Moonflower Murders

by Anthony Horowitz

  ‘I quite understand.’ Pünd smiled a little sadly. ‘I accept your notice, Miss Cain. Although I must say you will be very difficult to replace.’

  ‘Not at all. The agency has plenty of young women who will be just as good as me. I only hope you solve the case before I leave. I would like to see whoever did this brought to justice.’

  ‘It is quite possible that you will have your wish. Here is the detective chief inspector and it looks as if he has news.’

  It was true. Hare had come striding in with a sense of purpose and self-confidence they had not seen before. He came straight over to them. ‘Good morning, Mr Pünd – Miss Cain. Have you both had breakfast?’

  ‘Indeed so, Detective Chief Inspector. How was Barnstaple?’

  ‘It was extremely revealing. I could kick myself for not having gone there before. My trouble was, I relied too much on local officers – although I’m not blaming them. I’m very grateful to you for suggesting I go round.’

  ‘Are you going to tell us what you found?’

  ‘Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you to trust me on this one. I’m going back to Clarence Keep. Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure. Miss Cain?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Pünd. I’ll just get my bag . . .’

  * * *

  There were two uniformed policemen waiting in a second car outside the hotel and on seeing them, Pünd turned to his companion. ‘Do I take it, Detective Chief Inspector, that you are intending to make an arrest?’

  ‘That’s right, Mr Pünd.’ Hare was a different man to the one who had greeted Pünd just one day before. ‘I’m not expecting any trouble, but I thought it best to ask for two local men to come along.’

  ‘You know who did it!’ Miss Cain exclaimed.

  ‘I think I do,’ Hare replied. ‘It follows on from what we were saying last night, Mr Pünd. Thank you for an excellent dinner, by the way. At any event, I think you’re going to find the next encounter greatly to your interest.’

  ‘Of that I am sure,’ Pünd agreed.

  They drove the short distance to Clarence Keep and once again Eric let them into the hall. He looked even clumsier and more dishevelled than usual and he was clearly alarmed by the sight of a police car and two men in uniform, almost trembling until Hare put him at his ease.

  ‘We have business with Mr Pendleton,’ Hare said. ‘Is he up?’

  Pünd noticed a look of relief pass across the butler’s face. ‘He finished his breakfast half an hour ago, sir.’

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Could you ask him to come down? And I would prefer it if you and Mrs Chandler remained in your rooms until I send for you. We need to speak privately with Mr Pendleton.’

  That worried Eric again but all he could do was nod. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here,’ he said.

  The detective chief inspector went into the living room with its sea views and French windows leading into the side garden and it was there that Francis Pendleton found him a few minutes later. He had managed to get dressed in a clean shirt and a suit without its jacket, but he was clearly knocked back by the sight of so many people waiting for him. Pünd was sitting on a sofa. Miss Cain was perched on a high-backed chair in one corner, as far out of the way as possible. Hare was standing in the centre of the room with one uniformed policeman by the door, the other at the French windows.

  He quickly recovered. ‘I’m very glad to see you,’ he said. ‘Do you have any news?’

  ‘There has been a development, sir,’ Hare said. ‘It actually relates to what you told us about your movements on the day of your wife’s death.’

  Pendleton faltered. ‘I’m sorry . . . ?’

  ‘Could I ask you to sit down, sir?’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right standing up.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ Hare waited until Francis had sat down, then continued. ‘When we were last here, and indeed in discussions you had with me before that, you said that you left at 6.15 p.m. to go to the opera and that your wife went to bed early as she had a headache. You briefly discussed the meeting she’d had at the Moonflower Hotel, but there was no disagreement between you. Is that correct?’

  ‘Of course it’s correct. It’s what I told you.’

  ‘You also told me how much you had enjoyed The Marriage of Figaro. You didn’t mention anything unusual about the performance.’

  ‘Because there was nothing unusual about it. It was a semi-professional company. They did it very well.’

  ‘You were there from the very beginning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the singer playing Figaro?’

  ‘I can’t remember who played the part. But he was fine. Where exactly are you going with this, Detective Inspector?’

  Hare paused before he answered. His voice was matter-of-fact but, at the same time, lethal. ‘It was actually an unusual performance, sir. Had you been there at the beginning, you would have seen the director come onto the stage to announce that Mr Henry Dickson, who was playing Figaro, had been injured in a car accident. He liked to go for a walk before the performance and he was actually the victim of a hit-and-run. He was lucky not to be killed. So his part was played by a last-minute replacement, Mr Bentley, who unfortunately had to perform holding the libretto. The general consensus was that he really wasn’t up to scratch and at the end of the evening quite a few members of the audience asked for their money back.’

  Francis Pendleton had listened to all this in deathly silence.

  ‘Did you attend the opera, Mr Pendleton?’ the detective chief inspector asked.

  There was another long pause. Then: ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t discuss the hotel finances with your wife. The two of you argued.’

  Pendleton said nothing. He nodded.

  ‘What time did you really leave the house?’

  ‘I have no idea. Later than I said. But not very much later.’

  ‘It was after you murdered your wife.’

