The Murder Room

by P. D. James

  He said, “She’d gone to clear her desk. She couldn’t do it while people were around. For her that would have been an intolerable humiliation.”

  Caroline Dupayne said, “To clear her desk and something else: to leave me a list of outstanding things to be done and to tell me how the office should be run. Conscientious to the last.”

  She spoke without pity, almost with contempt.

  He said, “Your colleagues may have thought her unsuitable for the job, but that wasn’t the reason you sacked her, was it? By Wednesday night you knew beyond doubt that she had killed your brother and Celia. You didn’t want her on the staff of the museum when I made the arrest. And then there was the link with Swathling’s. It’s always been important, hasn’t it, to keep the school unsullied by association with murder?”

  “These were minor considerations. With any luck I shall inherit Swathling’s. I’ve built up the school. I don’t want it to begin the downward path before I get the chance to take over. And you’re right about the museum. It was expedient to get rid of Muriel before you made the arrest. But that wasn’t the main reason why I told her to go. When the truth comes out, neither Swathling’s nor the Dupayne can escape some contamination. The school won’t be much harmed; she left too long ago. I doubt whether the museum will be harmed at all. Already people are clamouring to know when we plan to reopen. The Dupayne Museum is at last on the map.”

  “And when did you come to the conclusion that she was responsible?”

  “About the same time as you did, I imagine, when I learned that someone had bolted the door from the flat into the Murder Room. Only Godby and I had keys. The difference between us was that you had to find the evidence, I didn’t. And now I have a question for you. As she’s confessed, we’re spared a trial, but how much of my private life is likely to come out? I’m talking, of course, about the 96 Club. It isn’t relevant to how either victim died. Isn’t that what a coroner’s inquest is concerned with, the cause of death? Need it be mentioned?”

  The question was as calmly asked as if she were inquiring about the date. She showed no concern and this was no appeal. He said, “Much will depend on which questions the Coroner decides to ask. There are still the two adjourned inquests.”

  She smiled. “Oh, I think you’ll find that the Coroner will be discreet.”

  Dalgliesh said, “Did you tell Muriel Godby that you knew the truth? Did you challenge her?”

  “No. She knew about the 96 Club of course, or at least had her suspicions. After all, she dealt with the bed linen; she put out the empty champagne bottles. I didn’t challenge her and when I got rid of her I made no direct mention of the murders. I merely said that I wanted her to clear her desk and be gone as soon as our keys were returned. In the meantime she should keep out of my way.”

  “I want to know exactly what was said by both of you. How did she take it?”

  “How do you think? She looked at me as if I were condemning her to life imprisonment. I suppose it’s possible that I was. I thought for a moment that she was going to faint. She managed to speak but the words came out as a croak. She said, ‘What about the museum? What about my job?’ I told her not to concern herself, she wasn’t indispensable. My brother and James Calder-Hale had been wanting to get rid of her for months. Tally would take over the cleaning of my flat.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Not quite. She cried out, ‘What will happen to me?’ I told her that her best hope was that the police would see the deaths as copycat killings. That was my only reference to the murders. Then I got into my car and left.”

  And with those last words, thought Dalgliesh, Tally Clutton was condemned to die. He said, “The murder of your brother was her gift to you. It was for you she wanted to save the museum. She might even have expected you to be grateful.”

  And now her voice was hard. “Then she didn’t know me, and neither do you. You think, don’t you, that I didn’t love Neville?”

  “No, I don’t think that.”

  “We Dupaynes don’t show emotion. We were trained not to and in a hard school. We’re not sentimental about death, our own or anyone else’s. We don’t go in for that neurotic hugging and slobbering which people use as a substitute for the responsibilities of real compassion. But I did love Neville. He was the best of us. Actually he was adopted. I don’t think anyone knew who the mother was except our father. Marcus and I have always assumed that the child was his. Why otherwise would he adopt? He wasn’t a man given to generous impulses. My mother did what he wanted; that was her function in life. Neville was adopted before I was born. We quarrelled often. I had little respect for his job and he despised mine. He may have despised me but I didn’t despise him. He was always there, always the accepted elder brother. He was a Dupayne. Once I knew the truth I couldn’t bear to have Muriel Godby under the same roof.” She paused, and asked, “Is that all?”

