The mackerel sky above Beulah House was losing its lustre by the time Worthington and Bud arrived to meet me in the palace room.
“Thanks for this,” I said, facing both men. “Please, feel free to get comfy – I need to explain a few things, and ask for some help.”
Bud settled into a chair close to the one I’d been occupying beside the smokers’ table, while Worthington turned a seat from the large desk to face us.
I began, “This is an unusual case, in that I believe it began with a fit of anger but was followed by a series of coldly calculated actions, all of which have resulted in a dreadful situation. As you know, Mr. Worthington, I’m a victim profiler, and that’s where I want to begin – with our original victim, Sasha Tavistock. What sort of a woman was she? She had what most would consider to be a happy, contented married life. She wanted for nothing, it seemed, and she made her mark in the worlds of PR and politics. But we also know she suffered from bulimia, which is a complex condition with roots than run deep, whatever they might be; there’s often a trigger, and frequently it’s a condition which begins in a person’s early life. I believe I might have found several threads which became woven together to lead Sasha to suffer as she did – one of which means I have to consider the role her father played in her life, which leads us back to the so-called ‘suicide note’.”
Worthington leaned forward. “So-called?”
I nodded. “Yes. Let’s consider what the note itself said. ‘He’d have been eighty today. His shadow will never leave me. It’s too late for me to try to be whatever I could have been, had he not been my father. I thought it would all end with his death. But now it seems that was a foolish hope on my part. It will never end, until I end it. So I shall. No procrastination. No more…anything. Sasha.’ First of all, as I’ve already mentioned to Bud, I believe this was just the final part of a longer letter Sasha had written referring to a situation she had decided would now come to an end.”
“But what situation?” Worthington snapped.
“I believe Sasha was being blackmailed, or threatened, by someone, and that she was about to bring the matter into the light, to remove that person’s leverage. If you recall, Bud, Sasha told Julie she had something she wanted to say to the assembled group before dinner…”
Bud nodded. “She did.”
I added, “And bear in mind that Sasha was a woman who felt it necessary to write things down, in notes and letters, that she wanted people to take seriously.”
Worthington nibbled his bottom lip.
I continued, “My field of research – and the work I did when I consulted on Bud’s cases, back in Canada – has nothing to do with apportioning blame to the victim at all; rather, it’s about understanding their lives in a way that helps illuminate how they became a victim. I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, which means I observe behaviors, rather than carrying out medical diagnoses – but my observations of Sasha both when I knew her many years ago, and in the brief time I spent with her here at Beulah House, as well as the information I’ve been able to glean about her life since then, lead me to believe she displayed what would be called psychopathic traits. I know we’re all accustomed to thinking of psychopaths as only evil mass killers, but the classic traits of narcissism, lack of empathy, need for control, and absolute self-interest, are also known to be observable in many of the world’s political and business leaders. We can see those traits in both Oleg Asimov and in Sasha. She, also, had the sort of personality that could easily allow her to make enemies – and I believe it was one such enemy with whom she was meeting before dinner that night, in this very room, to tell them she would have no truck with their desire to have a hold over her.”
“Fascinating,” said Worthington, “but could you tell me who you think that was, and why, because I still have people I need to interview downstairs.”
“I think your interviews are over for now,” I replied. “You see, we must begin by considering who could have killed Sasha. I believe that happened as the result of a violent outburst which led to Sasha being struck in the head with a cut-crystal ashtray, which also gave a glancing blow to the brass telescope causing it to pivot so it was out of position, and left a small mark on the brass, which Bud and I found earlier today. Sasha was groggy – and wasn’t the type of person who would have allowed her attacker to go unpunished, so they took their chance to push her off the roof, using the only door which allowed her to fall far enough to make it look like a real suicide attempt. In her state, and remembering she wasn’t a heavy woman, Sasha could have been led, steered, or even pushed, to the door, and relatively easily shoved over the rather feeble balustrade. A man or a woman could have done it.”
“Which doesn’t help us much, does it?” Worthington looked at his watch.
I pressed on. “Of those who are now dead – because we cannot discount any of them out of hand – who could have killed Sasha? Piers, Charles, Julie, or Sir Simon. All of them could have been here in this room, but none of them appear to have had any reason to threaten Sasha with…well, anything.”
Worthington sighed. “It’s a start. So, who are we left with? Renata Douglas. Felicity Sampson. John Silver. Glen Powell. Bella Asimov. Hardly a ‘short’ list, is it?”
