The Killing of Olga Klimt

by R. T. Raichev

  ‘You brought a knife with you, didn’t you?’

  ‘A knife?’ Fenella looked puzzled. ‘No, I didn’t. You won’t succeed in catching me out, so don’t you try it! I took no weapon with me; that was the idiotic thing. I’d convinced myself I meant business, but I didn’t have a weapon with me! This should show you how adept I am in the art of murder. This should show you!’ Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘Did you perhaps pick up the knife on the way – perhaps you bought it? Or maybe you found it somewhere?’ Antonia said after a pause. She knew this sounded feeble, but extraordinary things did happen.

  ‘No, I did nothing of the sort.’ Fenella shook her head. ‘I didn’t have a knife when I arrived at Philomel Cottage, I keep telling you. You clearly don’t believe me but that’s God’s truth. I hadn’t the foggiest what I was going to do exactly. I admit I had fantasised about killing Olga, wondered how I might do it, but deep down I knew I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘But you went to Fulham? You went to Olga’s house?’

  ‘I went to Fulham, yes. I drove to Fulham. I went to Olga’s house. Strange, isn’t it? Or would you call it mad? I don’t expect you to understand. Or perhaps you do understand? You write about people like me.’ She shook her forefinger at Antonia. ‘I read one of your books. You like odd people.’

  ‘I don’t like them. Not really. I find them interesting.’

  ‘Olga’s house is in a cul-de-sac. No neighbours on either side. Perfect for murder. I thought that, yes – I thought it as I started walking towards the house – even though I had no weapon on me! Even though I knew very well that even if I had a weapon I could not kill Olga – strange, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Then I stopped. I saw the body lying there, half in half out of the door. I got closer. I saw the blood on her back. She was wearing some light-coloured coat. I saw the dark patch on the back. I bent over her. I touched her neck. She was warm but there was no pulse. I have had first-aid training, so I knew she was dead. Olga was dead. It never occurred to me that the body might not be Olga. You said it wasn’t Olga, didn’t you? I was shocked to find her dead but I was also delighted – you see why, don’t you?’

  ‘Go on,’ Antonia said again.

  ‘This, I thought, was an answer to my prayers! Olga Klimt was dead. She had been killed. Someone else had gone and killed her. That was all that mattered. Oh the relief! It was exactly as Charles Eresby wanted it. I knew I couldn’t do it and now I didn’t have to do it! It had already been done. Someone else had done it for me – I didn’t care who or why. That was the only thing I could think of as I ran back to my car. It has been done for me. And I knew what I should do next. I should claim it. That’s what I told myself.’

  ‘Claim it?’ Antonia echoed.

  ‘Yes, claim it,’ Fenella said firmly. ‘Well, I drove away – then I stopped the car – no idea where I was – in some small street. I took out my phone and I rang the clinic where I knew Charles Eresby was. I asked the nurse to tell him to ring me, I gave my number, and when he did phone, I told him I had done my part of the deal.’ Fenella took a deep breath and blew out her cheeks. ‘I told him Olga Klimt was dead. I then reminded him that now it was his turn.’

  Antonia stood looking at her in a fascinated manner. Why, she believed Fenella Frayle was telling the truth! In fact she was convinced of it. But that meant –

  ‘I don’t know what possessed me, I really don’t. I should never have made that phone call. It was utterly idiotic of me. Utterly! I knew I had made a mistake as soon as I rang off. I was terrified – but it was too late. I was beset by doubts. I saw the madness of it. How could I think Charles Eresby would go and kill Aunt Clo-Clo for me? But, as I said, it was too late. The fat was in the fire. I knew I was in for it. I had confessed to a murder I never committed. Well, there you are, Miss Darcy. I don’t think you believe me, do you?

  ‘As a matter of fact I do,’ Antonia said.

  ‘You do?’ Fenella looked startled. She made an effort to sit up. ‘Well, that’s something! Would the police believe me though?’

  ‘I am sure they will listen to your story very carefully.’

  ‘So that wasn’t Olga Klimt … Well, I never saw her face. The fact that she had fair hair seemed to be enough for me … Such a stupid mistake … I was rushing … I was terribly nervous about the whole thing … I am hopeless, hopeless! Who is she then?’

