Herring on the Nile (25 page)

‘A bit,’ conceded Tom. ‘I belong to a gun club in New York.’

‘And you were prowling around the boat when the shot was fired.’

‘That’s true,’ said Tom.

‘So you’re as much a suspect as anyone.’

‘That’s true as well.’

‘But I’m not a suspect of any sort,’ said Proctor smugly. ‘I have two witnesses as to where I was when the gun was fired.’

‘I have a theory about that too,’ said Tom. ‘What if a silencer was used for the murder – a silencer that was later thrown overboard? What if we were all mistaken about
hearing a gunshot when the engine was about to blow up?’

‘Rubbish,’ said Proctor, reluctant to lose his alibi so soon after recovering his client.

‘It sounds reasonable,’ said Ethelred, thoughtfully.

‘A fat lot you know about guns,’ sneered Proctor. ‘This stuff about a silencer is pure conjecture. And I was with Elsie and Jane when the shot was fired.’

‘I’m not suggesting we’re all equal suspects,’ said Tom. ‘As Mr Proctor so rightly points out, for example, not everyone here knows about or can handle a gun. So I
thought we might try a little experiment. I have here in this bag the gun that was used – nobody collected it from the cabin, so I took the liberty of doing so myself. I’ve removed the
bullets obviously. What I’d like each of you to do is to take it, aim it at somebody round the table and press the trigger.’

Lizzi Hull shrugged. ‘Sounds interesting. I’m game, if it will actually prove anything.’

Campion looked doubtful. ‘Surely the killer will just deny all knowledge of how to fire a gun? I can’t see the point of this at all.’

‘I agree,’ said Proctor. ‘All the killer has to do is to say they’ve never fired a gun in their life and then pretend they can’t even operate the safety catch.
Still, I’m willing to play along if that’s what you wish.’

‘I hate guns,’ said Annabelle. ‘Count me out – either as the shooter or as the target. Every time I see a gun, I shudder.’ She put her carefully manicured hands up,
as if to fend off the possibility of being made to touch the murder weapon.

‘Me too,’ said Sky. ‘I wouldn’t go near one.’

‘You have my assurance,’ said Tom blandly, ‘it will be quite OK. It’s unloaded. I’d just like to see each of you take the gun, aim and pull the trigger.’

Jane Watson however had had enough. The gym mistress spoke and spoke firmly: ‘You are clearly a complete idiot. Do you not know the first rule of handling a firearm? Never point a gun at
anyone – loaded or not. And don’t mess with the trigger unless you are actually proposing to shoot something. Frankly, Tom, I am surprised at you. You are a danger to everyone on the
boat. If that’s how New York gun clubs operate, I for one never plan to go near them. I forbid you even to take the gun out of the bag.’

Tom looked suitably abashed. ‘Well, since you put it like that, Jane, I guess we’ll have to cancel that particular game. Shame though.’

‘Aren’t there fingerprints on the gun?’ asked Ethelred, more concerned with detection than gun safety.

‘Wiped clean,’ said Tom. ‘You could eat your dinner off it. OK, guys, I’ll just put it under my seat and we’ll get back to polite chit-chat.’

‘Do it carefully, and whatever you do don’t drop it,’ said Miss Watson.

‘It has an automatic firing-pin safety,’ said Tom.

‘So it does. I’d still prefer that you didn’t drop it, though,’ said Jane.

And with exaggerated care, Tom placed the bag under his chair.

After dinner, Tom, John, Ethelred and I were the last four left at the dining table.

‘Well, Jane Watson certainly put you in your place,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Tom. He did not seem too worried.

‘What surprises me,’ said Ethelred, ‘is that the police – the real police, I mean – left the gun where it was.’

Tom reached under his chair again, pulled out the plastic bag and placed it on the table. Then he put his hand into the bag and removed a portable hairdryer.

‘Nice,’ I said.

‘I never travel anywhere without it,’ said Tom. ‘I have such difficult hair. As for the Margo, the police obviously gathered it up straight away. I just wanted to see how
people reacted to my suggestion that we should pass the weapon around.’

