Kat had a sudden, fearful thought – that maybe Charlie had killed Carmody by mistake.
“So, you did it?” she said as gently as she could.
But now slowly, sadly, Charlie shook his head
“No. I planned on doing it. Find a time when the bastard was alone, get away without being seen.” A sheepish grin then. “Not much of a plan.”
“You didn’t write a note?”
A head shake. “Note? I didn’t write no note. I can hardly write, can I?”
Kat looked at Harry then back to the boy. She knew he was telling the truth.
“Didn’t need no note, anyways. All I needed was a minute alone with him.”
“So last night – when your work in the kitchen was done – you slipped outside, yes?” said Harry.
“That’s right. Out into the woods by the terrace. Waiting. Watching. I reckoned Palmer’d have to come outside at some point. Get some air.”
“Which he did,” said Kat.
“Late it was,” said Charlie. “But yeah, he came out. That big mask, like some strange bird. I knew that was him, asked one of the footmen earlier, like.”
“Plague Doctor,” said Harry.
“I dunno,” said Charlie, with a shrug. “Scary thing. Nasty.”
“So – he came out – onto the terrace,” said Harry.
“Yeah. On his own. Perfect, I thought. So I follows him. Away from the house. Down towards the lake. The grotto. All alone. Me thinking, this is it, this is the time.”
Kat thought… all right – going to learn everything now.
“So when he reaches the grotto, I get my knife out, start to catch up with him, getting ready like. But then another bloke comes out of the woods, all creeping low, like he didn’t want to be seen.”
Kat waited, hardly daring to breathe, to break the moment, as Charlie looked at them both, eyes wide.
“This other bloke, he rushes at Palmer and jumps him and the two of them struggle, then Palmer – least the man I thought then was Palmer – falls into the mud, stops moving, the other bloke standing over him, like he wasn’t sure what he’d done.”
Kat: “Did you see anything else? What the second man wore?”
“Nah, too dark. Big cloak and a mask – that’s all I know. But I did see one more thing. The man reached down, ripped the mask off the fellow in the mud. Then – it was like he just stood there, frozen.”
“As if something was wrong?” Harry asked.
“Yeah. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.”
“What happened then?”
“I didn’t move, not an inch. Just watched. Didn’t understand what was happening. Then I saw the bloke pick up that mask, the plague one – throw it into the lake. And then he was gone. Just disappeared.”
“But Charlie,” Kat said, having no doubt the man was telling the truth, “didn’t you still want to kill Palmer?”
He shook his head. “No. This morning… police involved, you two asking questions? It was suddenly all wrong. A real death snapped me out of it.” He looked away. “Hate the bastard, that’s for sure. But I suddenly thought, I’ll ruin my life by killing him. That didn’t make no sense at all.”
And then Kat watched as Harry put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Charlie, we’re damned glad you came to that realisation. If it’s any consolation, people like Palmer… well… let’s just say they do – sooner or later – get their comeuppance.”
Harry’s hand remained.
“Think I may get my boat back in the water soon. Been long enough. Going to need some help, you know? The kind of help that someone who works the sea, who knows boats, could provide. So, if you don’t mind, when the time comes, I’ll look you up.”
And then Charlie, who had seemed ready to punch the lights out of both of them and dash away, smiled and said simply, “I’d like that, Sir Harry.”
“Grand,” said Harry. “Now you’d better get back to your boat. Seems like you have a lot of fish to tend to.”
A nod, and Kat watched Charlie turn and walk back along the quay towards the darkening shapes of the fishing boats.
The sky had lost its dazzling colours. A lustrous night was beginning, with a planet in the east suddenly bright. Jupiter, Kat thought? No, a red tinge. Appropriately enough. Mars. The first bright stars blinking. And even a chilly gust now springing from the sea.
Harry took her arm in his and they walked back along the seafront towards the Alvis, neither of them speaking.
Both of them, she knew, thinking through the implications of what Charlie had told them.
At the car, Harry checked the two crates of fish were secure in the dicky-seat, then they climbed in.
But Harry didn’t start the engine.
“You first?” said Harry.
“Was hoping you’d start the theorising.”
“Me?” said Harry. “Oh, I’m properly baffled.”
Kat laughed. “Okay, let’s think about what we know, not what we don’t know.”
“Go ahead.”
“Carmody went to the lake wearing Palmer’s costume. And whoever killed him was very surprised when they pulled off the mask. They thought they were killing Palmer, not Carmody.”
“All of which must make Palmer innocent, right?” said Harry.
“Indeed. It also answers the question of how we saw Palmer playing billiards when Carmody was being killed.”
“But Carmody only went down to the lake because somebody invited him to a secret meeting.”
“So – a big question,” said Kat. “Why did Carmody wear Palmer’s mask to the meeting?”
“Yes. Did he choose to? Or was he made to?”
“Time to revisit motives, I think,” said Harry. “But this time the question being who – besides Charlie Todd – wanted Cyril Palmer dead?”
“A good topic for our drive home.”
