‘Congratulations, Jacob,’ Rachel said. ‘That was quite a coup de théâtre. Poor Inspector Young looked as if he’d need reviving with smelling salts when you waltzed in with the prime suspect and her fancy man in tow.’
Jacob made a token attempt to look modest, failing hopelessly. He’d arrived at Bay View as the others were finishing tea. Having missed breakfast and lunch in the cause of the Clarion, he was ready to make up for lost time by devouring what remained from Hetty’s latest batch of scones.
‘Winnie Lescott isn’t an easy woman. She flares up at the slightest provocation and always insists on having the last word. When I left the hotel, she was threatening to ring Gomersall and demand twice as much money for her story. When she’s got me to thank for making sure she won’t spend the night in a prison cell.’
‘Poor Jacob,’ Martha said. ‘Such ingratitude. At least we appreciate your public spirit and sense of duty.’
‘Unlike your colleagues in Fleet Street,’ Rachel said. ‘If looks could kill, you’d have keeled over the moment you walked into the smoking room. At least you made sure there was no miscarriage of justice.’
Jacob looked at her. ‘You didn’t think Winnie was guilty, did you?’
‘No. Why would she visit his fortune telling hut to confront him? It didn’t make sense. Surely the time for a homicidal outburst was when she first saw his scratched face, and promptly put two and two together to make five?’
He nodded. ‘Her big mistake was running away. Highly suspicious.’
‘Martha gave us a hint, don’t forget. She mentioned the gardener – this man Gratrix – who winked and whistled at her while she was walking through the Rose Garden. A lecherous labourer sounded like the sort of man Winnie might turn to if she fell out with Bellamy. On the principle of any port in a storm. That’s why I asked if anyone who worked at the pleasure grounds was missing.’
‘Guesswork, surely?’
Rachel shrugged. ‘Yes, but with a foundation in evidence.’
‘Such as?’
‘You reported your conversation with Bellamy faithfully, didn’t you? Remember what he said?’
Light dawned in Jacob’s eyes. ‘He mentioned that he didn’t want Winnie hanging around the Rose Garden.’
‘Precisely. He knew what Johnny Gratrix was like.’
Jacob looked hopefully at the last scone on the tray. Hetty nodded and he swooped on it as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.
Rachel said, ‘This leaves us with two questions. Who did kill him? And why?’
‘Care to make a stab in the dark?’ he mumbled, mouth full.
Martha clicked her tongue. ‘A carefully reasoned deduction, you mean?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, gulping the rest of his scone. ‘Of course that’s what I meant to say.’
He sounded unrepentant, but Rachel’s expression didn’t flicker. ‘I had the glimmering of an idea but, on second thoughts, I was on the wrong track.’
‘Try us.’
‘I was struck by the fact that Bellamy hails from Bangor, while Virginia Penrhos – or Ginny, as she wants me to call her – grew up on Anglesey. An island across the Menai Straits from Bangor. She’s older than him and when she left that part of the world to pursue her artistic interests in England, he would probably still have been at school. But it’s an interesting coincidence and I wondered if their paths had crossed in the past.’
‘Plausible.’
‘So I thought. Unfortunately, Virginia raised the Welsh connection herself without any prompting. She claims she’d never heard of Bellamy before she came to Hemlock Bay.’
‘She might be lying.’
Rachel gave him a cool look. ‘Strangely enough, that possibility had occurred to me. The snag is that I believed her.’
‘Feminine intuition?’ he asked with a mischievous grin.
‘Living dangerously, Jacob,’ Martha whispered. ‘You’ve had a successful day; don’t push your luck.’
‘I might be mistaken,’ Rachel said unexpectedly. ‘I like to think I’m good at judging when someone tries to pull the wool over my eyes, but it’s not an exact science. However, Virginia made the point with quiet confidence and a minimum of fuss. I’m strongly inclined to accept that she was telling me the truth.’
‘What about her young pal?’
‘Ffion, who is apparently so frightened by a murderer on the loose that she’s taken to her bed? She comes from Machynlleth in mid-Wales, but Virginia claims Bellamy was unknown to her as well. At least until they had their fortunes told.’
‘Maybe Bellamy said something while reading their palms that provoked Ffion to murder. She sounds as though it wouldn’t take much to knock her off balance.’
‘Bellamy’s fortune telling was deliberately bland. It seems unlikely that he would have antagonised either of them. Let alone cause one of them to come back several days later and attack him in a frenzy of violence.’
He sighed. ‘All right. Let’s suppose one of the ladies from the lighthouse didn’t commit the murder. Who is left?’
‘We may get further by asking ourselves a different question. Cui bono?’
‘Who benefits from the crime,’ Jacob said smugly. He didn’t know much Latin, but that phrase had lodged in his mind.
‘Do we know who inherits under Bellamy’s will?’ Martha asked.
