by Anne Morice
‘Held for questioning. And I think I know why, Tessa. There could be quite a different explanation for the presence of the dart, a lot more damaging and a lot more plausible. This will probably send you soaring through the roof, but the fact is that he is an African, with a totally different background from the rest of us.’
‘I am aware of it,’ I said coldly.
‘And there’s just a chance that he planted the dart there as a kind of signature. It was obvious that he’d worked himself up into a state of excitement over this witchcraft caper and, so far from wishing to conceal the deed, he might actually have wanted to advertise it.’
‘Hardly, since he has subsequently denied having anything to do with it. At least, I assume he has. Otherwise the police wouldn’t be fooling around with euphemisms. They’d have charged him.’
‘I meant that he might have been in that state of mind at the time. One wouldn’t necessarily expect the mood to last. In the cold, clear dawn of the police station, he could well have had second thoughts.’
‘But all this is just surmise on your part, and based, if I may say so, purely on prejudice.’
‘You may say what you like, my darling, but the fact is that I’ve had far more direct contact with people of Henry’s background than you have, and in some respects they are different from us. Personally, I’m all in favour of it.’
‘That’s still no reason why they should be treated differently. I happen to like old Henry and I don’t believe for one moment that he’s a murderer. You’ll say that’s just a personal opinion, but I’ve got much better reasons than that for believing him innocent.’
‘Such as?’
‘Even if he did kid himself that Sarah was a real witch, and even if she did foretell something which scared or upset him, it’s still very thin. I can think of several people who had good straightforward motives for murdering her which were far stronger than that.’
2
Later that night the police dropped their euphemisms and Henry was formally arrested. This was not because the dart bore his fingerprints, for it belonged to a set of twelve which had been used in the competition, and several people had confirmed that Henry had handled nearly all of them before selecting the three of his choice. Also in his favour was the admission of the man in charge that one dart had disappeared very early in the proceedings, and there was no saying exactly when or by whom it had been removed. In addition, Babs and I were both in a position to assert that it would have been perfectly feasible for Henry to have remained inside the tent for several minutes without seeing Sarah, if she had already been dead; and the final point, which should have clinched it, was that the post mortem revealed that she had not been killed by the dart. The blade which had penetrated her heart and caused the bleeding had been in the nature of a small dagger or carving knife, which no amount of searching had so far brought to light.
Unfortunately none of this amounted to a row of beans when set against the one positive item which the police had come up with. There was nothing particularly inspired about their discovery, for they had been led straight to it by Martin’s disclosure that, contrary to instructions, some unknown hand had switched on the electric kiln during the early hours of Saturday afternoon.
When the oven had cooled down sufficiently for the contents to be examined it was found that, as well as a batch of fired pottery, including my own dismal effort of Friday morning, there were some fragments which should not have been present at all. There were three of these, each estimated to have been roughly the size of a five-penny piece when new, although the intense heat had shrivelled them to half of that and had also turned them a brownish colour as though they had been rusting in the damp for many weeks. In short, they had started life as metal buttons, exactly corresponding to those on the overalls worn by the Missendale students. Not unexpectedly, in view of the fact that Henry could only produce two of the three overalls which had been issued to him, the absence of bloodstains on his clothing was now accounted for to everyone’s satisfaction except my own.
CHAPTER NINE
On Monday morning we returned to London, and had scarcely entered the house when Peter telephoned.
‘How’s Kit?’ he asked, somersaulting straight into the arena.
‘Bearing up, I think. Why ask me?’
‘Oh, use your loaf, Tessa! Who else would I ask? Seeing it was splashed on every front page that you were also staying there, you may conceivably have noticed something about his reactions. What kind of state is he in?’
‘More or less as you’d expect. Pretty furious about the whole thing.’
There was a pause, and then Peter said: ‘On the level, or are you just being flippant? What I want to know is whether he’ll be fit for work tomorrow, or do I have to re-do the whole schedule?’
‘Would that involve a lot of expense?’
‘You’re so right it would. We’ve gone over budget already, as you well know, but the point is, it might save time and money in the end to give him a chance to get straightened out. And there’s another thing. All that matiness with the unit wasn’t for nothing, you know. He’s pretty well dug in there, and union trouble is all I need at this stage. It’s quite a worry.’
‘Well, as I see it, he was in a state of shock to begin with but he seemed to pull himself out of it fairly quickly. If it’s any comfort to you, I don’t believe that affair was destined to run its course. I don’t mean that he wasn’t shattered by her death but, the way things were going I doubt if they’d have got to the altar.’
‘Well that’s a crumb, I suppose. Of course the act may have changed by this time tomorrow, but thanks anyway.’
After putting the telephone down some uncomfortable feelings of remorse began to creep in, and I was tempted to ring Peter back and urge him not to place too much reliance on my verdict. I refrained, however, because he had a lot on his mind and, like Henry, I had only told him what he wished to hear, which I decided would cancel out any uncharitableness towards Kit. And by Tuesday afternoon I was vindicated for every word, Kit by then having turned in one of the best performances of his whole career.
