Original Sin (49 page)

“I won’t talk except to you.”

Kate, disconcerted, trying to conceal her disappointment and chagrin, rose from her seat but Dalgliesh motioned her to stay and drew up a chair beside her.

Daisy said: “You think Auntie Esmé was murdered, don’t you? What will you do to him when you’ve caught him?”

“If the court finds him guilty then he’ll go to prison. But we can’t be certain that Mrs. Carling was murdered. We don’t yet know how or why she died.”

“Mrs. Summers at school says that putting people in prison doesn’t do them any good.”

Dalgliesh said: “Mrs. Summers is right. But people aren’t usually sent to prison to do them good. Sometimes it’s necessary to protect other people, or to deter, or because society cares deeply about what the guilty person has done and the punishment reflects that concern.”

Oh God, thought Kate, are we expected to spend time discussing the case for custodial sentences and the philosophy of judicial punishment? But Dalgliesh was obviously prepared to be patient.

“Mrs. Summers says that executing people is barbaric.”

“We don’t execute people any longer in this country, Daisy.”

“They do in America.”

“Yes, in some parts of the United States, and in other countries too, but it doesn’t happen any longer in Britain. I think you know that, Daisy.”

The child, thought Kate, was being deliberately obstructive. She wondered what Daisy thought she was doing, apart, of course, from playing for time. Silently she cursed Mrs. Summers. She had known one or two of her kind in her old schooldays, principally Miss Crighton who had done her best to dissuade her from joining the police on the grounds that they were the oppressive fascist agents of capitalist authority. She would have liked to have asked the child what Mrs. Summers would have done with Mrs. Carling’s murderer, if murderer there was, apart of course from giving him sympathy, counselling him and sending him on a world cruise. Better still, it would have been agreeable to take Mrs. Summers to view some of the victims of murder and to face the murder scenes she, Kate, had had to face. Irritated by the resurgence of old prejudices, old resentments which she thought she had conquered, and of memories she preferred to forget, she kept her eyes on Daisy’s face. Mrs. Reed said
nothing but pulled on her cigarette vigorously. The air became disagreeably smoky.

Sitting close to the child, Dalgliesh said: “Daisy, we need to find out how and why Mrs. Carling died. It could have been by her own hand, and it is possible, just possible, that she was murdered. If she was, we have to find out who was responsible. That is our job. That is why we are here. We’ve come because we think you can help.”

“I’ve told that inspector and the woman police officer what I knew.”

Dalgliesh didn’t reply. The silence and what it implied obviously disconcerted Daisy. After a short pause she said defensively: “How do I know you won’t try to pin Mr. Etienne’s murder on Auntie Esmé? She said you might try, she thought you might fit her up.”

Dalgliesh said: “We don’t think Mrs. Carling had anything to do with Mr. Etienne’s death. And we won’t pin the murder on anyone. What we’re trying to do is to find out the truth. I think I know two things about you, Daisy; that you are intelligent and that, if you promise to tell the truth, then it will be the truth. Will you promise?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’m asking you to trust us. You have to make up your own mind whether you can. That’s an important decision for you to have to make, but you can’t escape it. Only, don’t lie. I would rather you told us nothing than that you lied.”

This is a high-risk strategy, thought Kate. She hoped that they were not now about to hear how Mrs. Summers had warned the children never to trust a policeman. Daisy’s piggy eyes looked straight into Dalgliesh’s. The silence seemed interminable.

Then Daisy said: “All right. I’ll tell the truth.”

Dalgliesh’s voice didn’t change. He said: “When Inspector Aaron and the WPC came to see you, you told them that you have been spending your evenings in Mrs. Carling’s flat to do your homework and have supper with her. Is that true?”

“Yes. Sometimes I went to sleep in her spare room and sometimes on the couch, and then Auntie Esmé would wake me up and bring me back here before Mummy got home.”

Mrs. Reed broke in: “Look, the kid was safe here. I always double-locked the door when I left and she had her own keys. And I left a phone number. What was I bloody well supposed to do? Take her with me to the club?”

Dalgliesh ignored her. His eyes were still on Daisy.

“What did you do together?”

“I did my homework and sometimes she did some writing, and then we used to watch telly. She let me read her books. She has a lot of books about murders, and she knew all about real-life murders. I used to take my supper in with me and sometimes I would have some of hers.”

