Death On a Sunday Morning (Detective Johnny Inch series Book 8)

by J F Straker

  ‘They might have considered you would hold your wife’s life in greater regard than your own.’

  Collier was silent. Gail’s death had nothing to do with hate or punishment or revenge. It was sheer wanton killing. But at least it was true that her life was more sacred to him than his own.

  Inspector Parker had been studying his notebook. Now he said quietly, ‘How long did it take you to get here, sir?’

  Collier frowned at the apparent triviality of the question. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said curtly. ‘I just got in the car and drove.’

  ‘Quite, sir. About forty minutes, would you say? Hickworth is twenty-one miles from here.’

  ‘More like half an hour,’ Collier said. ‘I drove fast. I wasn’t considering speed limits, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So if you left at one o’clock, just after the kidnapper rang, you would be here about one-thirty, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Parker consulted his notebook. ‘Your 999 call was received at the ops room at police headquarters at exactly 14.49 hours. Why did you wait for over an hour and a quarter before reporting the murder, Mr Collier?’

  Collier was shaken. He should have known the question wasn’t trivial, that it was leading somewhere basic. He should have been more vague, less specific about time.

  ‘I—well, I suppose I was in a state of shock,’ he said. ‘I know I stayed upstairs for a while. Afterwards I must have come down here. But I don’t remember what I did. Wandered about, I think.’

  ‘For an hour, Mr Collier?’ Grover’s tone lacked its former sympathy. ‘And it would be about an hour, wouldn’t it? Under the circumstances, that’s a long time to do nothing.’

  ‘I know, Superintendent. And I’m sorry. But I can’t explain it. I suppose I was too involved in my own grief. All I could think of was that Gail was dead, that I would never see her again. And no matter how quickly you came you couldn’t bring her back, could you?’ Reliving in his mind the sight of Gail as he had last seen her, experiencing again the shock and the grief that had overwhelmed him, what had started as invention became reality. He was suddenly afraid—not of the police, but of the years of loneliness that stretched ahead. Sweating, he passed a hand across his damp brow. ‘It sounds dreadful, I know, but I think I was more unhappy for myself than for her. Whatever she suffered, at least it was short. I have to go on suffering.’

  They watched him in silence. Presently Grover said, ‘Do you smoke, Mr Collier?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Cigars?’

  ‘No. Cigarettes.’

  Grover sniffed. ‘Someone has smoked a cigar in here recently. An expensive cigar, if my nose doesn’t deceive me.’ He looked meaningfully at Achurch, who nodded. Collier guessed they would be looking for butts, perhaps even examining ash. ‘How about your acquaintances, Mr Collier? The—well, the less friendly ones. Do any of them smoke cigars?’

  ‘I can’t think of any off-hand,’ Collier said truthfully. ‘But I expect there are some.’

  ‘Well, keep it in mind, will you?’

  From outside the room came the sound of feet descending the stairs: slow, measured and heavy. They’re taking her away, he thought, and was glad that from where he stood the hall was not within his vision. Out of the corner of an eye he saw through the window that the ambulance driver was opening the rear doors of his vehicle, and he turned away, sick at heart and heavy limbed. He had found unexpected relief in his duel of wits with the police. Now the relief had gone. He wanted to be rid of them, to be free to get on with what he had to do.

  ‘Who knew you would be away from home yesterday evening?’ Grover asked. Perhaps he appreciated something of the emotion the incident had aroused in Collier, for his tone had softened after the sudden hardness.

  ‘Only my wife.’ And Bunny and Jock and Terry, he thought. ‘Unless she happened to mention it to someone. Which I doubt.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘Because we had planned to be out together. There’s a film at the London Pavilion I particularly wanted to see.’ That was true. He had taken Gail to see it on the Thursday. ‘But my wife wasn’t keen—not her type of picture—and she cried off at the last moment. So I went on my own. I had a bite to eat afterwards and arrived home—’ Collier swallowed hard. ‘But we’ve been through that. Anyway, no one could have known in advance that she would be alone. I didn’t even know myself.’

