Death at the Alma Mater sm-3

by G. M. Malliet

  "But I distinctly saw Lexy move," interjected Hermione. "She was trembling-maybe shivering or crying. Upset."

  "Yes, I remember you told me and I later wondered how that could be true, but it was in the end so easy to explain. What simpler than for Sir James to give his "dummy" a little nudge or two with his foot? It wouldn't take much to create the illusion of movement-trembling, as you described it."

  Hermione seemed to think back over what she had seen, and slowly nodded. Reluctantly, she stole a look at Sir James. Incredible. And him a blueblood. Aloud she said, "I did tell you. Sir James' family have been allowed to breed too closely, and for generations."

  St. Just acknowledged what she had said with a nod. The scheme was madness itself, the scheme of a desperate madman. But it could so nearly have worked.

  "Our alumni witnesses heard no conversation," he went on, turning again to Sir James, "because of the glassed-in arches of the gallery, but they saw your lips move. You then told them you'd been talking with Lexy. They believed they saw Lexy in conversation because that is what it looked like, and that is what they'd been told by the estimable Sir James. That you were talking to a plastic doll-a man of your stature and dignity-would never in a million years have occurred to any of them.

  "The college chef, in an unexpected bonus for you, actually overheard you talking. She also saw you walk away and leave 'Lexy.' Did you smell the chef's cigarette smoke-is that what told you you were being watched? In any event, you left 'Lexy' and came back to clear away the traces once the chef had gone back inside.

  "As to the real Lexy-she was already dead. You'd killed her right after dinner. You'd arranged to meet her by the boathouse on some pretext or other-I imagine the boathouse held some romantic attachment from your old rowing days-and then you killed her and left her body there to be found by Sebastian. Then you raced back to the Fellows' Garden, where you planted her lipstick to bolster the impression she had sat there. You'd earlier, before dinner, hidden the dummy under the stone bench-if by remote chance it had been found, you could indeed have claimed an undergraduate prank. You'd dressed it in a wig and gown. The gown was simple: You borrowed it, one of dozens, from a peg in the entrance hall. As I say, you killed Lexy, then ran back to position yourself to await the trickle of people leaving the Hall. You had to make sure you were seen 'talking' with Lexy. Next, you waited until the last straggler had passed through the gallery walkway, and the chef had left. You let the air out of the dummy, stuffed it and the wig inside your shirt-your voluminous gown aided in all this concealment-and raced to join the others, putting the borrowed gown back on its peg as you ran."

  "How long do I have to stand here and listen to these ridiculous police fantasies?"

  "Not much longer, Sir James, do you have to stand there and listen to the truth. Just a little while longer, now. Next, you stood about sipping your port and your coffee-waiting. You wanted the body found quickly, not the next morning, and so you timed things for young Sebastian to find it. Your alibi, if you will pardon the pun, had to be 'water tight.' You knew Seb's routine and were relying on him not to deviate too far from it, to return on the dot.

  "When Seb obligingly raised the alarm, you-leaping into your role of concerned step-parent-ran out to the river. As a still-fit member of the Hare and Hounds Club-the University running club-the distances you had to cover that night, back and forth, would present no problem whatsoever. At the river, you deep-sixed the doll and wig using a bag and tape you'd secreted near the boathouse earlier. You did this just in case having the police on the premises made it impossible for you to hide this evidence inside the college, or in the remote case the police immediately ordered a search of anyone's person. There would be no explaining that dummy and wig, would there? From this point we can pick up the story again from eyewitness accounts. You were racing back to the SCR for 'help' when you encountered the others on their way. They hadn't stayed to wait for you as commanded, but no matter. You ordered someone to get help; Augie Cramb punched in 999 on the mobile.

  "All done. I wondered why the body of Lexy hadn't been tossed into the river-it seemed the best way for a killer to try to destroy whatever evidence there might be. But of course, the last place you wanted to direct our attention was the river, wasn't it, Sir?"

