The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes & Impossible Mysteries (74 page)

Joubert said: “And did you ask Clobber, Mrs Orvin?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“He knew nothing about the knife. He was very angry when I told him about Heston.”

“Well, thanks, Mrs Orvin – I think that’ll be all for now.”

Mrs Orvin left.

Rolf allowed a puff of smoke to billow through his beard. He said to Johnson: “So now we have a flying voodoo dagger.”

“Utter nonsense,” said Joubert. “This is murder, not fantasy. Someone wearing gloves killed Heston, and the murder was done on top of the mountain. It can only be one of two – the Native or Clobber. I fancy Clobber.”

“You’re quite sure, eh?” said Rolf. “What will you say if we find Heston was alive when he left the summit?”

“It just couldn’t happen. There is no possible way of stabbing a man alone in a cable-car in mid-journey.”

Rolf said: “I still have a feeling about this case . . .”

“There are too many feelings altogether. What we need are a few facts. Let’s send for Clobber.”

Clobber

Clobber was pale. He was still wearing the soiled dustcoat he used while driving. Joubert looked at something protruding from the pocket and glanced significantly at Johnson and Rolf.

“Do you always wear cotton gloves?” he asked.

“Yes. They keep my hands clean.”

“They also have another very useful purpose. They don’t leave fingerprints.”

Clobber’s face went even whiter. “What are you getting at? I didn’t kill Heston. He was alive when he left the summit.”

“And dead when he passed the other car half-way down? Come off it, Clobber. He must have been killed up here. Either you or Ben are guilty.”

Clobber said, stubbornly: “Neither of us did it. I tell you he was alive when he left.”

“That’s what you say. The point is, can you prove it?”

“Yes, I think so. After the car had started, when he was about twenty yards out, he leant over the side of the car and waved to me. Ben had just come into my cabin. He saw him too.”

“Where was Ben before that?”

“He was with Heston at the car.”

A new gleam came into Joubert’s eye. “Look, Clobber,” he said, “couldn’t Ben have stabbed Heston just as the car pulled away?”

“I suppose he could, but don’t forget, Ben was with me when Heston waved.”

“Are you sure it was a wave? Couldn’t it have been a body wedged upright, and then slumping over the door?”

“No, definitely not. The arm moved up and down two or three times. He was alive. I’m sure of that.”

Joubert flung up his hands in a gesture of impatience. “All right, then. Say he was alive. Then how did the knife get in his back halfway down?” Clobber looked harassed. “I don’t know. He had an idea . . . but that’s nonsense—”

“Idea? What idea?”

“He told me this morning he didn’t expect to get to the bottom of the mountain alive.”

Rolf echoed: “Didn’t expect?”

“Yes. He said he’d been warned. His thirty-first birthday was yesterday – the 31st of the month – and he’d been told that if he spent last night on top of the mountain, he’d never reach the bottom alive. I thought he was pulling my leg.”

“Who was supposed to have told him that?

“He said it was a dream.”

Joubert said: “Oh, my God!” but Rolfs face was serious.

“Tell me, Mr Clobber,” he said, “did Heston ever mention prophetic dreams to you before?”

“Just once. About a month ago.”

“And the circumstances?”

“I’d just come off duty, and I was at the lower station with Heston and Brander. Somehow or the other the conversation led to the subject of death . . .”

Joubert said: “And the next time he mentioned a dream to you was to tell you he wouldn’t reach the lower station alive?”

“Yes.”

“And now do you believe in prophetic dreams?”

“It’s got so I don’t know what to believe.”

Joubert rose. “Well, I do. There are no prophesies and nothing here except a cleverly planned murder, and God help you if you did it, Clobber – because I’m going to smash your alibi.”

“You can’t smash the truth,” said Clobber. “In any case, why should I be the one under suspicion?”

“One of the reasons,” said Joubert, “is that you wear gloves.”

Clobber grinned for the first time. “Then you’ll have to widen your suspect list. We all wear them up here. Dimble has a pair. Ben, too. And, yes, Mrs Orvin generally carries kid gloves.”

“All right,” said Joubert savagely. “That’s enough for now. Tell Ben we want to see him.”

Ben came, gave his evidence, and went.

“If I could prove that he and Clobber were collaborating,” Joubert started, but Rolf stopped him with a shake of his head.

“No, Dirk. There is nothing between them. I could see that. You could see it, too.”

“We’re stymied,” said Johnson. “Apparently nobody could have done it. I examined the cable-car myself, and I’m prepared to swear there’s no sign of any sort of apparatus which could explain the stabbing of a man in mid-air. He was alive when he left the top, and dead at the half-way mark. It’s just . . . plain impossible.”

