The Great Betrayal (20 page)

‘
Adam
is in the other room doing his puzzle.’

‘Adam? Oh yes, of course.’ He rose slowly to his feet, suddenly feeling exhausted by his extended conversation. ‘I promised Liddy a mug of Ovaltine, so she will be wondering where it is and thinking I’ve forgotten.’ He put a finger to his lips and nodded towards upstairs where Lydia was resting. ‘Not a word!’

‘Of course not, sir.’

‘I thought two heads would be better than one, and we
do
have a problem.’

‘You can rely on me.’

George smiled. ‘I thought that would be your answer.’ He stared round the room in search of inspiration. ‘Now, where was I going?’

The interview room was small and simply furnished with a table and two chairs, a coat stand, and a waste-paper basket made of raffia. Willis Burke viewed it with distaste. He regarded the sergeant sullenly and said, ‘It stinks in here!’

‘That’s the smell of fear, Mr Burke.’ The policeman laughed. ‘No doubt you’ll be adding to it in a minute. Sit down. You need to answer a few questions for us.’

‘And then I can go?’

‘Maybe, and then again maybe not.’

Burke removed his cap and folded it into a roll, then sat down after brushing some imaginary specks of dirt from the chair. He had decided to put on a show of bravado, but inside he was trembling and his mind was racing. What could he say and what must he conceal? He must watch out for trick questions. The police were very good at that.

‘Name?’

‘Willis Burke.’

‘Not a reverend, then?’

His pulse speeded up, and his grip on his cap tightened. Was this really what it was about? ‘I didn’t pass the exams. I could have been a vicar. I studied it all . . . Well, not quite all, but enough. I had to give up because . . . of ill health.’

‘Ah yes. St Joseph’s, wasn’t it?’

‘Who told you I’d been to college? Who told you I was at St Joseph’s? I bet I know!’

‘So do you have any real qualifications to do with the church?’

‘I told you I couldn’t take the examinations. I can guess who told
you
I didn’t. That so-called friend! If I ever see him again . . .’

‘And this friend? His name, please.’

‘I’m not saying his name. You can’t drag him into this.’

‘Not even if he’s dragged
you
into it?’

Burke hated the man’s sly smile – the cat with a mouse. He remained silent. He would outwit this sergeant, he vowed.

‘Mr Burke, are you or are you not qualified to take religious services?’

‘Yes . . . At least, in a private way. That is, sort of.’ He studied the man, hating his moustache and his red face and his hands with their big fingers. Like sausages. Instinctively, he glanced at his own hands, preferring his slim fingers, which his aunt had once described as artistic – much to his mother’s delight.

‘So would you call a wedding a religious service, Mr Burke, and would you be qualified to take such a service?’

Burke let out a long breath while he thought desperately. How much did this man know? And who had told him? Who had dropped him in the mire? Could it really have been Dolly’s mother? More likely Don or Sid.

He said, ‘I hope, Sergeant, that you haven’t been talking to a certain Donald Wickham, because if so he has misled you. He’d say anything to get me into trouble, so if it was him you can forget it.’ When the sergeant made no answer, Burke stumbled on. ‘Never have got along with the man. Or his brother, come to that. I’ve known them a long time, but never got close to them. They’re a funny pair, the brothers. Not to be trusted, if you know what I mean. Not what you’d call—’

‘So you wouldn’t pretend to marry someone if you weren’t qualified to actually do so.’

‘No. Wouldn’t be right, would it?’ He risked a smile.

‘For a fee, perhaps?’

‘Certainly not.’ He was beginning to feel rather warm and hoped he wasn’t sweating. Wiping his face with a handkerchief would be something of a giveaway. He knew from past experience that he had to play this very carefully because they were always looking for ways to call your bluff. Maybe he should try to brazen it out, he thought with a flicker of hope. ‘So can I go now? I’ve answered your questions, and I’ve warned you about that rat Wickham! You can’t believe a word he says. Born troublemaker, he is.’ He stood up.

The sergeant smiled. ‘Sit down, Mr Burke. For your information, the person who alleges that you performed a fake wedding ceremony is a Mrs May Ellerway. Mother of a certain Jenny Ellerway. Name ring a bell, does it?’

