‘She jumps?’ asked Alexander.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said George. ‘All right, so the police found a note in her handbag – but we didn’t see any evidence in her room that she’d written one. It might have been one of those ripped-out diary pages, of course, but it’s an odd thing to choose for your last letter, a bit of scrap paper. And then there’s her clothes. Hazel’s right – she wouldn’t choose to wear her everyday coat and hat. I should want to wear my Sunday best, if I was her, and I care about clothes like she did. I don’t think that Annie ever meant to die. I think Daisy’s right: someone else pushed her off the bridge.’
‘Ugh!’ I said. ‘But how did they manage it? Annie was afraid of the murderer, we know that, so why would she come to meet them here?’
‘What if she just got a note?’ said Alexander, frowning so his dimple showed. ‘Something pretending to be from another member of the company. So, she’s waiting for that person when the murderer comes up to her, disguised so she won’t recognize them at first.’
‘Good, Alex! Once they were standing at the railing with her, it wouldn’t be at all hard to do away with her,’ said George. ‘I say, Alex! You be the murderer. Go and stand behind Hazel. Closer than that! Closer!’
‘Why do I have to be Annie?’ I asked, flustered.
‘You’re the smallest,’ said George. ‘And you’re a girl. You’ve already proved that you know more about how Annie would think than we do.’
As Alexander stood behind me, so close that his hand touched my elbow, I took a deep breath and imagined as hard as I could that I was not Hazel but Annie Joy. I was expecting to meet someone I knew from the Rue, where everyone was always putting their arms about each other and calling each other darling.
‘I don’t think I’d be worried if they came up behind me like this,’ I said with difficulty. ‘I’d be more surprised if they were stand-offish.’
‘So, it’d be easy for the murderer to get close if Annie believed she was meeting a friend. All right, Alex, what would you do now?’ asked George.
‘I’d – er – I’d put my hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream,’ said Alexander. ‘Hazel, I mean Annie, I’m sorry about this.’
He raised his arm and very gently put his left hand over my mouth. His right hand was on the small of my back. It was absolutely the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me in all my life. I was going to murder George, I told myself. I was going to murder him just as soon as— I turned my head and saw Alexander staring straight back at me. He was so close that I could count the freckles on his nose, and I could have sworn that he was looking at me the way he sometimes looks at Daisy.
‘And then you’d push her in!’ said George cheerfully. ‘There, see, it’s quite easy.’
I spun round and glared at him. He stared back at me quite innocently, but I was sure I saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
‘I don’t know,’ said Alexander, stepping away from me very quickly and shifting from foot to foot. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I bent down, picked her up in my arms and threw her over? All our suspects are bigger than Annie, right? If she was little like Hazel, it wouldn’t take much. It’d be over before anyone noticed.’
‘I am not re-enacting that,’ I said, trying not to sound breathless.
‘Oh, but—’ said George, and he was certainly smirking now. Then his eyes caught something behind me. ‘Oh. Oh no.’
I had never heard George speak in that tone of voice before. Alarmed, I turned my head to see a group of four people rushing towards us. Two of them were blue-coated, high-hatted policemen, but the man in front was wearing a greatcoat and a most impressive scowl.
It was Inspector Priestley, and behind him was Bridget. I felt the full, sickening force of what I had done.
At least Uncle Felix would be able to see that it was not just Daisy who could get into trouble, I thought.
8
And that, of course, is how I got back here, in disgrace, which in this case means bed without supper.
I would be all right with it if I couldn’t smell shepherd’s pie cooking.
Daisy (who is well enough to sit up in bed, newspaper articles fanned out all around her, and tease me) said she is not surprised that all I care about is my stomach. What she means is, she is rather jealous that I got to have an adventure without her. I told her that there are plenty of things I care about other than food, and I meant I was sorry about the adventuring.
Anyway.
When Inspector Priestley found us on the bridge, he looked the most ruffled I have ever seen him.