“Not quite,” said Joubert. “We do know some facts. First, this is a carefully premeditated crime. Secondly, it was done before the car left the summit—”

Rolf said: “No, Dirk. The most important facts in this case lie in what Heston told Clobber – his dream of death – his thirty-first birthday—”

“What are you getting at, Oom?”

“I think I know how and why Heston was killed, Dirk. It’s only a theory now, and I do not like to talk until I have proof. But you can help me get that proof . . .”

The word went round. A reconstruction of the crime. Everyone must do exactly as he did when Heston was killed.

Whispers.

“Who’s going to take Heston’s place?”

“The elderly chap with a beard: le Roux I think his name is. The one they call Oom Rolf.”

“Do you think they’ll find out anything? Do you think – ?”

“We’ll know soon enough, anyway.”

On the lower station Joubert rang the signal for the reconstruction to start. Dimble, Mrs Orvin and Skager went towards the bottom car. Sergeant Botha went, too.

Rolf le Roux came through the door of the upper landing platform, and looked at Ben sweeping out the empty car.

He said: “Baas Heston spoke to you, and you stopped sweeping?”

“Yes. And then I came out of the car, like this.”

“And then?”

“Then we talked.”

“Where did Baas Heston stand?”

“He got into the car, and stood near the door. Yes, just about there.” He paused. “Do you think you will find out who killed him?”

“It is possible.”

“I hope not, Baas. This Heston was a bad man.”

“All the same, it is not right that he should be killed. The murderer must be punished.”

Two sharp bells rang in the driver’s cabin. The car began to move. Ben went through the door up the stairs and stood in the cabin with Clobber and Johnson. They saw Rolf lean over and wave with an exaggerated gesture.

Clobber reached to lift a pair of binoculars, but Johnson gripped his arm. “Wait. Did you pick them up at this stage the first time?”

“No. I only used them after the emergency brake was applied,”

“Then leave them alone now.”

They watched the two cars crawling slowly across space towards each other.

In the ascending car Dimble peered approvingly at the one which was descending. “That’s right,” he said to Botha. “He’s leaning over the door exactly as Heston . . . Good God!”

He pulled the emergency brake. Mrs Orvin sobbed and then screamed.

The telephone rang. Botha clapped the instrument to his ear.

“Everything OK?” asked Johnson.

“No!” said Botha, “no! Something’s happened to Rolf. There’s a knife sticking out of his back. It looks like the same knife . . .”

From the lower station Joubert cut in excitedly. “What are you saying, Botha? It’s impossible . . .”

“It’s true, Inspector. I can see it quite clearly from here. And he’s not moving . . .”

“Get him down here,” said Joubert. “Quick!”

The cars moved again.

In the driver’s cabin Johnson, through powerful binoculars, watched the car with the sagging figure go down, down, losing sight of it only as it entered the lower station.

Joubert, with Brander, stood on the landing-stage watching the approaching car. He felt suddenly lost and bewildered and angry.

“Oom Rolf,” he muttered.

Brander’s eyes were sombre with awe. “The Lord has given,” he said, “and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

He and Joubert stepped forward as the car bumped to a stop.

The head of the corpse with the knife in its back suddenly twisted, grinned, said gloatingly: “April fool!”

Brander shivered into shocked action. His arms waved in an ecstacy of panic. His bandaged left hand gripped the hilt of the knife held between Rolf’s left arm and his body, and raised it high in a convulsive gesture. Rolf twisted away, but his movement was unnecessary. Joubert had acted, too.

Brander struggled, but only for a second. Then he stood meekly peering in myopic surprise at the handcuffs clicking round his wrists.

“And that is how Heston was killed,” said Rolf. “He died because he remembered today was April the first – All Fools Day – and because he had that type of mind, he thought of a joke, and he played it to the bitter end. A joke on Clobber, on the people in the ascending car, on Brander.

“But to Brander it was not a joke – it was horror incarnate. A dead man come to life. This was infinitely more terrible than the dream he feared of a knock from a coffin. This was like the very lid being suddenly flung open in his face. And his reaction was the typical response to panic when there is no escape – a wild uncontrollable aggression, striking out in every direction – as he struck out at me when the unthinkable happened again.

“The first time he plunged the knife into Heston. The joke became reality. The dead stopped walking.

“And now you see why there were no fingerprints on the knife. Brander is left-handed – he reached for the hot iron with that hand, remember. So it was burnt and bandaged. Bandages – no fingerprints. The way Heston was crouched, too, explains the angle of the wound.”

Joubert said: “So it was not premeditated after all.” Then, to Brander: “Why did you not tell the truth?”