Gerda pulled at the bottom of her grey jacket and straightened her shoulders, before nodding at Alice as they marched across the hallway towards the closed library doors.
‘Who are you?’ one of the two guards stationed there challenged them.
‘Guests,’ Gerda said, smiling at both men broadly – and for long enough, it turned out, for Gerda’s two colleagues to creep up from the opposite direction behind them.
The ambush was brief, what with Gerda’s two friends having the element of surprise. And met next to no resistance. But then again, Alice thought, you didn’t really have much choice than to go where you were told when someone as imposing at Elijah was pointing a twelve-bore shotgun at you at point-blank range.
The ambush had been Gerda’s idea. She was still terrified Alex Messent and his guests might somehow escape before the police arrived. But the shotgun had been Alice’s suggestion. It was Pop-Pop’s old one and didn’t work anyway, but she’d thought it might get faster results than having Gerda’s colleagues trying to restrain these two men.
As the guards were led off by Max to be locked up in the larder, Alice and Gerda could hear Alex Messent through the library door conducting the auction himself.
‘Do I hear two hundred and thirty million from Mr Kimura?’ his voice called out.
‘Ready?’ Alice asked Gerda, who nodded, then she turned the handle and in two strides, the pair of them walked into the library.
‘Stop the auction.’ Gerda’s voice was loud and clear. She held her hand in the air.
An anxious mumble of voices followed. Alice saw Alex Messent at the auctioneer’s lectern look in panic towards the door for his guards. His guests had all been standing in groups around the painting, but now turned towards Alice and Gerda, confusion on their faces.
‘What’s going on?’ Camille said, looking accusingly at Alice. ‘I’m sorry, everyone,’ she said, trying to appease the crowd. ‘Caroline? What the hell is going on?’
Gerda marched up to the painting and studied it up close, her eyes shining, then she turned to the crowd. ‘As I’m sure many of you are aware, this is a stolen painting. And, after a very, very long search for it, I’m here to claim it for the Dutch government and people.’ She produced a badge from the pocket of her jacket and flashed it at the shocked faces.
Alex Messent looked at his wife in alarm, then addressed Gerda. ‘What the hell …? What do you mean?’
‘It’s very simple. You are under arrest, Monsieur Messent.’
Now panic broke out, with the guests all talking at once. Alice saw Camille moving quickly towards the library doors, but just as she got there, Barney stopped her along with Jinx, Helly, Elijah and Max, who stood like a physical barrier, shoulder to shoulder.
As Camille staggered back into the library, Alex lunged sideways at Gerda, who, in a surprising display of agility, quickly twisted his arm behind his back. In all the commotion, Alice then saw Detective Rigby shouldering past Barney. He stopped and stared at the painting and then at Alice and, as his eyes met hers, her heart thudded with relief.
Jinx slotted her fingers into her mouth and wolf-whistled loudly. Shocked by the noise, the crowd fell silent.
‘Please can you all stay exactly where you are. I’m Detective Rigby of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘This is a misunderstanding …’ Alex Messent began to protest, with Camille now beside him.
‘Is it?’
Detective Rigby stared grimly at Alex as several other police officers poured into the library.
‘I’d advise you all to be as helpful as you can,’ Rigby warned the guests. ‘Everyone here has serious questions to answer. And anyone you might be working for,’ he added, glaring at two of the suited men who both had phones to their ears, and had clearly been relaying telephone bids. Rigby nodded to his officers. ‘Take them away. All except him and her.’
It was Alex and Camille Messent he’d been pointing to. As his officers started ushering the confused guests out into the hallway, the Japanese man looked desperately, longingly back at the Rembrandt, but Gerda blocked his way.
‘You’ve got this all wrong,’ Alex Messent tried pleading again, more desperately this time.
‘No,’ Rigby said. ‘There’s no misunderstanding. You see, as well as theft, we’re here for another reason: murder.’
‘What?’ Alex Messent looked genuinely shocked.
Detective Rigby turned to Camille. ‘Camille Messent, I’m arresting you for the murder of Romee Hoek,’ he said.
The two officers nearest now moved towards Camille. ‘Who? What? I’ve never … I’ve never even heard of this person—’
‘Also known as Enya Fischer,’ Detective Rigby said.
