When the party died, p.15
When the Party Died, page 15
Ellie looked across at her lawyer, who was sitting making notes, and then back to Brock.
“So there you are, near the barn, and you see Simon,” he continued. “Helen and you were congratulating yourselves for being oh-so-funny by cheating at the race, but then you saw him. I’m sure at first you thought he’d had the same idea as you, eh? That he just wanted to cheat at the race? But then you realised something else was going on. He was meeting someone. Matt Pike, to be precise. You both decided to sneak into the barn, hide and listen.
“And that’s where you saw your opportunity, isn’t it? You heard them talk about the Shakespeare folio and you saw your chance to solve your financial problems in one go. I bet you couldn’t believe it when they opened the pole, and the thing was actually in there, let alone when Matt Pike sent Simon off to the house to get something to store it in. You must have thought all your Christmases had come at once.”
He leaned back and took a deep breath. “Now, this is where it gets a little bit tricky. You see, Helen says that you went mad at that point, ran forward and hit Pike over the head with the nearest thing you could find: a crowbar.”
Again, Poole tried hard to not let his face betray any emotion. Just an hour before he had been sitting with Brock as Helen Blaxon had told them a different story. That Matt Pike had been about to steal the folio, sending Simon up to the house to get him out of the way. The inspector was testing her, hoping to make her confess by protesting the inaccuracies.
She said nothing.
“See, I think it might have been different,” Brock continued. “I think Pike might have been about to steal the thing and you realised if you let him take it off the estate, then you would never get your hands on it. So you hit him.” Brock leaned forward again and looked into her blue eyes. “I wonder? Did you mean to hit him that hard?” He held her unblinking gaze for a moment before leaning back again. “Either way, you and Helen realised he was dead almost immediately. Helen panicked, or so she says.” He shrugged. “She told us she was crying, shouting, freaking out, told us you were cool as a cucumber. You told her to go up to the house, fake the horse injury and keep Simon up there a bit longer.” Brock waited for a beat, again hoping to get a rise from Ellie, but she remained silent, leaning back and folding her arms.
“That was when you decided to tuck away the folio, just in case, eh? And now we come to the part of the story where you met Clive Pentonville and where we get a bit hypothetical. I think you decided to stuff the body in the totem pole, seal it up again and then keep Helen quiet, probably by killing her, so that you could sell the folio and keep the profits. Is that when Clive stumbled across you? Just as you were disposing of Matt Pike? What I don’t understand is how you managed to deal with Clive and finish the clean-up of Matt Pike at the same time?”
“Do you know, Inspector? I think you’re really quite clever. You’ve made all these clever guesses about what happened and now you’re trying to make me think that Helen told you all of that.”
“What makes you think she didn’t?” Brock asked.
“Because I know Helen. She’s a frightened little thing with no backbone.”
“Unlike you, you mean?”
She looked at Brock and smiled. “Yes, Inspector, unlike me. If you want to get on in life you must grasp opportunities, that’s all I did.”
Ellie’s lawyer put her hand on her arm to stop her speaking and she gave a small laugh.
“Don’t you think it’s funny, Inspector? All these years I’ve wanted my father to notice me, to give me just a little part of what I am entitled to? He gave me nothing,” she said, suddenly angry. “Now this happens and a fancy lawyer turns up.” She turned to the woman next to her. “How much exactly are you bleeding my father dry per hour? I hope it’s an absolute fortune!” Ellie gave the familiar braying laugh before turning back to Brock.
“And do you know why he’s suddenly loosening the purse strings? It’s for the same reason that he hasn’t turned up here in my hour of need: Because he’s ashamed of me. He wants this awful little mess to go away, to brush it under the carpet.” She smiled, her eyes burning brightly. “Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. I’ll tell you exactly what happened, Inspector.”
“Miss Kendall, I really must advise that you don’t say another word,” the lawyer said sternly, her brow knotted in concern.
“Oh, I don’t think you can get me to do anything. Nobody controls me. Inspector, you were right that Clive turned up just as I was getting that horrible greasy man from London into the totem pole. It was a funny thing to do, I see that now, but it seemed to make so much sense at the time. I knew the pole had been checked and nothing found in it, Simon had told me, so I knew no one would open it again for a good while. When this horrible man told Simon to go and get some bag or other I knew what he was up to straight away, maybe he was a little like me? Takes one to know one and all that!” She laughed again before continuing.
“When I realised he was going to run away with the bloody thing, I knew I had to stop him. I’d found the crowbar leaning against the shelves where Helen and I were hiding, I picked it up, ran out and hit him with it. It was strange,” she said, her head tilted to one side, frowning. “There wasn’t as much blood as I thought. Anyway,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I told Helen to get off up to the house and stall Simon while I sorted it all out. She’s such a timid little thing, it was quite easy to have her thinking the whole thing was her fault! Then I shoved him in quickly and put the panel back on. The thing was so tight I had to bash it back in with the crowbar, but I managed it. It was then I turned round to see Clive standing, watching me. I think he was in shock as he hadn’t said anything, just standing there with his mouth open!”
“And so you turned the crowbar on him, too?”
