A Grave Man (18 page)

‘She was frightened of her murderer,’ the doctor said.

‘And you abandoned her to him.’ The scorn in Verity’s voice made Edward wince.

‘You cannot blame me more than I blame myself.’

‘Well,’ said Dr Morris after a long pause, ‘that’s all water under the bridge.’ And then wished he had not said it.

Verity felt an immediate, if unreasonable, stab of jealousy. Why had Maud confided in Edward, whom she had only just met, rather than in her? She would not have left her in her moment of need to hit a cricket ball about. She knew she was being unfair but she was bitter. Her vanity had been hurt. She thought she had convinced Maud that she was her friend but, when she needed someone, she went to Edward . . . because he was a man. She told herself not to be idiotic. What did her
amour propre
matter at a time like this?

‘But how did the murderer know she had not already told me?’ she asked.

‘I suppose, if she had, you would have told the police and then, of course, the murderer would have known the game was up. There would have been no point in killing her.’

‘Hold on a minute. What are we saying here? Maud’s killer saw her talking earnestly to you but he – or she – cannot possibly have known what she was saying.’

‘I think he asked her. She told him the truth and so he killed her,’ Edward said bluntly.

Verity looked puzzled. ‘She would have told him that you now knew she killed her father, so why did he stab her?’

‘Because,’ Dr Morris said, ‘the murderer wasn’t concerned about that. What he cared about was that she had not told Lord Edward – and must never be allowed to tell anyone –
why
she had killed her father.’

‘That’s right,’ Edward agreed. ‘She said she hadn’t killed her father because he had stopped her marrying the man she loved but for some other reason. Once we know what that was, we’ll know who murdered her.’ He rubbed his forehead, as he always did when he was under pressure. ‘I think it must have something to do with her brother and his disappearance.’

‘Are you sure she had told no one but you that she murdered her father?’

‘Wait a moment, V. I remember now! She said she had told Graham Harvey and he had told her that she was justified in doing what she did.’

‘And?’

‘And she told me someone else had said she would have to be punished. I’m sure that was what she said.’

‘And that someone else was the murderer?’

‘I suppose so,’ Edward said sombrely.

‘While everyone was chasing Mah-Jongg . . .’ Verity said, thinking aloud.

‘. . . Maud was murdered. It couldn’t have been at any other time otherwise the boys would have seen something,’ Edward finished. ‘Curse that animal. In Madagascar, where Mah-Jongg comes from,
lemures
are spirits of the dead. I wonder who released this particular spirit.’ He sighed and murmured to himself, ‘“Too much of water, hast thou, poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears . . .”’

7

Inspector Jebb looked gloomily at the scene of the crime. Lord Edward Corinth had explained why the murdered woman was walking near the stream. These amateur sleuths! Any competent policeman – himself for instance – would have asked her a few direct questions and cleared up the matter of her father’s death once and for all and, in doing so, prevented her murder. He grunted. Cricket! For the sake of cricket the woman had lost her life. To be fair, Corinth had looked very shame-faced and that girl of his had given him hell, but still . . .

He had told Corinth that the only person who could be blamed for Maud’s death was her murderer but, in fact, he did blame him for deserting her at such a moment. Jebb stroked his chin and considered. Was he being harsh? He had a prejudice against the aristocracy but he had to admit that Lord Edward seemed to be less arrogant and more sensible than most of his breed. He snorted derisively. He must put the man out of his mind and concentrate on solving the murder.

The corpse had been photographed and removed in an ambulance. His men were already searching the stream and the banks. He needed to find exactly where Maud Pitt-Messanger had been killed. There was grass and mud on the back of her shoes and clothes which showed she had been dragged some distance although Dr Morris was almost certain the body had been put in the water immediately after the stabbing because the blood was still liquid and there was no sign of rigor mortis. The stream was so shallow that the body could not have drifted more than a few feet. The murderer would have been in a hurry and might have left something which could help identify him, but the water had washed away much that might have been helpful to the investigation. The crowd which had gathered on the bank when the body was found and the efforts to remove it from the stream had literally muddied the ground.

