Moonflower Murders

by Anthony Horowitz

  He splashed a little cologne on his cheeks, then turned off the light and went into the bedroom, where his dinner jacket was waiting for him on the back of a chair. Miss Cain had prepared his speech for him. It was lying on the bed, twelve pristine white pages held together with a paperclip. The title – CRIME AND PUNISHMENT – was in capital letters at the top. Pünd slipped on his jacket, carefully folded the pages, placed them inside his pocket and went into the next room.

  He had only recently moved into the flat on the seventh floor of Tanner Court, the elegant mansion block in Farringdon, and he wasn’t quite used to it. The furniture was antique and German. He had brought much of it with him when he moved to England after the war. But everything else was still foreign to him. The rooms with their double-height ceilings seemed much larger than they had any right to be. The carpets and curtains were brand new and he remembered choosing them, aghast at both how expensive they were and how easily he could now afford them. The kitchen was so sparkling clean that he felt nervous about using it – not that he ever cooked for himself. For lunch he would have a salad. In the evening he usually ate out.

  He glanced at what had once been his father’s pendulum box clock, hanging in the corner. Made by Erhard Junghans in the nineteenth century and so almost a hundred years old, it had never lost a minute’s time. He didn’t need to leave yet. He poured himself a small sherry and took a black Sobranie cigarette out of an ebony box that had been given to him by a grateful client. In fact, the entire apartment had only come his way thanks to a recent case. He lit the cigarette and sat down, trying to relax in his surroundings and remembering the strange affair of the Ludendorff Diamond, which had been, in many respects, his greatest success yet.

  On the face of it, the theft had been impossible, a magic trick that had baffled the police, the British public and, most significantly, the frustrated owner, who had lost not just the diamond but several other pieces of jewellery plus cash and certified share certificates to the value of almost a hundred thousand pounds.

  His name was Charles Pargeter, a multimillionaire with homes in New York and Knightsbridge who had made his fortune in the oil industry. His wife, Elaine, was a well-known society hostess, a patron of the arts, a member of several boards, a woman of great beauty. The robbery had taken place just before Christmas the year before.

  In fact, the Pargeters had been on their way back from a party when they found that their house had been broken into. It was clearly the work of professionals. The alarm system had been disconnected and a window on the ground floor forced. The house had not been completely empty. It was a Saturday and two of the servants – the cook and the maid – had been given the weekend off. The butler had stayed behind but he was almost seventy years old and had slept through the entire business. The Pargeters had returned home with John Berkeley, a business associate and friend, and he had noticed the broken window before they even got in.

  To begin with, Charles Pargeter had not been worried. He was a careful man and had installed a safe on the second floor of the house. It was not just any safe. It was the best that money could buy: a solid steel, fireproof box that weighed over two hundred pounds, manufactured by Sentry in America and bolted into the floor. Inside the combination lock, which had been strengthened to prevent any possibility of its being forced, there were no fewer than seven wheels, requiring, therefore, a seven-part sequence to get it open. Only three people knew the combination: Pargeter, his wife, and Henry Chase, their lawyer. There was a second lock, key-operated, and only one key had ever been manufactured. Charles Pargeter kept it close to him all the time. The safe stood against the far wall of a narrow, dark walk-in closet. The thieves would have had to have inside information even to know that it was there.

  The three of them – Charles Pargeter, Elaine Pargeter and John Berkeley – had entered the darkened house together and at first they believed that they had arrived in time and that nothing had been disturbed. But when Charles turned the lights on in the bedroom, the terrible truth hit him full in the face. The safe door was wide open. All the contents had been removed.

  Elaine Pargeter had called the police while Berkeley led his friend downstairs and poured him a large whisky. They were careful not to touch anything. The police – in the persons of Detective Inspector Gilbert, accompanied by Detective Sergeant Dickinson – arrived very soon after, asked various questions and examined the empty safe. Both the safe and the broken window were searched for fingerprints but none were found.

