Death Plays a Part (Cornish Castle Mystery, Book 1)

by Vivian Conroy

  Oliver didn’t respond. He stood staring at the splattering of the water from Jago’s tap.

  The old man said, ‘Haydock was the centre of our plan. With him gone, we’ve lost the driving force behind it. And the island will have to stay as it always was. Now ask yourself who wanted that? In that direction the killer might be found. Your father didn’t know a thing about our plans. It couldn’t have been him.’

  Jago gathered up the cloth with his carrots. ‘I’ll see to dinner. Goodnight.’

  And he went inside with his carrots and closed the door on them.

  Oliver said, ‘I don’t understand. He says the murderer must have wanted Haydock’s big plans for Cornisea and his new life there to go awry. But at whom does that point, if not at my father?’

  Guinevere took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. Cador maybe? He was in the castle when we did the re-enactment.’

  She thought hard, tapping her foot on the ground. ‘Maybe Jago’s loyalties are divided. Maybe he wants to help your father, but also protect the killer.’

  ‘Protect the killer?’ Oliver looked her over as if she had gone crazy.

  Guinevere nodded. ‘Jago worked with Haydock to save Cornisea but he didn’t know the full story. Haydock was just manipulating people to get what he wanted. Even though Jago didn’t know all that, he did dislike Haydock. His death never made Jago sad. So if he knows who killed him, then maybe … he can even understand the killer’s reasons. Because he or she was really hurt by Haydock’s actions. He did say something about people sacrificing so much for Haydock. I wonder what he meant by that exactly.’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘Maybe the long-suffering wife? Kensa seems to have been after Haydock even before she married her husband. Who says they didn’t see each other on and off even when her husband was still alive? Jago might have known about the affair going on for decades.’

  ‘But Haydock’s wife didn’t know about the affair, and she wasn’t at the castle either. She was at a charity event, fifty miles way. She can’t be the killer.’ Guinevere added to herself, but Leah was there.

  Had Leah known about her father’s affair? Even about the possibility he would choose Kensa over his wife? Had she sensed that things were going to change and there would be an enormous local scandal when people started talking about it?

  But they didn’t know for sure that Haydock had wanted to divorce his wife and marry Kensa. It seemed so from his remark to Tegen that the blackmail ended because it was all over soon. The secrecy …

  They walked away from the cottage, and Guinevere’s phone rang. It was LeFevre. ‘I have news of Jago’s boathook. One of my men found it when he searched the grounds right after the murder. He took it along but forgot all about it as we had more important things to focus on. As he heard me asking about it, he told me it’s here. So Jago can come get it back.’

  Guinevere asked, ‘Did you look closely at it, by any chance? I’m curious why anyone would have wanted to take it from Jago’s boat, on the evening of the murder.’

  LeFevre said, ‘I was kind of curious myself so I did have a closer look. It looks perfectly normal. There was a bit of wood chafed off like it had made contact with something solid that it had been scraped along. There was a greenish smudge on the metal hook as well as if it had been caught in some plant material. Maybe seaweed or something? Anyway, Jago can get his property back. Anything you can tell me?’

  They had heard plenty, but it didn’t exactly help, so Guinevere said vaguely, ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Twenty-four hours, Guinevere. Not an hour longer. Tomorrow at ten I’m at the castle to make my arrest. I can’t afford to put it off any longer.’

  ‘I know.’ And she disconnected in a rush.

  She looked at Oliver to tell him what she had just learned, but he seemed to be completely caught up in his own thoughts. She supposed that Jago’s accusations that Oliver hadn’t been there for his father and for Cornisea really hurt.

  So she just walked by his side in silence.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Guinevere looked down at the cardboard figures she had cut out of some cards taken from Bolingbrooke’s study. They were all the same: white with lines, but they had names written on them in capitals. Lord B. Oliver. Kensa. Tegen. Haydock. Leah. Cador. Jago.

  Even Guinevere.

  All the actors in her little murder mystery lined up.

  Then there was a plan she had drawn of the castle, giving all the rooms per floor. That was the stage. Now to determine how the actors had moved from here to there and how time came into play.

  Guinevere tilted her head as she tried to recollect everything that had happened. She had come with Oliver upon Leah, in the hallway, just having entered. She had rushed up to the castle, apparently, as she had been panting.

  Haydock and Lord B had been together already, arguing in the dining room.

  Oliver, Guinevere, and Leah had gone in to separate them.

  She placed all their figures there.

  Then Kensa and Tegen had come in. Kensa had the basket with the robe for Haydock with her, and the new directions for the players.

  There had been a brief mention of the ring. But Haydock hadn’t been wearing it yet. He had been wearing his wedding ring. Oliver had said he had taken it off later to put the Branok ring on, as he had been found dead with the Branok ring on his hand and not his wedding ring.

  Guinevere moved her own figure. She had left with Oliver to light the lanterns in the dungeon. They had been away for at least ten minutes, maybe even fifteen. During that time people could have been anywhere, but Haydock had still been alive.

