The Killing of Olga Klimt

by R. T. Raichev

  ‘I have problems with my memory,’ Mr X said.

  ‘It’s because you are old, that’s why. Of course you have problems with your memory. Your brain is melting. I don’t want you to speak now. No, don’t say a word.’ She held the mobile phone to her ear. ‘Come on, where are you?’ Simona muttered.

  ‘Why do you have to talk to your friend now?’ Mr X asked.

  ‘Because I want to.’ It wasn’t like Inge to vanish like that without getting in touch for – what was it? Five hours? Six?

  Simona hoped nothing had happened to Inge. In a job like theirs one met all kinds of problems, all kinds of men. Simona remembered something Inge had told her. Inge had been visited by a woman some time ago. A young woman, Inge said. English. Very polite, very well dressed. The woman had asked her questions about the job they did. What they called ‘escort’. Not about the catering. The woman had assured Inge that her name wouldn’t appear anywhere. It was some kind of anonymous survey. The woman had paid Inge to talk and Inge had talked. Inge was a fool. Mr Bedaux wouldn’t like it if he knew …

  Where was Inge?

  The idea that the dead girl might not actually be Olga occurred to Fenella Frayle at about ten-fifteen in the evening and it pushed the nightmare into a completely new dimension. She had never had the chance to look at the girl’s face. It was the conjunction of the blonde hair and the open front door that had made her believe the girl was Olga …

  She had got up and picked up the brandy. She was now on her second glass. She didn’t feel calmer, exactly, rather she felt resigned.

  If the dead girl wasn’t Olga, Fenella reasoned, that meant she hadn’t really carried out her part of the deal, so she couldn’t possibly expect Charles Eresby to go and kill Aunt Clo-Clo in return, could she?

  But who was the girl if not Olga? What other blonde would have been standing outside Olga’s house?

  Billy Selkirk was not at all sure he wanted to marry Joan Selwyn. He doubted whether he loved Joan Selwyn, though he was certainly fond of her. Well, to love was to invent. Love filled the imagination before taking possession of the heart. Would love ever take possession of his heart, where Joan was concerned?

  As it happened, it was Mortimer whom Billy loved passionately and unconditionally. His life, he had decided, had no meaning unless lived alongside Mortimer.

  Well, discretion would be the name of the game. After he and Joan were married, he and Mortimer could carry on seeing each other in a seemingly casual manner, though with clockwork regularity. There wouldn’t be any slackening. After all, they had been together since Haileybury. Billy firmly believed Joan could be made to slip into the equation somehow. (He was a bit vague on that point.) He thought that things could be made to work somehow. He was an optimist – though he wished Mortimer wasn’t so hideously jealous and possessive. Mortimer would never admit to it, but he was. Sometimes Mortimer was a little bit too temperamental for his own good, though you wouldn’t think it looking at him. He had said he would kill Joan. He said he would slit her throat. He didn’t mean it of course. At least Billy didn’t think so.

  Billy smiled at the memory of one of Mortimer’s rare outbursts. Mortimer had gesticulated and shouted. He had made himself sound like a Corsican or something, though anyone looking less like a Corsican Billy could not imagine. For one thing, Mortimer was awfully keen on laws and rules and such-like, which Billy believed to be completely alien to the Corsican nature. (Mortimer’s latest invention was a punishment called the Cupboard and Its Perfumed Depths, at the thought of which Billy gave a little shudder.) Then there was the fact that Mortimer was fair-haired while the whole world knew that all Corsicans were dark.

  Billy glanced at his watch. He was sitting at a table at Porters in Covent Garden, waiting for Joan to turn up and secretly hoping she wouldn’t. She was often critical and disapproving, a little too severe for his liking.

  She was already ten minutes late, which wasn’t like her at all. She hadn’t phoned him, so he didn’t know where she was or what had happened. He hadn’t tried to call her either, though he had rung Mortimer and explained the situation. Mortimer had laughed and said that was what one should expect when one went out with girls. ‘We are going to Gstaad for Christmas, Selkirk!’ – this, despite the fact Billy had made it absolutely clear to him that he and Joan would be doing something completely different at Christmas …

  It suddenly came to Billy that the reason Joan couldn’t phone him was because she had left her mobile at his flat the day before. He remembered now. He had been meaning to let her know but hadn’t had a chance yet. Some people had a second mobile, but Joan didn’t seem to. Not even her worst enemies could have accused Joan of extravagance or profligacy.

