Hall of Mirrors

by Christopher Fowler

  ‘What about me?’ asked Pamela Claxon.

  ‘You know where the law stands on your participation in this better than we do,’ said Harry. ‘Think of it as research for your next novel while we wait for the Canterbury Police.’

  Lady Banks-Marion studied her son and frowned. It was the first time she had ever heard him sound authoritative. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

  As Powles pounded up the wet lane the two detectives were hard on his heels. May’s legs were longer and carried him further, but he still proved too slow. Bryant was slipping in mud and already running out of breath.

  If Powles reached the tree cover beyond the property border they knew they would lose him. Moments after he vanished around a bend in the road, they heard a screech and a loud thud. They followed the curve to find that their quarry had been knocked on to his back on the tarmac. Next to him was a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost with its engine running and its driver’s door opening.

  ‘I didn’t mean to bash into him,’ said Celeste, climbing out. ‘He just came charging out of nowhere. I normally only hit rabbits.’

  Cedric Powles looked up at this glamorous vision, then closed his eyes and allowed his head to sink to the tarmac, wishing he was back in hospital.

  Celeste pulled a silver hip flask out of her jacket.

  ‘Don’t revive him!’ warned Bryant.

  ‘Darling, this is for me,’ she said, helping herself to a tot of brandy.

  Bryant explained everything else when they had all returned to the shattered reception room. Powles was still groggy and lay on the floor. He had been trussed up like a Christmas goose by Alberman, who had spent enough time in the kitchen to know knots.

  ‘The man you found smashed up in the garden wasn’t a vagrant, Pamela, it was poor old Fruity Metcalf. That’s why he was so easy to lift; he was missing two limbs. He lost them during the war. Didn’t you notice when you looked inside the sack?’

  ‘God, no,’ said Claxon. ‘I saw flesh and bone and a lot of spongy red stuff, and shut the thing back up as quickly as possible. I can’t stand the sight of blood. We carried the sack over to the macerator and emptied it out.’

  ‘The gentleman on the floor is a mentally deranged hitman,’ said May. ‘It would appear he offered his services to the fellow Monty is facing in court tomorrow morning. He was paid to watch Monty carefully and scare him out of testifying. Powles was sent here and seems to have overreacted somewhat. I imagine he was challenged by the real Fruity and killed him. Then he strapped up his own right arm to impersonate him, picking up the rest as he went along.’

  ‘Somebody must have noticed it was a different man,’ said Pamela disbelievingly.

  ‘Why would they? Fruity wasn’t allowed to set foot in the house, and nobody ever came out to see him except Lord Banks-Marion who – forgive me, your lordshipness – is in a permanent stupor due to the enormous amount of drugs he ingests. The barman at the Goat and Compasses said, “You newcomers are always in such a rush.” He included Fruity in that statement. But Fruity told me he came to the pub all the time. So why didn’t the barman recognize him?’

  ‘I had a couple of joints to relax, is that so wrong?’ said Harry. ‘I can get us all one if you want. Donovan sells them.’

  ‘We’re police officers,’ May reminded him. ‘Let my partner finish.’

  ‘So – poor old Parchment was outside in the garden when Monty was attacked,’ Bryant continued. ‘He looked up and saw Powles on the roof, pushing the gryphon with both hands.’

  ‘Why didn’t he say anything?’

  ‘Because he’s a servant. It’s ingrained in him not to speak out, no matter what he sees. One of the hippies was watching, too. Victoria was drawing the house. She sketched a man with both of his arms intact. She was lucky; this sutured Frankenstein only focused on the valet, and went after him. He had trouble getting to Monty because we made sure that Monty was hardly ever left alone. But then he saw Pamela here using the servant passages that allowed “Burke” to come and go, and did the same. There’s a trick to the panels. If you see someone else do it, it’s easy to copy. When I went to see Toby Stafford I saw the whole of the old servants’ passage drawn in on his floor plans of the house.’

  ‘You had an idea about what was happening and kept it to yourself,’ said May accusingly. ‘You should have told us earlier.’

