Original Sin (26 page)

“Are you here because of Lord Stilgoe?”

“No. I’m here because of your brother’s death. Lord Stilgoe did get in touch with me indirectly through a mutual friend. He had received an anonymous letter which greatly upset his wife; she saw it as a threat to his life. He asked for an official assurance that the police have no suspicion of foul play in the three deaths concerned with Innocent House, two authors and Sonia Clements.”

“Which you were, of course, able to give.”

“Which the police divisions concerned were able to give. He should have received that assurance about three days ago.”

“I hope it satisfied him. Lord Stilgoe’s self-absorption amounts to paranoia. Still, he can hardly suppose that Gerard’s death is a deliberate attempt to sabotage his precious memoirs. I still find it strange, Commander, that you are here personally, and in such impressive force. Are you treating my brother’s death as murder?”

“As an unexplained and suspicious death. That is why I need to trouble you now. I would be grateful for your co-operation, not only personally, but in explaining to your staff that some invasion of their privacy and interference with their work is inevitable.”

“I think they will understand that.”

“We shall need to take fingerprints for the purpose of elimination. Any not needed in evidence will be destroyed when the case is complete.”

“That will be a new experience for us. If it is necessary, of course, we must accept it. I assume that you will be requiring all of us, particularly the partners, to provide an alibi.”

“I need to know what you were doing, Miss Etienne, and who you were with from six o’clock last night.”

She said: “You have the unenviable task, Commander, of expressing sympathy at my brother’s death while requiring an alibi to prove that I didn’t murder him. You do it with some grace. I congratulate you; but then you’ve had plenty of practice. I was on the river with a friend, Declan Cartwright, last night. When you check with him he’ll probably describe me as his fiancée. I prefer to use the word ‘lover.’ We started off shortly after six-thirty when the launch returned from taking staff to Charing Cross Pier. We were on the river until about ten-thirty, perhaps a little later, when we returned here and I drove him back to his flat off Westbourne Grove. He lives above an antique shop which he manages for the owner. I shall, of course, give you the address. I was with him until two o’clock, then drove back to the Barbican. I have a flat there on the floor beneath that of my brother.”

“It was a long time to spend on the river on an October night.”

“A fine October night. We went downstream to see the Thames Barrier and then returned and put in at Greenwich Pier. We had dinner at Le Papillon in Greenwich Church Street. We booked for eight o’clock and I suppose we were there for about an hour and a half. Then we went upstream beyond Battersea Bridge and returned and, as I’ve said, were back here shortly after ten-thirty.”

“Did anyone see you, other, of course, than the staff of the restaurant and the other diners?”

“The river wasn’t very busy. Even so, plenty of people must have seen us, but that doesn’t mean they’ll remember us.
I was in the wheelhouse and Declan was with me most of the time. We saw at least two police launches on the river. I dare say they will have noticed us. That’s their job, isn’t it?”

“Did anyone see you when you embarked or on your return?”

“Not as far as I know. We saw and heard no one.”

“And you can think of no person who wished your brother dead?”

“You asked that question before.”

“I’m asking it again now that we’re here in private.”

“Are we? Is anything one says to a police officer really private? The answer is the same. I know of no one who hated him enough to kill him. There are probably people who won’t be sorry he’s dead. No death is universally regretted. Every death advantages someone.”

“Who will be advantaged by this death?”

“I shall. I’m Gerard’s heir. That would, of course, have changed once he was married. As it is I inherit his shares in the firm, his Barbican flat, the proceeds of his life insurance. I didn’t know him very well, we weren’t brought up to be loving siblings. We went to different schools, different universities, had different lives. My Barbican flat is underneath his but we didn’t make a habit of dropping in on each other. It would have seemed an invasion of privacy. But I liked him, I respected him. I was on his side. If he was murdered I hope that his killer rots in prison for the rest of his life. He won’t, of course. We’re so quick to forget the dead and forgive the living. Perhaps we need to show mercy because we’re uncomfortably aware that one day we may need it. Incidentally, here are his keys. You asked for a set. I’ve taken off his car keys and the keys to his flat.”

