‘I mean with Elaine, of course.’
‘Elaine?’
‘Yes. While you and Silvia went out to get married on the Wednesday morning, Elaine had diverted from the agreed plan. She had been writing death threats to Silvia under your direct supervision. But yesterday she added a grisly memento for Silvia all of her own. It was a well-timed taunt, wasn’t it, that finger with its tin-foil ring? What Silvia took to be a reference to her own marriage to you, was actually a jibe from Elaine, a reference to her eventual marriage to you. That the best woman would win the prize. You.’
Posie nodded, certain now.
‘But she went too far, didn’t she? You were furious when you discovered what she had done. How could you marry someone like that, even if it wasn’t just yet? You said to me when I first met you: “What sort of sick person sends a finger?” And you meant that, literally.’
Posie frowned at the memory of the man telling her all of this, cool as a cucumber, out on the sun-drenched lawns, acting his part magnificently. She, for one, had been taken in.
‘The spell you had been under for three months was broken. Elaine was now dangerous. I imagine you confronted Elaine about the finger early yesterday evening, and she probably threatened to reveal everything.’
Downstairs a door slammed, and then there was an intense hammering, but from far, far below.
Posie ignored it.
‘I think that somehow you got Elaine to accompany you down to Silvia’s dressing room after Silvia had left for the day having left you that horrid little note; so you knew the coast was clear. You gave Elaine a sweet drink, a Bees Knees, pretending to smooth things over between you. You had tipped in the water from the orchids, and then you held her down forcibly to drink it. You were good at setting up the scene afterwards, too: you made her death look like a suicide, while at the same time you managed to mock Elaine, even in death, with her own tin-foil ring and Silvia’s clothes on, rather than her own. I imagine you then went back up to Elaine’s room and ransacked the place, making sure to add pictures of Robbie Fontaine and Silvia Hanro to the prized assortment of photos of you out on display.’
Posie thought about that wrecked room. She nodded.
‘You threw about some cocaine, didn’t you? To make people think the poor girl had been an addict. You didn’t mind leaving the green ink and death-threat practice notes, in fact, you thought it might look like Elaine was a crazed fan, which was exactly how the police took it. It was a shame you didn’t check to remove Elaine’s attempts at Silvia’s signature; otherwise I wouldn’t have understood her role in all of this. Then you went straight off to Richmond to send the telegrams to the press, inviting them to the public murder of your wife the next day.’
‘What led you to realise that Tom was behind all of this?’ said Pamela in a very soft, quiet voice.
There was more hammering now from downstairs. Posie had a knot of fear in her stomach which kept tightening. What on earth…
But she turned to Pamela.
‘It was today, this afternoon. Two other unconnected things. One was about a scent. Tom had said to me this morning, incongruously I thought, at the time, that “the scent of death is with me even now.” He said that strange phrase to me after Elaine’s body had been discovered. At the time I thought he was talking about the smell of death in the trenches of the war. But this afternoon I realised he was being literal: he had indeed been talking about the awful smell in that small room last night; a corpse on a blisteringly hot evening, the terrible smell of death. He had probably gone back to the dressing room last night when he returned from Richmond, before taking his opium, just to check all was in order with his horrible suicide tableau.’
‘What was the second thing?’ whispered Silvia. The sound of banging was frantic now.
‘Oh, you helped me with that.’ Posie smiled, half her mind on the din downstairs.
‘You told me that Mrs Thynne did pretty much anything for money. And I realised that what with the argument which must have taken place, and the ransacking of Elaine’s room after her murder, someone must have seen or heard something. But what if that person, in a room next door, had been bought off? What if that person had been paid to say they had seen someone – Brian Langley – coming out of that room? When in fact nothing of the sort had happened. That was just part of the plan to implicate Brian, wasn’t it?’
Posie paused and looked at Tom again.
