Lessons in Murder (20 page)

“She’d come up with some reasonable explanation,” said Bourke.

“I’m sure she chipped off polish while she was killing Bill Pagett, and knew that she had to do something to hide it.
She
couldn’t leave the school without being noticed, so she sent a kid. If we could only match the flakes of nail polish vacuumed up from the workroom floor. . .”

“She’ll have ditched that particular bottle of pink polish.”

“Mark, know how you said whoever it was was laughing at us? Well, I’m sure you’re right, and now Lynne Simpson believes she’s gotten away with murder twice. She makes a move, and we follow—but we don’t seem to ever get close to her. She’s puffed up with confidence and pride, and that makes her terribly dangerous.”

“She wouldn’t risk anything now.”

“Ring Bellwhether and get me the names of any teachers absent from today’s swimming carnival.” She paced around as he made the call. “Well?”

“Mrs. Farrell arranged for Sybil Quade to take the day off, so she’s away. A couple of other teachers reported in sick, but they’re nothing to do with the case. Everyone else we’re interested in has gone to the carnival, except Alan Witcombe, who’s sitting in the main office right now, entering student grades into a computer.”

“The carnival’s at Warringah Swimming Center, isn’t it? Get them on the phone. I want to be sure Lynne Simpson is there.”

Sybil looked at her watch. Only ten-thirty. The morning was dragging by like a professional cripple. The sound of someone at the door was a welcome relief.

“Hello, Syb. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“I thought you’d be at the swimming carnival,” said Sybil, standing aside.

Lynne brushed past her, laden with a huge plastic shopping bag. “Can’t leave it in the car,” she said, “Got meat and salad things in it.” She placed it carefully on the floor and turned to say, “I hope you’re not criticizing me for running out on my duty, Syb. After all, you’re here at home, not supervising wet, shrieking kids in boring races.” She looked appreciatively out at the sea. “Isn’t it a stunning day? Makes you glad to be alive.”

Lynne was her usual polished self but, rarely for her, was dressed in tailored slacks and a tunic top. She saw Sybil glance at her clothes, and said, “I’m dressed to do my duty, Syb. I endured the smell of chlorine and patter of wet feet for the first few races, and now I’ve slipped away. I volunteered to run the staff catering for the day, so I’ve got senior kids trotting around with tea, coffee and biscuits, and I’ve just ducked out to pick up cold meats and salad things for lunch. Told everyone I didn’t have time to get everything yesterday. And now that I’ve finished my chores so early, thought I’d pop up here and have a cup of coffee with you. The others can hold the fort for the moment.”

“I’ll get the coffee.”

“Let me help you,” said Lynne, picking up the shopping bag and following her out to the kitchen.

Lynne’s idea of help was to lean elegantly against the refrigerator watching Sybil spoon coffee into the percolator. She slid her gold bangles off her wrists and placed them neatly on the table. “They’re annoying me,” she said at Sybil’s surprised look.

“You’ve come a long way to do the shopping for lunch,” said Sybil, getting mugs out of the cupboard.

Lynne ignored that, saying, “Syb, is that the cupboard door you hit your cheekbone with? It was quite a spectacular bruise. I thought someone must have punched you.”

“Lynne, what do you want? You’re not just here for a friendly cup of coffee, are you?”

Lynne checked her gold watch. “No, not exactly.”

“Then what?”

Lynne’s tone was lightly conversational. “Did you sleep with Bill?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Syb. It was obvious he was hot for you. Did you give him what he wanted?”

“No, Lynne, I didn’t. Why are you asking this?”

“To give you a chance to tell the truth.” Lynne pursed her lips reflectively. “Bill said he made love to you.”

“Bill lied,” said Sybil flatly. “What does it matter now?”

“It matters to me.”

Sybil looked at her with astonishment. “What do you mean?”

Lynne was pensive. She gazed out the open kitchen door at the choko vine that threatened to overwhelm the fence. “I loved him, you know,” she remarked.

“Bill?”

“Yes. Stupid of me, wasn’t it?”

Sybil began to feel faintly alarmed. She poured the coffee into the mugs and handed one to Lynne. “You and Bill . . . I never thought . . .”

Lynne slid gracefully into a chair at the table. “No? He didn’t tell you all the details of how we made love? That surprises me. After all, he told me about what you two did together. And what he did with Hilary Cosgrove.”

“Lynne, I didn’t have any relationship with Bill at all.”

