Except, perhaps, the peculiar incident of the injury to his head on the night of the dance at the hotel. But on that occasion Latinam had been inside the building; it hardly seemed possible that he could have been concerned in the affair.
Ivan Holt had undoubtedly been at large on the night of the murder. Could he have been going to meet Ruth, and could they both have been implicated in what had taken place?
No, that was straining too much to build up a case. Ruth Latinam had not left the hotel. There was nothing at all to justify such a theory.
Tremaine did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed at the results of his mental exercise. He had all but convinced himself that none of his suspects could have been responsible for the murder.
It was just as well to know that one probably didn’t need to fear that one had been on familiar terms with a murderer; but it wouldn’t be very satisfactory from Chief Officer Colinet’s point of view. He would have to look elsewhere for a solution, and the wider you made the field the more difficult your problem became.
And then he remembered that one more pair remained to be added to his list of suspects.
Alan and Valerie Creed. It was true that he hadn’t actually seen them on the night of the murder, but their cottage had been close at hand; there was nothing yet to prove they hadn’t been in Latinam’s company.
Memories came crowding into his mind. A memory of Creed and Latinam talking earnestly in the shelter of the rocks in one of the island’s bays; a memory of Creed later denying that he knew Latinam well enough to have any dealings with him; a memory of Creed and his wife appearing unexpectedly at the dance at the Rohane hotel given by the man they did not know; a succession of memories of Valerie Creed, her clumsy figure taut and her face betraying an incessant attempt to keep on her guard.
Against what?
He recalled then the strange feeling that he had seen her before that she had given him on their first meeting. He had never been able to place her; the thought had remained a vague irritation in the back of his mind.
He would have to make a determined effort to call back recognition. Had he really met her before? Or was the vagueness a sign that at some time he had merely seen a likeness of her, perhaps a photograph in a newspaper?
Suddenly he felt that the answer would tell him a great deal about the death of Hedley Latinam.
14
EXAMINATION OF A DOUBTFUL CHARACTER
GASTON LE MAZON was as truculent and uncommunicative as his burly figure and his rough appearance had suggested that he would be. He brought an atmosphere of menace and violence into the severely furnished room at the Rohane hotel which had served Hedley Latinam as his office and which Chief Officer Colinet was now using as his local headquarters.
‘There is nothing you have against me,’ he growled. ‘You cannot keep me here. I know my rights.’
His voice was harsh and guttural but he spoke with a slight island accent which softened his natural belligerence.
‘It always surprises me,’ the Chief Officer remarked, ‘how often people who have something on their minds start talking about their rights.’
Le Mazon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘There is nothing on my mind. It is a trick. I do not know anything about this man’s death.’
‘What makes you imagine, my friend, that I think you do?’
‘Why are you here? Why did you send your men for me? It is obvious what you think! Well, you are wrong. I know nothing about murder.’
‘I agree that it hasn’t been in your line so far, Le Mazon,’ the Chief Officer admitted. ‘But when a man makes a habit of going outside the law murder sometimes finds its way where it was never intended to go. Your reputation is hardly spotless. Didn’t the magistrate have some remarks to make a few weeks ago?’
‘Can I help it if the police are always suspicious? If anybody else on the island forgets his licence, or drives at more than the limit, or touches another car on a corner because a road has not been widened, that is to be expected, that is natural. But if it is Gaston Le Mazon who is responsible, that is different. That is a great crime which needs to be punished!’
‘Everybody is punished when they break the law,’ Colinet said. Tremaine saw the hint of amusement in the big man’s eyes and guessed that he was recalling to his own satisfaction a scene in the island’s police-court when Le Mazon had been fined for some minor offence. ‘You can hardly blame the magistrate when he has a chance of saying a few well-deserved words to someone who’s been a thorn in his flesh for a long time, even if the actual occasion doesn’t call for more than a fine.’
