Superfluous Women (15 page)

“Hinting's what he does, madam, and there's other hints worse nor that.”

“The identity of the victim is not yet known,” Underwood informed her. “I'd take it kindly if you were to pass the word.”

“Then I will, sir. That Mr. Harris ought to be told off good and proper. I hope you'll take him down a peg or two, sir.”

As soon as the door closed behind Sally, the inspector remarked, “That young woman has a sensible head on her shoulders. Too bad she's stymied our—my plans.”

“If you ask me,” Daisy said wearily, “which I know you do not, I'd wait till tomorrow. Sleep on it. Whoever she is, she's been dead a long time. In the morning, your super, Inspector, and Mr. Crane will sort out Alec's status in the case, and then you'll be able to go full steam ahead with or without him.”

Underwood looked at Alec. “She's got a point.”

“Once in a while, every now and again, she does hit the nail on the head.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling! If you can manage without me, I'm off. Oh, that reminds me: Inspector, don't forget my friends are badly in need of some clothes and papers from the house.”

“I hadn't forgotten. Pennicuik, you go along with Mrs. Fletcher and get the details. Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.”

Alec waited till Daisy and the constable had left before he asked, “You're going to take my wife's suggestion?”

“It makes sense, and not only because of your position. I've got a couple of men talking to the neighbours. If Mrs. Gray was friendly with any of them, we could have much of the information tonight and only need to confirm it with Mrs. Hedger tomorrow. Should be easier than trying to dig it out of her.”

“But she's still our—your best bet for pinning down the date of death.”

“Very likely. At least two weeks, the doctor said, and probably not more than four, but given the unusual conditions—”

“They always find an excuse for waffling.”

“Don't I know it! This time, though, I doubt we'll get anything useful from the autopsy.”

“Unless Daisy's other suggestion proves true: She was killed elsewhere and dumped in the empty house.”

“Miss Chandler was the first to propose that theory, I believe.”

“Lividity will … Except that lividity might not survive the decomposition. I'm not sure about that. The pathologist may even have trouble telling whether the broken neck was the cause of death or occurred postmortem.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Underwood said sheepishly. “She could have been poisoned or stabbed or something, and the neck was broken when the murderer chucked the body over the edge.” Underwood sighed. “One way or the other, it's as nasty a business as I've come across in a long time. Believe me, if my super wants to call in the Yard, I won't kick against the pricks.”

 

FOURTEEN

Preceding Pennicuik
along the narrow passages, Daisy considered the state of affairs with satisfaction. Underwood was not bent upon closing the case quickly by pinning the guilt on one or more of her friends, as she had feared. He was open to other solutions, even one that excluded their house as anything worse than a convenient place to dump a body.

She wondered to what extent Alec had influenced the inspector. They had taken to each other; so much was clear. If they had not been on friendly terms, Alec would never have teased her in the other man's presence.

What was more, he had admitted that she was helpful, even if he had qualified the statement in wholly unnecessary terms. Such an acknowledgement was rare enough to be prized.

They found Willie in the residents' lounge, glancing through a somewhat tattered copy of the
News of the World
. She dropped it when they entered. Daisy glanced round the room. The rest of the residents must be at dinner still, or in one of the bars.

“Where are the others?”

“Vera decided to go back upstairs. Iz went with her.”

“DC Pennicuik has come for your lists of stuff you need for tomorrow. Did they leave theirs with you?”

Willie produced three lists from a pocket, and Pennicuik went off.

“All right,” said Daisy, sitting beside her, “what's up with Vera?”

“That's what Izzie's hoping to find out. Given that Vera's more sensitive than either of us, and a body in the cellar is enough to upset anyone, it doesn't seem to be the murder per se that's upsetting her. It seems to be something to do with Cartwright.”

“The headmaster, right? She wasn't upset about him before the murder?”

“All we were aware of was that she didn't want to invite the Cartwrights for a drink. She doesn't talk about her troubles much, just stews over things.”

