The Devil in Disguise (30 page)

‘He wanted to convince me - and the police - that there was something strange and sinister about the death of Luke Dessaur. If Luke had been murdered, then Ashley had a watertight alibi because he was with you in Toronto at the time.'

‘Just as he was in France when my father was killed,' she said. ‘He was repeating an old trick.'

Harry was thinking aloud. ‘The next step was to link Roy's death with Luke's. If Roy's death was regarded as an accident, fine. But even better if people thought he'd murdered Luke and then committed suicide. Poetic justice of a sort. Either way, Ashley was safe from suspicion. Before you left for Canada, Luke told Ashley that one of the Kavanaugh trustees was on the take. He was too discreet to name the person he had in mind, either to Ashley or me. Ashley assumed that Roy must be the culprit. It was a logical mistake. He knew Roy was greedy...'

‘Roy was blackmailing Ashley,' Melissa said wearily. ‘That's why Ashley killed him. Roy had no need to steal from the Trust.'

‘Ashley won't have seen it like that. He knew Roy of old, he didn't put anything past him. Besides, Roy was the obvious suspect. Frances, Tim and Matthew Cullinan seemed beyond reproach.'

‘Ashley was supposed to be Roy's oldest friend,' she said, ‘but the truth is that he'd always envied Roy,' she said. ‘Feared him, too. Ashley lived in a fantasy world. Roy was a doer.'

‘Once I learned that Luke had confronted Cullinan about the missing money, I started to question everything Ashley had told me. If Roy had no motive, then either Luke had been murdered by someone else - or not been murdered at all. This evening I finally made sure Luke did kill himself.'

‘You know about Bruce Carpenter?'

He was surprised. ‘Yes. Do you?'

She sighed. ‘The last time we spoke, Ashley told me the whole story.'

‘Would you tell me? Please?'

She swallowed before saying, ‘Luke was drunk and desperate. He tried to ring Ashley in Toronto. He trusted Ashley, had no-one else he felt he could confide in. When he couldn't get through, he decided it was Fate. He was meant to die. He scribbled a note to Ashley and went downstairs and put it in the hotel postbox. It was waiting for us when we got back to Britain, but Ashley told no-one. He wanted to make use of it. He was fond of Luke, but he wasn't above exploiting his godfather's death for his own purposes.'

‘The way I picture it, Luke went up to his room and drank too much whisky. Then he wriggled through the window and chucked himself out. Messy, but quick.'

‘That's what he said he was going to do in the note. It was maudlin stuff, Ashley said. He'd been heartbroken when we got the news that Luke was dead. He had no idea that Luke was gay.'

‘Ashley portrayed himself as Roy's loyal friend,' Harry said. ‘But when I remembered what he had said to me, I realised he'd done nothing to dispel the suggestion that Roy was on the fiddle from the Trust. I found myself wondering if Ashley had concocted an elaborate scheme to frame Roy - and then kill him. Neat: he transformed a suicide into a murder and dressed up a murder of his own as suicide.'

‘He'd read too many books,' Melissa said sourly. The last of the Hare novel was curled and browning on the fire. She took the next book from the pile.
After the Funeral
.

‘I suppose that once he hit upon the idea, he found it irresistible. After all, he'd spent a lifetime soaked in mystery fiction - why not create a puzzle of his own? Ashley's never had to fight to earn a living. He's been able to indulge himself on your father's fortune ever since leaving university. To someone out of touch with reality, the plot must have seemed attractive. Especially when he was the only person who had proof that Luke committed suicide. Presumably he destroyed the letter?'

She nodded and kept tearing pages as he continued: ‘I suppose he arranged to call on Roy at the flat and got him so pissed that Roy didn't have the faintest idea he was being fed a lethal dose of pain-killers.'

‘Roy was meant to be going out that night. To see a show the Trust had supported. But Ashley persuaded him to stay in. Roy had been pressing for more money and Ashley said I was asking questions, starting to get suspicious. He'd rung Roy in the morning and spun some line about needing to talk. I'd had a migraine that day, I couldn't care less what Ashley was up to. I think he came back in the early hours.'

