urinate against it with a measure of privacy. After spitting on the ground, he was about to start work when he noticed the dried bloodstains along the edge of his spade. He cleaned them off under the tap beside the shed where he usually kept his implements.
Laughing to himself, he was soon digging his first grave of the day.
When the notion was put to him, Keedy didn’t find it at all appealing. Over a cup of tea in the canteen, he explored the idea without enthusiasm.
‘What are the chances of him coming tonight?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘That’s the trouble, Harv. We’re very much in the realm of guesswork. We’re guessing that the artist lives nearby and would have an irresistible compulsion to pick up his brush tonight and get back to work.’
‘He may wait a few days before doing so,’ admitted Marmion.
‘He may not even come back at all.’
‘Oh, I fancy that he — or she, for that matter — will appear before long.’
‘So I have to shiver all through the night in someone’s front room for what could be a week or more. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, it isn’t, Joe. And if you think the assignment is too onerous, I can always find someone else to shoulder it. You were the one who said we needed to catch him. I was simply giving you the first chance to do that.’
‘Yes,’ confessed Keedy, ‘he certainly needs to be nabbed. It’s just that I was hoping for a little free time at the end of the day.’
‘Even romance takes second place in a murder case, especially one as problematical as this. You’ll have to disappoint her, I’m afraid.’
Keedy made no reply. He thought about the jibes painted on the wall of the Ablatt house. They were cruel and vulgar. Whoever put them there had spent a fair amount of time up a ladder. The artist could have relied on the fact that, even if he’d been discovered at work, nobody was likely to report him to the police. Most people in the area would have condoned what he was doing. A conscientious objector was being punished. Thick white paint was more conspicuous than a frail white feather.
‘I’ll do it, Harv,’ he said at length. ‘It could be important.’
‘I agree. Before that, however, we’ve other work to do.’
‘What can you tell me about this gravedigger you want me to find?’
‘All I know is what I picked up from Gordon Leach.’
He passed on the description given to him of Horrie Waldron then offered his assessment of the baker. Keedy had already told him about the visit to Hambridge’s house and how the carpenter was devastated by the news. Unable to make contact with Mansel Price, the sergeant had left a message for him at his digs.
‘We can be sure of one thing,’ said Marmion. ‘All three of his friends relied completely on Ablatt. How will his death affect their resolve? Or, to put it another way, how conscientious will their objections be now that he’s gone?’
‘Hambridge is a Quaker. It won’t change his mind.’
‘I’m less certain about Leach. He could waver.’
‘Apparently, Price is one of those characters who hates all authority.’
‘So do I when it’s in the hands of someone like the superintendent.’
Keedy chuckled. ‘Did you get another rap over the knuckles from Chat?’
‘He wanted Waldron arrested and hauled into Scotland Yard.’
‘But we have nothing on him yet.’
‘According to Superintendent Chatfield, we do. We have a man with motive and means to kill Ablatt. We simply have to establish that he had the opportunity as well and we can charge him.’
‘It’s another of Chat’s barmy theories.’
‘In fairness,’ conceded Marmion, ‘they’re not always so barmy. He made some very significant arrests during his time as an inspector. However, it’s an open question as to whether that was luck or judgement. We’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Finish your tea,’ he went on, standing up. ‘We have people to see and answers to get.’
‘Right,’ said Keedy, swallowing the last of his tea then leaping to his feet. ‘I’m ready, Harv. Will you give me a lift to the cemetery?’
‘Of course — and we must arrange a place to meet up afterwards.’
‘Where do we go then?’
‘We need to speak to a certain photographer.’
They left the canteen and walked side by side along the corridor. All that lay ahead of them was the promise of hard work, much of which would be tedious and unrewarding. Yet they felt excited in a way that they always did at the start of a hunt for a killer. Keedy recalled what the inspector had said earlier.
‘Why do you think Leach will waver?’ he asked.
‘I don’t doubt the sincerity of his pacifism,’ said Marmion, ‘and he won’t renounce that. But I sensed a weakness. He’s engaged to be married. He has to make decisions that involve
Leach’s head was pounding. So much had happened in the space of a couple of hours that he was confused and fearful. He’d awoken with a sense of dread, then been told what Hambridge had learnt about a gruesome murder during the night. Leach felt certain that it had to be his friend. A Scotland Yard detective had confirmed the name of the victim and questioned him about his contact with Ablatt the previous day. It had left the baker completely jangled. He’d pleaded with his father to be released from his duties at the shop and, since he’d finished his delivery rounds, he was allowed to leave. Leach had arranged to meet Ruby Cosgrove that evening but he couldn’t contain himself that long. As a matter of urgency, he needed to speak to her now. She had to be told.
His fiancee had responded to the appeal for help in the war effort by working in a small factory that produced tinned meat to be sent to British soldiers in the trenches. It was boring, repetitive, undemanding labour but it gave her the feeling that she was making a contribution. Ruby worked set hours. Leach knew that during her lunch break she usually popped out of the factory to escape the pandemonium, get some fresh air and enjoy a cigarette.
When he got to the factory, he saw her lurking in a doorway with some of the other female employees. Even though she was wearing an ugly fawn overall and a fawn scarf, the mere sight of Ruby Cosgrove lifted his spirits. Spotting him, the other women nudged Ruby and giggled. One of them whispered something in her ear and she blushed. By the time he got to them, Leach was out of breath.
‘What are you doing here, Gordon?’ she asked in surprise.
Unable to find the words at first, he gave the other women such a look of desperation that they took pity on him and moved away so that the couple could talk alone. He led Ruby to a low wall and made her sit down.
‘I had to come,’ he said, lowering himself down beside her.
‘Whatever’s the matter with you? You’re trembling.’
‘There’s something I must tell you, Ruby.’
‘Well, be quick about it,’ she said. ‘The hooter will go in a minute.’
He looked into her face and realised why he loved her so much. Ruby had an exaggerated prettiness that had captivated him when he first met her and a way of jiggling her head about as she spoke that he found entrancing. He didn’t mind that she was rather plump. If anything, it added to her attraction, the large bust swelling under her overall, the generous thighs and wide hips enlarging her contours. He hated having to pass on such tragic news but he could hold it in no longer. Taking her by the shoulders, he inhaled deeply.
‘Something terrible has happened,’ he said.
She tensed. ‘What is it?’
‘Cyril is dead.’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, palms slapping against her chubby cheeks. ‘I don’t believe it. Tell me it’s not true, Gordon. Tell me it’s some kind of joke.’
‘I swear that it’s true — and there’s worse to come.’
‘What could possibly be worse than that?’
Tears now streamed down his face. ‘He was murdered, Ruby. A detective came to the bakery to tell me. While we were all waiting for him at Fred’s house, Cyril was battered to death.’
It was all too much for Ruby. She simply couldn’t cope with the gravity of the news and its many implications