  Dalgliesh said, “All I have a proper right to ask. I’m wondering about Tally Clutton. She says you’ve offered her Muriel’s job looking after the flat.”

  She got up and reached down for her handbag, then smiled. “Don’t worry. The job will be strictly limited. A little light dusting, vacuuming the floors. I know how to value goodness even if I don’t aspire to it myself. And if the 96 Club is reconstituted, it won’t meet at the Dupayne. We don’t want the local fuzz breaking down doors and roaring in on the excuse that they’ve been tipped off about drugs or paedophiles. Goodbye, Commander. It’s a pity we didn’t meet in different circumstances.”

  Kate, who had remained silent, left with her and the door closed behind them. Within minutes she was back. She said, “My God, she’s arrogant. And then there’s the family pride. Neville was valued because he was half a Dupayne. Do you think she was telling the truth about the adoption?”

  “Yes, Kate, she was telling the truth.”

  “And the 96 Club, what was she getting out of that?”

  “Some money, I imagine. People would have left gifts on the excuse they were helping to pay for the cleaning or the drinks. But mostly she enjoyed the power. In that she and Godby were alike.”

  He could imagine Godby sitting there at the reception desk secretly hugging the knowledge that, except for her, the museum would have closed, wondering perhaps if and when she might dare to confess to Caroline what she had done for her, that exorbitant gift of love.

  Kate said, “Caroline Dupayne will keep the club going, I imagine. If she takes over Swathling’s they could meet there safely enough, particularly in the holidays. Do you think we ought to warn Tally Clutton?”

  “It isn’t our business, Kate. We can’t put people’s lives in order for them. Tally Clutton isn’t a fool. She’ll make her own decisions. It’s not for us to face her with a moral decision she may never have to resolve. She needs her job and the cottage, that much is plain.”

  “You mean she might compromise?”

  “When there’s a lot at stake people often do, even the virtuous.”

  12

  It was five o’clock and the final seminar of the week was over. The girl student sitting opposite Emma beside the fire had been on her own. Her companion had gone down with flu, the first victim of the new term. Emma devoutly hoped that it wasn’t the beginning of an epidemic. But Shirley seemed reluctant to leave. Emma looked across at the girl, huddled in her chair, eyes down, the small, rather grubby hands twisting in her lap. She could read distress too clearly to ignore it. She found herself silently praying, Oh God, please don’t let her ask too much of me, not now. Let this be quick.

  She had to catch the six-fifteen train and Adam was to meet her at three minutes past seven at King’s Cross. She had dreaded the telephone call to say that he couldn’t make it, but he hadn’t rung. Her taxi had been ordered for five-thirty, early enough to allow for heavy traffic. Her case was packed ready. Folding her night-dress and dressing-gown, she had smiled, thinking that Clara, if watching her, would have said she was packing for a honeymoon. She wrenche
d her mind away from the mental picture of his tall dark figure waiting for her at the barrier, and said, “Is anything worrying you?”

  The eyes looked into hers. “The other students think I’m here because I went to a comprehensive school. They think the government paid money to Cambridge to take me. That’s why I’m here, not because I’m clever.”

  Emma’s voice was sharp. “Has anyone said this to you?”

  “No, no one. They haven’t said anything but that’s what they believe. It’s in the newspapers. They know it’s happening.”

  Emma leaned forward and said, “It doesn’t happen here in this college and it didn’t happen with you. Shirley, it’s just not true. Listen to me, this is important. The government doesn’t tell Cambridge how to select its students. If it did, if any government did, Cambridge wouldn’t take any notice. We have no motive for selecting anyone except on the basis of intelligence and potential. You’re here because you deserve to be.”

