by Helen Smith
‘I feel that I’m going about this the wrong way,’ Emily said to Dr. Muriel. ‘I should just ask Joe. Or Zizi. Or any of them. I should ask them straight out.’
‘Indeed,’ said Dr. Muriel. ‘But you won’t know what to ask them unless you find a body. If it was just a jolly good trick, they won’t tell you their professional secrets, will they?’
‘If there’s been a murder, I don’t suppose they’ll confess. Who’d want to admit to killing someone?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Dr. Muriel. ‘There are boastful people, frightened people, and those who just want to unburden themselves. You know, in my line of work, I enquire into all sorts of tricky situations, and after a while one starts to see that there is no absolute right and wrong. There is only what might be and what must be. One quickly adjusts to the idea that in certain situations, for certain people, it would be no trouble at all to kill someone.’
Emily stood and looked down for a moment on Dr. Muriel’s meaty-looking shoulders and that cane with the silver head on it. ‘Assuming that’s not a confession,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and look in the cellar. Unless you want to save me the trouble and tell me where you hid the body?’
Dr. Muriel laughed and waved her cane. Emily set off towards the cellar – and Joe.
‘Was that Zizi you were talking to?’ she asked Joe. There was no sign of Chris or Zizi. Or Zsa-Zsa.
‘She’s not very happy with me,’ he said. He looked embarrassed.
‘I’m going to the cellar, Joe. I think Zsa-Zsa may be in there.’
‘Really? You think Chris locked her in there with that dog? He’s not such a bad man as you make out.’
‘I saw the three of you arguing. I wish I could talk to Zizi.’
‘She’s leaving,’ said Joe. ‘Maybe she already left.’
‘Just Zizi?’
‘They’re leaving. Isn’t that what I said? Their mother is sick in Hungary. She has Alzheimer’s. They have to go back.’
‘The thing is, Joe...’ How to put this? ‘I really want to know what happened tonight. You dragged a dead body out of there after the knife throwing. And then, miraculously, she seemed to come to life.’
‘What you talking about, Emily?’
‘I told you about my dog?’
‘Emily, tonight you told everybody.’
‘She was old and I knew she was going to die. I was really worried about it. I hoped that she would die in her sleep. But she got more and more frail, and more and more old, and in the end I had to get the vet to come round. And it was actually a peaceful death – so much so that, in my emotional state, I felt that I could almost enjoy going round with the vet, from house to house, watching as animals are killed peacefully.’ Emily was getting a bit off-track here. ‘But of course that sounds a bit weird. What I mean, Joe, is that I watched as she died. And she just ceased to be.’
Not surprisingly, Joe looked bemused. ‘I’m sorry about your dog, Emily.’
‘I watched and saw exactly the same thing with Zsa-Zsa. I know she died. So what happened? Was it an accident? Did Zizi throw inaccurately? Did someone throw a kitchen knife from the balcony?’
‘It was a stunt, Emily. But Zizi threw a bit hard. Her sister fainted. I pinched her ears in the corridor and she stood up and took her bow.’
‘You pinched her ears?’
Joe smiled. He leaned forward and took hold of the outer edge of her left ear with his right hand. He didn’t pinch it. He touched her, and then he let go. ‘Try it,’ he said. ‘It really works. You know?’
‘Zsa-Zsa fainted?’
‘It was a bit emotional. They had a row today.’
‘Ah. I thought so.’
‘They look identical. When a man’s tired... When a man’s tired and a girl gets into bed with him... Maybe the sister plays a trick and it gets out of hand.’
‘Chris! The weasel! I saw that lipstick in his bedroom. I can’t believe I missed such an obvious clue. He slept with both of them? No wonder they were angry.’
‘Emily, maybe it’s not the man’s fault.’
‘It’s always the man’s fault, Joe. So Zizi killed her? She stabbed her sister out of jealousy? I’d been trying to find a motive – people smuggling, drugs, diamonds...’
Joe had been looking worried but he laughed at Emily’s list. ‘Emily, nothing happened. There wasn’t a murder.’
‘I saw it happen.’
‘I know you feel sad about your dog. Everything doesn’t relate back to that. You know?’