  Leah had gone with her father to bring him his robe in the dungeon. According to her testimony, Leah had watched Haydock dress up and settle himself in the cage. She had tried to take pictures of him with her phone but there had been too little light in the dungeon, so Haydock had asked her to go outside and try to snap him through the air hole. Leah had tried, but the pictures hadn’t been great either.

  Guinevere imagined Leah leaning down at the air hole, sitting there on her haunches, trying to get a snap that would satisfy her demanding father. Had they argued about it? Had Haydock made Leah feel like she could do nothing right?

  Even so, how would Leah have been able to stab him through the air hole?

  Guinevere shook her head thoughtfully and placed Leah’s figure in the room where the re-enactment had been about to begin.

  Lord B had appeared in the dungeon and put the key in the lock and turned it. He had asked if Haydock was all right and Haydock had answered with an affirmative. He had then been seated at the table with his back turned on Lord B.

  Lord B had gone up again. They had started the re-enactment.

  Guinevere stared down at her players and the stage. She focused on the level that was the dungeon. There was Haydock on his chair. His back turned to the door. So the chair’s back had also been turned to the door. Then someone had come. Haydock had stood up and turned to the new arrival.

  No, that didn’t work because then the chair would have been between Haydock and the killer.

  Besides, Haydock had fallen with his back to the door. So the killer had been in front of him and the chair. That fit because the chair had also fallen that way.

  Guinevere got up and looked around the room for something to use as impromptu chair. She took a matchbox from the windowsill and opened it, putting it back together like a chair’s bottom and back. She had no legs for it but that didn’t matter. She put the makeshift chair in place and Haydock’s cardboard figure on it.

  Then she imagined the scene again.

  Him getting up …

  Had he even stood up?

  Maybe not if he had known the assailant well.

  But with the limited space in the cage could the assailant have rounded the chair with Haydock on it?

  She put her finger against the chair with the figure on it and tried to push it backwards. Of course it didn’t flip. It had no legs and no
backward momentum. How had Haydock fallen off the chair?

  How had he fallen with chair and all?

  The floor of the dungeon had been uneven. When Dolly had worked her way into the cage, she had touched the chair and it had wobbled. LeFevre had also remarked upon the unevenness of the stone.

  Had the chair been prone to topple? Had it been easy to tip?

  Had the murderer even given it a shove? Plunging the knife into Haydock and then …

  Guinevere tried to imagine it. It was kind of hard to see it. And had the murderer then stepped across Haydock’s sprawled body to get back to the door?

  How had he locked it behind him without a key?

  Guinevere turned the dining room floor plan over and scribbled on the back. Chair, Haydock, killer, stab (a dotted line), then fall …

  Actually, in this scenario you would have thought the air hole was the door. The killer then only need turn and go away. But the air hole wasn’t big enough for a person to pass through.

  Dolly whined.

  Guinevere looked up.

  The dachshund held a long ribbon hanging from the wall and pulled it.

  ‘No, don’t do that, girl.’ Guinevere jumped to her feet and ran to save the ribbon from the doggy. She looked up to where it was attached to the high ceiling. She had no idea what its function was, but it had better not come off.

  ‘Behave, huh,’ she groused to Dolly as she looked around for something to use to push the ribbon back into the hole it had come from. Ah, she had her knitting needles in her suitcase.

  Guinevere took one out, climbed on a chair and tried to poke the ribbon back in by using the knitting needle. It was rather difficult, and she held her breath so long she got dizzy.

  Then it was done – at least, it looked better – and Guinevere scampered down. She exhaled and gave Dolly a warning look. ‘No more pulling on things. You completely distracted me from the murder scenario. Now where was I?’

  She lifted the knitting needle to put it back in her luggage when she saw it was covered in cobwebs. She pulled out a tissue to clean it.

  Then she froze.

  The boathook.

  Greenish stains on the metal hook. Plant material.

  Plant material in the cage. On the ground. Fresh. Damaged.

  If it had come off that boathook, the boathook had been extended into the cage.

  Through the air hole.

  She suddenly saw the scene. The chair at the table. Haydock on it. The boathook coming through the air hole. The metal hook being looped around the leg of the chair. Pulling.

  LeFevre had said that the wood was chafed like it had been rubbed against something solid, right? Like stone?

  Yes.

  The chair on the uneven surface losing balance as the leg was pulled away. Falling over. The man sprawling on the floor.

  Not alive.

  No.

  Already dead.

  Guinevere’s mind raced. There was a cold sensation on her back and arms, but her thoughts were crystal clear.

  When Bolingbrooke had seen Haydock, he had only seen the back of him as he sat at the table.

  What if Haydock was already dead by then? And what if the killer had toppled the chair from the outside after Bolingbrooke had locked the cage, believing the man inside was still alive?

  But upon Bolingbrooke’s question Haydock had affirmed that he was fine.

  One word.

  A half-grunt maybe? Fine, OK, yes, hmmm.

  After their recent spat Bolingbrooke would have expected Haydock to be curt with him and not think anything special of it.

  He would have locked the door and left. Locked the door on a corpse.

  An already dead man.

  But someone had produced the grunt.

  The one-word affirmation, knitting the noose for Bolingbrooke as he would testify that Haydock had still been alive when he locked him in.

