Death in Daylesford Read online

  ‘I am. At the Mooltan guesthouse.’

  ‘That’s where you’ll be if I want to find you? Good-o. So tell me about the death of Donald Mackay.’

  ‘At the Highland Gathering yesterday, Kenneth McAlpine was tossing the caber when he was stung by what he thought was a bee. As a result, the caber slipped out of his hand, fell to earth and bounced up into the head of Donald Mackay, who was standing pretty much by himself to the right. I found a sewing machine needle which had been fired into McAlpine’s neck, probably by a blowpipe. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people standing around and, frankly, it could have been any of them.’

  ‘And where is this needle now?’

  ‘Your sergeant has it. He took it away from me.’ Phryne and the inspector exchanged a glance which suggested an unspoken observation that Sergeant Offaly’s talents would be taxed to the limit by remembering his own name and address, or the number of digits on his extremities.

  ‘I see. And it’s too late to question the bystanders. I have some notes from the sergeant about his subsequent enquiries, but they were less than informative. A pity. Now, Miss Fisher, where were you when James Hepburn met with his misadventure tonight?’

  ‘Please, call me Phryne.’ She was beginning to warm to the inspector. ‘I was sitting on a chair watching the dancers, and everything else. And regrettably I did not manage to see anything suspicious.’

  ‘But you were looking for trouble, were you?’

  ‘I was. I have a theory, which you may or may not wish to hear, and I do not think either of these two mishaps were an accident. I don’t believe in coincidences as a rule.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ The inspector sat hunched forward in his chair and stared at the low plaster ceiling for a moment. ‘All right, Phryne. What’s your theory?’

  Phryne leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Mick, as you may be aware, we have two extraordinarily beautiful girls hereabouts. And, fantastic as this may seem, I am beginning to suspect that somebody—a jealous lover, presumably—is systematically eliminating rivals in love.’

  Kelly blinked several times and shook his head. He inhaled, briefly, the aromatic scent of Jicky and sighed. ‘Well, it’s a possibility, I suppose. Both young men were suitors for one or both of these girls, were they?’

  ‘Both Hepburn and Mackay were known to be great admirers of the Temperance Hotel barmaid, Annie Tremain.’

  ‘The girl with the long blonde hair?’

  ‘And other attributes which are rather too notable to be ignored.’

  ‘Yes, she’s very well-developed, is she not? And the other girl?’

  ‘Colleen O’Rourke is also very popular with the boys. She’s a Highland dancer.’

  The inspector’s hard eyes softened. ‘Indeed she is.’ After a pause, he asked, ‘What brings you to Daylesford, by the way?’

  ‘Just a holiday, or so I had believed until yesterday. We seem to have too many mysteries around here.’

  Mick Kelly gave a short, fox-like bark of amusement. ‘Welcome to the wonderful world of policing, Miss Fisher.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, then the inspector sighed again. ‘Well, Phryne, I’ll be staying at the Station Hotel if you chance upon anything you think I should know. If I want to speak to you again, I’ll ask at the Mooltan. Send in Colleen, will you?’

  Phryne rose, left the interview room and gestured to Colleen, who was waiting outside, to enter. As the door was closing behind the imperious Miss O’Rourke, she heard the latter say, ‘Hello, Uncle Brian!’

  Phryne grinned to herself.

  Re-entering the hall, she saw that Sergeant Offaly was occupying the main doorway, which left very little room for anyone else. While cerebral detection was utterly beyond his imagination, the role of sheepdog with errant flock was one he felt he could comfortably manage, and he was doing so with relentless patience. The only other exit had been locked fast, and the still night air only entered the hall after the sergeant had frisked it thoroughly. The gathering was suitably chastened. The customary After the Party is Over feeling of general letdown was amplified a hundredfold. Everyone was sitting down, either on chairs or on the floor, heedless of their party finery, and clearly wishful to go home at the earliest opportunity. Conversation was whispered, and sporadic.

  She spotted Dot sitting on a chair in the corner of the hall. Standing over her was the minister, dispensing tea and biscuits. Dot looked up at Phryne and gave her employer a weary I’m-All-Right-Miss look.

