‘How do you mean?’
She sighed. ‘Sir Peter was a proud man. He made enemies. It wasn’t his intention of course but—’
‘Do you know who killed him?’
She stared at him with her deep brown eyes, slightly surprised it seemed. ‘You ask me? What would I know?’
‘You’ve been with the family for so long. You know all of their secrets.’
For a brief moment her expression changed to one of worry. ‘I really don’t know that much.’
Jasper surveyed her more closely. ‘Was Sir Peter under threat? Did you know who it was and why it happened?’
She wet her lips. ‘You must let it rest. Let the police do their job.’
‘But the police know next to nothing about his life.’
‘All the better. I don’t want the newspapers to write about it. Like it’s sordid and low.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘He was a good man who cared deeply for his daughter. Oh, the poor girl. What will happen to her now?’
‘I assume she will inherit her father’s fortune.’ Jasper looked her over. ‘She will not want.’
‘Not for material things, no. But for love.’ Iris’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She will never have his love anymore.’
She lowered her head.
Jasper said, ‘Where is Violet now?’
‘Downstairs in a separate room. I’ll take her home. I’ll tell her I conveyed her apologies to you and she need not bother herself with that. Good day.’ She walked away, prim and proper.
But Jasper had a feeling she had acted with a certain rush as if she wanted to forestall his response. As if she wanted to keep him away from Violet.
Because Violet wasn’t sorry at all for what she had said?
Because she was so emotional she might even say more?
Chapter Eight
Isobel Maurin tried to apply her lipstick with fingers that trembled so much she threatened to smear it all over her chin. She took a deep breath. In a few minutes she’d have to get up on the stage and sing her heart out and she couldn’t do that with nerves fluttering in her stomach.
But the tension that had gripped her after the murder wouldn’t let go. Her admirer had lain there with that hideous mask across his face, like a grotesque distortion of his human features. A mask with an immense value but no soul, no feeling. Cold like death itself.
A fitting ending. And still she could not bring herself to think on it without trepidation. It was dangerous. Thrilling but oh so dangerous. Why could she never be content with an easy life, with simple things, with the ordinary? Why did she always crave more – excitement, love, money, fame? And thrills.
She lowered her hand and tossed the lipstick on the dresser. This would have to do. She ached for a cigarette but it was so bad for her voice.
Suddenly, behind her back, she heard the sound of a match striking, and then the sweet smell of cigarette smoke wafted towards her. She turned around.
He stood there, reaching out the cigarette to her.
‘I can’t. It will hurt my singing.’
‘Nobody will mind if you’re not so good tonight. They all know what happened. They’re coming to see how you sing after you watched a man die.’
‘A man lying dead,’ she corrected.
He hitched a brow. ‘If you say so.’
She took the cigarette from his hand and put it between her lips. Inhaling the smoke deep into her lungs, she studied his daring face. ‘How did you get in here? You shouldn’t be seen here.’
He shrugged. ‘I get into places and I vanish again. Like a thief in the night.’
Her stomach shrank. Had he watched her at the opening? How much did he know?
Someone knocked on her door. ‘Five minutes.’
‘Five minutes, darling.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘You?’ she challenged.
‘What is there to talk about? Everything is solved now, right?’
She swallowed hard. The cigarette that was supposed to calm her nerves had irritated her lungs, and she coughed, tears rising to her eyes. You could be too daring. You could try for too much. And then it ended badly.
He took the cigarette from her hand and smoked it, in silence, watching her through the haze of smoke. The conviction in his features chilled her to the bone. She was at his mercy now. Once he had loved her and he would never have hurt her. These days she wasn’t too sure.
* * *
In his guestroom Jasper sat by the hearth with Red beside him, and in his lap a book which he wasn’t reading. His mind kept going over the people he had seen at the opening, the tension between them, the reasons why Sir Peter had to die.
One obvious reason was Karl Müller’s death and the supposition – justified or not – that it hadn’t been an accident but murder and that Sir Peter had been the murderer, for which he himself had to die. If Jasper went for that theory, he had to look for the person who had sent the threatening letter to Sir Peter. The complicating factor was that others could have known of the existence of this letter, for instance if Sir Peter had shared the contents with his partner Demain or with Herziger, who might in turn have let something about it slip to his daughter Beate. And that meant either of them could also have used the threat against Sir Peter to kill him for their own ends, and had placed the mask across his face as a suggestion the murder was somehow connected to the letter and to the accident on the dig. But that need not be. The mask could even denote something else altogether. The link with king, leader.
Father.
Jasper huffed and Red looked up at him. Patting the dog on the head, Jasper said, ‘I like her, Red, and I don’t want her to be involved. But I can’t shake the idea that she asked me to help her for a reason. Something she didn’t disclose to me. I have to find out what it is.’
Red grunted and lay down again. Murder had never particularly interested him. Not as much as chicken.
Jasper put the book aside and took a notebook from his pocket. He opened it to an empty page and wrote down:
Sir Peter Treemore, celebrated archaeologist, died with a mask placed over his face.
