He looked surprised by the question. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I just wondered if you have a picture of your sister, Betty.’
‘She’s dead,’ replied the lad simply.
‘Yes, I know that.’
After this inconclusive exchange the conversation all but dried up. There was an awkward wait of ten minutes or so before Ruby arrived.
Although startled by our presence she seemed pleased enough to see us. ‘It’s kind of you both to drop by.’
‘Not at all,’ I returned. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been down to Wales today, to see your brother.’
‘Yes, he phoned me just after you left. Thanks for your concern, but I don’t need to stay with him now. They’ve caught the Mad Monk, so I’ll be quite safe. I’ve already sent the policeman away.’
‘The policeman who was protecting you?’
‘Yes. Mind you, I think he’s still hanging around in the street.’ She went to the window and parted the curtains. ‘There he his, sitting in that car. It’s a waste of resources, really. There’s no danger any more.’
‘But what if Woodruff isn’t the murderer?’
‘He’s the murderer alright. It’s the voice that gave him away. I’ll remember it till the day I die. So calm, and yet cruel at the same time.’
‘Would you be prepared to testify against him?’ asked Mo.
‘I would,’ she replied emphatically, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘Whatever the danger.’
‘You’re a brave lady,’ said my colleague admiringly.
‘Not really. It’s my duty, isn’t it, Mr. Webster?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, it certainly takes guts to do what you’ve done. Also a good deal of planning, and an imaginative flair. I see from your shelf that you enjoy a good detective novel.’
‘Yes, I read them occasionally,’ answered Ruby, looking puzzled at my line of conversation.
‘I thought so. You see, in my humble opinion Kevin Tripp and Jacko Earle were murdered by someone well versed in elaborate plots – just like yourself, in fact.’
An uncomprehending hush descended. Mo glanced at me with a frown. ‘What are you saying, Sherl?’
‘I suppose in my clumsy, roundabout manner I’m accusing Ruby of committing the murders.’
The words jolted my colleague like a cattle-prod. ‘What!’
‘Yes,’ I went on languidly, ‘she shot both Kevin and Jacko in cold blood.’
‘What are you on about?’ demanded Wyn, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulders and giving me a menacing stare. ‘You ought to watch what you’re saying! She’s just come out of hospital.’
‘Shall I justify my statement by reconstructing the chain of events?’
‘Yes, I think you’d better,’ urged Mo, who seemed convinced I was making a catastrophic blunder.
I directed my remarks at Ruby herself.
‘Your daughter, Betty, came to London a couple of years ago to work as a secretary. Being extremely pretty – and naive – she was an easy target for exploitation. Someone persuaded her to try glamour modelling for X.E. Media, as a quick way to make extra cash. At first things went well. But then she fell in with Jacko Earle. He got her hooked on heroin, which inevitably resulted in her having to do more and more hard-core material to feed her addiction. By the time she went back to Wales she had spiralled down into a state of self-loathing despair.
‘As a caring mother you couldn’t help but notice how run-down she appeared, and quizzed her about what she had been doing. In the end the whole sordid truth came out. A few weeks later Betty took the fatal overdose: either by accident, or by intent. To protect her reputation you told your brother, Edwin, that she had died of heart failure.
‘Now you decided to wreak revenge on the two people who had contributed most to her death – Kevin Tripp and Jacko Earle. You insinuated yourself into Tripp’s house by becoming his regular char. Then you sent him that Mad Monk message on the Internet, no doubt with Wyn’s help. I believe that your son was originally going to be the assassin, dressed in the monk’s habit. But then Tripp happened to invite Jacko to become his live-in bodyguard. Here was an unmissable opportunity to kill too despicable birds with one stone.
‘On the afternoon in question you arrived at Tripp’s house as normal, ready to carry out your duties. But there were two additional items in your cleaning bag: a revolver, and a monk’s costume. Timing was important. You wanted Mr. Rennie and myself to witness the little drama which was about to be played out. So you waited until the end of my tour of surveillance before making the first move.
‘You took the gun out of the bag, went into Tripp’s bedroom, and shot him at close range. It was simplicity itself, because you were the very last person he feared. When Jacko heard the noise he hurried up to see what was going on. When he came into the room you put your gun to his head and threatened to shoot him too, unless he did exactly as he was told.
