by Rhys Bowen
“But not quite as pretty—right?” Bella spat out the words. “Stella always had the looks and the talent, so they said, but I think I’ve done well enough in my own little way.”
“What does she mean?” Belinda asked.
“I think she means she’s been a very successful jewel thief, slipping into posh house parties where her sister was a guest. Nobody would think it strange if they happened to bump into her, disguised as her sister.”
“Good heavens,” Belinda said. “So you came here to steal the candlesticks?”
“You’re too bleeding clever,” Bella said.
“But something went wrong and Mr. Goldman caught you, so you hit him over the head?” I asked.
“No, of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’ve never hurt anybody,” she said, shaking her head so vehemently that I noticed she was wearing a wig. A wig that was identical to Stella’s hairstyle. Aha! “I found him lying there when I came into the library, didn’t I? Lying there with his head all bashed in. I realized then that it would look bad for me if I was caught, so all I wanted to do was get away.”
“You could have left the candlesticks where they were. Why did you put one in your sister’s bed? I take it that was you?” I asked.
She gave me an evil grin. “Oh, they found that, did they? It was only to confuse things a bit and give me time to get away safely.”
“But your sister might even be charged with the murder—at the very least with the robbery,” I said. “Don’t you care about that? Why implicate her, of all people?”
“What’s she ever done for me?” Bella spat out the words. “I was only a kid when she said she was going to America and she didn’t want me to come with her. I’d only hold her back, she said. So she left me to fend for myself. She became a big star, didn’t she? I kept hoping she’d send for me but she never did. And then when I caught the flu in 1919, and nearly died, I wrote to her but she never bothered to write back. I couldn’t work for a while, but then I kept myself going, in the chorus in pantomimes and seaside shows, but the funny thing was that everywhere I went people kept telling me I looked like Stella Brightwell. So I thought—why not? Why not use that resemblance to my advantage for once? And it worked. I’ve done very nicely for myself and I don’t plan to stop now.”
“I should have thought a murder charge might put a stop to your little business,” I said.
“You can’t pin anything on me. If they ask me I just came to get a glimpse of my long-lost dear sister. I’ve never even met that poor bloke. I had no reason to kill him.”
“So they won’t find your fingerprints on the candlesticks?” I asked.
She snorted. “Do you think I’m stupid? I always wear gloves.”
“I know,” I said. “They found a bloody black glove in the grounds. And a bloody print made by that glove on the window frame. Did you really climb out of that window? It’s an awfully long way to the ground.”
“I didn’t go down. I went up. It was quite easy to lower myself down from Stella’s window and then climb back up again. I do it all the time.”
“You really are amazing,” I said in spite of myself. “Frightfully brave. The way you drove in through the main gate after everyone else, pretending to be Stella.”
“It’s always worked before,” she said. “No reason why it shouldn’t.”
“But what if Stella had been driving another of the cars?”
“I watched you lot leave, of course. I saw the young bloke driving and the car’s windows were tinted. I thought there was a good chance they wouldn’t notice who the passengers were.”
We had been walking slowly up the hill, Belinda and I with a firm grip on her arms. The house came into view ahead of us. Bella started in alarm like a spooked horse and tried to back away.
“If you take me in there they’ll think I killed him,” she said.
“I thought you were so confident a few minutes ago,” I said. I looked down at the watch on the wrist I was holding. It was her right wrist. “Your sister is left-handed, like you,” I said.
“She is. So was our mum. I don’t know about our dad. He left us when I was a baby. But what’s that got to do with anything?”
“It should prove that you didn’t kill Mr. Goldman,” I said. “As it happens, the most they can cite you for is breaking and entering. You didn’t steal anything. You just played a trick on your sister.”
“You think they’ll go for that?” There was a slight tremble of hope in her voice and I realized that for all her brashness she was a frightened young woman alone in a strange country.
“I think they will believe it when a man sent over from Scotland Yard testifies that you have never committed any violent act, even when you could have done.”
“Blimey. There’s someone come over from Scotland Yard after me, is there?”
“You’ve left quite a trail of robberies behind you, including the ones on the ship,” I said.
“Only one on the ship,” she corrected. “The Indian princess.”
“What about the diamond ring?”
“I never took no diamond ring,” she said. “That must have been someone else. Or what’s the betting the passenger lied about the ring being stolen to claim on the insurance. They often do, you know.”
When I thought of the woman in question I realized this might well be true. “But you did take the princess’s ruby?”
She grinned. “That was a piece of cake. But of course I shall deny this conversation if you mention it to anyone else. They’ve absolutely nothing on me. They can’t even prove I was on the ship. I traveled on a fake passport.”
“So, the princess,” I went on, intrigued now. “How did you do it? You dressed up like your sister and pretended you’d gone to her cabin by mistake?”
“How the devil did you know that?”
“I put two and two together,” I said, feeling rather pleased with myself.
