But she wasn’t asleep. We were approaching Chirk when she suddenly said: ‘Isn’t Mildred Niven a remarkable woman?’
I agreed that she was. ‘For her age.’
‘A wonderful memory.’
‘It’s the practice they get, from remembering their lines.’
‘I really meant, her memory for everyday things. D’you know, Richard, she remembers the evening of Edwin Carter’s death…oh, as clear as yesterday.’
I drove through Chirk. At that time, wind-flustered and streaming with rain, it was a dead town, with only the streetlights alive and well.
‘You’ve been questioning her,’ I said, in a tone of amused commendation.
‘I’d call it chatting,’ she told me. ‘It was only natural the subject should crop up, and as I knew you were busy on other things…’ She took a breath there. She too should have been an actress, the timing she displayed with her pauses. ‘…I thought it would do no harm if I slanted things the way you’d want them to go. You not being there,’ she repeated, in case I hadn’t got the point.
‘I’m sure you were very clever about it,’ I said, hoping, but confident, that she hadn’t been indiscreet. ‘And what did you find out?’
Now we were going faster, the trunk road being reasonably clear of traffic.
‘I knew you’d want to confirm the alibi that Duncan gave you.’
Remembering that it involved Mildred Niven, I said: ‘It was something I’d intended to get round to.’
‘So you’re pleased I came along,’ she said coolly.
‘Delighted. Even more, if we could get round to what you found out.’
‘Refresh my memory,’ she said, after I’d raced past a dawdling Lotus. ‘What exactly did Duncan tell you?’
‘He disappointed me by ruining the alibi Rosemary might have given him. He told me she’d left him three or so minutes before he heard the engine sound die away. And three minutes would have been enough, I think. But then he said Mildred was standing at his elbow, and said something about: “Well, he’s off at last.”’
‘I thought that was what you told me, but I couldn’t be certain, so I couldn’t argue with her. She said she joined him just as Rosemary walked away along the terrace, and what she said to him was: “Well, she’s got him off at last.” Meaning Rosemary. Then Mildred left Duncan standing there.’
The brakes snatched as I pulled in behind a cruising coach. After I’d got past it through the tyre spray I had time to give a little thought to what she’d said.
‘And at that time—when Mildred left him alone on the terrace—the engine was still running?’
‘Yes. She meant, you see, that she’d just heard it start.’
‘Of course, at her age, her hearing might not have been so good.’
‘It was all of ten years ago, Richard, and her hearing’s perfect now.’
‘A hearing aid? One she wasn’t wearing that night?’
She shook her head. The corner of my eye caught movement, but I couldn’t afford to look away from the road.
‘Will you say it, please.’
‘No hearing aid,’ she told me. ‘Don’t you think I looked? Richard, I admired her earrings. Simple. No hearing aid.’
‘Then…her memory,’ I tried, feeling desperate.
‘We’ve been through that. Slow down, Richard, we’re nearly there.’
‘Nearly where?’ I asked in disgust. ‘I’m absolutely nowhere. Now…Duncan’s new alibi for an earlier time—that’s up the spout. Anybody could’ve done it, and I’ve got no damn lead at all!’
I pulled into the hotel car-park, switched off engine and lights, and slapped the steering wheel angrily.
‘You told me’, said Amelia, tapping my knee in admonishment, ‘that it had to be whoever knew the drinks were in the boot of the car.’
‘And who’ve I got for that—Duncan again?’
‘And Rosemary. She was in Lichfield.’
‘She denied she’d bought the stuff.’
‘And you believed her?’
She hadn’t opened her door, was sitting quietly, and the tone of her voice indicated she’d been waiting for just such an opening. So gentle was the question, so still and contained was her patience.
I spoke softly. ‘I didn’t believe her. But the time wasn’t right to challenge her.’
She opened the door and got out. Cindy went with her. I handed out one of the umbrellas.
‘I’ll come round and take her,’ I said.
‘No. It’s all right. I’ll walk her round, while you get the key.’
