4.Little Victim (19 page)

‘Indeed he might. All that happened in the morning. The killer now has six hours to get ready for the next deception. He dresses up as Julian Knight, or rather puts on a shabby jacket, a soiled panama and enormous dark glasses. He gatecrashes the garden party, gets into the folly with you and makes an entry into the diary – describes how he has seen Roman Songhera strangle Ria and so on. Julian Knight wrote in block letters, clearly on account of his shaking hand, so imitating his handwriting must have been child’s play.’ Payne stroked his jaw with his forefinger. ‘So, my love, we are looking for a man in his early sixties. An Englishman of theatrical bent who loves dressing up and hates Songhera. Um. What else do we know about him?’

Antonia glanced down at the open diary on her lap. ‘He is not in terribly good health. He kept sweating and I don’t think that was only because of the heat. And of course he is freshly arrived from England.’

‘How do you know that he’s freshly arrived from England?’

‘You referred to him as Old Zebra Face because of the white stripe across his forehead. At close quarters his face did appear mottled. He kept dabbing at it with a tissue. The tissue was extremely grubby. He left it behind, you see, dropped it inside the folly. I do think his tan was fake, like Camillo’s, it came out of a bottle or a tube –’

‘What a terrifying bloodhound you are! Thank you, Augusto,’ Payne said as the waiter placed a fresh coffee pot on their table. ‘Coffee, old thing? I must say the CG coffee is awfully good. As good as the coffee they make at your old haunt, the Military Club.’

‘No, no coffee for me, thank you. You’re drinking too much coffee. It’s bad for the heart. Coffee also makes one paranoid.’

‘I haven’t noticed. Does coffee make you paranoid? I suppose that’s conducive to the writing of detective stories of your kind.’ Payne poured himself a cup. ‘I wonder if Lord Justice Leighton drank too much coffee. Did the redoubtable Lucasta keep nagging at him to give up? Was coffee to blame for his deteriorating health and ultimate demise? Why oh why do I keep thinking about the old horror? For some reason I can’t get him out of my mind. Where were we? Oh yes. The bogus Knight applies a bronzer to his face. Without it, his skin would have been too pale or too pink. His intention was to blend in – to create the illusion that he’d been living in Goa for a long time? ‘

‘Well, either it wasn’t a very good bronzer, or his skin wasn’t responding very well to it, because his face was streaked. I also thought his hands looked rather pale pink, the colour of monkey’s paws . . . All the locals, including the real Julian Knight, who had lived in Goa for some years, are deeply tanned. The man’s face in the morgue struck me as deeply tanned, under his deadly pallor.’

‘Zebra stripes and grubby tissues . . . I don’t suppose those were the only tell-tale signs? You wouldn’t have built up a whole case on the evidence of zebra stripes alone, would you?’

‘I wouldn’t. There is more. Julian Knight was colour-blind – Tang mentioned the fact – but the man who spoke to me in the folly wasn’t colour-blind. The man in the folly saw a balloon and he knew it was red.’

‘You’ve got the eyes of an eagle and the memory of a jackdaw,’ said Payne admiringly.

‘Red on any surface except green or yellow is absolutely invisible to colour-blind people.’

‘You should be on
Mastermind
.’

‘Then there was the man’s watch,’ Antonia went on. ‘It showed the wrong time. I noticed his watch and at first I thought it had stopped at one o’clock, then I saw it said five past one when mine said five past six.
Five hours
. Do you see?’

‘That’s the time difference between England and Goa.

. . . We are five hours ahead here. . . . You mean the killer forgot to adjust his watch? Charlotte too had forgotten to adjust her watch – she did it at the party. It happens a lot if people haven’t been in a country long . . .
Yes
. . . To sum up, we are looking for an Englishman of late middle age, not in the best of health, a lot on his mind, complexion pink or pale, hates Songhera, newly arrived from England – am I missing something?’

‘He had a good reason to hold his hand in a fist,’ Antonia said thoughtfully. ‘He is also a man who knew the private detective well enough and was familiar with Julian Knight’s diary and the capital letters he used. Julian Knight clearly trusted the man and did not become suspicious when he appeared dressed up as a local woman wearing a veil. I do believe the killer was one of Julian’s clients.’