Naturally the circumstances had called for a radical change of attitude and he had gone the whole hog and become pathetically subdued and submissive, moving about among us with a hollow-eyed dignity which was quite awe-inspiring. During the breaks he no longer larked about with his former buddies, confining himself to sad smiles and fervent handclasps whenever one of them approached with a word of sympathy and, even more satisfactory from Peter’s point of view, he had no heart for improvising or throwing in bits of business of his own invention but went straight through each take exactly as rehearsed.
As a result, we were through by five o’clock, and he invited me to have a drink. There was something I wanted to ask him so I accepted at once, turning left towards the staircase when we had passed through the soundproof door which sealed off the stage. However, the quiet tragedy act was not yet over and he reproachfully touched my arm and strode off in the opposite direction, making for his dressing room where he produced a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
‘Here’s to us!’ he said, raising his own and leaning back against the wash basin. ‘Only four more days and we’ll be out of here.’
‘All right for some,’ I told him. ‘You’ll be off to the States with rings on your fingers and bells on your toes. We don’t all have it so good.’
‘Cheer up,’ he said patronisingly, ‘I expect something will come your way soon. Anyway, what gives you the idea I’m going to America?’
Feeling that it would be indelicate to point out that there was no longer anything to prevent him, I said:
‘Oh, just something you told me yourself about five million times.’
‘I’ve reconsidered,’ he said, pouring more whisky into his glass and filling it from the tap. ‘I have this idea I might spend a few months in rep. Nothing like it, experience-wise, so they tell me.’
‘Well, that’s fine, so long as t
he Inspector of Taxes can find it in his heart to be lenient.’
‘That’s no problem,’ Kit said. ‘It so happens that when Sarah and I got engaged she talked me into handing over all my financial business to Magnus’s accountants. Everything I earn goes into some kind of fund, which they’ve made into a limited company. They take care of the tax side and I draw the same salary every month, whether I’m working or not. Of course they know every dodge in the book and in some fantastic way I seem to be much better off.’
‘I shouldn’t wonder. The only thing is . . .’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t it rather tie you to the family? I can see it would have been inevitable if you’d married, but do you really want to be stuck with them forever?’
He looked at me in a speculative way and then said with a touch of slyness:
‘To be perfectly frank with you, darling, the same thought did flit through my tiny head, but it’s not like that at all. I thrashed it out with Julie last night. She’s really on the ball in some ways, and she explained that it’s now passed right out of Magnus’s hands. He simply set it up for me, and that was it. In fact, it’s a joke to imagine that he’d have time for involvement in side issues of that kind. The financial outfit is completely autonomous, for a start.’
He went banging on in this strain for several minutes, boring me about the multiplicity and ramifications of the Benson-Jones enterprises until I was tempted to repeat something which Magnus himself had told me about his attitude to details. However, it was not part of my plan to antagonise him and as soon as I could get a word in I said:
‘So you’ve seen Julie? How is she?’
‘Shattered, naturally. She’d hardly spent a day away from Sarah in her whole life. I think she’ll pull out of it, though.’
‘I imagine so, since she’s already able to get steamed up over your financial affairs.’
‘For God’s sake, Tessa, don’t be such a cat. It’s not like that at all. The subject happened to come up and I asked her advice. It’s as simple as that. I’m staying at the Hall, as of yesterday, if you must know.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I tried going back to the flat,’ he said defensively, ‘but it simply wasn’t on. The press were lined up in wait half way down the street and the telephone never left off, day or night. Actually, it was Magnus who suggested I should go back to them till the heat’s off. They have ways of keeping out of the glare.’
‘I know, and as it happens, Kit, I’m really glad you’re still in close touch, because there’s something that’s worrying me a bit.’
‘You’re not the only one.’
‘This concerns Henry. Has anything been done about getting him a proper lawyer?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Then do you think you could find out? Robin says the police will have explained to him that he’s entitled to legal aid, and may even have put him on to a solicitor . . .’
‘So what’s your worry?’
‘Well, you know as well as I do that they won’t fall over themselves to see that he gets the best legal brains in the country, and anyway I doubt if he could afford it. Since Magnus is so keen on racial equality and fair do’s all round, I thought he might be willing to pitch in.’
‘You have a point there,’ Kit agreed. ‘It certainly wouldn’t do his image any harm, would it? I’ll have a word with Julie this evening.’
‘Why not Magnus himself?’
‘Because he’s in Munich, or one of those. Won’t be back till tomorrow night. And on the whole I’d rather do it through Julie. She has more . . . empathy.’
‘Oh, has she? Well, thanks a lot. I’ll leave it to you.’
He walked down the corridor with me as far as the back entrance to the car park, not forgetting to resume the grief-stricken expression for the benefit of the few people who scurried past us on their way out of the building. Irritated by this performance, I was stung into asking: ‘By the way Kit, was it Julie or Magnus who persuaded you to try rep. instead of America?’
