Instrument of Slaughter

‘What do you mean, Perce?’

‘Was he a conchie as well?’

‘The postman didn’t know any details,’ said Dalley, ‘but I think it’s very likely. In fact, I’ve got a horrible feeling that he’s connected to my nephew in some way. I’d put money on it.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘When she eventually hears about it, Nancy will be in a terrible state. She’s going to start wondering who’ll be next.’

One advantage of delivering bread was that Gordon Leach picked up all the local gossip. He was alarmed to hear of the second attack and deviated from his normal round in order to call on Fred Hambridge. The carpenter and his boss were both at their benches in the workshop. They were horrified by the news of an attempted murder and even more shocked when they realised who the victim actually was. Hambridge knew the name.

‘James Howells was a curate at Cyril’s church, wasn’t he?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Leach. ‘He was going to marry me and Ruby.’

‘Maybe you’ve got a jealous rival, Gordon,’ suggested Redfern, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘He tried to bump off the priest to stop you getting hitched.’

‘That’s not funny, Charlie,’ said Hambridge.

‘It was only a joke.’

‘Well, we’re not laughing.’

‘We’ve got nothing to laugh about,’ said Leach, anxiously. ‘Two people I knew and liked have been attacked in a matter of days. One of them was murdered and the other is in hospital. I’m terrified.’

‘You’re not in any danger,’ said Redfern.

‘How do you know?’

‘You’d have more sense than to walk down a dark lane at night.’

‘The killer could strike anywhere and at any time.’

‘The police will get him,’ said Hambridge, confidently.

‘They haven’t got him so far, Fred.’

‘They caught that man who painted things on Cyril’s wall.’

‘So did Mansel. In fact, he got hold of him first.’

‘I trust the police.’

‘They ought to give us bodyguards.’

‘Whatever for?’ asked Redfern.

‘We need protection,’ insisted Leach.

‘You’re young and strong enough to look after yourselves.’

‘Being young and strong didn’t help Cyril — or our curate, for that matter. Mansel, Fred or I could be the next on the death list.’ He saw Redfern’s smirk. ‘That may sound far-fetched to you, Charlie,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘but it doesn’t to me. There’s a killer on the loose in Shoreditch. If the police don’t catch him soon, my father will need a new assistant at the bakery and you could be looking for a new carpenter. Let’s see you laugh at that.’

After leaving the hospital, their first visit was to the scene of the crime. There’d been a considerable loss of blood and James Howells had needed an instant transfusion. Marmion and Keedy then drove on to the local police station and read the statement given by the man who disturbed the attacker. The witness had been returning home when he heard a noise in the lane. He could just make out a figure in silhouette, standing over someone on the ground, hand aloft as if about to strike. His yell had frightened the man off. When he realised how badly beaten the victim was, he ran to the police station to raise the alarm. An ambulance was summoned by telephone. Admitting that he’d never recognise the attacker, the witness said that he was simply glad that he came along in time to prevent a murder.

Since no other witnesses had come forward, Marmion decided that they’d start their investigation by interviewing a suspect for the earlier murder. On the drive to the cemetery, Keedy was curious.

‘Do you think the same person is behind both attacks, Harv?’

‘On the face of it,’ said Marmion, ‘it looks quite possible, though I have my doubts. However, we’ll proceed on the basis that we’re after one culprit.’

‘He’s someone who hates conchies and doesn’t like clergymen.’

‘That probably sums up Waldron quite well. He doesn’t sound like a regular churchgoer to me. And if he has to listen to dozens of different priests droning on as he’s waiting to fill in a grave, I daresay he loathes the whole breed.’

‘I’ll be interested to see what you make of him,’ said Keedy. ‘Maybe you can explain where his charm lies. I can’t see it.’

‘Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, Joe.’

‘You’d have to be as blind as a bat to find Horrie Waldron beautiful.’

‘Mrs Crowther’s not blind, is she?’

‘Quite the opposite, I’d say.’

As the car rolled along at a comfortable speed, it was overtaken by a rasping motorcycle. Marmion was reminded of something that his wife had told him.

‘I hope that Alice doesn’t go abroad,’ he said. ‘I encouraged her to move out of the house but I’d be very unhappy if she decided to go to France.’

Keedy was concerned. ‘There’s no chance of that, is there?’

‘It was something she mentioned to Ellen. Apparently, a couple of her friends have gone as dispatch riders. Knowing Alice, I think it would have appealed to her adventurous spirit.’

‘For your sake, I hope she doesn’t go.’

‘We can’t stop her, Joe. If she really wants something, she usually gets it.’

‘Your daughter takes after you, Harv. She’s single-minded.’

‘I’d hate to have both my children near the war front.’

Keedy was wounded by the information. He couldn’t understand why Alice hadn’t confided in him. At a time when they were getting closer, she was thinking of going abroad. It was not the best way to let their friendship ripen. As it was, he saw very little of Alice. If she left the country, he’d see nothing at all of her. Keedy was glad that her father could not read his mind.

The car turned in through the gates of the cemetery.

‘Where are we likely to find him?’ asked Marmion.

‘They’ll tell us.’

When they reached the reception lodge, Keedy let him do all the talking. He was too busy adjusting to the news about Alice, still wondering why she’d never touched on the subject with him. When Marmion wanted her to remain in England, he was speaking as a father. Keedy had equally strong reasons for not wishing to see her sail off to France. He hoped he’d get the chance to discuss them with her.

It did not take them long to track down Horrie Waldron. Shirt open at the neck and sleeves rolled up, he was leaning against a gravestone as he rolled himself a cigarette. When he saw the detectives coming, he spat on the ground by way of a welcome. Marmion saw how accurate Keedy’s description of the man had been. The only difference was that Waldron was not wearing the filthy old clothing on which the sergeant had commented. His shirt, waistcoat and trousers were ragged but they were not stained or impregnated with the stink of the grave. When Marmion introduced himself, he got a scowl of disrespect.

‘Do you know the Reverend James Howells?’ he asked. Waldron kept him waiting, lighting his cigarette and puffing on it.

‘I might do.’

‘Either you do or you don’t.’

‘I see priest after bleeding priest in here. Never remember their names.’

‘This gentleman is the curate at St Leonard’s.’

‘What’s that to me, Inspector?’

‘Someone tried to kill him last night.’

Waldron cackled. ‘Then he ought to write better sermons,’ he said, nastily. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the rubbish they come out with. When I first started here, I sometimes used to stand at the back of the chapel to listen to what the priest was saying. It was all I could do not to laugh. Do they get paid for spouting all that bleeding nonsense?’ His grin vanished as he saw the way that they were looking at him. ‘Hey, you don’t think that I had anything to do with it, did you?’