by Ann Cleeves
The next day was horrible, muddled. Savage did not appear. Connibear arrived very early, before the tide, took desultory statements. At breakfast John and Elizabeth bickered spitefully and incessantly. Jasmine Carson was furious that she had not been wakened in the night.
“I should have been told,” she stormed. “I am one of the original trustees. I should have been consulted.”
“So you should, my dear lady. So you should.” The doctor’s easy agreement only increased her anger. He seemed to be taking a delight in her discomfort. “ But really,” he continued, “this isn’t the time to cause a fuss, now is it?”
He tried to talk to everyone. Later, when George Palmer-Jones looked back on that day he remembered everything against a background of the doctor’s words, meaningless and intrusive. And he remembered the sharp, spiky rain, painful as sleet, which clattered against the windows and jangled the nerves.
No one was willing to listen to Paul Derbyshire. Jerry Packham, usually invariably gentle and polite, had been horrified into rudeness. Although he sat next to the doctor at breakfast he ignored the older man. He might have been sitting there alone. Jasmine Carson, after the first outburst, expressed her disapproval, her feeling of having been left out, in silence. Mark’s soft and funny face was expressionless. There was no movement in it. He too seemed very frightened and lonely.
George did not have much time to talk to the other residents. They were planning to leave immediately after lunch and the police had agreed to this arrangement. After breakfast he looked for Jerry and found him in his bedroom, packing.
“I want to talk to you,” George said. “Get your coat. We’ll go to the seawatching hide.”
“No,” Jerry said. “Not there.”
“Yes, there. It’s one of the only places on this damned island where we can be sure of not being overheard.”
They went out into the rain. It was icy and seemed to pierce the skin. They bent forward to shield their faces from the rain and because the rocks were slippery and they needed to watch where they were walking. They did not speak. In the hide they set up their telescopes, but they did not use them. Jerry looked over the sea occasionally with his binoculars, but George Palmer-Jones made no pretence at birdwatching. He talked.
“I know that you had an argument with Pamela. I know that she wanted to see Charlie. I need to know what it was all about. She told me that she’d been to see him on the night of the fire.”
“Did she?” He seemed hardly to have heard. “ I still can’t believe that she’s dead. I saw her there last night, but I still can’t believe it. It was different with Charlie. He was always so strange and eccentric, it seemed almost natural that he should die in that melodramatic way. But she was quite ordinary. She seemed self-confident and self-possessed, but underneath she was rather unhappy. When Charlie died I could think: At least it wasn’t a complete waste. At least the island’s safe. I suppose that it was wrong to think like that, but I kept imagining the observatory turned into a luxury hotel, yachts moored out here by the hide. It could have happened so easily. Then Charlie was killed and it was horrible, but there was a relief too. Because we’d still be able to come here. But with Pam it was a complete waste. She had two children, you know …”
Palmer-Jones felt that he had let Jerry ramble for long enough.
“What was the argument about?”
“We had been ringing on the Friday, the Friday before Charlie went away for the week. It was early in the morning, just as it was getting light. We’d walked over very early, some time before the tide. We were sheltering in the cove, just below the Wendy House. I had my arm round Pam. We must have looked very … intimate. Then Charlie appeared. He had come down the steps and was on his way over to the mainland. We were surprised. He didn’t usually walk. I suppose he didn’t want to disturb John so early in the morning. He said: ‘My, my, what a naughty girl you are, Pamela. What would my big brother say?’ in that joking, high-pitched voice of his. Then he walked over the shore. Pamela was worried that he really would tell her family.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“I assumed that he was going to see Ernest or Laurence. Because of what he’d said about his big brother. That was the impression I got.”
“I still don’t understand what the argument was about.”
“Pamela wanted me to go to see Charlie to ask if he had talked to the family about seeing us together. It was the sort of thing he might have done. He would have thought that it was amusing. He came back to the island on that Friday evening, and she went to see him then, but he only teased her. He said that he’d had a very important conversation with her uncles. ‘What an immoral bunch the Todds are, to be sure.’ That’s what he said to her, but she didn’t know what to make of it. She was always concerned about what the family thought of us.” His voice was resigned. “ They pass a lot of work on to her husband, who’s a solicitor. And they were always reasonably generous when she needed money.”
“Did she need a lot of money?”
“Yes,” he said. “It seemed to me that she needed a lot of money. I suppose that was why she would never leave her husband for me. I didn’t have a secure enough income.”
He spoke without bitterness.
“But you refused to go to see Charlie?”
“I didn’t think that it would do any good. He had probably forgotten all about it. Talking to him would only remind him.”
“Do you know what happened when she did go to the Wendy House after you’d argued on the night of the fire?”
“It was as I’d thought. He’d forgotten all about it. He was so excited by the canal idea that he hardly knew what she was talking about.”
“Did she mention seeing or hearing anyone while she was out?”
“No.”
“Did she say if Charlie had given her anything to drink?”
Jerry thought. “ She didn’t say, but Charlie would have offered her something. He was very hospitable.”
“Did you hear anything last night? You were sleeping next door to Pamela. You must have heard something.”
