by Anne Morice
“But if Philip knew, or had guessed the letters were for her, why didn’t he tell the police about them when she was killed?”
“Possibly because he now feels remorseful and ashamed for having made light of them and, being the vain fellow he is, he doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I mean to, when I find the right moment, although it may not be necessary now.”
“And, in any case, I can’t see what it has to do with Pete.”
“Well, you see, Clarrie, the question is, did the police know from the beginning about the letters, or have they just found out and the reason why he’s been hauled off like this is because they’ve got the idea that if they coax him a bit he may be able to come up with some suggestions about who might have sent them.”
“Then it’ll be a waste of coax. How could he possibly . . . God Almighty, Tessa, you wouldn’t be hinting that he’d put them together himself, would you?”
As it happened, the thought had occurred to me, since there was a combination of slyness and impudence about the letters themselves and the manner of their delivery, characteristics which I also associated with Pete. However, this was hardly a suitable audience to try out such theories on, so I said: “No, of course not. All I suggested was that he might possess some knowledge, while having no idea of its relevance, which the rest of us don’t. After all, he and Dolly were two of a kind, in a sense.”
“Oh, nicely put, I must say!”
“Not in the sense of being alike, but because of both being on the fringes of the action. They were spectators, in a manner of speaking and for that reason may have seen more of the game than those of us who were taking part in it. If it was a fact that Dolly had realised that the letters were intended for her and had either found out or guessed who was sending them, why should not Pete have also guessed or found out?”
“Then he’d have told me, wouldn’t he?”
“That would depend.”
“On what?”
“On the identity of Anon, partly; but also on how he’d got hold of the information. Say Dolly had told him and then sworn him to secrecy, for fear of its getting back to Philip and demoralising him completely?”
“I still don’t see why it should be necessary for the poor boy to spend hours and hours being questioned about it. If he really knows something of that kind it wouldn’t take him five minutes to pass it on.”
“Unless he’s decided not to co-operate. In other words, is protecting someone who is more important to him than Dolly was. Anyway,” I added hurriedly before she could ask me who that might be, “I could easily be wrong. I’m only trying to make you understand that there can be circumstances where someone is put through a long interrogation, without having committed any crime or being suspected of any, and therefore that you may not have anything at all to worry about.”
“Well, it sounds highly dubious to me, but you’re the expert, so I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”
It was a relief to know that she had rather more faith in my word than I had myself, for although I believed some of what I had told her to be reasonably plausible, I was privately of the opinion that there must be more to it than that. However, the object had been to build her up into a fit state of mind to get through the evening performance and, since this now appeared to have been achieved, I left her to dress, trusting that nothing would occur to undo the good work at least until after the final curtain.
It was touch and go because when Robin arrived in my dressing room just before the interval and gave me the latest news, I became so petrified that Clarrie would come bursting in and drag it out of him that I implored him to go away at once and return in an hour’s time, to assist in the mopping-up operation.
Chapter Seven
At seven o’clock, after five and a half hours of close interrogation, Pete was allowed to go home, although he did not do so without a stain on his character. Indeed, all things considered, he was lucky to have escaped arrest on charges of conspiracy to murder.
This fate, in fact, might still be awaiting him, although I had been wrong in supposing that the evidence against him was in any way connected with the anonymous letters, being based on a potentially far more damaging incident.
The early morning police call, as described by Clarrie, had been little more than a formality, since at that time there had been no reason to link the murder with people or events at the theatre. Unfortunately for Pete, though, the constable concerned had been an alert and observant young man who had immediately recognised something familiar about his witness, although maintaining a discreet silence on this point and continuing to conduct the business on casual, non-committal lines until he had consulted his superior officer, who had then accompanied him on the lunch time call at the flat.
“But what could he have recognised as familiar about him?” I asked Robin. “I don’t understand.”
“In the sense of his striking resemblance to a description that had been circulated to everyone working on the case. It was the single shred of firm evidence which had so far come in and they’d got it from the woman who occupied the flat next door to the Mickletons, the very one, in fact, where Philip had gone for help when he found his wife had been murdered.”
“Meaning that she saw a young man who looked exactly like Pete coming out of the next door flat between six and six-thirty yesterday evening?”
“Not coming out, going in, and it wasn’t between six and six-thirty. If it had been, they wouldn’t now have turned him loose.”
“At what time then.”
“About three hours later. She was on her way home from a bridge party and she saw this young man standing outside the Mickletons’ front door, with the key in the lock.”
“Did she speak to him, ask him what he was doing there?”
“There was no need. He looked round when he heard her coming and said good evening. She said good evening back and he then volunteered the information that Lady Mickleton had sent him to collect something she needed urgently and to take it to the theatre for her.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like a man planning to commit murder, which in any case he couldn’t have been since she was already dead, so what’s the problem?”
