by J F Straker
‘No, ma’am, not yet,’ said Pitt. ‘We’re here to ask you a few questions. We won’t keep you long.’
She sat down on a chair. The neck of her dressing-gown opened as she leaned forward to clasp her knees, and Dick, standing near her, was embarrassed. He stepped back, landing heavily on his brother-in-law’s toes. At the Inspector’s smothered curse the girl looked up, her eyes watching them uneasily.
‘What sort of questions?’ she asked.
‘Well, for a start — have you any idea what has happened to your husband?’ said Pitt.
‘No.’
‘When did you see him last?’
‘This morning, before he went to work.’
‘He seemed quite normal then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has he been worried lately?’ asked the Inspector. ‘How about money matters?’
‘He’s been all right,’ she said. ‘A postman doesn’t get much, but we managed.’
‘And, to your knowledge, nothing has occurred to upset him?’
‘No.’
Inspector Pitt tugged heavily at his lower lip. ‘Not even a slight upset at home, perhaps?’
She did not seem to resent the question. She stood up and rested both hands on the mantelshelf, her eyes staring into the ashes of the fire.
‘We had the usual tiffs,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t always easy to live with. But there was nothing serious.’
‘Did you have a tiff this morning? Or last night?’
‘No.’
Sergeant Ponsford, annoyed with himself for being affected by the girl’s beauty, said brusquely, ‘Is your husband a jealous man, Mrs Laurie?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘No more than most,’ she said.
‘There wasn’t any particular man he objected to? That you quarrelled about, perhaps?’
She turned on him angrily. Pitt thought the anger was forced; but it was very effective.
‘You’ve no right to talk like that,’ she protested. ‘If he’s gone it’s not because of me.’
‘No offence meant, miss — ma’am,’
Dick said hastily, realising he had gone too far. ‘But no money troubles, everything fine at home — it doesn’t make sense, does it? There must be some reason to account for his disappearance.’
‘Well, it’s no good asking me,’ she said, listless after her sudden outburst. ‘I just wouldn’t know.’
‘Has he any intimate friends?’ asked Inspector Pitt. ‘Someone in whom he might have confided?’
‘He wasn’t one for friends,’ she said. ‘Kept himself to himself, John did. If he was going to tell anyone he’d tell me. But he didn’t.’
It was late, and there seemed little to be gained from further questioning. Mrs Laurie was obviously relieved when they bade her goodnight. But before they left she asked — breathlessly, as though the question cost her considerable effort:
‘You’re quite sure that my husband is…that he stole those letters?’
Inspector Pitt shook his head.
‘We’re not sure of anything,’ he said, ‘except that both the mail and your husband have disappeared.’
‘Seems to me she doesn’t care two hoots about her old man,’ Dick remarked, on their way back to the station. ‘Interested in what happened to him, of course; but only from a selfish point of view.’
The Inspector absently agreed. Was it another of his flights of fancy, he wondered, or had Mrs Laurie unknowingly told them more than she had intended? And if so…
He would say nothing to Dick, he decided. It was too far-fetched a theory to subject it to his brother-in-law’s sarcastic comment. So far-fetched, indeed, that he was inclined to laugh at it himself.
At the station they were met by Sergeant Roberts, a close friend of Dick’s.
‘That Vauxhall of yours was stolen,’ he said. ‘The owner has just rung up. Says he left it on some waste ground near the Orient Cinema at three-thirty this afternoon. He and his missus went to the flicks and then on to supper at a nearby café — which is why they didn’t discover earlier that it had gone.’
‘But you haven’t found the car itself?’ asked Pitt.
‘No, Inspector. Nor Laurie either.’
3—A Few Queer Types
At 10.30 the next morning Mrs Gill, approaching the end of Grange Road with Mrs Heath on her way to the High Street, was pleasurably surprised and flattered to see a police car turn the corner and pull up, and the two detectives descend from it to await her approach. But her pleasure was mixed with annoyance that they should have found her in the company of Mrs Heath. She had something to tell them, a titbit she had been mentally chewing for the past minute. And it could not be told in Mrs Heath’s hearing.
