The Killing of Olga Klimt (20 page)

Payne agreed. ‘Apparently the last days of the heatwave.’

‘I sat there and tried to read but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about that phone call. I became convinced Bedaux was behind it, that it was he who’d lured Joan to Philomel Cottage! Well, it was too late for me to do anything about it, apart from phoning Joanie and making sure she was all right.’

‘Did you phone her?’

‘I did. I phoned her after I got back home. It was some time after six, I think. There was no reply. I tried some time later but again there was no reply.’ Lord Collingwood put down his coffee cup. ‘The truth is I am overcome with guilt, Payne. You do see why, don’t you? If only I’d gone to Philomel Cottage, as
I originally intended, I might have been able to prevent Joanie from being butchered. She might be alive now … I can’t help feeling responsible for her death.’

‘It’s no good brooding over it. What’s done can’t be undone,’ Payne said firmly. ‘I’ve had regrets like that myself.’

‘Have you? I always imagined you were the kind of chap who never put a foot wrong!’

‘Kind of you to say so but I fear I am nothing of the sort. I am far from infallible.’

‘If only I hadn’t got cross with that fool of a cab driver!’

Payne looked at him. ‘Did you ever give Joan a key to Philomel Cottage?’

‘Key? Key? No. Never. Why? Oh, I see. Good lord. You said there was a key sticking out of the front door, didn’t you? But what if the key had been left in the lock? What if it was there, when Joan arrived? Isn’t that possible?’

‘I believe it is.’

‘Olga might have left the key in the lock. People do, you know, either by accident or design. Perhaps the key was there when Joanie arrived? Then all she had to do was push the door open – that was when she was stabbed, wasn’t it? That’s what you said. Well, I thought of going to Scotland Yard and having a word with whoever’s in charge of the case, I mean tell them about the phone call, also that I suspect Bedaux of having made it, but I decided to talk to you first. I could do with some advice. So what do you say?’

‘I think you should speak to the police about it, yes.’

Collingwood nodded. ‘That, of course, is the right thing to do.’

There was a pause.

‘Actually Bedaux did go to to Philomel Cottage,’ Payne said slowly. ‘He was seen outside the house some time after the murder, while the body was still lying on the doorstep.’ Payne decided not to name Charlie as his informant.

Lord Collingwood’s eyes bulged. ‘He was seen? He was seen near the body? Good lord! But that clinches it then!’

‘Perhaps it does. I don’t know.’

‘No “perhaps” about it! Good lord. Don’t you see? Damn it, man, it all fits in! It was Deirdre’s Svengali who killed Joanie! I mean Bedaux. Bedaux is the killer!’

‘What motive could he possibly have had?’ Payne asked. ‘I know Joan Selwyn had been making a nuisance of herself over his master but would that have been enough for him to want to kill her?’

‘No, of course not.’ Lord Collingwood spoke impatiently. ‘Bedaux had a much more serious motive for wishing Joanie dead. That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Payne. You see, Joanie had been on Bedaux’s spoor for some time. Ever since she laid eyes on those catering girlies of his. I mean that fatal engagement party. Joanie immediately knew what Bedaux was up to. She’d managed to collect evidence. She told me about it. She was incredibly efficient, I keep telling you. Fiercely efficient. As a matter of fact she’d been on the verge of going to the police and presenting them with her findings.’

‘What findings?’

‘All about his pimping activities of course.’

I stand beside the window of my room at the Holyrood Hotel and look across at the Brompton Oratory. In my hand I hold a copy of today’s
Times
. There is a bit about the murder of Joan Selwyn. Not a lot. By a pure association of ideas I think of Olga. So that was Joan Selwyn, not Olga. Did Mr Eresby lie to me in order to put me off – or was he labouring under a genuine misapprehension?

I wonder how long it will be before the police manage to track me down. Though will they? Will they seriously think of me as a possible suspect?

I think back to the day before yesterday, the day of the murder, trying to retrace my movements as well as my thoughts. I had gone to Fulham with murder on my mind. I’d decided that Olga Klimt didn’t deserve to live.

My eye falls on the Bible on the bedside table. The Holyrood is a traditional, old-fashioned kind of hotel. It is a Gideon Bible. I was brought up in the Catholic faith, but my God, as they say, died young. It was a Catholic priest called Father Lillie-Lysander who helped me see the light. Thanks to him I started finding Theolatry tedious, its central premise profoundly unsound. I started regarding the custom of preserving mystical relics as something sickening and generally repugnant.

