by James Andrew
‘Ethel and Anne Goodbody,’ Rollins added. ‘They’ve lived in that street for donkeys. Well past working age. You could hope they spend half their time peering out of the window at the Roots’ opposite. But they don’t, so they said, and they didn’t see a thing. They did wonder why the shop wasn’t open but weren’t nosey about it, just got on with their own business. Pays you to mind that, they said.’
‘So, if they did spot anything, they wouldn’t tell us for fear of getting themselves into trouble?’ Ryan asked.
‘They probably spend half their lives glued to those windows,’ Flockhart said. ‘They spotted us before we knocked on their door. I saw those curtains move as we walked up to that place.’
‘We’ll bear that in mind,’ Ryan said. ‘If we need to, we’ll question them again.’
‘Then there were the Archers – next door to the Goodbodys,’ Flockhart said. ‘The husband is away so we should call back there. Mrs Archer has a high-handed way with her. I thought she was going to sort us out for not solving this already. Asked us almost as many questions as we asked her. And she says she did have a good look out from her window to try to spot what was going on when she saw that the shop was shut all week. But it was as quiet as a tomb, she said. Nobody going out and in. Didn’t hear anything unusual.’
‘On the other side of the Goodbodys,’ Rollins said, ‘are the Jennings. He’s a teacher. At Birtleby High. He’s another one who was out when we called, so we’ll have to go back there too. His wife, Annie, was the garrulous sort. But she bent over backwards to be helpful. Talked non-stop about what a worrying thing it was.’
‘And I don’t suppose she saw a thing either,’ Ryan asked.
‘Nothing. Saw the Prudential Insurance man turning up at his usual time. Just after he called at the Jennings. Must have business with the Roots too. He knocked and knocked. Then he gave up and tramped off.’
‘There was one thing that stood out,’ Flockhart said, flicking through the pages of his notebook. ‘Mrs Hannah Smith. Two doors down. Said the Roots didn’t always see eye to eye. Amelia was a bit downtrodden. Thomas didn’t give her much of a life. Always throwing his weight around.’
‘Interesting,’ Ryan replied. ‘The more we know about the people involved, the better. Did anybody come up with anything else?’
Flockhart flipped back a couple of pages.
‘Don’t know whether to trust this one or not,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘The last time Emma Simpson was seen was over a week ago?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Harry Walker saw her on Wednesday. Clear as day and no doubt about it. Walking around the corner with a young man.’
‘Did he give a description of him?’
‘Tall, wearing a trilby hat. Couldn’t tell the colour of his hair. Lean in build.’
‘Is that as precise as he could get?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he someone this Harry had seen around before?’
‘He wasn’t sure about that. He was sure of Emma Simpson.’
‘Who’s this Harry Walker?’
‘A bit of a local character. Lives further up the street and across, and I’ve come across him before. One over the eight every night. You can hear him singing all the way up the street on his way home from the pub. We managed to catch him sober. Whether he was well lubricated when he saw or thought he saw our missing lady is the question.’
‘So probably not a report to pay much attention to.’
Flockhart gave Ryan a doubtful look. ‘He was convinced, though.’
‘He went on and on about it,’ Rollins agreed.
‘So, it is a report to flag up to Inspector Blades?’
Flockhart and Rollins looked at each other.
‘Maybe,’ Flockhart said.
‘Who knows?’ Rollins said. ‘He’s a drunk. And for all we know he’s trying to sound important and just making the whole thing up.’
‘Which happens often enough,’ Ryan said.
‘Yes, but we probably shouldn’t ignore it,’ Rollins said.
‘We won’t. Anything else?’
‘You’d think so,’ Rollins said. ‘Have you any idea how many people live in that street? We’ve about fifty reports between us. And others to follow up on who were out at the time. But no. The only one who saw anything was the dipso.’
‘You’ll enjoy writing that lot up though,’ Ryan said. ‘And there really was nothing else useful?’
