A Fatal Mistake: A gripping, twisty murder mystery perfect for all crime fiction fans. Faith Martin
it. Something, as the Bard said, is rotten in the state of Denmark, and I intend to find out what it is. Of course,’ he added, feeling compelled to be honest with her, ‘when we do find out what it is, it might be nothing earth-shattering. It might not even be relevant to Mr Chadworth’s death. It might just turn out to be some silly stunt or secret the students are keeping to themselves for some reason. But until we find out what it is, we can’t know, can we?’
‘Do you think it’s possible they all collaborated to kill him?’ she suddenly asked breathlessly, her eyes glittering, her cheeks flushing in excitement.
And at this outburst of youthful exuberance, Clement grinned widely. ‘Whoa! Nobody said anything about that!’ He reined her back kindly.
‘But is it possible somebody at that party deliberately killed him?’ she persisted.
‘Well, let’s think about it for a minute,’ he said, thoroughly enjoying himself now. ‘There were more than twenty kids splashing about in the water. How likely is it, do you think, that someone could have grabbed hold of him and held him under without anyone noticing? Given that drowning men tend to splash about a fair bit.’
Her face fell. Then lightened again. ‘But if, say, three people did see it, and were for some reason keeping quiet about it…? That might explain why you think their evidence was suspect.’
‘Perhaps. But if you were going to kill someone, would you risk doing it in front of so many potential witnesses? And don’t forget, even if you were willing to take a chance on being able to bribe or threaten your fellow students in some way, that doesn’t negate the possibility that someone outside your control – an independent witness on the riverbank, for instance – would see you and spill the beans.’
Trudy sighed heavily, but, not willing to give up just yet, said tentatively, ‘Well, perhaps he wasn’t drowned at the party. Perhaps someone knew there was going to be a party and took advantage of it.’ With growing enthusiasm she sat up straighter. ‘The killer lures Derek to the river and drowns him there, knowing the punting party will be blamed.’
‘In which case, how did he know there’d be an accident? Unless he had an accomplice on one of the punts?’
Trudy sighed. ‘That does seem to be rather overcomplicated. But it’s not unheard of, is it? Two people conspiring to commit murder. But perhaps the accident was just a coincidence?’ she mused brightly. ‘The killer didn’t know there was going to be a collision, but at a picnic party, on a hot summer’s day by the river, he or she could count on there being a fair amount of swimming and bathing taking place. Perhaps the killer just relied on the fact that a drowned student, found in the river on a day when there’d been so many students mucking about in the water, would naturally be presumed to be one of their number, who had come to grief at the party?’
‘Perhaps. But have you considered the difficulty in that scenario?’ Clement cautioned her. ‘The killer would have to lure Derek to the river. How? On what pretext? He or she would then have had to drown a very fit and able lad, in a large stretch of water. The medical evidence made it clear he hadn’t received a blow to the head or been incapacitated by any obvious drug. Even if he was still a bit tipsy and hungover from a night’s drinking, you can be sure Derek would have put up a fight. And the chances of him being able to wriggle away are quite high, you know. It’s not as easy to drown someone as you might think. For a start, the killer would be certain to get drenched too.’
‘But it’s still possible,’ Trudy persisted stubbornly.
‘Perhaps. But again, the medical evidence puts time of death at around eight in the morning at the earliest. So where on the river could the killer feel safe from prying eyes? At that time, a lot of people are out and about, going to work, walking their dogs, fishing and what have you. If you were a killer, would you risk it? How could you be sure of going unseen and unnoticed?’
Trudy reluctantly acknowledged all these problems, and her woebegone expression made the coroner smile.
‘I’m not saying anything you’ve hypothesised didn’t happen. Just that we don’t know! Which means we need to do a lot more digging. So… are you ready to start?’
At this, probationary WPC Loveday grinned widely. Was she ready?
Of course she was ready!
‘Do we start at the scene of the accident?’ she asked brightly.
‘Whatever for?’ Clement asked, sounding surprised, but with a small smile playing on his lips. ‘I doubt there’d be anything to see after all this time, and the police went over the ground pretty thoroughly anyway. Any clues they might possibly have missed will long since have been trampled over by cattle or washed away in the river. Or do you think we might find a cigarette butt, containing tobacco made only in a small Malay village, and only sold in this country to three Emeritus Fellows and a recluse? Thus leading us straight to our prime suspect?’
Trudy laughed. ‘All right, point made! That sort of thing only happens in Sherlock Holmes novels. So, where do we start?’
Their first port of call was Webster Hall, the college where Lionel Gulliver had been studying theology for the past three years. He was due to ‘go down’ within the next two weeks, and the coroner was grimly aware they needed to act fast, since most of the witnesses to what had happened to Derek Chadworth would likewise also soon disperse.
The college was quiet, and when they enquired at the porter’s lodge after Lionel Gulliver, the guardian of the gate recognised Dr Ryder at once. Trudy knew (mostly from the grumbling comments of her Inspector) that Dr Ryder had many high-ranking friends in the town, and porters of colleges were notorious for knowing – and cultivating – anyone who was anyone. So she wasn’t particularly surprised when the bowler-hatted individual greeted the coroner by name.
‘Ah, Dr Ryder, sir, pleased to see you again. I take it our Dr Fairweather hasn’t managed to beat you at chess yet, sir?’
Clement gave a grunt of laughter. ‘No, he hasn’t, nor will he. But since he serves the best port in Oxford, I’m happy to let him keep on trying. Can you tell us what house and room number Lionel Gulliver is currently occupying?’
‘Of course, sir,’ the porter said smoothly, consulting a list and promptly coming up with the goods. He added softly, ‘I take it you’re here about that poor boy from St Bede’s? Tragic event that, sir, if I may say so.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ Clement said, his face and voice becoming very bland indeed. Trudy, who’d expected him to be anxious to get on with things, suddenly realised he was in no hurry after all, as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe and sighed. ‘A young life, cut off in its prime… It was a sad day for the university, Barstock. Did you, er, know young Mr Chadworth particularly?’ he added casually, making Trudy prick up her ears.
Like nearly all college porters, Barstock seemed to know all and could be persuaded to expound a little if the mood took him.
‘Not very well, Dr Ryder, sir. No, I wouldn’t say that,’ the porter responded carefully. ‘But I’d seen him around. He and, er, certain other young gentlemen belonged to one of the clubs that sometimes met here.’
‘Ah,’ Dr Ryder said with a smile. ‘Say no more. Boys do like to set up their clubs, don’t they?’ He allowed his tone to become indulgent. ‘In my day, I belonged to a pudding club. Once a month we met and tried to eat a pudding in every restaurant in Oxford. Couldn’t do it nowadays,’ he added ruefully, patting his rounding stomach. ‘Indigestion for one thing!’
The porter duly laughed. And Trudy, who’d begun to feel impatient with all this chit-chat, suddenly (and rather belatedly) cottoned on to the fact that the coroner was actually working his way up to something specific.
‘Of course, nowadays,