‘Miss Wong,’ he said. ‘I spent two hours this afternoon fearing that you might have become the next victim in this case. You have forced me to divert resources away from my murder investigation to look for you, and you have made it obvious to Miss Wells’s uncle that you are still investigating this case. If he chooses to report this to my superiors, I will be in a very difficult position. I am disappointed in you. I was lenient with you before, but now I have to be firm. You must stop your work, and leave it to my men and me. Do you understand?’
I nodded miserably. I couldn’t speak. I felt shame to the tips of my toes. I had been silly. I had tricked Bridget and let the Inspector down. By becoming a runaway, I had broken our promise to him to keep our involvement in the case secret from the rest of the police force. I hated the very thought of stopping our work, but if continuing our investigation meant the end of the Inspector’s career – I could not be so cruel.
‘What about us?’ asked George. ‘It wasn’t just Hazel who ran away!’
‘Be quiet, Mr Mukherjee,’ said the Inspector. ‘You know perfectly well that you did so because of Miss Wong and Miss Wells.’
‘That’s not true!’ said Alexander. ‘It was our idea too!’
The Inspector turned his gaze on him, and he gulped and stopped talking.
George and Alexander were dispatched back to George’s house in a taxi with one of the police officers, and the Inspector and Bridget travelled with me in ominous silence. When we arrived back at the flat, Aunt Lucy was waiting for us at the door. She simply said, in her best governess voice, ‘Bed. Now. Felix is not happy.’
I went to bed.
Daisy has just been brought more beef tea. She dabbed at it with her spoon, sighed and said, ‘You have it, Hazel. I simply can’t face another sip. It tastes brown.’
I drank her beef tea, even though she was quite right.
‘Now,’ said Daisy. ‘Will you stop feeling upset so we can solve the case?’
‘We can’t, Daisy,’ I said. ‘Really, we can’t any more! If we do, Uncle Felix will complain officially about Inspector Priestley letting us be detectives, and his career will be over.’
Daisy looked mulish. ‘But we can’t stop!’ she cried. ‘We’re too far on! Hazel, we must have a Detective Society meeting to discuss what we have uncovered. Once we’ve done that, we can work out our next move. I agree with you that we mustn’t harm the Inspector’s position. He is one of the better grown-ups we know, after all. But there must be something else we can do.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said unhappily.
‘Excellent! Now, Hazel, you have made several very important strides forward, and I have not been idle, either. Get out your casebook, if you please, and then reach under my bed and bring me the box you will find there.’
I did so, curiously. The box was a sturdy tin that said PINS on its top – but, when I opened it, it was not full of pins at all. It was a treasure trove of sweet things. There were fat pads of Turkish Delight scattered with icing sugar and studded with nuts. There were gleaming dark twists of liquorice, sherbet lemons spilling out their fizzy insides and penny chews still in their paper wrappers.
A card poked out from under the Turkish Delight. I dusted off the sugar and opened it to read:
HAPPY 15TH BIRTHDAY, MISS DAISY. REMEMBER US ALWAYS.
YOUR LOVING FRIENDS AT FALLINGFORD
There were Chap
man’s, Mrs Doherty’s and Hetty’s signatures – Chapman’s as old and wandering as he is, Mrs Doherty’s speckled about with grease from some recipe and Hetty’s in her familiar scrawl.
‘It’s my birthday present,’ said Daisy. ‘A little late. It came a few days ago.’
‘You didn’t show me!’ I protested. ‘And – should you be eating sweets?’
‘It wasn’t the right time. And of course I should be eating sweets!’ said Daisy, shocked. ‘I am nearly recovered from my illness, and I find I want bunbreak again. The next time I refuse will be the day I am dead and buried. And even then I shall want you all to eat plenty at my funeral.’
‘Oh, please don’t die!’ I said.
‘Goodness, you sound like Beanie,’ said Daisy with a sigh that turned into a sneeze. ‘I won’t. Haven’t I promised you that before? No dying and no murdering anyone. I was perfectly clear, and you know I never go back on my promises. Pass me some Turkish Delight and then let’s discuss the case.’