She was therefore relieved when Inspector Pitt drew her away from her companion.
‘I’m so glad I’ve seen you,’ she said, her voice low but vibrant. ‘I was wondering whether I should telephone when we got to the High Street. But Mrs Heath would have thought it odd, I’m sure. She might have overheard, too, because none of those telephone boxes are soundproof, are they? And yet I felt you ought to know at once, Inspector. Time is often so important in these matters, isn’t it?’
‘Know what, Mrs Gill?’ he asked.
‘About Donald Heath. I was passing No. 9 just now when Mrs Heath called to me from a window and asked me to wait for her. That rather surprised me, Inspector, because we’re not really very friendly. We pass the time of day when we meet, of course; but actually I doubt whether she could call anyone in Grange Road a friend.
‘However, I waited, naturally. But when she joined me outside the gate she remembered she had left her purse on the dresser. Donald — her son, you know was closing the front door, and she called out to him to get it for her. Which he did, Inspector. And when he came to the front gate to give it to her I couldn’t help but notice that he’d got the biggest black eye I’d ever seen. Of course, I remarked on this to Mrs Heath after Donald had gone back to the house; and what do you think she said? That he had walked into a wardrobe in the dark! But — well, I ask you, Inspector!’
‘How does this affect the police, Mrs Gill?’ Pitt asked quietly.
‘Eh?’ Mrs Gill, somewhat breathless after her spate of words, looked at the detective in astonishment. ‘But surely, Inspector! I mean, after what happened last night — the postman disappearing in this very road, and Donald Heath with a black eye this morning that he certainly hadn’t got yesterday! It’s most suspicious, don’t you think?’
‘Suspicious of what, ma’am?’
‘Well, of…of…’ Mrs Gill hesitated. She would have liked to expound her hastily formed theory, but remembered in time that she was talking to a policeman. They made notes of what one said, and asked one to sign statements, and things like that. It might be wiser not to be too explicit. She said, slightly truculent, ‘I’m not saying what it’s suspicious of, Inspector. That is for you to decide. But the newspapers and the wireless are always telling us to report anything suspicious to the police, and — well, I’ve reported it.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gill. I’ll bear it in mind,’ said Pitt. ‘Now, about Miss Fratton. Yesterday you referred to her as having a “down” on postmen. Can you enlarge on that at all?’
‘No, Inspector, I cannot. And surely you did not take my remarks seriously? About murder, I mean? It was just a joke.’
‘We cannot afford to overlook any possibilities,’ he told her gravely.
Mrs Gill’s mind was troubled as she rejoined her companion. Mrs Heath, almost bursting with curiosity, questioned her continuously on their walk to the bus. But Mrs Gill was saying nothing. Maybe she had said too much already, she thought. You never knew where you were with the Law.
‘That’s given the old dear something to chew on,’ said Sergeant Ponsford.
Pitt nodded, not altogether pleased. ‘I was a mug to pull her leg,’ he reflected aloud. ‘Properly handled she might prove valuable, with her knowledge of the locals. But she won’t talk if she gets
the wind up. I’ll have to curb my sense of humour.’
‘There’s some as say you haven’t got one,’ his brother-in-law answered.
It was a fine, dull day, with a brisk wind blowing. To the Inspector Grange Road looked attractive in contrast to its appearance the previous night. It was here that the cliffs started to climb gently eastward to Coppins Point. One could not see the beach from the road, but the green of the golf-links, the white boulders that fringed the cliff top, the bluer green of the sea beyond, enchanted him. He liked colour in wide, unbroken masses, and the varied styles of the houses did not seem to him untidy. He welcomed them after the orderly rows of the big towns.
‘Maybe I was right last night, after all,’ he declared. ‘This view does something to me. It may have done something to Laurie.’
‘Something or somebody did,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But not the view. He couldn’t see it.’
