A Talent For Murder

by Andrew Wilson

  ‘There’s one extraordinary claim in the Daily Mirror, I think it was, not that I believe any of it. Sounds too far-fetched, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, really? What’s that?’

  Una related the story that she had read that morning as she had taken the train up from London. The newspaper claimed that the disappearance of Mrs Christie could be linked to the novelist’s inability to finish her novel, The Mystery of the Blue Train. Surely it was ridiculous, said Una, to suggest that the writer’s movements last Friday could be governed by a series of imaginary characters? How preposterous was that! Apparently the story had its roots in an interview with Mrs Hemsley, Colonel Christie’s mother, who said that she believed her daughter-in-law was so worried about finishing the novel that she drove to Newlands Corner, where she deliberately ended her life or wandered around in a frenzy until she succumbed to the cold. When Una finished summarising the latest news she turned to the doctor and asked him what he thought.

  ‘Yes, I agree with you, it sounds most unlikely. Most unlikely indeed.’

  ‘So you believe that Mrs Christie is still alive?’

  ‘Oh yes, in fact I know she is.’

  The revelation hit Una in the breast with a suddenness that took her breath away. It was a few moments before she felt confident enough to speak without her voice breaking.

  ‘And how do you know that she is alive?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve seen her,’ said Kurs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘You’ve seen Mrs Christie since she disappeared?’

  ‘Oh yes, a number of times.’

  The questions that fizzed in Una’s brain threatened to spew forth in an unintelligible mess. She took a deep breath.

  ‘And where is she now?’

  ‘I’m going to take you to her.’

  ‘What?’ shrieked Una. ‘I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand.’

  ‘Calm yourself, my dear. Perhaps I should have warned you sooner, but I’ve been watching you, you see. I suppose you could say I’ve been testing you.’

  ‘Testing me?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I wanted to see if you were prepared to help me with my little experiment. When you said yes then I realised that you were the one who could be trusted.’

  ‘So we’re not going down to Swanage? Down to see my father’s grave?’

  ‘Yes, we are. But I’ve arranged for Mrs Christie to meet us there.’

  ‘Where has she been all week? How did she disappear? Did you help her? Why did she decide to leave her house? What’s all behind this? Who—’

  ‘One question at a time, my dear. It’s quite simple. Mrs Christie, knowing of my special knowledge, my expertise, in treating those afflicted by grief, came to me when she felt she could no longer cope. I wasn’t sure whether she knew that Miss Neele was already in my care, and of course I didn’t mention that to her. We worked closely together, using many of the techniques I outlined to you, and she did seem to be improving until finally, when she learnt that her husband had been having an affair with Miss Neele, she experienced a total breakdown. She wanted to end it all, I’m afraid, and I learnt of her plan at the very last minute. Had it not been for my involvement I am sorry to say that she would have been successful. It was all very chaotic, and of course I didn’t want to involve Mrs Christie in any kind of scandal, so I arranged for her to spend some time in the home of a colleague, a retired nurse I know who is very trustworthy, and lives in an isolated house on the south Dorset coast.’

  ‘And how is Mrs Christie feeling now?’

  ‘Oh, much better. She is, quite understandably, full of shame about her suicidal thoughts. She can’t believe how close she was to ending it all. And, of course, she is embarrassed about the whole stink in the press. I’ve kept most of it from her, you see, but certain things slip out.’

  ‘And why didn’t you tell the police?’

  ‘To begin with Mrs Christie didn’t want me to, and then it seemed that too much time had passed. She was also concerned about the damage the revelation would do to her career. She has the highest ambitions, you see, and wants to create a profile as one of the best writers of detective fiction. For that to happen she realises that she needs the support of the public. So we thought that an interview with a sympathetic journalist might win people over.’

  ‘And you chose me?’ said Una, tears coming into her eyes.

  ‘Yes, my dear, we chose you.’

  ‘Does Mrs Christie know who I am? I mean how—’

  ‘I’ve been her eyes and ears. I’ve filled her in on every detail of our conversations. And I presented her with an assessment of your personality that enabled her to see that you were the very best person for the job.’

  ‘Even though I’ve never really written anything before? I’m a complete novice, a beginner. Really very much a nobody.’

  ‘Mrs Christie warmed to that. She told me that she always loved an underdog. And she admired your spirit, your sense of adventure. In fact, she told me that she would very much like to meet you with the idea of using you as a heroine in one of her future books.’

  ‘How extraordinary,’ said Una, her eyes brightening. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You should be pleased with yourself, and quite rightly so. Many men would kill for what you are going to experience today.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Una. ‘Well, thank you, Dr Kurs. Thank you.’

  In the west the sun was already dropping down towards the horizon, casting bright shards of pink and orange light across the landscape. Una had not realised it was so late. What would she do for an hotel? She told herself not to worry, as she was sure that Dr Kurs would have organised something. Perhaps she would stay in the same house as Mrs Christie, and after their talk that evening she could continue the interview the next morning. But she would really have to let her mother know that she would not be returning to Chelsea that night. She asked Dr Kurs, when they reached the next town, whether he wouldn’t mind stopping at a telephone box so she could inform her family of her plans. No, she wouldn’t tell them exactly where or what she was doing; she would be suitably vague. She would just say she intended to pop round to a friend’s house for tea, that she would not be back for supper and would most probably stay the night. The doctor assured her that this was a very good plan.

