‘No, of course not. But he does think you may know something that might help the investigation.’
‘I wonder,’ Mark said thoughtfully, ‘where he got hold of that idea?’
‘He got it from me,’ Tremaine admitted. ‘I haven’t asked questions, Mark, when it’s been obvious that you didn’t want to talk. But now it’s murder and things are different. The questions must be asked—and answered. I’m sure you’d rather they came from me than from the police. That’s what the Chief Officer thought.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Mark said slowly, ‘that I know what you’re getting at, but if you’ve been given the job of putting certain questions to us, then go ahead. I’ll answer them as well as I can.’
‘I know that, Mark. I don’t want it to sound like an inquisition. Maybe there’s nothing much in it, anyway. It’s just that several times you’ve given me the impression that there was something on your mind, but whenever I’ve tried to find out what it was you’ve put me off by changing the subject or saying that I wouldn’t be interested in your local affairs. Now that your local affairs have turned into something more, perhaps you’ll feel that you can take me into your confidence.’
‘Have we been so obvious?’ Janet looked at her husband. ‘I don’t know quite what to say about this, Mark. When you try and put it into words it sounds so—so vague.’
‘Is it anything to do with Latinam?’
‘It might be. That’s the trouble,’ Mark said.
‘What he means,’ Janet explained, ‘is that we think it’s something to do with Latinam but we can’t be sure about it.’
‘And the Creeds aren’t the kind of people you can cross-examine,’ Mark said.
‘The Creeds? They come into it, do they?’
‘What it amounts to,’ Mark said, ‘is this. Alan Creed and his wife came here at the beginning of the year and took the cottage where they’re living now. At first they seemed willing enough to be friendly, although they were on the reserved side; they even came here with us on one or two evenings. And then, quite suddenly, they changed. They wouldn’t accept any invitations and didn’t seem to want to speak to people.’
‘But didn’t you tell me they were newly-weds? Surely that would account for their wanting to keep to themselves?’
‘Up to a point. But you’d have thought that even if they hadn’t been married very long and were wrapped up in each other they’d gradually have become more ready to mix. The odd thing is that it seems to have worked out in the opposite way. They began by appearing ready to be sociable and then without any warning they started to cool off.’
‘And that led to fewer invitations being given to them?’
‘When people realized what was happening the natural result was that they said that if the Creeds didn’t want to have much to do with the rest of us then nobody was going to bother with them.’
‘But I thought they seemed friendly enough when we met them on the beach?’
‘If you happen to meet them when there isn’t anyone else about they seem quite willing to talk, but when there are people around they tend to go all distant and don’t say a word more than is necessary.’
‘Mark and I talked it over,’ Janet put in, ‘and it seemed to us that the whole thing started when Hedley Latinam came to the Rohane hotel.’
‘Did you ever see them with Latinam?’
‘No.’ Janet shook her head. ‘I know it sounds odd and I shan’t blame you for thinking there’s nothing in it. Maybe they just decided that they didn’t like us, after all.’
‘What made you think of Latinam as the cause? Is he the only person who’s come to live here recently?’
‘Apart from one or two island people who’ve moved into the village. I suppose we really thought of him because he seemed to be such a mystery man.’
‘A mystery man?’ Tremaine pushed back his pince-nez. ‘Now you’re really making the plot thicken. What made you look on him in that way?’
‘Just a lot of small things that appeared to add up to something that didn’t seem quite right.’ Janet wrinkled her brows. ‘Like his taking over the Rohane hotel, paying a lot of money for something that was a bit of a white elephant and then not seeming to bother whether it paid its way or not.’
‘You know something about the other reasons already,’ Mark added. ‘He was seen about with several not very reputable characters—Gaston Le Mazon, for instance. He kept some queer company. Now and again he had visitors to the hotel—not exactly guests, they didn’t stay more than a day or two as a rule—who didn’t look the right type for a self-respecting hotel proprietor to have.’
