Murder Post-Dated

by Anne Morice

  “Yes, I can guess and, considering what a penance it is for you to answer even your own calls, you must have had a trying day. Did he say why he wanted to see me?”

  “No, only that he hoped you would be able to have a drink with him this evening. You can see what that led me into? If you require me to act as your telephonist and social secretary, it might be as well to inform me of your movements in advance.”

  “I didn’t know myself until yesterday that the schedule had been changed. And I’m not sure that you did get the answer wrong that time.”

  “So you won’t feel like having a drink with him this or any other evening? Perhaps you are wise. There could be an element of risk in it, I daresay.”

  “It’s not that which worries me so much. More of a reluctance to become any more embroiled in his affairs than I am already. On the other hand, I do feel rather guilty about landing him in this mess, in spite of his taking it so well. Or maybe because of that. It is rather hard to decide.”

  “And I’m afraid I can’t advise you. For one thing, I can’t spare the time. My own schedule got badly upset yesterday, one way and another, and I must try and catch up with some work. You will have to sort it out for yourself.”

  “Perhaps I should start by inviting myself to lunch with Elsa. I might manage to drag something slightly more illuminating out of her than she saw fit to divulge on the telephone. Mrs. Parkes wasn’t expecting me to be here, so at least her schedule won’t be affected.”

  “I really have no idea whether he meant to take it any further or not,” Elsa replied. “He asked if we would mind having our fingerprints taken, but he didn’t explain why. He was extremely cagey. I suppose they always are.”

  “Besides which, he may not have known himself at that point whether he would make any move or not.”

  “Oh, Tessa, surely?”

  “Well, it’s delicate, isn’t it? I daresay he thought a consultation with his Chief Constable might be in order, before plunging in up to his neck.”

  “And what’s his attitude likely to be?”

  “Goodness knows, we’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, it may take your mind off that troublesome subject to learn that I am taking tea with the Laycocks this afternoon.”

  “You are? How did that come about? I thought you told me you’d never met them before?”

  I gave her an account of Andrea’s visit to the film location, adding:

  “Did you realise that she had ambitions to become an actress?”

  “No, certainly not. Are you sure?”

  “It is the reason why I have been invited to tea. I have been roped in to give some practical help in heaving her up the ladder to stardom.”

  “How strange! Marc has never mentioned it.”

  “I know that you like and approve of her, Elsa, but could it be that she is apt to fantasise a little, here and there?”

  “Why do you say so?”

  “Well, this dream of becoming a television star overnight doesn’t exactly belong in the realm of realism, would you say?”

  “Perhaps not, but a lot of girls go through that phase at one stage or another.”

  “Ellen tells me she’s twenty-six, so she’s left it a bit late.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Tessa. I can only speak as I find, as the saying goes, and on the one or two occasions when Marc has brought her here, I have always found her perfectly normal and unassuming.”

  “Perhaps that’s another act, which she reserves specially for you? The well-brought-up, butter-wouldn’t-melt, daughter-in-law elect.”

  “Not necessarily. People are rarely all of a piece and she would naturally present a different side of herself to someone of my generation. It doesn’t follow that either is a sham.”

  “And she certainly has a good many sides to present. Do you want to hear what reason she gave for inviting me to tea, instead of the conventional drink? It was so that there would be no risk of our being interrupted or overheard by her father, whom she has now discovered to be bitterly opposed to her taking up any sort of theatrical career. Can you believe it? Does there exist a father in this day and age with such a prejudice, or one who would dare to express it aloud, if he had?”

  “I wonder how you have allowed yourself to be caught up in this tangled web, if that’s what you consider it to be?”

  “I rashly offered to help her and now I’m stuck with it. Besides, I don’t regard her as a liar in the accepted sense. I think she probably belongs in that tiresome grey area where every word becomes true as soon as it is uttered. Also, with any luck, I’ll get a chance to meet the mysterious Mrs. Laycock.”

  “Honestly, Tessa, I cannot imagine where you pick up these extraordinary ideas. I hardly know the poor woman, no one does, except possibly Louise, but to the best of my knowledge she suffers from nothing more mysterious than chronic arthritis. She has to keep going into hospital for therapy and so on and when she’s at home she’s usually in so much pain that she very rarely goes out. At any rate, that’s what I gather from Andrea.”

  “Then it must be true,” I said, “for where would you find a more reliable informant than her?”

  “How did you get on?” Toby asked an hour or two later.

  “Not at all well. In fact, it was a complete waste of time and I wasn’t even offered a cup of tea.”

  “Or a glimpse of Mrs. Mystery?”

  “No, she didn’t appear and it’s hard to understand why I was invited. Andrea has changed her mind since yesterday afternoon and the television industry now has to face the fact that it must struggle on without her.”

  “Oh well, that should be a relief to you?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Did she give you any reason?”

