Charlie did believe him. Like Cooper, he was beginning to find Jack irresistible. ‘Mrs Lascelles,’ he said with conviction. ‘She’s always been top of the list.’
‘No, and I satisfied myself of that this morning. I agree she’s quite capable of it. She has an almost identical personality to her mother, and if Mathilda could murder to get what she wanted, then Joanna could, too. You don’t grow up in an atmosphere of extreme dysfunction and emerge normal at the end of it. But Joanna’s relationship with Mathilda was very ambivalent. Despite everything, I suspect they were actually rather fond of each other. Perhaps, quite simply, their fondness was based on mutual understanding, the devil you know being more acceptable than the devil you don’t.’
‘All right,’ said Charlie patiently. ‘Then who did kill Mrs Gillespie?’
‘I can’t prove it, that’s your job. All I can do is take you through what I worked out last night.’ He took a moment to organize his thoughts. ‘You’ve concentrated entirely on Sarah, me, Joanna and Ruth,’ he said, ‘and all because of the will. Not unreasonable in the circumstances – but if you take us out of the equation then the balance of probability shifts. So let’s assume she wasn’t killed for money and take it from there. Okay, I don’t believe she was killed in anger either. Anger is a violent, hot-blooded emotion and her death was too well planned and too meticulous. Too symbolic. Whoever murdered her may well have been angry with her, but it wasn’t done because someone’s patience had finally run out.’ He glanced at Jones who nodded. ‘Which leaves what? Hatred? She was certainly disliked by a lot of people but as none of them had killed her before, why decide to do it then? Jealousy?’ He shrugged eloquently. ‘What was there to be jealous of? She was a virtual recluse, and I can’t believe Jane Marriott stored her jealousy for years to have it erupt suddenly in November. So, at the risk of stating the obvious, Mathilda must have been murdered because someone wanted her out of the way.’
Jones had difficulty keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘I think we can agree on that,’ he said.
Jack stared at him for a moment. ‘Yes, but why? Why did someone want her out of the way? What had she done or what was she going to do that meant she had to be killed? That’s the question you’ve never asked, not outside the context of the will at least.’
‘Because I don’t find it quite so easy, as you apparently do, to ignore it.’
‘But it is just a will. Thousands of people make them every week and thousands of people die every week. The fact that Mathilda’s was unusually radical becomes completely irrelevant if you absolve Joanna, Ruth, Sarah and me of her death. No one else is directly affected by the way she chose to leave her money.’
Cooper cleared his throat. ‘It’s a good point, Charlie.’
‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘Why was she killed then?’
‘I don’t know.’
Charlie raised his eyes to heaven. ‘God give me strength!’ he growled savagely.
Cooper chuckled quietly to himself. ‘Get on with it, Jack, before you give the poor man apoplexy,’ he suggested. ‘We’re all running out of patience on this one. Let’s take it as read that the will wasn’t the motive and that neither the Lascelles women nor you and your wife were involved. Where does that leave us?’
‘With Mathilda wearing the scold’s bridle. Why? And why did it have half a hedgerow carefully entwined through it? Isn’t that what persuaded you it wasn’t suicide?’
Cooper nodded.
‘Then the logical conclusion has to be that the murderer never intended you to think it was suicide. I mean we’re not talking about a moron here, we’re talking finesse and careful planning. My guess is that someone knew Mathilda thought Sarah was her daughter, knew that both Mathilda and Joanna had been conditioned by the scold’s bridle in their childhoods, knew that Joanna was a florist and knew, too, that “scold’s bridle” was Mathilda’s nickname for Sarah. Hence the contraption on her head and the King Lear imagery. If you put all that together with the fact that Ruth was in the house that day, then the aim must surely have been to focus your attention on Sarah, Joanna and Ruth – Lear’s three daughters in other words. And that’s exactly what happened, even if it was the will that set you thinking along those lines because you mistook the symbolism for Ophelia’s coronet weeds. You mustn’t forget how close Mathilda played the will to her chest. As far as anyone knew, Joanna and Ruth were going to share the estate between them. Sarah’s possible claim as the long-lost daughter was nothing but a wild card when the murder took place so, for the murderer, it came as a sort of bonus.’