“One theory is that either he, or someone he’s in collusion with, had been there at the earlier time, when the neighbour was out at her bridge and then, as the evening wore on, had become obsessed by the fear of having left some incriminating evidence behind, like finger prints on a door knob, or something of that kind. You know how it can happen to the best of us? However often you tell yourself that you didn’t leave the gas on, you still feel the compulsion to go back and make sure.”
“But the only thing they have to go on is this woman’s description?”
“It’s pretty damning, close enough, anyhow, for P.C. Blair to have made the connection and this afternoon when they put him into an identity parade, she picked him out with no hesitation at all. I know that’s not proof, but it’s not a point in his favour either.”
“And does this tiresome Mrs. Bridge Player know how long he spent in the next door flat?”
“Oh, indeed, almost to the second. She admitted that he hadn’t been furtive or fazed in any way when he spoke to her, but she said that people have cheek enough for anything these days and, being very burglar-conscious, she wasn’t entirely satisfied with his explanation. She left her own front door open an inch or two and waited to see what would happen. Her plan was to give it five minutes and then, if he hadn’t emerged, to dial 999.”
“But he beat her to it?”
“By all of two minutes, in fact. He wasn’t carrying anything when he came out, but, as she admitted, if it had been a piece of jewellery, or powder compact, or something of that kind, it would have been natural to put it in his pocket. Anyway, so far as she was concerned, it proved that he either hadn’t gone there with evil intent, or that she’d succeeded in scaring him off. So her own con
science was clear and she made herself a hot drink, went to bed and forgot all about it until a couple of hours later when the balloon went up.”
“And, presumably, Pete denies that he was there at all?”
“Over and over again. Nothing will shake him. His story, which he has stuck to from the beginning, is the same as he told you and me and Clarrie. He’d bought her a present in the morning, remembered at the crucial moment that he’d left it at the shop and got held up in a traffic jam when he went back to fetch it. It’s rather a heavy coincidence that all this should have taken place during the period when his identical twin was letting himself into the Mickletons’ flat.”
“And how did your boys come to hear that he was absent during that very period? I didn’t tell them and I don’t think it’s likely that Clarrie did either. Not you, by any chance?”
“No, but as it happens you and I weren’t the only two people she was screeching and moaning about it to. Hartman got a dose of it as well.”
“Hartman?”
“Isn’t that the name of Oliver Welles’ partner?”
“Yes, yes, of course it is, Benjie Hartman, but how does he come into it?”
“By going round after the show to congratulate her.”
“And she ranted on about Pete leaving her high and dry?”
“Not being the soul of reticence, as we know. And so when it came to his turn to go through the business of accounting for his movements yesterday evening he remembered to include a graphic description of that episode too. One shouldn’t blame him. He was only concerned with producing as many witnesses as he could lay his hands on to back up his own story and he couldn’t have known what a bonus he was throwing in.”
“But I still think there must be some mistake. After all, he really had bought Clarrie a present, you know. She showed it to me the next morning. It was a gold watch.”
“Leaving aside the fact that it could have been in his pocket all the time, instead of at the shop, as he insists, I have a nasty feeling that the present, in itself, could count as a mark against him, if it were to be used in evidence, as he is probably all too well aware. I daresay he has quoted the price for it which was less than half the actual cost.”
“Why would he do that and what bearing could it have on Dolly’s murder?”
“Not a direct one, but a bearing, nonetheless. You see, I haven’t told you the worst of it yet. It seems he has some form.”
“Been in jug, in other words?”
“You take it calmly. I had expected that to be the worst shock of all.”
“I don’t know whether I’ve gone beyond being shocked,” I admitted, “or whether that bit seemed to fit so smoothly into place. I’d always thought he must have been trained as a dancer at some point in his life. All those darting movements conjured up pictures of someone leaping about in tights, with a tinkling piano in the background, but I suppose a training in cat burglary, with a lot of thugs in the background would do just as well. Is that what he was in for?”
“Not far off, although to be fair, it was some years ago and he was only a callow youth at the time. He got in with a gang of much older boys and they brought off a series of break-ins in a plushy, residential suburb close to where he lived. They got away with half a dozen quite sizeable jobs before they were nicked.”
“What did he get?”
“Two years in Borstal.”
“Since when he has turned over a new leaf?”
“That remains to be seen. It’s another of those awkward questions. He’s certainly had no convictions since then, but that may be due more to luck than good behaviour. He appears to enjoy a somewhat more opulent life style than one would have thought possible on the salary from an antique shop.”
“I don’t see why. It’s a very grand and expensive shop and, apart from his salary, he probably gets commission on everything he sells. Also I don’t doubt that Clarrie contributes her whack to the upkeep of the life style.”
“Like paying for the gold watch he gives her as a first night present, for example?”
“Yes, well, okay, so they’re trying to make out he’s a fence, or something?”