  “Yes, and we must award her full marks there because it was a most noble and unselfish one. She had decided to sacrifice herself on the altar of her father’s prejudice. I suppose that what actually happened is that she invented this tale of his objecting to her taking up acting, as a way out of it for herself. Then she decided to squeeze a bit more drama out of it and she needed an audience. It didn’t stop there either. She tacked on some embroidery about his being so worried about his wife’s mental condition that she felt it would be unkind to add to his anxieties. Which is why I’m not shouting for joy about having been let off so lightly. I’m thinking of Marc, you see. He’s already been through one disastrous love affair and I’d hate to see him knocked flat on his face all over again, which is what Ellen and I are afraid will happen, if Andrea decides that marriage is where her true vocation lies.”

  “Well, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “No, there isn’t and it’s a thoroughly depressing situation, topped off by a thoroughly wasted afternoon. How about yours? What have you been up to?”

  “Answering your telephone calls, chiefly.”

  “Oh, hell! Who from this time?”

  “Robin, to say he can collect you from Oxford on Friday evening and spend the weekend here, if that suits us both. Your agent, about an American television series, which she doesn’t think you’ll want to do because sixteen weeks in L.A. might put rather a strain on your marriage. On the other hand, I am to tell you that the part is right up your street, having to do with an English au pair girl with an all-American family. Also that the money is good.”

  “Thank you. Anyone else?”

  “Yes, the wife-murderer, once again.”

  “Oh no, really? But I thought you’d told him I wouldn’t be here until after eight?”

  “Unfortunately, he went shopping in Storhampton this afternoon and bumped into Elsa, who was tactless enough to mention that you’d been to lunch with her.”

  “What a nuisance! But at least it doesn’t appear to have struck him that I might be avoiding him deliberately. Or, if it has, he’s ignoring it. Probably the second, I should say. He’s too self-confident to allow snubs to deflect him from getting what he wants.”

  “A necessary characteristic f
or the successful murderer, you might say?”

  “Shouldn’t wonder. I’m sure that’s how Louise sees him, though, and I’d love her to be proved wrong. All the same, it might be a mistake to go there on my own. On the other hand, I’m rather keen to find out why he’s so anxious that I should and also whether there have been any repercussions over the letter.”

  “Well, I’m not offering to come with you, if that was in your mind.”

  “No, I don’t expect miracles, but you have given me an idea, Toby. Why don’t I compromise and invite him here instead? You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

  “Yes, I would. I can think of few things I should mind more.”

  “Oh, you needn’t appear. In fact, I should prefer you not to, but I shall lay heavy stress on the fact that you are upstairs hard at work, although not so hard that you wouldn’t notice a scream or two from below. That should be protection enough, don’t you think?”

  “Not if he has caught up with my well-known reputation for cowardice. It might be safer to harp on Mrs. Parkes’s presence in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, that’s brilliant. I’ll go and ring him up right away and say my car’s broken down, or something or other and that, if he wants to see me, he must come and do it here.”

  “Well, that was another non-starter,” I announced a few minutes later.

  “So he won’t come? What a shame! All our trouble for nothing! Did you gain the impression that he considered it would be more prudent to murder you on home territory?”

  “On the contrary, he said he’d be delighted, but unfortunately he’d invited some other people as well. Can you beat it? All that scheming and subterfuge and it turns out to be a perfectly normal social occasion.”

  “Did he name the other guests?”

  “Only Elsa. I must say she didn’t say a word about it to me, but presumably he invited her when they met in Storhampton this afternoon.”

  “So what will you do now?”

  “Oh, I’ve said I’ll go. I felt it was the least I could do, to make amends for my nasty suspicions. I told him I’d borrow your car. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all, but don’t go leaping too far in the other direction. If you take my advice, you’ll arrive late and then, if there are no other cars there, turn round and drive straight home again.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “As someone recently remarked, it’s a sad thing to be cursed with a suspicious mind, but the same precaution had already occurred to me.”

  EIGHT

  There were two cars on the grass border beside the white picket fence, although neither belonged to Elsa. One was a Range Rover, which had been there on my first visit, the other a pale blue estate car, which also looked familiar, although it was an unexpected place to find it.

  Clearly, however, there was no need to retreat and I walked up the brick path, pushed open the front door, which was off the latch, and went inside.

  In addition to our host, there were three people in the room. Elsa and Louise were sitting close together on one side and Tim, by himself, on the other. They were all looking with mesmerised expressions at James McGrath, who had taken up a commanding position, with his back to the fireplace, literally holding the floor with a dissertation on what, from the sentence or two I caught of it before he noticed me, sounded like ways and means of computer rigging.

  Breaking off, he said: “Ah, come in, come in! So glad you could make it. I was beginning to be afraid there’d been more car trouble.”

  “No, sorry to be late, but I always drive like a snail in other people’s property. Hallo, Elsa! And Tim and Louise! What a nice surprise!”

  Neither of the Macadams responded to this with more than a nod, but Elsa plunged into a long-winded explanation about her last-minute invitation and how she had left her car at the Macadams, so that they could all come together.

