Alan Conway’s wife was also called Melissa and she seems to have had a close relationship with the gym instructor, Lionel Corby (LC). Is Alan suggesting the two of them were having an affair?
Francis Pendleton
Name taken from: American crime writer Don Pendleton, author of The Executioner.
Character based on: Frank Parris.
Notes: As well as the shared initials (FP), Conway clearly connects Pendleton with Parris. They both have curly hair and dark skin and on page 10 of APTTC, Francis is said to own a sailing boat called Sundowner, which is also the name of Frank’s advertising agency in Australia.
Both men are murdered, one with a knife, the other with a hammer. Another connection. But there is nothing in the book that comes anywhere near Madeline’s motive for killing Francis.
Nancy Mitchell
Name taken from: Gladys Mitchell, author of the Mrs Bradley mysteries.
Character based on: Natasha Mälk. (Aiden told me the full name of the maid who found the body and the initials match.)
Notes: Not much to go on here as although Conway would have met Natasha, I never did. Nancy’s affair with Francis doesn’t seem to have any echoes in real life. Frank, after all, was gay!
Madeline Cain
Name taken from: James M. Cain.
Character based on: Melissa Conway?
Notes: There are no obvious similarities beyond the MC initials, but it might have amused Alan to turn his ex-wife into a crazed film fan and a killer. Alan had decided to get rid of Madeline anyway – he wanted James Fraser to appear in book 4.
Dr Leonard Collins
Name taken from: hard to be sure. It could be Michael Collins, pseudonym of American author Dennis Lynds, who wrote detective short stories. Or possibly Wilkie Collins, author of The Woman in White and The Moonstone?
Character based on: Lionel Corby (LC)
Notes: This is puzzling. Dr Leonard Collins is a murderer and a major character in APTTC. But he kills Melissa James, not Francis Pendleton. So is Alan deliberately saying that Lionel Corby did not kill Frank?
Also, there’s one killer involved in the murder at Branlow Hall, but two killers at the Moonflower. I can’t quite make sense of this.
Samantha Collins
Name taken from: same as Leonard Collins.
Character based on: Cecily Treherne?
Notes: It’s quite difficult to see where Samantha has come from and although she is briefly suspected, she only plays a small part in APTTC. The names Cecily and Samantha begin with the same homophone and on page 29 her face is described as ‘square and serious’, which would fit both women.
Simon Cox (Sīmanis Čaks)
Name taken from: Anthony Berkeley Cox, who wrote The Poisoned Chocolates Case in 1929. A second link with APTTC – another of his books was adapted by Alfred Hitchcock into the 1941 film Suspicion.
Character based on: Stefan Codrescu.
Notes: It’s interesting that Simon Cox has only a relatively small part to play in APTTC, even though Stefan Codrescu is the central figure in the murder of Frank Parris. He isn’t even a suspect really.
At the same time, Alan Conway takes a mean delight in characterising him not just as an Eastern European (Stefan from Romania, Simon from Latvia) but also as ‘a small-time gangster who had just been released from jail’, which is how Melissa describes him on page 35.
Did Alan believe Stefan was guilty of the crime? Or did he know he was innocent and just take pleasure in taunting him?
Lance Gardner/Maureen Gardner
Name taken from: Erle Stanley Gardner – creator of Perry Mason.
Characters based on: Lawrence and Maureen Treherne.
Notes: Lance and Maureen depicted as petty crooks . . . probably for Alan Conway’s personal amusement. They have no involvement in either murder. Lawrence would have been right to sue!
Eric Chandler/Phyllis Chandler
Name taken from: Raymond Chandler
Characters based on: Derek Endicott – and presumably his mother.
Notes: As with the Gardners, Alan Conway doesn’t seem to connect Derek Endicott to the murder of Frank Parris, although there’s something he may have missed. Suppose Parris wasn’t the intended target . . . ?
The ‘Peeping Tom’ subplot plus poking fun at people with disabilities is vintage Conway. Did he meet Derek’s mother? Maybe I should!
Algernon Marsh
Name taken from: Dame Ngaio Marsh, New Zealand’s greatest crime writer, creator of the Roderick Alleyn detective stories.
