Strange Tombs
Page 27
Now Nicholas snapped his mouth shut, wrinkled his nose and puffed out his chest. ‘Was not indeed!’
Jocelyn tapped his arm. ‘There, there, Nicky,’ she said.
‘Ah yes. The lovely Jocelyn,’ I said, and turned my gaze on her. ‘Even considered you. You seemed too good to be true. Helpful, intelligent, talented, confident in your abilities. Practically perfect in every way. Which means, unless you’re Mary Poppins, there’s murk beneath the surface.’
Jocelyn didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I thought it might be Cullen,’ she said, her voice calm and even.
‘Me too,’ I nodded. ‘But then he ended up a victim himself. You might wonder why that would be, mightn’t you Margot? Frail little Margot.’
The kimono was strutting into the middle of the room. Starla put her hands on her hips. She had no make-up on and looked better for it if I’m honest. ‘Can someone tell me what is going on?’ she pouted.
‘But then it was you, Starla Ocean,’ I held a hand up to halt her progress, ‘who really stoked up the tensions in the church, that first day on Halloween, by reciting a chant to raise the dead. On Halloween! Now that really was interesting timing, wasn’t it? After all, everyone knows anxiety is not what the doctor might order for a patient with a heart condition. Did you, Starla Ocean, hold a grudge against Graham? Was there a reason behind your provocative recital?’
‘I thought it would add to the atmosphere,’ Starla whimpered.
‘Oh, it most certainly did that,’ I said, feeling a bit of a cow as I trotted the comment out. But I had my reasons. ‘Didn’t it?’
‘It was spontaneous,’ she bleated again.
I watched her flush. The pink skin looked wrong against the blue hair.
‘Is this a show?’ said a voice at the door. Devlin entered the fray, wrapping a shiny dressing gown around his middle.
‘Possibly,’ said Nicholas. ‘The woman is certainly making a spectacle of herself.’
‘Ah, Mr Devlin, always late to the party,’ I said. ‘Do join us. Shame you couldn’t on Sunday, despite being in the country since the day before.’
Margot snapped her head to him. ‘You were?’ she asked.
Devlin swallowed and focused his attentions on pulling a chair out from the table and sitting on it. He lifted the fabric of his pjs and resettled them. ‘Bit of a misunderstanding,’ he said, keeping his gaze somewhere on his knees.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Nicholas grumbled. ‘I really am going to demand a refund for this.’
‘But,’ I continued, now fully channelling Monsieur Poirot. ‘Why would a best-selling novelist wish harm on a harmless mild-mannered janitor?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Devlin, and crossed his pyjama-clad legs.
‘No,’ I agreed, hoping that Sam was going to get in here soon and back me up. ‘Why would any of you wish to see Graham Peacock dead?’
A general muttering of dissent filled the room. Lots of ‘Not me’s.
‘Quite,’ I said. ‘Because, my dear writers, Graham Peacock was not the intended victim. He was collateral damage. The murderer had not, in fact, factored him into the plan.’
The door opened again and Sophia came in rubbing her eyes. ‘Why is everyone up?’
‘Shhh,’ said Jocelyn and Nicholas, which kind of surprised me. But I realised, as I opened my mouth, I had everyone enthralled.
Starla straightened herself up and moved to the sofa. ‘Come on then? How did you work that out?’
‘Well might you ask Starla. Well might you ask,’ I said wagging a finger at her and wondering again where the hell Sam was. I had a distinct feeling that I was going to need backup imminently. ‘Because,’ I couldn’t delay my announcement much longer. ‘Because Graham did not drink the whisky, did he?’
Devlin shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
Sophia, who had remained near the door said, ‘He wasn’t a spirits man. And he had to be careful about drinking.’
‘Right,’ I said, nodding. ‘I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday night, when I sneaked a shot from the decanter. I know my limits and one shot never touches the sides when I’m in Leytonstone.’ I turned round and addressed my next comments to Laura. ‘But all of you had some of that whisky on Halloween and all of you conked out.’ I turned back to Sophia. ‘Apart from Graham, who cleared up like a dutiful administrator should, and being the last one up, opened the door and,’ I set my eyes on Tabby, ‘… experienced a scene so very frightful it scared him to death.’