Karl Müller, his deceased partner, died in an accident on the dig. Or was it an accident?
Letter writer says otherwise. Who can this be?
He paused for a moment as he realised that he didn’t even know for sure there was a letter writer. Violet had told him about a letter found in her father’s wastepaper basket and what it had said. It had sounded like a plausible story, especially as she could even tell him the letter’s exact text.
But then again, if you made up the arrival of a letter, you could also make up its contents. He had asked Violet if Iris Phelps knew about it and she had given a plausible reason why not. But that also meant he couldn’t verify it. Perhaps he could only establish the fact that a letter had arrived which Sir Peter had looked over at breakfast and had responded violently to. Miss Phelps would remember that, he hoped.
But could he ask her after she had made it very clear to him that she didn’t want his involvement?
He wrote:
Violet Treemore, the daughter, asked me to watch her father at the opening, an emotional and volatile girl.
Iris Phelps, her companion, who has been with her since her mother died and who is very protective of her.
Then he went on to list Werner Herziger, his daughter Beate and her three friends, and Erneste Demain.
His thoughts kept circling back to Karl Müller and the pervasive sense that his death had everything to do with Sir Peter’s murder. He needed to know much more about it, but he had a sinking feeling that although a lot of the people now on his list had been on that fatal expedition, none of them would be particularly forthcoming with details about the accident that had killed Müller.
A knock on the door made Red sit up. The butler looked in. ‘Mr Erneste Demain to see you, sir. If you would come down to the salon?’
‘Thank you. I’m coming.’ Jasper rose, put his notebook away
and told Red to stay. The retriever gave him a melancholy look.
Jasper followed the butler down the stairs. His mind was racing over what on earth Demain would want with him. They had been briefly introduced at the opening, but the man hadn’t shown a particular interest in him. Now all of a sudden he was calling on him?
In the salon Demain stood by the mantelpiece, studying the objets d’art lined up along it. He turned when Jasper came in. Although he smiled politely and apologised for the inconvenience of calling without having announced his visit in advance, Jasper sensed an anxiety in his eyes which made his nerve ends tighten. ‘It’s not a problem at all. I have time to see you. Do sit down.’
It felt odd to play host in someone else’s house but he’d do anything to put his visitor at ease. The butler lingered at the door. ‘Should I bring coffee, sir?’
‘Please.’ Jasper waited until he had retreated and said to Demain, ‘My sincere condolences on the death of your partner, Sir Peter Treemore.’
He expected polite thanks and an introductory conversation about the past the two had shared, before Demain would get to the point of his visit, but to his surprise the short man wrung his hands and burst out, ‘I’m afraid I will be next.’
‘Next?’ Jasper repeated.
‘To die!’ Demain jumped up and paced the room. ‘Sir Peter didn’t take it seriously. He laughed. Laughed at the letter, laughed at me.’
Jasper’s muscles tightened at the mention of the letter. So Demain had known about the threat Sir Peter had received.
His visitor continued, ‘I could have slapped him and perhaps if I had, he would have listened. But now he’s dead and I am next. The killer will come for me. He believes it’s justified.’
‘Justified? How come?’ Jasper watched the visitor through narrowed eyes. He had dealt with so many people throughout his career that he considered himself a reasonable judge of character and emotions, but he also knew people could be masters of manipulation. Now that Sir Peter was dead, the only one left to lecture on the golden mask of death and receive the accolades for its discovery was this man, Erneste Demain. Perhaps he had come here pretending to be under threat from the same killer to divert suspicion from himself?
‘You said Sir Peter didn’t want to listen to you. Listen to you about what exactly?’
‘The danger he was in. He believed it was all a joke, or… No, not a joke. He believed I would be harmed, but not him. He told me so. He said to look out and recognise the man.’
‘What man?’
‘The killer. He would come to the opening and I would recognise him.’
‘Why would you?’
Demain didn’t seem to hear him and continued, ‘He said I should give him money. It somehow amused him. He was evil like that, taking delight when others squirmed. He wanted me to pay him so it would look as if…’ He fell silent a moment. ‘Now he is dead and the killer wants to murder me too.’
‘Have you seen the killer?’
‘When?’ Demain looked about him as if to discern said murderer in the room with them now.
‘At the opening.’ Jasper was starting to lose his patience with the nervous man. Or was he being evasive for a reason? ‘You just told me that Sir Peter informed you you would recognise the killer. So did you or did you not recognise him?’
‘I didn’t see anyone I knew.’
It sounded a bit hesitant. Jasper went closer to him. ‘Mr Demain, if you want me to help you, you must be honest with me. What did you see?’
‘I couldn’t believe it when he told me. I can’t believe it still. Why would it be that way? But if he said so, it must be true. Or he lied to me. But why would he? He can’t tell us anymore. He’s dead and gone. Conveniently vanished.’
‘I don’t think Sir Peter would consider his death convenient,’ Jasper said drily.
