His feelings towards the murderers, however, were subtly different. With them he felt an identity, a mild regret for their failures, a unity in the freemasonry of murder.
He experienced mild anxiety about his growing interest in the subject. Any behaviour tainted with obsession was alien to him. The first murder had been an accident, and Merrily’s a logical solution to a problem. He must never begin to think of murder as more than a means to an end.
And what was the end he had in view? He decided he should devote a little time to the analysis of his motives.
His main reason for killing his wife had been financial. Her death offered him a way out of a situation that threatened to reproduce his parents’ parsimonious existence. It also brought other benefits, freed him from unwelcome responsibilities, and offered him the chance of living the sort of life he wanted.
And what did he want? An hotel-like environment, and no emotional ties. Freedom to be himself, do what he chose. To have a nice flat, a nice car, enough money, go out where and when he wanted. And with whom. He was not yet sure to what extent sex would play a part in his new life, but it was an option not to be forgotten.
By one murder, he had achieved most of those objectives. With Merrily and the children out of his life, there was nothing to stop him from building up his dream.
Why then did he not feel complete satisfaction? What was the little unease in his mind?
Deep down he knew, but he teased himself by withholding the answer for a little while.
It was work. His image of his free self had projected a Graham Marshall who was Head of Personnel at Crasoco, not a passed-over and resented assistant to another appointee.
Robert Benham was the problem.
And while there might be political ways within the Crasoco system of dealing with that problem, there was another, much quicker, method. Robert might talk airily of Human Resources, but he was not aware of the inhuman resources of his rival.
It was not just a morbid fascination with murder that brought Graham to his conclusion. To kill Robert Benham was the logical thing to do.
Accepting this fact, one which had recently popped in and out of his mind with some frequency, gave it official status. Now he had declared his intention to himself, he could begin to plan.
The murder of Robert Benham would not be as easily accomplished as that of Merrily Marshall. Though he felt pride in the achievement of his wife’s death, Graham could see the advantages which he had when planning it. A knowledge of her habits and a knowledge of her environment had both helped. Lack of any motive apparent to the outside world had also been on his side. Living in the same house, he had had time and opportunity to set up the means of her removal. And his absence in Brussels had ensured its remote operation. Setting it in perspective, after, the first euphoria of achievement, he could see that it was a good murder, but not a great murder.
To dispose of Robert Benham he would need something rather better. And in the case of Benham, he might be seen to have a discernible motive, so greater caution would be required.
Like Merrily’s, he decided, the young man’s death must appear to be accidental. Though he thought he had the skills to divert suspicion from himself in a murder investigation, life would be considerably simplified if no such investigation were ever started.
Benham had three main areas of operation where he might meet with an accident — at the office, at his Dolphin Square flat, or at his country cottage. Other settings were appealing, but impractical. For Robert to be run down on his way to work, or for him to fall down a flight of steps on one of his visits to Miami, were attractive, but hard to arrange. Or hard to arrange without Graham’s involvement being too obvious. If he just happened to be in Miami at the same time as Benham, the finger of suspicion would not take too long to home in on him. No, as with Merrily, the operation had to be remote. When Benham died his murderer must not be in the vicinity; Graham must be somewhere else with an unbreakable alibi.
These were just general principles. Graham felt no great urgency to form a complete plan at once. The fact that he was making a start, that he had made the decision, gave him sufficient pleasure for the time being. He opened a rather good bottle of wine and settled down to watch Saturday evening television.
He awoke on the Sunday morning, luxuriating in the space of the double bed. He contemplated masturbating. There was nothing to stop him; it might be quite fun. But an exploratory hand stirred no response. And his mind remained empty of carnal images. Perhaps he really had managed to eliminate desire, along with so many other inconvenient distractions, when he killed Merrily.
He went downstairs to make a cup of instant coffee and collect the papers, then returned to bed. He felt deliciously unhurried. Time to savour all the irrelevancies that journalists dig up for Sundays; time, if he got bored with that, to relish a few more of the pathologist’s tales of murder; time, if he felt like it, to think and plan.
The papers occupied him for forty minutes, the book a mere ten. Then, giving in good-humouredly to his mind like an indulgent father, he returned to the teaser of Robert Benham’s murder.
First, the setting for the fatal accident. .
He thought about the office. Like all buildings, the Crasoco tower offered opportunities for fatal accidents. As he knew from experience, anywhere on mains electricity could prove lethal. There were also boilers to explode, heavy furniture to crush people, lift shafts and staircases to be fallen down. Come to that, there were windows to fall out of. Only a year before a twenty-two-year-old secretary had drawn attention to the unhappiness of her affair with her boss by projecting herself from the tenth floor. As a method of killing it had been undoubtedly efficacious.
But nobody was going to believe in Robert Benham as a suicide victim. The idea was totally incongruous. And the idea of anyone falling accidentally from those windows was even less convincing. Because of the building’s air conditioning, actually getting one open was quite an achievement.
Besides, even granted the gift of Robert Benham standing at an open window, Graham would have to be on hand — and therefore visible — to push him.
The same objection arose with all office accidents. The Crasoco tower was a busy place; few things occurred unseen. And even if Graham could engineer an accident without witnesses, or, better, contrive one that happened by remote control, it was all too close. In the office setting, if there were the slightest suspicion, professional rivalries would instantly be investigated. The atmosphere between the two had been observed, and Graham’s statements to the lunchtime anti-Benham faction would be remembered. He would be set up as a prime suspect.
No, the office was out.
He had never been to the Dolphin Square flat, but knowledge of the block and the dangers of any break-in being witnessed, ruled it out straight away.
He turned his attention to the cottage. This offered considerable advantages over the Crasoco tower and the flat. First it was remote. If, as Benham had implied, he was frequently there on his own, the danger of witnesses was less. Or if a remotely triggered method could be devised, Graham was unlikely to be observed while setting it up. The cottage was also old and, though it had been extensively modernised, its age made an accident more feasible.
Then there were all those beams. And the thatch. In a place like that fire would spread instantly. And the cottage’s small windows might make escape difficult. Anyone asleep upstairs when a fire started would be lucky to survive.