So, on the day of the spring tide, she made no comment on her step-father’s decision to take the boat out, and Hector felt confident that, when he returned, he would still find her stretched lethargically in her mother’s armchair.
He anchored the motorboat in shallow water outside the cave entrance, took off his trousers (beneath which he wore swimming trunks), put on rubber shoes, and slipped over the side. The water came just above his knee, and more of the entrance arch was revealed. On his previous visit the tide cannot have been at its very lowest. But the entrance remained well hidden; no one who didn’t know exactly where it was would be likely to find it by chance.
He had a flashlight with him, but switched it off once he was inside the cave. The shifting ripples of reflection gave enough light. It was better than he remembered. The cave was about the size, and somehow had the atmosphere, of a small church. There was a high pile of fallen rocks and stones up the altar end, which, together with the stained-glass window feel of the filtered light, reinforced the image.
But it was an empty church. There was no detritus of beer-cans, biscuit packets or condoms to suggest that anyone else shared Hector’s discovery.
Down the middle of the cave a seeping stream of water traversed the sand. Hector trod up this with heavy footsteps, and watched with pleasure as the marks filled in and became invisible.
The pile of rubble was higher than it had at first appeared. Climbing it was hard, as large stones rocked and smaller ones scuttered out under the weight of his feet. When he stood precariously on the top and looked down fifteen feet to the unmarked sand below, he experienced the sort of triumph that the “R and D boys” must have felt when they arrived at the formula for the original GLISS CLEANING FLUID.
In his pocket he found a paper bag and blew it up. Inflated, it was about the size of a human head. He let it bounce gently down to the foot of the rubble pile, and picked up a large stone.
It took three throws before he got his range, but the third stone hit the paper bag right in the middle. The target exploded with a moist thud. Shreds of it lay plastered flat against the damp sand.
Hector Griffiths left the cave and went back to get his step-daughter’s lunch.
5. PACKAGING (WHAT DO YOU WANT THE PRODUCT TO LOOK LIKE? WHAT DOES THE PUBLIC WANT THE PRODUCT TO LOOK LIKE?)
“The appearance of your product is everything,” the diligent young men who worried about their first mortgages and second babies would hear. “Packaging can kill a good product and sell a bad one. It can make an original product look dated, and an old one look brand new.”
It could also, Hector Griffiths believed, make the police believe a murder to be an accident and an old corpse to be a slightly newer one.
As with everything, he planned well ahead. The first component in his murder machine was generously donated by its proposed victim. Listless and unwilling to go out, Janet asked if he would mind posting her cards to Melissa’s aunts in Stockport. She didn’t really know why she was writing to them, she added mournfully; they were unlikely ever to meet again now Mummy was dead.
Hector took the cards, but didn’t post them. He did not even put stamps on them. You never knew how much postal rates might go up in a year. He put them away in a blue folder.
There wasn’t a lot more that could be done at that stage, so he spent the rest of his time in Cornwall being nice to Janet and drinking with Commander Donleavy at the Yacht Club.
He listened to a lot of naval reminiscences and sympathised with the pervading gloom about the way the world was going. He talked about the younger generation. He said he had nothing to complain of with his step-daughter, except that she was so quiet. He said how he tried to jolly her along, but all she seemed to want to do was mope around the cottage or go off on long walks on her own. Oh yes, she did sketch a bit. Wasn’t that her in a blue smock out by the back door of the cottage? Commander Donleavy looked through his binoculars and said he reckoned it must be – too far to see her clearly, though.
If he was in the Yacht Club in the evening, Hector might draw the Commander’s attention to the cottage lights going off as Janet went to bed. Always turned in by ten-thirty – at least he couldn’t complain about late hours. She was a strange child.
Commander Donleavy laughed and said there was no accounting for the ways of women. Good Lord, within a year that little mouse could have turned into a regular flapper, with boyfriends arriving every hour of the day and night.
Hector said he hoped not (without as much vigour as he felt) and laughed (without as much humour as he manifested). So the holidays passed.