  Pünd remembered reading about the theft in the newspapers. The whole country had been gripped by what had happened – for two reasons. The first was that the safe really was impregnable. The American manufacturers had flown to England immediately and after a careful examination they had announced that their product could not be to blame. The lock could not be forced and had not been forced: whoever opened it must have known the combination, even though this narrowed the crime down to just two suspects: Charles Pargeter and his wife. Their lawyer, Henry Chase, the only other person trusted with the combination, had been abroad on the night in question. Of course, he could have passed on the combination to an accomplice but that still left the problem of the key. Pargeter kept it on his main key ring and it was never out of his sight. He had had it with him at the party and he had handed it to DI Gilbert, who had confirmed that it was the right key and definitely fitted the lock. Could someone have taken it and made a copy? Again, the manufacturers insisted this was impossible. The key was like no other, with a unique, patented design. They had given a press conference in which they had come perilously close to accusing Pargeter and his wife of insurance fraud. But that, too, was highly unlikely. Pargeter had no money troubles. On the contrary, his business was booming. He was one of the richest people in the world.

  But it was the Ludendorff Diamond that had really captured the public’s imagination. There are many precious jewels that seem to exist in a world of fantasy and folklore and this one was no exception. A flawless ‘pear double rose-cut diamond’, it had 33 carats and 140 facets. It had been found in Golconda, the same region of India that had produced the Koh-i-Noor. It had belonged to a Russian aristocrat, Prince Andrei Ludendorff, who had been killed in a duel, but not by his opponent. His gun had jammed and exploded in his hand, sending a fragment of metal into his eye. It was said that the diamond had been buried with him, but that his not entirely mournful widow had sent a pair of grave robbers to retrieve it. Pargeter had bought it privately in New York for an undisclosed price, although the figure of two million American dollars had been mentioned. It might well have been more.

  And now it was gone. Pargeter had also lost cash and shares. His wife had kept several pearl and diamond necklaces, rings and a tiara in the safe. Even their passports and birth certificates had been taken. But all this seemed inconsequential compared to the Ludendorff Diamond. There was, Pünd noticed, a certain amount of sympathy for the criminals who had pulled off this spectacular coup without violence. At the same time, there was very little sympathy for Pargeter, who was seen almost as the instigator of the crime rather than its victim, as if his extreme wealth had made it only reasonable that he should be targeted.

  Pargeter was not, in fact, an unpleasant man. When he had arrived at Pünd’s office in the Old Marylebone Road, he had come across as quiet and self-effacing. He had the look of a Harvard professor, with thick, silver hair and glasses and immaculately dressed in a double-breasted suit and tie. Pünd remembered every word of what he had said.

  ‘Mr Pünd,’ he had begun, standing with his hands behind his back, ‘my people tell me that you are the best detective in the world, and having looked into your history, I believe you are the only man who can return the Ludendorff Diamond to me.’ He spoke with an American accent, carefully judging his words before he allowed them to pass his lips. ‘I want to explain to you why I have come here today. First, as I’m sure you are aware, the police have been unable to come up with any possible explanation for what appe
ars, on the face of it, to be an impossible crime. I have repeatedly told them – and I will assure you of the same thing – that only three people knew the combination to that lock and I would trust the other two with my life.’

  ‘You have never told it to anyone else?’ Pünd interrupted.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And it was never written down? Perhaps as an aide-memoire?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I understand that there were seven separate numerals.’

  ‘I have an excellent memory.’

  ‘Then I will ask you this. Were the numbers selected by you? Did they perhaps have some reference to events in your life? Your date of birth, for example, or that of your wife?’

  ‘Absolutely not. The safe arrived with the combination integrated. And before you ask, Sentry have their own security protocols. Nobody in the company knew which safe had been sold to me or where it was going to be installed. It had come all the way from America on a container ship. I had workmen pick it up in Southampton and bring it to my London home. The combination was sent to me by post a few days later.’

  ‘Thank you. Please continue.’