  ‘Charles Eresby’s former girlfriend. Her name is Joan Selwyn.’

  ‘His former girlfriend? Would she have been Olga’s “love rival”, by any chance?’

  ‘They were love rivals, yes,’ Antonia admitted.

  ‘She died at Olga’s house,’ Fenella said thoughtfully. ‘It was most probably Olga then who killed her, wouldn’t you say? The obvious solution, as you probably call it … I mean, it stands to reason … Doesn’t it?’

  24

  UNDER SUSPICION

  ‘Odd that she should have said that. The police also seem to think that it was poor Olga who killed Joan Selwyn,’ said Major Payne after listening to Antonia’s story. ‘But perhaps it was her? I know she has turned out to be extremely sweet-natured, nice and likeable, in addition to her luminosity – and she clearly loves Charlie very much – but the police are notoriously down-to-earth and unsentimental. Their hearts refused to be warmed by the sight of young love.’

  ‘No, it isn’t Olga.’ Antonia shook her head. ‘How could she have killed Joan Selwyn? Why should Olga Klimt have wanted to kill Joan Selwyn? She had no motive. It was the other way round!’

  ‘I know, I know – but there you are.’

  ‘Did the police actually voice that suspicion?’

  ‘Well, yes. I happened to overhear an indiscreet remark the sergeant made to one of the plain-clothes chaps. It was not meant for my ears. And then of course there was the sight of Olga emerging from her interview with the inspector in floods of tears. She seemed distraught. She looked really scared. Charlie did his best to comfort her, but I could see he was rattled too.’

  ‘So they didn’t take his story of the exchanged murders seriously?’

  ‘I don’t think they did, no. They didn’t seem to regard Charlie as someone whom they could entirely trust. There was a time when toffs could do no wrong, now it’s the other way round, have you noticed? I saw the way they looked at his monogrammed dressing gown.’

  ‘How did they look at it?’

  ‘With an air of amused contempt. It didn’t help that at one point he lost his temper and accused them of serving a corrupt undemocratic system, of lacking emotional intelligence and – what was it? – oh yes, of using bully-boy tactics. That wasn’t wise at all.’

  ‘So Miss Frayle is out of it? After everything! Lucky Miss Frayle.’

  ‘Lucky Miss Frayle indeed. I believe they intend to pay her only what is known as a “routine visit”. She is most certainly not in danger of any immediate incarceration. She may have been our prime suspect, but she isn’t theirs.’

  ‘They don’t think the murder of Joan Selwyn was a case of mistaken identity?’

  ‘I may be wrong, my love, but I had the distinct feeling they thought the idea a little on the fanciful side.’

  ‘We didn’t think it at all fanciful!’

  ‘We are not exactly paragons of pragmatic, down-to-earth thinking, are we? As far as the police are concerned, a young woman called Joan Selwyn has been stabbed to death on the doorstep of a house occupied by a foreign girl, one Olga Klimt, who is the mistress of the young wastrel whose former girlfriend until not so very long ago the victim was – or had been – and that is all there is to it.’

  ‘How unimaginative! How crass!’ Antonia fumed. ‘Do they suspect Charlie as well?’

  ‘I don’t know, but as I pointed out, they didn’t take to him at all … They will soon find out he couldn’t have done it since at the time of the murder he was at an exclusive private clinic in Bayswater. Still, they think it damned suspic
ious that he should have monkeyed about with the body. At the moment I think they are concentrating on Olga. I believe that Olga is their main suspect.’

  ‘Poor, poor Olga,’ Antonia said. ‘My heart goes out to her. What about you? Did they treat you as a nuisance?’

  ‘I should say they did! Pretty much.’ Payne scrunched up his face. ‘They simply couldn’t understand what I was doing at Philomel Cottage, given that I was neither a relative nor a friend of Mr Eresby’s or Miss Klimt’s. I was not a doctor, neither was I a solicitor or a priest. It was the inspector who pointed out these rather obvious facts to me. So what was I doing at the house?’

  ‘You could have said you were a social worker.’

  ‘Do I look like a social worker?’

