The Festival Murders

by Mark McCrum

  ‘Was that likely?’

  ‘I suppose it was a possibility. He was very mournful when he left me. And one thing I’ve learned over the years is that people do sometimes do crazy things. But then again, Bryce was hardly low on self-esteem. The only worry that I did have was: had I perhaps hit him in a place that had triggered off a blood clot in his brain or something? All the next day I was wondering if I should fess up to what had happened, then that poor journo bird bit the dust …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to think. But I no longer thought Bryce’s sad demise had anything to do with me.’

  Dan looked up at Francis and gave him an unassailable smile.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Francis had just left the Green Room when his mobile rang. It was DCI Julie again.

  ‘I thought you might be interested,’ she said, ‘to know that the techie girls and boys up in Bristol have finally got somewhere. There were drafts of that speech on Bryce’s laptop. Lots of them. And an accompanying PowerPoint presentation. All deleted.’

  ‘None of it flattering about our friend Jonty?’

  ‘Definitely not. I’ve got the most up-to-date one in front of me. It’s a complete demolition of his reputation. Backed up with some impressive evidence. Photos of girlfriends, some alarmingly young-looking. Two of a love child. The works. I think if Bryce had gone ahead with it, it would have caused a sensation.’

  ‘Any chance you could bung it over to me on the email?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’ll have to stay in-house for the moment.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘That’s for me to know.’

  ‘You’re focused on Jonty, though? Presumably?’

  There was silence on the line. ‘In strict confidence,’ Julie said eventually, ‘we’re going to pull him in.’

  ‘Jonty?’

  ‘Yes. First thing in the morning. He’s got his last event at lunchtime tomorrow, so I don’t imagine he’ll be going home before that. He’ll be under surveillance in the meantime, obviously.’

  ‘You’ve got enough evidence? I thought you said that the content of the talk was circumstantial.’

  ‘But a very nice back-up for the purple thread we found on the battlements, right above the spot where Grace landed. It matches a Boden Classic Twill shirt that Jonty was wearing all Sunday. Sorry I didn’t mention that before …’

  ‘God …’ muttered Francis.

  ‘Not to mention the two blond hairs on the lead flashing currently being pushed through the Bristol DNA lab. I feel reasonably confident of the result, given that they were within inches of the thread. I think we can be fairly sure they don’t belong to either Anna or her shaven-headed friend Marv.’ The chuckle that came down the phone line was smug. ‘Now there is one other thing,’ Julie continued, ‘I thought you might be interested in, which is raising a few questions over here.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘As well as the numerous drafts of the speech on the laptop, our IT whizz Dipika found the times, both of the changes and of the deletions. The last modification to Bryce’s final draft was made at eleven twenty-seven on the Saturday night. It was auto-recovered at eleven thirty-two and that saved text featured a long row of z’s about halfway through the second page.’

  Francis laughed. ‘Bryce fell asleep on the job.’

  ‘That’s what we rather thought.’

  ‘And the deletions were all done at once?’

  ‘Yes, but d’you want to know when?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Five fifteen.’

  ‘But how … I mean … if Bryce –’

  ‘Not p.m. … a.m.! The next morning.’

  Francis gasped. ‘They were deleted after the body was found …’

  ‘So why hadn’t Jonty done it before? Did he suddenly think, Oh no, if they find the laptop, they’re going to find Bryce’s talk, and then they’re going to suspect me? There was time enough for him to get up there, I think, given that the body was found shortly after four and the ambulance didn’t arrive till five thirty. I’m assuming the room was empty and unlocked?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Francis. ‘It was. Apart from a short visit by me, and another by Priya when she went up there to change.’

  ‘The rest of the time you two were both in your room, I think you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Talking, mainly. Cathy the manageress was there for a bit. Then I was alone with Priya.’

  ‘OK, so you and Priya could have quite easily been distracted while Jonty got past into number 29?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘That fits perfectly. Thanks, Francis.’

