Instrument of Slaughter

‘What has this got to do with a violent attack in the night?’

‘You’re avoiding the question again, sir.’

‘No,’ retorted Fussell, ‘I did not meet Father Howells socially. I have, by choice, a very limited social life. After a long day here, all that my wife and I wish to do is to have a quiet evening at home.’

‘So you can’t explain how your name got into that address book?’

‘I don’t have the foggiest idea.’

The reply was assertive and bolstered by a defiant glare. Marmion thanked him for his time and rose to his feet. Keedy got up to follow him out. As they strolled towards the door, they walked past Mrs Fussell and saw her avert her gaze from them. When they came out into the fresh air, Marmion turned enquiringly to Keedy.

‘You were right,’ said the other. ‘I disliked him on sight as well.’

‘Why did he lie about having his name in that address book?’

‘That wasn’t the only lie he told us, Harv. When we walked out, you must have noticed his wife.’

‘Yes, she looked rather bored and unhappy.’

‘I don’t wish to be unkind,’ said Keedy, ‘but she’s not the most attractive woman. She looks as if she’d be very dull company. For all his arrogance, Fussell has got a real spark in him. Could you really imagine him spending all his spare time at home with a wife like that?’

Maud Crowther placed the flowers in front of the headstone then stood back to gaze down at the inscription. She had made her weekly pilgrimage to the cemetery and was weighed down by sad thoughts of her late husband. After all this time, she missed him as much as ever. They’d been happily married for a long time. Lost in her memories, she stood there in silence for almost twenty minutes. When she finally turned away, she lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back. Having paid her respects to her husband, she went in search of a friend.

Horrie Waldron was waist-deep in a grave. He was aware that Maud would pay her customary visit to the cemetery but he knew better than to interrupt her. If she wanted to talk, she’d come to him. As a rule, she simply went straight home without even seeing him. Today, it was different. She was anxious to find him. When he saw her walking along the gravel path, he clambered out of the grave and used his arms to semaphore. Maud spotted him and went across the grass.

‘Good afternoon, Horrie,’ she said.

He gave a sly grin. ‘Nice to see you.’

‘Have you heard the news?’

‘I’ve done more than that, Maud. I’ve had the coppers out here after me.’

She was shocked. ‘They surely don’t think that you had something to do with it, do they?’

‘They’d pin every crime on me, if they could,’ he said, sourly. ‘Just because I had a spot of bother with them once or twice, they blame me for every damn thing.’

‘Did you mention me this time?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Good — I don’t want them sniffing around my house again. It could get back to Stan,’ she said, worriedly, ‘and you know what would happen then. You’d need someone to dig your grave.’

Waldron cackled. ‘It’d be worth it, Maud.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I’d lose my son’s respect for ever.’

‘Then we make sure Stan never finds out.’

‘There’s one simple way to do that,’ she said, moving closer and clearing her throat. ‘Look, Horrie, I’ve been thinking about this for some time. Maybe we should stop taking all these risks. It’s silly at my age. I’m fed up with having to creep round and tell lies to everyone. The game is not worth the candle.’

His hackles rose. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

‘We’d still be friends.’

‘What about my …visits?’

‘They’ll have to stop.’

‘But I don’t want them to stop, Maud.’

‘It’s starting to get too dangerous.’

‘Thought you liked danger,’ he said, looming over her. ‘It was all part of the fun.’ When she tried to move away, he grabbed her wrist. ‘You won’t get rid of me as easily as that,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be there at the usual time on the usual day. Is that clear?’

‘You’re hurting my wrist.’

‘Is that clear?’ he demanded, tightening his grip.

‘I don’t want you any more, Horrie,’ she said, angrily.

His eyes flashed. ‘Got no choice, have you?’

They got back to Scotland Yard to find a pile of putative witness statements awaiting them on Marmion’s desk. They related to both crimes. One purported to come from the killer, taunting them with their inability to identify him. A second ‘confession’ came in the form of a crude cartoon with images of two victims being clubbed from behind. Other people did make a stab at naming the culprit. Among the suspects put forward was a gravedigger from Abney Park cemetery. The information about the second attack seemed more reliable. Three separate people claimed to have seen someone running out of the lane and down the street around the time when the curate had been bludgeoned to the ground. A woman who looked out of her bedroom window caught a glimpse of him as well. All they could see was a tall figure with long strides. He’d vanished into the night.

Marmion and Keedy were still discussing the dubious evidence when the superintendent breezed into the office. Chatfield demanded an instant report on how they’d spent their time. When he’d heard the details of their movements, he was disappointed by their apparent lack of progress.

‘This will only give more ammunition to the press,’ he grumbled.

‘You’ve given them far too much already, sir,’ said Marmion, reproachfully, ‘and they fired it straight back at us. Why tell them that we were looking for one man when you had no actual proof of that? You were working entirely on supposition.’

‘I was relying on my experience, Inspector.’

‘Well, I’d advise more caution in the future. According to you, the curate was Cyril Ablatt by another name yet that’s not what the vicar thinks.’

‘And he should know,’ Keedy interjected.

‘The two of them are on opposite sides when it comes to the subject of conscientious objection to military service. That NCF leaflet misled you completely.’

Chatfield was unrepentant. ‘I don’t accept that.’

‘In future,’ said Marmion, ‘I’d be grateful if you let me handle any press conferences. I am, after all, supposed to be in charge of the two cases. Isn’t that why I was given the assignment — because I know how to handle reporters?’

‘You were chosen against my wishes,’ Chatfield reminded him, spitefully. ‘And for the record, I, too, know how to keep the press in its place.’

‘Then why did they launch that attack on us in the paper?’ asked Keedy. ‘It’s not helpful when we’re mocked like that. Thanks to you, the inspector came in for the heaviest criticism. We expect you to support us, sir, not offer us up as sacrifices.’

‘That’s enough, Sergeant!’

‘Very well,’ said the other, backing off, ‘but at least you know how we feel.’

‘I expect more deference from a junior officer.’

‘Then you ought to earn it,’ said Marmion under his breath. Aloud, he was placatory. ‘There’s no point in arguing about it. I’m sure it won’t happen again and I’m sorry if the sergeant and I overstepped the mark, sir.’

‘So you should be,’ said Chatfield. ‘What’s the next move?’

‘I think that we should probe a little deeper into Waldron’s private life.’

‘How will you do that, Inspector?’

‘By taking a look at his digs,’ said Marmion. ‘To do that, we’ll need you to get us a search warrant. I’ve got a strong feeling that Waldron is hiding something.’

Stroking his chin, the superintendent looked first at Marmion then at Keedy.