Meg gazed dreamily at Derek, sleeping beside her. She whispered his name. When he opened his eyes, she smiled radiantly.
"Hire someone to help. I've told you so many times. At six in the morning, all I think about is bed.
" "You know we can't afford it right now." She kissed him to end the conversation and slipped out from under the covers.
He watched her as she shrugged off her cotton T-shirt. She looked younger than her thirty-six years. She was attractive and knew how to turn his head.
Ever since she bought this house, she'd been bursting with energy. She had dozens of ideas. Despite the difficulties, she had achieved her goal. She was running a boarding house, starting a new life.
She put on jeans and a sweater. It was one of those whimsical English summers. It was damp and foggy.
"Get up," she said sweetly. "I promise I'll consider hiring someone."
Derek slowly climbed out of bed. He dressed, his eyes still closed, and followed Meg into the kitchen. He set the table for seven while she prepared breakfast.
When he finally sat down with a cup of strong, aromatic tea in his hand, he realized he had to leave for work. He gave Meg a pitiful look, put on his jacket, and headed for the kitchen door.
A piercing female scream from the garden froze them both.
"I'll check it out. Don't move from here."
He went into the dining room and then into the hall. At the front door, he bumped into Mrs. Burnaby. The old lady was paler than ever.
"Mr. Knight… in the garden… I feel faint…" she said, gasping for breath.
He led her into the dining room and helped her sit down.
"I was looking at those beautiful rhododendrons… Oh! It's so terrible…
" Meg served the tea and began to soothe her guest, while Derek decided to investigate what had happened in the rhododendron thicket. He walked briskly around the house and into the right alley. He knew he'd be late for the clinic if he didn't get this sorted out immediately and get in his car.
What he saw momentarily stopped him in his tracks. Amidst the crimson rhododendrons, he saw a bloodied, motionless figure. Worst of all, he recognized it as Mr. Brooks, one of the boarding house's guests.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called first the police, then the clinic to say he wouldn't be showing up for work.
Meg took the news calmly, but Derek was fully aware she was shaken. He spoke to the police himself and identified the body himself. Sergeant McKenzie asked for a guest list, along with any information he could find about them.
By the time he went to speak with the hosts, he already knew that Mr. Brooks hadn't died from wounds inflicted by an unidentified sharp-edged weapon, but had been shot. A single, well-aimed shot had killed him.
No documents, wallet, or cell phone had been found. In such circumstances, it seemed logical to assume the crime was robbery-related. But who would commit the theft between 1 and 2 a.m.?
The sergeant had the absurd notion that there were at least three murderers. Moreover, one of them had left a Lucky Strike cigarette butt. A search of the deceased's room might answer some of the questions, but first, a conversation with the homeowners was necessary.
"Was the door locked this morning?" the sergeant directed his question to Meg, who was pouring all her energy into washing the breakfast dishes.
"I haven't checked. I suspect so. It can be easily opened from the inside," she said in a flat voice. "Mrs. Burnaby definitely went out this morning." But I didn't hear anything, so I don't know what time it was. We heard her scream at about seven-thirty—a twitch of a face flinched at the thought of what the elderly woman had seen.
The sergeant couldn't admit it, but he regretted that the body hadn't been found inside the house. It would have narrowed the suspect pool. With the door only opening from the inside and the victim having willingly walked out, it was obvious the murder had been committed by a complete stranger, someone not allowed in the guesthouse.
"Is the dog locked up at all times?"
"No. We let him out at night. He's dangerous, and we don't want him to pose a threat to the guests.
" "Who locked him up this morning?" the sergeant's question brought consternation to both faces.
Meg shook her head thoughtfully and directed a questioning glance at Derek.
"I didn't do it. It completely slipped my mind." Mrs. Burnaby usually goes for a walk before breakfast, so I make sure the Titan is locked up then, but she always likes to make sure. His kennel is clearly visible from the dining room window.
The sergeant had another piece of the puzzle. Unfortunately, he still couldn't definitively determine whether any of the boarding house's occupants were involved or not.
Whether he wanted to or not, he had to interview all the guests. Reluctantly, he took the list Meg gave him.
Room 1 – Mrs. Alice Burnaby and her granddaughter Tina Burnaby July 1 – 20;
Room 4 – Mr. and Mrs. Lucy and Peter Stockwater July 2 – 16;
Room 6 – Melissa Randal July 6 – 13;
Room 7 – Harrison Morgan July 7 – 8;
Room 8 – Richard Brooks June 29 – 12;
The sergeant gave his men the appropriate instructions and headed upstairs to speak personally with each of the guests. Derek exchanged a few seemingly insignificant words with him along the way.
