Motive for Murder

by Anthea Fraser

  The calm, dispassionate words chilled my bones. Poor, poor Linda; she died not even knowing why. I couldn’t bear to think of her.

  ‘And – Kate?’

  ‘Kate,’ Mike said in measured tones, ‘had been to St Catherine’s House and unearthed “a secret”. Which could only mean she’d discovered there was no trace of my mother’s marriage certificate. However, my birth certificate would have been there, and if it named Menzies as my father, it would link me with the murder. I couldn’t chance it.’

  ‘So,’ I said with icy calm, ‘you tried twice to kill her – the first time with the boulder.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And nearly killed me too.’

  He turned quickly from the window. ‘I was appalled when I found your things down there. You’d said you weren’t going to the beach, and I couldn’t see you from up above – you must have been sitting against the cliff.’

  ‘And when you weren’t successful, you came back that evening – to make sure she didn’t say any more about what she’d discovered. And also to fix the car,’ I added after a moment, ‘and for good measure leave a can of petrol in the boot.’

  I remembered how he’d come in the gateway as Kate’s car rocketed off, and his peculiar manner as he waited to hear of the crash. He’d explained it with the no doubt glib lie that it was his mother’s birthday, and Matthew had been blaming himself ever since, because he thought she’d been driving recklessly after their row.

  And to crown it all, I had more or less accused him of killing them both. A dry sob rose in my throat and Mike came swiftly to me and took my hand. The grey eyes were limpid and child-like.

  ‘Oh Emily,’ he said, ‘I wish I didn’t have to kill you!’

  I started to laugh, tearingly, chokingly, and saw his bewilderment. He put an arm clumsily round my shoulders and I had to steel myself not to shudder. He drew me to the window and we stood staring out at the deserted farm­yard and the beech tree, its red-gold leaves burning like flames in the premature gloom of the afternoon. The first, slow drops of rain, round and shining like marbles, fell with heavy splashes on the glass.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Mike asked. He might have been enquiring whether we should go to the Show as planned or, now that the rain had started, drive somewhere for tea. But I knew, by some sixth sense, that as long as I stayed in that room I was safe. Mike would not harm me in his mother’s sitting-room, with her gentle eyes watching us.

  The rain was falling now in a soft, even patter, and I watched the long globules fill in the dusty edge of the window sill until they merged into smooth, gleaming wetness.

  Mike said suddenly, ‘I realised that must have been the picture, but I couldn’t find a signature, though I searched for it pretty thoroughly. I didn’t know about the bloody thistle. Anyway, I couldn’t have parted with it – it was a risk I had to take.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Do you blame me, Emily?’

  I sighed. ‘I suppose that once you’d killed your father, you felt you had to kill Linda. The tragedy is that both murders were unnecessary.’

  ‘I know. Too bad.’ The callousness of the words stopped me just in time from almost condoning him.

  ‘And – and Kate; she probably wouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Oh she would, make no mistake, if only to annoy Matthew. She was playing cat-and-mouse with him all that weekend.’

  Behind us, the clock whirred suddenly and struck three. Then the silence seeped back, broken only by the whispering rain and my own ragged breathing. And I knew that after all I must leave the dubious safety of this room before it became a prison. My survival depended now on the presence of other people, and it was clear what I must do.

  I turned to him with what I hoped was a normal smile. ‘Can we go to the Show now?’ I asked.

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘What – in this?’

  ‘Yes,’ I insisted feverishly, ‘please. I want to see your exhibits, and – and do the Floral Dance.’

  ‘In the rain?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, in the rain!’

  He laughed, a high laugh that had in it something of excitement. ‘Very well, my sweet,’ he said with a terrible gaiety, ‘your wish is my command. We shall go to the Show.’

  He caught my hand and hurried me across the room, down the tiny passage and out into the rain. I had not time to snatch up my mac from the chair, and Mike didn’t bother with a jacket. The wind had risen considerably, but I don’t think either of us was conscious, in that moment, of the cold or wet.

