The Statue of Three Lies

by David Cargill

‘Did you see Edgar and Sally?’

  ‘Oh yes, but they kept well back, out of sight really. You know that Sally had never been introduced to her prospective father-in-law, and it began to look as if she never would!’

  ‘Is there anything further you wish to add?’

  ‘Only this! If you’re searching for potential suspects for your so-called crime you can eliminate us right away. We were the furthest from the scene when it happened! By the way, thanks for the coffee!’

  Conrad turned and as he left the room he called back. ‘You’re on your own, squire!’

  ‘My brother mentioned you had fresh coffee in here.’ Edgar intoned as he entered the lounge. ‘You don’t mind if I help myself?’ Without waiting for an answer he started pouring. ‘Now where do you want me to begin?’

  ‘Let’s start in the summer of 1952 at the time you met Sally!’

  ‘That sounds fine by me. I couldn’t wait to leave school and become.!’

  ‘A man of the world, Edgar?’

  ‘Yes, why not! It was party time for me and we met at one of those. It was love at first sight; a much maligned cliche, but true in our case!’

  ‘ You didn’t take her home to meet your parents! Why not?’

  ‘For the simple reason.!’ Edgar started but got no further as seemingly he thought better of what he was about to say. ‘...They wouldn’t have understood! They were rather old-fashioned about relationships. It was then that we...hatched a plan! We agreed that we would come clean about our affair at the Hallowe’en birthday party. We were denied that delight by circumstances...beyond my control!’

  ‘On the night of that party you elected to remain outside the library door with your mother. Why?’

  ‘I would’ve thought that was obvious? Someone had to ensure there was fair play. I took it upon myself to adopt that role, and just as well I did!’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Didn’t Mum tell you? She almost went into a coma when the shot was fired. I had to virtually force her to open the door!’

  ‘What did you find when the door was opened?’

  ‘Jack...that is...Dad was lying on the floor clutching his chest. It was obvious he’d been shot; his eyes were glazed and blood was oozing between his fingers!’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I thought I’d better alert the girls. Everyone appeared to be gathering from all directions, that is everyone except Sally and Laura who were upstairs.’

  ‘Why didn’t you phone for an ambulance?’

  The Prof’s intervention silenced Edgar who struggled to appreciate the importance of the question.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said why didn’t you phone for an ambulance?’

  ‘I.I can’t remember! It just seemed natural to call the girls and I suppose I assumed that Victor would...!’ A puzzled frown dominated his forehead and fear showed in his eyes.

  ‘Go on, Edgar! You dashed upstairs?’

  ‘That’s right! I went to the bathroom where Sally was washing her hair and banged on the door. The shower was still running so I shouted that there had been an accident. I did the same at the bathroom where “Sis".I mean Laura, was and she said she’d come down straightaway. As I ran back down the stairs I heard Sally following me. I believe big sister was down soon after.’

  ‘What did you do when you got back downstairs?’

  ‘I looked after Sally. It seemed the wrong time to reveal identities and the poor girl was cold and her hair was wet!’

  The Prof pursed his lips and placed his fingertips together. He studied the man in front of him and was struck by his likeness to the small boy up before his headmaster for a misdemeanour in school, a position he reckoned Edgar had previously experienced on more than one occasion.

  ‘Can I go back to the time between the locking of the library door and the shot being fired? Did you hear any sounds coming from the room?’

  ‘Jack seemed to be talking to someone and warning, whoever it was, not to touch...!’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was all a bit confusing and I can’t remember exactly what he said. It was then that the gun went off! After the shot I heard a thump and his voice saying something about keeping a secret. I had to push mum towards the door. She didn’t seem to know where the key was. Then, when she discovered it was still in her hand, she couldn’t get it in the lock!’

  ‘Did you...and I urge you to think very carefully about this...did you hear anyone speak to your father before, or after, the shot was fired?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so! But I got the distinct impression that he...knew the person he was speaking to!’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ’Well, it wasn’t what he said, it was what he didn’t say!’