  As the car passed through genteel suburbs into the wilder expanses of countryside, the two continued the drive in silence until Una, unable to contain herself any longer, began to talk. Her words were infused with a barely contained sense of girlish anticipation and excitement.

  ‘This morning, when I awoke, I felt so low in spirits. I think it was the thought of seeing my father’s grave. The idea did not sit well with me at all. At breakfast, Mother commented on it and asked why I was looking so miserable.’

  ‘You didn’t say?’

  ‘No, I didn’t tell them I was meeting you. Anyway, as I was saying, I really felt very depressed this morning, most down in the dumps, but now I feel, oh I don’t know, I feel that life could not be better.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear that, Miss Crowe.’

  Una pictured Mrs Christie sitting on a verandah in a Bergère chaise longue, a tartan blanket over her legs. A rosy-cheeked, well-proportioned matron read to her from a novel of adventure or worked through that day’s crossword with her. Occasionally, when the matron was not looking, Mrs Christie would take up a pen and paper and jot down a few thoughts regarding her next novel, before the nurse would gently remonstrate and tell her not to worry her head over such things. Overwork was one of the reasons why she had got herself into this state in the first place. She wondered what the novelist would say to her when they met again; would she even like her? What if she took against her and decided not to tell her anything? But then, she told herself, Mrs Christie needed her; Una was going to act as a conduit through which the novelist could tell her story and hopefully gain the sympathy of the public, a public who could very easily turn against her.

>   ‘And is Mrs Christie in a state of mind where she feels comfortable talking to me?’ asked Una. ‘I would hate to think that this interview brought about any additional stresses.’

  ‘Oh yes. As her clinician I wouldn’t do anything to threaten her well-being. Of course, I assessed the situation and actually came to the conclusion that she needed to make a clean breast of it. She needed to tell the truth to herself and to those well-meaning people out there who have been trying to find her.’

  ‘And what about her husband? Should you not inform him?’

  ‘I did indeed present that idea to Mrs Christie, but as soon as I mentioned the Colonel’s name she became visibly agitated. It seems now she wants nothing more to do with him.’

  ‘And her daughter?’

  ‘Mrs Christie assumes that the child knows nothing of the matter and hopefully she can resume her relationship with her once all this is over. Once the article, your article, has appeared she intends to take her daughter away with her, somewhere out of the country.’

  ‘I see. And what about you – would you want your name to be mentioned in all this?’

  ‘In an ideal world, I think not.’

  ‘That might prove rather difficult considering that you must have been closely involved in the disappearance. I wonder how we might be able to explain it. Did you push the car down the slope at Newlands Corner? I suppose you must have done. You must have arrived in two separate cars, of course. She stepped out of her car, released the handbrake, you pushed it down the hill then you both drove off in your car. Is that how it happened?’

  ‘More or less. But I will let Mrs Christie give you the details. I think you will probably want to hear the whole incident told in her own words. That would make for much more gripping reading, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. And where did you say we would meet her?’

  ‘The house where she is staying is on the cliffs just outside Swanage. There is a most beautiful view from up there. But I suppose you know the area, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, when we were children my parents always took a house in Studland Bay for the summer. And we had friends with a house in Worth Matravers. It will be odd to go back. Since Father died I have tended to seal all that off, contain it, and I have never felt like going back. I always thought it would be too distressing. In a way, I feared returning, partly because of certain dreams I used to have.’

  ‘What kind of dreams?’

  ‘Oh, the most terribly upsetting nightmares. I can’t begin to tell you. But they always ended the same way, with me falling, falling off a cliff.’ What she did not tell him was the name of the person who always caught her before she hit the ground: Davison. ‘I would inevitably wake the whole house up with my screaming.’

  ‘Well, you don’t need to think of that now. You can concentrate on the questions you’d like to put to Mrs Christie.’

  ‘Yes. You know, I am most grateful for this opportunity to prove myself.’

  Kurs did not respond, he just turned to her and smiled. But Una noticed that while the muscles of his face moved, and his mouth stretched wide open, his eyes remained steely and cold, like a snake’s. Doctors, she surmised, had to be quite unemotional for them to do their jobs. Yes, perhaps that was it.

  She took out her notebook and began to scribble. She occasionally saw Dr Kurs cast a glance over at her writing, but she knew that her handwriting was so messy as to be almost indecipherable to anyone but her. Actually that wasn’t quite true: Davison was the only other person she knew, apart from her brother, who could read it. She couldn’t wait to tell Davison of her latest adventure. What a hoot they would have when she revealed to him that she had secured the scoop of the century!

  As the car emerged from a road that cut through a dense forest the sky seemed to open and Una could see, in the distance, a sliver of grey-blue sea. The sense of excitement she’d felt as a girl, as the family travelled down to this same coastline, came back to her. How curious, she thought to herself, that Mrs Christie should have gone into hiding in a place situated so near the rugged cliffs and sandy beaches that she adored and remembered from her childhood. What were the odds of that, she wondered. Perhaps there was such a thing as destiny after all.

