A Testament to Murder

by Vivian Conroy

  Should he try to remove the boy from the villa?

  Jasper tapped the table. “Your father wants to leave, but your mother doesn’t. How do you feel? Do you want to stay here?”

  Kenneth said, “I’m not afraid.” He held Jasper’s gaze, tilting his chin up with the hint of a challenge.

  The former inspector wasn’t quite sure if Kenneth meant he wasn’t afraid to be hurt by the killer among them.

  Or if he meant he wasn’t afraid to face the consequences of what he had done.

  * * *

  “How is Miss Cane?” Malcolm asked when Jasper came to sit beside his bed. His voice was thin and tired, suggesting he was in considerable pain.

  Jasper couldn’t help feeling sorry for him but at the same time he also blamed him for having started all of this with his idea of the changing will. The annoyance translated into a curt,

  “She’ll survive.”

  “But her face will remain damaged? It must have been Cecily. She could never stand a woman more beautiful than her.” Malcolm coughed a moment. “Or Theodora. Her dead hand reaching out and…” He clawed in the air with crooked fingers. “Damaging the poor girl’s looks from beyond the grave.”

  He tutted. “She was cruel like that.”

  “Did Miss Cummings tell you what she saw at the vantage point?”

  Malcolm looked at Jasper, his eyes weary in his sunken face. “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes, of course. Ten to one that her killer was the very person she saw.”

  “Or thought she saw,” Malcolm said. He stared up at the ceiling. “Theodora always wanted to make herself interesting. She hurt a lot of people with it. And in the end she hurt herself the most.”

  Jasper watched the emotions flicker across the sunken face. “You have to tell me,” he urged.

  “She claims that she saw Anna Cane, in something red that she had put over her dress. Or that she wore under it… Theodora wasn’t sure about that. But she saw Anna in red clothes. Pushing the chair over the edge.”

  Jasper recalled Anna hadn’t been carrying a big bag in which she could have hidden a second garment to throw on over the long dress. Something she wore under it then? Could there be a simpler explanation for what Theodora Cummings had thought she’d seen? “Miss Cane wasn’t dressed in red. Mrs Bryce-Rutherford was. Could she have done it? Miss Cummings might have mistaken one woman for the other. They do have about the same posture. Seen across a distance…”

  Malcolm sighed. “Dodo was certain that it was Anna. She mentioned her hair. Golden hair. She said it so spitefully. So full of hatred for something she never had. Dodo always loathed other women for their looks, you know. She hated members of her own sex to the extent where she had no female friends. She was good with men though, not because she was pretty and enticing, but because she knew how to manipulate them.”

  “She saw a woman for sure,” Jasper said slowly. “That narrows it down. Only three choices. And Mrs Jones was in bright yellow.”

  “If the culprit changed her look, it could have been Cecily as well,” Malcolm said. “I think she hates me enough to shove me into an early grave.”

  “But the wheelchair was empty. I can’t see the point.”

  Malcolm waved a hand. “We need not talk about the chair. Dodo is dead. You must find out who killed her.” He wheezed and coughed again. “She wanted so badly to help me find whoever wanted to hurt me before he or she got a chance. She gave her life for me. I never asked for that. But she was like that. What you didn’t want you got anyway. Because she knew best.”

  Jasper said, “She wore a white gown when she was found. Like a bridal gown almost.”

  “It was just the gown she had worn to dinner. She had brought some quite un-Dodolike dresses.” Malcolm smiled softly. “I think she liked to be on the Riviera, feel like a grand dame for a change. She never had much happiness in her life. Not much to look forward to.”

  Jasper said, “When she told you she had seen nurse Cane do it, did she say anymore? Did she indicate she had let nurse Cane know it was her name she was going to mention to you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But I was very tired. I’m not at my best in the evenings. I listened to her politely and… I should have taken it more seriously perhaps. Then she might still be alive.”

  “How come?”

