Moonflower Murders

by Anthony Horowitz

  Eric stepped aside and Pünd, followed by Detective Chief Inspector Hare and Miss Cain, entered the darkened room. Although it was half past ten in the morning, the curtains had been drawn together and what little sunlight there was on another cloudy day had found itself unable to break in. Francis Pendleton looked the very image of an invalid, lying on the bed, propped up with pillows, wearing a dressing gown and pyjamas, his face colourless and emaciated, his arms stretched out helplessly at his sides. He turned his head as they entered and Pünd saw the emptiness in his eyes, the result of both grief and the drug he had been given to fight it. Of course, grief and remorse were close cousins. It was quite possible that Pendleton might have ended up in exactly this state if he had, in fact, killed his wife.

  ‘Mr Pendleton—’ Pünd began.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think I know you.’

  ‘This is Mr Atticus Pünd,’ Hare explained, taking a seat beside the bed. ‘If it’s all right with you, sir, he wants to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘I’m so very tired.’

  ‘Of course, sir. You’ve been through a lot. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.’

  Madeline Cain had perched herself on a chair in the corner of the room, doing her best to keep out of sight. Pünd was the only one standing.

  ‘I can understand that this must have come as a great shock to you, Mr Pendleton,’ he said.

  ‘I loved her. You have no idea. She was everything to me.’ The words were almost disembodied. Pendleton wasn’t speaking to Pünd. He might not even have been aware that there was anyone with him in the room. ‘I met her on the set of her film. I was her assistant. It was just meant to be a laugh. I had no interest in cinema and I thought it was a stupid film – a girl being kidnapped, gangs and conspiracy. I knew it would be rubbish. But when Melissa came into the room, everything changed. It was like all the lights came on. I knew that I wanted to marry her. There was never anyone else.’

  ‘You had been married for how long, Mr Pendleton?’

  ‘Four years. I’m very tired. I’m sorry. Could we maybe talk later?’

  ‘Please, Mr Pendleton.’ Pünd took a step forward. ‘I must ask you about the day that it happened.’

  Hare thought it was useless, that Pendleton was too drugged to remember anything. But the question seemed to rouse him. He sat up in the bed and gazed at Pünd with fear in his eyes. ‘The day that it happened! I’ll never forget it . . .’

  ‘Your wife returned to the house from the Moonflower.’

  ‘It’s losing money. It’s those bloody managers of hers. I warned her against them but she didn’t listen to me. That was the thing about Melissa. She believed the best of everyone.’

  ‘But you think there was something crooked going on.’ Hare used the word deliberately. He was remembering what Simon Cox had said.

  ‘Crooked. Yes . . .’

  ‘She had gone in to see Mr and Mrs Gardner?’ Pünd asked.

  ‘That’s right. She was going to have to sell the hotel. She didn’t want to but she had no option. Not if we were going to hang on to this place. But before she could sell it, she had to find out where the money was going . . .’

  ‘She believed that her managers were stealing from her?’

  ‘I believed it. And she believed me.’

  ‘You saw her when she came home?’

  ‘I waited for her. I was supposed to be going to Barnstaple. We had tickets for the opera . . . The Marriage of Figaro. But she had a headache and she didn’t want to go. That’s what she said, but I think she just wanted to be on her own. She had all these troubles. I wanted to help her. I tried.’

  ‘So you went to the opera without her.’

  ‘Yes. The Marriage of Figaro. Did I tell you that?’

  ‘Before you left, the two of you talked for . . . ten minutes?’

  ‘Maybe a little longer.’

  ‘Did you argue?

  ‘No! You didn’t argue with Melissa.’ Pendleton smiled weakly. ‘You did what she wanted. I always did what she wanted. It was easier that way.’ He yawned. ‘We talked about the Gardners. She said she saw Nancy. And that producer. What’s his name? Cox! That was a nasty surprise. He’d followed her down here and he was waiting for her at the hotel.’ He settled back, resting his head in the pillows. It was clear that he would soon be asleep.