  The Prof’s blue eyes lit up with youthful exuberance.

  ‘Now that is interesting, young sir! I wonder if you appreciate the full value of what you’ve just told me?’

  ‘I’m not sure I do!’ Edgar remarked in a distinctly puzzled and wary voice.

  ‘You will, in due course! I recommend that you read one of the short stories from The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes entitled Silver Blaze. In that the Inspector asks Holmes if there is any other point to which he would draw his attention and Holmes replies,” To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.” When the Inspector retorts,” The dog did nothing in the night-time,” Holmes remarks,” That was the curious incident.” Now do you follow me?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not! You’re talking in riddles again!’

  ‘Of course I am! Read and understand!’ The Prof chuckled and rubbed his hands together. ‘Will you now explain to me what your father didn’t say?’

  ‘He didn’t use any bad language, you know, the kind of Yorkshire expletives he would have used when confronting an impostor!’

  ‘Well done, Edgar and full marks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Our little discussion has been very productive though I see by your expression that you are still a trifle perplexed. Never mind, I don’t need to detain you any longer. Thanks for your help and remember... read and understand!’

  Mabel slinked seductively into the lounge and draped herself against the door, ‘Here I am, Professor. I just knew you’d save the best till last!’ she said, giving a fair interpretation of a femme fatale Bond girl in the latest of the 007 movies to hit the screen. Giles knew that shy, reserved Mabel was playing a part with him. This demure young woman who, according to her husband, loathed the sight of blood, was acting out her role unassisted by the evocative music of John Barry and he inwardly applauded her audacity. He immediately warmed to her, though he was hard pushed not to burst out laughing.

  Restraining himself as best he could he was able to utter just one word, ‘Spooky!’

  ‘Well thank you, Professor Dawson. It’s flattering to know that you are so stirred!’

  ‘But not shaken, ma’am, more shaking!’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be the other way round, Giles?’

  ’I do believe you’re right, Mabel. Anyway welcome and please make yourself at home! There’s fresh coffee and some of Doreen’s newly-baked scones.’

  ‘Cook says the secret of a successful scone is sour milk and she certainly knows what she’s talking about. Unfortunately I’ll have to decline the invitation, it can play havoc with the figure, you know!’

  She sat down near the fire, placed both knees together and rested her hands neatly in her lap. She was wearing a tailored grey skirt and pink sweater with a single string of pearls and, although the whole ensemble added to her coyness, there was an aura of provocative sensuality about her that seemed ready to explode.

  ‘I want to be serious for a moment,’ The Prof began. ‘I want to go back in time to the night of 31st October 1952. You’d been married to Conrad for a little over a year.’

  Mabel nodded.

  ‘What were you doing at that time?’

  ‘I was trying to gain some recognition as an artist working mainly with pen and ink. It wasn’t ea
sy but I gradually progressed, providing simple film posters for a small cinema and leading up to what I am doing now.’

  ‘And what are you doing now?’

  ‘I’m an illustrator of children’s books. The Punch magazine, towards the end of the war, is to blame for that! The cartoons of Bernard Partridge and E.H. Shepard have a lot to answer for! Shepard, incidentally, was the illustrator of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories! Did you know that?’

  ‘Oh yes, I know he was, Mabel. But we digress!’

  The Prof cleared his throat.

  ‘On that fatal evening in 1952 what did you do after your father-in-law ended his lecture about the proposed performance?’

  ‘I stayed with Conrad and we took a walk outside.’

  ‘You went down to the stables, I understand?’

  ‘No! Whatever gave you that idea? Didn’t Conrad tell you?’

  ‘Yes he did, but I wanted to hear it from your own lips!’

  ‘I see! Well you must know that we went round the house .along that side,’ she pointed to the lounge windows. ‘We were naughty and looked in through the closed curtains. We could just make out Victor helping himself to a drink.’ She stopped abruptly and put a hand up to her mouth. ‘I hope I haven’t given the game away!’

