02 - Flight of Fancy (3 page)

“Because the body was moved.”
Clara said simply, “Assuming the colonel was correct and he was dead, and I
feel the colonel a man familiar enough with this subject to not make a simple
error, then the only way the body could vanish was if someone else moved it,
and the only reason someone would want to move a body is if they had something
to hide.”

“Like a murder!” The colonel
said enthusiastically.

“Or, at least, they felt
responsible for Goddard O’Harris’ death. That might not imply murder as such,
but someone had a guilty conscience that night and it drove them to take a
terrible risk and move the body.”

“But, where too?” Demanded the
colonel, “I mean, the police were there in minutes, hardly time to bury a man!”

“Oh colonel!” Mrs Rhone said
aghast.

Clara ignored her.

“There is no reason to suppose
the body was only moved
once
. Initially the person took it somewhere
nearby and handy for concealment, then they went back when the coast was clear
and moved it somewhere more suitable. You said yourself the police did not
begin searching until dawn, that leaves many hours in which to hide a body.”

“By Jove, she is a smart lass!”
The colonel grinned at O’Harris, “So, my girl, tell me this, who did the deed?”

Clara hesitated.

“What’s this? Cat got your
tongue?” Brandt asked.

Clara glanced at O’Harris,
uncomfortable with the thoughts running through her mind. Then she sighed,
there was no getting away from the colonel without an answer.

“I must first state that with
the limited facts of this case I can only make a supposition, which, if I was
to examine the details further, might prove inaccurate.”

“Don’t be so coy, girl!”

“Colonel.” Interrupted
O’Harris, “Go on Clara, we appreciate the difficulties.”

Clara wondered if he really did
but continued anyway.

“We have to ask ourselves who
had the motive and the opportunity to kill Goddard, and of course we don’t know
for certain what actually did kill him. It had to be something fast-acting and,
going by the colonel’s brief glance at the body it was probably something
internally ingested rather than, let us say, a bullet, which would have left a
wound you would have noticed, yes colonel?”

“Certainly! I know a bullet
hole when I see one.”

“So that leaves us with few
choices, but I would not like to rule anything out unless I was able to have a
coroner’s view on the matter, which is, similarly, impossible.” Clara tried to
still the slight shake in her hands as she presented her case as she saw it,
the last thing she wanted to do was hurt the charming and handsome Captain
O’Harris, “What we can say was that the method used was quick, soundless, or at
least very quiet, and instantaneously deadly. That rules out most poisons by
the way, even strychnine requires at least half-an-hour to kill someone.”

“Clara’s last case involved
strychnine.” Tommy pointed out helpfully.

“Yes, but not as a murder
weapon, in fact.” Clara added, “Anyway, all that aside I have to come to the
conclusion that whoever killed Goddard O’Harris was near him immediately before
his death and that leaves only two suspects.”

“By Jove, she means me and Mrs
O’Harris.” The colonel laughed in astonishment.

“Indeed I do colonel, but I am
inclined to rule you out as you were the first to run for the police which, I
admit, could have been a ploy, but you were also not present to move the body.
Also I do not see your motive, though of course you could easily have one I do
not know about, but then there is your keenness on retelling the story. Most
murderers would prefer not to discuss their crime, unless they are of an
unstable or insane persuasion, in case it draws attention to them.”

The colonel let out another
rumbling laugh.

“Dear me, this is good fun. I
am quite flattered to be considered a suspect, but feel it rather depressing
how quickly you ruled me out.”

“Please colonel.” Mrs Rhone
begged piteously, “This is quite appalling.”

“Miss Fitzgerald,” O’Harris
spoke up, “I take this to mean, excluding the colonel as you have, you believe
my aunt killed Uncle Goddard?”

Clara hesitated again, the
dashing captain looked hurt and not a little stunned, she was starting to
realise that he had genuinely been fond of his aunt.

“I know nothing for certain.”
Clara insisted, “I just mean that, were we to take this as a theoretical
exercise, the most likely candidate for the crime, both because she had the
means and the opportunity to kill Goddard, along with being the only person
present to be able to move the body while the colonel was fetching help, was
Florence O’Harris.”

“Oh no!” Mrs Rhone gasped, “Oh,
but it could be, oh…”

“And what of motive?” O’Harris
asked rather sharply.

“That I do not know, except
that wives often wish to kill their husbands and vice versa, the majority of us
simply do not act upon the urge.”

“Oh Miss Fitzgerald, what an
awful thing to say, I have never wished to kill my husband!” Cried Mrs Rhone.

