The Postscript Murders

by Elly Griffiths

‘I was hoping you’d tell me.’

  The manager is starting to get restive. ‘We need to close at nine,’ she says. Dex hands the postcard back and scribbles something in Edwin’s book. Edwin finds himself walking back to the others.

  ‘What did he write?’ asks Benedict.

  Edwin shows him the title page. To Edwin, all will be revealed. Dex.

  ‘What does that mean?’ says Natalka.

  ‘I’m going to talk to him.’ DS Kaur goes up to the table where Dex is posing for one last photograph with two excited-looking women. Edwin watches as the detective approaches and speaks quietly to the author. She’s back in a few minutes.

  ‘We’re meeting him for a drink,’ she says.

  * * *

  AS THEY WALK to the pub they pass the cathedral, floodlit and beautiful. Edwin remembers filming midnight mass there in the eighties. Producing religious programmes wasn’t exactly cutting-edge TV but there had definitely been a few exciting moments, mostly when the cameras had stopped running. It feels rather exhilarating to be out with friends again and, when Dex asks what he wants to drink, Edwin asks for a gin and tonic, although he hasn’t had spirits for nearly a decade. DS Kaur has orange juice and Edwin is relieved to see Natalka drinking Coke. Benedict and Dex have manly-looking pints.

  The pub is cosy and old-fashioned. They find a table by the window and chat for a while about books and events. Dex is flatteringly interested in Edwin’s BBC experiences. ‘I’m always hoping that Tod will be televised. It’s almost happened once or twice but we always seem to fall at the last hurdle.’

  ‘TV is like that,’ says Edwin, though he knows nothing about drama. The gin is making his eyes water slightly.

  DS Kaur seems to want to get back to business. She’s not exactly a cosy person, thinks Edwin. You can’t imagine her relaxing on a sofa watching an old film. She always seems poised for action somehow.

  ‘You were going to tell us about Peggy,’ she says.

  Dex takes a thoughtful drink of beer. ‘Well, I told you that Peggy was a great friend of my mother’s. Mum could be a difficult character. She didn’t take to a lot of people. I had a fairly strained relationship with her too, sometimes. She sent me away to boarding school when I was just eight.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Edwin. ‘They say it’s character building but that depends on what sort of character you want to build.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Dex, smiling at him so warmly that Edwin is sure that he is blushing.

  ‘I was angry for years,’ says Dex. ‘After university, I went to live in Australia. I barely kept in touch with my parents. But, when I came back, I got close to my mother. My father had died by then and I’d got married, softened up a bit. I started to understand Mum a bit better. She had a pretty traumatic childhood herself.’ He looks round as if to check that they’re not being overheard but the pub is empty apart from a solitary drinker at the bar.

  ‘Mum was only a teenager in the war. They were desperate years in Poland, of course. I knew that she’d been involved in the resistance in some way but I suppose I just thought she was running messages or something like that. Then, a few years ago, she told me that she’d been an assassin.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ says Benedict.

  ‘Cool,’ says Natalka.

  ‘She said that they called her the schoolgirl assassin. She knew a million ways to kill people. Apparently she and Peggy talked about it all the time. There was another old dear too, can’t remember her name. The stories they used to tell!’

  Edwin feels slightly hurt that Peggy hadn’t mentioned any of this to him. He never met Dex’s mother, Weronika. She had died just before he moved to Seaview Court. But Peggy could have told him more about her. The schoolgirl assassin. He can’t believe that never came up.

  ‘Mum was a strange character in some ways,’ says Dex. ‘She told me this with no emotion at all. She wasn’t proud, she wasn’t sorry. It was just a fact. But then, a few weeks before she died, she told me that she was scared.’

  He stares into his pint, apparently mesmerised. Eventually, DS Kaur prompts, ‘Scared?’

  ‘She thought that someone was spying on her. She complained about people stealing her stuff, said money had gone out of her bank account. The thing is, that wasn’t unusual for Mum. She often thought that people were spying on her and cheating her. I put it down to her childhood. But now I’m wondering.’

  ‘You’re wondering if it was true?’ says Edwin.

  ‘When Mum died,’ says Dex, ‘I never thought that it wasn’t of natural causes. I mean, she was ninety-five. But now, with Peggy dying and you finding that postcard in the book. And that story about the gunman.’

