by Joyce Cato
Jenny shivered. ‘No wonder David Leigh hated him so much.’
‘And killed him,’ Rycroft said, glancing at Graves, who looked as unhappy as his superior. ‘We have proof that he wrote the suicide note – or as much proof as we need. A jury will believe our Brasenose don all right – he makes an impressive witness in the stand. And David Leigh was on board the boat when it happened. He had both motive and opportunity.’
Graves withdrew a long document from his pocket and handed it over. ‘I took the liberty, sir, of getting a warrant for Leigh’s arrest.’
But he didn’t sound happy about it and Rycroft took the document looking equally miserable. ‘Right,’ he said reluctantly.
Jenny coughed. ‘I think you’re forgetting something,’ she said quietly.
Rycroft, who’d had just about enough for now, turned on her angrily. ‘Look, Miss Starling, I know you’re used to being the centre of attention whenever somebody’s been murdered, but this time you’ll just have to accept the fact that we, the police, have solved this case, and not you. Now, I’ve got to make arrangements to arrest a man who, in my own personal opinion, was fully justified in doing what he did. So give me a break, will you?’ he snarled, and took a deep, shaky breath.
The Junoesque cook was silent for a moment. She was very much aware that Rycroft was genuinely upset, as was Graves. But they were thinking with their hearts and not with their heads, and might be about to make a very costly mistake.
‘Inspector,’ she said patiently. ‘I think it’s obvious that David Leigh came on board this boat determined to kill Gabriel Olney. I think it’s also obvious why. We also know he forged a suicide note and put it in Olney’s room. I think he did it yesterday morning. I myself saw him coming out of the Olneys’ room. I’d had a bath, and noticed him leaving.’
Rycroft nodded. ‘That’ll be useful evidence, Miss Starling,’ he said flatly. ‘The case against Leigh is building up nicely. He could have killed Olney any time between 4 and 4.15. We only have his wife’s word that he stayed with her, and that’s less than worthless. They’re devoted to each other, that’s perfectly obvious to anyone who sees them together – either one of them would lie their heads off to protect the other.’
Jenny sighed. ‘I agree. But answer me this. If David Leigh planned to kill Gabriel Olney and fake it to look like suicide, why did he put Olney’s body in my cupboard? What kind of suicide is that?’
Rycroft, who’d risen to give orders to a constable to take him to Carswell Marsh to arrest David Leigh, suddenly sat down again. He stared at the cook, his face a mixture of relief, bewilderment and, lastly, sheer frustration.
‘Only an idiot would do something that so obviously pointed to murder,’ Jenny carried on ruthlessly. ‘If David Leigh had killed Olney, he would have simply let his body fall overboard and be taken away by the river. What evidence would there be then to say that Olney hadn’t committed suicide? That, surely, must have been his plan, yes?’
‘But Leigh had the perfect motive,’ he finally said mournfully.
‘So did Mrs Olney, sir,’ Graves put in. Like his superior, he too felt a certain relief that the cook was standing up for David Leigh so strongly. He himself would have been tempted to kill Olney, if he’d discovered that the ex-colonel had deliberately sent his own father to his death. And like Rycroft, he also hadn’t felt any of the usual pleasure and satisfaction that normally came when you were about to arrest a murderer.
Now Rycroft looked at Graves. ‘You have something else for me?’
Graves nodded. ‘The Olneys were well off, but not rich. Olney knew that Lucas wouldn’t part with the boat unless Olney offered him a good price for it. Lucas wouldn’t value his reputation to that extent! But Olney wanted the Swan, and he was prepared to wipe out his bank balance to do it.’
Graves handed over the banking material that clearly showed the amount of money Olney had been worth, and Rycroft pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘Olney would have been wiped out,’ he said, surprised.
The forensics boys had pieced together the pieces of torn cheque they’d found in Olney’s wastepaper basket and Graves had affixed it to the banking documents. ‘I reckon Olney would have had to sell the house, sir, just to keep this boat running,’ Graves pointed out. ‘And Mrs Olney has expensive habits,’ Graves added, handing over yet more paperwork, this time in the form of bills, receipts and expenditures.
