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

Clobber said, stubbornly: “Neither of us did it. I tell you he was alive when he left.”

“That’s what you say. The point is, can you prove it?”

“Yes, I think so. After the car had started, when he was about twenty yards out, he leant over the side of the car and waved to me. Ben had just come into my cabin. He saw him too.”

“Where was Ben before that?”

“He was with Heston at the car.”

A new gleam came into Joubert’s eye. “Look, Clobber,” he said, “couldn’t Ben have stabbed Heston just as the car pulled away?”

“I suppose he could, but don’t forget, Ben was with me when Heston waved.”

“Are you sure it was a wave? Couldn’t it have been a body wedged upright, and then slumping over the door?”

“No, definitely not. The arm moved up and down two or three times. He was alive. I’m sure of that.”

Joubert flung up his hands in a gesture of impatience. “All right, then. Say he was alive. Then how did the knife get in his back halfway down?” Clobber looked harassed. “I don’t know. He had an idea… but that’s nonsense-”

“Idea? What idea?”

“He told me this morning he didn’t expect to get to the bottom of the mountain alive.”

Rolf echoed: “Didn’t expect?”

“Yes. He said he’d been warned. His thirty-first birthday was yesterday – the 31st of the month – and he’d been told that if he spent last night on top of the mountain, he’d never reach the bottom alive. I thought he was pulling my leg.”

“Who was supposed to have told him that?

“He said it was a dream.”

Joubert said: “Oh, my God!” but Rolfs face was serious.

“Tell me, Mr Clobber,” he said, “did Heston ever mention prophetic dreams to you before?”

“Just once. About a month ago.”

“And the circumstances?”

“I’d just come off duty, and I was at the lower station with Heston and Brander. Somehow or the other the conversation led to the subject of death…”

Clobber said: “When a man dies, he’s dead. Finished. A lot of chemical compounds grouped round a skeleton. No reason to hold a body in awe. The rituals of funerals and cremations are a lot of useless hooey. There should be a law compelling the use of bodies for practical purposes – for transplants, medical research, making fertiliser-anything except burning them up or hiding them in holes in the ground under fancy headstones.”

Brander was uneasy. “I don’t think I can agree with you…”

“The trouble with you, Brander, is that you’re a religious man, which also means you are a superstitious one. Try looking at hard facts. What we do with our dead is not only irrational, it’s also economically wasteful.

“Last night I went to a municipal-election meeting. The speaker made what the crowd thought was a joke, but he was really being sensible. He said the wall round Woltemade cemetery was an example of useless spending – the people outside didn’t want to get in, and the people inside couldn’t get out… What’s the matter with you, Brander?”

Heston suddenly interrupted. “You’ve upset him with all your callous talk. Can’t you realise that Brander’s a decent religious man who has a proper respect for the dead?”

Brander dabbed his forehead and his lips in an obvious effort to pull himself together. “No… no… it’s not just that. This business about the wall and the people inside reminds me of something that’s always horrified me. The idea of the dead coming to life. Even the Bible story of Lazarus… you see, ever since I can remember, every now and again I have a terrible nightmare. I’m with a coffin at a funeral, and suddenly from inside the box there’s a loud knock… I feel my insides twisting in fear…”

Clobber said, hastily: “Sorry, Brander. Didn’t mean to upset you. But if you think about it for a moment, you’ll realise the whole thing’s a lot of nonsense – the dead coming to life, and things like that. Absolute rubbish.”

“Really?” said Heston. “What about Zombies?”

Brander gasped: “What?”

“Zombies. Dead men brought to life by voodoo in the West Indies to work in the fields. And dreams, too. I know all about prophetic dreams.”

Clobber was almost spitting with rage. “What do you mean, you know? What are you getting at?”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” said Heston. “Here’s the station wagon, and I’m in a hurry.”

Joubert said: “And the next time he mentioned a dream to you was to tell you he wouldn’t reach the lower station alive?”

“Yes.”

“And now do you believe in prophetic dreams?”

“It’s got so I don’t know what to believe.”

Joubert rose. “Well, I do. There are no prophesies and nothing here except a cleverly planned murder, and God help you if you did it, Clobber – because I’m going to smash your alibi.”

“You can’t smash the truth,” said Clobber. “In any case, why should I be the one under suspicion?”

“One of the reasons,” said Joubert, “is that you wear gloves.”

Clobber grinned for the first time. “Then you’ll have to widen your suspect list. We all wear them up here. Dimble has a pair. Ben, too. And, yes, Mrs Orvin generally carries kid gloves.”

“All right,” said Joubert savagely. “That’s enough for now. Tell Ben we want to see him.”

Ben came, gave his evidence, and went.

“If I could prove that he and Clobber were collaborating,” Joubert started, but Rolf stopped him with a shake of his head.

“No, Dirk. There is nothing between them. I could see that. You could see it, too.”

“We’re stymied,” said Johnson. “Apparently nobody could have done it. I examined the cable-car myself, and I’m prepared to swear there’s no sign of any sort of apparatus which could explain the stabbing of a man in mid-air. He was alive when he left the top, and dead at the half-way mark. It’s just… plain impossible.”

“Not quite,” said Joubert. “We do know some facts. First, this is a carefully premeditated crime. Secondly, it was done before the car left the summit-”

Rolf said: “No, Dirk. The most important facts in this case lie in what Heston told Clobber – his dream of death – his thirty-first birthday-”

“What are you getting at, Oom?”

“I think I know how and why Heston was killed, Dirk. It’s only a theory now, and I do not like to talk until I have proof. But you can help me get that proof…”

The word went round. A reconstruction of the crime. Everyone must do exactly as he did when Heston was killed.

Whispers.

“Who’s going to take Heston’s place?”

“The elderly chap with a beard: le Roux I think his name is. The one they call Oom Rolf.”

“Do you think they’ll find out anything? Do you think -?”

“We’ll know soon enough, anyway.”

On the lower station Joubert rang the signal for the reconstruction to start. Dimble, Mrs Orvin and Skager went towards the bottom car. Sergeant Botha went, too.

Rolf le Roux came through the door of the upper landing platform, and looked at Ben sweeping out the empty car.

He said: “Baas Heston spoke to you, and you stopped sweeping?”

“Yes. And then I came out of the car, like this.”

“And then?”

“Then we talked.”

“Where did Baas Heston stand?”

“He got into the car, and stood near the door. Yes, just about there.” He paused. “Do you think you will find out who killed him?”

“It is possible.”

“I hope not, Baas. This Heston was a bad man.”

“All the same, it is not right that he should be killed. The murderer must be punished.”

Two sharp bells rang in the driver’s cabin. The car began to move. Ben went through the door up the stairs and stood in the cabin with Clobber and Johnson. They saw Rolf lean over and wave with an exaggerated gesture.