Cover Her Face (24 page)

He decided to telephone from the public call box in the hall.

There was a greater chance of privacy there even if it did mean that he was in full view of Colley. He counted out the necessary coins deliberately before entering the box. As usual there was a slight delay in getting the Chadfleet exchange but at Martingale Catherine must have been sitting by the telephone. She answered almost before the bell had rung.

“Stephen? Thank God you’re back. Look, can you come home at once? Someone’s tried to kill Deborah.”

Meanwhile in the little front room of 17 Windermere Crescent, Inspector Dalgliesh faced his man and moved relentlessly towards the moment of truth. Victor Proctor’s face held the look of a trapped animal which knows that the last escape hole is barred but cannot even yet bring itself to turn and face the end. His dark little eyes moved restlessly from side to side. The propitiatory voice and smile had gone. Now there was nothing left but fear. In the last few minutes the lines from nose to mouth seemed to have deepened. In his red neck, scraggy as a chicken’s, the Adam’s apple moved convulsively.

Dalgliesh pressed remorselessly on. “So you admit that this return which you made to the ‘Help Them Now Association’ in which you claimed that your niece was a war orphan without means was untrue?”

“I suppose I should have mentioned about the £2,000, but that was capital not income.”

“Capital which you had spent?”

“I had to bring her up. It may have been left to me in trust for her but I had to feed her, didn’t I? We’ve never had much
to come and go on. She got her scholarship but we still had her clothes. It hasn’t been easy let me tell you.”

“And you still say that Miss Jupp was unaware that her father had left this money?”

“She was only a baby at the time. Afterwards there didn’t seem any point in telling her.”

“Because, by then, the trust money had been converted to your own use?”

“I used it to help keep her, I tell you. I was entitled to use it. My wife and I were made trustees and we did our best for the girl. How long would it have lasted if she’d had it when she was twenty-one? We fed her all those years without another penny.”

“Except the three grants which the ‘Help Them Now Association’ gave.”

“Well, she was a war orphan, wasn’t she? They didn’t give much. It helped with her school uniform, that’s all.”

“And you still deny having been in the grounds of Martingale House last Saturday?”

“I’ve told you. Why do you keep on badgering? I didn’t go to the fête. Why should I?”

“You might have wanted to congratulate your niece on her engagement. You said that Miss Liddell telephoned early on the Saturday morning to tell you about it. Miss Liddell still denies that she did any such thing.”

“I can’t help that. If it wasn’t the Liddell woman it was someone pretending to be her. How do I know who it was?”

“Are you quite sure that it wasn’t your niece?”

“It was Miss Liddell I tell you.”

“Did you, as a result of that telephone conversation, go to see Miss Jupp at Martingale?”

“No. No. I keep telling you. I was out cycling all day.” Deliberately Dalgliesh took two photographs from his wallet
and spread them out on the table. In each a bunch of children were seen entering the vast wrought-iron gates of Martingale, their faces contorted into wide grimaces in an effort to persuade the hidden photographer that there was the “Happiest-looking child to enter the fête.” At their backs a few adults made their less spectacular entrances. The furtive, macintoshed figure turning hands in pockets towards the pay table was not very clearly in focus but was still unmistakable. Proctor half reached out his left hand as if to tear the photograph in two and then sank back in his chair.

“All right,” he said. “I’d better tell you. I was there.”

It had taken a little time to arrange for his work to be covered. Not for the first time Stephen envied those whose personal problems were not always secondary to the demands of their profession. By the time the arrangements were complete and he had borrowed a car he felt something like hatred for the hospital and every one of his demanding, insatiable patients. Things would have been easier if he could have spoken frankly of what had happened, but something held him back. They probably thought that the police had sent for him, that an arrest was imminent. Well, let them. Let them all bloody well think what they liked. God, he was glad to get away from a place where the living were perpetually sacrificed to keep the half-dead alive!