  “Don’t you see? She must have rushed off and contacted nurse Cane. Or Patty or whoever she believed it had been. To ask for money. Dodo liked money. She wanted something to live off. Maybe she believed she could now get it?”

  Jasper considered this in silence. A blackmail scheme… It was always dangerous. Especially if you were trying to blackmail someone whom you suspected to be capable of murder.

  Had Theodora Cummings realized the danger she was in? Had she come to the meeting with her blackmail victim, prepared for a struggle? It didn’t seem so. She had worn her dinner gown, had not carried any weapon for protection.

  At least none had been found on, or near, her dead body.

  Jasper cleared his throat. “Did Miss Cummings tell you anything about Kenneth?”

  Malcolm coughed again. He gestured that he needed water and Jasper handed the glass from the bedside table to him. Malcolm drank and sighed. “Yes, she did. She told me some silly story about Kenneth being in love with nurse Cane. About him being willing to do anything for her.”

  Jasper sat motionless. If Theodora had tried to blackmail nurse Cane, and Kenneth had found out about this, perhaps by listening in on the conversation, could he have decided to kill Theodora to protect the pretty nurse?

  Malcolm shook his head slowly. “Theodora always saw love affairs everywhere.”

  Jasper said, “Do you know if nurse Cane can swim?”

  Malcolm blinked at the unexpected question. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you know if nurse Cane can swim?”

  “I think so. She mentioned to me once that the Riviera was so gorgeous with its beaches and its blue water, perfect for swimming. I assume she wouldn’t have said so if she herself couldn’t swim. How come?”

  Jasper shrugged. “Just a thought.” He studied the worn man in the bed. “I assume that considering what’s happened you’re not going to continue your plan with the will?”

  “Of course I’m continuing. They were supposed to kill me, not each other.” Malcolm made a disgusted sound. “It’s just like my useless heirs to get it wrong.”

  Jasper eyed him. “You actually counted on them killing you? Is this a way to… escape more suffering?”

  He hadn’t wanted to ask before, when Malcolm had first mentioned the plan to him, as he had believed it was just a little brain exercise Malcolm enjoyed and not something he would actually do. Admittedly, Malcolm had asked him if, when a murder occurred, he could look into it, but he had never believed there would be any actual need. Now he saw the matter in a new light. Had Malcolm looked forward to someone ending his life in a painless fashion, something preferred to lingering with no hope of recovery? No hope even that the pain would lessen, as it would just grow worse?

  Hard to say as Jasper didn’t know how ill Malcolm really was or what his doctors had told him about his prognosis.

  Malcolm said, “It’s a test. I want to see which one of them is capable of killing for money’s sake. I have my ideas. But I could be wrong.”

  “It’s a dangerous test. You might not live to judge the results of it.”

  Malcolm laughed softly. “In that case you are here to ensure the culprit is caught and brought to justice. Yes, I may die, but the killer will die also.”

  There was a malicious gleam in his eyes as he spoke. “The killer will never touch any of the money that he or she was willing to commit a crime for.”

  “Malcolm…” Jasper put his hand on the old man’s arm as if to shake him up from a dream he was caught up in. “Someone died. Your secretary who worked for you many years. A woman who did nothing wrong. She died because someone killed her, probably over the will. Anoth
er woman is in bed with a damaged face because someone tampered with her facial cream. You never wanted anything like that to happen, I know, but still… Your plan misfired, doing bodily harm and worse. It’s time to acknowledge that it was a bad idea to begin with.”

  “You don’t know if Anna Cane’s injuries have anything to do with the will.” Malcolm held his gaze. “And Theodora’s death… Some people present here disliked her, regardless of whether she’d ever get a penny from me. One of them might have used the opportunity to get rid of her.”

  Jasper wanted to say this seemed unlikely, but Malcolm cut him off with a weak hand gesture. “It’s not like a good former inspector to jump to conclusions. Have you searched Theodora’s belongings? Have you looked for clues as to who wanted her dead? No, you come here straight away and urge me to stop my plan with the will. I will do no such thing.”