Payne leant forward. ‘You said Knight seemed extremely upset when he talked about Ria’s death, didn’t you? He gave the impression of being in some way personally involved with her?’

‘Yes. And I don’t think he was putting it on. He was overcome with grief. That struck me as a bit odd. That’s what gave me the idea that Julian Knight might have been in love with Ria. Only that was
not
Julian Knight. So why did he look such a picture of misery and despair? Why did his voice shake? He clearly had feelings for her. So why did he kill her? Who was he?’

There was a pause.

‘If I didn’t know it to be a virtual impossibility,’ Major Payne said slowly, ‘if I didn’t know he was dead, I’d have said that the man was Ria’s papa. Lord Justice Leighton. It all fits in perfectly. Think about it.’

27

A Talent to Deceive

He tapped the bundle of letters that lay on the table with the stem of his pipe. ‘In one of his letters he tells Ria he would like to come to Goa and collect her. Let’s imagine that he did precisely that.’

‘He is dead, Hugh. You don’t mean – he left his grave – his ghost? A revenant?’

‘Let’s assume he isn’t dead. Let’s imagine he gets a plane and flies over to Goa instead. He knows Ria’s address because they have been corresponding. As soon as he arrives, he gets in touch with Julian Knight. Asks him to brief him about the latest developments regarding Ria’s liaison with Songhera. Perhaps he asks Knight to direct him to Ria’s bungalow. He then appears on his daughter’s doorstep unannounced. She gets the shock of her life but lets him in nevertheless. He pleads with her. Begs her to go back. She says no, perhaps laughs at him or says something provocative, which makes him angry. They are in the bedroom. He slaps her face. She hits back. He puts his hands around her throat – pushes her back –’

‘Her head hits the bedpost?’

‘Yes. That’s how she gets her swelling. Old Leighton has seen red. He is quite unable to stop himself. He continues pressing his thumbs into Ria’s throat.
He has strong hands
. When he suddenly comes to his senses and lets go, it is too late. Ria falls back on the bed. She is dead. He is overcome with grief and despair. He breaks down – cries. He has killed his beloved daughter! Some preservation instinct then asserts itself. He remembers whose fiancée Ria was. He stumbles out of the bungalow. At the thought of Songhera, Leighton’s anger returns. Songhera now becomes the focus of all his resentment and hatred. He convinces himself it was all Songhera’s fault. It was because of Songhera, the filthy wop, that his daughter died. Songhera will have to pay for it. His anger gives him strength to go on. It also gives him a sense of purpose. He returns to the hotel –’

‘Brown’s Hotel?’

‘The
soi-disant
Brown’s, yes. Haunt of well-heeled expats and British tourists of the better class. He sits in his room and considers the situation. Knight has seen him. Knight is the only person who knows Lord Justice Leighton is in Goa. Knight also knows that Leighton has come with the sole aim of taking his daughter back to England. Knight knows too much
.
Consequently. Knight will have to die –’ ‘But Knight’s death will serve another purpose as well,’ Antonia interjected. ‘Knight will play the witness who cooks Roman Songhera’s goose.’

‘Absolutely. Leighton comes up with a scheme. He phones Knight and asks him to get him a pass for the garden party at CG. Knight obliges. He obtains the pass from one of the waiters or the maître d’, whom he bribes. Leighton asks Knight to bring not only the pass but his diary as well. He says he wants to look at Knight’s notes on Ria. Leighton goes to their meeting garbed in drag. Knight doesn’t suspect anything – he is probably drunk.’ Payne took another sip of coffee.

‘They meet and Lord Leighton manages to pinch Knight’s diary,’ Antonia said. ‘As they are about to cross a busy road, Lord Leighton gives Julian Knight a sharp shove between the shoulder-blades and sends him under the wheels of a speeding car. Exit Julian Knight, formerly of Scotland Yard. Lord Leighton disappears in the crowd. All people have seen is a “native” woman wearing a veil. The stage now is all set for the next act. Lord Leighton dons his second disguise. He assumes Knight’s gliding walk, but he makes the mistake of hitching up his
left
shoulder whereas it was the right one with Knight.’

