by P. D. James
He said, “We’ll go up to the gallery. I’d like to hear exactly what happened from the moment Oliver went missing.”
They began toiling in single file up the circular wooden staircase which lined the walls. Room succeeded room, each smaller in size, each meticulously restored. Maycroft, seeing Benton’s obvious interest, gave a brief description as they ascended.
“The ground floor, as you saw, is mostly used now for storing Jago’s climbing equipment. The chest holds climbing boots, gloves, the slings, karabiner, clips and harnesses and so on. Originally the room would’ve held water which had to be pumped up and heated on a stove if the keeper wanted a bath.
“Now we’re entering the room where the electricity was generated and the tools kept. Next we have the fuel room, for the storing of oil, and up through a storeroom where the tinned food was kept. Today lighthouses have refrigerators and freezers, but in earlier times keepers would have relied on tins. We’re passing through the winch room now, and on to the battery room. Batteries are used to supply power for the lantern if the generators should fail. Little to see here, but I think the living room is more interesting. Keepers used to cook and eat their meals here, using a coal stove or an oven fuelled by bottled gas.”
No one else spoke as they ascended. And now they were in the bedroom. The circular room had only space enough for two narrow bunk beds with storage beneath, the beds covered by identical plaid blankets. Lifting the edge of one, Dalgliesh saw that beneath it was only a hard mattress. The blankets, stretched tightly over the beds, looked undisturbed. In an attempt to re-create an atmosphere of domesticity, the restorer had added photographs of the keeper’s family and two small circular porcelain plaques with religious texts—Bless This House and Peace, Be Still. This was the only room which gave Dalgliesh a sense of how these long-dead lives must have been lived.
And now they were passing up the curved and narrow steps from the service room, which was fitted with a model of a radiotelephone, a barometer, a thermometer and a large chart of the British Isles fixed to the wall. Stacked against the wall was a folding chair.
Maycroft said, “Some of our more energetic visitors like to carry a chair onto the platform round the lantern. They not only get the best view on the island, but can read in absolute privacy. We get to the lantern by these steps and through a door onto the gallery.”
None of the windows to any of the rooms had been opened, and the air, although not tainted, had been stale, the gradually decreasing space unpleasantly claustrophobic. Now Dalgliesh breathed in a sweet sea-laden air, so fresh that he felt like a liberated prisoner. The view was spectacular: the island lay below, the muted greens and browns of the central scrubland a sober contrast to the glitter of the granite cliffs and the shining sea. They moved round to the seaward side. The sharp-edged waves were flecked to the horizon, as if a giant hand had flicked a brush of white paint over the immensity of blue. They were met by an erratic breeze which, at this height, had the occasional force of a strong wind, and instinctively all five clutched at the rails. Watching Kate, he saw her gulp in the fresh air as if she too had been long confined. Then the breeze died, and it seemed to Dalgliesh that even in that moment the white-flecked restless sea became calmer.
Looking down, he saw there was nothing beneath them on the seaward side but a few yards of paved stone bounded by a rough dry-stone wall and beyond it the sheer rock sandwiched in polished layers and slicing down to the sea. He leaned over the rail and felt a second of disorientating dizziness. In what extremity of despair or with what annihilating exultation would a man hurl himself into this infinity? And why would a suicide choose the degrading horror of hanging? Why not fling himself into the void?
He said, “Where exactly was the rope fixed?”
Again it was Maycroft who took the initiative. “I think he fell from about this spot here. He was dangling some twelve or fourteen feet down, I can’t be more precise than that. He had fixed the rope to the railings by threading it in and out of the spurs and then over the top. The rest of the rope lay just loose here on the floor.”
Dalgliesh didn’t comment. Any discussion with his colleagues was inhibited by the presence of Maycroft and Staveley and would have to wait. He wished he could have seen exactly how the rope had been secured to the rail. That must have taken time, and the perpetrator, whether Oliver or another, would have had to judge the length of the drop. He turned to Staveley. “Is that your memory too, Doctor?”
