‘But the medallions were cleverer still. After all, everyone knows that the phrase “faith, hope and charity” is only three words long. By putting a medallion on each body you were giving another message to the police that the victims were all linked and it was the same lone shooter who was committing these murders. But you were also clearly saying that there would only be three murders. As soon as Liz’s body was found with the “charity” medallion around her neck, the police would know the shootings were over. There weren’t going to be any more. So, as time passed, and they failed to find out what the link was between the victims, the police would soon get distracted by other more pressing cases. These murders would have gone onto the back burner, and you’d have got away with it. But, despite your best efforts, I now know it wasn’t one person carrying out these three murders. It was three men pretending to be one.’
‘What weakness?’ Danny asked as he took another step towards Judith.
‘Oh yes, I was wondering if you’d pick up on that,’ Judith said calmly, although her inner monologue was screaming, Where the hell are the police? over and over. ‘As a plan, it had an Achilles’ heel. And that was if the police realised that there was indeed no meaningful link between the three victims. Despite the same gun being used. And your “faith, hope and charity” ruse. And instead, they focused on the three men who most obviously benefited from the three deaths, because the three of you all share a link, don’t you? A very strong link.’
‘There’s no link between me and those other two people!’ Danny shouted.
‘Oh there is. And you know it.’
‘All right then, what is it?’
On Ferry Lane, Tanika was standing in the lashing rain as she watched Colin Starling and a number of choristers carry a length of severed bell rope across Marlow Bridge.
By the time they arrived, she realised what Becks expected her to do.
‘Wrap it around the trunk of the tree!’ she called out. ‘Come on, we need to get this tree moved!’
As they all started trying to tie the rope to the tree, the piercing headlights of a white SUV cut through the darkness as Becks raced her 4x4 across Marlow Bridge, turned into Ferry Lane and then screeched to a halt. Despite the narrowness of the road, she confidently performed a three-point turn, her hands in the correct ten-to-two position throughout, and by the end of the manoeuvre her tailgate was pointing at the oak.
‘There’s a tow bar on the back,’ she shouted as she stepped out of her car.
Tanika was quick to get the message, and she soon organised the other end of the rope to be tied to the back of Becks’ 4x4.
And mercifully, in the distance, finally, they heard the sirens of approaching police cars.
As soon as the rope was tied fast, Tanika called to Becks against the howling wind.
‘Okay we’re good to go!’
Becks climbed back into her car, slammed the door shut, but Colin grabbed her arm through the open window.
‘Becks?’ he said, but he didn’t know what on earth to say next.
As Becks looked at her husband, she saw a sparkle of excitement in his eyes.
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said, ‘but if I haven’t told you recently, I think you’re amazing. I’ve always thought you were amazing.’
Becks’ heart jumped. This was the Colin she remembered. Full of life and sincerity, and able to focus entirely on her.
‘Love you,’ she said with a wink.
‘Love you, too,’ he said.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, I need to put my pedal to the metal,’ Becks said, and turned her attention back to her cockpit.
As Colin stepped back, Becks put her car into four-wheel drive, jammed it into its lowest gear and floored it.
The back wheels spun on the wet road, exhaust spewing out, the smell of burning rubber filling the air, but the oak tree didn’t budge.
Becks took her foot off the pedal for a rethink as two police cars drove into Ferry Lane, sliding to a stop so they didn’t smash into Becks’ SUV.
The police officers climbed out of their cars as Becks floored it again, the bell rope snapping tight, and this time she crushed the accelerator, the back of her car juddering left and right, the engine roaring over the sound of the driving rain, but still the oak tree wasn’t moving. It was too big. Too massive.
Inside her car, Becks took her foot off the pedal and smashed her hands into the steering wheel in frustration.
Nothing was going to be able to move the tree.
Judith was entirely on her own.
Judith had come to the same conclusion over the previous few minutes. She was on her own, and the shocking realisation had crept through her body like ice water. After all, if Becks had managed to get hold of Tanika, they’d have arrived ages ago. Something must have gone very badly wrong.
‘Go on,’ Danny said to her and Judith’s focus snapped back into the room. ‘Tell me about this link I have with these two other men.’
‘That’s easy enough,’ Judith said, even though she felt entirely numb. ‘All three of you went to the same secondary school. Sir William Borlase’s.’
‘So what? Is that all you’ve got? There’s only two secondary schools in the town. Loads of people went to the same school. And I bet I’m not even the same age as those other two people.’
‘No, that’s true. Elliot is one year older than you and Andy is four years younger.’
‘So how could I be linked to this Andy guy? I don’t even remember him.’
‘Oh you do. He was a top athlete at the time. Not that you’d know it to look at him now. But then, as a photograph reminded me, we were all very much thinner when we were younger. But what we should really be noting is Andy’s height. Because there’s no such thing as a short rower is there?’
‘No there isn’t.’
‘But there is if you’re the cox. In fact, the cox has to be as short as possible. And thin. And that’s what Andy used to be, wasn’t he? A mere slip of a thing. As he boasted to my good friend Becks Starling, he’d been quite the athlete in his youth. We dismissed the comment at the time, but it was true. He, you and Elliot were a triumphant rowing team for your school. Weren’t you?’
