Read Online Waxwork by Peter Lovesey - Free Book Online

As I saw it, the murderer had to be a member of the household at Park Lodge. Already I had checked that there were no visitors on the day of the murder. Mr Howard Cromer was in Brighton. Unless he had tampered with the decanter before he left, only his wife or the servants could have done it. I made an appointment to visit Park Lodge, asking that every member of the household should be available to answer questions.’ Waterlow gave a sigh. ‘In retrospect, I can see that I should not have let them know that I was coming.’
    â€˜Was someone not available?’
    â€˜No, they were all present, but so was Allingham, the family solicitor. I would have got a lot more done without him. He knows his job, does young Allingham. I had met him already on the day of the murder. He was present when I interviewed Miriam Cromer the first time. I believe Dr Eagle had sent for him, the wily old cove. Well, on this occasion Allingham raised so many objections to my questions that he came close to obstructing me in the course of my duty. You may find this difficult to believe, but it took over an hour to establish who had filled the blasted decanter, and at what time.’
    â€˜Miriam Cromer?’
    Waterlow nodded. ‘By sheer persistence I managed to extract the information. She admitted it was a regular task of hers—responsibility, she called it—filling the decanters after the wine arrived on Monday mornings. By Friday they were empty, so there was a standing order with the wine merchant. On the day of the murder the wine arrived at noon and she went with it to the studio as usual.’
    â€˜Was Perceval working there?’
    â€˜So she told me. In the next room, the processing room, where the poison cabinet was situated. It was obvious that she couldn’t have obtained the cyanide while he was working there—if she was telling the truth. As Perceval was dead, I could not confirm the statement. Clever. The solicitor made damned sure she didn’t say any more. Anything else would have to be discovered by patient detective work.’
    â€˜Did you question the others, sir?’
    â€˜Yes. I told you Cromer spent the day in Brighton at a conference. The three servants, all females, didn’t venture upstairs until they felt they couldn’t ignore the racket Perceval was making in his convulsions. Cromer doesn’t like his clients to see the domestics, so they were supposed to keep below stairs. By the time they got to him, the poor beggar was paralysed and bereft of speech. That’s about all I got from the servants, except the alibis they provided for each other. Oh, they did confirm that there wasn’t a visitor to the house all day, apart from tradesmen. There was only one conclusion I could draw, and that was that Miriam Cromer was a murderess.’ Waterlow paused for dramatic effect. ‘You can imagine my predicament, Cribb. Here was a respectable married woman of the genteel class, or not far short of it. Their neighbours are people like the Duchess of Cambridge. A Major-General lives next door and the Director-General of Kew Gardens is close by. You can’t ask people of that class whether they have noticed anything irregular.’
    â€˜You must have gone back to the servants.’
    â€˜Yes, I’m coming to that,’ Waterlow peevishly said. ‘I did, and I don’t mind telling you that I managed it without creating the least suspicion in the family. Two of the servants lived in, but a third, a housemaid of thirteen named Margaret Booth, resided in Brentford. “Resided” isn’t quite the word now that I recall the squalor of the street, but that’s of no importance. Margaret had been warned by Allingham in peril of her job not to make a statement of any kind to the police.’ He gave a belly-laugh. ‘Young Margaret wasn’t prepared for me to be seated in her own parlour beside her father when she came home. The old man