  Shirley’s voice was so low that Emma had to strain to hear her. “I don’t feel I am.”

  “Think about it, Shirley. Scholarship is international and highly competitive. If Cambridge is to hold its place in the world, we need to select the best. You’re here on your merits. We want to have you and we want you to be happy here.”

  “The others seem so confident. Some of them knew each other before they came up. They’ve got friends here. Cambridge isn’t strange to them, they know what to do, they’re together. Everything’s strange to me. I feel that I don’t belong here. It was a mistake coming to Cambridge, that’s what some of Mum’s friends back home told me. They said I wouldn’t fit in.”

  “They were wrong. It does help, coming up with friends. But some of the students who seem so confident have much the same worries as you. The first term at university is never easy. All over England now new students are feeling the same uncertainties. When we are unhappy we always believe that no one else could ever feel the same. But they do. It’s part of being human.”

  “You can’t feel like that, Dr. Lavenham.”

  “Of course I can, sometimes. And I do. Have you joined any societies?”

  “Not yet. There are so many. I’m not sure where I’d fit in.”

  “Why not join one in which you’re really interested. Don’t just do it to meet people and make friends. Choose something you’ll enjoy, perhaps something new. You will meet people and you will make friends.”

  The girl nodded and whispered something which might have been “I’ll try.” Emma was worried. This was the kind of problem brought to her by students which caused the most anxiety. At what stage, if any, ought she to advise that they ask for professional counselling or psychiatric help? To miss the signs of serious distress could be disastrous. But to overreact could destroy the very confidence she was trying to build up. Was Shirley desperate? She didn’t think so. She hoped that she was judging rightly. But there was other help she could offer and which she knew was needed.

  She said gently, “When we first come up, it’s sometimes difficult to know how to work most effectively, how to make the best use of our time. It’s easy to waste it by working hard on inessentials and neglecting what is important. Writing academic essays takes a lot of practice. I’m out of Cambridge this Saturday and Sunday but we can have a talk about it on Monday, if you feel it would be helpful.”

  “Oh it would, Dr. Lavenham, it would. Thank you.”

  “Shall we say six o’clock then?”

  The girl nodded and got up to go. At the door she turned to whisper a final thank you, then disappeared. Emma looked at her watch. It was time to put on her coat, pick up her case and go down to await the taxi. She was on Cambridge station before she realized that she had left her mobile in her room in College. Perhaps, she thought, this had been less an oversight than a subconscious dread of hearing it ring on the journey. Now she could travel in peace.

  13

  At last Dalgliesh was ready to leave. His PA put her head round the door. “It’s the Home Office, Mr. Dalgliesh. The Minister would like to see you. His private office rang. It’s urgent.”

  When a call came on a Friday afternoon it usually was. Dalgliesh said, “You told them I’m leaving for the weekend almost immediately?”

  “I did tell them. The private office said it was lucky they caught you in time. It’s important. Mr. Harkness has been called as well.”

  So Harkness would be there. Who else? Dalgliesh wondered. Even while dragging on his coat he looked at his watch. Five minutes to cut through St. James’s Park underground station and to get to Queen Anne’s Gate. Probably the usual delay with the lift. At least he was well known and, with his pass, wouldn’t get held up by security. So, six minutes in total, if he were lucky, before he was in the Minister’s room. He wasted no time checking whether Harkness had already left, and ran for the lift.

  It was seven minutes exactly before he was shown to the private office and into the Minister’s room. He saw that Harkness was already there, as was the Permanent Under-Secretary of State, Bruno Denholm from MI6 and the PUSS from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, a suave, young-looking middle-aged official whose air of calm detachment made it plain that he held merely a watching brief. All present were used to this kind of urgent summons and practised in reducing the unexpected and unwelcome to the manageable and innocuous. Even so, he was aware of an air of unease, almost of embarrassment.

