Читать книгу Fatal Masquerade - Vivian Conroy - Страница 13

Chapter Five

In a dreadful heartbeat, Alkmene became certain it was the killer returning to remove some bit of incriminating evidence from the scene of the crime. Without thinking further, she slipped behind the nearest golden drapery. Even with her back pressed as tightly against the wooden wall as she could manage, there was so little room that the toes of her shoes peeked out from under the drapery. She held her breath, hoping the killer would be too preoccupied with his chore to notice anything amiss.

Nevertheless, she clutched her fan, determined to hit out with it the moment the curtain was torn away and she found herself staring into the evil, twisted features of a killer who wouldn’t hesitate to silence this unfortunate witness. Jake would say it was just like her to land face first in trouble.

She could only hope she’d survive this and have time to laugh about it with him.

Footfalls neared her hiding place. Her heartbeat was so loud, she was certain the killer could hear it.

She wanted to peek to see how near he was to her, but did not dare. She had a chance, however small, of going unnoticed, and she couldn’t risk that with a stupid action made out of curiosity or fear.

The footfalls ceased. She could swear she heard breathing. Male, she figured.

Muttered words.

Then silence. As if the figure had looked up and seen something. Her?

No – what he had come back for, of course. Something he had lost at the scene that might give away his identity. Now he had spotted it, on the floor most likely, he’d fetch it and retreat. He wouldn’t see her, let alone pull aside the drapery and kill her, too.

Too bad she hadn’t had a chance to look better at possible clues, on the floor or table; too bad she hadn’t seen anything telltale.

Once the killer had removed it, it would be hard to figure out what it had been and whose identity it might have given away.

A rustling sound. Too close to give her any reassurance.

Alkmene resisted the urge to close her eyes as she had done as a little girl when hiding under the blankets of her bed from the violence of a thunderstorm outside. She had to keep her eyes wide open and her fan ready to attack.

Then the drapery was jerked aside, so hard that the pins attaching it to the wall above gave way and the whole thing fluttered down.

Alkmene gasped, throwing up both her hands.

Just a few inches in front of her, a dark, intense stare gazed directly upon her. Without his mask he was easy to recognize.

Keegan.

The unsociable legal genius who, according to Denise, was immortally in love with her.

Alkmene had no idea why Keegan of all people would have wanted to kill Cobb – had the arrogant chap leered at Denise? – but no doubt it didn’t matter any more. The lawyer looked determined enough to kill again. Right here, right now.

‘You killed him?’ Keegan shot in a low voice, gesturing over his shoulder at the dead body.

Alkmene exhaled. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

Keegan reached his right hand into the pocket of his jacket. Suntanned and muscled, it suggested he wasn’t always hiding indoors with his law books. As the hand came up again, it was clutching a sheet of paper. He held it out to her.

There were but a few scribbled words on the paper. ‘Meet me in the boathouse at midnight. Life or death situation.’

‘One could say that again,’ Alkmene commented dryly, nodding at the body on the floor. ‘Your would-be client will never get to enjoy your services.’

‘You think he wanted to hire me?’ the lawyer asked with a frown.

‘Obviously Cobb knew something that put his life in danger. He wanted to ask you for advice. But before he could share his knowledge with you, he was killed.’

The lawyer hmmm-ed. ‘The boathouse was full of people tonight.’ He nodded at the tray with the glasses. ‘Why ask for a secret meeting in a place like this?’

Alkmene shrugged. ‘His remark in the dining room suggests he was stationed here for the night. He was a servant, so he could not move about freely. He might have argued that you could come here innocently enough, as anybody seeing you would assume you were here for the gondola trip. Then, once you were here and nobody was around, he would speak with you about this uh… life or death situation. I wonder what it can have been.’

Alkmene wrapped her arms around her shoulders. ‘Cobb didn’t seem like the innocent-victim type, though. I found him rather unpleasant.’

‘Bit of a ladies’ man, I gathered,’ Keegan said, glancing from the dead man to Alkmene. ‘He winked at you when he served the champagne before dinner.’