  The car was standing in the yard. Mike opened the door and I scrambled inside. It wasn’t far to the show ground, but far enough for us to get thoroughly wet, unsuitably dressed as we were. I gripped the seat as we swung round in an arc and bumped over the rough ground.

  Around us the day had darkened ominously, draining the gold from the gorse and smudging the heather indistinguishably into the grey-green grass. Mike’s face gleamed like wax, and I could see beads of perspiration on his forehead. And still the old car had its comfortable, homely smell of leather and tobacco and the underlying pungency of petrol. It had always seemed a haven to me; was it now to become a hearse?

  We bumped down on to the main road, and the crash of the sea reached us over the screaming wind. Mike laughed again, exultantly, and turned left. Perspiration, cold as liquid ice, flooded over me.

  ‘Mike –’ My hoarse voice could not be heard, and I tried to raise it. ‘Mike – isn’t the Show the other way?’

  ‘It is indeed, Emily, it is indeed. You didn’t really think we were going there, did you? It was just a ruse to get you out of the house.’

  I’d been right, then; I would have been safe at the farm, but only comparatively so, shut in with Mike. And I was still shut in with him, in the bucking car, as we careered over the deserted, rain-soaked moors. I knew despairingly that there was little chance of rescue. My only option was to wait and see what he would do.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We seemed to have been driving in silence for a long time. My mind circled like a rat in a cage searching for escape, for a means of distracting him sufficiently to allow myself some manoeuvre. But, even if the opportunity arose, what could I do? If I managed to get out of the car, I was no match for him on foot and there was nowhere to hide.

  I said, as steadily as possible, ‘Where are we going, Mike?’

  His tongue flicked over his lips. ‘I haven’t decided.’

  A pause. I tried again. ‘I wouldn’t say anything, you know. We’ve been close to each other – I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.’

  He smiled. If only, I thought uselessly, I hadn’t seen that thistle! Could fate really hang by so slender a thread? If Mrs Statton hadn’t mentioned it – if I hadn’t looked so closely at the portrait – if I’d had the sense not to say anything...

  He must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘Poor Emily,’ he said very gently, with that smile still pulling at his mouth. ‘What a shame you were just a little too clever – or not quite clever enough!’

  ‘You said you loved me!’ I cried.

  ‘So I did, once. Very much. Until I discovered it was Matthew you wanted.’

  It was pointless to keep denying that; he didn’t believe me.

  ‘And you were very stupid after the fire,’ he went on, ‘insisting he should begin again on the book. He’d have given up if you hadn’t kept on about it. What do you think the fire was for, for God’s sake?’

  My mind groped stupidly. ‘You mean – it was deliberate? But how?’

  ‘I’d seen where the typescript was kept, hadn’t I? And when you said on the phone that Matthew would be late back, I got in touch with Derek, and he agreed to do it while we were all out.’

  ‘How did he get into the house?’

  ‘Mother had a key; she used to keep an eye on the place when they were away, and we found it among her things. Anyway, we reasoned that if it all went up in smoke, Matthew’d be too discouraged to go
on with it, specially since he’d not even worked out the motive or –’ he grimaced – ‘the murderer.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘But not content with flinging yourself into his arms, you had to keep telling him to start again, not to give up. I could willingly have killed you then.’

  I realised that he spoke the simple truth.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said idiotically.

  The cliff road was deserted. On our left the rugged rocks rose sheer, their tops swathed in the low clouds, and on our right, beyond the lip of the road, the ground fell away steeply to the creaming, roaring, lashing sea. Already the drizzle was being suffused with the blue of approaching evening. Mike switched on his headlamps and the brilliance leapt ahead of us, funnels of gold on the dark road.

  Mevacombe lay behind us, and Tredara, and the little fishing hamlet of Port Perrin. At times, when the road plunged down to sea level, the spray hurled itself over the roof of the car and the roaring darkness deafened us. Then we would climb out of it again, into the buffetting and raging of the upper air.