Tabby was alert – her eyes followed me as I began to move away from the cabinet.
‘A fright,’ I continued, ‘intended for someone else altogether. I expect, when I get the results back from testing the whisky decanter, there will be evidence of sedatives laced into the liquor. With the same chemical composition, I’d wager, as the variety injected into Cullen.’
Starla and Tabby gasped.
Laura shook her head. ‘I don’t like whisky. I didn’t have any but I also “conked out” as you put it.’ She sent a glance to Tabby who confirmed it.
‘Laura doesn’t like it, that’s true,’ she said. Then, she let out a breath, as a neurone flared a memory, and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my. Though you did have one, Laura! I put it in your hot chocolate. Couldn’t find the brandy.’
‘But,’ I said and inched my way towards the middle of the room, ‘if Tabby hadn’t dosed you accidentally, you, the only non-whisky drinker here, would have been the one to open the door upon the frightful sight. And you, like Graham, have a heart condition.’
Laura’s hand went to her throat. ‘But who would want to …?’
‘Yes, who would want to knock off Cullen too?’ I said to the room. ‘Someone who was worried their cover story was about to be blown.’ I moved to the table and perched on the edge, ready to spring off if necessary. ‘Like Graham, why would anyone want Cullen dead?’
Nobody volunteered an answer.
So I told them. ‘Because Cullen, I think, was on to the killer. He said he could get into the mind of one but I don’t think that was what he did. I think he wanted to impress you, Chris. He was a great fan. I recall you advised him to “think, watch, observe. Ask questions. Communicate freely.” Unfortunately for Cullen he did just that. Certainly, he began asking questions. A few too many in The Griffin. You see – when a group of us from Ratchette Hall walked into the pub on Wednesday afternoon for your workshop Chris, a man at the bar recognised one of our party. One of them commented, “You back again?” I saw Cullen talking to them later. Only today did it occur to me, that he might have been trying to find out who they recognised. Who was “back again”. For none of you admitted to having been here before.’
‘Apart from me,’ said Laura.
I nodded. ‘Apart from you. L.D. Taylor-Jacobs, author of The Eden Tree, in which a skilled young woman tires of her lover and poisons him, doing her best to make it look like a snake. That sound familiar to you?’
Jocelyn put her hand to her mouth and darted a look at Laura. ‘Of course! It just didn’t occur …’
I continued. ‘Part of me wondered if you had taken Cullen as a lover. Physically, after all, he was a rather fine specimen.’
Laura cringed. She was either a fantastic actress or I was barking up the wrong tree with that one. ‘Several people here have admitted to reading that book,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless,’ I went on, nearing the denouement. ‘It seems now that is exactly what Cullen’s murder was contrived to resemble. Interesting, don’t you think?
‘I don’t have single ownership on that idea.’ Laura’s eyes blazed.
I left her to it and moved on. ‘For a while I considered Imogen,’ I said, aware that things were becoming clearer to me only now as I spoke. Still, who would spot a few white lies intended to draw the suspect out? And if I was right, who would care? ‘You see, Imogen …’ I continued with a flourish to the ceiling and the bedroom where she had slept, ‘… Imogen had been one of our party that entered the
pub together. But obviously the events of today have ruled her out. I’m not sure why she has been dispensed with like this. Perhaps she and Robin represent collateral damage. Perhaps they had also begun to suspect.’
‘Suspect who?’ Laura asked backing into a corner by the fireplace and leaning against the wall.
‘Yes, Laura,’ I said and took a step towards her. ‘I hate to tell you, but I’m afraid that all of this is down to you––’
I couldn’t finish my sentence, for a strange, low and fiendish growl was coming up from the direction of the sofa. Before you could say ‘hip replacement’, it was accompanied by a loud click and, one of the three women sitting there leapt to the mantelpiece and snatched the sword from its holder.
I had never seen Margot move so fast. It was crazy. She had always appeared so fragile. And yet here she was expertly wielding the medieval sword, and aiming it at Laura, who was edging herself away from the threat and pressing up against the wall.
Margot’s eyes burnt blackly, like hot roiling tar, full of violent intent. ‘Silly ickle girl,’ she muttered through gritted teeth.
