Four Thousand Days, page 24
After a few seconds, the shoes shuffled and the curtain quivered aside. Andrew Rose stepped out, as casually as if he had just arrived a tad late for a tutorial. ‘You noticed that? I didn’t even realize she was known as Emma. She introduced herself as Emmeline.’
‘With every reason. It was, after all, her name. How did you meet?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got all night. Let me put some more coal on the fire and then we can settle down for a good old chinwag. Mrs Plinlimmon feels the cold, so I like to keep the fire well banked up. How about these comfy chairs? A glass of port, perhaps? I’m having another, so do keep me company.’
Rose had not meant this night to go like this. He had watched when she left and had gone into the room to check on her progress. Had she made none, she would live. If she had put even one and one together – well, when you’ve killed people before, one added to the tally was no big thing. ‘A port? Why not?’
Gesturing to the chair, his lecturer topped up her glass and poured him his. ‘So, a long story,’ she said, plumping up her cushion and getting comfortable.
‘It’s hard to know where to start,’ he said.
‘At the beginning, I should,’ she said. ‘I know that as archaeologists we never know quite where the beginning is. There always might be that one more layer that lies beneath. But it’s knowing when to stop digging that’s the key, isn’t it? In case you destroy what you already have.’
Rose took a sip of his port. ‘It all started last year – last academic year, that is. I wasn’t living in the palatial surroundings of Furnival Mansions then. I was out in Tothill Street, not the most salubrious of digs.’
‘I understood your father was a successful businessman. Mill owner or similar, isn’t he?’
‘Wasn’t he, you mean. Cheap imports had been eating away at his business for years and he lost a contract supplying uniforms for our brave chaps. Something about being substandard.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The War Office are utter bastards over things like that. Anyway, Mother had some money of her own, but … well, it was Tothill Street for me until the wind changed, or whatever thing he was relying on.’
Margaret sipped and listened. So far, she was sewing in all the ends without needing to ask questions. They would come later.
‘Actually, my digs weren’t that bad, if you listen to some of the other students. I had a room to myself. A very pleasant landlady and an even more pleasant landlady’s daughter, if you see what I mean.’
‘I had always assumed you had an eye for the ladies, Mr Rose,’ Margaret observed.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Rose said. ‘I came down from Manchester as green as grass. But it seems there is always some woman who is willing for a roll in the hay, if you aren’t too choosy.’
‘So, the landlady’s daughter wasn’t the first?’
Rose laughed. ‘The first? She wasn’t even the only. But sometimes you can have enough of a good thing and I went for a walk, to avoid her. I bumped into Alice – Helen, as you knew her. She was just seeing one of her gentlemen out of her front door and without missing a beat, she asked me if I was feeling good-natured.’
‘And I assume you were.’
‘Not especially, as it goes. But I was feeling disgruntled and there’s nothing like a working girl to work off a gruntle with. They don’t want to chat and they don’t want to kiss and fondle.’ Suddenly, he realized who he was talking to. ‘Sorry, Dr Murray, but you did ask.’
‘I’m a big girl now,’ she assured him. ‘Let’s put aside this idea that teachers get back into the cupboard when the bell goes and assume I am unshockable, shall we?’
‘As long as you’re sure. Well, she took me up to her room and … can we assume the rest? But then, to my amazement, she did want to chat. To the extent that she didn’t charge me a penny, not that night or any other.’
‘You are a silver-tongued devil, Mr Rose. I don’t blame her for wanting your company.’
He raised his glass to her. ‘Thank you. That means a lot. It turned out she was a model for some artist off the Strand. She wasn’t that comfortable doing it, because it turned out she liked women and Alice was never sure whether she would make some kind of pass at her.’
‘Would she have minded?’ Margaret asked. ‘She was being paid, presumably.’
‘Dr Murray! Do you mind?’
She had done the unthinkable and outraged him.
‘Alice was a lot of things but she wouldn’t do anything like that. But, as it happened, this artist, I can’t remember her name now, had a permanent girlfriend.’
‘Emmeline.’
