Resort to Murder

by TP Fielden

  ‘You really are quite worldly for one so young,’ remarked Miss Dimont, ‘knowing all about drugs.’

  ‘Well, yes and no – we used a variety of pills to keep on top of the game when we were out on army manoeuvres. Black mark if you fell asleep, you see. But there were some nasty side effects, people used to turn quite unpleasant. Take that into account and there you have Boots, chief suspect for both murders.’

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘Well, no, not really. That’s where I’m confused.’

  ‘Well,’ said Judy, ‘you could just go and ask him. That might set your mind at rest. He wasn’t in court for the girl’s inquest, was he?’

  ‘Curiously no. Dr Rudkin did that open-and-adjourn business so no witnesses had to be called.’

  ‘You’d think, though, if he was so very much in love with her, he’d be there anyway.’

  ‘Yes, but on the other hand he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Larsson inquest, if indeed he did kill him. It’s all very perplexing.’

  The Benbow was filling up with the lunchtime trade, though the landlord clearly believed in keeping the crew on hard-tack rations – the choice was cheese sandwich, or cheese sandwich with pickle. For an extra twopence you could have it toasted: a short menu, but at least the beer was drinkable.

  ‘Let’s sit outside,’ said Valentine, ‘unless you’d rather be somewhere else?’

  Miss Dimont smiled. ‘Another half of bitter?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  When she returned, Valentine was riffling through his notebook with a worried look on his face.

  ‘Can’t read my notes back,’ he said, running his hand desperately through his wavy blond hair. ‘There’s a page here which is complete gobbledegook.’

  ‘Have you started shorthand lessons yet?’

  ‘I got a book. It’s like Chinese. A language in signs.’

  ‘Better a language you can learn than gobbledegook you can’t read back.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he sighed. ‘Look, are you and Auriol coming to supper at Chateau Waterford? You promised you would. Or if she can’t come,’ he added hopefully, ‘just you?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. We were talking about Faye Addams, and I wanted to say that while your thinking is sound, it’s wide of the mark. You can’t discount the Sisters, and Mr Boots is a definite possibility – we need to do further work on them. But since you discovered Miss Addams was having an affair with Cyril Normandy we really need to focus on Normandy – getting involved with the contestants is a risky business, and if he was exposed it’d put paid to his reputation. So he may have had grounds for getting rid of her if she’d suddenly turned difficult.’

  ‘More likely than the Sisters.’

  ‘Really, Valentine, if Ursula Guedella isn’t locked up for murder soon it’ll be something just as bad. I’d say she’s seriously unbalanced, what with that man’s hairdo and her tweed suits and demanding to be called Commandant.’

  ‘Why,’ said Valentine, smiling in worldly fashion, ‘I believe there’s a word for all that.’

  ‘If you mean, is she a lesbian,’ huffed Miss Dimont, ‘I have no doubt that if she had any interest at all it may lie in that direction. Certainly some of those women hanging around her probably hope so. But that’s not it – it’s what’s beneath those outer layers of manliness. She has a power complex, she wants to lead, she wants to rule, and she wants people to see the world as she sees it – and doesn’t mind whatever needs to be done to achieve that. It’s not about being, or not being, lesbian.’

  ‘Put in my place.’

  ‘Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.’

  ‘What about that dinner?’

  ‘You really are persistent, aren’t you,’ laughed Miss Dimont. ‘I thought we’d talked it all out the other night at my house.’

  ‘Well, not quite,’ said Valentine, though he couldn’t be sure they were talking about the same thing. ‘I’ve been very fortunate to get this cottage for the time I’m here but at present it feels as if I’m in a bedsitter, just me and my radio-oh-ho …You can only make a place like that a home if you have guests.’

  ‘Good point. I’ll talk to Auriol.’

  ‘She says tomorrow night, I already checked.’

  ‘Oh well, yes, then,’ said Miss Dimont, cornered. She was not entirely pleased.

  ‘What you can do meanwhile,’ she added, ‘is once you’ve written up the inquests go back and see this Mr Boots. You know what you have to get out of him.’

