The Guilty Secret (17 page)

Everyone had fallen silent, occupied with the same grim thoughts. I leant my head back against the chair and closed my eyes, remembering Rozalinda when she had been seven or eight and we had played in the woods around Templar's Way. I remembered her kindness to me over the last eighteen months. How she had paid for my lawyer, my clinic fees, offering me the villa for as long as I wanted. And I began, at last, to cry.

After what seemed like an eternity the police arrived, grim-faced and speaking hardly any English. It was Jonathan who came to the rescue, talking in Spanish and explaining how the door had been locked and how they had had to break it down. When it came to removing Rozalinda's body from the villa Harold went to pieces completely, struggling against Jonathan and Tom to clasp her in his arms.

‘Is this the husband?' the officer in charge asked unnecessarily.

‘I have some tablets. Sleeping tablets,' hurriedly Aunt Harriet rifled through her handbag.

‘I think not. He will have to be questioned,' and then, as Harold's sobs grew to a crescendo, ‘Were you all here at the time?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then give the gentleman the tablets. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk to him.'

A policeman came downstairs, the gun laying on a cloth in one hand, the letter in the other. With Jonathan acting as interpreter, the officer asked Harold.

‘Is this your gun?'

Harold nodded. ‘I have a licence for it … Oh God, I should never have kept it in the villa … If I'd had any idea …' he began to cry again.

‘And this?' the officer held out the paper and read:-

‘I know what was in the letters.'

He lifted his eyes. ‘What letters? Who wrote this to your wife?'

Harold was unable to speak coherently. Aunt Harriet said:- ‘My niece had been receiving anonymous letters, they had upset the balance of her mind. I imagine whoever wrote this was obliquely responsible for her taking her life.'

The officer stared down at her. ‘ You think she took her own life? There was no suicide note.'

‘She had tried before. In London. The balance of her mind had been disturbed by the letters …'

He looked slowly at us and then back at the gun. Any minute now, I thought. Any minute now he's going to tell her that she's wrong. That it was murder. Instead he said. ‘Under the circumstances I must ask you all to remain here for further questioning. Could I have your passports please.'

Only Miles made a token protest.

‘When did you last see your wife?' the officer asked Harold.

Harold struggled to collect his wits. ‘Lunchtime. I went to Oporto this afternoon. Didn't get back till after seven.'

‘And you didn't see your wife then?'

‘No … she sleeps a lot. Hasn't been well …' tears engulfed him once more.

‘I saw her about half past four,' I said.

The officer turned. ‘ Where?'

‘At the villa. She'd been for a walk. I was on the beach and saw her return.'

‘I can corroborate that,' Jonathan said. ‘I was with Rozalinda when Miss Harland saw us. We parted at the gate and then I went down to the beach to speak to Miss Harland.'

‘And you returned together?'

‘No. I left Miss Harland still on the beach.'

‘And went where?'

‘To the villa I share with Mr Sullivan.'

‘And Mr Sullivan was with you from that time to the time you arrived here for dinner?'

‘No. Miles didn't get back to the villa till around six. He had been riding.'

‘And you,' the officer turned to me. ‘Where did you go after Mr Crown left you on the beach?'

‘I took a rowing boat out with Mr Farrar.'

The officer glanced down at his notes. ‘ Where did you meet Mr Farrar?'

‘I was on the beach and he saw me and came down to meet me.'

‘From which direction?'

‘From the villas.'

‘Which villa? His own or this one?'

I felt the heat rising within me. ‘ I'm not sure.' It had been Rozalinda's. I was sure of it.

‘Then perhaps it is a matter to which you could give some thought. If I remember rightly the weather was not ideal for putting out to sea.'

‘No, it wasn't. It got very rough and we had great difficulty in getting back to shore.'

‘And got very wet?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘So all the clothes you were both wearing have now been washed?' he asked smoothly.

‘Yes …'

He turned to Tom. ‘And your clothes, Mr Farrar?'

Tom looked ill. ‘The sea-water had ruined my jeans and they were pretty old anyway. I threw them away.'

‘Where?' There was no denying the steel in the smooth voice.

