Motive for Murder (24 page)

My scalp tingled. This was just what I'd hoped would not happen, the knowledge I'd been fighting to suppress. The odd look was back in his eyes and I realised how foolish my self-deception had been. I was far from safe.

‘Derek thought – and I agreed – that he shouldn't be allowed to get off scot-free. We decided I should go and see what I could get out of him.'

‘Blackmail?'

He shrugged, not denying it. ‘So – I found out where he was living and along I went. There were a lot of people milling about. I went in with a crowd of them and up to the second floor. Menzies let me in when I rang; he was alone.'

His mouth twitched and his fingers, still grasping the little knife, started to tremble. This, I thought irrelevantly, is what Matthew and I had tried so hard to work out – the motive for murder.

Mike looked up suddenly and met my eyes. ‘He was a nice old boy – goatee beard and rather long hair. When I said who I was, I thought he'd have a heart attack – his face went all grey.

‘He started talking quickly, but his voice was quiet and it was so noisy outside – shouting and laughing – that I could hardly hear him. It was something about always wanting to support me, but Grandfather and later my uncle would take nothing. Then he asked about Mother, and seemed shocked to hear she was dead.'

Mike paused. His words had come unevenly, in staccato bursts, and he was breathing fast. My nails bit into my palms as my body tensed to take what was coming. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew I had to. I, Emily Barton, had solved the riddle of Cameron Menzies' murder, and I wished to God I had not.

I jumped violently as Mike flung the penknife across the room. It clattered against the wall, nicking out a minute tongue of paper.

‘It was making me panicky, all that noise, and he went on and on explaining, trying to justify himself. I began to wonder if he was stalling, if perhaps he was expecting someone. So I cut him short, and told him I wanted ten thousand pounds.

‘He stared up at me as though he didn't understand. Then he reached towards the phone and at the same moment there was an extra loud crash just outside the door. I lost my nerve, seized the ornament and hit him with it – only to stop him, really. But it was heavier than I thought, and it felled him.'

His voice sank so low that I had to strain to hear him. ‘I just couldn't believe it – I was rigid with shock. And when I could bring myself to look down, I saw that what he'd been reaching for was his cheque book, which was lying by the phone. He'd have paid up, Emily. If I'd given him the chance, he'd have paid.'

‘Instead,' I whispered, ‘he paid with his life.'

There was a long silence. Mike sat staring down at his empty hands. I was scarcely breathing, wondering what he'd do next.

‘I hadn't touched anything else. I wiped the vase with my handkerchief and used it to open the door. Fortunately, there was no one in the corridor but the din was still going on across the way. There was a door nearby marked Service stairs, so I went down there and let myself out of the basement.'

As we'd already deduced. I drew a shuddering breath. ‘It was an accident, Mike; almost – in a roundabout way – self-defence.'

His mouth twisted. ‘I doubt if a jury would agree with you.'

‘And, of course,' I was speaking half to myself, ‘Derek knew what had happened.'

‘Quite so. However –' He stood up restlessly and went over to the window – ‘there was nothing remotely linking me with it – or so I thought. Till one day Linda Harvey started blabbing about the murder and going to see the old boy's housekeeper.'

He turned and gave me that terrible smile. ‘You did that too, didn't you? But you saved yourself just in time – by explaining it was Matthew's book you were talking about. That really shook me, I can tell you.'

I thought back to Mike's ashen face on the cliff, while I rubbed his ankle. I'd been surprised at the time that a sprain apparently severe enough to drain his colour should have mended so swiftly that we could continue our walk. But it had been shock, not pain, that blanched his face.

‘So
that
was why –'

‘Exactly; Linda's death had nothing to do with any baby. Derek and I used to meet her most days at the Chapel Arms; unlike you, she didn't stay behind typing when Matthew left her at midday, and one lunch-time she started talking about the murder. We were completely dumbfounded. We thought, naturally, that she'd rumbled us, and was going to put the pressure on.'

‘So?' My mouth felt dry and swollen.

