Instrument of Slaughter (23 page)

‘I want to be alone,’ he said, sitting down again.

‘Very well,’ said Marmion, ‘but I’ll be back.’

‘Don’t hurry. I got thinking to do.’

Maud Crowther went from one extreme to another. When she found the flowers on her doorstep, she was touched. The bouquet was both an apology and a romantic gesture. Having put them in a vase, she kept looking at them every time she came into the living room. She’d
decided that she’d been too hard on Waldron. Perhaps he deserved a second chance, after all. Joe Keedy then arrived at the house. Invited in, he told her that the man who had tried to woo her with a bunch of flowers was now in police custody and was suspected of having some involvement in the murder of Cyril Ablatt. In the short term, he was being detained on lesser charges. If she was expecting to see him, she would be disappointed.

Her revived affection for Waldron changed in a flash to hatred. He’d promised her that he’d put his criminal past behind him. Thanks to her, he’d solemnly sworn, he’d turned over a new leaf. For a time, Maud had believed him but Keedy’s visit splintered her illusions. When she gazed at the flowers now, it was not with a fond smile. Seen in the cold light of reality, they looked as if they’d been stolen from a grave in the cemetery. They’d be much more appropriate there. Waldron had cheated her. His romantic gesture was nothing more than an act of theft. She grabbed the flowers, yanked them out of the vase and thrust them at Keedy.

‘Give these back to him,’ she said, tartly, ‘and tell him that I never want to lay eyes on that ugly face of his.’

‘I need to ask you about some bloodstains on his trousers, Mrs Crowther.’

One glance at her told Keedy that the question was redundant. Horrie Waldron was no longer part of her life and she refused to have anything more to do with him. It was pointless to stay. Keedy thought it unlikely that she’d know anything about the bloodstains. Waldron had been compelled to wear a suit whenever he called on her. She set standards. He lived up to them for a while. But it was all over. Maud Crowther didn’t wish to be linked with a criminal in any way. Their romance had crumbled into oblivion. How it had actually begun in the first place, Keedy could only guess. It still seemed bizarre to him. As he left the house, he took away more than a bunch of dripping flowers.
He knew for certain that Horrie Waldron had no claim whatsoever on Maud now. It was something he could use to apply pressure on the prisoner.

From her point of view, Keedy saw, there was an element of relief in the decisive break from Waldron. Their secret meetings would no longer be in danger of discovery. While Maud would regret ever getting involved with him, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that they’d never be caught together now. It prompted Keedy to think of his friendship with Alice Marmion. That, too, was fraught with danger. If it ever came to light, her father would be deeply hurt. It might severely damage Keedy’s professional relationship with him. Yet that situation could not continue indefinitely. He and Alice would reach a point where they either decided to go their separate ways or were ready to make a proper commitment to each other. If the latter were the case, they would have to be honest with her parents.

Keedy reflected on his personal problems all the way to the Weavers Arms. It was not yet open for business but Stan Crowther was outside on the pavement, supervising the men who were unloading a delivery of beer from their dray. The landlord gave Keedy a cheerful welcome and took him inside the pub.

‘Before you arrest me for selling watered beer,’ he said with a grin, ‘I’m in the same boat as every other publican. It’s a wartime necessity.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy, ‘it’s one more reason to hate the Germans.’

‘Have you found out who the killer is yet?’

‘No, but we’ve made an arrest. Horrie Waldron is in custody.’

Crowther gasped. ‘You’re not charging
him
with the murder, are you?’

‘He’s being held on lesser charges at the moment. Waldron was arrested because we found bloodstains on his trousers that we believe he was wearing on the night of the murder. In fact,’ said Keedy, ‘that’s what I wanted to ask you about. You told me that Waldron was away
for a couple of hours that night and that he came back looking much cleaner than usual.’

‘Ha! That wouldn’t be difficult.’

‘Did you, by any chance, notice any blood on him?’

‘The pub was full, Sergeant. I didn’t look at Horrie’s trousers.’

