A Capital Crime (9 page)

Davies screwed up his face, as if trying to remember something, and Stratton felt an odd and wholly unexpected twinge of uncertainty.

Davies’s eyes half closed, so that his pupils were partly hidden beneath his eyelids, and Stratton had a sudden image of a lift stopped between two floors which, for some reason he was unable
to pinpoint, increased his uncertain feeling. For Christ’s sake, he told himself, the man’s told so many lies that he’s probably having trouble remembering the real version of events.

Davies’s eyes popped open again, and, as if satisfied by some inner voice of confirmation, he said firmly, ‘Yes. A rope.’

‘Where did you get the rope?’

Davies stared at him as if this were not a question to which he could reasonably be expected to know the answer. ‘I … I don’t know. I think I had it off my van.’

‘So you brought it in with you?’

‘Yes.’ He sounded more confident this time, and looked at Stratton expectantly.

Feeling that some sort of encouragement was due, Stratton said, ‘Good … You brought it in with the intention of murdering your wife, did you?’

‘I …’ Davies’s tentative smile of acknowledgement changed to a frown. ‘No … No!’ He was irritated now, his voice a peevish semitone higher. ‘It was a row, see? Like I told you.’

‘So why did you bring the rope up to your flat?’

‘I … Well, I was tidying up, wasn’t I? Tidying the van.’

‘Tidying the van,’ Stratton repeated in tones of disbelief. ‘I see. And what did you do then – after you’d strangled her?’

‘I took her down to the flat below.’ The reply came quickly this time, without any doubt.

‘Why?’

‘Well … Because it was empty, see? Mr Gardiner was in hospital.’

‘Then what?’

‘I waited a bit, and took her down to the washhouse when Mr and Mrs Backhouse were asleep.’

‘And this was when?’

‘The start of November.’

‘Can you remember the date?’ asked Stratton, leafing through his pocket diary.

‘No.’

‘The seventh?’ asked Stratton, remembering Backhouse’s words about the workmen. ‘That was what you told the police at Merthyr Tydfil.’

‘It must have been the seventh, then.’

‘Fair enough. What did you do afterwards?’

Davies blinked in bewilderment. Thinking he hadn’t understood the question, Stratton clarified it. ‘I’m asking what you did after you’d taken the body downstairs.’

‘Well, then … Then I went to sleep.’

‘And when you woke up?’

‘I fed my baby and went to work.’

‘When did you strangle the baby?’

‘Later. Two days. When I came home from my work. I strangled her with my tie. I took her downstairs at night.’

‘And you put her in the washhouse?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Who was looking after the baby when you were at work?’

Davies looked indignant. ‘I fed her all right. I done it when I come in.’

‘Yes …’ Wondering about this – surely any infant left alone and unfed for so long would have bawled its head off? – he said, ‘Why did you kill her?’

Davies stared at him for a moment, his face a mask of stupid incomprehension, before tears came into his eyes and, closing them, he lowered his head, shaking it slowly from side to side. When he opened his eyes, his expression was one of utter defeat. His mouth worked for a moment, apparently trying – if his blank look was anything to go by – to frame words independently of his mind. Then he said, in a whisper, ‘I don’t know,’ and, putting his head in his hands, began to sob.

At least, thought Stratton, he’s got enough decency left to feel remorse. After a moment he said, ‘I think we’ll leave it there,’ and nodded at Ballard, who finished writing and slid the statement towards him.

‘Would you like to read it?’ Stratton asked Davies, who looked up, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

‘You read it to me,’ he said, sniffing. ‘I’m not very educated, see?’

‘Very well.’ Stratton picked up the paper. ‘
Muriel was incurring one debt after another and I could not stand it any longer, so I strangled her with a piece of rope …
’

Davies’s blank look whilst listening to the statement caused Stratton to wonder how much he’d actually understood of the proceedings, but he concluded that it was because the words were not actually his, and, the language being rather more sophisticated than his own, he may not have understood it all. However, he felt satisfied that it was as good a summary of what Davies had said as any, and Davies seemed to feel the same way because he made no comment, but picked up the pen once more and signed his name carefully in the place Ballard had indicated.

