Murder of Gonzago (16 page)

Clarissa woke with a start. It was terribly early, she could tell. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. I am on my own, she thought.

As she further drifted into consciousness, she heard the wind outside, alternately moaning and howling, hurling itself against the window panes like some demented monster intent on breaking in and devouring her.

She had had a dream. She’d seen a mouse on the floor, obviously ill, huddled and shivering, so in order to give it a quick death, she picked it up by the tail and threw it into a puddle of water. She’d heard a voice.
Don’t you see that the water is not deep enough? The wretched thing won’t drown; it will just go on swimming about
. So she picked the mouse out of the puddle, but as she did so the mouse twisted round and bit her finger. She heard the voice again.
That mouse has a disease and now you will get it
.

Thinking about it, she felt nauseous, ill. She looked down at her fingers. The only too familiar feeling of impending disaster was upon her, the sense of being poised on the very edge of chaos, the conviction that she’d never be free from the tentacles of her impossible predicament—

What time was it? Half past three? Christ.

Reaching out for the silver-plated radio on her bedside table, she turned it on. She liked listening to the BBC World Service. It soothed her …

But she found it hard to concentrate. Her ordeal, she reminded herself, was only just starting. Should she take one of her pills?

Clarissa began to pray to God. She spoke the words aloud.

She promised never to have another affair as long as she lived. She would never dine at the Ritz again. She was going to take proper care of Stephan. She would devote the rest of her life to Stephan. She wouldn’t wear lipstick in the morning. She would never wear stilettos again. She would be nice to Aunt Hortense—

‘
How to murder someone and get away with it … You see, in Keldorp I shared living quarters with a little man called Harrison—
’

What was that? Sounded like some creepy radio drama. Should she change the station? Quite interesting, actually—

She listened.

‘
Harrison was one of the most boring people I have ever met. Except on one subject. Murder. I don’t mean he killed anyone himself. He was fascinated by the theory of it. He must have read every book ever printed on the subject. One night he told me he’d worked out the perfect murder. It all depended on one thing. The murderer had to have an accomplice. Someone he could trust absolutely. Someone who wanted – who needed – to kill as much as he did—
’

Wanted to kill as much as he did … No, that didn’t quite apply to her. She had aided and abetted the killer, true, but that was
after
the murder had been committed.

The fact was, she had had no idea there was going to be a murder. If she had known Stephan had got hold of Roderick’s gun, she would have done something about it – she would have taken the gun away from him. Of course she would have.

An idea began advancing from the shadows of Clarissa’s mind slowly, gradually, like a figure emerging from a dark cave …

The codicil. The five million pounds to Peter Quin. The codicil suggested that the murder might have been carefully thought through, premeditated, planned in detail. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It suggested that it wasn’t Stephan, poor thing, who had committed the murder, but her monster of a husband …

Yes.

She gasped. She saw it very clearly now. Roderick had lured Peter Quin to La Sorcière with the sole intention of killing him. She had believed it was Stephan who killed Quin, mistaking him for Roderick, and Roderick had encouraged her to continue thinking it because it had suited his book …

That night she had agreed to everything he told her to do; she had nodded and said yes; she had been dazed, confused, in a state of shock. Roderick told her that the idea had just occurred to him as he stood looking down at Quin’s dead body – but that had been a lie.

She had been blind – yes, blind!

Roderick had
meant
things to happen that way all along.

She heard the voice on the radio announce the end of the play and she rose, propping herself on her elbow. She reached out for her pale pink kimono. She put it on and sat up in bed. She was extremely cold. Her teeth chattered. The heating wasn’t working properly – but it wasn’t only the heating – she felt a chill – a particular kind of chill – there had been a sound as well—

The next moment she knew.

He was at Remnant.

She saw her bedroom door open. She had locked it, but he
clearly had a key. She should have barricaded herself in. Why did all the good ideas come when it was too late?

He removed his homburg with a flourish.

‘Peter Quin at your service, m’lady,’ he said with a courtly bow. ‘I don’t think I woke you up, did I? My dear Clarissa, you look
ravissante
. It is with such a delectable sight that the Devil must have tempted Our Saviour. I have lived in the grip of a deep obsessive frustration,’ he went on. ‘You are the only one who can bring me out of it. I have been thinking about you an awful lot, you know.’

Clarissa had pulled the sheets up to her chin. She was so terrified, she could hardly move.

‘Aren’t you glad to see me?’

‘I need to dress,’ she managed to say. ‘It is very early.’

‘It is the right time, my dear. I know this on the highest authority. You don’t need to dress.
Au contraire
.’

‘I need to dress. Would you leave the room for a bit?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please.’

‘Your cheek is white, but I have every intention of changing that lily to a rose.’

