by Ian Shimwell
“I say, steady on old chap,” stated Lloyd.
“What game are you playing?” asked Williams.
The dice was in full flow. Miss Saunderson continued, “If you have the nerve to imply something improper was happening between Roger and I, then you could not be more mistaken. I am happily and proudly engaged to Captain John Williams.”
Williams smiled at his fiancé. All very nice and cosy, but it was time to throw in a few brick-bats.
“That was very believable,” I said icily and then made the pretence of looking around me. “This room is indicative of a beautiful house – Three Sisters. Could your parents not count, Miss Saunderson?”
Her face immediately darkened. I could see the panic setting in.
“I’m sorry?”
“You may well be, my dear. But it is much too late now. What is wrong with your Serena? Don’t you count her?”
Her face reddened and she spoke torridly and with a somehow wondrous manic fervour, “Serena is counted up there with Royalty. She is a Duchess, married to a handsome Duke, whom naturally is of direct Royal descent. Her home is a magnificent castle, with turrets and spires and all things like that. She hosts marvellous galas; the most fashionable parties and royal pageants. She…”
I held my hand up to put a halt to her delusions. “In reality, Serena who would have been your youngest sister was still born. Your mother died delivering her. Your father, never quite getting over the double tragedy, used to fantasise to his daughters about Serena, the Royal Duchess, before his own demise.
“Louisa, of course, eventually grew out of this fantasy. In a way, it was probably only a harmless childhood story. But you, on the other hand, never did.” I stared at the quivering Miss Saunderson unblinkingly. “The question is: did you kill Louisa because she threatened to expose your fantasy world?”
A deluge of tears flooded her face. She was seemingly oblivious to Williams’ attempts to calm her. So, time to move onto my next suspect.
“Captain Williams, a proud man with a distinguished military record,” I stated with a touch of pomp and ceremony.
“There, there my sweet.” Williams managed to disentangle himself from his intended and said, “At your service, Inspector Mackenzie.”
I turned my head slightly to face the military man. “I believe your extended Leave has now extended to three months.”
“That is correct.”
My moustache itched slightly, so I itched it. “That is a remarkable coincidence.”
“I fail to see any relevant connection,” he said rather woodenly I thought.
“Then I will enlighten you. Poor Louisa was almost three months pregnant. As I understand it, you did have a soft spot for her.”
“Why you wily old devil,” smirked Lloyd, apparently in admiration.
To his credit, Williams remained relatively calm but I could tell he was seething underneath.
“It is true that I adored and respected Louisa, but nothing improper ever happened between us. I stake my honour on that,” he stated proudly and just a touch too determinedly.
“Your honour?” I challenged. “Are you basing your honour on your proud record of military distinction?”
“I am.”
“Then I suggest that your memory is incredibly selective. You have already informed me that your most recent conflict was bloody and brutal. Explain what happened through all this gruesome activity.”
This time a different kind of darkness overshadowed Williams’ face. It was the face of a man about to relive the unthinkable – like a trapped fox in those few moments before the hounds tear it apart.
“I had taken a patrol of men to capture an enemy installation. Unfortunately it was a trap. They swarmed from seemingly nowhere, completely taking us by surprise. The enemy shot and sliced us open, taking great pleasure in butchering my men.”
Williams began to look distracted, so I pressed on. “You had back-up, did you not – why did you not simply blow your whistle or something to call them?”
He buried his sorrowful face in his hands. “It was the horror, the loose limbs and the blood. Blood from everywhere, drowning me…”
“If you had done your duty and called for reinforcements, lives would have been saved. They arrived late, only to save your miserable skin.” My fist banged on the table. “You sir are nothing more than a coward, a squeamish coward. ‘Extended Leave’, I don’t think so. Our enquires have revealed that you have been dishonourably discharged, awaiting a possible court-marshal.”
Williams sunk deeper into his pit of despair. I think Miss Saunderson was so much back in her fantasy world to even notice. Mr Lloyd seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.
