Carnage on the Committee (23 page)

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Authors: Ruth Dudley Edwards

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Amiss; Robert (Fictitious Character), #Murder, #Murder - Investigation, #Mystery Fiction, #Amiss, #Literary Prizes, #Robert (Fictitious Character)

BOOK: Carnage on the Committee
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The rest of the debate was an anticlimax, although the young stand-up comedian who was seconding the motion annoyed both guest speakers by parodying them so brilliantly that the whole audience dissolved into screams of laughter; ultimately, to Smith's fury, his side just lost the vote and a triumphant Griffiths did a victory jig before rushing off to the taxi which was to take him to London. Smith was in such a bad mood that he almost refused the invitation to come for a drink, but he wanted one badly and the President was so complimentary about his speech and about
Rage
that his face was saved and he agreed. He was mollified also by the urgency of a journalist's request for the text of his poem; pausing only to scratch 'copyright Den Smith' underneath, he handed it over and followed the President to the Union bar. After a few large whiskies he picked fights with the comedian and half-a-dozen students and, shortly before midnight, he realised that there were only two others left in the room and that the President, himself also considerably the worse for wear, was pointing to his watch and reminding him that Trinity closed at midnight.

Smith had had enough to drink to take violent umbrage at this information. Convinced that he was being insulted by being denied the hospitality that was his due, he responded to the President's offer to escort him back to Trinity by telling him to fuck himself, grabbed his jacket and stormed off. Alone and angry, he marched past the Round Church to Bridge Street and into the view of the loiterer with the mobile phone at the ready. His being on his own as he crossed the road into the semi-darkness of St John's Street was a lucky break for the man on the pillion of the motorbike waiting around the corner.

it's been a wonderful evening,' said Amiss to Rachel at around midnight, as they finished yet another cup of coffee.

'The best I've had in a long time.'

He took her hand. 'I don't know what the etiquette is.'

'Nor do I.'

'Do you feel like a nightcap at my place?'

She smiled. 'Why not. I could renew my acquaintanceship with my least favourite cat.'

They were in his flat within forty-five minutes. It took some time to satisfy Plutarch's needs and settle her down, but peace had just been achieved when the telephone began to ring. Amiss felt a surge off worry. 'Sorry, Rachel. I'd better get that. I really should have checked my mobile for messages.'

'You certainly had, Robert. At one a.m. it's likely to be serious.'

Amiss lifted the receiver. 'Hello, Ellis . . . Yes . . . Oh, sweet Jesus . .. Dead? What about the others? . . . All? . . . You're sure? . . . Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . Yes, I do see . . . OK . . . I'll be ready . . . How long for, do you think? ... I understand .. . They'll be able to give Rachel a lift home? . . . Thanks. . . Yep. See you shortly.'

Rachel, who had gone rigid with dread, found herselff unable to speak. He sat down beside her and took her hands. 'It's all right. Well, that is, it's not all right. I'm selfishly relieved that Jack and Mary Lou and Dervla are safe, but Hugo Hurlingham and Den Smith have been killed in drive-by shootings, Hugo in London and Den in Cambridge. Not surprisingly, the cops want to take us all into protective custody and are on their way, so I guess I'd better go and pack.' He looked at her ruefully. 'I'm so sorry, Rachel. This is not a good end to a happy reunion, but I don't have any choice. And Ellis says they'll be here within fifteen minutes and I must pack for at least a few days. Not easy when you're rather drunk.'

She hugged him. 'You've certainly arranged this well as a reminder that you don't live an orthodox life. Now, what can I do to help?'

He hesitated.

it's OK, Robert. I'm ahead of you. I'll look after Plutarch. Give me the spare key.'

'You're a saint. Though I'm not really happy about your coming here. It may not be safe.'

'I'll be fine. I can't imagine they're going to take you somewhere safe without telling the world there's no point in trying to get you at home. Now, come on, let's pack. Why don't you get books and papers and that sort of thing and I'll start sorting out clothes?'

He hugged her again. 'Welcome back.'

'I don't know if I'm back. I don't even know how long you're likely to be around to go back to. But so far so good.' And she disappeared into his bedroom with a purposeful air.