‘And Chris is implicated. I know you’re covering up for them but you’ll get in trouble if you don’t go to the police, Joe.’
‘But somebody already called the police – they came here and saw for themselves there wasn’t a murder.’
‘Yes. That’s the clever bit. Now if we call again and tell them what happened they’ll never believe us. We need evidence. All I have is theories but I know Chris put something in Midori’s drink and poisoned her. He set fire to Elise because she tried to give me a clue.’
‘Chris set fire to Elise?’
‘Dr. Muriel told me. Her dress caught fire and Chris was there. I thought she was talking about you but she meant Chris. Setting fire to someone or smothering the flames – to an onlooker, there’s very little difference. He was giving Elise a warning, telling her to keep silent. He’s dangerous, Joe. You be careful.’
‘Emily, I tell you what. I think you’re crazy but I’ll talk to Chris. I’ll talk to Zizi. I’ll see if I can find Zsa-Zsa. Will that do?’
But Emily was distracted. Up ahead in the darkness, near the house, she could just about make out Dr. Muriel skirting past the bushes. She was heading for the cellar. ‘You see what you can find out,’ Emily said to Joe. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
Before Emily could reach her, Dr. Muriel had opened the cellar door and gone inside. Emily followed, hating the darkness. This was the king of darkness compared to the ill-lit passageway that led here, and the corridor that looked on to the grand hall. This was a spidery darkness, full of stacked things and shadows – and, presumably, Dr. Muriel.
‘Emily?’ Dr. Muriel’s voice was behind her. A light flared in the cellar, showing the row of giant faces, painted on fibreglass heads as big as a person, each one with different features, but similar in construction to the glowing heads Emily had seen in the garden when she first arrived. She looked for the cage with the dog in it but it had gone.
‘Dr. Muriel?’ Emily called. ‘Is it just you in here?’
‘Come and look at this, m’dear.’
Emily went back towards the cellar door. She saw a thin beam of light from a pen torch on a key ring as Dr. Muriel shone it on a painted sarcophagus, depicting a larger than lifesize pink naked woman with long black hair and big blue eyes, her nudity innocent as a mermaid’s, though from what Emily could see of it, she had legs. Dr. Muriel tapped, like an electrician tapping at panelling to check whether the space behind it is hollow and might contain wires that could kill if someone drills into them. She pulled at a catch on the side of the lady, just about where her ribs would be, and lifted the lid upwards to reveal another painted lady inside. It was Zsa-Zsa, the kitchen knife still in her chest, her pretty face tinged with a blue that matched her costume.
‘I know what you said about right and wrong,’ Emily said. ‘But until you see something like this, you can’t really believe it.’
Dr. Muriel said, ‘Sometimes people are driven to do terrible things.’
And then, as if proof were needed – which it was not – Emily felt the business end of Dr. Muriel’s cane on the back of her head, and she went down in a lump.
A short while later, Emily regained consciousness. She was standing upright and her legs were untethered, but her arms were pinioned. She was in darkness, her upper body enclosed in a roughly spherical space. The air that she breathed had the smell of an art room about it. From outside, roast pork and bonfire smokiness drifted into the cellar – she couldn’t have been
unconscious for too long. It was still the night of the party.
‘Emily,’ called Dr. Muriel, fairly robustly, considering the circumstances, ‘what is this? A pantomime horse.’
‘I think you might be inside a giant head. You didn’t whack me, did you, with your cane?’
‘No, of course not! You really are a most suspicious girl.’
‘Dr. M., what do you know about Chekov?’
‘Ah, well.’ Dr. M cleared her throat as if to start on a very long lecture. Her voice echoed slightly in her improvised prison. ‘The Russians, of course-’
‘I mean, tell me the name of some Chekov plays.’
‘The Seagull. I think that might be my favourite because-‘
‘Dr. Muriel, can you just give me a list?’
‘The Seagull, The Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya... I could tell you a rather amusing story about the time I saw Uncle Vanya in-’
‘Please don’t.’
‘Three Sisters.’
So that was it. ‘Three sisters!’ Emily said. ‘It seems obvious now, doesn’t it? It’s simple arithmetic. If two are alive and one is dead...’
