The Suitcase Murderer

by James Andrew

  ‘The seventeenth?’

  ‘That would be it. In the middle of the afternoon some time. About three at a guess.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about what he looked like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think. Quite tall, like I said, quite lean. A slouch hat on, so I couldn’t see his hair. Apart from that, I don’t know. He didn’t look out of the ordinary at all.’

  ‘He didn’t?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Just his eyes. Like I said. They scared me. I looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him.’

  He had the eyes of a murderer I suppose, Ryan thought, back to wondering just how much of this was fantasy and how much wasn’t. But it would be written down faithfully, and Inspector Blades would make of it what he wanted.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Southwicks’ house was a large, stone-built property with a columned portico and tall Georgian sash windows. It was in set in a well-to-do area of Ramshead amongst others of the same ilk. Blades and Peacock looked at it with bemusement. So, this was the bolthole that the Roots had disappeared to when they left Birtleby? Blades supposed it would be a shock to Amelia’s sister and her husband if the police had to treat this upmarket property in the cavalier manner they had the Roots’ place. Blades announced their arrival at the front door, where he handed over his card. After it had been taken somewhere into the depths of the building, and presumably inspected, they were shown in.

  They found themselves in a drawing room with silk drapes and a high, plaster-corniced ceiling, where Mr and Mrs Southwick awaited them.

  ‘I trust this will not take long’ was the welcome that was barked in Blades’ direction from a bald, bespectacled, tall, and somewhat over-dignified-looking gentleman somewhere in his mid-fifties. There was a redness to his complexion that suggested a fondness for port or some other beverage of the type, and a stoutness that did not belie this.

  Blades made his expression as neutral as possible in return. ‘Hopefully not,’ he replied, ‘but there are questions we need to ask, if you don’t mind.’

  If you don’t mind? Blades thought. This was a murder investigation. It did not matter whether the self-important Mr Southwick minded or not, but Blades was also aware this was a solicitor he was dealing with, and that it would do no good to attempt to ride roughshod over him. Southwick’s knowledge of law was definitely greater than that of a policeman.

  ‘I can vouch for Thomas Root,’ Southwick continued. ‘A most estimable man with a reputable business.’

  Blades noted that Southwick knew why the police had arrived at his doorstep without having to be told.

  ‘Thomas always makes sure he’s on the right side of the law,’ said the lady to Southwick’s right. Blades wondered if she realised that made it sound as if the good Thomas skated round it. ‘He’s always been considered most respectable.’

  Blades tried to take in the woman. This was Helen Southwick, Amelia’s sister. His initial impression was that downtrodden women seemed to run in the family, though, physically, there was a marked difference between the sisters. Helen Southwick was about the same height as Amelia, but with no other resemblance that Blades could see. This woman was stout and particularly homely, with long hair tied back in a bun. This was not a robust stoutness though; there was a faded look to those eyes, and a subservience in the glance she gave her husband.

  ‘As no doubt are you,’ Blades replied.

  ‘Quite,’ Southwick said.

  ‘It’s unfortunate that inquiries led us to his door – and, subsequently, to yours.’

  Blades let those words hang in the air; he had been courteous but there was a job to be done.

  ‘So, how can I help you, Inspector?’ Southwick asked. There was a compliance in his eyes, but Blades sensed that it was reluctant.

  ‘As I’m sure you are aware, we are investigating the disappearance of Miss Emma Simpson, a young woman in the employment of Thomas Root of Birtleby.’

  ‘I am,’ Southwick replied.

  ‘You may not know all the circumstances of that disappearance, but the last time that Emma was seen alive was on the morning of Saturday the fifteenth, and the last people to see her were Mr Root and his wife Amelia. Your sister,’ Blades added with a nod to Helen Southwick. ‘That was the day that they came over to stay with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Southwick replied. ‘They motored over and arrived – I don’t know – late afternoon some time.’

  ‘You couldn’t say when exactly?’ Peacock asked.