  He could see they didn’t like it. Constable Achurch’s expression was particularly sceptical. But what the hell? he thought. All right, so it’s weak. But I need no alibi for Gail’s death, and that’s why they’re here.

  ‘How far is your home from the West End, sir?’ the constable asked.

  ‘Around forty-five miles. Why?’

  ‘Just that it seems a long way to go to see a film on your own.’

  ‘Maybe. But an old acquaintance has a leading part, and the film comes off this weekend.’ Collier glared at him. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

  Achurch shrugged. ‘Do you employ servants, sir?’ Grover asked.

  ‘Not living in. A woman comes in on weekdays—a Mrs Wise—and her husband twice weekly to do the garden.’

  ‘No one at weekends?’

  ‘No.’

  Grover thought for a moment. ‘To get back to this five thousand pounds,’ he said. ‘It seems a large sum to keep at home, even in a safe.’

  ‘To you it might, Superintendent. But I’m a gambler, I like to have a thousand or so handy. And on Thursday my wife and I were at the Highway Club. You know it?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘I was on a winning streak that evening. Hence the five thousand, or whatever it was. Five thousand was only a guess, remember.’

  ‘Who would know about that?’ Grover asked.

  ‘One or two people at the club, I suppose. Including Peter Manetti, the proprietor.’ Collier smiled wearily. ‘It wasn’t an outstanding killing, Superintendent. I’ve won several times that amount in the past.’

  ‘Nice for you, sir,’ Grover said.

  ‘To get back to this morning, sir,’ Achurch said. ‘It didn’t occur to you to ring the police? While you were waiting for that second call, I mean.’

  ‘Of course it did. But the man had warned me not to, and I was doing nothing that might endanger my wife.’ Again there was scepticism on the constable’s face. Collier said heatedly, ‘And the police record in recent kidnappings hasn’t been all that happy, has it, Officer? Too many of the victims have died. I wasn’t prepared to take that risk.’

  ‘In the event, sir, it might have been better if you had,’ Grover said. ‘However, no one is criticising. We appreciate your dilemma, believe me.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Collier looked at his watch. ‘Do you need me here anymore, Superintendent? Because if not I’d like to go home. It’s close on five, and I haven’t slept since I woke up yesterday morning. I’m just about all in.’

  ‘Of course,’ Grover said.

  There was polythene sheeting on the floor and up the stairs, and as they left the house they were confronted by photographers and reporters and television cameras. Grover paused to make a brief statement, but Collier was shepherded to his car by Parker, with other policemen restraining the Press. He had supposed that when he drove out of the gate he would be leaving the police behind, but there was a police car in front and another followed. So it’s not over yet, he thought wearily. There will be more snooping, more questions, more photographs, more dusting for fingerprints. Well, no matter. At least for a little while longer he would not be left alone with his thoughts. Loneliness, he knew, was something he was going to have to live with. All he had to fill it was his thirst for revenge. When that was satisfied, either by himself or by the police, there would be nothing.

  There were no newsmen waiting at Pinewood, but as he stood in the porch while more polythene sheeting was laid in the hall he saw men with cameras hurrying up the drive and guessed that they had followed. But he was puzzled
by police precautions against obliterating footsteps. There would be none in the house. The kidnappers would have seized Gail when she opened the door in response to their ring. ‘One of them was down by the pool later, of course,’ he said, remembering. ‘To collect the money. Otherwise—well, there’s no need to look further than the porch, is there?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Grover said. They were in the hall now. ‘You can see the pool from the room in which you waited?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s take a look, shall we?’

  The door to the sitting-room was ajar. Collier pushed it wide for Grover to enter. But Grover did not enter. He stood in the doorway staring at the table. Peering over his shoulder, Collier realised with dismay what had attracted his attention.

  ‘Four glasses, Mr Collier?’ Grover said. ‘I thought you said you were alone.’

  Collier nodded. When he left the house there had been no reason to remove the glasses, he had expected to return with Gail, not with the police. Afterwards he had forgotten them. Yet even had he remembered he would have had no opportunity to rectify the error.