‘So that afternoon we positioned ourselves in the bracken on the clifftop and waited for her to go to the beach. Matthew was with her for a while, and as soon as he left, we went down. She was reading a book about drowning. Weird, that was.'

‘
Drown her Remembrance.
'

‘That's it. We thought, of course, that she couldn't swim, and it – well, it all happened more or less as I said in the car that day.'

Yes, it had sounded too convincing not to be true; the fooling on the lilo, the tipping off, the realisation that they were expecting her to drown.

‘When we saw that she was swimming,' Mike was saying tightly, ‘Derek panicked – damn nearly drowned himself. Pity he didn't, really. I had to hold her head under, and she fought like a wild cat.'

The calm, dispassionate words chilled my bones. Poor, poor Linda; she died not even knowing why. I couldn't bear to think of her.

‘And – Kate?'

‘Kate,' Mike said in measured tones, ‘had been to St Catherine's House and unearthed “a secret”. Which could only mean she'd discovered there was no trace of my mother's marriage certificate. However, my birth certificate would have been there, and if it named Menzies as my father, it would link me with the murder. I couldn't chance it.'

‘So,' I said with icy calm, ‘you tried twice to kill her – the first time with the boulder.'

‘Yes.'

‘And nearly killed me too.'

He turned quickly from the window. ‘I was appalled when I found your things down there. You'd said you weren't going to the beach, and I couldn't see you from up above – you must have been sitting against the cliff.'

‘And when you weren't successful, you came back that evening – to make sure she didn't say any more about what she'd discovered. And also to fix the car,' I added after a moment, ‘and for good measure leave a can of petrol in the boot.'

I remembered how he'd come in the gateway as Kate's car rocketed off, and his peculiar manner as he waited to hear of the crash. He'd explained it with the no doubt glib lie that it was his mother's birthday, and Matthew had been blaming himself ever since, because he thought she'd been driving recklessly after their row.

And to crown it all, I had more or less accused him of killing them both. A dry sob rose in my throat and Mike came swiftly to me and took my hand. The grey eyes were limpid and child-like.

‘Oh Emily,' he said, ‘I wish I didn't have to kill you!'

I started to laugh, tearingly, chokingly, and saw his bewilderment. He put an arm clumsily round my shoulders and I had to steel myself not to shudder. He drew me to the window and we stood staring out at the deserted farm­yard and the beech tree, its red-gold leaves burning like flames in the premature gloom of the afternoon. The first, slow drops of rain, round and shining like marbles, fell with heavy splashes on the glass.

‘What shall we do?' Mike asked. He might have been enquiring whether we should go to the Show as planned or, now that the rain had started, drive somewhere for tea. But I knew, by some sixth sense, that as long as I stayed in that room I was safe. Mike would not harm me in his mother's sitting-room, with her gentle eyes watching us.

The rain was falling now in a soft, even patter, and I watched the long globules fill in the dusty edge of the window sill until they merged into smooth, gleaming wetness.

Mike said suddenly, ‘I realised that must have been the picture, but I couldn't find a signature, though I searched for it pretty thoroughly. I didn't know about the bloody thistle. Anyway, I couldn't have parted with it – it was a risk I had to take.'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Do you blame me, Emily?'

I sighed. ‘I suppose that once you'd killed your father, you felt you had to kill Linda. The tragedy is that both murders were unnecessary.'

‘I know. Too bad.' The callousness of the words stopped me just in time from almost condoning him.

‘And – and Kate; she probably wouldn't have said anything.'

‘Oh she would, make no mistake, if only to annoy Matthew. She was playing cat-and-mouse with him all that weekend.'

Behind us, the clock whirred suddenly and struck three. Then the silence seeped back, broken only by the whispering rain and my own ragged breathing. And I knew that after all I must leave the dubious safety of this room before it became a prison. My survival depended now on the presence of other people, and it was clear what I must do.

I turned to him with what I hoped was a normal smile. ‘Can we go to the Show now?' I asked.

He looked at me in surprise. ‘What – in this?'

‘Yes,' I insisted feverishly, ‘please. I want to see your exhibits, and – and do the Floral Dance.'

‘In the rain?' he repeated.

