The Suitcase Murderer

by James Andrew

  Blades waited for a few moments after the clanging had stopped as he listened for any sound there might be from inside, but there was nothing. Then he pulled at the doorbell again. The bell reverberated impressively but still provoked no response. Blades stepped back from the door and nodded to the larger of the two constables. Constable Peters stepped forward, examined the door, then shoulder charged it but to no avail, although it shuddered. He stood back and looked at it again, then, lifting his right leg, he jumped at the door with his full weight behind his foot, which hit the door just at the handle. Fortunately, it was the door that gave with a satisfying snap. The constable tumbled in as the door opened in front of him, and Blades and Peacock strode in behind him.

  Blades looked for an electricity switch but there wasn’t one, so he took out his flashlight. They were at the bottom of a stairway. Blades flashed his light around, finding himself looking at walls and a shuttered window, before he started on his climb of the stairs. At the top of these was a hallway with several doors off it. Blades opened one, which led into a parlour. There was a gaslight. Peacock turned at the handle, then took out a match and lit the mantle. The gaslight sputtered into life as its pale glow spread through the room.

  It was an ordinary front parlour with painted floorboards and rug runners, long sweeping curtains, velour-upholstered chairs and an ornate, carved, mahogany fireplace. Blades noticed that one of the rugs appeared to be kicked back out of place and walked over to look there. He held his flashlight and peered closely. There. Yes. Just there. On a floorboard, one or two dark specks of what looked like blood. He would have that confirmed. Blades peered round the rest of the room without seeing anything of note.

  He and Peacock walked through the first floor, looking for signs of anything misplaced, something that might show there had been violent happenings here, in particular other signs of blood. Then they walked upstairs and examined the bedrooms and the bathroom. As Blades turned to go downstairs again, he thought at least they hadn’t found a body. However, although there might be different explanations for the odd stain in the parlour, all of them innocent, no reason had yet been found for three people being missing from this house. Blades had just entered the parlour again and was looking around him, when he heard the shout. It was the voice of a man.

  ‘What? Who did this?’

  That was followed by a female voice.

  ‘Someone’s broken in. Don’t go in, Thomas. They might still be there.’

  But Blades noticed the advice did not deter Thomas as the sound of feet told. Then Thomas met one of his constables.

  ‘Don’t enter here, please, sir. This is a crime scene.’

  ‘How dare you tell me what to do in my own house? I’ll go wherever I like.’

  Then Blades called out, ‘It’s all right, Constable, let them in.’

  ‘As you will, sir,’ the constable replied.

  Blades found himself face to face with a red-faced, indignant-looking, large man in his fifties.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ Thomas Root said to Blades. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

  ‘Mr Thomas Root?’ Blades asked.

  ‘And who else would it be?’ he replied.

  ‘And this will be Amelia, your wife,’ Blades said, looking at a slight woman with thin grey hair who had entered just after Thomas.

  ‘Of course, it is,’ Thomas said. ‘And we live here. What are you doing in our house?’

  Blades took out his card as he introduced himself. ‘I’m Inspector Blades and this is Sergeant Peacock. There’s nothing to alarm yourself with regarding your house, sir. We see no signs of a break-in or a burglary, though, in any case, you might like to check to see that nothing’s missing. We’re glad to see that you’re not. That was a question which was raised with us. That’s what we were checking up on – as is our duty as police officers.’

  ‘Checking up? You’ve broken down my front door, which you’ll pay for.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, sir, but you were not at home. Can you tell me where you were?’

  ‘I was on a week’s break at Amelia’s sister’s house in the country. Which is hardly out of the ordinary. Why would you think it was?’

  Then something struck Thomas and he looked vaguely around him.

  ‘Surely Emma told you that? She’s here somewhere, isn’t she?’

  ‘Would you expect her to be?’

  ‘Why yes. We left her in charge of the house and the shop while we were away. The shop had to be open as usual.’

