‘Drop the weapon and turn around, Mr Hardcastle. Slowly, if you please.’
‘You don’t need to fear me, Inspector,’ he says, dropping the pistol into a plant pot and turning around with his hands in the air. ‘I have no desire to hurt anybody.’
‘No desire?’ I say, surprised by the sorrow on his face. ‘You tried to put five bullets into your own sister.’
‘And every one of them would have been a kindness, I assure you.’
Hands still raised, he angles a long finger towards an armchair near the chessboard where I first met Evelyn.
‘Mind if I sit down?’ he asks. ‘I’m feeling a little light-headed.’
‘Be my guest,’ I say, watching him closely as he drops into the chair. Part of me worries he’s going to make a dash for the door, but truth be told he looks like a man who’s had all the fight wrung out of him. He’s pale and twitchy, arms hanging limp by his sides, legs splayed out before him. If I had to guess, I’d say it took all his strength to decide to pull the trigger.
Murder didn’t come easy to this man.
I let him settle, then drag a wingback chair over from the window to sit opposite him.
‘How did you know what I was planning to do?’ he asks.
‘It was the revolvers,’ I say, sinking a little deeper into the cushion.
‘The revolvers?’
‘Two matching black revolvers were taken from your mother’s room, early this morning. Evelyn had one, and you the other. I couldn’t understand why.’
‘I’m not following.’
‘The only obvious reasons Evelyn had to steal a gun were because she thought herself in danger – a rather redundant explanation for somebody about to commit suicide – or because she planned to use it in the suicide. The latter being more likely, what reason could she possibly have for taking both of the revolvers? Surely one was up to the task.’
‘And where did these thoughts lead you?’
‘Nowhere, until Dance noticed you carrying the second revolver on the hunt. What had been odd, was now damn peculiar. A woman contemplating suicide, at her lowest ebb, has enough forethought to remember her brother’s aversion to hunting and steal the second weapon for him?’
‘My sister loves me a great deal, Inspector.’
‘Perhaps, but you told Dance that you didn’t know you were going hunting until midday, and the revolvers disappeared from your mother’s room early in the morning, well before that decision was made. Evelyn couldn’t possibly have taken the second gun for the reason you suggested. Once I heard about your sister’s fake suicide scheme I realised you were lying, and from there everything became clear. Evelyn didn’t take the revolvers from your mother’s room. You did. You kept one, and gave Evelyn the other to use as a prop.’
‘Evelyn told you about the fake suicide?’ he asks, his tone dubious.
‘Partially,’ I say. ‘She explained how you’d agreed to help her by running up to the reflecting pool and dragging her onto the grass, as a grieving brother naturally would. That’s when I saw how you could commit the perfect crime, and why you needed two matching revolvers. Before pulling her out of the pool, all you had to do was shoot her in the stomach using the fireworks as cover for the second shot. The murder weapon would disappear into the murky water, and the bullet would match the identical gun she’d just dropped on the grass. Murder by suicide. It was quite brilliant, really.’
‘Which is why you made her use the silver pistol instead,’ he says, understanding coming into his voice. ‘You needed me to change my plan.’
‘I had to bait the trap.’
‘Very clever,’ he says, miming applause.
‘Not clever enough,’ I say, surprised by his calmness. ‘I still don’t understand how you could go through with it. Time and again today I’ve been told how close you and Evelyn are. How much you care for her. Was that all a lie?’
Anger brings him upright in his chair.
‘I love my sister more than anything in this world,’ he says, glaring at me. ‘I would do anything for her. Why else do you think she came to me for help? Why else would I have said yes?’
His passion has thrown me. I set this plan in motion believing I knew the story Michael would be telling, but this isn’t it. I expected to hear how his mother had put him on this path while she orchestrated events elsewhere. Not for the first time, I have the unmistakable feeling of having misread the map.
‘If you love your sister, why betray her?’ I ask, confused.
‘Because her plan wasn’t going to work!’ he says, slapping his palm down on the arm of the chair. ‘We couldn’t pay the amount Dickie wanted for the fake death certificate. He agreed to assist us anyway, but yesterday Coleridge found out that Dickie was planning to sell our secret to Father later this evening. Do you see? After all this, Evelyn would have woken up in Blackheath trapped in the same life she was so desperate to escape.’
‘Did you tell her this?’
‘How could I?’ he asks miserably. ‘This plan was her one chance to be free, to be happy. How could I take that away from her?’
‘You could have killed Dickie.’
‘Coleridge said the same thing, but when? I needed him to confirm Evelyn’s death, and he intended on meeting my father directly afterwards.’ He shakes his head. ‘I made the only decision I could.’
There are two glasses of Scotch beside his chair, one halfway full and smeared with lipstick, the other unmarked, a little alcohol left at the bottom. He reaches towards the lipstick-smeared one slowly, keeping his eyes on me.
‘Mind if I have a drink?’ he asks. ‘It’s Evelyn’s. We had a toast in here before the ball began. Best of luck and all that.’
There’s a catch in his throat. Any other host might think him repentant, but Rashton can spot fear a mile away.
‘Of course.’