“Yes. Normally we might have been too shocked to notice details, but of course we had to unravel the rope from the railings before we could let the body down, and that took a little time. We tried to force it through coiled, but in the end had to take the end and laboriously unthread it.”
“Were you the only two up here at the lantern?”
“Jago had followed us up. The three of us began to pull the body up. We stopped almost at once. It seemed terrible to be stretching the neck still further. I don’t know why we decided on that course of action. I suppose it was just that the body was so much closer to the lantern than it was to the ground.”
Maycroft said, “It’s distressing even to think of it. I had a moment of panic when I actually thought we might tear the head from the body. The right and only thing seemed to be to let him gently down. We unwound the rope, and then Jago threaded it under one spur to act as a kind of brake. Guy and I could then manage perfectly well between us with the rope twisted over the rail, so I told Jago to go down to receive the body.”
Dalgliesh asked, “Who else was there at the time?”
“Just Dan Padgett. Miss Holcombe and Millie had gone.”
“And the rest of the staff and your visitors?”
“I didn’t phone Mrs. Burbridge or Mrs. Plunkett to let them know that Oliver was missing, so they didn’t join the search. I could only have got in touch with Dr. Speidel and Dr. Yelland if they’d been in their cottages, but obviously I didn’t try. As visitors they’re not responsible for Oliver’s safety. There was, in any case, no point in disturbing them unnecessarily. Later, when I’d spoken to London and we learnt you were on your way, I did phone the cottages, but neither man answered. They were probably walking somewhere in the north-west part of the island. I expect they still are.”
“So the search party consisted of you two, Jago, Miss Holcombe, Dan Padgett and Millie Tranter?”
“I hadn’t asked Miss Holcombe or Millie to help. Millie came later with Jago, and Miss Holcombe had been in the surgery when Jo phoned me. She had an appointment for her annual anti-flu injection. Adrian Boyde and Dennis Tremlett had gone to search the eastern side of the island, and Roughtwood said he was too busy to help. Actually, the search didn’t really get underway. We were together outside the house when the mist came down, and there seemed little point in going further than the lighthouse until it lifted. It usually does on Combe, and quite quickly.”
“And you were the first actually to see the body?”
“Yes, with Dan Padgett right behind me.”
“What made you think Oliver might be in or near the lighthouse? Was this a place he normally came to?”
“I don’t think so. But of course the whole point of the island is that people have privacy. We don’t keep a watch on our visitors. But we were close to the lighthouse and it occurred to me to look there first. The door wasn’t bolted, so I went up one storey and called up the stairs. I thought he’d have heard me if he’d been there. I’m not sure why I then decided to walk round the lighthouse. It seemed the natural thing to do at the time. Anyway, the mist was now fairly thick, and it seemed pointless to go on with the search. It was when I was on the seaward side that it suddenly began to clear and I saw the body. Millie and Jago were coming round the house from the harbour. She began screaming, and then Guy and Miss Holcombe appeared.”
“And the rope?”
It was Staveley who answered. “When we saw that Jago had caught the body and laid it on the path, we both went down immediately. Dan was
standing and Jago was kneeling by the body. He said, ‘He’s gone, sir. No point in trying resuscitation.’ He’d loosened the rope round Oliver’s neck and drawn the noose over his head.”
Maycroft said, “I sent Jago and Dan to get the stretcher and a sheet. Guy and I waited without speaking. I think we turned away from Oliver and looked out to sea, at least I did. We had nothing to cover him with and it seemed—well—indecent to be staring down at that distorted face. It seemed a long time before Jago and Dan came back, and by that time Roughtwood had arrived. Miss Holcombe must have sent him. He helped Dan and Jago lift the body onto the stretcher. We started off for the house, Dan and Roughtwood wheeling the stretcher, Guy and myself walking at either side. I called back to Jago: ‘Pick up the rope and put it back in the lighthouse, will you? Don’t touch the knot or the noose. There’ll be an inquest and the rope may be part of the evidence.’ ”
Dalgliesh said, “It didn’t occur to you to take the rope with you?”