  ‘I realise this is difficult for you to adjust to, coming home to this. I’m sorry but it was necessary. We didn’t know where you were, and we still don’t know where Emma is – her parents have reported her missing.’

  ‘What do you mean Emma’s missing?’

  ‘She hasn’t been seen for a week.’

  ‘But the shop. She must have been working in that?’

  ‘It’s been closed all week, which is why we thought something might have happened to her – and to you.’

  ‘I see.’ Now that Thomas understood the reason for police being in his house, he was calmer. Amelia was the more upset now.

  ‘What can have happened to Emma? She’s alright, isn’t she?’

  Blades searched for reassuring words but didn’t find any. ‘That’s the question we’re here to investigate. Do you know of any reason why Emma might have decided to go off somewhere?’

  Thomas and Amelia looked at each other. Thomas’s face took on a look of self-righteousness as he said, ‘She had work to do. There was the shop to run, and the house to be looked after. What reason could she have had to go off?’

  ‘Was there a young man she was interested in?’

  Thomas gave a snort of what sounded like disgust.

  ‘There was that Alfred Duggan,’ Amelia said, ‘for a while, but she finished with him.’

  Blades noted the now familiar name.

  ‘After what I caught her up to with him, she was definitely finished with him in this house,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Did she say she was planning to go away anywhere?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Thomas said, ‘and certainly not when she was supposed to be working.’

  ‘Did she have any friends we can talk to about her?’

  ‘No one who came around,’ Amelia said, ‘and she didn’t speak of anybody.’

  ‘I see,’ Blades said. A friendless young woman, he thought, and wondered if it was true. But he supposed he had found out what he could from the Roots for just now.

  ‘Incidentally,’ Blades said, and paused.

  ‘Yes?’ Thomas said.

  ‘Is there any reason why there would be bloodstains in the parlour?’

  ‘Bloodstains?’ Thomas replied.

  ‘In the parlour?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Thomas said.

  ‘That can’t be true,’ Amelia added, ‘unless’ – she paused – ‘the maid did manage to knock over a bottle of port in there. It was newly opened too, almost full. I had to take that out of her wages, the careless girl. Would that be it?’

  Blades gave that some thought. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Then I can’t think what that might have been,’ Amelia said.

  ‘I see,’ Blades said, wondering about his, though he tried to keep the look on his face neutral. ‘When would be the last time you saw Emma?’ he asked.

  Thomas looked across at Amelia. ‘On the Saturday, when we were leaving, which must have been about… let’s see… ten o’clock in the morning?’

  Amelia nodded her head at this.

  ‘How did you travel?’

  ‘Why do you want to know that?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘It’s just a detail. We like to build up pictures in our minds, that’s all.’

  ‘I see. We travelled by car,’ Thomas replied.

  ‘You said you were at your wife’s sister’s house in the country. Where exactly would that have been?’

  ‘Ramshead.’

 
‘I see. And how did Emma seem when you left?’ Blades asked.

  ‘Seem?’ Thomas said, frowning as he thought about the question.

  ‘Just as usual,’ Amelia said. ‘Nervous of the responsibility, I suppose, but I had the idea she was looking forward to it.’

  ‘She didn’t seem like anything, just as she always did,’ Thomas said. ‘She wasn’t anxious or excited about anything. She could have done with worrying about things a bit more, I always thought. She had no thoughts in her head apart from what her romantic novels put there.’

  Blades supposed that at least could be true.

  ‘And could we just check with you which is Emma’s room?’ Blades asked. ‘We need to check to see if she took clothes and baggage with her.’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Amelia said, and led Blades and Peacock upstairs to the top storey, where the three of them found themselves standing in a tiny room under the eaves, with barely enough room for all three to get inside at the same time. Blades and Peacock had already had a quick look round, but their eyes swept around the place with more care now.

