As a method of killing it would undoubtedly work, but setting up a suitable conflagration posed problems. Arson was not one of Graham Marshall’s special subjects, but his reading of newspapers suggested that it was a crime fairly easily detected. So shoving petrol-soaked rags through the letter box, or throwing a can of the stuff in at one of the windows, or even — in a frivolous image his mind presented — shooting flaming arrows Indian-style at the thatch, though probably efficacious methods, were unlikely to escape the notice of the authorities.
And they all had the disadvantage of requiring Graham’s presence at the scene of the crime at the time of the crime.
There were remote methods that might work. Maybe he could use another act of electrical sabotage. Some appliance that could overheat near a curtain, perhaps? Or near a sofa? The flames from the burning foam in modern sofas were notoriously deadly.
Hmm, not quite. The idea had not quite the form yet, not the intellectual perfection that his plan to dispose of Merrily had had. He wondered briefly whether he really had been so convinced when he devised his wife’s quietus, or whether the conviction had been added in the retrospect of success. On balance, he thought it had always been there, and felt confident that, when he got the right idea for Robert Benham’s extinction, he would recognise it.
He brought his mind back to the cottage. There were arguments against the staging of electrical disasters. The timing might be a problem. Suppose the faulty appliance were spotted. . Then the sabotage might be identified and investigations ensue.
The trouble with any such plan was that it would involve housebreaking. He realised again how easy he had had it with Merrily. Was that, he wondered wryly, the reason why the majority of murders are of cohabitants?
Breaking into Robert’s cottage to set a booby-trap doubled the risk. There was a danger of discovery, not only when the thing went off, but while it was being installed. And there was no guarantee that. .
Suddenly he remembered the bright blue burglar alarm on the front of the cottage.
For the time being he had reached an impasse. He took the realisation philosophically. Time enough, time enough. He was on the right track. He would get there.
It was while he was shaving that he thought of the boat.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Graham saw Stella in the canteen on the Monday lunchtime. She was sitting at an empty table, eating cheese and biscuits, when he approached with his loaded tray.
‘Do you mind if I …?’
‘No. Please.’ He sat down. She scrutinised him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, you know. .’
‘Any better?’
‘A bit.’
‘The shock must be awful.’
‘Yes. In surprising ways. It sort of upsets one’s whole thinking. Whatever you think about is different. The circumstances have changed.’ He was mildly surprised at the fluency with which such lines came out.
‘Yes. I’ve never lost anyone very close to me. Both my parents are still alive. It must be terrible.’ She spoke this automatically, assessing, wondering what his next move was going to be.
‘I mean. . you,’ he said, fully aware of the impact of his words.
‘Me?’
‘Well, you know you and I. . when we went to the wine bar those times, before. . before. .’
She helped him out of his apparent embarrassment at mentioning Merrily’s death. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Well, I enjoyed it.’
‘Me too.’
‘And now suddenly it’s all different. I mean Merrily’s dead and one part of me is reacting to that, and yet at the same time another part is saying I’d like to go on seeing Stella, but there’s this sort of feeling that I shouldn’t.’
‘Because of what people might say, people in the company?’
‘I suppose that’s part of it. All of it, maybe.’
‘Well then, if we do meet, we should do it somewhere where nobody in the company’ll see us.’
‘Yes, that’s right, we should. How do you feel about going out to dinner somewhere tomorrow night?’
Predictably, she felt pretty keen about it.
He had rung earlier in the day for an appointment with his doctor and went along after work. The doctor was an earnest young man Graham had met perhaps twice when collecting prescriptions or getting forms signed. Merrily had had all the other dealings with him. She and Lilian regarded a doctor as someone central to their lives, someone with whom they had a relationship; for Graham he represented merely a convenient service, on a par with an emergency plumber or a minicab firm.
‘I’m so sorry about. . what happened,’ said the doctor with a gravity beyond his years. ‘A tragedy. Such a lively woman, so vital.’
Graham nodded agreement.
‘And then I heard about your mother-in-law. A foolish act which must have put additional stress on you at a time when you are least able to bear it.’
Graham prepared to voice his request, but the doctor had not concluded his monologue. ‘The full effect of bereavement is something we medical practitioners have still got a lot to learn about. There’s research being done, and the most important thing that emerges is the need for grief, a need for the bereaved person to abandon him or herself to grief. And as soon as possible. I do hope that you are grieving for Merrily.’ Graham felt an irrepressible desire to laugh, but when the sound came out, managed to convert it into a sob.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the doctor soothingly, ‘that’s good. You mustn’t have any of these inhibitions about men crying. It’s just as important for a man as a woman. Grief is essential.’
Since the young man seemed prepared to go on about grief indefinitely, Graham stated the reason for his presence. ‘The fact is, doctor, I am having difficulty sleeping.’
‘Well, that’s no surprise, Mr. Marshall — or may I call you Graham? — no surprise at all. Any normal person is bound to be affected by the sort of shock you have just suffered and the effects are most likely to take a physical form. Insomnia I would expect, or a bad back, headaches or — ’
‘Are you saying it’s just psychosomatic?’ asked Graham, sensitive to any aspersions being cast on his imagined complaint.
‘By no means. Anyway, what is psychosomatic, what is real? Increasingly we medical practitioners are having to learn to treat the whole patient, not to separate the body and the mind. Your mind has experienced a terrible shock, and your body is reacting by depriving you of sleep. It is only time, and the full process of grief, that can complete the healing process.’ Since the doctor was in danger of getting on to grief again, Graham cut in. ‘What I’m asking, doctor, is can you prescribe something to make me sleep?’
This the doctor did willingly. Two of the pills, taken half an hour before retiring, should do the trick. If Graham still found himself waking up in the night, he could take one more. Three was the limit, though. The doctor warned him of the dangers of overdose, hesitating slightly as he did so. Presumably, with Lilian’s gesture a recent memory, he was a little worried about planting such an idea in the head of a man unhinged by grief. Graham assured him that there was no danger of that sort, and set off with his prescription, trying to look subdued.
By the time he got home, he no longer felt the need for pretence, and moved jauntily to the front door. Everything was coming together very nicely, he reflected.
He was so cheerfully absorbed in his plans that he did not notice the occupant of the parked Ford Escort opposite, nor the intensity with which the man watched his arrival. Nor did Graham see the man get out of his car and walk slowly across the road to the house.
The doorbell rang.
Graham opened the door and looked at the stranger quizzically.
‘Good evening. My name is Detective-Inspector Laker. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wonder if we could have a bit of a talk about your wife’s death.’