Murder Post-Dated

by Anne Morice

“Well, congratulations!”

  “Thanks. And the super thing is, Tessa, Marc doesn’t seem all that bothered. I really think he’s been getting more and more fed up with her lately. Ever since the inquest, in fact, so I suppose you were right there. Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “Yes, I’m delighted. And, by the way, Millie, how’s the story coming along?”

  “Oh, that! Well, to be brutally frank, it was a total flop.”

  “Oh dear, what went wrong?”

  “I started by tackling Tim and Louise, as you suggested. They were quite interested, in a patronising sort of way, but when I got down to the nitty gritty, like, you know, how they felt about living next door to a murderer and all that stuff, the whole atmosphere changed. It was awful, really, because Tim started twitching so furiously that I was afraid he would have a seizure. I think he may have been afraid he would too, because in the end he just got up and slammed out of the room.”

  “And was that the end of it?”

  “No, after that it was Louise’s turn. She rounded on me and started ticking me off as though I was about four years old. And she kept asking me who’d put me up to it.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “No, I said it was all my own idea and, anyway, I couldn’t see what she was making such a fuss about. Then I slammed out too, so that wasn’t a great success.”

  “Did you try anyone else?”

  “Yes, like you said, I had a go at Greg. That was yesterday, before we heard about Andrea, and it turned out even worse.”

  “What happened?”

  “He didn’t lose his temper or anything, at least not so it showed. He was just frightfully rude and cutting and more or less told me to shove off. And you know what, Tessa? It was really weird because just as I was leaving he called me back and what do you think? He said ‘Who put you up to this?’”

  “But you didn’t tell him?”

  “Yes, I did. I’d lost my nerve by then and I blamed it all on you. Sorry about that, but I’d sort of got to the end of my tether. I’m honestly beginning to wonder if I’m cut out for this job, after all.”

  “Never mind, you’ll be able to concentrate better, now that you’ve got the bridesmaid worry out of your life. And you’re not doing badly at all. You’ve started shaking people out of their complacency, which is half the battle. I think you should try it out on Andrea next.”

  “Andrea? My God, Tessa, what are you saying? I couldn’t possibly.”

  “I can’t see why not. I presume she’s back at home now, so she’ll be alone there during the daytime. You could drop in tomorrow morning and toss out some remarks about how you hope you and she can go on being friends, even though you won’t be sisters-in-law. That’ll put her in your debt and you can ask her to help you with this job you’ve taken on. If it doesn’t work, at least it’ll be another lesson in how not to go about it.”

  “Oh well, if you insist . . .”

  “You can’t expect it to be easy to start with, you know. You’ve got to learn as you go along. And, incidentally, Millie, if by any chance she should ask you who put you up to it, don’t hesitate to tell her. It will be just what we need.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “So you have pulled it off again,” Toby said, lowering the evening paper which Robin and I had brought with us from London and which included a report of the death by his own hand of an acquaintance of ours in a West End flat. “And despite all the opposition! Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, but I don’t deserve them this time. So many people contributed so much that I can scarcely take any credit at all.”

  “My dear Tessa, are you feeling quite well? You wouldn’t care for some brandy to buck you up?”

  “No, it’s the truth. I was merely the clearing house where it all got sorted out. Alan, I need hardly say, was the prime exception. I don’t know how often he purposely misled me, but everything he told me about the McGraths was coloured by his own sense of guilt. Otherwise, it was all constructive. You came up with the right guess more often than not and so did Robin, with his explanation for Alan’s ambiguities. Even Louise did her share. By leaving out the endearments, she first put me on to the idea that Rosamund’s letter was a forgery, which of course had been her intention all along.”

  “I can’t see how it helped you very much.”

