Say Goodbye to the Boys (17 page)

‘A good case could be made for him. He was a caller at the hairdresser's establishment. He did not sit out the concert with his parent on the night in question. He would have access to the keys which afforded an entrance to this wretched place. And he had suffered a breakdown, I understand. Much going for him. He would know the lady's history, have an inkling perhaps of involvement by his father in past misdemeanours. He would know that by making a telephone call in Ridetski's voice, he would bring her here. And he could have been waiting in the darkness for her, naked.'

‘Oh, I say,' Emlyn said softly.

‘And his motive? Threats to inform his father by that unfortunate lady? He might equally have been motivated by a desire to protect his father. Filial loyalty, perhaps? But this I would doubt. David's relationships with his parent were not good. He does not want to be a doctor. He has suffered a nervous collapse...'

‘Especially now, eh Philip,' Emlyn said. The two broken men sitting in front of Amos were not listening, I was certain.

‘His mind may, as they say, have snapped – and that would neatly account for later outrages. Oh, yes, he fits many parts of our puzzle. Who knows what he intended? But we do know, don't we, that the murderer returned to this place and carried Mrs Ridetski's body to the roof and hurled her into the night. The medical student might well know about pressure points in the neck, but physically he would be incapable, surely, of carrying an inert body up there for the final, perplexing act?' And he turned to me. ‘Would you like to say something at this stage, Philip?'

‘What would you like me to say, Mr Ellyott?' There was a tightening band across my stomach, a pulse beat jarring in my throat.

‘You know, don't you?' An ancient face that should have emerged from under a protective shell. ‘You have known for some time, I suspect. I would like you to say Emlyn, Philip.'

The silence choked me. Idwal Morton gave me one, pleading glance, and then his head went down.

‘Say Emlyn, Philip boy,' Emlyn said softly.

‘Emlyn who pilfered the key from Garston. Emlyn who telephoned the lady, a voice out of Middle Europe saying “This is Andy”. Emlyn who waited her arrival in this room. Emlyn who returned later with Marshall Edmunds and told him to carry her up those stairs and throw her over the side.'

Two beaten men, heads lowered as if in prayer. The sound of their heavy breathing. David Garston snoring at the edge of darkness. My heart's pounding adding to the sound.

‘Say Emlyn, Philip,' Emlyn said.

‘A special relationship,' Amos said. ‘Philip he admired. Marshall he controlled.'

‘We're back to charades, Philip,' Emlyn's voice nagging at me. ‘Join in. Say Emlyn.'

‘Mrs Ridetski had become a rival,' the old croaking voice went on. ‘Marshall became murderous, thinking it was Emlyn he saw leaving the lady's house, mistaking David Garston for him.'

David Garston gave out a light, yelping snore.

‘Well – you've got to admit it's an interesting proposition,' Emlyn said, ‘considering I was blowing my lungs out at that dance at the Royal, with witnesses to prove it.'

‘Such a drunken affair,' Amos remarked coldly. ‘With long intervals to use up the special license at the bar. He was away only a short time. She came hurrying through the streets. He stripped off and waited for the lift to rise...'

‘Oh, come on!' Emlyn said. ‘Then back to the dance in his birthday suit?'

‘And Marshall, to seal their special relationship, had to cast her away from him forever.' The old man's voice cockerel high. The terrible acceptance from the two men. ‘The total irrationality of it. Inviting attention to this wretched but special place.'

‘Now look, Philip, you'd better say Emlyn because this old bugger's getting a bit rude.'

‘Next day,' Amos went on, ‘he was to realise what a natural suspect Marshall Edmunds made. Especially when he confessed. And so it had to become a dreadful farce. A mass-murderer has to arrive on the scene.' An old man's mockery in his voice. ‘Ghastly charades. Tiny, fragile women. Miss Porterhouse on the King's lap, Miss Sweeney among the flowers, Mrs Palmerstone cast adrift. Essays in the grotesque. We were to think, of course, that there was a frenzied killer at large, but in truth one suspects, were it possible, something even more sinister. Self gratification, dare I suggest?'

‘You suggest anything you like,' Emlyn said lightly, ‘but you're a bit short of proof.'

Speak up, I wanted to cry out to the two bowed heads across the table. For Christ's sake. Just one word of protest. Someone please.

‘And finally, Mrs Edmunds.' MT shook his head, forcing himself not too look up. ‘Mrs Edmunds who linked old misdemeanours with new outrages. Fearing for her son she circulated photographs...'

‘It was for the boy!' MT gasped out.

