‘But no,’ she corrected me firmly. ‘He was obviously not there when Edwin actually arrived, because Edwin had time to get himself shut inside that garage with his engine going. Hasn’t anybody told you that?’
I glanced at my watch. Time was running away. ‘But that’s the point, you see. If Edwin committed suicide, he must have gone to extreme lengths to bring it about. And shown determination.’
‘That’, she nodded, ‘was Edwin all over. Determined. Particularly when he was doing the wrong thing.’
There seemed nothing more to say. I got to my feet and said goodbye, and hoped I’d be able to get to the opening at Coventry, and very nearly found myself bowing. That was the effect Mildred Niven had on people. Drew Pierson caught my eye, and winked.
I picked up Cindy, and moved to the open door on to the terrace. The two young actors were standing side by side in a rectangle of white tape, which I assumed to represent a settee on which they would be seated, rehearsing their small scene.
She: I’m sure father’s getting to like you.
He: Then why does he ignore me?
She: It’s because he loves me.
He: He glares.
She: I told you, he loves me.
He: I don’t glare, and I love you.
She: You’re glaring now.
He: But not so expertly as he does it.
Rosemary, facing them, raised her eyes from the script. ‘No dear,’ she said. ‘A tiny pause before the word “expertly”, as though you’re not sure which word to use. You’ll see. It’s a laugh line. And Marj, a toss of the head when he says it. Hmm?’
So that was directing. It seemed to matter. They ran through it again, and darn it, the lad made the line amusing.
I thought I’d have to leave before catching her eye, but it seemed I already had. Rosemary raised her arm and wiggled her fingers at me. It did not mean goodbye, it meant I’ll be seeing you.
Cindy and I went down to the garages, where I stood again and contemplated them. Infuriatingly, I could not see what Llew had been worried about. I could not understand his comment: where booze from? Whether early or late, Edwin Carter had returned with drinks on the rear seat of his car. He must have arrived during one of Duncan’s restless returns to the dining room, if Duncan was to be believed. Or he’d returned to be welcomed with a blow on his forehead, if Grayson was to be believed. The exact time of his return seemed hardly relevant, if Duncan had been the only one free from party games for the whole period between Edwin’s known departure and his known death.
Once again I pressed the button. Up went the door. I tried the other button. Up went that door, too. In the one garage was the BMW, in the other nothing. My curiosity overcame me. I went in beside the car and tried its door. It was unlocked. Wondering whether the radio was still used, I hunted around and found a small black box, about the size of a transistor radio, in the glove compartment. It had a short aerial, an on-off switch, and in the centre of one side a single red button. The radio looked old enough and sufficiently used to be the original.
I took it outside and stood back, switched it on, and pressed the red button. Sedately, the door hummed down to hide the car. The door of the other garage remained open. I pressed the button again, and up went the door. Great fun. Then I had an idea. I moved back a few yards, and tried it again. The door closed. A few more yards. Nothing. So the range was limited to about thirty yards, I reckoned. I moved two paces closer and up went the door.
A bright idea gone up the spout. I’d been wondering whether it could have been possible to close that door from the house, by radio. It did not seem so.
So…for Edwin Carter to have committed suicide, what would he have required to do?
First, we’d have to assume he drove in fast and braked hard, to get that bang on his forehead. Steering wheel? But surely that assumed he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. Was it compulsory at that time? No? But he’d had one fitted, because Grayson had mentioned it. And anyway, I suddenly thought, if he’d braked that hard, surely all that expensive booze would have shot off the back seat. Or some of it. I made a mental note to check the photographs for any confirmation of that point.
Second, we’d have to assume his lights were on, and he left his engine running when he got out of the car. (Always assuming the bump on the head had left him conscious, he having raced into the garage in such a hurry to put an end to his own life.)