Clarence McKenzie glanced around the tastefully decorated interior with quiet approval. He memorized the room layout and knocked on door number six.
A teenage girl opened the door. Her forced smile and darting eyes sharpened the sergeant's senses. He wondered what she was doing there. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. The quiet countryside wasn't the ideal vacation spot for someone of her generation.
She'd booked a double room for a week, with the option to extend her stay. Who was the other room for?
"Did you come alone?
" "Yes. I'm waiting for my fiancé. He'll be arriving today or tomorrow," she said nervously, forestalling further questions.
"Did you witness any unusual events tonight? As you already know, a murder has been committed, and we would appreciate any assistance."
"I slept all night and didn't hear a thing," she replied, using a minimal amount of words.
After asking a few more questions and receiving equally skimpy answers, the sergeant turned to leave. His gaze fell on the footprints on the carpet.
"How do you like it here? You probably walked around yesterday," he said in a friendly, noncommittal tone.
"After breakfast, I went for a walk and came back for dinner. The views are truly beautiful. I wanted to go out later, but the weather turned bad, so I was reading a book," she said, surprised by this sudden interest.
The sergeant was sure the girl had taken a deep breath after he left.
He pondered for a moment which room he should enter next. Finally, he chose the adjacent room, number seven. He was greeted by an elegantly dressed man of about forty, smoking a cigarette.
"I'm sorry. I had nothing to do with the murder," he began, cutting off the sergeant's words. "I didn't even know the man. I came here last night and ordered dinner in my room. I didn't even see him." If I don't leave here in half an hour, I'll be late for an important meeting." His voice was laced with menace.
"Mr. Morgan, please calm down. We just need to ask you a few questions. Like where you're going in such a hurry, and why you stopped here."
The sergeant looked around the room. Finally, his eyes found what he was looking for. A pack of Lucky Strikes lay on the nightstand.
"I'm on my way to a business meeting. It was late yesterday, I saw a sign advertising this place, so I stopped here." His voice calmed. "Because it was late, I had dinner brought to my room. Then I went out for a short walk. I smoked a cigarette and came back.
" "What time was it?
" "Around ten, I think," he replied after a moment's thought.
"Were you walking along the rhododendron-lined path?
" "I don't recall. I think I went in the opposite direction.
" "Was the dog unleashed?
" "No. I remember the owner let him out after I got back. Can I go now? I'm in a real hurry.
" "Give me your cell phone number and the addresses where you can be reached for the next two days."
Mr. Morgan pulled a business card from his suitcase, wrote the necessary information on the back, and handed it to the sergeant.
Constable Clive Blakey was waiting in the corridor. As soon as his superior arrived, he reported on the progress of the investigation.
"We searched the deceased's room. Only his fingerprints were there; we found no documents or money. We've notified his wife; she'll probably be back tomorrow. Diggins is checking the files. We've interviewed a few people. Apparently, he had a mistress here. The ballistics and autopsy report will be in this afternoon."
McKenzie briefly thought that Brooks had been murdered by his wife or mistress. Perhaps he wanted to separate from one of them, or perhaps he didn't want to leave either of them. It was as good a motive as any.
Blakey left with instructions to find and question his mistress, and the sergeant decided to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Stockwater. Room four was at the opposite end of the corridor. They seemed like a nice, loving couple.
"Officer, I hope you catch this bastard quickly. My wife and I came here to be together," Mr. Stockwater said hysterically. "We're going through a difficult time. Lucy's going to have a serious operation. We wanted to relax, enjoy ourselves, and then this happens." We thought that in the quiet and peaceful countryside, such accidents wouldn't happen to us.
"Please calm down and tell us, one by one, what you did yesterday." Out of the corner of his eye, the sergeant spotted traces of mud on the carpet.
"After breakfast, we went for a walk, and in the afternoon we visited the stables. We both ride horses, so we went for a ride and then stayed for a bonfire. We returned after nine.
" "Did you know Mr. Brooks?
" "No. We hadn't even seen him very often since we arrived. He usually disappeared from the village for days, only appearing for meals. He wasn't very sociable.