  For some reason Billy had the uneasy feeling that Joan’s lateness might have something to do with Mortimer. The last time he had seen Mortimer, which was six and a half hours ago, Mortimer’s fair hair had been at its sleekest, his face alight with mischief. Mortimer had teased him that it would be silly for a Selkirk to marry a Selwyn – Wilt thou, Selkirk, take this Selwyn – it sounded, well, wrong.

  Mortimer didn’t like Joan. He was always terribly polite to her, he jumped to his feet the moment she entered the room and so on, but once or twice Billy had caught him gazing at her in a speculative kind of way. As though – what? He wasn’t sure, but it had made him uneasy.

  Gstaad for Christmas, eh? He was certain it was the kind of place he would enjoy. Skiing and drinking punch in front of cosy fires and so on. He looked at his watch. Could Joan still be with Lord Collingwood? She had told him she was going to see Lord Collingwood, but that was in the morning, wasn’t it? Joan and Lord Collingwood seemed to be on extremely friendly terms, of which Billy approved. He thought that Lord Collingwood might be a useful contact for him to have one day. Mortimer, who knew Lord Collingwood, said Lord Collingwood was as mad as a hatter – or was it Lady Collingwood who was as mad as a hatter? Billy remembered Joan telling him some rigmarole about some mysterious friend of Lord Collingwood’s – now, what was that about?

  Billy reached out for the bottle of wine and poured himself a second glass. It was getting terribly late. Something told him Joan wouldn’t be coming. He felt himself relaxing. His spirits soared. She cometh not! He held up his glass and drank a toast to it, then he took out his mobile and gave Mortimer a ring.

  Olga led the way across the hall to what looked like the door to a broom cupboard, which she opened and then moved to the left without looking at what lay inside.

  Payne said sharply, ‘Is there a light?’

  Again without looking, Olga reached out and flicked a switch.

  Our fingerprints are everywhere now, Antonia thought in mild panic. This is all most irregular. What would the police say?

  The body had been placed on a piece of tarpaulin, face up. It was the body of a young woman with blond hair. The eyes were open and they stared back at them.

  Not a natural blonde. The hair’s roots were dark, Antonia observed.

  ‘Who is she?’ Major Payne asked. He turned round and glanced across the hall. Charlie remained silent. He hadn’t joined them; he was leaning against the wall, his head bowed.

  It was Olga who told them. ‘This is Charlie’s ex-girlfriend. Her name is Joan Selwyn.’

  21

  THE ANATOMY OF MURDER

  It was quarter of an hour later and they were back in the sitting room.

  ‘Well, that’s – that’s been done. Filial obligation fulfilled. Mummy sends her love.’ Charlie put away his mobile. He sounded dazed but appeared more composed. He had told his mother that there had been a mistake and that he and Olga were both all right.

  He hadn’t mentioned the murder. He hadn’t referred to Joan at all. Major Payne had advised him against it. It wouldn’t have been a good idea for Deirdre Collingwood to hear about Joan’s death before they had informed the police of it.

  Payne leant back in his chair and brought the tips of his fingers together. ‘Now then,
be kind enough to give us the sequence of events that led to your finding the body, but try to make it snappy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We haven’t got much time. We’ll need to call the police, you know.’

  ‘Must we call the police?’ Charlie said.

  ‘I am afraid we must. And it would look really bad if we delayed too long, so get on with it, there’s a good chap.’

  ‘Very well. I was in bed at Dr Bishop’s clinic in Bayswater. A nurse came and told me there had been a call for me. She gave me a mobile number I didn’t know. She couldn’t say if it was a man or woman. The caller hadn’t given a name, but had asked me to call back as soon as I could. Which I did.’

  ‘Didn’t you recognise Fenella Frayle’s voice?’

  ‘No. No. For a couple of moments I had no idea what she meant by ‘your part of the deal’. I’d forgotten all about it, you see. That’s why it came as such a shock when she told me that Olga was dead.’

  ‘But then you remembered?’

