Murder on the Clifftops

by Betty Rowlands

  It was doubtful if he heard the final words. He gazed at the two scraps of blue thread and the single button as if they were the contents of Aladdin’s cave and then turned admiring eyes on Melissa.

  ‘Madame Craig, you are not only the greatest living writer of the detective novel, you are also a detective yourself!’

  ‘You think these might be significant?’

  He scrutinised the items, turning the tissue this way and that under the light. ‘I will have these examined by our experts first thing tomorrow,’ he said. ‘In the light of Madame Lavender’s statement, I will also seek permission to have the body re-examined.’ He folded the tissue carefully and tucked it into the back of his notebook. ‘Now, Madame Craig, this golf-club that is alleged to have been stolen . . . do you have any information about that?’

  ‘Only what Mrs Lavender has told me herself.’

  ‘You have no idea who might have taken it, or for what purpose?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Have you seen any evidence that the ladies’ car or its contents have been tampered with?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So we have nothing but Madame Lavender’s word that the article is missing?’

  ‘I suppose so. The only other possibility is that it was never there in the first place – that she left it at home by mistake.’

  ‘I myself put that very point to her.’ Hassan beamed at this evidence of a meeting of minds. ‘She refuted the idea absolutely.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ said Melissa with a smile. ‘She takes her golf very seriously; she told me her clubs are a matched set and I imagine they’re worth quite a lot of money. I’m sure she keeps a careful check on them.’

  ‘Quite so. Now, as to the circumstances of yesterday morning. I have been over her story several times and she is quite positive that she saw Monsieur Erdle walking towards the belvedere at about half past nine, although she is unable to state the precise hour. Monsieur Erdle denies this absolutely; he has made a statement – which, of course, will be verified – accounting for his movements from nine o’clock until well past the estimated time of death.’

  ‘We were discussing this earlier,’ said Melissa. ‘There was a suggestion that it was Alain Gebrec that she saw.’

  ‘She does not accept that possibility.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you will check everything very thoroughly,’ Melissa murmured tactfully. ‘By the way, what was the estimated time of death?’

  ‘Some time between nine-thirty, when Gebrec left the office of Monsieur Bonard, and midday. Now,’ Hassan licked a forefinger and turned a page of his notebook, ‘you are no doubt aware that Madame Lavender has shown considerable hostility towards Monsieur Erdle on a number of occasions?’

  ‘It is because she is very anxious about the extent of his influence over her friend,’ said Melissa. ‘She does not wish to see her hurt.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Hassan fondled his moustache. ‘The little Madame Kettle. She is, I think, much in love with Monsieur Erdle?’

  ‘Mrs Lavender is convinced that it’s an infatuation that will pass once they leave here.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I hope for Mrs Kettle’s sake that she is right.’

  ‘Madame Lavender alleges that there was ill-feeling between Monsieur Erdle and Monsieur Gebrec. Have you observed anything of the kind?’

  ‘Several times.’ Melissa recounted briefly the exchanges on the way to the belvedere and the altercation over the book. ‘I would have said, however, that the ill-feeling was all on Alain Gebrec’s part. Erdle kept hinting that he knew of something unsavoury about him – or possibly his family – and the angrier Gebrec became, the more Erdle taunted him.’

  ‘But you did not observe any threats being exchanged?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. As a matter of fact, I tackled Erdle about it this evening because I was curious to find the reference in the book that upset both Madame Gebrec and her son. He denied knowing anything about it, but I’m not sure I believe him.’

  ‘I will mention the point myself tomorrow.’ Hassan scribbled in his notebook. ‘It may be significant, although it hardly suggests a motive for murder. Now, Madame.’ He glanced round, dropped his somewhat magisterial style of questioning and leaned towards Melissa with a prurient gleam in his eyes. ‘My next question is a rather delicate one. I know from your books, that I admire so much, that you are a shrewd observer of human . . . er, behaviour. What, would you say, are the intentions of Monsieur Erdle towards Madame Kettle?’

