‘I went up on the roof directly afterwards. There was no way the metal chunk could have rolled off. It was a couple of feet from the edge. Also, wedged in between the chimneys, I found a crowbar.’
‘The one that was used tonight?’
Andrew nodded. He looked weary, finished. ‘I took it away and hid it in Calypso’s stall. Yesterday it was still there. When I checked tonight it was gone. I realised that whoever took it was the one who attacked me. It turned out to be Tim.’
The others exchanged looks of deep distress. May said, ‘You should never have attempted to conceal this, Christopher. It was very wrong.’
‘We’ll have to remember now to call him “Andrew”,’ said Heather.
And Ken added, ‘Tomorrow I shall channel him a star name.’
‘It wasn’t even as if I was much of a threat. I’d been looking round, asking questions, checking Jim’s room for weeks and found nothing.’
‘Was that you then - in the middle of the night?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry if I alarmed you, May. I heard your window open as I was running off.’
‘I’m glad to have the mystery explained. And my other mystery, Chief Inspector ... the snatch of conversation I overheard - surely Andrew’s suspicion of his uncle’s death renders that even more significant?’
‘What conversation’s this?’ Andrew’s tiredness seemed to fall away. ‘Who was it? What did they say?’
‘Who it was remains unclear, Mr Carter,’ said Barnaby. ‘But they seemed concerned about a possible post mortem.’
‘I knew it -’
‘I can’t imagine why anyone would wish to hurt Jim,’ said Suhami. ‘He was so harmless.’
‘I told you,’ said Andrew. ‘He discovered whatever was going on here.’
‘Nothing’s going on,’ said Ken, ‘but love, light and peace.’
‘And healing,’ added Heather.
‘Rather than go in for vague speculation at this stage,’ said Barnaby, ‘I’d like to try and get straight what happened tonight. How did the fight start? What were you doing on the roof?’
‘I was in my room. Ken and Heather had gone into the village -’
‘Just briefly,’ Heather broke in defensively, ‘to exercise his leg.’
‘And Suze had driven May and Arno to the hospital. He’d had an accident.’
Good God, thought Troy. If this lot ever had a day without an accident, they’d think the world was coming to an end.
‘I’d taken a drink up and was reading on my bed. I hadn’t seen Tim. None of us had, except Arno. I’d been reading for half an hour, I suppose, and I heard someone cry out my name -’
‘Which name?’ asked the chief inspector.
‘My real name, Andrew. That’s what was so odd. Then I heard his door open and I went out on to the landing. It seems pretty stupid now but I wasn’t suspicious at all. It was just poor old Tim - you know? And he was coming towards me - his hair all tangled and his eyes staring - with this bar. He was ... wielding it. Whirling it round his head. It was bloody terrifying. I backed away - my room’s at the very end of the gallery and I found myself up against the door that led to the roof. So it was either up there or over the gallery rail ...’ Suhami gave a jerky little cry of fright.
‘Of course on the roof I was equally trapped. There’s no way down. I dodged about at first between the chimney stacks - he kept flailing away - great chunks of brick flying around when he hit something. And then I thought if only I could get rid of it, we’d at least be more equally matched. When the halogen lamp came on it distracted him and I had a try. Made a grab at the bar and hung on. He wouldn’t let go. Then he started kicking. He was quite a bit taller than me ... long legs ... it was very painful. So I went back to dodging about. I was crouching behind the chimney stack next to the lantern when he came by. He stood inches away, staring round, trying to suss me. I reached out and grabbed his ankles. I thought if I could bring him down ... But he fell backwards away from me ... and through the glass ...’
The last words were barely audible. His narrow handsome face had become pale with remembered fear and clouded with misery. Andrew turned his back on them all as if the confession had marked and isolated him. There was a long heavy silence which even Ken and Heather seemed hesitant to rupture. Finally Barnaby spoke.
‘So you’re convinced that Riley was the person who found the photograph and attacked you on Thursday?’ Andrew lowered his head. ‘And was responsible for your uncle’s death?’
‘I believe he had something to do with it, yes. Although I’d have thought the whisky business a bit beyond him.’
‘I can’t believe any of this,’ said May. ‘It’s just too terrible.’
The Beavers nodded in agreement and their eyes shone.
Barnaby turned his attention to Arno who so far had not spoken. He sat by the empty range, his left foot, encased in a snowball of white bandage, resting on a metal bridge to raise it from the ground. His body, still awash with the residue of alcohol, was also shot full of pain-killers and anti-tetanus vaccine. His mind, tortured by a certain ambiguity in May’s receipt of his advances, felt full of cotton wool. He was almost sure he had not actually been repulsed or rejected, although in all the kerfuffle it was hard to be certain.
Now he became aware of a certain pressure on his bubble of drugs and dreams and struggled to pay attention. The chief inspector was staring at him in what struck Arno as a grave and accusatory manner. He felt suddenly sick. It had come, then, as he had always known it would.
‘I’m sorry ...’ They were all looking at him like that now, even May. Oh God - even May. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t hear.’
Barnaby repeated himself. ‘Isn’t it time you told the truth, Mr Gibbs?’
‘Why do you say that to me?’ Arno’s face was the colour of his bandages.
‘I think you know the answer.’ Barnaby waited, then, when the other man still did not speak, continued, ‘I ask because of your obvious concern for the boy. Your attempts to stop me speaking to him and, when I did, your interruptions lest he give himself away.’ When the silence continued, he added, ‘Come along, Mr Gibbs. Nothing can hurt him now.’
‘No.’ Arno looked up sadly, ‘That’s true.’ He explained it all, then, addressing Andrew, as was only right.
‘Your uncle’s death I would have said was an accident, although I fear a court of law might disagree. On the day it happened the three of us were going into town, just as I described at the inquest. Tim and I were putting some fresh flowers in the Solar while we waited for the Master who had gone to collect Tim’s outdoor coat. Suddenly we heard loud voices. I ran out to see what the matter was. The Master was coming out of Tim’s room, followed by Jim. They were arguing. I was astonished. I’d never heard Jim even raise his voice before. At the head of the stairs they stopped - Jim blocking the Master’s way and shouting, “I shan’t let you do it. I’ll tell everyone what I know - everyone.”
‘Then he sort of grabbed at the Master’s shoulders as if he was going to shake him. Next - and it all happened so quickly there was nothing I could do - I heard a sort of ... well ... roar is the nearest I can get to it, and Tim raced along the gallery, seized Jim and pushed him away. He went hurtling backwards down the stairs and broke his neck.’ Gradually, during this speech, Arno’s gaze had dropped towards the floor. Now he forced himself to look once more at Andrew Carter. ‘He couldn’t have suffered. I know that’s small consolation.’
‘You’re right. It is.’
‘Once it was plain there was nothing we could do - and if there had been I swear it would have been done - both of us thought only of protecting Tim. We knew that the police would have to take some sort of action even though there had been no intention to cause serious harm. The Master thought Tim might be charged with manslaughter and found ... “unfit to plead” is it? In any case he might have gone to prison - shut in a cell perhaps with dreadful people, like the ones who hurt him before. Or be put away in an institution. Drugged to keep him quiet ... sitting around for months or years surrounded by mad people. He was only twenty-three!’ cried Arno passionately, ‘and he was so happy here. We thought if we were vigilant and watched him carefully, nothing like that would ever happen again. I realise now,’ he turned to Barnaby, ‘especially after tonight, that I did wrong.’