The Best of British Crime omnibus (71 page)

‘I mean what I said about Linda Wade.' Nat spoke in a more friendly tone. ‘Give it a try.'

The rush-hour had not started when Harry drove back in the direction of Defoe Mansions. This time he parked a couple of hundred yards up the street and proceeded the rest of the way on foot.

Opposite the Mansions he paused for a minute, looking up at the roof and re-living those moments when he had looked over the edge of the parapet, expecting to see Judy's body crushed on the pavement below. From down here the ridge of the dormer window hardly seemed sufficient to arrest a falling body. He had almost missed it himself when he had slithered down the roof to reach her.

A movement at the entrance to the flats drew his attention back to street level. A man had come out, almost at a run. He was wearing a corduroy Norfolk jacket and a silk neck-scarf. Harry recognised him at once as Sidney Heaton. Throwing glances up and down the pavement, he made for a Singer Gazelle parked on the Defoe Mansions side of the road. His hands were so unsteady that he had difficulty inserting the key in the lock and when he pressed the self-starter the car jumped forward because he had forgotten to take it out of gear.

When he did succeed in getting the engine going he swung out into the street without checking his mirror and accelerated hard past the Rose and Crown.

Harry watched the car till it disappeared, then walked swiftly across the street.

He was alone in the lift as it climbed to the third floor, and when he closed the doors the cage remained where it was. The door of Linda Wade's apartment, he saw at once, was slightly open.

He stood on the door-mat, trying to identify the sound which he could hear from inside. Then he slowly pushed the door open and went inside.

He realised at once that what he had heard was a woman uncontrollably sobbing. The sound was coming from a room opposite the bathroom where he had hidden. He tip-toed to the threshold and found himself looking into a more intimate and personal bedroom than the one opening off the sitting-room.

Linda Wade was sitting at her dressing-table, facing her makeup mirror. She was mopping with a hand-towel at the tears which were streaming down her face. Her shoulders were bare except for the straps supporting her brassiere and her flesh was scored by angry weals, some of them so deep that they were oozing blood. Somebody must have beaten her up viciously with a riding crop or dog whip.

Used as he was to sights of violence, Harry could not help feeling sickened by what he saw. He walked tentatively towards her. She caught the movement in her mirror and slowly turned round.

‘How the hell did you get in?'

‘Oh my God!' Harry whispered. Linda's attacker, not content with beating her about the shoulders, had slashed her across the face. The wound disfigured the whole left side of her face from temple to chin.

‘Yes,' Linda said, still shaken by the sobbing which she was powerless to control. ‘Pretty, isn't it?'

‘You need a doctor!' Harry moved towards the telephone but she put out a hand to stop him.

‘I don't want to see a doctor. I don't want to see anyone. I never want to show my face again.'

She buried her face in the towel.

‘Who did this?' Harry asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

‘Please leave me alone.'

‘Linda, listen—'

‘Didn't you hear what I said – leave me alone.'

Harry drew up a bedside stool and sat down beside her.

‘I know who was responsible for this, you don't have to tell me. It was Tam Owen, wasn't it?'

Linda's sobbing checked momentarily. She looked up quickly at his reflection in the mirror, then switched to her own lacerated face.

‘Oh, God! Just look at me. Just look at my face. The swine!'

‘Why did they do it? Because I found the passport? Because you slipped up over Judy?'

‘Please leave me alone.'

At least the terrible sobbing had stopped. The anger which had replaced it was a good sign. He tried a different tack.

‘Judy's in hospital. Did you know that?'

This time she swung right round, wincing at the pain in her shoulders.

‘In hospital?'

‘Yes. There was an accident.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘It's true. She's in St. Matthew's.'

‘Is she – badly hurt?'

‘No. I don't think so. I'm seeing her tonight.' He pointed to her face. ‘I know that looks pretty unsightly at the moment, but it's nowhere as bad as you think it is. You find yourself a good doctor and inside a couple of months there won't be a mark on you.'

‘You're just saying that.'

Linda stared at her face in the mirror and gingerly put a finger up to touch the gash.