  ‘No worries,’ he replied. He clicked off his mobile and took a long, deep breath. Then he turned and walked slowly back down the tented corridor towards the Green Room. Dan had gone and it was now completely empty. He slumped onto a battered armchair in one corner. For two long minutes,he appeared to be in a deep trance. Then, abruptly, he had got to his feet and was walking at speed towards the White Hart. The sky was lowering now, a deep charcoal grey, the thunder rumbling closer.

  There was no one in reception. And yes, there was the key to Priya’s new room, 19, dangling from its hook on the board. He took it, then headed back up to his room to fetch his laptop.

  Pushing open her door a minute later he saw Priya’s squidgy leather bag, as yet unopened on the double bed. He clicked up the catch on the Yale so that nobody else could get in, then ran over and unzipped it. With shaking hands he sifted through the clothes: chiffon tops, leggings, bras, dresses, a pair of black pumps. But otherwise nothing but a book called Where Soldiers Fear To Tread, which a glance at the back cover told him was about Somalia. Well, well! Maybe Priya had been more hung up on Conal than she’d been admitting. Just inside the suitcase an old Derby address had been crossed out and replaced with a London one. Above that, in the same thick black laundry marker, was written P.K. JASWAL. The ‘K’ was presumably Kaur. So when Priya had come to London as a journalist, she’d taken the generic Sikh female name as her byline. But that was all. Damn.

  What had he been thinking? Expecting to find? Then he noticed a pocket on the outside of the case, and a promising bulge. He unzipped it eagerly. But it was only a travel brochure about Greek islands. He reached inside for one last ferret around. And as he did so, he noticed, tucked away at one end, a little buttoned pouch. Inside was a blue plastic memory stick. It had nothing on it but the printed word VERBATIM. Keeping an eye on the door, Francis booted up his laptop. Then slid the stick into a USB socket and clicked it open. He gasped. There were just two files on it: Celebrity and Hypocrisy 10b and Celebrity and Hypocrisy PowerPoint.

  There it all was! Jonty’s double life, no holds barred. If Bryce had stayed alive to deliver it, this speech would have destroyed him. The accompanying PowerPoint presentation was as compromising as DCI Julie had said it was. Skimming through photos of young women, some posed, some just observed, Francis paused on one image of a toddler holding up an ice cream. She had a familiar crooked smile and tell-tale big ears – unmistakably love child Amelie.

  While he was copying the files onto his laptop, he paced back and forth across the room, eye on the Yale lock, thinking hard. He replaced the memory stick in the pouch, put Priya’s clothes back as they had been and made his exit.

  Downstairs Cathy was back in her office. ‘Just replacing this key,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Thanks,’ the manageress replied, barely looking up from her screen.

  ‘Could I also trouble you for a couple of things?’

  Five minutes later he was back in his room, straight on his mobile to DCI Julie.

  ‘I was about to call you,’ she said. ‘We just searched Jonty’s room and guess what we found at the bottom of his briefcase.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘The hard copy of Bryce’s speech. Complete with annotations.’

  ‘So that’s wher
e it ended up.’

  ‘A final nail in his coffin, wouldn’t you agree? So what can I do for you, Francis?’

  ‘Is there any chance you could get out here to the White Hart for nine o’clock?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m organising an impromptu “event”. Extra to the festival programme.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You didn’t want to talk to Priya and me this morning, did you? But you were glad you did, I think?’

  ‘Perhaps I was.’

  ‘Trust me then. But bear in mind, when I address the group I intend to assemble, we may have need of assistance. I should bring Steve and Brian with you at the very least.’

  ‘Will this assembled company include Jonty Smallbone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence on the line. ‘I’m not intending to change my plans for the timing of this arrest, Francis.’

  ‘Even if you thought our murderer might strike again?’

  ‘As I told you, he’s under surveillance.’

  ‘While out drinking with Priya,’ Francis said, ‘at some hostelry in town.’

