An Alibi Too Soon

by Roger Ormerod

  When we’d recovered our breaths, I said: ‘Had a good trip?’

  She was heading for a mirror, patting her hair. ‘So, so. I thought you’d be back first.’

  ‘It took longer than I’d expected. Duncan Carter turns out to be a strange man, and now I don’t know where I am.’

  ‘Are you going to change?’ she asked. ‘It’ll soon be time to go down to dinner.’

  ‘I thought I’d have a bath, and another shave.’ Why did I feel so soiled?

  ‘You can tell me all about it afterwards. And how’s Cindy doing?’ No need to answer that. Cindy was explaining for herself.

  After dinner we went strolling round the town. It was a fine evening. The rain she’d encountered had not travelled north. I walked beside her, Cindy between us, and I couldn’t help feeling a sense of unreality. It was as though Llew Hughes had not died, as though Edwin had not, nor Glenda Grace, so many years ago—what would it be? Twelve?

  ‘I thought’, she said quietly, ‘that we could run along and have another look at the mill in the morning.’

  She was reaching for a sense of security. We still had not found anywhere to live that was ours, but I hadn’t thought this was troubling her. Only now, with the tiniest hint of insecurity in the form of Rosemary Trew spurring her, was she allowing it to show.

  ‘The thing that’s worrying me is damp,’ I admitted, as though I’d been thinking of nothing else for days. ‘An old stone building, and built for working in, not living in.’

  She jerked at my arm. ‘But people have lived in it. And it’s been beautifully converted.’

  I’d have used the adverb ‘quaintly’, but I had to agree. ‘That’s very true. We’ll go first thing after breakfast. By the way, did you part with your car?’

  ‘Oh yes, they collected it. Wait until you see the bill, Richard.’

  I grunted. Wait, I thought, until you hear what I’ve got to tell you.

  9

  It didn’t get told that night. Well…all that separation—what can you expect? Was I going to punch the pillow into shape, draw her towards me, and say: ‘There are three murders now?’ So I think I’ll just jump to the morning.

  Did I give you the impression that the mill was isolated? If so, wrongly. It’s windmills that have to be on the tops of hills. Water-mills are lower, where the river-flow has gained purpose. This one was at a point where a tributary met a larger one, and here the small hamlet of Tyn-y-bont was situated. We would not be alone. At the point where the two waters met there was a bridge, on the far side of it a farm, and beyond that a row of cottages, probably tied at one time to the farm. We would at least have neighbours, though nowhere to shop, nowhere to post a letter. We would, however, always be within reach of fresh milk and eggs. It’s not all sheep in Wales, you know.

  The building seemed huge when we got close to it, as it was built high on the bank of the hurtling stream. Always, we’d have its rush and rustle. The wheel, though, had been motionless for years. Its paddles were partly rotted away, though the basic construction was still there. So was the race, a mere trickle at that time. There were small sluice gates to direct the water from the stream and back again. It must have been a long time since the millrace had been in use.

  We were standing in what would be the living room, looking out of the narrow window and down to the bridge. Beside us was the millstone. The original owner, who’d masterminded the conversion, had gone to great lengths to retain the lower millstone, and had surfaced it to make a table top. It was so large that I felt like King Arthur. The original square shaft, a foot across, thrust up through the floor. Below was a store room, but down there (I’d explored) it was weird and rather frightening, with all that power waiting to be unleashed, the side shaft thrusting outwards to the waterwheel, and the great, wooden-toothed gearing to transmit it upwards. A wedge had been placed between the teeth to lock it. In a water-mill, it’s the lower stone that revolves, not the upper. The principle of this gave me a queer feeling that we could be sitting at a meal one day, and suddenly find the table rotating.

  But I must admit, there was no evidence of damp on that calm August morning. The walls were two feet of native stone, the roof huge slabs of Welsh slate, an inch thick. The timbering inside was preserved, and every beam had been cleverly used for a utility purpose. I liked the place. Yes, I liked it.

  There was no need to express this to each other. Our fingers touched, and we knew.