The sergeant asked a few more irrelevant questions and headed for the exit, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. Before leaving, he turned back to Peter Stockwater.
"I think I left my lighter in the car. Would you be so kind?
" "Unfortunately, I don't smoke."
McKenzie had another piece of the puzzle, but he had no idea how to fit it. He walked the length of the corridor again and knocked on door number one. He hoped Mrs. Burnaby had recovered from the events of the previous morning. Besides, her room was opposite the room of the murdered Brooks, so there was a chance the old lady had heard something.
Unfortunately, the gray-haired woman with the majestic figure answered in half-words and clearly considered a conversation with a provincial policeman unworthy of her person.
The sergeant noticed traces of mud on the carpet and thought that either no one cleaned this boarding house or the guests had no idea how to keep it clean. Ironically, there were no footprints at the murder scene. Leaving footprints on the gravel path was impossible, and any that might have formed around the crime scene had been washed away by the morning rain.
McKenzie, lost in thought and resigned, left Mrs. Burnaby. As he walked down the hall toward the stairs, he spotted a girl's head peeking out of a bedroom door.
"Are you a policeman?" a shrill voice asked.
"Yes.
" "Then I wanted to talk to you," the girl said resolutely.
The sergeant realized she wasn't in the bedroom, but in the living room, watching a cartoon. Considering the guest list, it could only be Tina Burnaby.
"My grandmother says I dreamed it all and that a girl like me shouldn't have anything to do with heinous crimes. But you should know that I heard footsteps at night," she said, then fell silent, watching the sergeant's reaction. "It was dark, and I couldn't sleep because Grandma snores terribly, and sometimes I just can't stand her," she continued.
"What time was it? Do you remember exactly where the sounds were coming from?" McKenzie asked with mild interest.
"I remember everything perfectly. Don't you know that I play the violin and have excellent hearing. First, someone came downstairs. Then someone else came out of their room. Then there was silence, and again I heard footsteps nearby. However, they didn't go far, just walked around the hallway and then returned to the room. Then someone came. Well, I guess they did, because I didn't hear the door open, only footsteps first. When everything was quiet, someone left and returned after quite a while.
" "Thank you for the information. It's truly valuable," the sergeant said with a smile, then said goodbye and left the living room.
In reality, he couldn't appreciate the sheer amount of information the girl with perfect pitch had bestowed upon him. She spoke as if she'd memorized it. His grandmother might as well have told her to relay it all to the police. There were so many steps that almost all the guests had to leave their rooms. Besides, the tragic demise of Brooks, who hadn't returned to the boarding house, was confirmed.
His mind preoccupied with analyzing his recent observations, the sergeant went downstairs, and if it weren't for the sight of Meg sweeping the stairs, he probably would have gone straight to the station without clearing up one of his many doubts.
"Are the rooms cleaned every day?
" "Of course.
" "Always at the same time?
" "Usually before noon, but yesterday, for example, I did it after lunch. I do everything myself here, so you know, I manage as best I can."
McKenzie said goodbye and left the mansion, while Meg went in search of Derek. She found him in the attic. When the plans for the renovation and the guesthouse were finalized, they decided to turn it into an apartment. This meant that both floors of the house were given over to guests, and they occupied the inaccessible two rooms with a bathroom.
"I hope we don't lose customers because of this. It wasn't very good advertising," he tried to keep his voice neutral, but her voice finally cracked.
"Things like that attract some people. Meggi, look at me. We'll manage. "
She raised her tear-stained eyes and smiled.
"I'll go finish dinner and check out the rooms. Maybe someone won't want to eat in the dining room tonight, but at home.
" "As usual, you're thinking of everything. I'll be right down and help you."
When Meg reached the kitchen, an irrational fear gripped her. Unlike the sergeant, she was convinced that the murder had been committed by one of the guesthouse's guests. She didn't know how to explain it, and she didn't even want it to be true.
From what she could tell, Richard Brooks didn't know any of the other guests at the guesthouse. Otherwise, he was an easygoing, somewhat gruff man who had probably come here to be with his mistress. It was easy to tell from his demeanor.
Meg was stirring the boiling pasta, though it wasn't necessary. She had to somehow control her shaking hands. All the guests were in their rooms, yet the house was utterly silent. This unnerved her.
She dropped her spoon and almost jumped when she heard a man's voice behind her. She turned and saw Peter Stockwater. He had appeared without a sound.