Two officers grabbed Camille. ‘Caroline?’ she asked desperately, as she tried to shake them off. ‘Help me.’ Her eyes were wide as she appealed to Alice.
‘Oh, this isn’t Caroline,’ Detective Rigby said. ‘Allow me to introduce Miss Alice Beeton.’
‘Who?’ Camille and Alex asked at the same time.
‘This is Alice Beeton of The Good Household Management Agency, and it’s thanks to her that we know exactly what happened on the night Enya died.’
There was a moment of silence and Alice was aware of everyone turning to face her at once. She had a terrible moment of vertigo – almost as bad as it had been on the roof, but she’d combatted that, she reminded herself.
Even so, she hated being the centre of attention and she locked eyes with Detective Rigby, horrified that he’d turned this onto her. But his hazel eyes were kind and he nodded gently with encouragement. And she saw that rather than landing her in it, he was giving her permission to claim the moment.
‘Is it true?’ Camille asked, in a whisper. ‘You’re not Caroline?’
‘No, as the detective says, I’m Alice Beeton. I run The Good Household Management Agency. Just before Christmas, Enya Fischer – well, a woman I thought was Enya Fischer – came into the office to interview for a domestic position. I was intending to put her on my books, but then you rang, Madame Messent, asking for a housekeeper, and Enya said that she could go to your house straight away. I checked her references, of course, but the timing seemed so serendipitous, I didn’t have a moment of hesitation about placing her.’
‘But Enya wasn’t who she said she was,’ Detective Rigby chipped in, clearly keen to keep Alice on track.
‘Exactly. I subsequently found out that Enya had paid your last housekeeper, Katy Ellison, to leave her post. In fact, she went to convincing lengths to gain access to your home.’
‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing,’ Alex Messent said.
‘She wasn’t a housekeeper, but was in fact, my colleague at Interpol and had been instrumental in finding this stolen treasure,’ Gerda said, staring venomously at the Messents. ‘And a damned good agent she was too,’ Gerda added. ‘She was a world expert on Rembrandt, you see. If she could only have seen this …’
‘So, once she was in your employ, she used your New Year’s Eve party to gain access to your study,’ Alice continued.
‘But you saw her, didn’t you?’ Detective Rigby said, turning on Camille, whose hand fluttered to her throat.
‘Me? What? No!’
‘You were suspicious and followed her, didn’t you? And when you found her snooping in the safe, you hit her over the head, killing her instantly.’
‘No, no …’ Camille stepped backwards, but into the body of a policeman. ‘It’s not true.’
‘And then you staged the room to make it look as if there’d been a burglary, tossing the cash from your husband’s desk around the floor and opening the window. And then, like the cold-hearted killer you are, you went downstairs and joined the party. The perfect hostess. The perfect wife. The compassionate charity patron calling for a minute’s silence to honour the suffering of others,’ Detective Rigby said. ‘The very silence that provided your alibi.’
‘It’s not true,’ Camille shouted. ‘How can it be? I was downstairs when she died. Alex, make them stop.’
‘This is rubbish … nonsense,’ Alex began.
‘Alice?’ Detective Rigby said, holding out his hand towards her.
‘Well, yes, the detective is right. You see, it wasn’t until this morning that I pieced it all together. Whilst you were at Tiffany’s — a friend of mine, who deliberately detained you, I might add,’ she said to Camille, ‘I went into the private gym, next to your study,’ she said to Alex Messent, whose shark-eyes locked briefly on hers. ‘To perform a little experiment. You see, on the night of the murder, I went to your house to help the detective here, but my dog, Agatha, ran up to the study, so I saw the crime scene. What I clearly remember was seeing through the open door into the gym, where the weights were scattered across the floor. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but when I started working for you, and realised how neat and tidy, in fact how like a mausoleum, you like to keep your house, I started to think that it was odd that you would leave the weights like that.’
‘I have no idea where you’re going with this,’ Alex said.
‘The other anomaly was that the remote control in the gym had its battery compartment taped up. I’d assumed at first that the remote control was for the wall television, but you see, I found the back of that very remote control in the pocket of the dress that you wore for your party on New Year’s Eve, Madame.’