  While this was going on, our host was barging about the room, replenishing glasses, whether they needed it or not, and pulling up a chair for me, so that we were now grouped in a semi-circle facing the fireplace. He then resumed his former position and announced:

  “I’m glad you’ve come, Tessa, because what I have to say concerns you as well.”

  No one spoke, but the two women shifted slightly in their chairs and Tim covered the lower half of his face with a handkerchief, presumably to conceal the nervous spasms which always betrayed him in moments of stress.

  “Well, go on!” I said, breaking the silence and James obeyed.

  “At about this time yesterday evening I had a visitor. His name was Superintendent Mackenzie and he had brought a document for my inspection. I expect you can guess what it was?”

  Again no one answered and, turning now to Elsa and Louise, he said:

  “I was given to understand that you had both seen it already, so I do not propose to waste time by telling you to whom it was addressed and what it consisted of.”

  “You mean he told you?” Louise burst out. “But . . . it was confidential . . . he promised . . .”

  “No, madam, he did not tell me who had given it to him, and nor do I intend to reveal how I came by the information.”

  He had no need to, of course, and, judging by her venomous look, Louise’s feelings towards me had previously been as those of a mother for her ewe lamb, compared to what they had now sunk to. Elsa must have noticed it too, for she said:

  “It was my fault, Louise. I’ll explain it to you some time, but just now there are more important matters to discuss. Please go on, James!”

  “Mackenzie asked me whether I recognised the handwriting and I said that, without being certain about it, it looked remarkably like my wife’s. That wouldn’t do for him. He wanted a straight yes or no, so I put on my reading glasses and did my best to advise him, but the curious thing was that I still couldn’t be positive. On the whole, I was now inclined to believe that it was not Rosamund’s writing. As some of you know, she uses an italic script and, although there is a sameness between one person’s and another’s, there was something uncharacteristic about this one, although I was unable to define it.”

  “Didn’t he want to see something of hers to compare it with?” Elsa asked.

  “Indeed, he did, madam, and a very simple and obvious request it seemed. Surprisingly difficult to put into practice, however. She had taken her diary, address book and suchlike with her and I have never kept any of her letters to me, not even the most recent one. After a longish search, the best I could produce was a three-line message on the telephone pad and an old shopping list in the kitchen drawer. It was enough, though.”

  He paused here and looked round the room at each of us in turn, before repeating: “It was enough.”

  “Enough for what?” Louise asked.

  “To tell us both that those two scraps had not been written by the same hand as the letter. Of the two of us, I should say that I was the more taken aback, which probably only shows me to be a less observant man than I had prided myself on being.” Not resisting the temptation to show off, which is one of the saddening effects Louise has on me, I said: “The explanation is more likely to be that the Superintendent, unlike you, was prepared for the letter to be a fake.”

  “Evidently he was, but why?”

  “Presumably because it had been through a fingerprint test, in which only two sets had been found, and both accounted for. Not many people write letters with gloves on.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. And so there you have it! As interested parties, or at any rate those with the most right to feel interested, I thought you should know how matters stand, although that was not my sole purpose in inviting you here this evening. I am now going to ask Louise and Elsa for their help.”

  “I can’t imagine what either of us could do,” Louise told him in her most truculent voice.

  “No, I daresay not, so I shall tell you. So far as I can see, the only way to bring this miserable business to anything approaching a satisfactory conclusion is to find out where Rosamund
is, with the least possible delay. I, therefore, earnestly entreat you both to do all in your power to bring that about. Perhaps, if you were to put your heads together and fill some gaps in each other’s knowledge, there might be a chance of our hitting on something to give us a lead.”

  “I shall do my best,” Elsa assured him. “We both will, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you much encouragement. We have all been racking our brains over it for days and we are still just as much in the dark. And now, if that is all you have to tell us, I suppose we should be on our way.”

  “But is it all?” Tim asked, speaking for the first time. “I do find that hard to believe, if you’ll excuse my saying so. Are we really to understand that the Superintendent left it there? Went away, with no more questions?”

  “Indeed, you are not, sir. The part of the interview which I have just described was only the beginning. It lasted, in fact, for almost two hours, but since the rest of what passed between us seemed to concern no one but myself, I had not intended to repeat it. However, I have now changed my mind.”

  “Which of us has done that for you?” I asked him.

  “You have. Something tells me that when your friends get up to leave you will insist on leaving with them and, after what you have now heard, who should blame you? However, since you have shown yourself to be somewhat better informed than the rest of us, there is one point in particular on which I should value your opinion. May I tell you?”

  “Of course you may.”

  “There was an incident which occurred immediately after we had finished comparing the two sets of handwriting. The Superintendent asked me to read the letter and say whether I believed the statements it contained to be true. I replied that I did, for the simple reason that it was almost identical to a letter she had written to me before she went away. It was regrettable, to put it mildly, that I had destroyed it, but I had no difficulty in recalling every word. He then played what I regard as a neat trick. That being the case, he said, would I write it down for him? Now the question is this: am I right in assuming that this was a device to get me to put down in my own hand what amounted to a copy of the forged letter, so that experts might decide whether they were, or could have been, written by the same person?”