Letty shrugged him away. “Spare me all that ‘Time the Healer…gone to a better place’ nonsense, William!” she said briskly. “Perhaps the elder spirits of this place are breathing on me with their sweet, foetid breath, but I can't leave Phoebe dangling as a suicide, unexplained, unavenged. She's waiting about somewhere, shocked and displaced and angry. ‘I'll be sure to test you when you get back,’ she told me, and I'm certain she's doing just that. I won't forget it. And I promise you, William—I intend to give her an answer. Not just any answer that will satisfy the living—I mean the correct ten-out-of-ten answer.”
Gunning sighed. “Very well. I give in. Suspect number one's Theo. Who's next on your list?”
“I suppose that we ought not to forget that there are staff about the house. Eleni, for one. She was flitting about with glasses of water, according to the doctor. Nothing easier than to slip in and knot up a noose—”
“Odd that she should have waited for years before succumbing to an urge to murder her mistress, don't you think?”
“Mmm…and hanging someone like that…”
“Know what you mean,” he said, answering her thought. “It's not a female method, is it? Poisoning perhaps…a quick push downstairs…Either of which she could have done at any time over the last five years. No. Hanging's such a premeditated, dramatic end. A see-what-you've-driven-me-to shout of despair from the dying—of either sex.”
“From Phaedra onwards,” Letty murmured. “And I don't suppose it was an innovation in her day. Always a length of rope and a beam around, from the very beginning. But, William, I could accept more easily that Phoebe had staged her death herself if it weren't for those marks on her thighs that alerted Stoddart.”
“Marks? What marks?”
He considered her account and then, hesitating, suggested quietly: “Have you thought there might be an alternative explanation for this? Come on, Letty, woman of the world that you are! If Stoddart declares them to be finger and thumb prints, I'm prepared to accept that, but I do wonder if, in his innocence, it hasn't occurred to the good doctor that there is an activity other than murder which could have left traces in that region?”
Letty's eyes widened in horror. “That she'd been attacked— raped—you mean? Oh, good lord! Remember the note Phaedra held clutched in her dead hand? It accused Hippolytus of just that—rape. I didn't mention it at the scene. No point in pouring oil on a fire already raging.”
“No. I noted your discretion and was thankful for it. But, look, whatever it was, it needn't have been quite so gross…just over-enthusiastic, perhaps? And Phoebe bruised easily. That paper-thin skin of hers—about as tough as a butterfly's wing, I should imagine.”
“You're implying that she endured an act of sexual congress whilst wearing her boots?”
“It's not impossible.” His voice was determinedly steady.
“But you heard Theodore waking up. Erotic urges stirring, wouldn't you say?”
“Siestas. That's the effect they have on the male constitution. Particularly in hot climates,” Gunning explained. “But I take your meaning. Unless he had superhuman gifts in that department, it quite obviously wasn't her husband who'd…um…”
“No. Clearly. We'd better examine the other men in her entourage,” Letty interrupted, judging the discussion bordered on impropriety. “I think it might be easier if we first eliminated the men around her who could not possibly have done it. So that's George out of the running. Even if he weren't a saint anyway—he has the cast-iron alibi of being in your company all afternoon, William. ‘Out looking for bones,’ Eleni said—with a slight frisson of disgust, I thought.”
“A saint and a priest together?” mused Gunning. “Impeccable company, you'd say…vouching for each other…but you'd be wrong!”
“Wrong? In what way, wrong?”
Gunning stirred uncomfortably in his seat, poured out another cup of tea, and drank half of it, thinking furiously before he replied. “We did indeed go out after bones—the skulls I talked about last night, do you remember? George was keen to come along with his tape measure. The skeletons were holed up in a cave near the shore about three miles down the coast, according to the map. The Cretans would say a distance of two cigarettes. We walked there. And very fascinating it was, too, but when he'd finished taking his notes George seemed to get a little restless…kept looking at his watch. I was sketching and not about to be put off, so I told him I had a good further hour's work to do and would quite understand if he wanted to get away and do something less boring. Just being polite, you know—and I was quite surprised when he accepted, rather too readily, I thought, to set off back by himself.