  ‘If you had asked me that question yesterday, or even this morning, I might have found it difficult to answer,’ said Melissa slowly. ‘I was prepared to believe that he was genuinely fond of her, although I don’t think many of the others at the Centre would have agreed with me. But now . . .’

  ‘Now you have doubts?’ She nodded. ‘May I ask what made you change your opinion?’

  ‘My conversation with him this evening made me realise that he can be quite devious, and also that he has a rather cruel sense of humour. I suspect that the relationship with Mrs Kettle began, from his point of view, as a light-hearted flirtation – in fact, he as good as said so. He would, I think, have found Mrs Lavender’s attitude to him something of a challenge and it probably amused him to manipulate Mrs Kettle into defying her and then to observe her reactions. Only I doubt if he realised just how seriously Mrs Kettle was taking him.’

  ‘So you do not share Madame Lavender’s conviction – almost, I would say, her obsessive fear – that Monsieur Erdle is seeking to marry Madame Kettle for her money?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to say that such an idea has never occurred to him, but, if it has, I suspect he is having second thoughts. She is, after all, some years older than he is and inclined to be emotional, hysterical even.’

  ‘Madame Lavender, I understand, has very little fortune of her own. Such a union would cause her a certain . . . inconvenience, shall we say?’

  ‘I don’t know much about their private affairs,’ said Melissa guardedly, ‘except that they are friends of many years’ standing and have shared a house since they both became widows some time ago.’

  Hassan’s smile nearly severed the upper part of his head. ‘Then I have the advantage of you!’ he declared. ‘Madame Kettle is this evening a very angry lady . . . and when people are angry, it is easy for an experienced interrogator like myself to make them talk.’ He tapped his nose with an air of supreme self-satisfaction.

  It was not difficult to guess the direction his thoughts were taking; Melissa’s own were not far behind. The idea, as yet only half formed, seemed preposterous . . . and yet . . . it would be interesting to know if he had learned something of which she was unaware. A bit of judicious flattery might bring results; after all, she thought, angry people aren’t the only ones capable of indiscretion.

  ‘Of course, a trained investigator knows all the tricks,’ she said, injecting a good ladleful of admiration into her tone. ‘People don’t always realise how much they are giving away, and in the hands of an expert such as yourself . . .’

  Predictably, he tapped his nose again, but it immediately became plain that she had underestimated the man.

  ‘Exactly so,’ he said proudly, ‘but the situation is a little tricky, is it not? Until we can be sure that murder has been committed, we must tread carefully. Very carefully indeed, Madame.’ For the time being he was going to play this one very close to his chest.

  ‘Then you do not now rule out the possibility of murder?’ she said.

  ‘I rule out nothing.’ His smile was tantamount to an unspoken ‘We must hope for the best’. He closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. ‘Thank you, Madame, that will be all for the moment, but,’ he bent his head close to her ear as they moved towards the door, ‘I would ask you to act as my eyes and ears when I am not present. Anything, anything at all that might be significant . . . you will report to me?’

  ‘Of course,’ she promised, keeping h
er expression as solemn as his.

  When they returned to the reception hall, Madame Gauthier had departed, leaving only one dim light switched on. Dora was sitting in the shadows with Iris at her side, staring at the floor. They both looked up as the tall figure of Hassan loomed over them.

  ‘The old girl left us in the dark,’ said Iris with a jerk of her head towards the empty desk. ‘Think she was trying to tell us something.’

  ‘Madame Lavender, I should like to ask you one or two more questions,’ said Hassan.

  ‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’ said Dora crossly. ‘I have nothing more to tell you and I’m feeling quite exhausted.’

  Hassan glanced at his watch, pursed his lips and nodded gravely. ‘Very well, Madame, provided you will give me your solemn undertaking not to leave Roziac in the meantime.’

  An hour or so later, Iris and Melissa collapsed, fully dressed, on to their beds, too weary to change into their nightclothes. After Hassan’s departure they had escorted an abnormally subdued and submissive Dora to her room, where Iris insisted on putting her through a series of noisy deep-breathing exercises, ‘to calm her down’, and then prepared a cup of herbal tea, ‘to make her sleep’. Dora accepted these ministrations without protest, but Melissa thought she detected a growing restiveness and a thinly veiled relief when at last they said goodnight and returned to their own room.

