30

‘Thank you for coming here this evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ Inspector Oakes said. ‘I appreciate your co-operation.’

Jacob, sitting to one side in the smoking room, nodded his approval. Oakes was a past master at soft-soaping reluctant witnesses. They had filed in as the clock struck nine and their expressions suggested bewilderment about why they’d been asked to attend.

Sir Harold Jackson, sitting at the front of the room, was chatting amiably to the chief constable. Lady Jackson was pale and drawn, while Louis Carson seemed bored. He’d already made it clear that he had a lot to do, and that it was an imposition to take time out of his busy evening. Pearl Carson, calm and even-tempered, nudged him more than once to encourage him to conceal his discontent. She’d brought her knitting, as if to make sure that the evening wouldn’t be entirely wasted.

Inspector Young sat behind the Jacksons while the burly young constable, summoned from Shepherd’s Cottage, stood at the back of the room. Bob Harley – much to his displeasure – had not been invited. He sensed that something was up, but Inspector Oakes told him the discussion taking place behind closed doors was confidential. Jacob was there to represent the Clarion, but he’d undertaken to follow police guidance about what he could and could not treat as being on the record.

‘I suppose,’ Sir Harold said to the Scotland Yard man, ‘you don’t mind explaining what this is all about?’

Oakes cleared his throat. ‘We all know there has been a great deal of trouble in Hemlock Bay these past few days. Now we’re on the verge of clearing things up, it seemed only right that the people in charge of the Hemlock Bay Development Company should receive a progress report.’

‘As I understand it,’ Carson said, ‘the case is closed. Done and dusted. At least, all bar the shouting. The local grapevine has been busier than ever. I hear that Bellamy was killed by the woman who jumped off the cliff this afternoon. Astonishing. Presumably the inquest will say the balance of her mind was disturbed. So it must have been. Why else would a visitor to the resort batter a harmless fortune teller to death?’

‘Why indeed?’ Oakes said. ‘Inspector Young has been busy. Despite the confusion following yesterday’s public meeting, the case has indeed been wrapped up in short order. I can confirm that we are not looking for anyone else in connection with the murder of Gareth Bellamy.’

‘There you are, then. Why do we need to go through this rigmarole?’

‘Because at present, there are one or two matters that haven’t yet been satisfactorily resolved. As we speak, Joseph McAtee is lying in a hospital bed in Lancaster. He’s gravely ill.’

Carson reddened. ‘The hotel can’t accept responsibility for the ailments of its guests. What do the doctors have to say?’

‘Their initial diagnosis was tentative. An acute case of Guillain-Barré Syndrome, but they find some features of his condition baffling.’ Oakes paused. ‘Then there is the death of Basil Palmer, who came here masquerading as a retired doctor from South Africa.’

Sir Harold frowned. ‘Didn’t the poor devil gas himself? That was my understanding.’

Pearl Carson looked up from her knitting. ‘I’m confused. I heard he left a note admitting that he’d killed the fortune teller. Yet now you’re saying that the young woman from the lighthouse was responsible.’

‘Miss Ffion Morris, yes. She isn’t the only visitor to Hemlock Bay who has taken her own life this year. A young man called Edward Hillman threw himself off the cliffs in the spring.’

Sir Harold nodded. ‘Sad business, I remember it well. We’d never had such a tragedy before. And now…’

His voice trailed away. To Jacob’s ears he sounded weary and defeated, and no wonder. He’d devoted so much energy to creating this resort, only to see the place torn apart by tragedy.

‘A short time ago,’ Oakes said, ‘I had a conversation with Miss Rachel Savernake, whom several of you have already met.’

Rachel was standing at the back of the room and when people craned their necks to look at her she responded with a modest smile.

‘I’m acquainted with Miss Savernake,’ Oakes said carefully. ‘She has given assistance to Scotland Yard more than once. Perhaps I might describe her as an amateur criminologist.’

Sir Harold and his wife raised their eyebrows. Carson frowned, while his wife simply carried on knitting.

‘Miss Savernake has formed a theory about the reason for the recent tragedies,’ Oakes continued. ‘I’ve therefore invited her to present it to you tonight.’

‘I don’t see…’ Carson began, before Oakes raised his hand.

‘If you don’t mind, sir, it would be best if I ask Miss Savernake to explain her views and then you can put any questions to her.’

