Honeymoon with Death

by Honeymoon

  Ramsforth bemoaning his lack of money. Hawtree goading him to marry a rich wife. Ramsforth saying he didn’t know any. Hawtree pointing him in the right direction. Setting up that first meeting by ensuring the reclusive Damaris showed up at the play. It all fit.

  But how had Hawtree known about Damaris’s past, the money coming to her? What was the connection? He decided he had to get to the mainland again, to make more phone calls. Get access to old records, old newspapers. Anything he could learn about the Hawtree family.

  * * *

  That evening Jasper was seated in the walled garden at the hotel, drinking coffee and reading through his notes when a shadow fell over him. It was Mrs Valentine, the nurse he had asked to come over from Athens. A lock of greying hair had escaped the neat bun she wore on the back of her head, and dangled on her cheek. It gave her an innocent, granny-like appearance. But she had always been very good at her job and he knew he could trust her to act, should the occasion require it. During one of her nursing engagements she had heard strange sounds in the night, risen to explore and floored a burglar literally by pulling the rug out from underneath his feet. She was a physically strong woman with an even stronger will and an astute insight into the human psyche.

  “I made sure she’s comfortable.” Mrs Valentine sat down beside him. “What have you discovered? Can I know?”

  He studied her excited features. “You seem almost happy to be caught up in this case.”

  “Well, being retired is not all it’s made out to be.”

  No, she didn’t have to tell him that. He knew he had regretted his decision to quit often enough. Sleuthing had been exciting, catching criminals satisfying, giving meaning to his life. It had been rather empty without it. Quiet and uneventful and empty.

  She poked him with her elbow. “Come on. I see you’re dying to tell me.’

  In truth he did know talking a case through could help to see things better. More clearly. So he said, “Well, I looked into Gideon Hawtree. He’s English, thirty years old, staying here with his wife to take care of the villa of friends. He didn’t come here by coincidence though – he’s a business partner of the husband of your patient. He wants to develop an invention and the husband is paying for it. With Mrs Ramsforth’s money. Now the thing is: Mrs Ramsforth never knew she had any money or was entitled to any, until during her honeymoon here a Mr Fennick showed up and told her of it. But Mr Ramsforth has confirmed to me that he knew when he met her that she had money coming upon her marriage, because Mr Hawtree had told him so.”

  She said at once, “So the question is: how can Mr Hawtree have known something that Mrs Ramsforth herself didn’t know?”

  “Exactly. And I’ve found a very interesting connection.”

  She eyed him expectantly.

  “When Mrs Ramsforth’s mother was stabbed here on Kalos, Mrs Ramsforth was traumatised and needed special care. A renowned psychiatrist treated her. This same man also treated Gideon Hawtree.”

  “Aha!” Mrs Valentine sat up. “And what for?”

  “Well, of course, those people are very reluctant to share anything about their patients so I didn’t learn it through him. But I dare wager that it was because of Mr Hawtree’s younger brother’s death. He was present when it happened.”

  “I see. Was it an accident?”

  “I’m not sure. The papers did report it as a tragic accident, which can happen when boys play too rough. But I wonder. The boy who died was a gifted musician. Would he play wild games and risk his hands getting injured?” Jasper shook his head. “No, I think Hawtree provoked him into a bet and then during the execution of it his brother died.’

  “So he was treated because he felt guilty?”

  “Or because he was guilty.” Jasper frowned hard. “You see, there is another twist. Gideon Hawtree wasn’t the Hawtrees” real child. He was adopted. The Hawtrees believed they would never have a child of their own so they adopted an orphan. Then, right after the adoption, Mrs Hawtree discovered she was pregnant.”

  “And their own child developed into a brilliant musician, thereby stealing the limelight.” Mrs Valentine clicked her tongue. “Gideon must have felt like his parents loved him less to begin with because he wasn’t their real child, and then his brother being something special too. It must have made him very jealous.”