Afterwards he could remember nothing of the drive home. Catherine had said that Deborah was all right, that the attempt had failed, but Catherine was a fool. What were they all doing to have let it happen? Catherine had been perfectly calm on the telephone but the details she had given, although clear, had explained nothing. Someone had got into Deborah’s
room early this morning and had attempted to strangle her. She had shaken herself free and screamed for help. Martha had reached her first and Felix a second later. Deborah had recovered sufficiently by then to pretend that she had awoken from a nightmare. But she had obviously been terrified and had spent the rest of the night sitting by the fire in Martha’s room, with the door and windows locked and her dressing-gown collar hugged high round her neck. She had come down to breakfast with a chiffon scarf at her throat but, apart from looking pale and tired, had been perfectly composed.

It was Felix Hearne who, sitting next to Deborah at luncheon, had noticed the edge of the bruise above the scarf and who had subsequently got the truth from her. He had consulted Catherine. Deborah had implored them not to worry her mother and Felix had been willing to give in to this, but Catherine had insisted on sending for the police. Dalgliesh was not in the village. One of the constables thought that he and Sergeant Martin were in Canningbury. Felix had left no message except to ask that Dalgliesh should visit Martingale as soon as convenient. They had told Mrs. Maxie nothing. Mr. Maxie was too ill now to be left for long and they were hoping that the bruise on Deborah’s neck would have faded before her mother became suspicious. Deborah, explained Catherine, seemed more terrified of upsetting her mother than of being attacked for a second time.

They were waiting for Dalgliesh now, but Catherine thought that Stephen ought to know what had happened. She hadn’t consulted Felix before telephoning. Probably Felix wouldn’t have approved of her sending for Stephen. But it was time someone took a firm line. Martha knew nothing. Deborah was terrified that she might refuse to stay at Martingale if the truth came out. Catherine had no sympathy with that attitude.
With a murderer at large Martha had the right to protect herself. It was ridiculous of Deborah to think that the attack could be kept secret much longer. But she had threatened to deny everything if the police told Martha or her mother. So would Stephen please come at once and see what he could do. Catherine really couldn’t take any more responsibility herself. Stephen was not surprised. Hearne and Catherine between them seemed to have taken too much responsibility already. Deborah must be mad to try and conceal a thing like that. Unless she had her own reasons. Unless even the fear of a second attempt was better than knowing the truth.

While his feet and hands worked with automatic co-ordination at brakes and throttle, wheel and gear lever, his mind, sharpened by apprehension, posed its questions. How long had it been after Deborah’s scream before Martha arrived—and Felix? Martha slept next door. It was natural that she should have woken first. But Felix? Why had he agreed to hush it up? It was madness to think that murder and attempted murder could be treated like one of his wartime escapades. They all knew that Felix was a bloody hero, but his brand of heroics wasn’t wanted at Martingale. How much did they know about him anyway? Deborah had behaved strangely. It was unlike the Deborah he knew to scream for help. Once she would have fought back with more fury than fear. But he remembered her stricken face when Sally’s body was discovered, the sudden retching, the blind stumbling for the door. One couldn’t guess how people would behave under stress. Catherine had behaved well, Deborah badly. But Catherine had more experience of violent death. And a better conscience?

The heavy front door of Martingale was open. The house was strangely quiet. He could hear only a murmur of voices from the drawing-room. As he entered four pairs of eyes looked
up at him and he heard Catherine’s quick sigh of relief. Deborah was sitting in one of the winged chairs before the fireplace. Catherine and Felix stood behind her, Felix upright and watchful, Catherine with her arms stretched over the back of the chair and her hands resting on Deborah’s shoulders in an attitude which was half-protective, half-comforting. Deborah did not seem to resent it. Her head was thrown back. Her high-necked shirt was open and a yellow chiffon scarf dangled from her hand. Even from the door Stephen could see the purpling bruise above the thin shoulder-blades. Dalgliesh was sitting opposite her, relaxed on the edge of his chair, but his eyes were watchful. He and Felix Hearne confronted each other like cats across a room. Somewhere in the background Stephen was conscious of the ubiquitous Sergeant Martin with his notebook. In the second before anyone spoke or moved the little gilded clock chimed the three-quarters, dropping each beautiful note into the silence like a crystal pebble. Stephen moved swiftly to his sister’s side and bent his head to kiss her. The smooth cheek was icy cold against his lips. As he drew back her eyes met his with a look which was hard to interpret. Could it have been entreaty—or warning? He looked at Felix.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where’s my mother?”

