The Corpse With the Golden Nose (31 page)

“Okay, I think that maybe that'll be something for our friends here in the
RCMP
to look into at some future date. I don't believe that Ellen's carefully panned murder of Annette is where it all started. I believe there might have been an
un
planned, impulsive crime before that, which showed Ellen that she
could
get away with killing someone. Right, Ellen?” I looked down at the woman sitting beside me, her arms crossed in fury, spots of color on her cheeks.

“Of course, there was poor Stacey Willow, right Ellen?”

“Who's Stacey Willow?” asked Sammy, raising his hand like a schoolboy.

“Let's ask Ellen, eh? What—did you catch sight of Raj, and the sister of one of his soccer buddies, laughing in a crowd one night, maybe in a bar downtown? Was that all it took
that
time? A
hint
of him enjoying himself with someone other than you? Poor Stacey Willow: twenty years old, and drugged to death with pills ground up into a strawberry milkshake. How did you get her to drink it, Ellen? Just befriended her at the end of her shift at the burger bar? Treated her to a milkshake? Popped in the pills, knowing they'd kill her as she slept in the bedroom at her parents' house that she'd had since she was a child.
Since
she was a child? What am I saying? She was
still
a child! Another ‘rival' bites the dust, right?”

The enormity of what I was saying was hitting home around the room. I knew I was beginning to run out of steam.

I looked across at Bud, and he winked at me. I smiled back, sighed, and continued.

“Which brings us to Annette. You had no idea that Annette and Raj had been seeing each other when they were away at wine events, did you, Ellen? You really didn't notice what was going on right under your nose. You didn't notice Annette's changing habits, or body. In fact, two photographs that I found of you both in the apple store show the moment that Annette told you she was pregnant, right?”

I didn't expect Ellen to respond, and she didn't.

“In one photograph, the camera has snapped at the moment when Annette is telling you the joyful news, and you are clearly horror-stricken that ‘your' Raj has got her pregnant. Your sister, and the man you love,
together
? I'm not surprised you were shocked. I suspect it didn't take you long to decide to get rid of your rival—your sister—and the baby, did it? What, did you beg her to not tell Raj, or anyone else except her big sister, until she'd reached the magic three-month mark? Buying yourself some time, right?
Planning
how to do it. That was clever, Ellen.
Really clever.
How
do
you get someone to write a suicide note, and then actually commit suicide? Because that's what you did.”

“I did
not
.
No one could,
” said Ellen, with a venomous emphasis.

“Oh, but you
did
. It was difficult for me to work out how you did it, because it was so clever. I have to admit that when I saw that the signatures on Annette's will, her suicide note, and the receipt for the courier, signed two days after she was dead, were all the same, I toyed with the idea of forgeries: you could have forged Annette's signature on the suicide note, as you obviously did on the courier receipt, and you could even have supplied a birthday card to yourself, written
by
you, as ‘proof' that what I was seeing was, indeed, Annette's hand. What about the will, though? The Wisers had
witnessed
that signature. I wondered if, for some reason, they were in cahoots with you, and they had willingly witnessed a forged will, and so, eventually, they had to be done away with. But, no, the signature on the courier's receipt was the clincher. You didn't know that anyone would ever see that. But then I
got it
: I've been thinking about my relationship with
my
sister, since I began to think about you and Annette, and that's what gave me the answer—you're able to sign
your
sister's name just as I can pretty much sign
my
sister's, and she mine. Same school teachers, same handwriting lessons, same family—it's not odd. The suicide note? It
was
Annette's signature, because Annette
did
type and sign that letter herself. Her letter of
resignation
, right? Not a suicide note at all.”

