Moonflower Murders

by Anthony Horowitz

  ‘We ought to be leaving,’ Samantha Collins said, glancing at the clock. ‘We have a train to catch.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Hare asked.

  ‘Up to London,’ Dr Collins replied. ‘But only for one day. We’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Private business, Detective Chief Inspector.’

  ‘With respect, sir, nothing is private when you’re in the middle of a murder investigation.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right.’ Dr Collins reached out and took hold of Samantha’s hand. ‘We’re seeing a solicitor about a sum of money that my wife may have inherited from her aunt. I can assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with the death of Melissa James.’

  Hare nodded. ‘Is there anything more you need to know, Mr Pünd?’

  ‘Just one thing.’ Pünd turned to Dr Collins. ‘When she spoke to you on the telephone, I do not suppose that Miss James suggested where she had been before she returned to the house?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘She left the hotel at 5.40 p.m. but she didn’t get home until a little after 6 p.m.,’ Hare explained. ‘We’re trying to work out what happened in the missing twenty minutes.’

  ‘I can tell you that,’ Samantha Collins replied. She paused, seeing that she had taken everyone by surprise. ‘She was in the church.’

  ‘St Daniel’s?’

  ‘That’s right, Detective Chief Inspector. I went upstairs briefly to read to my son and I glanced out of the window and saw her car parked beside the gate. You get a good view of the church from Mark’s room. She got out and stood there for a moment. Then she went inside.’

  Pünd thought for a moment. ‘I understand that you are very active with the local church, Mrs Collins.’

  ‘Yes. I try to help where I can.’

  ‘Did you often see Miss James there?’

  ‘She didn’t attend many services, although she was quite good about doing a reading at Christmas and Harvest Festival, and as you may know she asked to be buried in the churchyard, although so far the police haven’t released the body.’ Samantha looked accusingly at Hare.

  ‘That will happen very soon,’ Hare assured her.

  ‘But since you ask, I did see her going in and out quite a few times.’

  Pünd frowned. ‘Is that not a little strange? She does not strike me as having been a very religious person.’

  ‘You don’t have to be religious to enjoy the peace and comfort that you find in a church,’ Samantha said.

  ‘Was she alone, on that last day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see her leave?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I came back down to the surgery and after that I forgot all about her.’

  Dr Collins stood up. ‘Time we were on our way,’ he said. ‘You mentioned you wanted to see my brother-in-law.’

  ‘It would be helpful, yes,’ Pünd said.

  ‘I’ll call him down.’ He went over to the door, then hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘This may sound a bit strange, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention what I told you – about where we’re going. As I said, it’s something that Samantha and I are trying to keep private.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Algie and Aunt Joyce didn’t get on very well,’ Samantha explained after her husband had left the room.

  They heard him calling up from the hallway.

  ‘I’m surprised you have to leave your children with Mrs Mitchell,’ Hare remarked. ‘Wouldn’t they be better off staying here with their uncle?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not very good with children. Anyway, they love being with Brenda. They know her because she comes here and helps me with the housekeeping. And it’s a real treat for them, sleeping in a lighthouse.’

  Dr Collins walked into the room, followed by a nervously smiling, fair-haired man with a gold signet ring on one finger and an expensive watch. He was wearing a white shirt and cavalry twill trousers.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive us, leaving you like this,’ Dr Collins said as he came in. ‘We have to be on our way.’

  Samantha got up and put on her gloves. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow, Algernon. There’s dinner in the fridge. And the number of the hotel is on my desk in the surgery if you need to reach us.’

  ‘Enjoy the play.’

  So they had told him they were going to the theatre. Pünd made a mental note. That was most certainly of interest.

  Algernon Marsh stood where he was until Leonard and Samantha Collins had left. Only then did he say: ‘Len said you wanted to speak to me. What exactly is this about?’

  ‘What do you think it’s about, Mr Marsh?’ Hare replied. ‘We’re still investigating the death of Miss Melissa James.’

  ‘Well, of course. Yes.’ He had seemed very tense but now he relaxed a little. ‘I’ve already spoken to you, Chief Inspector. I’ve answered all your questions. So I’m a little surprised you want to talk to me again.’

  ‘It is I who am responsible, Mr Marsh,’ Pünd explained, apologetically. ‘But I am led to believe that you were very close to Miss James.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. I was advising her on some of her investments.’

  ‘But you were also a good friend to her.’

  ‘I’d like to think I’m a good friend to all my clients.’

  ‘How often did you see her?’ The question sounded innocent but arrived like the twist of a knife.

  ‘We met socially in London now and then.’ Algernon had sensed that the private detective with his round glasses and rosewood walking stick might actually be a danger to him. He did his best to sound non-committal.

  ‘And you also came down here to visit her.’

  ‘No. I came to see my sister. It was actually Sam who introduced me to Melissa in the first place.’

  ‘And what investments were you advising her on?’ Hare asked.

  ‘It was a very wide portfolio, Detective Chief Inspector. But I can assure you that Melissa was completely happy with my advice.’