‘Yes, in the rain!'

He laughed, a high laugh that had in it something of excitement. ‘Very well, my sweet,' he said with a terrible gaiety, ‘your wish is my command. We shall go to the Show.'

He caught my hand and hurried me across the room, down the tiny passage and out into the rain. I had not time to snatch up my mac from the chair, and Mike didn't bother with a jacket. The wind had risen considerably, but I don't think either of us was conscious, in that moment, of the cold or wet.

The car was standing in the yard. Mike opened the door and I scrambled inside. It wasn't far to the show ground, but far enough for us to get thoroughly wet, unsuitably dressed as we were. I gripped the seat as we swung round in an arc and bumped over the rough ground.

Around us the day had darkened ominously, draining the gold from the gorse and smudging the heather indistinguishably into the grey-green grass. Mike's face gleamed like wax, and I could see beads of perspiration on his forehead. And still the old car had its comfortable, homely smell of leather and tobacco and the underlying pungency of petrol. It had always seemed a haven to me; was it now to become a hearse?

We bumped down on to the main road, and the crash of the sea reached us over the screaming wind. Mike laughed again, exultantly, and turned left. Perspiration, cold as liquid ice, flooded over me.

‘Mike –' My hoarse voice could not be heard, and I tried to raise it. ‘Mike – isn't the Show the other way?'

‘It is indeed, Emily, it is indeed. You didn't really think we were going there, did you? It was just a ruse to get you out of the house.'

I'd been right, then; I would have been safe at the farm, but only comparatively so, shut in with Mike. And I was still shut in with him, in the bucking car, as we careered over the deserted, rain-soaked moors. I knew despairingly that there was little chance of rescue. My only option was to wait and see what he would do.

We seemed to have been driving in silence for a long time. My mind circled like a rat in a cage searching for escape, for a means of distracting him sufficiently to allow myself some manoeuvre. But, even if the opportunity arose, what could I do? If I managed to get out of the car, I was no match for him on foot and there was nowhere to hide.

I said, as steadily as possible, ‘Where are we going, Mike?'

His tongue flicked over his lips. ‘I haven't decided.'

A pause. I tried again. ‘I wouldn't say anything, you know. We've been close to each other – I wouldn't do anything to hurt you.'

He smiled. If only, I thought uselessly, I hadn't seen that thistle! Could fate really hang by so slender a thread? If Mrs Statton hadn't mentioned it – if I hadn't looked so closely at the portrait – if I'd had the sense not to say anything...

He must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘Poor Emily,' he said very gently, with that smile still pulling at his mouth. ‘What a shame you were just a little too clever – or not quite clever enough!'

‘You said you loved me!' I cried.

‘So I did, once. Very much. Until I discovered it was Matthew you wanted.'

It was pointless to keep denying that; he didn't believe me.

‘And you were very stupid after the fire,' he went on, ‘insisting he should begin again on the book. He'd have given up if you hadn't kept on about it. What do you think the fire was for, for God's sake?'

My mind groped stupidly. ‘You mean – it was deliberate? But how?'

‘I'd seen where the typescript was kept, hadn't I? And when you said on the phone that Matthew would be late back, I got in touch with Derek, and he agreed to do it while we were all out.'

‘How did he get into the house?'

‘Mother had a key; she used to keep an eye on the place when they were away, and we found it among her things. Anyway, we reasoned that if it all went up in smoke, Matthew'd be too discouraged to go on with it, specially since he'd not even worked out the motive or –' he grimaced – ‘the murderer.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘But not content with flinging yourself into his arms, you had to keep telling him to start again, not to give up. I could willingly have killed you then.'

I realised that he spoke the simple truth.

‘I'm sorry,' I said idiotically.

The cliff road was deserted. On our left the rugged rocks rose sheer, their tops swathed in the low clouds, and on our right, beyond the lip of the road, the ground fell away steeply to the creaming, roaring, lashing sea. Already the drizzle was being suffused with the blue of approaching evening. Mike switched on his headlamps and the brilliance leapt ahead of us, funnels of gold on the dark road.