The Man Who Killed Himself (6 page)

‘I had it too.’

The doctor ignored that. ‘I’ve put her on a high protein diet.’

‘But there’s nothing serious?’

‘Nothing at all.’

Clare was more indignant than upset, but small steaks and chops made their appearance on the table and her attacks of sickness ceased. A brilliant idea had come to Arthur about the
modus operandi –
he did not care, even in his mind, to use the word poison. It had been given him by Hubble and it was especially gratifying because it fulfilled the maxim that out of defeat shall come forth victory. The ingredient in Wypitklere that had produced such drastic effects on glass was zincalium, a derivative of a metallic acid based on zinc. Would it not be possible to use zincalium as the
modus operandi
? On Tuesday morning Arthur left to take up his mid-week residence at Clapham. He left Clare the tooth powder containing
nux vomica
so that she might be satisfyingly sick in his absence. Perhaps she would call in Hubble, perhaps not. It really didn’t matter. When he returned next weekend he hoped to resolve the Clare situation for good.

Wrong Effect

Nobody loves a poisoner. In the long lists of means of murder it would probably be true to say that poison is the method most generally abhorred and despised. People will express sympathy with axe-killers, stranglers, gunmen, even with those who chop their victims’ bodies into bits, but not with poisoners. Yet Armstrong was thought of by acquaintances as an agreeable little man, and Crippen was in many respects amiable. Some poisoners like Neill Cream are far from agreeable characters, but many more are commonplace, emotionally undeveloped people who find themselves in a position from which murder by poison seems the only, or at least the simplest, way out. Once this has been decided the controls operating in their everyday life cease to be effective. So Arthur stopped thinking about Clare as a person at all, and managed to regard her as solely an object to be removed.

He spent a large part of his three days at Clapham reading about the effects of zincalium and deciding on the best way of using it. ‘If zincalium is used with sufficient care and cunning for homicidal purposes we may get a succession of mild attacks of the acute symptoms with remissions,’ he read in one textbook. There was no time for that, but happily the tooth powder should serve the same purpose of providing a case history which stretched back a little way in time. If there was one aspect of the affair that gave him satisfaction it was the ingenuity of using a preliminary emetic that was perfectly harmless. Had that been done before? He thought not. He was pleased to learn that zincalium was not an exceptionally painful poison. It was accompanied by ‘nausea, vomiting, general uneasiness and depression,’ but did not cause a burning sensation or have the drastic effects of some other metallic poisons. It would have been pleasant to use a drug that caused Clare to cease upon the midnight with no pain, thereby avoiding all unpleasantness, but one must use the means that are to hand. What really disturbed him was the possibility that he might not be able to distil enough zincalium out of the Wypitklere to achieve the desired result. He distilled the zincalium in the kitchen at Elm Drive while Joan looked on, fascinated.

‘E, whatever are you doing?’

‘Distilling this, my dear.’

‘I see that, but what’s it for?’

He looked up. ‘You’ve heard me talk about Flexner in the department?’

‘The expert in all those terrible germs and poisons. But I thought he was down at that place, what is it, Porton?’

‘Most of the time he is, but he’s been in the office recently, advising the Chief about disposing of a rather awkward customer, a Rumanian. He’s given some advice which the Chief is slightly doubtful about, and I’m just checking one of his conclusions. You know what the Chief’s like. He thinks someone from the other side may have got at Flexner.’

He poured the mixture into a beaker. ‘If everything’s in order there should be a sediment at the bottom and a colourless liquid at the top.’ He watched the sediment settle with satisfaction, strained off the liquid above it, and poured it away.

‘Is that the way it should be? That powder?’

‘Precisely.’

‘So Flexner hasn’t been got at?’

‘Evidently not.’

‘The Chief knows he can rely on you, doesn’t he?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a bit of it. He’s probably got somebody else checking my conclusions. It may even be that this bit of research is a blind, and that we’re going to use quite a different method to deal with our Rumanian friend. But if the Chief hasn’t been fooling me there is enough of this powder here to kill a hundred people.’

Here he was being optimistic, for the truth was that the textbooks he had consulted were extremely vague about the amount of zincalium needed. He would have to experiment, that was all. After the powder had dried he divided it carefully, putting the larger quantity into one envelope and the smaller into another. He sealed both packets and put the two of them into one big Manila envelope. Shades of Armstrong! But there was this difference, that he would burn the envelope immediately after use. No tell-tale traces would be found in
his
pockets.

