A Little Murder (26 page)

However, by that time her words were irrelevant to Rosy. ‘So which way am I going to go?’ she asked listlessly.

‘Oh, don’t worry, my dear,’ was the bolstering reply, ‘it will be quite quick. Harold can be very deft when he tries. You won’t feel a thing.’

‘And then what? Plonked in a deckchair at Bexhill – or Brighton, perhaps?’

‘Brighton? Oh hardly! There’s a nice bench just outside the Grand Hotel at Eastbourne,
much
more suitable.’ Mrs Gill began to smile, and then stopped and looked genuinely contrite. ‘Oh dear, it’s hardly a laughing matter. Unpardonable of me. I am so sorry!’

Rosy closed her eyes. Death was bad enough, but to be killed on a wave of facetiousness was the last straw … She glanced at Gill. He had taken out his pipe and was in the act of lighting it, but the gesture held no homely comfort, for the eyes that met hers were hard and expressionless. It could not be much longer, and she wondered again how it would happen.

As Rosy spoke with her captors and pondered her last moments much discussion had also been going on in Felix’s flat.

‘I bumped into Rosy Gilchrist at the museum this morning,’ announced Vera. ‘She seemed pretty cut up about the Sabatier disappearance – as well she might. To have found a corpse, let alone his, and then to hear it had turned up naked in Bexhill cannot have been particularly jolly. I began to feel somewhat sorry for her.’

‘Doubtless you fought down the impulse,’ remarked Cedric.

She glared at him. ‘Sometimes, Cedric, your observations are so ill timed! I am extremely shaken by his fate myself, as well you know. And if Miss Gilchrist is even mildly disturbed, then I for one can understand her feelings.’ She lit a cheroot and expelled the smoke with a violent swirl.

Felix began to cough. ‘Huh,’ he spluttered, ‘she’s not the only one that’s disturbed. The whole thing is awful! One’s great fear is that she will go to the police – nerve bound to crack sooner or later.’

‘I’m not so sure. Not my type, of course, far too pleased with herself, but I think she has a certain fibre – not likely to buckle under strain.’

‘Unlike your young friend Deirdre,’ Cedric observed softly.

Vera scowled but said nothing.

‘Nevertheless,’ he continued, ‘Felix is right. One cannot take anything for granted and that includes Rosy Gilchrist’s nerve. What is she doing now?’

Vera shrugged. ‘Probably gassing with the Gills. I bumped into the wife yesterday who said something about wanting her to go to tea this afternoon. They are moving, apparently; said she had some vase or other for Rosy.’

Cedric leant forward in his chair suddenly alert. ‘She’s there now?’

‘Quite possibly, I daresay.’

‘I am not entirely sure that is a good thing. Is there anyone else there – cronies or anybody?’

‘How should I know? No one else was mentioned. Does it matter?’

Cedric was silent, frowning. And then he said slowly, ‘It probably doesn’t matter one jot. On the other hand it just might.’

‘Why?’ they demanded.

‘An idea has been in my head for some time, but I didn’t mention it as there’s no proof, just “a gut feeling”, as the Americans would say.’ He cleared his throat and looked stern. ‘Has it occurred to you that in all this business there has been a common factor?’

‘What factor?’ Vera asked.

‘The Gills. Marcia lived next door to them and had known Harold Gill in the war. Being neighbours they probably had
the key. We assume that Clovis may have seen something or someone when he was with Marcia on the afternoon she was killed – her steps and veranda overlook the Gills’ garden. You may recall that Marcia’s house is on the corner and, other than the Gills’ place, has nothing next to it. Very little time elapsed between Clovis’s departure and the shooting. Thus somebody must have entered the house between his going and the char’s coming. Such entry could be quickly and discreetly managed by an alert close neighbour, but less so by a stranger. I mean, where would one loiter – crouched behind a pillar box?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Felix said doubtfully, ‘it all sounds a bit far—’

‘Ssh! Just listen and think about Sabatier’s murder as well … It happened in the passage that runs between the two houses. Somebody must have seen him enter Marcia’s kitchen
and
had the time and opportunity to mop up and dispose of the body after the deed was done – and after you and Rosy had hared off down the road. Which rather suggests the killer had seen Rosy discovering the dying Sabatier. That little alley is on Marcia’s property but can be seen from the Gills’ upper windows. It cannot be seen from the road unless you go down the private side steps. It is, to quote some poet or other, a fine and private place.’ Cedric paused and cleared his throat, before adding, ‘You will also note that two of the murders occurred merely yards from the Gills’ house and that two of them involved people they knew. Interesting, really.’

