An Invisible Murder (15 page)

Jenny dunked some tomatoes into boiling water to soften their skins for peeling. ‘I think Danny
is
a particularly stupid person,’ Jenny said mildly. ‘But Janice is not nearly as stupid as you imagine.’

And with that, Inspector Bishop had to be satisfied.

He looked around, sensed something was missing, thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers. ‘Where’s that helper of yours. She’s usually skulking around with a face like a gargoyle.’

‘I gave Elsie the day off,’ Jenny lied.

The fact was, Elsie had, very uncharacteristically, left her a note saying that she needed the morning off. Jenny had found it on the kitchen table that morning, when she’d come down. The cook hoped that she hadn’t done anything stupid, but she rather suspected that she had.

‘Hmm,’ Bishop said. ‘I think I want a word with her. Myers, let’s take a walk down to the village.’

Lord Avonsleigh hung up the phone and looked across at his wife. ‘He’s agreed to come,’ he said quietly. ‘Do you think we did the right thing. Asking
him
, I mean?’

Lady Vee stirred a little on the sofa, and began to fiddle absently with the double rope of priceless pearls hanging around her neck. ‘Yes, I think so. Miss Starling sort of hinted that he’d be the best man for the job. And I’d be inclined to agree with her.’ Her eyes sharpened on her husband. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

He smiled. ‘Yes. You think she’s hit the nail right on the head, don’t you?’

His wife’s face became grim. ‘Yes. I think she has. But what do
you
make of it all? You said very little last night.’

‘Well, we’ll soon find out. He’s coming right over. I sent a car for him.’

‘He’ll be here soon, then,’ she acknowledged miserably.

Avonsleigh nodded. ‘Cheer up, old girl. It might not happen.’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘It already has, George,’ she said, then winced an apology. She reached across and took his hand. ‘George, if the worst comes to the worst….’

He nodded. ‘We’ll manage. We Avonsleighs always do.’

For a few moments they were quiet. ‘Bishop’s back,’ he said at last, giving one of his wife’s knuckles an absent-minded kiss, and letting go of her hand. ‘I saw his car outside.’

‘Hmm. Well, he won’t interfere. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,’ she replied dismissively. ‘But we’ll have to make sure that
you know who
and our guest don’t meet.’

Lord Avonsleigh’s lips tightened grimly. ‘They won’t,’ he promised. ‘I’ve already seen to
that
.’

‘But be careful, George,’ Vivienne Margaret warned. ‘Remember what Miss Starling said. It’s imperative that we don’t act any differently. We don’t want to spook our quarry,
so to speak.’

His lordship nodded. He glanced at his watch. Soon they would know, one way or the other.

Inspector Bishop walked into the music-room and looked around. He walked over to the piano and tinkled a few notes, then sat down at the stool and played ‘Chopsticks’ with just a dash of panache. He was at a loose end, and felt like it. Neither Elsie or her mother had been at home, and he had sent Myers to make inquiries round and about the village.

If Danny was the local meat supplier on the QT, they’d have to have an equally quiet little word with him, too. He sighed. He played again, then spun round as somebody clapped behind him.

‘Ah, Miss Starling. Oh, and you too, Lady Roberta,’ he said, getting clumsily to his feet.

‘Hello, Bish,’ Roberta said, bouncing into the room and eyeing the piano. ‘What
was
that lovely little composition you were playing?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Bishop all but blushed.

Jenny took pity on him. ‘Isn’t Mr Powell-Brooks supposed to be standing in for your governess, Lady Roberta?’

‘Oh, Malc will be here in a minute. He’s just tidying up the studio. The workmen have put their backs into it at last and have finally finished putting in the larger skylights. There’s bags of light now, but sawdust all over the place. It’s driving Malc mad. He insists on a spotless studio. Dirt can get into the paints, you know. But I can start without him,’ she said, took a seat, and belted out a dramatic piece that shook the window frames. She gave Inspector Bishop an angelic smile.

‘While we’re here, er, your ladyship, perhaps you can go over that afternoon again,’ he murmured, not to be outdone.