‘A hundred people. Oh, E, I wish you could get out of it.’ Joan was almost in tears. He stroked her hair.

‘Sometimes I wish I could too. But once you’re in the service, you’re in it for life.’

DIARY

Sunday May 18

2 am. Sitting at my desk. Peaceful. Just been down to see Clare. She is sleeping quietly, one hand clutching the coverlet. Stood looking at her, all colour gone from her face leaving it like milk. She seemed very young, I felt sorry for her. But the person I have to feel sorry for is myself. I have ruined everything.

After Hubble had gone this evening I thought about my life and saw it as a record of failure. I have never done anything that succeeded, never carried through any idea, although I do believe I have had some good ones. Sometimes I have been really stupid, as I was about the cleaning cream. I trust people too much. I remember Mother putting her hand on my head and saying she hoped I should find somebody to look after me, because that was what I should need in life. I didn’t understand her then, but do now. Remember also Roberts, headmaster at the grammar school telling Mother that I lacked resolution. He was right. Sometimes it seems to me that what we do is a matter of the way we look. If I looked different I should be different. I think I have proved that through EM.

Putting it down here may make me feel better. Tonight shan’t be able to sleep. Desperate.

Came back on Friday, asked Clare how she had been. Tuesday night she had been sick, she said, Wednesday morning sick again. Said perhaps she’d had too much protein after all, had she rung Hubble?

‘I nearly rang him. And then I thought I should be able to find out what it was myself. Couldn’t be the food. I’d been ill before that. And I did find out what it was.’

‘What?’

‘My tooth powder.’ I was aghast, terrified. I stammered something, said it couldn’t be. She gave me a glare of hideous triumph.

‘Don’t you see? Every time I brushed my teeth I was sick. There was something wrong with that tin, it must have been bad. I’ve changed to a tube, had no trouble since.’ I asked what she had done with the tin and she said she’d thrown it away. Also said she would tell Hubble when she saw him tomorrow.

‘Tomorrow?’ I must have looked foolish, but then she always thinks I look foolish. She said she had asked some people in for drinks, Hubble one of them.

After thinking about this I realised that perhaps it was all to the good. When Hubble came I should be able to drop in a worried reference to her gastric trouble, even mention in a joking way her attribution of it to tooth powder. Then tomorrow night a small dose of Z in her nightcap. The large dose the following weekend.

We played bezique (let her win) and I made the nightcap and took it up. She said I made a good whisky toddy. Expect I looked strange at that, because she went on: ‘Not been drinking, have you?’ I said of course not. ‘It’s for your own good I’m saying it, you know you can’t drink.’

She put her hand on mine, then belched. I was disgusted, it was all I could do not to turn away my head. Her hand is very coarse with the veins standing out, actually it is bigger than my own hand which is small and rather delicate. There is something coarse altogether about her which I find repulsive.

That was Friday. Saturday was routine. Up at seven-thirty, breakfast, potter round the garden in old clothes, out with the shopping basket. Clare doesn’t like me to go shopping. However. I like it so why shouldn’t I do it? Why should I feel guilty as though I were letting her down, shopping isn’t a thing a Slattery man would do?

Damn all Slatteries.

Remember thinking, soon I shall be able to go shopping without worrying, all on my owneo, buy what I like. That would be a real pleasure. I wonder if it’s true that all the most intense pleasures are solitary? After all, I haven’t joined a slot racing club. I say it’s because Clare wouldn’t like the members to come here, but perhaps it’s because I like slot racing on my own.

Perhaps. Doesn’t matter. The question’s not going to arise.

3 o’clock. Wide awake.

Went to the supermarket in the High Street, marvellous place, met Mrs Payne and of course she asked about Clare. Said she was better, saw my opportunity.

‘I’m not quite satisfied, though. Do you know what she says caused the trouble? Her tooth powder.’ Mrs P stared, as well she might. ‘She’s thrown it out. I don’t think tooth powder could cause sickness, do you?’

‘I never heard of such a thing. Is she getting fancies?’ To Mrs P ‘fancies’ are like scarlet fever. Had a little talk with her about prices, very interesting. Corned beef in the supermarket is ninepence a tin cheaper than at Penquick’s. I believe the day of the private grocer has gone. Went home feeling pleased with self at mentioning powder. A good general is a bold general I thought.