  But Sir James, who suddenly looked as deflated as "Lexy," seemed to have chosen an enraged silence as the best course. St. Just let him tread water, hopefully to drown, while he himself pondered his next move.

  "She'd recognized you for the freeloader you were," St. Just said. "When you asked her to revert back the rights to your book-you did ask, didn't you, Sir?-she finally had the gumption to say no, those rights were hers. So-and I'm guessing, here-you let the conversation drop, pretended it was a thing of no matter, perhaps casually asked her if she were going to be attending this weekend get-together. One way or the other, you lured her here. And she couldn't resist maybe a final little revenge-the chance to appear with her handsome, famous boyfriend on her arm. To prove how much she didn't care. You probably knew she couldn't resist-you knew her ramshackle personality so well. You lured her, as I say-to her death. This was carefully researched, planned, and premeditated, this crime. And so I shall tell the court."

  St. Just sighed then, a vexed exhalation.

  "Everyone thought of Lexy as a victim," he said, "but when you examine what we were told about her, there was a side to her character that doesn't go with true victimhood. We were told she was relentless, even ruthless, in her pursuit of James when they first met-although that ruthlessness may have backfired, as it so often does, given the brevity of the marriage that followed, and James' early revolt. We were also told by more than one of you that Lexy brought Mr. Valentiano along this weekend only for show-to show James she no longer cared."

  "For show?" asked Geraldo, offended. Clearly, using people, women in particular, was his prerogative. He was not used to the shoe being on the other foot.

  St. Just nodded. "For show. That speaks of a willingness to use people in rather a cold-blooded manner, does it not? Where is the victimhood in that? I think people tended to misread Lexy, on several levels. As I say, we were told by many that she brought Mr. Valentiano along to show Sir James she no longer cared. Now, just allow the possibility that she truly did no longer care."

  "I don't follow," said Hermione.

  "It's a subtle but important difference," said St. Just. "If she really had lost all interest in James, if she'd given up the struggle to captivate him, it means we've been reading the situation wrong from the beginning. For all we know, she may have grown to actively dislike or even hate him."

  James' eyes sought out his wife's, beseechingly. She, this time, averted her gaze. Her face held a crushed, closed-in expression, as if it were all quite more than she could bear. Maybe, like Lexy, she wasn't so much in love with him any more. Maybe she knew St. Just was right.

  Besides, having a murderer in the family was going to be frightfully difficult to explain away, even despite the already low standards of the Bassett family. Hermione was right-they were all barking.

  "Really," said Sir James. Making an effort, he seemed to be recovering some of his aplomb, thought St. Just, perhaps thinking he was in trouble, but not trouble so deep a good barrister with a shovel couldn't fix things. "It would make an entertaining case. If only you had witnesses. But we just saw your witness being carried out, didn't we?"

  Another little slip. Good. "First, what makes you think Saffron was a witness? But let's talk about her now, shall we? Let me tell all of you what I think happened. Then you tell me if you agree. How's that?"

  Hermione, who had not taken her eyes off St. Just, nodded as if mesmerized.

  "Saffron, it so happens, kept a diary, and on the night of the murder, having an almost unobstructed view from her room, she saw three people near the boathouse. Sir James, Geraldo, and Augie Cramb. She did a little 'private investigating,' and talked to all three of you. But only one of you was terrified enough at havi
ng been seen as to react as you did, Sir James. I think you misread her motives: You thought she was trying on a spot of blackmail.

  "You went to see Saffron," continued St. Just, "and you brought chocolates with you. Chocolates that had been poisoned with an overdose of Lexy's tablets-the tablets you stole from her and later diluted for injection. I think you knew Lexy's reliance on drugs-it was probably getting to be an open secret-and you wanted to keep her unbalanced this weekend, even send her into a downward spiral if you could. Take advantage of her vulnerability. We found traces of the needle marks in the remaining chocolates where you injected them, undoubtedly using one of the needles India required for her insulin.