“That was just to see where she kept things and how attentive the servant was,” she said. “The good thing is that people like her never notice servants. I borrowed a stewardess’s uniform and waited until the servant was dozing and the princess was out. Then I let myself in and helped myself.”
“And how did you hide the ruby when they searched the ship?”
She laughed then. “Under my wig, of course. I always travel with extra wigs. I’ve a nice little compartment for stowing things—and one little ruby slips in easily.”
“Oh, I see!” I nodded with understanding. “And you threw the extra wigs overboard when you thought they might search your cabin,” I said. “I saw something fall overboard, heard the splash and then saw hair floating on the water. I thought someone was drowning.”
She laughed. “Not someone. Many people. My other identities. The extra wigs, the duplicates of my sister’s dresses. I always travel with those so I can look like her anytime I want. Actually I had my eye on a good diamond brooch and I thought I might help myself to it while everyone was at the costume ball, but I was seen by a real steward trying to get into a cabin. I know he alerted security and I thought I might have been followed. I couldn’t take the risk of my cabin being searched so I bundled everything up and threw it overboard.” She looked at me appraisingly. “You’re quite smart, you know. Too bad you’re a woman. You could be a detective.”
“The man who is following you from Scotland Yard is just as good,” I said.
“I can’t get over that. Scotland Yard bothering to send someone after me.”
“You should realize that you’re quite a celebrity,” I said.
She smiled then, making her look much younger. “Go on.”
“Seriously. You are much admired at Scotland Yard for your daring exploits.”
“But that won’t stop them from putting me in Holloway Prison if they get their hands on me, will it?” She stoo
d there, staring up at the house again and I could feel the tension in her arms as she tried to prevent us from leading her any farther.
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“They’ll have to catch me first, though.” And she gave me a defiant grin.
Chapter 29
Sheriff Billings looked up in surprise when Belinda and I entered the foyer with Bella Brightwell between us. “What’s going on now?” he said. “Miss Brightwell—who the devil let you out?”
“This isn’t Miss Brightwell,” I said. “The real Stella is still locked up in a bedroom. This is her sister, Bella.”
“Nobody told me about a sister,” he said angrily.
“Nobody knew about her sister,” I said. “I heard from my mother that Stella had a sister and that they had been in show business together. My mother had worked with them when they were little girls. So when people reported seeing Stella and I knew that couldn’t be true I realized that her sister must be on the property too. And that the sister had a distinguished career of her own, as a jewel thief. And she could only be here for one reason—to steal the gold candlesticks Mr. Goldman had brought back with him.”
“So we’ve got the real killer at last.” He looked pleased with himself. “Over here, boys!” he yelled.
“Hold on a minute,” Bella said. “You can’t prove any of this. I came here to visit my long-lost sister, Stella, that’s all. You won’t find my prints on those candlesticks. You won’t find them anywhere.”
“But it was your bloody glove print that we found on the library window frame,” I said. “And the sheriff also found one bloody glove. I bet if we search hard enough we’ll find its mate. Maybe it’s even in your pocket at the moment.”
“I thought you were on my side,” she snapped at me.
“I’m on the side of justice,” I said, “but you don’t have to worry. You did nothing wrong this time in the eyes of the law. You drove in through the gate saying you were Miss Brightwell. That’s true. You are Miss Brightwell. They let you in. They gave you permission to enter. And you went into the library, probably to take a look at the famous candlesticks, found Mr. Goldman lying there dead, got frightened and decided to put one of the candlesticks in your sister’s bed as a cruel joke. Nothing criminal about any of that.”
“So you’re saying she’s not the killer?” Sheriff Billings asked.
“Look at her wrist, Sheriff.” I lifted the arm I was still holding. “She wears her wristwatch on her right arm. That proves she’s left-handed like her sister, don’t you think?”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I see. So she went into the library, intending to steal the candlesticks, but found Goldman on the floor instead.”
“I went into the library,” Bella said defiantly. “And I didn’t steal anything. You can’t surmise my intentions. I might like books.”
“Enough of your cheek,” the sheriff said. “You should realize that you are still in a very precarious position, young lady.” He wagged a threatening finger in her face. “I could have you locked up for unlawful entry, trespass, any number of things. I know you were intending to carry off those candlesticks and you only chickened out because you stumbled over the body. But you can do yourself some good if you can help us throw any light on the murder. To start with, how did you get into that library? Everyone in the house swears that nobody was seen coming or going from that hallway.”
“Easy. I let myself into the house while you were all out by the pool, hid in an unused room, then went to Stella’s room while you were all at dinner. I climbed down the wall to the library window.”
“You climbed down the wall?” He sounded incredulous.
“Oh, it’s easy if you’ve got a rough, uneven rock wall like that,” she said. “I do it all the time.”
“Well, dang me.” He shook his head. “Now there must have been only a very brief time frame between the guests’ leaving the library and Mr. Goldman being killed. You must have been in the best position to see or hear the killer. So think carefully—did you see or hear anything that could help us?”