“I suggest that during a tender moment, you revealed your secret to Louisa. Is that why you murdered her – to silence her?” My response was a series of desperate denials, so I moved on to my final suspect: the financier, My Lloyd.
“My Lloyd, before we begin, can I just have one thing clear? That under any circumstances, there will be no sherry!”
Lloyd smiled. “Whatever you say, old man.”
My fingers danced slowly across the table. “How’s business?” I asked innocently.
“Ticking over very nicely. May I take this opportunity to thank you for your interest.”
“No you may not.” I surveyed the confident Mr Lloyd. He would be a tougher nut to crack than the other two. No matter, I need not necessarily crack the man, just the truth. “Is cash flow a problem? If it is, I can spare a few gunnies.”
“Awfully kind of you Inspector, but as I said, not necessary.”
I could have almost touched the smugness irradiating from him. “The truth is Lloyd; you are very close to financial ruin. You see we’ve had a good old chin-wag with your friend, good old ‘Charlie boy’.” At last, the smugness evaporated – yes! “Did you really care for Louisa at all?”
Lloyd’s eyes shifted. I suppose it would be hard for a compulsive liar to actually tell the truth. Could he manage it?
“Louisa wasn’t as sweet and innocent as everyone pretends.” He raised an eyebrow. She taught me a few things, I can tell you.” Lloyd then shrugged, “I’ll admit I was trying to persuade her to invest part of her family inheritance in a lucrative business proposition of mine. Is there anything wrong with that?”
My eyes narrowed, piercing through Lloyd’s pathetic pretence. “It is when you have absolutely no intention of repaying a single penny of anyone’s investment. I believe you are responsible for fraud on a grand scale. Many women have succumbed to your questionable charms and have paid for it. Did Louisa fall for your story?”
“She was about to,” he said not quite so confidently as usual.
“Or did she find you out for what you are? Was she about to report you to the police?” For once, Lloyd greeted me with a stony silence so I changed tactics. “Or were you the one who made her pregnant? You could take the shame of being a low-life confidence artist and thief, but not of a scandal. Was that too much, even for you?”
“Is there any more, Inspector? I’m dying for a sherry.”
“I said no more sherry.” I had one more card to play against Lloyd. “Or did Louisa catch you ‘comforting’ her sister? That would have completely wrecked your little money-making scheme. As you were so desperate for money, did you resort to murder?”
Again I was confronted by sincere-sounding protestations of innocence. I looked behind me and the Constable nodded, confirming that it was now time for the end-game.
Thoughtfully, I glanced at each of the suspects in turn. Miss Saunderson had composed herself and seemed to be back with us in this hell we call reality. Williams was still shaking but even he knew that the day of reckoning was nigh. Lloyd had regained his smugness. I think I would have been disappointed if he hadn’t. All three of them had more than enough motive to kill Louisa.
Yes Louisa, what have I learned of her? Sweet and innocent or treacherous? A respectable virgin – ahem – or a daring temptr
ess? Would she had fallen for Lloyd’s charms or seen through him – or both? Did she and Williams have a forbidden affair? What was the tension between Louisa and her sister? Was it the spectre of Serena? So many questions, but now it was the time for at least one answer.
“So, who was it? One, two or all three of us,” asked Lloyd, for once, speaking for the tainted trinity.
I placed my papers down on the desk and said slowly, “My evidence conclusively proves that one person and one person alone was responsible for the murder of poor Louisa. One from you three.”
“Tell us,” shrieked Miss Saunderson.
“Which one of us?” pleaded Williams neurotically.
“If you wouldn’t mind, old boy,” added Lloyd.
I looked around at the expectant but frankly frightened faces that were so full of dread. Throwing etiquette to the wind, I dramatically stood up and pointed directly at the killer.
“You are the murderer,” I stated emphatically.
Extract from Constable Reginald Smith’s Notebook
Note for Inspector Mackenzie:
I’m so sorry sir; I seem to have mislaid the final page of your report.
THE END
NEXT IN THE NOVELLA RANGE: The Novella Range Collection
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