The Mermaid in the Basement (9 page)

“But—why are you talking to me?”

“We understand,” Grant said, relentless in his questioning, “that you had an altercation with Miss Fairfield at the theatre last night.”

Clive swallowed hard and looked at his father and then at Serafina.He dropped his head and muttered, “We had an argument.”

“Did you threaten to kill her?”

“Certainly not!”

“I’m afraid,” Superintendent Winters said, “we have witnesses that will testify that you did make such threats. Mr. Newton, I think you’d better tell us all of your movements from the time you left the theatre.”

Serafina’s throat seemed to close as she listened to Clive stumble with his words. He was obviously making up the story, but one thing seemed clear. He had been drunk, and when he drank he usually could not remember what he did.

“I—I do remember going to the Seven Dials section.”

“Why did you go there?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“What did you do while you were there, Mr.Newton?”Grant persisted.

Clive dropped his head. “A woman approached me.We went to get a drink together, and afterward we—we went to her room.”

“What was her name?”

“I didn’t ask her. But she gave me these scratches on my face. She wanted too much money, and I argued with her.”

“Can you describe her, Mr. Newton?” Superintendent Winters asked quietly. “It’s very important that we find her—important for you, I mean.”

“I don’t remember,” Clive said. “I was drunk. I do remember she had blonde hair, and she was very tall. That’s all I can remember.”

“What street were you on?” Grant demanded.

As Grant fired direct questions, Septimus exchanged despairing glances with Serafina. They both were sick at heart. Finally Grant said, “We have a search warrant, Mr. Newton.” He spoke to Septimus. “We’ll have to search your son’s room.”

“Of course,” Septimus whispered. “I’ll take you up there.”

The two detectives turned, but Winters said, “I have a sergeant outside. He’ll have to stay with you, Mr. Newton, while we’re searching your room.”

“I’ll call him in.” Grant left the room and was back in a few minutes. With him was a small man, no more than five feet eight inches, with sandy hair, sharp light brown eyes, and a neat mustache. “This is Sergeant Kenzie. Kenzie, you will remain with Mr.Newton here while we search his room.”

“That I will, sir.”

The two detectives moved toward the stairway, and the maid came in at that moment with the tea. “Will you have some tea, Sergeant Kenzie?” Newton asked.

“That would be vury good, sir,” he said in a thick Scottish accent. “I’m sorry for your trouble.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

The two detectives had been searching the room for over thirty minutes. They were experienced and overlooked nothing.

“Doesn’t seem to be anything here that would tie young Newton to the killing,” Grant said, and he shook his head. “He’s guilty, though.

I’d stake my life on that!” Grant gave Winters a direct stare, then continued, “You know what they say about the death of Lady Trent’s husband?”

“Of course.”Winters shrugged. “I am familiar with that case.”

“Some say he was murdered by his wife.”

Winters shook his head, and regret tinged his tone as he said, “I’m one of those who believe that—but there wasn’t enough evidence.”

“What convinced you that she killed her husband, sir?”

“It was more of a feeling, Grant, and you know as well as I that in a murder trial, the prosecutor needs more than that.”

Grant’s lips drew together into a tight line, and he said, “I think Clive is guilty.”

“Good! Then let’s find some hard evidence.”

The two continued to search, and finally Grant, who had pulled the drawer out of an armoire, spoke sharply. “Superintendent, look at this.”

Winters came over and asked, “What is it, Grant?”

“Behind this drawer there’s a cavity. And look, there’s a bag here.”

Grant pulled the bag out. It was leather, with a drawstring, and when he opened it and poured the contents into his hand, jewels glittered.

“That’s bad news for Newton,” Superintendent Winters said, shaking his head. “This looks like some of the jewellery on the list of what was missing from the victim’s room.”

“I’ve got the list, sir.”

“Come over here and lay them out on this desk.”

Grant emptied the bag, and the two men checked the contents against the list.