“There would’ve been no point. We all thought we were dealing with a suicide. The rope would have been too cumbersome for my desk drawer, and it was as safe in the lighthouse as anywhere. Frankly, it never occurred to me that it wouldn’t be. What else could I reasonably have done with it? It had become an object of horror. It was best out of public sight.”
But it hadn’t been out of public reach. With the unlocked door, anyone on the island could have had access to it. The more people who had handled the rope and the knot, the more difficult it would be to discover who had first tied the bowline and made doubly sure with the two half-hitches. He needed to talk to Jago Tamlyn. Assuming this was murder, Jago was the only one who could say when and how the rope had been replaced. It would have been useful to have had Jago with them, but Dalgliesh had been anxious not to have more people than necessary at the scene of crime, or to complicate the inquiry at this stage by revealing, however indirectly, his train of thought.
He said, “I think that’s as far as we can go at present. Thank you.”
They descended in silence, Guy Staveley as carefully as if he were an old man. Now they were again in the entrance chamber. The loosely coiled blue-and-red-veined rope, the small dangling noose, seemed to Dalgliesh’s eyes to have subtly changed into an object portentous with latent power. This was a reaction he had experienced before when contemplating a murder weapon: the ordinariness of steel, wood and rope and their terrible power. As if by common agreement they contemplated the rope in silence.
Dalgliesh turned to Maycroft. “I’d like a word with Jago Tamlyn before I see the residents together. Can he be reached quickly?”
Maycroft and Staveley looked at each other. Staveley said, “He may have gone over to the house. Most people will probably be in the library by now, but he won’t want to hang about waiting. He could still be on the launch. If he is, I’ll give him a wave.”
Dalgliesh turned to Benton-Smith. “Find him, will you, Sergeant?”
Dalgliesh didn’t miss the quick flush to Staveley’s face. He could guess his train of thought. Was Dalgliesh ensuring that he had no time to warn or brief Jago before his first encounter?
Benton-Smith said, “Yes, sir,” and moved quickly round the lighthouse and out of sight. He would be walking round the cliff edge towards the harbour. The wait seemed interminable, but it must have been less than five minutes before they heard footfalls on the stone and the two figures appeared round the curve of the lighthouse.
And now coming towards them was the watcher on the quay they had seen from the helicopter. Dalgliesh’s first impression was of a confident masculine handsomeness. Jago Tamlyn was short, Dalgliesh judged under five foot six, and was powerfully built, his stockiness emphasised by the thick dark-blue fisherman’s jersey, intricately patterned. Beneath it he wore corduroy trousers tucked into black rubber sea-boots. He was very dark, with a long, strong-featured face, curly dishevelled hair and short beard, his eyes narrow under a creased brow, the irises a clear sapphire blue against the sunburnt skin. He regarded Dalgliesh with a fixed look, wary and speculative, which, under Dalgliesh’s gaze, quickly changed to the passionless acquiescence of a private on a charge. It was a face which gave nothing away.
Maycroft introduced Dalgliesh and Kate, using their ranks and full names with a careful formality which suggested that they were expected to shake hands. No one did. Jago nodded and was silent. Dalgliesh led the group round to the seaward side of the lighthouse. He spoke without preliminaries. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened from the time you were called to join the search party.”
Jago was silent for about five seconds. Dalgliesh thought it unlikely that he needed the time to refresh his memory. When he spoke, the account came fluently and without hesitation.
“Mr. Boyde phoned me from the office to say Mr. Oliver hadn’t turned up at the surgery as expected and asking me to come and help look for him. The fog was coming up by then and I couldn’t see the sense of searching, but I went up the path from the harbour none the less. Millie Tranter was in the cottage and ran after me. When we got in sight of the lighthouse, the fog suddenly cleared and we saw the body. Mr. Maycroft was there with Dan Padgett. Dan was shaking and moaning. Millie started screaming, and then Dr. Staveley and Miss Holcombe came round the lighthouse. Mr. Maycroft, Dr. Staveley and I went inside and up to the gallery. We began pulling the body up, then Dr. Staveley said we should let it down instead. We wound the rope round the top railing so as to control the drop. Mr. Maycroft told me to go back down to catch the body, and that’s what I did. When I’d got hold of him, Mr. Maycroft and Dr. Staveley let the rope drop down.”