“Exactly,” said Harry, turning to her, “And if we get going, we might just be in time for dinner.”
“These crazy roads of yours safe at night?”
And as Harry started up the Alvis, he laughed, saying: “Why, they’re even more fun!”
*
During the harrowing – to Kat, at least – road trip back at night, she and Harry reviewed what they now knew.
“All right then, what’s the plan when we get back? After we’ve eaten, of course.”
“Well, I was rather hoping you’d have some bright ideas in that department. You know, American innovation and all.”
She laughed. “I guess a few times, back in Manhattan, the truth being elusive, I did see how my boss played it.”
“And how’s that exactly?”
“He told me later. Use what you know to force out what you don’t.”
“There we are! Couldn’t be easier.”
They both laughed at that, as Kat could see the same spot on the Downs they had passed hours earlier, now dotted with the barely visible lights from farmhouses, and in the distance the glow of the tiniest of villages.
Looking so beautiful.
“I have another thought,” Harry said. “I mean, if we get the chance.”
“Yes?”
“Be good to look in Palmer’s room. According to Forsyth, Carmody had incriminating papers to hand over. But I didn’t find them in Carmody’s case. Is that because Palmer stole the papers?”
“You think they might point to the killer?”
“Possible. Right now, I can’t see any other way forward. Anyway, we’ll soon be back at Mydworth Manor. This is shaping up to be one of our more interesting investigations, isn’t it?”
To which Kat said in earnest: “Interesting? Frustrating.”
But when Harry went up the long drive to the manor house, gravel crunching, the house all aglow, and shedding enough light out front, Kat could see a familiar car parked by the fountain, and someone by it, standing, waiting.
16. The Mask Drops
As Harry pulled the Alvis tight around the circle,
just to the front door, Kat saw the old doctor, no bag this time, but simply standing there. And even in the dim light, a worried perplexed expression was visible on his face.
“The good doctor,” Harry said.
“And I think,” Kat said, “waiting for us.”
They hopped out of the car and walked over to him.
“Sir Harry, Lady Mortimer – so very glad you’re back. You see, um, I’m not sure how to begin.”
The doctor was apparently quite excited, flustered even.
She saw Harry put one hand gently on the doctor’s arm, keeping his voice low. Having that calming effect that it always seemed to possess.
She did love that voice.
“Dr Bedell, steady now. You’ve been waiting for us?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, everyone’s inside, at dinner. But I wanted to catch you straight away.”
Harry looked at Kat, half his face catching the light, the other in shadow.
“I see. So, did you find something? About Carmody?”
“Yes. And it’s not good, not good at all.”
For a man so rattled, it occurred to Kat he was taking his own good time to get the information out.
“Those small marks, on the neck? From a syringe! And the autopsy shows something had been injected into poor Mr Carmody.”
Kat took a step closer. With the sun down, a chill in the air, bit of a breeze.
“Do you know what was injected?”
“No. That will take a while, to be looked at by the lab. But it seems pretty clear.”
“It does?” said Harry.
Bedell nodded. “Oh yes. Whatever it was, triggered a heart attack, or at least what would look like a heart attack.”
Kat again looked at Harry – and he too had his eyes on her.
“Dr Bedell. Thank you for this. Very helpful. I think for now, we’ll take it from here.”
“You’ll call Sergeant Timms?”
Kat knew what Harry’s answer to that would be.
“Shortly, yes. Just need to sort one or two things first.”
Bedell nodded as if the suggestion of delaying police involvement made perfect sense.
“Thanks again, doctor.”
Bedell – face grim – took his dismissal, after delivering what Kat could only think of as a bombshell.
“Well, well, well,” said Harry as Bedell went to his car, started it and pulled away. “A syringe.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Kat.
“Only one person likely to possess a syringe – Sawyer.”
“No difficulty finding a motive there, your honour.”
“Jealousy. Oldest one in the book.”
“Doesn’t necessarily make him the killer though.”
“No,” said Harry. “Nor does it explain that damned note.”
Kat looked across at the house, the ground-floor windows all lit, a gentle hubbub of conversation drifting outside from the dining room.
Then a thought…
“Show me the note again, Harry,” she said.
Harry dipped his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out the envelope, removed the note and gave it to her.
Kat read the simple message.
“Okay. And the envelope?” she said and Harry passed it over.
She looked at the letter, then at the envelope: the simple words “Wilfred Carmody Esq” written on the front. Then she looked back at the letter.
“I’ve been an idiot, Harry,” she said. “The answer was here all along.”
“What do you mean?” said Harry moving closer.
“Look at the paper. Then the envelope. I mean… really look at it. Feel it.”
She waited while Harry examined them both, carefully.
“Dammit,” he said. “They don’t match. Might look the same – but they’re different kinds of paper entirely.”
“Not just that. Look at the handwriting. It doesn’t match either. It’s a good attempt – but an amateur one.”
“Whoever wrote that letter – didn’t write the name on the envelope.”
