Moonflower Murders

by Anthony Horowitz

  ‘So, if the evidence is to be believed, at 6.15 p.m. there were just three people in the house. Miss James was upstairs in her bedroom. Phyllis and Eric Chandler, the cook and the butler, were downstairs in the kitchen.’

  ‘They are husband and wife?’

  ‘No, sir. Mother and son.’

  ‘That is unusual.’

  ‘I’d say “unusual” is a good word to describe them.’ Hare coughed. ‘At about 6.18 p.m., a few minutes after Francis says he left, a stranger arrived at the house. We have no idea who he was. We only know of his existence because the Chandlers heard the dog barking. Melissa James had a pet chow by the name of Kimba. The dog always barked when strangers came to the door. If it was Melissa James or her husband or their servants or their friends, it remained silent. But at 6.18, it began to bark frantically. And a minute or two later, both the Chandlers heard the front door open and close.’

  ‘Neither of them left the kitchen to see who it was?’

  ‘No, Mr Pünd. They were off duty, meaning they were also out of uniform, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate. It’s a crying shame because if they’d only looked through the door the whole mystery might have been solved.

  ‘As it is, we have to ask ourselves this question. Did Melissa James open the door at 6.20 p.m. and allow a stranger into the house and was that person her killer? It would seem to be the natural conclusion. At 6.25 p.m., Phyllis and Eric Chandler did finally leave the house, taking Miss James’s Bentley. She had said they could drive over to Bude to visit Mrs Chandler’s sister, who was unwell. Eric noticed that the Austin was no longer there, by the way. And before you ask, there is absolutely no question that the Chandlers did actually leave Clarence Keep. I’ve spoken to a couple of witnesses who saw them drive past – you tend to notice a car like that – and the sister in Bude corroborates their story.

  ‘If I’m correct, Miss James was now alone in the house with someone who was a stranger to her. She became very upset and at 6.28 p.m. she made a call to Dr Leonard Collins, who was her GP and also a close friend, so it’s obvious that at that time she was still alive. Dr Collins was at his home in Tawleigh with his wife. I should perhaps mention that the call was logged at the local exchange and there can be no doubt that it took place. According to Dr Collins, Miss James was terrified. She said she needed help and asked him to come to the house. Samantha Collins, Dr Collins’s wife, was in the room when he took the call and was able to hear at least part of it. She saw him leave and happened to notice the time of his departure, which was 6.35 p.m.

  ‘Dr Collins arrived at Clarence Keep at 6.45 p.m. and was surprised to find the front door open. He went in. There was no sign that anything was wrong, but having heard what he had heard on the telephone call, he was concerned. He called out for Melissa but got no answer. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed but he still continued upstairs.

  ‘He found Miss James in her bedroom. She had been strangled with the cord from the telephone that stood on a cabinet by the bed. In the course of what must have been a violent struggle, the wire had been torn out of the wall. She had also struck her head on an ornamental table beside the bed. We found a contusion under her hair and there was a bloodstain on the wooden surface – AB positive, which was her blood type.

  ‘Dr Collins did everything he could to revive Miss James with chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. According to his testimony, she was still warm when he arrived and he might have succeeded. Sadly, he didn’t. He called for the police and an ambulance at 6.56 p.m. – that call, of course, was also logged. A team was sent out from Barnstaple and arrived about thirty minutes later.

  ‘And that, Mr Pünd, is about the shape of it. I said that the murder could have taken place only within an interval of seventeen minutes and by that I mean between 6.28 p.m., when Miss James called the doctor, and 6.45 p.m., when he arrived. There are other details, other testimonies of which you need to be made aware, but actually they only complicate matters. What I’ve given you is the basic timeline. I’m fairly sure it’s accurate, but actually, that’s part of the problem. When you have everything down to the minute like this, it’s very hard to see how the killer could have seized his opportunity.’

  ‘You have assembled the facts and the timings with great precision, Detective Chief Inspector,’ Pünd remarked. ‘I am grateful to you. It will make our work a great deal easier at the end of the day.’