  Southwick gave him a look that suggested he was surprised that Peacock was entering into the conversation.

  ‘They arrived at about five,’ Helen said with a quickness that Blades wondered about. Was Helen wary of her husband’s replies?

  ‘Before or after five?’ Peacock asked.

  ‘Just after,’ Southwick said with a brusqueness that invited no further questions.

  Peacock wrote down the reply.

  Just after five? Blades was thinking. They knew the Roots had left just after ten. It did not take that long to motor fifty miles, even on those country roads, and he wondered what the Roots had been doing in the meantime. Blades did not suppose the imposing solicitor in front of him would allow his position to be jeopardised by involvement in the disposal of a body. If the Roots were guilty, they had divested themselves of their corpse on the way.

  ‘How did they seem when they arrived?’ Blades asked.

  ‘Much as usual,’ Southwick replied. ‘When they are coming here to stay, that is. I think Thomas gets a bit weary in that shop. I suppose anyone would. I know what dealing with the public is like. I do in my job. And I should think it’s much worse in his. Customers can be a demanding lot. I suppose I am too when I’m out and about. Money doesn’t come easily for anyone, so I like to get value for it.’

  Blades wondered if Southwick was talking to give himself time to think.

  ‘But to return to your question. How did they seem?’

  Blades could see the lawyer’s mind working at the exactness of the words he used.

  ‘As I said, he was tired. But he was cheerful. He was in a good mood and looking forward to his stay.’

  ‘So was Amelia,’ Helen said. ‘Chatting nineteen to the dozen about the latest clothes that had come into the shop and how I should dress up a bit more. She is like that. Always looking out for you and making suggestions. And she was ever so pleased to get away. Birtleby’s such a boring place, according to her. And she likes the street we live on. She says it’s ever so fashionable.’

  ‘Nothing suspicious there, then,’ Blades said. ‘And nobody was sporting any bruises or anything of that sort?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Helen said.

  ‘No,’ Southwick replied.

  ‘And they stayed all week?’ Peacock asked. ‘They didn’t go away at any time?’

  ‘We did the social round,’ Helen said. ‘I took them out and about. And we did some walking on the moors out at Falcombe. Helen likes to get fresh air. Proper country air, she calls it.’

  Falcombe? Blades thought. He supposed that would be a good place to dispose of body parts, though he did not see Helen helping with that.

  ‘Whereabouts at Falcombe?’ Blades asked.

  ‘I don’t see why it matters,’ Southwick said.

  ‘If it doesn’t matter,’ Blades said, ‘there’s no reason not to say.’

  ‘On the path towards Highcombe, then back along the same track,’ Helen said.

  Blades nodded. He could visualise where that was. And it would be searched. There would be a lot of searching. Fifty miles between Birtleby and Ramshead, and body parts could have been disposed of anywhere on that route. There would be much poring over of maps to decide areas of interest. Moffat would hate all this expense.

  ‘Did they ever talk about Emma with you?’ Blades asked.

  ‘Not a lot,’ Southwick said. ‘They did mention her. Said they thought they had a steady employee there. If they could kee
p her away from men.’

  ‘Did she gad about a lot with them?’ Blades asked.

  ‘I don’t think it was that,’ Helen said. ‘There was one unsuitable type they mentioned. Not a stream of them, no. My sister’s husband wouldn’t have put up with that.’

  ‘Did this “type” have a name?’ Peacock asked.

  ‘They didn’t mention it,’ Southwick said.

  ‘They didn’t talk about Emma much,’ Helen said.

  ‘She was staff. They made a passing comment. That was all.’

  ‘You’re sure they only mentioned one man?’ Blades said. ‘There wasn’t someone else as well?’

  Southwick and Helen looked at each other. Helen looked a bit bewildered by this.

  ‘No,’ Southwick said. ‘They didn’t mention anyone else.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know the names of any of Emma’s other friends, do you?’ Blades asked.

  ‘No. We don’t,’ Southwick replied.

