Death Waits for No Lady

by James Andrew

  ‘How could she do that?’ Janet said. ‘She’s an orphan.’

  Mary stared at Katy. ‘Are you? But I thought you said–’

  Katy looked into the middle distance and said nothing.

  ‘What have you been telling her?’ Janet asked Katy, who blushed and stayed silent. Then Janet turned to Mary. ‘Katy’s just the same as me. She was brought up in an orphanage and trained to service there. This is her life, same as it’s mine. She won’t be going anywhere, and neither will I.’

  At that moment, Katy spoke. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘They’re coming out.’ Janet and Mary looked in the direction Katy was now pointing, where they saw Blades and Peacock leaving the gardener’s cottage and striding towards the house.

  ‘They’ll be coming to ask us something next,’ Katy said.

  ‘It won’t do them any good,’ Mary said. ‘None of us knows anything.’

  ‘It won’t stop them asking,’ Janet said.

  Then, after a long pause, Katy added, ‘No. None of us knows anything.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘You’ve been watching everything,’ Blades said as he strode into the dining room and approached them.

  Three heads turned and gazed at him with guilty expressions.

  ‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘Anyone would be curious. And alarmed. I hope you’re not too distressed. There will be one policeman around here at least over the next few days guarding that crime scene till we’ve decided there’s no more to be gained from it. That’ll put any murderer off.’ Then Blades paused to give himself time to consider his words, which gave them more weight. ‘Though you do have to consider seriously whether there is a reason any of you might be at continuing risk. If you know anything about either crime you need to tell us. This isn’t a casual murderer. He killed both Evelyn Wright and Charlie Falconer for a reason.’

  Both Blades and Peacock did study them, but there was nothing to be read on any of the servants’ faces except bewilderment.

  ‘Though if he has nothing to fear from any of you, you probably have nothing to fear from him.’

  As there was still no answer from the women, Blades started making his questions more exact. ‘The doctor said he thought Charlie Falconer had been dead for about two hours. Did any of you see or hear anything suspicious or unusual about that time.’

  ‘About two o’clock?’ Janet said.

  ‘Approximately,’ Blades replied.

  ‘I was in my office,’ Janet said.

  ‘I was in the kitchen,’ Katy said.

  ‘And I was dusting upstairs about then,’ Mary said.

  ‘So, all three of you were in completely different areas of the house?’ Blades said.

  ‘You mean none of us has an alibi?’ Katy said.

  ‘You think one of us could have done that?’ Mary asked. ‘You don’t think that of us?’

  Blades gave them all as unreadable a look as possible. ‘We always consider every possibility,’ he said.

  Peacock smiled at Mary and his voice took on a kind tone. ‘However unlikely.’

  Mary smiled back and blushed.

  ‘Did you hear any movement in the house?’ Blades asked. As there was no reply, he continued. ‘Is it possible any of you could have left the house without the others knowing?’

  ‘No,’ Janet said quickly, followed by Katy. ‘I would have heard the servants’ door opening from where I was.’

  ‘And the front door?’

  Katy thought. ‘Right enough. Someone could have gone in or out that way.’

  ‘And you?’ Blades asked Mary. ‘Could you have heard anyone?’

  ‘They could have been going in and out all afternoon and I wouldn’t have heard a thing from where I was,’ Mary said. ‘Except I’m sure none of us did go out.’

  ‘You know that for certain? How?’ Blades asked.

  ‘None of us had a reason and I know what everyone’s like,’ Mary said. ‘And none of us would have gone out there to murder anyone.’

  ‘From the housekeeping office I would have heard anyone go in and out,’ Janet said.

  ‘Good,’ Blades said. ‘I’m glad to hear that. Now I’m going to ask you all to wait till Sergeant Peacock has the chance to see you all individually to take your statements.’

  But Blades was disappointed because he’d learned nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The interview Blades had with his Chief Constable was tricky.

  ‘Two dead so far. Three last time. And we still don’t know who was causing murderous mayhem on Birtleby beach. How many more bodies do you think there will be before you find this killer, if you do?’

  Blades took that to be a rhetorical question and said nothing, just sat there opposite his superior and wondered where he was going with this. Blades was not in the habit of squirming and did not like the way he was shifting about on that hard seat, apparently designed to be as uncomfortable as possible.