Bella frowned. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think I saw or heard anything, or I wouldn’t have tried to get into the room. As I said, I went upstairs while you were all at dinner. I waited in Stella’s room because it was right above the library. I heard the men saying they were going to have cigars and brandy in the library, so I waited until the lights finally went out, then I climbed down the wall and let myself in through the window. The curtains were closed across the alcove. I stepped out and the first thing I did was to kick something. I picked it up and it was one of the candlesticks. I knew something was wrong then. I turned on my torch and I saw I’d got blood on my glove. That really spooked me. And then I saw him, of course—lying just on the other side of the curtain with his head smashed in.”
“You’re sure you were alone in the room then?”
Bella shrugged. “I’ve no idea. It was dark apart from my little torch. Anyone could have been hidden in one of the other alcoves or even in the shadows at the far end of the room.” She shuddered and hugged her arms to herself. “Well, I just wanted to get out of there then. I knew I could take the candlesticks, but I also knew how bad it would look for me if I was caught with them. So I put back the bloody candlestick exactly where I had found it and then I decided I’d leave the other one in Stella’s room, just to throw people off the scent. Give myself time to get away.”
“And where did you go after that?” the sheriff asked. “Did you climb out of the window again?”
“I heard an almighty crash,” she said, “then lots of running and shouting, so I decided I’d better make myself scarce. After I put the candlestick in her bed, I went across to the other side of the house where I could climb down onto the roof of the garage, then I stayed close enough to listen to what was going on. I realized there was no way I could escape from the estate that night, so I disappeared into the woods until I found an unoccupied cottage and I spent the night there.”
“Thank you, Miss Brightwell,” the sheriff said. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do with you at this point, but I suggest that we all get some breakfast and we’ll see how things turn out. And please don’t think of trying to escape. There’s no way out of here except through that gate and my men are guarding it.”
“Thank heavens for that. I’m starving,” Belinda said.
“You can let go of her now.” The sheriff looked from Belinda to me. “Nice work, ladies,” he said. “Very astute of you, and gutsy too. You English ladies are not the prissy little wallflowers you are claimed to be.” He took Bella’s arm. “Come along, little lady. I want to keep you in my sight.”
“Prissy little wallflowers indeed,” Belinda muttered into my ear as we crossed the foyer. “Odious man. I’m of a good mind to help Bella escape.”
“I don’t think you’d better do that. Darcy wouldn’t be pleased.”
We heard the sheriff’s big boots echoing behind us until we reached the corridor leading to the library, where the sheriff paused. “Before we go and eat I’d like you to take just one more look, Miss Brightwell,” he said. “Just to see if anything else triggers your mind. You never know . . . any little thing.”
He ushered her down the narrow hallway ahead of him. I followed because I was curious. I too wanted to get another look at the library in daylight.
“I don’t know about you but I’m off to breakfast,” Belinda called to me. “I have no wish to see crime scenes or dead bodies. It would quite put one off one’s scrambled eggs.”
The sheriff turned the key to unlock the library door. The heavy drapes were still closed and amid the smell of dust, old leather, and furniture polish there lingered the unmistakable smell of death. When you’ve smelled it once, you never forget it. The sheriff didn’t open the drapes but instead turned on the electric light to reveal the body still lying where it had fallen,
although now it was covered by a sheet. Bella gave a little gasp on seeing it. “He’s still there.”
“Yes, well we couldn’t get our hands on the morgue wagon until this morning. It will be on its way now. And the doc wants to perform an autopsy, although the cause of death looks clear enough to me. So take your time. Look around the room. Is there anything you remember now that wasn’t quite right? Anything to tip you off that someone else was still in the room—because I don’t know how the hell he or she got out.”
“I don’t think anyone could have climbed down the wall from here,” Bella said. “That wall below is concrete and quite smooth. And it’s a long drop. And they couldn’t have climbed up, because I would have seen them.”
I was still staring with the same horrified fascination I had felt the night before. I remembered the scene with all of us clustered in the doorway, Mr. Goldman lying on the floor, all that blood . . . And the sheriff hadn’t ever finished interviewing the rest of us in the library, so presumably he had no way of knowing whether any of us might have cracked under the strain of seeing the body of the man they had just killed. But he had interviewed Mrs. Goldman here, even though she had strongly protested that it was inhumane to make her answer questions where her husband’s body was lying.
And then I looked up, frowning as I tried to capture a thought that had crept into my consciousness. Something that had not seemed quite right at the time. Mrs. Goldman protesting that it was cruel to interview people where her husband was lying dead, and Juan saying, “They can pull the curtains over the body if you do not wish to look at him.”
But how did he know that the body was lying half under the drapes in the window alcove? It was a big room. Mr. Goldman could have been lying anywhere. And Juan had been asleep when the rest of us had piled into the library and seen the body.
“Juan!” I burst out. “It had to be Juan.”
“The Spanish guy who claimed he slept through the whole thing?” The sheriff looked surprised. “What makes you think that?”