Faked to Death

by Dean James

  “Okay, so Nina knows about ol’ Dex’s phobias. She could easily use that to manipulate him, keep him under her thumb. But I don’t see any connection between Dexter and Wanda Harper.”

  I stared at George expectantly. He squirmed again in his chair.

  He remained quiet, though I could sense he was bursting to tell me something.

  “Okay, George, spill it!” I smiled to encourage him.

  “Don’t know for sure,” he said at last. He focused his eyes on the floor. “Suspect, though, that Nina has a video of Dexter and that woman. Probably chasing him around the room with a spider. Screaming his head off like an old woman.” Then he couldn’t keep himself from laughing aloud at the thought of that.

  I joined him. The vision of tough-guy Dexter Harbaugh being chased by a spider-wielding Wanda Harper was funny, even if it was cruel. The man was so obnoxious, I couldn’t help enjoying the thought of him cut down to size.

  If I were Dexter Harbaugh, however, that could be humiliating enough to make me want to kill.

  I figured he had the motive, if Nina was twisting the screws hard and he decided he’d had enough. But did he have the opportunity?

  More digging was on the agenda, definitely. If George really had been in his room during the time when Wanda Harper met her killer out on the terrace, he wouldn’t be able to tell me about anyone else’s whereabouts at the time. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though.

  “Did you see, or hear, anyone else during the time that the murder must have occurred, George?”

  Earlier, when he had told me he was here in this room when the murder took place, George hadn’t given off the vibes that would have told me he was lying. If he was clever enough, and cold enough, he could mask the emotions to keep me from feeling the truth. Now I could sense some hesitation in him. Was he about to lie to me? Or did he simply not want to tell me something?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “George? What did you see? Or hear?” I prompted him after a long moment in which he continued to stare at the floor, hesitating.

  Finally, he raised his eyes to meet mine. “Did see something.”

  “On the terrace?” This was like pulling teeth. “What did you see, George? Or whom?”

  He stared unhappily at me, stuck in debate with himself.

  “George,” I said as gently as I could, given the frustration I was now feeling, “it will have to come out. You’ll have to tell the police.”

  “Suppose you’re right, Simon, but I don’t think they’ll find it all that helpful,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Looked out the window at one point, thinking about taking a walk, and saw the Harper creature on the terrace. Talking to someone.”

  “Who, George?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. Let me show you.” He stood up and walked to the window, drawing the curtain aside.

  Standing beside him, I gazed down upon the terrace. I could see the lonely PC still at his place, guarding the scene of the crime. He was having a furtive smoke, lounging near the balustrade where someone had pushed the cement pot off on Wanda Harper.

  “She was standing right about there,” George said, “talking to someone on the ground.”

  “About where the PC is?” I asked to clarify. George nodded.

  I looked again. From this angle, someone standing on the ground close to the terrace wall couldn’t be seen from George’s window.

  “How do you know she was talking to someone?” I asked. “If you couldn’t see anyone else?”

  “Poor creature was leaning over the balustrade, that’s how. Could see her gesturing at someone. Had to be someone standing below her. She was in the way of my seeing just who it was.”

  “How long were you at the window?”

  “Only a moment,” George said. “Weather looked too iffy, so I decided against a walk. Besides”—he shifted uncomfortably—“didn’t want to run into that creature outside. Or anywhere else.”

  “You didn’t see anything distinguishable about the person? The top of the head, perhaps, or a glimpse of the clothing?”

  “Nothing,” he said. He let the curtain drop and went back to his chair.

  I followed him but didn’t sit down again. “Pity that you didn’t see who it was, George.” I was thinking, however, that it could have been Giles, but if it was, I reasoned, how could Norah Tattersall have seen him? She was much farther along the hall than George, and her angle of view down upon the terrace would be different, of course. But could she have seen from her window whoever was on the ground? Or would the terrace wall have shielded that person from view?

  Perhaps Norah hadn’t really been in her room when she saw Giles arguing with Wanda Harper, I reasoned. Maybe instead, she was outside on the grounds somewhere. What was it she had said to me when I had asked her if she had seen Wanda and Giles from her window? “Yes, I suppose I must have been.”

  That made me suppose that I had led my witness unintentionally. Norah hadn’t said she had been in her room when she had seen Wanda and Giles. Instead, she had responded more conditionally, and at the time I hadn’t really paid attention to exactly what she had said.

  I had been wrapped up in my thoughts, so much so that I had forgotten George for the moment. Now I saw that he was eyeing me uneasily. I flashed him a reassuring smile.

  “Not to worry, George, just ruminating over things,” I said.

  “Playing Sherlock, eh, Simon?” George laughed.

  “Perhaps, George. You must admit it’s tempting.”

  George shrugged in response. I offered him my hand, and he took it. We shook. “Thanks, George. I appreciate your candor, and I assure you that what you told me earlier will go no further unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” he said, standing and following me to the door. “I didn’t kill that woman, but I can’t say that I can condemn the poor sod who did.”

  “I can understand that, George,” I said. “Promise me, though, you will inform the police of what you saw on the terrace.”

