Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  “Can we offer you some tea?” Vickery asked.

  “No, thank you,” Walter said.

  Betty took this as her cue and exited, closing the door gently.

  Walter sat on the sofa, ill at ease and apparently struggling to find the words to begin a conversation.

  “You wanted to ask me something?” Vickery prompted.

  “Yes,” Walter said.

  “I can step out if you wish to speak in private,” Malloy said.

  “Oh, no, it’s not that Mr. Malloy,” Walter said. “It’s just difficult to come out and say it.”

  “You want to know who your father is,” Vickery said.

  The patches of red on Walter’s cheeks grew more pronounced, but he nodded. “After I received that letter – it’s all I can think about.”

  “I wish I could help you, Walter, but...”

  “You knew her, Mr. Vickery, before I was born. Don’t you have some idea who my father might be?”

  Vickery shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, but there is really nothing I can tell you,” he said.

  “You can’t tell me, or you won’t?” Walter asked. “Please don’t tell me that I must go and ask my mother. I just couldn’t. It would upset her, I know. And given what has happened – I don’t want to have a row with her if she won’t tell me.”

  “You have to remember, Walter, that back then it was much more of a scandal. Most children like you...”

  “Bastards,” Walter said.

  “You’re not a bastard,” Vickery said firmly, “your mother was married when you were born.”

  “That’s the rule, is it?” Walter asked, lip curled. “As long as she was married before my birth, we get to sneak under the cloak of respectability?”

  “You would be surprised how many marriages occur after a conception,” Malloy said.

  “But my mother didn’t marry the man who was responsible, did she?”

  “Apparently not,” Vickery said, “if the letter is to be believed. She married Charlie, and he has been there for the whole of your life.”

  “But he wasn’t my father!”

  “Not by blood, perhaps, but...”

  “That’s all that matters,” Walter said.

  “Is it?” Vickery asked. “Was Charlie such a terrible father that you would...”

  “No, of course not! That’s not what I meant – you know that. But I need to know the truth. They should have told me.”

  “Were you happy before – when you thought Charlie was your father?” Vickery asked.

  “Yes, I was, but...”

  “And now you know that he isn’t, how do you feel?”

  Walter didn’t answer.

   “Your parents thought they were doing what was best for you,” Vickery said. “They wanted you to be happy.”

  “But my happiness was a lie!”

  “No, it wasn’t. But it depended on a secret – a secret your parents did not want you to know until you were twenty-one.”

  “Families shouldn’t have secrets,” Walter said, “look what happens...”

  “Perhaps in an ideal world, none of us would need to keep secrets. But as it is – we all have secrets. Some we keep to protect ourselves, and some we keep to protect others,” Vickery said.

  “I never asked them to protect me from the truth.”

  “I know, Walter. But parents feel it is their duty to protect their children, and they do it in the best way they can. Do they make mistakes? Of course they do. But whatever your mother and father did, they did it with the best of intentions.”

  “I’m not questioning their motives, Mr. Vickery, really I’m not. I just want to know who my father is. Is that unreasonable?”

  “No, it is not. But you need to understand that knowing the name of this man may not make all of this right. Your mother did not marry him – and there must have been a reason for that. Perhaps it even tells you something about the sort of man he was.”

  “I understand that. I’m not a child anymore – I’m not expecting him to take me for donkey rides at the seaside. I just want to know who he is.”

  “And then, once you know his name, you will want to meet him,” Malloy said.

  “Well, yes, but...”

  “I understand,” Vickery said. “I would want to do that too. But you must prepare yourself for the fact that he may not wish to meet you. He may refuse to even acknowledge you as his son.”

  From Walter’s expression, it was clear that he had not considered this possibility. Malloy could only imagine what it felt like to have your world turned upside down in this way.

  “He might be married,” Malloy said.

  “He may have been married twenty years ago,” Vickery said. “He may have children. Your sudden appearance might cause all sorts of problems for him.”

  Walter got up and paced the room. “I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for him,” he said. “And I’m really not bothered whether he accepts me as his son or not – I don’t care about that. I don’t need his money or whatever else he’s got. My father – Charlie – made sure I’d be all right. But I do want to see this man, just once, and have him acknowledge my existence. That’s all.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Malloy said, looking towards Vickery.

  “Then you’ll help me?” Walter sat down again and leaned towards them, his face brightening.

  Vickery drew a long breath and let it out. “I don’t know that I can...”

  “But you’re a detective, mother said you were. If it’s a matter of money, I can pay you.”

  “I am not a detective, Walter. I occasionally investigate things when people need my help. I do not do it for money.”

  “I see,” Walter said. He picked up his hat. “Perhaps I would be better to speak to that other detective – Mr. Drake.”

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t do that!” Vickery said. “I will help you.”

  Walter looked at Malloy, and both men smiled.

  “I cannot promise you a positive outcome,” Vickery cautioned. “The only person who knows the identity of your father is your mother. I will speak to her and I will ask her. But if she chooses not to reveal his name, there is no other way for me to find out.”