  Jasper sighed. “I admit that I still need to look into many things. I don’t know who killed Miss Cummings or why. But I do know this: a boy of just sixteen is up to his neck in this. And he shouldn’t become a victim of some game to test your relatives.”

  Malcolm studied his expression. His look was shrewd, almost knowing. “Kenneth is one of them, Jasper. I wouldn’t dismiss him just because he is a boy.”

  Jasper pressed his hands together. Despite the Mediterranean heat they were ice cold. Would he really have to bring a boy, a minor, to the dock? Had Kenneth stabbed Theodora Cummings? If so, had he acted alone, of his free will? Or had he acted under the guidance of another? Had nurse Cane put him up to it? To remove the danger of having been seen when she pushed the wheelchair over the edge?

  But she hadn’t been dressed in red. Had she really hidden other clothes underneath her long dress?

  Or had Theodora lied to Malcolm about what she had seen? Consciously lied or perhaps just told a different story because she wanted to believe it had been the nurse? The person she hated for being close to Malcolm? Vibrant, young, beautiful.

  Jasper rose. “I’ll look at the victim’s belongings right now. But I urge you to think about the will. Consider whether it’s worth it to continue with your plan. One potential heir died already. I think that it’s possible, if you’re not very careful, that other deaths may follow.”

  “My own foremost?” Malcolm asked with a raspy laugh that ended in a coughing fit again. He wiped saliva from his lips. “Believe me, Jasper. I would only welcome that.”

  * * *

  Cecily sat in the sitting room with a book in her lap. Since sitting down she had not turned a single page but was staring at the wall opposite. Her throat was tight and her palms full of sweat. She had vowed to herself she’d stay here to get the inheritance but with another woman lying in bed overhead, her face mutilated by some terrible poison hidden in her facial cream, Cecily was having second thoughts. No price could be put on her beauty. No money could make up for losing her pretty face. If she had to hide indoors all the time because people could not bear to look upon her, what kind of life would that be?

  She started when the door opened. The former inspector walked in. He looked around him as if to ascertain they were alone. Then he carried something to her. A stack of photographs it seemed to be.

  He sat down beside her and showed her the first on the stack.

  Cecily froze, looking at those familiar faces. Howard and she, much younger, sitting over dinner, leaned over towards each other, their faces almost touching. The intimacy of it, the love in their looks, hit her like a punch in the gut. Yes, she had loved him then, believing he was different from Malcolm. That he could give her what she had been longing for: a happy marriage and a child.

  “Do you recognize this photograph, Mrs Jones?” Jasper asked beside her.

  “Yes, that must have been taken quite some time ago.” Cecily smiled. “I think for our first anniversary?”

  “Not quite,” he said gently. He showed her other pictures in the stack: she and Howard outside a theatre with the poster of the performance visible behind them; kissing by a car.

  “I think,” Jasper said, “that these were taken when you were seeing each other before you got married. When you were still married to Malcolm. It will be quite easy to prove by just establishing when the play which is advertised behind your backs opened.”

  Cecily eyed him. “You needn’t go that far. I… I admit I was still married to Malcolm at the time.”

  Jasper arranged the stack. “You cheated on your husband for weeks, perhaps even months. With his own business partner and friend.”

  Despite his factual tone the words felt like a slap across her face. “Where did you get those photographs? From Malcolm?” So he had always known. He had had some private detective follow them around. The bastard.

  Jasper said, “They were among the belongings of the murder victim. Theodora Cummings.”

  “She knew about Howard and me? All that time?” Cecily was perplexed, her mind racing to make sense of this revelation. “She never told Malcolm?”

  “Apparently not. Question is: did she threaten to tell him now? Then your chance of inheriting anything was gone, wasn’t it? Did you stab her to prevent her from showing these photographs to your former husband?”