This time, Rycroft whistled out loud. ‘She spent more money on clothes in one week than I earn in a month,’ he said, his voice a scandalized squeak. ‘Theatre tickets, travel expenses to Paris … good grief. No wonder she tore up that cheque. I’m assuming she was the one who found it and tore it up?’
‘I think that’s a fair assumption, sir,’ Graves said, his lips once more twitching.
‘So if her husband spent all his money buying this boat, and sold the house to pay for the Swan’s upkeep, she could expect to see her pretty and expensive little habits sent down the tubes, and no messing about.’
Graves nodded. ‘And she was keeping a man, sir – a very handsome bloke who is supposed to be some sort of an artist. Not that Constable Greenly was able to find any gallery or individual who’d actually bought one of his pieces.’
Rycroft read through the report on Jasmine Olney’s London flat and extra-marital activities with a look of fastidious distaste on his face. As usual, he got straight to the point. ‘You had someone check out Olney’s solicitors?’
Graves nodded. ‘Very interesting, sir. For a start, Olney used David Leigh’s firm, as you know. Pringle, Ford and Soames. It was Mr Ford who confirmed the contents of Olney’s will for us. It all goes to the widow, although Olney had made an appointment for next week to make an alteration to his will and also to discuss a totally different subject.’
‘Oh?’ Rycroft asked, his nose almost twitching as he scented a new hare.
‘Hmm,’ Graves said. ‘Mr Ford, when pressed, admitted that Olney had indicated that he wanted to make out a new will, cutting out Mrs Olney altogether. He also said that he’d asked Ford if he would take on his divorce case for him.’ Graves smiled grimly. ‘He was about to give her the old heave-ho. And I think, given the type of woman she is, she must have at least suspected as much.’
Rycroft sighed. ‘So. The widow had a motive every bit as strong as that of David Leigh. As you say it’s hard to imagine that she would have missed the clues that indicated that her husband was about to divorce her and cut her out of his will.’
Nobody objected to Rycroft’s logic.
‘And she says she was in her room at 4 o’clock to 4.15, changing and putting on make-up, but nobody saw her. She could have killed him—’ Here Rycroft suddenly broke off. ‘Damn! No, she couldn’t. I know Olney wasn’t a big man – he was built like a whippet. But even so, I can’t see a woman being strong enough to overpower him, drown him, and then cart his body about and shove it in Miss Starling’s cupboard. We’ve got to be looking for a man.’
Graves sighed. ‘Lester could have done it. As Miss Starling pointed out, there was that long straight stretch of river. He could have tied the wheel off, killed Olney and shoved him in the cupboard. The same can be said of O’Keefe and Lucas Finch. And speaking of motives …’
Rycroft nodded. ‘In getting rid of Olney, Lucas gets to keep his blessed boat and get rid of a blackmailer.’
Jenny heaved a massive sigh. ‘So many people wanting Gabriel Olney dead,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘So many of them….’ And then, suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, it all made perfect sense.
Everything she’d seen, and not realized she’d seen. Everything she’d heard and not truly understood. What she’d already surmised about the murder method. It all combined to suddenly collide in one brilliant kaleidoscope to make total and utter sense.
In one instant, she saw it all. From start to finish.
She got up abruptly. ‘I think I’ll make a cup of tea. Who wants one?’
‘What? Oh, yes, please,
’ Rycroft said. He was going over the papers again, trying to sort it all out into some kind of order. But Sergeant Graves had been watching the cook. He’d seen her suddenly stiffen. He’d noticed her eyes go round in shock. He’d seen her go suddenly pale.
‘I’ll give you a hand, Miss Starling,’ Graves said firmly, pretending not to notice the go-away look she gave him.
She needed to think, damn it. She had to think!
Just then, the sound of cheerful voices floated across the fields, and the party of boaters suddenly appeared through the gap in the hedge.
‘Better make that teas all round,’ Rycroft said drolly. ‘The wanderers have returned.’
Jenny could have screamed. She’d never known a worse case of bad timing.