‘And?’ I asked.

‘Some were clearly pretty nervous of being anywhere near a gun. Some were quite touchingly willing to take my word for it that the gun was not loaded – suggesting they hadn’t
spent much time around firearms.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘Jane’s intervention stopped the experiment halfway.’

‘I wasn’t planning to let people use my hairdryer in earnest,’ said Tom. ‘It can overheat if you’re not careful – there would have been a real danger of split
ends. No, I’d gone as far as I’d planned.’

‘But we’re no further forward than before,’ said Ethelred.

‘On the contrary,’ said Tom. ‘I’m pretty sure I now know exactly who shot Purbright. I don’t know if it was the same person who dislodged the stone at the temple,
narrowly missing Ethelred and the good Mr Proctor in the process – I’m beginning to feel that may have been an accident after all. But a number of things are a lot clearer –
Masterman was clearly wrong about Jane Watson not knowing what a gunshot would sound like, for example. No, the murderer gave herself away this evening. The problem – and it’s a big one
– is that the motive completely eludes me. I wish I had a little more by the way of solid evidence and I wish I could tell you
why
she shot him. But I’m as certain as I can be
what happened.’

‘She?’ I said.

‘That’s right,’ said Tom.

‘Who?’ asked Ethelred.

‘Since I can’t prove it, maybe that’s all I should say – but, yes, the killer was a member of the deadlier and more ruthless sex.’

Twenty-eight

‘Well,’ said Elsie, once we were completely alone, ‘who exactly is Tom saying is the murderer?’

I sighed. ‘Isn’t it obvious? He means Annabelle.’

Elsie nodded a little too quickly for my taste. It was almost unthinkable, but it was the only logical conclusion. She did
however raise one small objection. ‘Tom’s little experiment suggested that Annabelle wouldn’t go near a gun. Doesn’t that throw a spanner in the works?’

‘My guess is that Tom wasn’t fooled any more than I was. Two of her previous husbands have been keen on grouse shooting. She’ll have held a gun more often than most people on
the boat. She certainly knew better than to point the gun at somebody. But she pretended she hadn’t used one. That bit of play-acting was pretty much what convinced me and is probably what
convinced Tom too. No, it seems quite clear what happened. She picked up a gun in Cairo as she passed through – I don’t know where of course. The first attempt to kill me was at Edfu
– just after she arrived. John saw somebody in a floppy hat climbing the stairs to the roof. Then, after dinner the other night, she saw me go off with Purbright and decided to have another
go. Maybe she used a silencer and the shot was earlier than we think – I know Tom now has Jane Watson down as an expert on pistols, but she could still have been mistaken. If so, the silencer
was disposed of almost straight away. Or maybe the shot was fired when we first thought. Actually it doesn’t matter much. Both things are possible and, either way, Annabelle’s
whereabouts are unaccounted for at the time Purbright was killed.’

‘Was she that desperate? I mean to try to kill you?’ Elsie asked.

‘I think so. Tom said he couldn’t quite see the motive – but he doesn’t know how passionately she wanted to continue to be Lady Muntham of Muntham Court. That’s why
she got Robert to buy the house in the first place. Once I’d sold it, that would be that. In the end she would probably have stooped to any trick. I too find it hard to believe she would have
gone quite that far but nothing else makes sense . . .’

Elsie put her hand on my arm. ‘Look on the bright side. You might have married her. As it is you’ve got away with just a few scratches from that rock. And a kidnapping. And a near
miss at being blown up. And looking like an idiot for bringing the bomb on board. I’d call that lucky myself.’

‘I do wonder,’ I said, ‘whether Annabelle and I might not have been happy together, under slightly different circumstances.’

‘Ethelred, pet, no ex-pole dancer is going to make you happy.’

‘She’s too old to be an ex-pole dancer,’ I said. ‘It didn’t really catch on until the nineties.’

‘At last!’ said Elsie. ‘Welcome to the real world.’