16

'Ridiculous/ said the baroness. 'Completely ridiculous.' She was wearing an all-enveloping creation in bottle-green velvet that she called a siren suit - one of several which comprised what Mary Lou referred to as her 'babygro' collection. She waved her pipe energetically. 'All we needed at St Martha's were a few patrolling PC Plods and we'd have been fine.' She leaned forward and helped herself to some more whisky and shook her head, it's very disappointing. I was looking forward to beating up puritans tonight at a debate about legalising prostitution, but I suppose I'll have to cancel.'

'I can't say I'm too bothered about legalising prostitution right now,' said Mary Lou. 'I can think of a few more urgent issues.'

'We'd have one fewer,' said Pooley acidly, 'if you hadn't taken up Jack's mad invitation to join the committee.'

Amiss felt suddenly cross. 'Look here, it's bad enough to be locked up in this suburban Gulag without the inmates falling out.'

'Did you have to put us somewhere so ugly, Ellis?' asked the baroness. 'Mock-Tudor. Really! Just look at that carpet! And as for the wallpaper . . . ! It's all deeply upsetting.'

Pooley jumped up. 'Jack, I don't think I've ever shouted at you before, but I've had enough. It's well after four o'clock in the morning, we're in the middle of a most frightful tragedy and we plods are trying to ensure the carnage doesn't get worse. Hermione Babcock was poisoned, Wysteria Wilcox was almost certainly drowned and Den Smith and Hugo Hurlingham were shot dead. Only a complete lunatic would think there was any alternative to taking the rest of the committee into protective custody. We found two safe houses at short notice and you're doing an Oscar Wilde about the bloody wallpaper. Well, I sincerely beg your pardon for having been so remiss. Can you ever forgive me?'

The baroness pouted. 'I came when you told me to, didn't I?'

'Not quietly.' He waved at the covered cage in the corner. 'And you browbeat the protection squad into bringing a bad-tempered and raucous parrot to a place of hiding.'

Mary Lou stood up, went over to the baroness and patted her head. 'What he's trying to say, Jack, is that things are very difficult for him and it would be helpful if you would try to be supportive.'

'And uncomplaining,' added Amiss.

'And uncomplaining.'

'Even about food,' said Amiss, it's bound to be awful but at least we're alive to peck at it.'

The baroness yawned. 'All right, all right. I'll try not to make a fuss. Bring us up to date, Ellis.'

Pooley sat down again. 'Bad as it all has been, we've had some luck. Hugo was murdered outside his flat, but his downstairs neighbour found him so he was quickly identified and, fortunately, the local police knew to report immediately to us since they were supposed to be keeping an unofficial eye on him. Den Smith had been debating in Cambridge and one of the students followed him back to Trinity at a discreet distance because he was afraid he might be too late to get in and feared he'd run amok because he was both drunk and furious. The lad saw the shooting, ducked into a gateway and phoned 999. He's lucky to be alive; we're lucky that he was there. So that gave us time to get hold of all the .. . survivors tonight and get them into safekeeping.'

The Cambridge cops must be a bit pissed off,' said the baroness. 'They'd taken the trouble to look after us and Den gets rubbed out on their doorstep.'

'Where's everyone else?' asked Mary Lou. 'The cop who drove us here didn't know anything.'

'Nor the one who collected us,' said Amiss.

'Who's us?' asked the baroness. 'Plutarch? Is she here?'

'Rachel. We had dinner together and she'd come home with me.'

The baroness grinned from ear to ear. 'Excellent,' she said. 'Mary Lou told me she seemed to be coming to her senses. About time too. Why didn't you bring her along here?'

it didn't seem appropriate. I don't think one is encouraged to bring guests to safe houses, is one, Ellis? Anyway, Rachel will be looking after Plutarch.'

'My goodness, she really must have fallen for you all over again. She used to be singularly unappreciative of that excellent cat.'

'She's still unappreciative. Just more tolerant. Now, please, can Ellis tell the story from the beginning? I find myself strangely interested.'

'When I was rung with the news about Hurlingham, I got up, rang Jim, agreed on the safe-house strategy, set it in motion and warned Mary Lou to get herself and Jack ready. Your phone was off and Dervla and Ferriter and Den Smith weren't answering, but I got through to

Griffiths, who told me he was just back from a debate in Cambridge where he'd wiped the floor with Den Smith, who, unlike him, was staying overnight. That was a bit of a relieff, since we thought it meant Smith was safe.

