The Tomb of Zeus (20 page)

T
hey entered the house to be greeted by a hissing from the first floor. Dickie's anxious face peered over the banister at them. “Up here,” he said. “Be quiet—I've just got him off to sleep.”

He was closing the door to the drawing room with exaggerated care when they joined him. “Hello, Laetitia…Inspector. It took four large ones! William told me to keep pouring them and I did. But it got worse before it got better. The language! The sentiments! Never heard anything like it. Raging against poor old George. Stuff you'd never believe! Treacherous, sneaky, slithy tove, according to Theo. No son of his! Womaniser, should have been strangled at birth, castrated even! Funny—Theo hadn't a bad word to say about Phoebe in all this…Which is a bit strange, if what I'm guessing happened happened? Wouldn't you say? But, more pertinently, what did the coroner have to say? Er, Stewart went off to the courtroom….” Dickie shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I lost the toss and had to stay behind with Theo. We haven't heard the verdict yet. He says he's not interested in hearing but I bet he is!”

Mariani silenced his effusion. “Suicide. It was judged to be suicide. Look, Mr. Collingwood, go back into the drawing room, if you would, and keep watch on him. If he comes round, simply tell him the result. Tell him also that I am in the house and have gone to Mrs. Russell's room.”

He paused at Phoebe's door and ushered Letty into the stuffy room. The silence was broken only by a fly buzzing madly on the ledge of the closed window. Mariani went over, raised the window, and shooed out the fly He opened the second door and left it standing ajar.

Letty stood uncertainly at the threshold, her eyes straying to the beam and seeing again the horror she had confronted days earlier. All was as it had been, down to the indentation on the counterpane where Phoebe's body had lain.

“We've missed something,” said Mariani.

“I have the same feeling,” she said. “I wish I could help, but…”

He gave her a slow smile. “I think you can,” he said. “I can ask none of the other inhabitants of this house. They have their secrets and will not reveal them to me. They have their loyalties and would lie to me without compunction to protect their interests. But you, mademoiselle, so freshly arrived, have not had a chance to form allegiances, acquire prejudices. I believe you to be a clever and honest woman and one whose sole motivation might be judged to be to do right by the deceased. Am I mistaken? Do I assume too much?”

“No. You're quite right, Inspector.” Letty's chin went up. “I could have got very fond of Phoebe and, in fact, I've sworn an oath to myself to work out what really happened to her. And if I can do that working
with
the police instead of getting up their noses and under their feet, well, that's nothing but good news.”

He smiled again. She was on the hook. Mariani knew there were more ways than one of getting cooperation. The thumbscrew approach was not always the most productive. He was conscious of the intriguing effect his large brown eyes and long lashes had on European women, and though he judged this one to be less susceptible than most, it would be foolish not to push his charm as far as it would go. He noted with some amusement that she hadn't considered for a moment the social implications of her situation—alone in a bedroom with an attractive man. The uniform, of course, defended against any suspicion of impropriety, but Mariani was aware that any Greek girl would have insisted on being accompanied by a male relative—and her grandmother. He wondered briefly whether to summon up that architect the Englishwoman seemed to trust—Gunning—for the sake of appearances.

But Miss Talbot was moving around the room with complete unconcern, inquisitive, eager to get on.

“Shall I look over her things first?” she said, going over to the dressing table. “Women leave quite a lot of clues about themselves in front of their mirrors, you know.”

“We already have an inventory but by all means—cast an eye,” he said easily.

“Nothing unusual here,” she said, poking about. “Some very good makeup. All bought in Paris. Rouge, lipstick, mascara, eyebrow pencil. Hairbrush and nail file. Not much in the way of equipment—no eyelash curlers, not even a pair of tweezers. Really, a modest collection. This is the only thing of significance, don't you think?”

She pointed to a flacon of perfume. “The best. Caron. From the rue de la Paix.” She put out a finger and stroked the red silk tassel fastened around the neck of the elegant Baccarat bottle. “And have you noticed what it's called?”

The inspector came over and picked it up, removing the stopper to wave it about under his nose and sniff at the contents.