Charlie frowned. ‘I still don’t understand. Were we supposed to arrest one of them? And which one? I mean, was your wife indicated because of the scold’s bridle, was Joanna indicated because of the flowers, or was Ruth indicated because she was there?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I’d say that’s the whole point. It doesn’t matter a damn, just so long as you focus your attention on them.’
‘But why?’ snarled Charlie through gritted teeth.
Jack looked helplessly from him to Cooper. ‘There’s only one reason that I can see, but maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Hell dammit!’ he exploded angrily. ‘I’m not an expert.’
‘Confusion,’ said Cooper stoutly, a man ever to be relied upon. ‘The murderer wanted Mrs Gillespie dead and confusion to follow. And why would they want confusion to follow? Because it would be much harder to proceed with any kind of normality if the mess surrounding Mrs Gillespie’s death wasn’t sorted out.’
Jack nodded. ‘Sounds logical to me.’
It was Charlie’s turn to be lost in Cooper’s flights of fancy. ‘What normality?’
‘The normality that follows death,’ he said ponderously. ‘Wills in other words. Someone wanted the settling of Mrs Gillespie’s estate delayed.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Let’s say she was about to embark on something that someone else didn’t like, so they stopped her before she could do it. But let’s say, too, that whatever it was could be pursued by her beneficiary the minute that beneficiary came into the estate. With a little ingenuity, you throw a spanner in the works by pointing a finger at the more obvious legatees and grind the process to a halt. How does that sound?’
‘Complicated,’ said Charlie tartly.
‘But the pressure was to stop Mathilda,’ said Jack. ‘The rest was imaginative flair which might or might not work. Think of it as a speculative venture that could, with a little bit of luck, produce the goods.’
‘But that brings us right back to square one,’ said Cooper slowly. ‘Whoever killed her knew her very well and, if we jettison the four who knew her best, then we’re left with – ’ he pressed his fingers to his eyes in deep concentration, ‘Mr and Mrs Spede, Mr and Mrs Marriott, and James Gillespie.’
‘You can do better than that, Cooper,’ said Jack impatiently. ‘The Spedes are simple souls who could never have dreamt up the Lear symbolism in a million years; Paul and Jane Marriott have avoided Mathilda like the plague for years so probably couldn’t have found their way around her house, let alone known where she kept the Stanley knife; and, as far as I understand it, if what Duggan told Sarah is true, rather than trying to delay the processing of the will, James Gillespie is doing the exact opposite and pressing for the controversy to be settled so that he can lay claim to the clocks.’
‘But there isn’t anyone else.’
‘There is, and I proved it this morning.’ He hammered his fist on the table. ‘It’s Ruth’s involvement that should have alerted you. Someone knew she was in the house that day and could therefore figure as a suspect. You’ve been chasing around in circles since you found out about it, but Sarah says you only learnt she was there because you received an anonymous letter. So who sent it?’ He slammed his palm on the table at Cooper’s blank expression. ‘Who tried to rescue Joanna this morning?’
Violet Orloff opened her front door and stared at the piece of polythene-encased paper that Detective Sergeant Cooper was holding in front
of him. He turned it round to read it aloud. ‘“Ruth Lascelles was in Cedar House the day Mrs Gillespie died. She stole some earrings. Joanna knows she took them. Joanna Lascelles is a prostitute in London. Ask her what she spends her money on. Ask her why she tried to kill her daughter. Ask her why Mrs Gillespie thought she was mad.” Would we be right in assuming you wrote this, Mrs Orloff?’ he enquired in his friendly way.
