Dead on Cue (19 page)

Annette was silent for a few minutes. ‘I see it all now. Jonquil didn't brief her properly and she was told just to put on her bear skin and do a little dance. That's all the poor girl knew.'

Tennant nodded in silent agreement, then said, ‘I take it you don't like Jonquil Charmwood very much.'

‘I can't stand the stuck-up little bitch. Flounces into rehearsals all blonde hair and long eyelashes. Thinks all the men are in love with her, which they probably are, stupid gits.'

The inspector, thinking of the poor sobbing creature whom he had escorted into the morgue that morning could hardly agree with the description, then thought how tragedy changed people, and hoped the bouncy Miss Charmwood would not be altered forever by her recent experience. An experience as stark as the one she had just had could well mar her for life.

He smiled at Annette. ‘I think you will find her somewhat different. She was asked to identify Miss Simms's body this morning and has been terribly shaken by the whole affair.'

Miss Muffat looked as if she would like to say ‘Serve the silly cow right' but instead said, ‘Oh dear.'

Potter cleared his throat. ‘Can you think of any connection between Gerry Harlington and Miss Simms, Miss Muffat?'

‘None, except, of course, that they both met in the darkness the same murderer.'

T
his morning Ricardo drove with purpose to his massage appointment, determined to get Ekaterina into a better frame of mind.

To his surprise she came running out of the door as soon as he arrived, looking spectacular in a pair of Ginger Rogers trousers and a loose sweater, created, of course, by Jean Paul Gaultier.

‘Ricardo, please do me a big favour,' she said by way of greeting.

‘Of course, madam,' he answered, bowing as he got out of the car and banging his head as a result.

‘I want you to take me to Fulke Castle,' she said surprisingly.

Ricardo could have fainted with shock. ‘Fulke Castle?' he repeated slowly.

‘Yes. I had a phone call from Sir Rufus asking if I would visit him and I think it only polite to do so.'

Ricardo couldn't help it; a rather stupid grin spread over his features.

‘But there is a problem,' Ekaterina continued. ‘The paparazzi are on the land side of the moat taking photographs and even more of them have arrived since the body has been discovered. Somehow I want you to smuggle me in.'

‘You could lie on the back seat of my car and I could cover you with a blanket.'

‘Yes, that is a good plan.'

‘And I could put a box of oils and creams on top of you.' Ricardo was warming to his theme.

‘Even better. We shall go immediately.'

‘But I haven't got a blanket.'

‘Then I will fetch one.'

She ran into the house again, then reappeared clutching a tartan picnic rug.

‘I hope I will be able to breathe through this.'

‘Well, you need only cover your face at the last minute.'

Ekaterina threw her arms round him spontaneously. ‘You are so clever. Thank you for your help. I couldn't have managed without you.'

Ricardo helped her into the back seat of his car and arranged the rug over her, putting his box of goodies on her feet. Then they took off for the castle only to be stopped at the gatehouse by a guard built like a sumo wrestler, with a huge fist and face of mega proportions.

‘Yes?' he said, waving Ricardo's car to a halt and thrusting his mighty mug in through the rolled down window.

‘Massage for Sir Rufus,' said Ricardo in a very Italian accent.

‘Oh yes? He didn't say nothing to me.'

‘Ring him then. Say it is the masseur from Mrs Harlington.'

That did the trick and having made a brief call the guard waved them in. But Ricardo had not been quite clever enough. As Ekaterina removed the blanket from her face and laughed, a photographer who had managed to make his way on to the bridge suddenly reared up and snapped them, thinking it a bit of a coup. Ricardo's heart plummeted as Ekaterina let out a shriek.

‘I think it would be best if Sir Rufus immediately put you on his visiting list,' he remarked.

‘But I don't think he would believe that proper behaviour with me being so recently widowed.'

‘It is not proper behaviour that makes the world go round,' Ricardo answered wisely.