  "Now, the Master and Bursar and so on would not expect Saffron to open the door when she'd sported her oak-they would respect the tradition and not dream of knocking. The other visitors of this weekend were strangers to her. Only the police, or Seb, or the stepfather or mother of her beloved Seb, would she be willing to speak with. But it wasn't Lady Bassett or Seb who had been seen talking with the fake Lexy. It was you. India had a real alibi for the whole time. So, as it happens, did Seb."

  "Oh, come on, Inspector. You'll have to do better than this," Sir James said, his eyes now cold with dislike.

  "All right, I will," said St. Just, smiling. "Would you get Saffron Sellers on your mobile, Sergeant?" he asked, his voice suddenly loud, filling the room.

  The group exchanged glances, mystified. Had they heard him correctly? Sir James made a strange whickering sound, like a horse smelling smoke in its stables.

  "But she's dead," said Hermione Jax, in a shocked voice. "We saw them… taking her… away." Already outraged at the indecency of a criminal investigation taking place within the hallowed grounds of St. Mike's, perhaps she believed St. Just quite capable of holding a seance in the SCR.

  "You saw something that looked like a woman's body being stretchered out," said St. Just. "My Sergeant, happily, was able to find us an alibi doll of our own, in one of the more risque Cambridge shops this afternoon. Saffron, I am happy to tell you, is fine and is expected to make a full recovery. So fine, she was able to tell the police about the chocolates given her by Sir James, about what she saw… about everything she knew, in fact. The real Saffron, who was found by the bedder in good time to save her-and who was in any case on a slimming regime, so she tells us, and so ate only a few of the chocolates-was taken to hospital from a side entrance to the college earlier today while I kept the members of the media entertained in the main entrance hall."

  Sir James looked wildly round, as if the answer to his dilemma might be found hiding behind the sofa cushions or in the overhead chandelier. Finally, his eyes came to rest on St. Just's face.

  Sergeant Fear permitted himself a triumphant twang! of the elastic against his notebook. Got him!

  It was difficult to say later exactly what happened next, but the slight sound seemed to galvanize Sir James. The mask of benign but exasperated tolerance vanished, and in its place his face held an expression of the purest malice, like one of the gargoyles overlooking the Fellows' Garden. He made a move towards the exit.

  Sergeant Fear stood and in one smooth unbroken movement threw aside his notebook and dove for the other man's ankles. There followed a loudly chaotic scuffle involving what looked to be several sets of arms and legs, one set clad in the finest Savile Row had on offer, the other in dark blue from Marks and Sparks. A blue-clad arm swung wildly and a fist connected sharply, followed by an anguished shout, just as the kerfuffle of limbs was increased by four. This was St. Just adding his elongated bulk to the skirmish. A moment later found Sir James contained in a chokehold, still struggling but, against the two policemen, starting to give up the fight.

  EPILOGUE

  "All this over a book?" asked Portia.

  "I think that's the part that pushed him over the edge," replied St. Just. "I've had recent experience of writers and their egos, as have you. His book, all his hard work-the fruit of his genius, as I'm sure he thought of it-was finally being acknowledged, and this cursed woman he'd dumped years before refused to relinquish the rights. If it had been-I don't know, a piece of furniture or something, silverware or a painting, it might have been different. But his book-a book which is suddenly in huge demand, with movie rights being fought over by the studios. It was his birthday present to her once, he's finally admitted, and he thought the book was essentially worthless-worth a few thousand, at best. He'd actually, he says, forgotten all about it."

  "Until it-and its author-became famous."

  "Exactly."

  "Thank God, Saffron is all right. Couldn't you have told me, though?"

  "I'm sorry, darling." He reached across the table to pour her a conciliatory glass of wine. They were in her rooms in college, eating another of the gourmet meals she'd managed to prepare in incremental stages, taking advantage of outbursts of quiet in the chaotic student kitchen and combining them with the use of her own tiny kitchen. She had called into service three hot plates, borrowed various implements from the college chef, and raced several times up and down the hall to the communal microwave. At one point she had returned to her rooms wailing, "That blasted cat nearly got away with my scallops!" before vanishing once again into her kitchen.

