Julie picked a couple more books at random and opened them. 'One of these says 'Withdrawn from stock. Warminster Public Library.' The other was bought for seventy-five pence. I don't think a serious collector would give them shelf room. He bought these to read.'
'At least we know something about the man,' said Diamond.
'I was right,' said Julie, having opened another book. 'Listen to this from the introduction: 'Carr was so prolific that he kept a second publisher provided with a steady supply of crime novels under the pseudonym of Carter Dickson.''
Diamond's thoughts had moved on. 'It could be army training that makes a man so tidy. Or his schooling. Or prison. I wonder if he had any form. We'll run a check.'
'He wouldn't have been taken on as a night watchman if he had a prison record.'
'He wouldn't tell them, would he?'
'Don't they make inquiries?'
'Yes, but it wasn't MI5 he was joining. He was only guarding office furniture.'
'Who did he work for?' Julie asked.
Diamond picked up the sheaf of payslips. 'Our old friends Impregnable.'
Chapter Sixteen
Left to finish her breakfast alone, Shirley-Ann took a slice from the toaster and covered it thickly in peanut butter-a secret indulgence. She didn't start work until ten, and finished at four. Civilized hours in theory, but the conditions weren't always so comfortable as the hours, for she was employed handing leaflets to tourists in front of the Abbey. On a warm day in summer, it was pleasant enough. Part of the job was to reinforce the message in the leaflets by pointing out the benefits of a bus tour. She didn't mind talking to strangers. Most of them were easy to approach, regardless of whether they wanted the tour. But on wet days the work was canceled-and that meant no pay, because she was on hourly rates. The most frustrating days were the indifferent, showery ones that are all too common in the English climate. She never knew when Mrs. Battle, the supervisor, would materialize and tell her to go home. Soon it would be over for another season anyway. At end of the month she would go back to stacking the shelves in Salisbury's- if there were still vacancies.
Bert often told her that she ought to look for a full-time job. Her stock answer was that she was waiting for him to open the private health club he was forever promising to start in Bath. Then she would wear a white suit and be the receptionist. Bert really did have this dream of going into partnership with one of the top hotels and equipping it with the latest gym facilities, a swimming pool, steam rooms, saunas, and sunbeds. The only problem was finance. Up to now, the bank hadn't been willing to float a loan.
This morning she left the flat slightly earlier than usual, and she was glad she did, because as she turned out of Russell Street a police car drove up. That they were coming to call on her was confirmed later, when she met Polly Wycherley. The astute Polly, who must have known where to find her, came up to her in the Abbey churchyard and asked if she could take a few minutes off work. From the tense way Polly spoke, it was a request that couldn't be turned down. They cut through Church Street to the Bath Bun, the tea shop in Lilliput Court, near Abbey Green.
The shop had a cosy, tucked-away feel, situated as it was in a sunken court off one of the less busy streets. Shirley-Ann often escaped there. The framed mirrors on the pink walls and the brown-and-fawn zigzag design on the carpet weren't to her taste, but not much natural light penetrated there, so something had to be done to brighten the interior.
No other customers were inside at this time, which meant that the corner table was available, the only one with padded chairs. On the wall to Shirley-Ann's left was a greenish print of the Rokeby Vertus, the one showing the rear view of the naked goddess admiring herself in a mirror. Bert had once joked that they were the best buns in the shop. It wasn't the kind of humor likely to appeal to Polly. This morning her little mouth was pinched into something like a stitched wound.
'Have you heard about Sid?'
Shirley-Ann had not. She was deeply shocked when she was told. The news had been on local radio at eleven.
'It's worse,' said Polly. 'He was found on Milo's narrow-boat.'
'Milo's?'
'Last night, after our meeting.'
'Oh, no, Polly!'
'But Milo couldn't possibly have anything to do with it,' Polly pointed out. 'He was at the police station telling them about the missing stamp.' She felt in her handbag for a tissue and blew her nose. Her hands were trembling.
'Sid murdered?' whispered Shirley-Ann. 'I can't take it in. He was such an… inoffensive bloke. Who would want to harm him?'
'I'm as puzzled as you are,' said Polly. 'And the police aren't giving anything away. Have you had them call on you?'
'No.' Shirley-Ann didn't like to say at this stage that she'd seen them stop outside her flat.
Polly said, 'They came to me soon after nine. They must have known, but they didn't let on. He was killed last night, you see. I thought it was just about the Penny Black, but obviously it wasn't.' Her face, usually pink, was blotchy this morning.
'You don't mind if I ask?' said Shirley-Ann. 'What did they want to know?'
'The police? Everything I could tell them about the meeting and the Bloodhounds. Even when I spoke of Sid they didn't give me a hint that he was dead.' Polly fumbled with a button of her coat. 'It was underhanded not to tell me. I said things I wouldn't have mentioned if I'd known he was dead, poor lamb.'
'What things?'
'Oh-that he's so quiet you forget he's there a lot of the time. And worse. I think I said he was dead wood. It makes me feel mean-minded.'
'I'm sure no one could accuse you of that,' Shirley-Ann tried to console her.
'Why me? Why didn't they go to someone else?'
'I suppose because you're the chair.' Shirley-Ann drew back, and the conversation ceased while their order was taken. Once the girl had returned to the kitchen, she said, 'What was he doing on Milo's boat? Are they friends?'
Polly frowned slightly. 'Not as far as I know.'
'He must have had some reason for going there. How did he know which boat it is?'
'That's no mystery. We had our Christmas party on the boat. Sid was there. It's called the Mrs. Hudson. I remember telling you.' Polly's pale eyes studied Shirley-Ann.
'So you did.' She held Polly's steady gaze.
Polly eventually said, 'Sid knew Milo wouldn't be aboard the boat. We all knew he was going directly to the police station, and they were sure to keep him there for ages asking questions.'
Shirley-Ann asked, 'Do you think Sid was up to something?'
'It certainly looks like it, going out to the boatyard at that time of the evening. And the whole point is that he wasn't alone. The person who attacked him was aboard the boat as well.'
Shirley-Ann felt goose pimples rising on her skin. 'The only people who knew Milo was going to the police were ourselves. That means one of the Bloodhounds must have murdered Sid.'
Polly folded her arms. Her lips twitched as if she couldn't bring herself to say any more.
Chapter Seventeen
By midday the incident room for the narrowboat murder- as it was already known at Manvers Street-was