  “I understand,” Walter said. “Thank you, Mr. Vickery. I feel like a weight has been lifted from me already.”

  “We will speak again soon,” Vickery said.

  The three men rose and shook hands.

  “Goodbye – and thank you again,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Malloy showed Walter out.

  When Malloy returned, Vickery was smiling and shaking his head. “You forget what it’s like to be young,” he said.

  “I’m still young,” Malloy said.

  “Hold on to that belief as long as you can.”

  “You think his father is Raymond Skelhorn, don’t you?” Malloy asked.

  “I am afraid that he might be,” Vickery said.

  “Will Marlene McNair tell you if he is?”

  “Possibly not,” Vickery said. “I don’t need her to tell me. I just have to persuade her to reveal her secret to Walter.”

  “Would you want to know?” Malloy asked. “If you were Walter?”

  “If my father was Raymond Skelhorn, I think I would prefer not to know,” Vickery said.

  “But if he asks the question, he has to accept the answer – whatever it turns out to be,” Malloy said.

  “That’s always the problem with secrets,” Vickery said. “Now, tell me how your morning went.”

  “I had a lovely breakfast,” Malloy said. “If you want to know where to find a decent croissant, ask a Frenchman, that would be my advice.”

  “You found our kidnappers, I take it?”

  “They are called Vernay and Arnaud, and they were paid a guinea by a beautiful blonde lady to abduct Danny Holcroft and take him to that warehouse and leave him there.”

  “Interesting,” Vickery said.

  “Do you think Abigail Lovelace could have
hired them herself?”

  “It’s an intriguing thought.”

  “Have you made any further progress in your search for her?” Malloy asked.

  “There is one lead that I would like to follow up.”

  “Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “Not at this moment,” Vickery said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was going to ask if you could entertain yourself this evening.”

  “I have years of practice,” Malloy said. “Do you have other plans?”

  “I’m off to the theatre,” Vickery said.

  “You weren’t on the wagon long. You’re not off to the Palais to meet beefy Bryan, are you?”

  “I’m off to the Miller’s Ford Church Hall to see a promising young magician.”

  “Hoping to pick up some tips?” Malloy asked.

  “Come along if you’d like,” Vickery said.

  “No thanks. There’s a steak and kidney pie with my name on it at the Bull’s Head.”

  “And which one of your names would that be?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Marlene McNair paced in front of the window, drawing on a cigarette and blowing the smoke out like a dragon. “Danny?” she said, for perhaps the sixth time.

  Vickery and Malloy stood by the door, their coats damp from the drizzle outside. Marlene waved her cigarette, urging them to sit. Malloy took Vickery’s and draped both their coats over the back of a wooden chair. They sat on the edge of the sofa, looking up at her.

  “Danny,” she said again. “He can’t have done it. Can he? He and Charlie were so close. I refuse to believe it.” She paced some more, then dropped into an armchair and leaned forward to stub out her cigarette.

  “Danny Holcroft did not kill Charlie, I am sure of it,” Vickery said. “And he certainly had no reason to kill Bristow.”

  “Bristow’s dead?” Marlene asked.

  “They pulled his body out of the river,” Vickery said.

  “Someone broke his neck,” Malloy said.

  “That’s awful,” Marlene said. “Bristow did some questionable things – but he didn’t deserve that.”

  “He made a few enemies over the years,” Vickery said.

  “I suppose...” Marlene said, eyeing the packet of cigarettes on the table in front of her. “If Danny didn’t kill anyone, why is he saying that he did?”

  “Danny is protecting someone,” Vickery said. “He thinks she killed Charlie.”

  Marlene had been reaching for the cigarettes but snatched her hand back. “Who?” she asked.

  “He has been courting someone,” Vickery said. “I don’t believe she killed Charlie. But in order to convince Danny of this, I am going to have to discover who did do it.”

  “If anyone can unravel this mystery, it is you,” Marlene said. “Who do you think the murderer is?”

  “I do not have sufficient evidence to be able to accuse anyone at present,” Vickery said.

  “But you know?” Marlene asked.

  “I have strong suspicions,” Vickery said.

  “Can I do anything to help you?” she asked, reaching for the cigarettes.

  Vickery shook his head and smiled. “Malloy and I will deal with it. It is only a matter of time before we will have all of the evidence we require.” He leaned towards her and struck a match to light her cigarette. “There is one favour I should like to ask you,” he said.

  “Of course – you have only to ask, Ben.”

  “Walter came to see me,” Vickery said. “He wished to engage my services to investigate something for him.”

  “Did he?” she asked. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I did not know the answer to his question – and that there was no way for me to find out,” Vickery said.

  Marlene nodded. “I will speak to him,” she said.

  “Will you tell him?” Vickery asked.

  Marlene did not answer him for several heartbeats. “If I don’t tell him, will you?”

  “I have no evidence that would allow me to give an answer with any degree of certainty.”