Character based on: Aiden MacNeil, obviously . . . as he had noticed (AM).
Notes: Aiden refused to talk to Alan. ‘I met him . . . for about five minutes. I didn’t terribly like him.’ In return, Alan turns him into a minor crook, close to a caricature. Alan’s revenge? No suggestion, though, that he is a killer.
So much for the names. If Alan Conway had wanted to make it easy for me, then Francis Pendleton would have been killed by a character with the same initials as someone at Branlow Hall and that would have told me who had killed Frank Parris.
And now that I thought about it, that was exactly what had happened. Madeline Cain had killed Francis. So did Melissa Conway kill Frank? They were both ‘MC’.
Even so, I just couldn’t believe that Alan was deliberately pointing the finger at his ex-wife. First of all, by the time of the murder she had changed her name back to Johnson. Secondly, what motive would she possibly have had to kill Frank Parris? Anyway, there’s another Melissa in the book – Melissa James, strangled in Chapter 4. She, too, could have been inspired by Melissa Conway. Alan seems to be thinking of his ex-wife as both a murder victim and a murderess.
Why did it all have to be so complicated?
There were two other clues that appeared in Atticus Pünd Takes the Case that had been deliberately drawn from the real-life events at Branlow Hall. I wrote them down on my notepad.
THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO.
THE DOG THAT BARKED IN THE NIGHT.
It can’t have been a coincidence that in Atticus Pünd Takes the Case, Francis Pendleton lies about going to a performance of the same Mozart opera mentioned by Frank Parris when he talked to Cecily Treherne. This time, even the initials match. It was still a mystery why Frank made up that story. Where had he really gone – and why bother making up a story at all? As for the dog, both Kimba at Clarence Keep and Bear, the golden retriever at Branlow Hall, had barked at around the time of the murders. Again, I was sure Alan was trying to tell me something and I made a note to ask Derek when I saw him again more about what had happened that night.
* * *
The next time I looked out of the window, it was completely dark and I was suddenly hungry. I closed my notebook and laid it next to my paperback copy of Atticus Pünd Takes the Case.
I was about to go down to dinner when I remembered something. I flicked back to the first page of Alan’s novel and sure enough there it was. I was annoyed with myself. It was staring me in the face but I had almost managed to miss it altogether.
The dedication.
For Frank and Leo: in remembrance.
Frank was obviously Frank Parris. Leo had to be the rent boy that James Taylor had mentioned when I met him in London. Frank and Leo and Alan and James had all had dinner together. Frank Parris had helped Alan explore his sexuality. He had also enjoyed kinky sex with Leo.
In remembrance.
The words leapt off the page at me. Frank had been killed at Branlow Hall. Had Leo also died?
On an impulse, I took out my phone and fired off a text.
James – did I ever thank you for lovely dinner at Le Caprice? Great catching up with you again. One quick follow-up question. You mentioned a friend of Frank Parris’s called Leo. Do you know anything more about him? Is it possible he died? Notice Alan’s book was dedicated to his memory. Thanks. Susan. X
I didn’t have to wait long. About a minute later, my phone pinged and there was the answer on my screen.
Hey Susan. Not much I can tell you about Leo. He worked out of a swish flat in Mayfair (God knows how he afforded it) but I heard he’d left London and no idea if he’s alive or dead. He was quite a regular with Frank but I’m surprised the book was dedicated to him. Alan never mentioned him to me. Can’t tell you very much more as only met him once. He was blond (dyed?) and pretty. Short. I never saw him undressed so I can’t tell you how well endowed he was . . . cut or uncut – I’m sure you’re dying to know!!! He worked out a lot. In good shape. BTW, Leo may not have been his real name. A lot of us used false ones (better safe than sorry). Stud and Nando were always popular. Also pet names. When Alan first met me, I was Jimmy . . . sweet and boyish. Have you got anywhere yet? Frank Parris was quite creepy, a real perve now I think about it. He probably got what he deserved. Call me if you come down again. Jimmy XXX
James had no idea if Leo was alive or dead. I wondered how I could find out.