Clara turned to her seriously.

“Really Mrs Rhone? Not even
just once without really meaning it, but just thinking it in anger?”

“Well…” Mrs Rhone glanced over
to her husband the vicar who was sound asleep in a chair, “I suppose once, yes,
when he sprayed weed-killer instead of insecticide on my prize begonias and
ruined them all. It was just a week before the village garden show. I could
have killed him, oh yes, my dear, I do see what you mean. We all say it don’t
we? Just mostly we don’t mean it.”

“Exactly.” Clara said.

“And then there was the time he
invited that obnoxious Mrs Vine to tea because she wanted to discuss the jumble
sale with me and I had already told him I wanted nothing to do with it after
the way I was treated the year before and then I ended up agreeing to it anyway
over scones with Mrs Vine.” Mrs Rhone was enjoying herself now, “And the time
he wore the new gloves I had knitted for him specially to help dig some sheep
out of the snow at a neighbouring farm and they came home ruined, and he knows
how I hate knitting.”

“I think we get the impression,
dear lady.” Colonel Brandt cast a worried look at the woman, “Quite remarkable
the good reverend is still alive.”

“This is all nonsense.” Captain
O’Harris snapped abruptly and left the party to stalk over to a window and gaze
out furiously at the evening sky.

Clara groaned inwardly. She had
dreaded as much, it seemed a crime was not always best solved, especially one
so distant and personal to her host.

“Do you think Florence moved
the body herself?” Colonel Brandt was oblivious to the fury his game had caused
O’Harris.

“It is possible, though I
wouldn’t rule out an accomplice. I’m afraid that puts you back in the picture
colonel, you may have returned later to help Florence.”

“Marvellous!” The colonel
roared merrily, “Of course I do protest my innocence, but it is rather pleasing
to think even at my age a young lady could consider me notorious!”

Clara was hardly listening to
him, she was staring at captain O’Harris’ back and feeling horribly guilty. The
evening party began to break up. Mrs Rhone woke her husband and explained they
were going home. Colonel Brandt picked up his walking stick and unsteadily made
his way to their host, shaking his hand and thanking him for the food and
brandy.

Clara, pushing Tommy in his
wheelchair, was the last to go.

“Don’t be glum.” Tommy said
sympathetically, but Clara knew she had ruined the evening, at least for
O’Harris.

He joined them at the door to
say goodbye.

“Look, I was rather abrupt…” He
began.

“I should not have said so
much.” Clara quickly interrupted, “I should have had more sense, I never was
one for tact.”

“That is true.” Tommy
interjected.

“It’s just…” O’Harris stared at
the high ceiling of the hall, trying to pull together his warring emotions, “I
always thought Uncle Goddard was murdered and that it wasn’t right how no one
was ever caught for the crime. Now you say it might have been auntie Flo and,
well, I stood at that window staring outside and I was furious at your suggestion,
but slowly it occurred to me that it could be true. Isn’t that awful?”

“Sometimes it is best not to
dig up the past.” Clara said unhappily, “I didn’t mean to pain you.”

“No, don’t apologise. This is
something that has hung over the family for years. If auntie Flo did it… and if
she did not… You see Clara, I just have to know. Now you have begun this I have
to know for sure. I wasn’t lying when I said I cared about auntie Flo, I cared
a great deal but we grew to know each other after Goddard died, she seemed…
different after that. I assumed it was the shock and grief, now I have to know
if it was something else.” O’Harris drew a deep breath, “I don’t just flee this
house every winter because of the cold, you know. These walls hold ghosts, oh
not the shrieking, theatrical kind, but memories of those who went before and I
don’t always feel comfortable alone here. Maybe that’s because of what happened
to Goddard, or maybe deep down I have always had my suspicions of my aunt’s
involvement. In any case, I want to know the truth, whether it is painful or
not.”

Clara knew what he was about to
ask and wished he wouldn’t.

“I want you to come back
tomorrow and start investigating my uncle’s death.”

“Mr O’Harris, these old
stories, when you delve into them you are bound to dig up secrets and it can be
hurtful. No one is perfect, but in our memories loved ones can seem better than
they really were and when we scratch at that veneer it can be extremely
painful.”

“I understand that.” O’Harris
persisted, “But I want you to investigate for me. I need to know the truth,
sometimes living with only half an answer is just as hurtful as knowing the
truth.”

“And if I discover the worst?”

“I am a grown man Miss
Fitzgerald, I can handle whatever information you uncover.” O’Harris looked so
forlorn that Clara felt her resolve caving – would it be so bad, after all, to
spend a little more time here in the good captain’s company?