For the first time, Judith thought she saw panic dart in Danny’s eyes.
‘That’s right. The three of you may have drifted apart over the decades since then, but back when you were teenagers, you were one of the best rowing teams your school had ever produced. As a coxed pair, I now know. Which is one cox, who was Andy. The youngster with guile and cunning to navigate the route. And two much older, taller and stronger lads in you and Elliot to do the rowing. I imagine you cleaned up at all of the regattas.’
‘This is guesswork.’
‘Not at all. I went to Elliot’s office once I’d worked out that rowing was the connection. And guess what? He’d removed a rowing team photo from the wall since the last time I’d been there. He has rather a habit of removing framed pictures from the walls, now I think about it. But that was all the confirmation I needed to know I was on the right track. And the fact that his wife was so angry with me. I think, a bit like your wife, Daisy has had her suspicions about Elliot for some time, and it’s similarly been driving her mad.
‘Anyway, the missing photo proved to me that there was something incriminating about a rowing team from Elliot’s past. So who else was in that photo? Sadly, records back then haven’t much survived to the modern day. But you know what it’s like when you solve part of a crossword clue? The rest of it so often falls into place. I tried to think who else Elliot could have rowed with. Initially I wondered if it was Stefan, but as I’ve already said, Stefan is on record saying he hated rowing. And that’s when I remembered Becks telling me that you and Liz had met as young rowers. You were the third person from Elliot’s boat I was looking for.’
Judith could see that Danny was clenching and unclenching his jaw.
‘No? Not going to say anything? I suppose not. But now I could
start to make sense of the deaths. Because, as you said, you, Elliot and Andy don’t have much to do with each other. But you last rowed together in Elliot’s final year at school which was 1980. Forty years ago exactly, so a perfect excuse for a school reunion.
‘Which is why Liz had a diary entry saying “rowing dinner” for Monday the fifth of August. But it wasn’t her rowing dinner she was marking. She’d merely put “rowing dinner” in her diary because, as a good wife, she was making a note of when you’d be at your important dinner so she didn’t double book anything for that night.
‘And I’m sure you, Elliot and Andy had a great evening together. In whatever private dining room you’d hired. In black tie no doubt. Yes, I can well imagine the three of you in some oak-panelled private room in a fancy pub somewhere near here. All togged up, all in agreement at what a disgrace it was you can’t smoke cigars indoors these days. But here’s the thing. Monday the fifth was the same day that Elliot went to see Stefan at his gallery. I bet Elliot was fuming when you saw him. In fact, he must have been, knowing what then followed.
‘You see, I think he told you everything. How Stefan was a crook, which, I’m sad to say, I now realise was the truth. Because he stole a valuable Rothko painting from Elliot decades ago. And Elliot told you all about it. How he’d argued with Stefan at Henley a few weeks before. But he must have also told you what he’d done since then. You see, Elliot was so incensed by his argument with Stefan at Henley that he had decided to wreak revenge.
‘He wanted his Rothko back. But how to do it? Well, since Elliot has always been so desperate to prove his talent, he decided he’d paint a forgery of it. But, again, how could he do that? He’d not seen the picture in decades. And he’d have to somehow get the real frame from the real Rothko onto his forgery so Stefan wouldn’t notice the difference. So Elliot broke into Stefan’s house. Just to take photos of the Rothko, I think. And to measure the frame and see how it all fastened together and so on. But once he’d done that, he left. Which was why, when Stefan returned later on and called the police because there’d been a break-in, he couldn’t prove that anything had been stolen. Nothing had been stolen. It had simply been a fact-finding mission for Elliot.
‘Next, Elliot set about rediscovering his ability at painting Rothkos. Reminding himself of the technique and palette required. Which explains all of the Rothko-style paintings we found him burning in his garden much later on. He was getting rid of his practice canvases.
‘But Stefan worked out that Elliot had been behind the break-in. Maybe he saw that his Rothko wasn’t hanging quite as straight on the wall as it should have been. Or maybe Elliot saw Stefan and taunted him somehow. We’ll never know, but whatever it was that tipped Stefan off, it was enough to make him want to get Elliot into his office and accuse him of the break-in. And also to threaten him that he could go to the police.
‘So yes, my guess is that Elliot was in a foul mood when you all met up for dinner that night. And I’m sure he added that, as far as he was concerned, Stefan deserved to die. So what happened next?
‘Well, I imagine it was Andy who chipped in next. Because he had problems of his own. Although I bet he dressed them up to look less criminal than they were. I’m sure he spun you a tale of how he’d looked after his client Ezra as he slowly died of cancer. And how, just before his death, Ezra had left his estate to his trusty solicitor. All a lie, of course, as Ezra had left everything to his wonderful neighbour, Iqbal. But I bet Andy told you that, as Ezra was so close to death, he’d not been capable of signing his new will, so he’d had no choice but to forge the signatures of the witnesses.
‘And I’m sure Andy stuck the boot into Iqbal, the interfering neighbour. How Iqbal had discovered that the witnesses’ names were old pupils from Borlase’s Grammar School who’d died before the will was signed. And how Iqbal had even had the gall to send him the proof in the form of a page of obituaries from the Borlasian magazine he’d torn out.
