Death in Disguise (51 page)

‘Forgive me for saying so, Inspector,' murmured Arno, ‘but what you suggest is quite impossible. As Andrew has already explained and we can all confirm—he never went near the dais. Are you saying he had an accomplice?'

‘An unwitting accomplice. Not to the act of murder, but of course he had to get the knife and the glove into the Solar. He was dressed—I'm sure deliberately to reinforce his “alibi”—in such a way as to make concealment about his person out of the question.'

‘But how could anyone bring a knife in without knowing it?' said Ken.

‘In a bag,' said Barnaby. ‘There was a thread caught up on the handle proving this. Where were you positioned on the dais, Mr Carter?'

Andrew did not reply. Suhami said, ‘He was next to me.'

‘Yet after fetching Miss Cuttle's cape you did not return there?'

‘May often had distressing times during her regressions. I thought it might be of help if I stayed close.'

‘Ever done that before?'

‘No, but I should think just the fact that I chose to do it then is enough to knock your theory on the head. If you're going to kill someone you get as close to your victim as possible, not as far away.'

‘Ah, but you had no choice. Because you put the knife in the wrong bag. It was only when opening it to take out the cape that you realised your mistake.'

‘In
my
bag!' May's voice surged to a peak of Bracknellian splendour.

‘He thought it was Miss Gamelin's. They're very similar.'

Suhami groaned at this and Heather's bosoms leapt to their cradling once more.

‘He did this at the very last minute, perhaps even taking charge to make sure she didn't open it.'

‘Yes that's right,' cried Ken. ‘He carried it in for her. I remember.'

‘You would,' said Andrew.

‘He was banking on the sort of disturbance which did in fact take place, but of course he expected to be close to Craigie at the time. As I said previously, this was a partly planned, partly impulsive crime.'

‘I don't see how he could possibly have slipped a knife in at the last moment Inspector,' said Arno. ‘He couldn't have been carrying it and it certainly wasn't on the table.'

‘Yes, that fazed me for a bit. Then I remembered Guy Gamelin's complaint that he wasn't allowed to sit beside Sylvie because one of the community's disciplines was keeping to the same seat. I've no doubt that there was a cushion on Mr Carter's. The knife was placed beneath it earlier in the day. And the glove, too, of course.

‘Stupidly choosing a left-handed one,' said Andrew scornfully, ‘although I use the right.'

‘Just an added pointer in the wrong direction. I think you simply turned it inside out then turned it back. You couldn't have known of course that Gamelin would be left-handed. That must have seemed a real bonus. As it happened, he tried to offload it behind the curtain and was spotted. I'm sure, if this had not been the case, you would have somehow managed to draw the matter to our attention. Perhaps via Miss Gamelin who was already completely convinced of her father's guilt.'

‘Supposition—all of it. You're stuck, Inspector—you can't solve the problem so you've dreamed up this fantasy. And if you're going to say I killed him when I went to switch on the light you can think again. I didn't go near him at any time. Nor, as you've obviously forgotten, was I part of the group that Craigie pointed at before he died.'

‘That's of no matter,' said Barnaby. ‘For Ian Craigie was not pointing at a person at all.'

‘Yes he was. Gamelin. Ask anyone.'

‘Certainly it must have seemed that way but going over things earlier tonight, I was struck by one very interesting difference between Guy Gamelin and the rest of the group. He was the only person who was standing up.'

‘So?'

‘That put him in the way.'

‘In the way of what, Inspector?' asked Arno.

‘I believe Craigie was indicating the direction from which the knife was thrown!'

There was a fair old hubbub at this. The word ‘thrown' was repeated several times with varying degrees of incredulity. Heather left Suhami and ran excitedly back to Ken. Andrew burst out laughing.

‘Oh—that's brilliant. In a dark room? Ten feet away?'

‘Not dark—duskish. And he was wearing a brilliant white robe.'

‘Impossible.'

‘Not to someone who's thrown knives for a living.' The hubbub melted into a stunned silence. ‘You didn't tell us that did you, Mr Carter?'

‘There's all sorts of things I didn't tell you.'

‘That's for sure,' said Troy.

‘It was careless to mention your time at Blackpool, because we got in touch with your employers who revealed that, apart from your lion-taming skills for which they had little use, you also offered fire eating and a knife act.'

‘Carny people'll say anything.' Barnaby was silent for quite a time. Eventually Andrew Carter spoke again.

‘That's it, is it? Your evidence against me? Well, all I can say is that if by some miracle this ever gets as far as a courtroom, the jury'll be falling off their bench in hysterics.'

Miracle is right
, thought Troy. He had listened, engrossed, totally convinced, whilst the chief unravelled the case against Andrew Carter but now the mesmerising tale was done what did they have? What did they actually
have
? A thread from a bag caught up on a knife. Everything else was supposition. No prints on the murder weapon. One quick daring movement with everyone looking elsewhere. All Carter had to do was stick to his bewildered denials and a good lawyer would have him out on the streets before you could say no case to answer. He knew that—the cunning bugger. Look at him shrugging, shaking his head, smiling. He wouldn't crack. Or make mistakes. Even if they managed to dig up some past form—so what? All that proved was he's not Persil clean. And character defamation could only take you so far. Troy tried to look at his chief but Barnaby, his face blank, was gazing at the stone-flagged floor. Finally he looked up and spoke.

‘How did you get the boy to come out of his room?'

Stone the crows he's really getting desperate. Clocked the problems, no making the first one stick so going all out on the second which is even more of a no no. Riley'd already attacked Carter once and nearly killed him. Self-defence is a foregone conclusion. They won't even get him on manslaughter. Troy's expression revealed none of these ponderings but his heart was heavy. What was it the chief had said yesterday—up the creek without a paddle? Too bloody right! Troy felt a momentary flash of fellow feeling for Barnaby. Almost of affection. This sort of empathetic insight was so alien to his usual way of thinking that he was relieved to see it disappear as quickly and mysteriously as it had arisen.

