by Matt Ferraz
“No!” said Winifred. “I guarantee you that. And it’s not so much that she’s prejudiced. I just think something happened in Lisbon that hurt her very badly.”
“I see,” said Grandma Bertha. “Do you have your phone with you?”
Winifred shook her head. “I threw it into the ocean,” she said. “This afternoon. Earlier today, before William was murdered, I received a very strange text from my mother. If the police found it, they might use it as proof against her, so I got rid of it.”
“And what did the text say?”
Winifred shut her eyes to remember the exact words. “It said ‘You like the crazy ones better’.” I don’t know what she meant. I can’t imagine.”
“I thought there’d be a mention of Lisbon in the message,” said Grandma Bertha. “Why else would you yell ‘Lisbon’ when we found William?”
“I guess I always associate Lisbon with a life being ruined.”
“Winifred, I need to ask you a question,” said the old lady. “It’s not a nice question, but I need to ask it, and you must promise you’ll tell me the truth.”
The girl wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Go ahead.”
“Did you kill Paul Robard?”
Winifred’s eyes grew large. “What? No! No! Of course not! How can you even—”
“I believe you, I believe you,” said Grandma Bertha, holding her hand. “I never thought you did it. But, you see, this is extremely important. Because I think I have solved one of the murders. William’s murder.”
“You have?” asked Winifred. “Who did it?”
“You must keep in mind that there are times when certain things have to be done. Unpleasant things. And there are times we do things that we think we have to do, only to realize later we were wrong. Your mother did what she did to protect you.”
She had expected Winifred to faint or throw up, but instead the girl stayed motionless and spoke clearly. “Why did she do it?”
“Because she thought you had killed Paul Robard,” explained Grandma Bertha. “She was spying on you that day hiding in the cave under the rock. I don’t know why. But she had some sort of grudge against William’s father, and she thought you had found out about it and killed him. A million thoughts must have gone through her head that day while you talked to William on the rock. And then he jumps off and breaks his leg. You go away to look for help and see me. Marjorie sees poor William lying on the ground. A thought comes to her. If she kills him, and you have a witness, which is me, to prove you weren’t the one who strangled him… Well, then she might be able to convince the police it was her, not you, who killed Paul too.”
“Oh, God,” said Winifred, covering her mouth with her hand.
“That’s what I’ve worked out,” said Grandma Bertha. “And trust me, dear, it wasn’t easy to reach that conclusion. Your mother ran away, thinking about what she had done. Even if it was for your welfare, she had just strangled a young boy. She’s a monster, and she knew you would never see her the same way again. So, instead of giving herself up to the police, she ran away.”
“That… that does sound like something Mum would do… if she was capable of killing someone.”
“So now I have to ask you again,” said Grandma Bertha. “Because there’s something that doesn’t fit this story, and I need to understand everything to close the case. Did you kill Paul Robard?”
Winifred’s eyes finally met Grandma Bertha’s. Those big green eyes, which a few days before had belonged to a joyful, loving teenager, were now tired, sour and full of rage. “I never killed anyone,” she said to Grandma Bertha. “I could never kill anyone. I’m not that kind of person.”
“I believe you,” said Grandma Bertha. “That’s why we need to find out what happened in Lisbon. Then we’ll know why all this happened. Do you have anything that could help? Old pictures of your mother, objects, anything that could give us a clue?”
“No,” said Winifred. “Mum didn’t like mementos. She has some old clothes, but they’re all back home.”
“What made you think she might have travelled a lot?”
“When we were flying here, she kept complaining about the service, saying things should be done like this, not like that… She just seemed to know a lot about it.”
There was something else. Grandma Bertha could see it in Winifred’s face.
“It was funny seeing her walking around, her hair up in a bun, telling the stewardesses how to do their job. She seemed in control, you know? More than she’d ever been her entire life.”
“And what was her job?”
“She was retired,” said Winifred. “She didn’t work. She was getting a pension.”
“Who gave her that pension?”
“I don’t really know,” said Winifred. “Her ex-husband, I think. Not my father, though. She made that clear to me. She always said I shouldn’t expect anything from him.”
Grandma Bertha nodded and finished her coffee. “Thanks for this, sugar. Don’t drink the rest of your coffee. You should go to bed now, and I promise you that by this time tomorrow we’ll have everything figured out.”
“What?” said Winifred, grabbing Grandma Bertha’s hand. “You mean you’ve solved the case?”
“You’ve had enough for one day. There are some things I need to clarify, and that will take some phone calls I can’t make at this time of the night. But don’t worry, I don’t think you’re in danger. Go to bed, and I’ll do the same. Things seem much clearer now.”
Gently, she pulled her arm from Winifred’s grip and walked to the lift.
6
Inspector Mason had no idea why the old lady wanted to talk to him so early the next day. The two murders had shocked the otherwise calm little town, and everyone had a theory about what had happened.
The situation seemed to have been resolved that morning: Marjorie Compson had surrendered herself to the police, confessing to both murders. Now the police had a lot of paperwork to do. Still, Grandma Bertha had said she wouldn’t leave the police station without talking to him.