Two More Days
As soon as I woke up, I tried FaceTiming Andreas. It would be half past ten in Crete and he would have finished his breakfast and gone for a swim. Then, assuming that there was nothing serious demanding his attention, he would have retreated to our terrace with a little cup of thick, black coffee (Greek, not Turkish) and a book. Andreas had been reading Nikos Kazantzakis when I left and he’d recommended him to me – as if I ever had any time to read.
There was no answer so I rang him on the mobile, which went straight to voicemail. I thought of calling Nell or Panos or anyone else who worked at the Polydorus, but that smacked of desperation. Anyway, I didn’t want to get them involved in our personal affairs. That’s the trouble with living in Crete. Everyone has a village mentality, even if they live in the towns.
I was still puzzled and, to be honest, a little annoyed that he hadn’t replied. It wasn’t as if I had pushed him into a corner. All I’d done was set out some of my feelings and suggest that we should talk them through. Was that really so extreme? It was true that Andreas was often slow opening his emails, but he must have seen the heading and known it was from me. There was a side to his character, I knew, that made him reticent about discussing issues, relationships, ‘us’. Maybe it was something to do with the long-drawn-out days in the Mediterranean sunshine that somehow made them feel disconnected, even lazy, but a lot of the Greek men I had met were the same.
In the end, I gave up. I would only be in England for another few days. Cecily Treherne was still missing and I was running out of people to talk to, questions I could ask. Reading Atticus Pünd Takes the Case had provided me with almost no revelations at all. As to my own future, Michael Bealey had more or less told me that there was no chance of my picking up any publishing work, freelance or otherwise. So what options did that leave me? I could only go back to the Polydorus, sit down with Andreas and work out together what we were going to do.
I showered, got dressed and went downstairs. Breakfast was served in the same room where I’d had dinner with Lawrence, the waiters dressed in black trousers and white shirts, all of them bussed in from Woodbridge. There was a traditional buffet with fried eggs, bacon and beans all glistening in a slightly unappealing way under old-fashioned heat lamps. I had a sudden yearning for Greek yoghurt and fresh watermelon, but ordered from the menu and sat on my own with my notebook and a percolator of good coffee until the food arrived.
I had just started eating when I looked up and realised I was no longer alone. Lisa Treherne was standing over me, smiling – but it was the sort of smile that would put anyone off their Weetabix. I could imagine her looking at Stefan Codrescu in exactly the same way before she fired him.
‘Good morning, Susan,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Be my guest.’ I gestured at the empty chair on the other side of the table.
‘Actually, I’d say it was the other way round.’ She sat down primly. A waiter came across to offer her coffee but she waved him away. ‘We’re the ones looking after you.’
‘And very well, thank you.’
‘You like the hotel?’
‘It’s lovely.’ I could see trouble coming. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice. ‘I can see why you’re so popular.’
‘Yes. And this is the high season, of course. In fact, that’s what I want to talk to you about. How’s your investigation coming on?’
‘I wouldn’t really call it an investigation.’
‘Is there anything you can tell me about Cecily?’
‘I reread the book yesterday. Atticus Pünd Takes the Case. I have a few thoughts about what may have happened.’ I closed my notebook as if guarding its secrets.
‘A few thoughts?’ She glanced down at my plate. I hadn’t ordered very much – a poached egg on toast – but from the look on her face you’d have thought I had emptied the buffet. ‘The thing is, Susan, I don’t want to be rude but you’re staying in a room that we could be renting out for two hundred and fifty pounds a night. You’re eating our food and probably dipping into our minibar too. You’ve managed to persuade my parents to pay you a quite extortionate sum of money and the only communication they’ve had from you so far is a demand for the first instalment. As far as we can see, you’ve done nothing.’
If this was her trying not to be rude I wondered what she was like when she was really determined to be offensive. I was reminded of Lionel Corby’s description of her – ‘a real piece of work’. Perhaps I had been too hard on him when we met in London.
‘Do your parents know you’re talking to me?’ I asked.
‘Actually, my father has asked me to have this conversation. We want to bring an end to this arrangement and we think you should leave.’
‘When?’
‘Today.’
