‘You could say the same of Mrs Wilder, sir.’
When he delivered his report to Chatfield, he omitted all mention of Gillian Hogg. Having caught her unawares at her flat, Marmion’s view of her had been adjusted. She was no longer the nice, quiet, altruistic woman he’d first thought and she hadn’t been entirely honest with him at their earlier meeting. His view of Godfrey Noonan, however, was unlikely to change. The agent could be added to the long list of likeable rogues Marmion had encountered. Noonan was an affable, venal, ruthless, exploitive, larger-than-life character of a kind that could only exist in a theatrical environment. He was the exact opposite of Claude Chatfield, a decent, hard-working, law-abiding, dedicated, sober, joyless man whose God existed in the Roman Catholic Church and not – as in Noonan’s case – in the shaving mirror.
‘I’m certain that he went to see Mrs Wilder,’ said Marmion. ‘That’s why he refused to say what had taken him there. Had it been a meeting with a client, he’d have had no reason to hide it from me.’
‘I take your point,’ conceded Chatfield. ‘And though it has its charms, I don’t think that Chingford would draw anyone out of an office in Soho unless he had a very specific reason to go there.’
‘You asked for a link between Noonan and Mrs Wilder, sir.’
‘That’s true, Inspector.’
‘Now you have it.’
‘What about Atterbury?’
‘He could be involved but … I’m not sure about that.’
‘You and the sergeant both found him shifty.’
‘We also caught him lying to us, sir, but dishonesty isn’t enough in itself for us to accuse him of murder. I’d like to have him followed. It’s the one way to find out if he’s involved in a conspiracy with Mrs Wilder and Noonan. Will you sanction that?’
Chatfield pursed his lips. ‘We have very limited resources.’
‘Surely we can spare one man to shadow him?’
‘Let me think about it.’
‘It’s what I’d advise, Superintendent.’
‘I’d advise it myself if I had enough detectives at my disposal. I’d have each and every one of our suspects followed. But we have to put our men where they can be of most use. I’ll mull it over.’
There was no point in arguing. The decision lay with Chatfield and all that the inspector could do was to hope that it was the right one. His main concern was to get back to Chingford so that he could question Catherine Wilder. He rose to his feet.
‘I’ll be off, sir.’
‘Keep in touch by telephone.’
‘You won’t forget my request regarding Atterbury, will you?’ Chatfield shot him a belligerent glance. ‘No, no, of course you won’t.’
Ellen Marmion kept reminding herself of her husband’s advice. She was wrong to feel afraid of Paul. While they had a duty of care towards their son – all the more so in view of his injuries – they also had parental rights. One of them was to insist on being told what was going on in his life. They couldn’t help him properly until they understood his real needs. To that end, Ellen had been steeling herself for the next encounter with Paul. Since he’d been distant with her at breakfast, she decided to be more assertive. The problem was that she had no opportunity to try the new tactic. Her son had been gone for five or six hours.
When he finally returned, Ellen was ready to ambush him.
‘You’ve been gone a long time, Paul.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Mrs Belton saw you getting on a bus. Where did you go?’
‘I just went for a ride.’
‘You didn’t stay on the bus all that time, surely?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he admitted.
‘Why are you so afraid to say where you’ve been? You can’t just shut us out of your life like this.’
‘I went to see someone. Is that a crime?’
‘It was that friend of Colin’s again, wasn’t it? She lives in Gillingham. Mrs Belton told me that the bus was going to Kent.’
‘Well, you can tell that old busybody not to spy on me.’
‘She saw you quite by accident.’
‘Mrs Belton is always watching somebody,’ he said, angrily. ‘Look what happened to that son of hers, Patrick. She kept him under lock and key all day and never let the poor lad out of her sight.’
‘There was a reason for that,’ she argued. ‘She’d already lost two sons at the front. Lena Belton didn’t want Patrick to be killed as well. He was all she had. She thought that she was protecting him from being called up.’
