Something Wicked (16 page)

They were walking in the garden and sat down on one of the seats scattered about so patients could enjoy the sun without tiring themselves.

‘So what else have you been doing, V, while I was gallivanting?’

‘Yes, I want to hear all about your gallivanting.’ Seeing his face fall, she added lightly, ‘I mean, my favourite secret agent, everything you are
allowed
to tell.’

‘I can tell you everything,’ Edward replied, excusing himself for the white lie. ‘I saw an old enemy, as a matter of fact.’

‘Not Major Stille?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing, but he looked daggers at me. That’s the only phrase for it.’

He went on to tell Verity about the twenty-four hours he had spent with Kleist and their meeting with Jack Amery at Ciro’s. She looked up with interest when he mentioned the name but did not interrupt until he had finished.

‘What a coincidence you running into Amery again! I met him too.’

‘You met Amery! How on earth . . .?’

‘Mary’s father took us out on the river and we picnicked on Mr Amery’s lawn. They seemed to be close friends. Amery gave him a bag. I don’t know what was in it but it was heavy.’

‘You mean you don’t think your picnic was spontaneous?’

‘No, I think it gave him an excuse to visit Amery without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of inviting me along. He had forgotten, or didn’t know, that Amery and I had been on opposite sides over Spain. I happen to know quite a lot about that man and the more I know the less I like the look of him. In fact, you should tell Major Ferguson that, if he wants to catch a traitor, he would do better watching him than my friend Claud Cockburn.’

Edward made her go over the whole expedition again, including everything she could remember Mr Black saying to her, but Verity had to admit that she had spent so much time asleep or dozing that there was not much to add.

‘Oh, well – let’s forget Amery for a moment. Do you think you are getting anywhere with your investigation? Was your visit to Miss Totteridge’s sister useful? What’s her name . . .?’

‘Violet Booth. Actually, it was rather illuminating and I’m grateful to Charlotte for providing me with an entrée. I had another stroke of luck. I discovered I had known their nephew-in-law in Kenya and I think it meant they could speak more freely to me than if I had been a complete stranger.’ He went on to tell her everything he had learnt in Burnham Market.

‘So, do you have a picture of the murderer yet? Any idea who you are looking for?’

Edward thought for a moment. ‘I think I do. He’s probably about my age and I may even have met him in Kenya because I believe all this originates there. I think he may have climbed with James Herold in Africa and elsewhere. He could be anti-Fascist because the message left on Herold’s body implies that he did not like his political views. I think there is some connection with Peter Lamming. The photograph torn out of Miss Totteridge’s album may turn out to be Lamming or the murderer or both of them . . .’

‘That’s a clue,’ Verity interrupted. ‘When and where were the other photographs on the same page taken?’

‘They were quite recent . . . all taken about five years ago and mostly in Miss Totteridge’s garden.’

‘But that photograph – the one that was torn out – couldn’t be of Peter Lamming because Mrs Booth told you she had never met him and presumably neither had Hermione.’

‘True. Well, maybe it wasn’t of him.’

‘Perhaps Isabella gave her the photograph,’ Verity suggested.

‘It’s possible.’

‘What does General Lowther’s death tell us?’

Edward was so pleased to hear her refer to ‘us’ that he had difficulty in suppressing a smile. ‘“As flies to wanton boys, they kill us for their sport . . .” I think that’s fairly clear. The General was no doubt responsible for the deaths of many young men in the war and the murderer took his revenge for one in particular.’

‘Right, so go on with your description of the murderer.’

Edward considered. ‘Well, I think that – paradoxically – he doesn’t like killing and blames Miss Totteridge for killing insects . . .’ he hesitated, thinking aloud, ‘or killing someone . . . someone the murderer loved. I am guessing, of course, but the message Mrs Booth found on her sister’s body is a clue. “So shall thou feed on death that feeds on men . . .”’

Verity looked doubtful. ‘I think you are supposing quite a lot on very little evidence. The big question is, were all the murders done by the same person or was Eric Silver killed by someone quite different? If they were all committed by the same person, we must conclude he’s a sadist and
does
like killing.’

‘I keep changing my mind about that – whether we are looking for one person or two.’ Edward sighed. ‘There was a moment when I thought we were making progress but now I’m not so sure. Stille is certainly brutal enough to have killed Silver in that way.’