“Oh no, not just like that. The totem pole was full. Where would have I put him?! I knew I had to deal with him as well though, but how to get him away? I knew Simon would be back at any minute.” She grinned at them. “Can you work it out, Inspector? It was awfully clever of me, really.”
Brock exhaled slowly and leaned forward. “The body was found a good quarter of a mile away. It seems unlikely you dragged him there without anyone seeing.”
“Dragged him?! Oh, Inspector, you are funny!” Ellie roared with laughter again.
Poole felt an unpleasant, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach watching her. She was strangely detached from the situation in which she found herself, and even from what she had done.
“Clive went to the copse of his own accord,” Ellie said smugly.
“How did you make him go there?” Poole asked.
“I told him his brother had killed that horrible man.” She shrugged. “I said that Simon had killed him and I’d sent him up to the house to clean up and then dig a grave to put the body in. I told him that we would buy the pole from the museum before it ever left the estate and then bury the crowbar with the body and nobody would ever know the difference.”
“And he believed you?” Brock asked.
“Do you know? I don’t think he did. But then I played my trump card!” She laughed, eyes shining.
“Which was?”
“I showed him the Shakespeare folio, obviously. His eyes almost burst out of his head! Once he’d seen that, and I told him that this man had tried to steal it from Simon, he bought it all. I told him Simon was going to bury the man in the copse and that we should go and help him. No one was going to find the body in the meantime. He agreed, and we walked over there. Easy as anything, apart from him making a bloody phone call, that was a sticky moment!”
“He called Byron Lanister to try and buy the pole?”
“Yes, I didn’t think he’d go and do it right there and then. Everyone thought he had gone off to London, so I was just going to pretend I’d never seen him.”
“And why hadn’t he gone to London?”
“Do you know? I never found out. But I suspect he came back because he’d suddenly had the same thought as Simon had. That the Shakespeare folio was real and was hidden in the totem pole. He always was a little slower on the uptake than Simon. He didn’t even twig something was wrong when I took my horse across to the woods with me—I think he was still in a daze.”
“And what happened when you got to the woods?” Brock asked.
“I really insist that you don’t say another word!” Ellie’s lawyer said loudly.
Ellie turned to her slowly, rising in her seat, her head rising on her long neck. “I have already told you, you don’t tell me what to do. Nobody does.” A chill ran around the room. Ellie’s words had been quiet, forceful, and full of malice.
She turned back to the inspector, the vague grin returning. “I hit him over the head, Inspector; surely you must know that from having seen the body? I’m afraid there was a lot more blood this time, I must have hit him differently.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I covered him up and made it back to the house on horseback at the same time as Jonathan. He thought I’d just finished the race, of course. Helen was there and said her horse had been hurt, Simon arrived a few minutes later from the stables looking bloody annoyed!” She laughed again. “I’d loved to have seen his face when he got there and that awful Matt Pike had vanished along with his folio.”
“What about Simon? I thought you cared for him?” Poole said in disbelief.
“Cared for him?! Oh, isn’t he sweet, Inspector?!” She laughed. “You must love having this big puppy dog following you around. No dear,” she said in a patronising voice directed at Poole. “Simon was a bloody idiot who I thought was going to inherit a big pile of cash. I wanted in. I was hanging around to see how much it would all work out to, but it was obvious it wasn’t going to be much. So, like I said, I took my chance.”
“And at what point did you decide to frame Frazer Mullins?” Brock said.
“Do you know, I thought that might have been the cleverest part of all, though I have to say it was pure luck that put me onto it,” she answered. “I realised I wouldn’t be able to get the body out of the pole and away without others noticing, and then it occurred to me that the best thing would be if I just left him there. There was a small chance that it would be discovered on the way, but I was fairly sure it would make it to the museum in one piece and no one would have any idea he was in there. Then it was just a matter of leaving you a little extra proof, so I slipped something in Simon’s drink the night before to make sure he slept well and nipped off to the museum. I grabbed the crowbar from the copse and took it with me. Once I got there, I had just planned to throw the thing into a bin nearby or something, but then I noticed the alley that ran down the back of the building and thought I could do even better. I could make it look like there was a break-in of some kind and then if the body was ever discovered, they’d link it to that. It was all very easy. I smashed the camera with a stone that had fallen from the wall and kicked the doors in. I have to admit I had expected some kind of alarm, but nothing happened.” She shrugged.
“If you wanted it to look like a robbery, why didn’t you take anything?” Brock asked.
“Because the place was full of junk, Inspector! I had a look around the storeroom, but it was all just a load of old tat, and the last thing I wanted was to actually have to hide more ill-gotten gains. I had the folio already. In any case, it seemed to me that it would look better as a robbery gone wrong if nothing was taken. Then I had a bit of luck in finding a crowbar that was identical to the one I had with me, so I swapped them there and then and got out of there.”
“And you couldn’t replace the one from the museum into the barn on the estate because you didn’t have the key?”
“No, Simon had locked the bloody thing up so I threw it in the grass. I was slightly surprised when you came to the manor to talk to us the next day. I thought you’d stick on the museum angle. You are a clever thing, aren’t you?” she said patronisingly.