“I know,” Jerry said. “I’ve been trying to think. I’d drunk quite a lot of Paul’s whisky. It was a pretty awful evening. It was the only way I could get through it. I didn’t hear voices. I’m sure that I would have remembered if there had been voices. I heard her moving about. And I heard her light the tilly. You know, the sound of it being pumped to prime it.”
“But wouldn’t it have been lit already?”
“I suppose so. Perhaps she put it out, then decided she couldn’t sleep, so she put it on again to read.”
“Perhaps. When did you hear the sound of the tilly?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps a quarter of an hour before Nick screamed, perhaps a bit longer. As I say I was a bit drunk.”
“You didn’t seem drunk. You got to her room pretty quickly.”
“A sight like that would sober anyone.”
George left Jerry in the seawatching hide and walked back to the observatory. There was a pile of bags and suitcases in the entrance hall. The residents were obviously eager to leave. He felt ambiguous about going. The island was not a pleasant place to be now, but if he were to go he would lose all touch with the investigation. He saw Mark Taylor in the common room and was about to talk to him when Jasmine Carson came down the stairs. She was carrying her leather holdall. The joints of her fingers were swollen and distorted. George reached out to take the bag from her. As he took it, he wondered if there were strength enough in those hands to pull the nylon rope which had strangled Charlie, if they had the power to stab a woman. But what motive could she have? She would not be squeamish about murder, but she was a scientist. She would need to be sure that such a risk was worth taking. She cared passionately about the island. Perhaps she was unreasonably attached to it. But she knew Charlie. His enthusiasms came and went like the tide. It was only through Paul Derbyshire’s persistence that Charlie’s dream of buying the island had
become a reality. George was not convinced that, even if Charlie had lived, the island would ever have been sold, and he credited Jasmine Carson with the sense to realize that too.
She thanked him, ungraciously, for carrying her case, and they stood together by the pile of luggage.
“This is a bad business,” she said. “ Nicholas could be an aggressive young man, but he was always completely honest. And a very good worker. It’s all very upsetting. I know that you have faith in the police, but I suppose that there is no possibility that there could be a mistake?”
She could have been in the staff room, discussing some policy decision by the board of governors.
He hesitated, then unconsciously adopted the same tone. “ I think,” he said, “that there may have been an error of judgement.”
“I see,” she said. “In a way I’m disappointed. I had hoped that perhaps the whole matter was over, but of course that’s not the right attitude at all. We must get it right. Even if the police can’t manage to. My offer of help still stands, then.” She turned stiffly and walked slowly back up the stairs.
He went into the common room. Mark Taylor was sitting by the fire, absorbed in his own unhappiness. He still had an adolescent’s lack of defences. His clowning was natural, not a barrier against pain. Palmer-Jones sat beside him.
“Where were you last night when Nick started screaming?” he asked.
“In the bathroom.”
“That’s not true, you know. It can’t be. You told Nick that you’d gone to the bathroom, but you came along the corridor behind me when we heard the screams, as if you’d just come out of your bedroom, or from the stairs. The bathroom is further down the corridor, past Pamela’s bedroom. So where were you?”
Mark stood up. There was no colour in his face. “That has nothing to do with you,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you, or with the fact that two people have died, or with the fact that my best friend is a murderer.”
He walked away. George Palmer-Jones followed slowly into the lobby, but by then the boy was outside. As he watched Mark go, a Land Rover pulled through the gates and stopped in the yard. Savage got out. He lowered his head against the rain and strode towards the building. He pushed open the door, and George felt the cold wind and the rain, then the door swung back and the two men were together. Savage just stood, looked intently at Palmer-Jones.
“How’s the boy?” George asked.
“He’s not a juvenile, you know,” Savage said, not unkindly. Then: “He’s all right. I let him sleep last night, gave him a chance to think. We had a chat this morning, before he went to court.” He looked at George sharply. “You’re right. He’ll not admit it. But I reckon that we’ve got enough for a conviction. They remanded him in custody to the police cells.”
“Did you listen to the tape of our conversation last night?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that he’s clever. And frightened. And I think he’s got you fooled.”
“So you still think he did it?”
“Of course he did.”
The policeman laughed, not because he wanted to hurt the old man’s feelings but to make light of the differences between them. He could not reject Palmer-Jones completely just because of his silly ideas. He opened the door of the ringing room.
“Come on in. I’ve got the first forensic report, and I can fill you in on what we found last night. Come on. I’ve no hard feelings.”
George restrained his anger at this patronage, and followed the policeman into the ringing room. Savage sat at the desk, Palmer-Jones opposite.
“Did you get a good look at the body last night? Did you notice anything unusual?”
“No, I didn’t look. I left all that to your officer.”
Why did he not explain that he had rushed away to check the whereabouts of all the other residents?
“Martindale didn’t notice either. Can’t blame him, I suppose. He’s a young bloke. Inexperienced.” His tone implied that nevertheless he did blame Martindale. “The scene-of-crime chaps noticed though. Chloroform. There was a faint smell of it around the face. And a cloth that had been soaked with the stuff on the floor, by the bed.” He pointed to the pile of bird bags on the bench. “One of those things.”