“But the odd thing was—when I got to the city gates, there he was, chatting with a crowd of beggars. He rejoined me as though he'd only been away for a minute and we arrived in each other's company back at the villa at—well, you know when.”
“Five past five,” said Letty. “So you're saying that George was on the loose for…an hour?”
“Longer. I wasn't really paying much attention to my watch. It's not very reliable anyway. You learn to do as the Cretans do and keep an eye on the sun to run your life by. The sun and a packet of cigarettes will get you through the day! But, nearer three hours. I'd say—though not on oath—that he left me in the cave at a little before two o'clock. We met up at the gates at half past four, had a drink in a kafenion, and wandered back. George is always very considerate about my leg when we're out together. He didn't push the pace. I think he sensed I was a bit sore and weary.”
They both fell silent, absorbing the meaning of all this. Finally Letty said: “So Saint George moves into second place on my list. Well, second equal, I should say.”
“Equal?” he asked, puzzled.
“Sharing the slot with one William Gunning! If George is suddenly without an alibi—then so are you, William. You must see that.”
Her tone had been light, but abruptly she realised the significance of her teasing remark.
“What's your problem, Letty?” he asked, picking up her change in mood.
“Not my problem. Yours, perhaps? I was just remembering…From something Phoebe said, I got the impression that she was in love. Had fallen in love, and she wasn't thinking about her husband.” Letty made an effort to recall the laughing conversation in the bull court. “It was something she said about Ariadne…wondering what it had felt like to betray her family for love, understanding her…excusing her. I could swear now, with hindsight, that she wanted me to pursue it—you know, in a girls-together speculative sort of way. I was too slow to understand, I think. And I certainly didn't pick it up. Killed it dead, you might say.” She sighed. “Too preoccupied with my own problems. If only I'd shown a bit more interest in hers it might all be much clearer. Poor Phoebe! Do you suppose she'd fallen for someone? And was dying to talk about it? Someone around her, here in this town, that she was sighing for?”
She frowned and bit her lip. “Oh, no! She couldn't have been…Oh, sod it!” The crude expletive escaped, betraying the depth of her sudden anguish. “William, please tell me—Phoebe wasn't planning to run away with you, was she?”
With me? Good lord! What a perfectly disgraceful suggestion! The fact that I lost sight of my companion for an hour or two, to any reasonable person, would not constitute grounds for suspicion of immorality and a capacity for murder! Laetitia, I despise you!”
He caught the attention of the waiter and asked for the bill. Letty had never seen him so angry.
“Calm down! I'm just trying to see it with the eyes of an impartial investigator,” she said defensively, and at once went on the attack. “ ‘Why not?’ people might think. ‘Here's a devilish handsome man, newly, well, nearly newly, introduced into the household. Cultivated, amusing, her own kind and countryman. Decorated war hero…a man with a past…Any woman might have her head turned…’ That's what they could say. It might be a while before they discovered that he was a charlatan, deceiving and not to be trusted the length of his
own ruler…that's if it is his own ruler…” she finished rudely. “I mean—what do you suppose they'll conclude if they discover you're not what you pretend to be?”
“I am exactly what I say I am,” he said stiffly.
“And what exactly are you telling the world? That you're a renegade ex-priest, wanderer, and confidence trickster?” she said, unable to suppress her bitterness. “You're not an architect. Never were. Nor are you an archaeologist—you just peered over my shoulder into the occasional trench last year.” The words sounded sharper, more angry than she intended, the unsuppressable symptoms of the hurt his leaving had caused her.
“I have the same qualifications as yourself, miss, to be an archaeologist, which is to say—none at all.”
She was not surprised by the coldness of his reply but Letty blushed with fury.