“There’s no doubt about it,” Grant said grimly. “They’re the jewels that were taken from Kate Fairfield’s room.” He put the jewellery back, and had started to leave when suddenly Superintendent Winters stopped and said, “What’s that?”

“What’s what, sir?”

“There—stuffed behind that chest.”

Winters went over, and Grant followed him. Winters reached down and tried to squeeze his hand behind it. “Some cloth back here.”

“What would it be doing back there? Here, let me move this chest out.” Grant gave a tug, and the heavy chest shifted enough for Superintendent Winters to pull out a garment. “It’s a handkerchief,” he said.

Grant leaned forward and took a short breath. “It’s got blood all over it, sir. He wasn’t very careful, was he?”

“We don’t know that it’s his.”

“Why, of course we do, Superintendent. It’s in his room. I just don’t know why a man would be so careless as to leave a bloodstained handkerchief to be found.”

Winters stood there holding the handkerchief. “It seems we have little choice.”

“Well, we have more than feelings here, don’t we, Superintendent?”

Winters nodded slowly. “I believe we do, Grant. I’m sorry for the family.”

Grant shrugged. “There’s always a family who gets hurt. Every criminal has some family who has to suffer.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He gave the room a regretful look, then sighed deeply. “Well, Grant, let’s go give the family the bad news.” He stood still for a moment, then gave Grant a strange look. “I hate this part of our job.”

“It’s never easy, sir.” The two went downstairs, and as soon as they entered the room, Clive stood to his feet. “Is this yours, sir?”Grant asked, holding up the bloodstained handkerchief.

“I—I never saw that handkerchief!”

“It has blood all over it,” Superintendent Winters said quietly. “How do you account for that?”

Clive shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I think I had a nosebleed.”

“Well, why did you hide it behind the chest in your room?”

“I don’t know. I was drunk when I got in. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“We also found this in your room, hidden behind a drawer in your armoire,” Grant said. He held up the leather bag, opened it, and poured out some of the jewels. “You recognise these?”

“No,” Clive gasped, “I don’t!”

“They were in your armoire,” Grant said relentlessly.

“I’m afraid they’re the jewels that were stolen from Miss Fairfield’s apartment,”Winters said.

Suddenly Septimus said, “Wait, let me see that.”

“See what, sir?”

“Those jewels. Let me see them.”

Grant looked at Winters, who shrugged and nodded. Grant poured out the jewels on top of the library table, and at once Septimus reached out and said, “This is my wife’s ring.”

“Your wife’s ring? Are you certain, Mr. Newton?”Winters said.

“Yes, it’s a family heirloom.”

“How do you account for that, Mr. Newton?”Winters asked Clive.

“I gave that ring to Miss Fairfield as a gift.”

“It was your personal possession?” Grant demanded.

“Actually, it belonged to the family.”

“Did you give permission for your son to give this ring to Kate Fairfield, sir?” Winters put the question to Septimus, but he knew the answer before the older man spoke.

Septimus hesitated but answered truthfully, “I’m afraid not.”

“So you stole the ring and gave it to Miss Fairfield?” Grant spoke harshly.

Everyone in the room saw the guilt on Clive’s face. He tried to speak, and his voice was unsteady when he replied, “All right, I took the ring—but I didn’t kill her.”

“We have many witnesses who will testify that you demanded the ring back.When she refused to give it to you, you made threats. You said you’d kill her if she refused to give the ring back.”

Clive’s face was pale, and his hands trembled as he said, “I was drinking—but I didn’t kill her.”

Serafina went to Clive and put her arms around him. He was the picture of a guilty man, and the evidence was overwhelming—but she was a loyal woman. Clive had accused her of having no feelings, but he’d been wrong about that. As she held him, a well of compassion opened up, and she whispered, “Clive, it will be all right.”

Septimus came then and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. His voice was thin and filled with uncertainty as he said, “Of course it will be all right, Son.”