‘Yes,’ Felix said impatiently, ‘it is what one calls coincidence. Anyway, what about their alibi? The inspector let drop that they were elsewhere for Marcia’s murder, or, at least, Gill was. In fact I rather gather from the grapevine that neither was at home at the crucial time.’

Vera was less sceptical. ‘Hmm. Personally I wouldn’t set much store by that inspector’s researches! And, in any case, alibis aren’t everything; they only need a bit of nous to concoct.’

‘Or, indeed, to break,’ replied Cedric, ‘but from what I’ve seen of this investigation the nous seems a trifle lacking.’

‘Well, I really cannot see the ghastly Gills being the type to engage in treasonable plots, let alone savage murders. Utterly absurd!’ Felix exclaimed.

‘If people ran true to type life would be considerably simpler,’ Cedric retorted. ‘Besides, this is not the moment to debate the matter: three killings have already occurred, and of people either in our circle or known to us. Another could happen at any time. It would be unfortunate if the next victim were to be Marcia’s niece. We should feel uncomfortable. I think some intervention is called for.’

‘Oh really, Cedric,’ Felix protested, ‘I am sure the two ladies are calmly carding wool and discussing what to wear for the Boat Race or some jolly event. And in any case, what can one possibly
do
? If we go to the police they won’t believe a single word, and it will take so long to explain that the deed could be done by the time they’ve shut their notebooks! Besides, as we’ve said before, one is hardly in a
position
to voice such suspicions, far too compromising … No, all very fertile, your theories, but hardly convincing. I am sure Rosy Gilchrist is perfectly all right – that sort generally is.’

‘What, like Sabatier?’ asked Cedric.

‘Easy enough to find out,’ Vera remarked casually, ‘and we shan’t need to get involved at all. The police will act promptly and we can keep our distance.’

‘Oh? How?’

‘White slavery.’

‘
What
?’ The two men gaped at her.

‘We will make an anonymous call to the police and say we have every reason to believe that the Gills are engaged in buying and selling young women for gross profit and base purpose, and that to our certain knowledge one such unfortunate is being restrained in their house at this very minute.’

There was a heavy silence as her proposal was digested.

‘Well I can tell you one thing, Vera Collinger,’ Felix cried, ‘you are certainly not using
my
telephone. They’ll trace the call immediately!’

Cedric sighed. ‘I think we can assume that Vera has a public telephone in mind, not yours.’

‘Naturally,’ she said. ‘Now somebody –
not
Felix – must go immediately to the box on the corner and report our suspicions. Of course one won’t be believed; they’ll assume the caller is a harmless crank, but they will still have to act on the information – daren’t do otherwise.
If
by chance our fears are founded and the Gilchrist girl really is in danger, then the sudden appearance of a couple of constables should do the trick. Naturally if all is normal then it will simply place the Gills in an embarrassing position with no harm done – not to us anyway.’

Before either could speak, she rose and strode smartly to the door clearly casting herself as informant. As she grasped the handle, Felix said, ‘I say, Vera, I suggest you remove your hat, that awful feather might attract attention.’

When she had gone he turned to Cedric and asked scathingly, ‘Did she say a harmless crank?’ But slightly to his surprise his friend said nothing, seemingly lost in thought and gazing absently out of the window.

Rosy was not religious but a residual impulse awoke the childhood words: ‘Our Father which art in heaven,’ she inwardly faltered, ‘hallowed be thy—’

There was a heavy knocking from below followed by a prolonged shrilling of the doorbell. Gill spun round, scattering sparks and ash. ‘What the hell’s that?’ he snarled.

Beretta in hand, his wife rose and peeped from the window. She looked troubled. ‘It’s the police,’ she declared. ‘I can see a helmet on the other side of the privet. One of them must be in the porch.’

‘Deal with it,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll hold the girl.’ He bounded towards Rosy, applied a half nelson with one arm and clamped her mouth with the other.

Pocketing the pistol and hastily smoothing her hair, Mrs Gill opened the door and went towards the stairs …

Voices wafted up from below: Mrs Gill’s plus a deeper burbling one. There was the sound of a laugh: ‘Oh
hardly
!’
the lighter voice exclaimed. The burbling continued.

Harold tightened his grip on Rosy, and bending his head muttered into her ear, ‘Don’t get your hopes up, my dear, they’ll need a search warrant. Mildred knows that – and besides, she’s good at dealing with buffoons.’ She felt the hot breath on her neck and could smell his tweed and sweat, and felt physically sick. In spite of the spluttered words, the pipe was still clenched between his teeth. Flinching from the agony of her left arm, Rosy drew back her right elbow and jabbed it as hard as she could into the portly stomach. His hand fell from her mouth. ‘Bitch!’ he grunted, and fumbled to resume his hold. But it was too late. With a desperate gulp of air, Rosy emitted the loudest scream of her life; indeed one so loud that she startled herself – she never knew she had such lungs!