  Hare smiled, perhaps acknowledging the word ‘our’ that Pünd had used.

  ‘Is there anything more you can tell me about the crime scene itself?’ Pünd asked.

  ‘Not a great deal. Melissa James had clearly been extremely upset in the moments before her death. We know that already from the call she made to Dr Collins, but we also found two balls of tissue paper on the floor of the bedroom and another in the sitting room. They were impregnated with lacrimal fluid.’

  ‘Tears,’ Pünd said.

  ‘She was crying when she spoke to Dr Collins. I hate to say this, Mr Pünd, but it seems highly likely that her attacker was actually in the house when she called her GP.’

  ‘That may well be the case, Detective Chief Inspector. Although it would beg the question as to why he allowed her to make the call if he was intending to kill her.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Hare flicked a page in his notebook. ‘She must have put up quite a struggle. The bed was in disarray, a lamp had been knocked over and there were several ligature marks around her neck, suggesting that she at least tried to escape from the telephone cord that was used to strangle her.’

  He sighed.

  ‘I have various witness statements which I can share with you, but I expect you’d rather speak to the people concerned yourself. They’re all still here in Tawleigh, although one or two of them aren’t too happy about it. There are two points which I should bring to your attention straight away, however.

  ‘The first relates to a businessman by the name of Simon Cox. He had strong words with Miss James in the hotel bar shortly after half past five. We know this because they were overheard by Nancy Mitchell, who works behind the bar. She’s a nice, respectable girl, by the way. Her father looks after the lighthouse. But I have a suspicion that she may have got herself into trouble, got herself in the family way.’

  ‘What causes you to believe this, Detective Chief Inspector?’

  Hare smiled. ‘I have a daughter. Happily married and doing very well for herself. I’m due to be a grandfather for the first time in September and all I can say is you get to know the symptoms.’

  ‘You have my congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Pünd. I haven’t spoken to Nancy about it because it may not be relevant and I don’t want to upset her unnecessarily.’ He glanced back at his notes. ‘Anyway, Simon Cox followed Miss James out of the hotel when he left and is unable to account for his movements between that time and a quarter to seven, when he came down for dinner. He says he went for a walk but I’ve heard that one before!’

  ‘Have you threatened him with arrest?’

  ‘For obstruction, you mean? Or on suspicion of murder? It could be either of them, I suppose. I was intending to speak to him again today. Perhaps we might do that together.’

  ‘Indeed. And what was the second point?’

  ‘A chap called Algernon Marsh, staying here with his sister, who’s married to Dr Collins. A good-looking young man, presents himself very well. Drives a rather natty French car. But I’ve had a word with Scotland Yard and they’ve been looking into his business dealings. By all accounts he’s a nasty piece of work, although that didn’t stop him having a close relationship with Miss James.’

  ‘How close?’

  ‘He refuses to say.’

  ‘Could they have been romantically involved?’

  Hare shook his head. ‘Francis Pendleton insists that everything was lovey-dovey between himself and his wife, although he would want us to believe that, wouldn’t he. He’s still the number-one suspect in her murder.’
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  ‘And yet according to Dr Collins, Melissa James called him after her husband had left for the opera in Barnstaple.’

  ‘Well, yes. I suppose he could have left the house and come back again.’

  ‘Then why did she not say as much when she spoke to Dr Collins?’

  Hare sighed. ‘These are all good questions. And they absolutely sum up my problem. The whole thing should be easy when actually it makes no sense at all.’

  Pünd considered what he had been told. ‘With your permission, Detective Chief Inspector, I would like to begin at the home of Melissa James. Clarence Keep, I believe you said. It would be very useful for me to meet Francis Pendleton and to make a judgement for myself.’

  ‘Absolutely. I can drive you over now.’

  ‘I wonder if this might help?’ Miss Cain had not spoken for some time, but now she turned her notepad around and handed it to Pünd. On a single page, she had set out in neat columns:

  5.40 p.m.: Miss James leaves the Moonflower.

