The Lately Deceased (12 page)

‘You said it was a personal question,' Walker blustered. ‘I should call it bloody cheek. However, I don't really mind telling you that he would find it very simple. In fact he would be able to choose from quite a number of co-respondents. But none of this has anything to do with the murder of my wife. If you are in the least interested I can tell you now who the killer was and why. I'll be glad to do so, if only to stop you asking these damned impertinent questions!'

Masters' chair squeaked on the floor as he leant forward to listen to the Super's reply.

‘What exactly do you mean, Mr Walker?'

‘Let's face it, Superintendent, nobody's going to benefit to any noticeable extent from my wife's demise. Oh, I know about the five thousand apiece that Webster and Barbara Leigh get, but you don't really mean to suggest that that gin-sodden pair would commit murder in order to collect a paltry ten thousand.'

‘Ten thousand pounds is a large sum of money to many people, Mr Walker.'

‘Not to them, it isn't. You wouldn't think it from the way they sponge on everyone fool enough to give them hospitality, but the Leighs are more than comfortably off. Take it from me, Superintendent, ten thousand pounds either way would make very little difference to that precious pair. So if you're looking for your suspects among the beneficiaries under my wife's will, you can rule them out for a start.'

‘Thank you, sir. And if I do rule them out, whom will that leave to suspect?'

‘No one, as far as I can see.'

‘Oh, come, sir! Not even yourself?'

‘Me? Be your age, man! I admit I'm a beneficiary, but I shall be a damn sight worse off now than I was before, and you know it. Don't kid me you haven't studied that bloody silly will. You know as well as I do that I can't touch a penny of it for fifteen years.'

‘I don't know anything of the sort, sir. I understood the lawyers to say that you inherit your wife's house at Oxford and five thousand pounds per year immediately.'

‘That's right: I do. The house at Oxford and five grand a year! Riches indeed, Superintendent. Enough to tempt any man to murder?'

‘We mustn't forget the sum of half a million pounds,' Old Nick reminded him gently, ‘Even though it's not immediately payable. Time soon passes, you know, sir.'

‘But even you, my dear man, can't believe that I would commit murder now in order to hasten my enjoyment in fifteen years' time of a fortune I neither need nor particularly desire. I'm not a pauper, you know. In fact, I'll be thoroughly vulgar and confess that I'm a very rich man.'

‘And being a very rich man,' Meredith prompted him. ‘you can afford to wait for your inheritance. Is that what you want me to understand?'

‘You can understand what you bloody well like, but if you think I killed my wife in order to inherit a packet in fifteen years' time, you need your head examined.'

Meredith acknowledged this with a wintry smile.

‘You said, sir, that you would be worse off as the consequence of your wife's death. How do you explain that remark?'

‘Quite simply. When I met my wife I was broke, or comparatively so. She was a wealthy woman, and generous. I'll say that for her. Margaret quickly got the habit of putting up the cash for whatever we needed, and it was a habit she persisted in to the end. She bought and maintained our house in Oxford and she paid all the expenses of the flat in Beachy Street that the taxman wouldn't let me charge up to Metro. Total it up for yourself and you'll find that her annual disbursements on our joint behalf add up to a tidy penny. Think it over, Superintendent, and tell me whether you really think I benefit under the will?'

Meredith ignored the question and put one of his own.

‘You have known all along the terms of your wife's will?'

‘I have, and so have the Leighs. Margaret never suffered the least embarrassment in discussing such matters. She loved talking money. Details of personal income and such like, which you and I would cloak in decent privacy, she would cheerfully discuss with the neighbours, the lift boy or any public-spirited stranger who could be persuaded to listen. And it was the same with her will.'

‘I see. Then in these circumstances you must have been familiar with her preceding will. I take it she made one.'

‘She did – at the time of our marriage. I was the sole beneficiary.'

‘No mention of the Leighs?'

‘None.'

‘No fifteen-year period of waiting for you?'

‘No, it was all perfectly straightforward.'

