A Darker God

by Barbara Cleverly

  “Ah … in that case … you should know, Montacute, that the First Secretary has himself asked to see you for a moment before your … er … interview with Mr. Melton.” The aide looked uncertainly at Letty.

  “Always a pleasure to see Freddy!” Letty smiled reassuringly.

  They followed Devenish along a corridor to the office of the First Secretary, turning into a silent and heavily carpeted area of the building. He tapped on a door, paused for ten seconds, opened it, and announced DCI Montacute, accompanied by a lady: Miss Laetitia Talbot.

  “Laetitia! My dear! What a charming surprise!” came the exclamation as they entered. “I say, bring up another chair, would you, Charles?”

  Frederick Wentworth sprang forward from behind his desk to kiss Letty on both cheeks and shake Montacute’s hand. He looked at his watch. “Now—where’ve we got to? Tea? Coffee? May I offer you some refreshment?”

  They both declined and sat down on the chairs provided. He dismissed Devenish with a nod.

  The First Secretary was somber, Letty noticed, beneath his smooth good humour. He was gracious in his condolences on the death of Andrew, who was well known to him, and his sorrow and outrage were heartfelt. Consular facilities were to be made available to Montacute, cooperation assured. The killer must be brought to justice, and as soon as possible. The professor was an admired figure here in Athens as well as London. Questions were being asked. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing since the news broke! Retribution was demanded. Public confidence simply had to be restored … Couldn’t have it thought that there was a killer out and about on the streets of the city, a knife-wielding assassin at work in the shadow of the Acropolis itself … The First Secretary was quite sure Montacute understood the implications?

  Montacute murmured appropriate responses for both himself and Letty into the pauses.

  “I can’t tell you how disturbed I was,” Wentworth continued, “to receive the news of Lady Merriman’s death just an hour ago when I got to my desk, and thank you for sending in the details, Montacute. You must have worked through the night, man? Still, people don’t arrange to do away with themselves to suit the police duty rosters, do they? And you—such a close friend of the family, Laetitia! How sad you must be! His Excellency was stricken by the double tragedy and asks me to convey his condolences.”

  Letty mumbled her thanks.

  “It’s early in the investigation, I know, but are you able to confirm, Montacute, that it was—as everyone supposes—a case of suicide?”

  “No, sir. It was murder. We have a suspect under lock and key.”

  “Murder, by God! And you have the man in custody already? Excellent! I’m relieved to hear it.” He shot a triumphant grin at Letty. “Nothing like the Yard when they get going, eh? And in Montacute here, I’m assured we have the finest.”

  The inspector glowered and waited for Wentworth to get on. “But—a double killing, you’re telling me? Is that what we are to assume? How extraordinary and distressing! Can you be certain you have the evidence to nail the ruffian responsible?”

  “In the case of the second death, there can be no doubt,” Montacute replied warily. “The victim survived the assault long enough to declare herself to have been pushed from the window and, with her dying breath, she confided to me the name of her assailant.”

  “Good Lord! What a drama!”

  “As you say, sir.”

  “And whom do you have in manacles for this foul deed?”

  “Her cousin, Miss Thetis Templeton.”

  Freddy Wentworth was for a moment speechless. His mouth opened and no words came. His eyes bulged and he harrumphed. Finally he managed to say, eyes skittering away from Letty: “Montacute, may I speak to you privately for a moment? I hope you won’t be too offended, Laetitia, if I have the inspector to myself for a bit? Things to declare, not entirely suitable for a young lady’s ears …”

  “Of course, sir,” Montacute agreed.

  Letty was disappointed to hear the inspector’s ready capitulation on her behalf, the manly understanding as he rose to his feet to show her to the door. “Miss Talbot, would you mind? Do excuse us.”

  Once on the far side of the closed door, Letty looked up and down the corridor and, seeing it was clear, firmly put her ear to the woodwork. Nothing. Perhaps the slightest murmur of two men conferring, she thought … one short explosion from Montacute … but she wasn’t able to make out a single word of the conversation that followed. She was discovered examining a portrait of Queen Victoria six feet away when they emerged.

