by Gwen Moffat
Miss Pink said, ‘I’m surprised he wasn’t blackmailed.’
‘Oh, no; the blackmailer was after bigger game than small instalments; he wanted the lot, if there was a lot. He must have got wind of the police surveillance; that wouldn’t be difficult for someone who moved in the right circles. But if Harper had money, he didn’t flaunt it, until Caroline turned up, and she spelled money. Wren was sent to Harper’s cottage last Friday night to break in and see what he could find, and this time he got in.’ He stopped talking.
‘Well, what did he find?’ Lucy asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘But the money? It must have been there.’
‘Obviously.’ He smiled at her.
‘So why didn’t Wren steal it instead of having to go through all this ghastly business of the kidnapping—and two people being killed?’
‘Harper hid the money. You don’t think, with one attempted break-in already, and Wren hanging around his cottage, he’d leave fifty thousand lying around?’
Miss Pink asked, frowning, ‘Why did you say just now: “the person who became the kidnapper”?’
‘It was an escalation in violence: attempted blackmail, successful blackmail, murder, but when Wren broke into Harper’s cottage, the object was theft. When he couldn’t find anything, they put the kidnapping plan into operation, and that was wild. The fellow had gone mad.’
‘I don’t see that,’ Lucy demurred. ‘He’s got the money; I’d think that meant success, in his terms. Is there something wrong with the money? Is it counterfeit?’
‘No, it’s almost certainly the proceeds of robberies. The madness lay in the use of an accomplice; that’s always risky. And what an accomplice! Of course, he knew that Wren had to be killed eventually, but he’d planned to wait until the crime was completed, the money picked up, stowed away—probably in a Swiss bank—and no suspicion attached to himself. Then he’d kill Wren, simulating an accident. You do realise,’ Cole turned to Miss Pink, ‘that it could have been just too easy for the kidnapper? Harper would never have asked the police for help, even after he got Caroline back safe, because the money was hot. Oh, yes, it was intended to release Caroline—remember she was bound. After she returned to Harper, the whole thing would have died. The police would have known nothing. Once Wren was killed in an “accident” the kidnapper was as safe as houses.’
‘You’re playing games,’ Lucy said. ‘You’re making it up as you go along.’
‘Like Miss Pink, I have a criminal mind.’
‘Like our murderer,’ Lucy was sarcastic, imitating his familiarity.
‘No, dear; he has no sense of application. He was bound to make mistakes when he got into serious crime. The first was not to move Wren’s car.’
‘It drew our attention to the locality,’ Miss Pink agreed. ‘No, that’s not quite correct; the fact that it was still here, in Carnthorpe, made me think it would be worth while to question the attendant, and so we learned that Caroline bought boots.’
‘Boots,’ Lucy repeated, ‘what boots?’
‘Weren’t you told?’ Cole asked.
‘All that I know about the kidnapping is what you’ve told me. The police were only interested in the letter I had and whether I’d seen any strangers hanging around at the weekend. Perhaps the bodies hadn’t been found when Hendry called on me.’
‘That’s possible,’ Miss Pink said. ‘What happened was that Wren wore climbing breeches Saturday morning, which he would hardly do on a trip to London but which he’d wear if he were going climbing, and he took her shopping to buy boots, and all this in full view of the car-park attendant.’
‘Wren was as thick as two planks,’ Cole said. ‘Using him was inviting disaster.’
Miss Pink agreed. ‘They ought to have gone farther afield or at least left his van where it wouldn’t be obvious.’ She hesitated. ‘And then there was Caroline’s car: hidden in the forest certainly but still too close to home. Could the position of the cars have been intended only as a temporary measure?’ she asked of Cole. ‘There were at least two criminals originally,’ she pointed out. ‘There could have been a plan for the cars: to take them to Carlisle perhaps, and leave them in a side street with the keys in the ignition so that they would be stolen, or Wren could have been meant to take the Lotus to London to dispose of it.’
‘Why didn’t it happen like that?’ Lucy asked.