‘Well, it didn’t work and it serves her bloody well right!’
‘Paul!’
‘No wonder he ran off to join the navy.’
‘You ought to feel sorry for Mrs Belton. She was only doing what she thought was best. Since Patrick ran away, she’s been all alone.’
‘That’s what happens to mothers who try to control their children every minute of the day. They can’t live someone else’s life for them,’ he said with sudden passion. ‘You should remember that. I’m over twenty-one now. I’m old enough to vote and to fight for my country. Don’t you think that it entitles me to some freedom? Why must you keep asking what I’m doing and where I’m going? It’s maddening! For Christ’s sake – can’t you see that?’
Charging up the stairs, he ran to his room and slammed the door after him. Ellen, meanwhile, was quivering with pain. The new tactic had failed abysmally. Her son had comprehensively shut her out of his life.
They got there just in time. The cottage was in a small village that comprised a pub, a church, a pond, a green and a few clusters of dwellings. For someone who wished to get away from the maelstrom of London, it was an idyllic place, tranquil, unspoilt and surrounded by rolling countryside. They’d had difficulty finding it and Keedy’s driver had taken a couple of wrong turns along the way but they had at last got there. Redmond’s car was standing outside the cottage. They drew up beside it. Redmond himself soon appeared with a suitcase. Keedy climbed quickly out of the police car to confront him.
‘Are you going somewhere, sir?’ he asked.
Redmond’s jaw dropped. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘I just dropped in for a chat – the way that you did at Miss Thompson’s flat.’
‘Ah, I see. That bitch, Odele, gave you my address, didn’t she?’
‘Unlike you, she was ready to assist the police, sir.’
‘That’s exactly what I did, Sergeant.’
‘No,’ said Keedy, ‘it’s what you very cleverly gave the impression of doing. After I left the house, I waited around the corner. I had a feeling that you might do a flit and – lo and behold – here you are!’
‘This is my cottage. There’s no law to stop me coming here, is there?’
‘None at all, Mr Redmond, but you might have done us the courtesy of telling us where you were going.’
‘The decision was made on the spur of the moment.’
‘It was made the second you realised that we’d rumbled you. I could read your mind, sir. That’s why I lurked around the corner. I knew that you’d bolt.’
‘I fancied a break in the country, that’s all.’
‘So why are you leaving all of a sudden?’
‘I’m going to stay with friends.’
‘May I have their name and address, please?’
‘No,’ retorted Redmond, ‘you damn well can’t. You’ve no right to chase after me like this. I’m an innocent man in a free country. Now leave me alone.’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t do that,’ said Keedy, levelly. ‘When we identify a suspect in a murder inquiry, we like to make sure that he or she doesn’t vanish into thin air. And that,’ he went on, looking at the suitcase, ‘is what you seem on the verge of doing.’
‘I’m going to friend’s, I tell you.’
‘Do they live in this country or abroad?’
The question stunned Redmond. He needed a moment to regain his composure and adopt the happy-go-lucky air o
f a gentleman of leisure. Putting the suitcase down, he pretended that he was ready to cooperate.
‘I’ll be staying in Brighton with friends,’ he explained. ‘Their names are Jay and Tiffany White and, if you take out that little notebook of yours, I’ll give you their address. Will that content you, Sergeant?’
Keedy held his ground. ‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid that it won’t. What I want is for you to hand over your passport.’
‘I don’t have it on me.’
‘Oh, I think that you do. Hand it over or I’ll have to search you.’
He stepped forward and reached out. Redmond shoved him roughly away.
‘Keep your hands off me, you oaf,’ snarled Redmond, losing his temper, ‘or I’ll knock your block off.’
‘Assaulting a police officer is an offence, sir.’
‘I refuse to be pushed about by anyone.’
‘You’re the one who did the pushing, sir.’