  ‘Operational information I obviously can’t share.’ Julie’s tone was a satisfactory mixture of the pissed-off and the impressed.

  ‘Whether you come or not,’ Francis said, ‘I’ll be going ahead with this event. I think you might find what I have to say of considerable interest.’

  ‘You don’t want to tell me now, save all of us a bit of trouble.’

  ‘If you do come, you’ll see exactly why I can’t do that.’

  ‘Very cryptic.’ There was a long pause. Francis could almost hear the cogs of Julie’s brain turning. Then, quietly: ‘OK, we’ll be there.’

  Even as he put down the phone, lightning flashed outside, followed immediately by a loud crash of thunder. The storm was upon them. As he stood by the window watching another fork of elemental fire snaking down to lose itself in the dark woods above the little town, Francis had a further revelation. Of course! How had he been so stupid? Unless his intuition was wrong this was the very last piece of the puzzle. He clicked through to Recent Calls on his phone and found Scarlett’s number. But before he could press Call there was a knock on his door. And here was Priya, bright-eyed, wet from the rain, carrying a crumpled copy of the Daily Mail. The ‘festival murders’ were still dominating the front page.

  ‘There you are,’ said Francis. ‘I was starting to worry about you.’

  ‘With good reason. It’s crazy out there. I need a towel.’

  ‘How did you get on?’ he asked, bringing one out from the bathroom.

  ‘Well,’ she said with a grin, as she ran it back and forth through her hair. ‘I managed to do what you wanted, talk to Mr Jonty Smallbone, also known as Family Man.’

  ‘And how did you accomplish that?’

  ‘Easy-peasy. He was in the Green Room after his kids thing with some children’s publisher, so I just sauntered over. I was disgracefully flirty, I’m afraid.’ She giggled. ‘In the end he made it clear to them that the business side of things was over and he wanted me all to himself. We shared a glass of Laetitia’s festival plonk, then he invited me to go for a drink with him in town.’

  ‘And you went?’

  ‘Just the one. We’re meeting later for dinner.’

  ‘Well done. So where’s the family?’

  ‘Gone back to Peewit Farm. He’s all on his own tonight. We’re going to the Old Bakery. Why don’t you come too?’

  ‘And spoil his chances? Perhaps I should. Although I’m not sure he’d want a gooseberry in the shape of a coconut.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Never mind, silly joke. Tell me, did you manage to drop in anything with Jonty about the progress of the enquiry?’

  ‘Of course I did! I said that you and I had been working closely with the police and that they now thought Bryce had died of natural causes. And that poor Grace’s death was an unfortunate coincidence. She’d taken some of the hallucinogenic drugs which were all too available out at Wyveridge, gone crazy and jumped off the battlements all by herself.’

  ‘And how did he take that?’

  ‘“What did I tell you?” he said. “A classic case of rural coppers getting over-excited.” So d’you think he thinks he’s got away with it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Francis said. ‘But it’ll certainly be interesting what he says now. Quiz him about Anna and Marv. Exactly what were they up to on Sunday afternoon? Does he know? Does he look shifty when you ask him? Does he overcompensate?’

  ‘Oh do join us! Then you can ask him yourself …’

  ‘I think it would be more productive to leave him to you. Anyway, I’ve got a couple of things I need to be getting on with. But what you can do for me, Priya, is bring him over here afterwards. For nine o’clock if you can manage that.’

  ‘What – to this room?’

  ‘No, downstairs. To the guest lounge. We’ll be joined by a few others.’

  ‘What are you planning now, Francis?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  Now she looked sulky. ‘I thought we were working on this together.’

  ‘We are.’ He went and sat by her on the bed. ‘I’m extraordinarily grateful for everything you’ve done, Priya. And have still to do. I just don’t want to put you in an impossible position. Not to mention a dangerous one.’

  ‘You think I’m in danger having dinner with Jonty?’