“I have a lot to do. I can only spare you five minutes,” he said, closing the door behind them. Grandma Bertha sat down.
“This won’t take long, Inspector,” she said. “I just want you to know that I’ve solved the murder of Paul Robard.”
The inspector sat down too. “And the murder of his son,” he completed. “Sorry, Granny, but you’re a bit late. We’ve already arrested the murderer. She confessed to killing the men out of jealousy after finding out that her daughter and the young lad were going to run away.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re mistaken, Inspector,” said Grandma Bertha, raising her index finger. “Because in this case there were two murders – and two murderers!”
She had the inspector’s attention.
“Where did you get that idea?” he asked.
“I’ve spent a lot of time with Miss Winifred Compson,” she started. “I always thought there was something odd about her. My first thought was, of course, that she had murdered young William. She could easily have strangled him by the rock before seeing me and running to ask me for help. I, of course, wasn’t in her plans, because I don’t usually walk my dogs on that part of the beach, especially at that time, when the sand is starting to get hot. It hurts their paws, you know.”
“So why were you on that part of the beach?” asked the inspector.
“Because young William asked me to come,” she said. “Not in so many words, but with a look. He was very concerned about Winifred. When he told me he was going to meet Winifred by the rock, and I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it – well, I just put two and two together. He wanted someone from the outside to help him in that situation. Someone who wouldn’t judge.”
“You suspect Miss Compson is Paul Robard’s killer?”
“Not any more,” said Grandma Bertha. “Keep in mind, Inspector, that I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. A lot of what I’m going to say i
s supposition, but it’s all based on what I have observed.”
Inspector Mason sighed. “Well, anything that helps us catch a murderer is welcome.”
“Oh, you can’t catch this one, Inspector,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll never be able to catch Paul Robard’s killer.”
“Why not?” asked Inspector Mason.
“Because he’s dead. Young William Robard killed his father, don’t you see?”
The inspector mumbled for a few seconds before being able to form a sentence. “He killed his father?” he asked finally. “I mean, we suspected this, but...”
“But the second murder changed things, didn’t it?” asked Grandma Bertha, her index finger high in the air. “If there was only one killer, how could he have strangled himself? You see, that was your big mistake, Inspector. But, please tell me, why did you suspect William Robard?”
The inspector considered whether he should share that kind of information with the old lady. It wasn’t professional, and she could just be a crazy old bag with too much time on her hands. But he recognized Grandma Bertha from the papers. She had helped to solve a murder before, so he thought she might be of some help in this case too.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he said. “But, as you know, a dead body usually gives a lot away about how the murder happened. However, a body that’s been under water for some time can be a problem. Water can destroy evidence, so the best clue we had was the current, and how he could have been washed up there. Where could he have come from? He could have been thrown from the deck outside his room onto the beach, which was deserted at that time of the night. His room was the last place anyone had seen him alive, and the killer could have jumped from there onto the sand and dragged the body into the ocean.”
“It seems too risky, if you ask me,” said Grandma Bertha. “Even if the beach was empty, someone could have seen the murderer drag the body into the sea.”
“There’s also another problem,” continued the inspector. “There was no sign of a struggle inside the room, and no blood. We kept asking questions, then a second theory came up. That the murder took place on the beach. Somewhere far from the hotel, where there were no people around.”
“The heart-shaped rock,” said Grandma Bertha. “My thoughts exactly. Now here’s my theory, Inspector. Marjorie Compson sees Paul Robard in the hotel lobby. They met a long time ago. Since then, they have led very different lives. Paul became a successful businessman and dedicated his life to his son William. William was a good boy. He grew up without his mother, who was committed to an insane asylum when he was young. Marjorie, on the other hand, felt that her life had been ruined by Paul. She had to give up her career as an air stewardess and made a living out of collecting money from a mysterious source.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“I have made some friends around here who know how to use the internet,” she answered, picking some clippings from her purse and putting it over the desk “It’s amazing what you can get from newspaper archives.”
“I’m impressed,” said the inspector, checking those papers. “Go on.”
“Marjorie sees him and recognizes him,” continued Grandma Bertha. “It was the first time in years that Marjorie had had the chance to travel, after winning competition, and the last person she wants to see is Paul. This is a big place and they don’t have to socialize with each other, but then something terrible happens: Winifred and William start to like each other. That makes their parents furious, which only makes the children fall in love even more. Suddenly the situation is harder to ignore. Marjorie then decides she has to meet Paul and talk about things.”
Grandma Bertha went on. “She sends him some nasty texts, one of which she sends to Winifred by accident – Marjorie is no crime genius. And I believe she sent one of those messages to young William, also by accident. And that’s how he found out their parents had planned to meet by the heart-shaped rock – a great place to meet when you don’t want many people around.”