She walked crisply to the galley and set about making the tea. Behind her she heard the door close quietly. When she turned, Sergeant Graves was leaning against the door, and was in the process of folding his arms across his chest. His handsome, blunt face looked at her in open admiration. ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said simply.
Jenny firmed her lips and reached for the teabags.
Graves watched her in silence for a minute, and then said quietly, ‘Are you going to let me in on it?’
The cook smiled grimly. ‘That’s rather a telling slip, Sergeant Graves. Am I going to let you in on it. Not us?’
Graves’ lips twitched. ‘Inspector Rycroft is a fine officer.’
‘But you’re a better one,’ she shot back.
‘You’re stalling, Miss Starling,’ Graves said quietly, shaking his head and forcing the cook to stop her frantic tea making and look at him more closely.
‘You really are good,’ she said at last, sounding just a little – not much, just a little – surprised.
Sergeant Graves smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘But you’re better – is that what you’re waiting to hear? Now – out with it. Who did it?’
Jenny turned back abruptly to the kettle and fiddled with the gas. She didn’t like to be hurried. She wasn’t being given time to mull it all over. And she needed time.
‘Miss Starling,’ Graves pressed her firmly. ‘I want that name.’
Jenny slowly put down the kettle, turned, and took a deep breath.
‘You’re not going to like it,’ she warned him.
Graves’ face tightened. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said simply, ‘murder is still murder.’
Jenny stared at him for a long, long moment. Then she sighed. ‘Yes,’ she agreed sadly. ‘I suppose, when all’s said and done, murder is murder.’
The kettle began to boil and she turned and poured out the tea. She put the cups, milk and sugar onto a huge tray, added the full teapot and lifted the whole into the air. When she turned, Graves was still standing firmly in front of the door.
Jenny thought for a moment, then gave a brief nod. ‘All right,’ she said flatly. ‘Do you still have that warrant for David Leigh’s arrest?’
Graves paled, but nodded calmly. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I suggest you use it,’ she said fatalistically.
Graves paused, then inclined his big head and opened the door for her. Jenny went through, into the main salon, and put the tray down on the table. Now the whole cruise party was gathered together once more. After their long, hot walk, everyone gathered around it eagerly.
As Graves bent over Rycroft and whispered something in his ear, David Leigh poured a cup for his wife and took it to her where she sat on the sofa. There he rested it on the wide wooden armrest for her to allow it to cool, before returning for his own cup.
Rycroft cast the cook a quick, searching look, then nodded at Graves. Graves extracted the warrant, which he’d returned to his coat pocket, and straightened up.
Brian O’Keefe, who’d grabbed a mug of tea and was about to scarper back to the engine room, caught the look on the sergeant’s face and froze. Tobias Lester and Lucas Finch stiffened as Graves suddenly coughed very loudly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Graves moved a little to his right, just to be within grabbing distance of David Leigh should he decide to try and make a run for it.
‘Mr David Leigh,’ he said, his voice as grave as his name. ‘I have a warrant for your arrest on the charge of murder. You do not have to say anything….’
David Leigh stared at him, slack-jawed. As a solicitor, of course, he was probably more aware of his legal rights than the policeman arresting him, but he looked so surprised and stricken that Jenny wondered nervously if he was even taking it in at all.
She felt a fierce thump of contrition hit her. Then, just as the cook had known she must, Dorothy Leigh suddenly jumped to her feet, knocking over her cup of tea to the ground.
Nobody noticed the minor mishap. Everyone was too transfixed by the drama being played out in front of them to pay any attention to such a small thing.
‘No!’ Dorothy cried out desperately. ‘You can’t!’
Lucas made an instinctive move to go to her, but Dorothy was already rushing towards her husband and Sergeant Graves.
The others continued to stand, frozen in shock. Ever since the body had been discovered, each and every one of them had known that a killer was amongst them. But although they might have suspected each other in turn, none of them had ever really thought that the police would make an arrest.
Now, they could only watch in helpless fascination as one of their number – the quiet, handsome young solicitor – was being culled from the herd.
‘… anything you do say will be taken down and can be used in evidence against you,’ Graves continued, ignoring Dorothy’s shouted denials. ‘If you choose not to say anything, that you later rely on in court …’
Dorothy had now reached her husband’s side, and she clung to him, grabbing his arm, thrusting herself forward to stand between the man she loved and the forces of the law.