“You need no scroll, no mortarboard with tassel dangling on the left to declare to the world that you have sat for three years in lecture rooms to make you an archaeologist, Miss Talbot.” She flinched at his scorn. “You have none such yourself, I understand? No disgrace: Nor has Theodore—Schliemann was self-taught, as is Howard Carter. Dig, discover, record efficiently, and you're an archaeologist. Not that I am claiming to be such. Your accusation is unfounded and unkind. As to your other fraudulent charge—the same applies. Anyone may call himself an architect. Didn't you realise? An engineer—now, that's another matter! But in our society anyone who fancies he has the talent may put up his brass sign and begin to draw. He'd do well, of course, in the interests of public safety, to obtain the services of a professional engineer if he's attempting anything more adventurous than a decorative cornice, but there you are…”
“But how do you know so much about it, William? How on earth did you ever convince Andrew Merriman—who is nobody's fool—that you were an architect?”
“You could say it runs in the family. I had a brother. An older brother, James. He was studying architecture. He made me test him on his assignments. I worked through his course with him.” His information was coming as though dragged from him, in staccato bursts. Was this the creaking of invention she was hearing or the dredging to the surface of memories deliberately repressed? She felt a passing twinge of guilt when she remembered the many occasions she'd talked to Gunning with nostalgia for her own happy early years spent with her brother. She had never asked him about his own. Too late now to make polite reparation.
“By the time James received his degree I knew almost as much about architecture as he did. I tramped London in his wake, listening to him raving about Wren and Hawksmoor and Soane. I have a retentive memory. I also have a ruler which has his initials carved on it.”
Letty could not meet his eye.
“But I didn't deceive Andrew. I colluded with him! He can be very…puckish…as you know. He thought it would be a great joke to pass me off onto a man he had no liking for—Theodore. And I rather think it suited him to mark my card and start me on a new career. Merriman likes to cup people in his hands and launch them like a bird into the air. Perhaps you've noticed?”
He paused, challenging her to reply, but she was silent, dealing with her embarrassment.
“For that, at least, I shall always be grateful to Andrew,” he went on. “Our mentor has a knack of bringing out the best in people. He convinced me I could do it and, Letty—I can! I produced the goods for Theo. I wouldn't have stayed on if I hadn't been able to do that.”
“I do wonder, though, whether Theo has found you out—all that seemingly casual questioning at supper last night was a bit pointed, wasn't it?”
He shrugged. “You're right. And let me thank you for your unexpected support. It quite put him off balance. I must have said something that alerted him, and if he's any sense—and he has a lot—he'll have run a check on me in London. He can't, however, at this stage, with his book ready to go into print, denounce me in a fit of righteous indignation and rip out the illustrations.”
“When he's accepted the situation,” said Letty, “you watch: He'll decide his best plan will be to take his cue from Andrew and put all his authority behind you—present you as his discovery. You said it, William—all Theodore's geese are swans. I shall expect to see you paddling elegantly down the academic stream when you return.”
“Letty? Did you mean what you said…?” He started to speak and thought better of it, trailing away in confusion.
“The bit about your appeal for the opposite sex? Cultivated? Amusing? Devilish handsome, did I hear myself saying? Just quoting opinions I've overheard.” She allowed herself a long, deliberate look at his face. “Yes, you know, they might have something there. The Levantine air seems to agree with you. The darkened colour gives your eyes an even more devastating depth of blue…your new haircut's a bit on the short side—a touch of the Knights Templar, perhaps?—but it suits you. And those Cretan tall boots and corduroy breeches are quite devastating. Not sure about the baggy black shirt…And the human bone—a metatarsal, is it?—sticking out of your breast pocket might put the ladies off, but—well—yes— I can quite see how some women might—”
But, apparently too angry to stay and hear another word of her nonsense, he pushed back his chair abruptly and stalked off. She put down a handful of coins on the table and hurried after his retreating figure.
Eleni opened the door the moment they knocked and told them to go up to the drawing room, where they were awaited by the Herakleion police. The master was with them, she added.