Rachel strolled to the front of the room as the detective sat down next to Young. ‘Thank you, Inspector, and thank you everyone for taking the time to come here this evening. I know you’re all busy, so I’ll be as brief as possible.’

‘Please,’ Carson muttered.

She smiled at him. ‘My interest in Hemlock Bay stirred when I read about the sad death of Edward Hillman. A young man, hard-working and popular, who was about to get married. What could possibly drive him to take his own life? He’d stayed in this very hotel shortly before his death, and he came back here to die, which suggests the place held considerable significance for him.’

‘Very distressing,’ Lady Jackson said in a soft drawl, ‘but he must have been deeply troubled. Surely it’s obvious that he came here because Hemlock Bay held happy memories for him?’

Rachel nodded. ‘I wonder if he met the love of his life here.’

‘His fiancée? Yes, that would make sense.’

‘No, he was engaged to the daughter of a man he worked for in Liverpool. But let me turn to Ffion Morris. Unlikely as it might seem, she and Basil Palmer – who called himself Dr Doyle – had something in common.’

The chief constable was beginning to show signs of impatience. ‘Such as?’

‘They’d both suffered at the hands of a blackmailer,’ Rachel said calmly. ‘I’ve read Palmer’s journal, which makes the situation clear.’

‘Palmer kept a journal?’ Sir Harold asked.

‘At times of stress, it is therapeutic to jot down one’s darkest thoughts.’ Rachel gave a wry smile, as if enjoying a private joke. ‘Dangerous, though, to give oneself away. The entries make it clear that he came to Hemlock Bay with the intention of committing murder.’

‘Good God!’

‘Yes. His wife had an affair with another man which was discovered by a blackmailer. They couldn’t meet his demands, and the man’s wife was told about her husband’s adultery. The lovers entered into a suicide pact which resulted in the death of Palmer’s wife. When Palmer found out, he became obsessed with avenging her loss. He traced the blackmailer to Hemlock Bay with the help of a private inquiry agent.’

‘A private detective?’ Sir Harold demanded. ‘Extraordinary!’

‘Palmer rented Shepherd’s Cottage but died before he could put his own plan into action. Meanwhile, Ffion Morris and Virginia Penrhos had come here for similar reasons. Ffion Morris had been blackmailed because of an illicit relationship with another woman. Like the other star-crossed lovers, they refused to pay up, and suffered the consequences. Ffion was also bent on revenge.’

‘So Bellamy was the blackmailer,’ Carson said. ‘That’s why she killed him.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Bear with me. I wondered if Hillman had also fallen prey to a blackmailer. And I asked myself how a blackmail scheme in a holiday resort might work.’

‘Do enlighten us,’ Major Busby said gruffly.

‘The seaside is a happy hunting ground for someone who trades in dirty secrets. People come to a resort to get away from their ordinary lives. To taste excitement. Hotels are anonymous, guests come and go. You can pretend you are someone else, follow a wholly different way of life. You might bring a lover or pick up a new one. What goes on behind closed doors is no one else’s business. Unless a criminal discovers what you’re up to.’

Lady Jackson looked bewildered. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

‘Mrs Palmer and Ffion Morris both fell victim to blackmail in Brighton, a raffish place where crime is rife. Hemlock Bay, on the other hand, is famously refined, a Mecca for the respectable bourgeoisie. People with reputations to protect. Individuals with a great deal to lose, if their behaviour is not as impeccable as conventional morality demands.’

‘Are you suggesting,’ Sir Harold demanded, ‘that this town has become home to a blackmailer?’

‘Yes,’ Rachel said calmly. ‘The likeliest explanation for Edward Hillman’s act of despair is that he misbehaved so badly here that his engagement was about to be broken and he’d lose his job.’

‘What had he done?’

‘One possibility is that he consorted with a prostitute.’

‘We keep a sharp eye out for trouble in Hemlock Bay,’ Sir Harold said. ‘Above all in this hotel. Any woman of the streets would be shown the door.’

‘The probability is that he succumbed to the charms of another young man.’

‘Good God!’ Major Busby said. ‘In Hemlock Bay?’

‘In Hemlock Bay, yes. To cut to the chase, I discovered that a young barman who works in the Mermaid has a penchant for befriending other men who are tempted to… shall we say, feast with panthers? He is in cahoots with the beach photographer. I suspect their modus operandi is straightforward.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The barman concentrates his charm on visitors staying at this hotel, on the basis they must have plenty of money. He gets himself invited to the victim’s room, and then the photographer bursts in to take compromising pictures. I imagine something of the sort happened to Edward Hillman. Of course, these were exceptional cases where the victims could not or would not buy the blackmailer’s silence. No doubt most of the luckless victims paid through the nose in return for the photographs.’