Third, he had to close the door. I’d been told the button on the wall wasn’t working at that time. He would know that. He would know the radio in the car he’d just driven home would not operate that door, so the only thing left was to use the radio in his own car, parked outside the other garage. So…did he go out to that car and take the hand radio from it back into the garage, and operate it from there? He did not, because it was still in his own car afterwards. Therefore, he would have had to operate the radio from outside, put it back inside his own car, and run back before the door closed on him.
Fourth, he would have to sit again in the driver’s seat, fasten the seat belt (which probably hadn’t been fastened when he arrived) and switch off the lights. Why switch off the lights? To prevent any small line of light from edging past the door and alerting rescue? They had been off, though, the car’s lights.
I tried the red button again. The door slowly closed, and this time I compared it with my watch. Nineteen seconds, I made it, though it was half-way down in five seconds, no doubt because of the levers involved. It would have meant a mad scramble to get beneath that lowering door before it was too late.
Thoughtfully, I raised the door again, switched off the radio, and returned it to where I’d found it. I closed both doors with the external buttons.
I now had complete sympathy with Grayson’s reasoning, and could not believe that Edwin Carter had committed suicide. So what the devil had been worrying Llew Hughes?
When I got in the Stag and started the engine I realised that I’d spent far too much time on it. Amelia would phone, and I wouldn’t be there.
‘Fasten your belt,’ I said to Cindy. ‘We’re in a hurry.’
5
The trip back to Welshpool was nerve-racking, not simply because I had to go easy on the brakes, otherwise Cindy would’ve spent all her time climbing back on to the seat, but mainly because I knew my Amelia. I’d been anxious to see my letters from Llew, and she’d realised it, had offered, and dashed off to ensure my continuing happiness. How would it seem, then, if I was not there when she phoned?
The Stag was pulling to the left on braking (one of the reasons she didn’t like driving it), and needed double de-clutching to ease the box from third to second (another), so that I was not really equipped for taking winding lanes at speed. Once on the main road from Chirk, I managed to make up a little time, but it was ten minutes to four when I drew into the hotel car-park. I’d calculated that she would possibly reach the cottage by four. I grabbed up Cindy and rushed inside, stopping only at Reception for the key.
‘Any messages?’
‘No, sir. Sorry.’
I took the stairs two at a time. No need for apologies, it suited me fine.
The phone began ringing as I slipped the key into its slot. I left the door swinging for Cindy to follow, and pounded over to it.
‘Amelia?’
‘Richard! Oh…I’m glad you’re there.’
The tone of her voice alerted me. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m…well, I’m at Tewkesbury. Richard, I’ve had a bit of an accident.’ There was a forced chuckle, to reassure me. ‘More haste, less…’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘There’s no of course about it,’ I said severely. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s raining here. What’s it doing there, Richard?’
I glanced out of the window. ‘It’s dull. Amelia, what on earth does the weather matter?’
She drew in her breath deeply, let it out with a sigh. ‘The roads…the sudden ra
in…well, it was slippery, and I took a corner too fast. It’s all right, just a skid into the ditch, but there’s been all the fuss, police and what-not, and phoning the hire people.’
‘To hell with the car,’ I said heavily. ‘What about you?’
‘Not a scratch.’
‘Now tell the truth.’
‘Just a little sprain of my left wrist. Nothing more.’
‘You’ve seen a doctor…’
‘It’s nothing. Don’t fuss.’
‘Shock, you know. You should rest.’
Another sigh. ‘I’m calling you from a hotel room. I planned to stay the night…’
‘I’ll be right there.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly, with a touch of annoyance. ‘I’m staying because I’ve got to get another car…’
‘I said I’ll come.’
‘…and they’re taking some time to find me a car with an automatic drive.’
I was silent. My admiration for Amelia kept receiving little jolts, every time it showed a tendency to doze off.
‘So that I shan’t need to keep using my left hand,’ she explained.
‘I did get the point,’ I assured her. ‘I just couldn’t think what to say.’
