The Suitcase Murderer

by James Andrew

  The boy nodded, though his face remained pale and drawn. He began his walk up the line. He walked slowly, peering at each in turn, and his expression did not change once, all the way up the line, from one of fierce concentration. The expressions on the faces of the ‘suspects’ varied, from the apprehensive to the impatient. All avoided looking directly at the butcher’s boy. Then the boy stopped, turned, and walked back down the line. When he reached Russell Parkes, he stopped, and placed his right hand on his shoulder, briefly, then stepped back hurriedly as if afraid of what Parkes might do to him for singling him out. Then the boy turned and looked at Blades as if for instruction.

  ‘Thank you,’ Blades said, and signalled to a constable who led the boy out of the room.

  Blades turned to Peacock. ‘That went well,’ he said, to which Peacock nodded.

  The line remained in place while the next witness was brought in. Reg Bright was a particularly short man, only about five foot one, Blades estimated, and he had to look up at a row of tall men; Blades wondered how intimidating that would be for him. But he need not have worried. Reg held himself with his usual air of cockiness. Indeed, he looked impatient to get started. Blades nodded and Reg started on a trot down the line, peering imperiously at each as he walked past them. They looked nervous as Reg paced past them, but they all managed to avoid returning his stare. Reg reached the end of the line and raked another look down it, which was almost like a broadside in its aggressiveness. Then he strode back down the line and put his hand firmly on the shoulder of one of the ‘suspects’. The man winced and looked shocked but there was no change in Reg’s attitude of smugness. He turned and shot a look at Blades as if to say, ‘That’s me finished. Can I go home now?’ Blades gave a nod and the constable led Reg out.

  Blades looked at the man Reg had indicated. Blades knew him. He was a constable from Fossmouth who’d been drafted in for this, and the expression on his face suggested he was duly offended at being mistaken for a murderer. Blades thanked the men in the identity parade and dismissed them all except Russell Parkes, who was led by another police constable to the interview room.

  Blades turned to Peacock. ‘A pity only one of them picked him out.’

  ‘You didn’t think one was enough the last time,’ Peacock said.

  ‘With all the rest we’ve got on Parkes, the proof stacks up well enough with one identification.’

  ‘So, we charge Russell Parkes?’

  ‘It won’t please Moffat considering what he’s told us in the past, but we’d be derelict in our duty if we didn’t.’

  But, after Blades returned to his desk, he found a new report sitting there for him to look at, and, when he had read it, he did wonder if it would turn his neatly solved case entirely on its head, which would be a pity. He had been wanting to put one over on Moffat.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The summons to the police station filled Thomas with dread. He had always tried to keep his nose clean. How had things ended up like this? Amelia’s snide remarks did not help. According to her, it was all his fault. And why was that? So, he had flirted with Louisa. How did that justify the police hauling him in?

  ‘You’re at your difficult age,’ Amelia shrieked at him. ‘I should have kept a better eye on you.’

  Avoiding Amelia’s tongue mattered to Thomas, though respectability meant as much. Birtleby was a small town and it held his livelihood. He would never actually misbehave here. Flirting with Louisa was harmless enough. In any case, she had started it. He would not allow it to lead to anything, so why resist the temptation? Amelia had lost interest in sex, something he did not understand but had to accept. How did she think that might affect a healthy man? He did have feelings building inside him at times, powerful, overwhelming ones. Flirting was a harmless outlet for them. Amelia occasionally did allow his advances, though she made it seem a favour, and left him feeling he had behaved towards her like an animal. But it was always such a long wait till the next time. Did Amelia not understand how difficult that was?

  He did take advantage of opportunities with other women when he was away on business trips. There had been that young woman in Leeds called Alice. She was particularly fetching, not unlike Emma with that slight, gamine-like appearance, and those brunette waves that curved down over her forehead. Her skin was almost translucent; it seemed to shimmer when he touched it, and yes, she had let him touch it. That had made him feel young and alive, which was a sensation he seemed to need. And it had led to sex, which had been thrilling and invigorating, but that feeling of virility that surged through him had to be put in a box when he came back. He did not have affairs in Birtleby. That was why it had hurt so much when Emma had started that argument before his trip away with Amelia. She had told him then in no uncertain terms to keep away from Louisa. If Emma had any idea how hard he worked at keeping his lust under control, she would not speak to him like that – or she might talk even more sternly, he supposed. In any case, her anger with him had been severe. It was not as if he took liberties with Emma herself. She did not allow that, so anger had surged inside him as she lectured. The temptation to pull his arm back and strike her was almost overwhelming. But he had stopped himself. And here he was, approaching a police station with Amelia, ready to be questioned about the murder of Emma Simpson. Someone had done it, but it had not been him. He could see why they might suspect him. He had always thought it must be dreadful for a person to be tried for something he had not done, and he was in terror of that happening to him now. Amelia gave him an accusing glance as he opened the door to the police station, but he did not return it, just walked into whatever hell lay in front of him.