‘One of them she brought to me. Why to me? Emlyn wondered what I had done to make her show her hand. I informed him that I had more photographs. He never asked me where I had obtained them, but he was not long in making the connection with a length of wallpaper removed from Mrs Ridetski's rooms.' He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and moved it about arrogantly but made no effort to light it. ‘Thus he came plundering to my rooms. He knew I was close. He had to find how close. And tragically Mrs Edmunds arrived at the same conclusion. Unlike Mr Garston I have no faith in locks and keys.'

‘Except that he was at the pictures with Ceri Price,' I said.

‘Philip!' Emlyn's voice ringing in my ears. ‘Good old Philip! One flaw destroys it all. All these lovely theories blown to smithereens. Got you now, Sherlock!'

And still two men with heads bowed, locked in silence. Amos Ellyott stroked his nicotine stained moustache, then pulled a gold watch from the depths of his clothing and snapped it open. He gave a nod. ‘I gave you time, all of you. Emlyn, you didn't have to come here this evening...'

‘Good story, Amos. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.'

A long drawn-out sigh from the old man. ‘You could have gone anywhere but you went immediately to an address I gave you.' He waved a hand at the man who had played Ridetski. ‘This gentleman's niece and her husband have taken a boarding house in the town. It was there that I told you I had moved the young lady and her family. A lie – as you discovered. They are elsewhere in town.' He turned to me. ‘Emlyn left the cinema at half past eight and did not return. Miss Price, a most loyal young lady, was a long time admitting the fact. I ordered her to wait until eight this evening, then she was to inform the idiot Inspector. I needed time for men to think and make decisions.'

David Garston snored in the silence, then Emlyn laughed.

‘I am nearly done,' Amos said. ‘And what is left?' He glanced at the man who had played Ridetski. ‘The first death. The unknown death. Andrei Ridetski.' A gasping sigh from Idwal Morton. ‘Polish Airman, petty thief, photographer, greedy blackmailer – a death from which all else follows.'

I saw MT nod his head decisively. The sweat was beaded on Idwal's dome.

‘In October 1942, the depths of the war,' Amos resumed, once again addressing himself to me, ‘Emlyn came home for a weekend's leave. Marshall Edmunds was on his way to the Middle East. Emlyn returned to find his father richer than of late, but a victim now of an extortioner who had to be eliminated.' Amos brought his fist down on the table. The lanterns shuddered. ‘Good God, did you all think the damn war was going to go on forever? We must assume that Emlyn overheard snatches of conversation between his father and MT. He was convinced that they would botch it – as they had botched most things in their lives. So he intervened. Here in this foul place then cluttered with illicit merchandise. Twenty four hours later he was on a raid into Germany.'

‘Strike the gong,' Emlyn murmured.

‘As you heard tonight, it was Mr MT Edmunds who discovered the body and cleaned up the mess.' Suddenly he swung his baleful stare from me to Emlyn. ‘Here,' he said, tapping the back of his neck, ‘there is a trigger point, is there not? The noose is purely to occupy the victim's hands?'

‘If you say so, oh wise one,' Emlyn replied genially, ‘but you're still very thin on proof.'

Amos puffed out his cheeks. ‘Proved by silence here and now, wouldn't you say? Proved by a button or two?' He fumbled in his pockets and tossed two buttons in the air. They fell together on the table. One of them spun off on to the floor. No one went after it. ‘Tap the wall in the lift shaft as you ascend. Examine the panelling on the cavity wall. You will find loose boarding. Thrust your hand through and you will discover, among other items, more buttons. Where MT concealed the body. From the beginning you see, there was only one question – where is Ridetski?'

MT looked up. His face was blotched and tear stained. The lift was on the move again. David Garston snored. ‘Can this be Garston senior, at last?' Amos enquired as it came up.

But it was Marshall Trevor Edmunds who struggled through the narrow doorway into the room.

 

 

XVII

 

 

 

 

‘Shit!' Emlyn said with a laugh. He went over to the lift and there were whispers between them. Mash with his hand on Emlyn's shoulder. Emlyn clutching at Mash's sweater. Then Emlyn led Mash into the light, as if guiding a blind man. ‘Come and join the party,' he said, ‘although you've missed some very good stories.' They stood side by side, Mash towering above Emlyn; the boys caught in the act and all set to bluff it out. Emlyn elbowed Mash and Mash grinned slackly. ‘It is suggested that we've buggered the job up,' he said.