  6.05 p.m.: Miss James arrives home.

  6.15 p.m.: Francis Pendleton leaves Clarence Keep for the opera.

  6.18 p.m.: Dog heard barking. Stranger arrives at Clarence Keep?

  6.20 p.m.: Front door heard opening and closing at Clarence Keep.

  6.25 p.m.: The Chandlers leave. The Austin has gone.

  6.28 p.m.: Melissa James calls Dr Collins.

  6.35 p.m.: Dr Collins leaves his home.

  6.45 p.m.: Dr Collins arrives at Clarence Keep. Melissa James dead.

  6.56 p.m.: Dr Collins calls police & ambulance.

  Pünd examined the paper. He had already committed the details to his memory, but even so, he appreciated having them laid out for him in this way. It was as if the different moments of time had become signposts on the road to the truth.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Cain,’ he said. ‘It would be good if you could arrange for this to be typed.’

  ‘I’m sure I can organise that for you, Mr Pünd.’

  ‘I would like a copy for myself and one for Detective Chief Inspector Hare. It is quite clear to me that the answer to this problem is concealed somewhere in the ten moments in time that you have listed. All we have to do is look carefully and it will be found.’

  Eight

  Taken by the Tide

  They were about to leave when a short, dark man came storming into the room, making straight for Detective Chief Inspector Hare. It was Simon Cox. The businessman and would-be film producer was in the same suit he had been wearing on the day he’d met Melissa and he was in a furious mood.

  ‘Detective Inspector!’ he began. ‘They told me you were here and I want to make it completely clear that I have had enough of this absurd imprisonment. I have telephoned my lawyers and they assure me that it is outrageous and that you do not have the authority to keep me here. The death of Melissa James had nothing to do with me. I already told you. I met her in the bar. We talked for about ten minutes and then she left. I absolutely insist that you allow me to do the same.’

  Pünd examined the new arrival, the thick black hair and the heavy features, which, along with his accent, suggested Russian or Slavonic origins. Anger didn’t really suit him. He was too small, too unimpressive. He managed to sound only truculent.

  ‘You haven’t met my associate, Mr Atticus Pünd,’ the detective chief inspector replied, casually batting aside the outrage that had just been directed at him.

  ‘I’ve not had this pleasure. No.’

  ‘I think perhaps you should talk to him, Mr Cox. I’m sure he has quite a few questions for you.’

  ‘My God! Are you deaf? Did you not hear what I just said?’

  ‘About keeping you here? Well, I suppose I could put you under arrest, if you like. Maybe that would satisfy your lawyers.’

  ‘Arrest me? For what?’

  ‘For lying to a police officer. For obstructing a police officer in the execution of his duty—’

  ‘I have not lied to you!’ Cox stood his ground but now there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘Why do you not sit down?’ Pünd suggested in his most avuncular tone, gesturing at an empty chair. ‘This is, I am sure, all a misunderstanding. A few more minutes of your time, Mr Cox, and maybe we can put this matter to rest and you can be on your way.’

  The businessman glanced at Pünd and, given a choice between a quiet chat and imprisonment, nodded his agreement. He took his place on the sofa between Pünd and Hare. Madeline Cain had retrieved her notebook and was waiting, her pen poised.

  ‘You came to England before the war?’ Pünd asked. He sounded genuinely interested.

  Cox nodded. ‘In 1938. From Latvia.’

  ‘Cox is not then your family name.’

  ‘It is not dissimilar. It is in fact Sīmanis Čaks. I have nothing to hide, Mr Pünd. But you must understand that it is not easy to do business in this country if you are a foreigner. At least, you must not appear to be too foreign . . . !’

  ‘I understand completely. For me, too, this is not the country of my birth.’ He smiled as if the two of them had arrived at a common purpose. ‘You travelled down to this village with the intention of meeting with Miss James,’ he went on.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It must, then, have been important business. I myself made the journey only yesterday and it was an undertaking of a great many hours. Three trains. And the British Rail sandwiches! They were not good.’