  ‘What d’you suppose he meant?’ asked Iris, yawning.

  Melissa turned her head without opening her eyes. ‘What who meant by what?’

  ‘Banana Split. Telling Dora not to leave Roziac. Is she a key witness or something?’

  ‘Reading between the lines,’ said Melissa, ‘I think he suspects her of killing Alain Gebrec, mistaking him for Erdle.’

  ‘Good Heavens!’ Iris sat up with a jerk. ‘He said that?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but I’m pretty sure that was what he was getting at.’

  Never loquacious, Iris was for the moment totally lost for words. She sank back and closed her eyes. ‘Too fantastic!’ she muttered after some thought.

  ‘Not so fantastic as you might think,’ said Melissa. ‘She admits following someone she believed was Dieter into the woods.’

  ‘Only to talk to him.’

  ‘That’s what she says. Suppose her real intention was to kill him?’

  ‘To stop him nobbling Rose and her money?’

  ‘Something like that. From what we learned the first evening we were here, Rose is very well heeled and it’s obvious that by sharing her home, Dora enjoys a lot of luxuries she could never afford by herself. If Rose were to remarry, she’d be thrown on her own resources.’

  ‘Don’t suppose she’d starve. Doesn’t she work in a bank or something?’

  ‘Even so, it might mean a pretty drastic cut in her living standards.’

  Iris looked dubious. ‘So what’s your theory?’

  ‘I haven’t worked it out in detail,’ Melissa admitted, ‘but I was thinking about it while you were putting her through your puff-and-blow routine . . .’

  ‘Yoga breathing,’ Iris corrected firmly. ‘Helped you more than once.’

  ‘Only kidding. Now, how does this sound? For the past week or so Dora has been getting steadily more frustrated at the way things are going between Rose and Dieter. She’s been counting the days to the end of the course in the hope that it’ll be a case of out of sight, out of mind. And then what happens? Rose decides to cop out of the trip to Antibes for another week here with Dieter.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Iris gave a derisive cackle. ‘The last straw, losing her golfing partner. Enough to make anyone commit murder!’

  ‘Be serious, Iris. Who knows what Rose and Dieter might start planning, here on their own? Apart from what Dora would see as a disaster for her friend, her own life-style could be on the line. She’d do anything, anything, to stop the affair going further. And then, suddenly, she sees Dieter going off on his own, and decides to have it out with him. Only it isn’t Dieter, it’s Alain Gebrec, but because of her dodgy eyesight she doesn’t realise her mistake.’

  ‘And when she does, she lets off steam by socking him anyway!’ jeered Iris. ‘Believe that and you’ll believe anything.’

  ‘Do shut up and listen. Alain, totally absorbed in his own troubles, has reached the belvedere. The last thing he’s thinking about is being followed. Maybe he’s leaning on the safety rail, with his back to the path and his head bent. Dora sees him there, and suddenly realises he’s at her mercy. It never enters her head that it isn’t Dieter, she happens to have a golf-club in her hand and the temptation is overwhelming.’

  ‘Hmm . . . maybe.’ At last, Iris was beginning to listen seriously. ‘So far, so lethal. Now what?’

  ‘She’s got to get rid of the body. I’ve already explained how I think that could have been done.’

  ‘Don’t tell me she still doesn’t know it’s Gebrec she’s topped. Her sight can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It’s just possible, I suppose – if she keeps her head averted all the time – but I agree it’s unlikely. At this stage, it doesn’t make much difference. The deed is done, she’s got a corpse to dispose of and there’s only one way to do it.’

  Iris sat up again, crossed her legs and put her chin in her hands. ‘Over the edge with the stiff, back to the house and off to her appointment. What does she do with the weapon?’

  ‘My guess is she hides it in the undergrowth.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘She assumes that sooner or later the body’ll be discovered and there’ll be a hue and cry. The suicide theory won’t occur to her and her common sense would tell her it’s unlikely to be written off as another accident. If it’s later established that death was due to a blow on the head with a blunt instrument, the police are going to find that golf-club and start asking awkward questions, so she puts it round that someone’s nicked it.’

