‘It wasn’t?’
‘That’s it.’
‘That gives us another point of resemblance to the first murder, then.’
‘You mean the impossibility of sorting out any recognisable car tracks? Quite so. The tanks had made such a mess of the heath that any tracks anything else might have left were indistinguishable. Oh, yes, the fellow may be a madman, but there’s certainly method in his madness.’
‘How long had she been dead?’
‘According to the evidence at the inquest – which will have to be resumed, of course, when we’ve anything more to go on – less than twelve hours. What’s more, there had been no attempt to conceal the body. It had simply been dumped.’
‘And Otto? When did he rejoin his ship?’
‘Three days ago. We picked him up, of course, and gave him a pretty good going-over, you may be sure, but we got nothing except, as I told you, a lot of cheeky answers. When he docks again – they’re only toddling round the Dutch ports, so it won’t be all that long – I’ll pull him in for further questioning, and you can have a go at him, if you like, and see what you make of him.’
‘Did he seem upset in any way by the girl’s death?’
‘Well, he said that if he caught the bastard who did it he’d make him wish he’d never been born. He also said that he and the girl had had a flaming row and that she had thrown him out on his ear a couple of days before the murder.’
‘Hardly the statement a guilty man would be likely to make. It could hardly be more damaging.’
‘Just so. He has an alibi, too, of sorts.’
‘The same sort as Edward James’ library one?’
‘Just as difficult to prove or disprove. Claims that after the girl kicked him out of her digs he got drunk, had his pocket picked and slept rough in a stable-loft just outside Lyndhurst. Got up at the first grey of the dawn and toddled off. We gave the forensic boys the clothes he said he’d slept in, but he’d been to his mother’s place before we collected him, and she’d given the suit a thorough brushing and pressing. There weren’t even any turn-ups to the trousers to give the back-room boys a bit of help.’
‘So you had to let him go? Did you question the girl’s landlady?’
‘Yes. The landlady’s evidence was that he and the girl had had this toss-up and she’d given him the air, and that he certainly hadn’t been back to her digs. That seemed to be as much as she knew. After Otto Schumann had gone, the landlady kicked the girl out as well, and (though, according to Mrs Schumann, she had not been near her) she said she was going back to the cottage for a day or two.’
‘By the way, the landlady seems to have been a party, at first, to the goings-on between Otto Schumann and Maria,’ said Laura. ‘Does she admit as much? Of course, I know things are a lot slacker now than they were when I was at College. All the same …’
‘Ah, well, there, you see, Mrs Gavin, you may be maligning the landlady. It seems that Miss Machrado was all ways round a little bit of a beauty. She had told the landlady from the very beginning that she was married and that her husband was a sailor and might be coming to see her, and that he would, of course, share her room. I should say, although it seems unkind to mention it now that she’s dead, she had it coming to her, all right.’
‘Interesting,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I look forward to meeting Otto Schumann.’
(3)
This meeting took place some ten days later.
‘Well, Herr Schumann?’ said Dame Beatrice with her crocodile grin.
‘Mister, if you don’t mind,’ said Otto. ‘Born and bred in the briar patch, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know. But Señorita Maria Mercedes Machrado was not similarly born and bred, I believe.’
‘That little tart! She wasn’t a Spanish-born Spaniard either. Came from South America or somewhere.
‘Really? On one of your ships?’
‘Hell! How did you know that?’
‘It was an inspired guess, I admit.’
‘How many of those do you average to the minute?’
‘The usual “sixty seconds’ worth of distance run”. Look here, Mr Otto, you could help us, I think. You had quarrelled with the girl. You’ve admitted that. What was it all about?’
‘God knows, I don’t.’
‘She was with child.’
‘So she said, and, of course, she may have been.’
‘Was the quarrel …?’
‘About that? No. Besides, I don’t admit it was my doing. It might have been, of course, but I don’t see how she could have known she was pregnant if it was my kid. It takes a few weeks, surely, to make certain.’
‘I take your point, and I do not believe that you killed her. Who did? You must have some idea.’
‘I haven’t. I know what you’re thinking, though.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Well, it’s more than a bit obvious, isn’t it? Some bloke killed my sister, and the same bloke killed Maria. Personally, I think the king rat James is indicated.’
‘On what do you base this assumption?’
‘It’s just a hunch. I deeply distrust that godly guy.’
‘Have you any idea of what the notices on the bodies stand for? I believe the police have mentioned them to you.’
‘Sound like car numbers to me.’
‘In Memoriam?’
‘Blokes and girls do get killed on rallies and in motor-smashes, don’t they? – so in memoriam would be quite appropriate.’
‘Unfortunately, that is true. Car numbers would also include some letters of the alphabet, though, would they not?’
‘Might be part of this In Memoriam bit, don’t you think? Karen could drive a car and had had a smash or two, I believe.’
‘And Maria?’
‘Well, she couldn’t drive, so far as I know. I always took her out in Ma’s little bus.’
‘Did you ever receive the impression that she was afraid of anybody?’
‘No. She was quite a girl, in her way. Cap over the windmill
