Seeing is Believing

by E. X. Ferrars

  ‘But how could he have found out the truth about Kevin?’ I asked.

  ‘Finding that out is a job for the police, fortunately,’ Malcolm answered.

  ‘And they may never find out the truth,’ Brian said, ‘unless Kevin, in his present mood, pours it all out to them. That's quite possible. On the other hand, he may withdraw everything he's said once his mother's in charge and she's found him a lawyer. At the least, he ought to get away with a plea of diminished responsibility.’

  ‘I suppose there's no question that what he's saying about having murdered Lynne is true,’ I said. ‘Did that young couple who found her actually see Kevin at the gate in the wall?’

  ‘I'm not sure, but I don't think there's any question that what he's said himself is true,’ Brian answered. ‘He's determined now to be convicted.’

  I finished my drink and went out to the kitchen to make the omelettes for supper, but I did not think much of what I was doing and they were not very successful. But it did not matter as no one had any appetite. That a woman who had been talking to us in the afternoon should in the little time since then have been atrociously killed made the meal seem singularly unimportant. Yet habit made it seem essential to provide it. The ordinary routine of the day had to be maintained. Whether I should have felt that so strongly if I had been younger, I did not know. Probably not, I thought. But as things were, routine seemed something to cling to. After the omelettes, we had coffee, set the dishwasher going and settled down once more in the sitting room. It was only a little while after that that Inspector Holroyd arrived.

  He and the usual sergeant sat down in the sitting room, gratefully accepted drinks and agreed with one another that it felt good to take the weight off their feet.

  Then the inspector said, ‘I imagine you know why we've come. There's some information we believe you can give us.’

  ‘About Lynne Denison?’ Malcolm said.

  ‘Yes, for one thing,’ the inspector agreed. ‘And about Fred Dyer, too. We believe they were both here in the late afternoon.’

  ‘That's right,’ Malcolm said. ‘You must ask my wife about them. Most of the time they were here, I was upstairs working, and Mr Hewlett, I believe, was in his room, sound asleep. Is that right, Brian?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Brian said. ‘But how did you know they'd been here, Inspector?’

  ‘Dyer's girlfriend, Sharon Sawyer, told us,’ the inspector answered. ‘Her story is that Dyer came in, said, “That's one murder they can't suspect me of,” gave her a rough outline of how he'd met Lynne Denison here and had stayed until after you got the news of the murder, then packed a bag, got in his van and drove away. He didn't tell her where he was thinking of going, but the van's gone all right and there's no sign of him.’

  ‘But why should he choose to vanish just when there really can't be any suspicion of him?’ I said. ‘It sounds very strange.’

  ‘Perhaps not as strange as all that,’ Inspector Holroyd said. ‘As I think Mr Hewlett found out when he was down at the Green Man a little while ago, Kevin Bird has confessed to the murder of Mrs Denison, as well as to the three in Edgewater. In fact, there was no stopping him confessing. And along with it all, he claims to have been paying blackmail to Dyer, and if that's true, it's pretty serious for Dyer. Not only is blackmail itself a serious offence, but when it's related to the covering up of several murders it looks very black indeed. But before we go into that, I'd like to check on the truth of Dyer's alibi for Mrs Denison's murder. Was he here with you, Mrs Chance, at the significant time?’

  ‘Oh yes, there's no doubt of that,’ I said. ‘First Mrs Denison came and when she'd been here a little while, Fred Dyer turned up, and they talked to each other for a short time about nothing in particular, then she left, and I remember he said that it wouldn't have been very tactful of him to offer to see her down to the pub, as he was suspected of murdering several women, and he stayed on until we had a telephone call from Miss Kerwood, telling us that Mrs Denison had been killed, at which he left in rather a hurry. It seemed a bit odd, the way he took off, particularly as I remember saying to myself that this time there was no question that he had an alibi, but what you've just told us about the blackmail explains that.’

  ‘Why did he come to see you?’ the inspector asked. ‘Did he explain that?’