‘He had enough problems,’ Demain bit back. Then he took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I came here in fear of my life. You ask me all these questions. But you don’t ask the one that matters: how you can protect me from this madman.’
‘How do you think I can protect you?’
‘You must tell the police about his existence.’
‘Me? Why not you?’
‘I cannot. I have nothing to prove it. I burned the letter.’
‘What letter?’
‘The one he sent me.’
Jasper sighed and raised both hands. ‘Mr Demain, I can’t grasp the full picture if you keep telling me snippets. Do sit down and tell me the story in the right order. When did you first feel your life was under threat? Apparently before the opening and the murder, because you tried to warn Sir Peter.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ Demain sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. ‘I did but he wouldn’t listen. As usual. He always knew better. In everything we had to decide.’
‘When did you first feel your life was under threat?’ Jasper repeated to lead him back to the question at hand.
‘When I got that blasted letter. It was in the mail one morning, in an envelope without a sender. I opened it without having any suspicion it would contain such scandalous accusations.’
Jasper eyed him sharply. So there had been more than one letter sent. Had all people involved with the expedition and the mask received letters? Herziger too?
The question faded into the background under a painful realisation: what Demain described supported Violet’s story about the anonymous threat. She hadn’t made it up. He felt a stab of guilt at having doubted her when she was a grieving daughter who had in vain tried to protect her father who was in mortal danger.
He blinked to focus on the conversation and said, ‘Scandalous accusations?’
‘It said someone was murdered and the murderer would pay.’
‘Did it give the name of the person murdered?’
‘Yes, but I will not repeat it here. It is too rude for words. To call an accident murder!’
‘How did you understand the text?’
Demain blinked. ‘Excuse me?’
‘How did you interpret the text of this letter sent to you?’
‘It’s plain, isn’t it?’
Jasper exhaled slowly. ‘Let me put it differently. This letter was sent to you. It made mention of a murder and of a murderer who would have to pay for what he had done. Did you ask yourself why it was sent to you?’
‘Of course I wondered, but… it seemed unreal.’
‘Still, you took it seriously enough to discuss it with Sir Peter.’
‘Yes, because you never know what a madman might do. I mean, who would send such a letter?’
Jasper studied him. ‘Did you think that perhaps the letter was sent to you because the sender believed you to be somehow responsible for the death in question?’
Demain rose to his feet. ‘Do you accuse me of murder?’ He sounded breathless.
‘I’m asking how you took the meaning of this letter. You come in here claiming your life is in danger. Why would it be in danger unless you were the killer that the letter implies and you had to pay?’
Demain turned pale. He staggered on his feet. He sank back into the chair and said hoarsely, ‘No, I never thought that. At least not when I first read the letter. I mean…’ He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his sweaty forehead. ‘I thought it was just a general accusation, trying to put fear into the surviving expedition members. On top of those stories in the papers about a curse… Perhaps it was even a stunt from some reporter to keep the idea alive that we were all targeted. But after Sir Peter died, I started to think… To worry that…’ He gasped for breath. ‘This person must be mad. Mad!’
Jasper felt a bit sorry for having treated the poor man so severely and said, ‘You must tell me a bit more. You got this letter and you didn’t think it was a serious accusation. But you did know what it referred to.’
‘Yes, of course, but that matter is over and done with.’
‘Karl Müller died in an accident,’ Jasper said slowly.
> Demain jerked under the mention of the name. ‘Yes, he did. We were present when he died. That is, I came upon the scene when they were trying to excavate him. Listen to me. Excavate him. Like he was one of our discoveries. It was gruesome, Jasper. Unreal. I don’t wish living through something like that on my worst enemy. I can’t understand why anyone would assume that either Sir Peter or I had anything to do with it. That it was consciously done.’ Demain shivered as if the mere idea put a physical cold into his body. ‘I burned the letter because I didn’t want to keep it among my correspondence.’
The logical act of an appalled innocent man, Jasper wondered, or proof of a guilty conscience?
He asked, ‘And did you then discuss it with Sir Peter?’
‘No. Because we were both shocked by events, we never talked about them anymore. We tried to forget. I didn’t mention it to him at all.’
‘Until today, before the opening. Why today of all times?’
‘I was worried about the whole situation.’ Demain gestured around him. ‘The opening, all the guests, this business in the newspapers about a curse. I just wanted to know it was safe to proceed. Then he revealed he had also received a similar letter and that he even expected the person who sent it to come to the opening. I was shocked.’
‘Why did he expect that?’
‘He said it would be logical or something. And that he wanted to warn me because I might get a shock if I was confronted by this person without prior warning. A shock that might stop my bad heart.’
‘That sounds like rather a cruel thing to say to a friend.’
‘We were partners in business, never friends.’
The words came out with a certainty that made Jasper curious. ‘Why not?’
‘We were too different. He had no modesty. He never acknowledged his limitations. And I didn’t like the way in which he had… latched on to Herziger’s daughter just for the sake of her father’s connections. He wasn’t a pleasant man to deal with.’
An Exhibition of Murder Page 7