02 - Flight of Fancy (14 page)

Quietly she passed the box to
Tommy.

“I have an awful hunch Tommy.”
She said.

“Why throw a box of expensive
cigars into concrete foundations? Yes I was thinking it looks rather suspicious
too.”

“If it was gas it had to get
into Goddard somehow.” Clara caught her brother’s eye, “He went out to smoke a
cigar the night he died.”

“It would have been quick.”
Tommy nodded, “Risky though, if he smoked indoors he could have taken out
Florence as well.”

“He never smoked indoors,
Florence never allowed it. Besides, the murderer might not have cared. Will you
ask the colonel to help you escort these to the police station and ask for them
to be tested?”

“I will, but what will you do?”

“I want to know more about
Oscar O’Harris, about his real relationship with Goddard, especially after
Susan O’Harris’ confession.”

“All right, but tread softly.”

“When do I not?” Clara
pretended to be offended, “And don’t let those cigars out of your sight until
they are in the hands of a police chemist. The colonel is still technically a
suspect after all.”

“If they find what you expect
them to find, this will narrow our search.”

“Probably.”

“I’ll get on to it right away.”
Tommy went to find the colonel while Clara approached O’Harris.

“I’ve put Tommy in charge of
the cigars.” She said casually.

“Oh, right.” O’Harris looked
distracted.

“Are you… disappointed there
wasn’t a body?”

“I don’t know.” O’Harris gave a
shrug, “Maybe. I thought we might resolve this thing once and for all.”

“Look, I could do with a hot
cup of tea after all this excitement. What do you say?”

O’Harris at last turned his
attention to Clara.

“You’re a remarkable girl.” He said
with a broad grin, “You didn’t flinch a hair when that box came up.”

Clara felt that many women
would have been of a similar stoic nature, it was only a box after all.

“I don’t really do flinching,
it is unprofessional, but I would like a cup of tea.”

“Of course.” O’Harris offered
his arm and she accepted though it seemed a trifle old-fashioned, “I’ll have
Mrs Crimps run something up at once.”

They progressed to the drawing
room and sat near the window to capture the afternoon sun.

“Were you expecting a box?”

“No.” Clara answered, “I had
really thought we might find a body.”

“I’m rather relieved – now I have
had time to think it over – that it was just a box. Though it seems strange the
cigars were thrown away. Do you suppose Flo did it? Or a servant?”

Clara was not inclined to
speculate until the verdict on the cigars was in.

“I don’t know, it might have
been an accident. Did no one miss the cigars after Goddard’s funeral? Such as
it was.”

“It was a memorial service, I
think there is something against having a funeral with no body. Anyway, there
was no one really to notice. I don’t smoke cigars, so I never would have even
thought of them and you know Flo’s thoughts on the subject.”

“Yes.” Clara gazed out the
window noticing Mr Riggs wandering across the garden, a dead rat hanging by its
tail from his hand. That was another loose end to tie up. But Mr Riggs would
never have had access to Goddard’s cigars.

“So those were your father’s
favourites?” She said to shift the subject in a more promising direction.

“Yes, he was partial to a good
cigar. The doctors said they would do his cancer the world of good, but I’m
afraid that was not the case. I always bought him a cigar for Christmas.
Something different, one he hadn’t tried before. I became quite familiar with
the inside of a tobacconist’s shop, I tell you! When I was a boy I saved up my
pennies but could only buy the cheapest of things. Despite that he always
smoked them. He made a big show of taking out the cigar I had bought and
lighting it up right after Christmas dinner. I’m sure some of them were foul
things!”

“You were close then?”

O’Harris thought for a moment.

“I would say so, well as close
as any lad is to his father. He was a good sort, always had time for me. We
used to build forts out of the dining room furniture together and he helped me
construct elaborate railway tracks for my trains. He was a fun old thing, he
liked science, not history like Goddard. History he found dull, but he liked
how you could mix two chemicals together and get the most extraordinary
reactions. He used to embroil me in his experiments. He had a book on amateur
science and he would find an experiment he fancied and have all the stuff
waiting and ready for when I was home from school. We always did the
experiments together. And he loved astronomy as well, winter and summer we
would climb to the roof of our house and gaze at the constellations.”

Clara was sure her heart was
pounding and wondered if it showed.

“Your father was a chemist
then?”

“Oh nothing as formal as that,
he just liked to dabble. He tried photography as well, that fascinated him, and
the natural world. He had a small egg collection which he was very precious
about, though he refused to take more than one egg from a nest as he didn’t
want to reduce the number of birds. He had a tame magpie, actually, well for a
year or so, then I think it flew away.”