  But Pünd still hadn’t finished. ‘Was it possible she was meeting somebody after she left the hotel?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. She’d have told me . . .’

  ‘You were happy together.’

  ‘I have never been so happy since I met Melissa. How can you understand? She was rich. She was famous. She was beautiful. But it was more than all that. She was unique. I can’t live without her. I won’t . . .’

  Finally, the tranquilliser took effect. Francis Pendleton closed his eyes. A moment later he was sound asleep.

  The three of them quietly left the room.

  ‘I’m afraid that wasn’t very much help to you,’ Hare said.

  ‘You have already interviewed him, Detective Chief Inspector, and if you will be so kind as to make your notes available to me . . .’

  ‘I’ll have the transcripts sent over to you, Mr Pünd.’

  ‘I am sure they will tell me everything I need to know. But I will tell you straight away that the young man was not lying when he spoke to us of his love for Melissa James. The drug that he had taken may have confused his mind but not his heart.’ Pünd looked around him. ‘We will speak with him again, but for now it would be useful, I think, to visit the bedroom where the crime took place.’

  ‘It’s just along here.’

  They went back down the corridor. Pünd continued through the archway and glanced briefly at the corridor with four photographs on the wall and a window at the end. Then he returned to the door that Eric had indicated. It opened into a large, bright room at the front of the house with three windows looking out over the lawn and the sea just beyond. A second door opened onto the balcony that he had seen when he arrived and Pünd could imagine the view in the summer months with the sun shining and the water sparkling. It would be a lovely place to wake up.

  The room itself was decorated with silk wallpaper that was Chinese in style, incorporating birds and lotus leaves. It immediately reminded Pünd of somewhere he had been recently, but it took him a few moments to connect it with the room in Knightsbridge where the Pargeters had slept. He wondered why it should have entered his mind. Melissa’s taste was more feminine. She had added muslin curtains, dried flowers, a silk canopy hanging over an antique four-poster bed. The carpet was ivory-coloured and the furniture looked French, hand-painted: a Breton bonnetière, a chest of drawers and a writing bureau with two neat piles of letters. A pair of ormolu tables and two lamps stood on either side of the bed. One of the lamps had a crack clearly visible in its glass shade. Pünd noticed a telephone socket in the wall and guessed that the telephone itself must have stood on the table furthest away from the door. The police would have removed it because it was, after all, a murder weapon. An open door led into a large bathroom with a shower, a bath, a toilet and – unusually – a bidet.

  ‘I’m afraid the room’s been cleaned and tidied up,’ Hare explained. ‘We left it how it was for four or five days and we’ve got plenty of photographs which I can show you. But Mr Pendleton was very unhappy, leaving it like that. It was a constant reminder of what had happened and in the end, given his mental condition, I gave way and let them rearrange it. Of course, I didn’t know you would be coming down. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not at all, Detective Chief Inspector. You did exactly the right thing. But it would be helpful to me if you could describe the room as it was when you found it.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Hare looked around him, taking his time before he began. ‘Melissa James was on the bed. It was a horrible sight. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a strangulation victim, but it’s a dreadful way to die. She was lying with her head bent and one
arm twisted behind her neck. Her eyes were staring and bloodshot. She had swollen lips. Are you all right with this, Miss Cain?’

  Madeline Cain had been standing beside the writing bureau, but on hearing the lurid details she had become faint. She reached behind her as if to steady herself, then staggered and almost fell, sending one pile of letters tumbling to the floor. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to follow them.

  Pünd hurried over to her. ‘Miss Cain?’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Pünd.’ Her eyes were staring out from behind her horn-rimmed spectacles. With difficulty, she knelt down and collected the letters. ‘So clumsy of me . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘There is absolutely no need to apologise,’ he said. ‘I am a fool to have been so inconsiderate. You must go downstairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Pünd.’ He helped her to her feet and she handed the letters over to him. ‘I’m afraid this has really been too much for me.’

  ‘Would you like me to accompany you?’