She turned to Camille and saw two high spots of colour blossoming in her cheeks.
‘We were selling some clothes,’ Jinx chipped in, and Alice realised that Jinx had moved towards her and was now by her side. Alice smiled at her gratefully. ‘And that’s where Alice saw your dress in Pandora, the dress agency,’ Jinx explained.
‘Yes, and when I took it to the changing room and tried it on, I found the back of a Bluetooth remote control in the pocket. And I wondered why you’d have had it on you in that particular garment. And then, of course, I remembered the gym. So, I took it there this morning – and when I removed the remote’s tape, it fitted perfectly. But I still couldn’t understand why you had it. Had you been up there on the night of Enya’s murder just watching TV? But then I clicked it on … and it wasn’t for the TV at all, was it? No, it was the running machine that suddenly jerked into life,’ Alice said.
‘This is crazy,’ Alex Messent protested again.
‘No, not crazy, Monsieur Messent, very clever,’ Detective Rigby chipped in, nodding to Alice again.
‘You see, after killing Enya,’ she said, ‘your wife piled the weights on the running machine and then from downstairs, during the minute’s silence she’d orchestrated, she remotely activated the machine with the Bluetooth control. And when the treadmill moved, the weights flew off the back and thudded on the floor. A thud everyone heard. And everyone assumed was the sound of Enya falling to the floor.’
There was a rumble of voices as everyone started talking.
‘Oh, bravo, Alice,’ Jinx said.
‘And so that was the little experiment I tried myself today. I loaded on the weights and stood in the exact same position your wife had been in while she was giving her speech and activated the machine with the remote. And it did sound exactly like a body falling.’
‘That can hardly count as evidence. This is all ridiculous speculation,’ Alex Messent blurted, but he didn’t sound nearly so sure of himself anymore.
‘I might have been inclined to agree with you,’ the detective said, ‘but last night Miss Beeton also found the murder weapon.’
He now handed Alice a clear plastic evidence bag with the glass snow globe in it. Was he enjoying this? Alice wondered. It certainly looked like he was. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain how you found it,’ he said.
Alice held up the snow globe. ‘I found it in a plastic glove stuck in the hopper below the study. Last night, at your wife’s dinner party, the rain was intense, and the gutters started overflowing. I thought it odd, as I’d seen a receipt from a firm called Grass ’n’ Gutters who’d cleared the gutters recently. So, with considerable difficulty, I retrieved this snow globe, which was blocking the drainpipe. And I recognised it instantly, as it had been on the desk next to Laura on your Christmas card.’
‘You saw a screenshot of the card at Tiff’s, didn’t you?’ Jinx said. ‘On her phone. I remember.’
‘And, you see, I’ve always been a stickler for details,’ Alice said, nodding. ‘Meaning I’d also noticed that the snow globe hadn’t been on the desk on the night Enya was murdered.’
‘And what do you know?’ Detective Rigby chimed in. ‘It still had traces of Enya’s blood on it. And your fingerprints, Madame Messent. After you’d used it, you must have rolled it up in a clear plastic glove, of which there were many in the study, and thrown it out of the window, and into the thick snow, where it had been invisible to the officers looking for it. Only as the snow had thawed, it rolled down into the hopper, blocking the drainpipe, causing the gutter to overflow in the heavy rain.’
‘Exactly,’ Alice said, with satisfaction.
‘You might have completely evaded detection too,’ the detective said coldly, turning to Camille who’d gone very pale, ‘but then you murdered again.’
‘Who? Who do you think I murdered now?’ Camille said.
‘Thérèse,’ Alice said.
‘Thérèse is … is … dead?’ Alex gasped.
‘Oh yes. Very dead.’
‘She can’t be,’ Alex said, his hand covering his mouth and Alice saw genuine emotion in his face for the first time.
‘I have to be honest. At first Thérèse was my number-one suspect for Enya’s murder,’ Alice said. ‘On New Year’s Eve she was photographed in the drawing room doorway just prior to the speech and so might have had time to get up to the study and kill Enya. And there was blood on her trousers, as I found out when I picked up her dry cleaning, which Thérèse claimed to have been from an accident, but I thought could well have been Enya’s blood. Only then I found a mobile phone – and on it were pictures of Thérèse … with a man … in a very compromising position.’
