Common Murder

“I don’t know where you’ve got your information from, young lady, but I can assure you nothing of the sort took place.” Mallard attempted to stand on his dignity. “We had a very harmonious relationship.”

“Not according to my sources. Two separate people have told me the whole story, and I believe the police are aware of it. I already have enough to write a story. It’s obviously doing the rounds locally. Hadn’t you better put the record straight, and give me your version of events before your reputation gets shredded beyond repair?”

He dropped the geniality and looked shrewdly at Lindsay. “Young lady, even if you seem blissfully unaware, I’m sure your newspaper has lawyers who understand all about libel. If you are thinking of printing any sort of story about me, you had better be extremely careful.”

“We don’t have to print a story about you, for your reputation to be destroyed. Local gossip will see to that. All I have to write is that police are investigating alleged misappropriation of funds by one of the officials of a local organization in connection with Rupert Crabtree’s death,” Lindsay replied.

Mallard paused, sizing her up. Then, after a long enough pause to render himself unconvincing, he smiled again and said, “Really, there’s no need for all of this. I’ve told you that we’ve got nothing to hide in RABD. That goes for me personally, too. Now, you’ve obviously heard some grossly distorted version of a conversation between Rupert and me. There’s no reason on earth why I should attempt to explain to you, but because I’m concerned there should be no misunderstanding, I’ll tell you all about it.

“We hold a substantial amount of money on behalf of our members. Most of it is for legal expenses and printing costs. As treasurer, I’m responsible for the money, and I know how important it is these days to make money work. Obviously, the more money we have, the better able we are to fight the good fight. Now, Rupert was checking something on the bank statements, and he realized there was far less in the account than he thought there should be. He was always prone to jump to conclusions, so he came round here in a great taking-on, demanding to know where the money was. I explained that I had moved it into the currency markets, an area I know rather a lot about. I was simply maximizing our returns. Rupert was perfectly satisfied with my explanation. And so he should have been, since I had succeeded in making a substantial profit.”

“Then why was he raising the matter at the next meeting?”

“Why? So that I could pass on the good news to the membership, of course. Rupert felt it was a matter for congratulation, m’dear.”

His glibness lowered his credibility still further in Lindsay’s eyes. She was determined to get him on the run, and she racked her brains to find some leverage in what Stanhope or Alexandra had said. “But how did you move the money without Crabtree’s knowledge? Surely that needed his signature?”

A momentary gleam of hatred flashed at Lindsay. “Of course, of course, my dear girl. But Rupert had actually signed it among a pile of other papers for his signature and had simply not registered what it was. Easy to do that when you’re signing several bits of paper.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that was the action of a conscientious lawyer. But you seem to have an answer for everything, Mr. Mallard.”

His smile was genuine this time. “That’s because I have nothing to hide, m’dear. Now, if that is all, I do have work to do…”

“One more thing. Since you’ve nothing to hide, perhaps you could tell me where you were on Sunday night from about ten?”

This time, Mallard couldn’t keep the smile in place. “That’s none of your business,” he snapped.

“You’re right. But I expect you’ve told the police already? No? Oh well, I’m sure they’ll be round soon to ask. Superintendent Rigano’s very interested in who I’ve been talking to…”

Lindsay felt she was doing battle. Mallard gave in. “I was at home all evening.”

“Which is where, exactly?”

He shifted in his seat. “Brownlow Common Cottages. Four doors away from the Crabtrees actually.”

Lindsay smiled. “Convenient. Alone, were you?”

He shook his head. “My wife was in. She… she almost always is in. She has MS, you see, confined to a wheelchair.”

Nothing’s ever simple, thought Lindsay. Poor woman, stuck in a wheelchair with him. She waited, then he went on. He was clearly a man who felt uncomfortable with silence.

“I put her to bed about ten. So her evidence after that could only be negative-that she didn’t hear me go out or come in, that she didn’t hear my car. I have no idea why I’m telling you all this,” he added petulantly.