Cynthia Manson (ed) (39 page)

“There’s still a week to go, Jack.
Who knows? Maybe there’ll be good news waiting for us when we get back to
Dorset.”

Gibbons grunted disconsolately, and
they drove on in silence. In a few minutes, Gibbons roused himself to point out
that Bethancourt had made a wrong turn.

“You should have stayed on the A27,”
he said.

“Actually,” said Bethancourt, “I
thought we’d run up to London.”

“What on earth for?”

“I thought we’d see Maureen again.
David Bainbridge was no help at all as to when they all went to bed over the
weekend.”

“Phillip, it’s perfectly likely that
the body was put there after the weekend.”

“If it was, that exonerates the
family.”

“Except for Cathy Dresler in
Australia. We’ve only her word for it that there was no body there before the
weekend.”

“Yes, but it seems unlikely that she
would have any motive. She’s been living in Australia for years. Why should she
go around murdering people in England?”

“Maybe our corpse was Australian.”

They wrangled comfortably over this
point as the car shot northward to London.

When they arrived, Maureen
Bainbridge, to Bethancourt’s disappointment, had just begun a two hour lecture,
so they sought out Daniel North instead. He seemed pleased at this distraction
from his normal duties and insisted on giving them tea. Then he leaned his
elbows on his desk and frowned in an effort to recall the Bank Holiday weekend.

“Well, let’s see,” he said. “I went
down on Friday with Dad—Mother was already there. We got a late start and were
the last to arrive. There was dinner, of course... yes, and we all went up
early, except for Maureen and Renaud. They stayed up talking for a bit, but it
couldn’t have been long because I heard her come up just as I was turning out
my light.”

“They got on well, then?” asked
Gibbons.

North looked offended. “Renaud is
certainly the type that women are attracted to,” he said, “but Maureen is
hardly that superficial. She wouldn’t take up with someone like him.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Bethancourt
tactfully, “their late chat was rather onesided?”

North smiled, appeased. “I expect so,”
he said.

“You seem to have known Renaud prior
to that weekend,” said Gibbons, “but the rest of the family had never met him
before. How is that?”

“Met him one evening at a club,” North
said. “A friend of mine knew someone in his party, and after some talk, Renaud
and I discovered our connection. He seemed quite pleasant at first, but I didn’t
care for the whole crowd. I’m sure they were doing drugs, and their behavior, well,
it left much to be desired.”

“Then you wouldn’t know anything
about his present whereabouts?”

“Certainly not.” North was affronted
again. “Uncle David should know, if that’s what you want.”

“Unfortunately,” said Gibbons, “he
doesn’t.”

“Oh.” North paused thoughtfully. “Wait
a moment,” he said slowly, “I believe Renaud did say something about where he
was staying. Yes, Camden Town, I think it was. North London, anyhow.”

Gibbons jotted “Camden?” in his
notebook. “Thank you,” he said, “that may be helpful. Now, sir, if you could go
on with your description of the weekend?”

“Yes, of course. Where was I up to?
Saturday? Everyone was up quite late that night. It was well past two by the
time the last of us went to bed. I think the last up were Uncle David, Aunt
Cathy, Maureen, Renaud, and myself.”

“That brings us to Sunday.”

“Yes, let’s see. Oh, Sunday was the
night we went to the pub. Just Maureen, Renaud, and I. We ran into a couple
there that Renaud knew from London.” A look of distaste came over North’s face.
“Not the sort of people I usually associate with.”

“Of course not,” said Bethancourt,
his voice full of false sympathy. He was beginning to think North was a bit of
a prig.

“Could you describe them for us,
sir?” asked Gibbons, ignoring his friend.

“Well, the man—Dick was his name—was
all right. He was about my age, I suppose, dark-haired and wearing a leather
jacket. I think he said he was a mechanic. The girl was called Penny. Bleached
hair and too much eye makeup, and wearing a dress that kept slipping off her
shoulder. Way off.”