‘Duncan did, but we were only trying to help,’ she said breathily, looking from him to the tall figure of Charlie Jones behind him, the collar of whose thick sheepskin jacket was pulled up about his comfortably sad face. She took heart from their mutual lack of hostility. ‘I know we probably ought to have come in person, but it’s so difficult.’ She gestured vaguely in the direction of the other part of the house. ‘We are neighbours, after all, and Duncan does so hate unpleasantness.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘But when a murder’s been committed – I mean, one can’t expect the police to solve it if people who know things stay quiet. It seemed more tactful, somehow, not to get involved personally. You do understand, don’t you?’
Perfectly,’ said Charlie with an encouraging smile, ‘and we’re very grateful to you for the trouble you took.’
‘That’s all right then. I told Duncan it was important.’
‘Didn’t he agree with you?’
She glanced cautiously over her shoulder, then pulled the door to behind her. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ she said. ‘He’s grown so lazy since we came here, won’t stir himself, won’t have his routines upset, can’t bear what he calls aggravations. He says he’s earned a peaceful retirement and doesn’t want it upset by lots of bother. He’s very unfit, of course, which doesn’t help, but I can’t help feeling that it isn’t good to be so’ – she struggled for the right word – ‘unenterprising.’
‘Mrs Gillespie’s death must have been a shock then, what with the police tramping about the house, and Mrs Lascelles and her daughter coming back.’
‘He hasn’t enjoyed it,’ she admitted, ‘but he did see there was nothing we could do about it. Don’t get so het up, he told me. A little patience and it will all blow over.’
‘Still, it must be very unsettling,’ said Cooper, ‘worrying about what’s going to happen to Cedar House now that Mrs Gillespie’s dead. Presumably it will be sold, but you won’t have any control over who it’s sold to.’
‘That’s just what I said. Duncan would go mad with noisy children next door.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I know one shouldn’t take pleasure in other people’s misfortune, but I can’t deny it’s a relief to have Joanna and Dr Blakeney at loggerheads over the will. They’re going to court about it, you know, and as Duncan said, that sort of thing takes years.’
‘And in the meantime the house will stand empty?’
‘Well, exactly.’
‘So it’s definite that Mrs Lascelles intends to contest the will?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘She told you that?’
She looked guilty again. ‘I heard her and the doctor talking in the drawing-room. I don’t make a habit of listening, not as a general rule, but . . .’ She left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
‘You’ve been worried and you needed to know what’s going on,’ suggested Charlie helpfully.
‘Well, exactly,’ she said again. ‘Someone has to take an interest. If it’s left to Duncan, we’ll only know what sort of neighbours we’ve got when they’re living next to us.’
‘Like Mrs Gillespie, you mean. I suppose you knew a lot about her one way and another.’
Violet’s mouth pinched disapprovingly. ‘Not through choice. I don’t think she ever realized just how piercing her voice was. Very strident, you know, and she was so convinced that her opinions mattered. I never really listened, to tell you the truth, but Duncan found her amusing from time to time, particularly when she was being rude on the telephone, which she was, often. She took people to task about the most trivial things and she thought they couldn’t hear her, you know, unless she shouted. She was a very silly woman.’
Charlie nodded, as if in agreement. ‘Then I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything the night she died. She must have spoken to her murderer, surely?’
Violet’s face flushed a dull red. ‘She didn’t, you know. Duncan never heard a sound.’
He pretended not to notice her embarrassment. ‘And what about you, Mrs Orloff? Did you hear anything?’
‘Oh, dear,’ she wailed, ‘it’s not as though it’s a crime though you’d think it was the way Duncan carries on. I have a tot or two of whisky of an evening, really nothing very much. Duncan’s a teetotaller and doesn’t approve, but as I always say, where’s the harm in it? Mathilda’s done it for years – it’s unnatural not to, she always said – and she drank far more than I do.’ She dropped her voice again. ‘It’s not as though I’m an alcoholic.’
‘Good lord no,’ said Charlie effusively, picking up the loaded speech patterns. ‘If I didn’t drink enough to send myself to sleep every night, I’d be a nervous wreck come the morning.’