  ‘I was,’ he said.

  ‘Hm!’ Grover moved to the table. ‘So we have a problem. I presume the glasses were here when you returned home last night?’

  ‘Yes.’ There could be no other answer. ‘And what, if anything, did you infer?’

  ‘I don’t remember giving it much thought,’

  Collier said. ‘The kidnappers rang almost as soon as I was in the room—they must have watched me arrive—and after that I was too distraught to consider anything except how and when I would have her back.’

  ‘And what do you think now?’

  ‘What I thought then, I suppose. That she’d had visitors.’

  ‘She had indeed.’

  Grover gave him a hard look and went over to the French windows, and stood watching the men searching the area of the pool. Then he returned to the table.

  ‘Where did you sit while you were waiting?’ he asked.

  Collier showed him. The chair still lay on its side. ‘I knocked it over when I got up,’ he said, righting it.

  Grover sat in the chair and let his gaze rove over the objects on the table; the glasses, the telephone, an empty whisky bottle and another half full, cigarette ends in the ashtrays, an unopened bottle of ginger ale. Suddenly he leaned forward to stare down at the carpet. Collier’s gaze followed his. A dull red stain showed on the green pile.

  ‘Well, well!’ Grover bent down. ‘Looks like blood, eh? Could be red ink, I suppose, but there’s no sign of an ink bottle. Any information on that? Mr Collier?’

  Collier shook his head. He had managed to explain the glasses, but his tired brain could not cope with that ugly splash of Bunny’s blood. And since he could not explain it he could only feign ignorance.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said.

  ‘But you must have noticed it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t it worry you? Didn’t you fear your wife might have been injured?’

  ‘I suppose the thought was there. But the man said she was all right, and I believed him. I don’t know why. Because I wanted to, I suppose.’

  ‘Hm!’ Grover looked his disbelief. ‘Would you mind waiting in the hall, sir? I want to get the experts in on this. I won’t be long.’

  Collier sat on a hall bench and wondered vaguely if he should offer refreshment. He knew that he too should eat, although the thought of food still sickened him. Perhaps he should telephone Mrs Wise. She was a kindly soul. If she were at home—

  ‘I daresay tea would be welcome,’ Grover said, when he reappeared from the sitting-room and in response to Collier’s offer. ‘I expect you could do with a cup yourself, eh? But don’t you bother. I’ll get one of the lads to make it. Of course, if you’re thinking of something more solid for yourself—’

  ‘Later,’ Collier said. ‘After you’ve gone. Is that likely to be long?’

  ‘I hope not.’ Grover consulted his watch, and frowned. ‘I certainly hope not. But to get back to last night. Apart from the empty glasses and the stain on the carpet, did you notice anything else unusual when you returned home?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Except perhaps the curtains.’

  At Grover’s request he explained Gail’s dislike of being watched. Grover nodded, as if this was something that fitted his thoughts. He made a few notes, asked a few questions about minor details that presented no problems for Collier, and snapped the notebook shut with an air of finality.

  ‘Well, that’s all for now, sir,’ he said. ‘We will need your fingerprints for elimination purposes, but Inspector Parker will arrange that.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you keep pets, Mr Collier? Dogs? Cats? What have you?’

  ‘No,’ Collier said, surprised. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just a thought. Pets can be a solace when—well, in situations such as this. They help to fill the loneliness. I keep cats. Two of them—Burmese. I’m a bachelor, and it’s pleasant to be welcomed when one gets home, even if it’s only by a cat. I would prefer a dog one can develop a closer relationship with a dog, they’re less independent than cats—but in my job that’s out. The hours are too irregular; sometimes I’m away from home for twenty-four hours or more at a stretch. You couldn’t keep a dog locked up all that time, it wouldn’t be fair. Cats, yes. But not dogs. They’re more like humans.’ Grover gave a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry. I’m boring you.’ The smile was replaced by concern. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Collier said.

