The Lately Deceased (11 page)

The turning to his home came into sight. He turned off the main road and gave up the problem until the next day. Sunday or not, he just had to get a lead in some direction, otherwise the Commissioner would be getting edgy.

Meredith put the car away and went quietly into the house. Shortly afterwards, he slipped between the sheets alongside his sleeping wife and, with a sigh of contentment, settled for a night's rest.

He reached out to turn out the bedside lamp, and as his fingers closed over the switch, the phone shrilled alongside him. He snatched up the receiver.

‘Meredith,' he said hollowly.

‘Stammers here. Sorry to disturb you, but the hospital called just now to say that Myers is worse and may not last the night.'

‘Huh! Have we got a man at the bedside in case he comes round and makes some dying declaration?'

‘Yes, but the doctor doesn't give much for his chances of recovering consciousness. He's got a clot on the brain or something. They may operate if he lives until tomorrow.'

‘OK Let me know if anything dramatic happens before morning. Not that his evidence will be worth a lot as far as I can see! What a hell of a case this is! Goodnight.'

He dropped the phone back on to its rest and lay back in bed, praying for the rest of the night to stay quiet.

Chapter Twelve

Geoffrey Tate was in the utility room, cooking eggs and making toast when Gordon got up the next morning. Geoff brought in two plates of passable food into the lounge and the two men sat down to breakfast.

‘You crawled out?' Geoff said. ‘I thought you would have a lie-in this morning.'

‘I can't. It's those damned policemen again. They want me round there at half past ten.'

‘But it's Sunday!'

‘I know it is. God knows what they want me for, but I suppose they've got to make a show of doing something to justify their jobs.'

Geoff ate his breakfast without relish, unsure whether his appetite had suffered because of Eve or because of the awful business of Margaret's death.

‘I still can't really believe that all this has happened, you know,' he said slowly. ‘One goes through all the motions of eating and living, but to have a murder brought to one's own doorstep defies belief. Such things only happen to other people.'

Gordon, pale and looking years older, put down his fork and pushed away his plate almost untouched.

‘I've got such a mental load to digest that I feel I'm going mad,' he said. ‘You know better than most how things stood between Margaret and me. I was content to leave things as they were. Pearl was creating about divorce, but I wasn't so keen. Pearl has flitted around the flowers so much in her short lifetime and until I was certain that she meant to make a go of it, I wasn't going to burn my boats. That's the truth, though the police would like to prove otherwise. If they could, it would give them the motive they're looking for. But they won't solve this case by hunting for motives. To my mind, what happened is as plain as a pikestaff.'

‘What's
your
theory then?' asked Geoff, curiously.

‘Oh, let's forget it, Geoff. The police aren't interested, and it's probably highly slanderous or something!'

Geoff picked up the Sunday paper and turned to the report of the murder. There was a picture of Pearl, put in because she was the best-known of the people involved. The photo was one taken at the airport on the previous evening on her return from France and did full justice to her remarkable beauty.

Looking at it, the thought crossed Geoff's mind that Gordon Walker had a lot to gain from his wife's death. He put aside this disloyal thought and started to read the account of the investigations so far, plus sensational embroidery added by Fleet Street.

The reporter had been forced to dress up his meagre facts to pad the story up to a respectable size. Much of it consisted of potted biographies of those witnesses who were already familiar to the public. He himself had only a cursory mention as a ‘friend of the husband' and as a ‘back-room boy'. He read with interest that Colin Moore had turned up on Friday night. The reporter gave no indication from where he had appeared. The spectacular arrival of Pearl at London Airport was given good coverage, along with the picture.

How the blazes did she get to Paris so soon
? he wondered. There was no mention of Myers being in hospital, presumably the news had come in too late, or perhaps the sub-editors had thought it of insufficient interest.

Geoff had arranged to meet Eve for lunch and, as soon as he had finished breakfast and digested the main items in the paper, he began to get ready to go out. Meanwhile, Gordon had reached the bleak yard at the back of the police station, and once more made his way up to the shabby office on the first floor.

