by Anne Morice
I shook my head. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her, but I think you’re on the wrong track altogether.’
‘You mean, you stick to your story that it was an accident? It doesn’t sound as though your surly chief inspector agrees with you.’
‘Oh, him! He has about as much chance of getting to the root of it as Mrs Parkes. If he does suspect there’s something fishy, you can take it from me that he’ll be looking for all the wrong motives.’
‘Poor fellow! Why is that?’
‘Because it’s the wrong victim. If Sophie was killed deliberately it can only be because somebody mistook her for somebody else.’
‘Really, Tessa, that sounds even more far fetched than your accident theory. How could they possibly be so unobservant as that? Oh, you mean the dressing-gown? Someone saw a female figure draped in brown camel hair and concluded it was Betsy. Is that it?’
‘No,’ I said slowly, ‘it isn’t. At least, you’re not doing badly because that was my theory until two minutes ago. I wasn’t absolutely thrilled with it because, as you say, someone would have to be pretty daft, or else crazed with the blood lust, to have got near enough to Sophie to give her a shove without realising who she was, but now I see a simpler answer. Oh damn! I do wish Robin would hurry up. It’s driving me mad because there’s something only he can find out for me and I need it to complete the picture.’
‘Well, I expect you’re on the right lines,’ Toby said kindly. ‘After all, you’ve had so much experience of this sort of thing. If you like, you can tell me about your picture, and I’ll say, quite honestly, if I think you’re potty.’
‘No, I can’t do that; not until I’m sure. But it was something you said which gave me this new idea. Just a minute ago, when you were talking about Lulu.’
‘Well, that’s consoling. It does prove that even the most improbable people can occasionally have their uses.’
‘I know, but Robin’s the only one who can be truly useful at this stage. Well, never mind, I must just be patient. He’s bound to be here soon.’
As I spoke, the telephone rang.
‘Bad news?’ Toby enquired, when I rejoined him ten minutes later.
‘The worst. Robin can’t come.’
‘How very heartbreaking and annoying for you! Didn’t you explain how urgent it was?’
‘Yes, but it hardly registered. It’s not really his fault, I suppose. His case has tumbled about his ears.’
‘Good heavens! That doesn’t sound like Robin. I thought he had it all sewn up?’
‘They thought so, too. They were absolutely convinced the husband had done it. Now he’s gone and handed them a cast-iron, gilt-framed alibi.’
Toby raised his eyebrows. ‘How odd to have found it so late in the day!’
‘Oh, it was the usual boring thing; the Other Woman, in capital letters. It seems they broke him down on the fact that he did go out again on the night of the murder, but only to visit her, and it was on her account that he’d kept quiet about it. It seems she has a jealous husband and it wasn’t until it dawned on them that the alternative was likely to be a life sentence that she consented to tell the police where their suspect had really spent the night.’
‘Well, it’s nice to know that the age of chivalry is not dead, only buckling a bit at the knees. And don’t worry; I am sure it will be the work of a moment for someone as experienced as Robin to rip their story to pieces.’
I shook my head. ‘Not a chance, apparently. It’s been checked, inside and out, and there isn’t a flaw. Also Robin believes the bit about her being scared of her husband. She was practically fainting with terror in case the police should pull him in for questioning, but she still stuck to her guns.’
‘How maddening of her! Well, as I see it, you have but two courses open to you.’
‘Name but one.’
‘In the first place you could hop over to Dedley and crack the case yourself, thereby releasing Robin for more important duties.’
‘You kill me, Toby.’
‘In the second, you could stop on here for a few days, while he battles it out on his own, and sort things out at this end. I am quite willing to play my small part by telling you all the silly things I can think of about Lulu.’
‘I doubt if it would help. I’m really stuck now, and I must say it’s a bit galling to think of a murderer stalking around the Rectory and getting away with it every single time.’
‘You told Robin about Sophie?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know that he took it in. He’s so cross with himself for galloping along this false trail and hitting nothing but a blank wall at the end of it. It’s hardly surprising that one female more or less falling off a balcony doesn’t count with him at the moment. His only reaction was that two deaths at the Rectory in five days was beginning to look a bit unhealthy and that I should keep as far away from it as possible. That’s a big help, considering I’m expected there for lunch tomorrow.’
‘But you agreed to cancel that, no doubt.’
‘I temporised, if that’s the word. I said I’d more or less promised Betsy and I couldn’t very well let her down.’
‘No, I doubt if temporised is quite the word for that.’
‘Well, it was in a way because I added something else.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I said it would be quite safe to go because you’d agreed to come with me.’
‘Oh, thanks awfully, Tessa.’
‘It’s all right, you’ll be in no danger. I’ll tell you something which I could have told Robin, if he’d been in a mood to listen. Nothing is going to happen while Margot and the others are back in London.’
‘You’re confident of that?’
‘Completely.’
‘Very well,’ Toby replied. ‘In that case, I will give your proposal due consideration.