  ‘I think it was mostly to make sure that I was going to stick to it that the man I saw at the Loxleys’ gate wasn't him, but someone in disguise. But he told me a good deal about himself as well. He told me how he'd killed a child, joy-riding, and had gone to prison for it, and how he hadn't been able to get a job when he came out, and had taken to odd jobs as the only way to keep going. I think he just drifted into Edgewater by chance, and there he did manage to get a job in a garage. He left it, he said, because he couldn't stand the atmosphere of suspicion that had developed around him after he'd been identified by a woman there as a murderer. But he also claimed to have arrived in Raneswood by chance, and now we know better about that, don't we?’

  ‘Yes, it seems probable that having discovered who the real murderer was, he followed him here,’ the inspector said, ‘and has been milking him ever since. We don't know yet how he discovered Bird was the killer — a pathological killer if there ever was one — but it was probably just a chance that he saw one of the crimes being committed.’

  ‘Inspector, has Bird confessed to the killing of Peter Loxley?’ Brian asked.

  ‘No, and he gets very indignant when he's questioned about it,’ the inspector said. ‘He seems to take it as a kind of insult. It's not his kind of murder, that's what he seems to be saying.’

  ‘And you're no further on with that?’ Malcolm said.

  ‘No, though we've been finding out a thing or two about Loxley. Did you know that he was once engaged to Miss Kerwood? It was only after he married Avril Loxley that Miss Kerwood took off on her travels and writing her book. That might give her a motive for wanting Loxley killed, but whatever disguise the man whom Mrs Chance saw was wearing, I think you're quite certain he couldn't have been a woman, aren't you, Mrs Chance?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘He was much too tall and muscular.’

  But here was the explanation of Jane's broken heart, I thought, and was ashamed to find myself wondering if she could have persuaded some tall and muscular man to take her revenge for her.

  When the police left, I said that I was going to call in on Lucille. We had never been close friends, but the thought of what she must be suffering now was not one that could easily be put aside. She had other friends, and it seemed certain that they would be taking care of her, but simply to say that and find it an adequate excuse for doing nothing myself did not agree with how I was feeling. Malcolm said that he would come with me and he was just about to set out to get the Rover out of the garage when the doorbell rang.

  This time it was Sharon Sawyer.

  She stood on the doorstep, looking at me speechlessly, as if she expected me to tell her why she was there. She looked so pretty and so forlorn that I unthinkingly put an arm round her to draw her inside. She was as stiff in my embrace as if she were made of wood. I dropped my arm, but I took one of her hands. It was tense and stiff and very cold.

  ‘What is it, Sharon?’ I asked.

  ‘He's gone,’ she said.

  ‘Fred?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He's left you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  That did not quite explain why she had come to us, but it was enough to make me delay my visit to Lucille. I drew her into the sitting room. Malcolm offered her a drink, but she shook her head. I offered her coffee, but she muttered, ‘No, thank you — nothing. I just want to ask you something. I don't want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘It wouldn't be any nuisance,’ I said, but she shook her head again and even seemed doubtful if she ought to sit down.

  We persuaded her to do that, however, and to take off the anorak that she was wearing; an action that seemed to help her to overcome her extrem
e shyness, or whatever it was that made her so frightened of us. She leant back in the chair, crossing one foot over the other and locking her hands together and looking from one to the other of us again as if she expected us to explain her presence. She had the scared look in her eyes that I had seen there at lunch in the Green Man.

  Suddenly I wondered if someone had advised her to come to us, and she really did not know why. But who would have done that?

  ‘Sharon, did Fred tell you to come to us?’ I asked.