Bethancourt made a “tsk-tsk” sound,
and Gibbons glared at him.

“You stayed at the pub how long?” he
asked.

“Maureen and I left first,” said
North. “Renaud was behaving quite badly. He’d spent most of the weekend
chatting up Maureen, but now he’d switched to Penny. Naturally I didn’t mind
that, and Maureen didn’t seem to care, but after all, Penny was with another
man. I didn’t think Penny was very happy with his attentions, but when I got up
to go to the men’s room, I saw his hand on her leg. No,” he corrected himself, “not
on her leg. He’d pushed her dress up and had his hand on the inside of her
thigh.”

“No!” exclaimed Bethancourt,
feigning shock. Gibbons kicked him surreptitiously.

“I can quite see how you felt,” he
said.

“Yes,” said North, gratified by this
display of sympathy. “Well, you can imagine that I came back from the w. c. and
took Maureen right off.”

“Of course,” said Gibbons. “Was
everyone else still up when you got back?”

North took a moment to put aside
righteous indignation. “No,” he said. “Not everyone. Just, let’s see, Aunt
Cathy, and my father and Aunt Bernice. But they went off to bed twenty minutes
or so after we got back. Maureen and I stayed up a bit. It must have been about
midnight—perhaps a little after—when I said goodnight and Maureen went to get a
glass of milk to take to bed with her.”

“And Renaud hadn’t yet returned?”

“No. Well, if he had, he didn’t come
into the living room.” He paused and scratched his chin. “That brings us to
Monday. Most of us left that evening so as to be at work on Tuesday. Mother
stayed on, and so did Maureen and her parents—they always take a week in the
summer to visit Grandmother.”

“Yes,” said Gibbons, consulting his
notes. “They all stayed until Thursday, except for David Bainbridge, who was
called away on business Tuesday.” He looked up. “Well, that’s very clear, Mr.
North, thank you. You heard nothing, I suppose, during any of the nights you
spent there?”

“Not me,” replied North. “I’m a
heavy sleeper.”

Gibbons thanked him and rose to
leave.

Outside, Bethancourt walked Cerberus
round the block while Gibbons phoned Carmichael in Dorset to say they were
starting back. Having supplied themselves with sandwiches and coffee for the
drive back, they threaded their way out of London and were soon spinning along
the M3 under heavy skies.

“It’s going to rain,” observed
Gibbons.

“Or snow,” said Bethancourt. “Dorset
should look very pretty in the snow. Very Christmaslike and all that.”

“Don’t be silly,” answered Gibbons. “It’s
not cold enough to snow.” Then he went on, rather abruptly, “I wonder if we
shouldn’t make more of an effort to find Renaud Fibrier than we have been
doing. The only members of the family who knew anything about him confirm the
bad reputation his own father gave him. Supposing he and that other chap fought
over the girl after North and Maureen had left. Fibrier might have killed him
and put the body in the attic after everyone else was in bed. It certainly fits
with his wanting to leave first thing in the morning.”

Bethancourt nodded. “That’s true,
Jack. I think it would be very interesting to find out what sort of trouble he
was in in France.”

“Very interesting,” agreed Gibbons. “We’ll
run it by Carmichael and see if he doesn’t want to put in a call to France this
afternoon.”

Chief Inspector Carmichael did. They
found him at the local police station, where he informed them that missing
persons was no further along with connecting the body to anyone on their lists.
He was considerably cheered, however, by the thought of Renaud Fibrier as
murderer and Dick the mechanic as victim.

“We’ll have to check all the hotels
and B&B’s in the area,” he said. “If we can find their last names, it
should be easy enough to trace them in London. If we start now,” he added
wistfully, “we might even be able to go back to town tonight. I’ll just ring
the Sûreté and then we can have some supper and get on with it.”

“I’ll meet you at the pub,” said
Bethancourt. “I want a change of clothes. It won’t take me long.”