  ‘Yes.’ Charlie swallowed. ‘I remembered all right. I can’t explain how it made me feel. I – I was overcome by guilt. I realised it had all been my fault. “Olga Klimt is dead. Exactly as you wanted it. Now it’s your turn. You’ll need to do your part of the deal.” Those were the exact words. It all came back to me and it – it hit me very hard. I wanted to die. I thought of killing myself. I honestly did. I couldn’t imagine life without Olga. I thought of killing myself,’ he repeated. ‘Thank God Olga called.’

  ‘It’s like in Romeo and Juliet,’ Olga whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. She had been holding the kitten but now she put it down on the floor – they had had to keep the kitten from licking the blood in the hall, she explained. ‘Romeo thinks Juliet is dead and he kills himself. Then she wakes up and sees him and she too dies!’

  ‘Did you read Romeo and Juliet in Lithuanian?’ Payne turned to her. He was intrigued.

  ‘Yes. We did it at school.’

  ‘Did you find it difficult?’

  ‘No, not difficult. It was very sad but it was beautiful!’

  ‘She is a clever girl,’ Charlie said. He stroked Olga’s hair. ‘“She doth teach the torches to burn bright.” Doesn’t she?’

  ‘She most certainly does.’ Payne smiled.

  Olga and Charlie were sitting on the sofa side by side. They were holding hands. They looked like frightened children. Well, they were in a terrible mess. Poor things, Antonia thought. Who was it that said that being young was the one great adventure of our lives?

  ‘I wasn’t myself when I suggested to that woman that we exchange murders,’ Charlie said. ‘I know it was highly irresponsible of me, but I was in a frightful state. Besides I’d been drinking Miss Frayle’s sherry. I shouldn’t have touched it but she said it would be good for me. I am not used to drinking. I can’t believe I said what I said. People do say terrible things when they are drunk and when they are upset with someone, don’t they?’

  ‘They certainly do.’ Payne nodded. ‘So what happened after you got Miss Frayle’s call? You leapt out of bed and –’

  ‘I ran. I was dressed the way you see me now, in my dressing gown and slippers. I didn’t care what people might think. I got into a cab –’

  ‘What time was it?’

  ‘About six, I think. When we got to Fulham, I asked the driver to stop at the end of the cul-de-sac. There was no one around. There never is. I ran to the house. It was getting dark but it wasn’t too dark. I saw the front door was open. Then – then I saw the body lying face down; half in, half out of the hall. I saw the blood on her back. A dark stain. I saw the blonde hair and I had no doubt it was Olga. I – I just stood there. I wanted to die. Then – then Bedaux suddenly appeared –’

  ‘Your man? Really? How terribly interesting,’ said Payne. ‘Are you sure he didn’t come out of the house?’

  ‘No. He came from the direction of the main road.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘No. Nothing. He didn’t say a word. He just stood and stared at the body. He had his hands in his pockets. I think he was holding something in his pocket but I may be wrong. I told him Olga was dead, that she had been stabbed. He said nothing. He just turned and walked off.’

  ‘I think Mr Bedaux wanted to kill me,’ said Olga. ‘He hated me – because I lied to him. He scares me!’

  ‘Stop calling him “Mr Bedaux”,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Why should he have wanted to kill you?’ Antonia asked.

  ‘It is difficult to explain. He is a very strange man.’ Olga hesitated. ‘Well, he is in love with me.’

  ‘Is he? Really?’ So, Antonia thought, I was right! Master and servant in love with the same girl. She saw Olga tighten her grip on Charlie’s hand.

  ‘I pretended to be in love with him, that was my mistake,’ Olga said with a sigh.

  ‘I don’t think Bedaux will ever want to come back,’ said Charlie. ‘Which is just as well. I was planning to get rid of him. He thinks that you are dead, so he is unlikely to bother you again … A minute after Bedaux walked away, my mobile rang. It was Olga. At first I thought it was Fenella Frayle calling from Olga’s phone but then I heard Olga’s voice. I couldn’t believe it at first. I can’t explain how I felt! The relief! Oh my God, the relief!’

  ‘You told her to come here?’

  ‘Yes. While I waited I pulled the body into the hall and turned on the light – that’s when – that’s when I saw it was Joan. That was another shock. She was the last person I expected to see!’