‘Well, you might say the letters could wait until tomorrow. You could lift that bit of worry from my mind—that there’s no panic for them.’
The manila envelope was close to my right hand on the low table. I knew I now had to probe it inside out for clues as to what Llew had meant. There could be important clues in his letters. I ached to read them, or have her read them to me.
‘Now you get some rest,’ I said cheerfully, ‘and if you feel like it in the morning—and only if you do—drive on to Devon. But no hurry, Amelia. Really. I haven’t been sitting in the bar all this time, you know. I’ve been up to the house.’
‘Which house?’
‘Where it happened. There’s lots to tell you, but for now I’ll just say there’s no possibility it could have been suicide.’
‘So your friend Llew was all wrong, and there’s nothing…’
‘Not necessarily wrong. I’ve still got to comb through this envelope. But it was definitely murder.’
‘Then you need the letters. If the car’s delivered in time, I can still…’
‘No!’ I lowered my voice. ‘No, my dear, there’s not a bit of hurry. Years have gone by—what’s another day! I’ll dig into this, and you get your rest…’
I still wasn’t used to having a dog around. Cindy’s low growl I took to mean she objected to my talking to nobody. My reaction was too slow. I half turned, and there was an impression of something moving fast towards my right ear. Then agony shot around my brain, and only stabilised when I opened my eyes and realised I was lying on the carpet.
It settled into a throb that blurred my vision, then died down as I groped for reality. In my fall I’d knocked over the table. The phone lay squeaking at my feet, but not within my grasp when I tried to reach for it. I levered myself into a sitting position, and my hand touched something that rolled. I grabbed for it, and discovered it to be a bottle of brown ale. Full. With the cap intact.
Cindy was staring at me with mute query from a yard away.
I managed to reach the phone. Amelia was saying over and over, in rising panic: ‘Richard, Richard!’
‘Elia,’ I mumbled. ‘S’all right.’
‘What’s happened? I didn’t know. Oh Lord!’ She was close to tears.
‘Bottle,’ I said. ‘Lef’ door open. Some…body came in. Belted me wiss a bottle.’
‘Your voice is funny.’
‘It’ll come ba…’
My eyes scanned the floor. There seemed no sign of the manila envelope. I realised I still held the beer bottle in my left hand.
‘Give me a sec,’ I pleaded. ‘Goin’ to swill my face.’
I weaved over to the bathroom and put the cold tap on full, splashed my face and dried it, felt behind my right ear, winced, but discovered no blood on my fingers.
‘Are you there, Richard?’ she was demanding when I got back.
‘Two invalids,’ I told her. ‘One at each end.’
‘Your voice is stronger, anyway.’
‘I’ve been knocked out before,’ I boasted. ‘I left the door open, and somebody must’ve been following me. Heard what I was saying. They hit me with…I held it up and blinked it into focus…a bottle of Wem brown ale.’
‘How you can joke…’
And indeed, I realised through the pain and the persisting confusion, I was feeling light-hearted. I’d been getting nowhere, and gradually realising that there could well be nowhere to go. Or so it had begun to seem. Therefore it was encouraging to receive a belt on the head. It meant there was something to hide.
‘Amelia, love, listen carefully. Five minutes ago I’d have said there wasn’t much to investigate. Now…I know there’s something.’
‘Your voice is back to normal.’
‘Yes. But I don’t understand what’s going on, who’s involved, what they know. D’you see what I’m getting at?’
‘Are you sure your brain’s back to normal?’
‘Listen then, and tell me whether this is logical. I’m now known to be asking awkward questions. Other things could be known. Our place in Devon…that could be known.’
‘Surely not.’
‘But we can’t be certain. The person who knocked me out could be heading there right now.’
‘You’re stretching things, Richard.’
‘Trying to get his hands on those letters.’
‘Really, I hardly think that’s likely.’