“He sounds a very interesting
man, I’m surprised he didn’t get on better with Goddard.”

“Oh but he did, what gave you
the idea he didn’t?”

“Well, the talk of him arguing
with Goddard and then hardly visiting.”

“That?” O’Harris shook his
head, “That was a one-off nonsense over money and it wasn’t father who refused
to come here, it was mother. Yes mother got this bee in her bonnet that she
wasn’t welcome in the house and, especially after I was born, she apparently
refused to come here, except on the odd occasion. Which is quite a shame for I
don’t think Flo was really that objectionable towards her and father did miss
Goddard.”

“Really?”

“You couldn’t call them close,
not like ordinary siblings because there was such an age gap. But he respected
Goddard, always looked up to him and thought the world of him. It struck me, as
I got older, that he hero-worshipped my uncle, but I suppose that was natural
considering Goddard had been in the military and had done such marvellous
things, while my poor father remained at home and drifted about. Aside from
marrying my mother he really failed to do anything worthwhile.” O’Harris
laughed.

“And then he sadly got ill.”
Clara was rapidly piecing things together; the heroic elder brother, the
idolising younger brother, the marriage that had tipped the balance and the son
that had resulted from it.

O’Harris went quieter as talk
turned to his father’s demise.

“I sometimes wonder if there is
a streak of bad health in the O’Harris line.” He pressed the tips of his
fingers together and tapped them against his lips, “My mother and father both
died before their time. Mother was swept away by some sort of internal
complaint, the doctor was rather obtuse about the whole matter. Women’s
business I took it to mean. She died in a lot of pain and that troubled me
greatly. Dying doesn’t bother me, but pain does. I would have done anything to
spare her that.”

“Did you see her much when she was
dying?” Clara wondered if Susan O’Harris had felt like confessing all to her
son too.

“Not really, I was then at
school, for what good it did me. I really hated all that, I never could
understand how my professors could make the same science my father had made so
exciting, so utterly boring. I saw mother maybe twice before the end. It was
never made clear to me how sick she really was.”

“No doubt she wanted to protect
you.” Clara said softly, knowing she was touching raw wounds and that she would
have to go deeper to clarify her own thoughts.

“Maybe. Father’s death was
different. It took longer, I mean he was ill for a long-time and there was no
hiding it. He looked decrepit, honestly it was shocking. He tried to keep jolly
but every time I came home I saw more marks of pain on his face.”

“Cancer is awful.”

“Do you have living parents
Clara?” O’Harris asked.

She shook her head.

“I lost them both in a
bombardment. They were unlucky, they were visiting London when a Zeppelin came
over and dropped bombs.”

“That is awful.” O’Harris
reached her hand and squeezed it lightly, “I don’t know if that is worse, not
seeing it coming, or watching a person you love wither away.”

“Still, at least he was able to
write a will and even leave bequests. That was thoughtful.”

“I know, which is why it
actually pains me to think of his cigars discarded like that.” O’Harris was
baffled by the discovery, “Why would anyone throw them away?”

Clara didn’t care to voice her
theories just then. She carefully removed her hand from his.

“People behave oddly when they
are grieving.”

“It had to be aunt Flo, she was
the only one who could have had access to them.” O’Harris shook his head, “It
almost seems spiteful.”

“I think she took your uncle’s
death quite hard.”

“Do you?”

Clara was pained by the look of
hope on his face.

“But, of course, I am still
going round in circles. If we had found…” She stilled her tongue.

“If we had found a body things
would have been different, I know.” O’Harris finished for her, “As it is uncle
Goddard is missing somewhere still.”

Clara leaned back in her chair,
watching Riggs returning from his gardening duties. She sank into deep thought,
despite what she said to O’Harris things were coming together. The cigars were
more than just another clue and the motive for disposing of them could be the
key to the murderer. Hadn’t Florence encouraged the building work to continue
so that the foundations would be poured and thus she had a hiding place for
them? Or was it just coincidence? She thought of motive again, did Florence have
one? There was her husband’s affair with Susan O’Harris, but did she know about
it and, anyway, that was years before his death. If she did plot his demise it
was a long time coming, but there was one avenue Clara had almost ignored.

“Do you recall an Edward
Highgrove?” She asked casually enough, “He was a cousin of your aunt’s, I
think.”

O’Harris didn’t answer at once,
considering the question thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do
you ask?”