  ‘It wasn’t a story,’ says Natalka. ‘We could have died.’

  ‘Well, I started to wonder. It sounds crazy to say it but, was Mum murdered? Was Peggy murdered?’

  ‘I think so, yes,’ says Natalka.

  Dex looks at DS Kaur, obviously expecting her to dismiss this. But Harbinder just says, ‘Did your mum ever tell anyone about her concerns?’

  Concerns. It’s a very official-sounding word. That’s what Alison writes at the end of her weekly bulletins: Let me know if you have any concerns. But Weronika hadn’t been concerned. It sounds as if she had been terrified.

  ‘No,’ says Dex. ‘Mum didn’t trust authority.’

  ‘Peggy was the same,’ says Edwin. ‘She called the police “cossacks”. It caused quite a stir at our neighbourhood watch meeting.’ He stops, suddenly remembering DS Kaur’s presence.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve been called worse,’ she says. ‘Did Peggy ever say she was worried?’

  Edwin tries to remember. ‘She didn’t say worried, exactly. But, very recently, she did mention that she thought she saw two men in a car watching her.’

  Natalka makes a sudden movement that knocks over her drink. This is most unlike her. Usually she’s as neat as a cat. Edwin hopes that she isn’t a bit drunk.

  ‘Two men in a car?’ she says, as Benedict goes to get a cloth. ‘When did Peggy see them? What did they look like? How old were they? What car did they drive?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ says Edwin. ‘But if I know Peggy, she wrote it down. She wrote everything down in her Investigation Book.’

  ‘We looked through her papers,’ says DS Kaur. ‘We didn’t find anything like that. Though we did find a note from you to Peggy,’ she says to Dex, ‘asking for her help with some Russian spies.’

  Edwin thinks that Dex looks rather embarrassed. ‘That was probably a bit of a joke,’ he says. ‘Peggy had a great sense of humour.’

  Edwin remembers this too. Peggy had liked a joke. She read Private Eye and listened to The Now Show on the radio. She had quite a weakness for off-colour Carry On type humour too. Infamy, infamy. They’ve all got it in for me.

  He realises Benedict is talking to him. ‘Another drink, Edwin?’

  * * *

  IT’S A GOOD evening. Edwin goes mad and has another G and T but when he offers to buy a third round Dex says that he has to be going. He has a driver to take him back to Shoreham, something that impresses Benedict hugely. ‘But you have a driver too,’ says Natalka. ‘Me!’ On the drive home, Edwin thinks about snowy woods, of bombs concealed in satchels, of tower blocks and ruined churches, of ‘the schoolgirl assassin’, of Peggy’s face, bright-eyed under her pink beret. He thinks of Peggy and Weronika sitting by the windows at Preview Court talking about murder. In his imagination, the faces become shadowy and more sinister.

  He must have fallen asleep because he wakes up when the car comes to a stop.

  ‘You’re home, Edwin,’ says Natalka.

  But Preview Court will never really be home. Especially now, without Peggy.

  ‘Thank you for the lift,’ he says to Natalka. Edwin raises his hat but Natalka is already backing out of the drive. Benedict waves from the passenger seat.

  Edwin thinks that the sleep will have sobered him up but it takes him three goes to remember the passcode for th
e main entrance. He climbs the stairs slowly and has a similar problem fitting his key into his door lock. Once inside his flat, he makes himself drink a glass of water, even though he knows this will mean getting up for the loo in the night. He looks out of the window as he drinks. His flat doesn’t have a sea view, except what the estate agents would call ‘obliquely’. Instead, his kitchen looks out over the car park, lit now by sulphuric-looking security lights. As Edwin watches, a black cat walks slowly along the wall. Is that lucky or unlucky? It seems to be different in different countries. Edwin had once owned a beautiful Siamese called Barbra. He’d like to have a pet again but there’s nowhere here to let a cat out. Maybe he should have a little dog, a Westie or a poodle. It would be a reason to get out, to walk along the promenade. Peggy once counted thirty-five dog-walkers in an hour. As he said earlier, Peggy wrote everything down, lists of names and dates and times. Dear Peggy. He still can’t believe she’s gone.