  ‘I needed proof,’ Bryant replied. ‘But it’s true that I became suspicious early on. The pig, Malacrida, had fresh blood on its hoofs and snout, but the remains of the body in the macerator were contained inside a waste-pan. The pig had found Metcalf, not Burke. I dare say the contents of her stomach will confirm that. I can’t imagine anyone will want to eat her now.’

  They waited for the waters to subside, making periodic raids on the kitchen to keep their spirits up. Alberman continued to stop anyone from leaving long after he had been instructed to stand down. Cedric Powles was kept under supervision, but remained mostly asleep.

  Norma Burke’s composure finally buckled under the stress of the weekend. She sat on the kitchen chair with sore red eyes, trying not to look upset. ‘I’m relieved that it’s over,’ she told May. ‘I didn’t kill him. He chose to die. I keep thinking about that. He chose to die rather than hand over power to me.’

  ‘Perhaps one day soon women will be better recognized in industry,’ said May, even though he knew that most working females were still secretaries, bookkeepers and primary school teachers.

  ‘A verdict of suicide would have left me with nothing.’ Norma wiped her eyes. ‘His family would have taken every penny I earned for him. Once I’d made the decision to keep him alive there was no turning back.’

  May seated himself beside her. ‘I can’t imagine the strain you were under.’

  ‘At first it was easy. I was so invisible, you see. I walked into Donald’s boardroom and his employees thought I’d arrived to take the tea order. Everyone dismissed me. Not pretty enough to draw attention, not smart enough to do a man’s job. But I had always done a man’s job, first looking after my family, then looking after Donald. When he and I were out together his colleagues saw a captain of industry and a housewife. They never imagined that one could be the other.’

  ‘You committed fraud, Norma.’

  ‘If he was legally allowed to sign for his wife, why couldn’t I do the same for him? All I did was continue to make money for my husband, just as I always had.’

  ‘You hadn’t let the law catch up with you,’ May said.

  ‘It’s caught up now.’

  ‘We’re not the law, we’re an academic unit. We can report the details of the case in a way that we see fit.’ He was determined not to give her too much hope. ‘All I can do is have a word with my partner.’

  The sky had finally cleared, and a headlamp-bright moon had appeared above the treeline. The air smelled of wet hay, cows, marijuana and explosives.

  ‘What shall I do with the grenade?’ Pamela Claxon was still dazed by the revelations of the weekend. She weighed the weapon in her hand as they stood on the steps of the house looking out across the silent fields.

  ‘Keep it as a souvenir,’ said Bryant. ‘Maybe leave it on the desk in front of you as you write. That’s what I would do.’

  ‘Are you going to have us arrested?’ Her question was studiedly casual.

  ‘What would be the point?’ Bryant shrugged. ‘I can’t prove that Mrs Burke drowned her husband. He could have had an accident or decided to kill himself. From what I’ve heard about the pressures of his business, I suspect the latter. The choice of the boat’s name might just have been as she says, a coincidence. You had us fooled when “Donald Burke” disappeared from the library. We were looking for a secret passage that wasn’t there.’

  Pamela looked pleased with herself. ‘Oh, that. I only used the closed passageway once or twice. Usually it was enough to just snatch off the wig and tie – it’s a clip-on. That’s what I did in the library before stepping outside.’

  ‘
Powles was outside doing his Fruity Metcalf and must have seen you, but it wasn’t in his interests to say anything,’ Bryant pointed out.

  ‘I’m afraid I started enjoying myself a little too much,’ Claxon admitted. ‘Is Vanessa going to press charges?’

  ‘You could have killed Miss Harrow. She says she’s prepared to leave you alone if you do the same. You also committed forgery and fraud, although you did it to claim back the money Mrs Burke earned for her husband in the first place. There’s more at stake than you realize; the Equal Pay Act is currently making its way through parliament, and the last thing anybody wants is for that to be derailed. So perhaps we have to be content with the arrest of Powles.’

  ‘You’re being very generous,’ said Claxon, looking sheepish. ‘I’m not sure Inspector Trench would have done the same thing.’

  Monty turned to Lady Banks-Marion. ‘I’m sorry I tried to steal your painting, your ladyship,’ he said, attempting to present a reasonably believable vision of contrition.

