The Affair of the Mutilated Mink (17 page)

'Just then I heard a sound from Signorina Lorenzo's room, a sort of muffled groan. I hesitated a moment, then tapped on the door. There was no reply. I called out softly, just asking if she was all right. But still there was no answer. So I pushed the door open wide and stepped into the room. It was terribly hot in there, like a greenhouse. There was a huge fire in the hearth, and on the rug in front of it Signorina Lorenzo was lying.

'I started to move towards her. As I did so, someone gave me a tremendous shove in the back. It sent me staggering right across the room, nearly falling. At that moment I heard a gunshot in the doorway behind me. I managed to stop myself and spun round. But by then there was nobody there. For a few seconds I dithered - couldn't decide whether to run to the door or go to Signorina Lorenzo. At last I went to her and saw the bullet wound. I just stood there. I couldn't take it in properly. A few seconds later Lady Geraldine arrived. The rest you know. And that I swear is the truth.'

Wilkins dropped the stub of his cigarette on the floor, stepped on it, and with his toe flicked it out of sight under the table. 'What do you know about the lady's mink coat being missing?' he asked.

Paul looked bewildered. 'Missing? You mean stolen? It's the first I've heard of it.'

'Well, I assure you it is. And it provides a quite adequate motive for murder. If you'd decided to steal it - thrown it out of the window to a confederate, say - and the lady caught you in the act, you'd have had to silence her.'

'That's absolutely crazy! Why on earth should I want the woman's confounded coat?'

'It's worth two thousand pounds.'

'I don't need two thousand pounds.'

'So you say.'

'Check with my bank, my brokers. Get on to them now.' He broke off and looked at his watch. 'Well, it'll have to be Monday now, I suppose. They'll confirm what I say.'

Wilkins shrugged, 'If you say so, no doubt they will. But robbery isn't the only motive for murder.'

'But I didn't have any motive!' Paul said desperately. 'I'd never set eyes on the woman until two days ago. I talked to her for about ten minutes in the library on Friday morning, and apart from that I just made a few casual remarks to her, always with other people present. Check up as much as you like. Or do you think I'm just a homicidal sex maniac, or something?'

'Oh, no, this case doesn't bear the marks of that sort of crime.'

'Then please, please believe me. When I went through that bedroom door Laura Lorenzo was already dead.'

Wilkins regarded Paul silent for a few moments. Then, 'I believe you,' he said.

* * *

Paul sat motionless, his eyes fixed on Wilkins. It was as if for seconds be could not properly comprehend what had been said. Then his expression changed. Care was magically wiped from his face.

He slumped back in his chair. 'Oh, what a relief! But why? I mean, what . . . ?'

'Oh, a number of reasons. Mainly because as things stand it's all too pat, too obvious. What's more, you, if I may say so, seem a highly intelligent young gentleman. I'm quite sure that if you were going to shoot somebody, you wouldn't be so careless as to let yourself be accidentally found standing over the body, holding a gun.'

For the first time in many hours, Paul grinned. 'Well, thanks.' He stood up suddenly. 'Can I go now?'

'Yes, sir. Do you want to go back to Alderley?'

'Well, I'd better collect my car and my other things. But I won't stay. Far too embarrassing, with all the rest of them no doubt still thinking I'm a murderer. No, I'll go back to London, until such time as you nail the real killer. Gosh, though, half an hour ago I never thought I'd be officially in the clear as quickly as this.'

'Now hold on,' Wilkins said. 'Don't get carried away. I don't say you're out of the woods yet.'

Paul froze. He stammered, 'But - but you said that, that you believe—'

'What I believe isn't really all that important, sir. As you said, there's a very strong case against you. To most people, including I strongly suspect my chief, and perhaps the Director of Public Prosecutions, it's likely to seem overwhelming. Then there's the question of public opinion. If no new evidence comes to light which either clears you or points to someone else, then I — or one of my colleagues — may be forced by circumstances to arrest and charge you.'

'And you said no innocent man gets convicted of murder?'

'I don't say you'll be convicted. But you may have to go through a very unpleasant couple of months before you're acquitted.'