When he got back behind his desk at GLISS, he found a letter telling him that an international domestic cleaning exhibition, INTERSAN, would be held in Hamburg from the 9th to the 17th of September the following year.
This was better than he had dared hope. He called in his assistant, a former Management Trainee, who was in charge of the undemanding and unexciting GLISS SPOT-REMOVER range and who constantly complained about his lack of responsibility, and asked him to represent the company at the exhibition. Hector knew it was a long way off, but he thought it would give the young man something to look forward to. He was beginning to feel his age, he added tantalisingly, and thought there might be other responsibilities he would soon wish to delegate.
On 14 September, Hector Griffiths set aside that day’s copy of the Daily Telegraph. He put it with the postcards in the blue folder.
There was little more he could do for the time being, except to go over his planning in detail and check for flaws. He found none, but he still thought there was something missing. He needed one more element, one clinching piece of evidence. Still, no need to panic; it’d come. Just a matter of patient Desk Work. So, while he devoted most of his energies to the forthcoming launch of GLISS HANDY MOPPITS (IDEAL FOR THE KITCHEN, NURSERY OR HANDBAG), he kept a compartment of his mind open to receive another inspiration.
So the months passed. He and Janet Christmassed quietly in London. To his relief, she did not appear to be fulfilling Commander Donleavy’s prognostications; if anything, she was quieter still. The only change was that she said she hated school, was getting nowhere there, and wanted to leave. Her indulgent step-father suppressed his glee, thought about the matter seriously, and finally agreed that she should leave at the end of the summer term, then join him for August at the cottage, so that they could decide on her future.
6. PUBLICITY (MAKE SURE EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT YOUR PRODUCT EXACTLY WHEN YOU WANT THEM TO.)
This was the only one of Hector Griffiths’ headings which might, while vital for any GLISS product, seem to be less applicable in the case of a murder.
But publicity is not only making things public; it is also keeping things secret until the time is right, and Hector’s experience at GLISS had taught him a great deal about this art. Though lacking the glamour of military secrets, cleaning fluid secrets were still valuable and had been the subjects of espionage. So Hector was trained to keep his plans to himself.
And, anyway, there was going to come a time when publicity of the conventional sort was necessary, indeed essential. If the police never found Janet’s body, then the plan was incomplete. Not only might there be difficulties in releasing her money to her step-father, he might also have to suffer the stigma of suspicion. As with the launch of a product, what was important was the moment of public revelation. And the timing of that, with this product as with any other, Hector would dictate personally.
It was, incidentally, while he was thinking of publicity that he came upon the missing element in his campaign. Some months before the launch of GLISS HANDY MOPPITS (IDEAL FOR THE KITCHEN, NURSERY OR HANDBAG) Hector had to go to his advertising agency to agree the publicity campaign for the new product. He enjoyed these occasions, because he knew that he, as Product Manager, was completely in command, and loved to see his account executive fawn while he deliberated.
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One particular ploy, which gave him a great deal of satisfaction, was simply delaying his verdict. He would look at the artwork, view the television commercial or listen to the campaign outline, then, after remaining silent for a few minutes, start talking about something completely different. The executive presenting to him, fearful above all else of losing the very lucrative GLISS account, would sweat his way up any conversational alley the Product Manager wished to lead him, until finally Hector relented and said what he thought.
After seeing the television commercial for GLISS HANDY MOPPITS (IDEAL FOR THE KITCHEN, NURSERY OR HANDBAG), Hector started playing his game and asked what else the executive was working on.
The young man, a fine sweat lending his brow a satisfying sheen, answered sycophantically. His next big job was for one of the country’s biggest confectionery firms, the launch of a brand new nut and nougat sweet – the NUGGY BAR. It was going to be a huge nationwide campaign – newspapers, cinema, television, radio, the lot. The product was already being tested in the Tyne-Tees area. Look, would Mr. Griffiths like to try one? Nice blue and gold wrapper, wasn’t it? Yes, go on, try – we’ve got plenty – the office is full of them.