  ‘No. I’ll be absolutely fine. I’m sorry.’ She tried to force a smile. ‘I never had any of this sort of thing at United Biscuits.’

  She hurried out of the room.

  ‘Do you want me to take notes for you?’ Hare asked. He was clearly concerned by what he had just witnessed.

  ‘I am sure I will be able to remember all the details.’ Pünd closed the door again. ‘It was wrong of me to bring Miss Cain to the scene of the crime,’ he added. He returned the letters to the bureau. ‘But I have not had a secretary before and I have not yet established the correct procedure.’

  ‘Shall I go on?’

  ‘Indeed so, Detective Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Well, there were two sets of abrasions around the neck and traces of blood coming from the ear canals. I’m afraid she hadn’t put up much of a fight. The bedclothes were crumpled and she had lost one of her shoes, but there was nothing under her nails. I think she must have been attacked from behind. That would explain why she was unable to reach the man who was killing her.’

  ‘You are certain it was a man?’

  ‘You can correct me, Mr Pünd, but somehow I find it difficult to think of a woman strangling another woman.’

  ‘It would be unusual, certainly.’

  ‘It was, of course, Dr Collins who discovered the body. He is a sensible chap and although he tried to revive Miss James, he didn’t touch anything else.’

  ‘What of the murder weapon?’

  ‘She was strangled with the cord from the phone, which was next to the bed. That suggests to me that the murder hadn’t been planned. If someone had come here with the intention of killing her, you’d think they’d have brought their own murder weapon. There were no fingerprints on the phone, by the way. We checked it and there was nothing. Either the killer wiped it clean or he was wearing gloves.’

  Pünd absorbed this without making any further comment. ‘You mentioned to me that there were two tissues that had been discarded.’

  ‘Actually, there were three. One of them was downstairs.’ Hare walked over to the make-up table. ‘There was a box of tissues here,’ he said. ‘Right now it’s in Exeter, along with the other evidence.’ He paused. ‘Before she was attacked, Melissa James was obviously distraught. We found both of the tissues here, one in the waste-paper basket, one on the floor. We have those too. She had cried a lot, Mr Pünd.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what had upset her?’

  ‘Well, you heard what Pendleton said. It might have been the meetings she had in the hotel – first with the Gardners and then with Simon Cox. On the other hand, they all agree that she was absolutely fine when she left.’

  ‘They may not be reliable witnesses.’

  ‘That’s true. But she also chatted to Nancy Mitchell, the girl behind the reception desk, and she agreed – there didn’t seem to be anything wrong.’

  ‘So it is clear that something must have greatly upset her after she left the Moonflower.’

  ‘Exactly. It could, of course, have happened in the missing twenty minutes, when Melissa managed to disappear. But my guess is that it’s more likely to have been the meeting she had with her husband. Let’s not forget, he was the last person who saw her alive. They talked for about ten minutes before he left for the opera . . . which he says was about 6.15 p.m. She was certainly crying when she called Dr Collins twelve or thirteen minutes later.’

  ‘You have not told me what she said to him.’

  ‘It might be better if you heard it from the doctor.’ Hare shook his head and sighed. ‘It doesn’t make a lot of sense.’

  ‘Very well. And now I would like to see the room where the third tissue was found.’

  They left the bedroom and went downstairs into the living room, which occupied the front corner of the house with two windows facing the sea and two more at the side. A pair of glass doors opened onto the bay where Francis Pendleton’s Austin had been parked. Pünd noted the many other references to Melissa James’s life as a film star: the framed photographs, the silver cigarette box from MGM, more posters, a clapperboard from one of her films.

  ‘We found the other ball of tissue over there . . .’ Hare pointed in the direction of a pedestal desk made of aluminium that stood against the far door. It seemed to be there for decorative purposes. There was a large vase of dried flowers in the centre and, next to it, a heavy-looking Bakelite telephone. ‘It was on the floor, under the desk.’

  ‘Are there other telephones in the house?’ Pünd asked.