  And that was that. Blades was not under the impression this pair had been involved at all. Nor did they know anything helpful.

  ‘I’ll have to ask you to make a statement,’ Blades said. ‘I’ll make an appointment for you at your local police station.’

  ‘Statement?’ Southwick asked. ‘But why on earth? Surely, you don’t seriously suspect Thomas of anything?’

  ‘It’s a murder inquiry, sir. It generates a lot of paperwork. And it’s the best way to eliminate people from inquiries.’

  Southwick gave Blades a malignant stare, which Blades found uncomfortable.

  ‘The best way for you to help your brother-in-law is to help us get facts straight. I’m sure you’re right and he’s in the clear. And the best thing you can do to help him is give a detailed statement.’

  Not that Blades had dismissed the respectable Mr Thomas Root from his inquiries or would after reading Mr Southwick’s statement. He had more questions to ask Mr Root.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chief Constable Moffat had summoned Blades, and the inspector now sat on a hard chair with a painfully upright back in front of Moffat’s expansive desk, behind which Moffat sat in padded splendour in his seat. Moffat was studying papers in front of him.

  ‘A lot of man-hours expended already on this case, which will be dwarfed by what you’re requesting now.’

  Blades did not answer. When Moffat wanted a reply, he would ask a direct question.

  ‘I thought it was a missing person’s case.’

  Blades could tell by the lift in the voice at the end of the sentence, that was intended as a query and required him to say something.

  ‘Some people go missing because they’re dead,’ Blades said. He did wish he could resist stating the obvious.

  ‘Am I not supposed to know that?’ Moffat said.

  Blades stared at the fingers drumming on the desk.

  ‘So, tell me where you are with inquiries so far and where you’re going with them.’

  Blades gathered his thoughts. Moffat’s fingers continued their rhythmic attack on the desk; the sound seemed to fill the room.

  ‘After Emma Simpson was reported missing, we searched the premises where she stayed and did find traces of blood, which suggested Emma might have come to a bad end. Samples of the blood were sent to the Home Office for analysis and it was found to be human, which meant, as you know – you did approve it – we could apply to the court for a warrant to conduct an in-depth search. In the bathroom, we found human flesh in the drain leading from the bath, plus more blood. When the bath was looked at properly, analysis showed it had been used as a place to cut up a body, which means human parts have been transported elsewhere for disposal as they are nowhere in the Roots’ house, shop or back garden.’

  ‘Very good,’ Moffat said.

  Blades tried to avoid giving him a sharp look and had to glance away.

  Then Moffat corrected himself. ‘Very bad, of course, but the progress is good.’

  ‘Obviously that was what you meant, sir.’

  ‘But you haven’t established it was Emma’s body that was cut up?’

  ‘It’s a reasonable assumption but we found nothing personal of Emma’s anywhere near the bathroom to substantiate it.’

  ‘And you haven’t found the rest of the body?’

  ‘That’s why the request for man-hours, sir.’

  ‘You want to conduct a search over a fifty-mile radius?’

  ‘The last people to see Emma alive were the Roots on the Saturday morning.’

  ‘I suppose you have checked their back garden already?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. That was the first thing we did. And found nothing. Now, their movements on the last day we know of when Emma was seen: they said they left at about ten and arrived at Mrs Root’s sister’s at about five, which has been verified by the sister and her husband, giving the Roots ample opportunity to dispose of body parts en route.’

  ‘It took them long enough to get there. They are the ones who did it then?’

  ‘It’s one line of inquiry.’

  ‘An expensive one. Is there anything definite to suggest they killed her?’

  ‘No. And there are other avenues of investigation. Another suspect is her young man, Alfred Duggan, who does have a record, unlike either of the Roots, but not for violence. He’s a convicted bigamist. She’d broken with him, and that could conceivably have led to violence which could have gone too far, leading him to cover his tracks.’

  ‘Did he have access to the house?’