‘In fact, I think I overheard Mrs Thynne telling Sheila Fontaine, of all people, today, that you owed her money, and I expect it was for that. There was other stuff, too: you had gone the day before, in your boater hat, to bribe Brian Langley’s gardener – who you knew through the opium connection, of course – into giving you his employer’s gun, the Webley. To leave at the scene. You actually managed to throw it at Brian Langley in the darkness, which incriminated him as soon as the lights went up. What a shame for you that not all Webley’s are the same: the police already know that the shot which killed Mr Fontaine came from your Webley, a Mark .455, and not Langley’s, which was newer army issue.’
Tom Moran sat expressionlessly. ‘Cleverly put, Miss Parker. You seem to have this all wrapped up, if you’ll forgive the pun. Is there anything you don’t understand?’
Posie thrust her chin out purposefully and tried to look like there was not much which got past her. But she had to ask. It was the only thing…
‘Why are you two chained together? I don’t understand that.’
Suddenly Tom Moran had risen to his feet, dragging Brian up with him, like a puppet, without resistance. The expression on Tom’s shattered face had changed suddenly; he had stuck out his jaw in a determined way and a furious light was dancing in his eye. Every nerve in his face and body was taut: he was a man possessed of a cool, steely resolve. Even now. Especially now.
‘Oh!’
And it was almost a relief, for there it was, the sliver of a silver gun in his right hand; it must have been up his shirt-sleeve all along. His Webley. He trained it on Posie in an instant and she put her hands up.
Tom was aiming at Posie, but his right hand was anything but steady, and he was shaking all over the place: she could quite see how he had managed to miss shooting his own wife earlier, how he had got Robbie Fontaine instead.
Posie was curiously calm, despite Silvia starting to moan in a series of juddering whimpers.
‘Now hang on a minute, old boy.’ Brian Langley was sounding a little slurry still, trying not to add any additional jerkiness, but there was a definite touch of the hero of the trenches behind his words. ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find there’s every need for this, Brian,’ snapped Tom, in a voice Posie didn’t recognise. ‘No-one here is getting out alive.’
Help.
Posie’s mind was scrambling, trying to find a way out for all of them. But just then Posie’s neck prickled suddenly and inconveniently. That old sign; someone was watching her from behind, from the doorway.
She spun around and gaped.
For the man in the doorway with a gun trained right on Tom Moran was no friend or saviour of hers. Quite the opposite, in fact.
It was Caspian della Rosa.
****
Thirty-Six
Posie gasped.
‘You!’
Can this really get any worse?
There was no doubt. No doubt at all.
Small and stocky and incredibly well-dressed in an immaculate navy wool pin-striped suit and pink shirt, despite the sizzling heat, Count Caspian della Rosa stuck out like a sore thumb as he was the only person in the room not covered in white debris.
‘Yes, my lovely. It is I.’
He smiled slowly, a peculiarly cat-like smile which split his bland, fleshy, unattractive face in two. Posie felt like running. For here was a much greater evil than Tom Moran.
Probably.
This was the man who had pursued her for more than two years, the international arch-criminal ma
stermind whose web of fortunes and contacts were spread, tentacle-like, all over the world. The man could, it seemed, disappear, Rumpelstiltskin-like, at the drop of a hat, and he had thus avoided police on every continent, despite heading every most-wanted list in the world. Count della Rosa was a chameleon, and loved disguises. But most importantly, Caspian della Rosa was also a cold-blooded killer, who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
And he had made it clear, back in 1921, that what he wanted was Posie. At any cost. He had sent her cryptic clues and occasional hints that he was still alive, and still attentive. And for the most part Posie had tried to force these messages and clues from her mind, surrounding herself with lightness and pleasant thoughts, and the police, and Len.
And Alaric, of course.
‘Good afternoon, Posie. How lovely to meet again after all this time. Nice hair, by the way, I can just about make it out beneath the dust. I was just dropping by. I see you are keeping really quite unusual company, these days. Is that not Miss Silvia Hanro over there, beneath the white paint?’ He indicated towards the movie star casually, with a raise of an amused eyebrow. Silvia Hanro, cowering in a corner, looked as if she might scream.