Keedy lunged forward without warning and grabbed him by the shoulders. Redmond immediately began to fight back and a brawl developed. The driver got out of the car to lend assistance but it was not needed. Redmond was strong and fired by rage but he had none of the skills that Keedy had mastered. When they grappled, punched, twisted and turned, the sergeant was always in control. In the course of the struggle, he pulled his opponent’s coat halfway off him and something fell from the pocket. With a final effort, Keedy swung him round, pulled his arms behind him and snapped the handcuffs onto his wrists. Redmond continued to yell in protest.
Keedy bent down to retrieve the object that had fallen to the ground.
‘Well, well,’ he said, holding it under Redmond’s nose, ‘it seems that you did have your passport with you, after all.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Having been driven to Chingford a number of times now, Harvey Marmion decided that the scenery did not improve with the passing of time. He was taken through a bewildering array of London suburbs, some of which bore the indelible marks of Zeppelin air raids. Small children were playing in the rubble or re-enacting the moment when a British pilot brought one of the monstrous aircraft crashing to the ground. Privilege and poverty were on display at varying points. Marmion went through areas where the houses were large, detached and in a good state of repair; and he also drove past slums where ragged toddlers walked about on bare feet, and where gaunt women huddled on street corners to exchange gossip and voice complaints. War had imposed strict rationing on the populace. Food was scarce and some items were now unobtainable. There were fleeting moments in his journey when Marmion wondered if the German blockade would eventually starve the whole country to death. It was already having a visible effect.
The car drew up outside the Wilder house and he got out. He was pleased to find Catherine at home but less thrilled to see that her brother was there as well. Nathan Clissold stood protectively close to his sister.
‘We still await news of an arrest, Inspector,’ he said, meaningfully.
‘You’ll have to be patient a little longer, sir,’ returned Marmion.
‘I ran out of patience days ago.’
‘Then you would make a very poor detective, Mr Clissold. Most of our work consists of waiting and watching. In the fullness of time, we get our reward.’
‘Do you have anything at all to report?’ asked Catherine.
‘Yes, I do, Mrs Wilder. We’ve been busy.’
Marmion gave them a highly selective account of the information so far gathered. Though the name of Gillian Hogg was once again omitted, he did mention his visit to Godfrey Noonan. He paused for a response from Catherine but none came. She maintained the same blank mask throughout.
‘I’m surprised that you didn’t tell me about Mr Noonan,’ he said.
‘What is there to tell, Inspector?’
‘He’s crossed your path and that of your husband.’
‘That was years ago.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘He came to Chingford this morning. I wondered if he’d called on you.’
‘My sister just gave you your answer,’ said Clissold, intervening. ‘Noonan is an excrescence. He ought to be locked up. Once you get a crook like him out of your life, you don’t let him back in again.’
‘Have you ever met him, sir?’
‘Only once – and that was more than enough.’
‘Yet your sister got on well with him at one time. They invested in plays together. I gather that it was a profitable enterprise.’
‘Those days are long gone, Inspector,’ said Catherine, brusquely, ‘and so, thankfully, has God.’
‘That’s a singularly ironic name for him,’ said Clissold with a snort. ‘He’s one of the vilest devils I ever met.’
‘So he didn’t come here today,’ said Marmion. ‘Is that right, Mrs Wilder?’
‘He’d have no reason,’ she replied.
‘Did you know that Tom Atterbury was one of his clients?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Why would an intelligent man like Mr Atterbury put his trust in Godfrey Noonan if – as your brother claims – the agent is an unashamed crook?’
‘He’s a crook who can find his clients regular work,’ she said, flatly. ‘That counts for a lot if you happen to be unemployed.’
‘You mean that people overlook his shortcomings, as you once did?’
‘Why are we talking about Noonan?’ said Clissold, fussily.
‘I should have thought you could have worked that out, sir. He once lost a battle in court with Mr Wilder. It was bound to leave him embittered. He’ll be weeping no tears over the turn of events.’
‘You consider him to be a suspect?’
‘Given what happened, I’d have expected Mrs Wilder to do the same. Yet she never even thought to tell us about Mr Noonan. Why is that?’