  “Oh yes! Without that I should never have got to know James as I did, nor heard the story about coming home to find his wife had been murdered and spirited away. I should have had no part in what followed and his arrest would have meant nothing to me. Millie was a tremendous help too, in several ways, the first being the inquest. And it was she, you know, who broke through Andrea’s defences and got her to talk about all the things she’d been trying to hide. Poor Andrea, she was always more sinned against than sinning, I believe.”

  “Although the romancing and self-dramatisation had set in long before she had anything to hide,” Robin pointed out.

  “Oh, I know, but just think what her life must have been with that monster of a father! Her mother died when she was born and he became both parents to her and a lot more besides. Ellen was right, as usual, when she said it verged on the incestuous. In his perverted way, he really was in love with Andrea and it took the form of keeping her virtually a prisoner. She couldn’t escape, whichever way she turned, and it’s no wonder that she often retreated into fantasy. The trouble was that it got mixed up with reality. She said what she wanted to believe and as soon as it was said she believed it. It ended with everyone thinking she was lying, even when she was speaking the truth.”

  “And when did she ever do that, pray?”

  “I can give you three instances. One was in her claim that her father hadn’t told her that he would be home late on the night of the fire. Another was when she tried to tell the Coroner how she’d gone into the morning-room in an unsuccessful attempt to rescue her stepmother. He either didn’t hear what she was saying, or considered it irrelevant, so she didn’t get a hearing. Millie and I both assumed that she’d made it up, to show everyone what a heroine she was, but it wasn’t quite like that. She really did go in, possibly just to show off, but what she did while she was there really was heroic, in its way. I should remind you that the curtains were blazing merrily by then. The light didn’t extend as far as the spot where Mrs. Laycock was lying, but it did illuminate the carpet round the bed and what do you think she saw? An empty gin bottle, in case you hadn’t guessed. So she darted forward, whipped it up and stuffed it inside her dressing gown.”

  “What did she want to do that for?” Toby asked.

  “To protect her father. It was purely instinctive. She didn’t at that moment, suspect him of murder, but she knew the bottle shouldn’t be there and she still retained enough filial indoctrination to want to keep him out of trouble. All of which explains how Gregory came to fluff his lines. He’d already told Louise that he’d seen the bottle on the bedside table, because he’d expected it still to be there when the fire had been put out. So he was prepared to be called upon to explain why his wife had been left alone in the house and also why she should have chosen to take a bottle of gin to bed with her, but the second part of the question never came and that threw him. He hadn’t thought there was any risk attached to the Coroner knowing it had been there, because neither he nor Louise realised that he had any motive for making it easy for his wife to kill herself, but Andrea did.”

  “Why?”

  “She’d caught him at it before and that was the reason why she made up the story for Ellen’s benefit about Mrs. Laycock being a potential murderess and suicide case. And, incidentally, it wasn’t only for Ellen’s benefit, because although she claimed to be speaking in strictest confidence, she was actually doing so within earshot of half a dozen other people. Then the next day she seized the first opportunity to take it all back and pretend she’d only said those things because she was drunk. That was crafty and it had the desired effect, up to a point, but it still didn’t do
her any good. She’d picked the wrong one to confide in.”

  “Just what motive did her father have, apart from the fact, that the poor woman must have been a dreadful worry?”

  “And an expensive one too. He’d only married her in the first place to provide himself with a house-keeper and a glorified nursery maid for Andrea. All that was over long ago and the situation was worsening every day. Keeping a nurse on the premises had cost him the earth, but at least it allowed him freedom. He’d lost that now and even more serious, from his point of view, was that the last cure really had worked. She was right off the drink and she was beginning to notice what was going on around her, which was something he couldn’t afford. So, one way and another, it was time for her to go and she, poor creature, was the one to show him now to do it. He overheard the conversation she had with me at Elsa’s dinner party and he took immediate steps to turn her dream into reality. At least, that was one of the suggestions I made when I went to see him and he didn’t deny it.”

  “You went to see him?”

