Recalled to Life (9 page)

They were all rushed to the nearest hospital some fifteen miles away. There it was confirmed. The little boy would be all right. But Emily was dead.

'At the trial the defence lawyer tried to suggest that Superintendent Tallantire acted with brutal insensitivity in forcing Cissy Kohler to leave hospital and return to Mickledore Hall to be interrogated, but there were plenty of witnesses to prove that the young American refused to let herself be hospitalized, and this left only a choice of the Hall or a police interview room. And as in the public's eyes the question was simply whether Cissy Kohler had killed the child by selfish carelessness or incidentally in an attempt at self-destruction, there was little sympathy to be whipped up for her.

'She was driven back to Mickledore Hall early that Bank Holiday afternoon, allowed time to change from the hospital robe into clothes of her own, then Tallantire, despite some protests from my mother, went to start the interrogation.

'From start to finish, it took the best part of five hours. Soon that room became the atmospheric centre of the house. A woman police officer was summoned, but for long periods she stood on duty at the door while Tallantire remained alone with the woman. Food was sent in, but came out untouched. From time to time the Superintendent emerged, but Kohler never. The first time he appeared he looked exultant, as if he were making rapid progress, but thereafter his mood changed. Sometimes his voice would be heard raised in anger and sometimes a woman's sobbing was clearly audible through the closed door. At no time did Kohler have a solicitor present, though the woman officer confirmed that she was given the opportunity. Tallantire spent most of his time out of the room making or taking telephone calls. Alas, despite my best endeavours, I couldn't get in a position to overhear any of these, but after his final conversation, about five o'clock, he looked as if a great load had been lifted from his mind. He went back into the bedroom and finally emerged about fifty minutes later looking weary but triumphant, like a man who has brought his argosy through heavy seas into a safe haven.

'His relief made him for once ignore my lurking presence.

'"That's it," he said to the hard-faced man. "She's coughed. We're home and dry."

'We can only guess at what stage all the detailed information which provided Mickledore's motive came into Tallantire's possession, but I suspect much of it must have been confirmed during that last phone call. The details, of course, provided the Press with enough columns to refurbish the Parthenon, but briefly the facts were these.

'Pamela Westropp and Cecily Kohler, employer and employee, were equal in one respect. They both loved Mickledore with an obsessive passion, the former to the point where she would bear no rival near the throne, let alone on it, the latter to the point where she would do anything for him.

'Mickledore in his man-about-town mode had run up huge gambling debts against the security of the estate. In his country squire mode, he had wooed and won the daughter of the Laird of Malstrath, a first-generation title purchased along with several thousand acres of grouse moor by George MacFee, a second-generation whisky millionaire. Mick's motive was simple. He anticipated that her portion would pay off his debts and save the estate. But there was a problem. Despite George MacFee's alcoholic background and social aspirations, he was a devout member of one of the stricter Scottish sects whose reaction to news of his prospective son-in-law's sexual and economic excesses was as predeterminable as if it had been written in the Good Book.

The engagement was to be made public the following weekend at Malstrath Keep, the castle which went with the lairdship. Pamela had to be told. Presumably Mickledore hoped that he could persuade her that this marriage of convenience need not interfere with their affair. But he knew enough about women in general and Pam in particular to recognize that Pam had hopes that went deeper than this. True, the fact that the Westropps were Roman Catholic made divorce difficult, but she was working on it. So the ever practical Mickledore prepared a contingency plan.

'Perhaps the pleasant atmosphere of that first day gave him hope that all might yet be well. At some point, probably just before they all went off to bed, he got Pam alone and broke the news.

'I doubt if her immediate reaction was encouraging. But all hope vanished the next day when he got a note from her. We only know for certain the few words that survived, but Superintendent Tallantire's reconstruction must surely be pretty close.

Mick, I've thought about it all night and it's no good - I can't take it - I'd rather destroy everything - if you go ahead with this I'll make sure George MacFee knows all about us - and about your debts - believe me - I'll do it - let's talk again I beg you -

'Her behaviour during the day got more and more eccentric. Mickledore knew he had no time to lose. And he also saw that with a little bit of editing, Pam had put a very useful suicide note into his hand.

'But now, in the best Golden Age tradition, he made his one mistake. It is hard to understand why a man desperate to rid himself of one troublesome woman should do so by putting himself at the mercy of another. Perhaps he let himself be swayed by his certainty, confirmed by Cissy's own admission, that she resented his affair with Pam far more than she did the prospect of his loveless marriage to the Scottish heiress.

'Whatever the reason, he invoked her help, not foreseeing that the bloody reality of the deed, plus the drowning of Emily Westropp, would so demoralize her as to make her putty in the hands of a ruthless and determined man like Walter Tallantire.

'"What now, sir?" said the hard-faced man. "Back to the station with both on 'em?"

'But Tallantire smiled and said, "Not yet. He likes to play at being a real throwback, so let's do things properly in the old style. Tell Sir Ralph and his guests that I'd like to see them all in the library in half an hour."

'So there it is. Because of Tallantire's active dislike of Mickledore plus a mordant sense of irony, the last of the Golden Age murders was to end in proper Golden Age style, with the suspects assembled in the library for the final denouement.

'In fact there was no lengthy unknotting. Oh yes, I was there too. With such advance notice it was easy for me to collect Wendy and get ourselves well hidden in the folds of those musty-smelling velvet curtains across the deep bay.

'Tallantire was straight to the point, speaking with the ponderous certainty of a man who has destroyed doubt.

'"I regret to tell you that Mrs Westropp's death was neither accident nor self-slaughter. I believe she was murdered."

