The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [69]
“Thomas, do you know why the detective doesn’t tell until the last chapter? So he won’t make a fool of himself in case he’s wrong. It’s much easier to deduce the identity of the murderer when you catch him in the act of murdering, or when all the other suspects are dead. Ellery Queen made that mistake in one of his books, I forget which one, but it was funny; he kept presenting complicated solutions that were promptly exploded. So after a while he decided—”
“Damn Ellery Queen!” Thomas thought of something. “You can’t eliminate the people who have been victims of the joker, you know. In the form of literature to which you refer the victims were dead. They couldn’t commit murders after they were—”
“Darling Thomas, aren’t you belaboring the obvious? As a matter of fact, that one has been done. By Agatha Christie. The murderer was one of the supposed victims. He was supposed to have been shot through the head, but he—”
“I am not going to say anything rude about Agatha Christie,” Thomas told himself aloud. “I am going to continue with my ratiocinations. You can’t eliminate our victims just because they were victimized. But maybe you can eliminate some of them. In my case—”
“I never suspected you, Thomas,” said Jacqueline earnestly.
“I wish people would stop saying that. I couldn’t have rigged myself up in that uncomfortable position.”
“You could have had an accomplice. There may be two jokers.”
“Maybe everybody is guilty,” said Thomas wildly. “And don’t tell me that’s been done. I know, I read that book. Okay. For the sake of argument let’s say I had an accomplice. I suppose Frank could have staged his accident and Percy could have drugged himself and the doctor could have poisoned his own mush—”
“Or just pretended to be sick. Rawdon is the only doctor in the group. No one questioned his diagnosis.”
“Okay, so he could have done it himself. But Philip got a nasty knock on the head. Or are you going to tell me that his hypothetical accomplice miscalculated?”
“I don’t have to say it, you did. But Philip didn’t need an accomplice. Head injuries are tricky things. There are medically documented cases of people getting a blow on the head and walking around for hours, even days, before collapsing. Philip could have produced the wound by banging his head up against a firedog or something equally hard. He wouldn’t realize the extent of the damage. He might have had time to arrange himself artistically on the floor before he passed out.” Jacqueline paused.
“Aren’t you being rather fantastical?” Thomas said.
“I’m not the one who is fantastical. Even I couldn’t have thought up these tricks.”
“That’s been suggested,” said Thomas.
“Naturally. But we know better.”
“Do we? Okay, I’ll eliminate you. And you will eliminate me? Thank you…I think. Anybody else?”
“Oh, Thomas, this is a waste of time. You’re on the wrong track.”
Thomas began to pace. Gravel crunched under his feet. He brushed at a trailing vine that seemed to be eyeing him hungrily.
“So what’s your solution, Holmes?”
“You really can’t see it? Maybe I’m wrong….” Jacqueline sounded uncharacteristically meek. Thomas turned and looked at her.
“So it is going to be one of those conversations. That’s one of the reasons why I hate mystery stories. The detective, or some vital witness, is always being interrupted in the middle of a clue, and the damned fool never gets around to finishing what he was about to say.”
“Sometimes he gets killed,”’ Jacqueline said cheerfully. “ ‘The murderer is…’ Wham! Bang! Crash!”
“That’s enough of that. Is there any reason why you can’t tell me what you’re thinking?”
“Several reasons. My inflated ego, for one.”
“That’s an accurate description, but it is not a valid reason.”
“All right,” Jacqueline said unexpectedly. She was sitting bolt upright, with her hands folded on her knees. Her head was cocked as if she were listening to an inner voice. “The comedian is…”
She stopped. Thomas stiffened. His nerves were in worse shape than he had realized; for a moment he half