  “Indeed. So what if Gideon Hawtree was somehow involved in the death of his brother? What if he’s cold-blooded enough to kill? Then we can certainly assume that he would have no qualms about laying his hands on an unsuspecting woman’s money to finance his precious invention.’

  “True. And you believe he would have known about the money through this psychiatrist who treated both him and Mrs Ramsforth? But why would the man have had occasion to ever mention Mrs Ramsforth’s case, or vice versa? And they were both children at the time of their treatment, I presume?”

  “Yes. Hawtree was older than Mrs Ramsforth when his brother died and he was treated. Twelve.”

  “But still a child.” Mrs Valentine pursed her lips. “Why mention another case to another patient and one who is a minor, at that? I can’t imagine anything like that.”

  “Can the boy have overheard something? He might have been very smart and conniving for his age.”

  “Possibly.” She nodded slowly. “So we could assume that he learned about a girl whose mother died and who would someday get a lot of money. He remembered her name.”

  “Yes. Her real name is Eleanor Collins, and she was treated by the psychiatrist under that name, but the aunt who raised her called her Damaris and gave her her own last name – Baker. So every tie with the unhappy past would be severed.’

  “How did her father feel about that?” Mrs Valentine queried.

  “I suppose he welcomed it. It seems he gave up on his daughter. He moved back to America where he lived for a few more years, but didn’t write any books any more. I wonder if his wife’s death killed his creativity.’

  “Can he have been the murderer?” Mrs Valentine looked at Jasper with her clear blue eyes. “If he suspected his wife of being unfaithful to him…’

  “I have considered that. But it seems he was rarely here at all. He was always travelling for his novels, and he had merely put his wife and daughter up here for the summer so they wouldn’t burden him on his travels. Also, he died ten years ago. He can’t be here on the island now, persecuting his daughter because he thinks she knows something, or tying up loose ends.’

  “I see.” Mrs Valentine frowned. “Returning to Mr Hawtree, the question is: how would Mr Hawtree have known what the girl from back then, Eleanor Collins, was now called?”

  “Yes, that is still a problem.” Jasper stretched his legs. “I’m also worried about the time frame. You see, if it’s true that Gideon Hawtree was treated after his brother Hector died, then he came to the psychiatrist years after Mrs Ramsforth had been treated there. Her mother died twenty-five years ago, and from the newspaper reports about Hawtree’s brother’s death, I learned it was eighteen years ago. So when Gideon Hawtree was treated by this psychiatrist, Damaris Ramsforth or Eleanor Collins was nothing but an old case on file. That means it’s unlikely Hawtree would have overheard something said about it. I could only prove that Hawtree knew if I could talk to this psychiatrist directly and hear it from him. But I doubt I will be able to speak to him. He made a fortune with his treatments of rich families’ children and in the last two years before his retirement he travelled the world giving lectures about the effect of trauma on memory. Now he seems to be dividing his time between his houses in Florida and on a Hawaiian island. Seems to like warmer climes.’

  Jasper paused. “But you have to agree that there is a clear link between Gideon Hawtree and Damaris Ramsforth, through both of their traumatic childhood experiences.”

  “Hawtree was treated by a specialist on the effect of trauma on memory,” Mrs Valentine said.

  “Exactly. Perhaps Gideon’s visits to the psychiatrist and other patients he saw there,
or stories he heard snippets of, put the idea into his head of driving someone insane to take control of their fortune?” Jasper tapped his fingers on his knee as he tried to expound on his theory. “Even though I can’t prove as of yet how he might have known about Mrs Ramsforth, especially the new identity she was given after her mother’s murder, I still find the idea convincing that he would be the mastermind behind the plan that unfolded here on Kalos. He got Teddy Ramsforth to woo and marry Mrs Ramsforth, then bring her here to this island. All Ramsforth knew was that he had married a woman who would come into money which he could then borrow, by abusing his new wife’s love for him. He didn’t know that Mr Hawtree had something quite different in mind.”

  Mrs Valentine tilted her head. “So Mr Hawtree stole into the hotel room and put the beetles there? He put the skull in place? That will be hard to prove.’

