Fatal Masquerade

by Vivian Conroy

  Alkmene shrugged. ‘Don’t care to repeat it.’ She ambled to the window and stared out. ‘I hope the others hate him as much as I do. That they also say stupid things and make themselves look suspect. Then at least the chief of police will have a matching set of worthless testimonies.’

  She exhaled. ‘The chief seems determined to assume some robber did it who lurked in the bushes waiting to strike. He has his men combing every inch of the estate for evidence the killer came from the outside. I think a robber climbing in on such a night would have had another victim to strike out at. Some lady walking by herself, laden with jewels. Or a car perhaps, unattended at the back of the stables?’

  ‘The robber theory,’ Jake said between gritted teeth. ‘So like a titled family. Why care for the servant who got killed. Let’s say it was a robber from the outside so our high and mighty guests are not disturbed.’

  The door opened, and Aunt Felicia walked in. With her hair loose and her face bare of make-up, her natural beauty was even more obvious. Again Alkmene wondered if it was hard for Hargrove to have someone around who looked so much like his deceased first wife.

  Felicia asked, ‘Is it true? Is someone dead?’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘The police are here.’

  Felicia pulled the belt of her dressing gown closer around her. ‘Who called them? Could it not wait until morning?’

  Alkmene looked her over. ‘I’m sure not all suspects will have to be questioned now. You could get to bed for a while and see when they need you.’

  Felicia backed away to the door. ‘Yes, I’ll go up. My feet are awfully cold. They won’t need me anyway. I was inside all evening. I never went anywhere near the boathouse.’

  There was a desperate insistence to her statement that undermined its credibility.

  She was already in the doorway when Alkmene said, ‘I suppose your husband can vouch for you.’

  Felicia froze. ‘Of course.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘Joseph for me and I for Joseph.’ Then she left in a hurry.

  Jake said, ‘How convenient when you’re married. Always an alibi...’

  Alkmene looked at him. ‘Couples hardly do every single dance with their own spouse. I saw Mrs Zeilovsky outside all alone. Oh, by the way, when Hargrove said, out of the blue, he’d been with Zeilovsky all the time, did you ask him why? Did you press him to find out if it was true?’

  ‘I asked what on earth for, as our psychiatrist seemed a bit monomaniac to me, but Hargrove got upset at once and said I had no idea what I was talking about. That Zeilovsky was very important to him. He sent me off like a… hired hand.’ Jake grunted. ‘I knew he didn’t consider me in his league, but as he hired me for my skills, I took it he at least respected me for what I can do. I should never have come here.’

  ‘I’m glad you are here.’

  He scoffed. ‘You are?’

  ‘Honestly.’ Alkmene smiled at him. ‘We can talk about the case now. I’m sure it wasn’t a robber who saw this ball as a chance. How would he have obtained a steak knife from the house? He would have brought his own tool. A club to strike with maybe, or a knife of his own. I’m also inclined to think most of the guests won’t have enough of a motive. They had barely met Cobb. No, my guess is the murderer is in this house: family, staff, or the house guests who were at dinner with us when we had that fateful discussion about murder. I’m not sure if it was murder in general that upset everybody so, or the Steeplechase case in particular. What do you think?’

  Jake held her gaze. ‘You sound almost glad when you’re narrowing down the suspect list to the Hargrove family, the servants, the house guests who were at dinner. But it’s not a pretty prospect when you think about it. The killer could turn out to be someone you know, even like.’

  Alkmene thought of Felicia’s weird reaction just now, of Denise’s highly strung behaviour before the ball, her dance with the mysterious Beak-mask, who had struck Alkmene as a predator.

  Her own best friend involved in murder?

  A cold sensation went down her back. ‘I’m not glad, just practical. We have to start somewhere. Let’s start from the assumption that someone in this house killed Cobb and try to find out why he or she would have done so.’

  Jake sighed. ‘But how? Hargrove has ruined our plan to get access to all the witness statements by asking Zeilovsky to sit in on the interrogations instead of me. And if the family accepts the chief’s “robber on the grounds” theory, and the investigation is dropped, what can we do about it?’

