George choked out something quite obscene, and David thumped him on the shoulder just in time to restrain him. Then David got to his feet and flexed his shoulders.
“You making a charge?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Not even that she’s so stupid that she failed to see a man in a doorway?”
“She might,” conceded Abel, “have been looking down at her feet.”
“I notice that you didn’t suggest that earlier,” said David, and he sounded very dangerous to me.
“You know the methods of interrogation…”
“I suggest you go and try it on somebody else. Now. You and your sergeant. Eh?”
And Abel stared at him for one moment before turning on his heel and heading for the door. His sergeant followed him. The door closed behind them.
“I’ll kill him!” said George.
“It wouldn’t help,” David replied, and then I was weeping in his arms, and truly, in that moment, I could have killed him too.
Fourteen
Everything seemed to be coming from a long way away. I was aware that I was comfortable in a large, soft chair, too comfortable to remain awake, really. Two serious, concentrated faces were poised infront of me.
“Now, Elsa, please think,” David was saying. “That door latch – are you absolutely certain you didn’t touch the ring? Absolutely!”
My own voice, distant and apart: “Yes, there’s hardly room for two…”
“And Anthony—”
“You’re taking it seriously!” I was fighting to bring my conscious mind to the fore. “You’re not really—”
“He’s taking it seriously. It’s how he’s tackling this. He throws wild theories at people – he’ll do it with every one of you – hoping somebody will blurt out an admission. Now think.”
“I’ve got nothing to admit.”
George said, his voice rumbling: “It’s fantasy to suggest he hid in a doorway.”
Now everything was clear, too clear. I could see every worried wrinkle round George’s mouth, read the angry, baffled expression in his eyes. “But, George,” I said, “a similar thing happened on the battlements. Clarice passed me, a foot away, and it was not even dark. And she didn’t see me.”
David was impatient. “She was under stress.”
“So was I!”
“She had realized it was possible that Sundry had killed Konrad, just to make sure she didn’t cheat on their contract and join Konrad after all…”
“Oh, dear Lord!” My head swam. I fought for control. “But it’s possible I could have missed Anthony in the same way.”
“You’d pass him with barely a couple of inches’ room.”
I sighed. “But possible.”
“It’s what Abel wants, Elsa. To get you believing the possibility. Then you’d perhaps find yourself distorting your memory, simply for peace of mind.”
Didn’t David know me? What more was I expected to face, with no chance of turning away?
“But, David, there’s one thing nobody can distort. I’ve got a clear memory of the sound when Anthony pushed open that door. And I’ve heard it again since.” I paused, putting the memories together. Neither spoke. This had to be mine, unforced and unprompted. “When George tried that fantastic experiment with the cabinet perched on the door – then. I heard you dragging the cabinet away. It was a wonderful sound – I couldn’t forget it. And the sound made when Anthony opened the door was the same. That I know. And nobody’s going to distort it for me.”
George sighed. David whispered: “That’s my girl.”
And George said: “I’ll stick it down his throat.”
“No,” said David. “We wait. He’ll be all day trying various wild ideas on people. We’ll see what it brings.”
That waiting was terrible. George left us and prowled the battlements. David played Sibelius in the Pink Lounge all morning. I’d have welcomed something less ominous. In the afternoon, David and I went riding, he on the grey and me on the bay mare. The saddlery was old and worn, and I couldn’t get the girth tight enough.
We returned early and found that the car had gone. There was tea and sandwiches in the lounge and the atmosphere had the tension of a violin string, tingling the air. But at last it all came out: Abel had tried the same theory on all of us! Nobody would meet my eyes, and I wondered who might have betrayed me, in sheer self-protection.
George got to his feet, crumbs clinging to his shirt and tie. “Well, that’s it, Dave.”
David looked round. He was still feeling out the reactions. “It only works, what Abel’s done, when it’s close enough to be the truth. It’s only then that a guilty person feels themselves trapped.”
It was received in stony silence.
“Coming, Elsa?”
But to where? “Yes, if you like.” Then, like a funeral procession, the three of us climbed again to the Tower.
George produced his length of rope. His voice was deep. The rope was thirty feet of blue twisted nylon, half an inch thick. He swirled it as he spoke.
“Abel’s about cleared all the possibilities, but he missed one little point. Nowhere anybody could hide in here, he said. Well… I did suggest one place, though not too seriously at the time.” He glanced up at the joists. “But it’s about all we’ve got left.” David grunted and turned away.
With the lights now on, the joists were barely visible. George had three tries before the rope fell over. He handed both ends to me. “So put your weight on it, Elsa. Let’s see if that joist’ll take even your weight.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Try it, please, for me.”
“Let’s get it over with,” said David.
With uncertainty, I gripped the rope and bent my legs to bring the weight on my arms. At once I felt it going, and put my feet down again quickly. It creaked up above and flakes of rotten wood fell into my hair.
“Satisfied?” said George.
“Nobody’s arguing.” David was losing his patience. “But you’ve only got back to the fact that somebody must have got out, and managed to leave that cabinet against the door. Then how?”
“I’m going to show you how.”