‘Oh my god,’ said Jocelyn. ‘Margot’s gone mad.’
But Margot heard the words and flipped her eyes over to the girl, relaxing ever so slightly and pulling back from the cowering author. ‘Oh I’ve been mad for a long time now,’ she said and laughed with a fierce bitterness that made Starla shudder and move away.
Not too mad, I thought, quite clever really: her limp had completely vanished. However, all evidence of calm intelligence was singularly absent. There was a looseness about the older woman which signalled some kind of depravity to me, a feeling of disregard and desperation.
I didn’t know how old or how sharp that sword was, but it could undoubtedly inflict some amount of damage if it was forced into flesh. Margot might be in her seventies and petite, but like I said, there was a vigour about her now which, presently unleashed, could only lend force to whatever she did. Anger is an incredible energy and it was absolutely animating Margot.
Was anyone else going to intervene?
A quick glance told me that they were either too stunned or too confused to do anything at all.
I sighed inwardly, gave up on the idea of backup and took a step towards the sword-wielding aggressor. It was my fault after all – I had provoked the whole thing. ‘Now listen Margot, I’m not sure how you managed to organise all the theatrics, I’m assuming you had an accomplice on the outside.’ As I said that I realised how weird it sounded. ‘But,’ I went on regardless, ‘you did what you set out to do – you gave Laura a good old scare.’
Margot’s eyes flamed and she lifted the sword and rested its point on Laura’s right breast. ‘Didn’t kill her though, did I? She’s still here in front of me living and breathing, which is more than can be said for some.’
I took another step and held my hands up in classic surrender mode showing, as if there was any need to, that I was unarmed. ‘Look, Margot, there’s no point trying to get at Laura now. The police are outside. No doubt with your accomplice. You’re surrounded,’ I said, but my words really lacked conviction. I breathed in and put my shoulders back and made my voice deeper. ‘Give it up Margot. Give me the sword. There’s not a chance you’re going to be able to get away now.’
The old girl rolled her eyes and spun round to me, dropping the sword to the floor, using it to lean on for a moment. ‘Get away? You silly ickle girl. I don’t want to get away. I want justice. I’ve been waiting years for this.’
I thought Laura might take the opportunity to hop out of harm’s way but she didn’t. Her eyes were opening wide, her mouth dropping down too. ‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘Silly ickle girl.’ She copied the older woman’s diction, running her tongue over the words, feeling them out, testing them. ‘Silly ickle girl,’ she said again, as Margot pivoted round to face her.
A light had come on in Laura’s eyes. ‘Silly ickle Billy!’ she exclaimed. ‘You!’ she jabbed an index finger at Margot, eyes drawn wide. Her other hand went to her breast where the sword had been. ‘You’re Billy’s mum.’
‘Was Billy’s mum,’ Margot spat. With two hands she hauled the blade up and rested it on Laura’s throat so that, with one deft move, it might easily cut into it. ‘Till you killed him.’
My brain was whizzing through what I’d learned from Laura over the last week, till I picked up the conversation we’d had outside The Griffin that afternoon. ‘The poet!’ I said. ‘The one who reminded you of Nicholas?’
‘That’s right,’ said Laura and raised her hands in a surrendering gesture.
‘He’s nothing like that twat,’ Margot spat.
I could see Nicholas’s eyebrows lurching right up into his hairline. Yes, I hadn’t expected her to use that description either. Even if it was quite accurate. Though now was not the time, etc. Right now, I needed to calm things down, distract Margot with sensitivity so that I could inch behind her and wrestle that sword out of harm’s way. I couldn’t work out why Laura wasn’t doing it herself. Maybe she was frightened she’d injure herself or Margot would simply slice her.
‘But Margot,’ I said, recalling Monty’s report. ‘The coroner concluded it was suicide.’ An appeal to good sense might work, if there was any vestige of such operating inside her head.
‘Suicide?’ she laughed, but again it was a cruel rancorous sound. ‘Laura Taylor might as well have handed him the razor blades herself.’
‘I did no such thing,’ cried Laura.