The savagery of the stabbing meant the killer had to be a man – or an exceptionally strong woman – and surely no ordinary woman could have dragged the body into the stream. The village boys, still in a state of high excitement, were able to say that the body had definitely not been there when they had gone off to chase the lemur. Jebb was familiar with Mah-Jongg. He had seen the nasty little creature in its cage when he had been called to the house to investigate the theft of the dagger. What was Lady Castlewood thinking of, keeping such a thing as a pet?

What about the timing? The boys had recovered a ball Corinth had knocked over the boundary into the water just before he had run out Cardew. It seemed fairly obvious to Jebb that the killer had seen Maud walking alone by the stream. The only people near enough to notice anything untoward were the boys. So the murderer released the lemur to cause a distraction, counting on Maud to remain where she was. She was probably too wrapped up in herself to hear the hullabaloo or, if she had heard it, to join the chase. The objection to this theory was that the murderer would have been hard pushed to release the lemur, rush back to the other side of the ground and kill Maud before Mah-Jongg was recaptured, And wouldn’t he have been seen hurrying
away
from the chase as everyone else hurried to join it? Mrs Cardew, who had remained in her deck-chair throughout the incident, had seen no one running or even walking towards the stream. Furthermore, the murderer could not have counted on the lemur biting the boy and it taking so long to recapture the animal.

Perhaps he had not been responsible for the lemur’s escape. Perhaps he had simply taken the opportunity fate had provided to kill the woman who threatened him. If what Lord Edward had said was correct and Maud was waiting to tell him something important, maybe her killer had not had the chance to
plan
anything. Or perhaps there was an accomplice who created the distraction to give the killer time. Jebb kicked at a molehill. Was this case going to be a mountain or a molehill? He couldn’t be sure.

Could Maud have been paddling in the stream when she was attacked? It was a hot day – but, no, she had her shoes on and there was the grass and mud on her clothes. Then there was the fact that the body had been
laid
in the water, not thrown in. There was an element of . . . he would not say ritual, but at least deliberation. The killer must be a cool customer. Given that he could have had very little time and must surely have feared being noticed by someone returning from the lemur hunt, it was odd that he had taken the trouble to drag the body into the stream and lay her out as though she were resting on her bed. Corinth had mentioned Ophelia and he had nodded knowingly but, when he got home, he would have to send his wife to the library to check in Shakespeare exactly how the girl had died. He remembered seeing a reproduction in a magazine of a painting of a girl on her back in a river with flowers in her hair. He had an idea that it was Ophelia but it might have been The Lady of Shalott. He shook himself – what did it matter? This was real life – or rather real death – not fantasy. He scratched his head.

The only other time he had investigated the killing of a woman, she had been walking alone after dark on her way to meet her lover. The murderer had, unsurprisingly, turned out to be the husband.
This
murder had peculiar features – most notably being carried out in full view of twenty-two cricketers, two umpires and several dozen spectators – but it ought not to be too difficult to establish who had done the deed. He hunched his shoulders and pursed his lips. It
ought
to be easy but he had an intuition that it might not be quite as easy as it should be. For one thing, there was the difficulty of the murder having taken place at Swifts Hill. It was awkward to start accusing a powerful man like Sir Simon Castlewood of harbouring a murderer among his guests. He knew Sir Simon reasonably well and respected him. He was a Justice of the Peace, a friend of the Chief Constable and a generous contributor to the Police Benevolent Fund.

He sighed and turned to walk up to the house. One thing was certain. The interviews must take place as quickly as possible, before those present had time to forget what they had seen or concoct their own version of events. Of course, he must interview all the village team and their supporters but the village eleven was fielding when the murder took place and visible to all. Anyway, which of them was likely to know Maud Pitt-Messanger, let alone have a motive to kill her with a knife stolen from Sir Simon’s museum? He needed a complete list of those who had been
watching
the cricket. Perhaps one of them had taken the opportunity of carrying out this savage killing while all eyes were on Lord Edward Corinth and his good-looking nephew. It was ridiculous how there was still this fascination with the aristocracy.