  When he walked over to Sergeant Peacock at the front desk, Peacock acknowledged him with a nod, wrote his and Amelia’s names down, and gestured to some seats lined against the wall. Thomas had trudged over with Amelia and sat down with an undisguised sigh as he looked around him at the painted grey wooden walls of the police station with its solitary decoration of a round clock in mahogany with a white face and black Roman numerals. Thomas noticed the time. He took his pocket watch out to check and noticed that they had arrived early by five minutes. No problem there. Thomas thought back to the blustering, self-righteous person he had been in his first meeting with Blades as he had thundered into the man for breaking down their front door. He had been unnerved since then. He heard Amelia sigh beside him. He hoped she would not burst into tears again. Then he started thinking of his own behaviour. He must not lose his temper when faced with Blades’ questions. He had met those before, when he had been duly rattled by the accuracy of Blades’ knowledge of the row with Emma and the flirtations with Louisa.

  Sergeant Peacock was still busy at the desk with files, though there was something aimless in the way he was shifting them about that suggested pretence. Thomas supposed Peacock could be there to watch them. He did glance over now and again as they sat on the uncomfortable wooden chairs, shifting every so often and staring into space.

  The door to the station was then opened and a draught from outside, and a self-important sergeant, came in. With a cursory nod between him and Sergeant Peacock, he marched past the desk and towards an inner office. There was a murmur of voices, one of which Thomas recognized as Blades’, then the door was closed, and Thomas presumed the conversation was continued behind it. After a few minutes, the policeman returned, and gave another nod to Peacock before disappearing elsewhere in the building. He had purposefully ignored Thomas and Amelia, but it had not been without an element of scorn somehow, and Thomas had felt something ominous about him that he could not define.

  He looked at Amelia again. He was feeling worn down and resentful, but he was in a situation together with her, whosever fault it was, and he was not without sympathy for her. She was innocent enough, if usually a bit boring, and, he sometimes thought, inadequate. He wished he had not looked for diversion elsewhere but been a better husband to her. He thought back to the fractiousness of the drive over and was glad the flow
of words she had unleashed then had dried up. There had been nothing weak about her then. He had not known before how assertive she could be. He had always known that mouse-like exterior did not give a true impression – despite his blustering bossiness, she had never stopped giving adept and timely nags in return – but the venom she had just unleashed on him was new. He was glad he had taken such care to keep his affairs elsewhere so secret. She was angry enough about what she knew about his behaviour. What would she be like if she knew about what he had been up to? Then, the thought occurred. She didn’t know, did she? He glanced across at her then away. He hated this, sitting here with nothing to do but fret – and fret again.

  He looked across at Peacock. He decided Peacock really did have nothing to do behind that desk but listen to them – if they were unguarded enough to speak.

  Then the door opened, and another policeman walked in, another sergeant. He also nodded to Peacock before marching through towards Blades’ office. There was what sounded like another long confab in there before he emerged, then disappeared elsewhere in the station, not without successfully glancing disdain at the assembled suspects on his way past. Thomas supposed this to-ing and fro-ing might be normal. Blades must have supervisory duties over uniform. All the same, these passing policemen chilled him.

  Then the door opened again, as Alfred Duggan strolled in and presented himself to Peacock. There was nothing anxious about him, Thomas thought. He looked as if he thought he was doing Peacock a favour by gracing him with his presence.

  ‘I’m here to see Inspector Blades,’ he announced.

  Drat, Thomas thought. Would they have to wait till Duggan had talked with him?

  ‘I’ll let him know you’re here, sir,’ Peacock replied. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  But Thomas noticed that Peacock did not leave his desk to announce anything to anybody, just returned to the same file. Duggan sat right beside Thomas. The boldness of the man. ‘I see you’re here,’ Duggan said. ‘You’re the ones who did it, are you?’

  ‘You mind your tongue,’ Thomas said. ‘Speak respectfully when you’re talking to people who are respectable, if the likes of you knows what that means.’

  ‘I do know,’ Duggan said. ‘It means you talk self-righteously after church on a Sunday and do what you like for the rest of the week.’

  Thomas smarted at the comment, as, he noticed, did Amelia.

  ‘For a convicted bigamist you speak in a self-righteous way yourself,’ he replied.

  ‘My sin’s on my face,’ Duggan replied, ‘an honest appreciation of the fair sex, if that’s a sin.’

  Thomas noticed Peacock was grinning with amusement. Amelia was looking offended by the mere proximity of Duggan.

  Thomas felt his frustrations rising inside him. ‘Did you kill her?’ he asked Duggan. The question surprised Thomas himself. He had not expected to be so forthright.

  ‘I wouldn’t need to be violent with Emma to get what I wanted out of her,’ Duggan replied.

  Thomas felt rage surge inside him, as he considered what Duggan intended him to understand by that, but the most sensible thing to do was control his anger, especially as Duggan was only amusing himself. That tone was light, and teasing, though all the more annoying for that. The thought of aiming a punch at Duggan appealed but not the consequences. Thomas was continuing to seethe in his seat when the door opened again, and another young man walked in. Thomas did not know him but thought he looked not unlike Duggan, being about the same height and build, though Thomas noticed that when he flashed his unconvincing smile at Sergeant Peacock, there was the gleam of a gold tooth in the top right of his mouth that was entirely his own.