  “No, I did not stab her. And I had no idea she even had those.” Cecily made a gesture at the stack. “I also don’t understand why she held on to them for so long. Howard and I married long ago. There’s nothing incriminating in those shots.”

  “Still she held on to them for a reason,” Jasper said softly. “And I would very much like to know what that reason was.”

  “Well, I have no idea.” Cecily rested her hands on the book. “I can only guess she believed it gave her some kind of power. That is what she enjoyed. But I suppose we should now all say nice things about her. As she is dead.”

  “And nurse Cane?” Jasper asked.

  Cecily blinked. “What about nurse Cane?”

  “She showed an interest in your son. Did you tamper with her facial cream to hurt her and avoid the danger of a relationship?”

  Cecily scoffed. “A relationship? My son is only sixteen. He doesn’t have relationships, Inspector, not like you mean it. Besides, there’s a girl he likes in Provence.” For once Kenneth’s silly infatuation with someone far beneath his station came in handy. “He doesn’t need some nurse with big blue eyes to turn his head.”

  “But it’s possible that while he is away from Provence he does notice other women. I also saw him look at Mrs Bryce-Rutherford. He thinks her pretty.”

  “Is that forbidden?”

  “Did you tamper with the cream, Mrs Jones?”

  “I already told you I did not. I’m the last person in the world who would ever do such a thing. I know how important her face is to a woman. It’s her only chance in life to succeed.”

  “Really? What about intelligence or wit?”

  Cecily laughed. “Men don’t want that. They always say they do, but they are liars. They want beauty.” She smiled at him. “You should know, Inspector.”

  Jasper shifted weight, moving away from her. Was he worried about sensing an attraction to her? Could she play him somehow? Part of her knew he was too professional to ever allow that, but she needed a chance to shift suspicions to someone else. And all of her chances had always come her way via her good looks.

  He said, “I found these photos among the victim’s belongings. They are painful for you and for your husband. That puts you high on my suspect list. There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

  He held her gaze. “Why use your son’s pocket knife to kill Miss Cummings? Can a mother be so cruel as to incriminate her own child?”

  “Of course not,” Cecily said, her heart beating fast. “I would never do such a thing. If I had killed Theodora, I would have used a weapon on the spot. Like it had happened in an argument and had not been premeditated.”

  “Thank you. That’s quite enlightening.” He rose, made a mock bow and went to the door. As it softly fell to a close, Cecily r
ealized she had been holding her breath, and released it. Her chest hurt with the effort.

  She lifted her hands and saw that sweat had left stains on the book’s pages. She quickly shut it and put it away.

  * * *

  Patty had noticed a little while earlier how Malcolm had come out and walked to the back of the garden. He had shuffled in a painfully slow gait, apparently to enjoy some fresh air. A wide coat hung around his shoulders and a hat protected his head from too much sunshine. She had wondered if it was a good idea to join him and try to gauge his mood after the murder. Try to find out who he thought had done it.

  She had left the bedroom and lingered in the hallway, preparing a quick story about the surroundings to distract him before she put the essential questions. Most of all, she was nervous about her request. She wanted him to confirm or deny, by a nod or shake of the head only of course, whether her turn to inherit had really passed. If the lawyer had given her an honest hint the other day, the chance was gone. What then was she staying for? Perhaps she could better leave?

  She went outside and followed the same route Malcolm had taken: down the path, past the statues of the Virtues, then to the left. She thought for a moment that she saw something move in the distance, a black shape, but it was gone before she could focus on it. Probably shadow under a tree.

  She clutched her hands together, rehearsing how she would handle it. She didn’t want to leave when there was still a chance to get the money. But on the other hand she wasn’t eager to sit around and either get stabbed like the dry secretary or poisoned like the flirty little nurse.

  Patty couldn’t deny the gleeful feeling inside that Anna Cane’s perfect looks might be ruined forever, but on the other hand the fate the woman had suffered made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to stay around people who were capable of something like that.