Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes and Impossible Mysteries

The upper car was then 20 or 30 yards from the station. Both men saw Heston lean over the side of the car, and salute them with an exaggerated sweep of his right arm. Both men muttered under their breath.

As the seconds ticked by, the two cars approached each other in mid-air.

In the ascending car Dimble looked at the one that was descending with a critical eye. Suddenly, he became annoyed. “That fool,” he said. “Look how he’s leaning out over the door. Dangerous…”

His voice tailed off. As the cars passed each other, he saw something protruding from Heston’s back – something that gleamed silver for an inch or two, and was surmounted by a handle of bright scarlet. Dimble said: “God!” He reached and jerked the emergency brake. Both cars stopped suddenly, swaying drunkenly over the abyss.

Skager moaned: “He’s not leaning…”

Mrs Orvin gulped audibly. “That’s my knife,” she said, “the one he said…”

The telephone bell in the car rang shrilly. Dimble answered it.

“What’s the trouble?” came Clobber’s voice.

“It’s Heston. He’s slumped over the door of the car. There seems to be a knife in his back.”

“A knife? Hell! He was alive when he left here. He waved to me… What should we do?”

“Hang on a second. Brander, are you on the other end? Have you heard this conversation?”

“Yes, Mr Dimble.”

“Okay, Clobber. I’m releasing the brake now. Speed it up a little.”

“Sure.”

The cars moved again.

At the top, Dimble led the rush up the stairs to the driver’s cabin, where Clobber’s white face greeted them. They waited.

The telephone rang.

Clobber stretched out a tentative hand, but Dimble was ahead of him.

“I’ve seen him,” said Brander, queerly. “He’s dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He’s dead.”

“Now look, Brander, we must make sure nothing is touched. Get on the outside phone to the police right away. And let Piet stand guard over the body until they get here, OK?”

“It might be difficult, Mr Dimble. There are people here already for tickets, so I can’t leave here, and Piet is scared. He’s said so. I’ve locked the door leading to the landing stage-won’t that be enough?”

“No. If anyone there is curious, they can climb round the side of the station to the car, and possibly spoil evidence. Let me speak to Piet.”

“Here he is, Mr Dimble.”

“Hullo, Piet. Now listen – I want you to stand guard on the landing stage and see nobody touches the car until the police arrive.”

“No, Baas. Not me, Baas. Not with a dead body, Baas.”

“Oh, dammit. OK, Let me speak to Mr Brander. Brander? Listen – this is the best plan. Don’t sell any tickets – we won’t be operating today, anyway. We’ll start the cars and stop them halfway so nobody will be able to get near them. In the meantime you telephone the police. Do you get that?”

“Yes, I will telephone the police.”

“And give me a ring the moment they are here.”

“Yes, Mr Dimble.”

The police came. Caledon Square had sent its top murder team. Lieutenant Dirk Joubert was in charge of the party, and with him was his uncle, Rolf le Roux, the “expert on people” as he jocularly styled himself, the inevitable kromsteel [3] protruding through the forest of his beard. Happy Detective-Sergeant Johnson was there, Lugubrious Sergeant Botha, Doc McGregor and several uniformed men. They mounted the steps to the lower station building and found Brander waiting for them.

“Where is the body?” asked Joubert.

Brander pointed out the two tiny cars on their thin threads a thousand feet above. “Will you please speak on the internal phone to Mr Dimble, the engineer in charge, who’s at the upper station?” he asked.

“Get him for me,” said Joubert.

Brander made the connection, and then handed over the phone.

“Mr Dimble? I am Inspector Joubert of the Cape Town C.I.D. I want the cable car with the body to be allowed to come down here. What? No, it’d be better if you people stayed on top of the mountain while we do our preliminary work here. I’ll ring you when we’re ready. Hullo! Just one moment, just bring me up to date on the discovery of the crime-briefly, please. I see. You were going up in the right-hand car, and when you passed the other one at halfway, you saw a knife sticking out of the conductor’s back. His name? Heston… yes, I have that. And then? I see. Yes. Yes. And why did you move the car with the body half-way back up the mountain? Mm. No, that’s all right – it was a good idea. Right, better get the body back here now.”

Almost as soon as he put the receiver down, the cable began to whine.

From the landing-stage they watched the approaching car. Even at some distance they could see the slumped figure quite clearly, with the scarlet splash of the knife handle protruding from its back.

“I can tell you one thing right now,” said McGregor. “It’s not a suicide.”

As the car came closer to the landing-stage, Johnson began checking his photographic and fingerprint equipment.

Brander mumbled: “It is the will of the Lord…”

He looked almost grateful when Joubert said: “There’s nothing we can do here, Brander. Let’s go into the ticket office. There are one or two questions…”

Rolf went with them.

Joubert said: “I’ve had the rough details of the story from Mr Dimble. You were here when the body first came down. Did you examine it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He was dead. I could see that.”

“And did anyone else come near the body? This Coloured, Piet?”

“No, not Piet. He was afraid. He wouldn’t go near the car. He stood at the door until the motors-started, though, in case anyone else wanted to go through.”

“Anyone else? Who else was here?”

“Well, there was a man and two women-passengers – but they left when I wouldn’t sell them tickets.”

Joubert tried a new tack. “This Heston, now. Tell me, Brander, what sort of a man was he? Was there anyone working here who hated him?”

Brander hesitated. “I do not like to talk about him. He is dead now. What does it matter what he was like in life?”

Joubert said: “Answer my question. Is there anyone here who hated him?”

“He was not liked,” said Brander, “but nobody here hated him enough to kill him.”

“No? Someone stuck a knife in his back, all the same. Who could have done it?”

“What does it matter?” said Brander. “He’s dead now. Let him rest in peace.”

The experts had finished. Two constables carried a long basket clumsily down the steps to a waiting ambulance.

“Well, Doc?” asked Joubert.

“One blow,” said McGregor. “A very clean swift blow. No mess. The murderer struck him from behind and above. Either the killer stood on something, or he was a very tall man.”

“Or woman?”

“Maybe. I canna say one way or another.”

Johnson made his report. “No fingerprints on the knife, Dirk. Couple of blurred smears, that’s all. Probably wore gloves.”

Joubert said: “All right. Doc, you go back with the body, and do the P.M. If you come up with anything new, telephone me here… Now let’s talk to this Coloured, Piet.”

But Piet knew nothing. He was old and superstition-ridden. He had not even looked at the body. The nearest he had come to it was to stand on guard on the other side of a closed door.

Joubert phoned Dimble. “We’re coming up. What is the signal for starting the car? Two bells – right. I’m not interested in rules about conductors on every trip. We’re coming up without one, and the car at the top must come down completely empty. All right – so it’s irregular. So is murder. I’ll take the responsibility… We’ll want to interview you one at a time. Is there a room there we can use? The restaurant? Right. You’ll hear the signal in a couple of minutes.”