‘Because Caroline died and Wren panicked. Look at it this way: they went straight to Shivery Knott from Carnthorpe, leaving the Lotus in the scenic park where you left your car today,’ Miss Pink told Cole. ‘They went to the caves and Wren overpowered Caroline, possibly knocking her out. He tied her up. I wonder if she knew there was a big drop below? I feel she must have been unconscious at some point, and she rolled off the ledge when she started to come round. She would be in pitch darkness, you see.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Cole said. ‘She’d wake up in the dark, would she, and her hands and feet tied? That indicates a certain carelessness on Wren’s part. She was also tied to this peg thing?’ There was a peculiar lilt in his tone as he addressed Miss Pink.
‘Yes, she was tied to the peg by the climbing rope, but he’d left too much slack. If she’d been tight to the peg, she wouldn’t have rolled over the edge.’
‘Careless,’ he repeated thoughtfully. Lucy winced.
‘After attacking her and tying her up,’ Miss Pink continued, ‘he would have driven the Lotus round to the Whirl Howe forest and walked back to Shivery Knott over the tops. I heard him at four o’clock.’
‘That was when he came out of the cave after discovering Caroline’s body,’ Cole explained to Lucy.
‘Then what happened?’ she asked.
‘Why, Wren came down and fetched his boss,’ he said, ‘who went back and shot Wren, almost certainly wiping the gun, and left it there. It wouldn’t take long to run up to the crag and back again, would it?’
‘He’d do it well inside an hour,’ Miss Pink said. ‘He didn’t have to rig any evidence.’
‘Well, of course—’ Cole stretched his legs, ‘—the police will be on to all this.’
‘They’ve started on Arabella,’ Miss Pink informed him. ‘She was upset.’
A heavy silence descended on the room.
‘There are loose ends,’ Miss Pink continued after a while. Cole glanced at her ingenuously; he looked tired. Lucy stroked her throat, her rings glittering.
‘Harper had the first telephone call, the one saying Caroline was being held, at one o’clock on Saturday. How did Wren communicate with the telephone caller to say that he’d completed the first stage successfully—or was the other criminal in the caves with Wren?’
‘No, dear,’ Cole said. ‘The killer was keeping his hands clean; he was safe in Sandale going about his daily business—except for one quick telephone call to Harper when he knew Caroline had been trapped. Wren had some brilliant clothing and for anyone watching, they’d recognise him on the top of Shivery Knott. He didn’t have to signal; his appearance itself was the signal. You can see the whole of the hamlet from the crag.’
‘I’m not sure you can see the crag from Sandale House,’ Miss Pink put in. ‘You can see it from the fields, and most other places on the farm. But going back to mistakes: surely the worst one the killer made was in making further telephone calls to Harper and me yesterday when he’d set up Wren’s death to appear as suicide? If Wren were the kidnapper—people would think—then who made the telephone calls after he was dead? That was the first reason why I thought Wren’s death wasn’t suicide. And if Wren was murdered it was most likely that he was killed by the person making the telephone calls on Sunday.’
‘Why couldn’t Wren have made those calls?’ Lucy asked.
‘Because he was dea—’ Miss Pink faltered.
‘Yes.’ Cole agreed with the unspoken thought. ‘We don’t know. What with the temperature in a cave, and the time of year, and excitement and physical exertion prior to death, it could
be difficult to fix when he was killed. I wonder if he could have made those calls yesterday?’
Miss Pink was stubborn. ‘If he’d been dead only twelve hours, he should have been partially rigid; besides, it didn’t sound in the least like Wren on the phone.’
‘People can imitate voices,’ he said airily and glanced at Lucy. ‘Ah nivver thowt tha wad hev played sic a trick on tha neighbour!’ It was a fair imitation of Cumbrian and it startled Miss Pink. Lucy was shocked.
‘That’s not amusing.’
‘It wasn’t intended to be; I was demonstrating a point.’
‘You’re forgetting something,’ Miss Pink said. ‘In the first telephone call there was heavy traffic in the background.’ She looked at Cole. ‘Wherever Rumney was, he didn’t get to a trunk road at lunch-time Saturday, so who made the one o’clock call, and from where?’