We munched happily. I sucked on a sherbet lemon and felt the lemon fizz rush up my nose.
‘Now,’ said Daisy, rather stickily, ‘you have told me all about your daring exploits. Really, Hazel, you are getting bold! Rushing about London with boys, visiting seedy locations, almost falling off a bridge—’
‘I didn’t almost fall off anywhere!’ I protested. ‘And anyway it was you who told me to do both those first things.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t quite believe you would,’ said Daisy. ‘Hong Kong Hazel has followed us home and no mistake. Anyway, while you were off being disreputable with George and Alexander and proving that Annie really was murdered, I was also working. I know I am ill, but really there’s no point resting too much. I already did that all yesterday, and I found I’d quite lost patience with it. So. Bridget was out, hunting for you with the Inspector. Aunt Lucy and Uncle Felix were out doing … well, whatever it is they do at work all day. Saving Britain, I assume. I managed to get into the hall – one of my most difficult adventures to date. I hardly imagined that it would be so difficult to move when you are unwell. I’m quite sure the floor was lurching, and I had to order myself forward in the sternest way.
‘But I arrived at the telephone in the end, and I set about persuading the Operator to connect me to the people who could tell me where all our suspects were on the night of Annie’s death.’
‘And where were they?’ I asked eagerly.
‘Well,’ said Daisy, savouring her information, ‘they weren’t in. Lysander was out with some fellows from a rival company, and only got back to his accommodation after two on Monday morning. Apparently, he was reeling from drink, and had to be escorted home by a policeman. Of course, I checked this by calling the police station, pretending to be Lysander’s sister. It seems he was outside a pub in Charing Cross at one a.m. – which is close enough to Westminster Bridge for him to have been able to slip out, keep the appointment with Annie and return again. So, that was Lysander. We can’t rule him out.
‘Next I tried Simon. He was at a jazz club in Soho with his friends, watching a new band perform, and didn’t come back to his accommodation until two, either. But the bother is that the band didn’t begin their session until midnight, and Simon was late to meet his party. He only arrived at half past twelve, so he could have met Annie, killed her and then walked to the club in that time. Isn’t London exciting, Hazel? I can’t wait until I’m twenty. I shall go dancing all night and not bother with sleep at all.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘Even when I’m twenty.’
‘Well then, I shall come and wake you up in the morning so we can have breakfast together. So, both Simon and Lysander are washouts in terms of their alibis. But there was one person who wasn’t: Inigo. He went to dinner at Rules in Covent Garden. He had a big table with ten guests, and they stayed from eleven until half past one. Inigo was there the whole time – I asked the waiters and they confirmed it. So he’s got to be ruled out.’
‘But what if he’s working with Miss Crompton?’ I asked. ‘He might have killed Rose, and she might have killed Annie.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No, listen,’ she said. ‘Miss C. has an alibi too. I called her flat in Lambeth and Theresa answered. Miss C. came home at half past eleven. She’d insisted on one of their friends who’s a lady doctor coming round to see how Theresa was getting on, and this doctor friend stayed until half past twelve. So she can’t have done it, either.’
‘Does that mean Martita’s out too?!’ I cried. ‘Was she at the flat with them?’
Daisy flinched.
‘Not … exactly,’ she said. ‘When I called, Theresa was very prickly. She thought I was calling about Martita. You see, after the end of the rehearsal that day, Theresa and Martita seem to have had an argument. I think it was about Rose – Theresa wouldn’t say exactly, but I think she accused Martita of committing the crime, and Martita was furious. Martita ended up by piling some things back into her bag and storming out, saying she wasn’t going to stay there any more if they thought she was a murderer. Apparently, Miss Crompton went out looking for her as soon as the doctor had gone, and finally found Martita in an all-night café on the Embankment at four in the morning. It’s just like Martita – so pig-headed! And it means that she was wandering around London at the crucial time, with no alibi at all. She might easily have caught a bus from Lambeth to Westminster Bridge in time for the meeting with Annie. We can’t rule her out at all!’