‘When she made the new will, you must have asked her, sir, why she had imposed this cautious condition.'

‘Naturally, I did. She said she had done it because it pleased her to do so.'

‘Have you any idea why she should say that?'

‘It was because we hadn't been hitting it off very well at the time. Pearl had only recently come on the scene and I don't think my wife entirely approved of my relationship with her.'

‘Did that surprise you?'

‘It didn't bother me greatly, though I don't see what concern it is of yours.'

‘
All
the human relationships in this case are my concern,' Old Nick retorted sharply. ‘You think, then, that your wife changed her will as a form of reprisal.'

‘That was about the size of it. An attempt to bring me to heel. I've no doubt she hoped I would lie awake at night racked with remorse and disappointment.'

‘And how in fact
did
you react?'

‘I told her that, like good wine, her money would improve with keeping, and I carried on just as before. Though, as things have now turned out, I'm bloody grateful she did have the foresight to make this new will. But for that, judging from your present behaviour, you'd have thrown the book at me at our first meeting.'

‘We may yet do that, Mr Walker,' Meredith assured him with unruffled calm. ‘But for the time being let us speculate in another direction. A few minutes ago you offered to tell us who was your wife's murderer and why he killed her. Would you like to enlarge on that theme?'

‘Certainly, but I can't give you proof, if that's what you want.'

‘You provide the information and we'll provide the proof,' Meredith promised him silkily.

‘Well, I should have thought that it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that my wife was the wrong victim. In fact, I told you as much last Friday. The trouble is that you and your motive-conscious colleagues can only think in terms of money. You've bent over backwards to dream up a case against the Leighs or me because we're beneficiaries under the will, but if you're honest with yourself you'll admit there isn't a shred of evidence to support either theory. So what's the next line of inquiry? If you can't find a motive in one direction, you must look elsewhere, and you don't have to look far. Accept the fact that the wrong person was murdered, and the mystery is practically solved.'

‘Indeed! And who, in your opinion, was the right person?'

‘Pearl Moore, of course. That husband of hers stabbed my wife in the belief that she was Pearl.'

‘That's a very serious accusation, sir, and one I wouldn't advise you to repeat outside this room,' Meredith's words were almost identical to those used by Grey when Moore had made a similar accusation against Walker.

‘I'm not a fool, Superintendent,' Walker said coldly.

‘I have no intention of mentioning it outside these four walls. But you can't blink at facts. I know Colin Moore pretty well and, if you want my opinion, he's a spineless, alcoholic bastard.'

‘A nice testimonial!' Meredith said dryly.

‘It was intended to be.'

‘And you think he killed your wife in mistake for his own wife?'

‘I do.'

‘Why should he want to kill his wife?'

‘Jealousy, I should think. God knows that Pearl gave him reason enough to be jealous.'

‘In your opinion, is that reason enough for this murder?'

‘It could be, if the man was goaded into it.'

‘Are you suggesting that Mrs Moore goaded her husband to murder?

‘Well, no. Not in so many words, I suppose. But Pearl can be an absolute bitch at times, as I've good reason to know. She never bothers to conceal her feelings, especially towards that husband of hers. She despises him and she doesn't care who sees it. A man can suffer just so much contempt and no more. It's my belief that she tried him too hard once too often.'

‘Well, it's a possible theory,' Meredith said, thoughtfully.

‘Of course it's a possible theory! It's the only theory that can be made to fit all the facts.'

‘Cast your mind back to the night of the party once again, Mr Walker. Can you recall if there was any sort of scene between the Moores in the course of the evening?'

‘God, yes! A half a dozen, I dare say. They are always at each other's throats. As I said, Pearl gets pleasure from needling the man. Most of the time he pretends to take no notice, but every now and again, particularly when he's had a few drinks, he flies off the handle, and when he does he's beside himself. I've seen him attack her more than once.'

‘Attack her?'

‘Well, not seriously, I suppose. I've seen him smack her face, and once he pushed her so hard that she went staggering across the room and fell into the fireplace. That sort of thing.'