  ‘You didn’t tell them you were playing at detectives, did you?’

  ‘No, of course not. But I think the inspector guessed. There was a satirical glint in his eye, though that might have been occasioned by the sight of my pipe.’

  ‘Did they allow you to smoke it?’

  ‘I was already smoking it when they arrived. They asked me to put it out. It was all rather grim.’ Payne pursed his lips. ‘There was Olga crying her eyes out and Charlie staring down at his slippers, his face a picture of guilt. I am sorry to have to say this, my love, but I didn’t care for any of the representatives of the law. Not one little bit. I know we are supposed to be on the same side, but there are certain things one simply has to draw the line at.’

  ‘Such as? Banning your pipe?’

  ‘Not only that. The sergeant actually called me ‘Hugh’ at one point.’

  ‘Did he really?’

  ‘Yes! That particular outrage took place soon after I had given them my full name and military title. “Ex-service” used to count for a bit more once upon a time, but there he was, this ungainly youth, addressing me as “Hugh”. I couldn’t believe my ears and I actually glanced over my shoulder since I thought at first there was another Hugh in the room, his closest friend, perhaps or maybe his best man? I managed to restrain myself with tremendous difficulty.’

  ‘They took a statement from each one of you?’

  ‘They most certainly did. As well as fingerprints. Everything happened exactly as it says in books. They also looked us up on their computer system, to see if we had any convictions, cautions, fines, outstanding debts or whatever. They discovered that Charlie had perpetrated eleven driving offences, which resulted in his being deprived of his driving licence. Olga Klimt, on the other hand, had no black marks against her name. When asked what she did, she said she was in “party catering”. Rather neat, that, don’t you think? And her Lithuanian passport was in perfect order, thank God.’

  ‘Did they look for the murder weapon?’

  ‘They conducted an incredibly thorough search for it. I can’t fault them on that count. They appeared to be looking for a knife with a thin blade of the stiletto variety, but they failed to find any object matching that description anywhere inside the house or in the garden. They will no doubt continue their search tomorrow morning. They were really cross with Charlie for moving the body, did I say? I mean, really cross.’

  ‘They didn’t arrest either of them, did they?’

  ‘No. I heard the inspector warn them that they should be available for further questioning.’ Payne reached out for his glass of Scotch and put his feet up on the coffee table. ‘Let’s take a glance at the crucial times in the affair, shall we?’

  ‘It is half-past-midnight, Hugh.’

  ‘It won’t take a moment. I have written it all down. Take a dekko, my love. I’ve done some jottings. I want you to take a dekko. You are after all the expert.’

  ‘I am nothing of the sort. I hate timetables.’ Antonia sighed. ‘I am exhausted. I suggest we go to bed.’

  ‘No, not yet. Let’s do it while it’s all fresh. Take a dekko.’ Payne pointed with the stem of his pipe. ‘Olga gets a phone call at quarter-past-five, asking her to go to Dr Bishop’s clinic. The caller says it is very urgent. Olga leaves the house five minutes later, at twenty-past-five. She runs to the Tube station. Miss Frayle says she arrived at Philomel Cottage at about a quarter-to-six, that’s when she found the body. The body was still warm. We assume that Miss Frayle was telling the truth, don’t we?’

  ‘I believe she was telling the truth, yes.’

  ‘That means that Joan Selwyn must have been stabbed just a short while earlier, say, between twenty-five-minutes-past five and twenty-to-six, give or take a minute? Does that strike you as plausible?’

  ‘It does. Exceedingly plausible.’ Antonia yawned.

  ‘You don’t think it’s plausible?’

  ‘I do, but I happen to be mortally tired. Sorry, but I feel a little sick. I have been driving around in the dark. I want to go to bed.’ Antonia rose.

  ‘Who do you think did the stabbing?’

  ‘I haven’t an earthly notion.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To bed, Hugh. To bed. I suggest we continue our discussion tomorrow morning, if we must.’

  ‘What d’you mean, if we must? Of course we must!’

  25

  THE RULE OF TWO

  Sieg Mortimer was talking to Billy Selkirk. ‘Shocking state of affairs, I know, old man, but do try to get some brekkers into your system. There’s Wilkin & Sons Tiptree Little Scarlet Strawberry Conserve. I got that specially for you. I hope you don’t think me callous or unfeeling. Remember what we agreed?’