‘And, of course, Ruth Latinam was scared of him,’ Janet said casually, as one who stated an obvious truth.
Tremaine stared at her.
‘Ruth was afraid of her brother? You’re not serious?’
‘She didn’t dare to lift a finger unless he gave her permission. When they first came here she never went out unless he was with her.’
‘But surely I’ve seen her several times since I’ve been here when her brother wasn’t about?’
‘Just lately things have seemed different. Ever since Ivan Holt arrived, as a matter of fact. She’s been much more approachable.’
Tremaine smiled; this, he felt, was ground he understood.
‘I think there’s a simple explanation for that. Ivan Holt is in love with her and she’s in love with him.’
‘She’s only been in love,’ Janet said, ‘as far as her brother would allow her to be.’
Tremaine gave her a doubtful look. He did not like the implication behind the words, but he respected Janet’s shrewdness in such essentially feminine matters and there was in any case the disturbing memory of the conversation he had overheard that night on the cliff outside the hotel.
‘When the Latinams first came here,’ Mark said, ‘there were one or two rumours about them. I know that gossip is easy to start and that it doesn’t always have any foundation, but these rumours were fairly persistent for a while.’
‘What sort of rumours?’
‘They were—unsavoury,’ Mark said. He glanced at his wife. ‘Let’s leave it at that, shall we? What’s your programme now?’
‘I thought of going over to Ralph Exenley’s. I haven’t had the chance of a real chat to him since all this began this morning.’
‘Poor Ralph!’ Janet gave a rueful smile. ‘He can’t be very pleased at all the attention he’s getting. He likes to be left alone. You’ll probably find him complaining bitterly about having policemen all over the place and asking what he’s done to deserve it!’
There were several groups of people in the neighbourhood of Exenley’s bungalow, obviously intent upon viewing the scene of the crime, but the police constable stationed at the entrance gate was dealing firmly with any attempts to linger. As Tremaine approached he saw one of the sightseers point out the water tank to his companion; clearly the details were becoming known.
‘Why me?’ Exenley said, as he greeted his visitor. ‘Why pick on me? Out of all the tanks in Moulin d’Or, why choose mine for such an inconsiderate piece of dumping?’
‘That’s what Chief Officer Colinet would like to know,’ Tremaine returned. ‘Although he has an idea about it already.’
‘What might that be?’
‘That the murderer chose it because it was near at hand and he wanted to hide the body until he could get rid of it for good.’
‘So that’s the theory, is it?’ Exenley stroked a chin already beginning to darken with a persistent stubble. ‘I hear you spent quite a time with the Chief Officer,’ he remarked. ‘Does that mean that you’ve been called in?’
He sounded so carefully unconcerned that Tremaine eyed him thoughtfully. The solution to a minor mystery presented itself.
‘Was it you who told him about me?’
‘I might have mentioned in passing that you were the Mordecai Tremaine who made a hobby of clearing up murder cases,’ Exenley said. His blue eyes twinkle
d suddenly behind his glasses. ‘I thought it might clear the way for you, so to speak. I hope you aren’t going to hold it against me! After all, I thought you ought to take a hand since it was your unhealthy curiosity about my water tank that turned the place into a policeman’s paradise in the beginning!’
‘I was wondering just how it happened. The Chief Officer seems to have got in touch with Jonathan Boyce at the Yard. I won’t hold it against you, Ralph. I was involved enough, anyway, since I found the body and I was also the last-known person to speak to Latinam before he was killed.’
‘Of course, you met him by the kiosk last night. Didn’t you say that you got the idea then that he was waiting to meet someone?’
‘Yes. At first he mistook me for someone else.’
‘He didn’t say who it was?’
‘No. It was pretty clear that he didn’t want to talk.’
‘Judging by what happened he was up to no good,’ Exenley said dryly. ‘Latinam was a queer fellow and he kept some mighty queer company.’
There was an echo of Mark Belmore in his voice.
