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

by J F Straker

  Collier ignored him. He had liked what little he knew of Andrew Osman. Osman had been a not too frequent visitor to Pinewood and had entertained the Colliers at the cottage; and although he had made no attempt to conceal his interest in Gail he had treated Collier with a friendly courtesy that had pleased the older man. It seemed incredible that he could be a kidnapper and a brutal killer. Yet Jock obviously believed him to be both. Why else would Jock be there?

  He moved closer to Andrew, staring hard at the man’s torn and bloody face, trying to see in it the former friendliness. And Andrew stared back, uneasy but defiant.

  ‘Is that true?’ Collier demanded. His voice was cold, unemotional. ‘You kidnapped her? You and your brother? You don’t deny it?’

  ‘All right, so we kidnapped her.’ The words sounded indistinct. Andrew ran his tongue round his lips, wincing as it probed the torn flesh. ‘We were broke, we needed the money, and Clarence—or Jock, whatever his name is—he told us you were planning this bank job. So we arranged—‘

  ‘They didn’t give me no choice, Guv’nor,’ Jock said. It was an explanation, not an apology. He felt no need to apologise. ‘They knew something was cooking and they put the pincers on me. Know what I mean? Mind you, they didn’t say nothing about the snatch. All they told me—‘

  ‘Shut up!’ Rather to his own surprise, Jock obeyed. ‘Why did you kill her, Osman?’

  ‘But I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!’

  For the first time since Clarence and his friends had invaded the cottage Andrew was totally and desperately afraid. The knowledge that Clarence would resort to violence to obtain the information he wanted had filled him with foreboding, but when it had started to happen he had been more angry than afraid, perhaps because he had known that at least his life was not in danger. Collier was different. Collier could kill. There was something about the man’s unnatural control, the tenseness in his attitude evidenced by his clenched fists and the staring, deep-set eyes, that bespoke an inner fury that could erupt into sudden and unbridled violence that would not flinch from murder. And knowing how deeply Collier had loved his wife, Andrew was afraid.

  ‘No?’ Collier glanced briefly at Luke, who stared back at him with mocking defiance. This was the man in the photograph, the man the police wanted to interview; but he was a stranger, he would not have instigated the outrage. Andrew Osman had done that. No doubt the brothers had worked together, but it was Andrew whose guilt was the greater. Gail had treated him as a friend and he had betrayed her friendship with death. ‘Are you saying it was your brother who killed her? Is that it?’

  ‘No. No, of course not. Neither of us did.’ Andrew knew he had to lie, and not only on Luke’s behalf. Collier would lump them together, he would see the guilt as shared. ‘Why would we? We had the money.’

  ‘Our money,’ Jock said. He and his companions formed a tight little group, fascinated by the confrontation. ‘Which you’ve still bleeding well got.’

  Collier ignored the interruption. ‘It happens,’ he said curtly. ‘Victims are murdered even after the ransom has been paid.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t happen in this case.’ Andrew switched from protestation to feigned indignation. ‘Dammit, man, you know how I felt about Gail. I was half in love with her. How could I bring myself to kill her?’

  ‘And your brother? Was he in love with her too?’

  ‘Of course not. He didn’t know her. Anyway, he’s not interested in women.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Jock laughed. ‘Luke boy a poof, eh? Well, I never!’

  Luke ignored him. He had been tempted to make his own protestations of innocence. But he too had recognised Collier’s latent fury, and he had feared that such an interruption could be the spark that would detonate it.

  ‘Love?’ Collier spat the word. ‘Lust is what you felt for her, Osman. Which could be why you killed her, damn you! You had her up in that room and tried to force her, and when she fought you, you killed her, you—you—Oh, God damn you to hell, you murdering bastard!’

  ‘No! No! No!’ Andrew cried. Collier’s voice had lost its calm, it was hoarse with emotion. Andrew could smell the damp in his jacket as he moved to lean over him, saw the hairs in his flared nostrils, and he shrank further back in the chair. It had been a mistake to mention his interest in Gail, it had given Collier substance for his accusation. ‘I didn’t kill her and I don’t know who did. She was alive and well when we left. The first that we knew of her death was when we heard it on the radio later. And that’s the truth, Collier. Honest to God! I swear it.’

