Smile and be a Villain

by Jeanne M. Dams

  Not knowing what lay ahead, we both accepted. Something to take the edge off?

  ‘I have told only one other person what I am about to tell you. I trust you to keep it to yourselves unless – well, there is no “unless”. There could be no reason for you to reveal it to anyone.’

  He sipped his sherry. ‘When Abercrombie first came here, I found him an attractive personality, as did almost everyone else. Alice Small shunned him, as did Harold Guillot, and I had no idea why.

  ‘Then one evening when I was helping Rebecca tidy up after choir practice, Abercrombie propositioned me.’

  Well, I hadn’t seen that one coming!

  ‘Rebecca had gone back to the robing area for a moment, and Abercrombie had just come in. We were alone in the chancel. I was kneeling in a choir stall, fishing for some music that had fallen on the floor, and he made a suggestion, in the crudest possible terms.

  ‘I couldn’t get to my feet fast enough! Rebecca was returning, so I kept my voice as low as possible, and told him in terms just as unvarnished as his that … well, let’s just say I said I wasn’t interested.’

  ‘He thought you were gay?’

  ‘I suppose he thought it was a reasonable conjecture. I am unmarried; I taught for many years in a public school; my tastes run to music and art and history. As it happens, I am not homosexual, but even if I were, I would have found his approach to be entirely unacceptable. To say such a thing in the church, in that language, was utterly disgusting. The fact that he was a clergyman made it that much worse.

  ‘When I had got home and got over my fury, I realized that he had almost certainly been seeking, not sex, but control. If I had accepted, he could have blackmailed me on the strength of it.’

  ‘But you could also have blackmailed him,’ said Alan. ‘Not that you would have, of course, but a thing like that cuts both ways.’

  ‘Not if he told his story first. He would have made me the aggressor. It would have turned into a tale of rape, with himself as the innocent victim. And he might have got by with it, even after my rebuff, if Rebecca had been out of the way just a little longer. As it was, he had failed on two counts: he had not got his way, which was a deep affront to his ego, and he had lost the opportunity to dominate me. He was furious, and he missed no opportunity to make me aware of his wrath.’

  He paused. Neither Alan nor I could find anything to say.

  ‘A little more sherry? No?’ He poured some for himself and continued. ‘His next victim was Harold. He knew that we were close friends and again made the wrong assumption. Our friendship is just that, and nothing more, despite the fact that Harold is gay. He is also a sensitive, reclusive man, and celibate for many years. He wanted nothing to do with Abercrombie and tried to avoid him whenever possible, but like me, he sings in the choir and does a good many little chores at the church. I suppose Abercrombie saw and resented Harold’s dislike. At any rate, he pursued him and finally caught up with him, out on one of the trails. They both liked to walk and run.’

  I licked my dry lips. Robin saw, and refilled my glass.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what happened; Harold’s never told me. I suspect it was no more than threats and intimidation; there are any number of ways a subtle man can bully a quiet soul like Harold. I only know that from that day on, Harold went in terror of him. He was utterly miserable; it took me a very long time to persuade him that suicide was not the answer. The church means a great deal to him, and now it was tainted by the presence of that devil. He told me the story of his friend’s daughter, and said it was all too much to bear. He saw no reason to go on living. I couldn’t get him to go to a counsellor, but had to try to do it all myself.’

  ‘That wasn’t easy,’ I said. ‘And it wasn’t fair to you.’

  ‘No. But one does one’s best for one’s friends. He was just starting to feel that life might be possible again when the man died. And of course I knew who the chief suspect would be.’

  ‘Did Harold kill him?’ asked Alan bluntly.

  ‘I think not, but I don’t know,’ said Robin, just as directly. ‘I haven’t asked him. I think he would have told me if that were the case. I also think he would have confessed to the police. He’s a painfully honest man. He is, I believe, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I’m very worried about him.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ I asked.