I drained the last of my coffee. The waiters had finally gone to bed. Doubtless they would clear away the remaining cups in the morning.

‘There’s nothing to be done,’ I said. ‘The police think it was Mahmoud and Majid.’

‘We could tell them anyway,’ said Elsie. ‘I can’t see what we’ve got to lose. And it would be fun.’

‘It would be a complete waste of time,’ I pointed out. ‘You’ve met Masterman. He doesn’t seem like somebody who changes his mind. He’d rather have
Purbright’s family know that he died in the line of duty than that he was collateral damage in a lovers’ tiff. And the Egyptian authorities have already issued a press release with the
official version of events set out. They might find it slightly awkward if the men they’ve shot hadn’t killed Purbright. Anyway, as Tom says, we’ve
no proof
. You know who
it was. Tom knows who it was. I know who it was. That’s the end of the story.’

‘And what are you intending to do for the rest of the trip? She’s tried to kill you twice. Are you planning to let her keep taking potshots until she gets lucky?’

‘She’s disarmed – unless she plans to kill me by blowing me dry. And I’ll stay away from any unstable ceilings.’

‘I’m not quite sure what I’ll do,’ she said, ‘when we are back in England and breakfast does not get transported for you from the counter to your table. I suppose
we could reintroduce fagging at my school and get the smaller girls to fetch and carry. I rather think they might actually enjoy that. We could persuade the parents that it was part of some history
project. Were you ever a fag, Ethelred?’

‘Not of any sort,’ I said.

‘Your agent said something about your having attended a boarding school in Sunderland.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘I have to say,’ said Miss Watson, changing the subject, ‘that I found Tom’s performance last night very odd. What on earth was it all about?’

‘He thinks he knows who killed Purbright,’ I said.

‘But the police are convinced that it was Mahmoud and Majid, surely?’

‘Tom thinks otherwise.’

‘Does he have any proof?’

‘None that he’s shown me.’

‘I wouldn’t necessarily trust all that Tom says.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Elsie said that your friend in Cairo was not keen on him.’

‘Colonel Ahmed? I suppose that’s right.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘What does Colonel Ahmed do, exactly?’

‘Something terribly secret.’

‘But what?’

‘When it’s terribly secret, you don’t get told.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ I said. ‘But you mean that Tom and John might be spies or terrorists or something?’

‘If I had to pick an obvious suicide bomber amongst our little group, it probably wouldn’t be them. Still, I wouldn’t place too much trust in what they say either.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘That’s not what I said,’ I pointed out.

‘You did, more or less.’

‘I just said that Miss Watson’s friend obviously suspected them of something.’

‘Or just didn’t like Americans.’

‘Miss Watson knows more than she is saying,’ I said. ‘I don’t know whether Colonel Ahmed told her something in Cairo or she saw something on the night – but she is
giving us a definite steer not to trust Tom’s theories.’

‘She was with me when the shots were fired,’ said Elsie, ‘so she can’t have seen anything I didn’t. And if Colonel Ahmed is her friend and knew the boat was full of
spies and terrorists, wouldn’t he have warned her not to travel?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

‘OK,’ said Elsie. ‘Maybe the police are right. Maybe Tom’s wrong. Maybe Mahmoud and Majid did shoot Purbright. I’d still put my money on the rock being a present to
you from Annabelle, but I’ll never prove it. At least you are free of her. You were always far too much under her control. You need to stand up for yourself more. Just make it clear to her
that she’s history.’

‘Whatever you say,’ I said.

The suq at Aswan is a long road that runs parallel to the Nile but one block inland. The shops on each side, open fronted, spread surreptitiously onto the thoroughfare and press in on you with
offerings of fake designer T-shirts, belts, cheap gods and heaps of rice, soap and saffron. The smell of spice alternates with that of leather and jasmine and occasionally drains. The shopkeepers
greet you as the friend they hope you will become. No rejection on your part, however final, dims their optimism in this respect. It does not pay to linger for more than a few seconds outside any
shop at which you do not plan to spend money.