  ‘I’m certain that was the case, sir,’ Hare muttered. There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  Algernon Marsh didn’t notice. He seemed to be in complete control of the situation, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘You could perhaps tell us where you were between six o’clock and seven o’clock on the evening that the murder took place.’

  ‘I was here. I was sound asleep upstairs.’ Algernon smiled. ‘A little bit too much to drink at lunchtime. I was sleeping it off.’

  So he must have been driving under the influence of alcohol, Hare thought. This wasn’t the right time to go into it, but he wouldn’t forget about it either. Instead he said: ‘Your sister informed us that you didn’t get home until seven.’

  ‘Then she was wrong. It was about a quarter past six. I came in and went straight upstairs.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid nobody actually saw me, which is a bit of a shame. If you want me to supply you with an alibi, I haven’t got one.’

  ‘How much longer do you plan to stay in Tawleigh, Mr Marsh?’ Pünd asked.

  ‘A few more days. With Melissa gone, there’s not really much point in my hanging around.’

  ‘But just a moment ago, you remarked that you were here for your sister.’

  ‘I was here for both of them, Mr Pünd. Can I show you to the door?’

  Moments later, the three of them found themselves walking away from the house as the front door slammed shut behind them.

  ‘Now that’s one man I wouldn’t trust an inch!’ Miss Cain muttered.

  ‘A nasty piece of work,’ Hare agreed. They passed the Peugeot, parked in the driveway, and Pünd glanced briefly at the silver badge and the dent in the radiator grille. ‘What now?’ the detective chief inspector asked.

  ‘I think we have done enough for today. I would like to read the transcripts of your interviews and to reflect on
what we have seen. You will return to Exeter?’

  ‘No, Mr Pünd. I thought I’d stay on in Tawleigh now that you’re here. Margaret – my wife – won’t mind seeing the back of me for a few more days and the truth of it is, I want to spend as much time as I can with you. I have a feeling I might learn a thing or two. That said, I couldn’t afford the Moonflower, I’m afraid. I’ve taken a room at the Red Lion.’

  ‘You are too kind, Detective Chief Inspector. Maybe you would like to meet with me for dinner tonight.’

  ‘There’s nothing I’d like more.’

  ‘Then it is agreed.’

  The three of them climbed into the police officer’s car and drove away, past the cemetery of St Daniel’s, past the freshly dug grave where Melissa James would soon lie.

  Eleven

  Darkness Falls

  I

  The moon had risen over Tawleigh-on-the-Water but somehow the soft wash of the light only made the little harbour town seem all the darker. The streets were empty, the steeple of St Daniel’s a stark silhouette against the sky. The beam from the lighthouse flashed over a sea that went on for ever, and the fishing boats, bobbing up and down together, seemed almost afraid, lost in the void. It was impossible to tell where the shingle ended and the water began.

  Detective Chief Inspector Hare walked the short distance from the Red Lion, his feet rapping against the pavement. It was funny how much sharper sound became once the sun had set. Although he had accepted the dinner invitation immediately, he was beginning to have second thoughts. He couldn’t ignore the obvious fact that just eight years ago England and Germany had been at war. Hare knew nothing about Pünd’s activities at the time and wondered if he should in some way consider him the enemy. The same thought applied to the case. Pünd had presented himself as an equal. He had suggested that they work together to find the killer. But was it actually true? Or was he destined to sit back and contribute nothing, simply watching as his last opportunity to prove himself was snatched away?

  He had just spoken to his wife on the telephone and she had tried to put his mind at ease. She had always been proud of him. His career might be coming to an end, but no matter what happened in Tawleigh, he had nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, wasn’t he getting his priorities wrong? Catching the killer was all that mattered, making sure he couldn’t ever do it again. It didn’t matter who took the credit.

  She was right, of course. She always was.

  Atticus Pünd was waiting for him in the reception area when he reached the Moonflower. Hare was surprised to see that he was alone.

  ‘Miss Cain isn’t joining us?’ he asked.

  ‘She has retired early to her room.’

  In fact, the secretary had tactfully declined Pünd’s invitation, once again deciding it improper to eat with her employer. She was upstairs, perfectly happy to be on her own with a book, a hot-water bottle and an early night.

  The dining room was attractive, formal without being fussy, and nearly all the tables were taken, mainly by families with children. Pünd had asked for privacy and the two men were shown to a table tucked away in an alcove next to a bay window. There was a menu with just two choices for each course. The detective chief inspector blinked when he saw the prices.

  Pünd noticed. ‘You are, of course, my guest this evening,’ he said. ‘It is one of the benefits of being a private detective that, within reason, one is entitled to expenses.’

  ‘I wish it was the same in the police force,’ Hare said. ‘But the chief constable wouldn’t sanction so much as an iced bun in the station canteen. At least, he might – but it would take three committee meetings and a mountain of paperwork.’

  ‘How is the Red Lion?’

  ‘It’s surprisingly comfortable, thank you very much. No sea view, though. In fact, my room looks out over the butcher’s yard, which I suppose might be appropriate one way or another.’

  The waitress came over and they both ordered prawn cocktails and Dover sole. Dessert was a choice of marmalade sponge or fruit salad. ‘You will have some wine?’ Pünd asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I should drink while I’m on duty.’

