Motive for Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘No, I’d already – oh, forget it.’

  ‘But what did he say about the swimming?’

  ‘That there was no proof.’

  ‘An odd choice of words.’

  ‘Yes.’ It had struck me too.

  ‘Mike –’ I had to ask, but my heart was in my throat and I was so tense even my toes had curled up inside my shoes. ‘You don’t think Matthew had anything to do with Linda’s death, do you?’ I prayed for a quick, incredulous denial, but it didn’t come. ‘Mike?’ I prompted, turning to look at him. I could see the tightness of his clenched jaw and the hardness in his eyes.

  ‘God knows,’ he said at length.

  ‘But you advised me not to go swimming with him, and you said you weren’t sure that he’d left her before the accident.’

  ‘In his own words, there’s no proof.’

  ‘But what do you think? I asked desperately. The streaming countryside poured itself past us. Cottages and farms huddled under their cloak of cloud. I was reminded sharply, unwillingly, of my drive to Salchester with Matthew. God, it was ludicrous! He couldn’t have ...

  ‘Let’s assemble the facts and see how they fit,’ Mike said at last, and his voice held an undercurrent of excitement. ‘First, Linda was a pretty girl who had quite a yen for Matthew.’

  I said sharply, ‘I thought she was Derek’s girlfriend?’

  ‘So she was, but she was always talking about Matthew. It didn’t exactly endear him to Derek. To be fair, I don’t think Matthew was particularly interested, but she was very pretty, and any man’s susceptible to flattery. Spaghetti dinners, no less!’ His voice was bitter.

  I said drily, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Next fact. Matthew wanted Kate back.’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘I never doubted that. He was lost without her.’

  ‘I thought they were always rowing?’ I asked faintly.

  ‘So they were. Matthew needs a bit of stimulation – he’s not one to fall for sweetness and light. But you should have seen the way he looked at her.’

  I had. I said unsteadily, ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, when she first left, they were poles apart. Then, gradually, she began to come down for the odd weekend. To see Sarah, she said. Matthew must have hoped that one day she would stay.’

  So that was the general opinion: Mrs Johnson’s, Mike’s, Matthew’s ...

  ‘Well now,’ Mike went on softly, and something in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, ‘just suppose that, at this crucial point, Linda tells him she’s expecting a baby.’

  I moved sharply. ‘It was Derek’s!’

  He lifted one shoulder. ‘We assumed so, certainly, but, again in the time-honoured phrase, we have no proof. The fact is that she was pregnant. Now we come to – theories.’

  The car purred along, swishing on the wet road. The rain rattled against the glass and the old windscreen wipers creaked laboriously from side to side. With a conscious effort I eased my fingers off my handbag and flexed them painfully.

  ‘So – theory one. Linda told him she was pregnant. OK, it might not have been his child. But on the other hand, after one of those cosy spaghetti dinners, perhaps he couldn’t rule out the possibility.’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting,’ I said thickly.

  ‘Darling, grow up. Linda wasn’t like you, you know.’

  ‘Priscilla Prune,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Exactly!’ Mike laughed without humour. ‘Well, on the afternoon in question, Matthew goes down for a swim and she follows him. She’d done it before. Perhaps she calls to him to come and blow up the lilo, which he does. Now, suppose he swims out, pulling her along on the lilo. It’s a calm, quiet sea, remember. How could the lilo overturn, unless they were fooling around? Suppose that, still fooling, she falls off. Until that moment the idea probably hadn’t even entered his head. Then suddenly, there she is in the water – and of course, he thinks she can’t swim.’

  Against the background of the wet road I could see it all happening as Mike described, and was aware of the taste of blood as my teeth fastened in my lip.

  ‘It’s too easy,’ he was saying. All he has to do is leave her. At first she probably laughs and splashes, carrying on the pretence that she can’t swim, waiting for him to rescue her. Then she sees his face, watching – waiting – for her to drown. She panics and starts to swim frantically. But look at the position he’s in; she knows he intended to let her drown. So –’

  Mike lifted his hands fractionally from the wheel in a horrible, all too explicit gesture. I sat without moving, almost without breathing, my eyes staring achingly ahead. He had made it sound so plausible. But I wouldn’t accept it – I couldn’t.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said flatly.