  She went back inside with the inspector while Wentworth, with a hurried farewell, went off to summon Geoffrey Melton.

  As soon as they’d settled again, Montacute leaned to her and whispered: “I don’t suppose you caught much of that? Thick door, Miss Laetitia? Just wanted to warn me that there were more things going on in the world than I knew of. Jokily suggested I restrict myself to chasing a few more bandits over the hills … Still two villainous kidnappers at large, he reminds me—why not finish the job? More useful than getting involved with what he called ‘politically sensitive areas.’ Did you realise that was where we were—in a politically sensitive area? And I don’t mean the Embassy! Funny thing, when I told him it was Miss Templeton I’d arrested he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Did you notice? Advised me to release her as soon as possible. Told me to imagine the damaging headlines if the news were to get out. Bad for the national image, he claims. The wretched girl cuts some ice with the Greek establishment, it would seem. Present and future international relations endangered at the highest level. You can imagine the sort of thing. He definitely put the diplomatic boot in!”

  Letty was uneasy that the inspector was so readily revealing a confidence. There was something alarming about the degree to which he was so casually involving her in the proceedings. It had echoes of the last chapter of a two-penny thriller where the villain smugly reveals everything in the sure knowledge that he’s about to shoot the detective dead with the gun hidden in his pocket the moment his vaunting confession is over. If she was being allowed the knowledge, then either the knowledge didn’t count for much—or she didn’t.

  Her unease deepened at the sight of Geoffrey Melton sweeping into the room.

  He greeted them and came to seat himself, perching on the front edge of the desk, long legs in neatly pressed linen trousers extended towards them. A pose which suggested reassuring informality whilst affirming his precedence. They were being accorded an interview. He offered them a cigarette from the First Secretary’s silver box and when they shook their heads in refusal, he selected an oval Turkish one for himself and lit it, inhaling the fragrant smoke and assessing them through narrowed eyes.

  He put them at their ease, conveying his shock and sorrow at the news of the second death. “Frederick tells me you’ve made an arrest already? Excellent news! Then I can stop working on my alibi? I was calculating just how many foreign dignitaries I would have to parade to satisfy you, Montacute. I imagine about twelve will remember seeing me here at the do last night. The Serbian ambassador’s wife will retain a painfully clear imprint of my presence. On her feet. I’m not the most skilful of dancers.” He gave a deprecating laugh. “I’m quite aware that I’m the popular choice for Andrew’s killing! Makes a fellow wary!”

  “Yes. It’s the death of Sir Andrew I’m here to discuss,” Montacute said, cutting him short. “We’re here this morning seeking further information on last night’s events, Mr. Melton. Would you mind retracing your steps, as it were, from the moment you walked offstage for your bath?”

  “Of course. Look—is your charming assistant taking notes again? We can supply paper … No? Right-oh, then … Off we go! There’s never a great hurry to change—there are two hundred lines between my death screams and reentrance as the villain.”

  “‘That was the King, groaning. I fear

  The worst has happened. Sound the alarm!

  Break in at once and catch them red-handed!’”


  Montacute quoted his own chorus lines. “Take it from there. You didn’t yourself happen to catch anyone red-handed backstage?”

  “I’m afraid not. I performed the sound effects, and as I strolled off towards wardrobe I paused to look at the dummy. You know—as you do when you subconsciously notice that something’s not right. Someone was at that moment supposed to be anointing it with blood and removing the cover, ready to push it forward onstage. It wasn’t being done. I investigated. I tweaked back the outer edge of the muslin wrapper and saw what lay below. Human limbs where there should have been celluloid. Poked at an arm and encountered human flesh. Recoiled in horror, emitting an unmanly and unscripted exclamation.”

  He directed an enquiring smile at Letty and waited a second or so, expecting a response.

  Determined not to assist him in any way, she smiled back politely and remained silent.