Paul ran his fingers through his hair. 'This is ghastly. What on earth can I do?'

'Well, in the first place, sir, I suggest you go back to Alderley and stay there, rather than return to London.'

'But why?'

'For one thing, it'll look good from your point of view - the open act of an innocent man, not like someone with a guilty conscience running away. Secondly, if you were framed, you were framed by one of the guests in the house. I discount the servants - they've all been there donkey's years - and of course the family. On the other hand, I can't ask
them
to report or spy on their guests.'

'Is that what you want me to do?'

'I'd rather not put it in those words.'

'But, look, they're convinced I'm a killer. They're not likely to be friendly, or to allow me to pump them.'

'No, but you'll
be
there. You see, I want someone who can watch people, can gauge reactions — both to your return and to the realization that the police aren't satisfied, that we're still investigating.'

Paul nodded thoughtfully. 'And as the person who was the victim of the frame-up, I'm the only one of the guests in the clear, the only one you can trust. Yes, I see.'

'
Officially
you're still a suspect, mind you, though just one of eight or nine. You've been released, pending further enquiries into the feasibility of your story and the possibility of somebody else's guilt. Though if you want to tell them that I personally believe you, you can. Will you do it?'

'I haven't got much choice, have I? You've as good as told me that if I don't help you spot the real killer I'll be re-arrested.'

'Put in that way, it sounds like blackmail, sir, but I assure you it isn't that. You're free to return to London, if you wish. It's just that I need all the help I can get to have any hope of cracking this case. We're dealing here with a very good brain.'

'But you will get him eventually?'

'I'd like to think so, Mr Carter. But without help, frankly I'm not sanguine, not sanguine at all.'

* * *

It was just after one when Paul got back to Alderley and, his heart in his mouth, mounted the steps to the big front door. As he approached it, it was opened from the inside and Gerry stood in the doorway. For about five seconds she just stared at him. Then she ran forward and threw herself into his arms.

'Oh, Paul,' she said. 'Oh, Paul.'

He clasped her to him. 'This makes it all worthwhile,' he murmured.

She drew back and looked up at him, bewilderment mixed with her pleasure. 'But why? I don't understand. What's happened? They said you'd given yourself up to the police.'

'I did. They let me go.'

She gave a gasp of delight. 'You mean they believe you?'

'Your Inspector Wilkins does.'

'Oh, good old Wilkins! I knew he wouldn't let me down!'

'I'm not completely in the clear yet, Gerry.'

Her face fell. 'What do you mean?'

'I'll tell you in a minute - inside. Listen, where is everybody? Having lunch?'

'Yes. I didn't want any.'

'So nobody else knows about my being free?'

'Not yet.'

'Well, I want to surprise them. But first I've got to clean up. Can I get up to my room without being seen?'

'I don't see why not.'

She turned, ventured just inside the front door, looked around the hall, then beckoned him. 'All clear.'

He went in and together they hurried upstairs and along the corridor to his bedroom. Once inside he gave a sigh of relief.

He said, 'First of all, sorry about pinching your car. It was a spur of the moment thing. It didn't seem a very good idea to take my own - not with the top stuck down, and less than a gallon of petrol in the tank.'

'Oh, that's all right, silly.'

'You got it back?'

'Yes, the police brought it. But forget the car. Explain what you meant about not being in the clear.'

He did so, ending by saying, 'So I thought if I could spring myself on them, while they were all together, and didn't even know I was here, it would be a good opportunity to gauge reactions.'

'You mean while they're at lunch?'

'Yes; have I got time?'

'I should think so. They've only just started.'

'Good. So what I want now is a quick wash, shave and change of clothes. Then will you go into the room with me and help watch their faces?'

She shook her head.

'You won't?' He looked amazed.

'Not
their
faces, Paul. There's only one face
I'm
going to be watching: Arlington Gilbert's.'

* * *

'You let him go?' the Chief Constable of Westshire, Colonel Melrose exclaimed incredulously.

'Er, yes sir,' Wilkins said.

'Are you out of your mind, man?'