  ‘So,’ he went on, as though I hadn’t spoken, ‘we come to Kate.’

  I swung round as though pulled by a string. ‘Mike, what are you saying?’

  ‘Facts first.’ His voice was trembling with the nervous undercurrent, his eyes almost glassy on the road ahead. ‘For some reason best known to herself, Kate decides, the night before her death, to turn on the sweetness. She purrs over Matthew, flatters him, cajoles him, till he doesn’t know whether he’s on his head or his heels. What happened after I left I don’t know, but I’ve a pretty good idea the guest­room wasn’t used that night.’

  There, at least, he was wrong, as I’d learned from my unwilling eavesdropping. But I was powerless to interrupt now, listening in fascinated horror to Mike’s diabolical ‘theory’.

  ‘So,’ he went on, ‘old Matthew thinks he’s home and dry, and everything in the garden’s lovely. And then, then they have this colossal row. I still think you know more than you admit about it, but in my opinion, Kate calmly turned round and announced that she was going to marry this Henderson character.’

  I couldn’t deny that, even to myself.

  ‘Imagine how Matthew must have felt. He’d killed Linda to get Kate, everything had seemed to be going his way. She had been all lovely-dovey – then this! Well, he’s got a violent temper, you know. Remember what he said after the phone call? “I didn’t mean to kill her”.’

  So he had heard that, too. ‘But it was just shock. You can’t seriously be suggesting that Matthew killed Kate as well?’

  Only when I’d spoken did I realise that the words implied my semi-acceptance of Linda’s murder. I said quickly, to cover it, ‘How could he, anyway? He was at the house – we saw him.’

  Mike didn’t speak. Again, almost fearfully, I turned to look at him.

  ‘Well, wasn’t he?’ I persisted frantically. Still silence. Now my own brain was following the same twisted, tortuous paths as Mike’s.

  ‘You mean,’ I whispered, ‘he did something to the car before she left?’ I remembered the front door slamming behind him, and closed my eyes.

  Mike moved suddenly, like someone coming out of a trance.

  ‘Tune in tomorrow for the next thrilling instalment!’

  My eyes flew open. His joking tone shocked me inexpressibly, like a sluice of cold water on a sun-warmed body.

  ‘You mean you weren’t serious?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘My dear Emily, one doesn’t go about accusing one’s own cousin of murder, now does one? It was purely a mental exercise to pass the journey, which it did admirably, because here we are in Trevenna.’ He drove through the wet, deserted streets to the carpark and I reached for my umbrella. A huge sycamore towered over one corner, and its fallen leaves lay spread on the dark tarmac like large golden stars.

  Mike took my arm. ‘You look as though you could do with a cuppa. Let’s see if we can find one.’

  I couldn’t rally as swiftly as he had, and my brain was still numbed by his ‘imaginings’. Because, imaginings or not, they fitted together horribly well.

  Mike bought a local paper from a news stand, and when we were seated in a steamy café, he opened it and turned to the entertainments page. ‘What kind of film shall we go for? That new thrill
er –’

  ‘A comedy,’ I said decidedly. ‘I’m in need of one.’

  ‘There’s a Hollywood musical at the Odeon – how about that? Doors open at five on Sundays. We should be out about eight, then we can have a meal somewhere. Sure you don’t want to eat anything now?’

  I shook my head. ‘The tea’s fine.’ My cold hands were still clasped round the cup.

  ‘Anything else, dear?’ The waitress stood over us with pencil poised.

  ‘No, thanks. Can you suggest anywhere we can get a meal later on?’

  ‘The restaurants are closed on Sundays, but you could try the hotels. The St Austell does nice dinners, so I’ve heard.’

  We thanked her and went out into the cold rain.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The music crashed to a climax, the hero took the heroine in his arms, and the cameras swung to the distant hills. It was over, and my brief escape into fantasy had come to an end. Beside me, Mike straightened in his seat.