He frowned. ‘Ellerway? No. I don’t reckon so.’ That was best, he told himself. Act ignorant. Admit to nothing. They only had Mrs Ellerway’s word for it . . . unless she’d seen the marriage lines he’d produced. She may have taken them to show the police. Damn! That was what happened when you tried to do someone a favour. His attempt to please young Dolly just might prove his undoing. Swallowing, he found his throat dry. This wasn’t looking good at all.

Uninvited memories of the prison crowded into his mind. Wash up in cold water, first thing in the morning in that dreary place crowded with evil-minded men . . . emptying the slop buckets . . . trudging round the exercise yard – not to mention the food which he hated, except for sago pudding, which he always enjoyed. He sighed.

‘So you admit to knowing the Wickham brothers?’ The sergeant was staring at him, his eyes narrowed. Before he could answer, another man entered the room dressed in civilian clothes and this gave Burke his first jolt of real fear. The sergeant stood up. ‘This is DC Berry. A detective. He wants to ask you a few questions about a certain jeweller’s shop. Glazers. Ring a bell, does it?’

‘No!’ Burke said hoarsely. ‘It does not ring a bell!’

‘Well, we’ll come back to this marriage business later, Mr Burke.’ The sergeant grinned at his colleague and said, ‘He’s all yours!’

As the detective sat down in the vacated chair, the sergeant leaned forward with both hands flat on the table. ‘It’s like this,’ he told Burke. ‘You’re in deep trouble, Mr Burke, but you can save your skin if you’re clever enough. You tell DC Berry all about the robbery, including the assault with a pistol on an innocent man, and we’ll forget all about fraudulent wedding ceremonies and we might – I say
might –
recommend you for a lighter sentence.’

‘Lighter sentence for what?’ He tried to look puzzled.

‘For driving the getaway car. That’s what I heard, Mr Burke.’

Burke frowned. ‘Don’t know anything about a getaway car. Never heard of any of it. I’m innocent.’ He looked from the sergeant to the detective, who were both grinning. ‘What? I know the law. Innocent until proved guilty.’

The sergeant left the room, and the detective said wearily, ‘If it takes all day and all night, Mr Burke, I’ll get the truth out of you. We’ve got Sidney Wickham locked up, and now we’ve got you. It won’t be long before we catch up with Donald Wickham. Your luck’s just run out, Mr Burke, and to tell you the truth I’m feeling pretty smug, in case you’re interested – but I don’t suppose you are!’

Burke realized suddenly that he was no longer sweating. Instead he was aware of a leaden feeling deep within him. Those blighters have ratted me out, he reflected, sick with disbelief. They’ve bloody well snookered me! God damn their eyes! He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. It seemed there was no way out. If Sidney had been fingered he’d have said anything to get himself off the hook – but without much luck, seemingly, if the sergeant was telling the truth when he said Sidney was already locked up. And that stupid cow, Dolly’s mother, sticking her oar in!

He shook his head unhappily. They’d done wrong by him so he’d damn well return the favour. He took a deep breath. ‘Well, if you must know, it wasn’t me killed that man,’ he said firmly. ‘I was outside, waiting for them in the car. All you can get me for was waiting in the car! It was Don Wickham who whacked him!’

At the reception desk Mrs Duggett was handing over a sooty-looking package. ‘It’s a gun,’ she told the bored-looking desk sergeant who was rising reluctantly from his chair. ‘Found it stuck up my chimney.’

‘A gun!’

There was a gleam of interest now, she thought triumphantly. ‘Probably been there for years by the look of it, so don’t blame me. Blame one of my lodgers. I’ve had all sorts over the years.’ She thought that was rather clever. She did not want to get poor Mr Burke into any trouble. ‘I’m just being a responsible citizen, that’s all. Doing my duty by handing it in to the police.’ She smiled modestly.

He eyed it cautiously. ‘Loaded, is it?’

‘Don’t ask me! I haven’t touched it. Soon as I saw what it was I wrapped it up again double quick and brought it round here. You’re welcome to it! I don’t want things like that in my house. Might go off and kill me, and then where would I be? Planted six feet under!’

Mrs Duggett gave a little laugh and hoped she sounded innocent of any ill-doing. She had decided not to try and get rid of it in case she was caught in the act, and this way she hoped she would earn a little respect for her community spirit.

The desk sergeant reached for a ledger and dipped a pen into the inkwell. ‘Better have some details,’ he said, trying to hide his excitement.

This, she thought, was brightening up his morning.

‘Name and address, please madam.’