‘Nice people!' said Meredith dryly. ‘But there is a world of difference between a man smacking his wife's face and stabbing her through the heart with a stiletto or whatever the weapon was. From your knowledge of Moore, would you say that he was a potential killer?'

‘No, I wouldn't. Not to the extent of sticking a knife in someone. That's the only weak link in my hypothesis. I would have thought that it takes guts to kill someone, and Moore hasn't the guts of a louse. I can't imagine him killing anybody, but I think he killed Margaret, all the same. I suppose there must be instances on record of silly little men being driven to murder.'

‘A great many. A weak man goaded beyond endurance is liable to go to any extreme.'

‘Well, there you are, Superintendent. You asked for my opinion and I've given it to you. It's up to you to find the proof. In a way, I hope you don't succeed. Maybe it sounds funny coming from the bereaved husband, but I wouldn't want to feel that I had been responsible for getting any poor devil hanged or a life sentence. And that includes Moore. He must have had a pretty miserable life with Pearl and I suppose I have contributed as much as anyone to his misery. I can't like the fellow, but I'd stop short of hanging him or shutting him up for life, or whatever it is you do to murderers these days.'

‘I'm sure it does you great credit,' Meredith said without the ghost of a smile. ‘And now, if there's nothing further you have to add, I don't think we need detain you longer. Good morning, Mr Walker. You'll be hearing further from us in due course.'

After he had gone, the three policemen sat silent for some seconds. Then Stammers asked: ‘Do you think there's anything in this Moore theory, Super?'

‘There could be,' Meredith replied doubtfully. ‘Anyway, it'll bear looking into.'

‘That business of the will seems to let Walker out,' Stammers said. ‘Surely no man's going to commit murder if he's got to wait fifteen years before he touches the jackpot.'

‘Why not?' Meredith asked flatly. ‘With half a million in the kitty, Walker had every incentive to speed up the happy day. I think we'll have another word with that solicitor and get him to tell us in basic English if the conditions of the will are quite as watertight as Walker would have us believe.'

As he spoke, Inspector Grey came into the room, unwrapping himself from a thick scarf and the inevitable camel-hair coat. He was followed by a cadet bearing a tray of police station tea, the colour of the River Thames at Wapping.

‘Filthy morning again,' observed Syd cheerfully. ‘I saw Walker trotting down the stairs as I came in – he looked quite happy. Did you get him to confess?'

Meredith scowled and buried his face in a mug of tea.

‘You just missed the solution to the whole case,' said Stammers, with a grin. ‘Walker burst the case wide open for us!'

‘Tell me more, mate.'

‘He says it was Moore – the husband Moore. Did it out of hate and general bloody-mindedness. The big laugh is that he meant to clobber Pearl Moore, but his aim was bad in the dark!'

Syd Grey looked surprised and thoughtful. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I've just heard the same tale myself.'

The other three policemen stared at him through the rising steam from their teacups.

‘Why, where have you been?'

‘Down to ‘J' Division to see if I could get a lead on Prince. The boys at Hackney didn't know him by that name, but I took with me that photo that the news boys took outside the station when we were taking statements on Friday morning. They knew him right away. He was mixed up in some dirty stuff about ten years ago, black market before that, fraudulent trading, the lot, but no convictions. It was his pals who always seemed to catch the rap. He called himself Gerry Leopold then.'

‘Anything else?'

‘He's been cited in a couple of divorce cases, so they tell me, but he seems to have laid off most of his illegal fiddles since he left the East End to come over here. The last they heard of him was in some allegation of indecent assault by a girl at a party some four years ago, but apparently she dropped the charge after a few days.'

‘Sounds a nice chap! What else did you find out?'

‘Well, I thought I'd have a word with this customer on his own ground, so I rang up his home in Canonbury. He wasn't in but they gave me his business address. I went along on the off-chance. He's got a place just off the Clerkenwell Road, a warehouse with an office in the front, full of theatrical props and other junk. Could well be a front for some crooked game or other. I found him in his office and fair put the wind up him!'