“I can make no promises for a
solution, but I will do what I can.”

“I am so glad you agreed.”
O’Harris said, even raising a smile, “And I will pay for your time, of course,
what is your usual rate?”

“Shilling an hour.” Tommy
interrupted quickly.

Clara wanted to kick him.

“I’ll pay you a pound an hour,
that seems more than fitting for the service you will be doing me.”

“That is too generous…” Clara
managed before Tommy pinched her arm.

“I insist, and Mr Fitzgerald
you must come tomorrow too and get a good look at the Buzzard.”

Tommy’s face broke into a big
grin.

“Thank you, old boy!”

“I know a fellow aviation
enthusiast when I see one.” O’Harris replied, “Well Miss Fitzgerald?”

“I suppose I shall see you
tomorrow.” Clara said.

“About 11 o’clock?”

“Yes, that is acceptable.”

“Good, I’ll send a car for
you.”

Clara couldn’t help her
surprise.

“A car?”

The car was painted burgundy
and glistened and sparkled in the morning sunlight. A grey liveried chauffeur
opened the door for Clara and refused to let her help him assist Tommy into the
vehicle. Sitting in the open-topped car as they whistled down the country lanes
Clara experienced a tremor of nerves as she clutched her hat to her head. Other
than in a train she had never travelled so fast.

“Do you suppose he knows what
he is doing?” She asked her brother.

“Isn’t this grand, old bean!”
Tommy said back, the roar of the engine and the wind whisking by obscuring her
question, “If only my legs worked Clara! Think of what I could do!”

“Is that a cow ahead?”

They both cried out as the
driver whipped them around a corner and confronted a black and white Fresian in
the centre of the road. He beeped his horn loudly, barely slowing, and the
animal ambled up the grass verge in time to avoid being mown down.

“That was dreadfully
dangerous!” Clara gasped.

“Old girl, once everyone learns
the rules of the road there won’t be a problem.”

“Really?” Clara said cynically,
“Didn’t you read about that road accident in the paper? The man on the bicycle
and the Bentley?”

“Yes, yes, but that is all
ignorance. Mark my words, once we get the hang of cars there won’t be any
accidents. You just have to have a little sense, that’s all.”

“Excuse me if I don’t entirely
believe you.” Clara snorted, wondering who was going to teach road sense to the
cows and sheep that dotted the rural fields they flew past.

There was one thing she could
not criticise, however. They arrived at Captain O’Harris’ house far quicker
than they ever could have done on foot. As they pulled into the drive O’Harris
waved at them and bounced down the steps to open the car door for Clara.

“My dear, you look rather
windswept.” He laughed, offering his hand.

“We nearly killed a cow.” Clara
said indignantly, “And no one informed me I was to travel open air at high
speeds.”

“The beast can go some.”
O’Harris grinned, patting his car affectionately, “I call her Speedy Suzy,
after an old flame.”

“Dare I ask if the girl would
be insulted?”

“I imagine she would, Suzy was
anything but speedy, but she did look good in dark red.”

“Captain O’Harris!” Tommy
appeared around the side of the car being pushed by the chauffeur in his
wheelchair, “You don’t know how I envy you. This car is magnificent! If only I
was not confined to this chair.”

Tommy deflated slightly as
reality sank in.

“Don’t get dispirited, I
wouldn’t have sent it if I thought it would plunge you down in the dumps.”
O’Harris said quickly.

“It’s not that.” Tommy glanced
longingly at the car, “People don’t know what it is to dream of doing the
impossible.”

“I do.” O’Harris assured him,
“I dreamt of flying and people laughed, they told me never, they told me give
up. But there I was in the war, skimming the skies. Who says one day you won’t
drive a car or even fly a plane too?”

“The doctors say it.” Tommy
answered glumly.

“And what do they know?”
O’Harris shook his head, “If I believed everything my doctors told me then I
shouldn’t be standing before you. My doctors tell me, my heart’s not quite what
it should be and could stop at any second from a sudden shock. If they had
known that in the flying corps they would have never let me fly, but I’m not
one to listen to that nonsense and here I am as fit as a fiddle!”

“I appreciate the story, but my
legs aren’t ever going to work again.”

“You don’t give them a chance
with that attitude. If I was you I would be trying to walk every day and who
knows, just maybe, I would manage it if I tried hard enough, but the important
thing is not to give up.”

“Quite right.” Clara
interrupted deciding it was time to change the subject and deflect Tommy’s
thoughts from his legs, “Now, I do believe you have a mystery for me to solve
Mr O’Harris?”