Father Lillie died a few years ago. His body was found in a wishing well on an estate called Ospreys. There were a lot of stories in the papers about it at the time.

I remember that Father Lillie was rather fond of quoting to me the words Saul addressed to Elymas. ‘You are a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right. You are full of all kinds of deceit and trickery.’

This strikes me as the perfect time for plotting revenge on Lord Collingwood. (I am sure I told you that I had been thinking of ways of ‘getting’ at him.) I believe it would not only take my mind off Olga Klimt, it would also channel and redirect all my frustrated desires, disappointments and pent-up resentments.

I take out my phone and call Lady Collingwood’s number.

She answers almost at once.

‘It’s Bedaux, m’lady.’

Lady Collingwood gives a delighted gasp. ‘Bedaux! In the name of all that is marvellous! Bedaux!’

‘I hope this is a convenient time, m’lady?’

‘It most certainly is! I’ve been thinking about you, you know, so this must be another instance of the telepathic communication that exists between us.’

‘Your ladyship is too kind.’

‘I’ve been meaning to ring you. I don’t want to be a bore, Bedaux, but things between me and Rupert have been really bad. I need a shoulder to cry on. Only you understand the impossible situation in which I find myself. There was a loathsome scene last night. It has left me devastated. Rupert is a beast.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, m’lady.’ Something tells me this is going to be easy.

‘I haven’t yet left my bedroom, Bedaux. I am a nervous wreck. Where on earth are you phoning from? Am I right in thinking you are no longer with Charlie?’

‘That is correct, m’lady. I am no longer in Mr Eresby’s employ.’

‘Oh dear. Charlie can be temperamental, poor darling, and maybe the tiniest bit spoilt, but he’s been going through a particularly stormy time. Something dreadful happened last night – you’ve probably read about it in the paper? Did he actually
sack
you?’

‘Not exactly m’lady. I sacked myself.’

‘How clever you make it sound. Can I do anything for you, Bedaux?’

‘Perhaps you’ll allow me to do something for
you
, m’lady?’

There is a pause, then she speaks. ‘I have always prided myself on being the soul of serene self-sufficiency, but today I feel weak. The truth, Bedaux, is that I don’t I want to see Rupert ever again. Not as long as I live. Or not as long as he lives. Does that make sense to you, Bedaux?’

‘It makes perfect sense, m’lady. I would be honoured to aid you in any venture you might see fit to undertake.’

‘Would you really? Do you mean it? Any venture?’

‘I do mean it, m’lady. Any venture.’

She attempts a light laugh. ‘Even if it’s something in questionable taste?’

‘Especially if it’s something in questionable taste, m’lady,’ I say gravely.

‘Even if it’s a matter of “aiding and abetting”?’

‘Does your ladyship have anything definite in mind?’

‘No. Goodness, no. Nothing
definite
. Not yet. But perhaps – perhaps you will be able to help me – how shall I put it? – reach a conclusion? You have such a
fertile
mind, Bedaux. I don’t think you are ever short of ideas, are you?’

‘Am I right in thinking the matter in question concerns Lord Collingwood, m’lady?’

‘You are. But you haven’t told me your whereabouts yet. Where
are
you?’

I tell her.

‘The Holyrood Hotel? I don’t think I know it. I bet it’s horrid.’

‘I find it perfectly serviceable, m’lady. I assume Lord Collingwood is not at home?’

‘He is not. Thank God for small mercies. He went out. He is in deep mourning. If I have to be perfectly honest, Bedaux, I am at the end of my tether. I don’t think I can go on.’

‘This is by no means what your ladyship deserves.’

‘That is one of the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, dear friend. You are one of the very few people who understand me, Bedaux.’ Her voice shakes a little. ‘Possibly the only one.’

‘I remember your ladyship telling me once about the occasion on which Lord Collingwood spilled a drink over you. He pretended it was an accident but you felt sure he did it on purpose. He left you feeling like a tree that had been devoured by a swarm of locusts, I believe you said?’

‘Fancy you remembering that! Well, there are few things in the whole universe of galaxies and nebulae that are as fearsome as Rupert in a bad mood.’