  Francis Pendleton buried his head in his hands. ‘Thank God,’ he whispered. ‘You won’t believe this, but it’s all I’ve wanted – for this to be over. I’ll make a full confession. I’ll tell you everything. Am I under arrest?’

  ‘If you’ll come with us, sir, we’ll formally charge you when we get to the station.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective Chief Inspector. You have no idea how sorry I am. I don’t know how I’ve managed to live with myself and I couldn’t have gone on much longer.’ He looked down at his feet. ‘I need to put some shoes on. And can I fetch my jacket from upstairs?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’ll wait for you here.’

  ‘Thank you. I . . .’ Pendleton was about to say something more but then he dropped the idea and left the room, moving like a sleepwalker.

  ‘Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,’ Hare said. He turned to Pünd. ‘We both agreed that he was the most likely suspect. And it turns out we were right.’

  But Pünd looked uncertain. ‘There is still the question of the telephone,’ he muttered. ‘And the ten moments drawn up by Miss Cain, the timings on which this entire case rests. I wonder, even now, if they will work.’

  ‘It’s a conversation we can have at the local police station, Mr Pünd. The important thing is that we’ve got the murderer. He’s confessed. We’ll have plenty of time to iron out all the details over the next couple of days.’

  ‘There is something else I would like to ask you, Detective Chief Inspector. Have the police apprehended the driver who struck the unfortunate Mr Dickson with his car?’

  ‘Not yet. They don’t have very much to go on. Two people who went past at about that time think they saw a pale-coloured car parked on the side of the road, but they can’t tell us what actual colour it was because of the rain and they didn’t see the driver.’

  ‘The pale colour, though. That is interesting . . .’

  He might have continued, but at th
at moment Miss Cain suddenly cried out, pointing at the window. ‘There!’

  They all turned and saw the same thing. A figure had been looking into the room through the glass, spying on them.

  ‘Who . . . ?’ Hare began.

  But the figure had already gone, darting away so quickly that it was impossible to know who it was. All they had seen was a head pressed against the glass with the eyes hooded by a hand. They couldn’t even have said if it was a man or a woman.

  Everyone acted at once. The uniformed policeman threw open the door and hurried into the front hall, followed by his colleague. Detective Chief Inspector Hare, realising that the French windows were the fastest way out, ran over to them and turned the key, which was still in the lock. With Pünd right behind him, he hurried outside.

  They were at the side of the house. Francis Pendleton’s bright green Austin-Healey was parked in its bay. The road was in front of them. As they stood there, the two uniformed policemen came bursting out of the front door. Hare quickly gave orders.

  ‘One of you stay here. Make sure Pendleton doesn’t leave. The other one, head off down to the main road and see if there’s a car!’

  One of the policemen positioned himself by the front door. The other hurried down the drive. Hare went over to Pünd. ‘Did you see them?’

  ‘I did see someone but I did not see who it was.’

  ‘Eric Chandler?’

  ‘He could not have moved so quickly. And his mother, also, is too old.’

  Hare looked around the empty garden. ‘Maybe it was something completely innocent. A postman or a delivery boy.’

  ‘They have taken great care to hide themselves.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Pünd and Hare continued round to the back of the house but there was no one there either. A back door led into an area behind the kitchen and when Hare tried it, he found that it was unlocked. Had the mysterious intruder come out that way? A low wall surrounded Clarence Keep, with shrubs on the other side. If they had climbed over, they would be invisible at once. Certainly, there was no one in sight. They had arrived too late.

  And then the scream came, loud and high-pitched, from the hallway.

  The policeman standing guard outside front the door was the first to go back in. Pünd and Detective Chief Inspector Hare arrived about ten seconds later. None of them would forget what they saw.

  Miss Cain was standing at the bottom of the stairs with her back to the door. She was the one who had screamed and she was still almost hysterical.

  Francis Pendleton was coming down the stairs. He had put on his jacket and his shoes. He seemed to be holding something in front of him. His face was completely white.

  There was blood seeping through his fingers. Pünd remembered the film prop he had seen, the Turkish knife with its multicoloured handle that had been used in Harem Nights. He looked for it on the hall table, knowing it wouldn’t be there. Francis Pendleton was holding it. The curved blade was buried deep in his chest.

  He stumbled forward. Miss Cain reached out as if to embrace him and he fell into her arms. She screamed again.

  Francis Pendleton collapsed on the ground and lay still.

  Thirteen

  Post-Mortem

  Detective Chief Inspector Hare took charge immediately. ‘Look after her!’ he shouted at Pünd as he sprang forward to examine the body. Pünd put his arm around his secretary, leading her into the kitchen. She was no longer screaming but seemed to be in shock. The front of her dress was covered in blood. The policeman was standing there staring, absolutely still. He was young, in his twenties, and had clearly never seen a dead man before, and certainly not one who had still been alive only moments before.

  ‘Get upstairs!’ Hare snapped at him. ‘Search the house. It’s quite likely that the killer’s still here!’ At the same time, he had gone down on one knee and taken hold of Pendleton’s pulse.