‘The way I've imagined it, after he was satisfied that Roy was out for the count and never going to come round again, he left via the roof, with the door closing itself behind him. All he had to do then was to clamber back down the fire escape and then over the gate which led back to the street so that the main door of the building remained locked from the inside. He also had a stroke of luck. He found something in Roy's flat which he thought would help him in creating the impression of suicide.'

The heat from the fire was so fierce that he had to move back as he described Roy's cartoon of himself on the gallows. But Melissa seemed oblivious to it. Her dull eyes gazed at him.

‘The Hanging Man. Like the Tarot card.'

‘What?'

‘Oh, that woman who buys all the books. Juliet May. She gave Ashley a Tarot reading, you know and turned up the Hanging Man card. He wasn't too happy. He seemed to think it was more alarming than she was prepared to admit. She said he had no need to worry.' Melissa laughed harshly. ‘What do you think the cartoon meant?'

‘I guess Roy had been thinking a great deal lately about the time he killed your father. Perhaps he wasn't totally devoid of conscience after all.'

She hissed, ‘He was a monster.'

‘But the cartoon did reinforce the idea of the remorseful suicide, which suited Ashley down to the ground.' He studied Melissa. ‘Will you tell me your side of the story?'

She put down the book and shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. You know how wives usually discover their husbands' infidelities by chance - when they empty their jackets before sending them off to the dry cleaners or something? I found out my husband was a murderer in much the same way. He was in his study at home when the phone rang. I picked up the extension to hear Roy talking to Ashley - about killing my father.'

He stared at her, horrified, trying to imagine what must have gone through her mind.

She ran her teeth along her lip and said, ‘It seemed my husband was being bled dry by his old pal - an ex-boyfriend of mine. As far as I could gather, he'd paid Roy to mow down my father in a supposed hit-and-run accident. He was trying to wriggle out of it, pretend it was nothing to do with him, but he was no match for Roy. Roy even teased him about his love for stories about unbreakable alibis.'

‘Oh God,' Harry said softly. And to think people said Freeman Wills Crofts was a humdrum writer.

‘The three of us hung around together at uni. Ashley was crazy about me, it was almost embarrassing. I liked him, but he didn't excite me. I suppose I was just a spoiled little daddy's girl, having a good time. In those days I enjoyed men dancing attendance. As long as it didn't go too far. Roy and I went out for a while, but his sheer selfishness began to bore me. Besides, he was pestering me for sex all the time.'

Tears were beginning to fill her eyes and she had to wipe them away before continuing. ‘My father was a marvellous man. Tough, handsome, successful. None of the boys I knew began to compare with him. I worshipped Daddy - and he worshipped me. He used to say that I was the only thing that mattered to him once my mother was gone. I could tell he didn't think much of my boyfriends. So I dropped them. That's what happened with Roy.'

‘And Roy bore a grudge?'

‘Perhaps. He didn't like it when I said I didn't want to see him again. Ashley asked me for a date and I did let him take me to the cinema. He behaved beautifully, but I thought it only fair to say that I wasn't interested in a relationship.'

‘And then your father was killed?'

‘It was the worst time of my life,' she said. ‘Even now there are days when I think about him and...'

Her voice trailed away and Harry found himself saying, ‘You told me Ashley was kind to you.'

‘I needed him then. It is pathetic, I know, but getting married seemed a natural thing to do. I felt so grateful.'

‘But when you overheard the conversation on the phone, you realised Ashley and Roy had planned it all?'

‘That's right. I didn't listen to the details - I didn't want to.'

‘You might have been jumping to conclusions. Why not talk to Ashley and find out...?'

‘Oh, for God's sake stop sounding like a lawyer,' she snapped. ‘What matters is that those two bastards conspired to take my father away from me. The only man I've ever really loved. I told you before - whoever killed Daddy deserved to be punished. I'd always longed for the chance to find the bastard. Longed for it. I just never realised I'd been living with him all these years. For Daddy's sake, I wanted justice. I suppose you'd call it taking revenge.'

For all the heat in the room, he felt suddenly cold. ‘You mean - by burning Ashley's books?'

She brushed a stray blonde hair out of her face. ‘It's worse than that. Much worse.'

Trying to keep his voice calm, he said, ‘Where is he, Melissa?'

