‘How will you find her?’ said Bennett. ‘She must have left Avignon already. All we know from the letter is that she’s at a country hotel somewhere in France. That’s not much to go on.’
The second detective spoke again. ‘No. And we don’t even know where she was staying in Avignon. If we did, we could ask the people there where she and her aunt moved to.’
Griffin interrupted him. ‘Do you still have the envelope, by any chance, sir? Perhaps an address was written on it. It’s the continental way. Even a postmark might help.’
‘I’m afraid not, Inspector. I put envelopes on the fire as soon as I open them. Otherwise I would be drowning in paper here.’
‘I quite understand. But what a shame. I fear it may take some time to locate Mrs Langford.’
‘I only hope she doesn’t read the English newspapers, wherever she is. It would be awful for her to hear about her husband’s death from the press.’
‘Indeed, sir. But we will do our best to find her, and to break the news as gently as we can. I don’t think we need detain you any longer.’
Mr Bennett started ushering them towards the door. Johnny slid back under the fur coat just in time. As Bennett opened the front door he said casually, ‘It says in the paper that you have a suspect. May I ask who it is?’
‘Well, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t tell you, sir. But I’m sure we’ll be charging her today. It’s the Langfords’ cleaning woman, sir. A Mrs Swanson. Do you know her?’
‘Not to speak to. But she’s one of my tenants. She lives in one of the houses on Dagmouth Lane. I’m planning a lot of improvements on that part of the estate.’
Johnny would have liked to add that any building works were an excuse to drive up the rent, but he held his tongue as Bennett stopped on the doorstep and continued: ‘Funnily enough, now I think about it, I remember Marie Langford mentioning Mrs Swanson over supper that day. She said the woman was looking for extra work. She asked me if there were any jobs here. Apparently Winnie Swanson is a bit hard up.’
‘That’s what we’ve heard too, sir,’ said Griffin, holding out his hand to say goodbye. ‘It seems that money may be at the heart of all this.’
‘The things people will do for cash,’ said Bennett, shaking his head. ‘It beggars belief.’
Johnny wanted to talk to the detectives, to convince them that his mother was innocent. It was why he had come. But now he could only do it if he revealed that he had been hiding and listening in to everything they’d said. For a split second the brave part of him – the part that would do anything for his mother – urged him to show himself; but in an instant his fear of getting into trouble triumphed. He even persuaded himself that being caught would make things worse for Winnie. He stayed hidden under the cloak.
He heard the door close, and the police car pull away. He regretted his decision straight away. The chance to meet the inspector had gone, but he was still at risk of being caught. He was trapped for as long as Mr Bennett stayed in the hall. Johnny sensed that Bennett was walking towards him. He peeped through the slit again, only to see Bennett staring straight back, his eyes filled with contempt. Johnny held his breath; then Bennett broke the tension, turning to shout down the corridor to the butler.
‘Maxwell! Some fresh coffee in the morning room!’ Johnny relaxed as Bennett started walking away to restart his breakfast, but then he stopped, and yelled again: ‘And Maxwell, get rid of that fur coat. Miss Carmichael won’t be coming back.’
A distant shout of ‘Very good, sir’ came from the kitchen. Johnny panicked. He couldn’t leave his hiding place while Bennett was in the hall, but there was no way he could risk staying there till Maxwell re-entered and tore the cloak from its peg. He watched Bennett walk slowly back to the breakfast room, but a heartbeat later he heard Maxwell coming up the passage. The butler turned towards the coat-stand and looked the fur up and down. But his hands were full. He sniffed. No doubt he’d deal with the coat after he’d put down his tray.
As soon as Maxwell was in attendance on his master, Johnny ran for the back door. He didn’t want to risk meeting the handyman, or walking on the noisy gravel at the front of the house, so he crossed the grounds till he found a wall. It was a long walk back to the post office, but he was elated to have got away, and glad to be carrying Hutch the good news that Mrs Langford was safe.