Well, what did Mr. Griffiths think of it? Pretty revolting? Hmm. Well, never mind. Yes, take one by all means. Well, anyway, whatever Mr. Griffiths thought of them, he was going to be hard put to avoid them. After the launch on 10 September, he would see them in every shop in the country.
Hector Griffiths glowed inwardly. Yes, of course there was skill and there was planning, but there was also luck. Luck, like the fact that the old GLISS FLOOR POLISH tin had adapted so easily to metric standards. Luck, like suddenly coming across the NUGGY BAR. It was a magnetism for luck that distinguished a great Product Manager from a good Product Manager.
The NUGGY BAR was secure in his pocket. His mind raced on, as he calmly told the account executive that he found the GLISS HANDY MOPPITS (IDEAL FOR THE KITCHEN, NURSERY OR HANDBAG) commercial too flippant, and that it would have to be remade, showing more respect for the product.
7. RUN-UP TO LAUNCH (ATTEND TO DETAILS. CHECK, CHECK AND RECHECK.)
Hector Griffiths checked, checked and rechecked.
In June he went to an unfamiliar boat dealer in North London and bought, for cash, an inflatable dinghy and outboard motor.
The next weekend he went down to Cornwall and, after much consultation with Commander Donleavy, bought an identical dinghy and outboard from the boatyard that serviced his motorboat.
Three days later he bought some electrical time-switches in an anonymous Woolworths.
Then, furtively, in a Soho sex shop, he bought an inflatable woman.
In another anonymous Woolworths, he bought a pair of rubber gloves.
At work, the GLISS HANDY MOPPITS (IDEAL FOR THE KITCHEN, NURSERY OR HANDBAG) were successfully launched. Hector’s assistant, in anticipation of his exciting trip to Hamburg for INTERSAN, took his holiday in July. One of his last actions before going away was to prepare the authorisation for the continued production of GLISS SPOT-REMOVER. This was the formal notice to the production department which would ensure sufficient supplies of the product for November orders. It was one of those boring bits of paperwork that had to be prepared by the individual Product Manager and sent to the overall GLISS Product Manager for signature.
Hector’s assistant did it last thing on the day he left, deposited it in his out-tray, and set off for two weeks in Hunstanton, cheered by the fact that Griffiths had said he was going to take a longer holiday that summer, all of August plus two weeks of September. Another indication, like INTERSAN, that the old man was going to sit back a bit and give others a chance.
So Hector’s assistant didn’t see the old man in question remove the GLISS SPOT-REMOVER authorisation from his out-tray. Nor did he see it burnt to nothing in an ash-tray in the Sloane Street flat.
Janet left her Yorkshire boarding school as quietly as she had done everything else in her life, and joined her step-father in London. At the beginning of August they went down to Cornwall.
She remained as withdrawn as ever. Her step-father encouraged her to keep up her sketching, and to join him in occasional trips in the motor-boat or his new rubber dinghy. He spoke with some concern to Commander Donleavy in the Yacht Club about her listlessness. He pointed her out sketching outside the cottage, and the Commander almost saw her figure through his binoculars. Once or twice in the evening, Hector commented to the Commander about the early hour at which she switched the lights out.
On 16 August, Hector Griffiths went out fishing on his own and unfortunately cut both his hands when a nylon line he was reeling in pulled taut.
That evening he tried to talk to his step-daughter about a career, but found it hard going. Hadn’t she discussed it with friends? With teachers at the school? Wasn’t there someone he could ring and talk to about it?
After a lot of probing, she did give him the name of her French mistress, who was the only person she seemed to have been even slightly close to at the school. Had she got her phone number? asked Hector. Yes. Would she write it down for him? Here, on this scrap of paper.
Reluctantly she did. She didn’t notice that the scrap of paper was a piece torn from a copy of the Daily Telegraph. Or that the only printing on it was most of the date – “14 September, 19…”
Her step-father continued his uphill struggle to cheer her up. Look, here was something he’d been given. A new sort of chocolate bar, nut and nougat, called the NUGGY BAR. Not even on the market yet. Go on, try a bit, have a bite. She demurred, but eventually, just to please him, did take a bite.
