The Murder Of Gonzago

27

As Major Payne walked down Harley Street towards Dr Sylvester-Sale’s surgery, he mulled over Louise Hunter’s strange tale, which Antonia had recounted to him on her mobile phone some five minutes previously.

Well, there seemed to be only one explanation that covered all the facts: the dead man’s hands, the high-pitched giggle in the bathroom, the arrival of the Grimaud, Lord Remnant putting a silencer on the gun, the mysterious Mr Quin, Clarissa dismissing all her servants… Yes.

Going up the couple of well-polished steps leading to Dr Sylvester-Sale’s front door, Payne rang the bell.

A minute later he was ushered in. He wondered if he would be able to get the information he needed. It was a very tiny bit of the puzzle, but it was important to fit it in where Payne believed it belonged.

Late thirties or early forties, black hair smoothed back off a high forehead, sculpted nose and well-shaped mouth. Dr Sylvester-Sale possessed the dark and handsome, if somewhat conventional, looks of a matinée idol. Or what fifty years previously would have qualified as a matinée idol…

Dr Sylvester-Sale’s consulting room did not look like a consulting room at all. The walls were covered in washed silk paper of an Oriental design, the parquet floor was the colour of burnt sugar. The mantelpiece was carved out of black marble and on it stood a very intricate-looking clock under a glass dome and two crystal candlesticks dripping with minute stalactites.

The fireplace was filled with oleander blossom placed in a copper bowl polished so that it shone like burnished red gold. The window curtains were made of light blue chenille and they were magnificently looped; the three tall windows looked out over the most decorous of inner-court gardens. The walnut desk was kidney-shaped and it was decorated with a delicate orchid in a vase made of Venetian glass.

Payne sat down in one of the two Chippendale chairs. He glanced at the comic triptych on the wall, eighteenth-century, at a guess, showing a bewigged medico in various difficult, surreally absurd situations.

‘Doctor’s dilemmas, eh?’ He waved at them.

‘That, I believe, is what the cycle is called.’ Dr Sylvester-Sale glanced down at the card his visitor had handed him. ‘It doesn’t say here that you are a private detective… Are you really? Didn’t think they existed any longer.’

Dr Sylvester-Sale wore a charcoal suit of a discreet stripe and a silk tie that hinted but only hinted at flamboyance.

‘I am acting on behalf of Felicity Fenwick, who is now Lady Remnant. Lady Remnant asked me to look into the possibility that her brother-in-law might have been the victim of a local vendetta,’ Payne said.

‘You seem to have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’ Sylvester-Sale gave a superior smile. ‘Lord Remnant died of natural causes. He had a heart attack. Whatever gave his sister-in-law the idea that he was killed?’

‘Lady Remnant received a videotape showing Lord Remnant’s death in the course of a playlet based on The Murder of Gonzago,’ Payne said smoothly. ‘One can actually see Lord Remnant being shot in the back of the head.’

‘I very much doubt that such a tape exists,’ Dr Sylvester-Sale said.

‘It does exist. As it happens, I watched it twice. You are in it. You take part in the playlet.’

‘Impossible. You seem to be taking me for someone else.’

‘You are one of the protagonists. You are the murderous beau. It is you who kills the King. At one point the camera shows you carrying a tumbler upside down. Am I likely to know such a detail if I hadn’t actually seen it?’

The doctor’s expression didn’t change, but his face turned the colour of a guardsman’s jacket. ‘I am sorry, Major Payne, but I am going to ask you to leave, if you don’t mind.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve remembered that I have a patient coming any moment now.’

Payne didn’t stir. ‘You are seen examining Lord Remnant’s body. There is no sound, sadly, so it is impossible to ascertain what you are saying, but everybody looks quite shocked.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? You must leave.’

‘The tape was sent to Lady Remnant by one of your fellow guests, who has subsequently talked to us about what happened. You were all involved in a cover-up,’ Payne went on relentlessly. ‘It was you and another doctor – a Dr McLean – who signed the death certificate, giving the cause of Lord Remnant’s death as a heart attack.’

‘If you don’t leave my surgery within the next minute, I’ll have no other option but to call the police,’ Dr Sylvester-Sale said.

‘By all means. I am sure they will be interested in hearing the story about the tape. And perhaps they will choose to follow it up.’

Sylvester-Sale passed a weary hand across his face. ‘What is it you actually want from me?’

‘A simple answer to a simple question – is the place safe? I mean Grenadin. Is Grenadin safe?’

There was a pause. ‘You want me to tell you – if Grenadin is safe? Is that all you want to know? Is that why – why you came to see me?’

‘That is all I want to know, yes.’ Payne smiled pleasantly. ‘Lady Remnant – Felicity Fenwick, as she once was – is anxious to ascertain exactly how safe the island of Grenadin is. She and her husband – the thirteenth earl – are considering building property on Grenadin.’

‘I thought the Fenwicks couldn’t stand the place. Not their kind of scene at all.’

Payne had prepared his answer.

‘Neither Lady Remnant nor her husband proposes to live on Grenadin. Their intention is to have several holiday villas built and then to let them. Lady Remnant believes it was one or more of the locals who brought about her brother-in-law’s death. She has heard about the death threats Lord Remnant had been receiving.’

There was another pause. ‘Very well. It’s true. Lord Remnant did receive a number of anonymous death threats. I am afraid his popularity ratings among the people of Grenadin were rather low… No, he wasn’t perturbed, at least that was the impression he gave. He amused himself by sticking the death threats in a scrapbook.’