  ‘Hardly likely to confess to me if he’s just done a double murder. Or even a single one, come to that.’

  ‘Look, Valentine,’ said Miss Dimont quite sternly, ‘I am encouraging your interest in these unusual goings-on because I can see you have an above-average intelligence and an aptitude for getting to the bottom of things. If you feel you can’t worm something out of this Mr Boots, then give up and go home. And cancel that supper.’

  ‘Boots,’ said Valentine gruffly. ‘He’s called Boots.’

  Miss Dimont picked up her raffia handbag and pushed her glasses up her convex nose. She looked down at the young man.

  And smiled. Beautifully.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dr Rudkin’s blasé verdict on the death of Ben Larsson may have papered nicely over a looming scandal, but Inspector Topham’s conscience could not allow matters to rest. Each morning in the CID room he and his faceless assistants waded their way once more through the leads and clues, debating where next to tread.

  ‘The latest on the stepson?’ he asked his henchmen.

  ‘Not much,’ said one. ‘I went down to the factory and he’s still pursuing this spin-off of the Rejuvenator machine.’

  ‘The Youthenator.’ The way Topham spat it out he’d already got the confession out of Gus Wetherby.

  ‘Apparently he thinks Ben’s death puts him in the clear regarding the Rejuvenator. With that open verdict from Rudkin, I shouldn’t be surprised if he puts it about that Larsson killed himself because of all the adverse publicity. Or out of remorse for the deaths he caused.’

  ‘He’s got a nerve,’ said Topham.

  ‘He certainly has. He’s taken charge of the house and, according to the staff, is spending all his time liquidating his stepfather’s worldwide assets.’

  ‘He isn’t the beneficiary of the will. That’s the first place we looked for a motive.’

  ‘No,’ agreed the faceless one. ‘Mrs Larsson cops the lot apart from a few bequests, but he’s acting like it’s all his.’

  Topham groaned. ‘She’s putty in his hands. They back each other up, you can’t get a cigarette paper between their stories. I can’t see she had a hand in killing Larsson because of the way she reacted when it happened, and her behaviour since. She’s profoundly affected by it, though I’ll admit she’s a tough one.

  ‘But she’d do anything for that son of hers. And if she believed he’d done it, she’d cover up for him – no matter how much she loved Larsson.’

  The faceless ones shuffled their papers and looked out of the window, waiting for further instructions. They did not share their senior officer’s inner turmoil.

  ‘I’ll go up to talk to her again,’ decided the Inspector resignedly. ‘You two carry on.’

  His arrival at Ransome’s Retreat was unannounced and unwelcome. ‘Please, Inspector,’ said Pernilla Larsson sharply, ‘do me the courtesy! A telephone call first, if you please!’

  Topham eyed her evenly. ‘Many apologies,’ he said, but they were just words – he didn’t mean them and she knew it. ‘Just a few more questions.’

  ‘I should have thought there had been quite enough already.’ She was looking particularly dazzling in the morning sunshine, a loose cotton cardigan around her shoulders and a large turquoise stone glittering on her cream silk shirt. Her hair, as always, looked as if she’d just stepped from a Mayfair salon.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ said Topham and, without invitation, sat down on a sofa. It was
an act calculated to be rude.

  ‘Look,’ said Pernilla in exasperation, ‘the inquest decision … it effectively means that Ben wasn’t murdered – that’s the official verdict. It’s all over – why carry on with your questions? It’s very distressing!’

  ‘Because an open verdict means nobody could make up their mind at the time. But if new evidence comes forward, that verdict can be set aside.’

  ‘So you’re still pursuing the idea that Ben’s death was murder?’ She seemed genuinely shocked.

  ‘Of course it was!’ snapped Topham. ‘Mrs Larsson, you’re a clever woman, and a woman of the world – I offer you that as a courtesy. But in return I expect to be viewed similarly. Don’t treat me like the village bobby!’

  ‘Have a drink, Inspector, and calm down.’