‘No, I'm not, honestly. There's a plastic surgeon at St. Matthew's, he's supposed to be a wizard. I'll find out his name for you tonight.'

‘Thanks.' Linda sniffed gratefully and then blew her nose on the towel.

Harry waited for a minute or so; then once again tried to persuade her to tell him who had given her this merciless beating up.

‘Do you think I'm a fool?' she said, shaking her head. ‘Can't you see what happened to me just because I made a mistake over Judy? I'm not telling you anything. In any case I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anyone called Tam Owen. Oh, God! My face! I look awful.'

She had started to cry again.

‘Sooner or later,' Harry said, ‘you'll have to tell me about Owen, so you might just as well tell me now.'

‘Please go away. Leave me alone. Please—'

It was obvious that she was still in too shocked a state to talk logically. Harry stood up.

‘All right, Linda. We'll talk about this some other time. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?'

‘No, nothing. I'll have a couple of aspirins and go to bed for an hour.'

‘Yes. That's a good idea.'

As he moved to the door Harry allowed his eyes to explore the small bedroom. He could see nothing that might have been left behind by a visitor.

‘By the way, how long did Mr. Heaton stay with you?'

‘Heaton?' Linda's surprise seemed perfectly genuine.

‘Yes.'

‘I haven't seen Heaton. He hasn't been here.'

‘Hasn't he, Linda?'

She did not answer. She was dabbing at her face again. ‘Don't you think you'd better lock the front door after me, just to be on the safe side?'

She gave a little nod and stood up to follow him into the hall. He saw that her feet were bare. She had beautifully manicured toe-nails, painted gold.

The animals in their small cages instinctively picked up the mood of the customer who entered the shop in a state of such controlled anger that the air around him seemed to crackle. They set up a loud squawking, barking or gibbering which all but drowned the tinkling of the bell operated by the opening door.

The din brought Heaton from his own den at the back of the shop. ‘We're closed. Can't you read the notice on the door?'

His voice was more petulant than angry. He was peering against the light to make out who his visitor was. Then abruptly his manner changed.

‘Oh! Hallo, Mr. Dawson.'

‘I want to talk to you, Heaton,' said Harry unceremoniously.

‘Yes. Yes, of course.' Heaton began nervously to rub the back of one hand with the other. ‘I – er, I'm afraid I didn't recognise you. Would you like to come into my little parlour?'

Harry ignored the invitation.

‘What happened this afternoon?'

‘This afternoon?'

‘Yes. At Miss Wade's.'

‘I'm so sorry.' Heaton nervously tucked the scarf at his neck further under his striped shirt. ‘I'm afraid I don't understand.'

‘Then I'll spell it out for you. I want you to tell me, quite simply, what happened this afternoon when you went to Linda's flat.'

‘I think there's some mistake, Mr. Dawson.' Heaton was trying to meet Harry's accusing stare. ‘I spent the entire afternoon here, working on my accounts.'

‘No good, Heaton.' Harry shook his head. ‘I saw you. You came out of the Mansions. You had trouble getting the key into the lock of the Gazelle's door and you tried to start up while she was in gear. Now, who did you see there and what happened?'

‘I – I didn't see anyone. I – oh, dear, this is almost embarrassing.' Heaton's mouth trembled and for a moment Harry thought he was going to burst into tears. ‘I don't know quite what to say. I assure you, Mr. Dawson, I am not in the habit of visiting—'

‘Look, Heaton, let's get one thing straight. I'm not with the Vice Squad. I'm not interested in your sex life. I don't care two hoots in hell who you sleep with, but there's one thing I want to know and I want to know it now.
What happened this afternoon?
'

Heaton stared at Harry like a hypnotised rabbit, then he brushed past him and went to the shop door. He shot a bolt and came slowly back.

‘May I – start at the beginning?'

‘No, I don't want to hear the story of your life. I just want to know what happened this afternoon.'