‘The chances are, he hasn’t made one,’ Rachel said. ‘People his age often don’t. In which case his estate will be distributed to his closest family members. I doubt it makes any difference. All the signs are that he was short of money.’
‘Winnie said he was hoping for some sort of windfall,’ Jacob said. ‘She didn’t know how much cash was involved and she didn’t know where it was supposed to be coming from. In fact, she didn’t believe a word of it. I can’t blame her. Poor old Bellamy found lying came more easily than telling the truth.’
‘He had a vile temper,’ Martha said, touching her neck. ‘If he flew off the handle again, perhaps someone hit him on the head in self-defence.’
‘Perhaps,’ Jacob said. ‘Although who and where the murderer might be, I can’t imagine. Maybe the Scotland Yard man will pick up a lead.’
Rachel consulted her new diamond watch, purchased from Cartier a fortnight ago. ‘Inspector Oakes should arrive in the next two or three hours. Why don’t you stay and have dinner with us? Afterwards, we might pop over to the Hemlock Hotel this evening to say hello.’
Jacob stared at her. ‘There’s no guarantee that the Yard will send Oakes. He’s a busy man.’
‘After you rang this morning, I called to let him know that events might take an unexpected turn. Unexpected by Inspector Young, at any rate. After your performance in the smoking room, I sent a quick telegram suggesting that he speak to the assistant commissioner at the Yard and advise him that this case is anything but open and shut. I received a reply shortly after I got back here. He was on his way to Euston Station.’
*
‘We really must stop meeting like this.’
Inspector Philip Oakes sipped the froth off his beer and wiped his mouth before leaning back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Officially, he’d finished work for the evening at nine o’clock. Major Busby had briefed him and his sergeant, a man called Wagstaffe, and he’d also spoken at length with Inspector Young. Wagstaffe, a firm believer in early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise, had retired to his room on the hotel’s top floor, leaving his superior free to relax in the American Bar in the company of Rachel Savernake and Jacob Flint.
Rachel laughed. ‘Worried about your reputation, Inspector? I don’t blame you. No young woman with any claim to respectability should find herself mixed up with as many murders as me.’
Oakes laughed. ‘It’s all right, Miss Savernake. I’m accustomed to consorting with shady customers.’
‘Rachel, please. No need for formality when there’s nobody else around.’
He shook his head. ‘Easier if we keep things strictly professional, Miss Savernake. I’m up here on official duty and I wouldn’t want to forget myself when other people are about.’
‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘I quite understand.’
Jacob stared moodily at the ceiling. He liked Oakes and enjoyed his company. More than that, he respected his intelligence and integrity. Yet although he hated to admit it – even to himself – he felt a pang of dismay at any hint that Rachel was attracted to the man from Scotland Yard.
Absurd, he knew. Rachel was hopelessly out of reach as far as he was concerned, protected from lesser mortals – including himself – not only by the Truemans but also by her restless mind and scathing sense of humour. Sometimes she seemed so cold and distant that he was convinced she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. Yet there were fleeting moments when he wasn’t quite so sure.
Suddenly he realised the detective’s eyes were on him.
‘Penny for ’em.’
Jacob tried not to blush. ‘I wonder if anything Gareth Bellamy told me gives a clue to his death.’
‘I didn’t know he visited you in Fleet Street.’ Oakes took another drink. ‘You two had better spill the beans.’
‘There are quite a lot of beans,’ Jacob said.
‘Better get on with it, then, before the bar closes for the night.’
Jacob and Rachel took it in turns to tell their tales. Oakes listened, intent yet expressionless, resisting any temptation to interrupt with questions.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he said at length. ‘And you’ve had a head start, given that Inspector Young couldn’t imagine anyone other than Winnie Lescott as the culprit.’
‘Is Young co-operating with you?’ Jacob asked. ‘Or has his demotion thrown him into a great sulk?’
‘Naturally he’s upset that the chief constable called in the Yard, but he seems a decent enough fellow. With any luck, I’ll be able to make sure he comes out of the case with enough credit to soothe his battered pride. With great reluctance, he’s accepted that Winnie didn’t kill Bellamy, but he hasn’t a clue about who else might be responsible.’ He exhaled. ‘So what do you two make of it all?’
Jacob cleared his throat. ‘Rachel has persuaded me that Louis Carson is up to no good.’
Oakes gave her an appraising glance. ‘Because events in Hemlock Bay have taken such a macabre turn since he and his wife moved here?’
She nodded. ‘It seems a good working hypothesis. Unfortunately, I can’t supply you with a shred of evidence linking Carson to Bellamy’s murder. He seems to have spent yesterday here in the hotel.’
‘Hardly a cast-iron alibi,’ Oakes said. ‘My understanding is that the scene of the crime, on the other side of Hemlock Head, is only ten or twelve minutes away from here.’