  ‘No thanks.’ He drew out his notebook, a gesture which seemed almost threatening. ‘Your son is liquidating the late Mr Larsson’s assets.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

  ‘I imagine you do, madam. Official papers usually require the signature of the parties involved, or don’t they do things that way in Sweden?’

  ‘Don’t sneer at me, Inspector. If I say I don’t know what Gus is getting up to it’s because he rarely tells me. I’ve given him carte blanche to do what he feels is right – I’m no businesswoman, you know – it’s better he handles it.’

  ‘I’m keen to know if this liquidation means you, and he, are planning to leave the country.’

  Pernilla Larsson lit a cigarette, her hands shaking slightly. ‘We have properties abroad,’ she said, exhaling slowly, ‘in France, Argentina. Are you saying we can’t leave England to visit them?’

  ‘My question,’ said Topham, ‘is whether you’re planning to leave for good. That’s rather different.’

  ‘Why should we? Gus plans to launch his Youthenator after a decent interval has elapsed. That’s enough to keep him here.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Topham. ‘The prototype is complete, tested, and ready to go into production, according to my officers who visited your factory. Once he’s pressed the start button on the production line, no need to hang around here.’

  Pernilla eyed the policeman with disdain. ‘We don’t “hang around” here, Inspector – this place is my home. Look about you – why would I want to leave?’

  ‘My question is more about your son, Mrs Larsson. What does he want to do, and if he goes, will you follow him?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘I will, I will. But first I must go over again some of the questions I put to you after your husband’s death.’

  ‘I hope it won’t take long. I have rather a lot on today and I’m going to see a friend in Salcombe later.’

  As Topham probed, it seemed that Mrs Larsson was retreating ever further into an invisible shell.

  ‘You are the beneficiary of your husband’s very considerable estate. He is worth several millions, I understand.’

  ‘I believe so, I never asked him.’

  ‘In the rules of policing, when there’s a murder the first question always is – who stands to gain? In this case, Mrs Larsson, it’s you. So you had the motive. On the day in question you were in the garden when your husband met his death. Yet although we checked with the gardener who confirmed you and he spent some time together discussing next year’s planting, you were not with him for the whole of the time you claimed. It would have been easy to come back to the house. That gives you the opportunity.’

  ‘Nonsense. That man Rhys came looking for me – he’d discovered Ben’s body and he was desperately trying to find me. He told you so himself.’

  ‘He also told me, Mrs Larsson, that when he found you, you were walking away from the house, not towards it, which you would have been had you just come up from the garden. Remember, Mr Rhys was not with your husband at the time of his death, they’d had that row and he’d walked off.’

  Pernilla was looking out on to the terrace and down the shaved lawns to where a robin was hopping languidly about. She was pushing away the conversation with all her might, but Topham was having none of it.

  ‘Mrs Larsson, you had the motive and the opportunity. As to the means – nobody knew the Rejuvenator better than you. It was your husband’s passion, his life. He must have showed you a thousand times what it was capable of doing, and how its intricate mechanisms worked. You would have known about the panel at the back and the rheostat which …’

  ‘My dear Inspector, you pay me a compliment in saying that I am clever. Maybe I am, but I can tell you now my knowledge does not extend as far as you think. I have no earthly idea what a rheostat is.’

  Topham stood up suddenly. ‘Nonsense!’ he thundered. ‘Call it what you like, but you know perfectly well what it is – a little dial hidden behind a panel which you have to unscrew. When you turn up the dial, the voltage mounts. Turn it up to its fullest extent and you have a fatal charge of electricity – the fatal charge which killed your husband!’

  Pernilla eyed him coldly. ‘Do tell me, if you know so much, how I put those tubes into his hands without giving myself a fatal shock.’

  ‘You didn’t. He was about to receive the Lazarus League, and one of the things he always did when they came was to sit with the Rejuvenator and give them a little demonstration of its powers. They had the habit, I gather, of taking photographs of the great man using his invention. So, he switched it on and …’

  ‘How do you know? There were no witnesses to his death.’