‘In fact, Andy was in considerably more hot water even than Elliot. He’d committed a massive fraud. He was off to prison if he couldn’t silence Iqbal. And if Elliot wasn’t the first person to say that Stefan deserved to die, I’m sure that that’s what Andy said about Iqbal. Someone should kill Iqbal.
‘But how do you even commit murder? Well, if you own an auction house, I can’t imagine it’s too hard to lay your hands on a vintage weapon like a Second World War Luger. Not if you know a few dodgy dealers, as I’m sure Elliot must have done. But still, how do you do it and get away with it? I wonder if that’s when you confessed that you wanted your wife dead as well? After all, sometimes it’s easier to speak the truth to a relative stranger than to someone you know well, isn’t it? Because, if Liz died, you’d inherit the land the rowing centre is built on. You’d be able to sell it and become a multimillionaire.’
‘And once you’d confessed your darkest secrets to the others, the idea occurred to the three of you that you could each commit murder for the person to your left, as it were. Using the same gun, to make it look like it was only one person. And with a false trail of antique Masonic medallions, no doubt supplied by Andy Bishop, to make it look as though the same person was carrying out each murder.’
Danny raised his gun again and pointed it at Judith’s head.
‘You’re going to shut up right now.’
‘You don’t want another death on your hands.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. That’s exactly what I want.’
Seeing the madness in Danny’s eyes, Judith realised that he no longer cared for the consequences of his actions. She wouldn’t be able to talk him down. Or appeal to his rational side. He just wanted her dead. Dead at any price.
And finally Judith knew the truth: her plan had failed.
She was on her own with Danny Curtis, and there was nothing she could do to stop him from killing her.
For Suzie’s part, she was still standing panic-stricken under the weeping willow, feeling more and more miserable and getting more and more wet. What was going on inside Judith’s house? There must be something she could do to help, but what could it be? She was on the wrong side of the river and had no means of crossing it.
Suzie stepped out from the weeping willow and approached the river. She looked at the mass of the water as it swept past. There was no way she could cross the river at the best of times. She couldn’t swim. Let alone get across with the river running this fast, and at night, and in the middle of a storm.
And Emma was still no bloody use, as she shivered at Suzie’s side.
But there was something else Suzie realised as she stood in the driving rain. Becks and the police simply weren’t coming. And that meant that she was Judith’s last and only hope. This helped make the decision for her. Perhaps, at some deep level, Suzie had known all along what she would do next.
‘We’re going to save Judith,’ she shouted at Emma over the howling wind. ‘We’re going to save Judith, you and me together.’
Suzie bent down, undid the laces on her boots and kicked them off. Next she took off her wide-brimmed hat and raincoat and dropped them to the floor.
She then strode into the river, Emma excitedly at her side, wanting to join in with whatever it was Suzie was doing.
Suzie was almost immediately swept off her feet, even as she struck out with her arms and legs.
She tried to splash her way across the river, but the current was too strong. Panicking wildly and swallowing lungfuls of water, Suzie tried to make headway, but she was being carried too fast downstream from Judith’s house, and there was no way to get back, even if she managed to get out of the water. Which, with a sudden realisation, Suzie realised she never would.
It was pitch-dark, rain was hammering down on the water all around, the swell of the river lifted her up, spun her around and then sucked her down, time and again, and each time she went under, it seemed to be for longer.
It was so cold. So very, very cold. And she was feeling so tired. So heavy and
tired. She couldn’t keep battling, the river was so much stronger than her.
And then Suzie was pulled under by the current, and this time she knew it would be for the last time, she wouldn’t be coming up for air again.
It was just Judith and Danny now.
And somehow, now that Judith had accepted she was on her own, she began to find a sense of calm. Danny was going to shoot her dead. There was nothing she could do about it.
Danny took another step closer.
Raised the pistol.
He was close, but still out of reach. Judith knew there was no way she’d be able to rush him before he could pull the trigger.
There was nothing she could do about it. It was over.
She put her hand on the green baize of the table, just to feel something reassuring in her last few moments of life.
‘You think you’re so clever,’ Danny said. ‘But you’re still going to get a bullet through the brain.’
Judith saw his finger tighten around the trigger, and that’s when she noticed there were no more sweets in the travel sweet tin. It was completely empty. Was that really going to be her last thought?
Although, it wasn’t entirely empty, was it?
Judith’s hand picked up the tin and threw it straight at Danny’s face, its icing sugar contents exploding in a white cloud around his head, which gave her the split second she needed to grab up one of the sharpened pencils from the table, close the distance and plunge the pencil deep into the bicep of Danny’s right arm, the gun falling from his hand as he dropped to his knees screaming in pain, his left hand grabbing at the pencil as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his arm.
Judith grabbed the gun and stepped back, making sure it stayed trained on Danny.
‘Don’t even think about moving!’ she hollered.
But Danny didn’t seem to be Danny any more, he’d become a snarling creature, and he rose to his feet, pulling the pencil from his arm in a gush of blood he barely noticed.
The Marlow Murder Club Page 27