Alkmene straightened up as far as she could, still standing in her rather cornered position against the wall. ‘I did not meet Cobb here for an illicit assignation if that’s what you’re trying to suggest. And I didn’t stab him when he got a little too… convincing?’

She tilted her head. ‘I can imagine what it must have looked like to you. But I assure you that, until I saw Cobb in the corridor this afternoon, right after my arrival, I had never seen him before. I have no idea why he winked at me. My guess was that he was simply a pompous chap who probably thought he could get any woman he put his mind to. I also saw him from my window when I was getting dressed for the ball. The housekeeper was pleading with him, and he just shrugged her off. At least I think it was him. But with that wig it’s hard to tell. The other gondoliers probably look just like him. In fact, if he had been stabbed in the back, one might have wondered if the right man had been killed. However, as it happened face to face, I assume the killer really did mean to kill Cobb.’

Keegan laughed softly. ‘Clever reasoning, Lady Alkmene. But why would I believe anything you say? You hid when I entered the room.’

‘Yes, because I believed you were the killer coming back to get some clue you’d left behind.’ Alkmene huffed. ‘I was merely afraid, not guilty of anything.’

Keegan studied the dead body again. ‘This is unfortunate. I had hoped to get a few days away from work.’

‘You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself at all. I bet you’re happy there’s something to do now.’

‘To do?’ Keegan looked up at her. ‘What would there be to do about this? The man is dead. The police will have to be notified. They will come in and make a fuss, asking all the obvious questions, then jump to inane conclusions like they always do. I think...’

There was a hint of a smile round his mouth. ‘I think that, under the circumstances, you would be their prime suspect.’

Alkmene ignored this unfortunate conclusion and said hurriedly, ‘You don’t sound like you have a very high opinion of the police.’

Keegan shrugged. ‘We discussed the Steeplechase case at dinner. They arrested Vera Steeplechase on the sole evidence of an anonymous letter and the fact that her sister was indeed poisoned. The writer might have merely been guessing or intending to harm Vera. He or she need not have known of any actual murder having taken place.’

‘But an actual murder had taken place. Mary did die of poison,’ Alkmene pointed out.

‘I never denied that. But was Vera the one who administered it? It will be hard to tell months after the fact, don’t you think?’ Keegan’s inquisitive brown eyes searched her expression.

Alkmene sighed. ‘Do you mind moving away a few steps? This wall is leaving an imprint in my back.’

‘Oh, excuse me.’ Keegan stepped back with a mock gesture of making way for her.

As Alkmene had some more room, she tilted her head back and eyed him speculatively. ‘Why would I be the police’s prime suspect? Why not you? You did come back here.’

‘Correction.’ Keegan flicked up a hand in a stop signal. ‘I came in here. I did not come back here, because I had never been here before.’

He held her gaze. ‘I have enough experience with murder cases. Don’t you think, if I killed someone, I’d take care to do it right the first time? I wouldn’t have to come back to change anything at the murder scene.’

Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’

Keegan sighed. ‘Look, we’re standing around here debating. Shouldn’t we raise the alarm or something? If the killer came from the outside, he might be escaping from the grounds as we speak.’

Surprised at the suggestion, Alkmene held his gaze. ‘Do you think he came from the outside?’

The lawyer thought a moment, then shook his head. ‘To be honest, no. I think one of the guests killed him.’ He nodded at the dead body. ‘That steak knife was taken from the dinner table. The killer decided right then and there he was going to kill this man.’

Alkmene considered this. It didn’t seem likely there had been a steak knife lying about in the boathouse. There was nothing served here that had to be cut. ‘But why?’

Keegan held her gaze. ‘Didn’t you notice the odd atmosphere while we were discussing the Steeplechase case? Everybody had such a strong opinion about it. Like they were somehow personally involved. This man was serving us during dinner. He overheard everything that was being said.’

‘True, but there were other servants about besides him. And I don’t see how it all fits together. Even if some people present knew more about the Steeplechase case than they admitted, why would that have forced any of them to kill this servant?’

