An Alibi Too Soon

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘You might try to sound more gracious.’

  I could imagine her lips pouting. ‘I shall be delighted.’

  5

  ‘Eight o’clock suit you? I’ll book. See you there.’

  She rang off.

  I stared at the dead phone in my hand, not sure who’d propositioned whom, and completely confused as to my own motivation. Certainly, in view of her interest in my movements and actions, I had to see her while I had the opportunity. But if her interest included something personal, would I be able to resist the temptation to reciprocate? And I didn’t know, damn it.

  My plan to leave for the south coast was now jeopardised. If I was going to meet Rosemary at eight, I could reach the cottage before Amelia only if I drove through the night. With a sinking feeling I realised that I’d made a mistake. I fumbled in the drawer of the dressing table, where I’d seen the phone book, actually had it open to T for Trew. R., before I stopped myself.

  There was a mental image of Rosemary Trew standing watching her phone, waiting for me to call and cancel, and I knew I couldn’t do it. Blast the woman, I thought, and the image smiled in triumph and walked away.

  And yet, had she been calling from Plas Ceiriog? The call could well have been intended to place her there, in my mind, if in fact she was still in Welshpool, having only recently bopped me on the head with a bottle of beer. But if that were so…surely she’d not have gone to the lengths of justifying the call by virtually insisting on our meeting that evening.

  Confused, then, I tried to work out how much time I could spare to go through the envelope. I could not deny a stir of pleasure at the thought of the evening to come, and had to persuade myself it would be a working engagement. Consequently, I had to comb Llew’s notes, to decide whether there was anything useful to be extracted from Rosemary later.

  There seemed to be nothing. I read her statement, which repeated what I already knew, plus the details of her own movements during the critical time.

  She had been her uncle’s secretary and virtually his housekeeper for the last three years before his death. She, more than anyone, knew him and his mental condition. She could see a plummet into depression on its way. So she’d been worried for him. She had gone with him down to the garages, whilst the others were trying to get together for party games. There, she had watched as he tried to start his own car, and failed. But he’d been so determined to go on his booze-hunting trip that he’d insisted on using the other car, Rosemary’s Dolomite, even though it had an automatic gearbox, which he detested. She had returned to the house for the keys, which Duncan had in his pocket, had met Duncan on the terrace, had told him the situation, and then gone back with the keys. There, her uncle had taken them from her ungraciously, and in a bit of a huff she’d left him to it. She was telling all this to Duncan, on the terrace, when they heard the engine start, and fade away as he drove off. Then she’d left Duncan and gone inside to join the others. Duncan had refused to do the same, and strolled around until his uncle returned.

  This was all stated in official language, but I’ve tarted it up a little, reading between the lines. But even with the emotional background, what was there? Nothing.

  I had a bath and decided on the blue suit, not certain whether the Rendezvous would be jeans and sweat shirts or black jackets and bow ties. So I aimed for in-between. Cindy clearly knew we were going out and looked expectant. As I didn’t know when she would feed again, I went down to my friend the chef, who supplied a dish of the soup of the day and some more scraps. This inside her, Cindy looked sleepy enough, so I took her outside to the car. It was ten minutes past seven. Just right.

  The Rendezvous didn’t look much from outside, and the parking patch was a stretch of waste ground. Normally, I don’t like leaving a virtually open car in such places after dark, as I guessed it would be when I came out, but this time I was confident. Nobody was going to get into our car with Cindy there.

  I took her for a little walk round, to make sure the seat remained dry, then tucked her away, and was just straightening when the BMW drew in beside me.

  ‘Richard!’ she said, locking the door and turning to me. ‘This is very pleasant.’

  She took my hovering right hand in her left and gave it a tug. As I was standing firm, it drew her closer to me, and she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I do like a man who’s there on cue,’ she told me, and linked her arm in mine.

  6

  It was better inside, with a bar on your right as you went in, and the dining area farther back. The lighting beyond the bar was very dim and intimate, and in consequence, presumably because you wouldn’t be able to read them at the table, the menus were displayed at the bar.