  Collier leaned closer. Andrew saw the hate in his eyes and the spasmodic twitching of his fingers and sensed what was coming. Yet he was powerless to avoid it. His knuckles dug into his back as he strained away, with Collier looming menacingly above. He watched the hands reach out and uttered a brief cry as he felt them close round his neck; then the thumbs dug into his windpipe and the cry was strangled. As the pressure increased a pulse began to hammer in his temple; the blood seemed to boil in his veins, a red mist obscured his vision. His mouth was open, gasping for breath, and as Collier savagely thumped his head against the back of the chair his teeth bit into his lolling tongue. Vaguely through the pounding in his ears he heard someone cry out. Then he lost consciousness.

  ‘Stop him, you bloody fools!’ Luke cried hoarsely, struggling furiously but vainly to escape from his chair. ‘Pull him off! He’ll kill him!’

  The word ‘kill’ galvanised them into action. They threw themselves at Collier, grappling with him and dragging him away. His grip on Andrew’s throat was so secure that Andrew was pulled half out of his chair before they could prise the fingers loose to release him. He slumped back, his eyes closed and his mouth open. Luke was near enough to see the marks on his throat. They looked like dents, as if the flesh were dead and had lost its resilience. But the others were too busy trying to contain the struggling Collier to pay attention to his victim.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Luke shouted. ‘See to Andrew, can’t you? He needs help.’ Uncertain of what form the help should take, he added, ‘Slap his face! Get some water! Do you want him to die?’

  They did not respond at once. Rage gave Collier extra strength, and it took the four of them to hold him. Then, without apparent cause, the struggling ceased. His long body sagged and went limp, and from wrestling with him they had to prop him up.

  ‘Get some water, Wally,’ Jock said. Leaving Collier to the others, he leaned over the unconscious Andrew and slapped him twice on the cheek. The second slap was with the back of his hand, and his knuckles caught the open wound and caused the blood to flow again. Andrew groaned and stirred and blinked his eyes, and Jock stood back and regarded him.

  ‘Okay now, Whiskers?’ he said. ‘That’s fine. We wouldn’t want you to croak on us, would we?’

  ‘You did your damnedest,’ Luke said. ‘You and that bloody madman.’

  ‘Rough, wasn’t he?’ Jock said cheerfully. ‘And him always preaching non-violence, too! It just goes to show, don’t it? You never can tell. Still, maybe it was all for the best. Softened Whiskers up a little, made him feel more like talking. Eh, Whiskers?’

  Andrew heard him only vaguely. Even had he wished he could not have answered. His throat was too sore for speech, his head ached abominably. There was the taste of blood and vomit in his mouth, and he knew that if he opened it he would probably be sick.

  He closed his eyes and let his head sink back.

  ‘Better, is he?’ Wally asked.

  ‘He’s alive. That’s what counts.’ Jock took the glass of water from Wally’s hand, sipped, and put it on the table. ‘You can forget that.’

  ‘He doesn’t want it?’ Wally sounded surprised.

  ‘He may want it. He doesn’t bloody get it. Not till he’s ready to talk.’ Jock turned to Collier, still held by Ben and Griff. ‘How about having a go at the other one, Guv’nor? I mean, the snatch was a double act, wasn’t it? And if you asks me I’d say it was him done the killing.
He’s hard, is Luke boy. Know what I mean? Real callous.’

  Collier gave him a vacant, unblinking stare. ‘He’s gone kind of screwy,’ Ben said.

  ‘Ah, well, not to worry,’ Jock said. ‘He’s not important. Park him somewhere and let’s get on with it. The money’s here, I can smell it. And one of them two bastards is going to tell us where. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ Wally said. ‘I’ll hook the other one, shall I?’

  ‘You didn’t do so good the first time.’

  Rather reluctantly, Jock shook his head. ‘No, I reckon we’ll stay with Whiskers. He’s had a lot of work done on him, what with Collier and all. A pity to waste it. Have a go, Ben, eh?’

