Getting Away with Murder?

by Anne Morice

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he couldn’t stand the sight of it any longer, I presume. And who shall blame him?’

  ‘I meant, why did you go there?’

  ‘That’s not important.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jimmie, you know damn well it is. You don’t get on with your father, you hate the house, so why the hell would you want to go there, late at night and on your own?’

  ‘I was merely trying to stave off the pneumonia by sticking to essentials, but if you want every detail, so be it. It’s true that I don’t like my father. So much so that by the time I was fifteen I had managed to convince myself that he was not my father at all. I feel sure it was mutual. There have been numerous indications that he was able to reconcile himself to my contempt for all the values he holds dear by the belief that I was not his son. That is no longer the case, however. Or, if it is, he has forgiven my mother for the lapse. He is now showing a most unwelcome paternal interest.’

  ‘Like in what way?’

  ‘Like in inviting me to his ghastly birthday party. It was the last sort of gathering in which I should wish to be seen dead, but he had gone to the trouble of finding out that I wouldn’t be on that evening and, as you know, I can never resist flattery, from whatever source. I told myself that it would be ungracious to refuse and Bobbie agreed. That doesn’t mean much. She’d probably have agreed if I’d told her that I meant to take a gun to the party and shoot the birthday boy dead.’

  ‘But you went and you didn’t take a gun. Then what?’

  ‘I wished I had, because during dinner he really went too far.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Started nagging me in front of the assembled company about going back to spend the night at Poltdean Towers. The name alone would put you off, wouldn’t it?

  I brought out every excuse in the book, except the true one, and he brushed them all aside, like the ash off his cigar, giving all the reasons, except the true one, why I should do as he asked.’

  ‘What was the true one?’

  ‘To get at Bobbie, of course. Make sure she had a sleepless night, imagining me lying dead in a ditch. Also one of the minor pleasures of his life is making a fool of me in public. He was succeeding so well that the only way to stop it was to give in to him.’

  ‘I see!’

  ‘Mind you, I hadn’t the faintest intention of going. It was simply done to bring the ridiculous argument to an end. Then afterwards in the bar, when you finally managed to tear yourself away from his scintillating company, I made the excuse to see you up to your rooms, the plan being to jump in the car and drive with all speed to the cottage.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose I’d had too much to drink, but halfway down the drive it struck me that by running away I should be playing straight into his hands. He’d be literally crowing with laughter and inviting all his creepy friends to share the joke.’

  ‘I don’t get it. What joke?’

  ‘The one about the poor boy who’d gone slinking off into the night because otherwise he’d be in trouble with that fat, middle-aged shrew. Something on those lines, you can bet on it, and another of my weaknesses is that I can’t bear being laughed at. So I decided that the last laugh should be mine. I’d let him have his fun and then, when they all arrived home, there I’d be, waiting for them. I’d get out of the car and say: “Oh, my goodness, I thought you were never coming! Never mind, who’s for a game of bridge before we go to bed?” Very childish, I know, but I’m afraid he does bring out the infantile side in my character.’

  ‘So what went wrong? Something, obviously?’

  ‘The word is everything. It started before I reached the house. There’s a two-mile drive up to the front door, which is quite in keeping with all its other pretensions, but I didn’t go that way. It’s quicker if you’re driving from here to take a side turning at Mattingly Bottom, which leads to what used to be the barns and midden of the home farm. They’re scheduled buildings and so, for all his attempts at bribery and corruption, he wasn’t allowed to tear them down and put up an ornamental aviary. He cut his losses and handed them over to the National Trust, but there’s still a footpath from there up to the side of the house; only when I got to the turning to the barns I found my entry blocked by a van facing towards the lane. I damn near crashed into it too because there were no lights on and it was pitch dark under the trees.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘What I should have done, if I’d had my wits about me, was to turn round and drive straight back to my own wee home, but my blood was up by then and I was not to be put off.’

  ‘And another thing you could have done, I suppose, was to drive straight to the nearest telephone and report it?’

  ‘Yes, that might not have been such a bad idea either, but I can’t have been thinking very clearly. It did flit through my mind that whoever had left the van there was probably up to no good, but that was all. I didn’t follow it through and, instead of doing either of those sensible things, I parked my car on the grass at the edge of the lane, squeezed my way past the van and went tripping up towards the footpath.’

  ‘Straight into the welcoming arms of the fire-raisers?’

  ‘No, what I am appalled to realise is that I most likely missed those welcoming arms by a couple of seconds. They must have been crouched down inside the van. I hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before I heard the engine start up and when I looked back the van was turning into the lane. I suppose they’d finished the job and were about to take off when they saw me coming. The lane’s dead straight up to that point, so they’d have had ample time to conceal themselves. I imagine they just sat there, with their fingers crossed, waiting for me to go by.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘The farmhouse is just a bit further on. It’s a run-down old place now and I expect the farmer and his wife are in bed and asleep by ten o’clock most nights of the week, but it must have seemed a more likely place for me to be making for than the barns. Very few people, apart from my father, know about the footpath and he would never dream of using it.’

