A Painted Devil

by Jamie Probin

  Douglas swallowed the knot in his throat, and asked the question he dreaded. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Douglas stared at her helpless expression. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have no idea what he wants. He’s never asked for anything. Every letter says more or less the same thing, but there has never been a demand, or even a threat.’

  Douglas shook his head in bemusement and began pacing the room, his aches and pains forgotten for the moment. Finally he slammed his right fist into his left palm.

  ‘Damn it all, what is all this Samantha? What secret is he talking about? The whole village knows about you and Anthony Barnes.’ Then he added, with a hint of suspicion: ‘Don’t they?’

  Samantha stared miserably at the ground, refusing to meet his gaze. She seemed to be thinking desperately.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Douglas. ‘Do they? Or is there something else?’

  Panic drenched him as he feared he already knew the answer. He thought of Anthony Barnes, his broken body sprawled at the base of Lookout Point, and of his beautiful Samantha, unscathed by the fall. Could it be what he dreaded?

  He listened as she told him everything.

  Later that evening Harris greeted Charles in the Green Man and lost no time in ordering two pints of some fine local ale. They took their refreshment and settled into a table buried in a nook in the far corner of the bar.

  ‘I hear that your guardian angel has been putting in more overtime,’ commented Harris dryly. ‘You mustn’t forget to give him a Christmas bonus this year.’

  Charles did not bother to ask how Harris had heard about the brake fluid incident of the previous night. There was an unstoppable rumour mill grinding perpetually in Upper Wentham, and the detective had lost no time in grabbing his own branch of the grapevine.

  ‘I thought you may have heard about that. I had hoped it may turn out to have been a coincidence,’ said Charles. ‘When we drove to Anstruther Hall yesterday afternoon the car struck a branch on the road, and I thought that maybe the impact had ruptured the brake line. But the car was examined today and the line had been severed cleanly. Apparently there is no doubt it was done deliberately.’

  ‘So we can chalk up yet another attempt on your life.’ Harris took a long, contemplative draught from his glass. ‘And the first question we must answer is this: who had the opportunity to cut the brake line?’

  Charles gave a hollow laugh. ‘As usual, that is the crucial question – and the one leading us nowhere. It is certain that the line must have been cut whilst the car was at Anstruther Hall. The mechanic said that the brake fluid would have fully drained within five minutes. If the sabotage had occurred whilst the car was still in Upper Wentham my brakes would not have been working when we arrived.’

  ‘And at what time was that?’

  Charles pursed his lips in thought. ‘About three o’clock or so, I think. Andrea wanted to arrive before the invited guests and spend some time with Sarah Anstruther. I chatted with them for a while, and then went for a walk in the grounds. Anstruther Hall lies in some spectacular countryside, you know.’

  ‘No, I do not know, and I could not be less interested. Let us stick to the issue at hand. Now, where was the car during this time?’

  Chastened, Charles replied with a hint of a sulk. ‘It stayed at the front of the hall. Of course several more cars were parked there too as the other guests arrived.’

  ‘So it was in full view of the hall for the whole time?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so, although it was parked at one end of the building, outside the east wing. Only the drawing room looked out on that part of the drive. It’s unlikely that someone fiddling with the car would be seen.’

  ‘Still,’ said Harris, ‘if we are indeed talking about a person involved in a systematic attempt to secretly kill you, it would be an inconceivable risk to tamper with your car in broad daylight when anyone might be watching, either from the hall or in the grounds. By this point their anonymity is vital. I think we can assume that the sabotage occurred after dusk. The task would not require much light, and even if the saboteur were spotted it would be unlikely that a witness could identify them.

  ‘Very well then, let us move on to the question of identity. Can we use the situation to rule out any suspects? Who knew that you would be at Anstruther Hall?’

  Charles shrugged. He had spent the morning considering this question with frustrating results. The problem was not an insufficient reduction in the number of possible suspects, but rather an almost total elimination.

  ‘I don’t know. It was hardly a secret. Sir Oliver had sent invitations to plenty of his acquaintances, but I honestly can’t imagine anyone in Upper Wentham was aware of it.’

  ‘Surely you or Andrea mentioned it to someone?’

  ‘I’m sure we probably did,’ agreed Charles. ‘But even if we had I don’t see how that helps. If someone from Upper Wentham had cut the cable they would have had to drive a thirty five mile round trip. With the tampering itself, the affair would have taken them at least two hours to accomplish. Longer, actually, since they could not have driven into the grounds of Anstruther Hall without Jones at the gatehouse noticing.’

  ‘Jones is the gatekeeper?’

  ‘Primarily he is the gardener, but he lives in the gatehouse and watches the gate when Sir Oliver has special guests.’

  ‘He might not have been paying attention.’

  Charles shook his head. ‘Last night he would. Sir Oliver always likes to impress his guests. Besides, from the gatehouse you can see a car’s headlamps from almost half a mile away. I suppose you could get near the hall unobtrusively in the daytime, but I agree with you: our man would have to be insane to try what he did in daylight.’

  Harris drummed his fingers in a contemplative fashion.

