A Fatal Mistake: A gripping, twisty murder mystery perfect for all crime fiction fans. Faith Martin
said smartly.
‘Constable. Get back to the station sharpish, please. I have another assignment for you.’ She recognised DI Jennings’s voice at once, and automatically stiffened to attention.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. But already she could hear the dialling tone in her ear.
She trotted back to Mr Emerson’s bedside and stowed her accoutrements neatly away in her police-issue satchel, only stopping at the nurses’ desk on her way past to ask someone to send word to the local police station should their patient say anything.
Then she jogged outside, where she collected her bicycle, mounted it and began to pedal fast towards St Aldate’s. Luckily it wasn’t far and wouldn’t take her long. She knew how DI Jennings felt about being kept waiting.
As she pedalled, careful to dodge the many other cyclists thronging St Giles, she wondered why she’d been called off her duty at the hospital so soon.
At nearly twenty years of age, she was an intelligent young woman, and had quickly realised DI Jennings wasn’t at all happy at having one of only a few women PCs assigned to his station. Trudy had quickly become resigned to being given the dregs of police work, keeping her clear of his eyeline and out from under his feet. Thus, she had gloomily been expecting to stay at the hospital for days, hugging her notebook and pen in case of the odd mumbled word, and fighting off boredom and pity in equal measure.
So what on earth could the sudden summons back to the station be all about? She hoped, glumly, that she hadn’t done something wrong that she was about to be hauled over the coals for. Any minor misdemeanour of hers was always noted and sarcastically commented on, whereas if PC Rodney Broadstairs, the station house’s blue-eyed boy, made the same errors, nobody said a word.
When she got to the station, there was nobody about to give her any clue as to what was in the wind, although Walter Swinburne, the oldest PC at the station, gave her an encouraging smile as she passed his desk.
But the moment she tapped on her DI’s door, waiting for his summons before entering the office, her gloom lifted like magic. For there, sitting in the chair in front of DI Jennings’s desk and scowling ferociously at him, was Dr Clement Ryder.
And probationary WPC Trudy Loveday was probably the only copper in the city who was ever glad to see him!
DI Jennings watched her come in, noting her flushed cheeks and damp hair – no doubt the girl was feeling the heat and the bike ride had winded her. He bit back a sigh of impatience and the retort that rose to his lips that a man would have been able to take such physical exertion in his stride. And if the picture of some rather overweight male constables flashed through his mind to give lie to this thought, he firmly suppressed them.
Instead, he sighed heavily and indicated the chair next to his unwanted visitor. ‘Take a seat, Constable Loveday,’ he said flatly.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Trudy said smartly, and sat upright on the edge of the chair indicated.
‘Hello, Constable Loveday,’ Clement Ryder said, turning to her and thinking how charming she looked today. A little dishevelled, perhaps, but her dark-brown eyes were dancing with curiosity and interest. Just as he remembered them.
‘Dr Ryder,’ she said calmly, displaying none of her happiness to see him. This took some effort on her part because she’d already guessed that he’d come into her life to rescue her from the humdrum routine of her usual working days. Just like the last time she’d seen him, when he’d asked for her help on another case. A case, she was very happy to remember, that they’d solved between them.
Harry Jennings sat up a bit straighter in his chair. ‘Dr Ryder was just telling me all about the Chadworth case, Constable. Are you familiar with it?’
‘No, sir,’ Trudy admitted, and promptly wondered if she would be in the doghouse for not knowing. Was it something she should have been studying?
Harry Jennings shrugged his shoulders. ‘No reason why you should be, I suppose,’ he admitted, a shade reluctantly. ‘You weren’t called out to take a part in it, as I recall. Perhaps Dr Ryder can give you a brief summary,’ he added, thin lips twitching slightly. He’d already had his ear bent for the past quarter of an hour on the subject and didn’t feel inclined to repeat it.
‘Derek Chadworth, a law student, found dead in the river last week,’ Clement obliged him succinctly.
‘Oh, yes. I know the case,’ Trudy said at once, and with some relief. She hated looking ignorant in front of the coroner. As her DI had said, it wasn’t her case, but she had overheard some of her colleagues talking about it in the outer office. ‘He was one of the drunken students on the punts that overturned, wasn’t he? Death by accidental drowning?’
‘That’s what we all thought the verdict would be.’ DI Jennings couldn’t help but interrupt, his voice sardonic in the extreme now. ‘However, it seems the… jury—’ and here he laid a rather pointed emphasis on the last word ‘—in their undoubted wisdom, chose to bring back an open verdict instead.’
The coroner’s lips twitched slightly. Trudy caught the tension in the room and forced back a smile. If it came to a battle of wills or wits between these two men, she knew who the winner would be.
‘And as I was just telling the Inspector here,’ Clement Ryder slipped in smoothly, with an expression as innocent as a newborn babe’s, ‘an open verdict requires a little more investigation.’
DI Jennings sighed heavily. ‘And as I was telling him,’ he said through teeth that, if not exactly gritted, seemed inclined to stick firmly together, ‘it’s a verdict that will have caused upset to many families.’
‘The dead boy’s, you mean, sir?’ Trudy said, a little puzzled. Only to swallow hard as the DI shot her a furious look.
‘Not just the deceased parents, Loveday,’ he snapped. ‘Although, naturally, they can’t have been very happy with such a—’ and here he shot the bland-faced coroner a telling look ‘—meaningless verdict. I was also thinking of the parents of all the other students present on that tragic day.’
‘Most of whom are ladies and gentlemen of distinction and means, naturally,’ Clement put in, shooting Trudy a twinkle-eyed look.
‘Be that as it may,’ Jennings snarled, ‘you can see their point of view! Nobody wants their son or daughter to have to deal with such a tragic turn of events on what should have been a day of celebration. Having a friend die young can be a very traumatic event in any circumstances. But to have that tragedy drawn out even further by a coroner’s jury leaving matters so up in the air… and with nobody quite knowing what to make of it… well!’
He threw his hands out in a gesture of annoyance. ‘Naturally, people want answers and to be able to decently draw a line under things. And a verdict of accidental death, or even death by misadventure, would have allowed them to do just that.’ He took a deep, steadying breath. ‘The Chief Superintendent is of the opinion that the case should be allowed to quietly settle down, allowing the boy’s parents to bury him and grieve in peace. And for all the other young men and women involved to get on with their lives.’
Dr Ryder slowly swung one leg over his knee and regarded his ankle socks thoughtfully. He had, of course, as DI Jennings had surmised only too accurately, influenced – some might even have said instigated – the verdict that had been handed down.
It had been quite easy for a man like Clement Ryder to arrange, naturally. He’d merely had to fix the foreman of the jury with a gimlet eye as he took them through a summary of the evidence, and stress certain facts. For instance, when telling them that ‘if, on consideration, you feel that some questions remain unanswered to your satisfaction, then it is only right and proper that you return an open verdict’. And, ‘if you feel that you are not sure exactly how Mr Chadworth came to drown on that day last week, then you mustn’t allow yourself to guess, or be swayed by any one theory’. This last had been directed at the WI matrons, who’d