‘All the same…suppose you go down there alone, suppose they are there at the time…’
‘Oh…come on!’
‘I’d rather lose the letters than have you involved. I’ll tell you what to do. Cancel that hire car and stay where you are, and I’ll drive to Tewkesbury. Ask the hotel to switch you to a double room…’
‘Richard…’ she was saying. ‘Richard…please. I’m grown up, you know. There can be no danger. I will do what I planned to do, and phone you again. Tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you understand…’
‘And do look after yourself. You should see a doctor.’
She hung up on me. And she hadn’t told me where she was staying. My fault. You can’t be high-handed with someone like Amelia, and really, I had been exaggerating the likelihood of anyone driving all that way for my letters, even of there being much chance they would know where to go. Nevertheless, I did feel I should play safe, and try to reach the cottage in Devon before she did. Even if it meant grabbing a sandwich and starting as soon as possible.
Worrying about this, indecisive, I walked over to the door to close it. The brown envelope was lying just outside in the corridor. When I picked it up I saw that there were teeth marks in one corner. Teeth marks, and what looked like a single spot of blood.
She was eyeing me with her head on one side, still concerned. What do you get a dog for a special treat—which doesn’t make it sick, of course? How do you tell them? I picked her up and she licked my nose, and that was all she required. I rang down and asked them to send up sandwiches and a bottle opener and a glass, and when they came I drank the brown ale and ate the sandwiches, with Cindy’s help.
I had the contents of the brown envelope spread on the bed, wondering where to start and not really concentrating. I was still worrying about Amelia. Shouldn’t I be packing—or would we be returning here? Nothing would settle in my brain and become an intention. I took up the photographs, and the phone rang again.
My hand swooped for it. ‘You’ve changed your mind…’
The calm voice cut in. ‘Mr Patton? This is Rosemary Trew.’
‘Yes,’ I stammered. ‘Well yes. Hello.’
‘I’ll ring off if you like.’
‘No…don’t.’
‘The lack of enthusiasm in your voice, my friend…’
‘You caught me by surprise. And
I was expecting somebody else.’
‘A woman?’ Said with a laugh on her breath.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’
‘I do admire honesty.’
I took a deep intake of air. ‘And what can I do for you, Miss Trew?’
‘Rosemary, please. You left very abruptly, Mr…’
‘Richard,’ I said, trying to mimic her tone, not too pleased. ‘Please.’
‘Well, Richard, as I was saying, you left abruptly. Our little chat—surely we’d barely scraped the surface.’
Hmm! I thought. I certainly had stirred up something. ‘I’d really come along to get a general idea of the setting.’
‘And the garages. You were interested in the operation of the doors.’
‘I found time to check on that, before I left.’
‘I wondered why it took you so long.’
She said that with calm serenity, allowing me to realise that she’d been interested in my movements, in me.
‘There were other things,’ I admitted cautiously. ‘Details I would have liked to check. Perhaps I can call again.’
Silence.
‘When it’s more convenient,’ I amplified.
‘It’s convenient now. If you’d waited another five minutes, you’d have seen that we broke up rehearsals for the weekend. But you had to rush off…’
The strange thing was that I didn’t think her tone was assumed. So the warmth in her voice could well have been genuine, even though the necessity to see me again would not be personal. She needed to discover what I was doing, why, and how well I was succeeding. That meant I had to seize the opportunity.
‘If it’s convenient now,’ I said, ‘perhaps…’ Caution prevented me from total commitment.
‘Perhaps what?’
‘We could meet…a meal…this evening.’
‘I could give you a meal here.’
‘Well…no. I mean, couldn’t we meet at Oswestry, say?’
‘Neutral ground?’ A lilt in her voice, a challenge.
‘Halfway, I’d rather put it.’
‘I know a little place,’ she told me. Of course she would. She’d know all the little places for miles. ‘The Rendezvous. Shall I book a table? Say yes.’
An Alibi Too Soon Page 6