‘But why?’

‘He was a Jew, for one thing. But, no, it must have been because the murderer heard what Silver said to me.’

‘But how could he have got into the building?’

Now I think about it, I never heard the front door lock behind me. It’s one of those modern ones. You talk into a phone and Silver pressed a button that opened the door. When I was in, the door swung back and should have locked itself but maybe it didn’t.

‘Anyway V, I want you to keep your eyes open. I don’t like your story of picnicking on Amery’s lawn. I would guess he’s hand in glove with Stille. I might try and do some digging on that.’

‘You think Amery’s working for the Nazis?’

‘Don’t you?’

Verity furrowed her brow. ‘Yes, I think I do, but what can we do about it?’

‘I’ve sent a report to Ferguson. Special Branch will try and keep an eye on him but they’ve got a lot on their plate. They can’t watch him twenty-four hours a day. So, I repeat, keep a weather eye out for dirty tricks. Stille hates you even worse than me ever since you fooled him at that party in the German Embassy.’

Edward was referring to an incident three years earlier when Verity had been invited to dinner by Hitler’s personal envoy who had no idea she was a journalist and a Communist. Stille took revenge by killing her little dog in the most horrible way and Edward had no doubt that he was capable of every sort of wickedness. It was one of the few advantages, Edward considered, of Verity being in Spain and, more recently, Prague – it kept her out of Stille’s way.

‘So, to recapitulate,’ Verity said, calling the meeting to order, ‘the murderer is probably in his late thirties, has lived in Kenya for some years in his youth and may be anti-Fascist. We, or at least you, probably know him because he almost certainly lives around here. Who do you know who fits that description?’

‘Well, I can only think of one person.’

‘Who?’ Verity demanded as she saw him hesitate.

‘My host – Harry Makin, Lord Lestern.’ He thought for a moment and added, ‘I must try to get an idea of his political views. He’s a friend of Amery but that proves nothing. He probably doesn’t have any “views”, political or otherwise. He’s far too selfish to be a political animal.’

Verity looked up at him very seriously. ‘Edward, you’ve been warning me to be careful but it seems to me that you’re the one who needs to keep a weather eye out. Do you have to stay with him? Why not go back to London and do your investigating from there?’

‘And leave you here unprotected? You must be joking, V. I need to stay here for a few more days – at least until after the regatta. I think it will all come to a head then or not long after. I don’t know why but I have a hunch that the murderer has one more victim in mind to complete his killing spree and I need to stop him.’

‘You certainly do if that one person is you!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘I’d like to meet this friend of yours – Makin or Lestern or whatever he’s called. Can you bring him over to visit me?’

‘I might do that. I can’t see it will do any harm and he did say you sounded like his sort of girl.’

‘Charming! He doesn’t sound like my sort of man.’

‘I disagree, V. I think in many ways he is your sort of man.’

Verity considered this. ‘Why? Do you think I like selfish, amoral men without any political views?’

‘No, but he is . . . well, he’s got something women like. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell me what it is.’

‘I’ve often wondered what would make you betray your country.’

‘Me?’

‘I was thinking of Jack Amery.’

‘The same reasons you would need to commit murder’, Edward said gravely. ‘Money, revenge, blackmail.’

Verity frowned. ‘So what next?’

‘I want to go and see Miss Tiverton.’

‘Miss Tiverton?’

‘She’s a village schoolmistress – a friend of General Lowther’s. And tomorrow I am going to talk to Herold’s wife. She must know something.’

‘Is she a Fascist too?’

‘I don’t know but I intend to find out.’

‘What is it about the mountains and Nazis?’ Verity asked, taking his arm and leaning on him. ‘She won’t mind talking about it – the murder?’

‘We’ll have to see. It depends what sort of person she is. From what I hear from Treacher, she’s not the shy, retiring sort.’

Verity looked glum and Edward wondered what he could say to cheer her up. ‘Look, V, I know it’s hard for you being stuck here but, if it’s any consolation, I think this is where the whole thing has its – what shall I say? – its core. I mean, there’s evil about and I believe it originates in this sleepy little town, odd though that seems. There’s no need for either of us to dash about the country.’

‘Henley won’t be so sleepy next week . . .’

