‘Policemen?’ Mitch appeared to hesitate. ‘What … ?’
‘It’s all right, they know who I am,’ said Harris. ‘I’m glad you’re here, sir. Perhaps you can tell me exactly what you did with the property knife, after you finished speaking the Prologue.’
‘After I did meself in with it?’ Mitch’s eyes twinkled at the recollection and he gave Dittany’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Did all right, didn’t I, doll?’ She gave him an adoring smile and for the moment he appeared to forget the question.
‘After you finished speaking your lines, what did you do with the knife, sir?’ repeated Harris patiently.
Mitch frowned, as if trying to remember. ‘Put it back on the table, I suppose. Pen – that is, Charlie – was looking after the props.’
‘You didn’t return the knife to its sheath?’
‘Nah, that’s Props’ job. What’s up, Charlie, you look peaky.’ His concerned glance met with a frigid stare.
‘Lady Charlotte was just answering a few questions,’ said Harris. ‘Perhaps, Madam, you will tell us exactly what you did after Mr Mitchell’s Prologue.’
‘What do you suppose I did? I took away the table – everyone in the room saw me do that – and I put the knife back into its sheath, ready for Scene Three.’
‘The property knife, or this one?’ Harris held up the bag; his eyes searched hers, but she met them without flinching.
‘The property knife, of course. What are you suggesting?’ Her chin tilted skywards. ‘Really, this is absolutely preposterous – I shall complain to the Chief Constable.’
‘That is your privilege, Madam.’ Harris turned to his junior officer. ‘Baxter, you were sitting at the piano throughout, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Could you see the props table all the time?’
‘Yessir.’
‘How many people went near it, or touched it, after this lady brought it off the stage at the end of the Prologue?’
‘Just one, sir.’
‘And that was … ?’
‘Me, sir.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I checked the knife that was lying on the table in its sheath. It was that one.’ He pointed to the plastic bag that Harris was still holding. ‘I removed it from the sheath and replaced it with the second property knife you gave me earlier this evening, sir, and put the real one in the bag, as instructed.’
‘Well done, Baxter,’ said Harris. ‘You thwarted a deliberate attempt to bring about the death of Miss Blair.’
To a chorus of astounded gasps, everyone looked from Charlotte to Dittany and back again. Mitch took Dittany in his arms and held her close, heedless of the damage to his shirtfront. Harris turned to Charlotte; she stared back at him in a brief show of defiance before her eyes dropped. Her face was bloodless.
‘What did you do with the original property knife?’ he demanded.
‘I have absolutely nothing to say. I wish to see my lawyer,’ she replied tonelessly.
‘You can call him from the station,’ said Harris. ‘I’m detaining you for further questioning. DC Baxter and PC Peck’ – he indicated the ‘waitress’, who had shed her disguise and entered the room unobserved – ‘will escort you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I think the interval is up, Mr Mitchell. The show must go on, mustn’t it?’
‘If you say so. Sure you’re okay, Tanny?’
‘Of course I am, but you’re a mess.’ Dittany jabbed a finger at his shirtfront, stained scarlet from contact with her gown. ‘You’ll have to do some ad-libbing to explain that.’
‘Leave it to me!’ He kissed her forehead, then went over to where Charlotte stood, stone-faced, between the two young officers. ‘Why, for God’s sake?’ he asked. ‘What had Tanny done to you?’
Her only response was a look of blistering scorn. ‘Get her out of here before I forget meself,’ he muttered, and went to join the rest of the cast assembling for Act Two.
‘Is that it?’ whispered Melissa as she and Harris made their way back to their seats.
He shook his head. ‘It’s only the beginning. Listen.’ Faintly, through the double-glazed windows, came the sound of police sirens. ‘Sounds like Operation Aladdin has begun as well – I’ll see you later.’ He bolted from the room as the lights began to dim.
‘What beats me,’ said Mitch, ‘is how Harris knew Charlie was planning to switch the knives.’
‘He didn’t know for certain,’ said Melissa, ‘but after we’d spent ages talking it round, it seemed the obvious thing to do.’