From the effect it also clearly startled the visitor in the hall, for in the next instant there was a loud hoot from a police whistle and a crashing of hobnailed boots on the stairs. The door was flung wide and a young man with flushed face and tousled hair stood on the threshold.

With a curse Gill released his captive, and lunging forward dropped his pipe, skidded over it and fell heavily on all fours. He remained in that pose gasping in obvious agony. ‘Bloody knee,’ he whispered to himself, ‘bloody fucking knee!’

To her later fury Rosy burst into tears. However, it was a response that must have confirmed the young officer’s assumption that all was not well. Surveying the scene of crying girl and cursing man, he looked both stern and relieved – thankful, perhaps, he would be spared an official reprimand for the errors of misplaced zeal. He seemed about to speak, when there was the sound of a shot from below and a splintering crash.

Harris (for it was he) jumped, and swivelling his head cried, ‘Jesus, what’s that, Henry?’

‘It’s all right,’ a thin voice yelled, ‘it’s the woman; she’s just blasted the Chink vase. I’ve got the gun off her.’

‘Fool!’ Harold Gill was heard to mutter as he contemplated the floorboards a foot from his nose.

‘Radio for reinforcements,’ Harris shouted back imperiously.

In obvious pain Gill started to crawl towards the door. ‘Stop that!’ the youth said sharply.

Gill stopped, and with a sigh of resignation heaved himself into a sitting position and slumped against the wall. He looked up at the policeman. ‘Clever little bugger, aren’t you?’

Harris shrugged. ‘Dunno, sir.’ He gazed at Gill thoughtfully, looking slightly puzzled. ‘So are you really up to white slaving?’ he enquired.

‘Up to what?’ rasped the older man.

‘White slavery. We’ve had a tip-off you see and—’

‘White
slavery
? What the hell are you talking about, boy?’

Rosy had the impression the young man did not care to be addressed as ‘boy’ for she noticed a slight pursing of his lips, and the next moment he shouted over his shoulder: ‘Bring the lady up here, Henry. I want to interview the pair of them.’ He sounded very important.

Mrs Gill appeared, accompanied by a uniformed constable even more youthful than Harris. She glanced down at her husband and gave a helpless twitch of her hands.

‘I did try, Harold, but the bullet hit the vase.’

‘I know,’ he replied wearily, and then added with some asperity: ‘You bought it in Singapore; I’ve been wanting to smash it ever since. Just shows, wait long enough …’

Like the presiding officer, Mrs Gill pursed her lips and regarded him with evident displeasure.

Harris gestured her aside, and squatting down beside her husband said quietly, ‘I don’t understand this white slavery business, sir … you see, I had you down for something else – something quite else.’ He stared intently at Gill.

‘Really?’ the other replied indifferently. ‘Can’t think what that could be.’

The interrogator cleared his throat. ‘Does the name Churchill mean anything to you, sir?’

There was a silence, punctuated by the merest intake of breath from Mildred. And then Mr Gill said, ‘Naturally. He is the leader of my party – our nation’s prime minister. Do you imagine I am an idiot?’

‘No, but what I think is—’ Harris began, leaning closer.

But at that moment there sounded the clanging bell of a police vehicle, screeching of tyres, slamming of car doors and the nasal gabbling of walkie-talkies. The reinforcements had arrived.

Detective Sergeant Greenleaf and the inspector pounded into the room, and nodding briefly to Harris and Henry immediately took charge. Rosy was hustled out, Mildred handcuffed and Gill yanked to his feet and propelled on to the landing. His face had become suddenly ashen – the result of the damaged knee no doubt, but from what little Rosy had seen and heard she guessed there was something else plaguing his mind: Harris’s words.

The inspector embarked on the formalities of arrest, enunciating the spiel with toneless gravity. But before he had got far Gill stopped him. ‘Excuse me, old man, do you think I could possibly have a gasper? I’m not feeling
too good.’ He leant heavily against the banister and in a trice drew from his pocket a pack of Kensitas. Rosy later remembered being surprised at this, having always seen him only with the briar pipe. Swiftly he put a cigarette between his lips, while one of the constables mechanically proffered a match.

‘He doesn’t need one,’ Mrs Gill said sharply.

‘Oh God,’ cried Harris, ‘he’s bitten the end!’