Michael Dibdin - The Dying of the Light

Jarvis regarded her with mingled suspicion and curiosity.

‘Meaning what?’ he demanded.

‘Has it really not occurred to you that there might be another explanation for Mrs Hargreaves telling you a story which she now admits was untrue?’

‘You mean…’ groped Jarvis.

‘I mean, my dear Inspector, that it was intended to divert suspicion from herself!’

Jarvis looked utterly baffled.

‘But I don’t suspect her! I’ve never suspected her for a single moment!’

Rosemary sighed.

‘I believe you,’ she said in a kindly tone. ‘But to those who know you less well, like Mavis Hargreaves, such naivety would have seemed almost impossible to credit from someone in your position. She would therefore have concluded that you were in fact playing a very deep game, pretending to suspect the Andersons in order to put the rest of us off our guard, and sought to cover her tracks by inventing the episode of Miss Davis and the cocoa, whose authorship she now attributes to me.’

She gave him a wry smile.

‘And you must admit, Inspector, it worked a treat!’

Jarvis looked longingly at the police car. His colleague lay spread-eagled on the bonnet, soaking up the sunshine, his foot wagging in time to some inaudible music.

‘How did you know Tomkins was from the island?’ he asked.

‘My mother was from the New Forest, but I was raised in Ryde,’ Rosemary explained. The children at school used to call me a foreigner, because I was born on the mainland. I can still hear their mocking voices. The accent is unmistakable.’

‘Ryde,’ mused Jarvis.

He smiled. ‘Remember the Beatles? Okay, I used to think, so she’s got a ticket to Ryde. Why should that mean she doesn’t care?’

‘It’s not just the islanders,’ said Rosemary. ‘People in general can be very heartless.’

Jarvis gazed into the distance, lost in thought.

‘As for the beetles,’ Rosemary went on, ‘I certainly do remember them. But I’m glad to say that we’re no longer troubled by them since the council fumigated the rooms.’

‘That was when I first started to take you seriously,’ Jarvis muttered almost inaudibly. ‘If she’s on to Tomkins, I thought, she can’t be as far gone as this Anderson is trying to make out.’

He considered the grass at his feet for some time.

‘Just the same,’ he resumed, ‘I don’t think much of this Hargreaves angle. Apart from anything else, she doesn’t have a motive.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, Inspector. Shortly before her death, Dorothy asked to see a solicitor with a view to changing her will. The Andersons believed that the alteration was in their favour, but I think that very unlikely. Hilary Bryant made the mistake of thinking that the prospect of the inheritance might soften the Andersons’ hearts, but they were if anything even more beastly to her afterwards. With that example before her, I can’t imagine that Dorothy would have allowed herself to be swayed, particularly since she knew it was likely she would have to go into hospital anyway. On the other hand, what more likely, under those circumstances, that she should have wished to settle her affairs, and that she should have decided that her close friend Mavis Hargreaves was a more suitable beneficiary than her apparently ungrateful and neglectful relatives?’

A dreamy smile spread across Jarvis’s face.

‘Of course!’ he breathed. ‘Why didn’t I see it before? The solution’s been staring me in the face all along!’

He looked keenly at Rosemary.

‘We were quite excited about that aspect of the case for a few days there, but we rather lost interest when it transpired that Mrs Davenport had in fact instructed the solicitor to make over her estate to Miss Rosemary Travis.’

Rosemary sprang to her feet.

‘No!’ she broke out hoarsely. ‘It’s not true!’

Jarvis gave a smile of triumph.

‘You’ve played a very clever game, Miss Travis, and you nearly got away with it. Yes, Mrs Hargreaves’s tale about the cocoa was indeed intended to deceive us, but she didn’t dream it up. Mavis Hargreaves isn’t a detective story addict any more than she was Dorothy Davenport’s close friend. You, on the other hand, are both!’

He thrust an accusing finger at her.

‘Who had a better opportunity to poison the morphine syrup than the person who went to Mrs Davenport’s room to fetch it just a few hours before her death?

The only fingerprints found on the bottle, apart from those of the deceased, were yours, Miss Travis! Your sleeping tablets were used to adulterate the cocoa, and you admit spending a considerable time alone with the victim after everyone else had left and the lights had been turned off. Your room is directly opposite that of Mr Purvey, whose door is always open. He assumed that the woman he saw taking his syringe was Miss Davis, because of the smell of alcohol, but it could equally well have been the person who had just entered Anderson’s office and removed a quantity of blue curagao!’

He stepped forward and gripped Rosemary’s arm.

‘I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to headquarters, Miss Travis, and it’s my duty to inform you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ said Rosemary, snatching her arm free.

‘What do you mean, ridiculous?’ Jarvis retorted. ‘You had the motive, the means and the opportunity. What more do you need?’

Rosemary snorted incredulously.

‘Dorothy Davenport was my friend!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was closer to her than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life. I could no more have killed her than I could kill my own child.’

‘Don’t start dragging psychology into it!’ snapped Jarvis. ‘You told me all I needed to do was observe the rules, spot the clues and make the appropriate deductions. Well I’ve done that, Miss Travis, and they lead straight to you.’

Rosemary smiled mischievously.

‘Ah, well as to that, you see, there’s one clue I haven’t told you about.’

She took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. Jarvis opened out the page. MISS ROSEMARY TRAVIS was written in blue ballpoint on one side. He turned it over and read the lines of wavery writing on the other side.

Rose my dear,

This is not easy, particularly after everyone has been so kind. But it is the only way. They say laughter is what distinguishes us from the animals, but this does too, and just as clearly. They kill each other, but never themselves. Mr Darwin’s law is their cage, but we’re free to enjoy this last laugh at the universe’s expense.

I can’t think of freedom without thinking of all those I am leaving behind, and especially you, Rose. What will become of you without me to fuss over and care for? I dread the idea of you ending up like the others, yet that’s what will happen if you stay here. You’re strong, Rose, but in the end they will grind you down.

One possibility, if you are clever enough to take advantage of it, would be to make it look as though I were the victim in one of our whodunnits. The details I leave to you, dear Rose, who were always so much better at them than me, but I can at least provide the body. The investigation will reveal that death was due to an overdose of morphine syrup and some sleeping tablets which I took from your room. Just to be on the safe side, I also propose to drink the contents of those hideous miniatures which someone gave me for Christmas years and years ago and which I have always kept, for a reason which is only now dear to me.

Don’t be afraid, Rose. I’m not.

Dot.

Jarvis folded the letter carefully.

‘For all I know, this could be another of your tricks.’