“He was obsessed with you. The others. I didn’t care much about them, but
you . . .
you were different.”

They sat facing each other at the kitchen table. Lynne played with the stack of gold bangles and sighed. “You’re really quite beautiful, you know, Syb.”

“Thanks,” said Sybil drily.

“When Bill showed me that note you wrote him he said you hated and loved him at the same time. Said you were attracted to him because he made you feel something for the first time in your life. Do you think that’s true, Syb? I always thought you were frigid, myself.”

Sybil took a deep breath. “Lynne, I don’t want to discuss any of this.”

“Do you think Bill deserved to die?”

“No, I don’t. Lynne, don’t you think you’d better be getting back to the carnival?”

Lynne checked her watch. “I’ve still got enough time.” She sipped her coffee, then said, “You know, I think if you kill someone, you’ve really taken control of your life.”

Sybil began to feel cold. “Lynne—” she began.

Lynne, reaching over to rummage in her bag, interrupted her. “Syb, darling, randy little bitch you are.” She laughed. “Deserve to lose your head.”

Sybil stared at her. “You made the phone calls.”

“Of course I did. And they were so much more fun than the letters. I made them all, and faked one to myself to fool the cops. Actually, Syb, you took it the best. I quite admired the way you kept your cool. But you always do, don’t you Syb? Even now.”

Sybil’s eyes went to Lynne’s hands. She had taken something from the shopping bag.

“Yes, Syb. It is a rifle. One of Terry’s rifles, actually. Had to saw off most of the barrel to make it easy to conceal, but it’ll still hit something at close range quite satisfactorily. Careless of you never to lock your garage, Syb. Made it simple to plant the metal filings and the rest of the barrel during a couple of free periods I had yesterday. I’ll leave it to the police to work out why you bothered to cut it at all.”

Lynne seemed quite relaxed, but the black eye of the barrel pointed without wavering at Sybil’s face. “Don’t try and move, Syb. I need powder burns on your skin. Oh, I see from your expression you understand. You always were bright, weren’t you?” Lynne leaned back and flipped the telephone receiver off its cradle. “To prevent interruptions,” she said cheerfully.

Sybil was clammy with perspiration. She saw Carol’s face in her mind. I love you, she thought. Clearing her tightening throat, she said, “Lynne, why are you going to kill me?”

Lynne was delighted with her. “I knew you wouldn’t use the old cliché about how I must be mad or try to persuade me to let you go. You’ve already worked out that would be hopeless, haven’t you? Now I’ve gone this far, I have to finish it. I’m really sorry, Syb. I’ve always liked you.”

“Not enough, it seems.”

“Oh, Syb. I’ll miss your dry sense of humor.” She shrugged. “But, what can I do?”

“At least tell me why.”

Lynne checked her watch. “Okay, but I’ll have to be brief. I’ve got to get back. I did all the shopping yesterday, of course, and it’s all ready to go, so I only have to appear with the goodies. It’s not really an alibi, but it’ll do, especially as you’ve committed suicide, not been murdered.”

Sybil really couldn’t believe it. She went to stand up, and the barrel followed her. “No, Syb. Live a little bit longer. You’ll find every second counts.” Sybil stared at the attractive, perfectly made-up face and subsided in her chair.

“Can’t you hurry it up, Mark?”

He shook his head. “The pool attendant’s gone to find a teacher.” The distant receiver had been flung down, and all Bourke could hear was the muted shrieks of students and a disjointed conversation between two loud-voiced people near the phone.

Carol paced up and down. “Mark?”

“It sounds like a riot’s going on,” he observed. “Oh, hello, this is Detective Bourke,” he began, as someone picked up the phone at the other end.

Prickling with anxious impatience, Carol hovered near the desk. Bourke’s face was sober as he replaced the receiver. “Sorry that took so long, but no one seems able to find Lynne Simpson, and her car’s gone. They think she’s left to get food for the staff lunch.”

Carol snatched the phone and dialed. “Sybil Quade’s number,” she said to Bourke’s raised eyebrows. She slammed it down. “It’s busy.”

• • •

“You know,” said Lynne, “I find I want to share what I’ve done, Syb. I suppose you realize I got rid of your husband for you? You have to admit he was no loss.”

“How did you do it?” asked Sybil, adding silently—Carol help me.