Tennant was sitting in his office in Lewes looking at all the reports he had taken on the previous day. The four people he hadn't so far had time to see were Mike and Meg Alexander, Paul Silas and Oswald Souter. Looking through the statements carefully it seemed that several people had noticed the bear wandering about before the Elizabethan fair but nobody had had time to say anything to her.

‘It was one mad rush getting into costume,' Barry Beardsley had said, still in his white coat from having seen an ingrown-toenail sufferer. ‘I thought she looked a bit lost but I just put it down to Jonquil having a turn, if you know what I mean. Very unsettled in her love life, that young woman.'

‘In what way?' Potter had asked.

‘She's a terrible flirt is Jonquil. Has boys round her like the proverbial bees and honey pot. If she hasn't got six on the go she isn't happy.'

‘Does she sleep with them all?'

‘Not many, if rumour be true. But who am I to say? You will have to ask her that. If it's relevant to the enquiry.'

There had been a silence while Tennant had thought and in the end he had said, ‘It might be. Thank you, Mr Beardsley.'

Now he wondered if any ex-boyfriend of Jonquil's had mistaken the wretched Emma for Miss Charmwood, heavily disguised as the bear as she had been. He thought it was worth a follow-up at least and decided to put Potter on to it. He was just about to pick up his phone when it rang.

A voice spoke. ‘Hello, sir. It's James from forensics. Sorry we've taken so long with that bit of fur you found.'

‘Did you get anything?'

‘Well, we did a skin sample on the interior and found there was some evidence of the wearer. In other words we got some DNA from it.'

‘And?'

‘That's what caused the delay. We took some specimens from the body in the moat – Emma Simms – and it was her. She was the last person to wear that fur.'

‘Christ, it was the bear skin!' Tennant shouted. ‘That poor kid must have wandered up on to the battlements and actually witnessed the murder. By God, James, you deserve a drink for this.'

‘I'll hold you to that, Inspector.'

Tennant hurried into the room where his team were busy at their computers.

‘Listen, everybody,' he said loudly. ‘The bit of fur on the battlements came from the bear skin that Emma Simms was wearing. Her DNA has been found on it. She must have gone up there to get a better view and seen the murderer – whoever he or she was. That's why she was killed.'

‘Do you think she tripped up Robin Green, guv?'

‘It's possible I suppose, though what possible motive she could have had I really can't imagine.'

‘Perhaps he was an ex-boyfriend.' This from Morgana with the wood-violet eyes.

‘You haven't seen him,' Tennant answered, and laughed hilariously.

‘That bad huh?'

‘That bad.'

Potter walked in and Tennant passed on the glad tidings.

‘Then come on, sir. We've really got to find out who was wandering round on the battlements as well as that pathetic bear.'

‘I suggest we have another look at them.'

‘And the spiral staircases as well.'

‘Let's go.'

They passed through the battery of pressmen and presented themselves at the gatehouse where the man built like a megalosaur duly waved them down.

‘Police,' said Potter, flashing his badge.

‘And the other one?' asked the guard, indicating Tennant with a jerk of his vast head.

‘My inspector.'

‘Pass on.'

‘Where the hell did Sir Rufus find him?' Tennant asked as the car moved out of earshot.

‘In a monastery somewhere?'

‘Probably Brother Corpulentia.'

‘Shouldn't that be Corpulentius?'

‘Clever dick,' said Tennant and laughed at his own joke.

Having spoken to the housekeeper – Sir Rufus apparently being out for a ride – the two policemen made their way up the first spiral, the one that Robin Green must have climbed that night. But this time they went up each step carefully, looking at anything and everything. Tennant knew well that by now any forensic material would be well and truly corrupted but really the search was for his own benefit, anything that would give him a lead on the two burning questions. Firstly, who had been on the stairs that night, had opened the door above and poked Robin Green in the legs with a stick? Could it have been Emma Simms? But if so, why? The second question was who had crept up the staircase in the opposing tower and rushed at Gerry Harlington from the back? Many people had disliked the man but who had disliked him enough to kill him?