I looked up from Ellen and addressed the room. “For those of you who don't know, Annette wrote: ‘Ellen, It's no use, I can't do it anymore. I can't go on. It just won't work. I can't do my job any more. And if I can't do my job perfectly, except she typed
pre
fectly, then there's no point to any of it. I'm sorry. I know you'll miss me. But that's it. I'm done. Love, always, Annette.' The letter was telling Ellen that Annette was leaving the
winery
, not
life
. A typo wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't the last thing she'd
ever
write, it was just a loving note to a sister. When you saw that letter, you
knew
you could use it against her. First piece of the puzzle: a handy, dandy suicide note. Sorted. Then you had to get to Anen House without anyone seeing you: the fight that Annette was seen having in
your
truck, the truck she ‘borrowed' the day she died? Annette's arms were flailing, she was crying. She was fighting with
you
. You were in the truck with her. Hidden in the back seat. I should know: I've been in it. It's easy to hide in there, you just duck down. When Annette shouted ‘So—you've never loved me—why should I help you?' it was
you
she was fighting with. A sister who couldn't hide how she felt about her sibling's pregnancy. I got the wording right, eh, Colin?”

Colin nodded.

“
Colin?
” Ellen sounded shocked.

“Yes, Ellen, it wasn't the
Wisers
who saw Annette in the truck that night, it was
Colin
. He didn't see
you
at all. You were quite safe. But, once Bud and I mentioned that Annette had been seen having a fight, in her truck, you
couldn't
run the risk that you'd been seen. You knew that no one would have seen you
leave
Annette's house. You took the route down the backside of the hill, a route you've known since childhood, and made your way through the vineyards to your car, or should I say
Annette's
car. You left it parked out of sight along the way. You
assumed
it was the nosey Wisers who'd seen you arriving with Annette, and you certainly know your way around vehicles well enough to be able to cut a brake fluid line. Why, when you were ranting last night you even threw it out there that it was you who kept the machinery and the vehicles in working order at the winery in the days when you couldn't afford mechanics. Of course, I knew that the
real
witness had been Colin, not that he'd actually witnessed anything, but at least I knew
he
was safe. Once I'd worked things out, I kept him close by me. Just in case there was some way you'd found out that he was the one who'd seen Annette, and very possibly you, in the truck that evening. Now you're safe, Colin. It's all out in the open.”

“You, Ellen?
You
killed my Rob?
You
cut that brake thingy?
Why?
” Sheri was wailing, and clearly having a hard time coming to terms with it all.

“Of course not, she's just rambling,” replied Ellen dismissively.

I sighed. Poor Sheri. “Ellen was trying to kill the Wisers, not Rob, and she tried to kill the Wisers because she thought they'd seen her go to her sister's house, fighting with her on the way, the evening that she died. Ellen simply slipped out of the lunch today, snipped the lines, and came back in. She knew that the leaking fluid and the steep hills would take their toll. And they did. It's just that the
wrong
people were in the car at the time. I'm so sorry, Sheri, Colin. Rob wasn't the target, but he and his colleague became two more victims of this woman.”

Sheri and Colin hugged each other close. I knew time was getting short.

I pressed on. “How
exactly
did Ellen arrange Annette's death? That was a difficult part of the puzzle to solve, because it seemed physically impossible for Ellen to have drugged Annette, then carried her to the truck. If that wasn't how she'd ensured that her sister sat in the truck long enough to become unconscious, then how on earth had she done it? I worked it out.
You
taught her how to do it, Lizzie.”

Lizzie looked horrified. “What do you mean?
I taught her how to kill her sister?
How?”