  She nodded, but did not answer.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  At last she said, ‘He told me you could give him an alibi and I needn't be afraid there'd be anything phoney about it.’ Her voice was so low that it was almost inaudible. ‘I gave him a phoney alibi, you see. He said if I didn't, he'd kill me. Of course, he didn't mean it, he just meant he'd do something horrible to me, and he'd got me so scared of him by then I couldn't think. I often got like that with him. I don't know why I loved him when he frightened me so. He used to frighten me in all sorts of ways. He'd hurt me just a little and make me think he was going to do more. For instance, he'd take hold of one of my hands and bend the fingers backwards till I almost screamed with the pain, and he'd tell me he could easily break the lot if he felt like it. Only he never did; I mean, it never went beyond a certain point, but all the same, when he said I'd got to give him an alibi, I didn't dream of saying I wouldn't. And I did love him, you see. I wanted to help him if he needed it.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ I said, feeling that now that she had started talking it might go on and on. ‘You gave him an alibi for the time Mr Loxley was killed.’

  She nodded solemnly.

  ‘He told you to?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘But I don't understand why,’ I went on. ‘We're sure it wasn't Fred who killed Mr Loxley, but someone disguised as him, so what was he doing at that time that he should need an alibi?’

  I had never felt as unsure that it had not been Fred that I had seen at the gate as I was at that moment.

  ‘I don't know,’ she murmured. ‘He never told me what he'd been doing. He didn't like being asked how he'd been spending his time. He always had lots of money, so I supposed he worked very hard. But now they're saying he got the money from Mr Bird because he knew something terrible about him. I suppose you think I'm very stupid.’

  I nearly said, ‘Very simple,’ but kept it back.

  ‘How did you hear about his getting money from Mr Bird?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, they're all talking about it down at the Green Man,’ she said. ‘I think a policeman told someone about Mr Bird saying it, and everyone was saying they'd always believed there was something wrong about Fred, which wasn't true, because he was really very popular.’

  ‘If it's true, it's the reason why he's left you,’ I said.

  Brian observed, ‘He won't get far if he's gone in that red van of his.’

  ‘He'll probably ditch it pretty soon,’ Malcolm said, ‘and pick up someone else's car.’

  ‘If what he told me is true about the joy-riding in stolen cars.’ I said, ‘he's probably quite proficient at stealing cars. On the other hand, he may simply have made for the railway.’

  ‘Sharon, if it's any consolation to you to know it,’ Malcolm said, his voice very kind, ‘he wanted you to know that he had nothing to do with this horrible murder of Lynne Denison. That's why he told you to come to us. He and Mrs Denison were here together in the late afternoon, then she left, and he stayed on, talking to Frances, and he was still here when we were rung up by Jane Kerwood, who told us how Mrs Denison's body had been found. So there are three of us here who know he couldn't have had anything to do with her murder.’

  ‘And you've told that to the police?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes

  She gave a deep sigh. Her tensely folded hands relaxed.

  ‘All the same, I'd like to know what he was doing during that time for which I had to give him an alibi,’ she said. ‘It's rather peculiar, isn't it? Could he have been meeting Mr Bird to pick up some of the money he was getting from him? I suppose I'll have to tell the police all about it. Will I get into trouble for it, d'you think?’

  ‘You could, if they're feeling nasty,’ Malcolm said. ‘But if you tell them just the story you've told us, I shouldn't think it will be very serious. If they catch Fred, however, you'll probably have to be a witness at his trial.’

  ‘His trial!’ It came out as a little yelp. ‘Will there really be a trial?’

  ‘For certain,’ Malcolm answered.

  She looked at him searchingly, as if she were trying to find some meaning hidden behind what he had said. Then she stood up.

  ‘I mustn't keep you,’ she said. ‘I only came to ask you about Fred's alibi. It's sad, isn't it, that we'll never do Romeo and Juliet now, and we shan't, shall we? I've been learning my lines. “What devil art thou that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roared in dismal hell, Hath Romeo slain himself? … Do you think Fred will kill himself? I'd do it myself sooner than let them catch me. Well, goodbye. You've been very kind.’

  ‘I'll drive you down to the old vicarage, if you like,’ Malcolm offered.

  ‘Oh no, thank you. It's no distance. Good night.’

  We all said good night and Malcolm saw her to the door.

  When he came back into the sitting room, I said, ‘I'll go to Lucille now.’

