No More Dying

by David Roberts

  Edward stumbled back out on to the wooden balcony feeling quite faint. His worst nightmare had come true. He had witnessed a secret assignation. They must be lovers. In his bitterness, he vowed he would have revenge. He would have justice. Recovering a little, he decided that, whatever Verity might say, he must challenge her. Anything was better than not knowing. Then, if she admitted that Casey Bishop was her lover, he would seek him out and . . . He wiped his forehead with his hand as he always did when he had worked himself up into a fever. He re-entered the cabin but there was no sign of them. Had he been hallucinating? Had he seen what he imagined he’d seen? Yes, he had. He went and retrieved his skis. He would search them out. They could not have gone far. He would find them.

  16

  Verity knew she ought to have been more surprised than she had been when Casey appeared beside her on the ice rink like a genie out of a bottle. The fact was she thought she had seen him the day before in a bunch of skiers, mostly novices like herself. He had been so muffled in a woollen scarf and hat, goggles covering his eyes, that she could not be sure and he had quickly dived out of sight when he caught her looking at him. She had not said anything to Edward because, for some reason, she did not feel threatened by Casey’s presence here of all places. She knew he must have followed them to St Moritz and she also knew that he would make himself known to her when he was ready. The more she thought about the murders, the more she felt uneasy about pinning them on Casey. True, he was the obvious suspect. He had opportunity, and his association with the Kennedys might have provided him with motive, but even so . . .

  Then, on the ice rink, there had been very little time but he had said to her that she had to believe he was innocent and that the letter he pressed into her hand would explain everything. He asked her to meet him at lunchtime the next day and told her where they could talk without being observed. He had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Edward had skated over to her immediately after Casey had left her but she was fairly sure that he had seen nothing. Even though he had seemed unusually silent that evening, she put it down to his sensing her own unease. No doubt he had recognized that something was amiss but he was sensitive enough not to mention it, for which she was grateful.

  The letter, which she had read in a cubicle in the ladies’ lavatory attached to the ice rink, was short but long enough to confirm what she already suspected. According to Casey, it had been David Griffiths-Jones who had killed Tom Wintringham, Eamon Farrell and the wretched Lulu. He asked her to meet him, without telling Edward, in the log cabin restaurant at the top of the second chair-lift at twelve o’clock the next day when he would prove it to her. He said that David was also in St Moritz and would ‘seek her out’ as he put it. She must be watchful. She knew as soon as she had read Casey’s note that she would meet him as he had asked even though she was aware it could be a trap.

  If, on the other hand, David really was the murderer, she alone must make him pay the reckoning. David had been her political mentor and she was his creature. If he wanted to kill her, it would not be too difficult to engineer a fatal accident, or he might not even bother trying to disguise her death. The murderer had not tried to pretend that the other deaths were accidental. She would feel a sudden, stabbing pain and there would be a knife in her neck. Whatever happened to her, she must not involve Edward. This was her battle, not his. Too long she had known that David was ruthless and cruel with no belief in the principles which had brought her into the Party and which he himself might once have held. Too long she had made excuses for him. Too long she had procrastinated.

  It had been easier than she had imagined to persuade Edward to leave her with Karl on the nursery slopes while he went off to try a black run. She had explained to Karl that she had to meet a man without her husband knowing and had blushed when she saw him add two and two together to make five. He had seemed rather surprised, not so much that this attractive girl had a lover – many married women he taught to ski had a lover and he was often persuaded to be that lover if the girl was pretty or rich – but because he had really thought Verity and Edward were genuinely in love and was disappointed to be proved wrong. Verity, reading his mind without difficulty, decided not to try and explain. It was all too complicated.

  After the lesson, Karl escorted her to the chair-lift and left her with a look of regret. He thought it a shame that, if she were really silly enough not to be satisfied with her aristocratic-looking husband, she would not settle for him.