  It was a bare room with a narrow bed, a washstand, a wardrobe, and a chair, with not much room for anything else, apart from a tiny wall mirror and a religious tract saying ‘Jesus Saves’. There was nothing cheerful in her room to keep her at the Roots’, Blades thought.

  ‘Her bag’s still here,’ Amelia said, pointing to the top of the wardrobe. ‘She only had one, I’m sure, though I couldn’t swear to that. Why would a girl her age own more than one case?’ Amelia opened the wardrobe door and peered inside. ‘There are a couple of spare dresses in here. I can’t believe she didn’t have more than that though I never paid that much attention to what she wore.’ Then Amelia opened the wardrobe drawer. ‘Plenty of underclothing here, which doesn’t mean she didn’t have any more. I don’t know. I’m not being much help, am I?’

  ‘Can you think of anything distinctive she might have been wearing?’ Blades asked.

  Amelia thought for a moment or two, then replied, ‘She isn’t a flamboyant dresser, but let’s see. Oh, there was a ring she wore on her right hand – as well as the wedding ring on the left one.’

  ‘Can you describe it?’

  ‘Silver. With a heart shape, though she’d no initials on it or anything.’

  ‘That could be useful,’ Blades said.

  ‘And she wore a bracelet. A silver one. A sort of chain. But I can’t really describe it any better than that. Sorry.’

  ‘Did she talk of going anywhere?’ Blades asked.

  ‘No. And she’s never gone off before. I couldn’t even tell you of anywhere she might have gone to.’

  ‘I see. Thank you,’ Blades said.

  There being nowhere else to search in that small room, Blades and Peacock did not linger. If there was anything else they had thought they might be looking for, they had not found it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Roots were displeased when they were told they could not stay in their own home due to their house and shop being a possible crime scene. Blades and Peacock needed time to search them properly. Fortunately, Thomas Root had a sister who also lived in Birtleby. The shop was searched this time, and the basement, as was an outdoor shed. As of yet, the only sign of anything untoward was the apparent bloodstain that Blades had spotted earlier.

  Mr Root wanted to know when he could open for business again, but Blades could not tell him. With no signs of an incident elsewhere, he supposed anything that had occurred must have taken place in the parlour, and samples had been taken of the stain there. Meanwhile, Blades and Peacock busied themselves with fingerprint powder and photographs. Blades knew the necessity of being thorough, though he felt he could almost hear his Chief Constable’s voice in his head. ‘This is only a missing person case. Why are you spending so long on it? There’s no body. You need one of those to prove it’s murder.’ But Blades knew he would not regret the time he was spending now if one did turn up. In any case, Blades had an ominous feeling. Bloodstains – and that is what he was assuming they were – in the most public room in the house, were worrying.

  He ordered a meeting for the next day of the whole station staff so that he could delegate his sergeants and constables. The first thing to be checked was whether Emma had set off for somewhere. She had obviously left at short notice, anyway, if that was what she had done. If she had, someone must have seen her. Inquiries would be made at the railway station, and the tram and bus stations. Wires would be sent to different police stations within Yorkshire, and also further afield. Questions would also be asked at lodging houses, and hotels. If Emma was travelling, she needed to stay somewhere, though Blades wondered why she would travel anywhere, and apparently in secret. The most likely explanation might be because of a violent argument. Or, was she in debt? Was there a young man she was travelling with, or to – at the moment unknown to them?

  They had little to go on, leaving only questions. Had Emma had an argument with Alfred Duggan? Was she afraid of him? They had been told by two different people that she had finished with him. Had she not succeeded in doing that? What had his reaction been? Or, leaving aside the unproven ‘bloodstain’, if her parents had forbidden her to have anything to do with him, could Emma and Alfred have run away together? If proof of violence at the Roots’ premises did transpire, Blades would then order an extended search for a body in the local area, which was what he expected to end up doing. One thing they did need to do straight away was interview that Alfred Duggan, if he was still around.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Commercial was well known in Birtleby; it had been a popular lodging house with commercial travellers for the last fifty years. A plain-looking woman with greying hair, wearing a frayed home-knitted cardigan in dingy brown, greeted them as she answered the door. Blades gathered that the business, if well established, was not prosperous. The natural wariness on her face at the sight of Blades’ card she dismissed with a shrug of the shoulders, as she showed them into the lounge with the wry remark, ‘You’ve caught up with him then. And a good job too I’m sure.’