  ‘There is no other possibility, Mrs Larsson. Unless, that is, he chose to commit suicide – are you saying he killed himself?’

  ‘Certainly not! Why would he?’

  ‘Those deaths the Rejuvenator undoubtedly caused. The fact that he had not only been exposed in the Daily Herald but that the newspaper was about to return to the attack. The thought of having to face all those admirers of his, the Lazarus lot, knowing that their belief in him was about to be shattered – that the Rejuvenator had not saved lives, but ended them. That, I should have thought, would be enough for any sane man to want to put an end to it all.’

  Pernilla Larsson got up and walked over to the drinks tray. She uncorked a bottle and poured something, but did not offer a glass to the inspector.

  ‘You have it so entirely wrong,’ she said and, though her back was to him, Topham could see she was crying.

  ‘I loved my husband, I loved him dearly. He was kind and generous. When my marriage to Gus’s father failed, I was on the floor, finished. I had no money, no house, no position, and a son who was about to lose his education because his father rejected him and refused to pay.

  ‘All I had,’ she said, turning towards the Inspector, ‘were my looks, and the fact that I was Swedish, like Ben. He was soft and he was kind and he took us both in. He said I was the only woman he had ever truly loved and I believed him – his previous marriages were all based on aspiration, Inspector, not love. He gave Gus his education at Harrow, and he gave us his home. He was a great man, no matter what you say.’

  ‘But misguided, I think we must agree.’

  ‘Maybe, I couldn’t possibly comment on that. What I will say, Inspector, is that you may be a fine policeman but you do not know women. If you’ve found me less than helpful with your inquiries it’s because of your line of attack – when you walked through the door I knew you believed I killed Ben. That is the most terrible thing a man could suggest to a woman who has lost her life’s partner.

  ‘Why should I show you my hurt, though? Why give you the pleasure of seeing how you doubled the agony of losing my husband?’ She clutched the cardigan around her shoulders as if it could provide much-needed warmth.

  ‘Unexplained death – murder – is a terrible business,’ agreed Topham. ‘But don’t you see, it’s my job to find out who killed your husband, that’s why I have to ask these questions.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, he’s dead,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t care who killed him.’

&nb
sp; Despite the tears, and they seemed genuine, Topham was not ready to let go. ‘Let’s talk about your son, then.’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘What were his relations with his stepfather?’

  ‘Extremely cordial.’

  ‘Loving?’

  ‘When you have two men in the house, when they are not related by blood …’

  ‘So Mr Larsson and Mr Wetherby had, you might say, a polite relationship.’

  ‘Better than that.’

  ‘Even though Mr Wetherby was plotting behind Mr Larsson’s back to steal his idea and make it his own.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Larsson, yes! We have the testimony of your manservant Lamb, who told us how – on Mr Wetherby’s instructions – he would slip a sedative into his coffee after lunch so that Mr Larsson would sleep long into the afternoon and he could work on his new Rejuvenator without fear of discovery.’

  ‘My husband was an old man. Old men do sleep in the afternoon.’

  ‘Come now, Mrs Larsson, Lamb told us what he did!’

  ‘The man’s an alcoholic. And, what’s more, he betrayed my husband. It was he who gave the information to the Daily Herald which prompted this terrible crisis. How can you trust a man like that?’

  ‘Who told him to telephone the newspapers? Was it you?’

  Pernilla angrily got up to pour herself another glass of sherry. ‘Don’t you listen to a word I say?’ she snorted. ‘I loved my husband, I would never betray him.’

  ‘That leaves only your son then. Lamb was clear that he was under instructions to pass that information on to Fleet Street.’

  ‘I have no idea about any of that.’

  Topham was taking notes steadily, one eye on his notebook and the other on his quarry. ‘Let me be perfectly frank,’ he said, ‘from what you have told me, and what I already know, a clear picture emerges.

  ‘To start with, yes, I thought you had a hand in this. You were almost the sole beneficiary of his vast fortune and had the most to gain by his death, so of course you were top of my list.’