‘The very same. Alice was interested in archaeology; that was what we talked about. It was because of me she started coming to the lectures. She was very bright, actually. In another life … well, anyway.’ Rose looked into the fire.
‘How did the landlady’s daughter take all this?’
‘Take all what?’ He was genuinely surprised.
‘Well, it sounds as if you were stepping out with Helen – you don’t mind if I call her Helen? – on a regular basis.’
‘Good Lord, Dr Murray. I hope I have enough lead in my pencil to cope with two women. Where was I?’
‘Helen was very bright.’
‘Yes. Well, towards the end of last term, Alice said that this Emmeline had found something she was excited about. She had found it out at a dig in Kent and she had it hidden in the little shack she had there, out on the dunes. She wouldn’t even tell the artist … what was the woman’s name?’
‘Marjorie. Marjorie Simmons.’
‘So you have been there. I thought you must have been, when I saw … when I saw the picture of Alice.’
‘Which I can’t help noticing has now got a big hole in it.’ Margaret kept her voice level.
‘It … it upset me.’ Rose was briefly on the defensive, then relaxed again. ‘It took me by surprise.’
‘I would imagine that it did. So, did Helen find out what it was?’
‘No, that was the point. She was clever, but she didn’t know enough to find out what it was. Didn’t know the right questions to ask, if you see what I mean. I taught her all I could, but … well, there was only so far I could take her.’
‘So you decided to go to the horse’s mouth, as it were.’
‘Alice—’
‘Andrew, can we please call her Helen?’
‘All right. It’s all one to me. Helen reckoned that I would be able to seduce Emmeline with no great difficulty. She said that with my … attributes … I should be able to get her to fall in love with me.’
Margaret looked at Andrew Rose over the rim of her glass. He was handsome enough, as long as he didn’t stand too near to Piers Gibbs or Adam Crawford. If his main attribute was something that was usually hidden, she didn’t see how he would be able to use it to seduce Emmeline Barker, who preferred things normally kept up a skirt. But that was an issue which didn’t need to be explained in any detail. It just showed the innocence of Helen Richardson and the hubris of Andrew Rose.
‘I caught the train with her, one Summer Saturday. It was quite crowded, like these things are, the East Enders all going down to the sea. So I offered her my seat, then offered to carry her bag and, well, one thing led to another. She discovered I was an archaeologist and she took me out to where she was digging. She was very friendly, so I thought that Al … Helen was probably right.’
Margaret took a sip of port, to stop herself from slapping his smug face.
‘The dig was interesting enough, but nothing special. She took me back to her shack and, to be honest, calling it a shack was doing it a favour. It was only just holding itself up on this dune that was sliding into the sea. She was full of the dig, how she had found something that would turn the world upside down. It was then that I decided she was probably a little bit unhinged. Norman’s lectures—’
‘Do you mean Professor Minton’s lectures?’ Margaret’s voice was cold.
‘Yes, of course.’ Rose saw no problem in placating a woman who would be dead inside half an hour. ‘Professor Minton’s lectures were boring enough, God knows, but he didn’t leave us in any doubt that Roman forts, whether just post holes of a wooden overnight bivouac or the stone footings of something more permanent, are ten a penny. It sometimes seemed to us that you could chuck a trowel at any bit of undisturbed dirt and you’d unearth one. That, or a villa. Anyway, I pressed her a bit as to why it was so special. But she wouldn’t tell me.’ He drank off his port and held out his glass.
Margaret took it wordlessly and filled it up.
‘Thank you. Nice of you to share the good stuff.’
‘Not at all. Mrs Plinlimmon and I don’t get half enough visitors.’
‘Where was I? Oh, yes, she wouldn’t tell me. So I tried a bit of wooing, to put it mildly. She wasn’t having any. She actually got quite violent. Hit me with her spade.’ He sipped his port and looked into the fire, miles away.
‘And so?’ Margaret knew she should just keep quiet, but she had to prompt him or burst.
‘Well, I strangled her, I’m afraid. A spade across the head hurts, Dr Murray. I was angry.’