  Charles Pargeter took a breath. He was not the sort of man who was used to asking favours. In his business, he would issue instructions and expect them to be followed to the letter. Pünd got the impression that he had rehearsed what he was about to say.

  ‘I bought the Ludendorff Diamond for many reasons,’ he said. ‘It is an object of great beauty which could be more than a billion years old. Think of that! It is unique. It is also, strangely enough, a wise investment. And if I’m going to be honest with you, Mr Pünd, there may have been an element of vanity in my decision. When you have been fortunate enough to amass a great deal of wealth, there is always the temptation to make a statement, not to the general public but to yourself. To remind yourself of your own success.

  ‘So when I tell you that I have been hurt by the theft, I mean it in every sense. Whoever took the diamond has made a fool out of me. I have always been fond of the British and frankly, following this incident, I’ve been surprised how quickly they seem to have taken against me. There was even a cartoon of me in Punch magazine. You may have seen it.’

  Pünd made a gesture to suggest that he hadn’t, although in fact he remembered it well. It had shown the multimillionaire sitting at the breakfast table in his pyjamas, eating a boiled egg with the diamond concealed inside the shell. The caption underneath read: ‘Now, why didn’t I look there?’

  ‘It’s even been suggested that I myself was involved in the robbery,’ Pargeter continued. ‘An accusation that’s as absurd as it’s damaging. In short, I’m being humiliated all over the country, and frankly, I find this almost as hard to bear as the loss of the jewel itself. So let me get to the point. I will pay you any money you demand to investigate what actually happened. Who did it and how it was done. If you are able to return my property to me, I will pay you a bonus of fifty thousand pounds. Forgive me for being so direct, Mr Pünd. I’m sure you’re a busy man, so let me know what you think and I won’t waste any more of your time.’

  In fact, Pünd had made his decision the moment Pargeter walked into the room. He was intrigued. This was one of those very rare examples of a crime committed without violence that could, perhaps, be approached purely as an intellectual challenge. The timing, also, was fortuitous. The lease on his flat and office was about to expire. He had been looking for somewhere new to live and had found a flat in Farringdon that seemed ideal except that it was well out of his price range. Pünd did not believe in fate or destiny. But Charles Pargeter might have been sent in answer to his prayers.

  He went round to Knightsbridge the next day, driven by Pargeter’s chauffeur, who had picked him up in a silver Rolls-Royce. The house was in one of the quiet streets behind Harrods department store. It was unusual in that it stood alone, surrounded by a low brick wall with a gravel drive and flower beds. Pünd began with the broken window, which was round the side of the house. Already, that puzzled him. It did not fit in with what he had read in the papers and what he had been told. He was shown in through the front door to find Charles Pargeter and his wife waiting for him. She was an extremely elegant woman, taller than her husband, dressed simply in a cashmere jersey and slacks. She had no jewellery. The house itself was quite ordinary. As far as Pünd could see, there were no masterpieces on the walls, no priceless silver on display. Perhaps the Pargeters’ home in New York was more ostentatious.

  ‘Would you like some coffee, Mr Pünd?’ Elaine Pargeter asked. ‘We can go into the drawing room . . .’

  ‘I would prefer to begin upstairs, if you don’t mind, Mrs Pargeter. To start with, I would like to see this safe that was, according to its makers . . . impregnable. Is that the word?’

  ‘I’ll take you there,’ Charles Pargeter said.

  As they climbed the stairs, Pünd raised the question that had occurred to him outside. ‘I am puzzled,’ he said. ‘You arrived, quite late, from the party on the night that the robbery took place.’

  ‘Yes. It was about one o’clock.’

  ‘There were three of you.’

  ‘Yes. John Berkeley is an old friend of mine. He’s a vice president with Shell Transport and Trading. We were actually at college together. He happened to be in London for a few days and he usually stays with us. Saves paying out for a hotel.’