“It sounds as if you had happy evenings together. I expect she was glad of your company.”

“She didn’t like being alone at night. She said she could hear noises on the stairs and she didn’t feel safe even with the door double-locked. She said that someone who had a second pair of keys could be careless with them and then a murderer could get hold of them and come creeping up the stairs and let himself into the flat. Or, she said, he could be on the roof after dark and let himself down with a rope and get in at the window. Sometimes at night she could hear him tapping against the pane. It was always worse when there was something frightening on the telly. She never liked to watch the telly by herself.”

Poor kid, thought Kate. So these were the vividly imagined horrors from which Daisy, left alone night after night, had
taken refuge in Mrs. Carling’s flat. What, she wondered, was Esmé Carling escaping from? Boredom, loneliness, her own imagined fears? It was an unlikely friendship, but each had met the other’s need for companionship, a sense of security, the small domestic comforts of a home.

Dalgliesh said: “And you told Inspector Aaron and the woman police officer from the Juvenile Bureau that you were in Mrs. Carling’s flat from six o’clock on Thursday the fourteenth of October, the night Mr. Etienne died, until she took you home at about midnight. Was that true?”

Here at last was the crucial question and it seemed to Kate that they waited for it with bated breath. The child still gazed calmly at Dalgliesh. They could hear her mother pulling on her cigarette, but she didn’t speak.

The seconds passed, then Daisy said: “No, it wasn’t true. Auntie Esmé asked me to lie for her.”

“When did she ask you to do that?”

“On Friday, the day after Mr. Etienne was killed, when she met me out of school. She was waiting at the gate. Then she came home with me by bus. We sat upstairs in the bus where there weren’t many people and she told me that the police would be asking where she was and I was to tell them that we had spent the evening and the night together. She said they might think she had killed Mr. Etienne because she was a crime writer and knew all about murder and because she was very clever at devising plots. She said the police might try to pin it on her because she had a motive. Everyone at Peverell Press knew that she hated Mr. Etienne for turning down her book.”

“But you didn’t think she’d done it, did you Daisy? Why was that?”

The sharp little eyes still looked into his. “You know why.”

“Yes, and so does Inspector Miskin. But tell us.”

“If she had done it she would have come here late that night before Mummy was home and asked for the alibi then. She never asked until the body was discovered. And she didn’t know when it was Mr. Etienne had died. She said I was to be sure to give an alibi for the whole evening and the night. Auntie said we had to tell the same story because the police would try to catch us out. So I told that Inspector everything that had happened except for what we saw on the television, but it had all happened the night before.”

Dalgliesh said: “That’s the most reliable way of fabricating an alibi. Essentially you’re telling the truth so you don’t have to fear that the other person will say something different. Was that your idea?”

“Yes.”

“We must hope, Daisy, that you don’t go in for crime in a serious way. Now this is very important and I want you to think hard before you answer any of my questions. Will you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Did your Aunt Esmé tell you what happened at Innocent House on that Thursday night, the night that Mr. Etienne died?”

“She didn’t tell me very much. She said that she’d been there and seen Mr. Etienne but that he was alive when she left. Someone had rung him to go upstairs and he’d told her he wouldn’t be long. But he was long so she got tired of waiting. She said in the end she left.”

“She left without seeing him again?”

“That’s what she said. She said she waited and then she got frightened. It’s terrible at Innocent House when all the staff have left and it’s cold and silent. There was a lady who killed herself there and Mrs. Carling says that sometimes her ghost walks. So she didn’t wait for Mr. Etienne to come back. I asked her if she’d seen the murderer and she said, ‘No,
I didn’t see him. I don’t know who did it, but I know who didn’t do it.’ ”

“Did she say who?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you whether it was a man or a woman, the person who didn’t do it?”

“No.”

“Daisy, did you gain any impression that she was speaking of a man or a woman?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you anything else about that night? Try to remember her exact words.”

“She did say something, but it didn’t make sense, not then. She said, ‘I heard the voice, but the snake was outside the door. Why was the snake outside the door? And it was a funny time to borrow a vacuum cleaner.’ She said it very low, as if she was speaking to herself.”

“Did you ask her what she meant?”