Silence fell across the room, and finally Superintendent Winters took a deep breath. Regret touched his voice and was in his face as he said, “Clive Newton, I place you under arrest. The charge is suspicion of murder.” Winters turned and faced Serafina. “I’m sorry,Viscountess.”His eyes went to Septimus, who seemed stricken dumb. “I’m sorry, indeed, Mr. Newton.”

“I didn’t do it!” Clive whispered. “I swear I didn’t do it!”

“You’ll have a chance to prove that,” Grant said. “Take him away, Sergeant Kenzie.”

Kenzie came to stand beside Clive.As he did, however, Serafina reached up and put her hands on Clive’s cheeks. “I know you didn’t do it, Clive.”

“I didn’t, Serafina. I swear! I’ve done a lot of things wrong, but I did not kill anyone.”

“You’ll have to go with them,” Serafina whispered, “but I promise you I’ll find the real murderer. I’ll find the one who killed that woman.”

Kenzie held pressure on to Clive’s arm firmly as Clive stumbled out the door.

Grant followed, but Superintendent Winters stopped and turned to face them. “I regret very much that this has come to you, Mr. Newton. Viscountess, I have heard your reputation of being a woman of great determination. I’ve even heard the story about how you solved the robbery at Sir Osric Wallace’s house, but I strongly advise you not to get involved with police business.”

Serafina raised her head, and her eyes flashed. “And I promise you, Superintendent, I’m going to do everything I can to bring the real murderer to justice.”

Winters shook his head but said no more. He turned and left the room, and Serafina turned at once to her father. “We’ve got to tell the family. Shall you do it?”

“Yes, it’s my responsibility. I—I didn’t raise the boy right, Serafina.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Father.”

“Do you believe he’s innocent?”

“He has to be,” Serafina whispered. “He just has to be!”

SIX

D
read crawled along Clive’s nerves as he sat in the darkness. The cell into which he had been thrust was no more than ten feet square. He had never been fettered in any way, and with each passing moment, the room seemed more and more like a square coffin. He had paced the rough stone floor for what seemed like hours, and time seemed to move slower than on the outside. Clive stopped, looked about the room wildly, and felt fear clawing at him like a live thing. The walls, made of uneven bricks, radiated a nigrescent gloom, illuminated only by a stub of a candle with less than an inch left. The pale flickering light did not even lighten the ceiling, which was some ten feet high.

Clive leaned against the rough wall and tried to stop the trembling in his limbs. The cell was bare except for a single cot with a fetid straw pallet and a single worn grey blanket. On one side was a wooden bench with a hole in it that obviously served the calls of nature. Beside the cot was a pitcher that held tepid water. The whole cell was rank, and Clive, who had always been hypersensitive to bad odors, had been almost overcome during his first hours there. The bucket that held waste had obviously not been emptied, and the cell was clammy with dampness and mold. Clive suddenly stepped up on the cot. It sagged under his feet, but he was able to reach the solid steel bars on the single window no more than eighteen inches square. A tiny breath of fresh air came to him, and he inhaled deeply.

Clive hung on to the bars, listening for some sound, but only muffled echoes came through the thick walls.He had put his ear to the single door in the room, but through the thick solid oak he had heard only the cadence of footsteps and nothing more.

Clive had eaten nothing since the previous day and was so weak that his legs trembled. As he tried to step off the cot, it tipped over and threw him on the floor. He fell backward and struck the back of his head on the hard stone. The world seemed to explode in a display of yellow, red, and green spots that flashed before his eyes. Groaning, he rolled over, straightened the cot, and sat down on it. He wanted to shout, to scream, to beat his hands against the door, but he had already done that, and it had served only to increase his fear. He had slept some in fitful snatches, and he had walked back and forth. The candle had burned down at least two inches, but that gave him no hint of how long he had been encapsuled in the rank cell.

He sat there with his head in his hands, his eyes shut, and a wild concatenation of thoughts raced through him.
This is only a dream—I’ll wake
up, and I’ll be back in my bed at home.
But the rank odors, the feel of the worn blanket, and the dead silence of the cell were reminders of reality.