Miss Fratton was not on this occasion lurking behind her front door, but her appearance was sufficiently startling, even to a police officer. She wore the sack-like grey dress of the previous day; it merged so perfectly with the grey skin that it might have been a corpse that confronted them.
Until she spoke. There was nothing sepulchral about her voice.
‘Apologise and be done with it,’ she rasped. ‘I want none of your sort hanging around.’
They stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘I beg your pardon—’ Pitt began.
‘All right. But see it doesn’t happen again. There’s too much slackness in Government departments.’
The door had almost closed when the Inspector, aware that Miss Fratton was ending the interview before it had begun, swiftly interposed his foot between the door and the jamb.
‘There must be some mistake,’ he said. ‘We are—’
He got no further. Miss Fratton, enraged that any man should dare to set foot over her doorstep without permission, swung the door wide open. Then, with a savage grunt of satisfaction, she slammed it heavily against the intruding foot.
Pitt was wearing a thin pair of shoes. He had a corn on his right foot, and it was against this that the door impinged. With a howl he removed his toe, and the door was swiftly closed.
‘Blast the woman! I’ll have her up for assault and battery,’ he growled, standing on one foot and massaging the other.
Dick laughed. ‘It’s not only postmen she’s got a down on,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t say she was over-fond of policemen, either.’
They had turned to walk back to the car when the front door opened again. It was not the gaunt Miss Fratton who stood there now, but a smiling young woman with red hair.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘You’re detectives, aren’t you? Won’t you come in?’
They advanced gingerly into the hall, expecting further assault from the grey monster.
‘I’m Dorothy Weston,’ said the girl. ‘I live next door — No. 13. Miss Fratton’s rather devastating, isn’t she? She mistook you for someone from the post-office. The postman was late yesterday afternoon, and she made a complaint about it. She thought you had been sent to apologise. She doesn’t like postmen, you know.’
‘So I understand, miss,’ said Pitt. ‘And it’s about this missing postman that we wanted to see Miss Fratton. He may have called here.’
‘Yes, he did. I saw him. But — good Lord! Hasn’t he turned up yet?’
The girl’s surprise reminded the Inspector that Mrs Gill had asked no such question. Mrs Gill had taken it for granted that the man was still missing. Why, he wondered.
‘Bring them in here, Dorothy.’ Miss Fratton’s voice was no longer harsh. ‘I don’t trust those men. Bring them in here, dear.’
They went into the sitting-room. Miss Fratton, still a menacing figure, stood before the fire; hands clasped behind her, feet planted firmly apart. Both men were tall, but Miss Fratton was taller.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
There was no apology for her previous behaviour. Dick watched the bristly chin, the staring eyeballs, with fascinated revulsion.
Pitt began to explain, but Miss Fratton interrupted him.
‘Postman?’ She spat the word out at him. ‘Disappeared, has he? That’s one of them the less, then — the thieving villains.’
‘I’m told he delivered letters here yesterday afternoon,’ the Inspector persisted. ‘Did you see him, ma’am?’
‘Yes, I saw him. And I spoke to him. And I told him what I thought of him.’ She chuckled grimly. ‘He won’t be late with my letters again. Won’t be thieving them, either. Not after yesterday.’
‘What’s this about thieving?’ asked Pitt. ‘Did he—?’
‘They’re all thieves,’ Miss Fratton declared, leaning forward to glare at him. ‘Thieves and liars and worse. All of them.’
Pitt turned in despair to the girl, who winked.
‘Did he seem quite normal, ma’am?’ asked Dick, more from habit than in expectation of a lucid answer. The woman was mad, and the whole interview a waste of time.
The eyeballs swivelled in their sockets without any apparent movement of the head. ‘Normal? They’re none of them normal. This man was new — he didn’t know I’d be waiting for him.’ Again she laughed to herself. ‘He’ll be more careful next time,’ she said. ‘He won’t try any of his tricks on me!’
‘But what happened?’ persisted Pitt.