  ‘You looked as if you’d seen—’ Grover stopped. Under the circumstances, ‘as if you’d seen a ghost’ would be tactless. ‘Well, I’ll just have a word with the lads and then I’ll be off. It shouldn’t take them long to finish. I expect you’ll be glad to see the back of us, eh?’

  Collier walked with him to the door. As he was leaving Grover said, ‘By the way, sir, was your wife a whisky drinker?’

  ‘No,’ Collier said. ‘Vodka.’

  He spoke without thinking. Only later did he appreciate the import of the question. At the time he was concerned solely with how soon he could get to a telephone. The one in the bedroom was out, he might be overheard by the men in the sitting-room—which meant he must wait until they had all left. Yet already he had waited too long. For the superintendent’s words about locking up a dog had reminded him of what Gail’s death had made him forget.

  The Landors were still locked in the bank’s vault.

  10

  With Andrew Osman, money was for spending, fast and liberally. Starved of cash in recent weeks, the sudden acquisition of so much wealth had unleashed an unquenchable thirst for an evening on the town, and that despite his lack of sleep the previous night. Never short of a girlfriend, he had stuffed his wallet and pockets with currency notes and had taken an up-and-coming young actress out to dinner. He had envisaged the meal as a prelude to further entertainment. But the girl had developed toothache, and, albeit reluctantly, he had taken her home; and because it had then been too late to make a fresh start to the evening he was back at his brother’s flat earlier than either man had expected. He found Luke stretched out on his bed with a book, a glass of brandy beside him. Luke, who was equally fond of the good life but interpreted it differently, had elected for a connoisseur’s dinner at a select little restaurant round the corner, followed by a restful evening at home.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said, putting down the book. ‘What happened? You can’t have run out of cash.’

  ‘Ran out of girl. What’s the latest news?’

  ‘I didn’t listen. The earlier bulletins gave me all the news I wanted. Or didn’t want, rather.’

  ‘But how about Gail. Aren’t you interested?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Luke reached for his brandy and sipped appreciatively. ‘And your haste to hit the fleshpots this evening didn’t suggest much interest either.’

  ‘That’s different. I thought I’d get the gen from you.
’ Andrew looked at his watch. ‘However, no matter. We can get it on the late night news.’

  ‘Please yourself. Personally I couldn’t care less. As far as I’m concerned the Colliers belong to the past. With all that lovely lolly I’m interested only in the future.’

  ‘Me too. And I’m hoping Gail will be part of it.’

  Luke gave a sorrowful shake of the head. ‘I don’t get you, Andrew. With sixty odd grand to splash around you can more or less take your pick. What made that damned woman so special?’

  Andrew frowned. ‘Made?’

  ‘Like I said, for me she belongs to the past.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t for me. For me she is the pick. And that’s what money’s for, isn’t it? To get what you want? Well, I want Gail, and I intend to have her.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on that.’ Luke put down his glass. ‘However, let’s forget Gail for the present, shall we? What do we do about Clarence? If you hadn’t made a balls-up’—Noting the angry look on his brother’s face, he broke off. ‘Okay, okay. We won’t go into that again. But I don’t have to tell you how Clarence will be feeling right now. To say he’s hopping mad would be putting it mildly. He won’t rest till he’s levelled the score. And not just levelled it, either. After the way we conned him he’s not going to be satisfied with the original twenty grand. Not if I know Clarence. He’ll be out to get the lot.’

  ‘He’ll be lucky,’ Andrew said. ‘I mean, what can he do? That letter stymies him, doesn’t it? First wrong move he makes, it goes to the police. He knows that.’

  ‘Does he hell! He knows he can do just about anything he likes, so long as he stops short of murder. He can take the money, he can beat the living daylights out of us, and no come-back. Because if we let the Law pull him in for the murder of Charlie Keen he’ll make damned sure it also pulls us in for—well, for kidnapping. And that’s just for starters.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘We haven’t led an exactly blameless life, have we? Legally speaking, that is. Once the police start sorting us out there are other peccadilloes they might uncover.’