  ‘No. He was, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, staying with me for a few days. It was a great strain; I feared for his life. Then when you discovered where he had been at the relevant time, he insisted on leaving my house. It was becoming dangerous for me to keep him, he said. He went away that afternoon, and I’ve neither seen nor heard from him since.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?’

  ‘I do not. I would report them to the police if I did, in his own interests. But I do not.’

  ‘It’s a great worry to you, isn’t it?’ I felt great sympathy for this man, and even more for Harold.

  ‘It is also a great frustration. If he would only talk to me!’

  ‘I try to make it a practice not to worry about a situation I can do nothing about.’

  ‘And you always succeed?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The fire had reduced itself to embers again. We stood and shook hands. There was nothing more to say.

  We walked home on streets that were nearly dry. The sun shone. Tomorrow would be a fine day.

  I wished the sun would shine a little in me.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Alan had turned his phone off while we were with Robin. Now he found a message from Aurigny saying that we were booked on the 8.15 plane tomorrow, and no delay was anticipated. ‘We’d better let Jane know,’ he said. We were taking the train from Southampton to Sherebury, and she planned to meet us at the station.

  I made the call. She caught the depression in my voice. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s nothing I can explain on the phone.’

  ‘Not ill?’

  ‘Not in body. Jane, I must go. We’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

  I put the phone away and flopped down on the bed. Alan pulled me back up, gently but firmly. I protested. ‘We missed our nap.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s too late to nap now. You know you’ll have trouble getting to sleep, with a plane to catch – we hope! – early tomorrow. We’ll go for a walk instead, a good long one. Come on, love. There’s a nice breeze. We need the exercise and the air.’

  I grumbled, but changed into jeans anyway. I was in one of those moods. I wasn’t happy and I didn’t want to be coaxed into cheerfulness. Very childish.

  Alan steered me up Victoria Street. ‘This time we’re not going to do a planned walk. We’re just going to wander.’

  ‘We’ll get lost.’

  ‘Possibly. There will be someone to ask. Come along, love.’

  We turned left when we got to the High Street and walked for what seemed like a long way through a residential area. Presently the houses gave way, on one side, to a couple of neat cemeteries. I was surprised. There was no church in sight. ‘Overflow, darling,’ Alan explained. ‘The churchyard is full, but people keep dying. Most inconsiderate of them.’

  We passed a large (very large) wooden sculpture of a puffin, painted brilliantly in the proper colors. That jolted me out of my sulks. ‘Alan, it’s simply not true! Why would anyone put something like that here, of all places, so far from the usual tourist attractions?’

  ‘Why would anyone create something like that, period?’

  The golf course appeared on our left, and Alan stopped to look at his map. ‘Now, it’s about a mile to the north end of the island.’

  ‘Not a lot there, right? Except the lighthouse.’

  ‘Which we’ve already seen.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Look, the Nunnery is much closer. We could walk from there across the common and join up with the coast road to take us back. Are you tired?’
>
  ‘Not really. I hate to admit it, but you were right about air and exercise. Let’s do that, and then you could always call for a taxi if I begin to fade.’

  It was a long walk, but not a difficult one. Most of it was level, and we were walking on paved paths and roads, not scrambling through brush. When we got to the coast, the wind off the sea grew stronger and the sun warmer, as if to deny that fog had ever clamped us in its grip.

  I was ready to sit, though, when we got in sight of the Braye Beach Hotel. ‘Let’s see if they have room for us for dinner. I don’t think I can get up Braye Road without sustenance.’

  They could accommodate us, so we dawdled over drinks and dinner and coffee and then, refreshed, went up the hill to Belle Isle.

  I paid no attention to the large envelope on the hall table, but Alan caught the name and picked it up. ‘Addressed to us,’ he said. ‘Probably our receipt.’

  It was not a receipt. It was a note with, folded inside it, a second envelope, still sealed.

  Alan looked at the signature and said, ‘It’s from Robin. We’d better take this upstairs to read.’