‘True,’ Rachel said. ‘But he’d need to get there and back, having committed the crime without witnesses and disposed somehow of any bloodstained clothing. That would take half an hour as an absolute minimum. Conceivable, but a very tall order.’
Jacob said, ‘I’ve been asking around. As far as I can tell, Carson was fully occupied with hotel business. Plenty of people saw him at different times during the day. So far, I’ve not heard anything that implicates him. Nobody has mentioned anything unusual about his behaviour. The same goes for his wife.’
‘Carson is the sort who might get someone else to do his dirty work,’ Rachel said. ‘But that begs the question. Why would he want Bellamy dead?’
‘Something to do with this mysterious premonition?’ Oakes asked.
Rachel shrugged. ‘We need to look at other potential suspects. Trueman has gone to the Mermaid in search of McAtee.’
‘What brought McAtee here, I wonder? Did he have some sort of link with Bellamy, for instance?’
‘I can’t imagine what it would be. I wonder if he’s come here in pursuit of the mysterious Dr Doyle, but again I’ve no idea why.’
Last orders had been called, and no one else was left in the American Bar. The barman threw them a meaningful glance and as the inspector drained his tankard, Rachel checked her watch.
‘Time to go. You’ll be busy tomorrow, Inspector, but I hope we can catch up when you have a spare moment.’
‘I hope so too,’ he said.
He smiled so shyly he might have been a schoolboy, and Jacob felt another pang of jealousy.
*
‘Any joy?’ Rachel asked.
Resplendent in his chauffeur’s uniform, Trueman was standing beside the Phantom in the hotel car park. His buttons gleamed in the moonlight. The rain had stopped and despite the lateness of the hour the temperature was remarkably mild.
‘No sign of McAtee in the Mermaid. Don’t know where he’s got to. I finished up gossiping with a pair of crime reporters from London.’
‘Learn anything?’
‘Only that if there’s another murder in Hemlock Bay, there’s a good chance the victim will be Jacob Flint.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Surely they don’t hate him that much?’
The big man shrugged. ‘They don’t dislike him on a personal level. He’s good company and stands his round. But they’re afraid they’ll never get another scoop as long as he’s around, he’s such a lucky bastard.’
Rachel couldn’t help laughing. ‘He makes his own luck.’
‘With a helping hand from you.’
‘Jacob will always drive people to distraction. It’s his way.’
‘Any moment now, you’ll be telling me he’s got a heart of gold.’
‘I know he can be bumptious, but there’s no malice in him. Whenever something knocks him down, he bounces straight back up again like a jack-in-the-box. It’s easy to forget there’s a good brain hidden beneath all that floppy fair hair. And, not that it matters much in Fleet Street, he writes well.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Trueman muttered, and opened the car door.
The roads were deserted at this hour and they were back at Bay View in next to no time. While Trueman manoeuvred the Phantom into the tiny garage, Rachel lingered outside the bungalow, breathing in the night air.
Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted. In an uncharacteristic flight of fancy, she imagined the unseen bird giving her the benefit of its wisdom. Hinting that the truth about Hemlock Bay was within touching distance. An idea began to form in her mind.
Trueman joined her. ‘How is your handsome policeman friend?’
‘Inspector Oakes?’ she asked carelessly. ‘On good form, I’d say. I suppose he is quite nice-looking. I’ve never given it any thought.’
‘No?’
As usual, Trueman’s craggy features gave nothing away. Rachel frowned.
‘Jacob and I told him everything we know. He’s a first-class listener.’
‘Of course. All three of you speak the same language.’
‘You’re right,’ she said softly, gesturing towards the moon. ‘And I’m grateful for the illumination.’
*
The warm smell of frying bacon and freshly made coffee wafted through Bay View, as Rachel emerged from the bathroom in a salmon pink kimono. Her black hair was tousled and her feet bare. She’d had a restless night, tossing and turning as her unconscious mind strove to untangle the secrets of Hemlock Bay. She was padding across the landing when a frantic knocking at the front door stopped her in her tracks.
The metal flap of the letterbox lifted with a clang. The anguished voice of an older woman shrieked through the gap in the door.
‘Come quickly! You must come quickly!’
Rachel raced downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. As she lifted the keys from a hook, she heard the Truemans rushing up behind her.
‘Let me answer!’ Hetty called. ‘You’re not decent!’
Taking no notice, Rachel flung open the door. An angular woman stood on the step. Her pallid features were wrinkled with distress and her whole body seemed to quiver.
‘Mrs Stones!’ Hetty cried over Rachel’s shoulder. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Please! You must come to Shepherd’s Cottage at once!’
‘What’s happened?’ Rachel demanded.
‘It’s Dr Doyle!’
‘What about him?’
‘I think he’s dead!’