  “The day before yesterday, in his consulting room. I needn’t have bothered really. After Millie’s interview, when he learnt who had put her up to it, to use his own expression, I expect he’d already begun to realise that the game was up and Andrea’s letter had clinched it for him.”

  “Andrea wrote him a letter?”

  “Oh yes. Once she’d confessed everything to Millie, there was no longer any question of things going on as before. She’s moved in with Elsa now, it’s about the most sensible thing she’s ever done in her life, but she left a letter behind for Gregory, telling him exactly what she had done and I think he had already decided what his way out was to be by the time I came knocking on his door. I suppose doctors are fortunate in that way,” I added, struck by a new thought. “Unlike the rest of us, their daughters included, they know how to make suicide effective and easy for themselves at the same time.”

  “What other suggestions did you put to him, while you were about it?” Robin asked, ignoring this digression.

  “One was that, naturally, he could not risk getting the blaze started before Andrea had come home and gone to her room. Otherwise she might have noticed something which would have led to the fire brigade being called in too early. So, as soon as he came in himself, he went to say goodnight to his wife and put it to her that they should break the rules for once, and make sure she got a good night’s sleep. In other words, he placed an opened bottle of gin on her bedside table. Then later, once he was sure that Andrea was tucked up in bed, he went to work with the cigarettes and matches. It never occurred to him, I might add, that she had been out with anyone but Marc, whom he had now graciously consented to accept as prospective son-in-law. He held no more brief for Marc than for any young man, but at least he was preferable to James McGrath.”

  “You didn’t tell us about Andrea’s other lapse into truthfulness,” Toby said, “or haven’t I been listening?”

  “That was when she was going on about wanting to become an actress and I wish now that I hadn’t been so sharp with her, because it was sincere. She was tied by the leg, you see. She had no training, no qualifications and no money, except for those things her father wanted her to spend it on. All she had was looks and, in her dim way, she thought they would be enough. It was equally true when she told me the next day that it wasn’t on, because her father had put his foot down. Poor Andrea, her life must have been hell. One escape would have been through marriage, but the prospects there weren’t promising either, since all the eligible young men who came along were intimidated or shooed off by Gregory. Besides, the only man she wanted to marry was James, who already had a wife whom he had no intention of abandoning.”

  Robin said: “Before we all get too sorry for her, I ought to remind you that she certainly strayed from the truth when she told your reliable informant that she’d had a child two years ago in Newquay.”

  “I know, and that’s what I meant by getting fantasy and reality mixed up. It didn’t happen two years ago, but something very like it should have happened next winter or early spring.”

  They both looked at me as though I had gone mad and I explained:

  “Three or four months ago Andrea discovered that she was pregnant. James was the father, of course. He was the only man she’d ever loved and she did it deliberately, as a last throw to get him for herself. As soon as the tests were pronounced positive, she went to see Rosamund and threw herself on her mercy. She told her that she and James had been in love for years and, now that she was going to have the child which Rosamund couldn’t or wouldn’t give him, she was begging her to do the noble thing and release him.”

  “Which sent Rosamund into gales of laughter and ruined the act; whereupon Andrea picked up the carving knife and stabbed her through the heart?” Toby suggested.

  “Not at all, she offered Andrea a deal. She said that, if she were to consent to a divorce, it would have to be on her own terms. Andrea was to go away somewhere for five or six months and have the baby. Rosamund would make all the arrangements and pay all the expenses for this, as well as for a private confinement. As soon as the child was born, presuming it to be normal and healthy, Andrea would relinquish all claim and it would be handed over to Rosamund, who would then begin the process of legal adoption. The day this was completed, she would file a suit for divorce, on grounds of adultery, for which she already had all the evidence she needed. Andrea’s name would not be brought into it and she and James would be free to marry and have as many children as they thought proper. Pretty cunning, don’t you think? A true case of having her cake and eating it.”

  “And Andrea agreed?”

  “Not only agreed, but told her father what she was planning to do. She had no alternative, of course, but it must have taken courage.”

