Getting Away with Murder? Read online

  ‘Yes, I know the place well,’ he said, as we moved down the road to a bar of his choosing, which in itself was a measure of his present affluence. ‘Damn nice it is, too. You couldn’t do better, Tessa.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news. What is there to do there, apart from unwinding?’

  ‘To do?’ he repeated in baffled tones. ‘Why, the racing, of course. What else? Isn’t that what you’re going for?’

  ‘What racing?’

  ‘Chissingfield, my dear old imbecile. You know, National Hunt.’

  ‘Did you say Chissingfield?’

  ‘That’s right. Meetings next Friday and Saturday. If you’ve unwound enough by then, I may see you there. I’ll have a horse entered, providing we get a drop or two of rain in the meantime. Don’t want to run him on concrete. What does that faraway look in your eyes betoken? Something wrong with the drink?’

  ‘No, there’s never anything wrong with the drinks in this place, but I thought Chissingfield was in Wiltshire?’

  ‘Quite right, so it is, now you mention it.’

  ‘But Mattingly Grange is in Somerset.’

  ‘Could well be, but that doesn’t stop their being ten miles apart. Look at the map some time and you’ll see what I mean. Oh, hang on! I do believe I’m getting it.’

  ‘Getting what, Anthony?’

  ‘Chissingfield is where they had that murder a couple of years ago. Right by the race course too, to add insult to injury. Oh, blind fool that I am! I see it all clearly now.’

  ‘See what clearly?’

  ‘This story about getting away from it all was just put out to fool the gullible public. So far from dropping the case, as we’d been led to believe, the boys from Scotland Yard are now hot on the trail of fresh evidence. Robin has been selected, and right clever thinking in my opinion, to mingle in a nonchalant fashion with the race-going crowds, posing as a harmless unwinder, with both ears cocked to pick up the vital clue. And you, of course, will be at his side to lend colour to the image. Now, own up, Tessa! Just between friends, an’t I right?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, but, allowing for a few exaggerations here and there, I have a nasty feeling that you may be. And I should have fallen for it too, hook, line and the other thing, but for this timely encounter.’

  ‘Well, not complaining, are you? Right up your street, I should have thought. Solving the odd murder between professional engagements used to be your forte.’

  ‘Oh, but that was different, Anthony. That was just me, the loner, prying about and asking the sort of questions that wouldn’t occur to a policeman. But, if you’re right, this one will be played strictly according to the rules and, believe me, I shan’t be allowed within miles of it.’

  ‘So you couldn’t stop him going, even if you wanted to?’

  ‘And I don’t want to. It’ll just be interesting to see how long he thinks he can get away with it. Anyway, thanks for the drink and thanks for the tip.’

  ‘A pleasure, my dearest. I’ll do my best to provide you with further instalments of both when we meet at Chissingfield. I’ll probably be there, whether my little chap is running or not.’

  ‘Good! You’ll be able to tell me how I’m doing in my role of image bolsterer.’

  DAY ONE

  (1)

  Except for the switchboard and reception desk, the lobby might have been created by a traditional stage designer as the set for an English country drawing room. There were chintz covered armchairs, faded Persian rugs on the polished wood floors and a Chinese porcelain bowl filled with tulips on a round mahogany table between the front door and french windows to the terrace.

  All this looked promising enough, but, on the debit side, some of the flowers had a shrivelled look and the room also contained a watchful, yellow-eyed alsatian dog. It was posed like a Landseer lion on a rug near the desk and it acknowledged our arrival by slowly and deliberately rising on to its four legs and then remaining rigid, except for its tail, which switched back and forth in a neurotic and menacing fashion.

  Ignoring it, Robin strode to the desk, whereupon the dog, evidently deciding that there was no fun to be got out of this one and that it would do better to conserve its energies for more susceptible prey, returned to its former position and transferred the baleful look to me.