'I heard the gasps. I could feel the shock. Then someone, I believe it was Partridge, said, "But the room was locked from the inside!"

'"I don't think so. True, a key was left on the inside, but not inserted so far that it interfered with the turning of a key on the outside."

'"But it wouldn't turn," I heard my father say. "I tried the thing myself. The keyhole was blocked till we shook the inside key loose."

'"I don't think so," repeated Tallantire. "I've tried to turn a key on the outside with the inner key fully inserted, and you're right, sir, it won't turn. On the other hand, I bounced myself as hard as I could against that door for a quarter of an hour and I never managed to shake the inside key loose. Conclusion? The inside key was never fully inserted."

'"But dammit, how do you explain that we couldn't turn the key?" demanded my father.

'"Simple," said Tallantire. "It must have been the wrong key. One near enough the original to deceive the casual glance, but with a little bit filed off a couple of teeth perhaps, that's all it would take."

'"But when Westropp tried it - "

‘ "He
was given the right key," said Tallantire.

'And now the full implication of what he was saying must have dawned. There was a moment of complete silence.

'Then Tallantire said, "Perhaps I should tell you that this has gone beyond speculation. We have a full and detailed confession from one of the perpetrators of this terrible crime . . ."

'He paused for breath or effect, then went on, "Miss Cecily Kohler. She has cooperated fully and we are now taking her into town for further questioning. Sir Ralph, I must ask you to accompany us as I believe you also may be able to help us in our inquiries."

'If it was Tallantire's intention to provoke a guilty reaction in the best tradition, he must have been overwhelmed by his own success.

'Mickledore said, "What? You say that Cissy . . . ? But she ... oh Christ, this is crazy!"

'And then he was running.

'There was so much noise and confusion that I risked a peep. Mickledore was through the library door, Tallantire was shouting, "Stop him!" The bull's-eye policeman went in pursuit, there was the noise of receding footsteps, then some other kind of noise upstairs. Then silence.

'Tallantire said, "Ladies, gentlemen, I assume you will be leaving the house shortly. Please make sure that you leave your contact address with one of my officers before you do so, as there may be other questions I need to put to you. Thank you for your cooperation. Good day."

'And so he left. Wendy and  I were by this time both very excited and very frightened. Though not fully understanding everything, we knew that this had been one of those strange adult occasions at which our presence was strictly forbidden, so we did not dare move yet. There was utter silence in the library but it was the silence of shock, not the silence of emptiness. Through the window we could see three police cars parked before the house. At the rear window of the third car I spotted a pale, pale face which I thought I recognized as Miss Kohler's. Then after a while Mickledore came out of the main door between two policemen who led him to the second car. He half- turned before he got in, as if to take a last look at the Hall. Then he was pushed into the car. Finally Tallantire appeared and got in the front passenger seat of the leading vehicle.

'Now the grim procession set off. There was no obstacle they could have anticipated for several miles but, perhaps as a last gesture of triumph over a way of life and a set of people I'm sure he despised, Superintendent Tallantire switched on the flashing lights and warning bells. I watched them glide away down the long drive, lost sight but not sound of them as they dropped down to the tree-lined river, glimpsed the lights once more as they climbed the winding road up the far hillside. Then they passed over the crest and soon the bellnotes were buried deep in the next valley glades and it was as quiet outside the Hall as within.

'Thus ended my direct involvement with the Mickledore Hall murder case. As I said at the beginning, it was the best of crimes, it was the worst of crimes; the best because, though perhaps Cissy Kohler wanted her rival out of the way, it was not this that made her join the murder plot but a deep, altruistic and ultimately destructive love for a worthless man; and the worst, because Mickledore's only motive was cold, calculating, selfish greed. Perhaps you don't think best is a superlative to apply to murder, whatever the motive. But remember this. Cissy Kohler was young and she was foolish and though she helped take a life, in a very real way she has given her own life in exchange. I only knew her briefly as a nanny before she turned into a murderess, but it was long enough to recognize that she loved us too, the children, and we all thought she was marvellous. That's what I remember now - her love. Children need it in abundance, and where it is given abundantly, we never forget, and should always be ready to forgive.

'Sir Ralph Mickledore was hanged on January the fourteenth, nineteen sixty-four. The following year the death penalty for murder was completely abolished, but even a few more months, with a Labour Government back in power, would probably have saved him. Cecily Kohler's death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. In nineteen seventy-six, within sight of being released on parole, she killed a prison wardress with whom it was alleged she had been having a lesbian relationship. Once again found guilty of murder, she is still in prison, having served the longest continuous period of imprisonment recorded for a woman in the annals of British legal history.

'So ends this series,
The Golden Age of Murder.
Raymond Chandler said that Hammett took murder and gave it back to the people it really belonged to. But he deliberately missed the point that the class-ridden world of the British Golden Age is based on a reality at least as strong as his mean streets. The Golden Age crime novel to me makes the snobbery of British society laughable, while the hard-boiled thriller makes the violence of American society enjoyable. In which case, who then can claim the moral high ground?

'But philosophical debate has not been my aim in these programmes. What I have wanted to show is that the society which produced the kind of complex, artificial, snobbish detective fiction known as Golden Age produced real life murders to match, carefully planned and cunningly executed by men and women who knew that by taking the lives of others, they were putting their own at risk.

'Do I sound almost nostalgic? If so, for what? For nineteen sixty-three? Perhaps. It is an occupational hazard of amateur historians to see watersheds everywhere, but it seems to me not unfitting that a year which saw the death of the last romantic US president and the destruction of a British government for trying to evade its own moral responsibilities, should also have housed the Mickledore Hall murder case.