The Chief Officer leaned back in the inadequate swivel chair behind the dead man’s desk. He turned over the pages of the note-book which was almost lost in his massive palms. He glanced at Le Mazon and his tone became harder.
‘I am sure you have business to attend to,’ he said, with a deliberate sarcasm. ‘So let us get down to the matter. You knew this Mr Latinam who has been murdered, did you not?’
‘Why should you say that I knew him?’
‘You were seen in his company. Not once but several times.’
Le Mazon relaxed. He did not appear to be alarmed.
‘It is the truth,’ he agreed. ‘I knew him.’
‘What did you have in common? You, an islander, and this man from the mainland who was running his hotel for visitors who would not wish to associate with such—doubtful—characters.’
‘I have a boat,’ Le Mazon returned. ‘I am a fisherman. Sometimes I do not catch many fish and life is hard. But there are visitors who do not have to fish for a living who are willing to pay well to amuse themselves. It is more profitable to me that they should fish than that I should do so. Unfortunately, there are not many visitors here in Moulin d’Or. It is not easy to find such customers. But a man like Mr Latinam is able to help me.’
He stopped, looking very pleased with himself. Colinet glanced at Tremaine.
‘A very natural story,’ he commented. ‘So Latinam was finding people for you to take out fishing in your boat. Who were the last of his visitors to go with you?’
This time Le Mazon hesitated. He moistened his lips with his tongue.
‘It was a new thing this, you understand,’ he said at last. ‘We had not yet begun.’
‘Yes, I understand.’ Colinet’s tone was very dry. ‘You have not taken any of Mr Latinam’s visitors yet, nor have you made a firm arrangement to take them. But you were going to. It was a profitable business.’
Le Mazon spread his hands wide in an injured fashion.
‘You are too quick. You want to go too fast. But of course there was an arrangement.’
‘With whom?’
‘I am not sure of the name. It was, I think, a Mr. Bendall. Yes, now I am certain. It was Mr. Bendall.’
Colinet gave him a long, shrewd look. He extricated himself from the swivel chair and went to the door.
‘Constable,’ he called, ‘ask Mr. Bendall if he can spare me a moment.’
He came back to the desk. Le Mazon betrayed no anxiety at this evident sign that his words were to be put to an immediate test. He rubbed his chin with a grimy forefinger.
‘I am a simple man. I do not understand all that is taking place. But I know that you suspect me and I think you should be frank. I have heard that Mr. Latinam is dead but I do not know when or how.’
‘Indeed? Dear me, I thought you would have had all the details by now.’ Colinet sounded surprised; it was impossible to tell whether his surprise was genuine. ‘His dead body was found yesterday morning in a water tank belonging to one of the bungalows here at Moulin d’Or.’
‘So? Then it was not here at his hotel.’
‘No, it was not here. Do you find that strange?’
‘Why should I find it strange? You said that it was yesterday morning that he was found? But when did he die? You know that, too?’
‘Yes, we know that.’
Colinet was watching t
he burly fisherman closely. Le Mazon was frowning. It seemed that he would have liked to ask further questions and yet was scared of doing so.
A knock came at the door and it was opened by one of the constables Tremaine had already noticed on duty at the hotel.
‘Mr. Bendall’s here now, sir.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’ Colinet nodded. ‘Ask him to come in.’
Bendall’s step was jaunty. He eyed Le Mazon curiously, gave a careless glance in Tremaine’s direction, and then turned to the Chief Officer.
‘More questions?’ he asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.
His tone was flippant, but the flippancy was not reflected in his face; it was a mask, not an indication of his real feelings.
‘Not many more, Mr. Bendall,’ the Chief Officer said easily. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance. I’m afraid all this is making rather a mess of your holiday.’ He indicated Le Mazon. ‘Do you know this man?’
Bendall nodded.
‘I’ve seen him before if that’s what you mean. His name’s Le Mazon, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. When did you meet him?’
‘A couple of days ago. I didn’t exactly meet him. Latinam pointed him out to me.’