  ‘We may be putting the cart before the horse here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Well all of this is based on the premise that our saboteur and aspiring assassin had to travel to Anstruther Hall. How do we know he wasn’t already there?’

  Charles gaped at Harris. ‘One of the guests, you mean? Nonsense. I hadn’t met any of them in my life. Well, that may not be true, I could well have run across them at some social function or other, but the idea that they might have a motive for wanting me dead is preposterous!’

  ‘Stranger things have been known,’ mused Harris, ‘but I happen to feel the same. I was more thinking about the Anstruther family.’

  Charles shook his head firmly. ‘And that is even less likely. Why, I’ve known Sir Oliver and Sarah Anstruther my whole life.’

  Harris drained the remainder of his glass and groaned with frustration. ‘What has that got to do with anything? Damn it, do you think people lose the urge to murder someone after they’ve known them for two years? You want to eliminate the guests at the party because they haven’t known you long enough and you want to eliminate the Anstruthers because they have known you too long. Pray, what is this magical length of time during which most acquaintances are bumped off? If you can just inform me of this critical juncture when the urge to murder your friends spikes then we should be able to find the criminal with no problem.’

  Charles, not familiar with Harris’ love of sarcasm, looked angry and snapped back. ‘Alright Harris, you’ve made your point. It’s just that Sir Oliver almost looks on me as a nephew, and Sarah thinks of me like a brother. I can’t imagine for the life of me what motive they could have.’

  ‘We’re not considering motive at the moment,’ said Harris, dismissively. ‘Let’s stick to opportunity. They were certainly in the right place.’

  ‘For this incident, perhaps. But what about the time in church? Or the gunshot in the folly?’ The memory of the previous evening’s conversation suddenly struck Charles. ‘Not only that, but I discovered something last night. Apparently Ronnie was murdered.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ cried Harris, accusingly
. ‘Everyone is supposed to think that Ronald Asbury committed suicide.’

  ‘Ah ha, so you did know! I suspected as much.’ Charles’ face was a mixture of triumph and accusation. ‘Damn it, Harris, you need to tell me these things. This isn’t a game. It’s my life we’re talking about here. I need to know everything.’

  ‘I was sworn to secrecy,’ replied Harris, but with the air of a child caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. ‘But you’re right. I’ll keep you informed of everything from now on.’

  ‘Thank you. And besides, everyone else does think it was suicide. Sir Oliver told me the truth last night, but said the police were keeping the information under wraps. He didn’t say why, but I assume it’s for a good reason. Anyway I’ve spent all day thinking about it, and if Ronnie was murdered it’s hard to believe it has nothing to do with my situation.’

  Harris nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Sir George also knew that Ronald Asbury’s death was not suicide, and yet had apparently chosen not to pass it on to his son, despite having far more reason to than Harris. That, in itself, was an interesting fact that needed consideration.

  ‘But if you admit our suspect was also involved in Ronnie’s death, then we can exclude Sir Oliver and Sarah,’ Charles pressed on, oblivious of Harris’ distraction. ‘They were in the south of France when he died.’

  ‘The south of France? Are you sure’

  ‘Yes, quite sure. Sir Oliver’s son now lives there.’

  ‘Where?’

  Harris seemed oddly interested at this fact, and the question surprised Charles.

  ‘Eh? Oh, Cannes, I think. Somewhere on the Riviera, I know that. Christopher moved there quite some time ago.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  ‘Lady Anstruther died,’ replied Charles, quietly. ‘She drowned several years ago. It hit the whole family hard, but Christopher was extremely fond of his mother. I don’t think he could take living in the house with all the memories anymore.’

  While the pair were talking a fellow customer greeted Charles and he nodded in reply. The man, who like many in the area still regarded the lord of the manor with a feudal attitude, noticed the empty glasses and eagerly went to order two more pints for Charles and Harris. After several minutes the man emerged from the throng around the bar and brought the drinks with an admiring expression. Charles thanked the man, to the latter’s immense delight, and gulped down several mouthfuls enthusiastically. He placed his glass on the table with a satisfied sigh.

  Suddenly he realised that Harris was staring at him in amazement.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You know that someone in this village wants you dead, and yet you have no qualms about drinking a pint of ale that at least twenty men could have tampered with?’

  Charles laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Harris. Those men all like me. Why would any of them wish me harm?’

  Harris experienced the frustration that was more commonly produced by his students’ determined refusal to grasp the elementary basics of mathematics. He spoke as calmly and as simply as he could. ‘The point, which I believe we have discussed at length, is that we have no idea who this person hoping to kill you is. However we are almost certain that it is someone local to the village or surrounding area; and, given the failure of their somewhat elaborate efforts to relieve you of your mortal coil to this point, it would not be surprising if they turned to more reliable methods. I know that if I were in your position I would treat with suspicion any food or drink from outside sources. Frankly it is baffling to me that they have yet to try something simple and direct as dropping some cyanide in your beer.’

  An expression of concern washed over Charles’ face, and Harris could see that the reality of the situation had struck further home. It seemed remarkable that Charles had been scared enough to visit Harris and employ him, and yet these thoughts had not crossed his mind before now.