“William hides in the small cave under the rock, and hears more than he wants to hear. He finds out things about his father’s past – bad things, that destroy the image he had of his father. And, of course, William finds out the huge secret, the secret that makes his world crumble, the secret that makes him sick to his stomach and crazy with rage. And when Marjorie leaves, leaving Paul behind, William comes out of the cave and argues with his dad. Paul was shocked to realize his son was there the entire time, and has no more energy to fight. That’s why he doesn’t react when William grabs a rock and hits him on the head with it. Paul falls to the ground, William grabs him by the legs and drags him into the ocean. The next morning, the wind has destroyed the evidence of the fight.”
“Paul, as you said, wasn’t dead. He managed to swim to the beach on the other side of the bay and walk a few feet before falling to the ground. The wound was still bleeding, but I don’t think that’s what killed him. People can die of sadness, Inspector, even though that’s not what the coroner wrote in his report,” Grandma Bertha continued.
The inspector was still sceptical. “I don’t know,” he said. “We can investigate that theory, but there’s something I need to know. What’s the secret you’ve been talking about?”
Grandma Bertha looked disappointed. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now, Inspector,” she said. “What else could be so awful that it would turn their romance into a bloodbath? The lovebirds, William Robard and Winifred Compson, are actually brother and sister!”
7
The lift doors opened and the porter came out, pulling a trolley on which were Grandma Bertha’s two huge trunks. Grandma Bertha herself followed, dressed in a bright floral dress and a huge straw hat, her three dogs walking in front of her on their leashes.
Winifred was sitting in a corner, holding a thick book. She looked older, her hair was shorter, and her eyes were tired from sobbing. There was something dignified about her. She was wearing a long blue dress which somehow made her look more like an adult.
“Could you wait here?” Bertha asked the porter. “I need to say goodbye to someone.”
She didn’t know if Winifred would want to talk to her, but the girl smiled when the old lady came up to her. “You really need to go?” she asked Grandma Bertha.
“I’m sorry, sugar,” said Grandma Bertha, sitting by her. “Something very important has come up, and I need to be somewhere else. I wish I could stay for a few more days. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m staying till the end of the week,” said Winifred. “It’s too expensive to change the plane ticket. My mother is going to prison, and I don’t know if I want to visit her.”
Grandma Bertha patted Winifred’s shoulder. “I can’t say I blame you.”
“Is this how life works?” asked Winifred. “Everything is normal, then it seems like it’s going to be great, then it turns into hell?”
“Yes,” said Grandma Bertha. “That’s exactly how life works. I like your hair.”
Winifred touched her head. “Yes, I thought I needed to make a change. To have something that was from after this whole thing.”
“You look very grown-up,” said Grandma Bertha. “What are you going to do when you get home?”
“I don’t know,” said Winifred. “I have no one. I can’t believe she never told me who my dad was!”
“They probably weren’t still in contact. If they were, they wouldn’t have ended up going on holiday to the same place.”
Winifred thought about that for a second. “You know what I keep thinking about?” she said. “That woman. Willy’s mother. The one who ended up in the insane asylum. Is that why Mum sent his dad that message? ‘You prefer the crazy ones’ – something like that?”
Grandma Bertha nodded. “The inspector told me about her. Apparently, she tried to commit suicide after William was born. She took an overdose, but didn’t die. It affected her mentally, though.”
“That’s so sad,” said Winifred. “
And how was I supposed to know I was conceived in Lisbon? And that my mother lost her job because of me?”
“I don’t think you need to know all the details,” said Grandma Bertha. “It all happened a long time ago.”
“Did I ruin her life?” said Winifred, staring at Grandma Bertha. Her eyes were dry. “Would it have been better if I had never been born?”
Grandma Bertha thought of what to say. She had made a few phone calls that morning before she went to the police. Inspector Shaw from Scotland Yard owed her a few favours. The newspaper clippings helped a lot. They told lot about Marjorie Compson’s improper behaviour in a flight with one of her passengers, which ended her career. Marjorie and Paul Robard seemed to get along too well as the plane took off, and decided to give a drunken party in the air while the other passengers tried to sleep. Nothing nasty enough to put them behind bars, but enough to ruin Marjorie’s career and reputation. She hadn’t travelled much since
“Does it feel like that?” Grandma Bertha finally asked. “That you ruined her life?”
Winifred nodded.
“Well, things are never really what they seen,” said Grandma Bertha. “Sometimes a clock can look like a phone. And sometimes the thing someone believe has ruined their life has actually saved it. Do you think about William much?”
“Not really,” said Winifred. “It’s been strange to find out I have – had – a brother. I think I miss him, and I’d have liked to have met him before. It’d be nice to be the sister of such a cool guy.”
“That’s a good thought,” said Grandma Bertha. “I wish I could be there for you, and help you put the pieces of your life together again.”
“I’ll be okay,” said Winifred, with a surprisingly frank smile. “I’m stronger than I look. Mum is going to trial soon, and I need to prepare for that. Meanwhile, I have to get a job and support myself.”
“That can be tough,” said Grandma Bertha. “But something tells me you’ll do wonderfully.” She reached for her bag and pulled out a piece of paper with several names and numbers written in it. “This is for you.”