“So she sees or suspects some connection between Cartwright and the murder?” Daisy mused.

“So it would appear. Let's hope Iz gets it out of her. She's far more sympathetic and patient than I am. If she fails—”

“If she fails, the inspector will have to start digging, and he won't be half as sympathetic and patient. He didn't miss much, you can count on it.”

“And if Isabel succeeds, will Alec listen to her and advise as to whether Underwood needs to be told?”

“I'm sure he'll listen. If there's anything in it, I'm sure he'll insist on telling the inspector. Alec has no standing—”

“I should have thought by now the inspector would have asked for his help.”

“It's not up to Underwood. Didn't I explain the chain of command?”

Willie sighed. “Don't bother. I can't wait to go to work tomorrow and have something to concentrate on other than murder! Some nice, solid, straightforward numbers. Though…” She didn't pursue the thought.

Daisy did. “Though? There's something going on at work, isn't there? This isn't the first time you've hinted.”

“I know. I should keep my mouth shut. I'd tell you if I could, Daisy, honestly.”

“I'm more concerned about your keeping it from the police.”

“It's nothing to do with them.” Willie sounded unconvinced, and unconvincing. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean? The sooner they know—”

“I meant it's nothing to do with the murder.”

“Are you certain?”

The door was flung open. “Dammit!” roared the large man in a dinner jacket who appeared on the threshold. “Where's the—Oh, excuse me, ladies. The tapster sent me off on a wild goose chase.” He glared malevolently at the connecting door to the saloon bar. “I see I'm right back where I started. Can either of you by any chance direct me to the landlord's private room?”

“It is complicated,” Daisy said sympathetically. “You turn—No, perhaps I'd better show you the way.”

“My dear lady, I wouldn't dream of disturbing you.”

But Daisy was already on her feet, ignoring Willie's expression of surprise and doubt. She suspected that the tall, stout gentleman was Underwood's superintendent and she wasn't about to let him get away without making an effort to hear what he had to say.

“That's all right. It's easy to get lost in old buildings like this.” As, looking baffled, he stood aside to let her pass, she asked, “You're here to see Detective Inspector Underwood, Mr…?”

“Parry,” he said grudgingly.

“Superintendent Parry? I thought you must be. I'm Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Fletcher? You're the Yard chap's wife? The one who found the body? Those three spin … ladies are your friends!” he accused her.

“DI Underwood has already sorted out all that. Doubtless he'll be writing a report for you explaining everything he didn't tell you over the telephone.”

“Hmph.”

Daisy decided no response was called for. In fact, as the super appeared to be in a bit of a temper already, she might well make things worse. Whether he was annoyed with Underwood, with Alec, or with Daisy herself remained to be seen.

They reached the den. “Here you are.” She stepped back to let the superintendent barge in, then sneaked in behind him as the others stood up. Taking a seat in a dark corner, she knew Alec, Underwood, and Pennicuik had all spotted her, but as she had hoped, they chose not to draw Parry's attention to her.

The inspector introduced Alec.

“How do you do, sir.”

Parry stared at him. Daisy couldn't see his expression, but wasn't surprised when he said in an exasperated voice, “So you're the man responsible? I suppose you want to be responsible for the investigation, too.”

“Not at all, sir. I'll have more than enough work waiting for me at the Yard tomorrow. Besides, it's a matter for your chief constable and my assistant commissioner.”

“The CC will follow my advice.”

“I can't say the same for the AC.”

“Hmph!”

“Usually my superintendent would make the decision. However, in the circumstances, I'm certain Mr. Crane will take it to the AC. And even if your CC should ask for the Yard's assistance, sir, they could well decide I'm not the right man for the job.”

“‘In the circumstances.' Hmm.” This time his interjection was a thoughtful sound, not irritable.

“Chief Inspector Fletcher has been very helpful already, sir,” put in Underwood.