  ‘There’s no salutation,’ he said when we were in our room with the door shut. ‘It begins: “The post was late today, owing to the fog that delayed the mail plane until late this afternoon. It’s six thirty now, and I have just received the enclosed from Harold.”’

  ‘From Harold!’

  ‘He goes on: “There was a note with it asking me to post this to you if I knew your address in England. I do not, but as I knew you had not yet left the island, I took the liberty of delivering it to you here. I believe that if Harold had wished me to know the contents he would have told me, so I will ask you not to reveal them to me or anyone else unless you think it absolutely necessary. Perhaps it would be best if you did not open the letter until you are on your way to England.” There’s no closure, either, just a scrawled signature that I take to read “Robin”.’

  I sat for a moment, stunned, and then said, ‘Well, there goes any possibility of sleep tonight. I wish Robin had waited and delivered it tomorrow morning.’

  ‘And I wish neither of us had taken coffee this evening. It doesn’t usually keep me awake, but … I wonder if we’re justified in doing as Robin asks. This could be a suicide note.’ Alan ran a hand down the back of his neck in his classic gesture of frustration.

  ‘Or a confession. Or both. I’m sure Robin has thought of both those possibilities.’

  ‘It could even be an accusation of someone else, which would mean we’d have to tell Derek, and the sooner the better.’

  ‘I think,’ I said tentatively, ‘that he would have written directly to Robin if he knew someone else had killed Abercrombie. Or even directly to Derek. And why would he have left the island, if someone else were guilty?’

  ‘How do we know he’s left the island?’

  ‘The post, remember? His letter to Robin wasn’t mailed here, or it wouldn’t have had to be delivered on the mail plane.’

  ‘True. I’ve lost my edge, haven’t I?’

  ‘You’re tired. And so am I. Let’s think logically.’ I patted the bed next to me, and he stopped pacing and sat down. ‘If it’s a suicide note, he’s almost certainly dead by now, so there’s no rush about reading the note. If it’s a confession, he’ll have to be found, but how much difference would a few hours make? It’s awfully hard in this computer age for someone to disappear for long. The moment he uses a credit card or an ATM, he’s on the grid. And Robin wants to respect his wishes. I think we should, too – even though it’s almost killing me not to know what’s in that envelope.’

  Alan nodded and stood up. ‘All right. It goes against all my instincts as a policeman, but you’ve persuaded me. Now what we need to do is pack. We’ll leave out most of the food; some of it will do for breakfast tomorrow, and the rest we can give to the staff. And we won’t pack the wine. There’s enough of that left to give us a fighting chance at some sleep tonight.’

  We did sleep some, though we were both restless. Every time I woke I looked out the window for any signs of fog, but the sky was clear, the stars brilliant. Dawn came very early, of course, with sunshine so bright it hurt my eyes.

  I made myself stay in bed till six, but after that it was impossible. Alan was awake, too. We got up, showered and dressed, and packed the last few remaining items. Six thirty.

  We breakfasted on cheese and biscuits, a banana each, some rather withered grapes and the rest of the lemon drizzle cake. The rest of our food was fit only for the rubbish bin, but we left the bottle of bourbon sitting on the little table. ‘We can’t take it on the plane, and someone might want it.’

  Six forty-five.

  ‘We’ve nearly an hour before we go to the airport. Shall we go for a walk?’

  ‘Might as well. I hope we don’t run into half the population of Alderney wanting to chat.’

  ‘I’d think that unlikely, so early in the morning. You’d best put on your cardigan; it’s chilly.’

  We walked down to the harbour, where there was considerable activity, even so early. A container ship was offloading, bringing food and other supplies and magazines and books and, in short, all the necessities for life on an island. We had been told that it would then take on containers of rubbish for disposal elsewhere, there being no room for a dump on the island. ‘It must be worrisome, living in a place that’s so entirely dependent on outside resources,’ I mused.

