Page 109 of Marble Hall Murders

‘Except that she thinks I’m a liar and a killer,’ I said.

‘You must admit that the evidence is definitely weighing up against you, Susan.’

‘Then why haven’t you arrested me?’

Blakeney took his time before replying. I still hadn’t quite worked him out. He was certainly less aggressive than myold friend DS Locke. I got the sense that he might well be a decent man and that if we had met in other circumstances, we might have got on. I remembered that he had read all the Atticus Pünd novels and that certainly recommended him to me. I thought there was a slight melancholy about him. On the two occasions we’d met, I’d never seen him smile – not that I’d given him much reason to.

He ignored my question. ‘I want you to tell me something,’ he said. ‘If you didn’t kill Eliot Crace, who do you think did?’

‘That’s a very good question, Detective Inspector.’ I fell silent for a moment, not because I didn’t have an answer but because I wondered if it was something I ought to share. ‘Has Gillian Crace told you she’s pregnant?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I know all about that.’

‘You know she was having an affair.’

‘With her brother-in-law. Yes.’

I wished I could have been a fly on the wall when Blakeney and Wardlaw had conducted that interrogation. How had they managed to prise the information out of her? ‘I’d put Eliot’s brother, Roland Crace, high on my list,’ I said. ‘I think he’s a creep, but it’s more than that. Eliot was about to tell the world who killed Miriam Crace. He could have ruined the Netflix deal. And he was married to Gillian. That’s three reasons to kill Eliot, and Roland Crace is connected to all of them. You might also like to consider the fact that Roland will do anything his uncle Jonathan tells him, and that might have included planting evidence to get me out of the way.’

‘Interesting.’ I had thought Blakeney was being dismissive, but he was giving serious consideration to what I said.

‘Can I give you a word of advice, Detective Inspector?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I’ve been here before. I know what I’m talking about.’ Was that the best way to start? I moved on quickly. ‘The two deaths are inextricably linked: Miriam Crace’s twenty years ago and Eliot Crace’s now. I still believe that the killer’s name was concealed in the book that Eliot was writing. He told me that himself and he said the same thing at the party. You need to read it.’

‘I understand it’s not finished.’

‘I was coming to that. Eliot had only written about half the book – but he must have made notes. I’m sure he wrote down a structure which will have a beginning, a middle … and an end. It could be on his laptop or maybe he used pen and paper. You’ve got access to his home. You can go in there and take it. You said you’d read all of Alan’s books.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ever solve them?’

‘I guessed about half of them.Gin & Cyanidewas easy. I knew it had to be the wife.’

‘Then put the two together – the manuscript and the notes – and you should have no trouble. If you want, I’ll help you. I’m not brilliant at solving murder mysteries, but I knew Alan and I worked with Eliot and I have a good idea about the way they both thought. It’s not just about clues. Half the characters in the book are based on people he knew. It’s very likely he was doing that to tell us something. And you have to look out for anagrams and word games – all that sort of stuff. The Chateau Belmar – Marble Hall. Alice Carling – Gillian Crace.’

‘He put his wife in the book?’

‘I’m afraid so. Eliot Crace wasn’t just writing a novel. I can see now that he was writing a suicide note. I couldn’t save him, but maybe you can help save me.’

‘You think you need saving?’

‘I might.’

He reached into his pocket and took out a business card. It had his name, rank and contact details printed on one side, but as I watched, he scribbled something on the back. ‘Well, if you want me to come to your rescue, you can reach me on this number. And if anything comes to mind that you’ve forgotten to tell me, you should use it too. My DS is going to ask me why I haven’t taken you into custody and right now I don’t have an entirely credible explanation except that I like you and I don’t think you have it in you to kill anyone.’

He handed me the card. I turned it over. He’d put his private number on the back.

Leylah Crace

Everything was quiet at the Savoy Hotel when I arrived a few minutes before seven o’clock on a warm evening, leaving the Strand and some of my troubles behind me. The revolving doors spun me into another world that began with the entrance hall and its black-and-white tiled floor, the black-and-white columns and the brilliant flower displays on black marble tables. I asked for Leylah Crace at the concierge desk and was directed to the American Bar. I’d only met her for a minute and a half, but somehow all this suited her. I could imagine her in a feathered hat with a cigarette in an absurdly long holder and could easily see why Eliot had turned her into the actress Lola Chalfont in his book.

She was waiting for me at a table near the bar, dressed in a mauve two-piece suit with an oversized black silk flower on one lapel and a floppy black hat. She got up as I came in and embraced me.

‘Susan, I’m embarrassed about what happened at the party. You were treated badly. I’m so glad you’ve come.’