Sundry spoke from the door, his head round it. “Are we missing something?” He and Fisher had given way to curiosity. They pushed their way in.
“Ah, Fisher!” said George. “It was you who showed us how the cabinet shot against the door when it operated.”
“When it was tilted,” said Fisher suspiciously.
David sighed. “And that left the murderer on the inside.”
“But not,” claimed George, “if he could do it from outside.”
David groaned. I heard myself give a shaky laugh. We’d already seen one of George’s demonstrations.
“I hope this doesn’t take too much strength,” I said, trying to make a joke of it because George was only groping for ideas, for me.
“Only enough to push over the cabinet and lift a pencil. And it’s on castors… you see, it could be pushed up to the door with its own door wide open… like this.” George did it with one hand. The castors rumbled over the naked boards. “And,” he went on, “with it there, it was pushed over backwards. Mind yourself.” He tilted it gently, and then it went with a rush. I flinched before it struck, and clouds of dust rose with the crash.
He was quite proud of it. The door to the cabinet was wide open still, and I could see he’d been prepared for this because he had one of the dummies in it, an unclothed one. The suit he’d discarded when searching for the missing bullet was lying in the far comer.
“It’s primed,” George said, “and we all know that it operates as soon as its door closes. Now, you understand, that was the crash you heard. People were used to shots, but not to crashes. From that moment he’d have around two minutes.”
“Now wait!” Fisher cried angrily. “You just hold it right there. I can see what you’re up to. You’ve already eliminated Clarice…”
�
�So I have.” George beamed at him. “But not you, sir, who came in later from the courtyard. I’ll get around to that later.”
“I’m not staying to hear this.”
“Please yourself. In either event, let’s not hear from you again. All right?”
Fisher subsided into sulks. George flexed his shoulders.
“I was saying… what he’d do would be to use the end of a pencil to hold open the cabinet door.”
He hooked the pencil under the very edge of the cabinet door, which it now left open about a quarter of an inch. It protruded in the direction of the opening edge of the room’s door. The castors were a foot and a half from the door. George opened it against the castors. “Made a mistake here,” he admitted. “I’ll never get through that gap. Slide it back a bit, Dave.”
David, unconvinced, lifted the top end of the cabinet and slid it back a foot or so. George just managed to make it.
“Shove it back where it was, Dave.”
David did so, and we all squeezed back on to the tiny landing with George. I eyed the protruding pencil a bit warily as I edged past it. It was much like the trigger of a cocked pistol.
We were very short of room out there. Fisher and Sundry had to move up a step or two. George crouched before the partly open door, and George, crouching, left very little of the view showing. But what I could see, peering over his shoulder, was that it was not going to work.
David said: “Oh Lord, here we go again.”
The difficulty was that the cabinet had to be behind the door and therefore not quite in sight through the gap, and George was required to reach in with his right hand round the comer, and fumble around.
“Got it,” he said. “Now what I reckon is that it’ll operate as soon as I jerk out the pencil, and it’ll shoot the dummy out…” He turned back his head, his voice complacent. “…just where it was found, under the window. The trouble is…” There came a hint of worry into his voice. “The point is, I reckon the cabinet’ll shoot back against the door—”
The pencil came free. No doubt the dummy was shot out. Certainly, the cabinet moved back. It did so, smartly, like a recoiling howitzer, and effectively, as George had claimed, slammed the door. The one snag was that George was unable to withdraw his hand quickly enough. The door clamped on it, just below the fingers, and obviously with some force because he let out a bellow of anger and pain.
David shouted: “Shove it open with your shoulder.”
But George was fixed in his awkward crouch and had no purchase. He bellowed again. “Get it open!”
“If you’ll move over a bit,” said David, “I’ll get my shoulder to it.”
“How the hell can I move over? For God’s sake, hurry.”
George’s body, in one ungainly and condensed bulk, occupied most of the small landing. David could barely find footing behind him, and then he was so crushed against the outside wall, and had to lean so far forward to reach over and beyond George, that he could barely reach the door, let alone put any pressure on it.
“Hurry David,” I said, because I was very close to George’s anguish.
“I can’t get at it, you big oaf,” David shouted.
“Then find a flaming axe or something. Smash the thing down.” George moaned. I felt hot with distress. For George to express any reaction to pain meant the suffering was extreme.
“Do something, David,” I said.
And Anthony came clattering up the stairs, the two women panting behind him.
“An axe?” he said, taking it all in inside a second. “I’ll get one,” and promptly turned to gallop down again and became horribly entangled with Clarice and Amaryllis, who screamed at him in their ignorance.
“An axe is no good,” said David hollowly. “George, you’ve got to shift over.”
A silence. George’s breathing was heavy. Then at last he spoke quietly. “I can’t shift at all. I think my hand’s broken.”
I looked at David. He was very pale. “We’d never smash that door in,” he said softly. “Elsa, what did you do with the rope?”
“I… I dropped it. What do you mean?”
George gasped: “Do something, Dave.”
“Where did you drop it? Look through the gap love. From where you are – can you see it?”
I had one foot on the landing, one on the step below. By leaning forward, David reaching past George with one hand to my shoulder, I could just see the end.