  Ben moved across to Andrew and delivered a solid blow to the stomach. Andrew had his eyes closed and failed to see the blow coming. He grunted and jerked forward, gasping for breath. Ben hit him under the chin, sending his head crashing back against the chair.

  ‘Stop it!’ Luke cried. ‘Stop it, you bastards! He can’t take any more.’

  ‘I don’t hear him talking,’ Jock said. ‘Keep going, Ben.’

  Ben landed another solid blow to Andrew’s stomach. Bent almost double, Andrew retched and was violently sick. Ben swore, scowling at the mess. Gripping Andrew by the hair with one hand, he started to pull him to his feet, the other hand clenched in readiness for yet another pulverising blow.

  Luke could stand it no longer. ‘All right’ he screamed. ‘All right, damn you, all right! You can have the bloody money. But for Christ’s sake leave him alone!’

  Jock tapped Ben on the shoulder. Ben let go, and Andrew fell back into the chair, slumping sideways. He was whimpering like a dog, too broken for speech.

  ‘Brotherly love, eh?’ Jock said. ‘That’s nice. I like that. I apologise. Luke boy. I mean, I said you was callous, didn’t I? Well, let’s get on with it, eh? So where’s the cash?’

  ‘In my car. The Austin.’

  ‘Cobblers,’ Griff said. ‘It’s not. I looked, didn’t I?’

  ‘It’s in concealed compartments built into the body,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll have to show you.’

  Jock frowned. Then he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But watch it. No tricks, mind, or you’re in dead trouble. Cut him loose, Griff.’

  Luke had been bound for so long that his wrists and ankles were sore and chafed from his constant efforts to free them. His limbs were stiff, his knees creaked as he got unsteadily to his feet. Releasing the support of the chair, he moved towards Andrew.

  Jock caught his arm. ‘Wrong direction, Luke boy. First things first. We want you outside.’

  ‘But look at him!’ Luke protested. ‘He’s in a bad way. He needs attention.’

  ‘You’d best see to him then, hadn’t you? But not yet. Not till we’ve got the money.’ Jock pushed him towards the door. ‘So let’s get a move on, eh?’

  ‘What will you do with Collier? Take him with you?’

  ‘Ali!’ Jock pursed his lips and looked at Collier, who still sat where Ben had dumped him, apparently oblivious to what was happening. ‘There’s a snag there, Luke boy. I mean, when he’s himself again he’s going to want his share of the take, isn’t he? Well, me and my friends here, we don’t reckon to that. And it’s Whiskers he came to see. That makes him your problem, eh?’

  ‘I don’t want him, damn you,’ Luke said. ‘He’s trouble.’

  ‘Then get rid of him, Luke boy. Like I said, he’s your problem.’ Jock retrieved his hat from where he had flung it on arrival. ‘Come on, out you go.’

  ‘No! Stay right where you are, gentlemen!’

  The voice came from the direction of the kitchen. Startled, they turned to look. Grover and Kaufman were on the steps, with uniformed policemen behind them.

  ‘Jesus!’ Wally exclaimed. ‘Bleeding coppers!’

  ‘That’s right.’ Grover moved forward. ‘Coppers. With a lot more coppers outside, a lot of muscle. So let’s do this the easy way, shall we? We don’t want any aggro.’

  18

  ‘I didn’t ask you fellows here merely to congratulate you,’ Fox said. ‘Though that too, of course. Mind you, I think we have to admit that luck was more often with us than against us. But then it needs to be, doesn’t it, if we’re to get anywhere in this job? Particularly in such a bizarre case as this. Four separate major crimes so closely interwoven must be almost unique. I wonder if the Guinness Book of Records would be interested.’ A happy smile emphasised the youthfulness of his face. The others, Adam Harkin excepted, echoed the smile. Kaufman wondered how he made it four. Did he separate Gail Collier’s murder from the snatch? ‘However, there are still a few loose ends to tidy up. The other two members of Collier’s firm, for instance. I want them in the net. So do the Crime Squad, I might add.’

  ‘According to C.R.O. they have no previous record,’ Harkin said hoarsely. He had an inflamed throat, and talking was painful. ‘But we have their dabs. It can only be a matter of time.’

  ‘Collier and Bristowe haven’t talked?’

  ‘Not on that one.’