‘But how did she do it?’ asked Dittany. ‘Where did she get the real knife – and what did she do with the property knife she exchanged it for?’
‘She had the real knife inside her sleeve, tucked into a couple of elastic bands round her arm. She was clever enough not to keep the property knife on her person after the switch, though. She hid that in Eric Pollard’s duffel bag. Everyone knew he was madly jealous of Dittany’s relationship with Mitch, so I guess she thought he’d be accused of committing a crime passionnel.’
‘How unspeakably wicked!’ said Dittany in a low voice.
The four of them – Dittany, Melissa, Mitch and Chris – were comfortably installed in Mitch’s sitting-room, after enjoying more of Mrs Wingfield’s cooking. Attila was sprawled in front of the fire and Khan had taken up his usual place at Melissa’s feet.
‘So what’s the full story, Mel?’ demanded Mitch.
‘I don’t know the full story yet,’ she admitted. ‘All I can get out of Ken Harris is that “exhaustive enquiries are continuing” – and I don’t think the pun was intentional,’ she added, remembering Stumpy’s contribution to the affair.
‘Coppers know how to keep their mouths shut when it suits ’em,’ commented Mitch. ‘Like poor old Will. Did that harpy do for him as well?’
‘Yes, but unintentionally. The heroin was in doctored capsules that she planted in the bottle in Dittany’s handbag. It was sheer chance that those were the ones Dittany gave to Will.’
‘That means I killed him! Oh no, I can’t bear it!’ Dittany covered her eyes and burst into tears. Mitch put an arm round her and she sobbed on his shoulder for several minutes.
‘It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘If it hadn’t been Will, it would have been you. But I still don’t understand why Charlie wanted to kill Tanny.’
‘To stop you marrying her. I don’t understand why at the moment, but it seems Charlotte was behind the scheme for you to marry Penelope. In fact, once we’d figured out how Will had died, our first thought was that Penelope had planted the doctored capsules herself.’
‘Pen a killer?’ Mitch burst out laughing. ‘Do me a favour she’s too soft to tread on a spider. All that toffee-nosed, Queen’s-Garden-Party stuff is just her way. In fact, I might have thought about it … until I met Tanny.’ He looked fondly down at the silken head still leaning on his shoulder.
Dittany sat up and put away her handkerchief. ‘Tell us how you found out about it,’ she said.
‘Just a bit of inspired guesswork. Something my friend Iris said reminded me that you had given Will some of your capsules but said you didn’t know if he’d taken them. It occurred to me that he might have slipped them into his pocket and taken them later. The forensic people examined the jacket he was wearing and found traces of heroin that could have leaked out of them. Then a witness said he’d seen Will in the gents at the hotel earlier that evening, swallowing capsules with a glass of water. We know what happened after that.’
There was silence for a while. Then Mitch said, ‘So how did you figure out the business with the knife?’
‘Once Ken Harris knew about the capsules, he was sure the killer would try again. Dittany had no possible motive for killing Will, so it was clear that she was the intended victim. The stabbing scene in the play looked an obvious opportunity it would be a simple matter to switch the knives. He didn’t let me in on the details beforehand, bu
t he told me afterwards that he and DC Baxter had a musical signal worked out – if he played the “Hammerklavier” instead of the piece they’d been using at rehearsals, it meant the switch had taken place.’
‘You mean, Baxter was there to keep an eye on things and do the necessary if the knives were switched?’
‘And PC Peck. The young waiter with the horns and tail is a police officer as well.’
Mitch’s eyes widened and he gave Dittany a squeeze. ‘Just think of that, doll – you had your own personal detectives looking after you. I’ll have to call you Princess from now on! Of course,’ he turned back to Melissa, ‘I knew something was up when Harris took charge of the arrangements. He told me to close the hotel for the night and give the Bellamys the evening off.’ He scratched his head, evidently still somewhat bemused by the way things had turned out. ‘I had some cock and bull yarn ready in case Vic cut up rough, but he seemed quite chuffed about it. Said he thought it was very considerate of me!’
