Lady With a Cool Eye

by Gwen Moffat

  The sun was setting and the sky tinged with colour as they came out on top and saw the northern mountains with the snowfields a pale rose in the evening light. Neither was interested in the peaks. They both looked downwards, at the road which climbed to the mine.

  Far below, rear lights showed where vehicles were descending and from close at hand they could hear the sound of engines. A dark shape with headlights blazing moved out of the mine compound. It was followed by two more, on side lights.

  “Good gracious!” Miss Pink exclaimed, “is that a lorry and two escort vehicles?”

  “Yes, that’s how they’re doing it.”

  “They are worried, aren’t they?”

  “I’m not,” he said morosely, “not about that.”

  “Yes. If the Press ask what we think she was doing down there, what line do we take?”

  “I can think of nothing better than total ignorance.”

  “And Martin’s dismissal?”

  “He resigned.”

  “He resigned at an odd moment.”

  “He did, didn’t he?”

  They started to retrace their steps, walking side by side down the wide path. Two ravens, homing late to their roost, came flapping up the slope to veer away with startled barks as they caught sight of the figures moving down the track in the gloaming.

  It was Miss Pink who broke the silence.

  “It can’t have any significance.”

  “No.”

  She noted that although they hadn’t spoken for some time he knew exactly what she meant.

  *

  The telephone rang in the secretary’s office as Miss Pink was about to leave. She had gone into the Centre to say that they were back from the hill and could be found if needed that evening at the Goat. Ted was at that moment outside changing his boots. Miss Pink nodded goodbye to Sally and moved to the door as the phone rang. She moved more slowly as the secretary’s voice rose sharply:

  “Who? . . . They’re here now . . . He’s outside, but Miss Pink is with me . . .”

  She turned back and saw that the girl’s eyes stared at her too hard.

  “Doctor Llewelyn,” Sally said, holding out the receiver.

  Llewelyn was very Welsh. His excited voice crackled at speed. She turned her back on Sally, wishing with a corner of her consciousness that she could be mistaking what she was hearing, that Llewelyn was mistaken, but every word, every phrase illuminated the truth.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’ll tell him.”

  She replaced the receiver carefully.

  “That was the post mortem report,” she said, “she wasn’t drowned. She was strangled.”

  Horror and disbelief struggled in Sally’s face. She moistened her lips.

  “Shall I tell the others?” she whispered.

  “I suppose so.” Miss Pink was moving towards the door again, anxious to see Ted. “If they don’t know already,” she added absently.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s not entirely unexpected,” Ted said.

  They were sitting in the car. He’d made no move to drive away after hearing her news.

  “It answers a lot of questions,” she agreed, “the fact that the car should have been turned in such a dangerous place, that it was in neutral instead of bottom or reverse . . . And I found it difficult to credit that anyone could even consider suicide in that manner. How could she hit on the exact moment to release the handbrake and yet be drowsy enough not to mind dying so horribly? When did you first think of murder?”

  “It occurred to me this afternoon — definitely. But it had crossed my mind before that. Probably this morning when suicide seemed even more illogical than accident. But once you’d entertained the thought of suicide it was only a step to violence by a second person. What were the signs?”

  “There was no water in the lungs and there were marks on the throat and — what’s the hyoid?”

  “Ah yes, that’s a pretty sure sign. There was a case in Rhyl some years ago. It’s a bone in the throat that gets fractured in strangling.”

  “They’re getting a pathologist down but Llewelyn seems to think that it’s only a matter of confirmation. She’d also drunk a lot of whisky.”

  He started the car. Glancing at the lighted windows as they drove past, she said: “I feel as if we’re abandoning them.”

  “You’ll be feeling the responsibility more than them,” he said, “they’re resilient; once they’ve got over the shock they’ll soon be back to normal. It would be a different matter if she’d been popular.”

  “If she’d been popular she wouldn’t be dead,” she said tartly.

  *

  When they reached the Goat, Ted drove through the car park at the side of the building to the garage at the back. There were no cars visible other than Miss Pink’s neat Austin.

  “No Press or police,” he observed. “I shall stay the night. We should both be on hand. Can they put me up, d’you think? The place seems very quiet. Where are the staff’s cars?”

  “Shippam — the manager — and his wife, are in Ibiza. Olwen is the only resident maid. I imagine she could call on some of the summer staff if necessary but otherwise there’s only Miss Devereux and a barman and they don’t come in till later.”

  They went in the hotel. The fact that accident had become murder had not yet reached Olwen, probably due to the telephone system being automatic. In the old days someone on the grapevine would be related to the girl on the switchboard.

  “A terrible thing,” she said, meeting them in the hall, “that Betty Plas lying there since Saturday evening and no one knowing.”

  “Terrible,” Ted agreed.

  “We’re very thirsty,” Miss Pink told her.

  “I’ll get you a pot of tea this minute. You’ll have had a hard day, I’m sure.”