  ‘No, no, that confirms what I already know! When did you hear the gun being fired?’

  ‘It was when we stopped at the steps leading down to the cellar at the back of the house. We thought we heard a noise but it might have been coming from the heating system. Anyway it was while we were chatting outside the cellar that we heard the sound of the gunshot. We started to run round to the front of the house...!’

  ‘By the same way as you came?’

  ‘.No, by the back door! We tried to get in that way but the door was locked so we went round past the library windows!’

  ‘Did you see anyone there?’

  ‘No, but what we did see was the outline of a figure disappearing round the front corner of the house!’

  ‘Could you tell if the figure was male or female?’

  ‘Not really, but if I had to guess I’d say it was a man. I think Conrad and I agreed it was probably George.’

  ‘When you eventually got back into the house what did you find?’

  ‘Everyone was crowding round the library door and, when I got there, all I saw was the blood! I felt sick and George helped to calm me down.’

  ‘Were you aware that any members of the household were missing?’

  ‘I’m so sorry! I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t recognise anyone or anything...except the blood!’

  ‘I regret having re-acquainted you with the terrible trauma of that dreadful experience, my dear. I don’t think we need delay your return to.!’

  It was at that point that cook burst through the connecting door from the dining area and almost collapsed into The Profs outstretched arms.

  ‘Thank goodness I’ve found you, Mabel!’ she blurted out. ‘Isabella has suddenly taken a turn for the worse while she was getting out of bed. I think you should come. I can’t find Laura or Sally...they must be down in the cellar!’

  Without any further warning Giles was once again on his own!

  It didn’t take long for The Prof to realise where he might be going for, soon after leaving Maskelyne Hall and passing through Lockerbie, he was turning on to the Dumfries road and travelling a route he had regularly used during his senior school days in the early 1940’s.

  To be heading in this direction, in the rather noisy comfort of Freddie’s car, was a welcome relief to the morning of prolonged intensity extracting details from the group that had been present the night, fourteen years ago, when his childhood mentor had died in strange circumstances whilst preparing to perform what he loved doing most...magic! Although still unable to satisfy himself exactly what had taken place, and why, he was, more than ever, sure that Jack Ramsden had been murdered!

  ‘So where are we going? And don’t be smart and say we’re going to Dumfries - because I know that! What I’d like to know is...why?’

  ‘I’m taking you to meet a good friend of mine; I phoned him while you were playing Hercule Poirot in the lounge and thought you might enjoy a breath of fresh air and a change of scenery. He sounded quite eager to meet you and I have an idea he might be of immense help.’

  ‘Good for you, Freddie. I must admit I’m relieved to get out of the house for a short spell and get a chance to recharge the batteries. It wouldn’t be a garage we’re going to, would it?’

  ‘Eh! Ah, I see. You’re having your little joke! No, Giles, patience please! Oh, by the way, I was in conversation with Conrad at breakfast and we were discussing my family. Did you know that he and Mabel can’t have any?’

  ‘Any what, Freddie?’

  ‘Family, you dope! Sometimes I despair!’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that! Good job I never broached the subject!’

  Giles fell silent as the Spitfire sped towards the Queen of the South and when Freddie glanced across at him he was fast asleep.

  Giles awoke with a jolt as the car juddered to a stop outside a red sandstone villa overlooking the river on the outskirts of the town. As he got out and stretched his legs the door to the house opened and a giant of a man stood on the doorstep.

  Bulky, in every way, the man, who must’ve weighed nearly 300 pounds, wore corduroy trousers an open-necked shirt and tweed jacket. He was in his early sixties, had a broad forehead, a receded grey hairline, and slightly hooded eyes with dark eyebrows flecked with white, and a thin mouth.