‘I – I went to Linda's. It was a quarter past five when I got there.' Heaton ran his tongue over his lips. ‘I let myself into the flat. I didn't realise what the noise was at first and then—She was in the living-room, on the floor, weeping. My God, she looked awful! Her dress was torn, there was blood on her face and shoulders.'

He covered his face with his hands and for a moment was unable to continue.

‘She looked dreadful, Mr. Dawson, really dreadful. I just didn't know what to do.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I behaved very badly I'm afraid. But do try and understand my position, Mr. Dawson. There I was in a strange flat, with a woman like that, who'd been—'

‘You bolted.'

‘Yes. Yes, I'm afraid so.'

Harry did not allow Heaton's abject expression to soften him. He knew from experience that these apparently mild and cowed men are the ones most capable of sudden acts of horrific violence. Yet he could not bring himself to believe that the frightened person he had seen fleeing from Defoe Mansions could have attacked Linda so brutally.

‘Did Linda see you?'

‘I don't know. I honestly don't know whether she saw me or not.'

‘You said you let yourself into the flat.'

‘Yes. She gave me a key.'

‘She gave you a key? When?'

‘Last night when we had dinner together. It was a sort of – well, receipt, you might say.'

‘You'd paid her some money?'

‘Er – yes. In fact I did. She gave me the key and told me I could use it to let myself into the flat when I went to see her.'

Heaton reached into his trouser pocket and brought out a single Yale-type key. ‘Here's the key.'

‘Is this the truth you've told me?'

‘I swear it is. I wouldn't lie to you about a thing like this, honestly I wouldn't.' Once again Heaton had put on his straight, honest look. ‘You know me, Mr. Dawson.'

‘That's just where you're wrong. I don't know you at all, Mr. Heaton.'

Harry reached out and took the key from his hand. ‘I think I'll take that key.'

When Harry reached the hospital at five to eight Nat was already waiting for him, seated in the least uncomfortable of the chairs with the ankle of one leg propped on the other knee. He was enjoying a slow cigarette.

‘It's a blessed relief to have a few minutes to oneself with no telephones ringing. I had ten minutes to spare so I came on here. Did you follow up the Linda Wade lead?'

‘Yes, I did,' Harry said grimly. He told Nat about his visit to Linda's flat and his questioning of Heaton.

‘I've never met Heaton.' Nat rose to stub out his cigarette on the outside sill of the partially opened window. There was a No Smoking sign in the waiting-room and therefore no ashtrays. ‘It was Yardley who questioned him. But I must say his story sounds quite extraordinary to me.'

‘Yes, but don't forget that I did see him leave the flat. He was really frightened, almost in a panic.'

‘Could he have been putting on an act?'

‘Yes. I suppose so. But why should he?'

‘He'd just beaten her up, he was about to leave and then he suddenly spots you. So he pretends he's a frightened little man who hates violence and wouldn't hurt a fly.'

‘It's possible, I suppose.' Harry was certainly not going to defend Heaton's character. ‘But what's the motive? He's still got to have a motive.'

‘Not necessarily. Maybe he's badly kinked and just did it for kicks. Girls like Linda Wade are frequently beaten up. It's a risk they take. It's all part of the game.'

Nat spoke with the cynicism that five years experience with the Vice Squad had given him.

‘Yes, but there is another angle. Heaton could be working for Owen.'

Nat acknowledged this with a nod.

‘Or alternatively,' Harry went on, pursuing a line of thought that had already occurred to him, ‘you are right and he is putting on an act – a very big one.'

‘Meaning?'

‘Maybe Heaton is the man we're looking for. Maybe he is Tam Owen.'

‘Well,' Nat sounded doubtful, ‘that's possible of course.'

Nat was slowing in his reactions, Harry thought. It was not surprising. He had been working on the case for five days now and in that time two further murders had been committed. In those circumstances, day and night, weekdays and weekends made no difference. Till the murderer was caught there could be no rest, no respite.

‘Nat, I've been thinking about Judy Black. If she does talk, if she is prepared to help us, we've got to take care of her. We can't just let her fend for herself when she's discharged from hospital. Not in view of what happened to Linda Wade this afternoon.'