  We went out to sit on the bank. Cindy went to paddle in the stream.

  ‘She won’t fall in the millrace, I hope,’ said Amelia.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. Anyway, the water’s less than a foot deep.’

  She was silent. I felt she was waiting for something. I said: ‘Llew gave me the main clue, in his letters. That beer on the back seat of the car.’

  She stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes to the sun. I told her the lot, my thoughts on it, the difficulties that had been raised, and Duncan’s worrying attitude.

  ‘Is this really any of your concern, Richard?’ she murmured.

  ‘Only if Llew was murdered. In that case, I think, I’d have to go on.’

  ‘But it could’ve been an accident.’

  ‘That’s Grayson’s theory,’ I admitted, ‘and I can’t contest it.’

  ‘Well then…’

  ‘But I’ve stirred up a source of trouble.’ She said nothing. I glanced at her. ‘That Duncan, he’s got an idea in his head, and I put it there. The next thing you know he’ll be throwing accusations around wildly.’

  ‘In which direction?’

  ‘You know what I mean, my dear. Rosemary’s.’

  ‘And that wouldn’t suit you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be pleased that I’d brought it about.’

  ‘Hmm!’ she said.

  I plucked a blade of grass and chewed on it. ‘And anyway, it’s far from clear. It’s all right to say that I can show that Duncan could be innocent…’

  ‘That was carefully worded.’

  ‘Exactly. Because it isn’t positive enough. And Duncan’s left with the idea that he’s as good as got his hands on a free pardon.’

  ‘And hasn’t he?’

  She was sounding all too casual for my liking. She knew I didn’t want to let it go, and she had to know how deeply I felt the necessity to hang on.

  ‘Just look at it,’ I told her. ‘The stuff on the back seat indicates that Edwin didn’t leave at all. Whoever killed him must have put it there, in order to create the impression that Edwin did leave, and return later. In that event it could’ve been done by anybody there that evening, except Duncan.’

  ‘Even Rosemary?’

  ‘She too, it now appears.’

  ‘Especially as the drinks were in the boot of her car.’

  ‘Especially that. But this is the snag. If somebody used that boot for that purpose, it had to be somebody who knew it was available…’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And had planned to use it.’

  ‘That seems to follow.’

  ‘So…does that mean they also planned that Edwin would want to go out for extra drinks? If he didn’t, the plan wouldn’t work. But it was Edwin who insisted on going out. How could he have been manoeuvred into that? How could it have been expected that he’d use the Dolomite, which had the drinks conveniently in its boot, and which just happened to be parked, so damned conveniently, in a garage whose door could be closed only from the other car outside? It’s just too much.’

  ‘Does it irritate you, Richard?’

  ‘And you can’t even say that this was a murderer seizing on the chances as they were presented, because they were just too convenient for belief.’

  ‘But is this your problem?’

  ‘It’s stupid Richard Patton who’s blundered in and given Duncan hopes of a pardon. It’s me who’ll be asked for proof— and me who’ll have to come up with answers.’

  ‘Have to?’

  Cindy had raced up and was pulling
at my sleeve, as she’d pulled at my trouser cuff. She reminded me I’d forgotten the main reason.

  ‘Have to,’ I said.

  She got to her feet, smoothing herself down. ‘Let’s go and see whether that estate agent will drop his figure,’ she suggested. ‘Then you can decide how you’re going to go about it.’

  10

  Putting on my formal voice, I said: ‘I wondered whether I could come along and have another word with you.’

  Rosemary’s tone was light. ‘Do you have to ask, Richard?’

  I had my back to the room, staring at nothing particular in the street.

  Behind me, Amelia was idly turning the pages of a magazine.

  ‘What I have to say won’t be casual chit-chat,’ I said.

  ‘So formal?’

  ‘Have you heard anything from Duncan?’

  She was silent. I counted off the seconds. Ten. At last she spoke.

  ‘He hasn’t been in touch. But it sounds as though you’ve seen him.’