  She entered the cabin uncertain of what she would find and began to wish that she had not been so determined to follow up this particular ‘investigation’ without Edward. When her eyes had adapted to the dark, she saw Casey in a corner reading the New York Herald Tribune. He rose courteously when she went over to him but she saw that he wasn’t quite the cocky, self-satisfied embassy official he had been when they had lunched in London. His hair was not as well brushed, his eyes were red-rimmed and his hand shook a little as he lit a cigarette for her – she just had to have one if she was going to do what she had decided was necessary.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded.

  ‘Why am I here in Switzerland or here in St Moritz?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘I had to come to Geneva to see a doctor. I’ve got . . . well, it doesn’t matter what I’ve got . . . but I needed some sort of cure. Then I saw Griffiths-Jones.’

  ‘You saw David in Geneva?’

  ‘Yes, I was expecting him. I had left a trail for him to follow because I wanted him to come after me. I figured it was much easier for us to slug it out in Switzerland than back in England under the bright lights. We both knew that the police and the rest of them were watching our every move. He was waiting for me at the railway station in Geneva and I let him follow me to St Moritz. I knew he planned to kill both of us, you and me.’

  ‘Me! What do you mean? We’re both members of the Party. He’s not my enemy. Perhaps you mean Edward?’ Verity said disingenuously.

  ‘No doubt he would like to kill Edward but it’s you he’s after. That’s why I had to get hold of you – to warn you.’

  ‘How did you know Edward and I would be here?’

  ‘It was in the newspapers that you were honeymooning in St Moritz.’

  Verity recalled Edward’s annoyance on the train when he had opened his paper to find it reported that the ‘happy couple’ were to spend a few days at St Moritz on honeymoon. He had made rude remarks about The Times turning into a gossip paper.

  ‘By that stage, I don’t know who was following who. I bought a ticket for St Moritz and he followed in my footsteps. He knew I would want to warn you of the danger you were in. And now I have.’

  Crepi il lupo – kill the wolf. Fernando’s phrase echoed in her mind. ‘But David . . .?’

  ‘He’s your murderer, not me. Do you want me to explain?’

  ‘Of course I want you to explain.’

  ‘Well, here goes then.’

  She said very little as he told her how he had been set up by the man who hated capitalism, America, Americans and the Kennedys in particular. David had made sure that the three dead bodies had all turned up in close proximity to Joe Kennedy and his family. He had succeeded in making it obvious – almost too obvious – that Kennedy was connected to his victims.

  ‘Griffiths-Jones wanted Joe out for what you might call patriotic reasons but beyond that, he had come to believe that the US of A was the epitome of everything he, as a Communist, hated. America is capitalism incarnate and I don’t disagree with him. Where I do take issue with him is in believing that the Soviet system is any better.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I’ve had my suspicions for months, even before Wintringham was murdered. All my informants had led me to believe that the Communist Party – and especially Griffiths-Jones – were determined to bring down Mr Kennedy. Now I don’t pretend the old man’s a saint but it was my job to keep him safe. I may have let things slide a bit too long but when fi
rst Wintringham was killed at Cliveden and then Lulu, who we were pretty sure was out to blackmail Joe, I knew I had to make my move.

  ‘Anyway, after Wintringham was murdered, I worked out a plan of action with Eamon Farrell but Griffiths-Jones got to him before I could get to Griffiths-Jones. Eamon was one of the good guys but he made the fatal mistake of underestimating the enemy. He arranged a meeting – I’m not sure where – without telling me and confronted him. Griffiths-Jones never hesitated. He killed him. His death hit us hard, Joe and me, and I swore to him that I would avenge it. I decided on a face-to-face meeting on neutral ground. So, as I say, I lured him here. Yesterday we met up near the ice rink. He seemed almost – what shall I say? – drunk with power. He had got away with three murders and he seemed to think he was some kind of sword of justice. He didn’t deny anything. In fact, he seemed almost uninterested when I accused him of murder. I got the feeling he thought murder was a triviality.’