‘Now,’ said Stratton. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea, shall we? Smoke?’ He fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and nudged the packet over to Davies. Ballard went to the door to request tea from the policeman standing outside. Reaching over to give Davies a light, Stratton said, ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Davies inhaled greedily. ‘It’s quite a relief, I can tell you.’

Chapter Fourteen

‘Something’s puzzling me.’ Having left Davies in the interview room under the eye of PC Arliss, Stratton and Ballard were finishing their tea in the office.

‘What’s that, sir?’

‘The Backhouses said that Muriel and the baby went away on the seventh of November – to Bristol, as they thought – when the workmen were in the house, didn’t they?’

Ballard consulted his notebook. ‘Yes, sir. And that Davies left about a week later.’

‘Well, if the workmen were using the washhouse for storage, how was it that they didn’t notice the bodies?’

‘They were behind the floorboards, sir.’

‘Nevertheless … And we need to find out when those floor-boards were taken up, too.’

‘The thing that’s bothering me, sir, is the baby. If she was left alone for the best part of two days while Davies was at work, she must have howled a bit, and that’s a small house …’

‘Yes, I was thinking about that.’

‘The Backhouses didn’t hear anything – well, they thought she’d gone with the mother, didn’t they? So if they had heard a baby crying you’d think they’d have gone to investigate.’

‘Unless they thought it was coming from next door. I can’t believe the walls are very thick.’

‘That’s true, sir.’

‘Or the baby didn’t make any noise. I suppose that’s possible.’ Ballard – the memory of interrupted nights evidently still fresh in his mind – looked dubious. ‘And,’ Stratton continued, ‘I still can’t understand about that bloody dog … Even if it’s not allowed into the garden, the workmen must have left doors open, bringing things in and out, so why the hell didn’t it start sniffing around?’

‘Perhaps it did and nobody noticed, sir. Or Davies got the dates wrong. It was a few weeks ago, and it’s hard to remember … And it’s obvious he’s not too bright.’

‘You can say that again. I found myself feeling a bit sorry for the poor little sod, actually.’

Ballard nodded. ‘So did I, sir. He seems so … well, harmless.’

‘Probably is, when he’s not strangling his family. Obviously lived in a bit of a fantasy world, and now it’s all coming home to him.’

‘He does seem to be having a job disentangling fact from fiction, sir.’

‘Yes, I noticed that. And there’s something else that’s bothering me a bit – the way he didn’t seem to know
why
he’d done things. Apart from strangling Muriel because of the row over money, I mean … He was pretty quick to agree with the things we put to him, but that business about the rope, and why he killed the baby … It was as if he genuinely didn’t know what to answer.’

‘Well, he’s got a fair old temper, hasn’t he? Even his mother said that. I can’t imagine he thinks too much before he acts.’

‘Loses his head, you mean. Actually, I don’t suppose he thinks much
at all
, apart from making up stories.’

‘That’s his problem, sir – he’s fine when he’s making things up, but as to reality …’

‘Yes,’ said Stratton thoughtfully. ‘That makes sense – in as much as anything does.’ He read through the statement once more, looking for inconsistencies. ‘The timing’s the real bugger, with the baby alone for two days, but I’m sure we can sort it out when we interview the witnesses. Still …’ he swilled down the rest of his
tea and stood up, stretching, ‘so far so good, eh? Come on, let’s get back downstairs.’

They found Davies sitting quite still, head in hands. Arliss, standing behind him, hastily levered himself away from the wall and adopted what Stratton assumed was supposed to be an expression of observant obsequiousness, which merely succeeded in rendering him even more of an eyesore than usual.

Davies turned to look at him and Stratton saw that he had been crying. He bent down and put an arm around Davies’s thin shoulders. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, benevolently. ‘You’re doing well.’

Davies made noisy gulping sounds, then looked up at Stratton with eyes full of hope. You pathetic, inadequate little bastard, thought Stratton. He’d seen this look before – bloody awkward it was, too, when you were busy putting a noose round a man’s neck and he started regarding you as some sort of saviour because you hadn’t knocked him about … In his mind’s eye, Stratton saw once more the tiny, crinkled-up soles of the baby’s feet, heels resting on the cold mortuary slab, so utterly defenceless. The man was as guilty as hell, simple as that. And, Stratton reminded himself, he was doing his job and if that meant getting murderers to regard him as a guardian angel, then so be it. Abruptly, he took his hand off Davies’s shoulders, marched round the table, and took his seat.

