The Clairvoyant Curse (17 page)

“I was just getting to that,
young man.”

“Please go on.”

“There was a waxing moon. It
will be a full moon tomorrow night - a full moon in Taurus in
opposition to the sun in Scorpio. My table was by the window and I
stopped to gaze at the fullness of the moon but the fog was –”

“So you didn’t actually see
anyone?”

“Are you asking me or telling
me, young man?”

The constable gritted his
canines. “I am asking.”

“In that case, the answer is
yes, I did see someone. It was the dead girl. What I mean is that
it was the dead girl before she was dead, before she went into the
river. She was on the pavement directly outside the window standing
under a flickering gaslight. I could see her as clearly as I can
you see you now, constable. She was rugged up as if she was going
to take a walk – coat, hat, gloves and scarf. I thought it odd at
that late hour but there are odd types in this world and I have met
most of them in my line of work.”

The constable was about to ask
what line that was but remembering she was American bit his tongue
and clenched his canines. “What direction did she go?”

“She didn’t go off in any
direction, not while I was looking, she just stood on the pavement
and rubbed her hands to ward off the cold.”

“Did she appear agitated?”
asked the Countess.

Mrs Merle gave a moment’s
consideration to the question. “No, I don’t think so. She paced a
little, but I think that was to keep warm.”

“Don’t you think that is odd,”
pointed out the Countess. “If she was going to take a walk why not
go at once? Why wait around to get cold?”

“Oh, yes, I see what you mean.
Well, perhaps she
was
waiting for someone. Yes, now that you
mention it, it does seem as if she was waiting for someone to join
her.”

“You didn’t see anyone else on
the street?” asked the constable hopefully.

“It was quite deserted – what I
could see of it because of the fog – not a living soul.”

“Did the girl see you looking
at her?” asked the Countess.

“No, I didn’t have the light
on. I have the eyes of an owl. I met a genuine Sioux chieftan once
and he christened me Owl-of-the-wood. “The gaslight was bright
enough for my needs.”

“You didn’t see anyone else on
your way back to your room?”

“Not a living soul.”

“Thank you, Mrs Owl, er, I mean
Mrs Merle. Please send in the next person. We are almost done.”

A creature of habit, the
constable licked the tip of his pencil and scribbled down some
notes while he waited for the door to close.

“Do you think her story sounds
credible, about the dead girl, I mean?”

The Countess nodded. “It fits
the facts. We know it was close to midnight when Sissy must have
gone out. But the really important fact is the clothing and that
can be easily verified by checking her room. I doubt that anyone
intending to commit suicide would take the trouble to dress warmly.
And she would have appeared more agitated if she was in a vexed
state of mind. I think she would have walked swiftly to the river
too and contemplated death while gazing at the water, not while
standing under a gaslight. I think it highly likely she was waiting
for someone. And I cannot accept the theory she committed suicide
on the spur of the moment after being jilted. She gave no
indication of being unstable.”

There was a knock on the door,
followed by a tell-tale cough that announced Dr Watson. He was
smoking a cigarette and looked tired though the day had barely
started. There were puffy bags under his eyes and his smile was
strained. The sooner they got underway to Biarritz the better. This
unfortunate delay was doing his chest no good at all.

“How can I help you,
constable?” His voice was hoarse and he settled himself sideways on
the chair as if he didn’t intend to stay long.

“You can help by telling me
what time you went to your room, Dr Watson.”

He coughed to clear his phlegmy
throat. “It was about ten o’clock or just a little thereafter. I
bid the Countess a pleasant good night in the foyer and went up to
my room on the second floor.”

“You did not leave your room
during the night?”

“No, I was feeling achy. I got
straight into bed. I didn’t really sleep. This wretched cough keeps
me up most of the night. But I snatched some shut-eye on and off
until about eight this morning.”

“You didn’t hear anyone or
anything unusual during the night?”

“I heard doors opening and
closing and footsteps in the hall and stairs creaking and running
water but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that you wouldn’t
hear in any other hotel.”