‘Neither, for God’s sake,’ he answered in a blustering voice. ‘What fantastic ideas you get hold of! You must be out of your mind.’
His tone was not exactly hostile, but it was not brimming over with empathy either, and I could only pray that my ill timed attempt to score off him had not done anything to jeopardise Henry’s chances.
2
The answer was not long in coming. During the following day’s lunch break, I was startled to find that Kit had come out of purdah and was already installed in the canteen, lunching with a celebrated journalist and broadcaster. He must have been positively bristling with empathy too, because Kit was giving him the full treatment of boyish grins and rueful headshakes. After about ten minutes they went out, still chatting, and I thought he had not noticed me, but in no time at all he was back again and sitting down at my table, where he promptly asked the waitress to bring him a brandy and soda.
‘God, I needed that!’ he said, setting down the half empty glass and plunging straight into the tensed up, teeth gritting act. ‘Life can be pretty good hell sometimes.’
‘As we can all now look forward to reading in our favourite newspaper,’ I reminded him.
‘The problem with you, my poor Tessa,’ he informed me with weary resignation, ‘is that you don’t really have a clue about what being in the big time involves. I just hope you never have to learn the hard way, as I did. You needn’t think I enjoyed that ordeal just now. It just so happens that the only answer, at this period of time, is to give one exclusive interview to someone you can be fairly confident won’t crucify you, and tell the rest to go climb a tree.’
‘Okay, I get the point, but you haven’t bothered to come upstairs again just to give me the inside story of the price of fame, I take it?’
‘Right. I came to tell you about Henry. It’s not on.’
‘Why not?’
‘Magnus won’t play. Julie says it’s not that he’s vindictive, but he won’t lift a finger either way. So far as he’s concerned, it’s up to the jury to decide. I must say, I respect his attitude and, sentiment-wise, I find it totally viable.’
‘In plain words, Magnus is behaving just like any conventional father?’
‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
‘No, except that I wouldn’t have expected him to take quite such a predictable attitude. However, it just goes to show that even the most tolerant and magnanimous people are swayed by emotion when it comes to the crunch. He’s back, is he?’
‘Late last night. I didn’t see him.’
‘You didn’t? Then how do you know what he feels about all this?’
‘Much as I love you, sweetheart, I’m not prepared, even for your sake, to sit up until two in the morning waving your little banners for you with a full working day ahead of me.’
‘I’m not asking you to, I simply wondered how it was you knew so much about the reception my little banner got?’
‘I mentioned it to Julie, that’s how. She stayed up for the Welcome Home bit, and she put it to him. And she got up again at six to have breakfast with me. So that’s how I know. And it’s now two o’clock, in case you’re interested, and we’re supposed to be back on the set.’
I said no more, but he reopened the subject when we had descended to the ground floor. Pausing outside the stage door, he said:
‘I can’t figure out what’s in it for you, anyway, Tessa. Hopefully, he’ll get a fair trial, and if they plead insanity I can see him spending a very comfortable little time in Broadmoor, or wherever. I’m sure he’ll be allowed to run up a few bits of pottery, and maybe even play darts on his good days.’
He then leant his weight against the door and passed through it, not omitting to droop the shoulders in an attitude of quiet suffering as he stepped over the threshold. By gritting my teeth I just managed to restrain myself from pushing him flat on his beautiful, sad, complacent face.
CHAPTER TEN
1
>
Four days later and out of work, I paid a call on Gerald Pettigrew at his office in Essex Street. The premises of Barrett and Pettigrew being dreary and uninviting to a degree unparalleled even in the legal profession, I would have preferred some slightly more congenial surroundings in which to try and get my proposals across to him, but I had no choice. Gerald was paralysed from the waist down, as a result of being blown up in a battleship during the war, and was obliged to conduct all his business from a wheel chair.
Although physically such a wreck, his mind remained in tip top condition, and I knew that behind the bluff, rather naïf exterior, a shrewd brain was ticking away and that the innocent blue eyes looked out on the world with acute observation. I had frequently had reason to be grateful for his sound advice.
We had met just over a year before, through the death of a mutual friend, the one true love of poor Gerald’s frustrated life, and ever since then I had made a point of disrupting his work from time to time and calling on him when I found myself in the neighbourhood. On this occasion, however, I had been at pains to assure him in advance that I was not to be regarded as a frivolous interruption, but as a bona fide client with a genuine legal problem. Henry had been brought before the Magistrates’ Court and remanded in custody, pending his trial at the Oxford Assizes in approximately six weeks’ time, and I had formed the opinion that not a minute of them should be lost.
When I had outlined the set up Gerald said:
‘I read about the case, naturally. No one could avoid doing so. But I can’t quite see what you expect your old Uncle Gerald to do about it.’
‘I was hoping you might take him on. The first thing, obviously, is to fix him up with a good solicitor, who’ll brief the right counsel and so on.’
‘Now, hold on, old top! Those blighters cost a bomb. Even if I waived my fees, which I’ve no intention of doing, where’s the rest of the lolly coming from?’