  ‘We agree about so many things.’

  ‘That’s true. We walk in complete agreement. But I meant specifically about death and the soul. Death is the absolute end and there is nothing we can possibly do about it. It doesn’t help to brood. We don’t believe in a soul, do we?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In the same way as we find the idea of collective unconscious too vague to be of any great importance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the same way as we don’t revere any twenty-first-century sensitivities, such as shame, guilt and the desire for meaningful relationships?’

  ‘No.’

  After a pause Billy said he couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t contacted him yet. It made him nervous, wondering. He had let The Times fall on the floor and it now lay beside his chair. He was staring at the butter dish.

  ‘Surely, it is a cause for wild rejoicing, that the police haven’t contacted you yet,’ Mortimer said. ‘Perhaps they never will.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure they will.’

  ‘Jeepers-creepers, you sound as though you want them to, Selkirk. Remember what we agreed about irrational impulses? To recognise and acknowledge and – remember the rest?’

  ‘I am afraid I don’t. Sorry, Mortimer, but I feel a bit – odd.’

  ‘A bit odd? You mean a bit ‘off’? That’s only natural in the circs.’ Mortimer nodded. ‘You were actually about to marry the victim. Sorry to appear callous but I can’t pretend I liked her. And duly suppress, Selkirk. To recognise, acknowledge and duly suppress.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, Mortimer.’

  Mortimer moved away from the breakfast table. He stood by the window, hands in pockets, his back very straight, looking out. He and Billy looked rather similar in a blonde, blue-eyed, crew-cut Herrenvolk kind of way. They wore identical black dressing gowns with pale silver-blue lapels that matched the colour of their eyes. They might have been brothers, or even twins. Anyone entering the room at that moment would have thought them exceedingly good-looking and distinguished and somewhat sinister.

  ‘But maybe I should contact them and make them aware of my existence?’

  ‘Why should you want to do that? Are you going to offer to identify the body?’

  ‘No, no. I hope they don’t ask me to do that. I’d hate it! I am sure that’s already been done. She’s got a father, I think. But the fact remains that I was her fiancé.’

  ‘Well, no longer. All I can say, Selkir
k, is I am awfully glad you are no longer Miss Selwyn’s fiancé. There, I’ve said it. It wouldn’t have worked anyhow. You would have hated being married. It would have made you sick.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made me sick.’

  ‘It would have made you sick.’

  ‘I suppose her father has already identified the body. Or one of those girls.’ Billy spoke abstractedly. ‘I mean one of her flatmates. She shared a flat. I didn’t care for any of them. I thought they were trying to poison Joan’s mind against me. I am sure I am imagining things.’

  ‘You are not. They were trying to poison her mind against you. They are truly awful, so they managed to do it very well but maybe not well enough.’

  ‘What do you mean? How – how do you know?’

  ‘I put them up to it.’

  ‘I don’t believe you! You didn’t!’

  ‘I am afraid I did. I couldn’t think of anything else. But Miss Selwyn was determined to get you, so whatever they said fell on deaf ears.’

  ‘You are fibbing!’

  ‘I told them things about you, Selkirk. Some true, some not so true. I actually paid one of them, Minerva, I think, to bring a particular fact about you to Joan’s attention … I gave her – um – I can’t remember how much … You don’t believe me?’

  ‘They are all bitches, but Minerva is the worst!’

  ‘I thought you liked girls,’ Mortimer said.

  ‘I do like girls. I don’t happen to like those particular girls.’

  ‘You don’t like girls. You are in denial.’

  ‘I am not in denial.’

  ‘A large part of you still craves conventionality, Selkirk. That accounts for the marriage idea. You have an obstinate way of clinging to a thoroughly illusory notion of yourself. There is a vast crevasse between what you are and what you want to be. You don’t feel bien dans ta peau. Well, Minerva said she’d have done it even if I hadn’t paid her. She doesn’t like you for some unknown reason, or else she was lusting after Joan, I don’t know which.’

  ‘I don’t believe you paid her.’