“In that case, thank you, Dr
Watson. Please send in the next person.”

“There is only one person left,
Madame Sosostras.”

“Very well, send her in and we
will be done in plenty of time to have you all aboard your steamer
ship for midday.”

Dr Watson grimaced at his
counterpart before violently stubbing out his cigarette and taking
his leave in an asthmatic harrumph.

Madame Sosostras could be heard
long before she could be seen; her jangly jewellery preceded her by
several paces. She swirled across the room in a bohemian flurry of
colourful garments and flounced into the chair whereby she
immediately smoothed down her layered skirt and straightened her
multi-stranded necklaces made up of gold, silver and semi-precious
gemstones. The mole above her lip looked darker and the khol around
her eyes looked fresh. In her left hand she clutched her precious
tarot cards.

Conscious of the time, the
constable continued to dispense with the customary background
details of those he had been sent to interview, such as: full name,
address, nationality, and so on. He merely wished to know about
last night. Everything else, as far as he was concerned, was not
relevant.

“Last night, what time did you
go to your room, Madame Sosostras?”

She ran a blood-red talon
around the topmost card, the Hierophant.

“I finished reading the
Countess’s future in the cards shortly before eleven. After she
left the room I packed up my cards and blew out the candles. I
threw the incense sticks on the embers – the scent of them lingers
in the air still. You can smell the chypre and myrrh. It was late
but I was not tired. I had slept on the train from Edinburgh. I sat
in the armchair in the corner,” she indicated a comfortable velvet
sofa with her dark gypsy eyes, “and meditated on life and
death.”

“Did you see anyone or hear
anything while you were, er, meditating?”

“I saw no one, though I heard
several people coming and going, in and out of the dining room on
the other side of the foyer. I heard someone leave the hotel – the
door creaks - and I presumed it was the girl who was found dead
this morning because the girl I saw through the gap in the door and
through the window was not among the guests having breakfast.”

“Can you describe the girl you
saw?”

“She was not very attractive,
not as attractive as the fair demoiselle who poked her head in
while I was packing up my cards. I promised to give her a reading
once we were on board the SS Pleiades. The unattractive plain girl
paced outside the window for a short length of time. I closed my
eyes. I always do while meditating. When I re-opened my eyes she
had gone.”

“You didn’t see anyone else
outside?”

Madame Sosostras shook her head
and her gold-hoop earrings danced. “No, but I thought I heard a
voice outside the window. I think someone spoke to her.”

“A man or a woman?”

“The voice was deep, more like
that of a man.”

“So someone engaged her in
conversation - did they approach her from the street or from the
inside of the hotel?”

“I cannot say with certainty. I
thought I heard the front door creak but I may have been imagining
it. I was in that place between sleeping and waking and midnight is
the time when the spirits move among us.”

The constable licked his pencil
and made a note in his notebook: dreaming?

“On your way to your room, did
you see anyone?”

She shook her head once more
causing the gold hoops to flick back and forth.

“What time was it that you went
upstairs?”

“Just after midnight - would
you like your fortune read in the cards? For the police I do it for
free - no charge. The cards never lie.”

She fanned the cards out with
her hand and gave a sly look when she thought the constable wasn’t
looking at her. The Countess got the impression the gypsy was wary
of the police, as many of her compatriots were wont to be, and had
learnt early in life how to manipulate them. Madame Sosostras was
playing with the constable the way a crafty fox plays with a dopey
puppy on his first excursion into the forest.

The constable was momentarily
mesmerized by the esoteric intricacy of the beautiful designs but
declined the offer. He wondered if the gypsy was like her cards and
never lied. It now seemed more than likely that Sissy
did
meet someone at midnight and it is highly probably that he, for it
did seem to be a he, pushed her in the river.

And that made it murder.

“It’s murder all right!” said
the constable, an edgy excitement to his yappy tone.