  ‘They’ve been cooperative otherwise,’ Grover said. ‘Or Collier has. He seems quite indifferent to what may happen to him. But Bristowe, he’s different. We really had to work on him.’

  ‘Legitimately, I hope.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Fox left his desk to open a window. It was a warm, cloudless day, and the grass outside was steaming after the night’s heavy rain. The forecast was good too. Maybe he and Grace could make it this weekend.

  ‘Bristowe seems a pretty unpleasant character,’ he said. ‘Selling out to the Osmans doesn’t suggest a strong sense of loyalty. Any chance he might eventually be persuaded to squeal?’

  ‘I doubt it. Selling out to the Osmans was one thing, grassing to the police another. Particularly as he can have nothing to gain by it.’

  ‘Nothing to lose either,’ Kaufman said. ‘This little lot is going to put him away for a long, long while. Not to mention the Keen murder.’

  ‘He hasn’t confessed to that, has he?’ Fox asked.

  ‘No,’ Grover said. ‘He claims he only dumped the body. Someone else did the killing, he says. Naturally he doesn’t say who.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Fox said drily. Rather reluctantly he left the window and returned to his desk. ‘There’s nothing more on Latimer’s unfortunate female companion, is there?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Grover said. ‘If you ask me I’d say she was some sort of a drop-out. Probably left home after a row and her parents, or whoever, have washed their hands of her. Just don’t want to know. It happens, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Too often. No inquiries?’

  ‘A few. But all abortive.’

  ‘It’s early days,’ Harkin croaked. ‘Give them time.’

  Time, Fox thought, was what they deserved, How could parents be so uncaring about their daughter, no matter how badly she had behaved? How would he and Grace feel if Arabella were to walk out on them?

  ‘Too many innocent people have been caught up in this mess,’ he said. ‘The girl, Jack Paterson, the Latimers, Mrs Collier. Even the Landors. How is Mrs Landor, Adam? Fully recovered?’

  ‘Not fully, no. She’s out of hospital, but I gather she’s still on the dodgy side.’

  ‘Hm! Well, I’m not surprised. Even with her husband there it must have been a traumatic experience for a woman who suffers from claustrophobia.’ Fox shook his head. ‘Still, I suppose one shouldn’t be too hard on Collier for that. He had more than enough to make him forget, poor devil. What eventually reminded him, Adam? Did he say?’

  ‘Something George said.’ Harkin swallowed and grimaced. Swallowing was painful.

  ‘Eh?’ Grover was startled. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Something about locking up a dog. I didn’t get the full text.’

  ‘Oh, yes. So I did. I was talking about pets. Rather a slim connection, though.’

  ‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer,’ Fox said. ‘You all have plenty to occupy you bef
ore they come up in court on Monday. And you ought to be in bed, Adam. Incidentally, George, I hope you commended Sergeant Pullin. He handled that business Wednesday night very creditably.’

  Grover nodded. It had been Sergeant Pullin who had followed Collier in his dash to Loxford. He had had no difficulty in trailing him undetected, for Collier had been in too great a hurry even to consider that possibility. When Collier had turned down the track to the cottage Pullin had pulled in behind a dark green saloon parked without lights on the grass verge, switched off his own lights, and had run down the lane to the junction with the track. The rain was heavy and visibility poor, but he had seen Collier silhouetted against the light from inside the cottage as the door opened to admit him. Returning to examine the green saloon, he had found that it fitted the known particulars of the car that had been seen parked near Pinewood House on the Monday night; and on transmitting this information to headquarters he had been told to keep the cottage under observation, but to take no action and to await reinforcements. He had then gone down the track to listen at the door, and although he could not hear what was actually said he had heard enough to realize that trouble was afoot. There was no shelter from the rain, and by the time Grover and Kaufman arrived with reinforcements he was a very wet policeman.

  They were leaving the room when Fox said, ‘Arabella tells me she’s meeting you this evening, Derek. Give her this, will you? I’ve had it repaired. She may want to wear it.’

  ‘This’ was a small jeweller’s box. Kaufman put it in his pocket, avoiding Grover’s wide stare.

  ‘I’ll do that, sir,’ he said.