To Perish in Penzance (14 page)

“You have one good thing to remember,” I said when I could speak easily again. “You parted on happy terms. I always think it must be terribly hard when there has been an argument and there's never a chance to make it up.”

“It's terribly hard, no matter what the circumstances.” Eleanor's voice was flat, emotion ironed out of it once more.

“Yes, of course.” I tried to regain my own self-control. “What do you think she meant when she said she wouldn't do anything foolish?”

“Drugs, I thought at the time. I thought she was going to a rave, dressed that way so as to fit in. She almost never does that sort of thing. She has to get her rest; if she's tired the camera sees it. And she's never taken drugs in her life, not even medicinal ones. She's never ill. I doubt she's ever had so much as an aspirin. She can't; it would show. Her image has always been healthy, the girl next door.”

“Yes, that's the impression I had of her. Clean, healthy skin, shining hair, a figure kept slender by exercise as much as diet. So she'd never been to a rave?”

“Well, I don't know, of course. Until I moved in with her, she led her own life. I didn't know the details. I'd say not often, if ever. She didn't really have the time for much social life.”

I pondered that. “So she wasn't the glamorous international celebrity of her publicity?”

“She was a celebrity, but the glamour was more sham than real. Her job paid her a small fortune, but it was hard work. She hardly had the time to spend all that money.”

Money! I hadn't considered that aspect of it. It was a touchy question, but Eleanor had asked me to forget about diplomacy. “So she must have left quite a lot. Who gets it, do you know?”

Eleanor hadn't thought about it, either, apparently. I could see the shock on her face. “I've no idea at all. I don't know if she had a will. If not, I suppose I would get the money, as next of kin. Though I don't know if adoption counts in that sort of thing. How ironic if I should get all that money. If the law moves at its usual speed, I'll hardly live long enough to see a penny of it.”

“Do
you
have a will?”

“Of course. There's little enough to leave, but it was all to go to Lexa.”

Well, it would have to be checked, but it looked as though one possible motive had just vanished in a neat little tail-chasing circle.

“I think I have only one more question, then, at least for now. What did Lexa do on the Monday when you arrived, and on Tuesday? How did she spend her time, I mean?”

“On the Monday I was very tired from the journey. She spent her time getting me settled in. But on Tuesday morning she went off to the library. She said she wanted to learn something about Cornwall.”

The library! Suddenly my afternoon seemed less likely to have been a waste of time. “And did she learn anything of interest?”

“Not that I recall. Tuesday afternoon—when you asked her to go to St. Michael's Mount?”

I nodded.

“She wanted to stay with me. I wasn't feeling very well, so she sat and talked to me about what she'd read, until I was able to fall asleep for a nap. I wasn't really very interested; I just liked to hear her voice. All I remember is something about a shipwreck. Not very useful, I fear.”

A shipwreck. Would it have been the famous one, the wreck of the
Cita
in the Scillys?

It might be of no importance at all, but I intended to do all I could to find out.

I
LEFT
Eleanor then, telling her I'd be back soon. There was a good deal I wanted to talk over with Alan, so I was pleased, returning to our room, to find that he was back.

“Any luck?” he said when he had released me from a bear hug. “How did you spend the afternoon?”

“You first.”

“Well, for a start I found an off-license and laid in supplies.” He reached for the plastic bag on the table and pulled out a square bottle with a familiar black label. “Care for a spot?”

“Yes, please.”

I took a sip and then put my glass down. “All right. What did you find out?”

“I found the club.”

“You did! Oh, that's wonderful, Alan! How did you manage it?”

“I went to see Boleigh. He didn't seem best pleased to see me; I got the feeling I'd interrupted an afternoon nap.”

“I can't say I blame him. I very nearly succumbed to one, myself. Then what? Was he cooperative?”

“He was civil enough, considering I'd disturbed him, and full of distress about Lexa's death. He seemed to be as confused about her real age as we were at first, by the way. He went on a good deal about the dangers teenagers are exposed to these days.”