“Tony? He came to me after the argument he had with Bill over you. He stayed with me Sunday night, and on Monday, when he found out what had happened to Bill, he went into shock. I persuaded him to stay out of sight, and he did. But he knew how I felt about Bill, was asking too many questions, getting too difficult, so I decided to get rid of him. I said I’d told you he was back, and that you wanted to meet him up on Bellwhether Headland late at night. I was kind enough to offer to drive him up there—I said you’d have your car and the two of you would go off together. That fed his ego, so he agreed. Had the baseball bat you obligingly handed back to me when I was on duty in the sports store a couple of weeks ago. The one I used on Bill. You know, Syb, I was quite good at sports when I was at school. It was really laughably simple. It’s nerve you know, if you’ve got nerve you can do anything.”

She smiled at Sybil’s expression. “Oh, come on, Syb. He was a bastard, and you know it. And so full of himself, he never even thought of me as a threat. I hit him across the side of the head as he walked up and down, asking where you were. Perhaps you’ll be flattered to know he was so impatient to see you. I didn’t want to kill him straight out and then have to drag his body to the cliff, so I waited till he was semi-conscious and then helped him to his feet and steered him towards the edge. I got him to stand there, dazed, then a quick shove sent him over. He didn’t even scream. I checked he hadn’t fallen on a ledge or anything, then I left.” She frowned at Sybil. “Oh, and I went back after the body had been found and planted the baseball bat. It was stupid of me, actually—should have done it right away. Hoped there might be some of your fingerprints on it. Were there?”

“Yes.”

“You know, Syb, I’m a bit disappointed at the police. Would have thought their forensic people could have tested the bat properly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I used it on Bill, and then on Tony, but no one’s even mentioned that the same weapon was used. Slack, isn’t it?” Her smile returned. “You know, I planned everything so well—for example, I hit Bill the way a left-hander would.”

“You wanted me arrested.”

“I did. But Carol Ashton isn’t going to arrest you, is she?
I
would, if I were her. Look at the meat on your Black and Decker—thought it was a nice touch, maybe a bit over the top, but quite in character . . . you always like to be prepared, don’t you Syb? That’s why your suicide is going to be so neat. There won’t be a note, of course, but the general impression will be that you were finally unable to cope with the pressure of investigation—Carol Ashton has been hounding you, of course—and your own feelings of guilt.”

“That’s very creative, Lynne.”

“I’ll remember you were sarcastic at the end, Syb. I really like you, you know.”

Carol? Sybil thought.

“Inspector Ashton’s gone to Sybil Quade’s place with Constable Richards,” said Bourke to the young uniformed officer. “You’re coming with me to Warringah Swimming Center . . . I don’t care if you’ve got something else to do this is urgent!”

• • •

Lynne checked her watch again. “Not much time, Syb.”

At Sybil’s convulsive movement she stood, scraping the chair against the floor. The eye of the barrel was still centered on Sybil’s face. “Everyone wants to live,” she said conversationally. “So it would be stupid to do anything impulsive.” She smiled. “Why, Syb, someone might rescue you yet. Terry, for instance. Pity he’s going to miss his opportunity. He’s rostered to start races all morning. Rather amusing to think of him with a little starting pistol, when I’ve got his rifle. Do you think after your suicide he’ll ever forgive himself for not noticing you’d taken his gun?”

Sybil sat apparently still, but she was slowly gathering her feet underneath her. There’s a chance I can deflect the barrel, she thought, only a chance, but it’s better than sitting here and waiting for a bullet.

“I think I’ll shoot out one of your eyes,” said Lynne, “then you won’t be so beautiful, Syb. You know, I had a choice about killing Bill. My first idea was to drill out his eyes, but when it came to the crunch, I just couldn’t do it. Besides, I wasn’t sure that would kill him. It’s so ironic, Syb, that Tony was the one to give me the perfect method. One evening at Bill’s place he was telling us about his uncle who gives pathology evidence in murder cases. It was absolutely fascinating. Isn’t it funny how you learn useful things, but you don’t realize it at the time?”

“Why did you use a drill at all?”

“Oh, Syb! You disappoint me. Industrial Art! Surely you can see analogies between his work and his behavior and an electric drill? I left him arranged in a sort of tableau though I suppose the police are too stupid to understand the symbolism.” Her cheerfulness evaporated. “And I don’t believe you when you say you didn’t make love with Bill. I know you did. He enjoyed telling me those details about the things you used to do with him.”