  ‘Why the last person? Why were you so surprised? Wasn’t Joan Selwyn obsessed with you? Hadn’t she been stalking you? Your stepfather told me the whole story, you see.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. She did stalk us once. And she kept ringing me. But then she stopped. I hadn’t seen her for quite a while. I didn’t treat her well and I am sorry, but then I couldn’t help falling in love with Olga –’ Charlie broke off. ‘I can’t believe she is over there! I can’t believe she’s been killed.’ He glanced in the direction of the hall. Payne had thought it unwise to move the body yet again and they had left it lying inside the broom cupboard.

  ‘Have you any idea why Joan should have wanted to come here?’ Antonia asked.

  ‘No. No idea at all.’

  ‘Perhaps she wanted to kill me?’ Olga suggested. ‘When we were at the Albert Hall, she said she would kill me, didn’t she, Charlie?’

  ‘She did, yes, but that was some time ago. I can’t believe she still wanted to do it. I’d have thought it highly unlikely.’ Charlie stroked Olga’s hair.

  ‘Some girls don’t forget such things,’ Olga pointed out.

  ‘You said the front door was open and the key was in the lock,’ Payne said. ‘You mean on the outside?’

  ‘Yes. I took it out.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Oh my God, my fingerprints are everywhere now, aren’t they? All round the place!’

  ‘I am afraid so. You will have some explaining to do when the police come.’ Payne glanced at his watch. ‘But don’t worry. We’ll all have some explaining to do. My fingerprints are also all round the place, so are my wife’s. So it seems Joan was killed as she was letting herself into the house,’ Payne stroked his chin with his forefinger. ‘Now then, how did Joan get hold of the key?’

  ‘She might have stolen it from old Collingwood. She used to be his secretary,’ Charlie explained. ‘This used to be his property. I am sure he still has a couple of front-door keys. The locks haven’t been changed since his time.’

  Payne turned to Olga. ‘If my calculations are correct, you arrived at the clinic only moments after Charlie left?’

  Olga agreed that she must have done. The nurses had told her that Charlie had suddenly left, they had no idea where he’d gone. ‘They were very worried. They were wondering what to do. They asked me to sit and wait. They thought that if I stayed there, Charlie would come back. They thought Charlie was looking for me. They made me a cup of tea. Then I phoned Charlie.’

  ‘Thank God you did!�
��

  ‘Charlie was so happy! Oh he was so happy! He couldn’t believe it was me at first! He said he was here, at Philomel Cottage. He told me to come.’ Olga’s smile faded. ‘The body was in the hall – it was horrible – the blood! There was blood on the floor. She had been stabbed in the back. There was blood on her coat. It was horrible.’

  ‘No knife?’

  ‘No knife. The nursery nut must have taken it with her,’ Charlie said. ‘She must have got rid of it by now. Dropped it in the river or into the Serpentine or something.’

  Olga said, ‘Charlie wanted to hide the body. I told him it was stupid. How do you hide a dead body?’

  ‘How indeed. It would have been an incredibly daft thing to do.’ Payne nodded. ‘You are absolutely right.’

  ‘He wanted to bury it in the back garden,’ Olga said.

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything else.’ Charlie looked sheepish.

  ‘The police would have been able to trace Joan’s movements to this place soon enough,’ Payne said. ‘Her disappearance would have been noticed – by tomorrow lunchtime at the latest. There are CCTV cameras everywhere. What does she do? I mean, did – did she have a job?’

  ‘She used to be old Collingwood’s secretary, as I said.’ Charlie frowned. ‘Then she went to work for some Tory MP, I think. No idea which one. If she ever told me, I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Where did she live?’

  ‘She shared a flat with two other girls. In Kensington or was it in Chelsea? She doesn’t get on with her father. Didn’t. Her mother is in a hospice in Wiltshire. She’s terminally ill. Cancer, I think. It’s all terribly sad, I see that now.’ Charlie bowed his head.

  ‘D’you have any idea why she dyed her hair blond?’ Antonia asked suddenly.

  Charlie blinked. ‘No. No idea at all. The last time I saw her, her hair was brown. Joan’s hair was light brown. That was her natural colour.’

  ‘She didn’t do it in the hope of making herself look like Olga? With the intention of winning you back?’ Major Payne suggested. ‘Girls do odd things in the name of love.’