‘Appalling,’ Sir Harold said. ‘Disgraceful.’

‘You talk of evidence, Miss Savernake,’ Carson said briskly, ‘but what evidence do you have to support these distasteful speculations?’

‘Not enough to convince a court,’ Rachel admitted. ‘Palmer’s journal is damning, but a document can’t be cross-examined. We need more to guarantee a conviction, which is why Inspector Young’s sergeant is questioning the barman at this very moment. The beach photographer will be next.’

Carson glanced over his shoulder at the inspector, who responded with a curt nod.

‘Blackmail is a lucrative business,’ Rachel said smoothly, ‘but like most serious crimes, it’s fraught with risk. What if, for instance, the blackmailer’s scheme is uncovered by someone equally ruthless and amoral?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Lady Jackson said. ‘What are you suggesting?’

Rachel folded her arms. ‘The private investigator engaged by Basil Palmer was Joseph McAtee. A capable detective, but corrupt. He was so impressed by the blackmail scheme that he fancied taking a slice of it for himself. Hence his arrival in Hemlock Bay.’

Lady Jackson put her head in her hands. ‘This is a nightmare, I can’t believe it!’

Rachel looked straight at the Jacksons. ‘I understand this must be deeply upsetting for you, but Hemlock Bay is your creation. You need to hear the truth about what has been happening here.’

Louis Carson had grown restive. ‘That’s all very well, Miss Savernake, but I’m not clear what you’re driving at. Are you saying that this blackmail malarkey was masterminded by a young barman? What does McAtee have to do with it all?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘You know the truth perfectly well, Mr Carson. Basil Palmer’s wife told him in her suicide note that you were the blackmailer. Palmer asked McAtee to trace you and when he ran you down to earth, he decided to get in on your act.’

Carson’s face was a deep shade of red. He quivered with temper. ‘This is an outrage! I hope you have deep pockets, Miss Savernake.’

‘Quite deep, yes.’

‘This is slander, plain and simple! Rest assured, I shall instruct my solicitors first thing tomorrow to sue you for every penny you’ve got.’

Rachel smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll be allowed one telephone call from your prison cell.’

‘What?’ He threw a glance at Oakes. ‘I hope nobody else hear believes a word of this fairy tale? To suggest that I’m involved with blackmail…’

‘And murder,’ Rachel interrupted.

‘What? Are you mad? I didn’t know Palmer and I certainly didn’t kill him.’

‘I’m not referring to the death of Basil Palmer,’ she said. ‘What I’m talking about is the poisoning of Joseph McAtee.’

‘You’re off your head!’ he shouted. ‘The man isn’t even dead!’

‘Not yet, but I fear he soon will be. The last I heard, the doctors were fighting tooth and nail to save his life, but he wasn’t responding to treatment. We can only hope that he does recover. Then the charge will be attempted murder.’

‘This is a disgrace!’ Carson bellowed. Turning to the Jacksons, he said, ‘Sir Harold, you’re not prepared to stand for this, are you? We’re business partners, after all. You said…’

‘Whatever I said in the past,’ Sir Harold Jackson said icily, ‘counts for nothing if there is a scintilla of truth in what Miss Savernake is telling us.’

Lady Jackson gestured to Rachel. ‘You say McAtee was poisoned. What proof do you have?’

‘Whether he lives or he dies,’ Rachel said, ‘he’ll have to undergo an exceptionally thorough examination. Unless I’m much mistaken, that will yield the required evidence.’

‘Evidence of what?’ Sir Harold asked.

‘Of thallium poisoning,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Jackson, but you were unwittingly responsible for the chosen method of murder.’

‘No!’ The older woman put her hand to her mouth. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘You mentioned Koremlu Cream to me, and that got me thinking. In your homeland it’s attracted a lot of attention as a very effective depilatory. The crucial ingredient is thallium acetate. Unfortunately, that is even more effective when used as rat poison. For a human being, one single dose can prove fatal.’

‘My God!’