Le Mazon turned in his chair and regarded Tremaine significantly. Virtue was in every line of his burly form.
‘Would you mind telling me,’ Colinet went on, ‘whether Mr. Latinam had any particular reason for pointing him out to you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. I thought about taking a boat out with Nicola—Mrs. Paston. There isn’t much of that kind of thing organized around here, as you know, and when I mentioned it to Latinam he suggested Le Mazon and said he’d fix up a trip for us.’
‘I see. Thank you, Mr. Bendall.’
Bendall stood facing him uncertainly, a look of surprise on his face.
‘That all?’
‘Yes, that’s all. Just a matter of confirming things. We like to do it step by step. It saves a great deal of time that way.’
The door closed behind him. Colinet fixed his gaze once more upon the fisherman.
‘Well, it hangs together. So that was why you were having dealings with Latinam. One of the reasons, anyway.’
‘I told you it was just that you were suspicious,’ Le Mazon returned, in an aggrieved tone. ‘I am an honest man. I like nothing more than to be allowed to go about my business.’
‘All right,’ Colinet said. ‘All right. It doesn’t mean that I’m expecting to see wings sprouting from your shoulders. Since you’re being so frank maybe you’d like to tell me where you were on the night before last from ten o’clock onwards.’
Again there was a noticeable hesitation in Le Mazon’s manner.
‘I was at home. Where should I be?’
‘And you did not see Mr Latinam?’
‘No, I did not see him.’
The sound of his own voice seemed to be giving him confidence. It was almost as though he thought that his explanation was better than he had imagined. Tremaine leaned forward. He glanced enquiringly at the Chief Officer.
‘Go ahead,’ Colinet said.
‘I was wondering,’ Tremaine said, his eyes on Le Mazon, ‘whether arranging fishing trips was the only business contact you had with Mr. Latinam.’
Le Mazon had turned to face his questioner but now he swung back towards Colinet. A lowering, sullen expression blanketed his features.
‘You don’t have to answer,’ the Chief Officer said. ‘But you can regard any questions from Mr. Tremaine as having the same effect as if they’d come from me. So that any refusal to answer will be open to the same construction. Which means,’ he added, seeing the play of emotion in the other’s face, ‘that we shall start wondering what you’re trying to hide.’
‘I have told you already why I met Mr. Latinam,’ the fisherman growled.
‘What I meant,’ Tremaine persevered, ‘was what did you find to interest you at the old mill?’
The truculence in Le Mazon’s face had been joined by an unmistakable trace of fear. He moved uneasily.
‘The mill? What should we be doing at the mill?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tremaine sounded benevolent and disarming. ‘I thought you might be able to tell me something about it. And then there were those lights I saw out at sea the other night. You being a fisherman who knows the coast hereabouts I thought you might be able to explain them.’
Le Mazon’s face had gone a grey colour. He looked like a man taken by surprise, and anxious to be gone before worse came upon him.
Colinet, watching the display with interest, tapped suggestively upon the surface of the desk with his pencil.
‘I haven’t heard your answer.’
‘What answer should there be?’ Le Mazon muttered. ‘Lights? The old mill? What should Gaston Le Mazon know about them?’ He stood up. He was deliberately ignoring Tremaine. ‘I ask that I should be allowed to go.’
Colinet nodded amicably.
‘All right, my friend. There’s the door and you’re free to use it if you want to.’
Slowly, as if he could not quite bring himself to believe there was no trick intended, Le Mazon moved towards the door.
‘Remember,’ the Chief Officer’s soft voice came after him, ‘we’ll be checking on that alibi. Don’t do anything rash like trying to get away from the island. We might have to get annoyed with you and none of us would care for that.’
Le Mazon’s hand was on the door when he turned back. He had the air of a man who had at last been stung into speech.
‘Why do you always look for Le Mazon when there is something wrong? Is Le Mazon the only one who can be guilty? Why do you not look at the others in Moulin d’Or? Ask them what they fear! He knew where to go and what to look for!’