‘Oh Bish!’ Roberta groaned. ‘Not again! I told you over and over. Malc and I got here about half past two.’

‘Not a quarter to three?’

‘No. Half past two. We began to play some pieces, you know, warming up, waiting for Simm.’

‘What pieces. Can you remember?’ Bishop asked, but his tone was automatic. Perfunctory. He was not, Jenny suspected, really listening.

‘Some Chopin. Some Bach. A bit of Beethoven. You know, usual stuff. Oh yeah, and the Minute Waltz. I remember that because that was when Malc went to see if Simm was anywhere near. It was getting late by then.’

Lady Roberta suddenly became aware that both of them were staring at her in surprise. ‘What?’ she said. Then again, more angrily, ‘What?’

‘You said Mr Powell-Brooks never left this room,’ Bishop accused her, trying to keep his tone polite. Trying to remember that she was a lady. Literally.

‘But he didn’t,’ Roberta said, and then waved a hand angrily as she realized the mistake she’d made. ‘I mean, he only went to the end of the corridor to see if she was anywhere about. He wasn’t gone a minute. In fact, Inspector, I know he was gone less than a minute, because of the Minute Waltz, you see,’ Roberta said scornfully. ‘That’s why I forgot about it. I mean, what you
really
wanted to know was if Malc could have killed Simm, and I knew he wouldn’t have had time,’ she carried on, suddenly finding the need to justify herself. ‘So that’s all all right then, isn’t it?’ she added, her chin tilting up challengingly.

‘That’s all right, Lady Roberta, we all forget things
sometimes
,’ Jenny broke in, stepping between the exasperated policeman and the indignant lady with a calming voice and a sweet smile. ‘Why don’t you just start at the beginning
and go through it minute by minute? Lady Roberta, did Mr Powell-Brooks leave the room more than that one time?’ she began, trying to make sense out of Roberta’s somewhat garbled reasoning.

‘No, he didn’t,’ Roberta said firmly. ‘And I only forgot about that one time he did leave because he was only gone a few seconds.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Bishop asked quickly. ‘Time can play funny tricks. A long time can seem a short time, and vice versa.’

Roberta stared at him scornfully. ‘I know that. But in this case, I know it was only a short time because of the Minute Waltz,’ she repeated, her voice rising in obvious exasperation, her expression clearly stating that she thought the inspector a proper dunce.

‘Tell us about the waltz, Lady Roberta,’ Jenny said calmly, giving the inspector a shut-up-and-listen look.

Bishop shut up and listened.

Roberta put her head to one side, and sucked on the end of a pencil contemplatively. ‘It was, I don’t know – about three o’clockish,’ she began, obviously making an effort to be perfectly accurate. She was in the doghouse, and knew it, and was touchingly anxious to make amends. ‘Simm was half an hour late by then. I’d just done some Chopin, I think, when Malc glanced at his watch. He looked a little miffed. He said he wondered where Simm was, and told me to play something different. He asked me to play the Minute Waltz, and said that that was about all I was good for. But he was teasing, you know.’ She broke off, glancing at the cook for back up, and Jenny nodded soothingly.

‘Yes, I know. What happened then?’

‘Well, I started to play it. Malc said he’d just go down the corridor and see if Simm was in the hall or looked like
shaking a leg. He went out and came back again a few moments later. He said she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I hadn’t even finished playing it. So you see, he can’t have been gone that long. He couldn’t possibly have killed Simm in that time, could he? So all this fuss is about nothing,’ she finished huffily, and, turning her back on both, her spine stiff with antipathy, she began belting out another dramatic piece.

Bishop and Jenny, not wanting to go deaf, left her to it.

Bishop walked quickly down the corridor and saw that it took them out into the main hall. He turned the other way and they found themselves in a small, little-used room that led out onto the same terrace as where their lordships and guests had had their tea that fateful day.

‘He couldn’t have nipped out this way,’ he murmured to himself, ignoring the cook’s presence. ‘They would have seen him.’ Quickly he turned back. At the entrance to the
music-room
he took out his watch, paused, then took off at a brisk trot.