IX
(i)
Optimism rose again with the sun and, lying in bed on Sunday morning, I formulated and discarded about fifteen different schemes for tying up the loose end in my theory about Sophie’s death. By the time Mrs Parkes entered with the coffee and newspapers I had hit on a plan which despite some hit and miss elements seemed to offer a fair chance of success.
‘Another gorgeous day?’ I suggested, surveying the patch of forget-me-not blue framed in my window.
‘Good old storm coming up, by the feel of it,’ she replied, unloading her precious cargo on to my bed.
Mrs Parkes could truthfully be described as an optimist by nature, for she was fond of small disasters and tireless in predicting them.
‘Mr Crichton’s not feeling too good,’ she went on. ‘Doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get up today.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ I enquired, ripping through the pages to Hobson and Co.
‘Couldn’t say. He’s a nasty colour, though. Think you ought to call the doctor?’
‘Not just yet. We’ll give him an hour or two and he may improve.’
‘Hope for the best, I suppose. Wouldn’t be much of a holiday for you, if he was taken really bad.’
‘You’re so right,’ I told her, ‘but I don’t think it will come to that. I believe I know just the cure for him.’
I had to wait until I was up and dressed before putting my plans into action because Toby’s phobia about the telephone decreed that the one and only instrument be situated in the most inconvenient place he could dream up, which was the darkest corner of the hall. Nevertheless by ten o’clock I had dialled the Storhampton Police Station and asked to speak to Chief Inspector Mackenzie. I was informed that he was not available and invited to state my business.
‘It is in connection with the death yesterday of Mrs Sophie Roche,’ I replied, slipping into the jargon. ‘I have certain information to put before the chief inspector, if he could spare me a few minutes.’
Various underlings then attempted to trap me into parting with the information but I wasn’t having any and they grudgingly consented to convey my message and ring m
e back.
In anticipation of this, I had armed myself with copious reading matter, so as to remain within inches of the telephone during the interval, but there was only a ten-minute lull before it burst into life again. The chief inspector would see me in his office at eleven-thirty.
I gathered that he was breaking into a family Sunday morning specially to accommodate me and there was a hint in the air that my information had better be good. I therefore spent a few more minutes putting the finishing touches to the story I proposed to tell him.
‘You’re supposed to be a nasty colour,’ I said, ‘but you look much the same as usual to me.’
‘Appearances are deceptive then, because I am far from well. I’m afraid it would be madness to think of going out. I hope you’re not too disappointed?’
‘But, Toby, you surely don’t expect me to go on my own, after what Robin said? It was practically a sacred pledge.’
‘I had hoped you might abandon the outing. In fact, I don’t quite see how I can manage here without you. Mrs Parkes won’t stay a minute after twelve on Sunday, you know. There are no exceptions to that rule. I could be dying, for all the difference it would make.’
Pretending to be temporarily baffled by the problem, I said thoughtfully:
‘No, you obviously shouldn’t be left on your own. Looking closely, I see that your colour is a little bit nasty, but on the other hand, how can I let poor Betsy down? Look, as it’s an emergency, couldn’t you overcome your prejudice against Lulu just for an hour or two? I’m sure she’d be only too willing to drop everything and dash over to sit with you. I’ll just run down to the telephone and put it to her. Shan’t be long.’
His colour really did take on a nasty tinge at this point, and his words were not very pleasant either; but I had him in a stranglehold and he knew it. In a very short time he had begun to feel slightly better.
‘Don’t rush it,’ I advised him. ‘I’ll go ahead and explain that you’ll be along later. About twelve-thirty or so, right?’
‘If you insist.’
‘Good. We meet again at Philippi.’
(ii)
I took a roundabout route to the police station, which was in the market square, on the principle of easing out every stone, the better to turn it over quickly should the need arise, and a series of detours were involved in establishing the whereabouts of No. 2, Mayfield Drive.
It proved to be one of a collection of detached bungalows which had been run up in the past four or five years, and it had a cheerful, well-groomed look about it, as befitted its owner’s profession.
As it was in a cul-de-sac, I had to back and turn in rather a confined space to get out again. I was releasing the handbrake for about the fifth time when I saw a woman emerge from one of the neighbouring bungalows. She was a nondescript, middle-aged type of person, and yet something about her so arrested my attention that I clean forgot what I was doing and the car rolled backwards again and struck the pavement. This led to a prolonged and disagreeable altercation with another woman, who had had the mischance to be exercising her dog on the pavement behind me, and it was a near miracle that they had not both been crushed to death between the fence and my back bumper. By the time the recriminations and apologies had been repeated several times and we had parted on relatively civil terms, the first woman had naturally passed out of sight. Since I had already discovered that Mayfield Drive was but one tentacle of a positive octopus of walks and crescents and squares, there was nothing to be gained by going after her. Moreover, I was now in danger of being late for my appointment with Inspector Mackenzie.
As it happened, I arrived on the dot, but despite this he received me churlishly, only half rising from his chair as I went in and glancing sideways at his watch even before I had sat down. He then brought out a pipe and after a lengthy filling and lighting operation asked me if I had any objection.