“So that’s why she didn’t cry out.”
“Yes. She may even have been asleep when he went in. If she woke at all, it would only have been for a second.”
“No,” George said, “ she couldn’t have been asleep, because she relit the tilly.” He explained that Jerry Packham had heard the sound of the tilly being pumped. “ Unless,” he continued almost to himself, “it wasn’t Pamela who lit the tilly. But if it was the murderer, why bother? A torch would have done just as well. And we all have torches.”
He turned to Savage. “ Did Nicholas have a torch with him?”
“Yes. A small one in his jeans pocket.” He was not really interested, but waited patiently while George thought, tried to work out the solution to the puzzle. He found none and shook his head.
“Did you find the jar? That held the chloroform?”
“No. That side of the building is right by the water. I reckon he threw it out of the window and into the tide. We’ll find it washed up in a couple of days. There were no fingerprints on the window frame or the catch, but if the window was already open, he wouldn’t have needed to touch it.”
George did not pursue the matter.
“Would you mind telling me what is in the preliminary forensic report?”
“They’ve identified some fibres found on the bench seat of the seawatching hide and on Charles Todd’s clothing. It’s a navy-blue material, a rough felt. It came, they say, from a duffel coat or a donkey jacket.”
“Yes,” George said. “ Yes. It would be.”
“You know where it came from?”
“Oh yes. There’s a duffel coat out there in the hall. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It must have been left behind and it’s used as a spare. The murderer was bound to use it, because it wouldn’t identify him. It’s very big and shapeless—from the back it would be hard to tell who was wearing it. It would act as a disguise.”
He hesitated, remembering the tapes he had heard the night before, the conversation between Savage and Nicholas Mardle about the arson at the Wendy House.
“Didn’t Nick mention to you that he noticed that the duffel coat was wet, when he came back after ringing waders on the night of the fire at Charlie’s house?”
“Yes,” Savage said, impressed by George’s memory, and by Nick’s apparent duplicity. “ He’s not daft, is he? He must have set fire to the house when he pretended to come back here. He probably wore the coat then, too. The timing would be right. He knew that we’d find traces of the coat in the hide, so he mentioned it first. He’s too clever by half.”
George ignored him. He was writing in his field notebook. When he finished he looked up. “Any fingerprints in the hide?”
Savage shook his head. He had given enough information. Now he needed George’s help. He had not invited Palmer-Jones to join him simply to spare his feelings.
“Would there have been chloroform on the premises?” he asked. “And if so, where would it have been kept?”
“There may have been,” George replied. “The observatory is used regularly by local schools in term time as a field centre. They use this room as a lab. I suppose it could have been used by the biologists in their experiments. But John would know.“
“Of course. I’ll have to ask him. Is this room never locked?” It was an accusation of carelessness.
“No,” George said. “ There’s never before been any need to lock it.”
“I’ll go and speak to Mr. Lansdown, then. I expect he’ll be in his flat. Do you want to come?” But the generosity was too obvious, and George answered sharply.
“No. No, thank you. I’ve done enough talking for today. I’ll go outside, I think. Get some fresh air before lunch.”
/> As he went out he noticed that the duffel coat was no longer on its peg. The police, he supposed, had removed it. Without it, the hall seemed unusually bare, like a room when the curtains have been taken down to be washed.
While he was on the Beacon George decided that he would not leave the island with the others. He would have to stay and see the case through to the end. He would not let time, or Savage with his boyish enthusiasm and his platitudes, defeat him. He had not bothered to change his shoes and the soggy bracken drenched his trousers, but he did not mind the discomfort. Now that the decision was made he was happier. He would telephone Molly, ask her to join him. It began to rain again and he walked back to the observatory, where the others were gathering in the dining room for lunch.
There was a cold meal already laid on the table, and they were taking their seats when Elizabeth noticed that Miss Carson was not there.
“She was upstairs, I think,” she said. “I’ll just go and call her.”
“I’ll go,” George said. He was still standing. He went up the stairs and walked along the corridor. Jasmine was not in her room. He felt suddenly anxious and walked quietly on. All the doors were open, and it was with relief that he noticed that she was in the room that had been used by Paul Derbyshire. She had her back to him, and did not realize that he was there. She was bending over the waste-paper bin. She stood up suddenly.
He moved quickly out of her line of vision, walked back to the stairs, then called: “Miss Carson, lunch is ready.”
He went back to the dining room and waited for her to follow. She came in soon after. She gave no explanation for what she had been doing. He presumed that she had not seen him. She took her seat and joined in the general conversation. He did not speak to her about it.
They were all so preoccupied at lunch with their preparations to leave that when George said, diffidently, that he thought he might stay for a few days, no one showed much interest. John said that it would be useful to have somebody else around to help with the ringing. George followed them out to the Land Rover to see them off. They hovered there, not sure what to say to each other. They so much wanted to leave, and now they seemed almost frightened to go. They seemed to envy George. Even after two murders, Gillibry seemed a place of security compared with the unknown of the mainland. They went in the end. George walked up to the Beacon to wave them off. He almost felt sorry for them.