‘No – please—’

‘
Arise battalions and conquer
,’ he hummed. He took a step towards her.

‘Don’t – please—’

‘
Don’t – please
,’ he mimicked. He laughed. ‘Too many pleases please me not.’ He felt exhilarated. He might have been given a shot of helium. The next moment he became serious. ‘We’ve got unfinished business, Clarissa. You couldn’t have forgotten? Women usually remember things like that.’

‘What are you talking about? You’re mad.’

He pouted. ‘I do hope this will not turn into another mortification of vain regrets.’

‘Go away!’

‘I feel it my duty to make up for the lack of post-nuptial
euphoria. There was a problem then, but there’s no problem now. The problem’s been resolved. I’ve been taking something. Pretty powerful stuff, my dear.’ He licked his lips. ‘Take off those stupid clothes. Come on, be a good girl. I want you to do it with a slow, twisting movement. I want to see them in a tangle on the floor –
there
.’ He pointed.

‘No!’

‘You are being discourteous to an inconceivable degree. Or are you afraid that, like a dewdrop, you might disintegrate at the slightest touch?’

‘Get out of my room!’

‘When you were with the good doctor, you were not in the least inhibited.
Thou hast committed fornication – but that was in another country
.’

‘Go away!’

‘I have seen you, you know. The two of you together. I had a camera installed in your boudoir. I have watched the two of you – together. You had no idea? I can’t help thinking Freud got it all wrong somehow,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘Those all-too-respectable bourgeois women of Vienna who lay on his couch and spouted tales of being seduced or raped by their fathers—’

‘Don’t come near me!’

‘The presumptuous fellow told them they were fantasizing, expressing their suppressed desires, but what proof was there they were fantasies? What if the women were telling the truth? I can’t quite tell what put fathers and daughters in my mind. Was it the disparity in our respective ages?’

‘Get out! Leave me alone!’

He took another step towards the bed. ‘I have the right to expect a submission of sorts. In fact, I would insist on it. I know I am old enough to be your father, my dear, but I also happen to be your husband.’

‘My God, what’s that on your shoulders?’ Clarissa gasped.

‘D’you mean my wings? Don’t you like them? Real feathers, you know.’ Lord Remnant hitched up his shoulders and the black wings opened and closed.

Clarissa screamed.

It was later that same morning.

‘This is actually very funny,’ Antonia said. ‘He is so awful. He is too good to be true. He is a monster. He is not quite real.’

‘It’s outrageously funny,’ Payne agreed. ‘Why is bad behaviour so compulsively watchable?’

They had been sitting in front of their TV set, watching
The Grenadier of Grenadin
, the documentary about the twelfth Earl Remnant. The film-makers had been following Lord Remnant as he strutted about his island paradise and bragged of the terrible things he had done and the even more terrible things he intended to do.

Equal parts high comedy and shock theatre, Payne thought. The documentary showed Lord Remnant as an expert at stirring up old animosities and taking a perverse delight in the creation of new ones.

‘He may be one man’s argument for reviving the guillotine,’ Antonia murmured. She took a sip of coffee. ‘Extremely entertaining.’

‘The late Lord Remnant manages to convey the most disturbing impression that he has truly lost his marbles. Though of course he is neither “the late” nor is he Lord Remnant. That makes the whole thing even more fascinating,’ Major Payne said. ‘Don’t you think?’

The credits were rolling.

‘I thought I saw something – pause, would you? Rewind a bit,’ Antonia said. ‘That’s it. Look!
Dedicated to Peter Quin, for saving my life
. Well, that clinches it.’

‘It does indeed. It confirms the connection between them.’ Payne turned off the video. ‘That was his little joke. Lord Remnant didn’t initially want to make the documentary, that’s what Felicity told us. Then he suddenly changed his mind. Well, he changed his mind when he saw a way of appearing and yet not appearing. He likes teasing people, remember?’

‘He thought he was being terribly clever,’ Antonia said. ‘He asked for the film to be dedicated to the actor who impersonated him.’

‘The note signed Q, which I found in the secret drawer, makes it clear they had reached an agreement.’ Payne waved his hand in the direction of the Damascus chest, which now graced their drawing room.

‘What was it Peter Quin wrote exactly?’

‘
I accept. All I need to do is shave off my whiskers and go bald
… My guess is that Remnant saw Quin’s photo somewhere, while idly surfing the net, or perhaps he happened to watch one of Quin’s films. He was struck by the resemblance between them.’

‘That’s when he had his brainwave?’

‘Yes. He managed to get in touch with Quin and probably sent him photos of himself. He asked if Quin would “do” him.’

‘What was it you said about Quin’s antecedents? Swedish and English?’

‘Scottish, Norwegian and German. But he could “do” any nationality. He spoke five languages. He was a character actor who travelled the world, working on international film and television projects.’