She thought it was “pretty revolting”.
8. THE LAUNCH
The spring tide was to be at its lowest at 19:41 on 17 August, but Hector Griffiths didn’t mention this when he persuaded his step-daughter to come out for a trip in the motorboat at half-past six that evening. Janet wasn’t keen, but nor was she obstructive, so soon the boat, with its rubber dinghy towed behind, was chugging along towards “Stinky Cove”. Her step-father’s hands on the wheel wore rubber gloves, to prevent dirt from getting into the wounds made by his fishing line the previous day.
Janet seemed psychologically incapable of enthusiasm for anything, but Hector got very excited when he thought he saw an opening in the rocks. He steered the boat in close and there, sure enough, was an archway. The stench near the rocks was strong enough to deter any but the most ardent speleologist – in fact, there were no other vessels in sight – but Hector still seemed keen to investigate the opening. He anchored the motorboat and urged Janet into the dinghy. They cast off and puttered towards the rocks.
Instructing his step-daughter to duck, Hector lined the boat up, cut the motor, and waves washed the dinghy through on to the sand of a hidden cave.
With expressions of wonder, Hector stepped out into a shallow stream, gesturing Janet to follow him. She did so with her usual lethargy. Her step-father pulled the dinghy some way up on to the sand. Crowing with childlike excitement about the discovery they’d made, he suggested exploring. Maybe this little cave led to a bigger one. Wasn’t that an opening there at the top of the pile of rubble? He set off towards it. Without interest, but co-operative to the last, Janet followed.
It was on the precarious top of the pile that Hector Griffiths appeared to lose his balance and fall heavily against his step-daughter. She fell sideways down the loose surface to the sand of the cave floor. Fortunately she fell face down, so she didn’t see the practised aim of the rock that went flying towards her head.
The damp thud of its impact was very similar to that an earlier missile had made against a paper bag, but louder. The commotion was sufficient to dislodge a shower of small stones from the roof of the cave, which gave very satisfactory credibility to the idea that Janet had been killed by a rockfall.
Hector also found it a source of satisfaction that she ha
d landed away from the stream. When her body was finally discovered, he didn’t want her clothes to be soaked through; it must be clear that she had entered the cave in the dinghy, in other words, at the lowest ebb of a spring tide.
Hector stepped carefully down the rubble. Keeping his feet in the stream, he inspected Janet. A little blood and brain from her crushed skull marked the sand. She was undoubtedly dead.
With his gloved hands, he slipped the scrap of Daily Telegraph with her French mistress’s phone number and the opened NUGGY BAR with its blue and gold wrapper into Janet’s pocket.
He then walked down the stream to the opening, already slightly smaller with the rising tide, waded into the sea and swam out to the motorboat.
On board he removed a tarpaulin from his second rubber dinghy, attached its painter to the back of the larger boat and cast it behind. Then he chugged back to his mooring near the cottage, as the tide continued to rise.
9. THE VITAL FIRST MONTH (YOUR PRODUCT IS YOUR BABY – NURSE IT GENTLY.)
Hector Griffiths still had nearly a month of his six-week holiday in Cornwall to go, and he passed it very quietly and peacefully. Much of the time he was in the Yacht Club drinking with Commander Donleavy.
There he would complain to the Commander, and anyone else who happened to be listening, about his step-daughter’s reticence and ask advice on what career he should guide her towards. Now and then at lunchtime he would point out the blue smock-clad figure sitting sketching outside the back door of the cottage. At night he might comment on her early hours as he saw the cottage lights go off.
In the mornings, before he went out, he would check the time-switches and decide whether or not to use the inflatable woman. He didn’t want the sketching to become too predictable, so he varied the position of the dummy in its smock and frequently just left it indoors. Once or twice, at dusk, he took it out in the dinghy past the harbour and waved to the fishermen on the quay.
Vintage Crime Page 10