‘I’m sorry to break it to you, but thallium has considerable appeal for a prospective murderer. It is soluble in water and virtually tasteless. The symptoms of thallium poisoning are easily mistaken for various common ailments. And its effects are delayed, although they vary from individual to individual, as well as depending upon the amount of poison administered. I don’t claim to be a toxicologist, but given the speed with which his condition has deteriorated, my bet is that McAtee is naturally susceptible. I presume the dose he received was large enough to guarantee death after a period of apparently inexplicable agony.’

Lady Jackson stared at her, ashen-faced. She seemed incapable of finding words to express her horror.

Carson leapt to his feet. ‘This is intolerable! Not content with suggesting I’m guilty of blackmail, you’re now accusing me of poisoning one of our own guests.’

Rachel smiled, quite unmoved. ‘Guests at this hotel receive chocolates on their pillow as a little treat. Is that how McAtee was poisoned? Rather more inventive than simply putting the stuff into his coffee or tea, I agree.’

‘I’ve had more than enough of your nonsense, Miss Savernake. You have no official standing whatsoever. Frankly, it’s deplorable that senior policemen are allowing you to parrot your odious theories while they stand idly by.’

Inspector Oakes got to his feet. ‘We’re not quite as idle as you think, Mr Carson. I’ve had a quick look at Palmer’s journal myself and the accusations about you are damning.’

‘The word of a dead man, deranged by grief!’ Jerking a thumb at his wife, Carson took a step towards the door. ‘Come on, Pearl. We’re leaving. If you wish to communicate with me further, Inspector, you can do so through my solicitor.’

Inspector Young interposed his bulky frame between Carson and the door. As Carson hesitated, Pearl Carson rose, clutching her knitting.

‘What you’re saying, Miss Savernake, is utterly fantastic. The man you’re describing isn’t the man I married.’

Rachel returned her gaze. ‘I notice you don’t say the man I love. How did you think he made his money?’

‘Through damned hard work!’

‘Ah, if only.’

Pearl shook her head, in sorrow it seemed, rather than in anger.

‘You’re making a huge mistake. My husband hiring young men to help him blackmail innocent people? Using a cream of mine to poison a guest in this hotel? It’s wild, outlandish. You’ll never convince a jury that he’s a master criminal.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t try.’

Pearl screwed her face up, as if trying to make sense of a cryptic crossword. ‘I thought you were saying that Louis…’

‘No, no, Mrs Carson. Basil Palmer’s wife believed Louis was the blackmailer, and that’s why her husband wanted him dead. But Louis was simply the messenger, wasn’t he? With the potential to become a convenient scapegoat.’

Pearl held her knitting in front of her like a shield. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Then let me be blunt. You planned the blackmail scheme and put your husband up to moving here and taking over Sir Harold’s empire, step by step. And you poisoned Joe McAtee.’

Carson took a stride towards Rachel.

‘You’re mad! Accuse me of whatever you want, but leave my wife out of it. Pearl is the sweetest, gentlest woman. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Rachel stood her ground. ‘You think so, Mr Carson?’

‘I know so!’

‘Touching loyalty. It may be your only redeeming feature. But I wonder how your marital devotion will fare when it’s put to the test.’

‘You’re talking rubbish, absolute rubbish!’

‘Am I?’ Rachel looked from Louis Carson to his wife and back again. ‘I’m sure you’ve always agreed that, if the worst came to the worst, you’d swear that Pearl is innocent. But how do you feel about her using you as a guinea pig?’

‘What do you mean?’

Rachel pointed to his bald patch. ‘She tested the thallium on you, I’m afraid. Evidently you only received a small dose, but it left a telltale mark.’

He gaped at her, unable to utter a word. His wife simply stared into space. Her self-control, Jacob thought, was remarkable. He’d thought of her as placid but now he was beginning to believe she was made of ice.

‘If she’d got away with killing McAtee,’ Rachel said, ‘you’d have been the next to go.’

Pearl exhaled, but said nothing. Carson’s face was a picture of incredulity.

‘Your death would have left Pearl free to pursue her impossible dream. Of becoming the next Lady Jackson.’

‘Oh God!’ Sir Harold said. ‘Never!’

An involuntary exclamation, but coupled with the expression of horror on his face, it was enough to destroy Pearl Carson’s unnatural calm.

She picked up her knitting needles and threw herself forward, aiming the needle points at Rachel’s throat.

Rachel spun on her heel and dodged out of the way. As Oakes and Jacob rushed forward, she seized Pearl Carson’s wrist and twisted hard.

There was a snapping noise that made Jacob cringe.

Pearl Carson stared at Rachel in astonishment and pain and howled like a banshee.