An arc of light swung through the darkness in the cellar – Emily could see it through the peepholes in the head which were located in the nostrils that had been painted on the face. She looked for the painted sarcophagus but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see who was in the cellar with them – whether rescuer or assailant. ‘Shh,’ she whispered to Dr. Muriel. ‘I think we’re not alone.’
‘What’s that, m’dear? SPEAK UP!’ said Dr. Muriel.
The light swung again. This time Emily had a chance to see who was there – it was Chris. He held a powerful torch which he put on the ground in front of him. Now he was standing just in front of her with an axe in his hand. Emily tried to determine whether she should run for her life (and look ridiculous) or stay still, or aim a good kick at him and hope he didn’t chop her legs off.
‘Emily!’ said Chris. ‘Nice head. Is this going to be another performance?’
She said, ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Chris. The police know I’m here.’
‘Of course they do.’ He came up very close, his eye to her peephole.
‘Chris!’ shouted Dr. Muriel from inside her giant head. ‘Is that you?’
Chris turned at the sound of Dr. Muriel’s voice and swung his axe, violently.
‘No!’ screamed Emily. She shut her eyes in spite of herself. She opened them again to see through the nostril peepholes that he was coming for her now. He swung his axe. The fibreglass prison split open. She stepped free, she was unharmed. She looked to her left and Dr. Muriel was there, also unharmed. Their well-being seemed to provide yet another clue to the case, which Emily tried to process.
Chris took Emily’s hand and pulled her towards him. He looked as if he was going to hug her.
‘Where’s the dog that was down here?’ asked Emily.
‘My dog? Sam. He was frightened of the fireworks so I put him down here out of the way. Honestly, Emily, he lives like a prince the rest of the time. It was for one night, and it was for his own good. But, OK, you made me feel guilty, so I put him up in my room.’
‘Where’s that sarcophagus?’ said Dr. Muriel. ‘The painted lady? Zsa-Zsa’s in it.’
‘If you mean the witch that was in here, she’s part of the parade. They’re going to put her on the bonfire and burn her. Seriously, you think Zsa-Zsa’s in it? It’s supposed to be empty.’
Dr. Muriel said, ‘Chris, we know she’s in it. We’ve seen her.’
They scrambled out of the cellar. Out in the garden, the parade had already started. It was an ethereally beautiful sight: A procession of six giant heads lit from inside seemed to float towards the bonfire, flanked by eight Polish stiltwalkers in top hats and coattails, juggling flaming torches. It all looked desperately dangerous – but these people were about to burn (albeit unwittingly) the body of a young woman who had been murdered a few hours before, so it seemed ridiculous to cavil about Health and Safety. At the front of the procession, Emily saw the sarcophagus being carried on the shoulders of a couple of men. The distance between the house and the bonfire wasn’t that great, but the performers were making the most of it by covering the width as well as the length of the garden, winding from one side of it to the other very slowly, weaving around the fruit trees in the orchard. Now they were heading back. The garden was packed with spectators. Some stood on the wooden benches and applauded; others surrounded the performers, pressing in to get a good look. A few – the kids, mostly –joined the back of the parade.
‘Stop!’ yelled Chris. But the music was too loud. Nobody heard him
‘But who knocked us out in the cellar?’ Dr. Muriel asked Chris as they pressed through the crowd towards the bonfire. ‘And why didn’t the performers notice us as they brought the heads out, or at least notice they were only bringing out six giant heads instead of eight of them for the parade?’
‘The props guy was supervising.’
‘Joe?’ asked Emily.
‘Yes, Joe.’
‘Joe set this up?’
Chris said, ‘I don’t know if he set it up or he was covering up. He’s pretty resourceful. I guess if he knew Zsa-Zsa was dead, he presumed the person who killed her was Zizi. He’s in love with Zizi.’
Emily was slightly out of breath from the running and jostling. By now she and Chris were about half way between the front and the back of the parade. They had left Dr. Muriel behind. Emily was panting as she said, ‘Joe was involved with Zizi? But I saw her lipstick in your bedroom.’
‘Did you? Boy, you’re nosey. It must have been Zsa-Zsa’s. The sisters weren’t speaking to each other before the performance. I had to let Zsa-Zsa get ready upstairs in my room. For a while there we thought she wasn’t even going to go on.’