“Exactly,” said Kat. “Now I’m only guessing – but my hunch is – Palmer wrote the name ‘Wilfred Carmody’ on the envelope.”
“So he got the invite – knew there was something dodgy afoot – and, no pun intended – palmed it off on Carmody.”
“You got it.”
“I think I’m beginning to see the light,” said Harry.
“Me too. There’s a bit of work to do, but if we’re quick—”
“We can catch ourselves a killer.”
“Let’s do what we can while people are still at dinner,” said Kat. “Can’t postpone the local police forever.”
“That we can’t. But first…”
And Harry turned from Kat, and looked towards the distant greenhouse. “Need to make a quick dash over to Grayer. Get him to round up a couple of footmen and take the rowing boat out onto the lake. See what he can dredge up.”
“Good idea.”
“Meanwhile, yes, we need to take a look around a few guest rooms before dinner ends.”
“I know,” said Kat. “I’ll go check the Sawyers’ room, you check Palmer’s.”
“And let’s hope that no one skips the last course, eh? Meet you in the hall in five?”
And before they went up the steps, Kat touched his arm.
“Harry – we’d better be careful. We know it’s murder now. And the murderer is here in this house.”
And she followed Harry up the stone steps, opening the heavy wooden door.
17. A Gathering of Liars
Harry had opened every drawer of the dresser in Palmer’s room, revealing an array of clothes for a gentleman’s weekend in the country.
No sign of papers. It was clear there was only one place left to look.
Palmer’s briefcase.
Sadly locked, Harry could see, leather flap clicked into place, combination tumblers below.
Of course he could go downstairs, get a knife or scissors to open it.
But, tick-tock he thought. No time for any of that.
He went into the en-suite bathroom.
Thinking – there must be something of use here.
*
The Sawyers’ room looked in complete disarray. A bottle of whisky on a table by the window, clothes carelessly tossed onto a satiny love seat, trunks and cases spilling over.
Looked to Kat like changing for dinner must have gotten a little bumpy and, despite Lavinia having a full staff, there’d been no time yet for any of the maids to tidy up.
All of which made what Kat had to do even more difficult.
Digging through the clothes, patting down the rumpled bed, opening dresser drawers… looking for what?
Where exactly does someone who uses a syringe to take drugs hide such an item?
Would he keep it on his person? Not helpful if that was true.
But then, when she opened the bottom drawer of the claw-footed dresser, topped with a rather baroque and gilded mirror, she saw a silken scarf. And it was wrapped tightly around something hard.
Aware that she was moving fast, getting excited, she forced herself to slow down.
This might be it, she reminded herself.
And as she unwrapped, she saw a purple velvet box, held tight with a latch.
She opened the latch to see – the different elements of a syringe. A pair of them, it looked like, nestled sweetly in the recesses of the plush box. No sign of whatever was injected. Kat guessed that would be hidden elsewhere.
No time to find that. But she might just be able to unearth a sample of Sawyer’s writing.
She went over to a small bureau that stood open beneath the windows. Various papers were strewn across the surface.
All she needed was something signed by Sawyer himself.
If Harry got lucky too, this was all beginning to piece together…
Between them, were they going to unmask the murderer tonight?
*
To see a variety of quite useful items: sticky plasters, ointments, roll of white tape and gauze. All you might need in case of a shaving accident or a nasty tumble on a country ramble.
But then – aha – scissors!
He grabbed them and – everything be damned – began what turned out to be the difficult task of cutting through the leather clasp of the briefcase.
Thinking: I have certainly gone over our five-minute deadline.
He used all the force he could to cut through the last bit of tough leather.
He even grinned when he remembered that brilliant movie with Charlie Chaplin, preparing to feast on, yes, boiled shoe leather. Pretty tough indeed!
It tore open, and Harry could pull the case wide and look inside.
To see…
Oh yes. These were the papers that Carmody must have had in his room.
A quick rifle through them. Memos about land deals. Formal letters documenting what – at first glance – looked like a slimy tit for tat arrangement. Votes being sold, and from the thickness of the stack, years and years of corrupt, though clearly lucrative, dealings.
But most important – the correspondence from Charlie Todd and the sworn affidavits from women who had worked alongside Charlie’s mother.
Clear – and damning – proof that Palmer was Charlie’s father.
And finally, signed letters from Palmer that – with Kat’s trained eyes – would reveal whether or not he had re-addressed the fatal invitation to that meeting at the grotto.
But, no time now for a thorough examination, as Harry, keeping the papers in hand, turned and dashed down to meet Kat.
*
“Success?” Kat said, seeing Harry holding the papers.
“Absolutely. Papers – the lot. And you?”
“Oh yes. Found syringes, all right. And a very interesting sample of our swashbuckling friend’s handwriting.”
Harry nodded. “Think we’re ready for this?”
“You mean our test of the theory of using what we know to find out what we don’t?”
“Yes. Or as one might say, let’s go shake that tree and see what falls out.”
Mydworth Mysteries--Murder wore a Mask Page 9