“No! This is what you do. May I?” She took it from him and put a forefinger over the neck, tilting it slightly. Slick with scented oil, her finger traced a line along the base of her throat. “Something woody—chypre, sandalwood? And something flowery—lilies and roses!” she murmured. “It needs the warmth and chemistry of skin to release its true scent. And this one is very romantic, wouldn't you say? I recognise it now—it's the one she was wearing the day she died.”

Alarmed that the inspector was responding to her unintentional invitation by leaning towards her, nostrils flaring, she turned and briskly replaced the bottle on the dressing table. “Creamy yet spicy. And perfect for Phoebe. It was created during the war years. A gift that a soldier going off to battle could offer as a memento to the woman he was in love with. It's called
N'Aimez Que Moi.
‘Love only me,’” she whispered. “I wonder who gave her this? She's used very little of it. Perhaps it was a gift from her Christmas lover?”

She moved to the escritoire. “All neat and perfectly ordinary,” she said. “Writing paper, silver pen, envelopes of the kind the so-called suicide note was put in…blotter. Did you check the blotter? Oh, sorry, of course you did.” She tilted the used sheet to the light and pointed to a section in the top corner. “Here. She's blotted the name ‘George.’ The sheet isn't badly used so it must have been changed, let's say, less than a week ago.”

“Last Wednesday, according to Eleni.”

“So there we are. Phoebe did address that envelope and very recently. I wonder…” Letty took one of the unused envelopes, opened the flap, and licked it. Then she pressed it down firmly and put it back on the desk. She went to the wardrobe and checked the clothes, searched under the bed, and emerged red-faced but having found nothing of interest. The contents of the adjoining bathroom were orderly and unsurprising. Phoebe's medicine cabinet contained only plasters, an emergency bandage still in its wrapper, and a half-used and ancient bottle of Dr. Collis Brown's Chlorodyne. The top, when Letty tried to unscrew it, proved to be rusted onto the bottle. “Well, this hasn't been opened for a decade, I'd say. Phoebe wasn't one for patented cures, was she? Not even an aspirin! Right—I think we could inspect the envelope now.”

She picked up the envelope and gently ran a fingernail under the seal. It sprang up at once. “Thought so! It's been a damp season. The glue on these things has been pretty poor since the warlord knows what they use these days. I always have a pot of cow gum by me when I'm sealing an envelope. Anyone could have—”

“Removed the original contents and substituted a torn-out page,” said Mariani, beginning to betray his excitement. “And re-sealed it.”

“We found it underneath a paperweight.” That would have ensured it stayed stuck down.”

“I'll take a sample. But now—you gave me at the beginning of all this a vivid picture of the scene of discovery. I want you to reconstruct, if you will, what may have taken place here
before
you arrived. Imagine for me, conjure up with a woman's insight, what might have transpired between Mrs. Russell and her doctor.”

Instantly involved in the game, Letty went to the door and mimed entering. She closed the door after her and with a hand invited the imaginary Stoddart to take a seat at the table. “That's where Harold
says
the consultation took place. Sit down here, Inspector, and be Dr. Stoddart.” She settled in the matching wicker chair opposite. “Though I noticed, from the door before I came in, that there was a slight indentation on the counterpane. I thought at first she'd been having a rest and perhaps got up to change. But she could have lain down for an examination. It's possible. Anyway, they talked. We can't be sure how much he knew about her condition…I mean the real reason behind her fainting and swooning and sickness. She could have been deceiving
him,
too. As he told us in court.”

“To go back to what we know to be fact,” said Mariani, “the upshot was that Stoddart gave her a sleeping pill and left her here. Now—tell me—did he have his medical bag with him that day?”

“No. He was out with his wife, having a picnic or something…No, he had no bag. And they came back in the Bugatti and there were certainly no medical supplies in that.”

Mariani picked up her hesitation. “Picnic, you say?”

“Odd, that…Phoebe and I were to have a picnic, but the Stoddarts hadn't brought anything with them. Not even a sandwich or a flask of coffee. They were happy to share the spread Phoebe had got together…and why would they not? It was quite a banquet! Good lord!” she exclaimed, remembering. “There were four plates, four sets of cutlery, and enough food to feed a battalion in the hamper.” She looked at Mariani, excited by her memory. “She'd
planned
it, hadn't she? Arranged with the Stoddarts—”

“With
one
of the Stoddarts at least,” he cautioned.