  ‘Yes. I need to talk to you before he does.’

  ‘We shall be rehearsing all evening,’ she said. ‘I hope to get a straight run-through. But if there are any breaks, we could talk. So do come along.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. And hung up. I’d wished to convey that matters were getting serious, but I was aware that I’d sounded ungracious.

  I turned to Amelia. ‘Care to watch a rehearsal?’

  ‘If you want me with you.’

  ‘Of course I…’ I grinned at her. ‘Did I sound sufficiently stern?’

  ‘She’ll be shaking with fear,’ she assured me. ‘Yes, it all sounds quite interesting.’

  Very enigmatical, that was. I suggested we should have an early meal, and go along afterwards, and Amelia made no objection. We ate, we got in the car, we drove away. There was a feeling of constraint between us.

  ‘There it is now,’ I said, as the house came into view.

  ‘It looks a bit dreary. What’s it like inside?’

  ‘I’ve only seen the big room they use for rehearsals, and that’s a bit bare.’ I drove past the knoll. ‘Those are the two garages in question.’

  I parked where I had before, and we walked up to the terrace. It was still full light, but the sun was dying behind a heavy belt of cloud. Rain later, I thought.

  Inside, it was dark enough to necessitate lights. We stood at the same open door, apparently the only one of the bank of tall windows that would open. I saw now why they used studio lights. They could be manoeuvred, giving an approximation to a stage under full illumination, although there was still no furniture. The outer edges of the room were in heavy shadow, and, as there were only three people on the set—Drew Pierson, Mildred Niven, and the girl I’d seen kissing the young man—I had to assume that quite a few people were hidden in the shadows.

  As we watched, the scene came to an end, with Pierson saying, presumably in his senior policeman role: ‘By heaven, I can’t wait to get back with a search warrant.’ This with a very suggestive eye on the girl.

  It was apparently a laugh line. There were laughs from the shadows, surely polite, as they’d know it inside out, and a patter of applause.

  Rosemary walked into the concentration of light. ‘That was just fine, but don’t overdo the leer, Drew. I think we’ll have a break, now. Harry…’ She looked round. ‘Lights please.’

  A background reserve of lights sprang on, and the whole room was ablaze. Rosemary turned. She saw us standing there. For one moment her expression was blank, then she whirled around and called out: ‘Tea will be along. Sandwiches. Drinks for you drunkards.’

  When she turned back to us she’d recovered. She came across, smiling and relaxed, her hand extended.

  ‘Richard, I’m pleased you could get here.’ She turned to Amelia, just a hint of uncertainty in the lift of her eyebrows.

  ‘This is my wife. Amelia. Rosemary Trew, my dear.’

  I had spent some considerable time with Rosemary, and Amelia’s name had not been mentioned. They were both aware of it, and I could feel that they were. But there were smiles heading in all directions. I was not sufficiently educated to interpret them, nor sufficiently adroit to intercept one.

  ‘You told me you wanted a word,’ said Rosemary, turning to me. ‘We’ve got a few minutes…’ A tilt of the head.

  ‘I might need more.’

  She gave a mock grimace. ‘Has this got to be alone?’

  I included Amelia in my gesture. ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘I’ll be quite happy here,’ said Amelia placidly, robbing the words of any special meaning.

  ‘Will he bully me?’

  ‘Sure to,’ said my wife.

  Then Mildred Niven swept across the floor with magnificent timing, extending both hands and claiming Amelia as though they were lifelong friends. ‘Such boring business! You’re his wife? How very lucky you are…’ She raised one eyebrow archly in my direction.

  In this way I found myself alone with Rosemary in the library. I call it that only because of the smell of musty leather bindings, which had permeated the walls. But there were now only empty shelves, along with two leather, studded armchairs, a table, and an atmosphere of chill indifference to anybody’s opinion of its lack of welcome. What a fall from grace, to this pathetic reminder of forgotten peace!

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ she asked, as soon as we were inside the door.

