Death in Disguise (50 page)

‘Mind you,' said Ken, ‘I suppose anyone who's going to be successful at a mucky business like fraud has to be totally convincing. The essence of the job.'

Heather nodded. Both of them seemed to have quite abandoned the ostentatious knowing of their place. Forgetting his alcohol/drug-infested bloodstream, Arno shook his head chidingly at this sign of breaking ranks then wished he hadn't. The result was so sensational he thought for a moment it had rolled off entirely.

‘Do you mean that someone from his past broke in here,' asked Heather, ‘and attacked him?'

‘That's nonsense,' said Andrew. ‘The only people in the room when he died were us.'

‘Indeed,' agreed Barnaby. ‘Although I think Mrs Beavers is right in a way when she suggests someone from his past was there. And certainly the manner of that past contributed to his death. However, it's my conviction that Craigie died not because he was a con man
but because he was not
.'

‘I knew it!' May cried out in triumph. ‘The aura never lies.'

‘I don't get that,' said Andrew. ‘You just told us he was.'

‘Let me expand. When I discovered his background I naturally saw the acquisition of the Manor House—using I'm pretty sure money from a time share swindle—as a major ingredient in some grand scam. But, going into the affairs of the Windhorse, I found not only was everything in financially immaculate order but that quite an altruistic flavour hung over the place. Bursaries were given to the deserving and, occasionally perhaps, to the undeserving. People who came for healing or therapy were not charged a set fee but asked to pay what they felt they could afford. Every month a varying amount was sent to charity. And yet…something was going on. We have Jim Carter's letter to prove this. And tonight, via the evidence of Mr Gibbs, his spoken words: “I shan't let you do it. I'll tell everyone what I know.”

‘The letter, written so soon before Mr Carter's death, struck me as deeply worrying. Now that we're aware of how he died I feel it appears less so. The spoken threat however—and I do see it as a threat—remains. What did Jim Carter know and, equally important, what was Craigie about to do, that instigated such a violent response?

‘My conclusion about the first half of that question is predictable enough. Jim Carter knew about the past. The second part isn't so easy. I thought if I could find out more about Carter this would help. My sergeant and I looked around his room and here, although his clothes and effects had been removed, I found two things that I thought were interesting.'

He paused and Troy, standing well back against the wall, barely nodded in an involuntary acknowledgement of the power of his chief's personality and narrative skill. There wasn't a movement anywhere. Not a blink. Nothing but total absorption.

‘One of them was an empty shoe box which had once contained some extremely expensive Italian loafers. An unexpected choice for a man who spends all day at his devotions. A tiny anomaly but, as I say, interesting.

‘And then there were the books. At first sight just the type that you'd expect. All second-hand—that's fair enough, not everyone can afford new books. But all the prices were marked in decimal coinage. Now Jim's nephew has told us that his uncle read devotional literature all his life, yet none of them could have been bought before 1971. In truth, as our department discovered, none of them was bought before 1990. They were part of a job lot from several second-hand bookshops in Slough and Uxbridge. Nearly six hundred altogether.'

‘My uncle's collection was probably somewhere else,' said Andrew. ‘Maybe downstairs in the library.'

‘But you told us you recognised the books in his room, Mr Carter. And how much seeing them distressed you.'

‘Do you mean they were bought just to create the right effect?' asked Ken.

‘Precisely so,' said Barnaby who had helped dress enough sets for his wife's drama group to know whereof he spoke. ‘But what was so strange about these bulk buys is that they were collected, and in two cases paid for, not by Craigie but by Carter.'

‘Jim?' May looked completely bewildered. ‘But why on earth would he do that?'

‘Perhaps his nephew can tell us?'

‘No idea.' Andrew shrugged, opening his hands in helpless incomprehension. ‘Unless, completely taken in, he was persuaded to make a contribution.'

‘Oh, I don't think your uncle was that easy to take in. I'd say, if anything, the boot was on the other foot.'

‘I don't know what you mean, Chief Inspector, but I do know I don't intend to sit here and listen to you malign him.' He climbed down from the table and was half way to the door when Barnaby spoke again.