  “But you have strong suspicions?” Marlene said, turning her head and blowing out a stream of smoke. When she turned back, Vickery smiled but did not say anything. “This is all such a mess,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for that blasted letter! Why would someone send a thing like that? Walter has never done anything to hurt anybody. It’s so unfair, to upset someone like that.”

  “It is possible that the letter and Charlie’s death are connected,” Vickery said. “I have nothing definite to link them, but...”

  “Strong suspicions,” Marlene said. “How close are you to obtaining the proof you need?”

  “A few days,” Vickery said, “a week at the outside.”

  “You will give me chance to speak to Walter before all of it turns up in the newspapers?”

  “I shall reveal nothing. Unless my hand is forced,” Vickery said. “I could not permit any more lives to be taken.”

  “I understand,” Marlene said. She held the cigarette in front of her, watching the smoke spiral upwards. “I will speak with Walter tonight – we’re meeting to discuss funeral arrangements. Though heaven knows when they will release Charlie’s body.”

  “A week at most, I would think,” Vickery said.

  Marlene nodded. “Leave Walter to me,” she said. “You go and save Danny from himself.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “Trust him to go and do something stupidly heroic.”

  Malloy and Vickery stood.

  “Georgie Drake stopped by the other day,” Vickery said.

  Marlene got to her feet. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. I told him there had been a misunderstanding, and that I did not wish to see him again – ever.”

  “I’m glad you cleared that up with him,” Vickery said.

  “He wasn’t very happy,” Marlene said. “He seemed to blame you for my ‘sudden change of heart’.”

  “Poor Georgie – his pride must have taken quite a battering,” Vickery said. He turned, and Malloy helped him into his overcoat.

  “Be careful, Ben,” Marlene said.

  “It’s not Georgie Drake I need to be worried about,” Vickery said.

  “I know. It’s someone much more dangerous,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Did you pick this place to make me suffer?” Skelhorn asked. They were sitting in the smaller of the private dining rooms at the Prospero Club. “I didn’t expect you to invite me into your home, but this...”

  “I picked it because I didn’t want to be seen in public with you,” Vickery said. “We’ll have the room to ourselves.”

  A waiter arrived with silver-domed dishes on a cart and began unloading them onto the table. Skelhorn raised an eyebrow.

  “I called ahead and ordered the Beef Wellington for us, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Did you ask them if they used fresh Wellington?” Skelhorn asked.

  “We’ll serve ourselves, thank you,” Vickery said to the waiter.

  “Close the door on your way out!” Skelhorn called.

  Vickery filled their glasses with red wine from the decanter. “I thought we might toast Charlie McNair and Bristow,” he said, raising his glass.

  “To absent friends,” Skelhorn said woodenly.

  “I don’t think I ever knew Bristow’s first name,” Vickery said. “What was it?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Skelhorn said.

  “You’ll have to find out.”

  “Why?”

  “For when you deliver his eulogy,” Vickery said.

  Skelhorn coughed and had to take a swallow of wine. He grimaced. “Is Jolly Hatherton still in charge of the cellar?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Vickery said. “I think he selected the whisky too.”

  “The bloody fool doesn’t even drink,” Skelhorn said.

  “That’s right, I’d forgotten. His temperance proposal didn’t garner much support, did it?”

 
; “Whoever heard of a tee-total gentlemen’s club?” Skelhorn said. “Most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Trying to get us sober by aversion therapy now, is he?” He sniffed at his wine and pulled a face in the direction of the decanter. “I’d like to get a look at the label,” he said.

  “Whatever for?” Vickery asked.

  “I want to make sure I never order it anywhere else.”

  “They buy it wholesale – it arrives in barrels,” Vickery said.

  “I would like to believe that you’re joking.”

  “Why did you want to see me, Raymond?”

  “I wanted to congratulate you on your brief run at the Palais,” Skelhorn said. “I heard you played to packed houses.”

  “People came to see the scene of the crime,” Vickery said, “you know what they’re like.”

  “I’m sure that didn’t hurt the box office, but I think you’re being overly modest. Thank you for the tickets, by the way, I’m sorry I couldn’t attend.”

  “I sent two – in case you had a friend.”

  “I don’t suppose you came up with anything new – it being such short notice,” Skelhorn said.

  “I stuck with some old favourites,” Vickery said, “but they were all mine.”

  “And you have found someone new to take Terry’s place,” Skelhorn said.

  “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to find an assistant that you can trust,” Vickery said. “What will you do now that you don’t have Bristow?”

  “Bristow and I never appeared on stage in matching his and hers outfits,” Skelhorn said.

  “No, he was the behind-the-scenes genius, wasn’t he? On stage you had that girl – what was her name? The red-head – Constance?”

  “It’s Maura now. You really haven’t been keeping up, have you?”

  “The stage no longer commands my attention like it used to. Not that your act ever held my attention anyway. It was like watching a play after someone’s told you how it ends.”

  “You will be astounding the world with spectacular new illusions the next time you appear, will you?” Skelhorn asked.

  “I shan’t be appearing again,” Vickery said. “I enjoyed my weekend at the Palais, but I have no desire to do it again. I really have moved on to other things.”