  Meanwhile, the tall, fair-haired young woman behind the desk remained as she had been since we came in, which was on the telephone. She was perfectly dressed to match the surroundings in a tweed skirt, pale blue pullover and single row of pearls. She looked more like the subject of a portrait photograph on page one of Country Life than a hotel receptionist and, although the speaker on the other end of the line was obviously one of those who needed to have her instructions repeated back to her at least twice before being satisfied that they were understood, the effect was deflating and anti-climactic. I daresay many newly arrived hotel guests who have met with a similar welcome at the end of a long journey will sympathise with the impulse which seized us both and was communicated in sign language, to pick up our suitcases and march straight out again. I cannot speak for Robin, but, as far as I was concerned, the only thing to deter me was the certainty that any such move would cause the alsatian to leap up and sink its teeth into me before I was halfway to the door.

  Fortunately, the dilemma was resolved in two separate ways. The telephone conversation came to an end, enabling the receptionist to give us her attention, while behind us the front door swung open to admit another member of the cast. She entered with a crab-like movement, using her left shoulder and hip to hold back the weight of the door, both arms being needed to support a huge carton of groceries. Defying the alsatian, now on its feet again, Robin went over and held the door wide open, then took the box out of her hands.

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ she said. ‘Just shove it on the table, will you. I’m Louisa, by the way, and you must be Robin Price? I recognise you by the description. And you’re Tessa, of course! No need for any description there.’

  These introductions concluded, she gave the alsatian a friendly, but well-aimed swipe round the ears, which sent it loping back to its place on the rug.

  She was a muscular, outdoor looking woman, aged somewhere between thirty and forty, with strong man-sized hands and coarse brown hair, short and stiff as a hearth brush and, in her different style, also dressed for the part, in breeches and boots and a dark green, grubby looking jersey. She gave the impression of having come from the tractor or stables, rather than the supermarket.

  ‘Welcome to Mattingly Grange!’ she announced. ‘We hope you enjoy your stay and for Pete’s sake don’t forget to ask for any tiny thing you need. And this here is Verity, by the way. She’s helping us out during the seasonal rush. How’s everything going at your end, Verity? Have you told Robin and Tessa about their rooms?’

  ‘No, sorry, Lou, there literally hasn’t been a moment to breathe. I’ve had Mr God’s secretary on the telephone for hours about his table for lunch. He’s bringing two extra, so that makes twelve. He’s sorry to land you with this at the last minute, but his daughter and a friend have turned up unexpectedly.’

  ‘Oh, Lawks! Let’s keep our fingers crossed that Jake has brought back enough lobsters. Everyone’s bound to want them, if they’re on the menu.’

  ‘I’ll go and warn him, shall I?’

  ‘No, don’t bother, I’ll see to it in a minute. Just pass over the keys for Two and Three, will you, and I’ll take the guests upstairs myself. Don’t worry about signing in, Robin. Any time will do and I’m sure you must both be dying to scrub up and sort yourselves out after the journey.’

  ‘Hey, let me take that one,’ Robin said, as she plunged towards the largest suitcase. ‘It’s much too heavy for you.’

  ‘You’d be surprised! Still, no objection to being treated like a fragile flower for once in my life. Up we go then!’ There was no lift, but numbers Two and Three were worth the climb to the second floor. They were large, airy and beautifully proportioned, with tall windows facin
g south over the garden, which merged into a downward sloping meadow, where sheep were grazing. Beyond that, looking tiny and toy-like in the distance, was a cluster of farm buildings, sheltered by a long low range of moss green hills. Louisa told us that it reminded her of the view from her dear old family home, where she had been born and brought up.

  They were communicating rooms, with a bathroom between them, and each contained twin beds, as well as a desk, some small tables and several armchairs.

  ‘So you can use them as bedroom and sitting room, or two bed-sitters, whichever you prefer,’ she explained, scooping up a puma-sized ginger cat from one of the beds, but apparently failing to notice a vacuum cleaner standing upright in the middle of the room. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Lunch is one o’clock onwards, but no hurry. We want you to relax and enjoy yourselves. And don’t forget to let us know if there’s anything you need.’

  ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ Robin remarked a few minutes later, having spent the interval staring out of the window. ‘Almost unique, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, my own interval having been spent in transferring the vacuum cleaner to the landing and inspecting the built-in cupboards, ‘a trifle slapdash and eccentric, perhaps, but I find that’s often the case with animal lovers.’

  ‘I was referring to the view, as it happens. Had you realised that what we are looking at now must be exactly the same as was seen by the people who lived here two hundred years ago?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. The farm buildings would have been quite new in those days. Some of the trees hadn’t been planted and the rest would have been about half the height they are now. And had you realised, Robin, that we’ve only been given four coat hangers between us?’

  ‘No, my mind was on higher things, but four is the most I’ll need and I foresee no difficulty in getting another four dozen for you. I hope that carping note doesn’t mean that you’ve made up your mind to dislike the place?’

  ‘No, I’m keeping an open mind. On the whole, I’m in favour and I think we should take Louisa’s advice and scrub up in good time for lunch.’

  ‘She also told us there was no hurry and that we were to relax.’

  ‘I know, but it’s ten to one and I worry about Mr God. We don’t want him and his eleven archangels scoffing all the lobster before we get a look in, do we?’

  (2)

  ‘I don’t feel so keen to get to heaven, after all,’ I remarked during lunch. ‘He looks reasonably benign, and I didn’t expect a flowing white beard, but spectacles, even gold rimmed ones, and that paunch are rather a let-down. I find the entourage disenchanting too.’

  ‘His name is Denzil Godstow,’ Robin said, ‘as I discovered during my session in the bar, while you were putting the finishing touches to sorting yourself out.’

  ‘Oh, I see! So that makes it all right for him to have a daughter. What else did you discover? Is he a local?’

  ‘Not a real one. According to Kenneth, the barman, he owns a small palace about three or four miles away, but he only uses it for the racing.’

  ‘So that disposes of another puzzle. I’d been wondering what Jock Symington was doing in celestial company.’

  ‘Which is he?’

  ‘The florid one, sitting next to the girl in the yellow suit, who is Miss God, if appearances don’t deceive. Her name is Diana, and the blonde giggler with her back to us, who they call Stephanie, must be her friend. I’ve a feeling I’ve seen Diana somewhere before, but I can’t place it.’

  ‘But I take it you have met Jock Symington?’

  ‘No, never, but he’s a very successful trainer and he’s often on television before the big race, explaining why his horse has the best chance of winning it. He’s not always right, though. Did Mr God get his name for brevity’s sake, or because he behaves as if he were?’

  ‘A bit of both, I gather. He looks quite ordinary and unassuming to me, but perhaps money does the talking for him.’

  ‘No doubt, and ruthless with it, I shouldn’t wonder. Those quiet ones are often the most dangerous. Let me have rich men about me who show off and I know where I am, but I shouldn’t care to get on the wrong side of this one.’

  Curiously enough, a moment later someone may have managed to get an inch or two on the wrong side of him, although I do not believe it was intentional. More curious still, Robin and I were partly to blame.

  I had been observing Mr God from time to time while we talked and now saw him raise his hand, not as though signalling to the waitress, but in the style of one waving to an acquaintance, to whom he was prepared to grant audience. Looking round, I saw that the chef, in full regalia, was standing in the doorway, casting an appraising eye round the room. Then, without appearing to notice the invitation from the biggest spender present, he came across to our table and introduced himself:

  ‘Hallo! I’m Jake and I just looked in to say I’m delighted to see you both. Everything all right?’

  He was a tall, thin, sad-eyed and nervous looking man, with a long nose and chin. It was impossible to tell whether the upper part of his head was in proportion to the rest because his white cap was a size too big for him and came down over his eyebrows. His manner was awkward too and, although doing his best, he gave the impression that this kind of public relations bonhomie did not come naturally to him.