  ‘Miss Fisher? I believe you may wish to converse with me?’

  Reverend McPherson had an unmistakable Highland accent overlaid with what was, if not Glasgow, somewhere within the County of Lanark. A hand reached out and Phryne took it gingerly in her glove, feeling the same thrill of what was probably Protestant Enthusiasm that Dot had reported to her.

  ‘I have another small office,’ the minister continued, ‘if you and your companion would like to accompany me there.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea. Dot?’

  Dot drank the remainder of her tea then rose, and the minister led the way to a small office with seating for three around a wooden table. There was a single bare electric bulb hanging from a long cord, and no other light. The minister waited until they had seated themselves, then himself assumed a chair.

  ‘Miss Fisher, your companion has confided in me to a degree, and suggested that you may wish for further information from a reliable source. I would be happy to assist you.’

  Phryne gave him a forty-watt smile. ‘Reverend McPherson, Miss Williams was indeed prescient. I have been given to understand that my repute, or possibly infamy, precedes me.’ This brought a faint smile from the minister. ‘I have far too many mysteries here and not nearly enough information to go on. Or, rather, I have a great deal of what might well turn out to be misinformation.’

  The minister scratched his chin. ‘I see. And you regard me as a reliable source of uncompromised information? Very well. I hope that you can assist the polis with their investigations. Events here are taking a calamitous turn.’

  Phryne marshalled her thoughts. Where even to begin? Since Inspector Kelly was continuing enquiries in one case, she decided she should use the opportunity to investigate the other more thoroughly. ‘Aside from our unfortunate deaths, it seems that women have been disappearing in mysterious circumstances. Can you tell me anything about that?’

  The Minister regarded her steadily. ‘I can. Three women from this town have disappeared from their homes without trace in the last year from farms between here and Sailor’s Falls. I have no idea where they are now, and neither has anyone else. However …’ He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small pair of half-moon spectacles, which he perched on his ears. ‘Have you made the acquaintance of the licensee of the Temperance Hotel?’

  ‘I have indeed met Mr McKenzie,’ Phryne confirmed. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘McKenzie does not frequent my kirk very often, but I have reached an opinion as to his character. His wife is one of the three missing women. Janet McKenzie was a good woman, but there was too little spark about her. I doubt that theirs was a happy home.’ The minister’s eyes were boring into her. ‘But if he were to be suspected of doing away with her, then where is his motive for the other two women? He was never a ladies’ man—not even in his own secret thoughts, I would guess. And their bairn Robert also went missing at the same time as Janet.’

  ‘Could they have run away?’

  ‘It’s possible. But that doesn’t explain the other disappearances. If we have an abductor of women among us, Janet McKenzie may have been one of his victims, with the bairn an ancillary consequence.’

  ‘What can you tell me about the other two women?’

  ‘Not from my flock, so I cannot say.’

  ‘What about the Tremain girls?’

  The minister shook his head. ‘Those two young women work too hard, while their uncle does little except drink and brood. I don’t know them well. I do think him cap
able of Human Weakness, yet I doubt he has the willpower to do active harm to anyone.’

  ‘And the other women?’

  The minister opened his hands in a gesture of tolerant resignation. ‘We simply do not know. They may be victims of foul play. Or they may have run off somewhere. I really cannot give you any more information than that.’

  If the minister knew any more than this, he wasn’t letting on. Phryne decided she may as well return to the main mystery. ‘All right. Now we have at least two murders—’

  ‘Are you certain of that, Miss Fisher? Poor Mr Hepburn may have merely had a seizure of some kind. Dr Henderson has formed no opinion as yet. And the mishap at the Gathering may have been an accident.’

  Phryne and Dot both stirred in their uncomfortable seats. Caution was all very well, but it seemed that the minister was taking it to extremes. Phryne put her head on one side and gave him a look of highly charged scepticism. ‘I doubt it very much, Reverend. I am assuming murder until I am shown otherwise. Did either of these poor lads own property worth committing murder for?’

  McPherson shook his head. ‘Both have living fathers and elder brothers. I doubt they had more than a few pounds between them. I cannot see a murder for gain in either case.’