He was silent. After a pause Dalgliesh asked, “Did you lay the body on the ground unaided?”
“Yes, sir. Dan came to help but it wasn’t needed. Mr. Oliver wasn’t that heavy.”
Again a pause. It was apparent that Jago had decided not to volunteer any information, but only to respond to questions.
Dalgliesh said, “Who was with you when you laid him on the ground?”
“Only Dan Padgett. Miss Holcombe had taken the lass away, as was right.”
“Who loosened and removed the rope?”
The pause was longer now. “I think I did.”
“Was there any doubt about it? We’re talking about this morning. It wasn’t a moment anyone would forget.”
“I did. I think Dan helped. I mean, I got hold of the knot and he started pushing the rope through. We’d just got it over the head when Mr. Maycroft and Dr. Staveley arrived.”
“So you both took part in taking it off?”
“I reckon so.”
“Why did you do that?”
And now Jago looked straight at Dalgliesh. He said, “It seemed natural. The rope had bitten deep into his neck. We couldn’t leave him like that. It wasn’t decent.”
“And then?”
“Mr. Maycroft told Dan and me to get the stretcher. Mr. Roughtwood—Miss Holcombe’s butler—was here when we got back.”
“Was that the first time you saw Mr. Roughtwood at the scene?”
“I told you, sir. After Millie and Miss Holcombe had gone, it was just the three of us here and Dan. Roughtwood arrived while we were fetching the stretcher.”
“What happened to the rope?”
“Mr. Maycroft called back for me to put it with the others, so I wound it up and put it back on the hook.”
“You wound it just loosely? The others are more carefully coiled.”
“I look after all the climbing equipment. The ropes are my responsibility. They’re always kept like that. This one was different. No point in coiling it like the others, I wasn’t going to use it again. That rope’s unlucky now. I wouldn’t trust my life to it, or any other life. Mr. Maycroft said not to touch the knot. There’d have to be an inquest and maybe the coroner might want to see the rope.”
“But of course you had already touched it, and you say Dan Padgett had also touched it.”
“Could be. I grasped it so as to loos
en the noose and draw it over his head. I knew he was dead and past help, but it wasn’t proper leaving him like that. I reckon Dan felt the same.”
“He was able to help despite his distress? What state was he in when he first arrived?”
Kate could see the question was unwelcome. Jago replied quickly. “He was upset, like you said. Better ask him, sir, about his feelings. Much the same as mine, I guess. It was a shock.”
Dalgliesh said, “Thank you, Mr. Tamlyn. You’ve been very clear. I’d like you to look at the knot carefully.”
Jago did so, but didn’t speak. Kate knew that Dalgliesh could be patient when patience could best get results. He waited, then Jago said, “Mr. Oliver could tie a bowline, but seemingly he had no faith in it. There’s two half-hitches above. Clumsy.”
“Do you know whether Mr. Oliver would know that a bowline was a safe knot to use?”
“I reckon he could tie a bowline, sir. His father was boatman here and brought him up after his ma died. He lived on Combe until he was evacuated with the others when the war started. Afterwards he lived here with his father until he was sixteen and took off. His dad would’ve taught him to tie a bowline.”
“And the rope? Are you able to say whether it looks the same now as it did after you’d hung it up?”
Jago looked at the rope. His face was expressionless. He said, “Much the same.”
“Not much the same—does it look the same, Mr. Tamlyn, as far as you can remember?”
“Hard one to answer. I took no great notice of how it looked. I just coiled it and hung it up. It’s what I said, sir. Seems much the same as I left it.”
Dalgliesh said, “That’s all for now. Thank you, Mr. Tamlyn.”
Maycroft gave a dismissive nod. Jago turned to him in a gesture which could have been intended to convey his dismissal of Dalgliesh and all his doings. “No point in going back to the launch now, sir. No need, I reckon. The engine’s running sweetly enough now. I’ll be in the library with the others.”