‘The man of the hundred faces and hundred and one voices,’ Antonia murmured.

‘That’s the name of his site, yes.’ Payne picked up the internet downloads. ‘His last and, as it turned out, fatal role was that of our friend, the lunatic laird, but before that he was a Russian revolutionary, one of Hitler’s henchmen, a Mexican matador, a Paris pimp, a Puerto Rican politician and so on.’

‘Lord Remnant couldn’t have been hard to “do”, could he?’

‘I should imagine not. Eccentric, larger-than-life characters are the easiest to do. What does Lord R. look like? Tall, slightly stooping, a supercilious, somewhat spooky smile, bald, complexion like polished mahogany, roller of eyes and thrower of hissy fits. A piece of cake, really. Besides he never for a moment took off that ludicrous sombrero or his dark shades, did you notice?’

Antonia nodded. ‘His face remains in shadow throughout …’

‘When Gerard Fenwick saw the documentary, he apparently found his brother changed, but it was years since they had actually met, so he didn’t think anything of it. Lord R. rarely came to England; consequently people who once knew him were likely to attribute any changes in him to the passing of time and the Caribbean climate.’

‘I wonder if the documentary-makers knew he was not the real one,’ said Antonia.

‘Perhaps they did know. They may have been complicit in the joke – all those references to it being a
meta
-documentary! On the other hand, they may not have been aware that a trick was being played on them.’

‘All the negotiations may have been made by Lord Remnant via email or phone … Perhaps they never saw him in the flesh. Peter Quin may have stepped into his part from the very start.’

‘I haven’t been able to find any information about Peter Quin’s personal life. Nothing about family or friends or
emotional attachments. He never seemed to have stayed in one place for long. According to something I read his agent had met him only once. No one seems to have known him at all well on a personal level.’

‘Which was perfect for Lord Remnant’s plan …’

‘Perfect is the word. Well, Remnants have the reputation for concocting schemes that are at once lunatic and logical. Shakespeare is said to have invented the phrase “method in his madness” with a Remnant in mind.’

Antonia picked up the coffee pot. ‘Let’s sum up, shall we? Lord Remnant manages to antagonize most of the population of Grenadin and in consequence starts receiving death threats. He finds a rattlesnake crazed by amphetamines in his bathroom. He pretends not to be affected, but the incident has left him shaken up. He thinks of a plan.
He will make his enemies believe he is dead
. He will stage his own death, after which he will disappear – or rather become somebody else.’

‘
He will become Peter Quin
. It is Peter Quin who will die in his place.’ Payne started filling his pipe with tobacco from his tobacco jar. ‘The murder will be pinned on his stepson, who has already made his murderous intentions clear enough – in front of witnesses.’

‘Lord Remnant makes all the necessary preparations for the takeover. He contacts his solicitors and adds a codicil to his will, leaving five million pounds to Peter Quin.’ Antonia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps he lets Quin know about it, which makes it difficult for him to refuse the commission? He tells Quin he will need his services again. This time for a more intimate, more
domestic
kind of show.’

‘He explains he intends to play a prank on his house guests. They are staging
The Murder of Gonzago
at his Grenadin retreat. It is going to be a dumbshow. He wants Quin to switch places with him—’

‘Lord Remnant will take part in the rehearsals, but it is Quin who will appear in the performance itself … Lord
Remnant says he wants to see if his guests will be able to tell the difference, something on those lines.’ Antonia frowned. ‘Quin doesn’t suspect a trap, does he?’

‘Not for a moment. Why should he? He has already worked for Lord Remnant. He is used to Lord Remnant’s eccentricities. Well, Quin accepts the commission and thus signs his death warrant.’ Payne struck a match and put it to his pipe.

‘The instructions are that he arrives at La Sorcière earlier in the afternoon
concealed inside a coffin
.’

‘A rococo embellishment which, again, is entirely in keeping with Remnant’s histrionic nature,’ said Payne. ‘No one will see Quin actually enter the Remnant estate. If something goes wrong, Quin will emerge and be greeted as the grisly Grimaud, with which Lord Remnant has already been threatened. The whole thing will then be laughed off as a joke.’

‘But nothing goes wrong—’

‘No. Quin is smuggled into the house. He hides in Lord Remnant’s dressing room. Later in the evening he makes his appearance in the drawing room, disguised as Gonzago. Meanwhile—’

‘Meanwhile Lord Remnant has his revolver ready,’ said Antonia. ‘He has fixed a silencer to it. The guards have been given the evening off. Stephan is the only one lurking outside the house, but he is already under the influence of some drug.’