‘Why did you dye your hair, Mr Carter?'

‘We went into all that when I was in your office. I didn't want anyone to connect me with my uncle.'

‘But the likeness was negligible. I could hardly see it at all.'

‘
I
thought it was there—all right? And decided to protect myself. Christ—I was nearly killed three days ago, I'm assaulted tonight by a madman with an iron bar. You'd think I'd get sympathy and understanding. Not a bloody third degree.'

‘So fair on the photograph, wasn't it? Nearly white—very striking. Anyone who'd met you as a child say, as Craigie did, might easily have recognised you again.'

‘As a…' Andrew stared around, inviting everyone to share his incredulity.

‘How old were you? Eight, nine? When they worked together?' Now Andrew shook his head in the way people do when presented with something strictly beyond belief. ‘I'd say this was the real reason you didn't want the police called in after your uncle's death. Not because people here might be put on the alert but because of what we might discover.'

‘All this is absolute nonsense.'

‘I believe Andrew's right,' said May. ‘The first gathering I went to, Jim was on the platform and spoke of how meeting the Master changed his life. That was why I joined. I was so moved by his testimony.'

‘You can see that old trick, Miss Cuttle, in any market place. A shyster selling rubbish and another in the crowd shouting as how the rubbish changed his life. Tell me—didn't you find staying at the Windhorse a touch expensive when you first arrived?'

May appeared taken aback at this sudden swerve in the conversation. ‘I must admit I did. And was asked to charge rather more for my workshops than I personally would have liked. Arno…you came shortly after me, I don't know if you…?'

‘Yes. I remember seeing a notice in a travel agent's window just after I'd booked my first weekend and I could have had a week in Spain for the same money. Not that it wasn't worth every penny.' He looked sideways at May, blushed and turned in his toes—or at least the five that were still movable.

‘But wasn't that just until the place got established?' asked Heather. ‘Certainly when we joined a year later things were much more reasonable.'

‘We couldn't have come otherwise,' explained Ken.

‘I don't think it was a question of getting the place established at all, Mr Beavers. I think the original premise was to separate as many people from as much of their cash as was humanly possible.'

‘So what went wrong?' said Ken, amending hastily, ‘Or right, I should say.'

‘My own belief—and this is not unheard of although the longer the criminal's in the game the rarer it gets—is that Craigie, perhaps because of his reading, his pretend prayers, his meditations, his constant exposure to people who were truthfully struggling to live some sort of spiritual life, underwent a genuine transformation. Not a grand Pauline conversion, something slower yet nonetheless quite genuine. In other words the mask became the man.'

‘I knew it,' May spoke quietly. ‘He could not have taught the way he did—'

‘Or cared for us the way he did,' interrupted Suhami.

‘And there's Tim,' said Arno. ‘He related to people emotionally. He
understood
what they were really like. He was like a child in that respect, and they're not easily fooled.'

Barnaby let that pass. This was not the time to go into the matter of how tragically easily children can be fooled. He continued: ‘But then Craigie became ill. Finally, I've no doubt, becoming aware that he would not recover. And this led to what I suspect is the “something terrible” mentioned in Carter's letter to his nephew. I've been aware of the word
trust
as a persistent irritating niggle and couldn't think why. I knew all there was to know about Miss Gamelin's inheritance and how—as I thought—it related to the case, so it didn't seem to be that. And then I recalled your first interview, Mr Gibbs, and realised that not one, but two trusts are involved here.'

‘Really.' Arno frowned. ‘I can't think…unless you mean the charity—'

‘Exactly,' said the chief inspector. ‘Craigie wished to deed the house and organisation in such a manner that no single individual had overall control. This enraged Carter who, I'm pretty sure, in spite of what his nephew told me to the contrary—had put money from the sale of his house into the enterprise. Nearly two hundred thousand pounds. I doubt if the altercation Mr Gibbs overheard was the first by a long chalk.'

‘He didn't do it though,' said Arno. ‘Take charitable status I mean.'

‘There was no need,' said the chief inspector, ‘after Carter's accident.'

‘So it's an accident now?' Andrew had flushed dark red. ‘You're as bad as those incompetents at the inquest.'