Jenny was at his heels, although she didn’t much like brisk trots. She didn’t much like brisk anythings – she simply wasn’t built for ‘brisk’.

But to get to the conservatory, they had to cross the hall, go up some steps, run down a long corridor and then down some steps again. It was almost a square route to the
conservatory
and, even as they entered, Jenny knew that the minute was almost up.

Nevertheless, Bishop made a stabbing motion, turned and sped back. Back at the music room, panting a little, Bishop checked his watch.

‘Well?’

‘Two minutes, ten seconds,’ he said.

‘And that’s without the dagger,’ she said.

‘Eh?’

‘The Munjib dagger. It’s down off this little hall here.’ She indicated the hall to the left of the music-room. The inspector walked a few yards, and stared up at the dagger. They were leaving it
in situ
for the moment, but soon it would have to go on its merry way to the police lock-up.

‘Damn. I forgot about that. He’d have to have retrieved the dagger first. Unless he already had it?’ he added, his voice rising hopefully.

‘He can’t have done,’ Jenny squashed that hope ruthlessly. ‘The Avonsleighs and the colonel were admiring it at three o’clock, remember?’

‘Damn. That’ll add another few seconds onto the time.’

‘And I don’t think Ava would have died quite as quickly as you made out,’ Jenny said sceptically, copying his quick stabbing movement. ‘And if he’d returned with some blood on him, Roberta would have noticed. She has eagle eyes, that one. And don’t forget the fact that he must have somehow rigged it all up so that the Avonsleighs and guests didn’t even so much as see him enter the conservatory, let alone kill her.’

Bishop groaned. ‘And I thought we were onto something then. But, wait a minute, this Minute Waltz thing: what if Lady Roberta played it too slowly? Made it a three-minute waltz?’

Jenny smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t know all that much about music, Inspector, I have to admit, but I think you’ll find that the Minute Waltz is taught to young pupils in order to get them used to tempo. If I remember correctly, it is called that because, played right, it is about a minute and a half long. Only a rank amateur would get the timing wrong. Somebody as advanced as Lady Roberta should, by now, have impeccable timing.’

As if to confirm her words, a dramatic and famous
piece from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony wafted out of the music-room.

Bishop sighed. ‘So Powell-Brooks was gone less than a minute. Nowhere near enough time to kill the governess.’

‘No,’ Jenny agreed thoughtfully. She looked up at the dagger. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said eventually.

‘And so close to the music-room,’ Bishop added longingly. Then he shrugged and turned away.

He’d do the timing again. Do a bit of exploring. Perhaps there was a short cut to the conservatory. But he was sure there wasn’t, and half an hour later, had to admit defeat.

Malcolm Powell-Brooks had had nowhere near enough time to kill Ava during that minute or so.

Yet another dead end.

Jenny, ignoring the inspector’s efforts, continued to stare at the dagger for a long, long, time.

T
hat evening, Inspector Bishop tramped wearily into the kitchen. As usual, whenever Inspector Bishop came in, everybody else went out. Dinner had just that minute finished, and Elsie hastily wiped the last plate and stacked it. Janice and Malcolm glanced at each other and grimaced, whilst Meecham and Gayle rapidly pushed away from the table.

They were all used, by now, to the inspector’s odd little talks with the cook. But word had filtered down, as it always seemed to, that their employers blessed this arrangement, so nobody mentioned it. At least, not openly.

‘Well, I think I’ll read a book and have an early night,’ Malcolm said, stretching and yawning a little too enthusiastically.

‘Ah, and I’ve got some knitting to do at home,’ Elsie said, just as quickly. ‘Now that I’ve bought a new number ten, that is. That knitting needle of mine never did turn up,’ she grumbled dourly, reaching for her cardigan.

‘Never mind, Elsie,’ Janice said, winking at Gayle, who for once, didn’t respond. Instead she followed her father quickly out of the door. From there on, it was a mad rush to see who could get out next. Bishop watched the last departing back and smiled grimly. Jenny eyed him sympathetically, and poured fresh boiling water in the teapot. 