  ‘Mike! Look out!’ I cried suddenly. ‘There’s someone in the middle of the road!’

  He made no attempt to slow down, and the figure jumped clear just in time. Through the streaming window I saw the startled face and open mouth – and the blue peaked cap. A police car was parked at the side of the road. As we flashed past, I wondered if Mike had noticed it. I looked back, and saw it snake out on to the road and start after us.

  My hands gripped the seat. Mike glanced in the rearview mirror. ‘The element of the chase!’ he said, and put his foot down on the accelerator.

  The old saloon was no match for the high-powered police car, but Mike’s salvation lay in the fact that on the narrow, twisting road, it could not overtake us and flag us down. On the howl of the wind came a new note – the hysterical braying of a siren.

  My ribs ached from holding my breath, my eyes were fixed on the light of our headlamps. Oh God, I thought, Oh God! The rock face rushed towards us, swung crazily away as Mike cornered on two wheels. For a moment, as he fought to steady the wheel, we teetered on the brink of the drop and I had a heart-stopping flash of the churning sea, hundreds of feet below.

  Mike’s face was alight, his eyes shining. He laughed breathlessly. ‘How about that, then, Emily? Shall we take a leaf out of Kate’s book? We’ve nothing to lose, have we, either of us?’

  I could not reply.

  Ahead of us the road forked, the main branch continuing the climb to the left, the right seeming to lead only to a deserted house perched on the cliff.

  ‘Mike!’ My hands flew to my mouth. Bearing down the left hand fork came the rushing shape of another police car. They had cut us off.

  ‘Well, well!’ he said softly. He wrenched the wheel round and the car spun off the smooth surface on to the stones of the unmade road. In the wing mirror I saw the police cars converge and turn after us. And ahead of us, blocking the track, stood the stone house. We were trapped.

  Mike’s foot left the accelerator, his other jammed down on the brake. The old car shuddered, slowed. He turned to me, leant forward, and incredibly kissed me on the mouth.

  ‘For auld lang syne!’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Emily, it was nice knowing you!’

  Before I realised his intention he stretched across me, opened my door, and unceremoniously pushed me out. I fell with sickening impact on the uneven track, my left arm bent agonisingly beneath me, lying where I had fallen with my right arm protectively over my head.

  There was a shriek of tyres as Mike turned, a scream from the engine as he suddenly revved up, and then, seconds later, only the wind and rain. I lay motionless, the sharp stones digging into my face, holding my breath for the terrible sound which must follow. It was scarcely audible in the noise of the elements – just a slightly louder crash down on the rocks. Then running footsteps and voices. Someone bent over me, someone else said, ‘Is she hurt?’

  ‘Not too badly, from the look of her, except for that arm. Mainly shock, I should think. An ambulance is on its way.’

  But gentle as they were, the excruciating pain combined with the strains and stresses of the last few hours, completely engulfed me, and for the first time in my life I fainted.

  * * *

  I knew that I couldn’t move my arm, and also that I was not in my own bed. There was a clean, antiseptic smell in the air. Hospital, I thought bleakly – probably a broken arm. I tried to close my mind to all that had happened, but it broke over me and I made a small, involuntary movement. At once there were sounds across the room. Someone stood by the bed, looking down at me. With an effort, I opened my eyes.

  ‘Hello, Emily,’ said Matthew gently.

  My eyes filled with tears of weakness. He sat down on the chair beside the bed and took my good hand. ‘Everything’s all right; it’s all over.’

  I caught my lip between my teeth. After a moment I said unsteadily, ‘Mike?’

  His hand tightened. ‘He couldn’t have known a thing. Really.’

  I turned my head away.

  After a while I said, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About eight o’clock. ‘They gave you an anaesthetic while they set your arm. How does it feel?’

  ‘I can’t move it. Matthew, I don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘Just for tonight,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’ll come for you in the morning.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘Matthew – the things I said –’

  ‘It’s all forgotten,’ he assured me. I was not used to Matthew’s gentleness.