Eleven

Dolly was up in the attic when the doorbell rang, and she decided to ignore it. She had come up to the attic to consider a plan she had for renting out the space, and now she was making a mental plan of the room as it could be, if a suitable lodger could be found. The idea of abandoning her first home as a married woman was painful to her, and taking in a lodger seemed to offer a way out of the dilemma.

‘Even if I’m not truly married – if what that stupid Sid said is true,’ she muttered bitterly. Her mother’s discovery that Willis Burke was not a real reverend had been a bitter blow to her pride, but she had done her best to rise above the disaster – telling herself that poor Don had also been taken in by Burke’s smooth talking. She had her child to consider, and rushing back home to her mother and sister was unthinkable. She had tasted a few days of independence and was not yet willing to give up her new life.

The bed could go against the right-hand wall, she decided, and would only be a single so a male lodger would be deterred from bringing home a woman. Maybe a tartan blanket would look cheerful. A bed there would leave a space under the far window for a table and chair, and to the right she could fit in a chest of drawers . . . but there would have to be washing facilities and somewhere to cook – unless she offered meals.

‘I could do that,’ she said. ‘Plain food, that is, but I needn’t charge too much. Mrs Daye has a lodger.’ Maybe she would call on her and ask for advice. She had the address somewhere . . .

The bell rang again – a prolonged and very determined buzz which sent her hurrying downstairs as fast as her pregnancy would allow.

She opened the door to a young policeman and groaned aloud. ‘You lot again?’ she snapped. ‘I hear you’ve arrested my brother-in-law. Isn’t that enough?’

‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Wickham – or should I say Miss Ellerway?’

Dolly tried to close the door, but he put out a large boot to hold it open. Seeing her furious expression he held up a hand by way of an apology. ‘Sorry, miss. I mean Mrs. That is . . .’

‘What d’you want, Constable? I’m busy.’

‘You need to answer some questions. Can I come in or shall we go to the police station?’

She could see admiration in his eyes as he considered her blue eyes and blonde curls, and Dolly thought rapidly. ‘Do you know anyone who’s looking for a room to rent? Our attic’s very nice, and there’s a bit of a view over the rooftops. I could show you the room if you like. It isn’t furnished yet, but it will look very nice.’

‘Er . . . not at the moment, but I could ask around. You could show me the room though – after you’ve answered the questions.’

Dolly hesitated, then agreed. They ended up in the front room, sitting either side of a fireplace full of last winter’s ashes.

He studied his notebook, trying to phrase his first question so as not to antagonize her.

‘We have reason to believe,’ he said carefully, ‘that your husband Donald Wickham might be a suspect in a murder investigation. Do you have anything to say?’

‘Say?’ She looked at him blankly. ‘You’re saying my husband murdered someone? No. It’s impossible!’

‘I’m afraid not. We are currently looking for him, Mrs Wickham. We are led to believe that he struck a man on the head during a raid on a London jeweller’s, and unfortunately the man has since died. We believe—’

‘I don’t care what you believe, it’s not him. It’s not my husband. He wouldn’t kill anyone. Why should he?’

‘It is alleged it might have been an accident, but it’s still manslaughter, even if it’s not murder, and we need to talk to your husband. Do you know where he is?’

‘No, I don’t, except that he’s away on business. He’s a very successful salesman. You could ask his brother Sidney since you’ve got him in custody. Lord knows what
he’s
supposed to have done.’

‘He is also involved in the robbery.’

‘Who is? I can’t understand all this.’

‘Sidney Wickham is also involved. The two of them entered the shop on—’

‘You’re talking through your hat!’ Dolly protested. ‘I know my husband better than you do, Constable.’

‘But he talked you into a phoney wedding, didn’t he? You didn’t know him that well!’

Dolly blinked. ‘He trusted Willis Burke, that’s all. We’ll have a proper wedding when he gets back and finds out what’s happened.’ Even as she suggested it, her heart told her it would never happen, and that particular knowledge introduced all sorts of doubts. Despite her brave words she felt as though the ground was shifting beneath her feet.

Risking a glance at the young policeman, she wondered if she could appeal to his better nature – if he had one. She pulled at one of her blonde curls, twisting it around her finger as she fluttered her eyelashes. ‘There must be a mistake, Constable,’ she said softly. ‘Sidney Wickham must be lying through his teeth. And why would he need to rob a bank? He’s got a private income from his grandfather. Family money. He told me so himself. He was the favourite so—’