  Now she surveyed with satisfaction the result of her labors. They would start with the rescued roasted scallops served with a vermouth sauce, moving on to slow-roasted lamb flavored with rosemary, fried zucchini, and scallion potato puree. To finish, a Tarte Tatin. She thought of it as her Inspector Nankervis Special.

  "Sorry," he repeated. "The murderer had to feel absolutely safe; cocky gets them every time."

  Portia gave him a mocking smile. "Don't I know it?"

  "It stood to reason that whoever stole Lexy's tablets also tried to silence Saffron with an overdose of those same tablets. The idea being to stress Lexy out and leave her strung out, without her usual defenses. Maybe hoping to wear her down to where she'd sign back the rights to his book, so he could avoid having to commit the murder he'd already planned-just in case."

  "She did seem to be unraveling a bit as the weekend wore on."

  St. Just nodded. "He may also have intended the tablets as a backup-in case he couldn't get her alone, he'd try an overdose made to look like accident or suicide. But in any event the tactic of stressing her out didn't work; it may even have backfired, making her more stubborn and difficult to deal with."

  "Saffron told you what she'd seen," said Portia. "What exactly was it she'd seen?"

  "She saw three people walk to the boathouse that night. She knew one of them was the killer. She just didn't know which one."

  "What was she after? Was it a spot of blackmail?"

  "No, I really don't think that's in Saffron's makeup. The realization she held the key to a real-life crime was what sent all common sense flying out the window. She wanted to investigate on her own and come to the police with a fait accompli. Does this sound like anyone you know?"

  "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," said Portia.

  "Really. Anyway, both Augie and Geraldo now admit she approached them. They didn't want to say anything because they'd not told the police they'd been near the boathouse, and Saffron's evidence would, they knew, make them look guilty. They just couldn't decide whether to own up to what was actually just a little walkabout for fresh air, or to stay quiet. Maybe they'd both have paid for her silence if asked; we'll never know. We've found Seb, by the way. Rather, he turned himself in when he saw the reports and the camera footage on the telly-he thought he'd had a hand in driving Saffron to suicide. He had no idea it was a murder attempt by Sir James, trying to silence her. If the bedder hadn't come by when she did, if Saffron had taken even a slightly larger dose, he'd have succeeded. That is what's frightening to contemplate."

  "It was awfully handy, having all those television crews out there, just as her 'body' was being carried out."

  "Hmm." He took a sip of his wine. "Reporters got wind of the
story somehow. Gosh, I wonder who tipped them off? Surely not Gwenn Pengelly? Anyway, the news footage drove Sebastian to make a clean breast of things-he'd already admitted he was running a private distillery, and making a tidy sum from supplying undergraduate parties. He also broke into Lexy's room, by the way: He hadn't realized the weekend visitors would be given those rooms, and some of his equipment was stashed in there. He had to retrieve it. He was so shaken he probably thought he'd had something to do with Lexy's death as well, but we soon convinced him otherwise.

  "It's a shame, really. Seb was not so much a bad kid as a foolish one. His mother's gone into overdrive to get the authorities to overlook the whole episode-it may be the first real attention she's shown him in years. We shall see…"

  "I've been thinking of what you said," said Portia. "We all got it so wrong, didn't we? We saw exactly what we saw, but our interpretation was off. For example, I told you Lexy's eyes kept following Sir James. Absolutely true. But quite possibly she was trying to recall what she had ever seen in him in the first place."

  St. Just nodded, smiling. "I really choose to believe Lexy, for all her silliness and wiles, would have changed, given time. Finally prying herself away from Sir James was a sign she was headed in the right direction. If only someone had realized her unhappiness, not to mention her addiction, and gotten her some real help. Geraldo was useless for that role, but if she'd lived, who knows? She might have met someone who didn't view her only as an attractive, rich, advantageous match, however temporary."