  ‘Once the Roots were away, yes. Obviously, we have no body, and no idea of day of death, never mind time, so it’s difficult to narrow things down.’

  ‘And might he have disposed of body parts in the area you’re requesting the manpower to search?’

  ‘Yes. He could also have dumped pieces of Emma around Birtleby, which is the reason for the search I want to authorise there.’

  ‘And a few man-hours there too.’

  ‘Of course, sir. It’s a serious inquiry. A young woman has been murdered.’

  ‘Quite. At least, you have to assume it was the young woman?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Blades replied.

  ‘And are there any other lines of inquiry?’

  ‘One we haven’t followed up yet, though we will. It’s been suggested Emma was also seeing a young man by the name of Russell Parkes.’

  ‘And where’s he likely to have disposed of Emma? Not somewhere else?’

  ‘He’s a Birtleby man,’ was all that Blades thought was necessary to reply to that.

  ‘If you can’t find the body, it’s a problem,’ Moffat said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You’ve got three suspects, two and a half at the moment, but, even if you assemble a case against one of them, nailing them without a body is a problem. So, yes, your request for funds for all these man-hours is granted. As you say, murder is serious. It’s the most serious thing we investigate. We need to put maximum effort into it. Oh, and incidentally, the Birtleby Times–’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I seem to be finding out about progress on this case more quickly through that rag than through your reports.’

  ‘Paperwork always lags behind legwork, sir.’

  ‘Still, it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Blades cursed Musgrave. Why did he have to be so enthusiastic about this case and why did he have to find out about things so quickly?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There were now maps on the walls of Blades’ office, large-scale maps, and Blades was poring over them along with Peacock.

  ‘That fifty-mile area between Birtleby and Ramshead. Where are the points of interest?’ Blades asked of himself as much as anyone, but, as he was there, Peacock answered.

  ‘Too many to search them all properly.’

  ‘You think?’ Blades looked at him, then back to the maps. ‘We need to prioritise, concentrate on logistical probabilities.’ He frowned and continued examining the maps.


  He took out a pencil and drew a circle.

  ‘Logan Woods. They would pass that on their route. It’s areas like that we need to look at. Isolated but with cover.’

  ‘Falcombe Moor,’ Peacock said. ‘That was mentioned by Helen Southwick. We mustn’t forget that.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Blades said. He moved his pencil up and beyond Ramshead to Falcombe Moor, and outlined that area. ‘The area adjacent to the path they followed, not that I think they’ll find anything there, but it does have to be looked at too.’

  ‘The area beside the road between Birtleby and Ramshead is pretty well cultivated,’ Peacock said.

  ‘Which cuts down options, though there are middens at every farm.’

  ‘Why choose one of those though? It’s more likely to be found there.’

  ‘When there are isolated areas where it might remain undiscovered for years. Quite so. Areas like Hackett Hill.’ Blades traced another line round that. ‘And Bishop Woods.’ He drew there too.

  So, the two men stood, gazing at the map, and muttering and pointing, with Blades marking it with approximations of circles every so often, till, at last, Blades stood back from the map and tutted.

  ‘We’ve cut it down,’ Blades said. ‘But it’s still going to take for ever. Not that there’s anything to be done about that. And Birtleby is still to be searched. It’s a pity we don’t have a clearer line on our suspects. If we could rule the Roots out, we wouldn’t have to bother with half of this.’

  ‘If only, as you say, sir.’

  ‘But we can’t. Who knows what happened in that house? I don’t yet.’

  ‘If I were a betting man, I would say it’s Root,’ Peacock said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘An attractive young woman like Emma close at hand, and a homely wife like Amelia he’s tired of. From what neighbours have said about the way he treats Amelia, he’s tired of her. And Emma had a lot of life in her by all accounts. From the look of Amelia, it’s all been drained from her.’

  ‘But why kill Emma?’ Blades asked.

  ‘Passions flare. A quarrel goes wrong?’

  ‘And there is plenty of scope for passions in that household.’