  ‘And what if it were murder to gain the love of a beautiful girl?’

  The minister shook his head, smiled and looked at the low ceiling. ‘Really, Miss Fisher! Do young men kill their rivals in love anywhere but in storybooks? I hardly think so.’

  Dot didn’t think it likely either, but she watched her employer lean forward with animation. ‘Well, I admit it’s unlikely; but the one thing our victims had in common was that they both paid court to Annie Tremain. Improbable as it seems, I can’t think of any other motive right now.’

  ‘I do wish that girl would marry.’ Now the minister was shaking his head in frustration. ‘I know she’s young, but she’s demoralising the regiment. Half the young men in this town spend their lives gawping at her instead of getting on with their work.’

  ‘What is your opinion of her?’

  ‘She is a good girl. Even though she works in a public house, there has never been a breath of scandal about her.’ He paused, allowing this to sink in. Phryne had been wondering about that. Would the minister even know if there had been? Probably he would. ‘She is kind and good-hearted and thinks well of everyone,’ he went on. ‘This is a perilous delusion. The world is filled with snares for the godly and ungodly alike.’

  ‘Do either of the girls come to your church?’

  ‘Not very often. As I have remarked already, McKenzie works them too hard. And, though I hesitate to say it, the presence of Miss Annie in church is a sore distraction to the young men of my flock. The girls were raised Anglican, but their father was killed in the war, and the mother died of grief thereafter.’

  ‘And what of Colleen O’Rourke?’

  The minister broke into an unexpected broad grin. ‘Miss O’Rourke is certainly high-spirited, Miss Fisher. But she is a fine lassie.’ He paused to look at Dot, who blushed and cast her eyes down. ‘She takes charge of things. As soon as that poor boy fell to the floor, she dragged Dr Henderson away from his wife and brought him to the boy within seconds. Did you see that now? And when it became apparent that the boy was dead, she asked if she could borrow my telephone.’

  ‘So she’s the one who called Inspector Kelly? I heard her call him Uncle Brian.’

  ‘The Kellys and the O’Rourkes form what you might call a powerful clan hereabouts. They’re Catholics, of course, but they are good people, though a little rough around the edges. She is a very level-headed young woman. She likes the lads fine, but does not allow liberties.’

  Phryne felt she could not allow this to pass. ‘Really? I saw her kiss one of the boys.’

  ‘Girlish high spirits. It was not a sinful kiss.’

  ‘And she hugged and kissed the bandleader.’

  To her astonishment, the minister burst out laughing: a rich, rolling torrent of mirth. ‘Kevin O’Rourke is her father, Miss Fisher. The band members are all relatives of hers.’

  Phryne laughed with him. ‘I see. Now, do you think it possible that anyone might conceive a forbidden passion for her?’

  ‘I doubt it. I really do. She isn’t that sort of girl.’

  ‘And Annie Tremain is. You’re probably right, Reverend. And yet …’ Phryne eyed him steadily. ‘There’s no denying that she kissed James Hepburn, and a few seconds later he dropped dead. It’s a coincidence that might point somewhere.’

  ‘I suppose so, Miss Fisher, but—’ He was interrupted by a strident knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

  The door opened and Dr Henderson bustled into the room. ‘Reverend, I’ve just been talking to the Inspector and—’ He stopped suddenly as he took in the presence of Dot and Phryne. ‘I’m sorry. Shall I come back later?’

  ‘By no means.’ McPherson rose, and shut the door behind the doctor. ‘If you have news for me, Miss Fisher and Miss Williams may be told also. Miss Fisher is a private investigator.’

  Henderson’s brown eyes flickered, then returned to the minister. ‘Well, I have been reluctant to form any definite theories, but I have reason to suspect an overdose of atropine.’

  The minister frowned. ‘Deadly nightshade? How was it administered, do you think?’

  Henderson shook his head. ‘I cannot imagine. The man was dancing, and suddenly toppled over. But …’ The man kept looking at the two women as if hoping they might disappear through the floorboards.