‘Well, exactly,’ came the repetitive refrain. ‘But I do nod off in front of the television, and, of course, I did the night Mathilda died. Hardly surprising really since I spent the day in Poole with my sister, and I find that very tiring now. You see, I’m not as young as I used to be, and I won’t deny I’ve been worrying ever since, did Mathilda call for help? Duncan swears she didn’t but, you know, he’s so anti getting involved in anything that he’d have persuaded himself it was just Mathilda being irritating.’
‘Any idea what time you nodded off?’ asked Cooper, showing more interest in the state of his shoes than in her answer.
‘Very early,’ she said in a whisper. ‘We’d just finished supper and sat down to watch Blind Date, and the next thing I knew Duncan was shaking me and telling me I was snoring and it was annoying him because it was spoiling Match of the Day. Goodness, but I was tired. I went to bed and slept like a log till the morning, and I can’t help feeling that if I’d only stayed awake, I might have been able to do something for poor Mathilda.’
And that of course was true.
Charlie gestured towards the door. ‘May we talk to your husband now, Mrs Orloff?’
Is that necessary? He won’t be able to tell you anything and it’ll just make him grumpy for the rest of the day.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’ He produced a paper from his pocket with an air of apology. ‘We also have a warrant to search your house, but I assure you, we’ll be as careful as we can.’ He raised his voice. ‘Bailey! Jenkins! Watts! Show yourselves, lads. We’re ready to go.’
Quite bewildered by this sudden turn of events, Violet stood meekly to one side while Jones, Cooper and three DCs filed into her hallway. Behind their backs, she crept away with the stealth of a guilty person into the kitchen.
Duncan’s small eyes watched the two senior policemen closely as they eased into the cramped living-room, but otherwise he showed remarkably little concern at this sudden invasion of his privacy. ‘Forgive me if I don’t get up,’ he said courteously, ‘but I find I’m not as mobile as I used to be.’ He waved towards a delicate two-seater sofa, inviting them to sit down. They declined with equal courtesy, afraid of breaking it under their combined weight. ‘I’ve met Detective Sergeant Cooper but I don’t know you, sir,’ he said, examining Charlie with interest.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Jones.’
‘How do you do.’
Charlie inclined his head in a brief salute. He was assailed with doubt as he looked at the fat old man in the oversized armchair, his huge stomach overhanging his thighs like the meat from a split sausage skin. Could such ungainly bulk have performed the delicate artistry of Mrs Gillespie’s murder? Could he even have abstracted himself from this room without waking his wife? He listened to the shallow wheezing breaths, each one a battle against the smothering pressure of flesh, and recalled Hughes’s description of the man who had used the key to open the back door. His
voice was all breathy like he had trouble with his lungs. ‘Was Mrs Gillespie aware that you knew about the key under the flowerpot?’ he asked without any attempt at preamble.
Duncan looked surprised. ‘I don’t understand you, Inspector.’
‘No matter. We have a witness who can identify you. He was there when you let yourself in one morning in September.’
But Duncan only smiled and shook his fat cheeks in denial. ‘Let myself in where?’ There was a sound above them as one of the DCs moved a piece of furniture across the floor, and Duncan’s gaze shifted to the ceiling. ‘What exactly is all this in aid of?’
Charlie produced the warrant and handed it to him. ‘We are searching these premises for Mrs Gillespie’s diaries or, more likely, the remains of Mrs Gillespie’s diaries. We have reason to believe you stole them from the library of Cedar House.’
‘How very peculiar of you.’
‘Are you denying it?’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘My dear chap, of course I’m denying it. I didn’t even know she kept diaries.’
Charlie changed tack. ‘Why didn’t you tell my Sergeant on the Monday after the murder that Miss Ruth Lascelles had been in Cedar House during the afternoon? Or indeed that Mrs Jane Marriott had had a row with her in the morning?’
‘How could I tell him something I didn’t know myself?’
‘If you were here, Mr Orloff, you could not have avoided knowing. Jane Marriott describes her confrontation with Mrs Gillespie as a screaming match and Ruth says she rang the doorbell because she left her key at school.’
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