  “I dropped the muslin back in place,” he went on, “not being quite sure what the protocol might be in such circumstances—to stop the play or not to stop the play? Had I prematurely taken the wraps off some practical joke? Some of these young things will go to extraordinary lengths to startle and annoy in the name of humour.” He sighed and shook his head, every inch the jaded housemaster. “Did I risk making a fool of myself by interfering? You know—‘Trust that spoilsport Melton to ruin everything!… Perhaps one of us should have told him…’ I’m not the sort who develops an intimacy with his fellows on short acquaintance—you may have noticed that? Well, you can imagine what was going through my mind … In the end, I decided—none of my business … let them have their fun. I went mechanically through my rehearsed movements until I came onstage to find Lady Merriman stirring about in the cauldron with her stick! Thought for an awful moment I’d fetched up in scene one of the Scottish Play and we were all to be accursed! But no—the old witch was merely pronouncing the last rites over what was now revealed to be an actual body—and, moreover, the body of her husband.”

  Letty glowered at Melton, hating him for his lack of feeling, but he glanced away, refusing to acknowledge her disapproval.

  As a reaction to the stony silence of his audience, he allowed his face to melt into an expression of what he intended to be a blend of incredulity and sorrow. “What a loss! A wonderful man!”

  Letty didn’t believe a word he said.

  “And the rest you witnessed for yourselves. All I have to tell you, I’m afraid. Do let me know how you get on with all this. You’re bound to stumble upon the wretch responsible sooner or later. I expect you’ll find it was some vagrant straying onto the set … Knives two-a-penny to be had on any street in Athens, of course. Must make your life pretty difficult, Montacute? But the sooner we reach a solution the better, of course. I’m sure the First Secretary has made that clear.”

  Letty couldn’t imagine why Melton was lying and didn’t care if they knew it. Or why Montacute hadn’t challenged him.

  Chapter 22

  They’d decided to walk the short distance to the Merriman house. The inspector had asked her to accompany him politely, not forcefully, allowing her the illusion at least of a refusal. Letty thought she made a good show of disguising her eagerness to visit the scene of the crime, convinced that she would see something, experience some insight that would prove Thetis’s innocence. She realised that an accusation made with the dying breath of a lady who was well known to be a firm Christian and pillar of society must be held incontrovertible, but she was prepared to try at least to question it. And she had a feeling that, strangely—since his was the ear that had heard the dying denunciation—in this she would have the inspector’s unspoken support. And now, here was the Embassy throwing its weight behind a swift release. It was beginning to look as though Thetis would be out of custody before the end of the day.

  They stood for a few moments on the opposite side of the square, looking up at the Merriman house. Montacute confirmed that Maud had fallen from the open second-floor window on the right. Letty identified the room next door with the matching window and balcony as Andrew’s library and workroom. She was able to give the purpose of each of the rooms in the house, which were very likely unchanged since her eight-week stay in the early months of the year. On the top floor, under a grey-gleaming mansard roof: maids’ rooms and storage. On the third floor: master bedroom, Maud’s room and small sitting room, guest rooms, and bathrooms. The second floor was the grandest, with spacious, well-decorated reception rooms: the drawing room and library, and a wide landing leading from the stairs. On the ground floor, the usual domestic offices: kitchen in the rear, Dorothea’s apartment, butler’s pantry, though they kept no butler.

  The housekeeper greeted Letty with warmth and Montacute with deference, waiting until the boy Demetrios had whisked a perfunctory feather duster over their shoes—a service delivered with mechanical politeness, and not so essential in October when the summer’s dust had largely abated. Mrs. Stephanopoulos ushered them inside, glad, she told them, chattering away in Greek, to have someone in the house to make a few decisions. So much to be done and no one there at the helm with Miss Thetis run away … And the telephone ringing and ringing … The lawyer! Dr. Peebles! The funeral director! Mr. Gunning! They’d all called and she’d hardly known what to say.