‘Who?’ Jinx asked, her ears pricking up at this piece of gossip.
‘Laars,’ Alice said.
‘Oh. That figures,’ Jinx said.
‘According to him, Thérèse was hoping to make you jealous, Monsieur. So she slipped to the cloakroom with a guest at the party, who took photographs of them.’
‘Typical,’ Jinx said, shaking her head.
‘But you know exactly which photographs. She showed you them. A few weeks ago. I saw you on the CCTV at the front of the house having a row. I asked Jacques to translate.’
She turned now to Jacques who stepped forward. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I can lip-read and …’
‘Go on …’
‘She showed you the phone and you saw the picture of her with another man and she said something like “You see how painful it is? For me? To see you with her?” And you said that you loved her and that it would be over soon.’
Alice stared at Alex Messent, wondering how he could stand there looking so smug when he’d hurt so many people. ‘She couldn’t bear the charade of watching you and your wife together, pretending to be the perfect couple, you see.’ Alice vividly recalled the expression on Thérèse’s face in Charles Tavistock’s photograph that night. ‘Because you promised her a new life. You were planning to escape to Brazil with her along with the proceeds of this sale, weren’t you? That’s why you had two false passports stashed away in your safe. But sadly, Thérèse will never see Copacabana beach.’
‘You mean, this is true? She really is dead?’ Alex whispered.
‘Oh, yes,’ Alice said. ‘Very dead. She was poisoned with Jacques’ Japanese lobster essence – the one your wife told him not to use because of Thérèse’s allergies.’
Now that she’d finally said it, Alice turned to address Camille. ‘Whilst Jacques was clearing up, you must have taken the bottle from his pouch, and when you took Thérèse home last night, you used the opportunity to put some of the paste onto her toothbrush, knowing the taste of mint might hide the scent of the lobster oil long enough for her to put the brush in her mouth. Because the second she did, she went into a fatal anaphylactic shock.’
‘The cause of death has been confirmed by our forensics team,’ Detective Rigby said.
‘Then you calmly went out and bought a Chinese takeaway on the corner and set up Thérèse’s living room to make it look as if she’d died by accident,’ Alice said.
‘On the way here, my team confirmed that there’s some CCTV footage that clearly shows you at Wonky Wong’s at eleven p.m.’
‘Proof enough, but then I found this.’ Alice now pulled out Jacques’ missing vial of lobster oil from her shoulder bag.
‘Hey, that’s mine,’ Jacques said.
‘Exactly. I found it in the bin of your en suite bathroom,’ Alice told Camille, ‘wrapped in tissue, just moments before you arrived back at the house this morning.’
‘No, no, no,’ Camille said, her head shaking from side to side.
‘You see, Madame Messent, that’s the problem with assuming that staff are beneath you and are only there to clean up your mess. They’re a lot smarter than they’re ever given credit for.’
Alex turned on his wife, his look thunderous. Camille let out a tortured sob. ‘I did everything for you, to protect you, always. When I saw what Enya had found in the safe … those passports … I was heartbroken. You were planning on leaving me and going away with her … and I couldn’t bear it … I couldn’t bear to lose you.’
Alex roared, breaking away from Gerda in a sudden, violent jolt, at the same time whipping a pistol from the inside pocket of his jacket. He pressed the barrel against Camille’s temple, his arm around her neck in a vice-like grip and she screamed.
Half choking her, he dragged her back towards the door, shouting at the police to get back. Everyone dropped to their knees, including Alice, seeing the crazed look in his eye.
Suddenly Laura came running through the library door, tears streaming down her face.
She hurtled into her parents. ‘No, Papa!’ she cried out.
In the ensuing tussle, a deafening shot rang out from the gun and Alice covered her ears, terrified, but suddenly she was aware of a strange tinkling of glass, and she looked up to see the ceiling plaster crack in a line where the bullet had hit, just next to the rivet that was holding up the ancient chandelier.
Everyone gasped, as with a horrible creak, the rest of the plaster cracked like a broken windscreen.
Alex lunged for his wife and threw her onto the floor, just as the chandelier crashed down on them in a spectacular crunch of glass.