“—to meet there and join us for lunch. She pretended it was a chance meeting. Did she pretend also to faint, I begin to wonder?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“She collapsed, practically into the pudding. She'd been very wobbly all morning…I hadn't realised that her feet and ankles were terribly sore and I thought it was just another stumble, but it was more than that. She lost consciousness. And the doc drove her back in George's Bugatti. I cycled back with Olivia. We must have arrived, oh, half an hour after them and then I walked back here from the Stoddarts' house.”

“Did you come straight back here after leaving Olivia?”

“Well, no. It was a Sunday. I loitered, enjoying the atmosphere, watching people parade about in their Sunday best…it's all very exotic for me, you know! And the shops. I looked in quite a few windows on the way back down the avenue.”

“You came by the main road?”

She nodded. “It's the only one I know. I had only arrived two days before. I didn't—and still don't—know the byways.”

“Or the shortcuts,” he murmured.

“So. Phoebe is given a sleeping pill. It had to come from her own supplies. Did you…?”

“Of course, mademoiselle.” He rummaged in his briefcase and took out an evidence bag. “This bottle. It was in her bathroom. The label declares that it contains the usual amount of twenty pills. Prescribed a year ago. These are rather a strong formula and doctors never prescribe in large quantities for obvious reasons. This bottle contains nineteen. The doctor says he gave her one pill that day.”

“Phoebe didn't like to take drugs. We know that. Harold knew that. He said he sat here at the table and watched her take it. Eleni brought a glass of fresh water…Right…I'm Phoebe. I'm upset…cross…nervous…I have things to do…decisions to make…A letter to write to George? If ever I needed to keep my wits about me it's at this moment. I don't like the idea of sleeping pills anyway. Now—Phoebe was right-handed.”

Mariani watched as the young Englishwoman held an imaginary glass in her right hand and an imaginary pill in her left. She put the pill to her lips, pulled a face, and swallowed from the glass. Under cover of replacing it with a flourish on the table, her left hand went casually to the cushion of the wicker chair and felt about beneath it. It came up a second later, a white pill pinched between thumb and forefinger.

Mariani said something unintelligible in Greek.

Letty looked closely at the pill, seemingly amazed to find it in her hand. “It's got a trace of lipstick on it—do you see? Phoebe pretended to swallow it, palmed it, and hid it in the easiest place.” Her voice betrayed her distress as she spoke again: “This is worse than I feared. You know what this means, Inspector? Phoebe went to her death fully conscious. She was in complete possession of her senses when the noose went round her neck.”

S
he knew what she was doing! Good lord! Old Sokratis Perakis had it right!” said Mariani, taken aback. “She
did
commit suicide. There were no signs of a struggle, no resistance had been put up. And if she was fully conscious, she could have resisted. Anyone would have.” He was muttering to himself, reasoning aloud. “Her husband, through there,” he pointed to the door standing open, “would have heard something. Would surely have been alerted and come running?”

They looked at each other, unwilling to share their thought. “Unless he was in the room with her at the time, with his hands around her throat,” Letty managed to hold back from saying.

They both jumped on hearing a tap at the door and the embarrassed clearing of a throat. Mariani strode over and flung the door wide open to reveal the boot boy, pressed into service to deliver a message.

“Excuse me, sir…lady,” the lad mumbled. “There's a gentleman below who urgently wants to speak to the master, but Mr. Collingwood won't let him up until you say it's all right. It's the mistress's lawyer come all the way from Athens.” He thrust a card into Mariani's hand.

Mariani didn't hesitate. “Mr. Russell is not to be wakened. Send the gentleman up here. I will have a word with him. Thank you.”

“Would you like me to…?” Letty began to say politely, edging to the door.

“No, no. Stay here, Miss Talbot. We'll receive him together.” He passed her the card.

“A Frenchman,” she said. “Offices here in Herakleion. Also Paris and Athens.”

“Monsieur Dupleix.” Mariani beamed, taking the hand of the puzzled lawyer when he appeared. “I believe we have met before. Do come inside and I'll present you to a young lady, a compatriot and friend of the deceased who was in her confidence. Miss Talbot is helping me in my researches.”