“Not as far as I know. In fact, it’s quite likely he’s not directly involved in any criminal activity, but a lot of the buying in his sort of business is done on a private basis. He’d automatically have amassed a store of inside knowledge about where the stock came from in the first place, as well as the lay-out of the houses and such other valuable items the owners might possess which aren’t on the market, and he may also have retained enough contacts to be in a position to pass on such knowledge to various interested parties.”
“A kind of burglars’ information service?”
“Something of the sort. At any rate, that’s the line they’re working on at present; seeing whether they can trace any link and, if they succeed, I’m afraid things will look pretty black for him. You doubtless consider it immoral and unfair that people’s past misdemeanours should be held against them, but unfortunately that’s how life is.”
“I still don’t see what it has to do with Dolly’s murder. Do they take the theory a stage further and suggest he killed her because she’d found about these shady goings-on and was threatening to turn him in?”
“I’m afraid they regard that as a possibility.”
“Rather a drastic way out of the problem, wasn’t it?”
“But conceivable, you’d agree?”
“I’m not so sure that I would. In the first place, I don’t see him acting in a violent way, unless it was in self-defence, when I am sure he could be very effective. Mischief-making, and cunning too, is more how I see him and something tells me that he’d have been capable of running enough rings round Dolly not to have to resort to anything so chancy as murder. Furthermore, it takes no account of the anonymous letters, which must somehow have a connection somewhere. I can see Pete as the mastermind behind that enterprise, that fits all right, but not as the one who undertook all the fiddling tedium of compiling them. That seems out of character too. Which reminds me, Robin, do you happen to know what became of those letters?”
“No, I have yet to hear a single mention of them.”
“Even from Philip?”
“Certainly not from Philip.”
“Which is strange, isn’t it? It must have occurred to him by now that they were meant for Dolly and not for himself and therefore were probably sent by her murderer. You’d think he would have realised how important they could be as evidence?”
“Perhaps you ought to point it out to him?”
“Someone else suggested that, but why don’t you?”
“Oh, I think it would come better from you. However hard I tried to explain that I was only out to give friendly, unofficial advice, there’s no chance he’d believe me and that could lead to a whole series of apple carts being upset.”
“All right, I’ll do it then; although I’ll need to choose my moment carefully. He’s so touchy these days, worse than ever. The mere mention of Dolly and he either starts to cry or says in a pained voice that he doesn’t wish to discuss it. If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t believe him to be competent to commit a murder, I’d begin to think he had a guilty conscience.”
“That might not be bad,” Robin said, brightening at the thought. “He’d get off gaol on medical grounds and he’d be well looked after in the psychiatric block and you and I could have our spare room back.”
Chapter Eight
I
“How can you expect me to be able to tell you a thing like that?” he asked, something approaching the right moment having arrived when I handed him his first ration of whisky the following evening. It was early for this, even by his standards, but he had arrived downstairs soon after five o’clock in his dressing gown, saying that he felt well enough to leave his room for an hour or two, and I was naturally anxious to reward and encourage any signs of returning mobility.
“But Philip, surely you must remember?” I
protested. “Do please at least try! Can’t you see what a help those letters could be in finding out who did this dreadful thing?”
“In that case, it’s a pity you advised me to tear one of them up.”
“Oh, so you do remember that much? Well, we seem to be getting somewhere. How about the others?”
“My dear child, there’s nothing wrong with my memory. The point is, I’d given them to Dolly.”
“All three?”
“Yes. After you’d shown the first two to Robin she said she was going to take charge of those and any more that came and lock them up in a safe place. That’s what she said and presumably that’s what she did.”
“It must have been not only a very safe place but a very inaccessible one too, because so far they haven’t been found.”
“I expect they’re in her jewel case, if you really want to know.”
“But, Philip, didn’t the police ask you for the keys to all that sort of thing?”
“How can you expect me to remem . . . yes, yes, of course, they did.”
“Of course they did, and you may be sure they made good use of them. They’ll have gone through every item she possessed with a toothcomb, looking for some clue to the murderer’s identity. Did they ask your permission to search the Old Rectory too?”
“Oh, er, yes, now you mention it.”
“So there we are! Obviously, the letters were neither at the flat nor in the country, otherwise we’d have heard about it by now. So what could she have done with them?”
“Really, Tessa, I don’t see what right you have to keep nagging me like this. People never stop going on and on at me and I’m getting absolutely sick of it.”
“Yes, I know and I’m sorry, but I should have thought it might upset you even more to know that someone had killed her and got away with it.”
“Knowing who did it won’t bring her back,” he said, starting to snivel.
I resigned myself then to accepting that he either knew nothing and cared less about what had become of the letters, or knew and cared enough to use every trick in his somewhat limited repertoire to keep the knowledge to himself. Either way, I was wasting my time, so I topped up his drink, to atone for my lack of sensitivity and changed the subject, reminding him that I should soon have to be on my way to the theatre for the final performance of Elders and Betters.
