by Jack Treby
I cleared my throat, not quite sure how to proceed. It is never an easy thing, to discuss a murder, especially with the murderer himself. ‘How did it happen?’ I asked, tentatively. ‘Mrs O’Neill? How did you come to...?’
Hopkins wiped his eye and let out a weary sigh. ‘The pen letters. We thought it was her, you see. Sir Richard, he had a way of...’ His voice trailed off. ‘I didn’t know, until this evening. I didn’t have any idea.’ He closed his eyes and shuddered.
‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ I suggested, settling myself on the edge of the pool. ‘The pen letters. How did all that start?’
Hopkins took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘It was last October, when we arrived in New York.’ His eyes were fixed on his boots, submerged in the water. ‘The trip out was uneventful. It was only when we...when we got to Mrs O’Neill’s house in Boston that things began to sour.’
‘The letters started to arrive?’
‘Yes. Anonymously, through the post. Typewritten letters, in capital letters. Well, you’ve seen them.’
‘One or two. But these weren’t the first letters, were they?’
‘No. Mrs O’Neill’s husband had received something similar, a few years before. I never saw any of those, but Sir Richard had heard all about them. I think...I think now that must have been the start of it.’
‘You think that’s where he got the idea from?’
‘I suppose it must have been.’ A seed had been implanted in his mind, all that time ago. ‘If only I had realised...’ Hopkins swallowed again.
‘You don’t think Sir Richard had anything to do with those original letters?’
‘No. At least, I don’t see how.’ It was clear that the fellow was still trying to work the matter through himself. I suppose he had not had that long to reflect upon it. ‘As I understand it, those letters stopped some time before Mr O’Neill died and only started up again when we arrived in America late last year.’
‘You met Mr O’Neill, didn’t you, before he passed away?’
‘Yes, briefly. But there was no talk of the letters then. I think by that point, whoever it was must have stopped sending them. Mrs O’Neill said she thought it was a disgruntled employee, from one of the businesses her husband had acquired.’ That was the line she had taken with me. ‘Some poor chap who lost his livelihood or something of that order. The letters Sir Richard sent...the first ones, I think they were intended to mimic the originals.’
I coughed slightly. I was having some difficulty accepting that the businessman was behind any of this, but I was willing to be persuaded. ‘Why would Sir Richard start sending people nasty letters, though? What would be the point?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hopkins admitted, his booted feet tracing a circle in the water. ‘Sir Richard has always been bad tempered. I don’t think I fully appreciated until recently just how much bile there was beneath the surface. Not until this trip, anyway. I suppose, to start with, writing the letters must have been...I don’t know, a...a way of letting off steam.’
‘A release valve of some kind?’ That sounded plausible. My man Maurice had suggested something similar to me when we had discussed the matter. ‘You mean, he saw the opportunity to settle a few scores, while he was away from home, when no-one would be able to connect it to him?’
‘I think so. In some twisted way, I suppose he might even have found it amusing, to begin with. A bit of mischief making, like at school. He always did have a dark sense of humour.’
‘And once he saw the consternation it caused, it became an addiction?’
‘I think it must have done,’ Hopkins agreed. Evidently, Sir Richard had gained a great deal of pleasure from watching other people squirm; and once he had started he was unable to stop. ‘I should have seen it. I should have realised...’
‘You didn’t suspect him, when the letters started to arrive?’
‘Not for a second.’ Hopkins was clear on that point. ‘He seemed as outraged as the rest of us. And the first letter was addressed to him.’
Sir Richard had shown me that particular missive. ‘That was clever,’ I thought. Getting in his alibi ahead of time.
‘That was the thing. It was all so calculated. And when he showed that first letter to us, he seemed genuinely rattled by it.’
‘But really, it was all play acting?’
‘It must have been.’ Hopkins scratched his head. ‘In business, Mr Buxton, you always have to put on a bit of a performance. It’s the way everyone operates. It’s what gives you the edge over your rivals. I think...I think he must have seen it in those terms. And it worked. We were completely taken in. I didn’t...I didn’t even consider the possibility that he might have written it himself. To be honest, if you’d suggested it to me then, I would have thought you were mad.’ Hopkins did not try to hide the bitterness in his voice. He was a man, evidently, who had been comprehensively deceived. ‘He showed the letter to Mrs O’Neill and she said it was exactly like the old ones. He’d mimicked the style exactly.’
‘Do you think he might have seen any of those earlier letters?’
‘I don’t know. Mrs O’Neill didn’t keep any, but I suppose it’s possible her husband showed them to him, way back when.’
‘And presumably if the original letters came from somewhere outside the house, they wouldn’t have been typed on Mrs O’Neill’s typewriter?’
‘No. I think Sir Richard just copied the style.’ And since those first letters had all been destroyed, there would be no opportunity for anybody to make a forensic comparison. ‘At first, when the letters began to arrive, we assumed they must have been sent by the same person. But then, gradually, they became more personal. Lady Jocelyn received a letter, in the middle of November. I remember Margaret – Mrs Hamilton-Baynes – telling me how upset she was about it. The reverend got a couple too, attacking him for his irreverence and his lack of piety. He wanted to inform the police, but Lady Jocelyn wouldn’t hear of it and Sir Richard was of the same mind. It was far too personal, she said. It’s only now that I understand why.’