  Charles looked at the glass in front of him with a sickened expression and pushed it away.

  ‘It could be anyone,’ he whispered, and fear dripped from the words.

  In contrast Harris’ tone was brusque and businesslike. ‘Well, yes, technically it could be anyone. But as you pointed out earlier, when motive is considered it makes sense to start with the people most closely associated with you; in fact,’ he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, ‘the people on this list. And before we go any further, there is a point I would like cleared up. I think I understand why the name of Ronald Asbury is missing from this roll of honour…’

  Charles interrupted him, looking puzzled.

  ‘Because Ronnie is dead. I assumed you wanted a list of people to whom you can talk.’

  ‘Precisely. And by and large, that is what I want. But think for a moment: are there any other names absent? People I can’t talk to for one reason or another, but might play a role in proceedings? I submit the Anstruthers by way of example.’

  Charles thought for several moments.

  ‘I see what you mean. I suppose they could be important players, even if just by their existence. But as we said, they couldn’t possibly have been present at all the various incidents. For that I think it absolutely has to be someone from the village, and I would say that list covers the most significant of those.’

  ‘Anyone else who is no longer here, but has moved away or died in the last few months?’

  Charles considered for a moment. ‘No, I don’t believe so. Apart from Ronnie, everybody else is still here. Upper Wentham is not a place where people generally come and go.’

  ‘And yet, even if Ronald Asbury’s death is just a coincidence, we still face the fact that he did leave. He packed up his entire life and left for the continent.’

  Charles looked puzzled. ‘Because of Andrea, surely? I didn’t think there was any mystery about that?’

  ‘It’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? If every chap whose marriage proposal was turned down packed his bags and emigrated there wouldn’t be a man under the age of thirty left in the country.’

  ‘But Ronnie’s situation was different. We were best friends... and he was always so competitive. He hated losing. Besides, what other reason could there be for his leaving?’

  ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ said Harris, jabbing his finger into the air. ‘If he wasn’t fleeing from heartbreak, what was he fleeing from? He obviously did not intend to return, to Upper Wentham or even England, and it further looks as though Europe was not his final destination either. At the time of his murder he was only in Southampton for a single day, in order to board a ship for the Americas. Looked at in isolation, these seem like the actions of a man trying to disappear and cover his tracks.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘Well, the police believe that blackmail may have been involved with his death. Perhaps it was an attempt to escape someone extorting him, and the blackmailer managed to catch up with him in Southampton?’

  ‘You make Ronnie sound like some kind of spy. It all seems very unlikely. And besides, what could all that have to do with my situation?’

  ‘Not much,’ admitted Harris. ‘But I do think there is something more to Asbury’s flight than sheer unrequited love. And if it was blackmail, we face the possibility that his death really is unconnected to events here after all. And that could change a lot of things.’

  Charles ran his hands through his hair and exhaled. ‘This whole affair is incomprehensible. I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘That is why you are paying me,’ retorted Harris with a blissful lack of humility. ‘But I agree that matters are becoming a little complex. I think for now we should suppose that the attempts on your life are unconnected to anything else, and go from there. After all, irrespective of who else they have killed and what other motivations they may have, the person we are looking for has invested a great deal of time and effort in targeting you, and they must have a good reason for doing so. Maybe that person is even hoping to cloud the issue so much that we can no longer separate
the salient facts from the rest. But if we focus our investigation on you – that is to say, who had the motive and opportunity to organise these various situations – then we must inevitably get on the right track.’

  Charles nodded. ‘But I’ve been thinking about this question of why for weeks and I still have no idea.’

  ‘Two motives seem realistic possibilities to me. When we are talking about the heir to such a substantial fortune the chance that money is an incentive seems too obvious to ignore. And then there is Andrea Ketterman.’

  ‘Andrea? What has Andrea got to do with anything?’

  ‘Well, it can’t have escaped your attention that these attacks began at approximately the same time that you became engaged to Andrea Ketterman.’

  Charles stared at Harris, and realisation dawned on his face.

  ‘By Jove, you’re right. I honestly had never noticed... Hold up though – the first incident, in the church, was before she accepted me. Ronald and I were still friends at that time.’

  ‘But you had asked her to marry you,’ pointed out Harris. ‘As, for that matter, had Ronald Asbury. And although we have elected to discount Asbury’s murder from our thoughts, it can’t be neglected that your rival for Miss Ketterman’s affections is also dead. In fact we have no actual evidence that the statue in the church was not intended for Ronald Asbury instead of you.’

  ‘For Ronnie?’

  ‘Why not? In the context of all the subsequent events you naturally assumed you were the intended victim in the church too. But when taken as a single incident there is nothing to suggest that one of you was targeted over the other. It is even possible the attack was on both of Miss Ketterman’s suitors. Then, once she had chosen you, the murder attempts also focussed in your direction.’

  ‘You think this could be someone who doesn’t want Andrea to get married?’

  ‘It’s possible. After all, these incidents have become more frequent as the wedding nears. Think now: have you ever received any intimation of warning following these incidents? Any idea that they will stop if you call off the wedding?’