  Phryne decided to help him out. ‘But a fatal dosage might not be immediate in its effects. It would interfere with the nervous system, and cause erratic movements, dizziness and disorientation. However, the man was dancing and it might not have been noticed until far too late.’

  The doctor’s mouth opened and shut repeatedly, like a goldfish taking breadcrumbs on board. ‘Why, er, yes, Miss Fisher. I am surprised you know that.’ He drew himself upright. ‘The coroner will have to sit on him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That sounds exquisitely uncomfortable.’ Phryne rose. ‘Reverend, thank you very much for your time. You’ve been most helpful.’

  She and Dot left the room, closing the door behind them. The low voices continued, but Phryne did not eavesdrop. There seemed no point.

  With a weary sigh of satisfaction, Tinker inserted the final screw into his pinewood cabinet. Two black Bakelite knobs protruded from the front. He switched them on and played with them. After a while, far-off voices mingled with static. He grinned to himself with considerable satisfaction. Now to put the rest of his plan in motion.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  And we, that now make merry in the Room

  They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,

  Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth

  Descend, ourselves to make a couch—for whom?

  Edward Fitzgerald,

  The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishápúr

  The hall had emptied somewhat. Having brought Alice to the dance, Phryne felt responsible for getting her home again, but Alice was not there. Neither was Dr Henderson, last seen in the minister’s office. The body had also disappeared. From the main office, the sound of Mick Kelly’s gruff interrogative voice could be heard. Sergeant Offaly still stood impassively, beaming with a general sense of Horatius at the Bridge. As Phryne paused in the middle of the hall, the office door opened, and Phryne watched Graeme Forbes wander towards the sergeant, who did not move. Forbes looked tired, shocked and resigned in equal measure. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his white shirt stained with perspiration, and he gave the imperturbable sergeant a most pitiful look.

  ‘Sergeant? The inspector says I can go now. Please?’

  Phryne wondered for a moment if Offaly was going to ask for the secret password, but he finally relented, unbending sufficiently to allow Forbes’s egress. Then he resumed his blank-eyed stare and folded his arms behind his back.

  Dot put a te
ntative hand on Phryne’s sleeve. ‘Miss? It’s getting late. Can we go too?’

  Phryne led her companion to the side of the hall and sat down, indicating that Dot should join her. She did so, with some reluctance, and Phryne put her rouged lips close to Dot’s ear. ‘I want to observe these people, Dot. We’ll never get a better chance to watch them with their defences down.’

  ‘As you say, Miss.’

  What Dot mostly looked at was Annie Tremain with her face buried in the vast and companionable chest of Kenneth McAlpine. With infinite patience, the tosser of cabers lifted the diagonal hem of his plaid from his shoulder and gradually inched it over Annie’s head. Whimpers were emerging therefrom, and it was clear that there were indeed tears before bedtime. As there might well be. When Annie’s golden waterfall of hair was completely covered, the whimpering died away. His mild eyes locked with Dot’s for a moment. He looked to be resigned to his fate, but did not appear to be in any great discomfort. Seated a little away from the pair was Jessie, looking both concerned and more than a little martyred.

  Phryne’s eyes were flicking around the hall. Nearly everyone looked shocked and out of countenance. The band had been interviewed already and had disappeared along with Colleen. Of her main persons of interest, only Johnnie Armstrong was still there. He looked, as usual, bored, but in control of himself. He sat on his chair with his hands folded, looking at the ceiling and virtually immobile. But Phryne looked away from him to something which caught her eye. Seated along the opposite wall was a woman in early middle age, dressed in a faded black crepe gown and wielding a fan in her thin hands. The woman’s face looked sunken, like a failed soufflé. Her pale, steady eyes and the determined set of her narrow jaw told a different tale. Phryne had seen her earlier and had found nothing remarkable there. Now she wore, against the late summer night, a knitted scarf in bands of red, green, white and purple. The same colour scheme, in sober fact, as the scarf Phryne and Dot had noted at Misery Farm near Sailor’s Falls. She tucked it closer around her neck and stared in mute defiance around the hall. Phryne’s thumbs pricked. Somehow this apparition struck her as important, though she could not fathom it as yet.