‘You killed him,’ said Margot and moved the sword up to her neck. ‘You broke his heart. You stopped it beating, just as I intended to stop yours. I’m sorry Graham got in the way. But that’s what happens in life – innocents get in the way all the time. Just like my Billy did. He got in the way of your ambition and no one was going to stop Laura Taylor going places, were they?’
‘But Billy,’ Laura began, taking down a lungful of air. ‘Look, I didn’t realise he cared so much,’ she said. ‘I thought it was just a bit of a fling. And I was already engaged to Jacob.’
‘Oh yes, the celebrated Jacob John Jacobs. Rich and handsome and happy to give you a leg up for a leg-over. Of course you’d get rid of Billy if someone like that came along. See Laura, I’ve watched your career with loathsome interest,’ Margot said and nudged the sword forward so that Laura whimpered. ‘Always watching and waiting, looking for a chance to make you pay for your crime. Then, when you fainted at Hay and announced the heart condition – anything for a bit of publicity eh? Well, it gave me an idea and I started to plan. When this course came up with you on it …’
A trickle of blood was running down Laura’s neck. The sword had pierced the flesh. I heard a murmur of shock pass over those by the door. Margot was going in for the kill.
‘Very clever,’ I said. ‘Well done Margot, you have most certainly succeeded in scaring Laura and, I think, several more. But now, it’s time to give it up. Think about the consequences of your own actions and face them.’
Her rattling laugh echoed against the wall again. ‘Not yet. She hasn’t paid enough. I want her to face fear. Real fear. God knows I have. The worst fear a mother can have made real: to lose a child by their own hand.’
The sword pressed into Laura’s thin neck. If it reached the subcutaneous layers of tissue that would be bad. I really should be thinking about getting it off her now before any permanent damage was done. Perhaps I should try and ‘relate’ to the perp, as the Americans say. Yes, Margot was talking about loss. Well I knew that. I knew it now. I touched the soft spot inside my heart and felt it. Yes, it was there – authentic pain. I felt it again and winced. ‘Oh Margot, I know pain, I know what it feels like to lose a mother.’
And yet this raw confession had no effect on my perp. I thought about adding, ‘I lost a mother I never knew,’ but the mere notion of those words surprised me with the ferocity of feeling they unleashed inside: a lump clogged my throat and I became keenly aware I might lose focus. I left it unsaid.
But then Nicholas piped up, ‘Mine too. Fucking awful.’
‘Oh yes,’ sighed Starla. ‘Devastating. It’s why I moved over here.’
Unfortunately, these confessions irked Margot even more.
‘It’s not the same!’ she yelled. Her immaculate persona had vanished, now without make-up her face was sallow, coloured only by florid cheeks. Spittle edged her lips as she shouted, ‘That’s the natural order of things – losing a parent. The young must mourn the old. A child! Losing a child. It is the most devastating of misfortunes.’
I thought briefly of Celeste and the mystery man, who could be my father, and wondered if he had felt like he had lost me. Had he made any attempt to see me or find out if I had survived? No, I thought, don’t go there now.
‘No, no, no,’ Margot echoed my inner monologue, her tone becoming more shrill.
I banished thoughts of that unknown figure and returned to the urgency of the situation. But, as I did, Margot paused, and, as if she were breaking off to explain a point like a teacher, she brought the sword down for a second and leant on it. ‘No, indeed,’ she tutted as she turned to Nicholas and Starla. ‘You don’t understand. You can’t know. You’re too young. It’s different.’
With the blade out of Laura’s vicinity I could see the opportunity to tackle Margot and looked meaningfully at Laura, trying to draw her attention. If she acted now, one quick and hard push would send the old girl tumbling.
But Laura was transfixed. I flapped a hand and only succeeded in attracting Margot, who clocked my signal to Laura and spun round to face her with such sprightliness and verve, I was taken aback. Her eyes blackened so that they became dark voids which fixed onto their prey once more. Brutal resolve stiffened her features.
‘Billy was special!’ she spat. ‘He could have been someone. Someone better than you, with your stupid crime novels. Entertainment is all well and good but you might as well have been a minstrel for all the impact you’ve had on the world.’ She heaved the sword up with both hands and rested it on Laura’s other shoulder, beside her neck. I swallowed. My throat had gone dry.