The wind seemed to have taken her voice. Her face was averted. I nodded, though she didn’t see it, and ran for the porch.
The night porter was getting used to it, so I didn’t have to ring. He was there, just inside the door. I raised an eyebrow at him. He said: ‘Gentleman to see you, sir.’
The inclination of his head indicated the lounge, in which there was a single light. I asked the porter if he’d tell my wife where I was, and walked through. Detective Chief Inspector Grayson rose smoothly to his feet.
‘My,’ he said, ‘you are working hard.’
‘Waited long?’
He shrugged. ‘I just wanted to set your mind at rest. About Llew’s death.’
He was smiling, but the strain was in his eyes. I had a feeling that he was about to put his career on the line, and decided I should say nothing to encourage him. I waited.
‘The forensic evidence is in,’ he explained. ‘The fire was definitely fuelled with petrol, and the seat of it was the outhouse I mentioned.’
I nodded. ‘In which, you told me, he used to keep a spare can.’
‘Exactly. So there can’t be any doubt it was accidental.’
‘That’ll be your evidence at the inquest?’
He nodded. ‘In which event,’ he went on stubbornly, ‘there can’t be any suggestion that his death was related to his memoirs.’
He smiled. It was out, and he’d committed himself. He hadn’t been certain he could say it.
‘You’re suggesting I should go home, after the inquest?’
‘Save time and money.’
‘But we’ve got business in this area. A water-mill we’re interested in.’
Now he was prepared to be sociable. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘so I understand. But think twice—there’s dry-rot, I’ve heard.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’ I half turned away, then back. ‘But hadn’t you warned Llew about that petrol? I’m sure you said that.’
‘Yes, I warned him.’
I held his eyes. There was a slight tint to his cheeks.
‘And told Constable Davies to check,’ he was forced to add.
‘But Llew hadn’t moved it?’
‘That damned Davies—there’ll be a reprimand for him. Two days, and he hadn’t been up there.’
‘Perhaps he was busy,’ I said equably. ‘So the can of petrol didn’t find its way to the shed, where he kept his car?’
He held out a palm. ‘There isn’t a can there now.’
I’d turned away to the lobby, he drifting after me. Amelia waited at the reception desk, keys dangling from one hand, two thirds of Cindy dangling from the other. They said polite things to each other, the porter’s eyes darting from face to face. Then Grayson headed for the door.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said after him. ‘Particularly for staying up so late.’
The door thumped shut behind him. We walked up the stairs, into our room. Amelia, who knows my every mood, put a hand to my arm.
‘Easy, Richard,’ she said gently. ‘No sense in losing your temper.’ She stood facing me, reaching up to link her hands behind my head. ‘What did he say?’
I told her, relinquishing my tension with a rueful smile.
‘That he’d risk so much, just for his pride!’ I said. ‘A man can make a mistake…but he’d go this far? I can’t believe it.’
‘We’ll check in the morning,’ she said comfortingly.
‘Pardon?’
‘For that dry-rot.’
I laughed, and kissed her. ‘How would I live without you?’
In practice, that was what we did. We drove again to the mill.
We went, after breakfast, to the estate agent’s, to ask whether we could keep the key for another day. ‘Or two,’ I added, thinking to annoy Grayson. The agent was only too pleased. The mill had clearly been on his books too long.
‘I’m sure you people aren’t going to steal the millstone,’ he said, laughing.
So we went back to the hotel and prepared a picnic meal. This came about because of Rosemary’s phone call, which we’d received almost before we were properly awake. She had heard from Duncan.
‘He’s coming today,’ she said, a hint of tension in her voice. ‘For lunch.’
‘I rather thought he would.’
‘Richard, could you…please…be here?’
Amelia and I had a quick conference, with my hand blanking the phone, and decided on the packed lunch for her at the mill. I told Rosemary yes, I’d be there at Plas Ceiriog, and that was how I came to be driving Amelia to the mill again, with a folding picnic chair in the boot.
It had been a rough night, but the rain had ceased with the dawn. There were signs that it might brighten up later, but the roads were wet as we headed west. The river was running high and brown.