Potter reached the top of the spiral and stepped out on to the battlements. A fine view of the castle and the surrounding countryside lay before him but his mind was churning over other thoughts. He turned to Tennant.

‘The odd thing is that Gerry Harlington could have had no idea that Adam Gillow was going to be delayed on the train that night. And how did he manage to get in here unobserved?'

‘I think the answer is relatively simple. He had sworn revenge on Robin Green for trying to strangle him and I truly believe that he meant to kill him with the sword. We know from his films that he was used to swordplay and I am sure that was his intention. I think that he got here early in the morning and hid himself in the bushes which grow plentifully on the island. Furthermore, I believe he went into that dressing tent long before the cast had arrived and dressed himself as a knight. As we all know, once the helmet is on it is impossible to recognize anyone. His one stroke of good luck was that Adam was delayed on the train.'

‘But somebody must have seen him?'

‘Yes, his murderer. He probably went up to the battlements long before his scene and the killer spotted him and decided to act. It was a spontaneous killing.'

‘You're absolutely sure that the murderer didn't have a partner working with him. Someone who deliberately tripped Green up at just the right moment.'

The inspector sighed wearily. ‘I've thought and thought about it. Unless it was Emma herself, but I wouldn't have believed she would have known what scene was coming when. In other words I think the tripping up was done by someone fully conversant with the show. But whether they were working with the murderer I just don't know. And I feel a fool for not knowing.'

They climbed the second staircase, which ran parallel to the other, with equal care, looking for something fresh, something other than the fountain pen that Tennant had found on the first day. But there was nothing to see.

Once again but from the other angle they stepped out on to the battlements. Tennant gazed out at the panorama before him. And then his eye was caught by two distant horsemen riding in the parkland that lay beyond the moat and away from the direction in which the press men had their camp.

‘Well, well,' he said. ‘Hey, Potter, come and look at this.'

Potter, nervous of heights, edged to his side. ‘It's Sir Rufus, isn't it? But who's the woman with him?'

‘None other than the merry widow herself.' Tennant laughed. ‘I wonder if we've been barking up the wrong tree all along.'

‘Good Lord, perhaps you're right. But they've both got cast-iron alibis.'

‘Which they gave each other.'

‘Indeed they did.'

‘
Cherchez la femme
, Potter. That's what my old mama used to say.'

‘I think we should have another word with them, don't you?'

‘I most certainly do,' answered Tennant.

I
t was late afternoon and Nick had stolen a few delightful moments in his autumnal garden, a vivid, sweet-smelling harmony of russet and ochre. On the trees the remaining leaves had crisped and dried into cockleshells. The flowers still bravely blooming in the beds were a combination of deepest scarlet and the soft gentle mauve of Michaelmas daisies. It seemed as though the earth itself was quietly going into the deep sleep of winter, as if everything was slowing down in preparation for the hardest months of the year.

The vicar breathed deeply, closed his eyes and let his mind wander off at a tangent. He thought about the vastness of the ever-expanding universe and how short a span mortals were given in it. He thought about the cruelties of murder and about the terrible way in which Gerry Harlington had met his end. Slowly and almost reluctantly his mind turned to God and Nick felt in that moment that the Almighty must be so vast and infinite that mankind must make the best of the situation without His help. Then he shook himself. It was not part of his training for the priesthood to harbour such thoughts. But still they came in the darkness of night to haunt him. Nick shook himself again, really hard this time, and turned to go into the house. Then the ringing of the doorbell penetrated his consciousness and with a great sense of relief he went to answer it.

Jonquil Charmwood stood there, ashen faced.

‘Oh Nick,' she said, and flung herself weeping into his arms.

They stood there in full view of the High Street with Jonquil sobbing bitterly and deeply, the noise raking her throat and making her seem so vulnerable.

‘Come in, come inside,' said Nick quietly, and all at once his faith in his mission in life returned to him and he felt strong enough to bear her sorrows.

She could not speak, could not say a word to him, but she let him draw her quietly into the kitchen where he sat her down on a wooden stool and, going to his bar, poured her a large shot of brandy.