‘Angry? And so you killed her?’
He thought it over for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Yes. There didn’t seem much else to do.’
Margaret had known from the first moment she saw the destroyed picture that she was in danger, but realized the full extent of it only now. ‘Did you find what she was so excited about?’ she asked, as calmly as she could.
‘Oh ho, yes,’ he said, patting his pocket. ‘It’ll make your eyes pop, Margaret. Before I do.’ He smiled and put his port down on the fender and winced as he straightened up. ‘It’s a cracker of a find, I have to give Emmeline that. A cracker.’
‘Inspector Reid?’ Crawford looked down at the wreckage of the man’s Battenberg and saw Thomas’s point. He was clearly miles away.
‘Hmm?’ Reid looked up. ‘Oh, Detective Constable Crawford. How nice to see you. No Angela tonight?’
‘Er … yes, she’s over there, chatting with Thomas. We were wondering … are you feeling well, sir?’
Reid looked at the policeman, dwarfing the little chair. He smiled. ‘I’m well, thank you, just a little distracted.’
‘Is it the case? Because I can let you know what we’ve found.’
Reid perked up. ‘You’ve found something?’
Crawford smiled. ‘Absolutely nothing. But we can talk about it.’
Reid laughed and slapped the man on the arm. ‘A good try, Constable. No, to tell you the truth, I’m worried about Dr Murray.’
‘She does seem a bit down. Angela has been saying the same.’
‘I don’t mean her mood. I mean … I just mean I have one of my old copper’s feelings about her. I don’t know what … it’s as if I have an itch I can’t scratch.’ He sighed. ‘Getting old, that’s the trouble. Getting fanciful.’
‘If having a feeling about things is getting old, then I am getting old as well. I feel as if we’re on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the dark.’
‘Don’t look down, then, I shouldn’t.’ Thomas had joined them.
‘It’s about the Prof, Thomas,’ Crawford said. ‘Inspector Reid is worried about her.’
‘She did seem a bit down …’ Thomas ventured.
‘Not her mood, dammit!’ Reid banged the table and made the Battenberg crumbs jump. ‘She’s in danger somehow. Where did she go from here?’
Angela had joined them. ‘She’s probably gone back to her study. She likes to work late, with no one to bother her. You can often find her and Professor Petrie there, about the only ones who are.’
‘Working late … on her own …’ Reid suddenly jumped up. ‘I’m going over there. If she’s all right, it won’t matter. If she isn’t … well, she’ll need me.’ He looked at the trio around his table. ‘Us, then. Even you, Miss Friend. You can get us by Cerberus.’
‘Who?’ Thomas thought he knew everyone at the Godless Institution.
‘Jenkins,’ the others chorused.
‘Got your coats?’ Reid checked. ‘It’s howling out there. Constable?’
Crawford patted the truncheon in his pocket.
‘Tom?’
‘Half a mo.’ Thomas dived behind the counter and straightened up, slipping something into an inside pocket. ‘Ready.’
‘Miss Friend.’ Reid touched her arm. ‘We’ll leave you at the door, to get help if we need it. Will you be all right?’
‘Probably,’ Angela said. ‘I’m sure I can deal with Jenkins.’
Crawford had never been prouder of her.
‘Then,’ Reid said, ‘let’s go.’
‘I’ve seen things, Mr Rose, that you could only dream about. There are things still waiting to be catalogued that will set the archaeological world by the heels.’
‘Try not to build up your part, Margaret. I may call you Margaret, I think, as you and I will be very intimate before the evening is out.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘I can’t decide how to do it, actually. Apparently, or so I have read, most murderers have a method and stick to it. I offer up as an example Inspector Reid’s old friend, Jack the Ripper. Rather boring, really. Same old hack and slash. I have … experimented, let’s call it. You always taught us, Margaret, that experiment is all-important. If one way of wielding a trowel doesn’t bring results, try another way. Well, strangulation was not difficult.’ He looked down and for a moment she saw the unsullied boy who had stumbled into her first lecture, a pile of books under his arm and hope in his heart. ‘Not difficult, but longer than I expected. It must have taken four, perhaps five minutes. The burying was a pain, as well. It was pointless, too, as it turned out. The whole shack fell into the sea a few days later, so I could have left her there and then none of this would have happened.’