  She slipped easily on to the bar stool. She was wearing a loose, floppy long-sleeved blouse with a tie neck, and coolie trousers tight at the ankles. There was still not much evidence of make-up or jewellery, though her nails and lips were now pink, and the ear-rings sparkled as they danced.

  To my raised eyebrows she responded: ‘A gin and tonic, I think.’ This I ordered, along with a brown ale. ‘In the bottle, please.’

  She gave a delighted laugh. ‘I’d heard that policemen always drink beer, but I never guessed it was true.’

  ‘That’s not the reason.’

  I allowed the suspense to build up until the drinks arrived. Then I showed her the bottle. Wem.

  ‘I wanted to check,’ I told her. ‘It’s the same, the very same bottle. I was knocked out this evening by this one’s brother.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, her eyes wide above the rim of her glass. ‘Is that true?’

  I turned my head and showed her the bump. She reached out a hand to confirm it, but withdrew it before the fingers touched. Perhaps it would have been too intimate a contact. ‘Oh…poor you.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ I said, holding up my glass. ‘Cheers.’

  She sipped, eyeing me gravely. I’d have sworn my news had surprised her, she took so long in deciding what to say. Finally: ‘So that’s why you came.’

  ‘Because I was assaulted?’

  ‘To question me, pump me, as they say. Try to get a clue…not simply to meet me again.’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘Oh Lord, it’s going to be hard work, I can see. You’re so…cold.’

  ‘The evening’s young.’ Doesn’t one say stupid things, just to keep the conversation going! ‘Suppose we get it out of the way?’

  ‘If you wish.’ She avoided my eyes, hiding her disappointment in me by making a point of it.

  ‘I was quite a while checking on the operation of those garage doors. You said you packed in almost at once. Now…’

  ‘I am not stupid, Richard. Let me say it for you. Yes, they all dashed away. Their free weekend. The rest of the week they live in. Yes, they could have been either ahead of you or behind you. Yes, they could have been there…wherever it was…and knocked you out.’ She took up her glass and sipped it again. It seemed she’d finished, but I said nothing. She tossed her head, the hair being loose around her ears at that time, and swirling into place obediently. ‘Me too, if you want to hear that. Depending where you went when you drove away.’

  ‘Welshpool,’ I said. ‘You phoned me there. Remember?’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, dipping a finger in her drink and sucking it, a casual gesture to cover her confusion. ‘But surely you’d said…mentioned Welshpool.’

  ‘I’m quite certain I didn’t.’

  ‘Oh damn you.’

  I nodded agreement, and waited. She pouted at me, and sighed deeply.

  ‘You’re so blasted persistent! I found out. Does that satisfy you? No, I see it doesn’t. You spoke about your friend who died in a fire. I phoned the local newspaper and discovered his address, which was near Welshpool, so the odds were that you were staying in Welshpool…heavens, I simply phoned around.’

  She’d over-elaborated. Was she that nervous? I helped her out, giving an easy laugh
to smooth the way. ‘Was it so very important?’

  ‘Do you want me to strip and dance a fandango? Really, Richard, you can’t be that naïve! A woman doesn’t care to display her thoughts and emotions, not at a very first meeting. All right. So now you know. Yes, it was important. I like you, Richard. Does it have to take hours? Damn you, say something.’

  My, how they can deflate you! I looked very solemn, and said: ‘Shall we look at the menu?’

  At last I’d said the correct thing. She laughed, and the awkward moment was gone. Also gone, I could see, was any chance I might have had of getting down to serious business. Strangely, that seemed a relief. We consulted the menu together, and the head waiter was at once at our elbow.

  We decided on the pâté, with duck a l’orange to follow, and he led us through to our table. It was a matter of leading. After the bar, the interior was treacherous. Our table was in a corner, intimate and, I guessed, carefully specified. He said he would send over the wine list.