  She was walking across the room in order to put on a standard lamp. She turned, and gestured to one of the chairs. I shook my head, declining, and fumbled with my pipe. I felt nervous, uncertain of which way to direct the conversation.

  ‘Yes. He’s well. He spoke of you with…affection.’ Had this been true? I was being kind, but it seemed to confuse her.

  She was tense, moving her hands erratically, and spoke with impatience. ‘Duncan was always such a fool! Not the slightest idea of anything involving life and human relationships.’ This, presumably, in rejection or denigration of Duncan’s speaking of her with affection. I regretted the exaggeration. ‘Has it…the prison…hardened him?’

  ‘He seems to have come out of it well. Perhaps there was a touch of cynicism.’ I lit my pipe. Anything to cover the smell of those departed books. ‘I don’t know how he was before, but he seems very concerned now about money.’

  ‘I could help him there.’

  ‘I don’t think he needs help. There’s a certain…materialism…’

  We stopped, looking at each other. She made a gesture, tried a smile. ‘Why’re we talking like this?’ she asked, almost pleading.

  She was taut, her own emotions twanging away, but I had to ignore them. I pretended not to understand.

  ‘There’s so much to ask you, and so little time, if you’re to get on with your work.’

  ‘Oh…’ A gesture of disillusionment ‘…ask away, then.’

  Either Rosemary or Duncan had told lies, and the fact that I couldn’t decide which was irritating me. To unsettle her, and to force myself on to the attack, I plunged in from an indirect angle.

  ‘Why did you deliberately give Duncan an alibi?’

  She was silent for the four seconds it took her blush to ripen, and be plucked free. Her hair shook—we were back with the rubber band, a red one. ‘Did I?’ Her chin was raised. ‘But I thought he was the only person without one.’

  ‘That was for the later time. I mean for the earlier one.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Now the knot of hair was dancing wildly. ‘What earlier one? Don’t be difficult, Richard, please.’

  ‘You walked up from the garages, after having taken the keys for your Dolomite to your Uncle Edwin. You met Duncan on the terrace, and gave him a solid alibi for the time your uncle was thought to have driven away.’

  Her eyes were blank as her mind fought to accept the idea. ‘Thought?’ she breathed.

  ‘He gave me a quite detailed account of what happened, but you said, in your statement…’

  Her hand reached to stop me. ‘My s
tatement…’

  I wasn’t intending to be stopped. ‘Your statement that you were together, or at least within sight of each other, when the sound of the Dolomite’s engine died away. Duncan said…’

  ‘You’ve read my statement?’ Her eyes flared.

  ‘…in his very circumstantial account, that you’d left him before the engine sound died away.’

  ‘Why’re you talking like this?’ she said angrily.

  ‘In your statement…’

  ‘Damn the statement!’ she shouted. ‘What the hell’re you saying? Uncle Edwin came back…’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Why are you so cold?’

  ‘Duncan said you’d walked away along the terrace, and it was a good three minutes later that the engine sound died.’

  For a moment she looked full into my eyes with a pain that almost unhinged me, then she turned away and took a few paces. To her back, I could allow myself to relax my expression. But I had to be silent, otherwise I’d have been crying out apologies, and heaven knows what that would’ve done.

  When she turned, I was lighting my pipe again. She was quite calm. She even attempted a coyness that was too young for her.

  ‘I don’t understand this, Richard. But I suppose you’re trying to frighten me.’

  ‘Not frighten.’

  ‘All right. Distress me. Why should Duncan have lied about me? We were friends…so close.’

  ‘In your statement…’

  ‘Richard…’ Her hand went to her eyes for a moment. ‘In that statement, it didn’t matter about the time the engine sound died. I might not have been careful…accurate. Why does it matter now?’

  I shook my head at her. ‘I think you know why. I’m terribly worried that you do know why, that’s why I’m being so abrupt with you. I think that your Uncle Edwin was killed then, when the sound of the engine died away. Or at least, what was done to kill him was done then. And I have to wonder whether your statement was not, as you say, casually made, but very carefully. Because it gave Duncan an alibi for that time.’