“Oh yes, where are my manners!
Come in, come in! Would you like tea or coffee?”

They followed him into the
house and through into the dining room where they had sat and eaten the day
before.

“I thought we should start
here.” O’Harris explained, “Scene of the crime, well almost. Though, I confess,
after sleeping on the matter I wonder if I have sent you on a wild goose chase
Miss Fitzgerald.”

“Most mysteries look that way
at the start, but the answers are usually to be found if you hunt hard enough
for them.”

“I admire your confidence. So
where do we begin?”

Clara had been mulling this
moment over in her head since the night before.

“I was wondering at maybe
recreating the scene?” She said, “Tommy can be Colonel Brandt, I shall play the
part of aunt Florence and you…”

She tailed off as she realised
what she was suggesting.

“I shall be Uncle Goddard. Do
not be perturbed Miss Fitzgerald, I am not morbid and it is quite logical I should
play the role. Shall we sit at the table?”

“Yes, but… ah, is the table in
the same place it was back then?”

O’Harris stared at the table
for a long moment.

“Now you mention it, I believe
it was more to the right. Yes, yes, we moved it when the new sideboard came to
make it more convenient for serving, but it was indeed a good two foot further
towards the far wall.”

“Meaning the colonel could have
had a clear view of Goddard walking down the terrace steps.” Clara moved across
the room, assessing how the bars of the windows and the heavy stone balustrade
of the terrace obscured the view.

“Is it important?” O’Harris
asked.

“Well, that’s just the thing. I
can never be sure if it is or isn’t until I rule it out.”

“Do you want to move the
table?” O’Harris glanced at the heavy mahogany dining table, decorated with an
elaborate floral centrepiece and candlesticks, “I’d have to call a servant.”

“No, let us just move the
chairs.”

Clara took a chair, as did
O’Harris and Tommy carefully wheeled himself into place.

“Now we have an issue.” Tommy
said, “We don’t know where they all sat.”

“Uncle Goddard would have been
at the head of the table.” O’Harris motioned to the space where his uncle’s
chair would have been, “We can assume Colonel Brandt and my aunt sat opposite
each other either side of him, that was the usual arrangement.”
“So, here, maybe?” Tommy wheeled himself into a position roughly in the middle
of the imaginary table.

“Not so far down, my uncle
hated having his guests at a distance. He was getting deaf and it meant he had
trouble following the conversation. No, they would have been right next to
him.”

Tommy re-positioned his wheelchair
to one side of the head of the table. Clara sat opposite him. O’Harris was last
to take his place.

“Right, we have had our supper
and we are contemplating a glass of brandy, or at least the colonel is.” Said
Clara, “Goddard is thinking about his cigar.”

The captain, suddenly getting
into the swing of the action, pretended to produce a cigar case and remove one.

“I say Florence, I think I will
have my evening cigar.” He said, lifting his voice and flattening his accent.

“Not inside Goddard, you know
how it discolours the wallpapers.” Clara said in her best disapproving voice.

O’Harris got up and walked to
the terrace windows. Without looking Clara heard him open them and his steps
descend.

“We should be talking
politely.” She remarked to her brother, “How much can you see, by the way?”

“From here I can see directly
down the terrace steps, ah, yes, O’Harris has paused between the rose bushes
and is pretending to smoke. I say, he has quite gotten into the part.”

Clara rolled her eyes, in her
experience men were rather fond of theatricals and enjoyed any excuse to show
off.

“Oh, right, he has now tumbled
to the ground.”

“Did you hear anything?” Clara
asked.

Tommy paused.

“I’m not sure, because I was
looking, well… I couldn’t say.”

“I can’t say I heard anything.”
Clara got to her feet and went to the open terrace doors to call to O’Harris,
“Could you do that again? We want to see the noise you make when you fall.”

“Right-oh.” Waved O’Harris.

Clara returned to her seat.

“This time do not watch him
Tommy but focus on me.”

“Then how shall I know he has
fallen?”

“How indeed.” Nodded Clara, “The
problem is the participants in this mystery are either dead or have lived so
much life beyond this adventure that recalling its particulars is rather hard.”

“You think the colonel didn’t
tell the whole truth?”

“I think he told what he
remembered of the event, but the mind is very good at filling in blanks, such
as the sound of someone falling.”

“Yes, but if that is the case,
how did they know he had collapsed?”

“Exactly.”

“I say chaps, are you done,
I’ve been lying on that grass a good few minutes and no one came.”

