Instrument of Slaughter

‘This is not funny, Joe,’ she scolded, punching him in the chest.

‘I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. It’s time to make up our minds.’

‘I’m just not sure I can go on like this.’

‘How disappointing — I love these trysts in the dark.’ Keedy pulled her close and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you giving me an ultimatum?’

‘I just want to know where I stand.’

‘That’s the very question I was going to put to you. I still don’t know if I’m a pleasant diversion for you or … something more important.’

‘Then I can answer that straight away,’ she said with passion. ‘Outside of my family, you’re the most important person in my whole life. I thought you’d realised that by now. I’ve got all this happiness bubbling away inside me yet I have to keep it bottled up. It’s unnatural.’

‘But we had no choice at first, Alice. You agreed.’

‘That was then — this is now.’

‘I feel as if you’re putting a gun to my head,’ he said.

She was hurt. ‘In that case,’ she conceded, ‘there’s no point in going on with this. It’s time to make a complete break.’

‘It wasn’t a criticism, Alice. I’m grateful to feel a weapon against my temple. It helps me to think more clearly. You should have used the gun earlier.’

She pulled away. ‘You’ve got me completely confused now.’

‘That’s strange,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve got rid of my confusion.’

Alice was nonplussed. ‘What are you saying, Joe?’

‘Let me spell it out. I want you, I need you and …’ he kissed her full on the lips, ‘I love you. Is that clear enough?’

Tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Alice buried her head in his chest. His declaration was more than she dared to hope for. All her anxieties faded away. When the bus finally arrived, she and Keedy jumped happily on to it.

Though he gave the superintendent a fuller version of events, Marmion was very economical with regard to the press. Chatfield approved of his wish to release only a minimum of information. All that appeared in the later editions of the morning papers next day was a paragraph to the effect that the police had solved the mystery of who had attacked Father Howells and that they were not looking for anyone else in connection with the case. Not wanting the press to turn the story into a sensation, Marmion suggested that the suicide of Michael Goodrich could, in due course, be presented as the desperate act of a failed Anglican priest who’d tried to kill someone out of envy at his success. Chatfield was quick to agree that they should suppress all mention of any homosexual strands in the case. The notion of intercourse between two men was anathema to him. Professional jealousy was a more acceptable motive to bring before the public and not without an element of truth.

After going through the newspapers with his superior, Marmion adjourned to his office and found a pile of messages awaiting his attention. Some were letters from putative witnesses, claiming that they had reliable information about the attack on the curate and that they were ready to part with it for a substantial reward. Now that the case was solved, Marmion was able to ignore them. The most important message had come from Caroline Skene who’d rung from Lambeth police station. Marmion didn’t keep her waiting this time. Her cry for help was given priority. Within minutes, he was being driven to her house.

When she let him in, Caroline was almost gibbering. He took her into the living room and made her sit down before asking her why she’d summoned him again. Her face was drawn and there were dark bags under her eyes. Her voice had the note of hysteria he’d heard before. She told him what had happened the previous evening and of her feeling that she was in jeopardy. Marmion was at first doubtful.

‘So you never actually saw this person,’ he said.

‘It was too dark, Inspector. I just know he was there.’

‘But you have no real proof.’

She was wounded. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Yes, of course, Mrs Skene. But it would have been so much more helpful to me if you’d actually caught sight of the man and could tell me at least something about him. How old was he, for instance? Was he tall or short? What was he wearing? Any detail would have been useful.’

‘He’s an evil man,’ she said, ‘and he’s stalking me.’ She reached for a piece of paper on the table and consulted it. ‘After you left the last time, I remembered a few other times when something odd happened. I’ve made a list of them in sequence. You were right about a pattern, Inspector.’ She handed the paper over. ‘It’s quite clear.’

Marmion glanced at the list. ‘I’m not sure that I can see it.’

‘Four of those occasions are on club night.’

‘Do you mean that you went out to a club once a week?’

‘I don’t,’ she replied, ‘but my husband does. If he’s not working the evening shift, he never misses a night at the social club. That man knows it. Because he’s been watching the house, he knows that I’m here on my own on a particular night. That’s when he comes and … stays out there. Yesterday he turned up even though my husband was here. I was horrified. It’s the reason I begged you to call again, Inspector. Tonight is Wilf’s club night. That man will be back again.’

‘You can’t be certain about that, Mrs Skene.’

‘Yes, I can,’ she affirmed, hands trembling. ‘Do you ever lie awake at night when you have something troubling you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he admitted. ‘It happens whenever I’m involved in a difficult case. I stay awake in the dark, wondering how on earth we can solve it.’

‘It was like that for me last night. Something kept going round and round in my mind. It just wouldn’t let me sleep. Eventually,’ she said, sitting forward in her chair, ‘I realised what it was. I’d forgotten the most important evidence of all.’

‘And what was that?’

‘It was the day when Cyril was killed. I wasn’t expecting him to call but he knew that my husband wasn’t here so he took the risk of coming. It was wonderful to see him so excited about that meeting. I shared in his joy. That was my mistake,’ she went on, sorrowfully. ‘I should have kept my eyes open. Because it was dark outside, I thought it was safe to walk with Cyril to the end of the street. He’d only have a hundred yards or so to get to the bus stop. He gave me a kiss and left.’ There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘That was the last time I saw him alive.’

‘You said something about keeping your eyes open.’

‘He was there, Inspector. I half-noticed him at the time but I was too happy at having seen Cyril to look properly at anyone else. I went straight back to the house and thought about the unexpected treat I’d just had. It was only in the middle of the night that it finally came back to me,’ she recalled. ‘That man was there. He could have followed Cyril and murdered him.’

‘He could have, Mrs Skene, but we don’t know that he did.’

‘I know,’ she said with conviction. ‘I know he was there that day and I’m equally sure that he was outside this house yesterday even though it wasn’t Wilf’s club night. I’m not simply a nervous woman given to flights of fancy, Inspector. This man is real and he’s a killer.’

Marmion looked down at the list again. The pattern was inescapable. On four separate occasions in the past month, Caroline had been convinced that the house was being watched. Each time coincided with her husband’s absence at the social club. Since she’d been left alone, her instincts had been heightened. The stalker did exist, Marmion accepted that. What he could not decide was what the man was after. On first hearing that she’d been followed, it had occurred to him that Eric Fussell might be involved, but the revelation about his sexuality eliminated him from any list of possible suspects. There was a secondary reason to omit the librarian. When she was out with Cyril Ablatt one time, Fussell had passed by on the other side of the street and Caroline had been pulled into a doorway. She’d actually seen the librarian. He was not the man she’d glimpsed following her on her way home.

She might be fearful and highly strung but Caroline was patently in need of his help. Club night had come to hold an eerie significance for her.

‘What time does your husband leave this evening?’ asked Marmion.