  Alkmene exhaled. ‘I have no idea yet. I did see a letter at the murder scene, accusing Felicia’s husband of spending too much money. There was...’

  It hurt to say it, like it was betraying Denise’s family, endangering her happy home. But it had to be said anyway. ‘Talk of going to the police even.’

  Jake whistled. ‘That letter was in the boathouse? On Cobb’s body?’

  ‘No, I never touched the body. It was on the table, hidden under the tray with glasses.’

  ‘But Cobb could have put it there?’

  ‘I guess so. Maybe for an exchange? He did mention to all of us after dinner that he would be at the boathouse.’

  Jake nodded. ‘Any idea if Keegan knew about Uncle Joseph’s actions? You say he worked in a different firm?’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘As I understood it from Hargrove. But if Keegan knew things about the family, painful things, you’d expect him to argue with a family member about it, not with a servant like Cobb. And inside the boathouse Megan was supposed to look after the table with the drinks. Where did she vanish to? Did she see or hear something?’

  Alkmene bit her lip. ‘She might be in danger, you know.’

  Jake nodded slowly.

  Alkmene said, ‘It’s very odd the letter was still on the scene. If the killer had stabbed Cobb to get it back, it would have been the first thing he or she would have secured, don’t you think?’

  Jake tilted his head. ‘Maybe the killer panicked when he realized what he’d done. Maybe he got queasy when he saw all the blood. Not every response has to be logical. People under pressure do strange things.’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘Felicia and Joseph aren’t our only concern, though. I overheard an argument between Denise and her stepmother in which Denise suggested Mrs Hargrove was... unfaithful. That if she fell pregnant, the baby might not be her husband’s.’

  Jake whistled. ‘Now that would be explosive. Far more so than a bit of money taken away.’

  ‘A bit?’ Alkmene protested. ‘The letter mentioned a racehorse having been sold off without permission. That comes down to a large sum. What does Uncle Joseph need so much money for?’

  Jake waved a hand. ‘We don’t know that yet. But for the moment we go from the assumption that Cobb was blackmailing somebody. Because of the letter on the scene, we can assume it was Hargrove’s brother-in-law, Joseph, but it might also have been his wife, Felicia, if Cobb assumed she’d be more open to pressure or would have more money to spend to pay him in exchange for his silence. We can add Mrs Hargrove to the list if we assume Denise’s accusation of unfaithfulness was based on some truth.’

  ‘But if Denise knew or guessed about an affair, then it’s hardly a complete secret any more. Why would Mrs Hargrove succumb to blackmail?’

  Alkmene sat staring ahead, trying to focus on everything she had heard and seen in the past few hours. ‘Also, Mr Hargrove responded oddly to the body. Like he was… relieved or something...’ There was another thing that bothered her, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Something Hargrove had said to her?

  Or something he had done? The memory didn’t want to materialize.

  Jake stared at the ceiling in deep thought. ‘Have you stayed here before? Noticed any trouble with Mr Cobb and the other staff?’

  ‘I never stayed here before,’ Alkmene said. ‘But even if I had, I doubt I would have seen Cobb. He was a recent hire, or so I understood from Mr Hargrove.’

  ‘So, Cobb worked somewhere else before he came here.’ Jake
looked at her. ‘Might be worth looking into. It could give us a clue as to what he was up to.’

  Alkmene tilted her head. ‘But even if everybody hated him in his previous position, what does that have to do with his death here? Those people have no access to this house.’

  Jake held her gaze. ‘Are you certain one of the guests here now was never a guest at the place where Cobb used to work?’

  Alkmene sat up straight. Her mind raced with the possibilities this suggestion opened up. ‘You mean, a guest came here unsuspectingly, to find a servant with whom they’d had trouble before, in another household?’

  ‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’ Jake pulled out his notebook and scribbled a note.

  ‘Not just possible, but outright intriguing, if we remember the strange atmosphere at the dinner table. The discussion of murder, anonymous letters...’

  For the first time since landing in this mess, Alkmene had a feeling they were getting somewhere.

  Jake nodded. ‘I’ll look into Cobb’s former employers first thing in the morning.’

  Alkmene suppressed a yawn. ‘Speaking of morning, perhaps we should get back to bed and try to get some more sleep. I just heard a clock strike three.’