‘Did he ever show them to you?’

‘He did. He showed them to all of us one evening after dinner. He read aloud three or four of the more lurid ones. He put on an exaggerated Grenadin accent, which was actually quite funny… He was warned that he’d have his left arm chopped off, then his right, then his right ear, then his nose – you get the idea. There were some silly ones as well, like threatening to unleash the Grimaud on him.’

Payne feigned ignorance. ‘What’s that? A dog?’

‘No. A demon. The Grimaud is conjured up by a curse. It is one of the most popular superstitions on the island. Lord Remnant said he longed to meet the Grimaud.’

‘He wasn’t at all frightened?’

‘I don’t think he was. He said once emotionalism was for the lower orders and that he was bound by his blue blood code. In his own mad way he was quite brave. A rattlesnake appeared in his bathroom one night, but he managed to spear it with his swordstick and then carried it down to the incinerator in the basement. We saw him as he came down the stairs. He was holding the swordstick aloft, with the snake dangling from it, dripping blood. It made the women scream. That seemed to please him.’

‘He liked striking attitudes?’

‘Oh, very much so. He told us what happened in some detail. Apparently the snake went for him the moment he opened the bathroom door. It is my belief it had been injected with amphetamines – that would explain why it was so aggressive.’

‘Are amphetamines easy to obtain on Grenadin?’

‘I believe they are. Drugs, generally, are a big industry on Grenadin. According to some statistics, one in every three islanders is involved in the drug trade,’ Sylvester-Sale drawled. He appeared to have regained his composure completely.

‘When did the snake incident take place?’

‘About a fortnight before he died, I think. Lord Remnant suspected it was one or more of the locals who’d doctored the snake and put it in his bathroom.’

‘Do you have to be a doctor to be able to doctor a snake?’

‘No, not necessarily. You need to have the stomach for it, though. Oh and a syringe… Lord Remnant said it was the work of his “enemies”, but he refused to report the incident to the police. Guards? Yes, Lord Remnant had guards, but, as it happened, they were far from reliable.’

‘I suppose Clarissa left the room in the immediate aftermath of her husband’s murder?’ Payne spoke casually.

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Why do you want to know?’ Suddenly Sylvester-Sale looked extremely suspicious. ‘You are wasting your time if you are trying to pin the murder on Clarissa.’

‘That, I assure you, is not my intention.’

‘Well, as it happens, she did leave the room,’ Sylvester-Sale said. ‘She needed to go to the bathroom. Nothing odd in that. I believe she needed to collect her thoughts.’

‘How long was she out of the room?’

‘No more than five or ten minutes.’

A consultation, thought Payne; Clarissa had needed an urgent consultation. It all fitted in. The situation had been extremely complicated. Clarissa had been out of her depth and unable to make a decision. She had needed to know what her next move should be…

‘Did you like Lord Remnant, doctor?’

‘You do ask some very strange questions, Major Payne.’

‘Absolute monsters are rare, but the late Lord Remnant doesn’t seem to have had a single redeeming feature. Not a single one. Is that possible? I find it very hard to believe.’ Payne shook his head.

‘Did I like Lord Remnant? No, not particularly. In fact, if you must know,’ Dr Sylvester-Sale said, ‘not at all. No one did.’

‘No one? Not even Clarissa?’

‘Least of all Clarissa. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘That’s terribly sad,’ said Payne. ‘Can one live without love?’

‘Lord Remnant clearly could.’

‘Mad, bad and dangerous to know… That’s how he emerges from all the stories I’ve heard so far. I must admit this whole case exercises a peculiar fascination over me. The protagonists and their foibles have got me firmly in their grip.’ Payne clenched his hand into a fist. ‘I understand Clarissa’s son has a serious drug problem?’

‘That’s been taken care of.’

‘What’s the likelihood of Lord Remnant having been involved in the drug trade on the island?’

‘If, for argument’s sake, he was involved, it couldn’t have been for the money. At the time of his death he was an extremely rich man, you know.’

‘Couldn’t he have done it for the thrill of it? To escape boredom? Isn’t that possible?’

Sylvester-Sale shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s possible. Anything was possible where Lord Remnant was concerned. He was prey to ennui. He referred to it as “my pathological condition”. He would do anything to escape boredom, yes. He said that danger stimulated him… He did some very silly things. In many ways he was quite mad. I don’t think he had a safety valve… So, yes, it’s perfectly possible.’

‘Was Lord Remnant a clever man, doctor?’

‘Depends on how one defines “clever”. He certainly thought of himself as clever, which is not quite the same thing. He considered himself a genius… I suppose he was clever – in a highly idiosyncratic kind of way. He seemed to identify with criminal masterminds like Dr No and Goldfinger.’

‘Did he now?’

‘Yes. He loved watching those awful James Bond films.’

‘Would you say Lord Remnant was capable of planning and executing a murder?’ Major Payne asked.

Dr Sylvester-Sale looked at him curiously. ‘I would. Yes. Perfectly capable.’

It was only after his visitor had taken his leave that Dr Sylvester-Sale remembered that Grenadin had been left to Clarissa and that it was highly unlikely that the Fenwicks should be planning to have holiday villas built on the island. Clarissa would have told him had that indeed been the case. What exactly had Major Payne been after?