‘So the sister I saw in the boudoir was the third sister? No wonder they didn’t look identical – just similar.’
Chris said, ‘I don’t know, Emily. You’re the detective.’
The parade had reached the bonfire. People had begun chanting: ‘Burn the witch! Burn the witch!’ Chris and Emily had pushed their way to the front – Auntie would have been proud.
‘Stop!’ yelled Chris again. He and Emily leapt on the two men who were carrying Zsa-Zsa in her colourful coffin. As she wrapped her arms and legs around him to tackle him, Emily was sorry – but not surprised – to discover that one of the men was Joe.
As it was knocked to the ground, the lid of the sarcophagus sprang open, and there was Zsa-Zsa: bluish, beautiful, dead, with the knife in her chest.
‘Call the police,’ someone said. It might have been Emily.
Emily disengaged herself from Joe. After she and Chris had toppled him she had lain, briefly, on top of Joe, her knees tucked up (but clasped demurely together) at about the level of his waist, her head tucked under his chin, her ear on his throat – like a very tired or frightened young monkey clinging for comfort to its mother.
‘I’m sorry, Emily,’ said Joe, as he stood up. A Polish stiltwalker grabbed his shoulders and Ravi from Emily’s local shop held on to his elbows. But Joe offered no resistance.
Dr. Muriel caught up with them, ploughing through the crowd with elbows and cane before her, giving a knock to anyone who didn’t get out of the way. Emily turned her friend right round again and walked with her back to the house.
‘So the third sister turned up in London last night and asked one of them or both of them to go back to Hungary with her, to help with the sick mother?’ said Dr. Muriel as they made their way through the scandalised crowd, which by now was buzzing with news of the discovery of Zsa-Zsa’s body.
‘It seems so. But there was an argument, and Zizi refused to leave Joe, so Zsa-Zsa set him up, and got into bed with him so her sister would think they’d been sleeping together and get angry.’
‘Well, certainly she got angry. That was quite a betrayal.’
‘Yes. But the plan backfired and Zizi refused
even to let Zsa-Zsa get ready in the same bedroom, and Zsa-Zsa threatened that she wasn’t going to perform. So Zizi put the third sister in one of the shabby spare costumes in case she had to go on.’
‘A bit of a risk - if she was out of practice we might have ended up with a different dead body.’
‘They’re from a famous knife-throwing family, apparently. Very well-known in Hungary. Besides, I expect they could see through the blindfolds. Anyway then... I don’t know. Zsa-Zsa insisted on doing the performance, I suppose. And instead of using the sawn-off prop, Zizi threw a real kitchen knife and killed her.’
Dr. Muriel stopped and rested on her cane, and looked up at the dark passageway that led past Midori’s long-since-absorbed vomit puddle towards the side doors and the cellar. ‘And the third sister was waiting outside in the bushes?’
‘She must have been. You know, I thought I saw someone – or heard them. It was just a glinting and a bit of rustling. You know something else? When Zsa-Zsa died and she looked towards the curtain, she must have seen Joe. I thought she was looking beseechingly at me but it must have been him. Maybe the light didn’t go out of her eyes. But I know a beseeching look when I see one.’
‘So Joe dragged Zsa-Zsa’s body away from the grand hall, and the third sister stepped in to take the bow.’
‘Yes. But whether she was in on it or she was just protecting Zizi, I have no way of knowing.’
‘I suppose it will all come out in court,’ said Dr. Muriel, sagely.
‘One good thing about this evening,’ said Emily. ‘I didn’t learn personally whether roast pig smells like a roast person.’
‘And you let go of Jessie.’
‘Hmm,’ said Emily. ‘Not quite.’
Chris caught up with them just before they reached the front door of the house. He must have been running because he looked flushed. He took Emily’s hand and he got a look on his face that made his nose seem longer and straighter than usual. Emily recognised it finally for what it was: shyness. It twisted his mouth so it looked kind of sexy.
He said, ‘Would you consider joining us, Emily? You’ve got a lovely loud shrieking voice, you were very game with that suitcase. You’re tenacious, you’re good at remembering things. You’d be, you know, an asset.’