Gunning made their excuses to the inspector, claiming that Miss Talbot had needed to take a walk in the fresh air to recover from the shock of her discovery. Miss Talbot murmured her own insincere apologies for her moment of feminine weakness. Mariani, a surprising figure, stepped forward and bowed slightly. “I wonder, Mr. Russell, if I might be allowed a few minutes' conversation with the lady and then the gentleman alone? Could you arrange this?” His tone was deferential, his voice low and with the slightest Mediterranean accent.
“Oh…right-oh. We'll make ourselves scarce, Kosta, and leave you to it.” He turned with a warning glower to Letty. “As you hear, the inspector speaks excellent English…or French…or Italian…whatever you care to throw at him from your repertoire, miss. I leave you in his capable hands.” He made for the door, gesturing to Gunning to follow.
As he turned to leave, Gunning pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “In case feminine weakness should strike again,” he muttered.
Letty took a long look at the inspector when they were left alone and decided that she would do well to take Gunning's advice and stick exactly to the letter of her evidence. Straight down the line. Those clever dark eyes would catch her out if she elaborated or twisted anything, she thought. She'd been completely taken in by Gunning's exaggerated sketch of a musical comedy character, and smiled to see that this man was young—early thirties perhaps— with an athletic figure. He was wearing a smartly tailored grey suit but, “Strip that away,” she thought, round-eyed with admiration, “put him in a yellow loincloth with a spear in his hand, and I'd know him!”
Responding at once to her inspection of the region of his thighs, he apologised for his appearance with a neat, dismissive gesture: “You will take me for one of the makrypantalonades, Miss Talbot.”
“The…long-trousered ones?” Letty hazarded a guess.
“Yes. City slickers, I think you would say. And you would be right—not all Cretan men go about in baggy woollen vrakes! And this is a Sunday, you understand. I am not on duty. However—this case, and it distresses me to refer to such a tragedy as ‘a case,’ is one in which I take a personal interest. I was acquainted with Mrs. Russell…a charming, charming woman. Such a loss. And such a shock for the household, of which I understand you to be a recent member? I'm sure I need not detain you for long. Shall we sit down and begin?” He indicated two high-backed gilt chairs and they settled opposite each other. She noticed that he had given her the chair facing the window with the westering sunlight shining in her eyes.
She accounted for her day from the moment Phoebe had met her in the library until she had left the house with Gunning. He made meticulous notes and then finally: “A most clear narration, Miss Talbot. And it corresponds in all respects with the statement of the housekeeper, whom I have already interviewed. One or two points…Could you sum up your impressions of Mrs. Russell's mood, her temperament, as it struck you when you became acquainted with her?”
Letty talked about Phoebe's apparent frailty and her lack of appetite, the concern she had expressed on her behalf to the doctor. She mentioned the doctor's own concern and Phoebe's collapse during the picnic. She added, and heard the inconsistency in her own statement as she spoke: “But she was very cheerful this morning. I remember telling Dr. Stoddart it was as though she was looking forward to something. And—she talked of what we would do when we got back home. We were going to discuss the excavations at the palace. She'd appointed herself my tutor for the day and was going to check I'd taken it all in.” She fixed the inspector, whose pencil was poised, hovering over the page, writing suspended, with a meaningful look.
“And you were present at the discovery and opening of what I will call the ‘suicide note’? Tell me more about that.”
Letty told him.
“You stayed behind to help the doctor to complete his examination? Why was this?”
“He wanted a little female input. Help with her clothing, someone to witness the degree of…oh, what did he say—hypostasis— that's it. And there were tasks he couldn't perform without causing embarrassment and grief for the members of her family or, indeed, the rest of the household who knew and loved her. I'm sure you'll understand, Inspector. Being freshly arrived, uninvolved, female, and—most pertinently—on the spot, I was the obvious choice to render assistance.”
The Tomb of Zeus Page 13