The Beachcomber (44 page)

When breakfast was over, he went straight out the main doors to hail a taxi.

The Knightsbridge streets were already humming, with people and traffic rushing in every direction. After the easy pace of life in West Bay, it seemed odd to be risking life and limb for a taxi.

The taxi carried him straight to the police station, where he ran up the steps and in through the doors. “I have an appointment with Inspector Lawson,” he informed the policeman on desk duty. “The name is Tom Marcus.”

The young rookie ran his long, lean fingers through the day ledger. “That’s right, sir. If you would like to wait over there, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

It seemed a long wait. Twice in the next half-hour, Tom went to the desk and asked what was keeping the inspector, and each time he got the same answer. “Something important cropped up, sir. I’m sure he won’t be long now.”

It was quarter to eleven before the inspector finally emerged from his office to shake Tom by the hand. “Telephones and paperwork!” he apologized. “There are days when I wish the damned things had never been invented!” A big bumbling figure of a man, he had an amiable, disarming manner, but was reputed to be one of the sharpest minds in the force.

“Come through. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, only we’ve recently uncovered a protection racket. It’s like turning over a stone: on top it’s smooth, but underneath it’s crawling with all sorts of nasties.”

Opening the door, he let Tom through into his office. “We’re on top of it now,” he concluded. “We’ve already got the heavies. It’s only a matter of time before we’ve got the ringleaders under lock and key.”

While Tom went inside he called to the officer at the desk, “Two teas in here, at the double, if you don’t mind.”

Closing the door, he walked over to seat himself behind his desk. “Good to see you, Tom.” He had spent many a long hour in Tom’s company after the tragedy. “Sit yourself down.”

Pushing aside all the “damned paperwork,” he sat back in his chair and stared hard at Tom. He thought he looked well, and said so. “You went away then?” he said.

“I had to,” Tom explained. “I did my best to carry on afterward, but you know as well as I do that I wasn’t coping, not really. It was eating me up … it got so I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think. In the end I had to get away … I needed to find some sort of quiet, to get a clearer mind, if you know what I mean.”

The inspector nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” he answered thoughtfully. “It was a bad thing that happened. I’m only sorry we still haven’t got that bastard behind bars.”

Just then there was a tap on the door. “Yes?” the inspector called.

The door opened and in came the young officer, carrying a tray. “Here’s your tea, sir.” Pointing to the desk, the inspector instructed him to “Put it down here.” Again he shifted the two piles of paper aside to make room for the tray.

When the officer had gone, with the door closed behind him, the inspector picked up the teapot and began to pour, first one cup, then the other. He dropped two spoonfuls of sugar in one, enquiring of Tom, “How do you like yours?”

“One sugar, and milk to color,” Tom answered. He could contain his impatience no longer. “What are the developments that you mentioned then?” he asked Inspector Lawson.

The inspector passed him his cup of tea. “Well, this business of the flowers being destroyed for a start: seems a
strange
business, don’t you think? Quite sinister.”

Tom nodded. “It’s weird.”

“From what you told me on the phone, it’s happened at least three times?”

“So the florist mentioned in her letter.”

“And have you been to see her yet?”

Tom shook his head. “It was late last night when I got to London. I intend going straight there when I leave here.”

“I’d best come along.” The inspector was hopeful that at last they might have a breakthrough. “I was keen to see you because this could be very important. Have you any idea who would want to destroy the flowers you send?”

“I can’t imagine.” Tom had turned it over and over in his mind, and had come up with no answers. “It’s presumably somebody who hates me, or why would they do it?”

“Hmh.” The inspector took a gulp of his coffee. “Hates you … or hates your family.”

Tom’s eyes flashed with anger. “Whoever it is, they’ve got a lot to answer for!”

“There are some evil devils out there. We none of us know how their minds work.”

Tom had a question of his own. In fact he had a hundred of them. “So, are you any nearer to catching whoever it was?”

“I’m afraid not. I can assure you, it’s not for want of trying. But there is something one of my men is checking out. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Tom’s heart sank. “What about the car?”

The inspector slowly shook his head. “Nothing yet, though we’re still working on it. As you know, we tracked the make and color of the car through the paint smears we found on your bumper. That particular shade of blue is only used by Hillman. We’ve made exhaustive searches, but still haven’t been able to trace it.”

“And there were no witnesses.” Tom despaired. “Surely to God somebody must know
something!
”

“I’m not sure. You said yourself there was nobody else on the road that day.”

“Will you tell me something, Inspector?”

“If I can.”

“Do you think whoever did it was just after me?”

The inspector sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before as I recall, and, no, if the killer had wanted you dead, for whatever reason, he could have chosen his moment. No, Tom. Whoever came at you that day meant to kill every one of you.”

Tom knew as much in his heart of hearts. He passed his hand over his face.

The inspector got out of his chair. “Let’s go,” he said briskly. Grabbing his trilby and coat, he made for the door. “It’s time we talked to that florist of yours. She may hold a vital key!”

With the inspector leading the way, the two of them went quickly out of the station. They climbed into his Wolsey, and away down the main street, hopping in and out of traffic, with the inspector continuing the conversation.

“At first I thought it might have been an accident … that his car went out of control or some such thing; or that it was deliberate, but that he was a crazy man out on the road looking for weird thrills. Who knows?”

Caught up in traffic now, he glanced across at Tom. “But now there’s no doubt in my mind that it was premeditated.”