“I see it.”
“Where? How far?”
“A foot or two inside.”
David’s eyes met mine. “Can you reach it?”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to get the rope for him; I didn’t want to leave George to suffer. I was caught. I took another step down. There was a gap between George’s chest and the hard stone of the landing, a foot gap. I edged my head in and then my shoulders, twisting as I went. George was hot against me. I was now very close to his sweating face. He gave me a ghastly grin. “Good girl.” It was a sickly whisper.
The gap between the door and the jamb was the width of the fat part of George’s hand, now a little compressed. I slid my own hand through easily enough, against the floor. The wrist was more difficult.
“Now, George,” I said, “don’t you dare let that door go.”
Sweat dripped on my neck. I reached. Now I couldn’t see the rope for my own sweat-blinded eyes. Not see it, but feel it, the tips of my fingers brushing it. I forced my arm in farther. The door and the jamb were agony as they scored my forearm. Then I had it. I slowly withdrew my arm. I had it, and nearly wept with the triumph because I knew what David intended.
I crouched, free of George, and gave David the end. He wound it in quickly, and turned to climb the stairs, Sundry and Fisher scrambling out of the way. I could barely get to my feet.
“Don’t leave me, David.”
He paused and looked back. He knew I could not remain there, and wait. “Come on, then,” and he left me to stagger after him. One last groan followed us.
“You first,” he said, waiting on the top landing. He had already reached up and torn the trapdoor free. The opening was a bare foot above his head. He caught my waist, and with one easy movement he threw me up, and I crouched as he handed me the rope and elbowed himself up beside me.
“A loop. Quickly.” He did it himself. I was aware that it was raining, that the sea pounded, reaching, far below, and that nothing I could say would stop him. In fact, that I could not find it in myself to want to stop him.
“You can do nothing, Elsa. You understand? Nothing. Don’t even look down.”
There were, indeed, as Abel had said, buttresses which would take a loop of rope. Dave tossed it over, and briefly leaned his weight behind it. Then he threw the end over into the space below, looked at its lie for one second, then was over the edge.
How could he say I must not watch him? I was on my knees, hands on the precious, vibrating rope, and ventured my head beyond it. Below me, the wind swinging him, I thought, helplessly, he was slowly lowering himself. He had a twist of rope round his left leg, resting over his instep, where his right foot trapped it. And below, far below, beyond even the tapering fall of the tower, was the slick, sea-lashed wall of black cliff, and below that the toothed rocks over which the sea pounded.
He was opposite the window. I realized that, because he stopped. And then he was helpless, because the window was set a clear eighteen inches into the rock, and he could not hope to reach it, and could not hope to open it if he did. But, to my horror, he put his foot against the wall and thrust himself away, so that on the return of his swing, horribly jerked to a halt by the rope against the wall above, he put his foot through the window.
I heard the crash of glass. He did that three times, and I waited for the final one.
He thrust himself farther away from the wall, and on the backlash of the return he flung himself forward, releasing the rope, and still there was a crash and tinkling of glass as he went through the residue.
�
�David!”
I ran back to the trapdoor, and realized that I was faced by a sheer drop of seven feet. And no way… but you can, you know, you can jump forward in terror and survive with no more than a cut knee and a sharp pain in one ankle, and even hobble down to the landing.
“Get on.with it, Dave,” George choked, and I heard the familiar dragging of the cabinet. George collapsed on his face, then David threw the door open. He was cut and dirty and disheveled, and I flung myself at him. Then stopped.
He did not see me. For one moment, I thought he was hurt, but then he found me a painful smile, kissed me quickly, and said:
“Come in, all of you. I’ve got something to tell you.”
His palms, I saw, were torn and bleeding.
Fifteen
We got George on to the only chair, where he sat with his head bent, his right hand cradled in his left on his lap. The wind was driving wetly through the smashed window.
“Somebody shut the door,” said David quietly.
Anthony offered: “I’ll phone for an ambulance.”
Then George raised his head, his face ghastly. “No. I’m all right.”
For a moment, his eyes rested on the window opening and he glanced at David, but he said nothing. Seeming to apologize for the drama of it David explained:
“We’d never have shifted that door. The architrave round the top of the cabinet had got itself into a crack between the floorboards.”
I saw what he meant. Some of the gaps were a good half an inch, the boards running parallel to the door.
“If that’s the case…” George drew in a breath, grimacing. “…why didn’t it stick on that night, when Anthony shoved it open?”
“That’s what I was thinking.” David’s eyes were bright, almost feverish. He seemed to ignore the rest of us, speaking only to George. “It must have been at an angle. I mean, the bottom of the cabinet couldn’t have been flat against the door, so it wasn’t pointing straight at the window. And if that was the case, it wasn’t going to throw the dummy where it was found, under the window. It’d be more like six feet to one side or the other, I reckon. And we know that something was thrown out, because the mechanism had worked – it was in a worked position. Also we know that it wasn’t Konrad who was thrown out, because he wasn’t shot inside the cabinet, and something was. Makes you think, don’t it?”
More Dead Than Alive (David Mallin Detective series Book 15) Page 13