  ‘It is after seven o’clock, Detective Chief Inspector. And since I do not wish to drink alone, I must insist. A half-bottle of the Chablis I think.’

  These last words were spoken to the waitress, who went to fetch it.

  ‘Well, if I’m off duty and having dinner on you, I think you should call me by my first name, Mr Pünd.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Edward.’

  ‘And I, as you know, am Atticus.’

  ‘Is that a Turkish name?’

  ‘Greek, in fact, although my parents moved to Germany before I was born.’

  ‘Was your father a policeman?’

  ‘He was. How did you know?’

  Hare smiled. He was already warming to the man sitting opposite him and regretted his earlier hesitation. ‘My dad was a detective too and my sergeant’s the son of a serving policeman. It’s funny how often it runs in the family. That’s true of criminals too, incidentally.’

  Pünd considered. ‘Yes. That is very interesting and true. It is something which I may consider in the book I am writing – The Landscape of Criminal Investigation.’

  ‘Interesting title.’

  ‘A life’s work. Your parents are still living?’

  ‘They’re both alive and well. They retired to Paignton. I have a son and a daughter and they both want to continue the tradition. We’re recruiting more and more policewomen, I’m happy to say.’

  ‘Perhaps one day it will be your daughter who is the chief constable.’

  ‘That would be something. Do you have children?’

  Pünd shook his head a little sadly. ‘No. That was not to be my good fortune.’

  Hare felt he had strayed into a difficult area and quickly changed the subject. ‘Were you a private detective before you came to England?’

  ‘No. I arrived after the war and had to find a means to earn a living.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done very well for yourself. I envy you. You must have come across some fascinating criminals.’

  ‘Criminals rarely fascinate me, my friend.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Pünd thought for a minute. ‘They think, always, that they are cleverer than they really are, that they have the ability to defeat the police, the rule of law, the very essence of society in order to achieve their ends.’

  ‘It makes them dangerous.’

  ‘It makes them predictable. What makes them dangerous is their belief that they should not be stopped, that they are justified in what they do. I will not speak of my experiences in the war, but I will say this. The greatest evil occurs when people, no matter what their aims or their motives, become utterly convinced that they are right.’

  The first course came and with it the wine. Pünd did the tasting and nodded his satisfaction.

  ‘I don’t want to spoil the evening by talking shop,’ Hare said. ‘But I’ve got to ask. Do you have any thoughts after today?’

  ‘I have many thoughts and I must tell you that the witness statements with which you provided me were excellent. Your interviews could not have been clearer or more efficient.’

  Hare was pleased. ‘I still don’t know who did it,’ he said.

  ‘But you have your suspicions.’

  ‘I have.’ Hare was aware that Pünd had turned his own question on him but he went on anyway. ‘There were quite a few people who would have liked to have seen Miss James out of the way, starting with the proprietors of this very establishment. You saw that she had been in contact with an accountancy firm in London?’

  ‘You did well to discover it.’

  ‘Well, I checked every telephone number she’d called in the last few weeks. She was about to engage a company from London to carry out a complete audit. The Gardners may not have been too happy about that, even if killing her to prevent it might have been a bit extreme.

&
nbsp; ‘And then there’s that butler of hers. I didn’t believe a word his mother told us when we spoke to them in the kitchen, and looking at him sitting at that table, well . . . frankly . . . there’s something about him that gives me the creeps. That producer, Cox, heard them arguing on the night of the crime and loudly enough for the sound to carry onto the front lawn. I’ll bet you anything you like that he’s up to no good.’

  ‘What of Mr Cox himself?’

  ‘Sīmanis Čaks, you mean! He could certainly have been the stranger at the door, the one who set the dog barking. He told me a string of lies and if Melissa James had pulled out of his film, more or less ruining him in the process, he could well have decided he wanted revenge.’

  ‘Revenge . . . the oldest of motives. One finds it in the dramas of ancient Greece.’

  ‘But if I was going to put my money on one person, it would still be the husband.’

  ‘Ah yes! Francis Pendleton.’

  ‘Thwarted love can be as destructive as revenge. From what I understand, he was besotted with her. Suppose he’d discovered that she was having an affair! You talk about classical drama, but that’s William Shakespeare all over again. I’m sure you’ve read Othello. Desdemona gets strangled too.’

  ‘That is interesting. It was also my impression that he was the most likely suspect.’

  ‘He was certainly the last person to see her alive and we only have his word for it that he left when he said he did.’

  ‘The car had gone.’

  ‘He could have driven away and come back again. Let’s not forget that the Chandlers heard someone come through the door.’

  ‘But if it had been Francis Pendleton, would the dog have barked?’

  ‘That’s a good point.’

  ‘There is also the matter of the murder weapon.’

  ‘The telephone cord.’

  ‘I have to say that it puzzled me.’

  ‘You mean, why not just use his hands?’

  Pünd shook his head. ‘No. That is not what I mean. I will tell you this. For me, the telephone makes it less likely that Francis Pendleton killed his wife. Less likely, but not impossible. Were you able to confirm that he did indeed attend the performance of The Marriage of Figaro that night?’