  After assuring me that he would, George shut the door firmly behind me. I went back to my room, hoping that Giles had returned from his walk.

  Not only had he returned, I discovered when I entered my room, he was reclining comfortably on my bed, snoring.

  “Giles! Wake up.” I shook him none too gently. His first indignant cry died upon his lips, which quickly curved into an inviting grin when he realized who had accosted him. “There’s plenty of room here, Simon, if you’d like to climb in.”

  I shook my head at him. “Nice try, Giles.” I retreated from the bed and sat down in one of the chairs near the window. I watched as he sat up on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He yawned and swung his feet to the floor. Thankfully, he hadn’t removed his clothing, only his shoes, before making himself so comfortable on my bed. He padded over to the other chair and plopped down in it, regarding me with a disappointed smile.

  “You rang?” he said.

  “Tell me what happened when you argued with Wanda Harper on the terrace.”

  “Not much, frankly,” Giles said, his face expressing his curiosity. “I told her I knew who she really was, and she wanted to know how.” He laughed. “I told her she really ought to lock her room if she didn’t want people finding out her secrets, and she got rather angry at that. She had quite an impressive vocabulary of vulgar words, that woman.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I found that out myself.”

  Giles shrugged. “And that was about it. I listened to her cursing at me for a moment; then I told her she could call me all the names she wanted to, but it wouldn’t change the outcome of what would happen as soon as Lady Hermione knew the truth. Then she uttered one more vulgarity and flounced off down the terrace. That was the last I saw of her, because I came back inside then.”

  “You were on the terrace, then, when you confronted her?”

  Giles nodded. “Yes, when I went out onto the terrace, she was only a few feet away from me, as if she had just arriv
ed there herself. Why do you ask?”

  “Because George Austen-Hare saw her arguing with someone, but she was at that point by the balustrade, and the other person was standing on the ground below the terrace wall.”

  Giles considered that for a moment. “Most likely, that was after I saw her. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t see anyone else on the terrace with her.” He breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Maybe that will give Chase something else to do.”

  “Giles, you don’t really think he considers you a viable suspect, do you?” My tone was light and mocking.

  His eyes darkened for a moment. “Maybe not. But he doesn’t really care for me, Simon. Surely you’ve picked up on that.”

  “I’ve noticed that you’re none too friendly with him, Giles, but to be truthful, I thought that was more on your part than his.”

  “Because you think I’m jealous of him, is that it Simon?” Giles laughed.

  “Why would you be jealous of him, Giles?” I countered playfully. “You’re young, handsome, titled, reasonably well off.”

  “Because of the way you look at him, Simon. He’s aware of it, I can assure you, though he pretends otherwise.” Giles’s temper was becoming increasingly strained.

  I’m not averse to having two attractive men fighting over me, mind you, but I thought I’d better take control of this situation before it got out of hand.

  “Giles, look at me,” I said gently, waiting for him to do as I asked. His eyes stared straight into mine, and for the first time I saw the vulnerability and uncertainty there. Maybe his feelings for me were genuine after all, more mature and deeper than I had reckoned. He was so casually flirtatious on a daily basis that I had often been inclined to dismiss his feelings as simple lust and nothing more. But perhaps I had been misreading him all along.

  "I like flirting as much as the next man,” I said, “and I’ll admit to flirting with Robin Chase. It’s amusing, and I get a kick out of it. But I don’t have a professional relationship with him. I lose nothing by being playful with him and watching him squirm ever so slightly.”

  “Where does that leave me?” Giles said, and to his credit he managed not to sound self-pitying.

  “I value your friendship, and I value our working relationship,” I said, and I could see him relax. “You’ve been very good for me, Giles, and you’ve made my working life much easier, I must say.”

  “And is that all I am to you, Simon? A friend and assistant?” His voice was soft, and he had turned away from me.

  If I had told him he was also a constant temptation, he would have read the wrong things into the admission, so I stilled the impulse to utter the words.

  “Those are both things I value very much, Giles,” I said, “and I know you want more from me than that. For now, though, I think it’s better for both of us to be content with the present situation. We have plenty of time to see what might develop, don’t we?”

  He turned to face me again, his eyes shining with both hope and longing. “Oh, Simon, what choice do I have?”

  I wasn’t ready yet to tell him all my secrets, or face the responsibilities that the kind of relationship he wanted would entail. He might never want to see me again, or, worse, he might be so horrified that he would reveal the truth of what I was to everyone around us. Then my existence would be sheer hell. I liked what I had found in Snupperton Mumsley, and I didn’t want to lose it. I had to know him better, feel more confident in his feelings for me and mine for him, before I could take such an irrevocable step.

  I smiled to take the sting out of the words. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while, eh?”

  He grinned. “You won’t get rid of me very easily, Simon; I can promise you that.”

  “I hope not, Giles, I hope not,” I said softly.

  Giles got up from the chair and retrieved his shoes from the bedside. As he sat down on the bed to put his shoes back on, he asked, “What are we going to do next, Simon?”

  “I think another talk with Norah Tattersall is in order. She most certainly knows more than she’s telling, and I want to see if I can persuade her to tell me what she knows. That is, if she hasn’t already told it all to Robin.”