The Countess agreed. “You will
need to get to work immediately. Question the hotel staff first of
all. Then track down anyone who works on the river, lives
hereabouts, or passes this way on a regular basis. Leave no stone
unturned and don’t overlook any comment, no matter how trivial you
may think it to be. Take lots of notes. Check and double check the
times we were given tonight. Don’t forget to check the dead girl’s
clothing and make sure you visit The Old Anchor. Check with the
concierge at reception for any messages left during the day. Speak
to the chef, the sous chef, the waiters, the porter, the
chambermaids, and so on. Don’t discount the menial help such as the
coal man, the scullery maid or the laundress. Don’t allow personal
prejudice to colour your view. Keep an open mind.”

While he wrote furiously in his
notebook, she continued.

“If any fresh information comes
to light you can send a telegraphic message to the SS Pleiades. It
has been fitted with the latest electronic wireless device for ship
to shore messaging. In fact, you can keep me abreast of anything
you discover. Remember, nothing is irrelevant in a murder
investigation. In the meantime, I will continue to converse with
the people we just interviewed to see if they change their story or
if there are any contradictions. Do you mind if I have a look at
your notes?”

He slid his notebook across the
table.

His note-taking was methodical,
though his spelling and handwriting were atrocious. He had
scribbled down against each person’s misspelt name: their bedtimes,
the times they had seen someone, times they came downstairs, times
they returned to their rooms again, and placed question marks
against points that he possibly meant to look into such as
Theosophy, t’ai chi and currant buns.

“You have been thorough,
Constable MacTavish,” she praised generously, “and your
thoroughness has brought to light our first discrepancy.” She
pointed at the name of the American astrologer. “Mrs Merle claims
she went to the dining room at twenty minutes past eleven but a
short time later at eleven-thirty and eleven-forty, neither Dr Hu
nor Mr Ffrench mentioned seeing her. Moreover, she was seen going
to the bathroom at half past eleven by Miss Morningstar. That means
that if the American astrologer really did see Sissy on the street
she must have returned to the dining room a second time. She
couldn’t possibly have seen the girl before midnight. Either she
returned to the dining room at midnight or she is lying about what
time she was there.”

“I can call her back in and ask
her.”

The Countess nodded. “Yes, do
that.”

The constable went to summon
the American. The two of them returned a short time later, the
latter protesting loudly.

“I thought you had finished
your interviews?” she said with exasperation, hauling herself into
the spindly chair and depositing her voluminous carpet bag on the
floor as if dropping anchor. “What is it now?”

The constable tactfully
gestured for the Countess to proceed.

“There seems to be a
discrepancy in your statement, Mrs Merle, which we hope you can
clarify.”

“Discrepancy?” she hooted.

“You say you went down to the
dining room at twenty minutes after eleven, but Sissy did not go
out until midnight.”

“That’s hardly a discrepancy,”
she challenged, remaining wooden-faced.

“Well, two guests have
confirmed they were in the dining room at eleven-thirty and
eleven-forty and neither mentions seeing you. What’s more, you were
seen going to the upstairs bathroom at eleven thirty. So, either
you returned to the dining room some time later or you couldn’t
have seen what you say you saw.”

Mrs Merle’s totemic face
appeared to redden. “Oh, yes, of course! I needed to go to the
bathroom. I decided to unpin my hair while I was there and plait it
ready for bed. I always sleep with my hair in a long single braid,
have done ever since I was a girl. That took about thirty minutes.
When I was done I was feeling peckish again and decided to have
another currant bun to tide me over until breakfast. I went down to
the dining room a second time. It was about midnight. That’s when I
saw the girl.”

“Thank you,” said the Countess,
smiling beatifically. “That clears up the discrepancy very neatly.”
She turned to the constable. “Was there anything else?”

His head was angled and looked
quite queer. When he shook it, it appeared to be broken. He was
busy scribbling down the new times and had his tongue between his
teeth the way small children do when giving all their concentration
to a mighty effort. He straightened up and retracted his tongue
suddenly.