  The policeman raced up to the first-floor corridor and disappeared round the corner. In the kitchen, Pünd found a chair and gently helped Miss Cain to sit down. She was trembling violently and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that if she hadn’t already resigned this would certainly have been the last straw. He didn’t want to leave her alone and he was relieved when the second policeman, alerted by the screams, appeared at the door.

  Pünd turned to him. ‘Can you look after this lady?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did you bring a radio transmitter with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. We had no idea . . .’

  ‘No matter. Detective Chief Inspector Hare will call for an ambulance and for further assistance. Please stay here.’

  He was about to leave when a door at the back of the kitchen opened and Phyllis Chandler appeared. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded. ‘I heard screaming. Why are the police here?’

  ‘Mrs Chandler, I must ask you to stay here in the kitchen. On no account are you to enter the hall. If you would be so kind, could you make my assistant a strong cup of tea? She has had a great shock.’ He leaned towards Miss Cain. ‘I must leave you just for a few minutes. But I shall arrange for an ambulance to take you to hospital. You must try not to touch the clothes you are wearing because the police will need them for evidence. These people will look after you. I will be back soon.’

  He nodded at Mrs Chandler, who was already reaching for the kettle, and went back into the hall just in time to see Hare standing back up.

  ‘He’s dead,’ the detective chief inspector said.

  ‘It is unbelievable. It happened right under our eyes.’

  ‘And it was my fault!’ Hare had never looked more defeated. ‘I shouldn’t have allowed him to leave the room.’

  ‘I really do not believe you should feel any culpability,’ Pünd assured him. ‘It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and this . . .’ He glanced at the corpse lying at the foot of the stairs. ‘None of us could have expected it.’

  ‘I don’t understand how it happened.’

  ‘There are many questions that we will ask later. For now you must make a telephone call. We need two ambulances. One for Francis Pendleton, another for Miss Cain.’

  ‘And I’ll need to bring in backup.’

  The policeman who had been sent upstairs came back down again. He was trying not to look at the body but he couldn’t keep his eyes off it. ‘There’s nobody up there, sir,’ he said. ‘There was a man sitting in an upstairs kitchen but he says he works here.’

  ‘Eric Chandler,’ Hare said.

  ‘Yes, sir. Nobody else. Would you like me to look outside?’

  ‘That would be a good idea.’

  The policeman edged past the dead man and went out.

  ‘I’ll start making some calls.’ Hare went back into the living room.

  Pünd was left on his own. A pool of dark red blood had spread over the wooden floor. Somehow it reminded him of the night before, the sea in the moonlight. He had believed then that there was an evil presence in Tawleigh-on-the-Water. He had not expected to be proved right so soon.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Detective Chief Inspector Hare and Atticus Pünd were in the living room of Clarence Keep, sitting opposite one other. For once they were ill at ease. Hare still blamed himself for what had happened and even Pünd was beginning to think that the killer had made a fool out of him. To be summoned to the scene of a murder a week after the event was one thing, but this time he had actually been present when it took place. It was something that had never happened before.

  Events had moved swiftly since the crime had been committed. Two ambulances and four police cars had arrived from Barnstaple and the ritual that follows any murder had begun. A police doctor had pronounced Francis Pendleton dead from a single stab wound to the heart. A police photographer had taken twenty different shots of the crime scene. Fingerprint experts had covered the entire area, having done the same thing upstairs only a week before.
The body had been lifted onto a stretcher and carried out to the ambulance to be driven into Exeter for further examination. The second ambulance had already left with Miss Cain.

  It had already been established that Dr Leonard Collins and his wife, Samantha, were still in London. Simon Cox, the producer, was at his home in Maida Vale. Lance Gardner had been at the hotel all morning and his wife, Maureen, had been working behind the reception desk as Nancy Mitchell had failed to turn up for work. She and Algernon Marsh were the only people associated with the investigation who were unaccounted for and the police were looking for them now.

  The mysterious figure who had appeared at the window had vanished into thin air. Whoever it was, they had left no footprints or any other traces, and but for the fact that both Hare and Pünd had caught a glimpse of them, they could have been a figment of the imagination.

  ‘It’s my belief that Francis Pendleton committed suicide.’ Hare broke the silence. ‘Of course, there’ll be a full inquest, but if you ask me that seems to be the only explanation. I mean, consider the evidence! The knife that he used – it was a prop out of one of Melissa James’s films – was on a table right next to the stairs. He must have seen it as he went up to get his jacket and shoes. He’d just confessed to the murder of his wife and he knew it was all up for him. He grabbed it and took the easy way out. Maybe it’s for the best at the end of the day. It saves the cost of a trial.’

  ‘And what of the intruder?’

  ‘I’m not convinced they could have killed him, Mr Pünd, even assuming that was what they came here to do. Pendleton was stabbed within about ninety seconds of your secretary seeing the figure at the window. To kill him, the intruder would have to continue all the way round the house and come in through the back entrance. That would have brought them into the kitchen. They’d have had to continue into the hall, take the knife and stab Pendleton before somehow disappearing into thin air. How would they have had time?’

  ‘I assume nothing, Detective Chief Inspector. And I agree with you. It would have been very difficult – though not impossible – to manage the crime in the way you have just described.’