‘Where were you last night just before midnight, Horrie?’ asked Keedy.
‘I was in my bed.’
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’
‘I was on my own.’
‘What about your landlady?’
‘I wouldn’t let that old witch anywhere near me,’ said Waldron. ‘She and her husband sleep upstairs and my room is in the basement. When I let myself in, they can’t even hear me.’
‘Did you drink at the Weavers Arms?’
‘Why are you bothering me with all these questions?’
‘We’re trying to eliminate you from our enquiries, sir,’ said Marmion.
‘Well, be quick about it. I got work to do.’
‘Were you at the pub?’ repeated Keedy. ‘We can check, you know.’
‘I left there at closing time. Stan will tell you that.’
‘And you went straight back to your digs?’
‘No,’ said Waldron, sarcastically, ‘I killed three old ladies and a couple of priests on the way. Why pick on me?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve never even heard this Reverend Thingamajig’s name before.’
‘But you’ve heard the name of Cyril Ablatt.’
‘Oh, yes. I remember that clever bugger. I’ll give three cheers at the funeral.’
‘That would be very unkind of you, Mr Waldron,’ said Marmion.
‘I won’t ask you why. What I’d like to know is what happened to the spade.’
The gravedigger blinked. ‘What spade, Inspector?’
‘This one,’ said Keedy, touching the implement that stood upright in a mound of fresh earth. ‘It was the one you took to the pub on the night Cyril Ablatt was murdered. Mr Crowther confirmed that.’
‘It was my spade. I can do what I like with it.’
‘Not if you use it as a weapon, sir,’ warned Marmion.
‘So tell us what happened to it,’ said Keedy. ‘You took it to the pub and you had it with you when you went out for an hour or so. Why didn’t you bring it back with you when you went to the Weavers Arms again?’
Marmion saw him blench. ‘Wandering around in the dark with a spade is an odd thing to do, Mr Waldron,’ he said. ‘Answer the sergeant’s question. Where did you leave it when you went back to the pub?’
‘And what did you have it for in the first place?’ said Keedy, pulling the spade out and holding it up. ‘Did you, by any chance, take it home with you yesterday evening as well?’
Waldron’s bravado had melted away. Eyes darting, he looked like a cornered animal. He let his cigarette fall to the ground then stamped on it with a brutal heel. After a few moments, he snatched the spade from Keedy’s hand.
‘Give that here!’ he yelled. ‘It’s mine.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alice Marmion had said nothing to her friend about her narrow escape from the man who’d followed her. If she’d confided in Vera Dowling, she’d have had to divulge the name of Joe Keedy and that would have let the cat out of the bag. It was important to keep their friendship a secret. Trustworthy in every other respect, Vera was prone to the occasional slip of the tongue. It was safer to keep her ignorant and to be spared her veiled disapproval. She’d never understand why Alice had become involved with a man almost ten years older. If anything, she’d be quietly scandalised and that would have an adverse affect on their friendship. Silence was definitely Alice’s best option. Having missed lunch because of the pressure of work, they were having a snack in the canteen that afternoon. As usual, Vera found something to worry about.
‘Have you had any more thoughts about Belgium?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Alice. ‘I’m wondering if there’s anyone left in the country. We’ve had so many refugees that the entire population must be here now.’
‘I was talking about that idea you had.’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘Have you made a decision yet?’
‘No, Vera. One day, I want to go, and the next day, I’ve changed my mind. It wouldn’t necessarily be in Belgium, of course. I could be driving a motorbike in France.’ Her face lit up. ‘I might even get close to Paul’s regiment. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could see my brother over there?’
Vera was sad. ‘Paul’s gain would be my loss.’
‘You could always come with me.’
‘I could never be a dispatch rider.’
‘There are lots of other things you could do over there, Vera.’
‘No,’ said the other, ‘I know my limits and I’ve already reached them. Besides, I promised Mummy that I’d never go abroad because of the danger. If you desert me, I’ll be left on my own.’
‘Hardly!’ said Alice with a laugh. ‘I’m not the only woman in the WEC.’
‘You’re the only one I get on with.’
‘You’ll soon find someone else, Vera.’
‘Nobody else seems to like me.’
‘That’s absurd! Lots of people like you.’
‘No, Alice, they put up with me because of you and that’s very different. Mrs Billington is a case in point. She tolerates me because she admires you.’
It was true and both women knew it. Though she’d had enough courage to leave home, Vera lacked the personality and thrust to mix easily in a group. She always needed someone to lean on. Without Alice beside her, Vera would struggle. She was too shy to make new women friends and too plain to attract male interest. While she sympathised with her friend’s plight, however, Alice had to be selfish. In many ways, she recognised, Vera was holding her back. Going abroad would allow Alice to escape from the dependency.
‘Look out,’ said Vera, tensing as she saw someone approaching their table with a purposeful stride. ‘Mrs Billington is on her way.’
‘Try to relax. Hannah’s one of us.’
‘Then why do I always feel so threatened?’
Alice turned to see the older woman coming towards them with a newspaper under her arm. As they exchanged greetings, Hannah sat down beside Alice.
‘How would tomorrow afternoon suit you, ladies?’ she asked. ‘You can come and have a proper tea at my house.’
‘Thanks very much, Hannah,’ said Alice. ‘We’d like that.’
Vera hesitated. ‘I’m … not sure that I can come, Mrs Billington.’
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Hannah. ‘Why is that?’
‘I’ve got … something else on.’
‘In that case, Alice will have to come on her own. Is that all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice, helping to bail her friend out. ‘She did warn me that she’d be too busy to help me all day tomorrow,’ she went on, reinforcing the white lie. ‘You’ll have to come to Hannah’s house another time, Vera.’
‘I will,’ said Vera without enthusiasm.
Hannah took the newspaper from under her arm and unfurled it.
‘I take it that neither of you has seen the early edition?’ she said, pointing to the front page headline. ‘The Shoreditch killer is on the prowl again.’
‘Oh, no!’ cried Vera.
‘Luckily, he was stopped just in time.’
‘Let me see,’ said Alice, pulling the newspaper closer so that she could read it.
‘Your father almost had another murder to solve,’ said Hannah, seriously. ‘It’s clear that the man will stop at nothing. Inspector Marmion needs to catch this devil. Until he does, everyone in London will be looking over their