Chapter 24
THE HEARING
Winnie was due to appear in court on the next Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday was early closing day in Stambleton. All the shops shut at noon, including Hutchinson’s General Store and Post Office, and Hutch told Johnny that he would go to the court to see what happened. Johnny, he said, wouldn’t be allowed in, and must go to school as normal.
Of course, nothing was ‘normal’ at school now. Johnny had never been paid so much attention; but it wasn’t the kind of attention he enjoyed. The other pupils stared at him and whispered about him, but no one came near. Some had been told by their parents not to have anything to do with him. The teachers were stiff and formal, and didn’t know what to say. Only Mr Murray made any reference to Winnie’s arrest. Johnny’s class were in the gym, using the wallbars and climbing ropes. Mr Murray curled a rope into the shape of a noose, and lolled his head to one side with his tongue hanging out. Everybody laughed.
On the day of the hearing, Johnny was stuck in a classroom, trying to imagine what was going on. Hutch had explained that this wasn’t the big trial: it was to decide whether the police had enough evidence against Winnie to justify keeping her in prison, so that the case could go on to a more important court. Johnny knew what that meant, though Hutch didn’t spell it out: a court that could impose the death penalty.
Hutch got to the court as early as he could, determined to find a seat in the public gallery. There was quite a crowd. With all the shops closed, lots of other people were free too, and everyone wanted to hear why the police were so sure that Winnie had killed Dr Langford. If they had gone to see a monster, they were disappointed. Winnie looked tiny, standing alone in the shabby shift dress she’d had on when she was arrested. She stayed still, with her head down and her hands clasped in front of her, throughout the proceedings. Her mousy hair flopped forward, hiding her face. Hutch had hoped to catch her eye – to give her a reassuring nod, at least – but she didn’t look at the public gallery once. Her voice was so weak when she confirmed her name that the magistrate had to ask her to speak up.
The policeman who had discovered the body described the scene. Then a doctor testified that the victim had definitely not died of natural causes, but from a blow that had opened a blood vessel in his head. It was possible that he had been punched, and had fallen against the mantelpiece. In his opinion, the state of the corpse suggested that the murder was committed some time between five and eight o’clock on the night of Tuesday 10th December.
Then Miss Dangerfield was called to the stand. There was a titter as she confirmed her full name: Letitia Euphemia Gladys Dangerfield. Dressed in black, as ever, she looked stern and trustworthy as she swore to tell the truth. The prosecuting lawyer asked her why she had called the police on 11th December.
‘Because I had noticed a broken window at the Langfords’ house.’
‘And at what time did you notice it?’
‘At about ten in the morning. I called the police immediately, but it took them rather a long time to come.’
‘That’s as may be, Miss Dangerfield. One can perhaps forgive the police for not expecting a broken window to be important.’
‘But I told them I thought there might have been a burglary.’
‘And what made you think that?’
‘Because the night before I had seen someone behaving strangely in the garden.’
‘And do you see that person here today, Miss Dangerfield?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Would you be so good as to point them out to us?’
Winnie, pale and weak, flinched as Miss Dangerfield lifted her walking stick and wav
ed it at the dock. ‘That’s her,’ she bellowed. ‘Mrs Winifred Swanson.’
‘Thank you, Miss Dangerfield. Now tell us, at what time did you see her?’
‘It must have been between seven o’clock and seven twenty. I had finished my supper, and I had not yet turned on my radio-gramophone.’ She said the word ‘radio-gramophone’ with great relish, glad to boast to the court that she owned one. ‘I can be sure of the time. That night I listened in to a talk by Professor W. W. Watts on “The Origins of Life”. I have consulted the Radio Times. It began at seven twenty-five.’
‘And why do you say that the accused, Mrs Swanson, was behaving strangely?’
‘Because she was. It was pouring with rain, and she was running around with no hat on, shouting abuse and wailing.’
‘And what, exactly, was she saying?’
‘I couldn’t hear. The rain and the wind were too loud.’
‘But you said it was abuse.’