“Thank you,” said Dalgliesh, taking them. “I don’t need to assure you that they will stay in my possession, or be held by one of my team. Has your father been told that his son is dead?”

“Not yet. I’m going to drive down to Bradwell-on-Sea late this afternoon. He lives as a recluse and doesn’t take incoming calls. In any case I would prefer to break it to him personally. Do you want to see him?”

“It’s important I do. I’d be grateful if you would ask him if I could see him tomorrow at any time convenient for him.”

“I’ll ask but I’m not sure whether he’ll agree. He has a strong dislike of visitors. He lives with an elderly French woman who looks after him. Her son is his chauffeur. He’s married to a local girl and I imagine they’ll take over when Estelle dies. She certainly won’t retire. She regards it as a privilege to devote her life to a hero of France. Father, as always, has his life well organized. I tell you this so that you’ll know what to expect. I don’t think you will be welcome. Is that all?”

“I need, too, to see the next of kin of Sonia Clements.”

“Sonia Clements? What possible connection can there be between her suicide and Gerard’s death?”

“None as far as I know at present. Does she have next of kin, or was there someone she lived with?”

“Only her sister, and they didn’t live together for the last three years of her life. She’s a nun, a member of a community at Kemptown outside Brighton. They run a hostel for the dying. I think it’s called St. Anne’s Convent. I’m sure the Reverend Mother will allow you to see her. After all the police are like the VAT inspectors, aren’t they? However disagreeable or inconvenient their presence, when they call on you, you have to let them in. Is there anything else you want from me?”

“The little archives room will be sealed and I should also like to lock the archives room itself.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as necessary. Will that be very inconvenient?”

“Of course it will be inconvenient. Gabriel Dauntsey is
working on the old records. The job is already well behind schedule.”

“I realize that it will be inconvenient. I asked if it will be very inconvenient. The work of the firm can continue without access to those two rooms?”

“Obviously if you think it important, we shall have to manage.”

“Thank you.”

He ended by asking her about the practical joker at Innocent House and the means taken to discover the culprit. The investigation seemed on the whole to have been as superficial as it was unsuccessful.

She said: “Gerard more or less left it to me, but I didn’t get very far. All I could do was to list the incidents as they happened and the number of people who were on the premises at the time or could have been responsible. That meant practically everyone except staff who were off sick or on holiday. It was almost as if the joker deliberately chose times when all the partners and most of the staff were here and could have been responsible. Gabriel Dauntsey has an alibi for the last incident, the fax that was sent yesterday from this office to Better Books in Cambridge. He was on his way at the time to lunch with one of our authors at the Ivy, but the other partners and the senior staff were here. Gerard and I took the launch to Greenwich and had a pub lunch at the Trafalgar Tavern, but we didn’t leave here until twenty past one. The fax was sent at twelve-thirty. Carling was due to begin signing at one o’clock. The most recent incident, of course, is the stealing of my brother’s diary. That could have been taken from his desk drawer any time on the Wednesday. He missed it first thing yesterday morning.”

Dalgliesh said: “Tell me about the snake.”

“Hissing Sid? Goodness knows when that first appeared here. About five years ago, I think. Someone left it after a staff Christmas party. It used to be used by Miss Blackett to prop open the door between her room and Henry Peverell’s. It’s become something of an office mascot. Blackie’s attached to it for some reason.”

“And yesterday your brother told her to get rid of it.”

“Mrs. Demery told you that, I suppose. Yes, he did. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood after the partners’ meeting and for some reason the sight of the thing irritated him. She put it in the desk drawer.”

“You saw her do that?”

“Yes. Myself, Gabriel Dauntsey and our temporary shorthand typist, Mandy Price. I imagine that the news got round the office pretty fast.”

Dalgliesh said: “Your brother came out of the meeting in a bad temper?”

“I didn’t say that. I said he wasn’t in a particularly good mood. None of us were. It’s no secret that the Peverell Press is in trouble. We have to face up to selling Innocent House if we’re to have any hope of staying in business.”

“That must be a distressing prospect for Miss Peverell.”

“I don’t think any of us welcomes it. The suggestion that any of us tried to prevent it by harming Gerard is ludicrous.”