“I wonder though, how did you come to the conclusion it was Helen? I mean, I had planned for her to take the fall if it came to it, but you caught me off guard turning up again so suddenly like you did.”
Brock said nothing for a moment before moving on.
“Poole realised that there wasn’t an injured horse.”
She frowned and looked at Poole. “Oh, I see!” she said, suddenly smiling. “You realised she’d lied about the horse being hurt and so her timeline of events couldn’t be trusted, nor could her identification of Frazer Mullins, am I right?”
Poole nodded.
“Well I must say, I am impressed. I couldn’t believe my luck when it turned out that the man Helen had seen weeks ago on the estate worked at the museum. It was quite a turn-up. Of course, we had to use it to push the blame onto him, so I made Helen tell you she’d seen him on the day of the unpleasantness. Then I’d say I’d seen Clive, and you’d put two and two together.”
Unpleasantness. That was the word she had used to describe a double murder. Poole felt a shiver run down his spine.
“It seems you saw through my little charade though and were homed in on poor little Helen. I’d realised that this Fraser idea wasn’t going to stick, so I decided to pull my last rabbit out of the hat and make Helen ‘disappear,’ and hope you took that to mean she was behind it. Then, when I was about to make an excuse to drive into town so that I could get rid of her, you turned up and told me you were going to search the whole place. I decided to just make a run for it.”
“You honestly thought you would get away?” Poole said, shaking his head.
“No, Detective, I fully planned on being caught, but only after I had disposed of Helen somewhere. Then I would have told you that I had a moment of madness as I’d realised my friend had committed the murders or something like that. You wouldn’t have had anything much pointing to me and I have to say, I am rather a good actress.” She cackled again and turned to her stony-faced lawyer, who was furiously scribbling copious notes. “I hope you tell my dear father that if he hadn’t sent you to my aid, I probably would have kept up the pretence and got away with it. Now he’s going to have to live with the notoriety of having a murderess for a daughter.” She threw her head back and laughed loudly as the others in the room stared at her in disgust.
“Are you sure I can’t change your mind, Sam?” Chief Inspector Tannock said from behind his large desk. There was no computer on it, just two neat piles of paper and a small bronze statue of a set of golf clubs. He eyed Brock over steepled hands which rested on the end of his bulbous, red nose.
“I’m sure, sir,” Brock replied. “I just don’t think it’s the right time for me to move up the food chain.”
Tannock gave a snort of laughter. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh, Brock? You weren’t the only one asked to throw their hat into the ring, you know.”
“I know, sir,” Brock said with a sigh. “I expect Inspector Sharp will be the favourite, sir?”
“Damn fine chap, Sharp. I play golf with him, you know?”
“Yes, sir,” Brock answered wearily.
“Ever thought of taking up golf, Sam?”
“No, sir, rugby was more of my game.”
“Damn shame, good for the soul, golf. And the career, if you want me to be honest about it.”
He stared at Brock for a moment before sighing and shaking his head.
“Very well, if you’re sure I’ll put it to the top bods that you’d like to withdraw your name from the running for my job.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brock said, rising.
“Oh, and Sam?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Sharp told me your young sergeant was being disrespectful to him the other day. Mind you keep an eye on that chap, eh? From a criminal background, you know,” he said pointedly, looking over his half-rim glasses.
“Yes, sir,” Brock answered, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists as he turned and threw the door of the office open before marching out.
“How did it go, sir?” Poole asked as Brock opened the door to their small office.
“We’re going to the pub,” Brock snapped, vanishing back into the hallway.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
“Are you not drinking?” Sanita asked, her eyes following the elderflower fizz that had been placed in front of Laura Brock.
“No, I’m driving tonight,” she answered, smiling.
Poole watched Sanita nod, but with a hint of suspicion in her eye. The police officer in her clearly rising to the fore.
“Another case closed then, everyone,” Brock said, addressing the table in front of him, which consisted of his wife, Sanita, Poole and Davies. “Well done all of you, and Davies?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I am never getting in a car with you behind the wheel again as long as I live.”
“Yes, sir,” Davies said, looking slightly crestfallen.
“I thought he did well, sir—you got there only a little bit after us,” Sanita said, grinning.
“The only person I’d want to get in a car with less than Davies here is you, Sanders,” Brock said. “At least Davies here had the sense not to drive straight off the bloody hilltop.”
Everyone around the table laughed, including Sanita, before she then defended herself. “I was in pursuit; she might have made it across the river if we hadn’t got there when we did.”
“You’re absolutely right, Sanders.” Brock raised a glass to her. “Well done. Though I dare say Poole here will be having flashbacks for a while.”
The table erupted in laughter again as the conversation turned to news from the manor since the arrest.
“So what’s going to happen to the Shakespeare folio?” Laura asked. “That horrible bloody brother isn’t going to get it, is he?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Poole said. “Apparently the wording of the will listed that Ted Daley would inherit the totem pole and everything in it. No one picked up on the significance of the wording at the time, but it looks like Mr Daley is going to get the folio.”