They both turned around to look
at O’Harris.

“We didn’t hear you.”
Apologised Clara, “Could you try again.”

Looking slightly forlorn
O’Harris returned outside to the garden.

“Supposing they didn’t hear
him, suppose that filtered into the colonel’s imagination later, that means
poor Goddard could have been dead on the ground for ages.” Tommy continued
where they had left off.

“It raises more possibilities
than that, for instance did the colonel do what you did and watch Goddard
without thinking and see him fall, then over time his memory faded to him
imagining
he heard the fall rather than seeing it. That is quite an innocent
explanation.”

“You think there are
non-innocent ones?”

“Oh, there are always
non-innocent explanations, but that doesn’t mean they are the correct ones. Do
you suppose he has dropped yet?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Let’s listen in silence, I feel quite mean making him keep tumbling down on
that hard ground.”

They fell quiet and listened,
after several moments had passed footsteps were heard on the stone terrace
steps.

“The gardener just stumbled
over me.” O’Harris said sheepishly, appearing in the doorway, “He was quite
concerned and it took some explaining, I tell you, to convince him I was fine
and just trying out a theory. Did you hear me that time?”

“Sorry, not a peep.” Clara came
to him and looked him over, “Now what did the colonel say? Something about the
noise.”

“He said there was a clatter
and a thud like someone had stumbled into something.” Tommy answered helpfully.

“There is nothing but rosebushes
to stumble into down there.” O’Harris remarked, “And they definitely don’t
clatter.”

“Could Goddard have been
wearing something that made a lot of noise when he fell?” Asked Clara.

O’Harris paused in thought for
a moment.

“I really can’t think of anything,
wasn’t as though he was the mayor and went about wearing his ceremonial
chains.”

“That raises problem number
one, then.” Clara walked to the open terrace door and stared into the garden,
“Colonel Brandt and Florence O’Harris could not have heard Goddard fall to the
ground, so how did they know he had collapsed?”

“That sounds rather
suspicious.” O’Harris looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry old boy, just as
likely Clara will find a reasonable explanation for it.” Tommy assured him.

“Oh yes,” Added Clara, “It just
needs clearing up, but no need to consider it sinister.”

“So is that the end of our
dinner party?” Tommy asked.

“For the moment. I’m off to
look at the rose beds and then explore the garden for likely body burial spots.
Think you two chaps can keep yourselves amused while I am gone?”

O’Harris glanced at Tommy.

“Sounds like we are surplus to
requirements.” He said.

“It’s often like that.” Tommy
answered.

“I do believe I promised you a
look at old Buzzard?”

“That you did.” Grinned Tommy.

“I keep her up in an old
converted barn, I’ll escort you there now. That all right Clara?”

They glanced up to see Clara
had vanished out onto the terrace.

The rose bushes were a dead
end. Clara saw that straight away, it was over a decade since the murder had occurred
and whatever had been there that night was long gone. She still made a brief
search of the spot for the sake of thoroughness. Examining a few early rose
buds that were just beginning to open.

“That’s Parson’s Pink China.” A
voice remarked behind her.

Clara turned and spotted a
gardener in his dirt-covered overalls watching her.

“I’m afraid you have me at a
loss when it comes to roses.”

“It’s an old Chinese rose, so I
am told. Perhaps them Orientals call it something different in their gardens,
do you think?”

“I imagine they do.” Clara
smiled, “These bushes are well-grown and look very healthy, have they been here
long?”

“Some of them were here in my
father’s day, if you take care of a rose it can last a lifetime, especially the
old varieties. Those modern ones are different, they are just a flash in the
pan and then they die. Like so many modern things. Can’t beat an old rose for
toughness, I say.”

“I would quite like a rose bush
in my garden, but they do require some care, do they not?” Clara asked, drawing
the man closer.

He huffed.

“Those that know ‘em wouldn’t
say such. It’s just no one has any time these days and they think of pruning or
spraying a plant as time-consuming and not worth it. They would rather buy them
colourful pansies that do as they please for a year and then rot away. All a
rose needs is a little care and attention and it will reward you, look here.”
The gardener lifted up a sprig of a rose bush gently and motioned to the
recently trimmed stems, “I come out every morning and trim ‘em a little, better
than a sharp attack all in one go. It’s just like a morning shave, I take off
any diseased leaves and burn ‘em and I trim any branches that are straying from
the bush and I am rewarded by these bright little buds, all ready to bloom for
me. Can’t say a rose don’t show its gratitude for a touch of love.”