  ‘Why not put it back in the bag and say nothing? No one would suspect her of killing Gebrec?’

  ‘Er, hadn’t thought of that,’ admitted Melissa. ‘Maybe she just panicked for the moment, wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible.’

  Iris frowned. ‘Not Dora,’ she declared. ‘Not the panicky sort.’

  ‘You never know how people are going to react in that sort of crisis,’ Melissa insisted. ‘Anyway, let’s assume for the moment that’s what happened. She probably spent the time it took her to get to Alès working out her story. I must say, she’s pretty cool. Never batted an eyelid when we were all wondering where Gebrec had got to . . . although she did react rather oddly when Dieter showed up,’ she added thoughtfully.

  Iris was still sceptical. ‘Having her story ready in case things get hot, that makes sense. But why stir up a hornet’s nest by accusing Erdle when murder hasn’t been mentioned?’

  ‘That’s a point. When did that first come up?’

  ‘At dinner this evening, when you were playing detective.’

  It was Melissa’s turn to sit up suddenly. ‘That’s it! She twigged what I was driving at . . . that I suspected Alain had been murdered . . . and decided to get in first to throw me off the scent. How does that strike you?’

  ‘Far-fetched.’ Iris rocked to and fro, clasping her ankles and shaking her head. ‘Might use it in one of your whodunnits, though,’ she added with a malicious twinkle. ‘Needs polishing up, but . . .’

  ‘Oh, come on Iris, it is feasible.’

  ‘Okay, let’s think.’ Iris closed her eyes and began speaking slowly as if reciting a lesson. ‘Go after A, kill B by mistake, then have a go at throwing suspicion on A . . . hmm.’ She opened her eyes and said emphatically, ‘No good. A has an alibi.’

  ‘Assuming the alibi holds water. I thought Dieter seemed a bit evasive when Rose was questioning him.’

  ‘Normal reaction to her blathering.’

  ‘Maybe.’ A disturbing thought struck Melissa. ‘Iris, if we’re on the right lines, Dora must be feeling pretty grim at the moment. Perhaps we shouldn’t
have left her on her own.’

  ‘You’re right!’ With the same thought in their minds, they hurried from the room.

  When they tapped at Dora’s bedroom door, a calm voice invited them to enter. She was sitting up in bed with a light shawl round her shoulders and a book on her lap, apparently quite composed.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, with the air of a headmistress disturbed by a couple of prefects during her lunch hour.

  ‘We just wanted to make sure you were all right,’ said Melissa hesitantly.

  ‘Of course I’m all right. If Rose wants to behave like an irresponsible teenager, that’s her affair. I’ve decided to wash my hands of her.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll sleep? You wouldn’t like one of us to stay with you tonight?’

  Dora’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Do you suppose I’m afraid of the dark or something?’ she said frostily. ‘Rose is the one who has nightmares, not me.’

  ‘Sorry. Only trying to help,’ said Iris. ‘Come on Mel, let’s get to bed. I’m tuckered.’ Feeling vaguely foolish, the pair went back to their own room.

  ‘She’s a tough customer,’ remarked Melissa when they had finally settled down for the night. ‘If she did kill Gebrec, Banana Split will have a job getting her to admit anything.’

  ‘If she killed him? You’re having doubts about your theory then?’

  ‘I still think it’s possible – just – but yes, I agree with you that’s it’s unlikely. I’m beginning to think his mother’s right, though. It wasn’t suicide.’

  ‘What about Erdle? You were going to spend all night studying that book, remember?’

  Melissa gave a deep yawn. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘Tomorrow morning, for sure.’

  Seventeen

  It was Friday and the final day of both courses currently running at the Centre Cévenol d’Etudes. Iris’s group, their nerve restored after the successful outing to St-Jean-du-Gard, had managed to come to terms with rocks and agreed to her suggestion that they spend the morning studying strata patterns and fossil traces near Anduze. Fernand was once more pressed into service as driver – a role he appeared to relish, as Melissa commented to Juliette when she came out to water the geraniums.