‘It's not a good idea to take the law into your own hands, Mr Carter.'

‘Well, it's not exactly shining in yours is it? How do you know what the argument was about? Even Arno who overheard them and lived here doesn't. And I must say the fact that Riley killed my uncle and has made two murderous attempts on me seems to have been pretty lightly touched on. You seem to have forgotten it was almost my death being investigated here tonight. And no doubt, if you hadn't turned up when you did, that would have been covered up as well.'

‘That's unfair,' said May. ‘Tim was only trying to prevent your uncle attacking the Master.'

‘We've only Arno's word for that.'

‘His word,' said May staunchly, ‘is good enough for me.'

‘The grey sheep. That's what you rather disarmingly called yourself in my office, Mr Carter, if I remember correctly.' An uninterested shrug. ‘Your ex-Stowe chum by the way not only genuinely lost his wallet but was five thousand in the red by the time he'd notified Visa and American Express. One item being an antelope jacket.'

‘Well it's not this one. I got it from Aquascutum months ago.'

‘That shouldn't be difficult to prove.'

‘If you've the time to waste.'

‘What did you mean, Inspector?' Suhami was staring at Andrew Carter with sickened apprehension. ‘About taking the law into his own hands.'

‘I'm talking about murder, Miss Gamelin.' Although his stress on the word was harsh, Barnaby's glance was not without sympathy as it rested on the girl in the pale green sari.

‘
Murder
.' Her face became drawn and, whispering, ‘It can't be true,' she started to shake. Heather immediately bustled forward and enfolded Suhami in her giant bosoms.

‘Of course it isn't true,' said Andrew scornfully. ‘I didn't go near him. Just because you've given up on Gamelin you needn't think you're pinning this on me. For a start—what earthly motive would I have?'

‘A mixture, the most dominant I imagine being revenge. One of the few things you told the truth about in my office was that you had a deep and lasting affection for your uncle. I've no doubt, as you told me you kept in touch, that you knew about the set-up here and that things were going wrong. What made you so sure Craigie had killed your uncle? Did you think that thieves had fallen out?'

‘There were no thieves to fall out. At least as far as Jim was concerned. He told me in one of his letters that the man who was running things here had developed religious mania. Well, we all know how people like that can turn. Half the psychos going say God was telling them to get rid of prostitutes or rent boys or one-legged pensioners.' He broke off here to light a cigarette. Heather started coughing and waving at the air.

‘You're right about the argument though. Jim felt the man was a poseur. It was only due to my uncle's constant efforts at persuasion that the prices started to come down.'

‘You can think on your feet, son,' said Barnaby. ‘I'll give you that.'

‘You said the most dominant motive.' Ken was now also coughing preposterously. ‘What were the others then?'

‘Money—as it so often is. First in respect of the entailment of this place which I've no doubt Mr Carter, being his uncle's heir, regards as no more than his due.' He paused to encourage a response but in vain. ‘And then of course the famous trust fund. Miss Gamelin was about to offload it. Carter was in a difficult position. He'd been pursuing her almost from the first moment he arrived yet there was still no definite engagement, let alone the chime of wedding bells. Perhaps under Craigie's influence she was still drawn to a more reclusive, maybe even celibate life. Another reason why his death may have forwarded your plans.'

‘There weren't any “plans.” I fell in love.' His angry glance swung from Barnaby to Troy and back again. ‘Can't you see how you're upsetting her? Telling all these bloody lies.'

Suhami was watching Andrew as he spoke. She saw no traces of remorse. But then, if it was all bloody lies, there wouldn't be. Her own reaction to all these revelations was most curious. After the first shock of distress and disbelief she found she was experiencing nothing at all. A great yawning void seemed to have opened up around her. Whether Christopher had truly fallen in love with her seemed to be of no importance. She put a little gentle pressure on the memory of past emotions, recalled the moment in the byre when she had been so delirious with joy. The whole scene now seemed no more than faintly pleasurable. For the first time in her life things had gone wrong, more vilely and horribly than ever before, and she was not all over the floor in pieces. It was a mystery but a most consoling one.