“I asked her what kind of snake? Was it a poisonous snake? Did the snake bite Mr. Etienne? And she said, ‘No, it wasn’t a real snake, but maybe it was lethal enough in its way.’ ”

Dalgliesh said: “ ‘I heard the voice, but the snake was outside the door. And it was a funny time to borrow a vacuum cleaner.’ Are you sure of those words?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t say his voice or her voice?”

“No. She said what I told you. I think she wanted to keep some of it secret. She liked secrets and mysteries.”

“When did she next speak to you about the murder?”

“The day before yesterday when I was here doing my homework. She said she was going on Thursday night to Innocent House to see somebody. She said ‘They’ll have to go on publishing
me now. I can make sure of that, anyway.’ She said she might want me to give her another alibi but she wasn’t sure yet. I asked her who she was going to see and she said she wouldn’t tell me for the time being, it had to be a secret. I don’t think she was ever going to tell me. I think it was too important to tell anyone. I said, ‘If you’re going to see the murderer, he might kill you too,’ and she said she wasn’t that silly, she wasn’t going to see any murderer. She said, ‘I don’t know who the murderer is, but I may do after tomorrow night.’ She didn’t say anything else.”

Dalgliesh held out his hand across the table and the child clasped it. He said: “Thank you Daisy. You’ve been very helpful. We shall have to ask you to write this down and sign it but not now.”

“And I won’t be put in care?”

“I don’t think there’s any chance of that, is there?” He looked at Mrs. Reed who said grimly: “That kid goes into care over my dead body.”

She was seeing them out when, apparently on impulse, she slipped out after them and closed the door. Ignoring Kate she spoke directly to Dalgliesh: “Mr. Mason, he’s Daisy’s headmaster, says she’s clever, I mean really clever.”

“I think she is, Mrs. Reed. You should be proud of her.”

“He thinks she could get one of them government grants to go to a different school, a boarding school.”

“What does Daisy think?”

“She says she wouldn’t mind. She isn’t happy at the school where she is. I think she’d like to go but she doesn’t like to say so.”

Kate felt a spurt of mild irritation. They needed to get on. There was Mrs. Carling’s flat to examine and the literary agent was expected at 11.30.

But Dalgliesh showed no sign of impatience. He said: “Why don’t you and Daisy talk it over at length with Mr. Mason? Daisy has to be the one to decide.”

Mrs. Reed still lingered, looking at him as if there was something else she needed to hear, some reassurance that only he could give.

He said: “You mustn’t think that it’s necessarily wrong for Daisy because it happens to be convenient for you. It could be the right thing for both of you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she whispered and slipped back into the flat.

Mrs. Carling’s flat was one floor down and at the front of the building. The heavy mahogany door was fitted with a keyhole and with two security locks, a Banham and an Ingersoll. The keys turned easily and Dalgliesh pushed open the door against the shifting weight of a pile of post. The hall smelled musty and was very dark. He felt for the light switch and pressed it down to reveal at a glance the simple layout of the flat, a narrow hall with two doors facing him and one at each end. He bent down to pick up the assorted envelopes and saw that they were merely circulars, with two obvious bills and an envelope which exhorted Mrs. Carling to open it immediately and win the chance of half a million. There was also a sheet of folded paper with a message in a laborious hand. “Sorry I can’t come tomorrow. Have to go to clinic with Tracey on account of high blood pressure. Hope to see you next Friday. Mrs. Darlene Morgan.”

Dalgliesh opened the door immediately ahead and switched on the light. They found themselves in the sitting room. The two windows overlooking the street were close-shut, the curtains of red velvet half-drawn. At this height there was no risk
of prying eyes even from the top deck of buses but the bottom halves of both windows were curtained in a patterned net. The main artificial light came from an inverted glass bowl painted with a faint design of butterflies which hung from a central rose on the ceiling, the glass spotted with the black shrivelled bodies of trapped flies. There were three table lamps with pink-fringed shades, one on a small table beside a fireside chair, one on a square table set between the two windows and the third on a huge roll-top desk against the left-hand wall. As if desperate for light and air, Kate drew back the curtains and pushed open one of the windows then went round the room and switched on all the lights. They breathed the cool air which gave the illusion of country freshness, and looked round at a room they could at last see clearly.