The gun Caspian della Rosa held did not waver.
‘Who, might I ask, is this?’ spat Tom Moran, obviously a good deal put out. He nodded at Posie, who he still had in his gunsight.
‘Some pal of yours? Is this the fella who was shooting rounds in here earlier? Some kind of lunatic, are you? You could have killed us all.’
Caspian della Rosa executed a mock half-bow and smiled again.
‘That was indeed me,’ he said in his perfect, only-just-foreign-accented English.
‘But, you know, I, unlike you, from the looks of things, am a very good shot. I was aiming at the light fitting, with no intention of killing anyone. Unlike you, from what I have just overheard. You who have every intention of being the only one in this room to leave it alive.’
Posie couldn’t resist asking. ‘So why did you shoot in here then? Some strange fanfare to mark your arrival, was it?’
Caspian della Rosa smiled, a nerve in his cheek twitching. His eyes never left Tom’s face, or his gun.
‘Hardly to mark my arrival, my love,’ he breathed softly. ‘I’ve been here for what seems like hours. At least half an hour before you arrived, Posie.’
‘What?’
Tom’s gun continued to wobble, his gaze turning from Posie to Caspian, and back again.
‘Quite. I’ve been out on the landing, in that adorable little bathroom of yours. It was a tight little squeeze actually, me, and my assistant, Roslington.’ And here he indicated out onto the landing where a shadow made itself bend and twitch into the shape of a man.
And then a long, thin, very good-looking man in his late twenties came through the glass door. A military bearing marked his appearance.
‘Good afternoon.’ The immaculate young man smiled, taking his hat off briefly, his face registering neither surprise nor emotion at the scene he had walked into. Another lackey, no doubt, Posie thought to herself. A man who will do whatever Caspian della Rosa wants…
‘And we were in there with your gentleman friend, too. He put up quite a protest, you’ll be pleased to know. Even tied up in ropes and gagged…’
‘Len?’
‘That’s the one. Bring him here, will you, Roslington? Gently does it, now.’
A scuffling sound could be heard outside on the landing.
So it had been Len, a prisoner, that had been the kicking and moaning noise which had been heard earlier. He had been here all along, and he hadn’t deserted Posie in her hour of need, at all. He had probably tried his best…
Posie felt like she was about to be sick.
Suddenly Len was pushed through the door by the scruff of his neck. His hands and ankles were bound tightly with string, and his face was almost obscured by a large cotton gag, which was dirty and damp. A smear of blood was high on Len’s forehead beneath his tight dark curls. What could be seen of his green eyes registered panic and disbelief, and as they scanned the devastated interior of the office, and took in Tom with his gun trained on Posie, Len started to scream beneath his gag.
Posie’s heart lurched. She balled her hands up into fists and willed herself not to move. She wanted to run to Len, to assure him all would be okay, even though she knew it wouldn’t.
‘Oh, do be quiet, my dear fellow,’ said Caspian della Rosa calmly.
‘He was most obliging, Posie. Let us in as if we were old friends; although I trust it was you whom he was expecting. You’d helpfully sent a telephone message to warn him to look out for you, and it was that which alerted us. I’d been monitoring your calls for quite some time, judging the best time and location to come and get you. I had a couple of false starts; like at Isleworth the other day. I was in a costumier’s van, all ready to come and get you when Miss Hanro turned up, out of the blue. So I disappeared, pronto. Most disappointing. But here we are. So all’s well which ends well. Or maybe not.’
Caspian della Rosa twitched his gun at Tom.
‘Who are you? And don’t think you’re about to steal my prize away from me now I’ve finally got her.’
Tom Moran laughed, and it was an eerie sound in the silent room. ‘You mean Miss Parker? Call her a prize? You’ve got to be joking, right?’
Caspian della Rosa shook his head. ‘Oh no, my dear sir,’ he said, very softly. ‘I never joke. About anything. And neither do you, if your recent acts are anything to go by.’
‘What acts? I thought you didn’t recognise this man?’ asked Posie, quick as a pistol-shot.