  That one word. Coming from the cage.

  But not from someone inside the cage.

  No.

  Through the air hole.

  The killer sitting there, waiting, giving the word to Bolingbrooke, then after Bolingbrooke had left toppling the chair. Disposing of the boathook among the brush as it was impossible to take it back to where it belonged, in Jago’s boat at the pier.

  No time.

  The haste to get it all done had probably also caused the hook to catch on plant material when the killer had carried the hook through the brush to the air hole. The rhododendron had been snagged, like the twig under Dolly’s collar on their walk earlier today, and ended up in the cage. But hey, who would see the significance of a few squashed leaves?

  Through the air hole.

  Yes, Oliver and she had been on the right track from the very beginning. Asking for footprints there.

  There had been some.

  There had even been someone volunteering she had made them. With a nice story of her father asking for photos of him as Branok. Something a vain man like him would actually want.

  Still … The footprints had been deeper than of someone just lowering her weight to take a picture through the air hole.

  If Leah had used the boathook to topple the chair, she would have needed all her strength. Her feet would have pressed down hard into the dirt. Deep footprints.

  The hook had been chafed where it had rubbed across the stone sill of the air hole.

  It all fitted.

  It could only have been Leah.

  Her panting when she had arrived at the castle. Separately from her father. Guinevere could just see it: Haydock’s boat moored at the pier, beside Jago’s. Haydock leaving to talk to Jago. Leah taking the boathook from Jago’s vessel and putting it ready to take along to the air hole later on. Her going to the castle as well, meeting Guinevere and Oliver in the hallway to then go in to the two fighting men. Leah could have been pretty sure there would be an argument as soon as the two were in the same room. It had happened before.

  It all fitted.

  But why?

  Why kill her own father?

  Had Leah known about the affair with Kensa? Had she known or merely guessed her father would choose his mistress over his wife? Had she felt betrayed? Had she been afraid of talk about it, of being laughed at?

  She had sacrificed so much for her father, not pursuing her singing career, coming into the law firm.

  The law firm.

  Guinevere held her breath, staring ahead in deep concentration. Her breathing grew shallow as she focused all her energy on her train of thought.

  The law firm was the key. The law degree that Lance Morgan had suddenly wanted to get. Not for a business owners’ association. Not for a legal construction for Cornisea in which Kensa wanted to have a major say.

  No.

  Lance Morgan. The only one in the family without a Cornish name.

  Kensa had turned to Haydock for help after her dismissal at the castle, shortly before she had married her husband. Cador had mentioned it had been a November wedding in the pouring rain, instead of waiting till spring when everything would be more cheerful. Because Kensa had not been able to wait?

  Kensa’s son Lance. Who after studying marketing was suddenly getting a law degree.

  Not for any legal thing having to do with the island – the alleged business owners’ association.

  No. To come into the law firm of his real father.

  Lance Morgan was Haydock’s son. The son he had always wanted. The son he loved over Leah, as daughters weren’t as important.

  Haydock had to have discovered recently that Lance was his son. He had suddenly not been satisfied any more with Leah in his law firm. No, he had wanted his son with him.

  That was where the law degree came in.

  And Leah had found out and … been livid. Angry enough to kill her father for the injustice done to her. To her mother. To the sacred bond of family.

  Guinevere reached up and pushed her hand to her forehead. Her fingertips were ice-cold. Something inside re
fused to accept this.

  Maybe she was going too far here?

  Connecting things that weren’t connected at all?

  Still. It made for a powerful motive.

  And Kensa had said that hurting children was the worst thing someone could do. That remark had struck Haydock. Because he had known she was referring to their son?

  Had Kensa and Haydock fought about Haydock’s plans for Lance?

  Kensa had mentioned to her that she had never agreed with Haydock’s ideas for Lance. Guinevere hadn’t fully grasped her meaning then, but now that she suspected who Lance really was …

  Guinevere hid her face in her hands. She didn’t know what to do next, but still her raging heartbeat told her she had to do something. What she had thought up couldn’t be unthought any more. It was with her in the room, a terrifying reality.

  Leah hadn’t killed her father in a moment of rage, being sorry for it, right after. No. She had planned it and executed it, to perfection. On the night itself, but also afterwards.

  Leah’s invitation to meet Oliver at The Bull and Crow, her leaving the paperwork incriminating Lord Bolingbrooke and Oliver on the desk in her father’s office. On top, so LeFevre would see it the moment the secretary let him in the room. So LeFevre would think Bolingbrooke and even Oliver had a motive for murder.

  Leah had merely pretended not to know a new inspector was on the case. She had known and she had used the certainty he’d arrive at the law firm to ask questions. She had made sure she herself wasn’t there, but the incriminating material was. In full view.

  Leah hadn’t discovered her father’s email exchange with Oliver after the murder like she had pretended. She hadn’t been upset about it and worried for Oliver.

  No, she had discovered the email exchange before the murder. It had handed her the idea to set up her father’s death in such a way that Lord Bolingbrooke would be blamed. That maybe even Oliver would be blamed? She seemed to have been startled when Oliver had declared Guinevere could provide him with an ironclad alibi.