‘Leighton adored
East Lynne
and
Sleuth,
both of which involve impersonation.’

‘That’s certainly suggestive. Did he make me his confidante by chance?’

‘Not at all. The Brahmin told you that when he arrived at CG, Knight inquired about you
specifically
– asked where to find you, remember?’

‘I thought that was a lie!’

‘Hope that teaches you not to be presumptuous. How could Leighton have known you were at Coconut Grove?’ Payne held up his pipe. ‘Well, he was on the same plane from London as us and his seat was not far from ours. He managed to get a good look at you. Charlotte was talking at the top of her voice, about your detective stories, about your imagination running riot and so on.’

‘She said she would like to take advantage of my imagination . . . You think that’s what gave him the idea?’

Payne gave a portentous nod. ‘
The proud have laid a snare
for me, yea, and set traps in my way
. The Bible always gets it right, doesn’t it? Charlotte also talked about CG and the garden party, so Leighton knew where to find you. He decided you would be perfect for his purpose. He hoped that you would bring Songhera to justice. That was going to be his revenge.’

‘Who was the person who called him on the phone?’

‘Leighton paid someone to call him from a telephone box. He answered the phone and then walked out of CG and disappeared. The Brahmin didn’t lie about that either. Well, old Leighton was clever but not that clever. What he didn’t count on was Miss Antonia Darcy and her consort outwitting him.’

Antonia looked at him. ‘Hugh, Lord Justice Leighton is dead.’

‘Is he though?’ Payne drawled.

‘Well, that’s what his sister wrote.’

‘Ah, Dear Aunt Iris. What if Aunt Iris told a whopper to her niece? The very use of the technical term –
pulmonary
embolism
– is suspicious, don’t you think? It suggests a degree of self-consciousness, of trying too hard, of overdoing it somewhat. As though she was afraid her niece might not be convinced. Why do we think that Lord Justice Leighton is dead?
Only
because his sister Iris wrote a letter to that effect to her niece Ria. We have no evidence.’

‘All right. If she did lie, why did she lie?’

‘The obvious explanation, my love, is that she was extremely concerned about her brother’s health and she wanted to terminate the flow of letters which clearly caused him such great distress of mind. If she wrote to her niece and said her father was dead, Ria would stop writing. As simple as that.’ Payne relit his pipe. ‘Perhaps there was a particular scare at some point. Old Leighton might have had a heart attack – say, he
nearly
died of it, but eventually recovered. That is why the man in the folly looked ill! Leighton’s brush with death might have given sister Iris the idea.’

‘Or Lucasta Leighton might have asked her to do it? Less suspicious, coming from a sister who was not exactly her brother’s favourite.’

‘Yes . . . Ah, Charlotte!’ Payne waved his hand. ‘Good morning. How is your head?’

‘
Terrible
.’ Mrs Depleche sat down. She wore a tropical suit that was the perfect match for her sola topi. She kept her hand at her forehead. ‘It feels as though somebody undid it last night while I slept and left it out overnight on a deckchair in a hailstorm.’

‘Then you should be happy to have it back,’ Payne said airily.

‘Roman’s vanished again. One of his myrmidons told me that somebody in his family’s died. I caught sight of him down on the beach, looking dashing in combat fatigues. My head doesn’t feel like my own. I am worried about it.’

‘It’s your liver you should worry about.’

‘Roman won’t be able to take us to his croc farm.’ She sighed. ‘Relatives do tend to pop off at the most awkward times. I have had most of mine buried, thank God. Pour me a cup of coffee, Hugh, there’s a good boy.’

Payne picked up the coffee pot. ‘Shall we order some breakfast for you?’

‘No, no breakfast. Couldn’t eat a thing. I’m sure a poached egg would kill me. I saw some of Roman’s men carrying cans of paraffin, screwed-up paper and wood chips. I thought they looked ludicrously solemn. . . .This coffee tastes absolutely foul. Or is it me? Are they going to have a bonfire, d’you think?’

Ria’s funeral, Antonia thought. A pyre. She’d been right.