I sighed. “When you were rattling on about your list of fourteen Critical Facets in the car, remember?” Lizzie nodded, looking slightly wounded. “You mentioned that you use hypnotherapy techniques in your practice, and you also mentioned that you'd used hypnosis in your ‘healing' sessions with Ellen.
Hypnosis.
You even told me at lunch today that Ellen had a real talent for it, right?” Lizzie nodded. “She coldly and calculatingly used that talent on her sister. I can see it now. Annette, distraught after an engineered argument with her big sister; Ellen offering to help her calm down by using some deep breathing and relaxation exercises; the ability to then suggest to Annette, when she's in an almost hypnotic state, that she sit in a comfy seat and sleep, quietly. All Ellen needed to do was make sure that the big, comfy seat she led her sleepwalking sister to was in the truck, and the job was done. Annette simply slept, peacefully, shut in the vehicle, with a hastily attached hosepipe run through an almost closed window, until she'd been poisoned. When her sister was dead, Ellen placed the note and the bottle beside her, taped up the windows of the truck, hooked up the hosepipe ‘properly'—then
ripped it all open again
. Ellen's not stupid. These days, when we're all bombarded with forensic detective
TV
programmes morning, noon and night, she'd know enough about Locard's principle—the theory that there's always an exchange of forensic evidence when there's contact between two things. She knew she had to have a plan that could explain away all of the evidence she was about to create. If any of Ellen's fingerprints were found, they were there because of her rescue attempts.”

I looked down at Ellen, who was beginning to lose her color. “You just had to place the duct tape in Annette's hands as you unwound it, to get her prints onto it, and put the bottle into her palm for the same reason. Oh, and that's where you made your one big mistake, Ellen.” I looked at the top of her head. She was ignoring me. “Annette had nowhere near enough alcohol in her blood for having drunk a whole bottle of wine. A glass, yes. A glass you'd probably have shared as sisters, as a part of the relaxation process, but not a bottle.”

Serendipity interrupted me. “If Annette knew she was pregnant, surely she wouldn't have had a drink at all. I mean—
the baby
.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean. I'm guessing that as a wine taster she knew quite a few female colleagues, who'd carried on with their jobs—if their senses of taste and smell allowed them to—throughout their pregnancies. She'd also have likely been aware of the research that shows that a small amount of alcohol, even on a regular basis, doesn't harm the fetus. It's binge drinking that does the damage. She probably happily sipped a small glass that evening with her sister. That was the extent of your plan, wasn't it, Ellen? A murder set up to look like a suicide.”

There were puzzled, and horrified, faces all round.

“Yes, that was the
original
plan, right?
Plan
it to look like a suicide,
execute
it to look like a suicide, back up the
theory
of a suicide, and you'd be home clear. You saw Annette as your rival for Raj's affections: she was between you and the object of your obsession. A quick kill, and she'd be out of the way—no questions asked. Well, very few asked, in any case. Not even an autopsy. Which was perfect, because then no one would find out that she had been pregnant. A finger-tip examination by the coroner wouldn't detect a pregnancy of ten or so weeks, especially given that Annette's body would have been supine for the process. No one need ever know. And that would be it.”

I could see that, while people might not like what I was saying, they were beginning to understand how it might be possible.

“But that
wasn't it
, was it? Because what the
very clever
Ellen didn't know was that, despite the fact that she hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy, Annette was getting ready to go public. She'd changed her will. A few weeks after her death, there was the meeting at the lawyers' office, the one where Raj told us ‘you lost it for a while?' You had
no idea
about Annette's new will, and your immediate reaction was what we'd all expect: you were mad because you'd been robbed of your rightful inheritance. It wasn't
why
you'd killed Annette, but you expected to get the whole winery nonetheless, as your birthright. That was a very telling meeting: you're quick, Ellen,
very
quick. You suddenly realized what Annette's will meant: Raj would be working alongside you, every day, in every way. This was your
chance
! You pounced, going so far as to physically drag him out of SoulVine Wines and off to your winery—
that very day!
Last night, when you introduced Bud and me to Raj, you introduced him as your ‘partner,' the implication being that you're a couple.
Because that's how you see the situation.
Raj wasn't comfortable with the inheritance: he suggested that you contest the will, the
lawyer
suggested that you contest the will. You see, if Annette's mind had been set on suicide when she'd written that will, you'd have had a good argument against her plan to leave her interest to Raj. And Raj didn't let it go, did he? He kept bringing it up. He couldn't help but communicate his discomfort. So you had to do something to help him to feel comfortable in his new role, as your ‘partner.'”