‘He ran away. He fell into the ditch, and his trousers were soaked. I could see them dripping under his cape. And he dropped his torch, he was in such a hurry. I got hold of him — I wasn’t going to have him stealing my letters. But he ran away, and I…’ She stopped, and turned to the girl. ‘Can’t we get rid of these men, dear? I was hoping we might have a nice little chat.’
The Inspector mumbled his thanks and turned towards the door. As Dick followed the girl caught his arm. ‘Wait for me outside,’ she whispered. ‘I want to speak to you.’
But Miss Fratton’s ears were sharp. She launched into a tirade against the two men, accusing them of conspiring to take her Dorothy away from her. That done, she turned to the girl, her voice changing to a softer note as she pleaded with her to stay. It was a performance that filled the two male spectators with amusement; but Miss Weston seemed quite unmoved. A slight smile on her red lips, she waited until the older woman had finished. Then she said, firmly and without any trace of emotion:
‘See you tomorrow, perhaps. But I must go now. Goodbye.’
And she went.
Outside on the pavement Dick took off his hat and mopped his brow. ‘Phew!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a woman!’
The girl laughed. ‘Walk down the road with me a little way,’ she said. ‘She’ll be watching us from the window, and it upsets her to see me talking to men.’
‘Is she quite mad, miss?’ asked Pitt.
‘I don’t know, really. She’s certainly funny about men, and postmen in particular. And me, of course. But I suspect a lot of it’s put on. She likes to be thought of as a character.’
Pitt wondered at the ‘of course.’
‘She ought to be put away,’ said Dick firmly. ‘What has she got against postmen, anyway?’
‘I’m one of the few who know the answer to that,’ said the girl. ‘It seems that some years ago she had quite a nice little fortune — before she came to live here, that was. Even so, life wasn’t particularly bright for her, chiefly because of her height and her looks. She was so tall and so darned ugly that the men wouldn’t look at her, fortune or no fortune.’
‘Can’t say I blame them,’ muttered Dick.
‘No. But then this man — the postman turned up. He wasn’t so fussy as the others, and by pretending to be in love with her he swindled her out of most of the money. Even that didn’t turn her against him; she was so desperately anxious to be loved, you see. They used to do football pools together, the postman filling in the coupons and Miss Fratton supplying the cash. They betted on quite a large scale, she said. It didn’t cost the man a penny, an
d she was happy in doing something to please him.
‘Then they had a really big win. And, the coupon being in the postman’s name, he just collected the money and cleared off. She never saw him again.’
‘And that broke her heart?’ the Sergeant suggested.
‘I suppose so.’
Inspector Pitt thought her callous. He hadn’t exactly taken to Miss Fratton; but then Miss Fratton hadn’t shown any great liking for him. With the girl it was different.
Miss Weston guessed something of his thoughts.
‘She had to have some love in her life,’ she said. ‘That’s the way she’s made, poor thing. She took a fancy to me when we came to live next door, and now I’m the apple of her eye. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be daughter or sister — or just a friend. Or perhaps she doesn’t want a definite relationship she just wants someone to love.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘It isn’t easy for me — I’m not good at pretending. Of course, I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor old thing. She’s quite harmless, you know. I dare say she’s rather terrifying to strangers, but I think most of it is put on. She isn’t like that inside.’
‘We’ll have to take your word for that, miss,’ said Dick. ‘She scared the living daylights out of me. Er — you don’t think she might have something to do with the disappearance of this postman, do you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Not unless she scared him so much that he’s still running.’
The Inspector smiled. ‘You didn’t see him yourself, miss?’
‘I saw his cap, mostly. It looked just as though it were gliding along the top of the hedge, without any body underneath. I was disappointed when he passed the house and went next door because I was expecting a present from a particular friend of mine — it was my birthday yesterday. And the postman must have had it, because they rang up later to ask if it had been delivered. At least, I suppose it was that. They said it was a registered packet.’
‘Do you know what was in the packet, miss?’
‘No. I must find out.’
