Let's Kill Uncle (30 page)

‘There’s a chocolate bar in the desk drawer.’

When he had left them, Sergeant Coulter turned to Desmond.

‘Don’t be frightened, Desmond. I think, Desmond, that you and I will have a little talk.’

They had a lovely little talk, particularly Desmond. He had known Albert since they were children and he adored him.

Completely relaxed and unafraid, he told everything. His mind, with the fidelity of a tape recorder, reeled off conversations word perfect.

It took Desmond a long, long time, but then, Sergeant Coulter was a patient man. It all came out, the abortive raid on the police launch, the theft of the American gun, the million-dollar murder partnership, the snake pressed into service to aid poor Desmond in his memory course, and the various plans to kill the wicked uncle.

Hours later, a weary, broken man left the police launch. It was Sergeant Coulter.

When he reached Benares he found that Constable Browning would be off his feet for a few days. Albert visited Sven Anderson and asked if he might borrow his famous hound, Mynheer, for the afternoon.

He could have had an R.C.M.P. tracking dog from Victoria, but this was something he preferred to do unofficially, on his own time.

Mynheer was a friendly beast and he bounded joyfully from Albert’s speedboat and up the wharf. Albert called him back and, looping his hand in the dog’s collar, he led him past the store, along the path and up to the Major’s cottage.

Albert was frightened again, and only his inbred discipline forced him to continue. If the children had been wrong about the uncle, it was terrible. It was even worse if they were right.

He poked around the silent, clueless rooms. Taking a high-powered magnifying glass from his pocket, he carefully examined the whiskey bottle, the brass Turkish coffeepot and the Major’s toothbrush mug.

The prints were strangely blurred and he could only conclude that Major Murchison-Gaunt
had
had hair on the palms of his hands.

He was puzzled, for he had never seen anything similar. As a matter of fact the prints bore no particular resemblance to those of even one of the higher primates.

He replaced everything he had touched, and going into the bedroom closet he took out a pair of the Major’s shoes. Then, leading the dog out, he held one of the shoes before
its nose. The dog sniffed, lowered his head and began scampering down the path that led to the store.

Albert called him back. He already knew Uncle had been in the habit of taking that route.

The obedient Mynheer returned and obligingly sniffed again. Once more he lowered his head and this time he began running in short circles. Then, his nose on the ground like a vacuum cleaner and his tail waving proudly, Mynheer started for the path that led to the forest. He paused, looked at Albert with his big, sagging eyes, as if to inquire ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ and with nose down and ears flapping, he led Albert straight to that pit.

Only Albert knew now, it wasn’t a pit. It was a grave.

He looked at the ferns, the earth-packed roots carefully wrapped in sacking, ready to be transplanted, and then he followed the dog to a shallow stream where the dog flushed out the bucket used for watering, cunningly hidden under some bushes at the water’s edge.

Albert sat on a log, absently stroking Mynheer’s head. He took out the garrote and stared at it, sickened by the posthumous evidence of Uncle’s handiwork.

They had tried to tell him. They had all tried to tell him, even Hobbs, but he would not listen. The professor was not crazy after all, he was merely shocked, as Albert now was, by even the memory of that man.

Albert bowed his head on his hands and wondered if he should resign. It was criminal negligence on his part and it was no thanks to him that the children were alive.

Mynheer put his forepaws on Albert’s knee and licked Albert’s hands. The policeman jerked his head back, then he put his arm about the dog’s neck and sat for a long, long time, staring into the forest.

My dear,

This is probably the last letter I will be writing to you. You didn’t get any of the others, and you won’t get this one, but I must write it, because I must tell someone.

I have reached the crossroads and for the first time since I took the oath of ‘Without Fear, Favour or Affection’ I am going to do something which can only be construed as a travesty of all three.

The real tragedy of people who are in the position I now find myself in is that, having done one dishonourable thing, they move on to the next. This won’t happen to me, I promise you. I’m only too aware that it’s the little rift within the lute that by and by will make the music mute. You didn’t know I liked poetry, did you? There are so many things we shall never know about each other. You will never know what I am going to do tonight.

I am going to withhold evidence and destroy a report. I don’t know if you realise the seriousness of that from my viewpoint. I have thought about it until I am dizzy and it’s the only way out. Those two children planned and very nearly committed a murder. It wasn’t the uncle’s fault, it was mine. He was a homicidal maniac; I am not, I am only incredibly stupid.

If I file that report, the case will be reopened. And no matter which way I write it, the children emerge as a couple of monsters. If I could prove anything about the uncle there might be some loophole, but he was too clever. And as far as the children are concerned, the facts remain. They stole a gun for the purpose of killing - it’s called malice aforethought in law - the boy promised the girl the sum of a million dollars, to be paid when he was twenty-one, to help him commit the murder. Then they tortured the village idiot and tried to pin the rap on him. Nice pair of kiddies, aren’t they.

The motive, of course, was the uncle, but the evidence against him is shaky and circumstantial to say the least, and inorder to establish even that, the boy will be involved in a particularly sordid and unpleasant interrogation. You see, there’s more to this than someone like yourself would imagine or understand. Looking back on some of the phrases in Hobbs’s letter, and the boy’s general attitude, I am pretty sure the boy was molested by the uncle. If I start this particular ball rolling, I can’t stop it. It seems cruel, but he will be questioned very, very thoroughly.

I can’t do that to him. He begged me for help and I didn’t give it to him. I have to protect him now, even at the cost of my own integrity.