Meredith and Stammers were waiting for him, but Grey wasn't to be seen. Shortly afterwards, Sergeant Masters came in and sat unobtrusively in the corner with his notebook.

After some desultory opening remarks, Old Nick began his catechism, again going through all the events of the party.

‘Where was this barman, Edwards, during the two games?'

‘In the lounge, looking after the bar.'

‘Was someone with him all the time?'

‘I couldn't say. I was out in the other rooms most of the time. I know that some of the men stayed with him for a few minutes in the first game to give us time to hide. I've no idea what happened later on.'

Meredith tried a new tack. ‘Was there anything in the flat that would be worth stealing?'

Gordon looked thoughtful. ‘Only the jewellery the girls were wearing. My wife wasn't fond of personal adornments and what she did have was down in Oxford, apart from the odd ring or brooch. Anyway, even if one of my guests was a murderer, I'm sure none of them were common thieves, if that's what you're trying to suggest.'

Masters grinned to himself at this. It made it sound as if murder was more of a gentleman's game than larceny.

‘Quite, sir,' said Meredith, unperturbed. ‘I was really thinking of an outsider like the man Edwards.'

‘I'm sure he can't have been a thief; his job depends on his honesty. But, anyway, I can see no connection between my wife's death and burglary.'

Meredith gave up this line of approach in which he'd had little real interest from the start. ‘Where did you go, and with whom, during the first game, sir?'

Walker began to show exasperation.

‘Really, officer. I've told you all this before, time and again. I left the room with Mrs Moore. We went to the study and sat on the floor behind an armchair. Then someone came blundering along in the dark and trod on my ankle. There was a lot of confusion, as there is meant to be in those games. I left Mrs Moore, and went into the passage and up the stairs. I remember sitting on a bed with a girl and then another girl came and joined us – it might well have been Miss Arden.'

He paused, rather irritated by all this repetition.

‘The truth is, Superintendent, we had all had a good deal to drink. Officially I'm not supposed to take alcohol because of my stomach but I break out every now and then. I did on Thursday night and it's damn difficult to cast your mind back afterwards. If you've ever had a skinful, you'll know what I say is true.'

Meredith accepted this without comment.

‘Quite, sir,' he grunted. ‘And you don't recollect your wife's voice at all during the rest of the night?'

‘No. Not that I was listening for it particularly.'

‘At any time did you go into the back bedroom where you later found your wife?'

‘Yes, sometime in the second game. All the men were searching in the rooms, trying to get cocktail sticks.'

‘Whose voices do you recall hearing when you were in that room?'

‘I can't remember any. One doesn't go around expecting to give evidence on everything that happens in life. I can remember that Pearl was in the upstairs passage towards the end of the first game, but I knew that because of her perfume – not because of her voice. She uses a perfume I am not likely to forget.'

‘Indeed? Why is that, Mr Walker?'

‘Well, you must have been told about it already, I'm sure,' said Gordon defiantly. ‘I am attached in quite a serious way to Mrs Moore. In such circumstances a man is apt to remember the perfume a woman uses.'

Meredith nodded and continued.

‘Now, please be so good as to tell us about your wife.'

‘About my wife! Good God, man, you've seen her. Height five feet seven, weight nine stone twelve, hair brown, blue eyes and blood group O! Is that what you want to know?'

‘No, Mr Walker, it is not. And, if I may say so, as a reply it is in pretty poor taste.'

Walker looked at him, another outburst trembling on his lips. Then he passed his hand wearily through his hair.

‘You're right, Superintendent, it was a rotten thing to say. I'm afraid my nerves are all shot to pieces at the moment. I apologise.'

‘I understand, sir. Now, will you please tell us about your wife. What sort of a woman was she? What were her interests, who were her friends?'