  Out of regard for the carpets they stayed in the reception hall for Miss Pink was still wearing her walking boots and suddenly she felt too tired to go upstairs and change before drinking tea. She relaxed thankfully in an easy chair.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose this is as bad as it can get.” Remembering that they were in a public place she lowered her voice. “I’m worried about the staff.”

  “At Plas Mawr?” She nodded. “You know who the first suspect is — always?”

  “The husband. But it’s often manslaughter. If he’d known she was going to meet someone and followed her out there —”

  “In what?”

  “What?”

  “She’d taken the Jaguar; how would Martin get to the coast?”

  “Well!” she exclaimed happily, “that puts him in the clear, doesn’t it?”

  Ted said nothing. She went on less happily: “And after the husband come lovers —”

  “And wives.”

  “This is unpleasant,” she said.

  “Yes, I know, so is murder.”

  They were silent for a moment, then she said: “Strangling must need an awful lot of strength.”

  “Not when the victim’s drunk.”

  “She wouldn’t have sat in the car drinking with a woman.”

  “She could have been killed elsewhere.”

  “Then you’d need an accomplice — if the murderer was someone from the Centre. You must have two drivers, not essential perhaps, but I can’t see anyone walking back to the Centre after pushing the car over the cliffs; it must be a good eight miles. Did you notice tracks this morning when you were looking at the verge?”

  “I wasn’t looking specifically for tyre marks. In any case they wouldn’t necessarily be associated with the murder; anyone could have parked there Saturday afternoon or since Saturday evening.”

  Olwen brought their tea, clucking sympathetically but darting sharp glances at them, waiting for them to start talking again. They got rid of her but now, aware of doors that were ajar, they were circumspect, discussing guardedly whether and when they should return to Plas Mawr.

  They were on their third cup of tea when the police arrived. T
hey were strangers to her but she didn’t have to look at Ted to know that they were police, and her heart beat unhealthily fast. She had time to reflect that even the innocent are touched with guilt where some crimes are concerned, then Ted was introducing a large man, somewhat pear-shaped, who moved lightly across the room towards them, bearing his paunch before him. He was almost bald and he had a shiny, rubbery face and a jovial manner which she felt he moderated now, probably because of her relationship with the Centre. Small eyes summed her up briefly. He was Detective Superintendent Pryce. She shook hands, distrusting him.

  His sergeant was angular and in his thirties: a Williams. He had soft brown eyes and no chin. He looked ineffectual. She was sure he wasn’t.

  Olwen, hovering by the service door, was asked to bring more tea and scones. The newcomers removed their coats and sat down. Miss Pink felt ridiculous in her breeches and boots and wondered how soon she could escape.

  The superintendent chattered about the Centre, about the enthusiasm of Sir Thomas for this and that, and the problem of juvenile delinquency; there was plenty to keep him going while Olwen made more tea. He waited until she’d served it, thanked her heartily, and leaned back. Miss Pink started to pour out in the ensuing silence. The atmosphere wasn’t easy; she had to remind herself that Ted was on her side. She kept seeing the top of the cliff and the pale blue Jaguar going over, which was ridiculous because when it happened the colour wouldn’t have shown.

  “Where’s the husband?” the superintendent asked suddenly.

  “He left for London yesterday morning,” Ted told him.

  “Leave a forwarding address?”

  “I have it upstairs,” Miss Pink said, seizing her chance.

  There was no time to bath. She slipped into a dress, determined to miss as little as possible, but Ted came upstairs as she left her room.

  “He’s bringing Martin back,” he told her, “and they’re going up to Plas Mawr. They’ve agreed to let us be present when they interview the staff. We’ll not get any dinner tonight,” he ended unhappily.

  “I’ll ask Olwen to leave something for later. What’s in their minds — interviewing?”

  “To get a general picture, I would think, but mainly to try to find out what Martin was doing at the relevant time.”

  “You didn’t mention Linda’s story?”

  “No. If there’s any truth in it, it will come out. I just sketched people in for him and answered questions. Better let him discover the situation for himself.”

  *

  The police saw the staff in the warden’s office. They started with Sassie Owen who was frightened and truculent. She had little to add to what Olwen had told Miss Pink. It appeared that she had seen someone in the driver’s seat of the Jaguar after she’d looked out of the window, attracted by the crashing gears.

  “How could you tell it was a woman then?” the superintendent pressed, “it could have been a man.”

  “No, I saw her hands and legs, didn’t I? The light shines out and I saw her rings. It’s as bright as day out there, but I couldn’t see above here,” she indicated her left hip.

  “What time was this?”

  “Just after seven. We were serving up. We start serving at seven.”

  “You’re quite sure that there was no one in the back of the car?”

  “How do I know? Could have been. Right over on the other side. But I’d ’a seen his legs, wouldn’t I?”

  “I expect she was alone,” Pryce said when Sassie had gone, “if someone wanted to keep out of the way he wouldn’t have risked getting in the car down here. He’d have arranged to be picked up outside the Centre. I’d like to see the secretary next.” He looked uncertain; he couldn’t give Ted the job of messenger boy.

  “I’ll tell her,” Miss Pink said. They demurred politely but she went.