I was nine. In the backyard of number 21 Liverpool Street, high stone walls on two sides, the green door taking up most of the third wall. A sun trap, and it was a hot day, heat coming up at me from the rough blocks of slate that covered the floor of the yard. There was a narrow flower bed where my mother had planted a climbing rose, tiny red blooms that now covered one wall. I was working on a raft – attempting to lash two empty oil drums to planks of wood found on the shore, and not having much success, on my knees there, sweating, the air heavy with the smell of roses. Then the green door was kicked open and Mash came into the yard, the snakes writhing in his hands. ‘This one's bit me twice!' he said. Bramble scratches on his bare legs. And there was a great, roaring shout as my father came bounding out of the house. Then the snakes were on the hot, grey slates, and my father's heel, steel protector flashing, came down on one tiny, darting head, then on the other. Blood on the slates. My father swearing as he bundled Mash into the house. Broken serpents, tails thrashing, at which I stared horror-struck. Then Emlyn appeared in the doorway, grey shorts and a blue shirt, and smiling of course, smiling. ‘Well – what d'you think of that, Philip?' Spotless grey shorts, neat blue shirt, and smiling, smiling... Pick them snakes up, Mash boy. Go on – pick 'em up. The picture complete.

‘The case is proved,' the old man said.

Mash wasn't looking at anybody, his lips moving soundlessly.

‘You'll know everybody won't you Mash?' Emlyn doing the introductions. ‘Our fathers. Old Philip. Say hello to Philip.' Mash's lips moving as if he was saying something to himself. ‘And that was Mr Amos Ellyott who spoke just then.' Say hello to him as well.' Emlyn gave Amos a quick, stiff bow. ‘And that's Davy Garston having a kip. And that's Mr Mystery, a wide boy if ever I saw one.'

‘Donald Thompson,' the stranger said. He brought one hand on to the table. It held a flat, black automatic.

‘Mash!' One word of command from Emlyn and Mash lunged forward and there was a great shout from Thompson as his chair tipped over backwards. The lamp at the end of the table was rocking. Mash had the gun in his hand.

‘Drop it in my pocket,' Emlyn said. Thompson, out of breath, scrambled back on to his chair. ‘My God, all this excitement's got my sinuses going.' Emlyn tapped his pocket. ‘Good boy, Mash. Mr Donald Thompson doesn't look like a policeman to me, Mr Ellyott. Though they take all sorts nowadays, don't they?'

‘Nobody took a gun off me before,' Thompson gasped. ‘Not from the front...'

Emlyn sniffed. ‘Destroys your sinuses the smell of gun oil. Mind you, Mash, old Philip may also have been issued with firearms – but old Philip isn't the type to flash it around, is he?'

‘Emlyn!' A groan of despair from Idwal Morton.

‘Sorry, father.' And Mash standing there, a protector ready to obey. Oh Christ, it was a world of strangers. Mash's lips moving. A poem to say like a prayer. A private poem that could mean different things to different people. My tongue was stiff and dry in my mouth.

‘Emlyn – in the name of God!' Idwal Morton's face filmed with sweat. He was clutching at the edge of the table, the bone of knuckle white and shining.

‘We're upsetting people, Mash. Time to dive out.' Emlyn smiled at Amos. ‘The story finished? I take it you haven't got powers of arrest?'

‘There is nowhere for you to go, Emlyn.'

‘The Inspector on the right track at last? Haven't you led that man a dance! And him such an incompetent old fart, too! Close, is he? The cavalry on its way?'

‘Nowhere for you to go,' Amos said again.

‘Me and my big pal here? Nowhere to go? Nobody's got anywhere to go – that's the point, old boy!' He grinned at me and drew closer, standing behind Idwal. ‘Whole fucking thing got out of hand, my old friend eh? Anyway – did I tell you I've got an audition with that band, Philip?'

I didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him.

Emlyn with a hurt expression on his face. Oh, God. I forced myself to look away. ‘To the stairs, Mash boy,' he said. ‘Get away time. Must be years since we climbed down from here in the dark.' That old, rust-bitten fire escape. Mash shambled over to the stairs. ‘Time to say goodbye to the boys, Philip.'

Little Emlyn. He'd always had the ability to make you feel you had betrayed him. Even now.

‘Ah, well. With apologies all round.' He touched Idwal's shoulder, and Idwal winced. He went running to the foot of the stairs and two of them, pushing each other and laughing, went scrambling up. We heard the door slam shut. Then MT was on his feet, bawling out a long, anguished protest, and Idwal Morton slumped forward on the table.

 

Inspector Marks came up the lift. It was a long time before he had sufficient men to batter down the door at the head of the stairs. ‘Nobody up here,' someone called down. ‘No signs sir.' The policemen came out of the lift, all of them strangers. Everywhere strangers. I helped to lift Idwal Morton on to a stretcher. An ebb and flow of men in the room. Lanterns everywhere. George Garston had made it at last. He was kneeling at David's side.