‘I’ll bet he was chuffed. It meant – or he thought it meant – there was even less chance than usual of the gang being spotted bringing in the spoils of that night’s break-in.’
‘How did Harris know there was going to be a break-in that night?’
‘One of his men had had a tip-off, but the informant didn’t know where it was going to take place. The police took a gamble that the stuff would be delivered to the quarry, and it paid off. There’s a report in this evening’s Gazette.’
‘Have we got it, Chris?’
‘Mrs W. takes it. She likes to do the crossword.’
‘Get it, will you?’
Chris went out and returned with the local paper. On the front page, under the headline POLICE SWOOP ON HIDDEN ART HOARD, the report read: ‘After a tip-off, police last night raided a disused quarry to the north of Cheltenham and recovered a quantity of stolen property, including paintings, silver and jewellery. Four men and two women are being questioned in connection with a number of burglaries in various parts of the county. Further arrests are expected.’
‘Strewth!’ said Mitch when he had read it. ‘I wonder who else is in it.’
‘I tried to get Ken to tell me, but he wouldn’t say a word beyond what I’ve told you. We’ll have to wait till the case comes to court.’
Twenty-Three
It was several months before the case came to court, and when it did, it sent shock waves throughout Gloucestershire and the neighbouring counties. Several of the most respected members of the community stood revealed as parties to a criminal conspiracy, the magnitude, complexity and sheer effrontery of which left honest citizens, as they read the accounts of each day’s revelations, spluttering with mingled outrage and disbelief over their breakfast toast and marmalade.
During a period of several years, art treasures to the value of hundreds of thousands of pounds had been spirited away from their owners and stored in a secret gallery, there to be offered for sale. Prospective buyers had to meet only two basic conditions – an abundance of ready cash and a total absence of scruple. Since most of the purchase money was itself the result of illicit dealings, principally in drugs, these conditions presented few problems.
At the centre of the intricate network that had developed over almost ten years, controlling every aspect of acquisition and distribution, ruthlessly dealing with omissions and misdemeanours, sat Lady Charlotte Heighton. The woman whose wild and scandalous behaviour in the sixties had shocked society and delighted the gossip columnists, had outwardly mended her ways. After disappearing from the public eye for a period, she re-emerged as the budding entrepreneur who had sought – and eventually obtained – the backing of business tycoon Richard Mitchell.
The trial was almost over when Iris arrived home from her winter sojourn in Provence. The day after her return she marched round to Hawthorn Cottage to demand an explanation of the highly-coloured and garbled tales that Gloria had brought with her that morning.
‘I’ve kept all the reports for you to read,’ said Melissa. ‘Most of it’s been a revelation to me.’
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know what was going on.’
‘Not all of it. Honestly!’ Melissa insisted as Iris sniffed in disbelief.
‘All right.’ Iris settled down in Melissa’s kitchen, planted her elbows on the table and fixed her friend with beady eyes. ‘Tell about the revelations. Had the feeling you were on to something before I left. Too busy with my own thing to ask questions.’
‘Thank goodness for that. At least, now it’s over, I can tell without causing you loss of sleep.’ Briefly, leaving out all references to her narrow escapes, Melissa recounted the events that had culminated in the attempt on Dittany’s life and the arrest of the principal culprits. Iris’s eyes grew steadily wider and her eyebrows stretched to her hairline as the story unfolded.
‘Amazing!’ was all she could say at first. Then came the inevitable question. ‘How did it all start?’
‘If you read the reports, you’ll know as much as I do.’
‘Can’t be bothered to plod through all that lot.’ Iris brushed aside the sheaf of newspaper cuttings with an impatient movement of one hand. ‘You tell,’ she commanded.
‘I’ll try, but it’s unbelievably involved. It seems Charlie acquired some pretty dubious friends during her wilder days and some of them were into drugs on a large scale. Those characters are always on the look-out for ways of laundering their cash, and antiques and old masters are prime favourites. Apart from their value, possession of an original Rembrandt or two does carry a certain cachet. Charlie also had friends in the art world, not all of them very particular about where they got their wares. She started in quite a small way, putting potential customers in touch with suppliers.’