I decide to take the bull by the horns. ‘Would you like to be free from Lord Collingwood, m’lady?’

‘Depends on what you mean by “free from”, Bedaux. I must admit I rather like the sound of it. I’d like to be free, yes – eternally, entirely free! Tyrannous yokes should be overthrown, shouldn’t they?’

‘Indeed they should, m’lady. By any means available.’

‘Well, Bedaux, you have managed to persuade me. Once more you have cast your magic spell over me.’

‘You are anxious to have Lord Collingwood removed?’

‘I am, yes. But
how
? What do you propose to do? Have Rupert marmalised? Or vapourised?’ She laughs a trifle hysterically.

‘What would you say to having Lord Collingwood framed for murder, m’lady?’

‘I would like to hear more about it, Bedaux. Whose murder?’

‘Miss Selwyn’s.’

‘What an intriguing idea. He was most certainly not at home at the crucial time, which, I understand, was about five o’clock or a bit later. I came back home and he was not there,’ she says thoughtfully.

‘No alibi. That is excellent news!’

‘I would certainly swear to it in a court of law, if it ever came to a trial. Though why in heaven’s name would Rupert have wanted to kill Joan? What possible motive could he have had?’

I clear my throat. ‘If I remember correctly, a month or so ago your ladyship confided in me that she suspected Lord Collingwood and Miss Selwyn of having an affair?’

‘I did suspect them, yes. However –’

‘It is not unusual for gentlemen in the autumn of their days to indulge in initially energising but ultimately catastrophic liaisons with persons much younger than themselves. Miss Selwyn might have been trying to persuade Lord Collingwood to divorce you and marry her? Perhaps she was exercising considerable pressure on him? Perhaps she was blackmailing him?’

‘This is all most ingenious, Bedaux, but I am afraid it won’t do. It’s true that I did suspect Rupert of having an affair with Joan, but it seems I was wrong. You must think of something else.’

I find myself bristling. I don’t like being contradicted. ‘Why should your ladyship consider an affair between Lord Collingwood and Miss Selwyn such an unlikely proposition?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you but you must give me your word of honour that you won’t breathe a word to anyone about it.’

‘I give you my word of honour, m’lady.’

‘Very well then. You see, it’s like this. I found a letter and the draft of a new will in Rupert’s desk –’

I listen in silence. Then I nod to myself.

That is the kind of story that opens a host of new possibilities.

Lord Collingwood was speaking: ‘It seems the villain has been grooming girlies from the former Eastern bloc. He is what in the old days they used to call a “procurer”. Joan had been busy collecting evidence. She’d already interviewed one of the Lithuanian contingent. Girl called Inge, I believe, some such name. She is one of Olga’s associates.’

‘You think Bedaux got wind of it? He feared exposure?’

‘That’s what must have happened, yes. He must have become aware of Joan’s activities and got in a blue funk. It’s serious criminal business we are talking about, Payne. An escort service. An exclusive call-girl ring. He not only went about recruiting girls from run-down countries, but he forged papers, scouted for clients and so on and so forth. The villain also employed bribery and blackmail in equal measure. What did the Bard say, remember? “’Tis a knavish piece of work.”’

‘When did Joan tell you about it? Was it at Richoux’s?’

‘Yes. She said she had gathered sufficient evidence to have Bedaux arrested. Apparently she had quite a file on him. Enough to persuade the police to start an investigation. Wouldn’t you say her killing was a bit on the opportune side?’ Lord Collingwood produced a cigar.

‘I think you should tell the police about it, Collingwood.’

‘Of course I shall. I am glad we are in agreement, Payne. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to cook Bedaux’s goose. Poor Joanie must be avenged. I can’t begin to explain how much she meant to me. It’s been a blow. A very private kind of wound.’ He struck a match and held it to his cigar. ‘I intend to spend some time at Collingwood. It would help me recuperate. Scotland agrees with me.’

Payne said, ‘Scotland must look wonderful at this time of year.’

‘It most certainly does. The best place to mourn the passing of a loved one. I am still extremely fond of Collingwood Castle. That, as it happens, is where I proposed to Deirdre. She was something quite exceptional in those days. If you could envisage the Holy Madonna crossed with the Whore of Babylon? An irresistible hybrid! I don’t suppose you have ever made any wrong decisions, Payne, have you?’