‘Now, let’s start from the beginning.’

Davies wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and blurted out, ‘The money was the cause of it. I was working driving a van for Murchison’s, off the Euston Road. Muriel kept asking for more money, so I borrowed twenty quid from the guv’nor. She had it off me, and I told the guv’nor to take it from my wages. She never told me who she owed the money to, see? Started a row whenever I asked about it. I borrowed off all different people to get more for her, but she never let up … We had a letter from the furniture people about money owing, and Muriel told me she never paid it.
I went round there and gave them thirty bob, and then I told her she must pay every week what we owed …’

‘That’s the hire purchase?’

‘Yes. Benfleet’s, it is. After I done that I found she was behind with the rent, and that’s when I blew up – she was wasting the money going to the pictures all the time, leaving the baby, and saying I never gave her enough. I wasn’t going to stand for that.’

‘When was this?’

‘It was a Sunday. November, I think, early on. I had a row with her and then I went to the pub dinner time, and then the pictures. I come back about seven o’clock. I was listening to the wireless, but Muriel wouldn’t stop about the money and the rent, and when we got up next morning she started arguing again. She told me she was going to Brighton with Judy, but she never, she was there when I come home from work. She said something about how she never went there because I’d have a good time while she was gone. I lost my temper and told her if she didn’t pack it up I’d slap her face. She picked up a milk bottle – she was going to throw it at me – so I grabbed the bottle off her. I’d had enough of it, so I washed and went off to the pub.’

‘Which pub?’

‘The Horse and Groom in Great Portland Street. I stopped there till about ten o’clock, I think, and then I come home. Muriel started a row again, so I told her, “I’m going to bed.” When I got up in the morning—’

‘That was the Tuesday, was it? The seventh?’

‘That’s right. Well, I got up, and she never took no notice, so I went straight out to work. I come in at about six thirty, and she went at me again about the money, so then I lost my temper and hit her in the face.’

‘How did you hit her?’

Davies’s face clouded, and the familiar bewildered expression came back for a moment before he said truculently, ‘I don’t know. I just hit her, didn’t I?’

‘Did you punch her, or hit her with the flat of your hand?’

‘My flat hand. I hit her, and she hit me back so I took this piece of rope I had from my van and strangled her with it.’ Davies looked at Stratton expectantly, as if hoping for approval.

‘What did you do then?’

Davies’s face clouded once again. ‘Then?’

‘Yes. After you killed her.’

‘I told you that,’ said Davies, irritably. ‘Don’t have to go into it again, do I?’

‘Yes.’ Stratton leant forward, arms on the table. ‘We need the details.’

‘Details?’ echoed Davies. ‘I just … I put her on the bed.’

‘Was the rope still round her neck at that point?’

‘I don’t know. I think so. I covered her with the eiderdown, see. Then I carried her down the stairs to Mr Gardiner’s flat, like I told you.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Half past ten, I think. Well, about that time.’

‘And then?’

‘I came back upstairs. Had to feed the baby, see? Then I put her to bed.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I had to wait, see? Till it was quiet. I sat in the kitchen and had a fag. I was waiting … Then I took her downstairs to the washhouse.’

‘How?’

‘I just told you,’ said Davies, impatiently. ‘I took her downstairs, through the back door and into the garden. I carried her.’

‘You wrapped up the body first.’

‘Wrapped it?’

‘In a tablecloth, Mr Davies.’

Davies blinked, and passed a hand across his face. ‘Yes …’

‘Was it your tablecloth?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was it the one you saw in the Charge Room?’

‘It must have been … I took her downstairs when it was quiet.’

‘And you concealed her behind the boards in the washhouse?’

‘Yes. Concealed her.’

‘Under the sink?’

‘Yes.’

Stratton and Ballard exchanged glances. Davies was tiring visibly, and his defeated air made Stratton feel that if he suggested that the man had put his wife’s body in a hot air balloon, he’d agree to it in order to get them off his back. It wasn’t unusual, and they’d both seen it before, many times. ‘What did you do then?’ he asked.