He chewed his moustache and harrumphed. It was his opportunity to prove himself and he was determined to solve this crime before the Chief Constable insisted on bringing in Scotland Yard. All eyes would be on him. There would be a lot of interest in the press because, apart from Sir Simon, other well-known figures were involved. He gathered that Lord Edward and Verity Browne were celebrities of a sort. Well, he would not be put down by any of these London folk, he assured himself. There was one obvious suspect – the doctor fellow with the foreign-sounding name, Dominic Montillo. He would interview him first. He had been in London but had returned to Swifts Hill shortly after the body was found. What if he had been lingering in the bushes, stabbed the woman and then calmly got back into his car and arrived at the house when he said he did? The road was only a field away from the stream at the point where the body was found. He suspected all foreigners on principle. There was that German – Adam von Trott. He was both a foreigner and an aristocrat – probably a Nazi spy. He checked himself. He must not jump to conclusions. He knew himself to be a capable detective and a good judge of character. He had a job to do and he would do it.

He walked up to the house and met a worried-looking Sir Simon on the steps. On cue, he said, ‘Would you like me to telephone the Chief Constable, Inspector? This is a terrible business. I imagine you will want to call in Scotland Yard . . .’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary but thank you all the same, Sir Simon,’ Jebb said firmly. ‘I will, of course, be making a report to Chief Inspector Pride. If Miss Pitt-Messanger’s confession to Lord Edward was true – and there is no reason to think it was not – then that case is closed. The Chief Inspector can wind up his investigation into the Professor’s death. What would be helpful, sir, is if I could use a room in the house to interview everyone who was watching or taking part in the cricket match.’

Sir Simon looked dubious but nodded his assent.

‘Sergeant,’ Jebb spoke sharply, ‘start making a list of everyone who was in the house and the grounds today. You have the names and addresses of the boys who found the body? Very good. Let’s get down to work. I am afraid the scorer must write “game abandoned”, eh, Sir Simon?’

After the corpse had been removed in the ambulance, Verity walked back to the house with von Trott. She was so obviously deep in thought, the young man asked her what was ‘biting’ her. ‘That is the expression, is it not? I am always trying to improve my colloquial English.’

‘That is what we say,’ Verity agreed with a wry smile. ‘What’s biting me is that I came down to Swifts Hill to solve Professor Pitt-Messanger’s murder. Instead of solving anything, I allowed his daughter to be killed more or less in front of me. To cap it all, I failed to see what was staring me in the face: that it was Maud who had killed her father. At least Edward got that bit right.’

‘Of course you didn’t consider it,’ he said. ‘People don’t kill their fathers. I think it’s much more likely she convinced herself she had killed him. From what you say, there were hundreds of people in Westminster Abbey when the old man was killed. How can you possibly know if one of his deadly enemies was not lying in wait for him?’

‘The police have interviewed everyone . . .’

‘Leave it to the police. It’s not your responsibility, Verity. You are a journalist not a detective. Am I right?’

Verity grimaced. He was right, of course. She was being put in her place. In her own defence she said, ‘They’re not so different. I am a journalist. I search for the truth. We – Lord Edward and I – have stumbled across one or two violent deaths and investigated them.’

His brow clearing, Adam said, ‘Of course, I remember hearing about it. “Partners in crime” – is that what you call yourselves?’

‘No, Adam,’ and he flushed with pleasure that she used his first name so naturally, ‘that is
not
what we call ourselves.’

‘You are more than partners?’ he inquired mildly.

She hesitated and he saw the look in her eye with which Edward was well acquainted. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I do not wish to be . . . Love has its own rules.
L’amour ne se commande pas.
I understand. As they say in my country,
“Von Herz zu Herz geht ein weg”
– there’s a path that leads from heart to heart.’

‘You do
not
understand and ”nosy” is the idiom you are looking for,’ Verity said sharply but with a smile. ‘Anyway, I am going to investigate this murder even if you think it’s not my business.’