  ‘We’re not far off now,’ said Kurs. ‘Just a couple more miles and we will be there.’

  The drive had been a long one and, before the meeting with Mrs Christie, Kurs suggested it might be a good idea if they both had clear heads. As long as she did not mind, he could do with a breath of fresh air, and perhaps she would like to join him for a brisk walk. Una, who had always loved walking, especially around the Dorset coast, told him she thought that this was a most splendid plan.

  ‘What is she like, Mrs Christie?’ asked Una. ‘I mean, she must have the most extraordinary brain to think up the plots of those novels.’

  ‘Oh yes. She is a most unusual woman in many ways. Quite a surprising character. You would never dream that she was capable of – of certain things.’

  ‘Really? What sort of things?’

  ‘I will tell you everything I know in a moment. Let’s have that walk, shall we?’

  Una waited by the car as Kurs gathered together his things, including his medical bag.

  ‘Why are you bringing that? Is it in case we meet Mrs Christie? But I thought you said we would go for a walk first and then drive to the nurse’s house.’

  ‘Oh, this?’ said Kurs, gesturing towards his case. ‘I never go anywhere without it. It’s like another limb to me, I’m afraid. And also it contains everything I need to save a life. One never knows.’

  In the distance she could see the peculiarly low saddle roof of the church of St Nicholas; her father lay buried in the graveyard beyond. She wondered if her father’s life could have been saved if a doctor had been present. Probably not, she concluded, as he had been suffering from kidney failure for some years. If only Daddy had rested as his doctors had told him he might have been able to enjoy a few more years. ‘Indeed,’ said Una, wrapping a scarf around her neck to protect her from the biting wind.

  ‘Bracing, isn’t it?’

  They started to walk across the grassland in the direction of the sea. Una’s eyes were drawn to the waves crashing on Old Harry Rocks, the chalk outcrops that lay isolated just off the coastline. She remembered the first time she had seen the enormous stone giants rising from the sea. Her father had pointed out the first stack and told her that it was called St Lucas’s Leap, apparently after a greyhound had gone over the cliff while chasing a rabbit. She had imagined the terror of the poor dog as it careered over the edge of the cliff, its paws scrabbling in the air, and she had cried for the loss of the creature, but her father had cheered her up by taking her down to Studland to buy her an ice cream.

  ‘Now, just a few things you should know about Mrs Christie.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Una, her mood brightening.

  ‘I suppose I may as well tell you the whole story, start at the beginning, just as a novelist would.’

  Una went to take out her notebook from her handbag, but Kurs gestured for her to put it away. ‘Best if you don’t write this down. This is just background information, so you know what’s what.’

  ‘I see,’ said Una.

  ‘I’ve been following Mrs Christie’s career for a while, but my interest peaked on the publication of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. I take it you’ve read the book.’

  ‘Of course. I adored it.’

  ‘Yes, I found her portrayal of the character of Dr Sheppard most interesting, and I enjoyed the audacious ending. And it set my mind to thinking what Mrs Christie might be able to do for me.’

  ‘For you?’

  ‘Yes, I could see that she had quite an unusual mind, a mind that was used to dwelling in the darker corners of the human experience. You see, Mrs Christie and I have quite a history.’

  Una did not know what to make of that sentence. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that they had enjoyed an intimate relationship
? The story was getting juicier by the minute.

  ‘I can see I have your interest now, Miss Crowe,’ said Kurs.

  The doctor and the aspiring journalist had reached the path that skirted the edge of the cliffs and the noise from the crashing waves below meant that both of them had to raise their voices in order to be heard.

  ‘It’s such an invigorating spot, don’t you think? Standing on the very edge of the country like this. Whenever I come here, or places very much like it, I always feel I could do anything, achieve anything. Do you feel the same, Miss Crowe?’

  Una was not quite sure what he meant, but she nodded.

  ‘I feel as though you might have had – might have a very bright future ahead of you.’

  It was difficult to hear, what with the roar of the wind and the turbulence of the waves below, but Una was sure that he had said something quite odd. He had spoken about her in the past tense. The realisation felt like a stab in the heart. She stopped and stared at him.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You said something about me, that I might have had a bright future ahead of me, before you corrected yourself.’

  ‘Just a mere slip of the tongue, my dear. As I was saying, about Mrs Christie. You see, what I asked her to do was something quite unconventional and out of the ordinary. My wife Flora, whom I had grown to dislike by this time, had come into a great deal of money from her parents. It would work to my advantage to have Flora out of the picture. Obviously I could not get rid of her myself, as I would end up facing the hangman. And that’s when I thought of Mrs Christie and her talent for murder.’

  Una could not take in what Kurs was telling her. Surely it was some elaborate joke? ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

  ‘I asked her to carry out a murder on my behalf. Of course, she put up some resistance, that was quite natural, but then I managed to talk her into it. Let’s just say I applied a little gentle persuasion. Mrs Christie used her intimate knowledge of poisons to kill Flora, and did so, I am assuming, without bringing suspicion upon herself.’