‘But he was wearing the same clothes he had on when he left?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Crowther. ‘It’s more or less all he has. I don’t think he’s got a tailor in Savile Row somehow.’ His chortle was replaced by a frown. ‘But I don’t reckon that he’s your killer, I really don’t.’

‘Can you suggest any other way he got that blood on his trousers?’

An innocent question brought a look of guilt into Crowther’s eyes. He took a step backwards and licked his lips before mumbling an answer.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t.’

Claude Chatfield was interested to hear of the latest interview with Waldron but disappointed that it had yielded no definite result. He was desperate to have some positive news to release to the press. Marmion cautioned against an announcement that they had a murder suspect in custody. They needed much more proof that Waldron was involved in some way. Keedy had been sent off in search of it.

‘We need a breakthrough,’ said Chatfield, impatiently.

‘It’s bound to come in due course, Superintendent.’

‘I still think there’s a connection between the two crimes. I know that you don’t believe that, but there’s a similarity that can’t be ignored.’

‘I beg to differ,’ said Marmion. ‘And even if they
are
linked, Waldron is certainly not a common factor. He may be implicated in the murder but he has no reason to attack Father Howells. I doubt if Waldron’s ever been inside St Leonard’s church. Besides,’ he continued, ‘witnesses who saw the attacker run away from that lane say that he was moving at some speed. That rules out our gravedigger. He’s not fast enough. When he tried to
outrun Sergeant Keedy at the cemetery, he was soon overhauled.’

‘What about your other suspect?’

‘Eric Fussell
can
be linked to both victims, sir.’

‘How did his name get into the curate’s address book?’

‘He declined to answer that.’

‘Do you think that he could run fast?’

‘He’d certainly outpace Waldron,’ said Marmion, ‘though I didn’t take him for a natural athlete. Also, of course, he’s a very careful man. He’d never take the risk of attacking someone at a time when he might be interrupted. And why would he be out late at night? According to Fussell, he and his wife prefer quiet evenings at home.’

‘Did you believe him when he told you that?’

‘Frankly, I treat everything he tells me with suspicion.’

Chatfield nodded and looked down at some notes about the librarian. The two men were in his office and the morning’s newspapers stood in a pile on his desk, each one open at the page on which the superintendent was mentioned by name. After he’d read through the information that Marmion had provided him, he looked up.

‘I think you’re placing too much emphasis on Waldron and not enough on Fussell,’ he decided. ‘You’re slipping up for once. The librarian is the man you should be putting under the microscope. Why aren’t you doing that, Inspector?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Marmion, deflecting the criticism, ‘I already am. As of yesterday, Mr Fussell has been placed under observation. A detective will be watching him throughout the day.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ asked Chatfield, peevishly.

‘I acted on my initiative, sir. I knew that it was exactly the kind of thing that
you
would have done in my position.’ His smile was as broad as it was mischievous. ‘All that I did was to follow your example.’

Eric Fussell worked until late morning, then left his deputy in charge of the library. As he walked past her towards the exit, his wife looked up in surprise but he didn’t explain where he was going. He left the building, crossed the road and walked to the bus stop. Within minutes, he was climbing onto a bus. Absorbed in thought, he didn’t look out of the window or take note of any of the other passengers. He certainly was not aware of the detective who’d followed him onto the bus and taken a seat at the rear of the vehicle so that he could watch the librarian. After several stops, the bus eventually came to the one that Fussell wanted. Realising where he was, he got up and alighted with a handful of other passengers. All of them set off in the same direction. Making sure that he stayed well back, the detective strolled along in Fussell’s wake.

He followed him all the way to the main entrance of the hospital.

Joe Keedy returned to Scotland Yard in time to see Marmion walking along the corridor towards his office. After an exchange of greetings, the inspector explained that he’d just been summoned by the commissioner who wanted to be brought up to date with the two investigations.

‘And was Chat in there with you?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes, Joe – he did most of the talking.’

‘And I daresay he took whatever credit was going.’

‘Well,’ said Marmion with amusement, ‘he did give the impression that it was
his
idea to have Eric Fussell shadowed and I didn’t contradict him.’