  ‘Not entirely. Don’t forget that meat and fish and a good many fruits and vegetables are produced right here.’

  ‘Still, there’s tea and coffee and sugar, and clothing and shoes and medicines, and of course lemons! How would the island survive without Moray’s lemon drizzle cake?’

  ‘You have a point.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Perhaps we’d best toil back up the hill.’

  We took it at a quicker pace than we had managed before, a pace that left me breathless, but I pushed on. I wanted to get to the airport and on that plane and in the air, just as soon as possible.

  So of course we got to the airport much too soon. I hadn’t got used to a place where the airport was five minutes away, if that. Alan returned the car and then we went through security procedures which, though relaxed, were still thorough. I had to be patted down, as always, because of my artificial knees.

  Then it seemed hours before we were led out to the plane, though it was actually only a few minutes. Alan and I asked if we could be seated next to each other, and they sized us up and agreed. The plane was full, since they were trying to accommodate both yesterday’s and today’s passengers.

  I had the letter in my pocket, and the moment the doors were shut and the plane was trundling over the grass toward the runway, I pulled it out, tore it open and took out the several sheets. Alan leaned across, and we began to read.

  THIRTY-THREE

  ‘Dear Mrs Martin and Mr Nesbitt, I regret that I never had the opportunity to meet you. Robin was quite taken with you both, and tried to persuade me to talk with you, but I could not bring myself to trust you. I have made the decision to trust you now.

  ‘Robin will have told you why I detested and feared Abercrombie. He was, in a word, a monster, and the world is a better place with him out of it. I have some regret that he was not subjected to justice for the many crimes he committed, but we are told that he will meet with perfect justice wherever he is now. I hope that is true.

  ‘When Robin told me that you remembered seeing me on the Zig-Zag that day, I was afraid that you would tell the police. I knew that I was already suspected of having killed him, simply because of all the reasons I had to hate him, and because I had apparently fled. When you placed me near the site of his death at the critical time, I knew they would come after me.

  ‘I have a friend with a good boat. He took me off the island. I did not want to fly; flight manifests can be checked. I will not tell you where I am. The postmark on the envelope in which I enclosed this will tell you nothing; I gave it to someone to
post for me.’

  ‘That sounds as though he’s still alive,’ I shouted to Alan over the noise of the plane. He nodded, and we continued reading.

  ‘I did not kill Abercrombie, but I bear a great responsibility for his death, nonetheless. You will wonder how that could be; I will explain.

  ‘I have always been an active man. Exercise is vital to my well-being, so I run every morning as part of my regimen. I used to run in the town, but I began choosing more remote spots in order to avoid Abercrombie.

  ‘That morning I chose a path that brought me to the top of what is known as the Blue Bridge path, the place where you found him. I paused for some stretching exercises. How I wish I had not! For I looked down the hill and saw him just a few yards down – very close to me in a remote area with, as I thought, no one else nearby.

  ‘I was terrified. I must have made some noise, because he turned around and looked up at me and laughed and started back up the hill. That was when he tripped on something and began to fall. He was facing back up the hill; he fell backwards, hard, and continued to fall, bouncing from one spot to another until he was out of my sight.

  ‘I called to him, something jeering about not being as good an athlete as he thought he was. There was no answer.

  ‘It was a very still morning. I could hear the gulls crying down on the beach. Abercrombie had to have heard me.

  ‘I was torn. On the one hand, I feared him and wanted to run away. On the other, I felt I had to know why he didn’t answer me. I was afraid he might be hiding, planning to jump out at me or some such ploy. I thought I could perhaps bear a face-to-face confrontation, especially as he must be hurt by his fall, but if he were to come around and ambush me, that I could not bear. Carefully, fearfully, I walked down the hill.

  ‘He was not yet dead. He was unconscious, and bleeding freely from a head wound, but he was breathing.

  ‘I stood there for some time, in a kind of stupor. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t know what to do; rather that I seemed incapable of any action at all.