‘So the man from Shepherd’s Cottage murdered Bellamy in a fit of rage and then killed himself?’ Jacob let the words hang in the air, as if working out whether they made sense. ‘A plausible theory, I suppose.’
He and Martha were reclining in deckchairs in the garden of Bay View, soaking up the sun and talking about murder. The morning newspapers lay at their feet. He’d enjoyed his own front page story in the Clarion so much that he’d already read it three times. Rachel had joined them a few minutes earlier after changing into a summer frock. She’d recounted Virginia Penrhos’s explanation for the latest death.
‘Don’t sound so grudging,’ Martha said. ‘You two can’t solve every mystery.’
‘What on earth could Bellamy have said to provoke a mild-mannered accountant into a homicidal frenzy?’ Jacob asked.
‘You never met Palmer – as I suppose we must call him. How do you know he was mild-mannered?’
‘Are you seriously suggesting he was ready to fly off the handle the moment anyone spoke out of turn?’
Martha shook her head. ‘He was obviously pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Deceitful, then, but you’re right. Not the passionate type.’
‘You never know with human beings,’ Rachel said. ‘Wild emotions seethe beneath the most serene of surfaces.’
Jacob wrinkled his brow. ‘That still doesn’t explain what Bellamy said or did to drive him into some kind of homicidal frenzy.’
Martha turned to Rachel. ‘Did Virginia Penrhos convince you?’
‘No, but at the moment I’m struggling to find a better explanation for what has happened. When she mentioned Veronal to me, I did wonder if the bottle found in Shepherd’s Cottage belonged to Ffion Morris.’
‘You’ve only got Virginia’s word that Ffion used all the stuff up.’
‘That’s right, but the stumbling block is this. If Virginia did have something to hide, why refer to Veronal at all?’
‘Criminals often give themselves away by mistake,’ Jacob said, with the breezy confidence of an expert. ‘That’s why so many of them get caught.’
‘Perfectly true. The trouble is, I felt she was telling me the truth about the Veronal.’
‘I bet Virginia doesn’t know everything that Ffion gets up to, even if she is supposedly at death’s door,’ Jacob said.
Martha sat up. ‘You think Ffion’s illness isn’t genuine?’
‘It’s certainly convenient,’ Jacob said airily.
‘Rachel, do you agree there’s nothing wrong with her?’
‘No,’ Rachel said.
Jacob looked put out. ‘You haven’t set eyes on her for several days.’
‘When I did meet Ffion Morris, I felt that she is a deeply troubled woman.’
‘Feminine intuition again?’ he asked.
‘Virginia was telling the truth about Ffion consulting Dr Sowden, I’m sure of it. So I doubt the illness is feigned. The interesting question is, what is really wrong with her? And what caused it?’
Jacob made a sceptical noise. ‘Aren’t you letting your admiration for Virginia’s art affect your judgment?’
Rachel raised her eyebrows. Martha was watching them like a spectator at a duel between two opponents who were unevenly matched. Jacob hesitated for a moment before continuing.
‘I mean, Ffion sounds highly suspicious to me. What if she slipped out of the lighthouse and hurried over to Shepherd’s Cottage, in order to drug Palmer and shove his head in the oven?’
‘While somehow making sure that the kitchen was locked from the inside?’ Rachel said.
Jacob’s brow knitted. ‘I suppose when you put it like that…’
‘If you’re right, that raises many more questions than answers. Including motive – why on earth would Ffion kill Palmer?’
‘Homicidal mania?’
Rachel gave him an old-fashioned look, but it wasn’t enough to take the wind out of his sails.
‘You got the impression she’s unstable,’ he said. ‘Who knows what she is capable of? Maybe that’s why she’s taken to her bed. The shock of committing murder has left her prostrate.’
‘Perfectly plausible. However, when Virginia waylaid me, I wondered if in some way she was implicated in Palmer’s apparent suicide. Or if Ffion was. Or both of them. I half-expected bluster and lies. But there’s no doubt the news of his death came as a complete shock to her.’
‘Perhaps that proves how astute she is at pulling the wool over people’s eyes.’
Martha winced, but Rachel responded with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I’m not infallible. And nothing’s impossible.’
‘Except for someone to have murdered Palmer?’ Martha asked.
‘So it seems.’
‘Virginia might easily not have noticed someone going in or out of the cottage. Murderers take care not to draw attention to themselves.’
‘In principle, yes. Unfortunately, I found her very lack of certainty convincing.’
Jacob was a picture of scepticism. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Rachel’s smile was full of charm. ‘And Jacob, please bear in mind that if you utter the phrase “feminine intuition” one more time, I’ll ask Trueman to pick you up and drop you over the edge of the cliff.’
‘The thought never entered my head,’ Jacob said virtuously.
She shook her head sorrowfully, like a teacher whose star pupil has developed a delinquent steak. ‘Your inventions, on the other hand, are hopelessly transparent. As for Virginia, the lantern room commands an unrivalled view of Hemlock Heights.’
‘There must be plenty of blind spots,’ Jacob objected.
‘Agreed. Much of this garden is concealed by the trees, the clifftop path dips out of sight, and so on. But Shepherd’s Cottage is closer to the lighthouse and I’d expect Virginia to spot anyone going in or out.’
‘Not if she glanced in another direction at the vital times. The woman was painting, not conducting a surveillance operation.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. I can’t believe that someone popped into Shepherd’s Cottage, killed Palmer in the heat of the moment, and then managed to get away without leaving any trace of his – or her – presence and with nobody any the wiser.’
‘What if it was a premeditated crime?’ Jacob demanded. ‘Suppose Palmer was the victim of a cunningly conceived plan?’