  ‘And they lived happily ever after!’ he mocked.

  ‘It does happen sometimes.’

  ‘So does a blue moon.’

  ‘You’re a hard-bitten old cynic!’ I said lightly.

  ‘Then marry me, and convert me!’

  ‘If you’re not careful I might call your bluff.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m hoping you will.’

  I smiled and stood up, moving past him to the aisle. Could he have meant it? How would it be, married to Mike? But no, he was only fantasising, as he had in the car.

  It was still raining. We collected the car and drove to the other end of town to the hotel recommended to us. It was pleasant but uninspired, and so was its menu. We lingered over coffee, reluctant to go out again into the dark wet night, and again I was reminded of my dinner with Matthew, and how I’d wished it would go on for ever. Yet this afternoon I’d listened to Mike make him out to be a double murderer. Perhaps Mike was right, and cynicism was the safest option.

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Heavens, we must go – look at the time! We won’t be home much before twelve.’

  ‘Cinderella!’ Mike teased, but he signalled to the hovering waiter and paid the bill.

  The car again, cutting its way through the darkness. For a long time we drove in silence. I was wide awake and faintly uneasy, not comfortable with my thoughts.

  Just short of Chapelcombe, Mike glanced at me and without a word drove off the road on to the headland.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I was startled out of my reverie.

  He slowed down, braked, and switched off the lights. Above my quickened breathing came the sound of the sea. He put an arm round my shoulders, but I resisted.

  ‘Not now, Mike. Please take me home. It’s late and I’m tired.’

  ‘Too tired to kiss me good-night?’

  Without waiting for my reply he began to kiss me. I went rigid. For some strange reason I felt that I was suffocating. I struggled, pushing at his chest with both hands, and he drew back, frowning.

  ‘I’m sorry – I just don’t want to.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to seduce you,’ he said roughly. ‘I thought I meant at least something to you.’

  I reached up a hand to his face. ‘You do, Mike, of course you do. But I – I never said –’

  ‘I see.’ He moved his head away from my hand.

  ‘Mike – please understand. You don’t seem to realise how much you upset me, with all that talk earlier about Matthew and Linda and Kate. I can’t just push it aside and pretend it never happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry; it was thoughtless of me.’ He was like a stranger, and I realised miserably how much my withdrawal had hurt him.

  ‘Please don’t be cross,’ I pleaded.

  ‘I’m not cross, Emily.’ He started the car, turned it in a wide sweep and we were off the uneven grass and on the road again. In silence we swooped down into Chapelcombe and up out the other side of it. Mike didn’t change gear and the car took the hill like a rampaging bull. We skidded round the corner of the road to Touchstone and rocketed up it. I was still wondering how to soothe his wounded pride when I saw that, late though it was, the house was a blaze of light. And, half out of sight round the corner of the house, stood the huge shape of a fire engine.

  I tore open the car door and fled up the path, aware of Mike’s footsteps running after me. I turned the front door knob with both hands and almost cannoned into Mrs Johnson in the hall. Her hair was braided round her head and she was wearing a blue dressing-gown. Her face was white with shock.

  ‘Oh Miss Barton –’ she quavered.

  I said sharply, ‘Where’s Matthew?’ There was no time to remember that I was speaking of the man Mike and I had cast as a double murderer. I felt Mike’s hand catch at my arm, but I shook him off and threw myself across the hall. In the passage two strange men stood talking. I thrust them aside and flung open the library door on a scene of devastation. The carpet, soaking wet under my feet, was littered with charred pieces of furniture, singed material and piles of scorched paper, and where the curtains used to hang, blackened shreds hung in an uneven fringe.

  The acrid smell caught at my throat and stung my eyes, half-blinding me, but I could just make out a figure by the window.

  ‘Matthew?’ I gasped. ‘Matthew!’

  There was a movement beyond the haze and his voice, raw with smoke, said quickly, ‘Yes, I’m here, Emily. I’m all right.’

  I stumbled towards him and his arms came round me.