'Griffiths sounded almost pleased at the news about Hugo - not that he was glad he was dead, but that it showed his heavy warnings had been justified. Still, he was nonetheless extremely happy to hear he was going to be looked after. Jim then got through to Rosa's husband, who sounded very relieved to hear she was going to be taken away. "She's been completely hysterical, poor thing," he said. "Luisa and I have been trying to calm her for hours."'

'Who's Luisa?' asked Amiss.

'Yet another Filipino housekeeper.'

'Wonderful, these lefties,' said the baroness. 'Someone told me Den has one too. They're bleeding the Philippines dry off its workforce so they can have their houses cleaned and they still call themselves international socialists.'

Pooley ignored her. 'The husband was extremely nervous at the thought of how she'd take the news about Hugo, but he went off to tell her and get her ready to leave. I was on my way to Dervla and Jim to Ferriter when we heard from Cambridge.

'Ferriter was in an awful state, apparently. They knew he was in because the doorman said so, but he wouldn't answer either the phone or his doorbell, so in the end Jim had to get the doorman to use his master key. Jim said he kept crooning in a low, calm voice as he went through the flat, "It's all right, sir, it's just the police and we've come to look after you," but Ferriter was actually sobbing with fright and - it turned out - drink, so it took quite a while to sort him out. In the end, Jim had to help him pack.'

'And you, meanwhile, were off to see the gorgeous Dervla, you lucky old thing,' said the baroness lasciviously.

Pooley glared at her. 'Dealing with a sick, terrified child is not an erotic experience, Jack.'

'You're always so negative ...' began the baroness, and then, remembering her promise, she waved a placatory hand. 'Carry on.'

'Turned out Dervla had fainted after some event that evening. Though she'd had four bodyguards who took her back to the Ritz, they'd just parked her on the sofa and left. Still, she's a resilient little thing and she was very rational about it.'

'So where is she now?' asked the baroness and Amiss in unison.

'In a similar hideaway with Ferriter, Rosa Karp and Griffiths.'

'The poor child,' said the baroness. 'That's cruel and unusual punishment and she doesn't deserve it. Why didn't you bring her here?'

'It's just the way it worked out logistically.'

The baroness sat up and set down her glass with a bang. 'We should all go to bed now. My view is that you have a straightforward choice. Either one of the committee is the murderer, in which case you should find everyone separate homes - except for us, since we'd have murdered each other years ago if we were ever going to do it -or none of us is, so you should find somewhere that accommodates us all.' She held up her hand, in any event, that child should be with us. a.s.a.p.'

'Agreed,' said Amiss.

'Agreed,' said Mary Lou.

'What's more,' said the baroness, 'my thinking is that moving in a leisurely fashion toward the publication of the short-list and the grand prize-giving evening when the winner is announced is no longer a luxury anyone can afford. We all need to get together to find a way of dealing with these . . . unusual circumstances. This, I suggest, we might do better if we were in secure premises together.'

'Got you,' said Pooley.

'Then see to it. But if it's going to take time to decide, fetch us Dervla first. Oh, yes. One more thing. What about Georgie Porgie?'

'What about him?'

'Isn't he a target? And isn't Knapper? And the butler and the chef and the waiter for all I know?'

Pooley looked worried. 'Jim and I were focusing on the committee, but now you mention it, I'll get on to him and see what he thinks.'

The baroness yawned again. 'Good. Now, if you'll forgive me for being so pathetic, it's four-forty-five and I'm going to bed.'

Amiss's day began at eleven, when he rolled over, peered at his watch and rang Rachel's mobile. After a few minutes, he felt reassured that last night had not been a mirage, but mindful of the unpropitious circumstances, he kept his emotions in check.

i haven't heard any news or seen any newspapers.'

if I were you I'd have a shower and, prefferably, have something to eat before you face what the world is saying. The story is huge and for anyone involved, it's extremely frightening. I wish I were with you.'

'Ditto. Where are you now?'

'Attending to Plutarch. She glared at me threateningly when I turned up, but the salmon seemed to placate her.'

'Was it wild?'

it was tinned. She's a cat. Not Jack Troutbeck.'

Amiss rolled over again, it's so good to have you back,

Rachel. Now I'll get up.'

* * *

' "CARNAGE ON THE COMMITTEE" is good observed the baroness, 'but on the whole I think I prefer "EXECUTION OF THE EGGHEADS".' She turned over a few pages. 'Well, Mary Lou, you've certainly become quite a pin-up. Dervla had better look to her laurels.'

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