  She fixed him with a cold eagle eye. ‘That’s all right, it was a cheap imitation. Rather like you, Mr Hatton-Jones. Typically, you stole the wrong part. It’s the frame that’s valuable, a rare Louis XIII gold setting with three bands of carved laurel leaves, worth an awful lot more than the painting.’ She turned away from him and headed back inside the house.

  ‘She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’ said Monty admiringly.

  ‘A word with you, my lord?’ May requested.

  ‘Hmm?’ Harry actually seemed cheerful. Malacrida trotted around him, her face permanently fixed in its strangely human grin.

  ‘Mr Stafford tells me you’re going to keep Tavistock Hall.’

  Harry leaned towards him in cheerful confidence. He reeked of patchouli and marijuana. ‘We’ve come to an agreement, he and I. I’m giving him the east wing for Mrs Burke’s business institute, and the paintings.’

  ‘And the necklace?’ Bryant asked with wide, innocent eyes.

  ‘Oh, that.’ Harry looked sheepishly down at his piglet.

  ‘Perhaps you want to pop it back into your mother’s jewellery box just to save any embarrassment, what with us being police officers and all.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Harry hastily. He knelt to unclasp the diamond necklace from Malacrida’s pink throat. ‘Well, thank you for a most entertaining weekend. It was a lot more fun than shooting partridges and playing contract bridge.’

  ‘It was very pleasurable meeting you.’ Bryant handed Celeste the keys to her yellow Mini. ‘Perhaps our paths will cross again.’

  ‘I rather doubt it,’ said Celeste. ‘You’re a little young for me, Mr Bryant. My men tend to be more mature, and I’m not sure you’re quite ready for rich, bored widows.’

  ‘Your husband’s not dead.’

  ‘No, he’s in Cardiff.’ She turned the car keys over in her hand.

  ‘I’m maturing quickly,’ said Bryant proudly. ‘I’m already starting to lose my hair and my waistcoat buttons are going to go any minute.’

  ‘Really?’ She gave him a look of great seriousness. ‘Perhaps I should move back to the city. Buy myself a little mews cottage in Marylebone. I’m a little too fast for Kent. One can come and go as one pleases in London.’

  ‘If you do, perhaps you’ll allow me to take you out to dinner, at least,’ Bryant offered.

  ‘There would be no one to scandalize.’ She weighed up the idea. ‘I’ll tell you what.’ She held her hand over his palm and released the keys to the Mini. ‘Why don’t you hang on to the car for now. Use it as a runabout. I’ll send you the log book. He’s called Victor, by the way. I expect great things of you, Mr Bryant. Perhaps we’ll meet again. When you’re feeling a little more … grown-up.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m sorry to lose the commission,’ said Slade Wilson. ‘Harry wants the colour scheme to be pea and prune with mustard highlights. Oh, I nearly forgot.’ He dug into a brown paper carrier bag. ‘Mrs Janverley wanted me to have this, but I think it would look better on you, Mr Bryant. There’s some blood on it but you can get that out with a little salt and half a lemon.’ He handed Bryant an immense red and yellow striped scarf. ‘It’s the one Parchment had just finished knitting when he was killed.’

  He lovingly wrapped it around Bryant’s neck and patted it into place. ‘There you go. Just try not to think about the needle that knitted it.’

  49

  * * *

  HELLO, GOODBYE

  It turned out that the Canterbury team, feeling that they had been mucked about enough, decided to ignore Bryant’s cancellation message and turn up at the hall anyway, so they had the satisfaction of taking Powles away with them, although they were rather confused by the swift turn of events.

  The detectives drove back to London in Victor. Bryant hunched over the wheel while May kept an eye on Monty, who had been wedged with considerable difficulty into the tiny back seat.

  ‘I never thought for a second that it was about you doing the right thing,’ said May. ‘I was pretty sure you wanted to be there to pick up the remains of Charles Chamberlain’s company after you’d destroyed it. There had to be a reason why you were so determined to meet Donald Burke, to ensure you had guaranteed capital.’

  ‘It’s not rocket science, being a detective, is it?’ said Monty sourly.