  “Yes, and it’s improbable, too,” Jasper had to admit. “The skull was placed on the bed before the Ramsforths came back from dinner with the Hawtrees at the house they are looking after for friends. How would Hawtree have managed to put it there?”

  “He must have had an accomplice at the hotel.”

  “Yes. The old woman Eureka. He found out about her visits to Arthur Reynolds’ grave, her grief over the dead boy, the alleged killer pointed out by Mrs Ramsforth’s screaming for help. He convinced her that Mrs Ramsforth was to blame for the young man’s death and got her to cooperate in scaring her. Making her pay for what she had caused twenty-five years ago.”

  “And in that scenario you also suppose Hawtree murdered Eureka on the beach?”

  “Yes. For two reasons. One, to incriminate Damaris Ramsforth even further, to ensure people believed she was going mad. Two, to get rid of the person who could point him out as the mastermind behind her actions to scare Mrs Ramsforth.”

  Jasper studied Mrs Valentine’s response to his carefully worked out theory.

  “I see,” she said slowly. “But isn’t it taking things a bit far if you kill an innocent old woman, just because you need money?” Mrs Valentine sat with a deep frown on her lively, wrinkled face. “There are other schemes thinkable to get access to funds, schemes which might also be criminal but not exactly murderous.’

  “I agree. But if Hawtree was somehow involved in his brother’s death, he knows how to remove people when he doesn’t like them to be there. Perhaps even as a child he had psychopathic tendencies. Perhaps the treatment couldn’t rid him of guilt over his brother’s death because he was actually guilty, and he wasn’t even sorry for what he had done. His parents might have believed he needed treatment while he himself thought he had done the right thing. As he’s adopted, we don’t know who his real parents are. For all we know his father could have been an axe killer who was executed after which his mother dumped her children in an orphanage to start a new life where nobody knew her name and history. Or the father actually killed the mother, in front of the children, and Gideon knew from a young age that killing solves problems.’

  “There are a lot of perhapses in your story. I’m not saying it can’t have happened like that, but you don’t know so many things you’d need to know for certain to make this work. A case against someone is a serious matter. Yes, Gideon Hawtree may have believed that he could get money through Mrs Ramsforth by bringing her into touch with a charming friend of his who could woo and marry her, but does that also necessarily imply he meant to use her childhood trauma to drive her insane? Or that he killed the old woman as part of the plan?”

  Jasper sighed. She was right, of course. “No, it doesn’t. Mr Ramsforth claims he knew his wife had money but he didn’t plant the beetles or the skull in her room. Those were the actions of another person – probably Eureka, as she asked Medea for her cooperation so she could be about the hotel. Likewise, Hawtree may have lured Mrs Ramsforth here for money but it doesn’t necessarily follow that the actions targeting her were his doing. It bothers me that Eureka’s murder put Mrs Ramsforth in the exact same position as her mother’s murderer twenty-five years ago – if we assume Arthur Reynolds wasn’t guilty of murder, then he was driven to death because of the scream of that little girl. To the mind of someone loving Arthur Reynolds his death could be the little girl’s fault. It’s not reasonable, of course…”

  “But feelings rarely are,” Mrs Valentine added.

  Jasper nodded. “Exactly. So if Mrs Ramsforth found herself in the exact same position as the man who was innocently driven to death, shouldn’t we assume that she was put there by someone who wanted revenge for what had happened?’

  “Someone like Mrs Murray,” Mrs Valentine said.

  “Yes, I can’t get her out of my mind. She did tell me she had never known why Arthur had been persecuted by the angry mob, that she had believed it to be theft, but what if that was a lie? What if she knew all along it had been for an alleged murder? She’s been here before. Couldn’t she have learned the full story on that occasion? Also the names of those who had lived at the villa at the time?”

  “Of course.” Mrs Valentine sat up. “Do you want me to go and talk to her? Woman to woman?’

  “If you think it will bring something.” Jasper studied her with a frown, not quite sure what she thought she might achieve. “A full confession?”