‘We had to betray them by silence,' MT said. He was still sitting at the table. ‘We realised it was what you intended for us to do, Mr Ellyott.' He should have spat in the old man's face, I thought. ‘We never planned to kill anybody. Emlyn got it wrong.'

Inspector Marks had islands of red in his face and he was all belligerence. ‘I'll have you know this man,' he cried, finger stabbing at Amos, ‘is an imposter! He is not the great criminologist! Oh, no – he is only a distant cousin of the man!' He choked on the words. ‘He is a writer of fiction, nothing more – for the blood and gore magazines, and story books for boys!'

No one took any notice of him, least of all Amos Ellyott. ‘My last problem was who found Ridetski; who concealed his body,' he said to MT. ‘And it was you alone, and you kept the secret.'

MT Edmunds stood to attention. ‘It was my duty,' he said in a ringing voice. ‘They were fighting for their country.' MT by name but not by nature. He shook hands first with me, then with Amos's bodyguard, then with the old man. He had always been a great hand shaker, and now he looked around wondering if he had missed anyone out, but nobody else seemed to want to take him on. With Stubbs at his side he marched out of the room to the top floor of the Market Hall, now lantern lit, arms swinging.

‘You are an impostor, Mr Ellyott!' Inspector Marks resumed his attack. ‘We have lost them because of your bloody interference!'

‘Try not to be an idiot all the time, Marks,' Amos said. ‘It was beyond your reasoning. My case from the start.'

Marks pawed at his face, shaking with anger. ‘You held an unauthorised tribunal. An offence...'

‘Say nothing, dear fellow,' Amos replied blandly. ‘Say nothing. You'll be a Superintendent in six months.'

The Inspector went pounding to the stairs. Not for any special purpose, I felt – simply to get away from Amos. Thompson looked admiringly at Amos, ‘I used to drive for Mr Ellyott you know, marvellous man.'

 

The policemen milled past us, most of them going up on to the roof. Amos gave out a long, shuddering sigh.

‘What can they hope to find there? Oh, God, I am past weariness. Such an amusing boy – but flawed, I fear.' He lit a cigarette and shocked me by offering me one. ‘I had to move the young lady and her family from their home, you know. Under great protest, naturally. But there was no other way. Emlyn called there not long after they had gone. And of course I had to keep him away from you.' He sighed again. ‘You know, he was most co-operative, most concerned for my welfare – Philip – you knew, didn't you? You'd worked it out. Was it too unthinkable?'

George Garston went past the table, propping up David, who had a scarecrow grin on his face. ‘I will say good night to you, then,' he said. ‘What a terrible business, isn't it?' Amos ignored him.

‘Poor Mrs Edmunds. Such false assumptions. Seeing a wheelbarrow, spades and cement at the Tower, she drew a false conclusion.'

Inspector Marks came stamping back. ‘Do you intend to stay the night?' he roared at us. ‘I want you all in the station. Now!'

Amos talked all the way along the top floor of the Market Hall, down the stairs. ‘George Garston – the lesson in survival. Do nothing. Leave well alone.'

Outside my father's shop he gripped my arm. I shrugged him off. ‘I was about to explain,' he said testily, ‘that the young lady was a long, long time telling me what had caused him to leave the cinema so early. Yet another false assumption, Philip. You see – some chocolate she had in her handbag had melted, and as she offered a piece to Emlyn it fell in his lap – and she reached for it. And he was away instantly, obviously taking it to be a sexual advance! She was honest enough to admit that it could have been taken as such.'
The fog was solid, packed tight at the gate of the Hall. ‘He occupied Marshall. There is no other word for it.'

‘Why don't you shut the fuck up?' I said and Thompson went
tut
,
tut
.

Amos carried on. ‘And when Marshall had him by the throat he knew everything about himself.' Not then, I wanted to say. A hell of a long time before. A boy with vipers in his hands. But I couldn't tell anybody, least of all Amos Ellyott, something that had hidden itself in my memory.

 

We walked out into the fog. A smell of burning in the streets. The sirens in the estuary called to one another like beasts out of ancient time. ‘Where would they head for, Philip?' The nagging old voice in my ear.

The fog would be especially thick on the dune. ‘You know as well as I do,' I told him. There. To play at sailors.

 

Not until first light were they found. Emlyn was face down on the black mud. His neck was broken. Mash was asleep in the
Ariadne's
cabin. Summer's face now clouded and dark.