‘No, it won’t. The town will be invaded by a host of . . . I wonder what you call someone who loves rowing – a philremex . . . philremigium? I don’t know. What an opportunity for someone who intends to kill without being noticed.’

‘So why look so cheerful about it?’

‘I don’t know, V. I suppose I’d like to bring this business to a head.’

‘You say there’s evil here but what can I do to help you uncover it? I feel so useless . . .’

‘You’re not useless. I couldn’t do without you. I need to have you to talk it all over with. You point out when I’m going off track.’ He had an idea. ‘You are feeling stronger, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him hopefully.

‘Well, why not go over to Phyllis Court – perhaps Kay would take you – and listen to the gossip. My instinct is that our murderer is familiar with the club. You may pick up something there.’

‘Give me a cigarette, will you, Edward?’

He put his hand to his breast pocket but did not take out his cigarette case. ‘Dr Bladon has forbidden you to smoke.’

‘He’s forbidden me to do all the things I enjoy. I mean, when are we going to be able to . . . you know . . .? Can you keep yourself pure for me?’ She was trying to joke but it didn’t quite come out as she had hoped.

‘Darling V. Of course I can keep myself pure for you! You don’t seem to understand. I’m not interested in anyone else. There’s only you and I can wait for as long as it takes. I won’t pretend that it’s not difficult, you being so close and yet . . .’

‘So far. Forbidden fruit! I suppose we can remain chaste for another month or two. Give me that cigarette now.’

It was a command Edward did not dare refuse. He sensed that she was very near the end of her tether.

‘I haven’t told you that when Mary and I got back from our picnic we found Jill had gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘She had a relapse. We haven’t been allowed to see her so it must be bad.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ He hesitated. ‘V, you mustn’t worry . . .’

‘I try not to but of course I do. It’s like having a cloud in the corner of your eye. Most of the time I can’t quite see it but then suddenly I can’t see anything else. Especially just before I go to sleep, when my are eyes shut. Would you mind holding me?’ She looked up at him, wide-eyed, appealing for comfort. He tossed away his cigarette and gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. In sickness or in health . . . he thought, I love this girl and I’m not going to let her go.

When she had said her farewell and watched the Lagonda disappear down the drive, Verity returned to the clinic tired and dispirited. Edward had done his best to make her feel part of his investigation but she accepted that she could contribute very little. Listen to the gossip at Phyllis Court! Was that all she could do? She had other reasons for feeling useless. The papers were full of a great battle in Spain – probably the Republicans’ last effort to beat back the rebels – and she would have given anything, life itself, to be there. She still had many friends in Spain and longed once again to be part of that shining brotherhood who had set out in 1935 to defend the Republic. She knew, of course, that nothing now remained of that Arthurian band of brothers, that it had all – or almost all – been an illusion, but they had been glorious days. And if she were in Prague, she would be reporting on the Czechoslovak crisis. The Germans were making impossible demands on the Czechs, attempting to humiliate them. They seemed to hope that the Czechs would be forced to a point where they could not accept any further demands and so provide Hitler with the excuse he was seeking to invade.

Just as he was leaving, Edward had urged her to ‘buck up’ and ‘look on the bright side’. She had snapped that she did not need his platitudes and it was stupid to tell her to look on the bright side when the world was tottering on the brink of Armageddon. He had apolo-gized, pained and unhappy, and she had burst into tears. It wasn’t just the world crisis that depressed her. Dr Bladon had told her that Jill was desperately ill and likely to die. It was all too much and she had clung to Edward but all he could do was stroke her head. There was nothing he could say to comfort her. They had long ago promised not to lie to one another and, although Edward had occasionally broken the rule – at least by omission – he was certainly not going to try and soothe her with false promises and idle talk of a quick recovery.

8

Edward returned to Turton House depressed and almost ready to give up the investigation. It all seemed so pointless when the world was crumbling under his feet. So it was that, when, at dinner, Harry plied him with very good wine and listened without interrupting as he spilled out his fears for Verity and his thoughts on the murders he was investigating, Edward found that he was telling him rather more than he had intended. He had always found it easier to think aloud when he was on a case. So be it, he thought bitterly. If Harry was a murderer, let him do his worst. He poured himself more wine. Would it be poisoned like Lowther’s? He thought he knew what Herold might have felt. There was no point in trying to avoid his fate. Best to meet it head on and damn the consequences.