I put down my knife and fork, laying them neatly on the plate. Then I looked her in the eye and asked, as sweetly as I could: ‘Did you tell your father you were having sex with Stefan Codrescu before you fired him?’
Her face flushed with anger when she heard that and the strange thing was that it made the scar on the side of her mouth stand out as if the injury had happened just a minute ago. ‘How dare you!’ she muttered in a low voice.
‘You were asking me about my investigation,’ I reminded her. ‘I would have said that was quite a useful piece of information and that it casts a different light on things. Wouldn’t you?’
It was interesting. I hadn’t been a hundred per cent confident when I had made the accusation, but she hadn’t denied it. Then again, all the evidence was there. At that first dinner, Lawrence Treherne had said how much Lisa had liked Stefan and that the two of them had spent lots of time together. Then she had fired him on what Corby had insisted were trumped-up charges. There were also sexual issues between her and her sister. ‘They were always jealous of each other’s boyfriends,’ Lawrence had said and it struck me that a large part of her dislike of Aiden MacNeil could have been down to old-fashioned envy.
‘Who told you that?’ she demanded. I was quite surprised she hadn’t stormed out of the room. I probably would have.
‘You fired him because he wouldn’t sleep with you any more.’
‘He was a thief.’
‘No. That was Natasha Mälk, the maid who discovered the body. Everyone knew that.’
I was only repeating what Lionel Corby had told me but it seemed that once again he had been spot on. Lisa’s face fell. ‘He’s wrong,’ she muttered in a low voice.
‘Lisa,’ I said, ‘I’ve arranged to see Stefan at HMP Wayland, in Norfolk. There’s no point lying to me.’ Actually, I was the one lying to her as I hadn’t yet heard from Stefan – but she wasn’t to know that.
She scowled in a way that would have congealed my poached egg if the heat lamps hadn’t already done the work for her. ‘Why would you believe anything he has to say? He’s a convicted murderer.’
‘I’m not so sure that he killed Frank Parris.’
It was funny but even as I spoke the words I knew with absolute certainty that they
had to be true. Stefan had been arrested by a police officer who would quite cheerfully have locked him away for life simply because he was Romanian. The case against him was ridiculously slight. A hundred and fifty pounds hidden under his mattress? Nobody hides money under their mattress unless they’re old ladies in a bad TV comedy and anyway, would he really have risked years in jail for such a tiny amount?
There were too many unexplained circumstances: the barking dog, the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that had been hung on the door and then mysteriously removed, Frank Parris lying about the opera. And, for me, there was still the biggest question of all. If Alan Conway had known the true identity of the killer (which had to be the reason why Cecily Treherne had disappeared), why had he chosen not to reveal it?
‘If Stefan didn’t kill him, who did?’ Lisa demanded.
‘Give me a week here and I’ll tell you.’
She stared at me. ‘I’ll give you two more days.’
‘All right.’ I wanted to bargain with her but it would only have made me look weak. At least I wasn’t going to be thrown out before lunch.
She started to rise but I hadn’t finished with her. ‘Tell me about you and Cecily,’ I said.
She sat down again. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Did you get on?’
‘We got on well enough.’
‘Why won’t you tell me the truth, Lisa? Don’t you want me to find out what’s happened to her?’ She glared at me so I asked her: ‘How did you get that mark on the side of your mouth?’
‘That was her.’ Lisa brought a protective hand up, briefly hiding the scar. ‘But she didn’t mean it. She was only ten years old. She didn’t know what she was doing.’
‘What were you arguing about?’
‘It’s irrelevant!’
‘It might not be.’
‘It was a boy. Not a boy . . . a man. You know how little girls are. His name was Kevin and he worked in the kitchen. He must have been about twenty and we both had crushes on him. And he kissed me. That’s all. One day, I was talking to him and I was giggling with him and he gave me a kiss on the cheek. When I told Cess about it, she got furious. She said I’d stolen him from her and there was a knife, a kitchen knife, and she threw it at me. She wasn’t even aiming at me. But the blade caught me on the side of my face. It was very sharp and it cut me.’ She dropped her hand. ‘There was a lot of blood.’
Moonflower Murders Page 41