‘Downstairs. In the cellar.'

‘What did you do?' he asked, fearing the answer.

She stared at the pile of books, shifted it nearer to the fire. ‘In many ways, Ashley has been a wonderful husband. He's stayed in love with me. Even though he had my father murdered, and I hate him for it, it was because of how he felt about me. The truth is, I've never given him much encouragement, in bed or out of it. But there were these things he wanted to do...'

‘Yes?' Harry's throat was dry.

‘He had endless fantasies. Bondage sex, things I wouldn't even want to describe. The thought of it turned my stomach. I always used to say no and he put up with it. But when I wanted to hurt him, I knew what I had to do to get him at my mercy. I said I'd decided to give him everything he wanted. The Tarot reading gave me the idea.' She paused. ‘He was so excited when I lifted his wrists above his head and chained them to the rings in the cellar wall. I waited until he'd realised that he was playing in my game, and not the other way round, before I came back and told him I knew the truth. He denied it, of course. He told me it was Roy's idea and Roy's alone. But he would say that, wouldn't he? I scarcely listened. In the end he was screaming for mercy.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I've never had much time for mercy.'

Harry's heart was thudding inside his chest. ‘When was this?'

She stretched her arms out. ‘I've rather lost track of the days. This was just after Ashley killed Roy, I suppose. I was so glad he'd done half my job for me. He told me the whole story. It was as you described. Not as foolproof as he thought, eh?'

He could feel his gorge rising. ‘I - I need to see for myself, Melissa. I must look inside the cellar.'

She nodded in the direction of the door. ‘After you.'

His hands were trembling, but he stood up and moved out into the passageway. Without turning round, he asked, ‘Is he still alive?'

He held his breath until she answered hoarsely. ‘I don't think so, Harry. I didn't let him drink anything, you see.'

Pushing open the door which led to the cellar, he peered into the subterranean blackness. The steps were stone and rough-hewn. He began to edge down them. His skin was prickling, his palms were wet. At the bottom, he screwed his eyes up until they hurt as he tried to adjust to the lack of light.

He could see a cracked mirror which bore a smudged message in lipstick. Reflected in the glass was a dark figure suspended from the opposite wall. The naked body of a man Harry had once counted as a friend. A phrase at the end of a thirties detective story filled his mind.
And he was duly hanged
. But for all that Harry could tell, as waves of sickness convulsed him, Ashley might have been crucified.

The smell of death was suffocating. Harry bent over and retched once, twice. This was no place for the living. Unable to stand any longer, he began to crawl back up the steps. As he reached the top he heard a crash and knew that he had another cause for fear.

Flames were slapping around the shop door at the end of the passageway. To his right lay the way out to the cold city streets and safety. He summoned up all his strength and took the three steps to his left that took him to the room where he had left Melissa.

The fire had driven her behind the counter. Her face wore a look of infinite sadness and in her hand was a burning paperback. The tower of books had become a pyre. As he watched, paralysed, she touched the nearest shelves with her torch.

‘Melissa! For God's sake!'

She said, so calmly that he could barely hear the words above the noise of the raging flames, ‘There is no God, you ought to know that.'

As she spoke, her shirt caught fire. She let the book fall but did not flinch. Instead, she smiled.

He could scarcely breathe, but he tore off his jacket and slapped it against her burning clothes. Then he caught her wrist and dragged her off her feet and through the door. He could think of nothing but the need to get them both out of the building. His eyes were watering; he could hardly see out of them but it did not matter. She was heavier than he would have thought, but gasping with the effort he pulled her along the passageway.

She began to claw at him. ‘No! Leave me!'

Her fingernails cut into his hand but he did not feel pain. It was as if he were in a stupor, drunk with despair at the evil that men do. They were five strides from the door that led outside. He sucked the foul air into his lungs and tightened his grip on her narrow wrist. Four strides more. Three. Two. One.

A last heave and they were over the threshold. It was raining hard and the smack of the downpour roused him from his daze. She had stopped fighting and he hauled her limp body across the yard into the back street beyond. Then he released his hold and stared at the building from which they had escaped. Far above the cellar that had become a tomb, the fire had lit the night sky. He could hear people calling and footsteps pounding along the pavement.