The Secret of Annexe 3

Wilkins slumped back in his chair, his face ashen-pale and his upper lip trembling. 'You're making the most terrible mistake,' he said very quietly.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Tuesday, January 7th: p.m.

When angry, count four; when very angry, swear.

(MARK TWAIN)

'Am I doing all right?' asked a slightly subdued Lewis as, five minutes after this preliminary interview, he sat in the canteen drinking coffee with Morse.

'Very good - very good,' said Morse. 'But we've got to tread a bit carefully from now on because we're getting to the point where we're not quite sure of the ground - by which I mean it's going to be difficult to prove one or two things. So let's just recap a minute. Let's go back to the beginning of things - Plan One, let's call it. Bowman follows his wife up to Diamond Close that day, and later he confronts her with the evidence. She's getting desperate anyway, and she goes along with the quite extraordinary plan he's concocted. As we've seen he fixes up the phoney address and books a New-Year-Package-for-Two at the Haworth Hotel. She tells Wilkins that her husband's gone off on a course and that they can spend all that time together; and he jumps at the chance. Once she's safely in her room, she rings Wilkins - we still haven't checked on that. Lewis - to give him the room number and soon she's giving him the happy hour between the sheets. Then they both get ready for the fancy dress - which she's already told Wilkins about, and which he's already agreed to. If he hadn't, Lewis, the plan couldn't have worked. At about seven o'clock she makes some excuse to go out, when she gives the key to Bowman himself, who's waiting somewhere near the annexe, and who's dressed up in exactly the same sort of garb as Wilkins. Now Wilkins is a stronger man, I suspect, than Bowman ever was, and I should think that Bowman wouldn't have taken any chance about letting the whole thing develop into a brawl - he's probably got a knife or a revolver or something. Then the deed is done, and the next part of the deception begins. They could disappear from the scene straight away, but they agree that's far too risky. Somebody's going to find the body immediately if they do, because the "Ballards" as they called themselves won't be there for the party. There's virtually no risk in their being recognized anyway: they're both in fancy dress for the rest of the evening-he's got his face blacked, she's wearing a veil; and the only time a busy receptionist had seen Margaret Bowman was when she'd been muffled up in a scarf and hood - with a pair of dark skiing glasses on, for all we know.' Lewis nodded.

'That was the original plan - and it must have been very much as I've described it, Lewis; otherwise it's impossible to account for several facts in the case - for instance, the fact that Bowman wrote a letter to his wife that would give them both a reasonable alibi - if the worse came to the worst. It wasn't a bad plan, either - except in one vital respect. Bowman was beginning to know quite a bit about Wilkins, but he never quite knew enough. Above all, he didn't know that Wilkins was beginning to dominate his wife in an ever increasing way, and that she'd become so sexually and emotionally dependent on him that she came to realize, at some point, that it was her husband, Tom Bowman, she wanted out of her life for good - not her lover. Maybe Bowman had become so obsessed with this revenge idea of his that she saw, perhaps for the first time, what a crudely devious man he really was. But for whatever reason, we can know one thing for certain: she told Wilkins what they were planning. Now you don't need to be a genius - and I don't think Wilkins is a genius - to spot an almost incredible opportunity here: the plan can go ahead as Bowman had devised it - exactly so! - but only up to the point when Bowman would let himself into the room. This time it would be Wilkins who's waiting behind the door for Bowman with a bottle of whatever it was to smash down on the back of his head.'

'Front, sir,' murmured Lewis if only, for conscience' sake, to put the unofficial record straight.