  “And he, I presume, was not best pleased?”

  “That is even more of an understatement than you intended it to be, Toby. He behaved like a madman, ranting and raging, sobbing and entreating; using every trick in the book, short of physical assault. She still wouldn’t give in, though, and of course he couldn’t force her to have an abortion. For one thing, she might have told the gynaecologist that she secretly wanted to keep the baby, in which case he’d have refused to go on with it.”

  “Although obviously she did have one, otherwise we’d have noticed something by now.”

  “Yes, I don’t know how long she would have stood out, but she was never put to the test. It was only a few weeks later that the stories about Rosamund’s disappearance began to get around. James told her she had run off with another man and that sent the whole plan up in smoke. She knew that no one would be able to adopt a child legally in those circumstances. So she gave in, had the abortion and became a good little daughter again. It affected her deeply, though, and there was worse to come.”

  “Oh dear, how sad! I don’t know if I can stand any more.”

  “You must steel yourself, Toby, because when the weeks went by, with still no word from Rosamund, the local gossips began hinting that James had murdered her and buried the remains in the garden. That was when Andrea got her first glimmer of what might really have happened and who had been responsible. Naturally, she couldn’t speak of it to anyone, least of all James, and so it was then that she took to fantasising on the grand scale and also when she became so desperate to escape. She would have done anything, got any sort of job, married Marc, whom she didn’t care for in the least, to get out of her father’s clutches. Curiously enough, it was he who put her on the first step to doing so.”

  “By encouraging her to go jaunting off to the Hebrides?” Robin suggested.

  “Persuading her to, in fact. The fire had been the last straw, you see. It is true that she acted instinctively at the time, but afterwards and during the inquest she became obsessed with the idea that her father was guilty of that crime as well. Which, of course, only strengthened her belief that he had committed the first one. Gregory could see that she was
at breaking point and was scared silly of what she might say or do. So he persuaded her to pack her bags and take a little holiday.”

  “And where did she actually go?”

  “To some crummy hotel in Kensington. She sold all her jewellery and trekked around the employment agencies. She was hoping to get a job as a stewardess on an ocean liner, if you can believe such a thing? Poor Andrea!”

  “But they wouldn’t take her and so she came back?”

  “No, Toby, she came back when she heard the dead woman in Herefordshire had been identified. How could she contemplate leaving the country, knowing that James would stand trial for a crime which she had reason to believe her own father had committed? She came back and once again she turned to Marc as her last resort, but it didn’t take her long to discover that she couldn’t go through with it. There was really no way out for the wretched girl and in the end I believe it came as a relief to pour it all out to Millie.”

  Toby said: “You have explained it all so well that I think I understand, so far as one can ever understand such behaviour, but one thing still puzzles me. Why, having killed someone, should it be necessary to go to the trouble of wrapping her in a sheet and carting her away? Why not leave her where she was?”

  “There were a number of reasons, and the first thing to remember is that killing her was not enough. It had to be done, to prevent her from taunting and humiliating him for the rest of his life with the knowledge that she was bringing up his illegitimate grandchild, but James had to pay the price too, for seducing his beloved daughter.”

  “Surely, leaving Rosamund where she was would have made certain of that?”

  “No, by removing her to a place associated with James, he first of all ensured that enough time would pass to make it impossible to establish the day, or, with luck, the week of her death. This would be an advantage to him, but no help to James. Secondly, he couldn’t be certain that James would have no alibi for the time when death, in fact, did occur. The Macadams were away, as he knew so well, since it was an essential part of his plan to eliminate the risk of being seen by them, himself, that morning. But there was still the outside chance that James could have come across someone while he was up in the woods. Finally, there was no guarantee that James would inform the police of what had happened. He could well have reasoned that his best bet would be to wrap Rosamund in a sheet himself, and take her to a place where she might never be found. That would have ruined everything.”