  Victor sped towards Covent Garden, and Bow Street. The Sunday-night traffic was light and Bryant drove with reckless abandon, repeatedly whacking Monty’s plastered head as he bounced over the cambers at junctions.

  As he pulled up outside the unit, he studied their passenger in his rear-view mirror. ‘Lady Banks-Marion was right. You dragged London crime into her house. If you hadn’t told everyone you were heading for Tavistock Hall, Cedric Powles wouldn’t have got there ahead of you and taken Fruity Metcalf’s place.’

  ‘Something bothers me,’ May added. ‘Your concrete sample.’

  Bandaged, bloodied, bruised and generally bashed about, Monty looked as if he’d fallen down several flights of stairs. ‘What about it?’ he asked exhaustedly.

  ‘Why would you provide your own sample? Why not wait until the court asks for one and sends an official representative to collect it?’

  ‘I thought it would prove more helpful if I had one at hand,’ Monty said quickly.

  ‘It was important enough to take away with you on a weekend in the country.’ He caught his partner’s eye. ‘It doesn’t match the ones your factory makes, does it? It wasn’t just Charles who came up with ways of saving money in the production of new homes. Chamberlain’s designs might have placed the construction rods further apart, but it was your people who changed the cement formula. The fault is with your concrete mix, am I right? You knew it was faulty and did nothing about it because of the expense. Your firm prefabricates the building sections and bolts them together on site.’

  ‘It’s more cost-effective that way,’ muttered Hatton-Jones.

  ‘There’s a reason why the new manufacturing process employed by your plant is so cost-effective, Monty. The cement is no good.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Hatton-Jones, now anxious to get out of the car. ‘You wouldn’t understand. Our mixes contain things called polymers. They’re resins that form strands that bond the cement. I didn’t want our formula to get into anyone else’s hands, so I kept it with me.’

  ‘I read your company brochure, but it’s taken me a while to realize exactly what you’re up to,’ said May, ignoring him. ‘You shouldn’t let your lab scientists write your sales documents. Surely your polymers would degrade at different speeds depending on the acidity of the mix.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Monty maintained. ‘I’m an entrepreneur, not a scientist.’

  ‘You thought you’d entirely got rid of the need for steel rods. Chamberlain knows nothing about the molecular structure of your products other than what your development team tells him. Which is why you agreed to testify, to head off the blame before it reached you. It’s why you brought a doctored sample w
ith you, to make sure the court wouldn’t put you in the dock. Then, after the dust had settled, you could buy Chamberlain’s company. Except that the plan was scuppered when Donald Burke turned out to be dead.’

  ‘Good luck proving that,’ said Monty. ‘Ours is a perfectly good product.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But when the judge hears that you knowingly let Chamberlain incorporate it into untested new designs, he may decide it was your fault that those children in Hackney died, not his.’

  He climbed out of the car and pulled forward the seat. ‘I’m locking you in a cell overnight, Monty. For your own safekeeping, you understand. You might as well get used to the experience.’

  When the detectives went up to their office and Bryant emptied out his overcoat, he found six tightly rolled joints in one pocket, a gift from Donovan. He kept them sealed in a tobacco tin as a reminder of what could go wrong – and right – in an investigation, and finally smoked them, strictly for his incipient arthritis.

  He rarely returned to the countryside, and on one of those trips he only stayed overnight because he was trapped in a snowstorm on Dartmoor.

  They got Monty Hatton-Jones to the court on time on Monday morning, of course, although, annoyingly, he wasn’t called as a witness that day or on Tuesday. When he finally made it to the stand on Wednesday afternoon, the detectives began to get a sense of what would actually happen.

  The defence quickly dismissed Monty as a credible witness, citing his unreliable history, his litigious past, his current state of distress caused by his injuries and, not least, his ongoing involvement in a murder investigation. As the detectives had suspected, the defence detailed further difficulties involved in assigning responsibility for the manufacture of Sir Charles Chamberlain’s buildings. The tape recording was ruled inadmissible. The Westminster Council official left the court without a stain on his character, although two years later he was charged with accepting a bribe from a building contractor. Pleading mental stress, he was granted a deferred sentence.