  The Minister waved a hand and made brief and largely unnecessary introductions. He was a man who had adopted good manners, particularly to officers, as a working policy. Dalgliesh reflected that on the whole it served him well. It had at least the merit of originality. But now his offer of sherry—“Unless you gentlemen think it too early; there’s tea or coffee if preferred”—and his scrupulous attention to their seating seemed wilful delaying tactics and Harkness’s acceptance of the sherry, apparently on behalf of them all, an indulgence amounting to incipient alcoholism. God, would they never get started? The sherry was poured—excellent and very dry—and they seated themselves at the table. There was a folder in front of the Minister. He opened it and Dalgliesh saw that it held his report on the Dupayne Museum murders.

  The Minister said, “Congratulations, Commander. A sensitive case solved speedily and efficiently. It raises again the question of whether we shouldn’t extend the Special Investigation Squad to cover the whole country. I’m thinking particularly of recent distressing child abduction and murders. A national squad with particular expertise could have an advantage in these notorious cases. I imagine you have views on the suggestion.”

  Dalgliesh could have retorted that the question wasn’t new and that views on it, his included, were already known. He said, carefully restraining his impatience, “The advantages are obvious if the investigation needs to cover the whole country rather than clearly being a local crime. But there are objections. We risk losing local knowledge and contact with the local community which can be important in any investigation. There’s the problem of liaison and co-operation with the force primarily concerned, and there could be a loss of morale if the more challenging cases are reserved for a squad which can be seen as privileged both in recruitment and facilities. What we need is an improvement in the training of all detectives including those at DC level. The public are beginning to lose confidence in the ability of the police to solve local crime.”

  The Minister said, “And that, of course, is what your committee is at present considering, the recruitment and training of the detective force. I’m wondering if there could be an advantage in our taking on this wider issue, the creation of a national squad.”

  Dalgliesh didn’t point out that it wasn’t his committee, merely one on which he served. He said, “The chairman would probably agree to a late extension of the terms of reference if that’s what the Secretary of State wants. If it had been included from the beginning we might have had a rather different membership. There are problems in coopting members at this late stage.”

 
“But in future it could be taken on board?”

  “Certainly, if Sir Desmond is happy.”

  But this reiteration of an old issue had, Dalgliesh realized, been only a preliminary. Now the Minister turned his attention to the report on the murders. He said, “Your report makes it plain that the private club—or perhaps I should say the meetings of friends of Miss Caroline Dupayne—was not responsible either for the death of Dr. Neville Dupayne or of Celia Mellock.”

  Dalgliesh said, “There was only one person responsible, Muriel Godby.”

  “Exactly, and that being so, it seems unnecessary to distress her mother further by any reference publicly as to why the girl was at the museum.”

  Dalgliesh reflected that an ability to believe that all people were less intelligent and more naÏve than oneself was a useful quality in a professional politician, but it wasn’t one he was prepared to accept. He said, “This hasn’t anything to do with Lady Holstead, has it? She and her second husband were well aware of her daughter’s lifestyle. Who exactly are we protecting here, sir?”

  He was tempted mischievously to suggest some names but resisted. Harkness’s sense of humour was rudimentary and the Minister’s untested.

  The Minister looked across at the official from the FCO. He said, “A foreign national, an important man and a good friend of this country, has sought an assurance that certain private matters will remain private.”

  Dalgliesh said, “But isn’t he being unnecessarily worried? I thought only two sins attract opprobrium in the national press: paedophilia and racism.”

  “Not in his country.”

  The Minister took over quickly. “Before we give that assurance, there are details on which I need to be satisfied, particularly that there will be no interference with the course of justice. That doesn’t need saying. But justice surely doesn’t demand the stigmatizing of the innocent.”

  Dalgliesh said, “I hope my report is clear, Minister.”