  To console him, and because Robin seemed to have been rendered temporarily speechless, I said effusively:

  ‘Oh, terrific, thank you. We both adore lobster and these were really special.’

  ‘Yes, well, get them straight off the beach, kind of thing, and bring ’em back alive, so we do know they’re fresh. Glad you liked them and hope you enjoy your stay. Don’t forget to let us know if there’s anything you need.’

  Then, with the relieved air of having done what was required, he left us to return to his own regions, without so much as a glance at the big table in the centre of the room.

  I was unable to gauge Mr God’s reaction to this snub, if such he considered it to be, because my full attention was now focussed on Robin. I rarely see him fazed, but it had not escaped me that he had remained completely dumb in the presence of Jake and had looked at least as relieved to see the back of him as Jake had been to present it.

  ‘I suppose you’re wishing he hadn’t done that?’ I suggested.

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Poured incense all over us.’

  ‘Not at all. I enjoy tripping down the red carpet on the rare occasions when it’s unrolled for me.’

  ‘Only this time I had the impression that you were hoping to pass yourself off as Mr Everyman and not be singled out for special attention?’

  ‘Well, it was unexpected, I grant you, and I may not have responded with all the same gush and saccharine as you manage to throw around on these occasions, but that doesn’t happen to be my style. I am sorry if it offends you.’

  ‘Not in the least. I was only sounding you out.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Whether you’ve unwound enough to tell me why we really came here?’

  ‘Oh, honestly, Tessa, do we have to go through all that again? I can’t think why you go on about it and it’s not like you to take a dislike to something for no reason. The place seems to me to offer more or less what we were looking for, but obviously there’s no point in staying, if you’re determined to find fault with everything. If you want to move on, why not just say so?’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘We’d move on, of course.’

  ‘Would we really?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not today or tomorrow. It’s not exactly cheap, as you know, and we’ve made firm reservations for two nights, so we’re stuck with that. But I daresay you could put up with it for another forty-eight hours? At least, you won’t starve.’

  ‘I’ll put up with it for as long as you like, Robin. I don’t deny that it has a lot to recommend it, but I feel I’d enjoy it so much more if you were to tell me what’s going on.’
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  He was able to put off replying for a minute or two, because a trolley had been wheeled up to the table, allowing him to plunge into a flurry of indecision between the chocolate pudding and strawberry flan, although it was clear to me, if not to the waitress, that he had little intention of taking either.

  ‘No, after all, I shall follow your advice, Tessa, and restrain myself. Just coffee for two, please!’

  ‘That was not my advice,’ I reminded him while we waited for it to come. ‘On the contrary, I’ve been urging you to let yourself go.’

  ‘I know that, and how the hell you’ve managed to catch on to what’s been going on in my mind is something I’ll never understand. You have been referring, of course, in your oblique way, to the Chissingfield case, in which I came such an almighty cropper two years ago.’

  ‘Going on in your mind, did you say?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Where else?’

  ‘Not, by any chance, an assignment, with official backing and co-operation?’

  ‘Good God, no! And isn’t that typical? By some fluke, you get hold of the glimmerings of the right idea and then your feverish and twisted imagination goes to work and transforms it into something unrecognisable. In fact, you may be interested to hear that the reason why I didn’t want to discuss it was that for me, at any rate, the unwinding process seems to have taken hold somewhere between Hounslow and Maidenhead. By the time we arrived here I was ready to drop the whole silly idea of harking back to the past.’

  ‘You honestly mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I think I may have matured a bit during the last sixty or seventy miles. While I was standing by the window just now and looking at that view, it hit me that things had come to a pretty pass if, with all that around me, I could still allow three-quarters of my mind to dwell on unsolved crimes, long forgotten murders and all the other squalid clutter that fills my working days. I decided it wasn’t fair to you and it wasn’t good for me and the time had come to snap out of it.’