‘I expect Zeke’s got a gramophone,’ Cole said. ‘You can buy special effects discs; the radio people use them a lot. Our fellow was clever.’
‘You said he was mad,’ Lucy reminded him.
‘Oh yes, dear, right round the bend. It happens, you know, with these keen minds; they get so sharp they cut their own throats.’
‘You mean he’ll make a mistake under interrogation?’
‘He’ll crack; all the mistakes have been made except the last one; the pattern’s there, you see; he can’t go back.’
‘But is there any proof?’ Lucy asked.
‘There are the anonymous letters,’ Cole said.
‘I burned mine. You mean, the other letters have been found?’
‘No, dear, they won’t come to light now; they were stolen by the blackmailer and went the way of yours: burned.’
‘So they can’t be used as evidence; they don’t exist.’
‘Quite. And the disc with background effects for the phone call: the noise of traffic, that will have been destroyed. But there are two other telephone calls which are quite important.’ He said it lightly but Miss Pink stiffened.
‘Go on,’ Lucy said, ‘you’re intriguing us.’
‘The first telephone call was made the night that the hiker was killed at Storms’ bend. It was that call which sent Sarah out on the road drunk.’
‘And who made that call?’
‘You spoke to Sarah.’
After a moment Lucy said carefully: ‘Sarah says I telephoned her on the night the hiker was killed?’
‘No. She says she rang you and you said Noble was at Storms.’
‘She’s a liar.’ Lucy was equable. ‘What was the second call?’
‘That was the night Peta was killed. Someone rang Mossop to tell him that the person who tipped off the police about the stolen whisky in his cellar was Peta.’
Miss Pink gasped. ‘It was Peta?’
‘Indirectly.’ Cole was smooth. ‘Peta must have known about the whisky and mentioned it in passing to someone close to her.’
No one spoke for a moment, then Miss Pink asked: ‘What time did Mossop get that call?’
‘Some time after half past ten.’ Cole didn’t look at her but at Lucy. ‘At that time Peta was walking from this house to Storms.’ He looked round the room as if envisaging her standing in it. ‘When she reached the hotel Mossop was waiting for her. There was a violent quarrel. Peta denied tipping off the police, and she was speaking the truth; the tip-off came from the blackmailer. But Mossop was confused and for a moment he thought that Peta herself must have been blackmailing him. He hit her. That was the mark on her face, remember?’
‘He killed her,’ Lucy said flatly.
‘No, dear. He left her where she’d fallen and he went to bed. It’s because he’s not a killer that he got frightened and eventually he went downstairs to see if she was all right—and found her dead. Now, he knew he hadn’t hit her other than on the face; in any case, by now there was a wound as well as a bruise and he knew which he was responsible for, and he knew he’d locked that front door. It was closed, but unlocked. He saw that someone had set it up for him to be the killer, so he removed the body and cleaned up the room. But he knows who killed Peta.’
Only the flames moved among the logs. ‘Who?’ Lucy asked.
‘The person who tipped off the police, who telephoned him, who followed Peta to Storms, who saw her drinking alone through a crack in the curtains, persuaded her to open the door, came in with some excuse for a talk—and killed her.’
‘What with?’
‘The priest,’ Miss Pink said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Cole was ritually polite.
‘It’s hanging above the bar: a lead-weighted weapon like a cosh used for killing salmon. There’s blood on it.’
‘It ought to be moved,’ he said.
‘Hendry’s taken it,’ Miss Pink lied.
‘You’re suggesting Peta told Denis about the stolen whisky,’ Lucy said lightly. ‘Fortunately for me, we settled down to television after she went so I couldn’t have made the telephone call to Mossop nor followed her to Storms.’
Cole flicked a piece of fluff from his slacks. ‘But chaps have to go to the loo, and he doesn’t think he watched television. He thinks he went straight to bed. Of course, he admits he was pretty drunk.’