  Blades and Peacock found themselves in a parlour. Blades was struck by the large maps in frames that decorated the walls. One was a map of Yorkshire, while another covered the whole of Great Britain, and, yet another, Europe, with business cards stuck higgledy-piggledy into the frames. Blades’ impression was that these recommended other places where the fraternity of salesmen was welcome. The room was also filled with several, large-winged, worn leather chairs which were empty. In the furthest corner was a desk, with a phone on it, and various papers and writing implements; at this was seated a young man with a pen in his hand, writing in what appeared to be a book of accounts. This was Alfred Duggan.

  ‘The police, Alfred,’ the woman said, then laughed. ‘What have you been up to now?’

  Alfred put the pen down with a frown that was instantly dismissed in favour of a welcoming smile. Blades’ first impression was that this was a man that women would be drawn to. He had a lean frame with broad shoulders, neat, fair hair that shone in the light, and unusual eyes; they were a light shade of blue that drew the eye, with a streak of brown in the cornea of each, and a luminosity that was compelling. Considering that Duggan was facing two policemen, Blades was impressed by the wholeheartedness of the look of welcome on his face.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ Blades said.

  ‘No problem,’ Duggan replied. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the woman said. Blades thanked her as she left, then considered Duggan.

  ‘I believe you know Emma Simpson.’

  A hesitant look appeared on Duggan’s face followed by one of decisiveness.

  ‘I don’t know who you mean,’ he said.

  Blades noticed that Peacock could not suppress a short laugh, and he resisted the temptation to do the same.

  ‘You’ve been courting her,’ Blades said. ‘Her parents say so. They gave us your name and your address, and here y
ou are, Mr Alfred Duggan himself.’

  A vague look had overtaken Alfred’s face, which was one that seemed prone to sudden changes.

  ‘Emma?’ Duggan said.

  ‘She works at Roots, the drapers,’ Blades said.

  ‘A brunette,’ Peacock said. ‘Neat figure. Curly hair. Good legs.’

  Duggan’s eyes swivelled towards Peacock’s. ‘Ah,’ he said, as he gave what appeared to be an impersonation of a man to whom something had dawned upon, which in itself turned into an imitation of a puzzled man.

  ‘Emma? Wait a minute,’ Duggan said. ‘Yes. I did date someone of that name for a few weeks.’

  ‘You’ve just remembered you dated her for a few weeks?’ Peacock sneered.

  ‘That’s right. But I haven’t seen her in some time. Is there a problem? Nothing’s happened to her, has it?’

  ‘That’s what we would like to find out,’ Blades said. ‘She hasn’t been seen for a while, which is why her parents have reported her missing. She was last seen about a week ago by her employers, the Roots, before they left for a week’s break, leaving her in charge of the shop and house – not that she opened the shop all week. We wondered why. Can you shed any light on that?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can,’ Alfred said. ‘It’s a few weeks since I saw her. We decided to stop seeing each other.’

  ‘And what was the reason for that?’

  ‘Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don’t.’ He shrugged his shoulders. And now his face was one of bewildered innocence. ‘Emma wanted to finish it. Maybe she’d found someone else. I don’t know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know who that someone else was?’ Peacock asked.

  ‘Or maybe she didn’t. Emma wasn’t all that specific about what the problem was.’

  ‘It wasn’t her parents, was it?’ Blades asked. ‘According to her mother, she’d warned Emma about you.’

  ‘I suppose Emma did mention something of the sort.’

  ‘You’re a convicted bigamist and her mother had found that out?’ Peacock said.