All these things will come out if I file that report, and God knows what else, once they begin to talk. Make no mistake about that, I can make them talk. It’s just a matter of starting on the girl, and once she does, I can break the boy easily. This sounds merciless, but it’s part of the job, and I’ve been trained for it.

I have thought it over, and I am trying to do the right thing. I am also trying to imagine that you and I have talked it over, and what your attitude and advice would be. I know you would want the children spared any further horrors, because that’s
what more interrogation adds up to. The uncle is dead now, and that will have to be the end of it. It is going to be the end of it. They are young and have their full lives ahead of them, and they must not start living with this on record. Fortunately, they’re as tough as nails, both of them, and as things stand now, going no further, I don’t think any damage done is irreparable.

May God forgive me if I am not making the right decision. This may seem like a simple thing to you, but I never thought the day would come when I would have to protect children from the law. I never thought the day would come when it would be necessary for me to be unethical in order to be moral.

Goodbye, my dear Gwynneth. I am, as always, yours,

Albert.

He destroyed both the letter and the report, and walked over to his father’s cottage. He changed his clothes. Then, with his hands thrust into his pockets and his shoulders hunched moodily, he set out to find the children.

They were not at the store or the goat-lady’s. He finally found them at the graveyard. They did not hear his approach, and continued working, clad in the ridiculous Dickensian garments, but wearing new shoes now.

He stood on the other side of the shaky cedar fence watching, then he vaulted over and called them.

They gave him a guilty, startled look, gazed at each other and prepared to bolt.

‘Come here,’ he said firmly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

Hesitant and cringing, they took a step toward him and stopped, like a couple of obedient pups waiting for a good beating.

‘I said come here,’ he repeated. ‘Come on, I won’t hurt you.’

With lagging steps and downcast eyes they stood before him.

He stared at them, wondering what to say. He looked around the little graveyard and was amazed to see what a good job they had done during the summer. The whole thing was more than the two of them could manage, but what they had done, they had done well. Most of the graves were neatly tended and garnished with fresh wild flowers. They had propped up the tilting wooden crosses with stones, and lined the paths with white pebbles from the beach.

They stood silently before him, their faces twitching with fear.

He came straight to the point.

‘I know everything,’ he said. ‘Desmond told me everything. Everything, you understand? What have you got to say for yourselves?’

They were too frightened to cry and stood trembling, staring at their feet.

‘Well?’

‘Don’t tell,’ whispered Barnaby. ‘Please don’t tell.’

Albert looked from him to the girl.

‘Don’t put us in jail, please!’

What could he say to them? Now, children, don’t steal any more guns, and don’t go around planning any more murders, either, it’s not nice.

He sat wearily on Sir Adrian’s grave.

‘It’s all right,’ he said finally. ‘I’m not going to tell anybody.’

Their faces crumpled with relief.

Albert looked at the wretched little figures, and again he felt a great pity for them.

‘Come here,’ he said softly.

They crept toward him.

‘You have nothing to worry about any more. I want you both to forget all about the whole thing. Will you do that?’

Shaking, they nodded.

‘I had made out a report,’ he said, ‘but I have destroyed it, so that no one will ever know. It was like cheating, or telling a lie for me, I shouldn’t have done it, but I did, for you two. And because I did that for you, you must promise me that you will always try to be good and honourable. Will you?’

They flung themselves upon him.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. When he felt their frail shoulder bones beneath his hands and he remembered Uncle, he knew he had done the right thing. He hugged them and repeated, ‘We’ll all forget that any of it ever happened. And you must promise me to try to be extra good to make up for your part in it.’

They clung to him and kissed his chin and shoulders.

‘I’ll be the best boy in the whole world.’ Barnaby’s voice was soft. ‘I’m going to be a Mountie, just like you. Oh, Sergeant, I love you more than anybody.’

‘Oh, Sergeant,’ cried Christie. ‘I was so frightened. I thought you’d put us in jail. Oh, thank you, thank you. I’ll never forget, and I promise I’ll always be good. Next to my mother, I love you more than anybody. Thank you. I’ll never forget. You shouldn’t have done it for us.’

‘No, I suppose I shouldn’t have,’ he said bluntly. ‘But it’s done now, and we’ll all forget it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Barnaby, rubbing his cheek on Albert’s shoulder. ‘You shouldn’t have done it for us.’

‘Okay,’ he said, wiping their noses with his handkerchief. ‘Everything’s fine now. Run along and play.’

They gazed at him, hugged him tightly and then moved on obediently.

They paused at the fence.

Barnaby waved to him and Christie blew him a kiss.

‘Poor Sergeant Coulter,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry we made you cheat.’

Barnaby nodded. ‘I’m sorry too. You shouldn’t have done it for us.’

‘But we won’t forget,’ said Christie.

Albert smiled and rose. He felt much better now.

‘So long, kids.’ He waved and went back to his cottage.

He hadn’t intended to tell them about the report, but he had been as profoundly moved as they. It was as well he had told them; it would impress upon them as nothing else could the gravity of their behaviour.

He was glad he had done it. Poor little things, they were good, and how quickly they had responded to his kindness and love. Maybe there was something in this child psychology business.

In a glorious weekend of relaxation, Albert wandered down Government Street in Victoria. He had bought himself a new suit, and seeing his reflection in a store window, he decided he cut an impressive figure. He had just finished a hearty meal in the Empress Hotel, and there was a movie he particularly wanted to see that was running now.

And
they
were going. He felt very happy. They were finally going, back to their respective schools. Summer was over, life was beautiful and Albert’s blessed little Isle would return to its usual state of grace. No more wicked uncles, no more near drownings, no more cougars, no more stolen guns and
no more lies.