‘This time,’ I said, ‘we’re going to see our stream a little more active.’ She didn’t seem to be listening. ‘You’re going to see he doesn’t say anything ridiculous, aren’t you, Richard!’
She didn’t have to name him. ‘Just as a referee.’
No more was said on the subject. I made one more surreptitious examination of the rear-view mirror. He was still there, Davies in his little blue van. I felt relieved. If I hadn’t spotted him, I don’t think I could have left Amelia alone.
Beneath the narrow hump-backed bridge the two streams of water met and boiled. Our own stream rushed down and past the mill. I took the car up to it, and we got out.
‘There,’ I said. ‘Look at that.’
There had been a steep bank from the mill down to the water’s edge. Half of the bank had become absorbed in the tumbling stream. Debris swirled in it, attempting to cling to the bank, but being tossed onwards. The noise was continuous, seeming to involve every joist in the building.
‘It’s frightening,’ she said, but there was awe and excitement in her voice, not fear.
I went to check that the two gates, in and out, to the millrace were firmly closed. There was barely a trickle getting through, as the gates were so made that the force of the stream’s increased weight held them even more tightly closed.
Amelia was already inside. Here the stream’s voice was barely a murmur, but the hand I put to one of the beams detected the vibration. The millstone sat in the centre of the room, massively, stolidly.
‘It’s not going to be very cheerful for you,’ I said. ‘Why not come with me?’
‘No, Richard.’ It was her calmly decisive voice. ‘You know very well —it’s a good idea to spend some time in a place before you decide. The weather’s brightening. I’ll go for a walk, come back for lunch, and you can pick me up later.’
‘If you’re sure…’
She laughed. ‘Your face! You’d think I was going to spend the night in a haunted castle. I want to do this. Now please…you go off on your own business. I shall be all right.’
I stood at the window, staring out at the stripped and naked hills, down to the bridge. A trickle of smoke drifted from a cottage chimney. Beyond it, I caught just a glimpse of the blue of Davies’ van.
‘I’ll get off then.’
There was an A road the other side of the River Vyrnwy, and once I’d found this I knew where I was. At a little after eleven o’clock I plunged into the cutting through the belt of pines. I was in good time. It was hardly likely that Duncan could reach there before lunch.
Because there was plenty of time to spare, I pulled the car to a halt as I passed Drew Pierson, got out, and waited for him. It was an unscheduled meeting, but there were one or two points I thought he could clear up.
He was marching along smartly on the grass verge of the driveway, swinging an ash stick in his right hand, but appearing not to need its assistance. He was dressed as though walking down Oxford Street, in slacks and a smart, short fawn coat and a tweed trilby. His shoes were stout walking brogues. Seeing that I’d stopped and was waiting for him, he waved the stick in greeting and called out: ‘Lovely morning.’
The sun had cleared from behind the clouds, and was drawing wisps of mist from the wet ground. I agreed. But the grass was still sufficiently saturated to have soaked his shoes.
Pierson seemed cheerful and fresh, and was breathing easily.
‘I always try to do two or three miles every morning,’ he told me, coming up, propping his behind on the fist holding the walking stick, and striking a dramatic pose. ‘Join me?’
‘That depends on how far you’ve already done.’
‘A mile or so.’
‘Then I will. Couldn’t face three miles, though.’
We fell into step, side by side.
‘What?’ he said. ‘A great, fit chap like you?’ He pointed with the stick, straight down into the valley. ‘I like to reach that stream there.’
The only great, fit chap around there was himself. He’d scale out at eighteen stone, I decided. If his stride was anything to go by, not one pound of it was a drawback.
‘Have to keep fit,’ he explained. ‘It’s tiring, on the stage. You wouldn’t believe. And every second is concentration.’
We were using the rudiments of a path, probably trodden by sheep, as it was narrow and wound without any obvious reason. It necessitated walking one behind the other, unless I was prepared to plod beside him in the grass. It was crisp and short, but already I could feel the wet seeping through to my feet.
