Instrument of Slaughter

him from behind.

‘Don’t run off this time, Horrie,’ he warned.

‘Let go of me.’

‘If you try to get away again, I’ll handcuff you.’ Keedy released him. ‘I’ve come to place you under arrest.’

Waldron was outraged. ‘What the hell for?’

‘It’s no good playing the innocent. We searched that hole you live in.’

‘You got no right to do that.’

‘It was legal and above board. We had a warrant.’

‘You’ve got a bloody cheek, if you ask me.’

‘I’m glad that you mentioned blood,’ said Keedy. ‘We found the stains you tried to wash off from your trousers.’

‘They weren’t bloodstains,’ said Waldron, wildly. ‘I spilt some tomato sauce on them, that’s all.’

‘You were trying to remove the evidence of your attack on Cyril Ablatt.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Let’s discuss it when we’ve got you in custody, shall we?’

‘You got to believe me, Sergeant. I never laid a finger on Ablatt.’

Keedy was impervious to his protestations. After reading him his rights, he arrested him and invited Waldron to go with him. The gravedigger held his ground as he weighed up the possibilities. In the end, he seemed to give up and let his head fall to his chest. Without warning, he then gave Keedy a firm push and ran off in the opposite direction, darting between the headstones as if the devil was at his heels. Annoyed at the deception, Keedy gave chase, his greater energy and his longer strides eating up the distance between them. Waldron could hear the footsteps getting closer and closer. He put all his strength into an extra burst but it was in vain. Keedy matched it effortlessly and got close enough to dive forward and tackle the fugitive around the thighs.

Waldron came crashing down to the ground and landed head first, dazing himself momentarily in the process. By the time his head cleared, he found that his wrists had been handcuffed behind his back and that Keedy was holding him down. When he tried to wriggle free, Waldron could hardly move. Keedy stood up and took hold of his collar to haul him upright.

‘That’s another charge, Horrie,’ he said. ‘You resisted arrest.’

‘Piss off!’

‘You’re determined to make it difficult for yourself, aren’t you?’

Waldron was fuming. ‘I swear, on the grave of my mother, that I didn’t touch Ablatt that night.’

Keedy held him by his lapel. ‘So where did those bloodstains come from?’

The question took all of the resistance out of Waldron. His face reddened and his whole body sagged. Shifting his feet uneasily, he turned his face away. After a few moments, he found some vestigial defiance.

‘I’m saying nothing,’ he said.

Caroline Skene took time to go through her memories of times spent with Ablatt. She wrote down a list of incidents, crossing some decisively out then reinstating the odd one after reflection. In the end, she’d remembered six definite occasions when it occurred to her — if only for the briefest of moments — that there might have been someone watching them. She added a seventh, explaining that it referred to a time when Ablatt had arrived at the house and said that he’d had the feeling that he might have been trailed by someone. Since they could see nobody in the street through the window, they dismissed the notion. Caroline now believed they’d been too hasty in doing so. She handed the list to Marmion who read through it.

‘There is a pattern here, Mrs Skene,’ he observed. ‘The incidents all took place either during the evening or on a Sunday. If someone is shadowing you, he can only do it outside working hours.’

‘The trouble is that I can’t be certain, Inspector. Did I actually think that something fishy was going on at the time or am I inventing it?’

‘Only you can tell me that.’

‘I sensed someone might have been there without actually seeing him.’

‘Instinct is usually reliable,’ he told her. ‘It is in the case of my wife, anyway. When she gets the feeling that something is in the air, she rarely makes mistakes.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘I suggest that you stay indoors of an evening for a while. You’re safe enough moving around during the day. If you do need to venture out one evening, keep your eyes peeled. Note the time and place where you get the idea that you may be under observation.’

‘I’ll be too afraid to leave the house at all now.’

‘That’s up to you, Mrs Skene.’

‘Do you think I’m in danger?’

‘I think that you should exercise caution,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘though I don’t believe there’s any immediate physical danger. If this person has designs on you, he had the opportunity to strike yesterday evening.’

She was reassured. ‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘There’s always the possibility that he may just be an admirer.’

‘Then it’s a strange way to show his admiration,’ she yelled, with a sudden flash of temper that she regretted instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I didn’t mean to shout like that. It’s rather got on my nerves, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s not surprising. Answer me this,’ said Marmion. ‘When the two of you were out together, was there ever a time when one of you recognised anyone that you knew?’

‘I never saw anyone I knew but Cyril did.’

‘Oh — when was this?’

‘It was just before Christmas. Since it was very cold, we had hats, scarves and gloves on. In fact, I had a scarf across my mouth so nobody could possibly have recognised me. But Cyril was afraid that someone might spot him,’ she said. ‘At one point, he pulled me into a shop doorway and ducked his head. There was someone he knew, walking on the opposite pavement.’

‘Did he say who it was?’

‘Oh, yes. It was his boss.’

‘Eric Fussell?’

‘That was the name. Cyril was so anxious not to be seen by him.’

Keedy was soon regretting the fact that he took the prisoner back to Scotland Yard. Hearing that a suspect had been arrested, Chatfield insisted on being present during the interrogation, wrongly believing that his rank would intimidate Waldron. It did nothing of the kind. The gravedigger simply clammed up and refused to answer any questions. While he sat on one side of a table, the detectives sat on the other. Left alone with him, Keedy felt that he could get him talking. But as long as the superintendent was there, threatening impotently, there was no chance.

‘You’re not helping yourself, Mr Waldron,’ said Chatfield. ‘Silence is no means of defence. You’re our prime suspect. We know that you had reason to hate Cyril Ablatt. We know that you’re given to violent behaviour. And we’ve now found bloodstains on the trousers you wore that night. It appears that you tried in vain to get rid of them.’

Chatfield would like to have confronted him with the trousers but Marmion had promised to bring them back in the car and had not yet returned. Arms folded and eyes on the ceiling, Waldron continued to ignore everything that was said. The superintendent could simply not get through to him. Relief at last came. There was an urgent message from the commissioner and Chatfield had to make a reluctant exit. Keedy had his chance to chisel away at Waldron. It took him five minutes before he got the first few words out of him.

‘Do you admit that it was blood on those trousers?’

‘It might be.’

‘Either it is or it isn’t.’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘You remembered spilling tomato sauce on them earlier.’

‘Yes, it does look a bit like blood.’