M. Dupleix was most uncomfortable, and it took all Mariani's easy charm to persuade him to enter. He was young, like the inspector, but had none of his confidence. Letty noticed that as soon as his prey was inside, the inspector stationed himself in front of the door, which he closed gently.

“I came the moment I got the news,” Dupleix said defensively. “I was in Athens when the telegram reached me. Dropped everything and came back on the next boat. Thought it might be urgent. But, of course, I should be addressing myself to her husband and her immediate family. Have we had the funeral yet? Families like to hear the will read straight after the last slice of funeral fruit-cake's disappeared, you know. Haven't missed it, have I?”

“No, no. It's scheduled for next week. It was decided to allow time for some of her relations to get here from Europe. Don't worry, Monsieur Dupleix, you are in good time! Take a seat, will you?”

Uncertainly the lawyer sat down on the edge of the chair Mariani indicated, clutching his briefcase to his chest and looking up with suspicion at the imposing figure of the inspector.

“You have the will with you?”

“Yes, the final version. I have it.”

“Final
version? Tell me, monsieur, when was this arrived at?”

The man clearly wanted to tell him it was none of his business.

“You may not be aware, coming straight from the port, that a murder enquiry is in progress,” Mariani lied smoothly. “I believe Mrs. Russell to have been the victim of a murderous attack. She was hanged, monsieur, from that beam.” He pointed dramatically and Dupleix shuddered. He began nervously to tug at his moustache. “I am collecting evidence,” Mariani explained, “and the contents of your briefcase may well be material to the progress of my enquiry. I'm sure I don't need to spell out why.”

Dupleix held his case more tightly to his chest. It was clearly going to take force to separate him from it.

“Now. I would not like Mr. Russell to think that anyone had jumped the gun, set aside the protocol…I would not like you, my friend, to have to admit to any illegal or even careless lapse. So I will ask—and Miss Talbot will bear witness to my request”—Letty tilted her head and smiled, obliging and demure—“that you keep your documents to yourself, to be shown to whomever and whenever you judge proper.” He made a gesture conveying light unconcern. “I am not requiring that you show them to me.”

Dupleix began to relax. Letty waited for the blow to fall.

“But I must insist before you leave this room that you give me an outline of the contents—an oral résumé of Mrs. Russell's last will and testament will suffice. A simple statement of the main provisions will satisfy me and will help enormously in the pursuit of the guilty party. I'm quite certain you would wish to do all that you can to bring about his unmasking and arrest? No?”

The lawyer considered his position. He weighed his options. He looked again at the athletic, smiling menace before him, camouflaged in reassuring blue serge and gold braid. He made his decision.

“She changed it a month ago,” he finally answered. “She called at our office and did it there and then. Seemed extremely certain of what she wanted.”

“Which was?”

“You may be aware that my client was a rich woman? Legacies from—”

Mariani nodded and with a brusque gesture invited him to get a move on.

“She had maintained control of her assets on her marriage to Mr. Russell. He was, I believe, frequently consulted, but had no legal interest in her financial affairs. Though he did benefit in—” He caught himself, reconsidered, and carried on. “The upshot is: Instead of her wealth passing immediately and entirely to her husband, half her fortune now goes straight to her younger sister, Alice, who is married and living in Paris. Of the rest…a sum is to be invested in a trust in her husband's name and payments made to him from it at monthly intervals. The residue—by no means a negligible sum—is to go to her stepson, Charles St. George. No strings, no conditions; he may dispose of it as he wishes. Yes…Master George Russell is about to discover that he is now a very well-off young man!”

“Indeed? And can you assure me, Monsieur, that no one but yourself was aware of Mrs. Russell's revised provisions?”

“She did everything necessary in my office, as I've said. My secretary and my clerk witnessed the signing and, of course, were given no view of the document other than that. Mrs. Russell kept no copy of the will at home and was very clear as to her wish for absolute discretion in the matter. As far as I know she had kept it a close secret. Which it still was until a moment ago,” he added resentfully.

“You have been most helpful, Monsieur Dupleix. I will remember that,” Mariani assured him. “And now, may I recommend that you return to your office? And await further instructions from the family? Mr. Theodore Russell is quite unable to deal with anything for the present. Distressed, indisposed…” he murmured.

“Drunk as a skunk, the boot boy said.” Dupleix shrugged and made a dash for the door.