Mrs. Tyzack’s house was quiet as
Bethancourt let himself in. There was a light burning in the front hall, and he
paused by the registry book lying open on the hall table. Pulling off his
gloves, he turned the pages back once again to the late August entries and was
pleased to find that Dick Tottle and Penny Cranston had conformed to custom and
inscribed their names and addresses.

Turning away, he had another thought
and, bypassing the stairs, headed for the back of the house and the sitting
room, where Cerberus was greeted with joyful barks by the terrier.

“Hello,” said Mrs. Tyzack. “I didn’t
hear you come in. Can I get you anything?”

Bethancourt smiled and dropped into
the easy chair opposite her. “What I really need is information,” he said. “Can
you think back to the August Bank Holiday weekend and a couple of guests you
had then?”

The names meant nothing to her, but
once he had described the couple and placed the weekend in her mind by
mentioning the Bainbridge reunion, she began to remember.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I
think they came on the Saturday. Here, let me just fetch the reservation book—”

Bethancourt politely performed this
service for her. She pored over the entries for a moment and then looked up and
beamed at him.

“Here it is,” she said. “They came
on the Saturday evening, booked through till Monday. I remember them now—they
had the room across the hall from yours and were rather quiet. Spent a lot of
time at the pub, I believe.”

“That’s splendid,” said Bethancourt
warmly. “Now, what I really need to know is: did you see them returning from
the pub on Sunday or leaving Monday morning?”

She thought for a moment. “No,” she
said at last. “No, I shouldn’t have seen them Sunday night—oh, yes, of course.
Look, it’s here in the book as well. They paid up on Sunday afternoon, saying
they’d be off on the first train on Monday. Yes, the girl explained she had to
work Monday, although I don’t remember now what she said she did. I asked if
they’d want breakfast, but they said no, it would be too early, they’d just get
up and leave. So I had a nice lie-in because the other guests didn’t want
breakfast till nine. They were gone by the time I got up—I remember I checked
their room to make sure.”

She smiled up at him, pleased with
her success. “Is that what you wanted?” she asked. “Is it important?”

“It’s very important,” answered
Bethancourt, beaming back at her. “Mrs. Tyzack, you’re a marvel.”

Carmichael and Gibbons were equally
pleased when Bethancourt joined them at the Lion’s Head.

“That’s pure jam,” said Carmichael
with satisfaction. “We might as well start back directly after supper then.
Thank you, Bethancourt.” He fished in his pocket for a train schedule, pulling
out a whole sheaf of papers in the process.

“I can drive you back, sir,” offered
Bethancourt.

“Why, thank you again,” responded
the chief inspector. “I—oh, damme.” He was gazing at a slip of paper in dismay.
“Bethancourt, I forgot. When I talked to the Yard earlier, they said several
urgent messages had been left for you. I do apologize for not telling you
sooner.”

“Urgent?” asked Gibbons, startled.

“From a young lady. Name of Maria
Tate.”

Gibbons laughed heartily while
Bethancourt said, “Oh, my God,” and Carmichael raised a bushy eyebrow.

“It’s Phillip’s girlfriend,” explained
Gibbons. “And it’s hardly likely to be urgent.”

“To Maria it is,” said Bethancourt
glumly. “I’d better go outside and ring her before I eat.”

He returned while the others were in
the midst of their meal and breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down.

“Disaster has been averted,” he
announced. “There’s a Christmas party tonight that I forgot, but I promised her
I’d be back in time for it.” He looked at his watch. “Can we be ready to leave
in forty-five minutes?”

“Yes, by all means,” answered
Carmichael. “Mustn’t keep a pretty young lady waiting,” he added with a wink. “I
assume she is pretty, Bethancourt?”

Gibbons guffawed, thinking of Maria’s
flawless beauty, while Bethancourt replied modestly that he found her so.

* * *

“Hello, Phillip,” said Gibbons
cheerfully. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” answered Bethancourt tartly,
shifting the phone to light a cigarette. “It’s only nine thirty, and that party
went on till all hours.”

“I thought you’d want to hear the
latest.”