Drinks in the evening, representative Fraycut selection. Payne and wife, retired naval commander named Burke, Charles Ransom secretary of local Liberal Party, one or two others. And of course Hubble plus wife, H smelling of drink. Susan handed round hot sausages and bits of things on toast, I looked after drinks. Had one or two. Told tooth powder story to people, including Hubble, asked him what he thought, had the powder caused the trouble?

He glared at me, made me feel uncomfortable. ‘Told you what I thought.’ He said something about high protein diet.

I was going to ask him how he explained the tooth powder and have another drink when Clare put her hand over mine (again!) and said I’d had enough. Caught sight of self in a glass, tie askew and head shining, was inclined to agree. I knew I had to keep absolutely clear-headed, in command of events. Clare introduced me to a ghastly man named Elsom, engineering executive, face full of teeth, recently come to Fraycut, Clare met him at some Liberal do. Conversation:

E How’s it going, old man?

Self Very well, thanks.

E Must have a bit of lunch one day. I mean, we’re more or less in the same line, I believe. What’s your office number?

Self I’m in quite a small way, you know.

E Still, I’d like to have a natter. Might be useful. Nothing too small to interest GBD.

Self GBD?

E Gracey, Basinghall and Derwent. My outfit. They tell me you’re by way of being an inventor.

Self Just an amateur.

E Don’t be modest. You must make your money out of something.

Obviously a pest. But I’ve dealt with people like this before, have a good technique of brushing them off, even though I say so. Introduced him now to Mrs Payne who started on at once about disgraceful English weather and their holiday in Spain. Had to give Elsom office number but got away after that. Subsequent technique will be to say I have another engagement if he rings, and if I’m not there then naturally there’s no reply.

Half an hour later they’d all gone. Clare in a filthy temper when we cleared things away, seemed to think I’d had too much.

‘Arthur, how many times have I told you not to take more than two glasses?’ Couldn’t say my dear. Unanswerable question. Didn’t try to answer it. ‘A glass filled with tonic water looks just the same as one filled with gin. No Slattery has been unable to hold his liquor but you are not a Slattery.’ Unanswerable again. ‘I remember when Uncle Ratty was out in Africa…’

Soon I shall be free of this, I told myself, I shall never hear the name Slattery again. Parties like these tire Clare out, and at ten-thirty she said she was going to bed. Self: ‘I’ll bring up your nightcap.’ Somehow I felt it was certain she would say she was too tired this evening, but she simply nodded.

Got the small Manila envelope out of briefcase. Made the drink. Hand trembling? Not at all. Put powder carefully into it, dissolved almost at once. Didn’t cloud the glass which stood, browny-gold, steaming a little. Took it up. I still believed something would happen to stop her drinking it, but nothing did. Afterwards all she said was: ‘Rather strong.’

‘I mixed it as usual.’

Brought down glass, washed it, put envelope back in briefcase (too soon to burn, think of smell), and relocked. Came up here, sat down to write diary, couldn’t because of excitement. Analysed my own feelings. To do something that causes pain to another person, I’ve always believed that to be wrong. I am not a cruel man. That is the truth. But think of the way Clare has behaved to me, that’s what is responsible for my actions. The truth is I really cannot think of her as a person at all. She is an object, an obstacle. I have done my best to treat her well, but it is impossible. Summing up my analysis, I have to say that what I felt was a sense of achievement.

I was wrong.

(Just been down to look at her again. The thought crossed my mind that she might be dead. Thought, believed, hoped, what is the word? Nonsense, I knew it wouldn’t be so. She was sleeping quietly.)

Settled down to wait. Went to see her, she was asleep. Came down, took all the sitting-room ornaments into the kitchen and washed them, something to do. Had just decided nothing would happen when there was a noise upstairs. Then moaning. Went up. She was on the landing outside the bathroom bent almost double, retching. Got her out into the lavatory – but I can’t write about all that, it disgusts me. She was in pain, and that is something I can’t bear. Rang Hubble. It seemed a terribly long time before he arrived, just before midnight. She went on being sick. He was drunk, I’m sure of it. Had to hold on to the rail as he came upstairs. Left him with Clare. Twenty minutes before he came down. Knew what he’d say, severe gastric upset. Offered a drink, but he refused!! Had one myself. Then the conversation. Said, how is she?