“I notice you didn’t include Vinnie Ryan,” said Bud.
Worthington smiled. “You’ve seen how many cameras we have at our disposal? The CCTV coverage of this area on the evening in question leaves us in no doubt that Mr. Ryan was in a motor vehicle, and approached this address a moment or two prior to the call he made to…let’s just say ‘a colleague of mine’. I’ve known he couldn’t possibly have killed Mrs. Tavistock for some time.”
Bud and I shared a smile.
“And Glen is out of the frame; he sings…and I heard singing in the kitchen when Sasha died. But you did include John Silver,” I said.
“Indeed,” replied Worthington gravely.
“Go on, tell him,” I said to my husband.
“Not John,” said Bud. He looked grim. “The man’s sound. Operationally and psychologically. Besides, he and I were chatting through the walls of the WCs when Sasha came off the roof. No way. Not your man.”
“Bond of trust,” I added, sounding as sage as I dared.
Worthington shook his head. “Mr. Anderson, of course I understand the type of trust about which you’re speaking, but I have to consider two aspects: one, it can only go so far; two, it might lead you to believe you’re doing the right thing by manufacturing an alibi for a man you believe incapable of killing Sasha Tavistock.”
I was slightly blindsided to hear Worthington say he was suspicious about Bud’s support of John, but pressed on. “Well, I believe Bud, but, instead of debating that matter, how about I outline good reasons for the three remaining people being here with Sasha that night? And for her having written such a letter to any one of them.”
Worthington shrugged. “Please do.”
I opened with, “Sir Simon Pendlebury shut down the investigation, and set up a smear campaign targeting me.” Worthington looked theatrically puzzled. “He did so when only Sasha had died. That tells me one key thing – Sir Simon had knowledge, or at least a strong suspicion, that whoever killed Sasha was either an Asimov, or well-connected to the Asimovs. He had to act to protect the family name, and business.”
“But everyone’s connected to them in some way,” said Worthington.
I replied, “First, let’s take Felicity.”
Worthington’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, we know she caused the injuries which led to Mrs. Powell’s death but—”
“Hear me out,” I replied. “Felicity was once an Asimov and is still closely associated with the family. Indeed, Glen told me Felicity’s been supported financially by Oleg since their divorce, and not in what one might call a ‘normal’ way. She have known something about Oleg that he didn’t want shared with the world, and could have used that knowledge to get him to pay up for – well, whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. I have no idea what her bank accounts look like, but I’ve observed enough of Felicity Sampson to know this – she’s exactly the sort of woman who’d not want to see a source of easy income dry up, and we know she phoned Bella and threatened her after Sasha’s death. That could have been Felicity’s attempt to get Bella to keep financing her lifestyle, having already failed to get Sasha to agree to do so. Felicity and Sasha could have agreed to meet here, Sasha gets her to read the letter saying she won’t pay up, Felicity lashes out, and she dumps Sasha’s body off the roof. She uses the end of Sasha’s letter to her to throw us off the scent, then – the very next day – tries to get Bella to keep funding her.”
“Well…possibly, but what about the other deaths? Are you saying she killed everyone else too? How? Why?” Worthington scratched his head, putting me in mind of Bud…who didn’t seem to even notice the similar tell.
“Hang on – let’s stick to Sasha’s death, first,” I said. “If not Felicity, it could have been Renata who came here before dinner, and things worked out the same way.”
“What possible hold could she have had over Sasha?” Worthington’s eyes grew round.
“The papers in Renata’s bags? They’ve been gathered over years, and – when taken together – show beyond any doubt that Oleg Asimov’s asbestos dumping operation has been anything but ‘safe’. Renata’s father died of mesothelioma, after having been a lorry driver for Asimov for decades. She could have put her case to Sasha, who might have refused to act, or who believed that Oleg’s death would put an end to the threat.”
“It’s certainly a motive for there being bad blood between them…” Worthington nibbled his lip again. “But would Sir Simon take the steps he did to stop us discovering Renata had killed Sasha?”
I answered, “If he’d known what those papers could prove, he would have wanted to protect Renata; she could have gone on to kill the Asimov group’s entire business future.”
Worthington’s brow furrowed. “Sir Simon Pendlebury was certainly a man who cared more about business, and moneymaking, than people…” He looked at me and added, “If you believe everything you read about him in the papers, and online.”
