‘Jamie, what is it?’
She lost her balance and fell backwards. In that split second she saw the ligature stretched between his hands, the piece of white plastic flex with which he was about to strangle her. She saw the look of hatred and contempt in his face and she understood that her husband Jamie was a killer, a ruthless murderer.
He said nothing, simply pressed the flex against her throat and began to draw one hand behind her neck to encircle it. She could do nothing to stop him. He was straddling her body, with his knees pinning down her arms. She was unable even to scream.
Then abruptly Jamie gave a grunt and the pressure on her neck slackened.
She was overwhelmed by a suffocating darkness, but she was not dead. Jamie had fallen on her. He was smothering her with his body. She struggled to get free, finding the strength to raise her knees and force him to one side. Amazingly, he did not resist. His body had gone limp.
Suddenly his weight was off her chest and she could breathe. She was looking up at a face, but it was not Jamie’s. It was the face of the staring man.
Donna whispered, ‘No!’
‘All right. It’s all right, my dear,’ he told her. ‘I won’t hurt you. I’m a private detective. I just knocked your husband on the head. You’re safe. He’s out cold and handcuffed. He would have killed you like he killed his first wife. It was all set up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The trip to Paris. His alibi. He flew over, checked in at the hotel and went straight out and took a train to Calais. He was on the 10.45 night ferry back to England. Seventy-five minutes for the crossing, another train trip and he was able to get here quite anonymously to carry out the murder. Then he planned to take the same route back and be in Paris again for a business lunch. That was the method. The family of his first victim felt sure he was guilty, but they couldn’t work out how he had done it. They hired me to investigate him. I had my doubts about his alibi, but I couldn’t prove anything. So I had to be patient. The family backed me, paid my expenses, and I followed him, waiting for him to give something away. I was in Vienna, watching you.’
‘I know.’
‘It was only a theory, so I couldn’t warn you until he actually showed signs of repeating the murder. I tried to speak to you earlier this evening, but you weren’t answering the door. I simply had to sit out there and wait. I chose a window to force an entry, so when he turned up, I was right behind him.’
‘You knew he planned to strangle me?’
‘It was a carbon copy of the first killing. Why not? That appeared to succeed. I presume he fixed a joint account to grab your money? You’re rich like the first one, I take it?’
Donna looked up at the detective and thought about what she would answer. Really, when he wasn’t staring he was quite attractive. ‘Quite rich,’ she said with a beguiling smile. ‘Yes, I suppose I have more money than sense.’
Woman and Home
Anita Sullivan adored Cornwall. One of her most vivid childhood memories was of sitting on a suitcase in the corridor of the Cornish Riviera Express waiting for the first glimpse of that level band of blue that would stretch across her vision through the blissful days of the family holiday. From Exeter onwards each sighting made her throat ache with anticipation until they approached Penzance, when St Michael’s Mount, the fairy castle of her storybooks, suddenly appeared in the golden light of late afternoon. Cornwall was an enchanted place.
It was on the evening of their tenth wedding anniversary that Tom told her that he had been offered the position of manager of the Penzance branch of the bank.
‘Darling, that’s wonderful!’ Anita cried out. She flung her arms around him and kissed him. Her eyes misted over with tears of joy.
‘Hold on,’ said Tom. ‘I haven’t accepted yet. It’s a big decision to take.’
She drew back from him to see whether he was serious. ‘Darling, it’s the chance of a lifetime. There’s nothing to decide — is there?’
Tom’s face stiffened into an expression that Anita had noticed increasingly at moments of stress in recent years. It seemed to have started at about the time he had been appointed sub-manager at Croydon. His lips would tighten and the muscles would tense along his jawline. He would have appeared a picture of dogged resolution if it were not for his eyes, which registered something between hesitation and fear.
Anita asked, ‘What is it, Tom?’
‘I have a feeling I shouldn’t take it. I know I shouldn’t turn down a chance of promotion, but Penzance is a bit of an outpost, isn’t it, right down there on the tip of the South-West?’
‘It’s a marvellous place,’ said Anita. ‘I was taken there year after year as a child. It’s full of atmosphere and charm. I love it, Tom.’
‘For a holiday, yes — but this is something else. Living and working in the place is another thing altogether.’
‘We’ll find a beautiful cottage. Property is sure to be less expensive down there than it is in the suburbs. We can look in the Sunday paper. I’m sure I’ve seen hundreds of lovely places advertised.’
‘It’s only a small branch,’ Tom persisted. ‘There are fewer staff there than I have in my charge at Croydon. The salary would be slightly better, but I’d lose my London allowance. I don’t know whether it’s worth it.’
Anita kissed him lightly and said, ‘Tom Sullivan, you’re beginning to talk like a banker now. Didn’t we always say that money isn’t everything? You still believe it, don’t you?’
‘It isn’t just the money. It’s my career prospects. If they shunt me down to Cornwall, they’ll forget about me. I’ll see out the rest of my service there.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ said Anita. ‘You’ve done enough since you started in the bank to earn heaps of self-respect. You’ve worked your way up to sub-manager at thirty-three. You’ve passed all those exams. You’ve plenty to be proud about, Tom, and I’m proud, too. But let’s not pretend that it’s been easy. We’ve both felt the strain at times. Now that you’ve earned a very good position in the bank for a man of your age, why shouldn’t you take the reward of a more relaxed job in a very congenial place?’
‘I suppose there is a danger of getting caught in the rat race.’
‘There are other dangers, worse than that. Remember that chief clerk at Epsom who had the breakdown? And Mr Beazley’s ulcers? I don’t want the man I love ending up like that. I’ve seen the danger signs already, Tom. You need this change. Of course it won’t be a push-over, managing Penzance, but I’m sure it’s less hectic than Croydon, or any of the London branches.’
Tom smiled. ‘You mean that I ought to buy a set of golf clubs?’
Anita played her strongest card. ‘I don’t see you playing golf, darling, but I’ll tell you one thing...’ She picked up a prism of crystalline quartz from his collection of mineral stones on the shelf unit and stroked her fingertip along its highly polished surface. ‘Cornwall has the most amazing rocks and minerals.’
Tom said, ‘You’re a devious, scheming woman and I love you.’ He reached for the Sunday paper and turned to the property page.
They found a buyer for their house in Croydon within a few days of putting it on the market. It was all so quickly arranged that Anita was apprehensive of Tom taking fright and backing down, but he seemed genuinely delighted. Cornwall had really taken a grip on his imagination.
They travelled down the following weekend to begin their house hunt.
They spent two nights at the Esplanade Hotel, Penzance, and visited all the estate agents in the town. They looked at more than twenty cottages that weekend, but not one was suitable. As Anita tried to explain to each of the agents, she and Tom weren’t interested in places with ‘scope for modernisation’; they wanted to invest their money in a property already fitted with kitchen units, elegant bathrooms and gas-fired central heating. Tom was no handyman, and anyway they could afford to buy at the top end of the market. But they were disappointed. Although several of the cottages they were shown had been stylishly modernised, there was always some overriding disadvantage such as the pylon in the garden or the private airfield across the lane.