Gordon thought for a moment before replying. ‘I suppose it would be true to say that she had three loves in her life: money, horses, and me. And in that order,' he added bitterly.

‘By nature, you might describe her as a do-gooder. She was an active member of most of the charitable societies – you know; the RSPCA and the like. She sang in the church choir, and she spent two evenings of most weeks reading aloud to some old blind woman who lives near us in Oxford. What else?'

He paused again, and then went on.

‘She was a regular on the books of the blood donor service; a volunteer chauffeur in the organisation for providing car outings for sufferers from multiple sclerosis; and she sat on so many Appeals Committees, I wonder she had any time for hunting, which was the only other thing she genuinely liked doing.'

‘A very impressive list of activities,' said Meredith.

Gordon nodded. ‘I suppose it is,' he said. ‘I've never thought about it before. Perhaps she was anxious to secure a safe seat in heaven – if so, the poor woman has taken it sooner than she bargained for.'

Meredith let this pass. ‘On what sort of terms were you with her?'

Walker hesitated before replying. Then he said. ‘Amicable, I would say.'

‘And what would you mean by that?'

‘Well, we didn't see an awful lot of each other. She preferred our house in Oxford. But when we were together, we got along quite smoothly for most of the time.'

‘Was your wife a jealous woman?'

‘Not particularly. She understood me and she certainly knew my weaknesses; but ever since we gave up living together – in the accepted sense, I mean – I don't think she cared very much what I did.'

‘Do you mean by that she had lost her affection for you?'

‘No, most certainly I don't. You should know that our marriage was always a rather one-sided bargain in the matter of affection. From the very first, I never loved my wife as she loved me. But I never made a secret of it; she knew it as well as I did.'

‘Forgive me, sir,' Meredith said, mildly embarrassed. ‘I am sure that was true in the early days of your marriage, but did it continue to be so?'

‘Yes, it did. I collapsed some eighteen months ago and was carted off to the Whittington Hospital with an internal haemorrhage. I was a pretty sick man for a couple of weeks and throughout that time Margaret pretty well lived by my bedside. I think you will agree that that is not the action of a woman whose love for a man has gone sour.'

‘I see. So up to the time of your wife's death, you continued to live in harmony with her, though not often under the same roof. Is that it?'

Walker weighed this up before answering.

‘By and large, yes, though it depends a good deal on what you mean by harmony. If by that you mean did we never have a row, then the answer's no. It would be pointless for me to deny it, as any of our friends could tell you. We had our disagreements of course. Show me the man and wife who don't.'

‘Quite, sir. What was the nature of these disagreements?'

‘Oh, always the same thing – money.'

‘Money?'

‘Don't get the wrong idea, Superintendent; it wasn't lack of money, it was too much.'

‘I don't understand, sir.'

‘My wife was an heiress from birth. She was brought up to believe that money could buy anything and she believed it implicitly. She believed that every man had his price; that it's only a question of how much. That sort of attitude may work very well on the other side of the Atlantic, but in this country people tend to take exception to it. After all, you must admit it's a bit embarrassing when you are invited out to dinner and during the meal your wife tries to buy your host's dinner service, or his watch, or possibly his cook.'

‘I can see that would be embarrassing, sir.'

‘You're damned right it's embarrassing. It was the main reason why I stopped going to Oxford. I couldn't stand sitting there and watching people laugh at her from behind their hands.'

‘Thank you for being frank with me, Mr Walker,' Meredith said. ‘Now, I am afraid I have another personal question to put. Were you contemplating divorce from your wife, and remarriage to Mrs Moore?'

Gordon reverted again to sudden hostility.

‘No, I damn well wasn't … and if I were, I can't see how it could be even remotely relevant. Pearl was estranged from her husband, though she still made a pretence of living with him. She may well have wanted to get rid of him – in fact I know she did, but she knew he would never divorce her.'

Meredith pressed the question further.

‘I presume that, if Moore had wanted to bring his action, he would have had no lack of evidence as to her misconduct?'