  She waved at a silver bowl on the hall table, a bowl filled with calling cards. The old-fashioned but charming custom was extensively used in the city by sociable residents with time on their hands and was the most effective way of spreading news and gossip. “Here I am in town and I’d love to talk” was the simple message of the cards delivered at the start of the day, a message to be picked up with pleasurable anticipation or, in some cases, with dismay or boredom. The number in the bowl this morning indicated a lively response to the death of Andrew, but people had surely not woken to the news of the second death? Letty turned over one or two, noting brief messages of condolence addressed to Maud on the back, and promises of visits.

  Dorothea presented one she had kept separate from the others. “This was delivered by messenger.” Her voice lowered in awe. “With the respects of the Prime Minister’s lady herself!”

  Letty took the card, looking first at the elegantly engraved Mrs. Eleftherios Venizelos, and, on the back, in her own hand: Maud, my dear, What appalling news! Let me know when I may come and see you to convey our respects and condolences. Helena.

  Letty calmed Dorothea in a few reassuring phrases and promised to telephone Helena Venizelos to thank her for her card and break the news of Maud’s death. She confirmed that she would stay and do whatever she could in the distressing circumstances, until such time as Miss Templeton returned and took up the reins. Yes—Miss Thetis had been found—had, in fact, been spending the night with Letty. For the moment she was helping the police with enquiries but Letty had no doubt that she would be free to take charge of her cousin’s household this afternoon.

  Montacute had listened with some relief, she thought, when Letty launched into Greek in response. Not wonderful yet, not accurate, and having something of a Cretan accent, but Letty made up for her shortcomings with a show of confidence and many hand gestures.

  Montacute picked up one word from Dorothea’s outpouring. “A lawyer, you say?”

  “Yes. He’s telephoned twice this morning. Wanted to speak to the mistress about Sir Andrew’s will. I had to tell him the bad news about Lady Merriman. Then he insisted on speaking to someone about both their wills. Well, I couldn’t say … I wrote his number and name down here, sir, if you’d like to—” Montacute had seized the paper and was dashing upstairs to find the telephone.

  “It’s in the library!” Letty shouted after him and, pausing to reassure Dorothea and ask her to bring up some tea, ran upstairs in his wake.

  He was replacing the earpiece, looking pleased. “They’ll be sending round a man in a few minutes,” he told her. “Efficient firm of international lawyers. Offices in London, Paris, and Athens. The wills of both the deceased were still in their in-tray, you might sa
y—combed over in the last few weeks—so didn’t need to be hunted for and dusted down. Always interesting to take a close look at the wills of those who’ve made an unscheduled departure from this world. Inheritance! It brings out the rawest of human emotions. Greed, ambition, vengeance. In any walk of society. People kill to inherit a dukedom or a pocket watch.”

  Letty was for a moment disconcerted to see the inspector ensconced in Andrew’s chair behind Andrew’s desk. Still in her memory were the fair hair and merry blue eyes, the swift, gracious gestures of its rightful occupant. She could hear the laughing protest—“And who precisely is this police hound sitting in my chair? Letty—chuck him out!” She didn’t care to see Andrew’s image eclipsed by this stranger. She turned abruptly away, ambushed by a rush of grief, excused herself, and went to the drawing room next door.

  Footsteps on the landing. Montacute? Why was he following her? Surely he could give her a moment to herself? Insensitive? Or just making sure she tampered with no evidence? Letty decided—both.

  She had to do it. A ghoulish impulse, she recognised, but she could not resist retracing Maud’s steps last night. She found Maud’s place on her sofa, where, Letty noticed, her knitting still lay abandoned, halfway through a row. Odd. A fanatically accurate knitter, Maud would never leave a row unfinished. On many occasions Letty had been made to wait, stamping and fuming by the door, until Maud had completed her row, stabbed the ball of wool with her needles, and tucked it safely away in her knitting bag. Something of urgency had interrupted her.

  Letty sat briefly, picked up the knitting and put it down again, then got up and walked across the floor. She checked the Persian rug that covered the centre of the polished parquet floor. It was unruffled and didn’t extend as far as the window-indeed, was a good three feet short of it. There seemed no possibility that Maud had tripped. Letty kneeled and examined the polished wooden floor against the light. No skid marks. No sign of a struggle. She got up and went on towards the window.