Now the tension in the room had snapped, mainly because of Andrew's burst of apparently quite genuine laughter. May broke a long awkward silence by asking Arno how his foot was feeling. Suhami turned her back on them all. Heather collected the dirty cups and took them to the sink. Only Troy saw the door slowly open.

Barnaby repeated the question,
‘How did you get the boy to come out?'

‘He imitated Arno's voice.'

Felicity was wearing her Caroline Charles two-piece and borrowed furry slippers. She looked very white but the words were strong and clear. The pressure in the room shot up again.

‘Come and sit down, Mrs Gamelin.' Barnaby, his sluggish heart once more on the move, drew out a chair. She came further into the room, but hesitantly, looking frightened. Having set her down, Barnaby perched on the table's edge, his burly form concealing Andrew Carter.

‘Tell me what happened.'

‘I woke up wanting the loo. I put a robe on and I'd just started to open the door when I saw… him…'

‘Andrew Carter?'

‘Christopher.'

‘Whereabouts?'

‘Kneeling by the keyhole of Tim's room. His lips were very close. He said, ‘This is Arno. I've got your supper.' His voice was so different. It was uncanny. He didn't have a tray or anything but he had this terrible iron bar that he propped up against the wall. And when Tim opened the door, Christopher made a grab, pulled him outside and… and started to hit him with it. I should have gone for help… I know I should. But I was so
frightened
. I just went inside again. I didn't even ring the police. I'm sorry…so sorry…'

‘We were on our way in any case by then, Mrs Gamelin.'

‘Oh—is that true?'

‘Quite true.'

‘Then I don't feel so…I heard glass breaking. Is he all right? Tim?'

There was a deeply awkward pause. Heather went across to Felicity and said, ‘Why don't I make you a nice cup of Acorna? With plenty of honey.'

Troy wondered if that was the boiled sludge offered to him the night of the murder. If so it was more likely to finish Felicity off than revive her. And that would never do because they'd need her for the trial. What a marvellous piece of luck! And she was telling the truth; it had shown on Carter's face though he'd been quick to collect himself. A nice little caution now, a neat arrest and they'd be home and dry. The chief had got up, was about to say something, but before he could do so May spoke up again.

‘What you said earlier about the Master's death makes me wonder if I should have been more explicit at my first interview.'

‘In what respect, Miss Cuttle?'

‘Well of course I did see everything, you know.' The ground opened around Barnaby's feet. I am not hearing this, he observed silently, and there's an end to it.

‘It's all in my statement.' The only one he had hardly bothered to go over, recalling it as a load of supernatural claptrap, signifying nothing. ‘A silver dart? Flying overhead?'

Oh Jesus! Oh bloody hell. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Cry of course. What else? With another life gone. The chief inspector had a sudden searing sense of shame. He recalled Joyce's fierce accusation that he never listened and his own earlier attempts to stop Troy exploring the conman theory. It seemed no one could be right but himself. Fortunately the sergeant had gone ahead anyway but if he had not…

My arteries are hardening, thought Barnaby. And I don't like it. He realised May was addressing him.

‘I'm afraid I felt at the time,' she said, ‘that you were simply not ready for more detailed esoteric knowledge. But perhaps I was mistaken.'

Yes, perhaps you were, you dozy old bat, thought Troy, noting his chief's look of crumbling devastation. The sergeant's reaction was not entirely sympathetic. He had been on the receiving end of the instruction always to keep an open mind too often not to feel a sting of satisfaction. There was also the undeniable fact that this discovery slightly eased Troy's own guilt. His sole defence, should Barnaby notice the fifteen-minute discrepancy between the time logged for the Blackpool information and his sergeant's phone call to Arbury Crescent, would have been of the truculent ‘How was I to know?' nature. Which was of course no defence at all. Now there'd been a preemptive strike. For if the chief had been more attentive to May Cuttle's statement not only the boy, but also a great deal of time and money would have been saved as well.

The caution was completed. Troy buttoned his jacket and moved forwards, prepared for trouble. But there was none and five minutes later all three men were in the car and on the way to the station.

Troy drove. Barnaby sat in the back, Andrew Carter sullenly at his side. He had vehemently denied Felicity's story, saying that she'd probably been hallucinating. Anyone could see she was brain-damaged by years of booze and drugs.

‘We'll test the bar for prints.'

‘Test away. I've already told you I made a grab at it when we were on the roof. Plus I carried it down to my room the time before.'

‘If that's all you did, that's all they'll find.'

Barnaby watched Carter's face as he spoke. All he saw was a smirk of bravado. The man leaned back, crossing one leg high at right angles across the other knee. As he tugged at his sneakered foot the soft hide of his jacket hitched up and Barnaby saw the glowing circle of light on his wrist.

‘Where d'you get that?'

‘Present. My nearly-but-not-quite fiancée.'

‘She's had a lucky escape.'

‘Me, too. She was as neurotic as hell. Always rapping on about her inner life. Can I smoke?'

‘Not at the moment. Tell me—just as a matter of interest—did you know she was living at the Windhorse before you arrived?'

Carter paused as if mulling over the possible consequences of a truthful reply, then said: ‘Yes. My uncle wrote to me. He recognised her.'

‘From an engraving in the Buddhist scriptures no doubt?'

‘It's no crime to look out for a rich wife. If it was, half the male population would be inside tomorrow.'

‘You ever been inside?'

‘Of course not.'

‘You said you were “working” the arcades. That's thieves' cant.'

‘A slip of the tongue.'