  ‘Which one of you saw that the window had been broken? It seems to me that walking from the car to the front door, you would not have had a view of the side of the house.’

  ‘Actually, that was me,’ Elaine Pargeter explained. ‘John saw fragments of glass on the drive. They were reflecting the moon. I went round to investigate and that was when I saw the window was broken.’

  ‘Did you go straight upstairs?’

  ‘I wanted Elaine to stay in the car,’ Pargeter said. ‘I was afraid there might be intruders in the house and I didn’t want to put her in harm’s way—’

  ‘I wasn’t having any of that!’ Elaine exclaimed.

  ‘That’s right. So the three of us went in together. I saw that the alarms were off and that told me something was wrong. We have a butler, Harris, and he’d have been asleep in the servants’ wing, but even so the alarms should have been on in the main house. We went straight to the master bedroom. I knew that everything that was valuable to me, and that includes the diamond, of course, was in the safe. I remember putting my hand in my pocket and feeling my key. It never occurred to me that the safe could have been opened.’

  They had reached the top of the stairs and crossed the corridor, entering a room decorated in a vaguely Chinese style with dark red wallpaper and views over the back garden. As with the rest of the house, the most impressive thing about the bedroom was its size. The bed was huge, the curtains theatrical, the dressing table antique. One door led into a bathroom. The other opened into a narrow corridor with wardrobes on either side. After about ten feet, the wardrobes stopped and there was a small alcove with a domed ceiling. It could have been purpose-built for the safe that stood there with its back against the far wall.

  If the millionaire and his wife had expected Pünd to move forward and examine the safe, they were disappointed. He stood where he was, half frowning, as if he was trying to sense the atmosphere. Finally, he spoke. ‘Did you turn the lights on when you came into the room?’ he asked.

  ‘In the bedroom. Yes. But not in the walk-in closet.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  ‘We didn’t want to leave footmarks or fingerprints. But I can tell you, there was enough light for us to see everything. The safe door was open and the inside was clearly empty. I have to say that I was very glad to have John Berkeley with me right then. I’m not an emotional man. I guess I’m used to keeping things damped down. But I felt sick. I thought I was going to faint. I stand by what I said to you yesterday, Mr Pünd, but right then I was thinking about how much had been taken from me. I had lost millions and millions of dollars and
at the same time it was impossible. I was holding the only key to the safe, goddamn it! I had it right in my hand.’

  ‘So what did you do then?’

  ‘Obviously, I couldn’t go into the room. It was a crime scene. I didn’t want to disturb any possible evidence.’

  ‘That is very sensible.’

  ‘John took control of the situation. He got Elaine to call the police while he took me downstairs and gave me a large Scotch. He also got Harris out of bed and asked him if he’d heard anything, but there was no joy there. The truth is, Harris is much too old for the job, but he’s been with me so long I don’t have the heart to get rid of him. I just keep hoping he’ll retire.’

  ‘And you trust him?’

  ‘He’s been with us for thirty years, Mr Pünd. When he does finally go, we’ll look after him. He knows that. And what’s a man of his age going to do with a diamond like that? It’s inconceivable he had anything to do with it.’

  Pünd nodded. ‘You will permit me . . . ?’

  He walked into the corridor between the wardrobes and crouched down beside the safe, resting a hand on the steel surface. Given that it weighed more than two hundred pounds, the safe was smaller than he had imagined. It had the proportions of a deck of cards, taller than it was deep, completely bare but for a handle, a combination lock and, next to it, a keyhole. The name of the manufacturer was written across the top. The door fitted absolutely flush with the outer shell, making it impossible to slip even a sheet of paper inside, let alone the tip of a crowbar. The safe was grey in colour. Its setting was almost theatrical, with dark red wallpaper on three sides, again picking up the Chinese theme from the bedroom. Pünd did not try to move it. He could tell at once that it was utterly solid, bolted into place.

  ‘Would it be possible for you to open the safe?’ Pünd asked.

  ‘Of course. But it is empty now.’