‘You had no idea? About the contents of Lady Jocelyn’s letter?’
‘No, none at all. She didn’t show it to anyone, except Sir Richard. I knew it had to be something pretty bad, but not...not that bad.’ His face twisted in horror.
‘Do you think she might have suspected him? Of sending it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it would have even crossed her mind. He had just as much to lose as she did. And Sir Richard would never say a word against her ladyship, that much I do know.’
‘You don’t think he might have still been holding a torch for her, after all these years?’
The secretary shuddered. ‘I don’t even want to think about it. She always kept him at arm’s length. If he was...if he did still think of her in that way, I don’t think it could have been reciprocated. But she wouldn’t have thought him capable of anything like this. If anything, she was far more likely to have suspected her cousin Margaret. Mrs Hamilton-Baynes.’ Hopkins took a moment to consider that possibility. ‘Yes, now I come to think of it, there was a bit of a cooling between the two of them at that time. But it soon passed. Sir Richard...he has this way of deflecting attention, you see. He’d have found another explanation. Something that didn’t involve a member of the family.’
I scratched my chin. ‘The only other person who knew about that business was the old housekeeper, wasn’t it? And she would have moved on decades ago.’
‘Yes. Although I believe she settled in the United States when she retired. He might have used that, somehow.’
‘You mean, thrown some suspicion her way?’
Hopkins shrugged. ‘It’s possible.’
‘But none of you wanted to contact the police?’
‘No. Mrs O’Neill agreed with Sir Richard that they should be kept out of it. Her husband had always impressed on her the importance of avoiding bad publicity.’
‘She was certainly upset
when the police came calling on her at our hotel,’ I recalled, ‘after that business in the restaurant.’ She had reported the attempted bag snatch earlier in the day, but that had been a trivial matter in comparison.
‘Mrs O’Neill was so embarrassed, that we had been targeted while we were guests under her roof. Nobody wanted to involve the police, but Sir Richard said he would make a few discreet enquiries, through other channels. He is a man of great influence in certain circles.’
That much was definitely true. ‘And did he? Make enquiries?’
‘After a fashion. But not quite in the manner he promised. By this time, of course, I had also received my first letter.’ Hopkins brought a hand up to his face and wiped a spot of dribble from his nose. ‘It accused me of things that...it knew things about me that I didn’t think anyone could possibly know...’
Now we were getting to the heart of it. When I had first raised the business of these letters with Sir Richard, in the Carolean Smoking Room, he had let slip that Mr Hopkins had been accused of theft. Both men had laughed the matter off, but could there perhaps have been some truth in the accusation? ‘You’d been stealing from Sir Richard? Is that it?’
Hopkins nodded, his cheeks red with shame. ‘I’m not proud of it, Mr Buxton. I should have had more sense. We had two sets of books, you see. The official accounts and the real ones. That was Sir Richard’s doing. It’s the way he always does business.’
‘That doesn’t sound strictly legal.’
‘It isn’t. The transactions themselves are all above board. All the contracts. The bookkeeping, though...that’s just for tax purposes. One set for the tax man, the other set to keep a proper account of things. It’s common practice. Everybody does it.’
‘That’s hardly an excuse.’
‘No. No, I realise that. But what could I do? That was the business. I was an employee. I had to toe the line. You must believe me, Mr Buxton: before I started with Sir Richard, I was an honest man. I’d never stolen from anyone. I’d never deceived anyone.’
‘But you got into the habit?’
‘That was what he taught me. And if one set of money can disappear, it’s just as easy to make it happen to another. But I wasn’t just...I wasn’t doing it for myself. I was trying to set up a new life. I’d become...well, I’d become rather fond of Miss Simpkins. Of Jenny.’
I nodded sagely. ‘You started courting her?’
‘As best I could. We couldn’t be open about it. If Lady Jocelyn had known, that would have been the end of it, she would have been out on her ear, long before now.’
‘But you were rather taken with the girl?’
‘I’ve never met anyone quite like her. She’s so honest and down to earth.’
‘Not quite in the same class as you, though.’ Hopkins was a decently educated, middle class bookkeeper and Miss Simpkins was little more than a skivvy. Those sort of relationships were rarely successful.
‘I didn’t mind about that. I loved her. I do love her. We were going to get married, when we got back to England.’ He let out a sudden sob. ‘And I’ve ruined it all. We’ll never be together now. It’s all my fault.’
‘But the bookkeeping,’ I said, anxious not to be side-tracked by unnecessary emotions. ‘You needed the funds.’
‘If we were to marry, we would have to have some money put by. We both agreed about that. But Jenny earns a pittance and I don’t earn enough to support a family.’
‘You could have asked for a raise.’
‘I did, but Sir Richard wouldn’t give it to me. He said I hadn’t been with him long enough, and, in any case, I was too young to merit it. Even though I was handling all of his day to day accounts by then.’
