The Secret Life and Curious Death of Miss Jean Milne (27 page)

Sitting there on the step, looking down at Jean’s body, I saw the picture had changed. Where there had been darkness and shadows, there was morning light filling the room. There were beautiful patterns of blood on the walls, fern shapes, garlands, arching up to the roof. Everything was different. Everything had to be looked at again. It was necessary to look at everything and remember it, for Jean’s sake.

I don’t know how long that took. I watched the light moving round the room. I saw the shadows moving like the hands on a clock. By the middle of the afternoon, I was sick of it. I went to the kitchen and washed my hands under the running tap. When I came back to the lobby, I couldn’t bear to look at Jean any longer. I turned my eyes away and went straight to her bedroom. In the drawer of her wardrobe I found a folded sheet. I took it and spread it over her head to hide it. There was a bulging purse lying in the drawer. I left it where it was. The stump of my cigar was lying on the step where it fell from my fingers. I threw it in the dead fireplace for Mr Trench to discover, sat down with Jean and waited for the kindness of dark to cover us.

I forgot to wind my watch, so I do not know what time it was when the young man with the yellow moustache returned at last.

He simply walked in through the front door like the master of the house, calling out: “Jean? Jean? Why are you in the dark?”

I heard him fumbling with the gasolier, lifting up the shade to light the gas. When he struck the match I saw him. He saw me, sitting there on the step, my policeman’s uniform soaking up the shadows, my face shining pale as the moon, and then he looked down and saw Jean and the wreck of the room and the glass shade fell from his hand and broke.

“Light the gas before we’re all killed,” I said. “Don’t try to run.”

He did as he was told.

“You did this,” I said.

“I didn’t. No. I just arrived. You must have seen me come in. I just got here. Oh God, help us.”

“You did this.”

“No. No!” There was terror in his voice.

“Yes, you did. You’re responsible. None of this would ever have happened but for you. You made this happen.”

I think then he began to understand and he cringed away from me like the little coward he was.

“She will be missed very soon and then there will be a hue and cry the length of the land and we will find you, we will track you down and we will drag you back and your arms will be tied behind you and they will put a bag on your head and a rope round your neck and the floor will fall away under your feet and, if you are very, very lucky, your neck will break. You did this and you will be punished.”

All he could say was “No” in a little squeaking whisper.

I took him by the lapels of his fancy, shiny coat and pressed my face close to his. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. Yes. I’ve had a long time here with Jean, all alone in this big house. Plenty of time to leave a few little clues. Is there a printed pamphlet offering shares in a gold mine forgotten in a drawer? Does it have the printer’s name? Would he remember who paid for the job? Is there a ticket for a cruise in the Highlands? Is there a receipt, maybe a receipt for a ring? You’ve been here before. Your fingerprints are everywhere. Do you remember where? Do you remember what you touched – apart from her, of course.” He was whimpering and trembling in my hands. “If you run, you will be caught. You will be caught and you will hang. But I’m a sportsman. I’ll give you time. Feel free to see if you can find the clues. Clean up as much as you like.”

I let go of his coat. “I have left my key in the back door,” I told him. “I won’t be needing it again.” And then I left the way he had come, down the path to home. I heard the door lock at my back as I went. I took his cigars with me, of course.

All stories are fiction but they are not all inventions. Everybody named in this story existed and almost all of the places mentioned still exist today. I made up nothing except conversations. All the evidence, the circumstances, the witness statements – everything – is there in the police files and in newspaper reports, right up until the moment of Warner’s release, when the file closes.

As far as the police are concerned, the case remains unsolved. There were obvious gaps in the investigation, and when they fitted together they led me to a solution. There really was a Sergeant Fraser, but I changed his name because I still live in Broughty Ferry and for all I know his grandchildren do too.