‘And then?’
‘Like Topsy, it just growed. By this time, she had launched her first Dizzy Heights branch and some of her customers were wives or mistresses of wealthy crooks. She soon smelled out potential customers for old masters. The demand increased to the extent that she and her associates needed help with the logistics. Through the grapevine she heard of Vic Bellamy.’
Iris’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘The manager at Heyshill Manor?’
‘Right. When Charlie Heighton first met him, he was running a pub near Witney and Kim was his bar manager. He was also a high-class fence who’d managed to avoid police attention, and he was only too ready to sign up with her. The business expanded and they were on the look-out for new premises when Sir Hugo Stoneleigh-Pryor decided to convert Heyshill Manor into a luxury hotel. And guess who got the principal contract? One of Charlie’s customers, an outwardly respectable architect who was making a mint on the side by kidding gullible clients that planning consents cost money. His surveyor – another crook whose racket was to charge exorbitant sums for unnecessary work – came across the bricked-up part of the crypt. Word got back that here was the perfect store for the loot.’
‘Did Sir Hugo realise what was going on?’ asked Iris.
‘Almost certainly, but he probably drew a fat fee for pretending not to. His main interests were hunting and high living, and so long as the hotel made money, he let them get on with it. They brought Vic in as manager – by this time Kim had conned a wedding ring out of him – and the set-up was perfect. They rigged the crypt up as a gallery where the richest and most trustworthy clients could come and make a choice. They even produced a catalogue for those who for whatever reason couldn’t attend in person.’
Iris gave a soft whistle. ‘So that’s how Kim got her prints.’
‘Exactly. Once the originals were sold on, the gang had no further use for them. Incidentally, it was you who put us on to that – you and Gloria’s Stanley’s Auntie Muriel.’
Iris smirked. ‘Clever me! Do I get a commendation?’
‘An unofficial one, maybe. I made Ken Harris promise to keep our names out of it, and he said he’d do his best.’
‘So Lady Charlotte was the mastermind?’
&
nbsp; ‘That’s right. Incidentally, it was on her orders that Vic sent the likes of Clegg and his partner to issue “warnings” to anyone who stepped out of line.’
‘What about the Hon. Pen? Where did she come in?’
‘Charlie took her on as a partner in the boutique because she had fashion flair and the right looks and background. Penelope was very much under her thumb, and later she was to come in very useful – or so Charlie thought. When Sir Hugo died so unexpectedly and the gang lost control of the hotel, they had to do some very quick thinking. Fortunately, Mitch allowed Vic to stay on as manager – at the time, of course, he had no suspicions and was glad of Vic’s expertise. But they knew his reputation for straight dealing and guessed that if he got wind of what was going on in one of his businesses, he’d put the boot in right away. But if he were to marry Penelope … even he would hardly shop his own wife.’
‘And then Dittany happened along. That must have been a blow.’
‘It was. And by this time, Mitch had his suspicions of Vic and they got wind of that as well. Charlie must have hit the panic button at this point – trying to kill Dittany wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.’
‘She ought to get life for that.’
‘That’ll be the subject of a separate trial. Ken doesn’t think they’ll be able to pin Will Foley’s death on her, though – there isn’t enough evidence.’
‘Pity. How did the police get on to Lady C.?’
Melissa preened herself. ‘I put them on to her. She was the driver – and the owner – of the blue Renault. She’d put the goods in the car, drive to a prearranged place and meet her contact to hand over the keys. The contact would pick up the car to make the delivery, and there’d be a similar arrangement to hand it back.’
‘Sounds a bit complicated.’
‘Not really. The important thing, as far as Charlie saw it, was for her to avoid being spotted actually handing over the ill-gotten loot. When I met her in the shopping arcade that day, she’d just arranged for Mrs Wilson to pick up an early Constable for a customer of Antony Purvis.’
Murder at the Manor Hotel Page 24