  I asked for fresh drinks, a sherry for me this time, and, my infallible method, told the wine waiter we were having the duck and what did he recommend? He suggested a burgundy. It didn’t matter to me whether the wine was red or white, as they would look exactly the same in that light.

  ‘You come here often?’ I asked.

  ‘You should’, said Rosemary, ‘have opened with that, and not started in on your interrogation.’

  ‘I’m a clumsy fool.’

  ‘Tell me about yourself.’ An attacking move. ‘Apart from that.’

  I told her. A retired detective inspector…

  ‘Retired early?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. Does it show?’

  ‘Not in this light.’ Which was just good enough to show me the flash of her teeth.

  ‘I wasn’t working with Llew Hughes at that time,’ I explained. ‘That’s my friend who died…you know.’

  ‘At Ewr Felen.’ It indicated that she had enquired, and discovered his address. She nodded. I said yes, there.

  I was realising that I was still examining every word she said for cracks and flaws. With an effort I pulled myself together, and, understanding, I was certain, she gave me a moment by sipping her drink and examining the decor.

  ‘It wasn’t my case,’ I explained. ‘I’m sorry to keep coming back to it, but I want you to be clear on that. I was working in the Midlands at the time your uncle died. But I know that Llew wasn’t happy about the outcome.’

  The entrée arrived. It gave me a small break, but as soon as the waiter had left she leaned forward.

  ‘But surely…on just that…you wouldn’t go to all this trouble.’

  ‘It was his death, you see.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t see.’

  ‘Someone perhaps not wanting the original verdict to be upset.’

  ‘But all the same…’

  ‘The coincidence. Me having arrived on the scene.’

  ‘His death could have been…for some other reason.’

  ‘Well…you see, I was just about to decide that myself. The original case seemed tight. Then somebody had to go and bash me on the head.’

  She chose her words very carefully. ‘From what I know of you, I don’t find that strange. You make a lot of enemies, I expect.’

  ‘I’m not usually so awkward.’

  ‘Except with women?’

  ‘I go to pieces. I don’t get the practice, you see.’ She laughed delightedly, flatteringly. A man likes his pleasantries appreciated, I thought. You see, there I go again.

  ‘The snag is’, I told her, ‘that an attempt was made to steal Llew’s notes on the case.’

  She nodded, nodded, then parted her lips daintily to insert the last portion of her pâté. ‘I see, I see.’

  ‘Which means I have to go on with it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But not now. Tell me about yourself, Rosemary. All of it.’

  ‘I’m so glad you didn’t shorten it to Rosie.’

  ‘From the time you went to live at Plas Ceiriog.’

  The waiter again gave us time for a breather by bringing the main course; but when she began talking there was no hesitation, nothing held back, I thought.

  ‘Now…let’s see,’ she said, chin on her hand, fork poised. ‘I’ll go right back to college, if you like. I’d got my degree, and no doubts at all on what I wanted to do. Act. I was going to conquer the world, and only one thing got in my way—I was lousy.’

  ‘Never.’

  She was dissecting the duck, and glanced up. ‘It’s true. Mind you, I was lucky. I’d been for an audition, and instead of the usual dismissal I got a few extra words. I can remember them now. “Give the acting profession a break, darling, and try to get on the buses.” I wept for a week, then I tried to write a play. No good. I just couldn’t do dialogue.’

  ‘Not tight enough?’

  ‘At that time I didn’t know what that was. So I started a novel. Oh Lord, how terrible it was! And then…’ She fluttered her fingers. ‘I won’t tell you about the misery in between…then Uncle Edwin asked me to be his secretary. I’d taken a secretarial course…’

  ‘You’d found the time?’

  ‘They call it resting, Richard, when you’re not actually acting, which for me had been all the time. I’d had literally dozens of jobs to keep me going. Then along came Uncle Edwin. This would be…oh, three years before he died. The secretary bit was me sitting there and taking down what he read out from his notes, but really he’d already written his play, only he said I’d never be able to read it, so he read it all out to me. A secretary, that’s what I was, and his housekeeper, and his nanny.’