“Did you tell him Lexa wasn't all that young?”

“No. Policeman's habit, I suppose. I don't readily part with information the other fellow doesn't have. One learns more by listening than talking. I thought he might mention some specific dangers, and he did, said he fretted about his grandchildren, what with drugs so readily available at dance parties.”

“Aha!”

“Well, no, worse luck. I asked, of course, if he knew of any rave clubs in Penzance or environs, but he said there weren't any, to his knowledge. He was rather vehement about it.”

“Wishful thinking, maybe? The superintendent and the rector seemed to think there are.”

“Yes, but they both, in their different ways, see a good deal more of the seedy side of Penzance than old Boleigh. He's by way of being a civic benefactor, on quite a large scale, I understand. Music, the visual arts, architectural preservation and renovation, that sort of thing. I shouldn't think he'd so much as know the name of a single contemporary pop musician.”

“Neither would I,” I admitted. “I can name the four Beatles, but that's about where my expertise ends.”

“Count your blessings. At any rate, I switched to a different tack, asked him for the names of those five men who'd been so attracted to Lexa the night of his party.”

“I suppose he wanted to know why.”

“No, because I had a lovely fairy tale all ready.”

“Alan! You're learning bad habits from me. I'm sure you didn't tell lies when you were a CID detective.”

“You might be surprised. At any rate, I said Lexa had lost a ring that night at the party, and that her mother was very upset about it, now that Lexa was gone. Sentimental value, all that bosh. Of course, I asked first if it had been found when the caterers tidied up, and he said not. I said I had assumed that was the case, Boleigh being such a conscientious chap. I was sure he would have rung up, or told the police, I said.”

“The best butter.”

“Of course. Then I just happened to remember those five men. Said I thought one of them might have found the ring, put it in his pocket, meaning to phone Lexa—you can follow the line for yourself.”

“Brilliant. But why didn't you just tell him the truth?”

“Because he talks to a lot of people in the course of his philanthropy, and you never know what he might let slip. I don't want the whole town knowing we're looking into Lexa's death.”

“No, of course not. Sorry. Go on.”

“So he gave me their names, addresses, and telephone numbers.”

“And you came back here and got on the phone.”

“For a solid hour. Where were you, by the way?”

“I'll tell you later. Go on.”

“It took a good many calls, of course, because it's Saturday. All but one of them were out when I rang the first time, so it took several tries, and of course it was the fifth man, the last one I finally reached, who delivered the goods.”

“It always is. What story did you spin for them?”

“I started with my nice little ring fiction, in case they talked to Boleigh. If one must lie, it's best, I've found, to keep it simple.”

I nodded. Alan was right, though it's a lesson I have a hard time remembering. I tend to elaborate and then forget what I've said.

“From there I branched out with each of them, wondering if he'd happened to see Lexa since the party. Went on a bit about how lovely she was, how appealing, how I could understand any man wanting to see more of her. I rather left the impression that I was under her spell myself.”

I sighed ostentatiously. “Remind me to look put upon if I should run into any of them. Did they buy it?”

“I think so. At any rate, all but one denied seeing her again, with great regret expressed. Two of them have live-in girlfriends, by the way.”

“It figures. And the fifth?”

“The fifth, one James Barnet, met her on Thursday night at a hall just behind Wharf Road.”

“The rave.”

“And quite a lively little party, I gather.”

“He told you what went on? I thought we agreed you look too much like a policeman to learn anything very useful.”

“Apparently I looked more to Mr. Barnet like the dirty old man I was doing my best to impersonate. It helped that he'd been smoking a good deal of pot and was feeling very little pain.”

“So that's what it is! I thought your clothes smelled odd.”

“I'm surprised you didn't recognize the scent, and you a retired teacher.”

“It hadn't made its way down to the fourth grade by the time I quit teaching. But yes, I knew the smell in those days from the high school kids. One forgets, mercifully. So what did he tell you about the rave?”

“Well, for a start, where to find it, more or less. The police can take it from there.”

“Go on, what else?”