  ‘A triviality!’ Verity shivered. ‘But why did Tom have to die? To be honest, I don’t mind about the others – not so much, anyway – but Tom was a good man.’

  ‘He was also a good journalist. He had known Griffiths-Jones in Spain and became convinced that the Soviet-financed Communist Party had done more to destroy the Popular Front than the Fascists. He saw many of his friends “liquidated” for opposing the Party and identified Griffiths-Jones as the author of what he regarded as the great betrayal. I don’t suppose this was entirely fair. No doubt Griffiths-Jones was only obeying orders from above but Wintringham made it his personal crusade to expose what was happening to the party he had loved. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t get anyone to print the story and that was why the Daily Worker was reluctant to employ him.’

  ‘So it wasn’t because of his wound?’

  ‘That was just a convenient excuse. Anyway, rightly or wrongly, he blamed Griffiths-Jones for getting him fired as a foreign correspondent and determined to pursue him until he had incontrovertible proof that he was a murderer.’

  ‘David knew about this?’

  ‘He did and he warned Wintringham to desist. When he refused, his fate was sealed. Wintringham discovered that Griffiths-Jones was determined to smear Mr Kennedy – he met Lulu and wormed it out of her what she was supposed to do – so he went to Cliveden to warn him. You being there was a bonus because he thought that, if he couldn’t get to Kennedy, he could tell you and you would relay his message.’

  ‘You make it sound as though you talked to him.’

  ‘I did. He tried to get to Joe but got me instead. He told me everything and I’m afraid I didn’t take him seriously enough. I said no one would believe Griffiths-Jones if he alleged that the Ambassador used prostitutes and even if they did believe him, no newspaper would print the story. You can imagine how I blamed myself when we found him murdered. I was sure then that I knew who the killer was.’

  ‘Oh God. I only wish you had confided in Edward. We might have prevented the other deaths.’

  ‘I didn’t trust him and he doesn’t like me, and I don’t blame him. I’d stolen his girl once before and he must have thought I was trying to steal you.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous!’

  ‘Thank you, Verity. It makes me glad to hear you say that,’ Casey responded with a wry smile.

  ‘No, but I mean, I like you . . . and in other circumstances . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry. I knew I could never get you into bed and, quite frankly, I didn’t try that hard. You see, I’m not . . . I’m not very well. You had TB but I’ve got something worse.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Hardly anyone does, though I think Edward found out when he burgled my apartment. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to keep clear of him. I just pray he never sees us together and suspects . . .’

  ‘So Tom was killed because David feared that he would interfere with his blackmail attempt?’

  ‘He just knew too much and Griffiths-Jones must have felt he had no choice but to get rid of him. He feared Wintringham had already told you what he suspected or worse, told Edward.’

  ‘But he hadn’t!’

  ‘No, but he had told me and I had told Eamon. The afternoon you arrived at Cliveden, Griffiths-Jones followed Wintringham and killed him as he approached the house. He used the thin-bladed poniard he had learnt to kill with in Spain. It was quick, silent and much less easy to trace than a gun. It was also rather dramatic. Don’t forget, he wanted the press to tell the story the way he wanted it told with Joe Kennedy as the villain. For the same reason, he decided – almost literally – to muddy the waters by setting fire to some of Wintringham’s clothes and dropping them in the swimming-pool. He then dumped the body in the boot of his car – or rather Channing’s – he had been hiding in Channing’s cottage so he could keep a close eye on Lulu. He drove the car down the drive – it was dark by then and no one was about – and left the body in the Blenheim Pavilion. What he didn’t know was that we were exploring the grounds but that worked to his advantage. Kick and Joe Jr found the body almost immediately.’

  ‘But why did he move it – the body, I mean?’

  ‘As I say, he wanted to add drama to the story, which he knew the newspapers would appreciate. He wanted reporters to get interested in the Kennedy connection with the murder, and the fact that Joe was staying with the Astors at Cliveden was great. The Cliveden Set is already regarded as the enemy so a conspiracy theory was there for the making by any imaginative journalist.’