  ‘I don’t, as it happens. DCI Julie has got him under surveillance. So look out for that burly rugger player tucking into the potted shrimps over the way. No, if you can just hang on you’ll find out everything. And also see what a fantastic help you’ve been.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me enough to tell me now?’

  ‘It’s not that. I need you to concentrate on Jonty. More specifically on being your usual charming self, so that he a) reveals more than he means to and b) trots along here obediently with you at nine.’

  ‘And if you tell me what you’re up to, I won’t be able to manage that?’

  ‘Something like that …’

  ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘Priya! Stop probing. Just bring him here at the appointed hour.’

  ‘I hate this. Have you got new evidence or something?’

  Francis shrugged.

  ‘Francis! You can’t be so evasive. It’s not fair.’

  ‘OK. But I’ll only share this with you under conditions of the very strictest secrecy.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He told her about the hard copy of Bryce’s speech in Jonty’s briefcase; then the purple thread and the two blond hairs.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, slowly. ‘Why haven’t they arrested him already?’

  Francis shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe they will if you bring him over tonight.’

  ‘So the police are coming too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked over at him, then crossed to where he stood and put her arms around him. He didn’t move away.

  ‘You’re a lovely guy,’ she said. ‘You know that?’

  Outside, at that moment, there was another flash of lightning, followed after a second and a half by a mighty clap of thunder.

  ‘That felt close,’ said Francis. He could feel her trembling. Then suddenly she was sobbing, warm tears on his shirt.

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Bryce … and Grace.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It’s awful. Dreadful and shocking and awful.’ He held her while she calmed herself.

  ‘Come to bed,’ she murmured.

  He looked down at her and wondered for a moment if he had imagined this; but no, he hadn’t.

  ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Can’t it wait? Just a little?’

  ‘Come on, Priya. You need your energies for Jonty.’ He closed his eyes, leant forward, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he stepped reluctantly but firmly away. ‘We’re almost done now.�
��

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Two minutes to nine. There were perhaps twenty-five present, grouped on a loose double circle of sofas, armchairs and the padded straight-backed chairs which Cathy and Irina had brought in from the dining room. All the people Francis had phoned had turned up: Dan, Conal, Virginia, Anna and Marv, Priya and Jonty, even Scarlett, pale-faced on a beige and brown striped Parker Knoll in the corner. In the end it had taken just the one call to make her abandon her packing and come in. The police were here too, grouped round DCI Julie in a posse at the back. Despite himself, Francis felt reassured; if things went pear-shaped, this gang should be able to handle the flak. Just along from them was Terry from Ace Taxis, then doctor Roger Webster, next to manageress Cathy.

  This was not the way Francis had planned it – or wanted it. Braithwaite would have hated a set-up like this – as near as dammit to the traditional ‘group denouement’ of the Golden Age! But given what he had to do, here and now tonight, he couldn’t see another way.

  He took a deep breath, then stepped out and introduced himself, before launching straight in with an explanation of how he’d been woken on Sunday morning by Priya’s screams. ‘Before I knew it,’ he continued, ‘I found I was having to take charge. Priya clearly needed looking after. And nobody knew better than I that a room containing a recently dead body needs to be preserved in as pristine a state as possible. We couldn’t have all and sundry galumphing in there in their pyjamas.’

  ‘Just you,’ came a fluting, unmistakable voice.

  ‘Yes, Virginia. And when I went up to Room 29 to see poor Bryce I made sure that I left as slight an imprint on the place as possible. But it was my decision to take a look at the body that precipitated me into the chain of events that leads me to be standing before you all tonight. Because what I saw, in the company of Dr Webster here, was what made me start to think that Bryce wasn’t just another of those unfortunate people who’d been struck down in their prime by a heart attack, or perhaps an aneurysm or a stroke.’

  ‘Do tell us what that was,’ said Virginia.

  ‘I’m coming to that.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘Please. This is a serious business we’re talking about. A double murder.’