They went into Marmion’s office. Keedy heard what had happened during his absence and took particular note of the exchange in his cell with Horrie Waldron. It was the cue for him to relate his story. Marmion was diverted to hear of Maud Crowther’s explosive reaction to the news that her erstwhile beau had been arrested.

‘Did you bring the flowers back with you?’

‘No,’ said Keedy, ‘I threw them in the nearest bin. When I looked closely at them, I could see that one or two had started to wilt. They didn’t come from any shop,’ he reasoned. ‘How could they? Maud found them on her doorstep early this morning. What florist is open at that time? Horrie got them from somewhere else.’

Marmion nodded. ‘He pinched them from someone’s grave.’

‘That was my guess and I think Maud realised it as well. Until I got there, she was enjoying the flowers. I felt sorry I had to bring her down to earth with a bang. Anyway,’ Keedy went on, ‘when I left her, I had a word with her son.’

‘What did Mr Crowther have to say for himself?’

‘He’s like me, Harv. He thinks that watering the beer should be a criminal offence. I bet they’re drinking a stronger brew in Berlin.’

‘Did you tell him that Waldron had been arrested?’

‘Yes, and he was flabbergasted.’

‘What about those trousers?’

‘I asked him if he noticed any bloodstains on them when Waldron got back to the pub but he said he didn’t pay any attention to what he was wearing.’

‘He paid enough attention to observe that Waldron looked much cleaner.’

‘That’s true,’ said Keedy. ‘There’s not much that Stan Crowther misses – apart from the fact that his mother has a weird taste in men, that is. Then something very odd happened.’

‘And what was that, Joe?’

‘Well, I never thought that anything could throw him off balance. A landlord in that part of London must see some pretty strange behaviour. All sorts of rough-and-ready customers come in and out and Crowther doesn’t turn a hair. When I asked him a simple question, however,’
Keedy recalled, ‘it upset him for some reason. All I wanted to know was whether or not he could think of another way that the blood could have ended up on Waldron’s trousers.’

It was late afternoon when they finally got away. Hannah Billington drove her car with Alice in the passenger seat. Both wore their uniforms but Alice had been told to bring a dress into which she could change at the house. They chatted amiably all the way to Hampstead then turned into the road where Hannah lived. As they swung into a drive, Alice looked up at the building with her mouth agape. It was even bigger than she’d expected, a house in the Regency style with startling symmetry, a balustrade along the edge of the roof and a marble portico. The facade was arresting. Alice thought of the little three-bedroomed, semi-detached house where she and her family had lived. Beside this mansion, it would look like a glorified shed.

Hannah used a key to let her in, then took her upstairs to show her where the bathroom was. Alice was amazed at its size and its facilities. She already had dozens of startling details about the house to pass on to Vera Dowling. After taking off her uniform, she washed with the perfumed soap then put on her dress, checking her appearance in the full-length mirror. When she heard the rattle of cups from downstairs, she went to investigate in what turned out to be the dining room, another place with generous proportions and a high ceiling with plaster moulding. Everything about the room was redolent of class, money and exquisite taste. The cook-housekeeper was a short, plump woman in her forties wearing a dark dress and a white apron. After giving the guest a warm smile, she went off to the kitchen.

Alice looked at the plates of food on the table. It was more like a banquet than an afternoon snack. Triangular sandwiches of different varieties were laid out on the three levels of a silver stand. On each of the
three plates was an array of different cakes. A selection of biscuits had been artfully arranged on the largest plate of all. Other items of food were held in reserve at the far end of the table. Alice’s immediate thought was that the meal was in open defiance of rationing. She couldn’t imagine how the cook had got hold of the ingredients at a time when there were government restrictions on what could be bought in the shops.

Hannah sailed in, wearing a beautiful blue silk dress that showed off her figure and shimmered as she moved. Alice had very little make-up but Hannah had used cosmetics liberally. She looked more striking than ever.

‘I can see it in your face,’ said Hannah with a brittle laugh. ‘You’re wondering where we get all the eggs to make a meal like this. The answer is that we have them delivered on the premises. There’s a henhouse in the garden and we get a steady supply. What we don’t use ourselves, we pass on to deserving persons.’