‘You made him hand over his weapon, strip off, and put on the monk’s robe. Then, on your signal he was to burst out onto the balcony, wave his now unloaded gun in the air, and shout “Get down!” We witnessed that performance, and it was undoubtedly thoroughly convincing. Finally you ordered him to change back into his normal attire, whereupon you shot him.
‘The monk’s habit and the gun you flung out of a back window; they landed on the fire-escape and lawn respectively. Having waited for a suitable crowd to assemble outside you then rushed out of the front door screaming hysterically. There – have I missed anything out?’
Ruby, who had been shaking her head almost continuously throughout my statement, now let out a sigh. ‘What can I say? You’re wrong.’
‘What a pity – for a moment I thought you were about to make a confession. Oh well!’
‘Does Inspector Poole go along with your theory?’ she asked challengingly.
I smiled. ‘I haven’t actually put it to him yet. But no doubt he’ll come round to my view – in the end.’
What happened next was as unexpected as it was violent. Wyn, who had contrived to walk round behind us, picked up a glass ornament shaped like a swan, and brought it down on Mo’s head with considerable force. The object smashed into pieces, and my friend slumped to the floor. Then, before I had time to react, a long-bladed pen-knife was held to my throat.
‘Don’t, Wyn!’ exclaimed Ruby, rushing forward to intervene.
‘Why not?’ he shouted. ‘They haven’t told the police yet, have they? We’ll say the Monk killed them! Alright?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby, wringing her hands in indecision.
I tried to break loose, but Wyn was stronger than his slight physique suggested.
‘There’s no proof!’ I panted ‘You’re safe!’
‘Let him speak,’ said Ruby. ‘I want to hear what he has to say.’
Wyn eased his grip a fraction.
‘You’ll get away with it,’ I continued. ‘That’s what I was going to tell you, but you didn’t let me finish.’
Ruby nodded. ‘He’s right, Wyn, they don’t have any proof. Come on, let him go.’
She tried to pull the knife out of her son’s hand, and in the struggle the central lampshade was knocked. That must have alerted the policeman who was watching the house, because in a few seconds there was a prolonged ring on the doorbell. Realizing the position was fast becoming hopeless Wyn threw me aside.
‘Alright, Mam, what the hell do we do now?’ he asked breathlessly.
Ruby paced up and down the room, trying to determine the best course of action.
‘Let the policeman in, ‘ she said at last. ‘I’ll tell him you lost your temper because they were making false accusations against me. Go on, boy– quick!’
Wyn hurried out of the door obediently. Meanwhile I attended to Mo, who had just come to and was groaning. I saw that there was a nasty looking gash on the side of his head – it was bleeding profusely.
‘He needs to get to a hospital,’ said Rub
y. ‘I’ll phone an ambulance for you.’
‘No need,’ I retorted, glaring angrily at her. ‘The policeman will do it.’
Two days later I called in at Mo’s flat in Fulham. He had only recently been allowed home, and his head was still heavily swathed in bandages, producing a lop-sided turban effect.
‘I’ve got to go back in a week or so, to have the stitches removed,’ he remarked, showing me into the living room. ‘And they want to do a few more tests on my brain.’
‘This is all my fault, I’m afraid,’ I mumbled guiltily. ‘I should have known Wyn would do something desperate under pressure.’
Mo shook his head gingerly. ‘He obviously panicked – difficult to predict that. But you might have told me your suspicions about Ruby before we went into the house.’
‘Yes, I was doing my usual Holmes trick of keeping you in the dark until the last moment. Childish, really.’
‘Your father would have approved.’
I laughed. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure he would. Funnily enough, I was just thinking about him on the way over here.’
‘Really? What about him?’
‘All those wasted years when we never talked to each other – just because I resented my middle name. And now look at me.’
‘One of life’s little ironies – or big ironies,’ Mo commented with a chuckle.
‘Well, presumably you want to hear the latest?’ I said, taking a seat. ‘They’ve arrested Ruby and Wyn Gates, but it’s likely the C.P.S. will throw out the murder charge.’
‘The case is too hypothetical, I suppose?’
‘I’m afraid so. If a link was found between either one of them and the murder weapon – that would be another matter. At least Wyn will go down for his assault on us.’
‘That’s something,’ reacted Mo with a sniff. ‘What about Poole? Does he accept Ruby’s the killer, or is he still hanging onto Woodruff?’
