G Malliet - Death of a Cozy Writer

“Sir Adrian’s help?”

“Back in the days when he was plain old John Davies, yes. Madly in love with the delectable, completely unattainable Lady Winthrop, as he was all his life, but having to settle in the end for plain old Chloe. Adrian, as we are the last to know, was part of that whole crowd at the time. He’d fallen head over heels with Violet, who barely noticed he was alive, but found him immensely useful when he offered to testify he was in bed with her at the time of the murder.

“As I shall explain in great detail to Mrs. Romano, her vow of silence to him is now officially broken. She’s coming to the station, and this time to tell all. She knew he was in bed with someone, just that it wasn’t Violet.”

“He paid her, all these years, for her silence?”

“And the big payoff was to come at the end. When he met Maria Romano again, years later, I think it was by chance. He realized: so much time had passed, but she hadn’t told what she knew. I imagine he considered her discretion made her worth her weight in gold, but it would be as well to assure her silence. He took her in, took care of Paulo, left them both extremely well off in the will, at least by Mrs. Romano’s standards. If Paulo isn’t yet another illegitimate by-blow in this case, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Good God, you don’t mean-?”

“I do. Just a guess. But that would explain so much about her silence, would it not? Why not just tell me she worked at the bloody Winthrop castle? Mrs. Romano is basically an honest soul; it’s the one thing she did that didn’t add up, and the discretion of a good servant didn’t entirely account for it. She doesn’t even seem to resent, if she realizes it, that her cut of the will is a fraction of what the others got. Anyway, it’s irrelevant to the case against Natasha, so I’m not going to press her on where Paulo came from- yet. Not if she tells me what she knows about that night: that it was she who was with Sir Adrian. Which of course she was afraid to tell the authorities at the time. I’d bet my last shilling she was in the country illegally, which probably answers to her silence, as well.

“As for Sir Adrian-are we really surprised? No one doubted for a minute he had the heart of a murderer, that he was a man of many guilty secrets, some major, some minor. He’d changed his name to get the title illegally, but who cared about that? Only he and Chloe. But, by the way, there’s one other thing that got in our way: He was Welsh, which helped him even more in keeping his origins quiet.”

“I don’t follow, Sir.”

“Davies is a common name in Wales. And, by tradition, children in Wales sometimes take different names from their parents, often a name evocative of the father’s place of origin, creating even more of a muddle for anyone interested enough to try to trace his origins. I wondered why, according to Albert, Sir Adrian worked so hard to squash reporters not willing to swallow intact whatever he fed them. That whole title business-he was as big a snob about it as Chloe. In that regard, it was a match made in heaven.”

“But, Sir, why in the name of all that’s holy would he write a book about a murder that he himself had helped cover up?”

“Maybe because he thought he was so clever, no one would realize it was not a work of fiction. Or maybe he didn’t care about anything but creating a stir that would guarantee his reputation would live on forever. Who knows, with an ego like that? I do know his instructions were explicit-that was the one book that was not to be published until his death, when he was beyond the reach of our law, anyway.

“Sir Adrian, as I have noted before, was a childish man, recklessly indiscreet. He couldn’t resist the fun he was having with his ready-made plot, regardless of the fact he was telling a lot of tales in there that other people didn’t want told. Yet another reason for Natasha to get rid of him, you know-if she knew about the book, which I think she did. She was, all her life, the daughter of that notorious, adulterous murderess, Lady Violet Winthrop. A book by Sir Adrian called A Death in Scotland could only be about her mother’s case.”

“I can see why she would want it not to come out,” said Sergeant Fear. “But how would she learn about the book?”

“My guess is she saw it in Albert’s room. I’m certain she spent half her time turning over the contents of the house-remember her training-to learn what she could learn. Even if she couldn’t get past the title, the title told her all she needed to know-or all she needed to know to panic over it. Or perhaps she just chatted Jeffrey up about it; it wouldn’t be hard to get anything she wanted out of him. Watch out for that branch!”

Sergeant Fear turned the wheel sharply onto black ice, fighting to control the skid.

When his heart resumed normal operations, several minutes later, St. Just went on, “That old dear, Agnes, had it right all along. But without Mrs. Romano’s evidence-which we’ll get-we’d never have been able to prove much of anything, after all these years. Basing a case on a book of ‘fiction’ would be next to impossible. They didn’t believe Agnes then, they wouldn’t believe her now. But the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary is sending someone to get her statement. Someone ‘yoong.’ We’ll see if it does any good this time.”

He sighed.

“Violet is one of those women capable of doing whatever is necessary, and getting away with it. She is, as Chloe said, about as cold-blooded as they come.”

“Like mother, like daughter, then?”

“Very much so, in appearance, and in temperament. We all missed that, but shouldn’t have. The callous manipulation, particularly of men, but of everyone-the kind of coldness I am certain is highly prized in the more secret corridors of Scotland Yard, by the way. Yes, I am certain Natasha learned all of that at her mother’s knee. What is more, I believe Violet manipulated her own daughter, telling her it was Sir Adrian who was the killer, giving Natasha a healthy grudge to nurse all those years.”

“And then, the money thrown in as a sweetener for revenge…”

“Violet inherited a fortune from Sir Winthrop, pretty much in line with the plan Natasha had for George. It took the pair of them decades to run through it all. And it wasn’t until Violet had exhausted most of it that Sir Adrian’s proposal-a form of blackmail, if you ask me-held any interest for her. As I say, cold-blooded, with money being the motivating force for both of them.”

Sergeant Fear laughed.

“We really should have paid more attention to Sarah, Sir. In a way, she was right: ‘The lack of money is the root of all evil.’”

Several mornings later St. Just was on his way to the train station to await the 8:02 for London and Heathrow. It was rare that he could get away for even a few hours; this time, he had wrangled four full days on the slopes. His cat, Deerstalker, was being spoiled by the neighbors. All was right with the world, and Sergeant Fear would have to cope with what wasn’t right until he returned.

It was as the cab neared Trumpington that he saw them, Sarah and Jeffrey, power-walking, hand-in-hand, which rather impeded their progress. They didn’t seem to mind. They looked blissfully silly, as only those newly, deeply in love can do.

He wondered if it would work, how they would get on together, Sarah with her grab bag of philosophies, and Jeffrey with his boundless, seemingly directionless, energy. He supposed what they really had in common was a sort of unfounded, blinkered optimism.

And perhaps, he thought, that was sufficient to be getting on with.

1. Mystery novels have been written from a variety of viewpoints- first person, alternating point of view, and so on. What point of view is used in Death of a Cozy Writer ? Why do you think the author chose to tell the story this way? What are the drawbacks to a writer in using a particular point of view-for example, first person-to tell a crime story?