Tom's face was scarlet. ‘In the incinerator.'

The officer looked at him thoughtfully for a few minutes and then asked one of his men to go outside and empty the incinerators.

‘When the pair of you had come back from your … row. Where did you both go?'

‘Tom went to his villa and I went back to mine. I had a bath and changed. Miles called for me and we walked over here together.'

The officer was temporarily finished with me. Painstakingly Jonathan continued to interpret as he asked everyone else to account for their movements. It was two-o-clock in the morning before they left. The gun and letter were taken away for fingerprinting. No-one had seen Rozalinda after she had said goodbye to Jonathan.

No-one knew who had written the letter found in her bedroom, or knew what the contents of the anonymous letters had been.

Tom mopped the sweat off his forehead as the officer and his men finally left. ‘Phew. What time do you think they'll be back?'

‘Three or four hours,' Jonathan said. ‘By then they'll have fingerprinted the gun.'

‘And will they take ours?' Mary asked in a whisper.

‘Yes. But it will be for the best, Mary. It will soon be over.' She shuddered, burying her head again on Tom's shoulder.

Jonathan poured himself a whisky. ‘And not one mention of murder.'

‘No, because she did it herself,' Aunt Harriet said firmly.

‘It wouldn't have been possible. Not unless someone had moved the gun afterwards.'

Miles laughed harshly. ‘You mean she killed herself and someone who enjoys seeing the rest of us sweat moved it to make it look like murder?'

‘I don't mean anything. I'm just stating a fact.'

I said: ‘Did they take the key?'

Their faces were blank.

‘The door was locked and if Rozalinda killed herself it must have been locked from the inside but I don't remember seeing a key.'

‘Not surprising after the sight you'd just seen,' Phil said.

For the first time I saw Aunt Harriet begin to lose her steely control. ‘It must be in her room. The police will have taken it. They won't tell us everything they find or do. If they thought it was murder they would have said so!' She was shaking. ‘Dear Lord, anyone would think you
wanted
it to be murder!'

I put my arms round her. ‘Of course we don't. I shouldn't have mentioned it. It just struck me as funny that's all …'

‘It might be a good idea if you took a sleeping tablet yourself Harriet,' Jonathan said. ‘We'll cover Harold with a coat and perhaps Tom would stay with him.'

‘Don't leave me!' Mary gasped. ‘ Don't leave me, Tom!'

‘Of course I won't leave you. But we can't leave Harold alone tonight. We'll take him across to our villa.'

Aunt Harriet said. ‘ Thank goodness you were here, Jonathan. I don't know how we would have managed the police without you.'

‘I'm glad I was able to help.'

For a brief second his eyes flickered across to me and I thought he was going to see me safely back to my villa, and then he said brusquely:- ‘You'd better take Jenny back, Phil.'

Bleakly I turned to the door with Phil and Miles on either side of me. I had been a fool to think even for a fleeting moment that one tragedy could put another right. Rozalinda's death changed nothing between us.

Phil kissed me lightly on the forehead, standing outside until I had turned the key.

I didn't go to bed. Under the circumstances sleep was impossible. I sat in an armchair, poured myself a stiff whisky and tried to think. Fifteen minutes later there came a knock on the door.

‘A brandy? A whisky?' I asked.

‘A brandy.' He smiled. ‘When did you find out?'

I swirled the ice around in my glass, saying carefully:- ‘ When I came here.'

‘How?'

‘Rozalinda told me.'

He sat opposite me, one leg swinging idly over the arm of the chair. ‘ That I find very hard to believe.'

I shrugged. ‘Believe what you want. She was half out of her mind with fear. She thought that by telling me I could help.'

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Christ! You did that all right!' Then he leaned forward, his eyes holding mine, a strange light in them. ‘Did you enjoy doing it?'

‘Doing what?'

‘Killing her.'

‘She killed herself.'

‘And threw the gun three feet across the floor afterwards? She was killed, and you did it, didn't you? It must have given you great pleasure after what she did to you.'

I drank the remainder of my whisky. ‘Yes,' I agreed at last. ‘Great pleasure.'