  ‘But I – I more or less –’

  ‘I know, but you had good reason. You were right in your suspicions, you just picked the wrong person.’

  Yes, I had picked the wrong person all along the line. Now Mike was dead and Matthew still thought I had loved him. And I was no use as a secretary, either, with only one arm. No doubt I’d be despatched home with as much speed as decency allowed. Following the thought I said abruptly,

  ‘Where’s Sarah? I want to see her.’

  ‘She’s at home, Emily. In bed. She doesn’t know anything about this yet. You’ll see her tomorrow.’

  My brain felt woolly but there was something I had to tell him that couldn’t wait. ‘Matthew –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Derek was involved, too.’

  ‘All right, I’ll see to it. Don’t worry.’

  Beyond my vision a door opened and a soft voice said, ‘Time’s up, Mr Haig.’

  Matthew stood up. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, Emily. They’ll give you something to help you sleep. Goodnight.’

  He bent down and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, he had gone.

  * * *

  Matthew was as good as his word, and the next morning found us driving sedately back along the twisting road which held such unbearable memories. There were a lot of things I had to know, and sitting beside him, while he couldn’t see my face, seemed as good a time as any to deal with them.

  ‘How did the police know where we were?’ I began.

  ‘It’s a long story, but you remember I had a phone call on Friday? It was from Stuart Henderson, Kate’s fiancé. He said it was imperative that he saw me immediately, and could I go up to London straight away. I left after lunch, as you know, and caught the 3.20 train. But we ran into fog and various delays and it was after ten by the time we got there. I phoned Henderson and arranged to meet him in the morning.’

  We went over a bump and I winced.

  ‘I’m sorry; are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  We were like strangers, I thought achingly.

  ‘I didn’t sleep too well.’ He smiled grimly. You’d given me quite a bit to think about; I began to ask myself whether Kate’s death might not have been an accident after all. Why else should Henderson need to see me so urgently?’

  I watched his hands on the wheel and saw them tighten.

  ‘I knew soon enough. He came round to the hote
l just after nine, bringing a stack of papers with him. They were Kate’s personal things. Understandably, he’d been putting off going through them, but the previous day he’d come across her most recent notes, for this article on Cornish country houses. Lists of dates and names, and then, in capital letters and underlined – LAURA HAIG – NO MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE!!! And the word Stacey with three question marks.’

  So Mike had guessed right. ‘Did she find his birth certificate?’

  ‘Mike’s? Yes; I don’t know who registered the birth, but there was no attempt at concealment. The father’s name was given as Cameron Menzies. As you can imagine, I was completely stunned. My father told me years ago Mike was illegitimate – in case a history of the family was ever undertaken – but I’d no idea about Menzies. God, I’d never have embarked on the book if I’d known.’

  There was silence between us, broken only by the purr of tyres on the road. Matthew went on in a low voice, ‘Henderson said, “I know he’s your cousin, but is it conceivable he could have engineered an accident to prevent it coming out?”

  ‘I knew Mike was proud, but I couldn’t believe he’d kill Kate for no better reason than to keep his illegitimacy secret. I was about to say so, when Henderson remarked, “The man was murdered, wasn’t he?”

  ‘Then, of course, the whole hideous thing fell into place. If Kate’s story could point to Mike having already committed a murder, he’d nothing to lose – and a lot to gain – by killing her.’

  He paused, glancing at me to gauge my reaction. ‘Unfortunately, though, we’re no nearer solving Linda’s death; the baby –’

  ‘It wasn’t the baby,’ I interrupted. ‘She started to talk about the murder, and they didn’t realise she was referring to the book.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Matthew said softly, then, with sudden sharpness, ‘So you might –’

  ‘Yes, I nearly finished up the same way, but my guardian angel made me mention the novel. Which was why we had the fire.’

  ‘Mike was responsible for that, too?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Thank God I didn’t know all that when I was in London. As it was, I was out of my mind with worry.’