Send Superintendent West

“Oh, she is. Little parts. David’s been away from her a great deal. First the Korean war, then some special assignments. That is why they came to England. David’s likely to be here for twelve months, perhaps longer. Then she found she couldn’t bear to be without Ricky, and they sent for him. Did you really mean to ask if she’s happy with David?”

“I’d like to know.”

“I can tell you he’s in love with her — passionately. But it’s one thing for a man to come back to a beautiful wife, to know she’s waiting, another to be the patient, faithful wife. Oh, I don’t think there is anything wrong.” He knew that she was glancing at him, and that her eyes were laughing. “But don’t really know each other very well Are you looking for a motive?”

“Just for facts.” He turned into a main road near Hammersmith Broadway, where five roads met and the lumbering red giants of the buses loomed over the black Humber Hawk.

“Shawn’s inclined to give her her head, is he? He’s too easy with her?”

“Isn’t that a guess?” taunted Lissa.

“A deduction. His wife usually sleeps late, the maid arrives at nine, and Shawn and his son get up early, so someone gets the breakfast.”

Lissa laughed.

“They don’t have a cooked breakfast. But you’re right, David takes the easy way with Belle.”

“Has there ever been any threat to the boy?”

“I’ve not heard of one.”

“Do you know of anybody with a personal motive for wanting to hurt either of them?”

“No.”

“Mr Marino said they were rich,” Roger remarked after a pause.

“They were both rich at one time, but Belle lost her money. David has plenty for the two of them, but —” Lissa hesitated, as if seeking the right words, then went on very slowly. “I think if she still had her own money, she would take Ricky and leave David high and dry. It makes it sound as if I don’t like Belle, and that’s not so, Superintendent. But I do think David’s money holds Belle where nothing and no one else could.”

At Ealing Broadway, near the Common, where women and young children and here and there a nursemaid were sitting about or playing beneath the shade of trees, Lissa told him where to turn off for Wavertree Road. Soon they were driving along the narrow, tree-lined avenues of the housing estate. They passed countless houses which looked very much alike, the red bricked walls, the concealing hedges. Everything had the neat and tidy look that was so typically English.

From the end of Wavertree Road, Lissa directed him to the cul-de-sac, shaped like a horseshoe and with three houses in it, the Shawns’ the middle of the three. This house was brick-built, the top was timbered, and the tiles were weathered to a dark red. Window frames and doors had been recently painted, and the garden was spick and span, dahlias nodding multi-coloured heads and ragged petals in the quiet wind. In the garden of the house on the right, a grey-haired woman stood looking up at Number Thirty-one.

As Roger switched off the engine, they heard a scream, then a man’s voice, followed by more screaming which shattered the suburban quiet; even here the note of hysteria was clearly discernible, with its message of anguish.

Lissa Meredith was out of the car before Roger. She ran to the gate, which stood open, and flew along the yellow gravel path to the front door. The grey-haired woman stared apprehensively at her and at Roger. By the time Roger reached the porch Lissa had opened the front door and disappeared. The screaming became louder, the distorted voice made words sound like raw wounds.

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault, I hate you! I hate you, I could kill you! Get out of my way, get out, get out!”

Roger went into the hall, closed the door, saw Lissa halfway up the stairs and two people — obviously the Shawns — at the head, on the landing. Belle was struggling wildly in her husband’s grasp.

4

HYSTERIA

BELLE SHAWN wore a dressing-gown, wide open; beneath it, a pair of filmy pink pyjamas. Her hair was blown about as if caught by a high wind; she was kicking at Shawn and trying to wrench her arms free. As Lissa neared them, she got one hand away, and her fingers clawed at her husband’s face. Pain made him relax his grip, and Belle pulled herself free, turned and rushed down the stairs — and saw Lissa for the first time.

She screamed: “Ricky’s gone, Ricky’s gone I Fetch the police, he won’t Fetch the police!”

She almost fell down the next few stairs, and when she was a step above Lissa, Roger could see the distortion of her face; the wild expression, the lips stretched so tautly across the large white teeth that it was like looking at a hideous mask.

Shawn was in a sleeveless vest and trousers. His face was a mask, too, but it wasn’t hideous; except for the burning eyes and the barely noticeable working of the jaw it would have been expressionless. Blood welled up from two parallel scratches across his right cheek.

“Fetch the police!” screamed Belle. “If you won’t —” She caught her breath, but it was only a fleeting pause, there was no chance for Lissa to speak before she cried: “You’re as bad as he is! You’re worse, get out of my way!”

Roger saw her hand rise, saw Lissa stagger to one side.

Shawn called: “Belle!”

Belle pushed past Lissa, stumbled again, saved herself by grabbing the banister rail, then raced down the remaining stairs dressing-gown flying behind her, bare legs long and shapely, pyjama coat rucking up. She didn’t see Roger until she was past Lissa. She didn’t stop, but veered to the right. Guessing he would try to stop her, she