  ‘I suppose that's the right thing to do,’ he said. ‘Come along then. I'll drive you down.’

  ‘I may as well drive myself,’ I said. ‘I don't know how long I'll be. You might have to sit waiting in the car for an hour or so, because I don't suppose you want to come in to see her yourself — or do you? You can probably give her as much comfort as I can. She might even prefer it.’

  ‘No, I'll leave it to you,’ he said.

  ‘Where do you think you'll find her?’ Brian asked. ‘Will she be in her own home, or will friends have taken her in, as you did Avril?’

  ‘I'll see when I get there,’ I said. ‘The police will know.’

  In fact, she was in her home, sitting stiffly in the small but stately drawing room with Avril and Jane keeping her company, and a tray of coffee on the low table in front of her. The front door was open and a young constable there had doubts about letting me in, but then stood aside so that I could enter, and I went to the drawing room door and asked, ‘Shall I come in, Lucille?’

  I thought for a moment that she was not going to answer, she simply stared at me bleakly as if she hardly remembered who I was.

  Then she said, ‘Ah, Frances. Yes, come in. Kind of you to come. You'd like a cup of coffee, wouldn't you? Jane, dear, will you go to the kitchen and fetch a cup for Frances?’

  I did not want the coffee, but I did not refuse it. I went forward into the room and sat down on the window-seat. The dark red velvet curtains were drawn, and a log fire was burning in the fireplace. It all looked comfortable and cosy except for the rigidly upright figure of Lucille in the wing-backed armchair beside the fire. I had come intending to say comforting things to her, but now that I was here, I could not think even how to begin.

  At last, I said about the most futile thing I could have thought of. ‘How are you, Lucille?’

  ‘Just as you would expect,’ she answered in her cold voice. ‘The reason for my continued existence has gone, but I have always regarded suicide as a sin. To live without a reason, however, is something I have never contemplated. I have never dreamt it might ever be expected of me.’

  Jane returned to the drawing room with the coffee cup for me, poured out coffee and brought it to me.

  ‘Have they taken Kevin away?’ I asked.

  ‘Naturally they have,’ she said. ‘He left them no choice. Meanwhile, of course, I expect to be blamed for the whole catastrophe. An over-possessive mother, that is what I am, and who is more reviled at the present time than the over-possessive mother? She appears to be the origin of all wickedness. It is more accepta
ble if you let your child run wild and run wild yourself with all the lovers you can acquire so that he shall not be twisted by the terrible burden of your love, than that you should try to use your intelligence and devotion in turning him into a worthwhile member of society. I never thought of myself in my relations with Kevin, you know. The truth is, I was not possessive. He had perfect freedom to do as he liked. If he had brought a wife home to me, I should have welcomed her. Yet do you know, he turned on me tonight with the most extraordinary explosion of hatred. Only a few hours ago, I should never have thought such a thing possible. I did not even know he knew the words he used. It's all most extraordinary.’

  Her icy self-control was deadly. I thought it far more abnormal than the wildest hysteria would have been, and wondered what I could possibly say that might at least prick the surface of it, for I did not believe there was any depth to it.

  ‘Of course, you've got him a lawyer,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Cortwell Denis Dene, my husband's old firm. He was still working for them when he left me, but they've always been very helpful to me and he, of course, has been dead for years. Mr Dene is coming down to see me tomorrow. A very practical, unassuming man, though rather advanced in years. But I do not expect him to be able to help Kevin. Kevin himself will see to it that he does not. It's very strange, but he seems actually to be enjoying his present situation.’

  I had not known till then that Lucille's husband had been a lawyer. She had never spoken of him and I had always assumed that the pain of his death had made her unwilling to do so, or perhaps that the marriage had been such a disappointment to her that she preferred not to think about it. That seemed nearer to the truth, and really it explained a good deal about her.

  ‘You're staying on in this house, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The police have no objection to my doing so.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Lucille is very brave,’ Jane said.

  ‘Braver than I was,’ Avril said. ‘Nothing would have got me to spend a night in that house, even with the dogs.’