‘You’ve questioned everybody.’ Miss Pink caught a note of harshness in Lucy’s voice and looked up sharply. ‘And what was my motive for killing Peta?’ The tone was velvety again and Miss Pink lowered her eyes to the other’s hands. They were quite still. Absently she wondered how much the rings were worth. She heard Cole saying, ‘I don’t think it was necessary to kill her—’
But Lucy had stood up. ‘Do you want to listen to this?’ she asked Miss Pink, ‘because I think the evening’s entertainment is coming to an end. I have a telephone call to make. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Miss Pink said, knowing it was intended as dismissal. She looked at Cole and saw that he was regarding her with cold hatred, then she realised that he was not looking at her, but through her. They sat and waited.
A number was dialled and Miss Pink’s ears started to strain as if the telephone were in another room.
‘Hello,’ Lucy said calmly, ‘I’ve changed my mind; I’ll come along tonight after all. They’re just leaving; our business didn’t take as long as we expected. That will be fine; I’ll see you in the bar.’
She came back to the fire. ‘He is my alibi for last night; he and about forty-five others. How do you suggest I picked up the money?’
‘Lecture halls are dark; I’ve no doubt you sat by the door.’ Cole was bland.
‘I can describe the slides and the commentary.’
‘Naturally. You talked to the lecturer afterwards, and you’ll have discussed the lecture; he sounds the kind of man who could be deceived by a beautiful woman.’
They eyed each other without expression and it was Miss Pink who felt the sweat break out on her skull. The fire was too hot. ‘You suggested it wasn’t necessary to kill Peta,’ she prompted Cole.
‘Ah, yes. Murder wasn’t the original intention. Peta seduced Denis Noble and Lucy didn’t like that—’ the other woman made an impatient gesture and he smiled, ‘—so, guessing—as she’d guessed in Sarah’s case, and in Mossop’s—she guessed again and started blackmailing the girl.’
‘No one guessed,’ Miss Pink interrupted. ‘The murderer had seen documents relating to Peta’s history.’
‘Yes?’ He looked at her with interest. ‘So, ostensibly Peta was blackmailed, but this was only a peg; persecution was the motive. If the girl had another breakdown so much the better. And to help things along she was getting the nasty telephone calls, those where no one said anything. It worked—very well. Noble, like most respectable fools, is terrified of neurotic women, and he returned to the fold. But Peta had been driven too far and although the persecution probably stopped when Noble left her, Peta didn’t know it had. Things were still snowballing for her, even if it was only in the mind. She needed help and she made a sudden decision regardless of consequenc
es. She came straight to Noble although he was dining here, but all he could advise was a doctor. However, he meant it and he said that if she didn’t go to Bright, he would see the doctor himself on Saturday. Peta had to be stopped from talking and the mind behind it had an outside chance of getting someone else to silence her. That call to Mossop wasn’t merely making trouble between husband and wife; it was hoped that Mossop might hit too hard. But, of course, the caller had to follow through and go up to Storms to find out what had happened.’
Miss Pink said, ‘Certainly Peta might have told the doctor she was being persecuted but how would that endanger the blackmailer? There was only Peta’s word for it—no one else would talk—and the poor girl couldn’t have been normal by this time.’
‘But it would be out in the open,’ Cole insisted. ‘Bright might believe her, he might persuade her to go to the police, even to tell Mossop. Then Mossop might, just possibly, admit someone had attempted to blackmail him, pretending that he’d been accused of after-hours drinking parties. Even Sarah’s involvement could be exposed. But do you think the killer used reason? I tell you: the killer was losing control. She had power. She watched Sarah and Peta disintegrate; she saw Mossop, who had defied her, hauled into court. She could terrify people and get money merely by picking up the telephone; she killed Peta and almost pinned the death on Mossop. She enjoyed the plotting, she revelled in the killing.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘It was exciting, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s made a good story—if in somewhat bad taste, but you’re a common little man.’ She smiled as if to take the sting out of her words. ‘You’ve got the look of a Baghdad tinker about you. I hope you don’t mind my changing my mind about giving you dinner.’
‘Not at all,’ he said politely.
‘You would expect to be poisoned anyway.’