“Upstairs with Mr. Maxie. She spends most of the day with him now. We told her that Inspector Dalgliesh was making a routine visit. There’s no need to add to her worries. Or Martha’s either. If Martha takes fright and decides to go it will mean importing another trained nurse and we can’t cope with that just now. Even if we could find one who would be willing to come.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” said Stephen roughly. “What about Deborah? Do we all sit back quietly and wait for another attempt?” He resented both Felix’s calm assumption
of responsibility for the family arrangements and the inference that someone had to cope with these matters while the son of the house put his professional responsibilities before his family. It was Dalgliesh who answered: “I am looking after Mrs. Riscoe’s safety, Doctor. Would you please examine her throat and let me know what you think.”

Stephen turned to him. “I prefer not to. Dr. Epps treats my family. Why not call him?”

“I’m asking you to look at the throat, not to treat it. This isn’t the time to indulge in spurious professional scruples. Do as I say, please.”

Stephen bent his head again. After a moment he straightened up and said, “He grasped the neck with both hands just above and behind the shoulder-blades. There is fairly extensive bruising but no nail scratches and no thumb-marks. The grip could have been with the base of the thumbs in front and the fingers behind. The larynx is almost certainly untouched. I should expect the bruises to fade in a day or two. There’s no real harm done.” He added, “Physically at any rate.”

“In other words,” said Dalgliesh, “it was rather an amateur effort?”

“If you care to put it like that.”

“I do care. Doesn’t it suggest to you that this assailant knew his job rather well? Knew where to apply pressure and how much to apply without causing harm? Are we expected to believe that the person who killed Miss Jupp with such expertise couldn’t do better than this? What do you think, Mrs. Riscoe?”

Deborah was buttoning up her shirt. She shrugged herself free of Catherine’s proprietary grasp and rewound the chiffon scarf round her neck.

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Inspector. Perhaps next
time he’ll make a better job of it. He was quite expert enough for me, thank you.”

“I must say you seem to be taking it very coolly,” cried Catherine indignantly. “If Mrs. Riscoe hadn’t managed to shake herself free and scream she wouldn’t be alive now. Obviously he got the best grip he could in the dark but was scared off when she called out. And this may not have been the first attempt. Don’t forget that the sleeping-drug was put into Deborah’s mug.”

“I haven’t forgotten that, Miss Bowers. Nor that the missing bottle was found under her name stake. Where were you last night?”

“Helping to nurse Mr. Maxie. Mrs. Maxie and I were together for the whole of the night, except when we went to the bathroom. We were certainly together from midnight onwards.”

“And Dr. Maxie was in London. This attack has certainly happened at a convenient time for you all. Did you see this mysterious strangler, Mrs. Riscoe? Or recognize him?”

“No. I wasn’t sleeping very deeply. I think I was having a nightmare. I woke up when I felt the first touch of his hands on my throat. I could feel his breath on my face but I couldn’t recognize him. When I screamed and felt for the light and switch he made off through the door. I put on the light and screamed. I was terrified. It wasn’t a rational fear even. Somehow my dream and the attack had merged together. I couldn’t tell where one horror ended and the other began.”

“And yet when Mrs. Bultitaft arrived you said nothing?”

“I didn’t want to frighten her. We all know there’s a strangler about but we’ve got to get on with our jobs. It wouldn’t help her to know.”

“That shows a commendable concern for her peace of
mind, but less for her safety. I must congratulate you all on your insouciance in the face of this homicidal maniac. For that is obviously what he is. Surely you are not trying to tell me that Miss Jupp was killed by mistake, that she was mistaken for Mrs. Riscoe?”

Felix spoke for the first time. “We’re not trying to tell you anything. It’s your job to tell us. We only know what happened. I agree with Miss Bowers that Mrs. Riscoe is in danger. Presumably you’re prepared to offer her the protection she’s entitled to.”

Dalgliesh looked at him. “What time did you reach Mrs. Riscoe’s room this morning?”