  ‘Well, in fact, I drove down. But you’re right. I told the detective inspector. We were talking about making a film together.’

  ‘And what film was that?’

  ‘It’s a historical drama. The title is The Queen’s Ransom. Melissa was interested in playing the lead part – Eleanor of Aquitaine.’

  ‘The wife of King Henry II!’ In his youth, Pünd had studied history at the University of Salzburg. ‘You say she was interested. Had you agreed terms?’

  ‘That was what the meeting was about. Production begins in a little over two months and I wanted to be sure that she was still on board.’

  ‘And was she?’

  Cox was about to answer but before he could begin, Pünd held up a single finger in a gesture of warning.

  ‘I must advise you, Mr Cox, that a hotel is a very public place and its bar particularly so. You should be aware that your conversation will have been overheard by many people. It would be foolish of you to – how would you say it? – bend the truth, particularly in the context of a murder investigation.’

  Cox fell silent. He was clearly considering his options. But he could see that there was only one way forward. ‘Well, if you must know,’ he began, ‘Melissa James had changed her mind. It seems she had accepted a better offer. It is, of course, unprofessional behaviour, but that is what you must expect, working with an actress. I was angry. She had lied to me and she had wasted my time. But it was not a matter of great importance to me. There were many other actresses I could approach. After all, she had not made anything for five years. She was not quite the star that she believed herself to be.’

  He had been speaking rapidly and it took Miss Cain a few moments to catch up. Pünd heard the scratch of her nib on the page as she underlined his last words.

  ‘You then followed her out of the hotel,’ Hare muttered. He had already interviewed Cox and he was quite put out that, under Pünd’s questioning, he had come up with a quite different version of events.

  ‘I left shortly after she did. I did not follow her out.’

  ‘So where did you go?’

  ‘I told you.’ The glint was back in Simon Cox’s eye. ‘I had been in the car for many hours. I’d come straight to my room in the hotel. I needed a walk and to see something of the area, and fortunately the rain had stopped.’

  ‘You went over to Appledore,’ Hare said.

  ‘This I also told you.’

  ‘You said you walked along the beach.’

  ‘I walked for about an hour, yes. The beach was called Gray Sands.’

>   ‘And you didn’t meet anybody. Nobody saw you.’

  Cox turned to Pünd as if he expected him to take his side. ‘I have already explained to the detective inspector. It was late in the afternoon, a quarter to six. It was a grey sky and it was damp after the rain. I was alone! In the distance I saw a man with a dog but he was too far away and he will not have been able to recognise me. In fact, I wanted to be alone! I had to consider what I would do next and it was helpful to me to find myself with nobody else nearby.’

  Hare shook his head doubtfully. ‘You do see, sir, that it makes it very difficult for us to confirm your story.’

  ‘That is your problem, Detective Inspector. It is not mine.’

  There was a long silence and Hare thought that the interview must be over when suddenly Miss Cain spoke. She had contributed so little to either meeting that it came as a surprise to hear her voice. ‘Excuse me, Mr Pünd. I wonder if I might say something?’

  ‘Of course, Miss Cain.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure it’s wrong of me to intrude, but the fact is that I was brought up in Appledore. I actually lived there until I was fifteen and my parents moved to London. But the thing is, I know the coast around here like the back of my hand, and with all respect to the gentleman, it would have been impossible to walk along Gray Sands, not after five o’clock, not at the end of April.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Because of the spring tide. At four o’clock every afternoon it comes right up to the cliff and for the next four or five hours there’s no beach at all. You can walk along the cliff edge but even that is quite dangerous. There are warning signs everywhere. We actually had a couple of people drown once. They got caught halfway.’

  There was another silence. Detective Chief Inspector Hare turned accusingly to Simon Cox. ‘What do you have to say to that, sir?’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Cox couldn’t find the right words.

  ‘You didn’t walk on Gray Sands?’

  ‘I walked on a beach. Maybe . . . maybe I got the name wrong.’