“He gave me a scenario of the evening. His memory is about as good as one might expect, given the drugs he took at the time and what he was taking this afternoon—not only cannabis, I suspect. However, after a somewhat tedious recital of exactly what I expected—music, lights, dancing, and so on—he got around to the drugs.”

“Ecstasy.”

“Yes, and others, as well, I gathered. Cocaine, heroin—as I said, quite a little party.”

“I wonder this Barnet person has any brain left.”

“I doubt he will have for much longer. But he did tell me one extremely interesting thing, something that gave me lots of ideas.”

“Alan, if you don't tell me right this minute, I'm going to pour this bourbon on your head.”

“I shall smell
really
interesting then. Very well. I have always believed in saving the best for last. He told me that Alexis met a number of people at the rave, among them a very attractive girl of about seventeen or eighteen. Blond and foxy, he said, and added that she was about Lexa's age, which tells you something of how observant he is.”

“Don't blame the poor guy for that. She deliberately set out to look young that night. I talked to Eleanor about it. So who was she, this girl?”

“Well, that's where it gets very interesting indeed. Her name is Pamela, no surname, of course.”

“Of course. Not at that age.”

“Pamela and Lexa hit it off right away, and spent a good deal of time giggling, even dancing together occasionally. There's quite a lot of that at raves, you know. Solo dancing, same-sex pairs. It has little to do with what's to happen later in the evening, more with the general euphoria that the lights and the music and, of course, the drugs induce.”

I leaned forward intently. “Did he say anything about Lexa taking drugs?”

“I asked. He didn't remember clearly, but assumed she did. He said she drank a lot of water, which people on ecstasy must do. Their mouths become very dry.”

“Lexa always drinks—drank—a lot of water.”

“Yes, and of course dancing makes one hot and thirsty, especially in a crowd with smoke in the air. But let me get to the interesting bit. Lexa and Pamela are getting on like a house afire, yes? Well, there was a bit of a dustup late in the evening, or early in the morning, actually.”

He paused to gauge the effect.

“Between Lexa and Pamela? Do hurry it up!”

“No, someone came to the club. An old cove, my informant said graciously, giving me a look that said he placed me in the same category. Mr. Barnet thought he looked familiar, but couldn't place him. Given Barnet's probable level of drug elevation at the time, and the obscuring effects of strobe lights and smoke, I'm a trifle surprised he could even venture a guess as to age and sex.

“He did remember quite clearly, however, that the gentleman in question was in a filthy temper, and that the object of his rage was … care to hazard a guess?”

“Lexa,” I said with bitter satisfaction.

“Wrong. It was Lexa's new friend, Pamela.”

“But then … Alan, why are you so interested in this Pamela person?”

“Because she and the gentleman got into a shouting match, and Lexa tried to intervene. Apparently it worked for a little while. He sat at the table, bought everyone drinks—”

“Lexa didn't drink.”

“Water, orange juice, whatever. At any rate they talked for a while, and then the man lost his temper again. It ended with all three of them being chucked out of the club for creating a disturbance. Mr. Barnet was quite bitter about that. I suspect he'd had rather a different party aftermath in mind, and he blamed the gentleman for spoiling all the delightful plans. ‘Pushes his way in, acting like he owns the place, like he owns the world' was his description of the gentleman's actions.”

“What did Mr. Barnet do then? Did he try to go after Lexa?”

“No. It seems not to have occurred to him that the girls might be in danger, or perhaps he simply didn't care. At any rate, he eschewed the role of knight-errant and went home alone to sulk.”

“And Lexa and Pamela Whoever went off with the ‘old cove.'”

“We don't know that. We don't know anything more than that they left the club together.”

“When?”

“Ah! The important question, isn't it? Unfortunately Mr. Bamet was floating a little too high to remember such a mundane detail as time. Late, he said, but when pressed he could come no closer. He also began to wonder why I wanted to know, and what it had to do with a missing ring, so I fell back on my lascivious interest in the mysterious Pamela.”