  Edwin watches as the cat completes its circuit and then jumps nimbly into the night. No, dogs are too dependent. What did Nicky once say to him? ‘People are either cats or dogs. I’m a dog, eager and loving. You’re all cat, Edwin.’ But Nicky is dead now. Another one to add to the list.

  It takes Edwin a long time to wash, do his teeth and get into his pyjamas. When he finally lies down, the bed spins slightly, which is disconcerting but not actually unpleasant. He sleeps deeply and wakes to Radio 4 telling him that celebrated author Dex Challoner has died suddenly in the night.

  12

  Benedict

  Motive and Means

  BENEDICT DOESN’T HEAR the news until Edwin appears at the Coffee Shack at nine. Saturday mornings are always busy and Benedict suspects that he might also have a hangover. Can you get a hangover from two pints and a small glass of white wine? His rugby-playing elder brother would scoff at the idea but it’s been years since Benedict has drunk enough to put him over the limit for driving. Last night, there had been a pleasingly macho camaraderie about it.

  ‘What’s yours, Benedict?’ Dex had asked. ‘Pint?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Benedict had said and, when it was his turn to order, he couldn’t quite face demoting himself to a half. Now he has a slight headache and his cappuccinos aren’t quite as mindful as he would have liked.

  He sees at once that Edwin isn’t himself either. He hasn’t shaved, for one thing, and the white whiskers are quite a shock. He’s wearing a jumper rather than his usual shirt and tie and his jacket is buttoned up wrong.

  ‘What’s up?’ says Benedict, putting a lid on a takeaway latte (‘I like it extra hot,’ the customer had told him firmly).

  Edwin waits until the woman has taken her volcanic latte away. Then he leans forward. His eyes are red-rimmed. Benedict hopes he isn’t ill.

  ‘Dex Challoner is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard it on the news just now. “Found dead in his seafront home.” That’s what it said.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’ It’s a prayer, he tells himself, not an expletive.

  ‘Exactly,’ says Edwin, looking calmer now that he has passed on the shock to someone else.

  ‘They didn’t say how he died?’

  ‘No, but he was in perfect health at eleven o’clock last night.’

  ‘Have you rung Natalka? Or DS Kaur?’

  ‘No,’ says Edwin. ‘I came straight to you.’

  Benedict can’t help feeling flattered by this. He rings Natalka and, when she doesn’t answer, leaves a message. Then he makes Edwin a flat white with extra sugar. This seems to be happening rather a lot these days. How long ago was it that Edwin gave him sweetened coffee in an elegant cup?

  Edwin drinks the coffee sitting at the picnic table. Benedict puts a brownie in front of him and, when there’s finally a lull in the stream of customers, he rings DS Kaur.

  ‘I’m not here at the moment,’ says the now-familiar, no-nonsense voice. Benedict tries the other number on her card and a voice says, ‘DS Neil Winston.’ That must be the sidekick. The one Kaur had left waiting for the SOCO team at Peggy’s flat.

  ‘Is DS Kaur there?’

  ‘She’s not available at the moment. Who’s calling?’

  ‘Benedict Cole. Peggy Smith’s friend.’

  A pause and then Neil says, ‘I’ll make sure she calls you back.’

  ‘Is DS Kaur investigating Dex Challoner’s death?’ asks Benedict.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you that information,’ says Neil. ‘Someone will call you back.’

  As soon as the phone goes dead, Natalka calls. ‘Summit meeting in an hour,’ she says, ‘As soon as I’ve finished my morning calls. Looks like we have a serial killer on our hands.’

  She sounds almost excited by the prospect.

  * * *

  NATALKA TURNS UP at the Coffee Shack at ten, bringing with her a palpable sense of action and energy. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and leggings and looks as if she’s just come from an expensive gym session rather than helping old people get showered and dressed.

  ‘Now it’s happening,’ she says to Benedict. ‘We have to act before he kills again.’

  ‘How do we do that?’ says Benedict, making Natalka her regular cappuccino with an extra shot. He notes that Natalka has somehow hypnotised him into thinking that they are now a crime-fighting unit. He draws a careful heart on the foam.

  ‘We need to think,’ says Natalka, once again drinking the coffee without noticing the decoration. ‘Where’s Edwin?’

  ‘He went home to shave. I said we’d join him at the flats. I can shut the Shack for an hour.’