‘Tchah,’ Margaret said softly. ‘Even the rate of erosion lets you down in the end.’
‘Don’t joke, Margaret,’ he said nastily. ‘Oh, I know you like to be the funny one, cracking one-liners to make sure the hearties in the back stay awake. But this is serious. This won’t lay the world of archaeology by the heels. It will lay the world by its heels.’
He leaned back in the chair.
‘Let’s have a bit more coal on, shall we?’ He reached into the scuttle with the tongs and carefully placed the nuggets on the flames. ‘It’s a shame I’ve already had a go at bludgeoning – too bloody, by the way, before you ask – because these fire irons are a gift.’
‘Have you made a plan, then?’ Margaret hoped her voice came through loud and clear, as her heart was in her mouth.
‘Oh, yes. I’m going to risk shooting, this time. That idiot Jenkins won’t hear it. He spends the whole night asleep if he can manage it. I dodged him easily when I did for Norman, though the cleaner gave me a bit of a turn. Anyway, let’s not get out of sequence. Clear thinking, Margaret, that’s what you always told us, am I right?’
She nodded. ‘Why Helen?’
‘You may as well ask “why not Helen?”’ he said. ‘She was dying to know what I had found and, like a fool, I showed her. Well, of course, she had to say thank you the only way she knew how and – again, Margaret, if I shock you, do say – I have to admit, it was a corker. My goodness, I learned a thing or two that night. So, what with one thing and another, I left my jacket behind. It was high summer by this time.’ He picked up his port glass and emptied it. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it? Shocking night outside.’
They could have been two friends discussing the weather.
‘And your find – Emma’s find – was in the pocket, I assume?’
‘It was. When I went back the next night, the jacket had been brushed and hung up, but there was nothing there. She denied it ever had been, but I knew she had it. I bided my time for a night or two, then went back with the phial the police found. I told her it was the latest thing to make a good time even better. I had one as well. Harmless, of course. So, when we were … again, apologies … at the height of things, I tipped it down her throat and the greedy whore swallowed it and licked her lips.’
‘And died.’ Margaret’s voice was low.
‘Correct. She had a stupid box where she kept things and sure enough, there it was. I took it, but left the box.’
‘I know. I found it. I found the half-used railway ticket and some wood traces.’
‘And they got you … where?’
‘Until now, not very far.’ She smiled. ‘I have never known you so informative, Mr Rose. If only your essays had ever been this good.’
He chuckled. ‘I think, after a suitable interval, I may try to write a whodunit. Doing it is so easy, it seems a shame not to.’ He smiled and stretched a little, settling in for the last bedtime story of Margaret Murray’s life. ‘So many little frills and furbelows you can include, when you stop and think. For instance, the “client list”. Remember that?’
Margaret nodded.
‘I know it gave you food for thought. And food, that was my inspiration. Living with Ben Crouch, how could it not be? Reginald Glass and James Brisket – for God’s sake, Margaret. I didn’t even try to make it sound realistic, yet you and that big flatfoot of Angela’s swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. I didn’t even bother to disguise my handwriting. It worried me for a while, because you have seen so much of it, but no – you saw what you saw and the details passed you by. Oh, Margaret – what do you always tell us? The devil is in the detail?’
‘And not only there, it seems.’ She spoke more in sorrow than in anger.
Rose sniggered. ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense,’ he said.
Margaret looked at him with her head on one side. ‘Perhaps I haven’t always made it clear, Andrew,’ she said, ‘but I have always had a soft spot for you. From the first, I knew you would go far.’
‘Ah, but how far you could never guess,’ he said.
‘I do wonder, though,’ she said, in friendly tones, ‘whether you are quite well. Nothing that can’t be fixed, but you are just … a little cold-blooded, perhaps?’