Caspian della Rosa shrugged, but he had imperceptibly shifted position, had tightened his hold on the trigger of his gun.
‘I don’t know him. All I know is what I saw from the landing window while you were having a nice chat with your girlfriends in here, and I didn’t like what I saw.’
‘What was it?’
‘Dirty tricks. Of the worst sort. This fellow here was sitting in a blue van. He got out and spoke to you on the entry phone, and then went and sat back in his van. A few minutes later he dragged this other angry-looking man out of the back of the vehicle. The second chap was in a bad way; unconscious by the looks of things, most likely drugged by your fellow here, who then rolled him up in black sacking and left him in the road, and then went and murdered a policeman.’
‘Sergeant Binny!’ gasped Posie in horror. ‘Oh no! You’re quite sure?’
‘I’m certain. He shot him with the gun he’s toting about here; couldn’t fail to miss at that short-range, even with a jerky arm, and then he stole another gun from the dead policeman, and some handcuffs. He pushed the body of the policeman under the black car he had been stationed in, and then came back to your second man here. All I saw next on the street was him pushing the black sacking bundle through your doorway. I heard him coming up the stairs, though, dragging this man up with him, and then I watched him through the keyhole in the door of the bathroom.’
‘Watched him?’
‘On the landing. He quickly unwrapped his pal here, and then hit him about the head a bit, which seemed to wake him up a bit more. He hit himself, too, gave himself a bloodied nose and a cracked lens. He then clipped himself together to the second man using the policeman’s cufflinks. He has the key, by the way,’ Caspian della Rosa added. ‘In his right-hand trouser pocket.’
The chain linking Tom to Brian was glinting in the still-strong sunshine, stretched to breaking-point as Tom continued to aim at Posie, and for some reason everyone’s gaze swivelled to it.
‘Not that anyone will be needing a key,’ said Caspian della Rosa cheerfully. There was a whipping crack as he shot at the chain, breaking it apart in one easy motion and the bullet whizzed away, harmlessly.
‘See?’
Brian Langley had collapsed on the floor, panting in relief. Down by Pamela, who had her arms about him within seconds.
Caspian della Rosa grinne
d but when he spoke, his voice was frighteningly free of any warmth:
‘I don’t know this man from Adam, but I heard you, Posie, asking why these two men were in chains. I can answer that pretty well, I’d say.’
He paused for effect. A consummate showman.
‘When two men, both beaten up and both seemingly suffering from some sort of handy memory-loss-inducing agent, a drug, are chained together, it is impossible to say who chained the other up. I’d bet my life on the fact that your one-eyed friend here would have sworn blind, if caught by the police, that he had been the victim of this second man’s actions. Who could disprove him? In taking a hostage, and drugging him, he was adding authenticity to whatever acts or crimes he had been guilty of, providing a useful suspect for when things got nasty. And, I’m sure he has planted other evidence upon the second man elsewhere. A sneaky move, even if I do say so myself.’
Posie found herself nodding in unlikely agreement. ‘Why did you come in here and shoot around the place though? How did that help?’
‘It didn’t. But I knew this man was dangerous when I watched him out on the landing; the way he was carrying on with his two guns, dropping them and trying to conceal them about his person in jerky movements. I wanted to let him know there was someone else here, someone handy with a gun, someone better than him. To unnerve him. Your police cover had spectacularly failed you. It fails you still.’
‘Where is the Inspector? Please don’t say you’ve hurt him?’
Caspian della Rosa shook his head. ‘Roslington here merely locked him out. He went down and shuttered up the door from the inside. Your Inspector must have found his Sergeant’s body and then realised what he was dealing with. That’s him down there hitting the door over and again.’
Posie drew a great shuddering breath of relief, but before she could register anything else, she turned to Tom.
He has two guns, she thought to herself. He has Binny’s gun, too.
‘What do you plan on doing now?’ she found herself asking, hearing her voice as if it were a stranger’s in the room.
Murder of a Movie Star Page 34