‘Everything much like the ones we’ve read out,’ Flockhart said. ‘Nobody suspicious hanging around. Nothing suspicious seen. Nothing suspicious heard. And when are we going to find out what’s happened to Emma Simpson?’
‘No one said they were particular friends with Emma?’
‘No. And nothing illuminating in the picture they gave us of Emma. A self-respecting young woman who kept herself to herself. Not flighty. No gossip about visiting young men.’
‘Not Alfred Duggan?’
‘Oddly, no. He must have been discreet.’
‘That would be his trademark from what I’ve heard about him.’
‘There’s just the matter of what this Harry Walker said.’
‘A pity he didn’t see her a couple of days earlier,’ Ryan said. ‘That would have tied in with what we know. We’re not under the impression Emma was anywhere near there when Walker said he saw her; and it would be odd if she was still hanging around without opening the shop or giving any sign she was in there. Though you never know. The whole thing’s a bit odd. Good job, though, you two. And you’d better get cracking with your reports. And make them good. Inspector Blades looks at everything carefully.’ Then Sergeant Ryan laughed. ‘Keep you out of mischief anyway.’
CHAPTER NINE
Blades had been right in his conjecture about the angle Musgrave would take in his coverage of this missing person case. It was amazing how lurid the coverage of local crime had become in the Birtleby Times since Musgrave had arrived. It had been a tame and uncontroversial local paper before. The headline was much as Blades had worked out it would be. It read: ‘BIGAMIST INVOLVED IN DISAPPEARANCE OF WAR WIDOW’.
There was a full account of Alfred Duggan’s criminal history, and a useful description of him plus a photograph, as well as the story of Emma’s husband’s war. Apparently, Luke Simpson had been a lance corporal who had been killed at Ypres. Blades had not known that. There was also an account of Emma’s disappearance, and a photograph of Emma:
Emma Simpson was last seen on Saturday 15th October when Mr Thomas Root and Mrs Amelia Root left their home in Main Street to travel to Ramshead in order to stay with Mrs Root’s sister for a week. Emma worked as an assistant in the Roots’ store, the well-known drapers, also in Main Street. Emma was supposed to be looking after the house, where she also resided, and opening the shop while they were away but, not only was it closed for the entire week, Emma was not seen by anyone at all in that time. It was her mother, Mrs Minnie Harkwright, who reported her missing on Saturday morning as she thought it strange that she had not heard from her in all that time.
The police would like to know if anyone has seen Emma or knows where she is. She is not in the habit of travelling about. In particular, has anyone seen her in the company of any young man in that time? Emma is said to have stopped seeing a young man called Alfred Duggan a week or two before her disappearance. Does anyone know of anyone else she might have been seeing? Emma is described as being twenty-three years old, five foot four, with brown curly hair cut in a bob.
Does her disappearance have anything to do with Alfred Duggan? This is a line of inquiry that the police are following. Any sightings of her with him would be useful.
Blades sighed. Had he said anything specific about any line of inquiry at all, never mind one including Alfred Duggan? He supposed Musgrave would twist anything an inspector said to fit in with the story he wanted to write, which was irresponsible. This could turn into a witch hunt with Alfred Duggan the target –
when they were still in the process of establishing the most basic of facts. Though, if any information did crop up that linked Duggan to this disappearance, that would be gold dust.
He turned from the newspaper article and started leafing through reports. Flockhart’s account of Walker’s statement drew the eye, and he studied it. At first sight, it looked spurious, but he wondered. He supposed there would be a few more sightings to evaluate now the article had appeared. If any corroborated what Walker said, that would be useful. Could Emma have been staying in that house during the first half of that week? Blades looked at all the reports on interviews with neighbours. No one else had described any signs of movement or given any suggestion someone was staying there. Could Emma have been there and been seeing Alfred Duggan? Even if Emma had attempted to make a break with him, with the Roots away for a week, Duggan would have seen their absence as an opportunity to try to have fun with her, wouldn’t he? By Blades’ reading of him, he wasn’t the kind of man to miss that kind of opportunity. But why would Emma not be opening the shop? And why would she be keeping such a low profile in the house that no one in the street was aware of anyone staying there – apart from Walker? There was something there that did not make sense.