  She rubbed both hands down her face. ‘I doubt I’d just doze off, but maybe I’ll get lucky.’

  She was just about to rise, when a piercing scream hit her ears. Frozen to the boards, she stared at Jake. ‘What on earth was that?’

  Jake had already dropped his notebook and pen and was at the door, jerking it open and storming into the hallway.

  Alkmene followed as fast as she could.

  The maid Megan rushed for the front door, struggling to open it. The sergeant came after her, grabbing for her narrow shoulders.

  Megan opened the door in time to dash out ahead of him, down the steps in front of the house.

  The night was cool, and the Chinese lanterns still threw their light onto the lawn. Distorted shadows formed and dissolved again as the girl stormed across the damp grass, pursued by the much taller sergeant.

  He overtook her before she was halfway across and dragged her to the ground. She fought tooth and nail, clawing at him with her hands. Her screaming carried back to the house.

  ‘What on earth is that man doing to the girl?’ Jake cried.

  ‘Making an arrest,’ a voice said behind them.

  The chief of police stood there, glowering at them. ‘Her testimony was very muddled. She should have been at the boathouse all evening, but apparently she left at some point. She wasn’t clear on the time or the reasons why she left. After she’d gone, Mr Zeilovsky pointed out to me she showed signs of stress, of lying. We asked her to come back into the room with us, for more questions, and then out of the blue she bolted. A clear confession of guilt.’

  Alkmene stared at the girl being dragged up from the grass. The sergeant had twisted her arm at an angle that risked a fracture. The pure panic in the girl’s eyes cried out at Alkmene with silent pleading.

  Alkmene walked out, the cold air breathing over every inch of exposed skin, chilling her to the bone. She met the sergeant at the edge of the lawn. He looked at her. ‘No need to worry, Lady Callender. We got our killer now.’

  ‘I did nothing,’ Megan wailed. Her face was mottled, her eyes wide with fright. ‘Please help me, my lady.’

  Alkmene put her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Could you be a little less harsh with her, Sergeant? I’m afraid you could be breaking her arm.’

  ‘She bolted. She knows much more than she’s letting on.’

  ‘She’s only afraid.’

  ‘Mr Zeilovsky said...’

  ‘Mr Zeilovsky is a psychiatrist, not a policeman or a lawyer.’

  ‘And what are you, Lady Alkmene?’ a voice asked beside them.

  Shocked, Alkmene stood upright, meeting the penetrating gaze of the sinister psychiatrist. His mouth over the Mephistopheles beard was twisted into a satisfied grin. ‘You are not a policeman or a lawyer either. You have no right to interfere with the investigation. You are yourself still a suspect.’

  ‘Of course,’ Alkmene retorted. ‘I did it, and Megan did it, and Mr Keegan did it. All three together, or separate?’

  For the first time since she’d met him, Theobald Zeilovsky seemed at a loss for words. Apparently he wasn’t used to people contradicting him. His blue eyes gleamed maliciously as he stepped back, then turned his back on them and marched to the house.

  ‘The chief is glad of the assistance of someone with a mind for the… well, those things,’ the sergeant said with an unhappy expression. ‘You shouldn’t alienate him.’

  Alkmene glared at him. ‘I’m sure you can release Megan now. I will take her back to the house.’

  She wrapped an arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders. ‘You need not be afraid of anything, Megan. We all know you didn’t kill anybody. Now come along quietly.’

  Megan walked with her, head down, her chin rubbing her chest.

  Once inside, Alkmene took her into the music room. Jake followed, giving her questioning glances.

  Alkmene seated Megan on the sofa and smiled down on her. ‘Now, tell us simply where you were the entire evening.’

  ‘I was at the boathouse as I should be. That was my task. Pour wine and champagne for the guests. But at eleven-thirty Cobb said I could go. That he would do it from there.’

  ‘Mr Cobb was not your employer,’ Zeilovsky said from the door. Apparently he hadn’t been so angry that he’d retreated to his room upstairs. He seemed determined to have another go at the unfortunate girl. ‘Why would you listen to him?’