"I'm so sorry I frightened you so much. I have a favor to ask. My wife isn't feeling well. This whole mess, the police... I'd be very grateful if you could serve us dinner in our room. I hope it won't be too much trouble.
" "Of course not," Meg assured him with a warm smile.
She watched her departing guest and breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Stockwater felt ill in the face of the murder, but not ill enough to leave the boarding house. That was a good sign.
Mrs. Burnaby, awakened by a knock on the door, announced that she would, of course, eat with her granddaughter in the dining room. She had no intention of making any changes to her schedule.
Meg, even though she had already spoken to Mr. Stockwater, knocked on the door to see if his wife needed anything.
"Lucy was terribly tired and is now asleep," her husband said, looking over the newspaper. "Mrs. Grey, you're so kind. You really do care about us so much."
Meg left quietly, closing the door behind her. Smiling to herself, she knocked on room six, occupied by Melissa Randal. No one answered, so she tried the doorknob. The room was unlocked, so she entered. The girl was lying on the bed, apparently asleep. However, she didn't react to another knock or to the sound of her name.
The sleeping pill container on the nightstand alerted Meg. She put her fingers to the girl's neck and felt her pulse fading. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she caught herself in time. She went downstairs and told Derek everything, who was setting the table.
"I hope you make it," she said to herself.
She closed her eyes to keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, and her hands gripped the back of the chair. For a moment, she remained still, trying to control her emotions.
Only a knock on the door brought her out of her momentary stupor. She blinked a few times, smiled, and went to open the door.
She saw a young man with a duffel bag in his hand.
"Good morning. My name is George Greenfield. My fiancée, Melisa Randal, is staying here.
" "Yes. Please come in." Meg struggled to keep a smile on her face. What could she say to him?! She couldn't let him in. She didn't even know if the girl would survive.
"Which room will I find her in?" he asked, but received no answer. "Ma'am, is something wrong?
" "It's lunchtime. Please sit down," she said, unable to find any better option. She kept smiling and pretending to be cheerful.
"I'd like to say hello to Melisa first.
" "That won't be possible for now."
"What? I don't understand. Is she here? Has she arrived? Or have her parents shown up? Tell me!" The boy was getting more and more agitated, his words coming out quickly, almost hysterically.
Meg was wondering how to tell him about his fiancée's suicide when Derek appeared in the dining room doorway. Before he could say anything, she introduced her guest.
"Sit down and listen," he began. "Mrs. Randal swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills." The boy jumped up and ran out into the hallway. "Mr. Greenfield! Come back here immediately." Derek's raised voice left him with no other option. "I'm a doctor and I did everything in my power. Don't make this situation any more difficult.
" "I... I don't understand..." the boy said tearfully.
Meg called the police station. George Greenfield sat on a chair in the kitchen, still sobbing. Mrs. Burnaby and her granddaughter had come down for dinner. Meg had to attend to her housekeeping duties, leaving the arriving sergeant with Derek.
"Why didn't you call an ambulance?!
" "If I had, the girl might have been dead. Every second counted. Now that the danger was over, all she needed was peace. I did everything necessary in the situation. Besides, do you think panic would have helped us? The killer doesn't know he failed, and let's keep it that way.
" "Are you sure it was murder?"
"No. But I think Mr. Greenfield will help us establish that fact."
For the first time since the sergeant's arrival, both men's eyes turned to the devastated boy. He looked as if their words were completely lost. McKenzie had to repeat his question twice before he heard the answer.
"She couldn't… It's impossible…" The sergeant's unrelenting gaze finally prompted him to utter a few concise sentences. "Melissa ran away from home. We were supposed to get married. She was waiting for me here." She had no reason to commit suicide. Can I go see her?" he asked Derek.
"In a moment. I think the sergeant would like to see her room first."
McKenzie really wanted to. He grabbed a pill box from there. He was sure he'd found an identical one on Mrs. Burnaby's bedside table that morning. There was too much circumstantial evidence in this whole case, and not enough specifics. The drugs, the footprints on the carpet, the footsteps, the cigarette butt… And then there were the two teenagers who'd run away from home.
After thoroughly questioning Meg and Derek and asking a few innocent questions of Mr. and Mrs. Stockwater and Mrs. Burnaby, the sergeant returned to the station. The lack of fingerprints on the pill bottles allowed him to rule out suicide. There was also the possibility of staging a murder, but why would Melissa do such a thing?