Outside, the evening sun was beginning to turn golden. She looked out of the narrow windows towards the lowering sun, and sighed, not unhappily. She liked the short, summer nights.

‘Here you go, Inspector. A piece of plum cake? I made it this afternoon.’ Inspector Bishop did not pass up on the cake, but then, he wasn’t expected to. ‘No Myers tonight?’ Jenny asked, letting one eyebrow rise interrogatively.

‘No. I’ve sent him off to check up some facts with an electrical shop. It seems your kitchen maid and her mother spent the morning buying a new television. Digital whatnots galore, apparently,’ Bishop explained, without rancour. He’d gradually found it less and less of a chore to confide in Jenny Starling so that now he did it automatically. And he had to admit, she’d steered him all right in the past.

‘Which makes me wonder,’ he continued thoughtfully, reaching for the sugar bowl and heaping two teaspoons into his mug, ‘how it is that Elsie Bingham can suddenly afford it.’

Jenny smiled and sat down. She gave a mighty yawn behind her hand and then settled back. If the inspector wanted to spar, she had no objection to obliging him. ‘I imagine her father paid for it,’ she said mildly, and gave him a reproving look. ‘As if you hadn’t already figured that out for yourself.’

Bishop looked a shade abashed, then shrugged. ‘Blackmail?’ He said the one word tonelessly.

Jenny frowned. ‘I prefer to think of it in a rather more charitable light, Inspector. More a case of belated child
maintenance
, I think.’

Bishop conceded the point. He had no sympathies with a man who got a woman pregnant and then abandoned her and his own child. ‘Serve him right,’ he agreed heavily, then frowned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought our Basil was the type
to stand for it though,’ he added, voicing something that had been puzzling him all afternoon, ever since Myers had reported on the delivery van and television set.

‘No,’ Jenny agreed with him thoughtfully. ‘I’m worried about Elsie.’

Bishop chewed on some cake, his taste buds going down on bended knees to thank him. ‘It’s especially odd since we don’t know what she’s blackmailing him
about
exactly,’ he aired his thoughts out loud. ‘I mean, what is she holding over him? We don’t believe Basil killed his own daughter. Do we?’ he asked sharply. When she shook her head, he carried on thoughtfully. ‘And if
Elsie
killed Ava, it would give
Basil
the opportunity for blackmail, not the other way round. So how’s she wringing the cash out of him?’

Jenny shrugged. She felt as weary as the inspector. And she was anxiously awaiting word from Lord Avonsleigh. ‘I don’t suppose she is holding anything specific over him,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, she wouldn’t really need to, would she? When Ava was first murdered, it didn’t really affect Basil financially at all. I imagine, if anything, he even attracted a few more clients to that art gallery of his than usual. Some out of genuine sympathy, but more, I expect, out of morbid curiosity. A little risqué glamour wouldn’t hurt – I dare say being associated, however tenuously, with the father of a murder victim goes down well in some ghastly social circles. But with Elsie threatening to make a far more sordid scene – go public on her parentage, hint at something dastardly in the house of Simmons – well, risqué glamour is one thing, but ridicule is another. No one wants to risk being made to look foolish – or crooked.’

‘Hmm,’ Bishop said non-committally, finishing his cake and looking longingly down for another piece. The cook instantly cut him another chunk. She couldn’t stand that
‘where’s all the food gone?’ look. It was the one thing
guaranteed
to cut her to the quick.

‘I suppose the gallery would lose a lot of its customers if Basil’s reputation as an upper-crust gent took a bashing,’ Bishop conceded. ‘But I don’t think he’ll stand for blackmail for long. If I were you, I’d have a word with your Elsie and persuade her that enough’s enough.’

Jenny nodded. She’d already made up her mind to do just that.

Bishop stared forlornly at his cake, his appetite
temporarily
deserting him as his troubles came flooding back. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Miss Starling, this case has got me tied up in knots.’ He pushed his plate away, clearing room on the table and reached for the condiments. He put a salt cellar down in front of him.

‘We have the dagger. The blood on it was Ava Simmons’s, no doubt. The lab confirmed the stab wound more or less matched the dagger blade in every aspect. It has an usual rounded edge and a sharp point, as we know. So we know Ava was killed with the dagger.’ He reached for his cake and put it to his left. ‘We have Ava’s body in the conservatory. The amount of blood and lack of any traces anywhere else means that she
had
to be killed in the conservatory. But,’ – he reached for the mustard, salt, Jenny’s cup of tea and his own mug – ‘we have four witnesses, not twenty-five yards away, who saw nothing.’

For a moment, Bishop stood staring at the scene in front of him. ‘We know the dagger was clean and bloodstain-free at three-o’clock. At half past, the deed had been done and it was back in its place, bloodied and guilty as sin.’ He paused, took a bite of plum cake, and sighed. ‘We’ve eliminated the garden staff, the Avonsleighs and guests, and the daily women. That leaves the main suspects. You are out,’ Bishop said,
complimenting her without thinking about it. ‘That leaves the Meechams, who had a tenuous motive but also a tenuous alibi; Janice, who had a motive and a slightly stronger alibi – although she was seen in Ava’s room, she was also seen in town at the time of the actual murder; Elsie, who had a motive and a middling alibi. She could
just
have killed Ava, according to our timing.’ He paused to sigh, then shook his head. ‘Lady Roberta and Malcolm Powell-Brooks both have a very tenuous motive and an all but rock-solid alibi. Unless they were in it together. I’m beginning to think, you know,’ Bishop said heavily, ‘that our killer is going to get away with it.’

Jenny reached for the teapot and renewed his mug. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, Inspector,’ she said softly. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it at all.’

Inspector Bishop had just gone on his weary way home when Meecham came and informed her that his lordship would be pleased if she would join him in the breakfast-room. His voice rose on the final two words, since it was now nearly nine o’clock at night.

Jenny let him lead the way, knowing how much the butler needed to feel that his position wasn’t being usurped. Once at their destination, George thanked him gravely and sincerely, further bolstering Meecham’s fragile ego, and he retired looking a little happier with himself and the world in general. From a shadowy corner, a man moved and came into the light.

‘Hello, Mr Grover,’ Jenny said quietly, then glanced at Lord Avonsleigh who nodded to a nest of chairs by a blazing fire and made sure Anthony Grover had the one nearest the flames. Even in summer, the thick castle walls retained their chill, making fires a year-round necessity. The rest of them
grouped around the old man.

The cook caught Lady Vee’s eye. In the firelight, she looked older than usual, her eyes deeply shadowed. Jenny glanced again at his lordship. ‘My lord?’ she said quietly, and he sighed deeply, but nodded.

‘You were right, Miss Starling,’ he said heavily. ‘Quite right.’ For a moment, nobody spoke. Jenny stared into the hypnotic flames, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Then she sighed. She glanced at Anthony.

‘There’s no mistake?’ she asked softly, but already knew the answer.

Anthony Grover shook his head. ‘No. I was most thorough.’

‘How many?’ Jenny asked.

‘Five, that I’ve found so far. But I imagine there’ll be more,’ Anthony said. Avonsleigh had explained much of what had been going on, and Anthony had been only too eager to help. Anything to get justice for Ava.

Jenny imagined there would be more too. ‘I see,’ she said flatly. Although she was being proved right, she felt no satisfaction.

Lady Vee stirred. ‘Miss Starling, have you, er, found out yet how it was done?’ she asked hopefully, and Jenny sighed.

‘Not yet, no. It’s maddening,’ she went on, ‘since I know that somebody, somewhere, has said something vitally important. But I just can’t think what.’

Avonsleigh shook his head. ‘Vee and I have been going over it all day. We just can’t see how it could have been done. Knowing who did it, you’d think we’d be able to figure it out. It is so frustrating, as you say,’ he finished, giving the fire a ferocious prod with the poker. Some sparks flew out, and the English setter, who’d sprawled out on the hearthrug, gave a sudden yip and jumped up, manically
shaking off an ember that was singeing his fur. He gave his master a baleful look, heaved a massive sigh, and promptly re-sprawled himself.