‘You realize you killed the goose laying my golden eggs?'

‘I thought you'd done it for revenge, not money.'

‘I did. In the beginning. Then I couldn't care less who she slept with.'

‘So as you can't blackmail me for money, what are you going to blackmail me for?'

He leaned back. ‘I don't know. Not yet. But it's a nice feeling. Having someone in your power.'

‘I'm glad you're enjoying it,' I crossed the room and poured myself another drink. ‘Did you know about Rozalinda immediately?'

‘Yes. I knew she'd arranged to meet that insignificant bastard somewhere and I followed her. I hadn't counted on her taking the car though. By the time I reached the lane she was already on her way back, driving like a bat out of hell.'

My mouth was very dry, the blood pounding in my ears. ‘What did you do? Follow her back in?'

‘No. I figured the boyfriend was still out there so I went to meet him. Offer a few words of kindly advice. Both the woman and the kid were dead. She must have lammed into them at about fifty.'

The room was reeling, my voice seemed to come from a far distance as I struggled to say calmly:-

‘And she never knew it was you who was blackmailing her?'

‘You know that yourself.'

‘Yes … but she must have known it was someone who was at the party that night.'

‘Obviously. But she was too pea-brained to work it out.'

I sipped at the whisky, desperately trying to re-arrange the pieces in the jigsaw.

‘I think we can seal our new arrangement now.'

I stared, uncomprehending. The leg still swung idly, but the expression in his eyes was one that sent chills down my spine.

‘Take your skirt off first and then, very slowly, your sweater.'

‘No …'

He laughed softly. ‘Don't be a fool. Do you want me to tell the police you murdered Rozalinda?'

‘If you do I'll tell them you blackmailed her.'

‘Which they won't believe. I'm completely in the clear. But you're not. And neither is Crown.'

‘What can you do to Jonathan?' Fear choked my voice to a whisper.

‘Thanks to your ill starred love affair, what could be more obvious than on finding out who really killed his wife and child, he helped you murder Rozalinda. Or even did it himself.'

‘No …' I shrank back in the chair. ‘You wouldn't …'

‘Believe me, I would,' he said softly. ‘Now take off your clothes …'

‘No …' he was coming towards me. ‘You can't blackmail me. I didn't do it!'

He halted, the smile wiped from his face. I said frantically:-

‘You assumed I had and I let you because I wanted you to talk. I never knew what was in the letter till you told me tonight. I never knew I hadn't killed them!'

I expected him to hit me, instead the smile slowly returned. ‘ Then if you didn't murder her, Crown did. If you're a good girl I won't tell the police …'

Jonathan, of course, it was Jonathan. ‘ You promise?' I asked hoarsely, ‘You promise not to tell them it was Jonathan …'

‘If you do what I want,' he said pleasantly. ‘ Now take off your clothes. One by one and very slowly.'

Jonathan. Jonathan had murdered Rozalinda. My brain whirled. Had it only been revenge for Nanette and Sarah? Or had it been for me as well? Whatever the reason I had to prevent Miles telling the police. No-one else knew what Rozalinda had done. No-one else could possibly suspect Jonathan. If I did what Miles asked … I knew, even as my skirt fell to the floor, that Miles was happy not to tell the police. That in Jonathan he had another victim with enough money to make blackmail worthwhile. But I had to keep him happy till the police enquiries were over. I couldn't risk upsetting him. Couldn't risk Jonathan's arrest, whatever the cost.

I stood in the lamplight, Miles eyes lingering over my legs, desperately trying to think of a way of stalling him.

‘You could come with me tomorrow when I leave …'

He shook his head. ‘I'm not waiting for tomorrow. Now your sweater.'

Hands damp with sweat I lifted my sweater over my head, letting it fall to the floor to join my skirt in a crumpled heap.

‘What about a drink first, Miles? Let's have a brandy … a whisky …'

He laughed. ‘You really are scared, aren't you? What's the matter, Jenny. Is this your first time?'

‘Yes …'

The faint surge of hope soon died. His eyes gleamed. ‘All the more exciting. Now your bra.'