  Hare thought for a moment. ‘I think there’s one in the kitchen. But that’s about it.’

  ‘It is interesting . . .’ Pünd was speaking almost to himself. ‘You are correct in your observation that Miss James shed many tears. She wept in her bedroom, and it would seem from the evidence that she also wept in here. But this is the question for you, Detective Chief Inspector. What was it that upset her and why did it propel her to two quite separate parts of the house?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can answer that,’ Hare replied.

  ‘Forgive me, my friend, but I think that you must. We know that she was killed in the bedroom. And yet it is equally possible that she made the telephone call to Dr Collins downstairs, in this very room. How could that have happened?’

  ‘That’s easy. She doesn’t make the phone call here for the simple reason that the killer is with her. She knows that he’s a danger to her and she becomes upset. She cries. She makes some excuse and goes upstairs to the bedroom. She calls Dr Collins from there. But the killer has followed her and strangles her with the cord.’

  ‘There were two balls of tissue in the bedroom and only one down here. Does that not suggest to you that she spent more time upstairs than down?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Pünd. I really don’t see what you’re getting at.’

  ‘I am only trying to understand what happened here, Detective Chief Inspector. And at the moment it makes no sense to me.’

  ‘I’m with you there. Nothing in this case makes any sense at all.’

  ‘Then let us talk to the Chandlers. They were in the house almost until the moment of the crime. And I am sure you are keen to know exactly what it was they discussed while they were together in the kitchen.’

  They left the living room and crossed the hallway to the kitchen, where they found Phyllis Chandler and her son sitting at an empty table. For once there were no cakes, no florentines, no signs of any cooking. The Aga was cold; the weekend parties had been cancelled. Francis Pendleton had barely eaten anything since his wife had died. There was nothing to occupy either of the two servants.

  ‘I never thought it would end like this,’ Phyllis said once they were all sitting around the table. ‘I’ll be sixty-five next year and I was looking forward to my retirement. I don’t know what we’re going to do with ourselves if we lose our positions here. We’ve got nowhere else to go.’

  ‘You do not think it possible that Mr Pendleton will ask you to stay?’ Pünd asked. He was sitting opposite her with th
e detective chief inspector next to him.

  ‘I’m not even sure that he’ll stay himself now that she’s gone. I’ve never met two people who were so inseparable and that’s a fact.’

  ‘And yet I have heard it suggested that there was at times a certain friction between them?’ Pünd was only repeating what Hare had told him and he, of course, had learned it from the housekeeper. He looked at Phyllis almost apologetically.

  She blushed. ‘Well, it’s true they had their run-ins from time to time. That’s true of any married couple. Miss James had a lot on her mind with the hotel and her new film. But Mr Pendleton was devoted to her. He went against the wishes of his family when he married her and none of them ever came here, but that didn’t matter to him. Look at him now! She was his whole world.’

  ‘Do you know a man by the name of Algernon Marsh?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve met him.’ Now she was uncomfortable. Pünd waited for her to continue. ‘He often stays with his sister in the village. She’s married to the doctor.’ She fell silent again, then, realising that he wanted more, she added: ‘He came to the house quite a few times and Miss James seemed to have a liking for him. I don’t know why. I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I think she may have been too generous in her feelings for him and you can make of that what you will.’

  That was all she was going to say – and it could have meant many things. On the other side of the table, Eric Chandler shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his mother’s gaze.

  ‘Can you tell me, please, what occurred on the evening when Miss James was attacked? I know that you have already told the detective chief inspector, but I would like to hear it directly from you.’

  ‘Certainly, sir, although there’s not a lot to tell. Eric and I had the evening off. We were going to visit my sister in Bude. Miss James had kindly said we could take the Bentley, so we were waiting until she got back from the village.’

  ‘Did she tell you the purpose of her visit?’

  ‘No. But she said she had a slight headache and wanted an early night. I got changed upstairs . . . that would have been a little before six. Eric and I have our living accommodation there. After that I came down here to the kitchen and the two of us waited for her to return.’