  “He certainly won’t tell you, Simon,” Giles said, his face split in a huge grin.

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I conceded. “I’ll just have to tackle Norah anyway.” I got up from my chair. “While I do that, you keep digging for more dirt. Someone in this place had a motive for murder, and we need to find out what it is.”

  Giles mumbled something in response as I went out the door. I moved quickly down the hall to Norah Tattersall’s room, hoping that I would be lucky enough to find her on the first try.

  I knocked firmly on the door—so firmly, in fact, that I pushed it open slightly. It hadn’t been securely closed. I pushed the door open a bit farther. “Norah! Miss Tattersall!” I called. “May I come in?” No one answered me, but made curious by the fact that the door had been open, I went on inside her room.

  There I got a bit of a shock. Norah Tattersall was in the room, after all, but she was very, very dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Someone had made cruel use of a beautiful silk scarf by wrapping it around Norah Tattersall’s neck and squeezing until the poor woman strangled to death.

  Not a pretty sight, I observed as I stared at the corpse. Death and the dead hold few terrors for someone like me—one advantage of being dead yourself. But the stupidity of Norah Tattersall’s death angered me. If the silly cow had confided in me, or better yet, in the police, she wouldn’t have come to this.

  I had no idea what she had hoped to gain by withholding what she knew, but it was certainly not this, a painful and terrifying death.

  I stepped closer to the corpse, pausing within about two feet of the chair in which it sat. The head lolled back obscenely, and the arms hung down loosely over the arms of the chair. I walked slowly around the chair, taking care not to get too close.

  Nothing. I could see nothing that would be a possible clue to the identity of the murderer. The scarf that had been used as a garrotte was silk and patterned in rich, vibrant colors. Most likely, it was one of Norah’s own. I frowned, thinking back to the last time I had seen her. Had she been wearing it then? I didn’t think so. The police could find out where it came from, no doubt.

  Thinking of the police recalled me to my duty. I didn’t relish the thought of having to tell Robin Chase that I had another murder victim for him, but I couldn’t leave the body for someone else to find. I left the door open, not wanting to disturb possible evidence any more than I already had, and ran back down the hall to my room.

  I grabbed up the phone and punched in the number of Dingleby’s extension, completely ignoring Giles’s attempt to claim my attention.

  Dingleby answered after a couple of rings, and I quickly explained what had happened. He would have Detective Inspector Chase on the scene as quickly as possible, he affirmed. I put the phone back in its cradle and turned to regard Giles in the act of collapsing into a chair.

  “Good heavens, Simon,” he sputtered. “Another murder!”

  “No time to talk now, Giles,” I said, heading out the door once again. “No, stay here,” I ordered as he made a move to follow me.

  I wanted to get back to the door of Norah Tattersall’s room to keep anyone else from discovering what I had until the police arrived. I hadn’t been at my post for more than about three minutes when I looked down the hall to see Robin Chase, followed by a number of his team, moving rapidly toward me.

  As they reached me, I stood aside and gestured into the room with my left hand. Robin gave me an exasperated look as he preceded his team into the room. I waited in the hall for perhaps five minutes before Robin joined me there. Over his shoulder I could see his team begin their grim job.

  Robin took my arm and guided me a few paces down the hall. “Would you care to explain to me, Simon,” Robin said, “how you came to find yet another corpse?”

/>   I resisted the urge to respond with something facetious; now was not the time for my quirky sense of humor. “I simply knocked on her door, Robin, and the door began moving inward. Obviously, it hadn’t been shut completely. I called out her name, and when I got no response, I pushed the door open farther and came into the room. And then I saw, very quickly, why she hadn’t answered me.”

  “Why did you want to talk to her?”

  “Because I was afraid something like this would happen,” I said.

  “And why would you think that?” Robin’s skepticism was evident in his tone.

  “I had spoken with her earlier, right after she found a threatening note in her room. It was fairly obvious to me that she had seen something to do with the first murder, but she wouldn’t tell me what she had seen.”

  “What did this threatening note say?” Robin said. “Did you see it?”

  Feeling a bit like the proverbial cat caught with his nose in the cream, I told Robin how I had found the note and read it. The corners of his mouth quirked up a bit as he listened, but otherwise he did not acknowledge my snooping.

  “What did she do with the note?”

  “She crumpled it up, and after that I don’t know what she did with it. You might find it in her room,” I said.

  “Right. Please wait here a moment.” He left me to instruct the men working the crime scene and was back before I had much time to think about how best to tell him the rest of what I had learned, from both the victim and George Austen-Hare.

  “I think perhaps we had better continue our interview downstairs, Simon,” Robin said, taking me by the arm and guiding me down the hall, toward the stairs.

  “Certainly, Robin,” I said, following him. Neither of us said anything more until we were seated in the room where he had interviewed Giles and me earlier. As he sat down, Robin motioned for the PC who had remained on duty in the room to sit and take notes.

  “Right, Dr. Kirby-Jones,” Robin said, all at once more formal in the presence of a subordinate, “you were telling me how you had spoken earlier in the day to the victim.”