  Mike’s voice said from the doorway, ‘Loath as I am to interrupt, might I suggest you move out of here and close this door? The smoke’s going all over the house.’

  With Matthew’s arm still round me, we did as he said. I glanced apprehensively at Mike as we passed him in the doorway; his face was like granite.

  Matthew lowered me gently into one of Kate’s armchairs. I hadn’t sat there since she died.

  ‘Well,’ Mike said, in that new, brittle voice, ‘never a dull moment. What happened this time?’

  Matthew stood looking down at me. He was in his shirt sleeves. His forearms and hands were thick with grime and there was a smear down his face.

  ‘Are you all right, Emily? Mike, pour her a shot of brandy, would you? Make it three while you’re there.’

  Mike glanced from one of us to the other and went without a word. The two firemen had moved into the main body of the hall. Matthew and I stared at each other.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not burned or anything?’ The agonising fear of a minute ago was still fresh in my mind.

  ‘No, really, I’m fine.’

  Silence stretched between us, and I was suddenly, burningly, conscious of the way I’d flung myself into his arms. My eyes dropped away from his as the silence became unbearable. Then, to my relief, it was broken by Mike’s returning footsteps.

  ‘Well,’ he demanded, handing round the glasses, ‘what happened?’

  Matthew said flatly, ‘I came back earlier than I’d intended. If I hadn’t – ‘ He broke off and drained his glass. I knew he was thinking of Sarah, still sleeping upstairs.

  ‘And?’ Mike prompted.

  ‘There was a smell of burning as soon as I opened the front door. I dashed down here and smoke was curling under the door. So I phoned the fire brigade, then went back to try to fight it myself. I was able to beat back some of the flames but the curtains were burning fiercely and – the desk seems more or less a write-off.’

  I looked up, a note in his voice reaching me while it conveyed nothing to Mike. ‘The book?’ I asked sharply.

  Matthew spread his hands in an eloquent gesture.

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed violently, as though the word could somehow counteract what had happened. ‘Oh, Matthew, no!’ All that work, the painstaking research, the brilliant characterisation, gone up in smoke. My heart ached for him.

  ‘But you’ll start again, won’t you?’ I demanded urgently, for without the book, there was no reason for me to stay here.

  Mike was sayin
g, ‘That is tough luck. I know how much work you’ve put into it.’

  Matthew ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yes. Well, as I said, it’s lucky the whole house didn’t go up. If I hadn’t come back earlier than expected, it wouldn’t have been discovered in time.’

  ‘Matthew!’ I caught at his hand and his fingers closed round mine. I saw Mike’s eyes glint, but I was past being responsible for my actions. ‘You will start again, won’t you? You can’t let it all go to waste.’

  ‘And rob posterity of a priceless gem? It wasn’t that good!’

  ‘But it was! I’ll help you – I can remember whole passages!’

  Matthew said wearily, ‘Two deaths and a fire in the course of one novel tend to give one the impression it was never meant to be written.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’ I declared roundly. ‘You’ll feel differently in the morning.’

  ‘Such faith!’ said Mike lightly, and something in his face made me disengage my hand from Matthew’s. He made no effort to retain it.

  Mike turned to him. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No thanks, the excitement’s over now. Forensics will be round tomorrow to try to find out how it started.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, I’ll be on my way. Good-night Emily.’ He gave me a little mock bow.

  ‘I’ll come with you to the door.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I know you’re tired.’ It was, I recognised, a reference to my refusal to kiss him in the car, and I felt a twinge of guilt. For despite the tumult of my feelings for Matthew, I was genuinely fond of Mike, and sorry that I had hurt him.

  He had turned and started for the door, but I caught up with him and slipped my hand into his. There was no response.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely day.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘I get you thoroughly on edge with my ramblings, then I make unwelcome advances. It pours with rain and we get back to find the house on fire. A lovely day indeed!’

  We were standing just outside the front door in the deep stone embrasure, sheltered from the wind and rain. He looked down at me.

  ‘I should have believed you,’ he said quietly, ‘when you said there was someone else. I thought you were just stalling for time, but I see I was wrong.’