‘I dreamt of a clergyman in full canonicals last night,’ Mrs Depleche went on. ‘He asked if I would like to take communion. He had terribly sad eyes. Perhaps it’s a sign I am going to die here.’

‘Did he give you extreme unction?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then you’ll be all right.’ Payne took a sip of coffee.

‘Today I don’t intend to touch a drop. Last night the
Caspar
crowd were telling me about a funeral procession they saw. Elephants
–
the kind of flowers that look as though they are about to eat you – juggling marmosets in brightly coloured frocks. It was all very beautiful and a little unusual.’

‘The juggling marmosets couldn’t have been part of the funeral. They must have gatecrashed the funeral and should have been shooed off. You don’t happen to know any Leightons, Charlotte, do you?’ Payne said on an impulse. ‘A Lord Justice Leighton?’

‘There are the Wiltshire Leightons. Robbie and Maurice. There are others too, mostly men. Made extraordinary marriages, all of them. Then there’s the Hertfordshire line. Toby and Iris.’

‘I think these are the ones.’

‘I knew a Lucasta Furness who married a Leighton, can’t remember which one – Toby, I believe. For him it was a second marriage. Odd creature, stayed on the shelf for ages. Rumoured to have poisoned her best friend. Clever and manipulative, or so they said. All clever women are manipulative.’ Mrs Depleche looked pointedly at Antonia.

Annoying old witch, Antonia thought.

‘Married to a woman like that would be either a blessing or a curse.’ This time Mrs Depleche cast a speculative glance in Payne’s direction, as though to ascertain whether he considered himself blessed or cursed. She seemed disappointed when his expression remained blank.

‘Did Toby Leighton die?’ Payne asked.

‘He might have. I never read obituaries, such a lot of nonsense. Perhaps we could have a little walk on the waterfront and stop for coffee at this place everybody calls Brown’s? Can’t be the same one as in – as in . . .’ Mrs Depleche’s yawned. Her eyes fluttered and closed. She fell back in her wicker chair and a moment later she was snoring.

Major Payne looked at Antonia. ‘Brown’s. That’s where we might find Leighton. Unless he’s gone back to England. I don’t suppose he knows the body has been taken away from the bungalow. He probably assumes there will be a proper investigation – and he hopes that Songhera will swing for it. That’s what they do here, isn’t it?’

‘I think so, yes. They do hang murderers in India.’

‘He’d be anxious to be back in England when the British High Commission ring to notify him of his daughter’s death. As her next of kin, he would be expected to fly over to Goa to collect the body.’

‘But he is already in Goa.’

‘Yes. It’s a tricky situation. He wouldn’t want it to be known he was in Goa at the time of his daughter’s murder,’ Payne said thoughtfully. ‘He might wait till later today before he came forward and declared that he’d just arrived from England. I think we should go and put our theory to the test. It would be best to catch him unawares –’

‘Go where?’ Mrs Depleche asked, suddenly waking up.

‘Brown’s Hotel.’

‘It cannot be the same Brown’s as the one in Dover Street, can it?’

‘An ersatz version, I imagine, and illegal to boot.’ Payne picked up his pipe and rose from his seat. ‘Wonder if Rocco Forte knows about it.’

‘Good to see you wearing a hat, Antonia.’ Mrs Depleche nodded amiably. ‘This is a most extraordinary place. Yesterday morning Roman and I stopped and watched a bunch of fakirs put on a show. They seemed to get a tremendous kick out of walking across unsheathed knives and they chanted the while. I’ve never heard anything like it. It sounded like a tape being played backward at speed, but I rather liked their beards.’

‘Did you and Songhera stay together all the time?’ Payne asked casually.

‘I think so. Yes. Roman kept stopping the car. I wanted to take photographs of things, you see. The solar eclipse and so on.
Such
an obliging boy. He thinks the world of you, Hugh. I so wish you and he could be friends. He told me he wanted you to work for him.’

‘He asked me to tell him each time he did something caddish.’

‘I adore cads. I don’t think I have ever stayed at Brown’s. I mean the one in Dover Street. I understand it is always full of foreigners. Americans and so on.’