Daisy threw herself back on her pillows, coughing furiously. ‘But she still didn’t do it,’ she said between sniffs. ‘I know it.’
‘How do you know? Daisy, we can’t just guess!’
‘I’m NOT guessing!’ cried Daisy. ‘Wait! Hazel! GOODNESS!’
‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Are you all right?’
‘It is true that I was practically at death’s door yesterday,’ said Daisy. ‘But I am quite healed now, and at any rate I am still a simply brilliant detective, no matter how ill I am. And I’ve had a MOST exciting thought about the case!’
9
‘You aren’t quite all right yet,’ I said. ‘You’re getting better, but you’re not healed. What have you thought of?’
‘Don’t spoil it, Hazel. I’m trying to say something important!’ snapped Daisy, proving my point. ‘Listen. After I did my telephoning, I was bored again, and I don’t like being bored. So I began to read the newspapers. I read everything from the last few days about the Rue, including – this!’
She brandished a torn-up bit of newspaper, very closely set, at me.
Miss Tree’s life had already been marked by tragedy. She lost her parents, the Reverend and Mrs Hamish Brown, in a boating accident during a family holiday in Southend, Essex in 1927, when she was thirteen. Miss Tree (her stage name) debuted on the London stage only last season, and seemed likely to become one of its most shining stars. Her untimely death is a tragedy in more ways than one.
‘But we already knew that about her parents. How does this help us?’ I asked curiously, for I did not see what Daisy was getting at.
‘Well, I kept it because it gives one fact that none of the other papers have bothered with: Rose’s father was a reverend. I thought it was funny because she ended up on the stage, which is really the sort of profession that the church despises. But, now that you’ve told me about Annie’s diaries, something else occurs to me. What was the date of the one that was missing?’
I gasped. ‘Nineteen twenty-seven!’ I said. ‘And—’
‘And where was Annie from?’ asked Daisy, eyes shining with detective excitement.
‘Southend, in Essex!’ I cried. ‘The missing diary in Annie’s accommodation. That was for 1927, the same year Rose’s parents died. What if Annie knew Rose when they were younger? We thought it was odd that they were friends, didn’t we? This would explain it!’
‘Yes! What if Annie was afraid not because of something she saw on the night of Rose’s death, but because of something she knew about her past?’ Daisy
asked.
‘You think it’s connected to Rose’s parents’ death!’ I said. ‘It could be! It’s such a strange coincidence. Look, Daisy, there was something from Annie’s latest diary that I couldn’t make sense of before but would fit with what you’re saying.’
I took out the stolen diary and opened it at the last few entries.
‘Went to see Happy Families at the Lyric this evening,’ I read. ‘Daisy, remember – that was the last production Rose was in! Annie must have seen her! It’s funny how easy it is to remember everyone from when I was sixteen, when now I can hardly remember a person I met last week … I’m sure she won’t remember me, but I mean to find out …
‘DAISY! I think Annie did know Rose from when she was younger! And I think she was trying to hide it. Remember, she was being so odd about where Rose’s parents died yesterday. She said she didn’t know, but if it was the town she grew up in, she ought to have done. I think she was lying to us. What if … she was hiding the truth of the story because Rose’s murder is connected to the deaths of her parents in 1927?’
‘Yes!’ hissed Daisy. ‘Hazel, you are … not a genius, because only I am that, but very close to it. And if Annie did know something about the deaths of Rose’s parents, and she’s died herself now – what if that accident in 1927 wasn’t an accident? What if they were murdered too!
‘So – Rose’s parents are murdered by person or persons unknown. Rose manages to escape that day – the papers said she was found washed up on the shore. What if that local girl who found her was Annie? All right, so Rose confides something to Annie about what just happened, swearing her to secrecy, for not everyone is as brave as you and me, Hazel. The two girls part ways and both stay quiet … until years later, when they both become part of the London theatrical scene, and find themselves in the same production of Romeo and Juliet!’
Death in the Spotlight Page 18