‘No, I’ve convinced him it was Ruby – for what it’s worth. He even wanted to know how I first arrived at my conclusion. I gave him a little lecture in his office, while he took notes. It was most amusing.’
‘And how did you arrive at your conclusion, if I may ask?’
‘I’ll tell you another day – you should be resting your brain.’
Mo made a face. ‘I’ve done enough of that – I’m yearning for stimulation. At least tell me when you began to suspect Ruby.’
‘Quite late in the day,’ I admitted. ‘Initially it was more a case of being vaguely unhappy with the behaviour of the monk. That appearance on the balcony seemed unduly melodramatic – the timing too convenient . . .
‘You remember when Edwin had his funny turn – while he was choosing the porn magazines? That was really the crucial moment for me. I could tell from his face that he had recognised someone he knew – a close friend or family member. What else would produce such a look of shock? I thought it might well be Betty he had seen, because she was the right age, and described as beautiful. It occurred to me that if her untimely death had been in some way connected to her modelling it would give Ruby an excellent motive for killing Tripp – the owner of the magazines.’
‘And she certainly had the opportunity – she was right on the scene.’
‘Precisely. Both factors together made quite a compelling argument for suspecting her. Edwin had the same thought when he saw Betty’s photograph. Realizing his sister could be a double-murderess was something of a jolt to the system.’
‘No wonder the poor guy had to sit down,’ Mo commiserated.
‘Luckily I’d noticed which magazines he was looking at when he reacted so strongly; I managed to sneak them out with me. It was quite easy to ascertain which model was Betty, because she had a marked resemblance to her mother – especially in the mouth. Paulette’s information merely confirmed the fact – although she knew Betty by an alias, Anna Smith.’
‘Then you went to Wales on the pretext of finding Ruby a safe-house,’ recalled Mo, ‘and discovered that Betty died of a heroin overdose.’
‘Yes, Jacko had obviously got her hooked. Ruby’s motive for killing him and Tripp was now beyond doubt. But I still didn’t know how she’d committed the murders. I thought of Jacko’s inside-out sweater. He must have taken it off at some point, and then put it back on in a tremendous hurry. He was also roughly the same height and build as the man on the balcony. I began to suspect that Ruby had forced him to change into the habit and act out that scene – at gunpoint. It was really the only possible way to explain why no-one saw a monk arrive or depart.’
‘And Ruby made up the story about being threatened on the phone – to divert suspicion away from herself?’
‘And to ensure that we continued to believe in the existence of the Mad Monk character.’
Mo rubbed his bandaged head thoughtfully. ‘She seemed such an ordinary sort of woman, that’s the terrible thing.’
I shrugged. ‘Her beloved daughter had been corrupted and driven to an early grave. The urge for revenge transformed her into a cunning killer. She leased out her house in Wales and rented a small flat in Shepherd’s Bush instead – just so as to be near her intended victim.’
‘That was a clue in itself.’
‘With hindsight, yes.’
‘One criticism. Wouldn’t it have been better to wait until you had definite proof before confronting Ruby?’
‘It was a fine judgement to make, Mo. I wasn’t particularly sanguine about the prospects of obtaining a watertight case. There was a chance, however, that Ruby could be shocked into a confession. As it happened it was Wyn who lost his nerve, with evil consequences for you, I’m afraid.’
‘We’re in a hazardous profession,’ he responded generously. ‘At least we got a good fee, and an entertaining case.’
‘I must say, the whole Monk stratagem was undeniably elegant,’ I agreed. ‘It gave Ruby something far better than an alibi – it gave her a legitimate reason for being at the scene of the crime.’
‘You sound as if you admire her, Sherl.’
‘If it wasn’t for the fact that she tried to frame Shaun Woodruff for the murders I might admire her. After all, Tripp and Earle were hardly pillars of the community. What does Bacon say? “Revenge is a kind of wild justice.” ’
‘Talking of bacon,’ said Mo, ‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Shall we knock something up?’
‘How about the Greek place down the road?’
‘Looking like this?’ he objected, pointing to his head.
‘Why not? I’ll wear my topper. We’ll both be as conspicuous as each other, for once.’
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication Page
CONTENTS
Origins
Recent History
The Fur Trade
The Warminster Assignment
The Persistent Admirer
Gardener’s Questions
The Balcony Scene
The Sherlock Effect Page 21