“It won’t be left to Macbeth, not a murder,” said Jeremy. “They’ll be sending in some of the big brass. I s’pose they’ll take statements from us, take a note of our home addresses, and let us go.”
“It’s so unfair,” drawled Daphne. “Just as I was getting the hang of this fishing thing. You know, I felt so sure that today would be the day I would catch something.”
Everyone looked at Daphne with approval. They were not only joined by the tragedy of the murder but bound in fellowship by that old-as-time obsession, the lure of the kill.
“Well, I’ve paid for this week and I jolly well expect to get full value,” said the major, “or they’ll need to give me my money back. As soon as that oaf of a village copper gets our statements, I’m off to spend the rest of the day fishing, and if John Cartwright isn’t up to it, I’ll take any of you as pupils if you’ll have me.”
“I’ll go with you for a start,” said Jeremy, and the others nodded. The major might have lied about his magnificent salmon bag, but he was undoubtedly an expert angler. His line never became tangled in bushes, and he made his own flies, several of which flaunted their garish colours on his hat.
“I thought of killing her,” said Alice suddenly. “I’m glad she’s dead, and I feel guilty at the same time. I feel I wished her to death.”
There was a shocked silence.
“Well,” said Jeremy uncomfortably, “may as well be honest. I think we all felt like that.”
“Not me,” said Amy Roth. The skin at the corners of her eyelids had a stretched, almost oriental look. “We Blanchards are made of pretty strong stuff.”
“Tell us about it,” said Daphne harshly. “Tell us about the bloody ol’ plantation and massah’s in de col’, col’ ground. Tell us anything in the world, but don’t talk about the murder.”
“Not if you’re going to be rude,” said Amy, leaning against her husband’s shoulder and seeking his hand for comfort.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. I really would like to hear about it. All I can think of is a sort of Gone With the Wind setting, all crinolines and mint juleps.”
Amy laughed. “Believe it or not, it was a little bit like that. Of course, that life all went when I was still a child. Pa was a gambler in the true Southern tradition. Well, lemme see. It was a big barn of a place, the Blanchard mansion, like you see in the movies. Pillared colonial front, wide verandahs all round. Green shutters, cool rooms smelling of beeswax and lavender. Flowers evvywheah,” said Amy, becoming Southern in accent as she warmed to her subject. Amy’s normal voice was a light, almost Bostonian accent. “And antiques! I decleah, there were more Chippendales and whatyoucallums there than you’d get in one of your English stately homes. We hud been importing them for yeahs.”
“Listen!” The major put a hand to his ear in a sort of list-who-approacheth way. Most of his gestures were stagey.
Heather appeared with Constable Macbeth behind her. The policeman was wearing his usual black uniform, shiny with wear. He pulled off his cap, and his red hair blazed in the sun like fire. It was that true Highland red that sometimes looked as if it has purple lights.
“I will chust go down and look at the body,” he said placidly. “There will be detectives coming up from Strathbane by this afternoon, but I must make sure nothing is touched. If you will wait where you are, I will return in a wee moment and take the statements.”
They waited now in silence. A little knot of dread was beginning to form in the pit of each stomach. It had just been becoming comfortably unreal. Now reality was with them in the shape of the village constable who was down at the pool bent over the body.
A small, fussy man erupted into the glade and glared about him. “Dr MacArthur,” said Heather, “I’ll take you down. Mr Macbeth is with the body now.”
“The procurator fiscal is on his way from Strathbane,” said the doctor. “But I may as well make a preliminary examination. Macbeth’s talking about murder. But the man’s havering. She could have got her own leader wrapped around her neck and fallen into the pool.”
“And wrapped chains around her legs to sink her?” said Marvin Roth dryly.
“Eh, what? Better go and see.”
He disappeared with Heather.
Again, the group waited.
“I’m hungry,” said Alice at last. “I know I shouldn’t feel hungry, but I am. Would it be too awful if we went back to the cars and had something to eat?”
“Better wait,” said the major. “Can’t be very long now.”
But it seemed ages. They could hear people coming and going. The sun was very high in the sky, and flies droned and danced in the green quiet of the glade.
At last, Hamish Macbeth appeared looking hot and grim.
“We’ll all just be going back to the hotel,” he said. “I’m getting this path closed off until the big brass arrives. The water bailiffs have said they will stand guard.”
A moment before, each one of them had felt he would give anything to be able to move. Now they were overcome by a strange reluctance. There was one large fact each of them had to face up to sooner or later, and each one was putting off the moment.
They all gathered in the hotel lounge. Constable Macbeth surveyed them solemnly.
“The manager has given me the use of the wee room off the reception, so I’ll take you one at a time. You first, Mr Cartwright.”
“I’ll come too,” said Heather quickly.
“No need for that,” said the constable easily. “This way, Mr Cartwright.”
Heather sat down, flushed with distress. She looked like a mother seeing her youngest off to boarding school for the first time.
John followed Hamish Macbeth into a small, dark room furnished simply with a scarred wooden desk, some old filing cabinets, and two hard chairs. Hamish sat down behind the desk, and John took the chair opposite.
“Now,” said the policeman, producing a large notebook, “we’ll make a start. It is the doctor’s guess that Lady Jane was in the water all night. When did you last see her?”
“At dinner last night,” said John. “We were celebrating the major’s catch.”
“Or rather, the major’s find,” murmured Hamish. “And was she wearing then what she was wearing when she was found dead?”
“Yes, I mean no. No, she was wearing a flowery trouser suit thing last night with evening sandals. She seemed to be wearing her usual fishing outfit when…when we saw her in the pool.”
Hamish made a note and then looked up. “Did you know Lady Jane’s job?”
“Job?” said John. “I didn’t know she worked.”
“Well, we’ll leave that until later. Did your wife know the nature of Lady Jane’s job, I wonder?”
A faint line of sweat glistened on John’s upper lip. There was a silence. Hamish patiently repeated the question.
“No,” said John, suddenly and savagely. “Look here, Macbeth, what is this? You know us both. Do you think either of us would kill her?”
“That is not for me to say,” said Hamish. “But I willnae get to the person who did it if I don’t start to eliminate those that did not. Now what were you doing late last night?”
“How late?”
“She was last seen going up to her room at ten-thirty, according to the hotel servants.”
“I went to bed,” said John, “and Heather too. We’d had a fairly exhausting day.”
“Did anyone in the group seem to hate Lady Jane?”
“No, we all loved her,” said John sarcastically. “Good God, man, use your wits. Nobody liked her, not even you.”
“Mphmm. Lady Jane had a nasty habit of making remarks. Did she say anything to you?”
“Nothing in particular. Just general carping.”