The phone rang on Blades’ desk and he answered it. It was the proprietor of a small hotel in Hately, about fifty miles away, a Mr Faulkner. He was talking enthusiastically, and at length, about a young woman who had been staying in his hotel that week. He was sure that it must be Emma. She fitted the description exactly. She said she was there on a week’s holiday. And there was a young man she had seen from time to time and he matched the details the paper gave of Duggan. Emma was a refined young lady and the young man was rough. Faulkner had felt sorry for her. Why did young women not see through the kind of men they attracted? He had tried to warn her against him, but she had laughed in his face. The rudeness of it. Imagine that. That was when he had decided she must be more brazen than he thought.
But, still, if anything had happened to her it was dreadful. Oh no. She wasn’t at his hotel now. She’d left on the Saturday and no, she had given no forwarding address, which was a pity, and did any of that help? He would try to remember any more details if he could. Blades thanked him. After he had put the phone down again, Blades pondered. On the face of it, this was a good lead. It was even corroboration Emma had been seen with Alfred that week, as Walker had said, except it had not been anywhere near Birtleby, which contradicted the other half of Walker’s statement. But there was nothing in Mr Faulkner’s descriptions that could not have been gleaned from the newspaper coverage, and there could be similar couples around. For whatever reason, something told him this was not Emma, though someone would be sent out to question this witness further, and Blades would have further inquiries made in that area. There would be no end of helpful phone calls like these, and they had to be followed up on and recorded. Blades decided, with such a major case ongoing, it was time all incoming calls were dealt with initially by uniform.
CHAPTER TEN
When Duggan presented himself at Birtleby Police Station, this was to the surprise of Sergeant Ryan at the front desk, though Ryan did his best to hide it. He checked that Blades had the time to see Duggan, and ushered him into the office. Blades and Peacock looked up with a frank curiosity. Duggan was already a suspect, and they had not expected him to turn up of his own accord. Blades motioned Duggan to a seat in front of the desk, and Peacock pulled one up too.
‘Good of you to drop in,’ Blades said. ‘How can I help?’
‘I need to come clean,’ Duggan said.
‘You do?’ Blades said.
The anxious look that had been written all over Duggan’s face now turned to one of open innocence. ‘It was on my conscience.’
Blades said nothing but waited to hear what Duggan had to say. Blades noticed that Peacock now had his notebook out and pencil in his hand, though Blades had not seen them being brought out.
‘I lied.’
In the silence that followed, Blades listened to the office wall clock ticking and a car travelling over the cobbles outside, as he watched while Duggan’s face went through a contrasting set of emotions, anxiety, relief, peace, then back to anxiety again. Still, Blades waited; he did not want to interrupt the process going on in Duggan’s head.
‘In the statement I gave, I said that the last time I saw Emma was three weeks before her disappearance was reported. I lied. It was just over a week before – on the Friday.’
‘That would be the seventh?’ Blades said.
Duggan thought for a moment. ‘Yes. That would be about it.’
‘Interesting,’ Blades said. ‘You made a statement and signed it.’
‘It’s complicated.’ Then, after a pause, a rush of words came out of Duggan, completely unrelated to this. ‘Did you find blood at the scene?’ he said. ‘You must have results from any tests that were made by now?’
Blades gave the question thought but did not reply.
‘Who are you suspicious of?’
Again, Blades did not answer the query. He was not sure why he should be sharing progress with Duggan. Nor was he sure why Duggan’s mind was jumping about in quite this way.
‘So, you saw Emma on the Friday?’ Blades asked.
‘You must have some ideas?’ Duggan asked.