“His name cropped up.” Clara
admitted, “And I had the impression she was rather fond of him, even thought
about marrying him. But he went off with another girl and then Florence married
Goddard O’Harris.”

“Poor Flo.” O’Harris whistled
through his teeth, “What rotten luck. She never talked of an Edward.”

“It was just one of those loose
ends that came up.” Clara felt Edward was another dead end, too much time had
again passed for him to be a motive for murder.

“I didn’t know much of the
Highgrove family.” O’Harris added, “They were a solemn lot and really wanted
little to do with the O’Harris side of things. They didn’t like the fact that
was a touch of Irish blood in the line.”

“Ah.” Clara nodded knowingly.

They were silent a moment more
then Clara felt she could sit still no longer, she was itching to get to the
police station and see what news they had.

“I must get on captain.”

“Oh, all right.” O’Harris
smiled sadly, “Look, Clara, can I ask one more thing.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“It’s an awkward imposition, I
know, but, I would really like to have an answer to this mystery before I fly
on Saturday. It seems important, somehow, that I know before then.”

Clara felt that familiar chill
run down her spine.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“I know, but… if you could just
tell me, one way or the other, whether you think my aunt Flo killed my uncle
before Saturday, well, I could fly out with one less worry on my mind. Your
opinion counts for a lot Clara, whatever you say, I’ll believe you.”

Clara didn’t like the
responsibility being thrust upon her, she felt as though she was being asked to
decide a man’s fate.

“I’ll do my best.” She said,
really not wanting to promise anything.

“Good. I really need to know
Clara. Before Saturday, I really need to know.”

Inspector Park-Coombs gave her
a curious smile.

“You’ve really had the lab boys
in a tizzy.” He laughed, “In comes Tommy with a box of half-rotten cigars
demanding they are tested at once, murder weapons he is calling them. Says they
are filled with components to make arsine gas and that they could have killed
Goddard O’Harris. Well, you can imagine the disbelief on everyone’s faces.”

They were heading to the
laboratory at the back of the first floor of the police station, and Inspector
Park-Coombs was enjoying his story-telling.

“Of course, you can’t ignore
such a thing, not really. Not when it has been sent by Clara Fitzgerald
herself.” The inspector gave her a wink, “The box was duly sent to the lab boys
who laughed even harder than the rest of us when they were told the story.”

They reached a brown door
marked
private
. The inspector turned the handle and pushed it open. Just
beyond was a scene Clara recalled from her days at school. Not that
girls
in her school had been allowed to dabble in chemistry, but they took their
sewing class in the laboratory where the boys were allowed to conduct
experiments. The room at the police station had the same smell of spilled
chemicals and cleaning fluids and the same array of heavy brown tables, glass
vials, tubes and half-puzzled looking boys in white lab coats.

Clara stepped inside. Straight
ahead of her she spotted the open box of cigars.

“Well?” She asked the room at
large, several stunned faces turned towards her.

Inspector Park-Coombs strolled
in behind Clara.

“This is the lady who nearly
poisoned you lot.” He grinned at the assembled scientists.

There was an instant chorus of
protests:

“Should have warned us!”

“Bloody lethal!”

“Could have taken us all out!”

Clara looked at them sternly.

“You were warned.” She said
bluntly, “You chose not to believe a mere woman.”

Silence awkwardly fell.

“I take it the cigars were
definitely tainted?”

No one at first answered, the
inspector scowled at them.

“Answer the lady!” He snapped.

A white-coated man standing by
the main table in the room straightened his jacket and approached Clara.

“They were laced with various
chemicals which, when they interacted, would produce a small but lethal amount
of arsine gas.” The scientist motioned to the box, “Would you care for me to
demonstrate?”

“That won’t be necessary…”

Clara interrupted the
inspector.

“Yes, I would like to see for
myself.”

The inspector grimaced as they
were escorted to a glass box set near a window.

“This is a sealed glass
chamber.” The scientist continued, he took a cigar from the box and placed it
inside, “I’ll poke a short paper wick into the end of the cigar and light it
while the box is open. Then I will seal it tight and the wick will burn down
eventually igniting the cigar.”

He proceeded to do as he had
said. Hastily dropping the cigar into the container once the wick was lit and
closing the box. There was a sucking noise as the rubber seals around the box
lid gripped each other.

“It creates a vacuum.” The
scientist continued, “With enough air left inside to keep the wick burning.”

The wick was indeed burning
fast and within moments it reached the tip of the cigar which started to glow
red.