Parry rounded on him. “But would you want help if it wasn't Fletcher, eh?”

“It depends, sir. As I mentioned on the telephone, there's a chance we may have to ask the Yard to request the S
û
ret
é
's assistance with enquiries in France.”

“All right, I'll—”

The door was flung open and a stranger burst into the room, a man in an overcoat, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short and a bristling moustache to match. His hands, one holding his hat, the other a pair of leather gloves, were large, out of proportion to his narrow shoulders. He looked around wildly as Parry swung to face him.

“Who the dev—” Parry caught sight of Daisy and scowled at her. “Who the deuce are you, sir?”

“Cartwright's the name. Whatever she told you about me, it's lies, all lies! She's a—”

“I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about.” The superintendent pointed at a chair and Cartwright sank into it. Parry himself sat down at last, Alec and Underwood thankfully following his example.

Daisy held her breath, but the three policemen were all too interested in the intruder to remember that she ought to be chucked out. Pennicuik, catching her eye, kept his mouth shut.

“Cartwright?” said Underwood. “The headmaster?”

“You know of this man?” Parry demanded.

“I've heard the name mentioned, sir.”

“In connection with this case?”

The inspector gave his superior a warning glance. “Not exactly. Tangentially, as you might say.”

Daisy was delighted with Underwood's unexpected erudition. Her dear friend, DS Tom Tring, retired, had an extensive vocabulary and enjoyed displaying it. She warmed still further to Underwood.

Parry turned to Cartwright. “I am a superintendent of police. Who do you assume has told us lies about you, and why?”

“Why might she lie? Or why do I assume she has lied?” the schoolmaster asked, prissily precise.

“Either. Both. And why do you think there's a connection with our investigation?”

“I don't … I…” Agitated, he stood up, dropping a glove. “Clearly I am mistaken.”

“So it would
appear
. Detective Inspector Underwood will send someone to take a statement—”

“I was mistaken! I have nothing to say that's of interest to the police.”

“All the same,” said Underwood, “I'm afraid we can't just drop the subject now you've brought it to our attention. I'll need a statement, sir.”

“Not at the school!”

“As you prefer, sir. Constable, escort Mr. Cartwright out and get his address and the hours when he can be found at home. That will be all—for the moment.”

Cartwright practically bolted, forgetting his dropped glove. Pennicuik picked it up and hurried after him.

“He's got the wind up all right.” Parry nodded with satisfaction. “One of your spinsters is a teacher, isn't she? That'll be who he's talking about, I bet. They go funny, spinsters.”

Daisy opened her mouth to object. Alec and Underwood both glared at her.

“Sir,” said the inspector, “I'd—”

“What, you're still here, Mrs. Fletcher? Thank you for your help. We won't keep you any longer.”

For once, she didn't mind being chased out. She had managed to stay much longer than she expected, and to learn much more than she ought, thanks to Cartwright's intrusion. What was more, her dismissal had been so abrupt, no one had ordered her not to talk about what he'd said.

With any luck, by now Vera would have told Isabel her side of the story. Putting the two parts together, they might work out whether it had anything to do with the murder, or at least bring some comfort to Vera, in that whatever had happened troubled him just as much as her. More so, in fact: She hadn't been driven to make wild accusations to the police.

The residents' lounge was inhabited solely by men. Several stared as Daisy walked through to the parlour to see whether Willie had been driven to take refuge there. She had, and Isabel was with her.

“Who was that?” Willie asked.

“The superintendent, as I guessed.”

“That's why you were so keen to show him the way! They let you stay in the snug?”

“I sat down in a corner and stayed quiet as a mouse. Parry forgot me and Alec and Underwood weren't keen to draw his attention.”

“Is Parry going to ask Alec to help?”

“They hadn't really decided when I left.”

“You were kicked out,” Isabel guessed.

“Yes, but before that … The most extraordinary thing happened. Cartwright came rushing in, babbling—”