Dalgliesh said: “It was not a suggestion that I have made.”

Then he let her go.

She had just reached the door when Daniel put his head round. He opened it for her and waited to speak until she had left the room.

“The gas engineer is ready to go, sir. It’s what we expected. The flue is badly blocked. It looks like rubble from the chimney lining, but there’s been a lot of falling grit over the years. He’ll
provide an official report but he hasn’t any doubt about what happened. With the flue in the state it is, that fire was lethal.”

Dalgliesh said: “Only in a room without adequate ventilation. We’ve been told that often enough. The lethal combination was the burning fire and the unopenable window.”

Daniel said: “There was one particularly large piece of rubble wedged against the flue. It could have fallen naturally from the lining of the chimney or been deliberately dislodged. There’s really no way of telling. You’d only have to prod parts of that lining and chunks would fall away. Do you want to have a look, sir?”

“Yes, I’ll come now.”

“And you want the fire as well as the rubble to go to forensics?”

“Yes, Daniel, all of it.” He had no need to add “And I want prints, photographs, the lot.” He was, as always, working with experts in violent death.

As they made their way upstairs, he asked: “Any news of the missing tape recorder or Etienne’s diary?”

“Not so far, sir. Miss Etienne made a fuss about checking the desk drawers of the staff who’d been sent home or who are on leave today. I didn’t think you’d want to apply for a search warrant.”

“Not necessary at present. I doubt whether it will be. The search can take place on Monday when all the staff are here. If that tape recorder was taken by the murderer for a specific reason it’s probably at the bottom of the river. If the office joker took it, it could turn up anywhere. The same goes for the diary.”

Daniel said: “The recorder was the only one of its kind in the office, apparently. It belonged personally to Mr. Dauntsey. All the others are larger and are AC/battery cassette recorders
which take the usual two-and-a-half by four-inch cassettes. Mr. de Witt wonders if you’ll see him fairly soon, sir. He has a seriously sick friend living with him and promised that he’d be home early.”

“All right, I’ll take him next.”

The gas engineer, already in his coat and ready to go, was vocal in his disapproval, obviously torn between an almost proprietorial interest in the appliance and professional outrage at its misuse.

“Haven’t seen a fire of this type for nearly twenty years. It should be in a museum. But there’s nothing wrong with the functioning of the fire itself. It’s well-made, sturdy. It’s the type they used to install in nurseries. The tap’s removable, you see, so that the children couldn’t accidentally turn it on. You can see plainly enough what happened here, Commander. The flue’s totally blocked. This grit must have been coming down for years. God knows when this appliance was last serviced. This was a death waiting to happen. I’ve seen it before, you too no doubt, and we’ll see it again. People can’t say they haven’t been warned often enough. Gas appliances need air. Without ventilation what you get is malfunctioning and a build-up of carbon monoxide. Gas is a perfectly safe fuel if it’s used properly.”

“He’d have been all right with the window open?”

“Should have been. The window is high and rather narrow, but if it’d been properly open he’d have been all right. How did you find him? Asleep in a chair, I suppose. That’s usually how it happens. People get a bit dozy, fall asleep and don’t wake up.”

Daniel said: “There are worse ways of going.”

“Not if you’re a gas engineer there aren’t. It’s an insult to the product. You’ll be needing a report I suppose, Commander. Well, you’ll get it soon enough. He was a young chap, wasn’t
he? Well, that makes it worse. I don’t know why it should but it always does.” He opened the door and looked round the room. “I wonder why he came up here to work. Odd place to choose. You’d think there’d be plenty of offices in a building this size without wanting to come up here.”

James de Witt closed the door behind him and paused for a moment nonchalantly against it as if wondering whether he would after all bother to enter, then walked across the room in easy strides and pulled the empty chair to one side of the table.

“Is it all right if I sit here? Confronting you across the board in this adversarial way is rather intimidating. It brings back unpleasant memories of interviews with one’s tutor.” He was casually dressed in dark blue jeans and a loose-fitting ribbed sweater with leather patches on the elbows and shoulders which looked like army surplus. On him it looked almost elegant.