“Ideally it would have a person
drawing on it.” The scientist shrugged, “Understandably there were no volunteers.”

For a while the cigar burned
mildly and without any obvious result. Then a thin trail of smoke rose up.

“Is that arsine gas?” The
inspector asked nervously.

“No, that is ordinary smoke.
Arsine gas is colourless and odourless, however, when it comes into contact
with a polished piece of glass it will form a black film.” The scientist opened
a small box and produced just such a piece of glass, “Mingled with that smoke
you see is arsine gas. Should I open this box you would note a faint garlic
smell, right before you died. That is caused by the arsenical reaction which
results in the gas. On our first attempt we were slightly incautious with this
experiment, being of the opinion this was a load of nonsense. We neglected to
use a wick and the lid was still up when our man Evans caught the faintest of
aromas of garlic. We closed the lid quickly and dispersed from the room. Evans
collapsed outside the door and it took several minutes to rouse him.”

“You were lucky.” Clara nodded.

“Our next experiment we put a
mouse in the box with the cigar. It died within a second of the smoke rising
from the cigar, so we were certain then we had poisonous gas on our hands. We
had to do a few more experiments before we could confirm it was arsine.”

Clara tried not to think about
the poor mouse as she continued with the questions.

“This could kill a man?”

“Yes, virtually instantly.”

“And then the gas would
disperse?”

“Yes, arsine, unlike some gases
which are heavy and will lie close to the ground, is light and is quickly blown
away by the wind. It was probably gone within a minute or two. But it would
have lasted long enough to kill.”

“I have to hand it to you
Clara.” Park-Coombs rubbed at his chin, “You’ve unravelled this mystery for
certain. Poisoned cigars, that’s a new one.”

“The person who made this,”
Clara watched the smoke twirling in the glass box, “How knowledgeable would
they have needed to be?”

She addressed the scientist.

“About chemistry? Well, this is
actually quite sophisticated. Not something you could cook up in an afternoon.
You would need to have a working knowledge of the chemicals involved and have
done previous tests on arsenic to produce arsine gas and then you would have
had to experiment with various means of combining the chemicals to achieve the
gas when the cigar was lit. I say a person had to be confident with chemistry,
even if they weren’t a professional.”

“You have a suspect in mind
Clara?” Park-Coombs asked.

“I do, but I am afraid he is
long dead.”

The smoke twirled upwards in
the box, until abruptly the red glow of the cigar was snuffed out and the grey
smoke lingered just beneath the lid of the box.

“It’s used up all the oxygen.”
The scientist explained.

“This was a very clever way of
killing someone.” Clara was musing but she was also curious as to the other
men’s thoughts.

“It was incredibly subtle and
the incident could have occurred at any time.” Confirmed the scientist, “As far
as we can tell all the cigars were tainted. Which implies the killer wanted to
make certain the first time they were smoked they killed.”

“Thank you, you have been most
helpful.”

The scientist gave a smile that
quickly turned into a grimace.

“Next time we are sent
something based on a Clara Fitzgerald hunch, we’ll be more careful with it.”

Clara took that as an
acknowledgement of her abilities and felt satisfied with herself as she left
the room with the inspector.

“So, who committed the murder?”
Park-Coombs asked.

“A dead man. In fact he was
dead before the murder even took place.”

The inspector gave her a
doubting look.

“Those cigars were given to
Goddard O’Harris by his brother Oscar who was fascinated by amateur science and
quite good at experiments in chemistry, according to his son. He bequeathed the
cigars in his will, knowing his brother would be delighted with them because
they were more expensive than anything he smoked.”

“But he had poisoned them,
why?”

“That is complicated inspector
and not something I would care to broadcast publically.”

“Miss Fitzgerald, I am a police
inspector! I shall not say a word.”

Clara took a moment to decide.

“All right, Oscar O’Harris was
furious with his brother because on his wife’s deathbed it was revealed to him
that Captain John O’Harris was not his son, but the son of Goddard O’Harris.
Susan O’Harris, Oscar’s wife, had had a brief affair with her brother-in-law
and became pregnant as a result.”

“But that was years ago!”

“Yes, but the news was fresh to
Oscar and hurtful for a lot of reasons. Oscar could not have children, at least
that was what he had thought until the arrival of his son John. Knowing John
was really Goddard’s son was a real kick in the teeth.”

“Or, I suppose, his manhood.”
The inspector nodded with understanding, “That can make a man bitter.”