I almost smiled. “Then there’s Bella, a real Asimov, whom he’d also want to protect. Bud and I saw a photograph in Sasha’s personal study that leads me to believe that Bella could have known about Sasha having been pregnant, and having an abortion during the school holidays, in Wales, when she was a teen. Bella could have held the threat of telling Oleg about that over Sasha…for decades. One look at Bella’s order book tells me she’s making almost no income from her goldsmithing, and yet her outgoings for materials and equipment are substantial. I’d put money on her sister having been financing her, against her will, for a very long time. They could have fought about that.”
Bud shifted in his seat, and said, “So you’re saying Bella, Renata, and Felicity, all had a potential reason for being here with Sasha that night, and for falling out with her – leading to Sasha’s death, and them setting things up to look like a suicide?” I nodded. “And you think Sir Simon would have done what he did to protect any, or all, of them?” I nodded again. “But – and I know you’ve thought this through, Cait – what about all the other deaths? As Mr. Worthington has said, do you think the person who – maybe accidentally – killed Sasha, then went on to kill all the others too? Including Sir Simon? I mean, if you’re right, he was the one who’d protected them in the first place.”
I nodded. “I do. And I believe I know which one of them it was.”
“What makes you think that?” Worthington’s eyes glinted.
“I’ve put together the entire overview of who was where, when, on the day Piers died. This is critical, because, of course, his was the second death. If my theory is correct, the murderer gave themselves a chance to kill him by taking a huge, coldly calculated risk – which would fit with their character, and sense of purpose.”
“I’ve read all the notes,” said Worthington, “but Enderby hasn’t pulled them together into a timeline yet. Care to fill me in?”
“Absolutely. In essence, I’m satisfied that the timeline does, in fact, bear out my suspicions that Julie’s life-threatening injuries became known about by Bella, Charles, Piers, and John at the same time as each other – when Glen was informed about them, and whisked away to the hospital – and line up with the time Renata said she’d been at the offices of Tavistock and Tavistock, gathering the papers with which she later returned.”
Both Worthington and Bud scratched their heads. In unison. It was almost amusing.
“Accepted. But this tells us what?” Worthington didn’t sound impressed.
“Our killer will stop at nothing to protect themselves,” I said. “And, if what I think happened is what actually did happen, one of the most tragic aspects of this entire sorry situation is that, even after Sasha’s death, it could all have been stopped – if not for the sickeningly self-centered actions of not just one, but two, people.”
“This involves more than one person?” Worthington’s eyes narrowed.
“Sadly, yes,” I replied. “But – and this is why I’m talking to just you two at this stage – we don’t yet have any hard evidence that might prove guilt to a jury. There’s one critical piece I believe I can work on providing, but I need to ask a few things of you, Mr. Worthington.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, if it’s within my power,” he replied.
I smiled with relief, knowing Worthington was finally on my side, and handed the man a note I’d written earlier. He read it and returned a puzzled gaze. “The missing crystal ashtray is hidden…there?” He sounded less than convinced.
“Yes,” I replied. “I believe it wasn’t thrown from this room; the killer couldn’t run the risk of pieces of broken glass being discovered, thereby suggesting something other than suicide. It should be retrieved and examined for trace evidence to try to prove it was used to smack Sasha in the head. However, I understand such evidence might have vanished. Next, you need your people to re-examine the biological material found beneath Sasha’s fingernails, looking for traces of what I’ve listed for you.”
Worthington nodded. “Can do. Anything else?”
I added, “When I expose the secrets each of those three women downstairs have been guarding, there could be some…strong reactions.”
Worthington sighed heavily, “I don’t have bodies to call upon to provide cover.” The flash of frustration I saw in his eyes told me that, while he might be ready to support me, he wasn’t receiving the backup he needed from on high.
“I’ll be in the room,” said Bud. “I’m not as young as I once was, but I’ve taken down the odd bad guy during my career.” He managed a grim smile. “I dare say I could wrangle any of those women to the ground, if called upon to do so.”
Worthington shook his head sadly. “And risk facing charges if everything goes…well, let’s just say ‘not quite as planned’? No, you’ll do no such thing, thank you Mr. Anderson. If physical restraint needs to be applied, I or Enderby will be the ones doing the applying. She’s wiry, that woman; don’t let her size fool you.”
I nodded, as did Bud, though he looked just a little disappointed. He said, “You have actual authority here, Worthington, but I can be a resource. In the know. Watching, and ready to be directed, as necessary.”
“Quite the pair, you two,” replied Worthington, nodding.