‘Mrs Leigh, please move out of the way,’ Inspector Rycroft said, anxious to avoid any rough housing. Mrs Leigh, in her condition, could seriously hurt herself if she accidentally got in the big sergeant’s way.
He reached for her arm, but she shook him off angrily. Her blue eyes blazed like lightning bolts. ‘No!’ she shouted again. ‘You can’t arrest him. You can’t.’
‘Mrs Leigh, please,’ Rycroft said. ‘We have proof that your husband forged the suicide note we found in Mr Olney’s room. We have proof that Olney was responsible for his father’s death during the Falklands war, and that Mr Leigh knew about it. We—’
‘No, you don’t understand!’ Dorothy all but screamed now, as she listened in mounting panic to the evidence that was being piled up against him.
As it began to sink in, really sink in, that they meant to try her husband for murder, she bit back the useless urge to scream out loud. Instead, she forced herself to try and explain. ‘You can’t arrest him. He didn’t do it!’
Unnoticed by everyone, Jenny Starling slowly sank into a chair. She was beginning to feel sick again.
And she was beginning to feel guilty.
But, as Graves had said, murder was murder.
‘Mrs Leigh, why don’t you go and lie down?’ Rycroft said, his words at last bringing David Leigh out of his fugue of shock.
‘Yes, darling, you mustn’t upset yourself,’ he said anxiously, looking around for help and settling on Lucas. ‘Lucas, you must take care of her. Get her a doctor or something,’ he said vaguely. Even in his own perilous position, his thoughts were all for his wife.
But Dorothy almost snarled at Lucas as he went to take her arm. ‘Let go of me. Oh, don’t you see?’ She looked at Tobias, then at Brian, then at Jasmine. ‘They’ve got it all wrong! David didn’t kill Gabriel. I did!’
She rounded on Rycroft. ‘You’ve made a mistake. I killed Gabriel. I did. I did!’
Rycroft nodded soothingly. ‘All right, Mrs Leigh,’ he said, still trying to manoeuvre her from between her husband and his sergeant. ‘Why don’t you calm down and then you can tell us all ab
out it, hmm?’
Dorothy, aware that she was being patronized, and worse, that she wasn’t being even remotely believed, stared at him in helpless horror.
It was left to Jenny to come to her aid. Into the tense silence that followed, the cook’s words dropped like stones. ‘I would listen to her, if I were you, Inspector,’ she said quietly. ‘Mrs Leigh knows what she’s talking about.’
And then Sergeant Graves’ head whipped around, his handsome face paling as he fixed the cook with an accusing and then slowly comprehending look.
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Dorothy Leigh.’
And then, haltingly at first, but with growing desperation, Dorothy Leigh proceeded to tell them all just how she had murdered Gabriel Olney.
FOURTEEN
‘WELL, SO LONG, love,’ Lucas said to Jasmine, wondering if he should give her a hug. On the one hand, she was a very tasty piece, and he hugged tasty pieces almost as a matter of course. However, on the other hand, she was a widow, whose husband had just been murdered whilst on his boat.
Jasmine solved the problem for him by nodding rather briskly at him and then firmly picking up her case. She tolerated Brian O’Keefe’s helping hand on her elbow as he guided her across the wooden planking onto the riverbank, then just as briskly nodded at him and marched off.
She was smiling, however, as she did so. As well she might. She was free, rich, and had a handsome lover waiting for her.
Jenny watched her go, then sighed.
It was late afternoon and all the fuss and excitement was over.
Instead of having the inconvenience of accompanying their prisoner across the fields to Carswell Marsh, Rycroft had ordered Lucas and Tobias Lester to sail the Swan on down to Swinford, as had been originally planned, where he’d arranged to have a police car waiting for them.
It had been a short but odd journey. In deference to her condition, Rycroft had allowed Dorothy Leigh to go to her room and lie down. Naturally he’d had Graves stand guard outside the door, but her husband had been allowed to sit with her, just to make sure she didn’t do anything silly.