  The heavy voice of the chief of police spoke from the door. ‘You were lying about something earlier and you’re still lying to us now. Out with it, girl.’

  Megan put both hands against her face and sobbed.

  ‘Merely trying to buy time,’ Zeilovsky whispered, loud enough to be heard. Will you just get out?’ Alkmene snapped at him. ‘Your suggestive remarks are ruining this interrogation.’

  Zeilovsky puffed up his chest. ‘I was asked to be a part of this. I do not recall that you were.’

  ‘Well, uh …’ The chief of police was twirling his moustache again. ‘Women do have a way with other women, often, don’t you agree? Perhaps we could, uh… let Lady Alkmene have a try?’

  Zeilovsky grunted and retreated to the door. ‘If you do not do this according to my instructions, I cannot guarantee results.’

  ‘This is not an experiment,’ Alkmene called after him. ‘We’re not after results, a confession at all costs. We merely want the truth.’

  Zeilovsky turned to her. ‘Is there something like the truth, Lady Alkmene? What we all experience is just our perception of the situation. It need not be truth. Facts are facts when they can be proven by an outside source. By scientific support. I’m afraid that whatever we can deduce about the murder will never be facts, just statements, perception, what suspects believed they saw or heard.’

  ‘Then how can we ever convict anybody of a crime if we’re not sure what we know are facts?’

  Zeilovsky smiled, an ugly, twisted grin. ‘People never go to the gallows on account of facts.’ Then he quit the room.

  Jake leaned over to Alkmene and whispered, ‘Did he just suggest people are condemned to death because of suggestions? Lies, false witness?’

  Alkmene shrugged. ‘The Steeplechase case does seem to prove that people perceive the same situation, the same person, in a totally different light after they’ve heard some new information. Which need not be factual information, but… suggestion and perhaps indeed false witness?’

  Jake shook his head.

  Alkmene turned to the sobbing girl on the sofa. ‘There’s no need to be afraid, Megan. Or to hide things from us. You can simply tell the truth. Nobody is going to hurt you for it.’

  Megan looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. ‘I should never have broken that bottle, my lady. You told me it was all right to say you did it, but… Mrs Carruthers n
ever believed me. She told the police I did break the bottle, that I was secretive and a liar.’

  Alkmene huffed. ‘We’re talking about a broken perfume bottle. That’s something very different from murder.’

  She turned to the chief of police and said, ‘Let me explain. This afternoon, right after my arrival, Megan was unpacking my bags. Due to a simple error, a bottle of expensive perfume fell and broke, ruining Mrs Hargrove’s carpet. Megan was very upset about it and, because I knew Mrs Hargrove wouldn’t mind half as much if she thought I’d done the damage, I took the blame for it. It was simply a domestic matter, unrelated to this case.’

  The chief furrowed his forehead. ‘Is that so? Mrs Carruthers told us something else. She said the girl, Megan, was constantly breaking things and making mistakes – whenever that murdered man, Cobb, was around. She said she had suspected for some time that the two of them were having an illicit love affair.’

  ‘He hounded me,’ Megan called out in a shrill voice. ‘Whenever I was in a room alone, doing a chore, he came after me, to paw me. I didn’t want him to, told him so many times, but he just wouldn’t stop.’

  She looked at Alkmene. ‘I broke your perfume bottle because he appeared behind me out of nowhere, giving me such a fright.’

  ‘Aha!’ the chief exclaimed. ‘You struck out at him ...’

  ‘No, I dropped the perfume bottle, I just told you.’

  ‘Not in Lady Alkmene’s bedroom. Tonight in the boathouse. You were to serve guests there, stay there all night alone. He was a gondolier, had to bring his boat back there every now and then. He came for you again, trying to touch you, and you struck out at him with the steak knife that was conveniently at hand, killing him.’

  Megan went deadly pale. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘no, honestly...’

  But the chief was already gesturing at the sergeant. ‘Arrest her.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Jake said. ‘You have nothing against her. Assuming the knife was there for the taking, anybody could have wielded it.’

  The chief snorted. ‘She’s been lying about more things, as we now know. Why did she leave the boathouse? She left when he was dead, fleeing the scene of the crime.’