‘Very well. Let’s assume someone went to the cottage, determined to kill the man for some inexplicable reason. Whether or not they realised Virginia might be in the lantern room, they’d be taking a huge risk. What if someone saw them?’
‘There weren’t many people around.’
‘So someone visiting a known recluse would stand out even more.’
‘They might have a perfectly reasonable explanation for turning up at the cottage.’
‘Maybe, but if their visit coincided with the presumed time of death, they’d have tricky questions to answer.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Besides, I still believe the theory falls at the first hurdle. If someone approached or left the cottage, on foot, on a bicycle, or in a car, it’s unlikely that Virginia missed it.’
‘Virginia didn’t go up to the lantern room immediately after coming back with you from the hotel.’
‘True,’ she admitted.
‘Let’s go back to the idea that Ffion killed Palmer. Virginia would have a powerful reason for pretending to you that she saw no one.’
‘I agree, although their relationship is reaching a crisis point. Never mind Palmer, I suspect the person Ffion is keenest to get out of the way is me. But would Virginia resist the temptation to give evidence that put Ffion in the clear more conclusively? In my opinion, she can lie through her teeth when it suits her, but if she was fibbing to me about what she saw – or rather, didn’t see – then she is a better actress than Gladys Cooper.’
‘That doesn’t mean she’s right to suspect Palmer of murdering Bellamy.’
‘No, but even if she was trying to throw me off the scent, her explanation for his suicide wasn’t rehearsed. It sprang into her mind as we were talking, I’d swear to it. And because she’s an intelligent woman, it’s a theory that fits with the available evidence and makes a great deal of sense.’
‘Might the deaths of Palmer and Bellamy be entirely unconnected?’
‘Yes, it would be stupid to rule out that possibility. A man may kill himself for a wide variety of reasons, many of which seem irrational to an outsider. We can only hope this message Sowden mentioned casts light on what was in Palmer’s mind.’
Martha reached out to squeeze Rachel’s hand. ‘You sound frustrated.’
Rachel gave her a rueful smile. ‘You know me too well. Last night, when Trueman brought me home, I persuaded myself I was on the verge of unravelling the webs of deceit that people have been spinning in Hemlock Bay. Now they seem more tangled than ever.’
The back door of the bungalow opened to reveal Hetty Trueman. She didn’t seem to be in the best of humours.
‘Back from your errand of mercy?’ Jacob asked cheekily. ‘Made a friend for life?’
Hetty rolled her eyes. ‘That Stones woman could talk the hind legs off one of those donkeys down on the beach. She spouts more nonsense than you do, young man, and that’s saying something.’
‘Did she give you any clues to Palmer’s state of mind?’ Rachel asked. ‘Any reason why he might want to kill himself?’
Hetty sighed. ‘She kept talking about seeing the poor man with his head in the gas oven. Saying she’d never witnessed anything like it in her life. Apart from that, she kept repeating that he was a queer one.’
‘In what way, exactly?’
‘Secretive. Always glad to see the back of her each morning. Not that I blame him. She’s the sort who would much rather natter than work. He told her he didn’t want her dusting his precious books or photographs. And he hated her asking questions. Especially not about her arthritic fingers and the pain she keeps getting in her back. She never forgave him for that, I can tell you.’
‘Presumably she didn’t find out much about him?’
‘He kept the photographs in his bedroom. One of them was taken at his wedding. All the others were of his wife. A pretty girl, according to Mrs Stones, and she’s not one for scattering compliments. Much younger than him.’
‘Did she ask him about his wife?’
‘Only once, and it brought a tear to his eye. He told her she was dead, but he wouldn’t say any more. She’s not the kind who gets embarrassed easily, but even she realised it was best to leave well alone.’
‘Any reason to believe someone held a grudge against him?’
‘He wasn’t a good listener, and Mrs Stones didn’t like that, but it’s hardly a reason to kill someone, is it?’
‘Nobody else?’
Hetty shook her head. ‘He kept himself to himself. According to her, he became gloomier with each passing day. When they first met, he seemed quite jaunty, but that didn’t last. As if the death of his wife preyed on his mind.’
‘Until he decided to end it all?’
‘What else? We all saw that the kitchen was locked. I can’t see how anyone could have got in there.’
‘Virginia Penrhos saw a stranger wandering around nearby yesterday afternoon,’ Rachel said. ‘A man in a trilby and tan gabardine macintosh.’
‘What if he was up to something?’ Martha asked. ‘Suppose Palmer was a crooked accountant who had stolen money from a client before running off to Hemlock Bay? Suppose the victim found out where he was hiding and…’
‘Ingenious,’ Jacob said, ‘but you’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Because I can’t explain how he got in and out of the locked kitchen?’
‘Not only that.’ He beamed, like a conjuror about to produce a missing ace of spades from an unsuspecting onlooker’s pocket. ‘If the chap is the man I think he is, his only crime is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Isn’t that your speciality?’ Martha asked.
Jacob laughed. ‘Not guilty – for once.’
‘Go on, then. The suspense is unbearable.’
‘I know a chap with a tan gabardine macintosh. His name is Bob Harley and he’s one of my colleagues at work. His mistake was catching our editor’s eye at the wrong moment. Just after Gomersall agreed that while I’m up here, I should concentrate on crime reporting.’
‘So when Virginia saw him wandering around the Heights, he was simply familiarising himself with the neighbourhood?’
Jacob nodded. ‘If she’d been quick off the mark, she could have nipped out of the lighthouse to make the challenge. And won five pounds for being the first person in Hemlock Bay to spot Clarion Charlie.’