‘I have various witness statements which I can share with you, but I expect you’d rather speak to the people concerned yourself. They’re all still here in Tawleigh, although one or two of them aren’t too happy about it. There are two points which I should bring to your attention straight away, however.

‘The first relates to a businessman by the name of Simon Cox. He had strong words with Miss James in the hotel bar shortly after half past five. We know this because they were overheard by Nancy Mitchell, who works behind the bar. She’s a nice, respectable girl, by the way. Her father looks after the lighthouse. But I have a suspicion that she may have got herself into trouble, got herself in the family way.’

‘What causes you to believe this, Detective Chief Inspector?’

Hare smiled. ‘I have a daughter. Happily married and doing very well for herself. I’m due to be a grandfather for the first time in September and all I can say is you get to know the symptoms.’

‘You have my congratulations.’

‘Thank you, Mr Pünd. I haven’t spoken to Nancy about it because it may not be relevant and I don’t want to upset her unnecessarily.’ He glanced back at his notes. ‘Anyway, Simon Cox followed Miss James out of the hotel when he left and is unable to account for his movements between that time and a quarter to seven, when he came down for dinner. He says he went for a walk but I’ve heard that one before!’

‘Have you threatened him with arrest?’

‘For obstruction, you mean? Or on suspicion of murder? It could be either of them, I suppose. I was intending to speak to him again today. Perhaps we might do that together.’

‘Indeed. And what was the second point?’

‘A chap called Algernon Marsh, staying here with his sister, who’s married to Dr Collins. A good-looking young man, presents himself very well. Drives a rather natty French car. But I’ve had a word with Scotland Yard and they’ve been looking into his business dealings. By all accounts he’s a nasty piece of work, although that didn’t stop him having a close relationship with Miss James.’

‘How close?’

‘He refuses to say.’

‘Could they have been romantically involved?’

Hare shook his head. ‘Francis Pendleton insists that everything was lovey-dovey between himself and his wife, although he would want us to believe that, wouldn’t he. He’s still the number-one suspect in her murder.’

‘And yet according to Dr Collins, Melissa James called him after her husband had left for the opera in Barnstaple.’

‘Well, yes. I suppose he could have left the house and come back again.’

‘Then why did she not say as much when she spoke to Dr Collins?’

Hare sighed. ‘These are all good questions. And they absolutely sum up my problem. The whole thing should be easy when actually it makes no sense at all.’

Pünd considered what he had been told. ‘With your permission, Detective Chief Inspector, I would like to begin at the home of Melissa James. Clarence Keep, I believe you said. It would be very useful for me to meet Francis Pendleton and to make a judgement for myself.’

‘Absolutely. I can drive you over now.’

‘I wonder if this might help?’ Miss Cain had not spoken for some time, but now she turned her notepad around and handed it to Pünd. On a single page, she had set out in neat columns:

5.40 p.m.: Miss James leaves the Moonflower.

6.05 p.m.: Miss James arrives home.

6.15 p.m.: Francis Pendleton leaves Clarence Keep for the opera.

6.18 p.m.: Dog heard barking. Stranger arrives at Clarence Keep?

6.20 p.m.: Front door heard opening and closing at Clarence Keep.

6.25 p.m.: The Chandlers leave. The Austin has gone.

6.28 p.m.: Melissa James calls Dr Collins.

6.35 p.m.: Dr Collins leaves his home.

6.45 p.m.: Dr Collins arrives at Clarence Keep. Melissa James dead.

6.56 p.m.: Dr Collins calls police & ambulance.

Pünd examined the paper. He had already committed the details to his memory, but even so, he appreciated having them laid out for him in this way. It was as if the different moments of time had become signposts on the road to the truth.

‘Thank you, Miss Cain,’ he said. ‘It would be good if you could arrange for this to be typed.’

‘I’m sure I can organise that for you, Mr Pünd.’

‘I would like a copy for myself and one for Detective Chief Inspector Hare. It is quite clear to me that the answer to this problem is concealed somewhere in the ten moments in time that you have listed. All we have to do is look carefully and it will be found.’

EIGHT

TAKEN BY THE TIDE

They were about to leave when a short, dark man came storming into the room, making straight for Detective Chief Inspector Hare. It was Simon Cox. The businessman and would-be film producer was in the same suit he had been wearing on the day he’d met Melissa and he was in a furious mood.

‘Detective Inspector!’ he began. ‘They told me you were here and I want to make it completely clear that I have had enough of this absurd imprisonment. I have telephoned my lawyers and they assure me that it is outrageous and that you do not have the authority to keep me here. The death of Melissa James had nothing to do with me. I already told you. I met her in the bar. We talked for about ten minutes and then she left. I absolutely insist that you allow me to do the same.’

Pünd examined the new arrival, the thick black hair and the heavy features, which, along with his accent, suggested Russian or Slavonic origins. Anger didn’t really suit him. He was too small, too unimpressive. He managed to sound only truculent.

‘You haven’t met my associate, Mr Atticus Pünd,’ the detective chief inspector replied, casually batting aside the outrage that had just been directed at him.

‘I’ve not had this pleasure. No.’

‘I think perhaps you should talk to him, Mr Cox. I’m sure he has quite a few questions for you.’

‘My God! Are you deaf? Did you not hear what I just said?’

‘About keeping you here? Well, I suppose I could put you under arrest, if you like. Maybe that would satisfy your lawyers.’

‘Arrest me? For what?’

‘For lying to a police officer. For obstructing a police officer in the execution of his duty—’

‘I have not lied to you!’ Cox stood his ground but now there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

‘Why do you not sit down?’ Pünd suggested in his most avuncular tone, gesturing at an empty chair. ‘This is, I am sure, all a misunderstanding. A few more minutes of your time, Mr Cox, and maybe we can put this matter to rest and you can be on your way.’

The businessman glanced at Pünd and, given a choice between a quiet chat and imprisonment, nodded his agreement. He took his place on the sofa between Pünd and Hare. Madeline Cain had retrieved her notebook and was waiting, her pen poised.

‘You came to England before the war?’ Pünd asked. He sounded genuinely interested.

Cox nodded. ‘In 1938. From Latvia.’

‘Cox is not then your family name.’

‘It is not dissimilar. It is in fact Sīmanis ?aks. I have nothing to hide, Mr Pünd. But you must understand that it is not easy to do business in this country if you are a foreigner. At least, you must not appear to be too foreign … !’

‘I understand completely. For me, too, this is not the country of my birth.’ He smiled as if the two of them had arrived at a common purpose. ‘You travelled down to this village with the intention of meeting with Miss James,’ he went on.

‘Yes.’

‘It must, then, have been important business. I myself made the journey only yesterday and it was an undertaking of a great many hours. Three trains. And the British Rail sandwiches! They were not good.’

‘Well, in fact, I drove down. But you’re right. I told the detective inspector. We were talking about making a film together.’

‘And what film was that?’

‘It’s a historical drama. The title is The Queen’s Ransom. Melissa was interested in playing the lead part – Eleanor of Aquitaine.’

‘The wife of King Henry II!’ In his youth, Pünd had studied history at the University of Salzburg. ‘You say she was interested. Had you agreed terms?’

‘That was what the meeting was about. Production begins in a little over two months and I wanted to be sure that she was still on board.’

‘And was she?’

Cox was about to answer but before he could begin, Pünd held up a single finger in a gesture of warning.

‘I must advise you, Mr Cox, that a hotel is a very public place and its bar particularly so. You should be aware that your conversation will have been overheard by many people. It would be foolish of you to – how would you say it? – bend the truth, particularly in the context of a murder investigation.’