  “I don’t think so. You see, there is one thing you should keep in mind. Eureka cared for Arthur Reynolds. She put flowers on his grave and kept it free from weeds and damage. How much would that mean to a grieving mother? Mrs Murray had a lot to thank this old woman for. She had no reason to kill her.”

  Mrs Valentine continued before Jasper could reply: “If she merely wanted to recreate a scene like the one twenty-five years ago, but this time with Mrs Ramsforth in the position of the exposed killer, she could have chosen any victim. It need not have been Eureka she owed gratitude to for having tended her son’s grave.”

  Jasper nodded slowly. “I suppose you have a point there. But what about the petty thief who died? When I first saw him, he tried to rob Mr Murray. I got to know the couple through the theft. I can’t help but think that his sudden death could be connected to the couple. Did he steal more from them than just the wallet I took back? Did he somehow discover something incriminating? Did Mrs Murray have to silence him?’

  Mrs Valentine checked her watch. “It’s too late now to go and see her. But I’ll do it first thing in the morning. You can stay with my patient.”

  She stood and held his gaze a moment. “I had better think about how to handle this meeting with Mrs Murray. Because if what you’re suspecting is true, I could be meeting a double murderer.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mrs Valentine walked across the gravel path of the mainland’s grandest hotel. The crunching of the small stones beneath her feet seemed ominous in the solemn silence as she approached the terrace, where an elderly couple was having tea. As she closed in, the man rose, excusing himself to the woman that he was going inside to get a book, and Mrs Valentine stepped up quickly.

  “Good morning. May I join you?” Without waiting for a reply she took a seat and pushed a cushion into her lower back. “That’s better. I’ve been doing too much walking on this holiday.”

  “Oh, you’re also staying in this hotel?” Mrs Murray asked.

  “No, I’m staying on a nearby island.”

  The word “island” gave Mrs Murray a small but visible shock.

  Mrs Valentine said cheerfully, “I have a thing for islands. They are secluded, solitary, mysterious. I enjoy their wild beauty and the people.”

  “The people always make you feel like you don’t belong,” Mrs Murray said.

  “You think so?”

  “They are a community, and we are only intruders who don’t belong.”

  “I suppose you could see it that way.” Mrs Valentine snapped her handbag open and took out the letter that Jasper had lent her. The letter Stephanos Kyrioudis had received from an unknown person, about Arthur Reynolds.

  She saw Mrs Murray’s eyes were
on the letter, and she assumed she could see the cut-out and pasted-on letters through the paper. But there was no shock response. She kept the letter in her lap, remarking, “Odd how we long to return to places where we don’t belong.” Mrs Murray narrowed her eyes. “Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m a retired nurse, currently living in Athens. I’m tending a patient on an island. A disturbed young woman.’

  “And why are you not with her today?”

  “I need some time off every now and then.’

  “You can’t have been here long.” Mrs Murray bit her lip as if she realised a slip and wanted to take back the words. She added after a moment’s thought: “My husband and I were staying on the island to which you probably refer. We met the disturbed young woman there. That is, I assume there are not that many disturbed young women around a small Greek island. Kalos it’s called.”

  “Yes, Kalos. It’s sad, I suppose,” Mrs Valentine said in a pensive tone, “that this happened to her on her honeymoon. Not very fair, you’d say.”

  “Life is often unfair,” Mrs Murray observed. Her bright eyes were surveying Mrs Valentine thoughtfully.

  Her husband came back out with a book in his hand. He waved it at her. “Roman mosaics.”

  “How lovely, darling. How about taking your book out to the fountain there to read? We’re having a bit more tea here.”

  The husband seemed to be surprised at the sudden request, giving Mrs Valentine a probing look, but then he said, “Why not? Your chatter will only distract me. Until later.” And he ambled off. Mrs Murray focused her eyes on Mrs Valentine again. “Now that we have got the niceties out of the way, what do you want? Has Inspector Jasper sent you?”