‘Like Gaston Le Mazon, for instance?’ Tremaine observed.
‘Yes, like Le Mazon. What was a chap like Latinam doing with that kind of shady character?’
‘It’s certainly a point.’
‘It may turn out to be the point. If I was in charge of this investigation I know where I’d start looking for the man I was after.’
‘If that’s the answer,’ Tremaine said quietly, ‘it clears the people at the Rohane hotel. At present they’re naturally all under suspicion. It isn’t a very pleasant situation for them.’
‘It isn’t a very pleasant situation for anybody in Moulin d’Or,’ Exenley said ruefully. ‘Nor will it be until the thing’s been settled once and for all. The sooner the murderer’s laid by the heels the better.’ He turned slowly, glancing along the path to where the gaunt framework bearing the water tank reared itself against the sky. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s a personal matter. It was on my property that the body was found. I’m in the limelight. And I don’t like it much. I can’t look at a policeman now without wondering what’s in his mind and how soon he’s going to come out with the handcuffs!’
Despite his apparent banter there was a serious note in his voice; he was more concerned than he had revealed.
‘From what I’ve seen of the Chief Officer, Ralph,’ Tremaine said reassuringly, ‘he isn’t the type to go leaping to conclusions. You don’t have to worry.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Exenley returned, smiling. ‘But I can’t help feeling like the man who’s standing up to be shot! As a matter of fact, that’s why I told the Chief Officer who you were. I’ll feel a lot safer knowing I’ve a friend at court! After the grilling I had this morning from Colinet and Inspector Marchant I was afraid anything might happen!’
‘Naturally, they wanted as much information as possible. But I know that at the moment the police are keeping an open mind.’
‘Which means that the list of suspects is pretty open, too. I’d like to see the field narrowed a bit. You’re the expert in this kind of thing. Where do your suspicions lie?’
‘I haven’t even begun to sort them out,’ Tremaine admitted frankly. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to help, Ralph. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary last night? Or see anything that might possibly have had some connection with the murder?’
Exenley shook his head.
‘Not a thing. Whoever did the job didn’t make any noise about it. There’s a chance, of course, that it was all over before I got back. I was on the last bus from town, and I suppose Latinam’s body could have been in the tank already. I certainly didn’t notice anything unusual as I walked in. I’ve been scratching my head ever since Inspector Marchant left to see if I could remember anything that might help, but I’m afraid I’m a complete blank. I was pretty tired when I got in and I must have slept like a log.’
‘Even if it didn’t happen until after you were back,’ Tremaine said, ‘it’s unlikely that you would have heard anything. The murderer—or murderers—would have taken care to be quiet.’
‘You think there might have been more than one person in it?’
‘I think there might have been,’ Tremaine returned carefully. He studied his friend reflectively. ‘The other day, Ralph,’ he went on, ‘you said something about a man called Smooth Jonathan—a crook who was supposed to have retired and to be living on the profits of his past crimes.’
Exenley nodded, clearly wondering what was coming.
‘Yes, that’s right. I remember our talking about him. Why?’
‘You suggested that Latinam might be Smooth Jonathan, living here under a false name. Did you mean it? Mean it seriously enough to tell the police about it?’
Exenley’s eyes twinkled behind his thick spectacles in that irrepressible sense of humour. He chuckled.
‘My dear Mordecai, you’ll get me put behind bars for leading the police up the garden path!’
‘Then you were joking?’
‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist it. When you mentioned that Latinam had been talking so knowledgeably about this Smooth Jonathan character it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. I thought that with your interest in crime, putting the idea into your head might start you off on something!’
‘So that was all?’
Tremaine sounded regretful. Exenley stood facing him for a moment or two, still with his half-amused expression; and then a more serious look came into his face.
‘Look here,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m afraid that was a leg-pull. But there was no question then, remember, of Latinam’s being killed. This rather alters matters.’