  ‘All the same, it’s funny that they didn’t try and head you off, either by force, or gentle persuasion.’

  ‘Except that, for all they knew, there could have been several of us in the car. In which case, if the others had seen me being attacked they wouldn’t just have looked on in horror and amazement. At the very least, they’d have bolted back to the village and alerted the police. My guess is, though, that they didn’t stop to reason why, just did what came naturally and ducked out of sight, hoping to make a dash for it as soon as I’d gone by.’

  ‘And was the house on fire when you got there?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You couldn’t have told from a distance because there were no flames leaping around, but when I closed in I could see smoke filtering out from the first floor gallery, where he keeps all his treasures.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Behaved like a raving lunatic is the answer. If I’d been my normal self, nothing would have pleased me better than the sight of that hideous edifice going up in flames. On the rare occasions when I go there I’m always tempted to put a match to it myself, but I was too wound up by then to behave rationally. Faced with this crisis and without a living soul within hailing distance, I found myself flinging off the mantle of cynicism, which it has taken me all these years to stitch together, and plunging into the fray.’

  ‘And where did that land you?’

  ‘Covered with blood, if you really wanted to know. I knew the front door would be bolted and barred, so I looked around for some other way to get in. The idea being, you understand, simply to fight my way to a telephone to alert the Fire Brigade and that was all. I hadn’t sunk so low as to entertain ideas about waiting for them, or trying to put the fire out single-handed. How to proceed, though, was quite a problem. One of the worst excrescences which my father perpetrated when he bought the house was to have all the ground floor wi
ndows removed and replaced by those hideous leaded panes. I tried to explain to him that the only reason why the Tudors put up with them was because they hadn’t learnt any better, but he took no notice.’

  ‘There are people who believe them to be quite effective burglar deterrents.’

  ‘Then they delude themselves. One of the panes, slap in the middle of the pantry window, was a gaping hole. All I had to do was stick my hand through, lift the catch, stage left, and hey presto! Or very nearly presto. Unfortunately, I was without my do-it-yourself burglar kit, otherwise I might have been wearing protective clothing. Another disadvantage was that I’d failed to notice how jagged the glass was round the edges. The result you have now seen.’

  ‘So what was the next move?’

  ‘Short of remaining there until I expired from loss of blood, there was only one thing I could do. I took off my jacket and shirt, wrapped the shirt round my wrist, slung the jacket over my shoulders and beat it back to the car. I was all right then, because I do carry a First Aid box with me. That’s one of Bobbie’s little precautions. God knows why, but she’s convinced that one day the windscreen will splinter and my box office face will be slashed to ribbons. Anyway, it came in handy last night.’

  ‘So then you drove home and went to bed and the next morning you told her you had sprained your wrist? Why?’

  ‘Pretty feeble, I agree, but it was the best I could think of.’

  ‘But why not the truth?’

  ‘Because she wouldn’t have believed me. I could hardly believe it myself when I woke up. The whole episode seemed so utterly wild and dream-like. I wanted to put it out of my mind and pretend it really had been a dream. If she had believed me, she’d have concluded I was drunk, and that was the last sort of complication I needed. So I told her the first lie that came into my head.’

  ‘I’m not sure that she believed that either, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Maybe not, but at least she hasn’t kept on at me about it. Although I can’t see that blessed relief lasting much longer.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘If I’d realised how deep the cut was, I’d have spent more time working out my story, but I was expecting it to heal up in a couple of days, at which point I’d be able to get by with a little clever make-up.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do? Help you concoct a better story?’

  ‘Oh, no, there’d be no point in that. If it comes to the worst, I’ll have to tell her the shaming truth, but what I want from you is something only you, with your inside knowledge, might know.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What attitude will the police take and what should my response be when they discover that I was at the Towers last night, standing on the very same spot where the break-in was made?’

  ‘But why should they, Jimmie? I realise that there would be blood and finger prints on the window frame and maybe footprints as well, but they’d have no reason to compare them with yours.’

  ‘Not yet, but the time is bound to come when they do.’

  ‘I don’t see why . . . unless . . . could there be more to this story than you’ve told me?’

  ‘Just the postscript. When I’d disinfected the cut and bound it up, I rolled up my shirt and threw it into the bushes.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’

  ‘Yes, no need to tell me how dim-witted that was. I can see it for myself now, but at the time I was concentrating on Bobbie. The jacket was no great problem because I knew I could hang it in my cupboard until the opportune moment arrived for taking it to the cleaners, but a bloodstained shirt is not an easy article to dispose of in a four-room rented cottage.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Obviously, it’s not the kind of thing the bloodhounds will be looking for, but, barring a miracle, someone, someday is sure to find it and most likely take it to the police and I can see that landing me in some tedious explanations. That’s why I need your advice and one reason why I allowed myself to be dragged into another of these macabre soirées. The other was to revisit the scene of the crime. I went there, on my way here, to see if I could retrieve the shirt, but everything looked so different in the daylight and I realised that I might be searching around in those woods for hours before I found it. Furthermore, I had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching me. That may have been imagination, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t done myself much good by giving way to the impulse of the moment and the time had come to play it cautious. So tell me this, if you will, Tessa; are the police now patrolling the grounds and, if they were to catch me creeping around in the vicinity, am I likely to be arrested for arson, if not worse?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, but you shouldn’t take my word for it. Robin might know what they’re up to, or at any rate he could find out. With your permission, I suggest we now set forth and, if he’s back, repeat everything you’ve told me. Apart from your own troubles, I’m getting stiff with cold.’

