Читать книгу Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 11: Photo-Finish, Light Thickens, Black Beech and Honeydew - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 22

The Sommita lay on her back across a red counterpane. The bosom of her biblical dress had been torn down to the waist and under her left breast, irrelevantly, unbelievably, the haft of a knife stuck out. The wound was not visible, being masked by a piece of glossy coloured paper or card that had been pierced by the knife and transfixed to the body. From beneath this a thin trace of blood had slid down towards naked ribs like a thread of red cotton. The Sommita’s face, as seen from the room, was upside down. Its eyes bulged and its mouth was wide open. The tongue protruded as if at the moment of death she had pulled a gargoyle’s grimace at her killer. The right arm, rigid as a branch, was raised in the fascist salute. She might have been posed for the jacket on an all-too-predictable shocker.

Alleyn turned to Montague Reece who stood halfway between the door and the bed with Beppo Lattienzo holding his arm. The secretary, Hanley, had stopped short just inside the room, his hand over his mouth and looking as if he was going to be sick. Beyond the door Maria could be heard to break out afresh in bursts of hysteria. Alleyn said: ‘That doctor – Carmichael, isn’t it? – he stayed behind, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Reece. ‘Of course,’ and to Hanley: ‘Get him.’

‘And shut the door after you,’ said Alleyn. ‘Whoever’s out there on the landing, tell them to go downstairs and wait in the drawing room.’

‘And get rid of that cursed woman,’ Mr Reece ordered savagely. ‘No! Stop! Tell the housekeeper to take charge of her. I –’ he appealed to Alleyn. ‘What should we do? You know about these things. I – need a few moments.’

‘Monty, my dear! Monty,’ Lattienzo begged him, ‘don’t look. Come away. Leave it to other people. To Alleyn. Come with me.’ He turned on Hanley. ‘Well. Why do you wait? Do as you’re told, imbecile. The doctor!’

‘There’s no call to be insulting,’ Hanley quavered. He looked distractedly about him and his gaze fell upon the Sommita’s face. ‘God Almighty!’ he said and bolted.

When he had gone, Alleyn said to Mr Reece: ‘Is your room on this floor? Why not let Signor Lattienzo take you there? Dr Carmichael will come and see you.’

‘I would like to see Ben Ruby. I do not require a doctor.’

‘We’ll find Ben for you,’ soothed Lattienzo. ‘Come along.’

‘I am perfectly all right, Beppo,’ Mr Reece stated. He freed himself and actually regained a sort of imitation of his customary manner. He said to Alleyn: ‘I will be glad to leave this to you. You will take charge, if you please. I will be available and wish to be kept informed.’ And then: ‘The police. The police must be notified.’

Alleyn said: ‘Of course they must. When it’s possible. At the moment it’s not. We are shut off.’

Mr Reece stared at him dully. ‘I had forgotten,’ he conceded. And then astonishingly: ‘That is extremely awkward,’ he said, and walked out of the room.

‘He is in trauma,’ said Lattienzo uncertainly. ‘He is in shock. Shall I stay with him?’

‘If you would. Perhaps when Mr Ruby arrives –’

‘Si, si, sicuro,’ said Signor Lattienzo. ‘Then I make myself scarce.’

‘Only if so desired,’ Alleyn rejoined in his respectable Italian.

When he was alone he returned to the bed. Back on the job, he thought, and with no authority.

He thought of Troy: of six scintillating drawings, of a great empty canvas waiting on the brand-new easel and he wished to God he could put them all thirteen thousand miles away in a London studio.

There was a tap on the door. He heard Lattienzo say: ‘Yes. In there,’ and Dr Carmichael came in.

He was a middle-aged to elderly man with an air of authority. He looked sharply at Alleyn and went straight to the bed. Alleyn watched him make the expected examination and then straighten up.

‘I don’t need to tell you that nothing can be done,’ he said. ‘This is a most shocking thing. Who found her?’

‘It seems, her maid. Maria. She raised the alarm and was largely incoherent. No doubt you all heard her.’

‘Yes.’

‘She spoke Italian,’ Alleyn explained. ‘I understood a certain amount and Lattienzo, of course, much more. But even to him she was sometimes incomprehensible. Apparently after the performance Madame Sommita was escorted to her room by Mr Reece.’

‘That’s right,’ said the doctor. ‘I was there. They’d asked me to have a look at the boy. When I arrived they were persuading her to go.’

‘Ah yes. Well. Maria was here expecting she would be needed. Her mistress, still upset by young Bartholomew’s collapse, ordered them to leave her alone. Maria put out one of her tablets, whatever they are. She also put out her dressing gown – there it is, that fluffy object still neatly folded over the chair – and she and Reece did leave. As far as I could make out she was anxious about Madame Sommita and after a time returned to the room with a hot drink – there it is untouched – and found her as you see her now. Can you put a time to the death?’

‘Not precisely, of course, but I would think not more than an hour ago. Perhaps much less. The body is still warm.’

‘What about the raised arm? Rigor mortis? Or cadaveric spasm?’

‘The latter, I should think. There doesn’t appear to have been a struggle. And that card or paper or whatever it is?’ said Dr Carmichael.

‘I’ll tell you what that is,’ said Alleyn, ‘it’s a photograph.’