McKenzie didn't even have any specific suspicions. He was still more inclined to believe that someone outside was responsible. Someone unconnected with the boarding house and its guests. In that case, however, he would have to accept the suicide hypothesis as plausible. Moreover, such a course of action didn't bode well for the investigation, as the culprit could have been any resident, or even a visitor who might have long since departed.
He decided to consider the latter option nonetheless. If Melissa Randall were to be murdered, someone responsible would have been inside the boarding house at the time. Mrs. Burnaby and her granddaughter, Mr. and Mrs. Stockwater, Melissa's fiancé, George Greenfield, who could have arrived much earlier and only fueled the despair, and of course, Margaret Grey and Derek Knight. Beyond the suspicions this time was Harrison Morgan, who was under constant surveillance and actually showed up at the scheduled meeting.
Richard Brooks had a criminal record for causing a drunken car accident that killed a five-year-old girl. He'd been released from prison a year ago. His wallet and documents have yet to be found. If Tina Burnaby were to be believed, almost everyone left the boarding house at night.
McKenzie decided to review the boarding house's guest records again. He hoped Diggins had missed something. After an hour of staring at the monitor, he began to lose hope of finding anything linking any of the guests or owners to the deceased.
A glimmer of hope suddenly appeared while reviewing Peter Stockwater's files. To be sure, McKenzie also reviewed his wife's records, and only then did he become furious.
"Damn it, who is that?!" Diggins, come here! What's this supposed to be?! They're as alike as two peas in a pod, but it's not them! Put those fingerprints into the computer right now. Who do they belong to, if not the Stockwaters?!
After five minutes, McKenzie received an answer he didn't like.
"Sally and Tony Dunn.
" "Dunn?! What was the name of the girl Brooks killed?
" "Carol Dunn," Diggins groaned.
The sergeant had been under the illusion that he'd found both the killers and the motive in one go. After putting the pieces back together, he concluded that they weren't the only ones with any clues. The cigarette butt belonged to Harrison Morgan, and the sleeping pills belonged to Mrs. Burnaby. Besides, the traces in their room indicated they'd been out somewhere that afternoon, despite their own claims.
"Blakey, call the boarding house. Have them keep an eye on those Stockwaters and don't let them leave. Diggins, find everything on that accident and the Dunns. We need to investigate this thoroughly."
McKenzie was optimistic. He knew that if he could confirm the motive, he'd have the killers and close the case with an arrest, which would certainly have a positive impact on his career. He could already picture himself losing his promotion and being transferred to a larger precinct handling more serious cases.
"Chief, the Dunns left the boarding house ten minutes ago. We have a problem.
" "Order a roadblock and give us descriptions of the suspects." If they had escaped, it meant they had something on their conscience.
McKenzie quickly gathered his men and drove to the guesthouse. He explained to the owners who the Stockwaters really were and expressed his desire to speak with Melissa Randal as soon as possible. Only she could definitively confirm his suspicions. Derek, however, was very adamant about her current condition and ability to testify, postponing it at least until the next day.
Unfortunately, patrols failed to apprehend anyone matching the descriptions Blakey had provided. It was possible they were planning to leave England, so any action taken had to be swift and decisive. Sally and Tony Dunn were officially suspected of murdering Richard Brooks, and this was sufficient justification for the police's actions.
During his conversation with Melissa, the sergeant tried to be understanding and gentle, but he wasn't very successful. He was furious, because if she had immediately confessed to what she had seen, he could have closed the case.
"I couldn't sleep that night. I was afraid Georg wouldn't come. I went out into the hallway and started walking aimlessly," she said in a quiet, tearful voice. "When I went to the window, I saw a strange scene. I watched as if hypnotized. First, a man shot another man. It was dark, so I didn't recognize them. Then a woman came. She had something in her hands and started beating the dead man with it. I didn't know if it really happened or if I had just dreamed it. I came back to my senses. I waited for the men to return and went to the garden to see what had happened. There was a dead man there." She fell silent for a long moment, tears welling in her eyes as she remembered the sight she found in the garden. "The next morning, I went to them and told them I knew everything. I wanted to blackmail them. Then, when the police had left and the whole guesthouse was so quiet, Lucy Stockwater asked me to come into the living room for coffee. I don't remember anything else."
Melinda Randal's testimony unequivocally confirmed the Dunns' guilt. The sergeant reflected with strange satisfaction that Tina Burnaby did indeed have excellent hearing.
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz