came to the door last night, I was shaken, though the last thing that I would have expected was for Rupert to be bludgeoned to death taking Rex for his bedtime stroll.”

“Were you alone when the police arrived with the news?”

She shook her head. “No. Simon was in. He’d been working earlier in the evening; he rents a friend’s lock-up garage in Fordham. He’s got all his computing equipment there. He’s got his own computer software business, you know. He commutes on his motorbike, so he can come and go as he pleases.”

At last she was opening up. Lindsay gave a small sigh of relief. “So the first you knew anything was amiss was when the police came to the door?”

“Well, strictly speaking, it was just before they rang the bell. Rex started barking his head off. You see, the poor creature had obviously been frightened off by Rupert’s attacker, and he’d bolted and come home. He must have been sitting on the front doorstep. Of course, when he saw the police, he started barking. He’s such a good watchdog.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” Lindsay replied. “Forgive me, Mrs. Crabtree, but something you said earlier seems to me to beg a lot of questions.”

“Really? What was that?”

“It seemed to me that you implied that you’re not entirely surprised that your husband was murdered. That someone should actively want him dead.”

Mrs. Crabtree’s head turned sharply towards Lindsay. She looked her up and down as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her appraisal seemed to find something in Lindsay worth confiding in.

“My husband was a man who enjoyed the exercise of power over people,” she said after a pause. “He loved to be in control, even in matters of small degree. There was nothing that appealed to Rupert so much as being able to dictate to people, whether over their plea on a motoring offense or how they should live their entire lives.

“Even when shrouded in personal charm of the sort my husband had, it’s not an endearing characteristic. Miss Gordon, a lot of people had good cause to resent him. Perhaps Rupert finally pushed someone too far…”

“Can you think of anyone in particular?” Lindsay asked coolly, suppressing the astonishment she felt at Mrs. Crabtree’s open admission but determined to cash in on it.

“The women at the peace camp, of course. He was determined not to give up the battle against them till every last one was removed. He didn’t just regard it as a political pressure campaign. He saw it as his personal mission to fight them as individuals and as a group and wear them down. He was especially vindictive towards the one who broke his nose. He said he’d not be satisfied till she was in prison.”

“How did you feel about that mission of your husband’s? How did it affect you?” Lindsay probed.

Mrs. Crabtree shrugged. “I thought he was doing the right thing to oppose the camp. Those women have no morals. They even bring their children to live in those shocking conditions. No self-respecting mother would do that. No, Rupert was right. The missiles are there for our protection, after all. And that peace camp is such an eyesore.”

“Did it take up a lot of your husband’s time?”

“A great deal. But it was a good cause, so I tried not to mind.” Mrs. Crabtree looked away and added, “He really cared about what he was doing.”

“Was there anyone else who might have had a motive?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve no idea who might hold a professional grievance. But you should probably talk to William Mallard. He’s the treasurer of Ratepayers Against Brownlow’s Destruction. He and Rupert were in the throes of some sort of row over the group’s finances. And he’d be able to tell you more about Rupert’s relations with other people in the group. There was one man that Rupert got thrown out a few weeks ago. I don’t know any details, I’m afraid. Does any of this help?”

“Oh yes, I need to get as full a picture as possible. Your husband was obviously a man who was very active in the community.”