‘I could tell by the tone. And anyway, I know the kind of woman she is.’
‘Yes. I’ll come back to that. But first, could you tell us, had you seen Mrs Swanson near the Langfords’ house before?’
‘Many times. She was their cleaner. She came every day.’
‘And was it customary for her to behave in this manner?’
‘No, sir. But there had been some strange episodes lately.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Ever since the Langfords went away, I’d seen the accused and her son loitering around the house. On one occasion her son was trying to break in. On another he was climbing a tree in the garden. His mother was with him. I got the impression that they intended to burgle the property while it was empty.’
‘Did you inform the police?’
‘No, sir. Of course, now I wish I had.’
‘And on the night when Dr Langford died – did you actually see the accused enter the house?’
‘No, sir. It was dark and stormy. I did not have as good a view as usual.’
‘But in your opinion, could she have gone inside?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And did you see her leave?’
‘No. Obviously it was still dark, and the weather was bad, and as I said, from seven twenty-five onwards I was sitting down, listening to my radio-gramophone. I would not have been able to hear her. My radio-gramophone is a Lissenola New Era. That model is equipped with an extremely powerful loudspeaker.’
The lawyer stifled a smile. ‘So I believe, madam. Now, you said the house was empty. But as we know now, Dr Langford was at home. How long had the Langfords been away?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. They didn’t tell me they were going.’ She sounded rather put out about that. ‘I know they were still there on November the eleventh, because I saw Mr Bennett visit them in his big car.’
‘And when did Dr Langford return to the house?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You saw nothing to suggest he was back?’
‘No, sir – and I keep a good eye out.’
There were some more giggles from the public gallery. The lawyer hushed them with another question.
‘I’m sure you do, madam. Now, tell me this. During your observation of the house over the years, have you formed an opinion of the accused and her relationship with the Langfords?’
‘I dare say Mrs Langford treated her kindly. But I thought the accused got on rather better with Dr Langford. Lately I’d sometimes see them meeting and talking together, very early in the morning, outside the house. Dr Langford even gave that son of hers rides on his bicycle.’
‘Are you implying that the relationship between Mrs Swanson and her employer might have been too close?’
‘You might infer that, sir, if you choose to.’
Winnie wasn’t too sure what all this ‘imply’ and ‘infer’ stuff meant, but she could tell what Miss Dangerfield was suggesting, and she cried out, ‘No. That’s not true.’ But it was too late. Miss Dangerfield had managed to introduce an extra element into the case against her.
The lawyer followed it up. ‘Miss Dangerfield, in your long observation of the accused, have you noticed anything else about her character?’
‘Well, I know she works in a pub. Some way from our part of town.’
‘In a rough area?’
‘Indeed. And I know she can’t control her son. That time he was up a tree in the Langfords’ garden, she was there, shouting at him, but she didn’t seem able to make him come down.’
‘Could you hear what she was saying to him?’
‘No, I can’t quite recall. I believe my radio-gramophone may have been on at the time. But whatever she was saying, it wasn’t having any effect.’
Hutch sat in the public gallery, trying to be hopeful. Despite all the bad things Miss Dangerfield had said, as far as he could tell all she’d really proved was that Winnie was outside the doctor’s house on the fateful night. And how much notice would the court take of a sour spinster’s picture of Winnie’s character? If Miss Dangerfield was the only witness the police had against her, perhaps things weren’t as bad as they’d seemed.
But she wasn’t the only witness. Hamish Alexander Murray was called to the stand. It was the PE master from school, wearing a suit rather than his usual sports kit. The lawyer asked him to state his name, and then confirmed that he was a teacher, and that his facial injuries had been sustained in the war. Hutch could see why he was doing that – to make Murray sound like a hero so that his evidence would be more convincing.
‘Mr Murray,’ said the lawyer, ‘on the night of December the tenth – that is, the night before Dr Langford’s body was discovered – where were you?’
‘I was in the Black Horse public house, sir.’