“How long after the confession
he concocted his plan we will never know. Perhaps it was when he knew he was
dying from cancer. In any case at some point he poisoned the cigars and came up
with the idea of bequeathing them to his brother.”

“They gave the appearance of a
thoughtful gift, the last act of an affectionate brother.”

“Precisely.” Clara paused in
her tracks, “Horrible, isn’t it?”

“So how did they end up in
concrete foundations?”

“I’m still working on that.”
Clara told him, before she let herself out of the police station.

Back home she slumped into her
favourite armchair beside the fire. She felt drained both emotionally and
physically. She had never expected this case to result in a happy ending for
O’Harris; she had always sensed that the crime was an ‘inside job’ as Tommy’s
American detective books put it. It had to have been committed by a member of
the family or a close friend and as such the hurt O’Harris would suffer from
the solution of it would be immense. The Millie the maid theory was long gone,
she had been a complicated diversion but in the end it seemed no one cared
enough about her to avenge her death, or at least did not suspect Goddard of
being the father of her child. Perhaps the servants understood Goddard better
than she had first thought. This shy, strange man, crippled by conflict yet
fascinated by its history, unable to come close to his wife, leaving her
unloved and, Clara supposed, their marriage unconsummated. Such a thing is
talked of among servants.

Then there was the radiant
Susan O’Harris. Had she not been so determined to secure her husband’s money no
doubt she too would have failed to attract Goddard’s attention. But she knew
how to use her body, oh she knew. Colonel Brandt might fool himself by saying
she was a ‘genuine’ actress, but there was more than a trace of whore about her
from what Clara could see. Goddard was not the first man she had seduced,
perhaps neither was he the last. But on this occasion she was careless – or
perhaps she meant to get pregnant, to have a hold over Goddard forever, to have
a knife she could stab in her husband’s back at any moment. It was just horrid,
and slap bang in the middle of it was Captain O’Harris, innocent to his parents’
failings, but ultimately the one who would suffer.

Clara groaned softly as the
inevitable headache came on. She wished she had never taken on this project,
more so she wished she had never grown to like Captain O’Harris.

Tommy wheeled himself into the
parlour.

“Well?”

“Arsine gas in every single one
of them.”

He pushed himself up to the
table, a thoughtful frown creasing his head.

“I’ve been thinking about all
this while you were gone. I went through the diaries again. It troubled me
Florence might have been involved.”

“The cigars were made by
someone with skill as a chemist, only Oscar O’Harris had that.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean
Florence was not complicit in the matter. I’ve gone through every word for a
clue on this case. I can’t say for certain Florence helped poison her husband,
but nor can I say she didn’t.”

“You mean, if she too knew
about Goddard’s infidelity she might have conspired with Oscar?” Clara’s eyes
stung and she shut them, “I don’t know, she was fond of Goddard.”

“But it had to be her that
threw away the cigars!”

Clara knew that was logical.

“I’m not convinced though.”

“There is one person who might
be able to give an insight into this, what about Colonel Brandt.”

Clara wondered if she had the
energy to go to Brandt’s club that night and fight her way past the butler.

“I take your point, I will go
and see the colonel tomorrow.”

“Good, perhaps at last this
mystery is behind us.”

Clara opened her eyes and
stared at her brother. Her older brother who she loved so dearly and was
terrified of losing.

“Tommy. Captain O’Harris has
asked me to tell him who killed his uncle before he flies on Saturday, he seems
to think it is important. I have this awful feeling…” Clara hesitated, would he
think she was making more difficulties for him, “I have this feeling he is
concluding his life here, drawing a line under it, as though he doesn’t expect
to come back.”

“Don’t worry about him, old
thing. He has a trusty co-pilot on board.” Tommy flashed her a grin and Clara
felt her resilience weaken. How could she explain that nagging doubt? It was
just a feeling anyway.

“How is Annie?” She partially
changed the subject.

“She didn’t shout at me today,
which is a start. Look, Friday night, O’Harris has asked me to spend the night
at his. You know, with the flight taking place the next morning.”

“Of course.” Clara nodded, it
was an obvious arrangement.

“You might not believe this,
old thing, but he is actually quite worried himself. I think he is looking to
me for a touch of moral support, imagine that?”

Clara smiled at him, she
realised he was enjoying being the one someone needed, the one someone relied
on. She couldn’t snatch that from him.

“Keep him company Tommy and let
him know my best wishes and prayers fly with him.”

“Didn’t think you believed, old
thing?”