  ‘Edward jumped to the conclusion that the murderer had used the Ambassador’s car to transport the body but he was wrong. The broken spectacles really were the Ambassador’s as Washington said,’ Verity mused. ‘But why did Lulu have to die? Surely she had done everything that had been asked of her? She had seduced Joe . . .’

  ‘Yes, but Griffiths-Jones discovered to his fury that she had “fallen in love” – or what she thought was love – with Jack Kennedy. In any case, he had the compromising photographs of Lulu with the old man. If she was then found murdered – what a story that would be for the press. The government would hardly be able to suppress it, however inconvenient and embarrassing.’

  ‘He used her and tossed her away like a dirty handkerchief,’ Verity said bitterly. ‘But why did he take her body to Cliveden? Wouldn’t it have been better to have left it near the residence if he wanted to embarrass Mr Kennedy?’

  ‘He did. I found Lulu’s body – almost tripped over it as a matter of fact. Jack tells me everything and, when he found she had vamoosed, he telephoned and asked me to go after her to see she came to no harm. I was too late. If only I had been a few minutes earlier, I might have saved her.’

  ‘You found her dead? You swear to me that you didn’t kill her?’

  ‘I do so swear. Griffiths-Jones killed her.’

  ‘But why did you take her body to Cliveden?’

  Casey looked a bit sheepish. ‘I felt I couldn’t just dump her in the river – I might have been seen for one thing but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I guess I felt sorry for the poor kid. The Kennedy family hadn’t treated her well and maybe she wouldn’t have died if Jack hadn’t thrown her out. You knew she was sleeping with both the old man and his son?’

  ‘How could I not? You left Jack’s watch on her when you dumped the body.’

  ‘Sure, that was careless but I thought it right that poor Lulu should be found somewhere she might be treated with respect. I thought the Astors would make sure she was looked after. I guess it was foolish but . . .’

  ‘No, I think you were right.’ Verity looked at him with a new respect. He did have feelings after all. ‘So David killed her because she had disobeyed his orders and let Jack Kennedy seduce her?’

  ‘Yes, and because he had no more use for her. He was waiting for her outside the residence. I guess he couldn’t let her run around in the state she was in. God knows to whom she would have blurted out the truth.’

  ‘So h
e killed her?’

  ‘He must have hoped it would look as though I had done so in order to protect the old man.’

  ‘It was plausible enough,’ Verity admitted.

  ‘I know. I don’t blame Edward for being fooled. I made plenty of mistakes myself. What I can’t forgive myself for is the mistake I had made before Lulu died.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I felt I needed some advice on the threat to Mr Kennedy and his family so I talked it through with Eamon. I asked him if he thought I should tell the British police what I knew. He advised me not to. He said there wasn’t enough evidence of any real threat. Without telling me, he decided he would confront Griffiths-Jones. I guess he was too angry to think clearly. Don’t forget, Eamon owed Joe Kennedy everything and he loved Kick although “love” doesn’t go far enough. She was his star and he worshipped her. That he was homosexual and knew that she would never be his wife did not affect his love for her. This, he believed, was the moment when his loyalty to the family would be tested. But Eamon was no match for a practised killer, and Griffiths-Jones stabbed him. Leaving his body on the golf course was just another attempt to implicate Mr Kennedy in something the newspapers would love. A third death, he must have thought, would surely destroy Joe’s reputation and he would have to resign. That’s when I knew I had to disappear and draw him after me. I had to meet him on my terms. I dropped some hints that I was going to Switzerland to see my doctor.’

  ‘Oh my God! I knew David was ruthless but I had no idea he had gone mad.’

  ‘Is he mad? I don’t know if he’s mad or just a typical product of the Soviet system. Friendship, family . . . it means nothing to those people. They only care about the Party and the Great Leader. Well, there you have it – my story. It’s hardly believable, is it?’