‘I’ve had other things on my mind, Inspector,’ she said.
Though her head was bowed and her voice solemn, Marmion didn’t get the impression that she was in mourning for the death of a murdered husband. From the start, Clissold had expressed no real grief over his brother-in-law’s fate and there was no hint of his doing so now. Both he and his sister seemed curiously disengaged.
‘I put forward the names of two possible suspects,’ Marmion reminded her, ‘and you discounted that of Allan Redmond, saying that a more likely person was Tom Atterbury.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can you tell me why?’
‘He’s been insanely jealous of Simon’s success,’ she replied.
‘Would it make him stoop to murder?’
‘It might, Inspector, but I’m not saying that it did. Tom would need someone to egg him on and his wife would be more than capable of doing that. Under her sophistication, Naomi is a wildcat. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she said and did to me when I was dancing in competition against her.’
‘So Mrs Atterbury could be an accomplice?’
‘She’d be more than that. Tom jumps to her command.’
‘Instead of bothering my sister at a sensitive time,’ said Clissold, ‘you ought to be interviewing Atterbury and his wife.’
‘Thank you for your advice,’ said Marmion, drily, ‘but I came here for two specific reasons. One was to ask if Mr Noonan had been here and the other was to request something from Mrs Wilder.’ He turned to her. ‘Having seen examples of your husband’s work, I realise that he was an excellent photographer. I assume that he had a darkroom somewhere in the house.’
‘Yes, he did,’ she admitted. ‘Simon was always pottering about in there.’
‘I wonder if I might see it, please.’
It was well into evening before Keedy returned to Scotland Yard with his prisoner. During the drive from his cottage, Redmond had threatened him with legal action, ridicule in the press and even violence. When he failed to rouse the sergeant, he eventually gave up and brooded in silence. He recovered full voice, however, when
he was locked up in a holding cell. Pleased with the arrest, Keedy hoped for a rare compliment from the superintendent. It was not forthcoming.
‘We have insufficient grounds to hold him,’ said Chatfield.
‘He attacked a police officer, sir.’
‘Did he inflict any injuries on you?’
‘Well, no …’
‘So what form exactly did this attack take?’
‘When I tried to search him, Redmond pushed me away.’
‘Did you have any reason to search him?’
‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘I was certain that he had his passport on him.’
‘Did you ask for permission to search him?’
‘That would have been pointless, sir.’
‘So you tried to manhandle him.’
‘Redmond is a murder suspect, sir, and he was acting in a suspicious manner. He was about to leave the country.’
‘You don’t know that, Sergeant.’
‘Why else would he carry a passport?’
‘Some people like to have it with them as a form of identification. It doesn’t mean that they are about to jump on the next ferry. Besides,’ added Chatfield, ‘where would Redmond go? There’s a war on. He’s hardly likely to cross the Channel to France or Belgium, is he?’
Keedy was nonplussed. ‘I never thought of that, sir.’
‘Look before you leap, Sergeant.’
‘But he was making a run for it, Superintendent.’
‘That’s how it may have looked but you’ve no proof that that was his intention. He might just have wanted to get away from London for a while and I don’t blame him. This is a dangerous place to be with air raids increasing in severity.’
‘We can’t just release him, sir,’ said Keedy, aghast.
‘Yes, we can,’ said Chatfield, peremptorily. ‘We’ll charge him with assault on a police officer and bail him. We need every cell we’ve got for real criminals.’
‘Redmond is a real criminal. I’m almost certain he killed Mr Wilder.’
‘Where’s your evidence?’
‘He provided that by trying to flee.’
‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Keedy, but you’re working on supposition rather than on incontrovertible fact. Don’t misunderstand me. I admire your enterprise and I congratulate you on tracking him down the way you did. However,’ he went on, ‘you didn’t find the evidence we need to arrest him on a charge of murder.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And there’s something else that needs to be borne in mind.’
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