‘None whatever,’ I answered untruthfully. ‘And I hope you won’t think I’m wasting your time. Did you get the schedule I wrote out for you, by the way?’
‘Yes, Mrs Price. My men are quite efficient, you may be surprised to hear. Thank you for doing it so promptly though. Perhaps a bit too prompt, was it? You’ve had second thoughts and there’s something you wish to add, is that it?’
‘No, not exactly.’
He sucked his pipe for a bit and then said:
‘Let’s try and sort this out, shall we, Mrs Price? You are saying that you are satisfied that the document you handed to my constable was correct in every detail?’
‘As near as I could make it.’
‘Then may I ask why you have requested this interview?’
‘It was to tell you of something which had no place in that schedule, and so it was only afterwards that I saw that it might have some significance.’
‘Oh yes?’ he said, suppressing a yawn.
‘It was something I noticed on the day before the . . . accident.’
‘At the Rectory?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you were also there on the previous day, were you? How did that come about?’
‘I called in on Mrs Craig on my way down from London and spent about an hour with her.’
‘And what took place during that time? Let’s see, Friday it would have been. Miss Stirling having died the previous Wednesday, I understand?’
‘Yes, but nothing actually took place. It was just a small thing I noticed, without attaching any importance to it at the time, but which might be relevant, in view of what happened yesterday. At one point, when Mrs Craig was talking to her sister on the telephone, I went out on to the morning-room terrace. I happened to look up at the balcony of Mrs Craig’s bedroom, which is directly above, as you know.’
A fraction more alertness had crept into the Chief Inspector’s manner and there was a new attentiveness in his eyes, telling me that I had struck the right note, so I continued without a break: ‘You remember that old vine?’
He nodded.
‘It covers part of the wall outside the morning-room and it has also grown sideways along the balcony. I noticed that one of the main stems on that section had broken off and was hanging loose. You couldn’t have seen it as I did, because after Sophie’s accident more chunks had naturally got broken as well.’
‘That’s quite interesting, Mrs Price, but is it really all you’ve come to tell me?’
‘Can’t you see what it means?’
‘I can think of a variety of explanations. Perhaps you would tell me which one you had in mind?’
‘Surely, that if someone had been fooling about with the balcony rails, that broken stem practically proves it was done before the day of the funeral, maybe even three or four days before. The break didn’t look particularly new.’
The pipe had gone out, but he did not relight it. He placed it on his blotter and then, putting his elbows on the desk, locked his fingers together and looked at me in what I feel sure can best be described as a quizzical manner.
‘Well now, Mrs Price, I’ve no doubt you’re quite sincere in your belief that you’ve unearthed some valuable information, but there’s just one thing that puzzles me. What leads you to think there is any suggestion of someone having tampered with the balcony rails?’
‘Because you as good as told me so,’ I replied.
‘Oh, come now, I can’t allow you to get away with that.’
‘Not in so many words, but while I was making your time and motion study it dawned on me that its only conceivable purpose would be to show who had the best opportunity to spend an unobserved quarter of an hour on the balcony, either before Sophie went up there to rest, or while she was asleep.’
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘This is entertaining, if not instructive.’
‘It was also a fairly safe bet that you had privately asked each of us to draw up a similar sort of timetable, so that by co-relating and comparing them you might narrow it down even further, and maybe sift out the truth from the lies.’
‘What a mind t
he woman has! It’s not such a bad idea, at that. Pity I didn’t think of it myself.’
‘Well, not really, Inspector, because if you had thought of it it wouldn’t have done you any good, would it?’
‘Would it not?’
‘No, because I’ve just pointed out that any monkeying about on the balcony was almost certainly done at least twenty-four hours before the funeral and conceivably even before Miss Stirling died.’
He picked up the pipe again, but only to beat out a gentle tattoo on the desk.
‘Well, I’m grateful to you for coming along to tell me all about it, Mrs Price. It may not be quite so world shaking as you appear to believe, but it’s always nice when members of the public volunteer to co-operate, and I hope you’ll let me know if you get any more bright ideas.’
It was a grudging acknowledgment, to put it mildly, but there was enough substance in it to indicate that my hunch was probably right, and as I was leaving the room he wrapped it up for me.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, with a studied casualness which any first-year drama student could have knocked spots off, ‘there is to be an inquest on Tuesday. I don’t expect you’ll be called. After all, your evidence could only be a corroboration of Mrs Craig’s, couldn’t it? All the same, I’d like you to be present, if you don’t mind; just in case.’
X
(i)
Hopes of my blackmail being a hundred per cent successful were severely dashed when I parked the car in the Rectory drive and looked in vain for a venerable green Mercedes.
‘Toby hasn’t turned up?’ I asked Betsy. I had met her coming from the kitchen garden with a trugful of lettuces and we were walking up to the Stables together.
‘No, but he’s on his way. He telephoned to say he’d be a little late. I’m glad really, because I’ve got something rather horrid to tell you. Oh, don’t look frightened, my pet. I shouldn’t have said that, because it’s nothing like the really horrid things that have been happening. Just a little disturbing and unpleasant.’