Donald Bain - Gin and Daggers

Sutherland reminded her that leaving Great Britain violated the condition laid down that all those who were at the manor the night Marjorie was murdered remain in Britain. He placed an immediate call to institute an all-points bulletin. Not very wifely to run to the authorities to snitch on one’s husband he’d thought. He asked her to continue.

“My sister had not been herself in the months leading up to her death,” Ona told him. “I won’t try to be subtle. Her mind was going, and she’d lost a great deal of reasoning power. Not only that, she’d become increasingly unaware of what was going on around her.”

As Sutherland told me this, I could only think of Marjorie that weekend and how sharp she’d been, aside from her occasional lapses. Was this the beginning of a setup for Ona and her husband to contest the will?

Ona continued what she had to say in Sutherland’s office, telling him, “It was during one of my extended stays that I became aware of not only the presence, but the influence of the young writer Jason Harris, whom Marjorie had taken into her confidence. Frankly, I never liked him from the day I met him, and had strong feelings that he was up to no good where my sister was concerned. I raised that with her once, and she dismissed me, as she was prone to do, so I kept my mouth shut but continued to observe.”

Sutherland asked Ona whether she was aware that Jason Harris had been murdered, and she said she was. She went on to say, “I was there during a time when a major portion of Gin and Daggers was being written. I’d seen my sister work on previous novels and was quite familiar with her work habits and approach to writing a book. This time, those things were conducted in a vastly different manner.”

“How so?” Sutherland asked her.

“She was incapable of sustaining focus and attention at her typewriter, so she dictated the book in fits and spurts, and gave the tapes to Jane for transcription.”

Sutherland asked what significance that might have.

“None in and of itself,” she replied, “but Mr. Harris seemed intimately involved in the process. I saw him on a number of occasions take Jane’s transcription and work it over with pencil. Once he’d done that, Jane would retype that portion to include his additions and changes.”

“What percentage of the work would you say was changed by Jason Harris?” Sutherland asked her.

“That would be impossible for me to determine,” Ona said, “although, based upon those portions of the book that I had an opportunity to observe, I would say it was substantial.”

Sutherland placed his notes on our table at Bubbs and poured us each another glass of wine. He said to me, “When Jason Harris was found in the Thames, I tried to assign some meaning to his death, as it might apply to Miss Ainsworth’s murder. I wasn’t very successful, until Mrs. Ainsworth-Zara came to me.” He picked up his notes again and continued telling me what had transpired in his office that morning.

Ona had told him, “It was obvious to me that Jane and Mr. Harris were concerned about keeping their activities secret from Marjorie. There was always consternation about having me in the house, and I had a constant feeling of being spied upon.”

“By them?” Sutherland asked her.

“Yes, and by the new butler, Marshall. Be that as it may, it was the relationship between Jane and Jason Harris that was of most interest to me. They were lovers.”

“How did you know they were lovers?” Sutherland asked her.

“Because I observed them. Once, when Marjorie was out of the house, I saw them embracing in the garden. It was dusk, and they probably thought their actions were covered by darkness, but there was quite a bit more light than they realized.”

“A serious embrace?” Sutherland asked.

She replied curtly, “I know the difference, Inspector Sutherland, between a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek, and a passionate embrace.”

“I must assume you do,” Sutherland said. “Was that the only time you observed them displaying affection?”

“No. I saw them holding hands once. Jane was transcribing my sister’s dictation, and Jason sat next to her. They touched hands a number of times, and they had an expression on their faces that was unmistakably carnal.”

Sutherland waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “Let’s assume your observations are correct and that there was some level of romantic interest between them. What significance does that have?”

“I am convinced that Jason Harris murdered my sister in order to benefit, in some tangible way, from his involvement with Gin and Daggers.”

One of Bubbs’s waiters interrupted us and asked if we wished to order. Sutherland removed his glasses and said, “Time for a break, I think.” We perused the short menu, and I decided on poached turbot in a sauce into which strips of vegetables were woven. Sutherland opted for partridge. We agreed to share a salad garnished with venison as a first course.

“Can’t shake my Scottish love of game,” he said.

“One of my friends from Maine had hare with a chocolate and raspberry sauce the other night at La Tante Claire,” I said.

“That might be a bit much for this Scotsman,” Sutherland said with a gentle laugh. “It’s the chocolate that would do me in.”

We talked of things other than his meeting with Ona Ainsworth-Zara until after we’d consumed our salad. I asked what else had been discussed.

“I told her that since Harris is dead, I would hardly consider him to have benefited from anything. Her response was that his death might have been nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence that robbed him of the opportunity to gain whatever benefit he was seeking.”

I frowned; I didn’t buy that, and judging from the expression on Sutherland’s face, he didn’t, either. “She told you she’d seen them in the garden when Marjorie was out of the house. I wasn’t aware she ever left, at least not in recent months. She needed a wheelchair. Where did she go? Was this an isolated instance of her leaving the manor, perhaps to see a doctor?”

Sutherland said, “I asked the same question. Mrs. Ainsworth-Zara told me that her sister left Ainsworth Manor more than people realized. Evidently her chauffeur, Wilfred, took her out on a regular basis.”

“How regular?” I asked.

“Once every two weeks, she told me.”

“Had she ever asked Wilfred where he took Marjorie on these regular outings?”

“As a matter of fact, I did ask that, Jessica. We think very much alike, it seems. She said she’d tried to talk to him once, but failed to learn anything. As she told me, this Wilfred is much the archetypal chauffeur, deathly loyal to his employer. She told me, ‘It would take a severe form of Oriental torture to make him even admit he’d taken her anywhere.’ ”

Our main courses were served. As we enjoyed them, Sutherland leaned across the table and said in a whisper, “Those people at the table in the corner obviously know who you are, Jessica. They’ve been looking in your direction and commenting all evening.”

“How unfortunate,” I said, bringing a smile to his face.

When those dishes had been cleared, Sutherland said to me, “Well, Jessica, what do you make of all this?”

I’d forgotten for the moment about his meeting with Ona Ainsworth-Zara. Instead, I’d been grappling with how much to tell this handsome Scotland Yard inspector whom I found so attractive, yet was compelled to be on my guard with. Did he know about Jimmy Biggers, about the manuscript Biggers had delivered to me that afternoon, about Maria Giacona, David Simpson, the whole Jason Harris connection? I decided that if he did, he would have to be the one to bring them up.