We reached the stream, and stood looking at it. Just another stream, but this one hadn’t come far from its source.
‘He’s coming, you know,’ he said suddenly, prodding at a clod of grass with his stick.
‘Duncan? Yes. That’s why I’m here.’
‘You want to question him?’ He glanced at me with interest. ‘Unless he’s changed, you won’t get very far.’
‘I’ve already seen him. No, it’s not that. I’ve got an idea there’ll be an argument about alibis.’
‘No question there, surely. Everybody else was up at the house.’
I had no intention of explaining how the time required for alibis had changed. To steer him away from it, I said: ‘What’s this I hear about you trying to stop him from leaving? Edwin, I mean.’
‘Yes.’ He sounded rueful. ‘Shall we head back?’ But he made no decisive move.
‘There was some business you wanted to discuss,’ I prompted.
He lifted the stick and squinted along it, as though it were a gun. ‘It was all very unsatisfactory. He wanted money. He desperately needed it. He’d got me to come here, Greenslade, the others, and the whole point was to discuss the financing of his next play. Or not, as the case might be.’
‘There was reluctance?’
‘I’d have put up some of the money, possibly Greenslade the rest, but only if Edwin dropped his stupid ideas of wanting to be a director. He wouldn’t even sit still and talk. And then we had to have this idea of his to go out and get more drinks. Fantastic! Edwin was the most unpredictable…’
‘And you tried to stop him?’
‘He was my friend. One of my oldest friends. I’ve known the family…oh, for ever, it seems. He wouldn’t listen to me. Yes, it almost came to blows.’ He paused, turned and looked at me. His hat was tilted roguishly, his eyes glinted. ‘How could I hit him? Damn it, I’d have knocked his silly head off.’
‘So you had to let him go?’
‘He was almost hysterical. Yes, I let him go.’
‘And the next thing you knew was Duncan runnin
g in and raising the alarm?’
‘Yes. We’d better get back, I think.’
This time he put it into effect, turning on his heel and setting off at a good pace. He didn’t want to talk about his friend’s death.
The difficulty now was that I wanted to talk, and from the stream it was all uphill. His pace never slackened. I had to walk beside him, wet grass or not, and try to retain sufficient breath to speak.
‘They tell me it was you who lifted the garage door,’ I panted.
‘Those ninnies! Gabbling and hysterical, and clustered round the garage, and trying to work that silly radio! Nobody had thought of grabbing hold of the door handle and giving it a good yank.’
But it must have needed a little more than a ‘yank’, as the linkage had been broken.
‘You hadn’t got much faith…’ I breathed in. ‘…in the radio?’
‘No time for all that new-fangled nonsense. Isn’t that a peregrine up there?’
I couldn’t have lifted my head far enough to check. ‘Doubtless. I thought’, I went on, ‘that Edwin told everyone about his wonderful radios.’
‘Told me,’ he said complacently. ‘Didn’t listen. Anyway, when it came to it, the damn thing didn’t work, did it? One good jerk, that’s what did it.’ He waved the stick, flexed his shoulders, and pounded on.
I had to allow him to draw ahead. The blasted healthy devil probably lifted weights between acts.
He was waiting for me beside my car, welcoming me with a slight smile. He watched me come to a halt, breathing heavily, my legs shaking. ‘It’s that pipe,’ he said kindly. ‘Ruins your wind.’
‘I’ll be all right.’
He might well have left me to recover on my own, but he had to watch me, enjoying it, I’m sure.
‘Smoking, and going everywhere by car,’ he decided.
‘Don’t tell me you walked here from Chirk.’
‘Now don’t be ridiculous, dear boy, I’ve got my little hatchback, but I walk as much as I can.’
There was one question I’d been determined to ask, winded or not. ‘Did you ever receive a blackmailing letter?’
I saw at once that I’d hit him hard. It was as though somebody had handed him the wrong cue, and he didn’t know how to go on. When he spoke, even his voice had lost some of its polish.
An Alibi Too Soon Page 15