  Having sought my advice and been given it in generous doses, I was rather put out to see that he appeared not to be listening. His mouth had dropped open and he was staring into the middle distance with a glazed expression.

  ‘My God, Tessa, did you see that, or have I gone right off my head?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘That thing . . . animal, that just went streaking up the garden. It had yellow eyes and it looked like a wolf.’

  ‘Oh, that was only Lupus. He is a sort of wolf, but quite harmless, so they tell me, so long as you don’t put your hand out. I suppose he escaped again and Verity is now scouring the countryside. She will not be pleased. Did you hear what I said? I think we should now go and find Robin. If I still have the use of my limbs, that is.’

  ‘What’s the matter with your limbs?’

  ‘They’ve gone stiff with cold.’

  ‘Oh yes, so you said. Sorry about that. Shall I see if there’s a rug in there that you could wrap yourself into for the walk home?’

  ‘Don’t bother, I expect I’ll manage.’

  Ignoring this, he got up and walked past me into the summer house. Several minutes went by before he came out again and I used the time by getting the circulation going with some bending and stretching exercises. I was standing on the grass at the bottom of the steps, with my hands raised above my head, when he appeared in the doorway. The pair of us would have presented a curious spectacle for any observer, for he remained motionless and silent as Lot’s wife, with an expression on his face to match, which temporarily froze me into immobility as well.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ I asked, dropping my arms.

  ‘No. Yes.’

  ‘Which do you mean and why are you looking like that? Are you ill?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a woman in there, lying on the floor. She must have been there the whole time we were talking.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose she was, and what’s she doing on the floor?’

  ‘I don’t know. I almost fell on top of her. The most hideous moment of my life. I couldn’t see much and I didn’t want to touch her, but there was something . . . I think she’s dead, Tessa. In fact, I’m certain of it.’

  (6)

  Several years later, or so it seemed, Robin and Toby and I were assembled in the bar, where the management had laid on hot soup for those of its battered guests who still had the energy to consume it.

  Kenneth was in charge, a tight lipped Louisa having strode in and out again at one point, to apologise for the inconvenience resulting from the death of her receptionist, and the Fellowes had also now drifted away.

  The members of the Godstow contingent had retired to their own apartments at the conclusion of their brief and separate interviews with Superintendent Wilkins, and Jimmie, who had been called first and detained longest, was now on his way home to the comforting arms of Roberta.

  On our side, Toby had been required merely to state his name, address and purpose of visit and my own ordeal had lasted scarcely longer. Robin had been third on their list and he had not come
out again until two hours later, when these preliminary enquiries were over, having been invited to remain as an observer.

  ‘And what did you observe?’ I asked him.

  ‘Don’t you think we should pack it in now and go to bed, while we still have the strength to crawl upstairs?’

  ‘Oh no, I could never sleep in my present state of suspense. Nor could you, Toby, could you?’

  ‘Perhaps not. Or perhaps I no longer have the strength to crawl upstairs. It would be less trouble to sit here until I fall asleep in my chair.’

  ‘There is not much to tell,’ Robin said, then turned to address Kenneth:

  ‘Don’t stay unless you have to. We shan’t be needing anything else.’

  ‘Very good, squire. If you say so, I’ll be off home and get some kip,’ he replied, too exhausted now to grapple with a foreign tongue.

  ‘The first thing to know,’ I said, ‘is how and when she was killed.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait for the post mortem to confirm it, but the police surgeon reckoned she’d been dead for between two-and-a-half and three hours when he saw her. She appears to have been strangled by someone standing behind her, wearing gloves. There was a pair of those cotton dusting gloves, with elasticated cuffs, lying on the floor.’

  ‘Jimmie and I must have got there around nine and we were talking for twenty minutes or so before he went into the summer house. Allow another half hour before the police took over and what does that give us? I can’t work it out.’

  ‘Seven to seven-thirty, near enough. Highly inconvenient time for checking alibis, as you may imagine. Needless to say, they all had plausible tales to relate, to cover the period from six-thirty onwards.’

  ‘What do they claim to have been doing? Don’t go to sleep just yet, Toby, this is getting interesting.’

  ‘Jake was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the dinner. Louisa, for what it’s worth, says she went in there several times, either to give him a hand, or pass on something he ought to know about numbers in the dining room and so on. But the fact is that, with or without her knowledge, he could have been absent for up to ten or fifteen minutes. There’s a door between the kitchen and back staircase, opening on to the garden at the side of the house, and a path leading to the stables.’