Tom was shocked. For a long time he had tried to make himself believe that maybe it had been some kind of lunatic who came at them that day … maybe to frighten them, but not to kill. Now, though, the inspector was confirming his own worst fear that it really was a cold, calculated act. But who could have done such a terrible thing?
Who could have wanted all of his family dead?

For the umpteenth time he relived it now. The car seemed to come out of nowhere. It didn’t give him time to react in the way he might otherwise have done. Taken completely unawares, he had instinctively accelerated, desperate to get out of the way, trying to turn. But there was no time. The car was on him every second, pushing, bumping him along, driving him ever closer to the cliff-edge. It was all too fast. Too late! Oh, dear God, did he react in blind panic? Was it his fault that his entire family was killed? What could he have done? Dear God, what could he have done? All the old doubts and the guilt came back to haunt him.

“Tom!” The inspector’s voice cut through his agony. “I haven’t closed the case. I mean to get him, however long it takes.”

“But how could he just disappear like that?”

“Who knows? There could be any number of answers. He may have hidden the car where we haven’t yet been able to find it. He could have been miles away by the time you were found at the bottom of that cliff.”

Time and again, like Tom, he had gone through all the possibilities. “Maybe he had the car destroyed somehow, or ran it into some deep water miles away from the scene of the crime.”

“What’s the next move?” Tom wanted to know.

“Well, it’s not easy, I won’t deny it. We’ve already followed up all the obvious possibilities. We don’t know yet who we’re dealing with … we can’t be certain whether he’s local, or if he was just passing through. The only thing I’m certain of is that it
was
a deliberate act of murder. And that’s how we’re treating it.”

The florist told them everything she knew. “Mr. Marcus placed a regular order for flowers, and we delivered them as arranged. The first few times there was no trouble, but then it started. Every time we took flowers there, they were destroyed. Fresh flowers were always put in their place.”

The inspector pre-empted Tom’s question. “Did you ever see anyone hanging around?”

“No. My assistant always kept a look out, but never saw anyone. Until last time.”

“Where is your assistant now?”

“She’s out the back loading up the van. I’ll get her for you.” With that she hurried away, returning a moment or two later with Gloria.

“Tell the inspector what you saw.” The manageress pushed her forward.

Seeing how nervous she was, Tom addressed her gently. “There’s no need to worry,” he assured her. “We just need to ask you about the person you saw at the churchyard the last time you went there.”

“What do you want to know?” She looked from Tom to the inspector.

“Well,” the inspector said, “for a start, what did he look like?”

Gloria’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. “Oh, no! It wasn’t a
man!
It was a
woman
I saw.” She glanced at her boss, as if she suddenly imagined she was being accused of lying. “It
was
a woman … she spoke to me … asked me questions, she did!”

Both men were taken aback, but it was the inspector who voiced what was in both their minds. “What did she look like … this
woman?
”

“Auburn hair, long and curly; she was taller than me. About twenty-nine … maybe thirty, I suppose. Oh, and she was dressed smartly, for the office, I reckon.” A look of envy crossed her homely features. “She was attractive and all.”

The inspector didn’t notice Tom’s look of astonishment as he heard the familiar description. Instead he concentrated on the matter in hand. “You said she asked you questions?”

“She did, yes.”

“What kind of questions?”

The assistant cast her mind back. “She asked me if the flowers were from Mr. Marcus.” Glancing at Tom, she saw his reaction, and wondered. “She said she was a friend.” Her implication was clear.

The inspector continued to question her. “What else did she say?”

“Nothing much. She was kinda weird.” Shrugging her shoulders in a shiver, she added without being prompted, “I reckon it was her who’s been vandalizing the flowers!”

Having listened to her account of the woman, Tom was loath to believe the suspicions that were beginning to seep into his mind. “What makes you think it was this woman who destroyed the flowers?” He needed to know.

“Well, because she was spooky … watching every move I made, as if she resented me even being there. She said she was going, but she hung about for a while. She’d already put some roses in the vase, so it was a good job I’d taken a vase of our own.”

“
I
told her to do that,” Margaret Taylor informed them with a proud smile, “in case the other vase had been broken, or maybe filled with somebody else’s flowers, like before.”

Nodding appreciatively, the inspector prompted Gloria, “Go on … You arranged the flowers, and she hung about. Then what?”

“Well, she went off eventually, and I finished arranging the flowers. Then I went back to my van and collected a couple of other bunches that had been ordered for other graves.”

“And you never saw her again?”

“No, but something awful happened. I had finished in the churchyard, and was just getting into the van when the old caretaker came running. He was in a real bad mood … ‘Come and see!’ he said, and made me go back with him.” She rolled her eyes. “You should have seen the mess!”

“What? You mean the flowers were thrown about like before?” Tom asked.

“Not only thrown about,” she replied, her voice growing louder with excitement. “All the heads had been broken off, and they were flung all over the place … ever such a long way, like somebody got mad, if you know what I mean.”

While Tom was trying to take it all in, and slowly coming to realize that he had an idea who the culprit was, the inspector asked, “And what about the flowers that the woman had left?”

The assistant leaned forward, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “
Her
flowers were still there! I reckon that proves it, don’t you?”

Before they left, the inspector informed her that she would need to make a statement, and that he himself would be back.

She didn’t mind. “That’s all right,” she said. “I’d like to see whoever could do a thing like that locked up.”

Outside, the inspector looked preoccupied. “It seems to me, we’d best find this woman and bring her in for questioning,” he told Tom. “If she
is
the one who’s been destroying your flowers, who knows what else she’s been up to?”