From beneath Anthony’s chair, Henry began to crawl towards the dog. The glow from the fire bounced off his dark-brown shell, turning it a deep blood red.

Blood red. Jenny stared at the tortoise, her gaze transfixed. Because, suddenly, she
knew
. She remembered Lady Roberta, swinging her legs as she chatted on, her young voice carefree and happy. She remembered Elsie’s missing knitting needle. She remembered a jar of red paint. And she remembered the dagger.

Her mouth fell open. ‘Good grief,’ she said. For a moment, she could think of nothing else to say, her mind was so stunned. ‘The dagger. It was the dagger all along.’

Vee was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, staring intently at the cook. She knew that look. And although the actual words made no sense, she knew that their time was almost up. She glanced at her husband.

Lord Avonsleigh blinked. ‘But we always knew it was the dagger,’ he said. Had Miss Starling flipped her lid? But that particular thought had never so much as crossed his wife’s mind. Instead, she felt her muscles tense. No matter how painful and scandalous it was going to be to them personally, she and George had discussed this at length. Ava Simmons had to have justice. And now it was coming.

As she looked into Miss Starling’s glittering eyes and waited, she knew it was coming. Soon. And her heart ached.

‘Miss Starling?’ Anthony Grover broke the silence, his voice puzzled and slightly worried.

‘Hmm?’ Jenny started and stared blankly at Anthony. Then she shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Grover,’ she murmured solicitously. ‘We shouldn’t really keep you,’ she
added warmly, and Lady Vee twigged at once. She rose and pulled the bell rope.

‘It is getting late, and I know how much we need our beauty sleep these days,’ she said, the picture of a concerned hostess. ‘Mr Grover, we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. I can’t explain everything now, of course, but….’ She caught Miss Starling’s eye. ‘Perhaps I can call on you sometime soon and then we can have a little chat?’

Meecham arrived at that moment and Anthony Grover rose painfully to his feet, looking a little bemused, but knowing a gracious dismissal when he heard it. ‘Thank you, your ladyship. I was glad I could be of service.’

‘It’s we who should thank you,’ Avonsleigh said, holding out his hand. A little flustered, Anthony shook it, and Meecham escorted the old man out. ‘The car will take you back, Mr Grover,’ his lordship assured him, and gave a glance to Meecham, who nodded.

When they were alone again, Lady Vee glanced at her husband, then at her cook. Without a word, the three returned to their chairs and sat down.

Jenny said again, ‘Good grief. It’s so simple. I just can’t believe how simple it all is.’

His lordship stared at her. He was not quite as quick on the uptake as his wife. ‘You mean you know how it was done?’ he squeaked, his voice incredulous. To him, the problem had seemed beyond solving.

Jenny nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ she said artlessly. ‘And I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before,’ she added, beginning to sound angry at herself. ‘I’m such a dunce. It was all so
easy
.’

This time it was his lordship’s turn. ‘Good grief,’ he said. ‘Was it?’

Jenny nodded. ‘And now,’ she said coldly, her voice
becoming icy with determination, ‘all that’s left is to get the proof.’

Lady Vee leaned back in her chair. She felt chilly. ‘How are you going to do that?’ she asked, squashing – for the moment – her rabid curiosity. ‘I mean, murder is hard to prove, isn’t it? How are you going to gather enough evidence to convince a jury?’ she wondered aloud. She, too, had been beginning to think that the killer of Ava Simmons was going to be too clever for them.

But no longer.

‘Basil Simmons is going to get all the evidence I need for me,’ Jenny said determinedly, a hard glint in her lovely blue eyes.

‘Good grief,’ Lady Vee echoed. She reached across, grabbed a cushion and put it behind her back. Then she shuffled in her seat, retrieved the tortoise from behind her back and reached for a more comfortable cushion. This time made of feathers, not of reptile.