rustling against the stone floor. “If you’d be good enough to lift your skirts up,” she said when they were outside.
Muriel looked at her in horror. “This is outrageous…”
“I’m not suggesting a strip search, Mrs Pablos. Just lift your skirts up. It’ll only take a moment. Constable,” she said firmly to Joe. “Stand by the door and make sure no one comes in.”
Muriel Pablos looked round in helpless terror. Then she slowly raised her skirts to her knees showing a shapely pair of suntanned legs.
“A little higher, please, Mrs Pablos.”
Muriel Pablos was about to refuse. Then, as though she knew she was defeated, she lifted the skirts higher to reveal a length of red silken rope, coiled about her body.
“Untie the rope, please Mrs Pablos.”
Muriel Pablos slowly uncoiled the rope and it fell to the ground. It was in two sections, each with a burned end. Anastasia summoned PC Joe Calthwaite back and he stood, staring at the rope as though the sight amazed him.
“Well, Constable,” said Anastasia. “Are you going to tell us how it was done?”
Calthwaite took his notebook from his top pocket and pulled himself up to his full height. “Well, ma’am, I first became suspicious of Mrs Pablos when the car park attendant told me that her car was already in the visitor’s car park when he arrived this morning at eight forty. He said he saw it later in its usual place in the staff car park, and I found that she’d signed in for work as normal at quarter-past nine. We were told by Mr Samuels, the curator, that Jonathan Pleasance locked himself in the tower room when he was working and didn’t let anyone in, so then I began to think. If nobody was let in then the killer must already have been there, probably hidden in the chapel. Pleasance arrived before nine o’clock so his killer must have been there earlier, already hidden. The key was only used by Pleasance – nobody else bothered locking the room – so it was easy. All the killer had to do was wait, kill Pleasance with the sword, lock the door as he or she left, drive round into the staff car park and then arrive for work as normal.”
“But the key was found on the body…”
“I’ll be coming to that, ma’am. Next I tried to work out exactly how it was done; how it was made to look as though Jonathan Pleasance had fallen from the window. Then I saw the lengths of rope stored in the chapel and an odd number of candles on the altar… three… so it was possible that one was missing. I found some candle wax on the floorboards in the middle of the tower room and I started to think. What if the body had been held by the open window with a length of rope secured to, say, that heavy oak side table: then if a lighted candle was placed under the rope so that it burned through slowly to give the murderer plenty of time to establish an alibi. Then the murderer would need some excuse to get away in order to hide the rope and candle once the body had fallen. That’s where the miniature tape recorder came in. The curator uses one to dictate letters and his secretary said that she’d mislaid it for a while. I think the killer borrowed it and recorded a bloodcurdling scream to be played at the appropriate moment in front of a full audience to provide the perfect alibi. Nobody else in the building heard it because the tape was only played in the great hall. Then the killer ran upstairs to call the police. But first she made a detour and unlocked the tower room to deal with the incriminating evidence; she hid the burned candle and matches in those big padded sleeves where she’d hidden the tape recorder. Then she put them in the window seat until they could be disposed of properly. It’s a pity 8C had to find them and give the game away isn’t it, Mrs Pablos? And the rope… well what better place to hide it than underneath a huge Elizabethan skirt. Am I right so far, Mrs Pablos?”
Muriel Pablos looked at him, pleading. “You knew my Francesca at school, Joe. You know what a lovely girl she is. She met this older man at work in the museum: she was besotted with him, completely infatuated, but she wouldn’t tell me his name… I never guessed it was Jonathan Pleasance. Then one day he saw me alone and he started to talk about their relationship. The things he said… the way he talked about Francesca. He was just using her and he said he intended to end their affair soon because she was getting too possessive… too clinging. He said that if she made things awkward for him, he’d make sure she lost her job at the museum: he was going to tell lies about her… say she was incompetent. I couldn’t just stand by and watch him ruining her career… her life. I did it for my daughter.”
Anastasia nodded, wondering how she would have felt if such a thing had happened to her own daughter. Then she dismissed the thought and reminded herself of her profession. “Is there anything else you want to say before I arrest you, Mrs Pablos?” she asked sympathetically before reciting the familiar official words.
“I came in at eight this morning and parked in the public car park at the back so none of the staff would see me,” Muriel began quietly. “The tower room wasn’t locked – only Pleasance ever locked it – so I hid myself in the chapel. When he came in just before nine I killed him. Then I rigged up the rope and the candle, locked the door behind me, got into my car and arrived for work as usual. I had taken pieces of rope home and experimented so that I could time his fall for when I was showing Vicky’s class round. When I went upstairs to call the police I made a detour to the tower room like Joe said. I wiped the tape on my way up and put the recorder back on Mrs Barker’s desk when I went in to tell her what had happened.”
“But the room was locked and the only key was found on the body. According to everyone’s statements you never went out into the courtyard… never went near the body,” said Anastasia, puzzled. Muriel Pablos stood silent. She was saying nothing.
As Muriel was led to a waiting police car, PC Joe Calthwaite walked round to the back of the house where 8C were boarding their coach. He waited patiently until their teacher had counted them on before he spoke to her.
“You were always fond of Francesca weren’t you, Mrs Vine,” he began gently. “Francesca was brilliant at history, your star pupil. You must have been delighted when she got that job at the museum. I think Mrs Pablos told you about Pleasance and Francesca. I think you helped her. When she came downstairs again you left her looking after your class while you went to check the body for signs of life before the ambulance arrived. I think she’d locked the tower room door behind her and then she passed you the key. While you were bending over the body you put the key in his pocket. Is that right, Mrs Vine?”
Vicky Vine smiled and shook her head. “I couldn’t stand by and watch that man hurt Francesca. I had to help somehow.” She took a deep breath. “What gave us away?”
“Do you remember when the chemistry lab burned down? I smelled petrol on the culprits’ clothes.”
“How could I forget.”
“Well this time it was candles… I kept smelling candles. I’ve always had a good sense of smell.”
As Joe Calthwaite put an arresting hand on her shoulder, his old teacher looked into his eyes and smiled.
A TRAVELLER’S TALE by