  They walk across the coast road, carrying their coffees and a bag of slightly broken brownies. Benedict leaves a message for Harbinder telling her where they’re going but he doubts that she’ll have time to contact them. He imagines her at the crime scene: the outline on the floor, the white-suited figures, the yellow and black tape, the shouts of ‘We’ve found a footprint/murder weapon/DNA.’ But so far real policing has been disappointingly unlike the TV version.

  Edwin opens his door looking more like his usual self. He has shaved and is wearing shirt, tie and cardigan with well-pressed trousers and slippers. They take the coffee and the brownies and sit at the round table by the window. There’s a pleasingly businesslike feel to it—​Edwin has even supplied paper and pens—​it’s hard to remember that a man has died.

  ‘Bye, Dex,’ Benedict had said last night, waving from the kerb as Dex got into his chauffeur-driven car. ‘Good luck with the book.’

  ‘Bye, Ben,’ Dex replied, abbreviating his name with easy intimacy. ‘See you around.’ But no one will be seeing Dex ever again.

  ‘Let’s look at this logically,’ says Natalka, drawing lines on a piece of paper. Her writing is slanting and bold. Foreign-looking, Benedict thinks.

  Monday September 10th Peggy dies

  Monday September 17th Funeral. Gunman threatens N and B

  Friday September 21st Event in Chichester.

  Saturday September 22nd Dex Challoner found dead.

  ‘He could have died of natural causes,’ says Benedict, more for form’s sake than anything. It’s rather thrilling to see the events written like this. Gunman threatens N and B. He’s already forgotten how terrified he was at the time.

  ‘Really?’ says Natalka. ‘A man steals a book at gunpoint and, a week later, the author is dead. Does that sound like coincidence to you?’

  ‘“No one knows the day or the hour,”’ quotes Benedict, aware that he’s risking Natalka’s annoyance, ‘“not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. ” ’

  ‘Matthew 24,’ says Edwin.

  ‘I know more about God than you,’ says Natalka, with one of her sweeping, unanswerable statements. ‘The question is, could Dex have been the gunman? He’s about the right build.’

  ‘And he wears shiny shoes,’ says Benedict. ‘I noticed yesterday.’

  ‘But why would he do that?’ says Edwin. ‘I don’t understand any of i
t.’ He takes a peevish bite of brownie.

  ‘The answer might be in the book,’ says Benedict. ‘I bought a copy of High Rise Murder yesterday. I’ll see if I can get hold of the Sheila Atkins book, Thank Heaven Fasting.’

  ‘Reading won’t help,’ says Natalka. ‘We need action. What about those other authors, the ones who dedicated books to Peggy? They could be in danger too.’

  ‘That assumes that Peggy is the centre of all this,’ says Edwin. ‘What about Dex’s mother? She was a murderer. The schoolgirl assassin. Maybe Dex and his mother were both killed for revenge.’

  ‘But then why kill Peggy too?’ says Natalka. ‘Why break into her flat and steal that book?’

  ‘Could it have been the son, Nigel?’ says Edwin. ‘He seemed very keen to get the books boxed up and out of the way. And he told me at the funeral that he’d been an army cadet. Maybe that means that he has a gun.’

  Benedict doesn’t think that the cadets let you keep your own gun. But he’s always avoided anything military, even the scouts. His brother Hugo was the opposite, he’d been in the CCF at school before studying Economics at university and going on to make shedloads of money in the city. Even his sister, Emily, had been more macho than him. She’d played county hockey and is now a PE teacher at a private school.

  ‘Are you still with us, Benny?’ says Natalka.

  ‘We need to think who would benefit from Dex’s death,’ says Benedict. ‘And Peggy’s too, for that matter. Motive and means.’

  Natalka and Edwin look gratifyingly impressed. Benedict doesn’t tell them that this methodology comes straight from Jessica Fletcher in Murder, She Wrote.

  ‘Who inherits Dex’s money?’ says Natalka. ‘I bet he was rich.’

  ‘Writing books doesn’t necessarily make you rich,’ says Benedict, thinking of Francis, who has written several tomes on the Holy Spirit.

  Natalka is looking at her phone. She uses both thumbs to scroll, like a teenager. ‘He’s married,’ she says. ‘Wife Mia. She’s an actress. She’s in that doctor show on TV.’