Wilkins shuffled his feet like a schoolboy before his headmaster. The Chief Constable gazed at him helplessly, his honest, if not very intelligent, face displaying a combination of anger and bewilderment.

Colonel Melrose was popular with his men. Though a strict disciplinarian, he was basically kindly, scrupulously fair, backed them to the hilt when they did their best, and never used his position to fix his friends' speeding tickets. Moreover, he mostly left them alone to get on with their cases without interference. Occasionally, however, when people with whom he was personally acquainted were involved in criminal matters, he did feel obligated to take a closer interest in the investigation than usual. This, though, was not to help them get off lightly; rather in fact the opposite. He was determined to insure that none of his officers went easy on friends of the boss. As a long-time acquaintance of Lord Burford, it seemed he was going to make the latest Alderley murder one such case.

Wilkins sighed inwardly. Admirable though his chief was in the most ways, criminal investigation was not his forte. The lack of imagination, stubbornness and slight stupidity that had prevented him reaching the highest ranks of the army became all too obvious in such cases. Wilkins could see trouble looming on this one.

'I don't think I'm out of my mind, sir,' he answered.

'Then why the blue blazes did you do it? Here's a bloke, found standing over the woman's body, the murder weapon in his hand—'

Wilkins interrupted adroitly. 'That's been conformed, has it, sir? I haven't seen the ballistics report.'

'Yes, I got a copy a few minutes ago. But surely, you didn't think the gun Carter was holding wasn't the murder weapon, did you?'

'Wouldn't be the first time something like that's happened at Alderley, sir.'

The Chief Constable fingered his moustache. 'No, point there. But Wilkins, this isn't a case like that one. It's open and shut, You can't let the chap go.'

'But I have, sir.'

'Then you can pick him up again.'

'I'd much rather not, sir, really.'

'But we'll be laughing-stocks - with the press, the other police forces. This case is going to get a shocking amount of publicity, once the papers hear about it. Italian actress, Olympic athlete, stately home. And to cap it all that blessed Yankee film star staying at the house at the time. We must get the killer charged and brought before the Magistrate quickly, so it becomes
sub judice
. There's no time to lose.'

'I'm aware of that, sir.'

'Then why don't you want to arrest the chap?'

'Because if I do, sir, I'm convinced I'll have to let him go again. And that
would
make, us laughing-stocks.'

'But why should you have to?'

'Because sooner or later some new piece of evidence is going to turn up that would force me to.'

'But the shot, the gun in his hand . . .'

'I know all about that, sir. Carter says it was a frame-up.'

'You can't believe that.'

'I do, sir.'

'Great Scott.'

Colonel Melrose sat down suddenly, a blank expression on his face. After a few seconds he asked, 'Any evidence as to who might have been responsible for this - frame-up?'

'No evidence at all yet, sir.'

Colonel Melrose said quietly, 'I'm speechless, Wilkins.'

'I'm sorry about that, sir. But this is how I see it: frame-ups are very difficult things to arrange. There are too many imponderables, too much that can go wrong. They may hold for a while, but not for long. Sooner or later some fresh piece of information comes to light that blows the whole thing sky-high. That's what I expect to happen in this case.'

The Chief Constable sat silently for several moments. Then he said slowly, 'Do I take it, then, that you refuse to arrest Carter?'

Wilkins looked unhappy. 'Well, of course, sir, if you order me to . . .'

'I don't want to do that.'

Abruptly Colonel Melrose stood up again. 'How about a drink?'

'Oh, thank you, sir. I wouldn't say no to a Scotch and soda.'

Colonel Melrose crossed to a glass-doored cabinet and there was a clink of glasses for a few seconds. Then he came back, handed Wilkins a glass and raised his own. 'Well, bung-ho.'

'Down the hatch, sir.'

They both drank. When the Chief Constable spoke again it was with a confidential air. 'Wilkins, you've had a lot of these cases, haven't you — these involved, difficult murder cases, I mean?'

'Too many, sir.'

'Perhaps so. And I suppose one of the worst was that other business at Alderley, what?'

'It took a bit of unravelling.'

'Had some help there, didn't you?'