There was a moment’s silence before Blades spoke, and this time he did reply. ‘We’re making investigations but there’s nothing we want to go public with,’ Blades said, then repeated his own question. ‘Did you see Emma on the Friday?’
Duggan’s look in return was now a bit weary. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As you said, the seventh.’
‘When?’
‘The evening. We went for a walk in the park. That was when Emma told me she was finishing with me.’
‘And where were you on Saturday the fifteenth?’
‘What does that have to do with it?’
Blades just gazed at him and waited again.
‘Was that the day she disappeared?’
‘Possibly,’ Blades replied.
‘I was travelling over from Dillingsworth. I have to travel all over with work, and it was time to come back here. But I didn’t get here till the evening.’
‘Do you have any witnesses?’
‘Anyone who saw me I suppose, though I can’t think of anyone in particular.’
‘And you’ll write a new statement explaining all this?’
‘Yes. That’s what I came in to do.’ There was some truculence on Duggan’s face but more resignation. ‘You said if it came out that I’d lied it could go badly for me.’
‘I did,’ Blades agreed.
‘I read the newspaper article. People will be coming forward saying all sorts.’
‘And you’ll be caught out in the lie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you more to tell us?’
‘No.’
Having done what he had steeled himself to do, Duggan had a deflated look to him. He looked as if he was in a quandary about what he should say or do next.
‘So, how did Emma seem? Had splitting up with you upset her?’
‘It upset me. She seemed fine with it.’
‘Did Emma give any hint she was going to go away anywhere?’ Blades asked.
‘No. She said the Roots were leaving her in charge while they went away. She didn’t say anything about going anywhere herself.’
‘Do you know where she might have gone?’
‘No.’
‘Was there anywhere she said she had visited before, and that she was fond of?’
‘She didn’t talk about that sort of thing.’
‘Did she talk of other friends she had?’
‘No.’
‘She had no other women friends?’
‘She didn’t talk about them with me.’
They were getting nowhere, Blades thought. He noted the irritated expression on Peacock’s face.
‘Are you sure that was when she talked
of splitting up with you?’ Peacock asked. ‘An empty house and Emma by herself would have been a good opportunity for a man with an eye to the main chance. You wouldn’t try to take advantage of that?’
Duggan gave Peacock a wry look. ‘It would have been a good opportunity. You’re right. But I was out of luck.’
‘And you just gave up?’
‘Yes.’ Duggan’s look at Peacock had become icy. ‘I don’t force myself on women. She’d said no.’
‘And you didn’t take out your frustration on her in any way?’ Peacock asked.
‘I’ve no idea what you mean by that,’ Duggan replied.
Now Blades took a hand again. ‘Did you murder Emma Simpson?’
Duggan turned his eyes towards Blades and there was fury in them.
‘No. Look, I’ve come forward voluntarily to correct my statement. Give me credit for that.’
Peacock was writing notes in his notebook. Blades was staring at Duggan. Duggan was now gazing at the floor; he was struggling with emotions that weren’t feigned, and Blades tried to analyse them. Then Duggan turned his eyes back to him.
‘I didn’t. No.’ And his tone was firm and clear. ‘So, you haven’t been getting anywhere with your inquiries? You need someone to pin this on?’
Blades looked back at him steadily. ‘We’re making progress, sir.’
Another silence fell, while Blades again waited.
‘Has anyone turned up saying they saw me with Emma?’ Duggan asked.
‘When?’
‘Whenever. You tell me. You’re the one who’s leading the inquiries.’
‘When would they have seen you with her?’
‘Not after the Friday night I told you about.’ There was a firmness in the way Duggan said that.
Then Duggan was the one asking the questions again, which Blades hoped would give Duggan the chance to trip himself up.
‘No one’s mentioned anyone else she might have been seeing?’ Duggan asked.
Interesting, Blades thought, but did not answer.
‘You know about Russell Parkes?’ Duggan continued.
That was a name new to Blades and he did reply to that. ‘No. Who’s he?’