‘You mean,’ Tremaine said, ‘that if Latinam had already been murdered you wouldn’t have suggested that he might have been Smooth Jonathan?’
‘After all, the thing would have been too near the bone. I don’t want to get a reputation with the police for trying to be funny at their expense. But that doesn’t mean that I think that Latinam was a virtuous character. In fact, I think he was anything but. He was mixed up with all sorts of people who might turn out to know something about his being murdered. You’ve already mentioned Le Mazon, and I don’t doubt that when the police get down to it they’ll find plenty of others.’
Walking back from the bungalow Tremaine occupied himself in forming a mental list of the people whom he must now, even if it was against his inclinations, regard as suspects. It was curious—and disturbing, too—how they paired off.
First, Mrs. Burres and Major Ayres. They had been out of the hotel at the critical period, and although he had watched them walk in the opposite direction to the kiosk where he had encountered Latinam, there was no proof that they had in fact gone straight back indoors. The time of their arrival, according to the statements they had made to Colinet, was uncertain. They had been unable to produce any witnesses because they had gone immediately to their rooms without speaking to or seeing anyone else.
Opportunity, then, was there. But motive?
What was there to link either of them with the murder? No more than the vague hostility which had seemed to lie between Latinam and the major, and the way in which Mrs. Burres had gone to Chief Officer Colinet and then said nothing of importance; her statement that Latinam had been an evil man, violently though it had been made, could hardly be accepted as evidence.
Had it been a clumsy attempt to put the police off the scent? It presupposed a powerful motive, and so far no sign of anything of the sort had emerged.
Next, Geoffrey Bendall and Nicola Paston. They, too, had been out of the hotel; and although they had also appeared to be walking away from the place where Latinam had been waiting it did not follow that they had not made contact with him later.
Tremaine frowned. Had they seen him sitting in the hollow in the dunes and purposely ignored his presence so that he should imagine that they were unaware that he was there?
It was true that they had seemed genuin
ely preoccupied when they had passed. But if his instincts were wrong and they had seen him, what then? A mere desire not to have their conversation interrupted at such a moment? Or had they wished to give him the impression that they were returning to the hotel when the reality had been something quite different?
That interpretation, of course, made the incident decidedly sinister. He wondered what they had been talking about. Nicola Paston had sounded agitated.
‘Don’t take any risks, Geoff. I’m sure he’s beginning to suspect and sometimes he frightens me.’
Was it Latinam she had meant? There was no proof, no suggestion, even, that she had had the dead man in mind. But it was something that couldn’t be ignored.
Bendall at least had something on his mind that concerned Latinam. Antagonism had existed between them. It had been masked by polite words but it had been there.
Tremaine recalled the sand racing at Firon and the talk about making money and finding rich old men with no near relatives. It had sounded innocuous enough, the kind of banter people might exchange in an idle moment. But there had been that odd feeling that Latinam hadn’t been enjoying it as much as his jovial expression had implied; and in both Nicola Paston and Ruth Latinam he had noticed a guarded nervousness, as though they had been anxious for the conversation to stop before it took the wrong turning.
Thinking of Ruth Latinam brought Ivan Holt into his mind. They formed the third pair of suspects—ugly but inevitable word.
He realized that he had subconsciously been regarding them as the most likely of the people at the Rohane hotel to have been involved in the murder. That was dangerous. That was the way to make appearances fit the crime instead of tracing the crime back to its source.
It was true that the relationship between Holt and the girl appeared to be on a tangled level, but that did not mean that the tangle had anything to do with Latinam. In fact, Latinam had always seemed to favour his sister’s interest in Holt; it had been Ruth who had been distant and unwilling to commit herself.
There was no sound reason for suspecting Holt. There was no shred of evidence to suggest that he had struck down Hedley Latinam with murderous force and then tried to hide his crime by carrying the body to a nearby water tank where he had hoped it might remain undetected until he was better able to dispose of it.
Behold a Fair Woman Page 13