  ‘Russell Parkes. I’ve an appointment with Inspector Blades at ten,’ he said in a tone which, like Duggan’s, was intended to be confident, but which, in his case, sounded false.

  Did he say ten? Thomas thought. Did they all have an appointment with Blades for the same time? What was going on here? But Peacock did not correct the man, just nodded at him, and gestured to the row of chairs the rest of them were seated in. Parkes walked over, glanced towards Duggan, and seated himself on the other side of Amelia and well away from Duggan.

  ‘You could at least acknowledge me,’ Duggan said.

  ‘Oh, hello, Alfred. Didn’t see you seated there. Are you being questioned about bigamy again?’

  Another one on edge, Thomas thought. Hardly surprising with a murder to be investigated.

  ‘I didn’t do it, you know,’ Duggan said.

  ‘Do what?’ Parkes replied. ‘The description of “it” could cover a lot in your case.’

  ‘Shop you to the Leighton Insurance Company.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You lost that job yourself. It had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘What is it you’re trying to suggest? I didn’t lose it. I left for another job.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘I do.’

  Thomas noticed even more the similarity between Duggan and Parkes – in their accents and mannerisms, and rudeness – as well as their appearance. Then he realised that, of course, as this must be another young man that Emma had known, this must be her type. A pity. She had been worth more than them.

  ‘Is that Thomas Root?’ Parkes said to Duggan as he pointed at Thomas.

  ‘That’s him,’ Duggan replied.

  ‘Randy old sod, aren’t you?’ Parkes said to Thomas.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Thomas replied.

  ‘Emma told me all about you. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself when young female staff were around, could you?’

  Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but, before he could, Duggan spoke. ‘Is that what Emma told you? She said just the same to me.’

  ‘I didn’t misbehave with Emma,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Really?’ Duggan replied.

  ‘It’s a bit rum this, isn’t it?’ Russell said, suddenly totally off topic.

  ‘What is?’ Duggan asked. Both Thomas and Amelia looked at him, mystified.

  ‘Here we are, three sets of suspects all gathered in the same place to be questioned, and with nothing to do but annoy each other.’

  Both Duggan and Amelia nodded. Thomas was bristling. Everything was getting under his skin. ‘What do you think the idea is?’ he asked.

  ‘To try to find the murderer?’ Duggan replied.

  ‘Having us all seated here together like this?’ Russell said. ‘I expect we’re supposed to get on each other’s nerves. Which we are doing. And then, I should think, they’re hoping we’ll give ourselves away. Perhaps the murderer should just confess and give all the rest of us a break.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘Was it you?’

  ‘How dare you, the likes of you?’ Thomas said.

  Duggan considered this, then said, ‘I wouldn’t put it past you, Russell. You were after money from Emma. She did tell me. Is that why you killed her? Because she said no?’

  ‘I didn’t, did I?’ Russell said. ‘In any case, I’d have had to beat you to it. It’s not that much of a step from humiliating women for your pleasure to killing them.’

  ‘You might know that,’ Duggan said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Stop bickering.’ The voice cut through the air like a knife. The men stopped arguing and looked at Amelia.

  After a pause, Duggan said, ‘One of us knows the answer. Perhaps they ought to own up now.’

  ‘We ought to be more careful about what we say,’ Thomas said. ‘That sergeant is writing it all down.’ He had noticed the black notebook that Peacock held within the file and that he was scribbling furiously in.

  They all stared at Peacock, who stared back, and grinned.

  ‘Or did none of us do it?’ Duggan asked of no one in particular.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Why does Blades think you might have done?’

  ‘Amelia and I were the last people to see her alive – that he knows of. And we did have a row with her. Emma had been sho
pping me to Amelia – about Louisa, though. Not her.’

  ‘And that’s how we got into this,’ Amelia said. ‘He can’t keep his hands to himself.’

  ‘And did you kill her?’ Duggan asked.

  ‘Of course, I didn’t,’ Thomas replied.

  ‘There’s no of course about any of it,’ Duggan said. ‘You’ll have to convince Blades you’re innocent. Have you got your answers ready?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t need to lie and make up stories. I didn’t do it.’

  ‘What makes Blades think you might have done it, Alfred?’ Russell asked.

  ‘A lack of imagination,’ Duggan said. ‘He can’t find the real killer.’

  ‘But why you?’ Russell said.

  ‘I knew her, I suppose. And someone killed her.’

  ‘He’s asked me about the Saturday. What’s so significant about that?’ Russell asked.

  ‘That’s the last time Emma was seen alive,’ Thomas said. ‘Amelia and I drove off to Ramshead for a week’s holiday – I remembered it was about ten, but it was probably nearer eleven. So, when did you see her?’ Thomas asked Duggan.

  ‘Ah,’ Duggan said. ‘I don’t suppose I should answer that, not that it matters considering you did it,’ he said to Russell. ‘You hate me enough. You’d bump off Emma just because she was my girl.’

  ‘You thought she was your girl, you mean. Why was she seeing me?’

  ‘And why do the police think you did it?’ Thomas asked Russell.