He stood facing them for an instant or two, his face contorted, and then he wrenched the door open and his burly figure thrust its way from the room. The Chief Officer looked expressively at Tremaine.
‘Exit with thunder and lightning. You certainly did something to him.’
‘I wish I knew what,’ Tremaine said. ‘It was a shot in the dark. What about his alibi? Do you think it’s genuine?’
‘I don’t know,’ Colinet said. ‘But we’ll soon find out. He lives in a cottage here in Moulin d’Or. We’ll see whether his wife confirms his story.’
‘His wife?’
Colinet nodded.
‘Yes. Our friend Gaston doesn’t seem to fit in with a domestic background, does he? But he’s married all right. By all accounts his wife doesn’t get much of an existence but she sticks by him. Regards him as her man for better or worse, I suppose.’
‘In that case won’t she be likely to support his alibi whether it’s false or not?’
‘Probably she will. But we can’t lose,’ Colinet said philosophically. ‘If she does back him up we’re no worse off, and if she doesn’t we’ll have the best lead we’ve had so far.’
Tremaine left the big man in the office—a great deal of routine work needed to be done and he was anxious that his subordinates should deal with it without delay—and left the hotel. On his way down from the headland he met Bendall. It was not a chance meeting; he knew intuitively that the other had been waiting for him.
‘What’s happening?’ Bendall’s tone was friendly but urgent. His features, always finely drawn, seemed sharper now; the skin was stretched tight over his cheek-bones in a nervous tension. ‘Do they know who did it?’
‘If they do,’ Tremaine countered, ‘they haven’t told me. But why should they, in any case?’
Bendall smiled thinly.
‘I thought we understood each other. There’s been a murder. You’re an amateur criminologist.’
‘Solving a murder case is a job for professionals. The police don’t encourage amateurs.’
‘Is that why you’ve been spending so long with Chief Officer Colinet?’ Bendall rejoined disbelievingly. ‘All right, I know it was you who found the body. But I don’t think i
t needed as many conferences to hand over the essential information about that.’
Tremaine met his gaze steadily.
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘perhaps it didn’t. The Chief Officer thought that since I was staying in the district and had seen quite a lot of Mr. Latinam and his friends I might be able to assist him a little in his investigations.’
‘And was the Chief Officer right?’
‘That’s a question which I don’t think I’m at liberty to answer.’
Bendall shrugged.
‘Be difficult if that’s the way you feel. I don’t suppose I can blame you.’
There was a weary, resigned droop to his shoulders. His face lacked the cynicism which had been there so often.
‘You might win more confidences,’ Tremaine observed quietly, ‘if you were more disposed to give them.’
Bendall’s head went up.
‘Meaning?’
‘I think you could tell the police more than you have so far. It might clear the air if you were to be frank with them.’
‘I didn’t come here merely for a holiday. I’ll tell you that much because I dare say you’ve guessed it anyway. But I didn’t come to kill Latinam. You can believe that or not, just as you like. It all looked straightforward and I knew what I was going to do. Now it isn’t working out the way I thought.’
It seemed to Tremaine that Bendall was weakening; that he was on the verge of revelation.
‘Why not tell me what the trouble is?’ he said persuasively. ‘You’ll get reasonable treatment from the Chief Officer. I can guarantee that. If there’s anything you don’t want made public that hasn’t any real bearing on the case I know he’ll do what he can to meet you. His chief consideration is to clear up the murder and to do it as quickly as possible.’
‘You’re trying hard,’ Bendall said wryly. ‘And you mean well. But it won’t do.’
‘What’s the difficulty?’
‘When you’ve been giving your mind to something,’ Bendall returned grimly, ‘and then you find that you can’t have what you’ve been after without doing damage in another direction that you hadn’t bargained for, you’ve got to stop and think.’
Behold a Fair Woman Page 14