‘Lord Remnant stands on the terrace beside the french windows. He takes aim through the gap in the curtains. He pulls the trigger. He is a good shot. The bullet gets Quin in the back of the head. Lord Remnant wipes the gun clean of fingerprints, drops it and quickly re-enters the house through a side door.’

‘He sneaks up to his dressing room—’

‘He conceals himself in the bathroom. It was his laugh
that Basil Hunter heard later on. Lord Remnant seems to have suddenly found the whole thing irresistibly comical.’

‘How much does Clarissa know?’ Antonia asked after a pause.

‘I think she knows about the switch but no more. Lord Remnant tells her he is planning a prank. He enrols her assistance. He must have done.
Without her he can’t do it
. He doesn’t tell her that he intends to kill Quin of course. Nor that he plans to assume Quin’s identity. I am sure she knows nothing about his real plan.’

‘He wants her to think it was her son who did the shooting …’

‘Yes. Lord R. knows that it would help his cause if his wife were to be emotionally involved … Well, Dr Sylvester-Sale discovers the hole in the dead man’s skull. There seems to be little doubt in everybody’s mind that it was Stephan who committed the murder. They had seen him lurking outside the window disguised as Bottom.’

‘And of course they remember the incident in Lord Remnant’s study when Stephan tried to shoot his stepfather with that very same gun,’ said Antonia.

‘Clarissa is convinced Stephan is the culprit. She doesn’t want her son to be arrested and interrogated by the police.’

‘Perhaps there are drugs in the house. Perhaps she takes drugs too? No, she doesn’t want the police inside the house, conducting an investigation. She decides on concealment. But she must talk to her husband first. You said that she went upstairs immediately after the murder?’

‘That’s what Sylvester-Sale told me, yes.’ Payne held up his pipe. ‘Well, I believe she went to see her husband and tell him what had happened. She needed to know what they should do next. After all, the whole thing had been Lord Remnant’s idea.’

‘It was quite an extraordinary situation …’

‘You can say that again. Everybody believes the dead man
is Lord Remnant. Only Clarissa knows that it is Peter Quin. I can imagine her whispering frantically.
Do we tell them that the dead man is not you?
Well, the answer of course is,
No, we don’t. We let them continue believing it is me
.’

‘He pretends he has thought of something?’

Payne cleared his throat theatrically. ‘
I’ve got an idea. It isn’t as outlandish as you may think, Clarissa. Let everybody continue thinking I am dead. You see, no one knows Quin’s been here. I specifically asked him to keep mum about it. I will take Quin’s place.
’

‘
What do you mean, Roderick? Have you gone mad?
’ Antonia asked.

‘Pas du tout.
This is my chance to cheat death. Don’t you see?
’

‘
What about the death certificate?
’

‘
Your medico chums will have to fix that. Have Quin cremated, not buried. No chance of complications that way
.’

‘
It won’t work!
’

‘
Of course it will work, Clarissa. Lord Remnant is no more. He has passed into Higher Service. He was Gently Translated. He Fell Asleep. I want everybody on this bloody island to know that. Then there’ll be no more death threats and so on. Let the whole bloody world believe I am no more. Natural causes, don’t forget. That will also be the way out for Stephan. Stephan doesn’t need to come into the picture at all
.’

Payne resumed his normal voice. ‘Well, that’s what she did. She let the world know her husband died of a heart attack … So you think Clarissa speaks in a breathless Marilyn Monroe voice?’

Antonia shrugged. ‘That’s how it came out.’

‘Damned attractive. Is it possible for you to speak in that voice always?’

‘Do you really want me to? Wouldn’t it drive you mad, eventually? It’s interesting that neither Dr Sylvester-Sale nor Basil Hunter realized the dead man was not their host … I mean they took him to his room, didn’t they?’

‘Well, Peter Quin was grotesquely made up. People always look different when they die anyhow – they shrink – the mouth goes slack – the nose gets sharper – the eyes glaze over … Besides, they were working under tremendous pressure, remember.’

‘They knew very well they shouldn’t be moving the body …’

‘They knew there could be big trouble. They must have been anxious, frightened. People’s faculties simply cease to operate at times of extreme tension. The whole thing must have seemed to them unreal – the most awful of nightmares.’

‘Where is Lord Remnant now, do you think?’ Antonia asked.

‘I have an idea that he might be at Remnant Castle. No other reason for Clarissa to dismiss all her servants, is there? She’s been expecting him to turn up. Well, my love, it seems we have been investigating the wrong murder. It is Peter Quin who is dead. Lord Remnant is the killer and he has now taken refuge at his country seat. I think we should go to Remnant Castle.’ Payne glanced at his watch. ‘Make sure we are right … What do you say?’

‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’

‘No, not yet. I suggest we put our theory to the test first,’ said Major Payne. ‘At the moment it is only a theory. I would hate to be made to look a fool – wouldn’t you?’