‘And in the course of the evening, did you see the accused?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now let us be clear. She was not serving behind the bar?’
‘No, sir. She doesn’t work there. I believe Mrs Swanson works in an altogether different class of establishment. She came into the Black Horse for a drink.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘About seven thirty. Maybe seven forty-five.’
‘And you are sure this was on December the tenth?’
‘Yes, sir. It was the night of the storm. She was soaking wet when she arrived, rather bedraggled, and behaving strangely, I remember.’
‘And she was alone?’
‘Yes, sir. I noticed that. I’m sure everybody did. Not many respectable women go into pubs by themselves.’
‘Indeed,’ said the lawyer, hoping the magistrate would draw the obvious conclusion about Winnie’s character. ‘And how would you describe her demeanour?’
‘She looked distressed. Wild, I’d say. Her hair was all over the place, and she was covered in mud. She wouldn’t meet my eyes when I tried to say hello. I would say she was in a real state.’
‘A state? A state of shock?’
‘More agitation … as if something had just happened to her, or as if she had just done something exciting. Desperate, if you get my meaning. More like an animal than a human being.’
The public gallery took in a collective gulp of breath. The lawyer raised one eyebrow just a little, and carried on. ‘Did she speak to anyone else?’
‘Just to order a drink.’
‘An alcoholic drink?’
‘I believe so. Then she sat alone in the corner. She was trembling. I was surprised. You’d think she’d be at home, looking after her son. After all, there’s no man in the house.’
*
Hutch left the court. Even though it was early closing day, the evening papers had to be sorted and delivered. It was just as well that he had to go. He was seething at the picture of Winnie that was being painted, layer by layer; and he knew he should get away before he said something and landed himself in trouble. He wished he’d got to know Winnie better over the years; but she hadn’t lived in Stambleton before her marriage, and after Ha
rry Swanson’s death Hutch had been afraid of being too forward – of seeming too interested in a young war widow, new to town. Yet Hutch knew enough about Winnie and about her son to find it impossible to believe in her guilt. He could think of nothing he could do to help her, but he was determined to shield Johnny from the worst of the evidence, and from the public reaction to her plight.
Even so, when he got back to the shop and found Johnny outside waiting eagerly for news, he had to be honest. ‘You’ll have to be strong, son,’ he said. ‘It isn’t over yet. I don’t think your mother will be home for Christmas.’
Chapter 25
ALONE
Hutch was right. The court decided that Winnie should face a full trial at the end of January. Johnny knew that would bring more torture at school. He’d already been given a new nickname: ‘Swingson’, which constantly reminded him that his mother might hang. He couldn’t face new taunts, so he composed a letter from Auntie Ada, saying that ‘under the circumstances’ it might be appropriate for him to start the Christmas holidays a little early. The headmaster agreed, with relief.
So Johnny had some free time; but he wasn’t allowed to visit his mother, and anyway the prison was two bus rides away. Hutch said he would go next Tuesday, when he’d be closing at lunch time, because it would be Christmas Eve. He told Johnny to make Winnie a card, wishing her well. Hutch would take her a present: something nice to eat, from the shop. But there was the best part of a week to wait until then, and no more school for Johnny.
When Winnie was arrested, he had worried constantly that someone would find out he was living on his own; but far from being troubled by busybodies, Johnny was frozen out by the people of Stambleton. No one visited. Nobody came to their door when he delivered their newspapers. People crossed the street rather than stop and talk to him. He couldn’t tell whether it was embarrassment or contempt that made them do it. He could feel himself being stared at, but no one came near enough to insult him or sympathize. He didn’t want to talk to them either. He stopped playing in the street. Alone in the house, he’d lost the urge to keep busy by tidying up, and even before the hearing he had found himself writing out adverts again. He’d felt guilty at first, after his realization on that terrible night that they had been the cause of the trouble, but he just couldn’t stop himself; and he wanted to keep Auntie Ada alive so that he wouldn’t be taken away to a children’s home.
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