  ‘I gathered he was rather forceful.’

  She went on, disregarding the interruption. ‘He took me everywhere with him, the theatres, the hotels. All I was there for, really, was to encourage him. Richard, you’ve never known anyone so…For such a clever man—and really, he was quite brilliant—for such a man to be so inadequate! Can you imagine…’

  ‘I’m finding it difficult,’ I admitted, topping up her glass.

  ‘And his tantrums! Of course, that was his natural safety-valve. Every now and then, realising his inadequacy…no, that’s wrong, I mean convinced of his inadequacy, he’d get the idea that everybody was sneering at him, and we had to have one of his turns.’

  ‘Psychology as well. Had time for a course on that, too?’

  ‘I’m going to assume you’re joking.’

  ‘Of course I’m joking, Rosie.’

  ‘Rosemary.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Now you’ve broken the thread…’

  ‘You were talking about his inadequacy. You used the word a number of times.’

  She put her knife and fork carefully side by side on her plate and leaned forward.

  ‘You’re not trying to be funny, Richard, you’re trying to antagonise me.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t that. I was—sort of disappointed. You were enjoying it, cutting him down to size. And I didn’t think that was you, not the Rosemary I was getting to know.’

  ‘I was smiling because I loved him for it. No false modesty with my Uncle Edwin, he really believed he was a failure. Nothing would shift that idea from his mind, and I loved him.’

  ‘So he tried directing.’

  ‘He had to prove something to himself. He never married, you know.’

  I thought about that, staring down at my plate, deciding I’d had enough. To eat, I mean.

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘No children. He had to prove he could achieve. Get it?’

  ‘I’ve got no children.’

  ‘Then you ought to understand. Success, that’s the objective with you, I bet. All the time—no possibility of failure.’

  I tried to grin at her, but it wasn’t very convincing and got lost in the gloom. ‘I’m stubborn,’ I admitted. ‘People have said that.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand about Uncle Edwin. Imagine how
you’d feel if you did fail twice, disastrously.’

  ‘I can imagine. That, you’re telling me, is why he committed suicide? Or so you believe.’

  ‘Yes.’ Softly.

  ‘Which was what you meant when you told me you were to blame?’

  ‘Yes.’ A mere whisper.

  The light, as I’ve made a point in mentioning, wasn’t good. But now I could catch the wink of tears in the corners of her eyes. Was this why she’d wanted to see me, for encouragement on her own behalf? Nobody to hold her hand, nobody to shame her hidden fears to flight.

  ‘How could you be so foolish, Rosemary—to cling to that idea all these years! That you might have saved him…’ I raised my hand, as she’d been about to interrupt. ‘Even if, at that time…even if you’d prevented him from driving away—well, he’d have managed it sometime or other.’

  ‘If he’d got past that hurdle…’ I barely caught the words.

  ‘Stubborn,’ I said, ‘you are. Like me. You get an idea, and nothing will budge it. In court, they showed it was murder, the jury brought in a verdict, your cousin was sentenced…and still you believe it was suicide, and one you could have prevented.’

  The waiter hovered for our plates. I’d have killed him if he’d interrupted, but he melted away at my gesture.

  ‘Utter nonsense, my dear,’ I said softly. ‘Your uncle was murdered.’ Her head began to shake like a mechanical doll.

  ‘Suicide,’ she whispered.

  ‘No!’ I waited for her eyes to meet mine again. ‘He could not have closed the garage door.’

  ‘Richard,’ she whispered, ‘I know about the radios. He must have taken the one from his own car into the garage with him.’

  ‘No!’ I said again, equally emphatically. ‘The one still in his own car operated its own door, which was the one behind which your uncle died.’

  ‘Somebody changed them over.’

  ‘After his death?’

  She nodded, lips tightly compressed.

  ‘In order to do what?’ I asked gently. ‘To make an apparent suicide, as it would have been accepted, look like a murder—as it was accepted? The only way that could matter would have involved an insurance on his life with a suicide clause. Was there such a thing?’