  Strangely enough his sinister appearance gave way to obese jollity at the sight of Freddie. In his left hand he carried a walking stick, which he used to support his weight while, with his right, he welcomed them both with warm handshakes. In a strange way Giles couldn’t help feeling he’d seen this man before.

  Once inside the hallway they removed coats and were ushered into the living room where a large coal fire was burning.

  ‘Giles, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, ex Detective Superintendent Martin Drummond, known as “Bulldog” by his friends and probably by his enemies as well!’

  ‘Glad to make your acquaintance...may I call you “Bulldog"?’

  ‘By all means! Any friend of Freddie’s...!’ “Bulldog” motioned the others to sit down.

  ‘Martin was at The Yard until he took early retirement and established a security team for North of England racecourses. That was how we bumped into each other.’ Freddie grinned and Martin chuckled joyously as both men relished the thought of bumping into each other.

  ‘Your friend explained quite a bit about why you are back in this neck of the woods when we spoke on the phone this morning,’ Super Bulldog said, opening the conversation, ‘and I will try my best to give you any helpful advice I can.’

  ‘I will appreciate all the help I can get.’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure how much you know of procedure in cases such as you’re involved in but I’ll take you through, step by step.’

  ‘When death is sudden or unnatural a pathologist may be asked to examine the deceased by holding a Post Mortem, after which the findings will be reported to the Coroner who holds an Inquest. That is the case in England but in Scotland things are slightly different. Here the Sheriff has responsibility with The Procurator Fiscal having the key role in a Fatal Accident Inquiry, which is roughly equivalent to a Coroner’s Inquest. Are you with me so far?’

  ‘So far, so good!’

  ‘I remember this particular death quite well and, though I didn’t know the gentleman concerned, I knew of him. I talked with colleagues at the time, as it occurred in familiar territory, and it was fairly obvious that the death was unusual, to say the least! It was sudden and certainly not of natural causes.’

  ‘The pathologist confirmed that death had resulted from a single gunshot wound from a Lee Enfield rifle that belonged to the deceased. No fingerprints were found on the gun except those of the magician. On further examination the gu
n was found to have had a slight modification producing extreme accuracy over short distances allied with a reduction of recoil. There were the usual marks around the wound in the chest consistent with being fired from a distance of several feet and there was no exit wound, thus the bullet remained in the body.’

  ‘At the Fatal Accident Inquiry the Procurator Fiscal concluded there was no evidence to suggest foul play. Murder wasn’t contemplated and Culpable Homicide, better known as Manslaughter, was also ruled out. Suicide was a possibility but all the signs were against it. Had any of those verdicts been implied the police would’ve been asked to investigate. As it was, an “open verdict” of “death by misadventure” was brought in signifying it could have been due to any number of possibilities but, more likely, that it was due to an accident. In a nutshell that is what it amounted to but now I understand you doubt the correctness of that verdict.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘That means you possibly have good grounds for such doubts and I’d be interested to hear what you’ve come up with so far.’

  For the next thirty minutes, accompanied by the regular ticking of the clock and the irregular noise from the coal fire, Giles gave a fairly comprehensive account of events as told to him by the various members of the household at Maskelyne Hall. During the prolonged explanation Drummond offered his guests a cigarette which they refused. He himself lit a cheroot and puffed away quietly throughout.

  When the story had finally unfolded “Bulldog” sat back and nodded.

  ‘Compelling stuff! I grant you that! And even if you fail to prove the original verdict wrong, the very fact that a master magician conceived everything creates the possibility that nothing is as it seems and gives you a reasonable chance of unearthing something extraordinary, especially with your background knowledge of the history of magic. There is one statement, which you said was made by his wife when she knelt down by his side, which especially intrigues me!’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Apparently one of the last things he said to his wife was "I didn’t mean it to end like this!” I know that is open to all sorts of interpretation, but to my way of thinking it hints that, as a magician, he regretted a well-planned trick had gone wrong...and that you may therefore be right in your assertions. Quite how you prove it, beyond reasonable doubt, is another matter!’