‘Your friend Mr Dubois even said something about digging a steak knife into somebody’s back. That must have given the killer the idea.’

Alkmene remembered Felicia’s expression as Jake had spoken. How her complexion had turned from the fiery red of embarrassment to the deadly pale realization of something terrible. Something inevitable? The need to kill someone?

Alkmene shook herself. She was making assumptions about people without knowing a thing about them. She said to Keegan, ‘You’d better leave and tell Mr Hargrove what’s happened here so he can notify the police. I will stay here.’

Alkmene didn’t want to leave the lawyer here with the dead body where he might change things or destroy evidence. She knew she wasn’t the killer and had no interest in taking anything away, but of Keegan she wasn’t so sure. He was quick to draw conclusions about the knife and the motive for the murder when, actually, they didn’t know anything yet about the victim. About Cobb’s position in the household and reasons people might have had for wanting him dead.

‘Are you sure?’ Keegan asked.

‘Yes. Just hurry. The killer might be getting away as we speak.’

Keegan left reluctantly, the grudge clear in his posture.

Alkmene glanced over the items on the table. Glasses on a tray, the white lace draped round it. There seemed to be something sticking out from underneath. Just a little corner of something.

Of course, you weren’t supposed to touch anything at a crime scene.

But then she would never forgive herself if she didn’t check what it was. It could be highly significant, while the police wouldn’t see or even care. Keegan had just said they’d jump to conclusions.

For the good of the case, she would take a look…

Alkmene took a deep breath, then reached out and pulled at the visible corner. She wore gloves, so she wouldn’t leave any fingerprints on the paper.

The corner turned out to be attached to an envelope. It was already slit open, so Alkmene could easily extract the sheet inside.

It was full of a dense handwriting.

Not knowing how much time she had, Alkmene skimmed over the contents. Her heart skipped a beat. It was a letter from the family’s solicitor in London, accusing Aunt Felicia’s husband, Joseph, of having incurred substantial debts. He was even supposed to have sold off a racehorse that belonged to Mr Hargrove’s Dorset stable without consent.

The solicitor ended the letter by requiring Hargrove to take action against his brother-in-law, or he would feel obliged to inform the police.

That was quite a shock. It proved Felicia had every reason to be worried about her reputation and her position in this household if it became known what her husband had been doing.

Alkmene put the sheet back in the envelope and returned it to its hiding place under the white lace, making sure the corner stuck out again and could be seen. The police should find this and read it, draw their own conclusions about it. The first question that came to mind was, of course: what was it doing here, of all places?

A letter like this, about a sensitive matter, so dangerous to the family name, would have been locked away in a drawer of Mr Hargrove’s desk in his study, or perhaps even kept in a safe. What was it doing in a boathouse? Concealed under a tray of glasses?

Alkmene’s mind raced back to the discussion over dinner, Felicia’s start when a letter was mentioned accusing someone of a crime. Did she know about this letter putting her husband in such a very peculiar position?

Was she being blackmailed with this letter?

By the dead servant?

Cobb had mentioned loud and clear that he would be working at the boathouse that night. Just a casual remark?

Or a message meant for someone at the dinner table?

Alkmene heard voices coming and withdrew to stand where no one would suspect her of having touched anything on the table. Her mind whirled with the possibility that the death of the servant was connected with the discussion over dinner. That Keegan had been right in his assumption that someone at the dinner table had decided to kill to protect himself or herself.

Hargrove burst into the room. He had taken off his mask and looked pale below his tan. ‘Alkmene! Are you all right? Terrible thing to be happening. All over again, it seems.’

At her startled look he said, ‘I heard about Cornwall.’

Alkmene was puzzled by the reference to the murder investigation she had been a part of just a few weeks ago, in Cornwall, where a childhood friend was excavating to discover the Black Castle gold. He had been accused of killing someone on his dig, and it hadn’t been easy to prove who had actually carried out the killing and why.