  Sally was in her office. She looked at her employer brightly but she was tense all the same.

  “The classic case of ‘it always happens to someone else’, isn’t it?” she observed.

  The superintendent looked very much at home behind the warden’s desk; he was solid and conventional, the kind of man who might have shown some hint of disapproval had a hippie or tramp been shown in but Sally appeared to make a good impression. She was wearing a quiet dark dress with a ceramic pendant and no make-up except soft lipstick. She sat down and regarded him carefully.

  The preliminaries over, Pryce asked her when she had last seen Martin. She blinked. The question had been unexpected.

  “I shall have to think,” she said, excusing her silence.

  “Take your time,” he told her comfortably. He looked idly along a shelf of books on the nearest wall.

  “It must have been after Sunday lunch,” Sally said.

  “Sunday,” he repeated heavily and his eyes flickered to the sergeant taking notes at the side of the desk. “Perhaps you would explain the circumstances.”

  “He was passing through the hall to the front door. He didn’t speak.”

  “Do you know what he did after that?”

  Sally hesitated and it occurred to Miss Pink that Pryce knew only as much as Ted had time to tell him while she was changing.

  “I don’t know what he did, only what I’ve been told,” Sally said.

  “Who saw him later than that? What was the time?”

  “About half past one.”

  “Well, of course, I did,” Miss Pink said.

  “Ah.” He didn’t follow this up but stayed with Sally: “I understand Martin was duty instructor on Sunday.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that duty starts when?”

  “At eight-thirty, after breakfast.”

  “Can you tell me if he started at eight-thirty that morning?”

  “No, because last weekend he had two consecutive duties: Saturday night and Sunday.”

  “Is that usual: for the warden to be doing the work of an instructor?” He asked the question of the directors.

  “No,” Ted said, “but it’s up to him. It will please his staff since their duties will come round less often.”

  “When does the duty instructor start in the evening?”

  “At five o’clock, which is the normal finishing time for inside activities if there’s nothing happening in the evening.”

  “So Martin came on duty at five o’clock on Saturday?” He’d turned back to Sally.

  “No.”

  “No,” he repeated. “Why not?”

  “He asked me to stand in for him that evening.”

  “For how long?”

  “I told him I would stay until ten-thirty.”

  “What time did he relieve you?”

  “About eleven.”

  “How did he appear — what was his manner like?”

  “He was drunk.”

  “Then how could he go on duty?”

  “I don’t mean he was incapable. He had been drinking heavily.”

  “Will you tell us how he came in?”

  She looked puzzled.

  “How he entered the building,” Pryce elaborated, “did he appear to have come in from the front or the back?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t out. I had to go up to the flat. When he didn’t appear by eleven I thought he might be upstairs although until then I’d assumed he’d gone out. I couldn’t make him hear; he’d got the record player on rather loud, so I opened the door. He was lying on the sofa — asleep.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went in and turned the record player down and woke him.”

  “Had he been drinking?”

  “There was a nearly empty whisky bottle beside him on the floor and a glass.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I told him the time and he apologised and sat up. He said he felt awful and probably I’d have offered to take his place for a while but I had to go home. I have a family. So he followed me downstairs although there was nothing to do. I’d put the lights out in the dormitories long before but I suppose he want
ed to show he was fit to take over.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I cycled home. Our car was off the road.”

  There was a map on the desk in front of him.

  “Would you show me where you live?” he asked.

  Sally got up and showed him and he took a biro from his pocket, removed the cap and marked the place carefully.

  “Now,” he said, leaning back and beaming at her, “I won’t keep you much longer. You saw Martin at eleven o’clock. When did you last see him before that?”

  “I saw him on the stairs at tea time, about five o’clock.”

  “Was that when he asked you to stand in for him?”

  “No, he asked me that morning. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a liver complaint.”

  “So you didn’t see him between five and eleven. Could he have left the building?”

  “He could have,” she said slowly, “I was all over the place. I had no idea who was in or out. But I remember thinking when the boys started to settle down about ten that he was in then. I had the impression afterwards that he was in all evening.”

  “How was that?”

  “There was a faint sound of music at times — I mean, even before ten. That would be when he opened the door. The flat isn’t self-contained; they have to use a staff lavatory in the upstairs corridor. At the time I’d not really identified the music. Subconsciously I suppose I’d thought it was a transistor. It was only when I went to the flat that it struck me it could have been his record player I’d heard all evening.”

  “What other members of staff were in the building?”

  “No one. The kitchen staff leave as soon as supper is served, and the boys wash up, supervised by the duty instructor. It was a Saturday and all the staff were away from the school. My husband went home after tea, and Lithgow lives out too — he’s the chief instructor —” She looked uncertain, not knowing the extent of Pryce’s knowledge, “— and Paul Wright was off duty.”

  “Thank you,” he nodded pleasantly, “you’ve been very helpful.”

  When she had gone, he asked: “What would Martin’s duties be after eleven?”

  “If there were no emergencies, nothing,” Ted told him, “he could go to bed until seven the following morning.”