‘Do you think he might have suspected the reason you wanted a raise?’
‘I...don’t know. I think he may have done.’
‘But you started to take money from him anyway?’
‘Yes. I’m not proud of it, Mr Buxton. I’ve always been very good with figures. Money in and money out. It wasn’t difficult to make the odd shilling disappear. Sir Richard trusted me implicitly. At least, I thought he did. And it was only ever small amounts. But then, these horrible letters started to arrive, and they accused me of thieving. They seemed to know everything. Not just the money, but about Jenny and me. I didn’t understand how anyone could possibly know.’
‘Did you tell Sir Richard?’
‘I didn’t dare. At first, I didn’t even admit that I’d received a letter. But then the second one came, and the third. They were delivered through the mail, so everyone saw them when they arrived and who they were addressed to. We came to recognise the envelopes. And the threats became ever more specific. They were going to tell Sir Richard what I had done, and I would be thrown out on the street. “YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT”, that was what they said.’
‘And Miss Simpkins? Did she receive any threats?’
‘No, none of the servants did. Sir Richard never paid much attention to people below stairs. Mrs O’Neill had a housekeeper and a couple of maids, but they were never mentioned. None of that mattered to me, though. I was so scared, don’t you see? Somebody knew exactly what I was up to and they were going to reveal the truth. I didn’t know what to do.’ His hands gripped the top of his knees. ‘My whole life was crashing down around me.’
‘Did you confide in Miss Simpkins?’
‘No. I couldn’t bear to tell her. I didn’t want to upset her. Jenny...she didn’t know that I was stealing money. She wouldn’t have approved. She knew I’d received a couple of letters, but I put a brave face on that. They were just insults, I said, pathetic ravings. But the truth was, they could have ruined me. They could have ruined us both.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘The only thing I could do. I threw myself on Sir Richard’s mercy.’
‘Lord.’
‘I asked for an audience, and I confessed everything.’
‘That was a brave thing to do.’
‘I didn’t have a choice. I was so ashamed, so appalled by what I had done. I had been sucked into it all, without thinking.’
‘And what was his reaction? Sir Richard?’
Hopkins frowned, recollecting the moment with some embarrassment. ‘He didn’t...he didn’t lose his temper. He didn’t shout at me. It was very strange, Mr Buxton. He just...he looked disappointed.’
I sympathised. ‘That’s always the worst reaction.’
‘I thought he would give me my cards, sack me on the spot. But he didn’t. He was more concerned to take a look at the letters, all the horrible things they said. He showed me the latest one he’d received and it was every bit as vile as the others. It mentioned the bookkeeping, seemed to know all about his business practices. I was shocked when I saw that. He destroyed the note shortly afterwards. But it seemed like we were both in the same boat, don’t you see? We had to stick together, he said, and I agreed with him. I really did. I would have to pay back the money I had stolen, of course, but the most important thing, he said, was to find out who was behind all this. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. He seemed completely sincere. He must have been laughing at me all the while, at my stupidity, but I believed him. I really did.’
‘He’s a man who is well practised in deception,’ I said. ‘Which is doubtless why he is so successful in business. But, even so, he must have put forward some kind of theory as to who might be behind the letters?’
‘Yes, he did. It shames me to think of it now, the lies he spun. But yes. He suggested that somebody in Mrs O’Neill’s household must be responsible.’
‘And what did you think of that?’
‘It seemed unlikely to me. I couldn’t see how anyone could know such personal things, but Sir Richard said it was an easy enough insinuation to make, to accuse an employee of stealing, or a businessman of falsifying his accounts. Even if it weren’t true, it would put the wind up anybody.’
‘So he tried to lay the suspicion on Mrs O’Neill’s people?’
> ‘Not just the household. He began to suspect Mrs O’Neill herself. At least, that’s what he told me. After all, she knew far more about us than anyone else, certainly more than any servant. And the first letters were sent to her husband. Perhaps she had written those too. She had always been in his shadow rather, though she spoke fondly of him after he died. Anyway, we started looking about the house, searching for evidence. Very discreetly. It seems such a farce, now. We checked the envelopes that the letters were delivered in. There was a stack of them, the same type, in a drawer in the study. That only reinforced our suspicions.’
‘And the typewriter?’
‘I checked that too. Mrs O’Neill’s Olivetti. At that time, we hadn’t noticed the inconsistency in the lettering. Or I hadn’t anyway.’
‘It’s not that easy to spot,’ I said. ‘But you saw enough to convince you of Mrs O’Neill’s guilt?’
‘Not entirely.’ Hopkins grimaced. ‘She’d received a couple of letters too, you see, and from what I understood, they were almost carbon copies of the earlier ones sent to her husband. If she was behind it all, why would she send letters to herself like that? Sir Richard said it had to be a bluff. He was becoming ever more confident that she was the guilty party. He was never overly fond of Mrs O’Neill. He was much closer to her husband. But they were tied together by business – which is why we came over here – so he had to be nice to her in public.’