  Archie Moffat, Chief Constable of Yorkshire, banged his impressive fist on his desk and gave Blades a long perusal from particularly steely grey eyes. He did have a large head, Blades thought as it loomed in his direction from the huge body swelling out of Moffat’s uniform. Blades knew that in his youth Moffat had been athletic, a keen rugby player no less, but the impressive physique of the prop forward can run to fat without continued exercise and working behind an administrative desk did not provide a lot. But although there was a softness to Moffat’s body that would not have been there when he was a young man, his sheer size did lend him a formidable appearance, and Blades found it easier not to meet Moffat’s eyes when he was in a mood such as the one he was now in.

  ‘Walker was demoted the last time. I defended you for a reason I now forget.’

  He tapped a finger before continuing.

  ‘That was the worst advertisement for this force in memory and I had the embarrassment of it being on my watch. “Chaotic police force bungles again” was one of the least damaging headlines. I only just kept my job over that and God knows why you kept yours. I must have gone soft in the head.’

  Blades opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it. Perhaps this storm would blow itself out, though he doubted if it would happen quickly.

  ‘Why didn’t I call in Scotland Yard this time? After the last time I’d no faith in them but it would have been easier to defend if I had.’

  Blades thought he might venture a reply now. ‘I was flattered that you didn’t, sir, and grateful for the support you gave me over the last case.’

  ‘I should hope so too,’ Moffat thundered.

  Now he twirled his moustache.

  ‘My argument was that our force is now at full complement for the first time since the beginning of the war and that we have the men and the competence to deal with this. I was forlornly hoping for a feather in my cap.’

  And you’re also saving the force some money, was Blades’ thought. ‘We may catch him yet,’ he said.

  ‘It’s your job. You’re supposed to.’

  ‘I’m sure we will, sir.’

  Moffat looked down at the reports on the desk in front of him, and proceeded to leaf through them, grunting at regular intervals.

  ‘You’ve dismissed three suspects so far.’

  ‘Pulteney was hanged, sir, before we realised he hadn’t done it. We might have had egg on our faces but it was worse for him, so we have to be sure. We can’t make a mistake like that this time.’

  ‘Obviously not. But have you lost your nerve? Some people would think so. Why not Osgood?’

  ‘We can’t place him anywhere near the crime and his fingerprints don’t match. There’s no motive either. He gained nothing financially from Evelyn Wright’s death and he’s rich anyway as his bank statements show.’

  ‘And why not Renshaw?’

  ‘He’s guilty of fraud but not, we think, murder. He has a record for embezzlement and, when we checked with his bank, we discovered he’s in debt now. He’s been betting with bookies again,
which is why he’s been selling share certificates to a mine in Argentina, fraudulent ones, and we’re arresting him for it. But we’ve had no choice but to dismiss him from the murder inquiries.’

  ‘Why? He’s a good fit. He was involved with Evelyn Wright, he’s been placed in Birtleby with her on at least one occasion, and you may not have placed him there at the time of the murder but he has no alibi for it.’

  ‘His fingerprints don’t match those on the murder weapon.’

  Moffat glared at him as he pushed away the files in front of him and pondered before eventually snapping, ‘Would you be prepared to arrest anyone over this one or not?’

  ‘Of course, sir, but we need to observe due caution.’

  ‘We have to stop these crimes. How do we know there won’t be more deaths?’

  ‘We don’t,’ Blades admitted.

  ‘And what about this Digby character?’

  ‘Inconveniently for us, he has the wrong fingerprints too.’

  ‘A charlatan. I call him that because he acts out séances for a living. And he was a young man hanging about an older woman to see what he could get. Shell-shocked. Reliably documented as mentally unstable. And you dismissed him as a suspect too.’

  ‘The mistakes we made the last time made us murderers. I don’t want to repeat that.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a statement. Would it be easier if I took you off the case and did call in Scotland Yard?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I’m not sure about you, Blades. Your confidence is shot as far as I can see.’

  ‘I’m confident, sir.’

  ‘Or you may have gone soft. I don’t think it would be difficult for our murderer to talk his way out of things if he’s faced with you. I can see what these men are, smarm experts. If they can charm and chatter their way round women to get what they want, they might talk rings round you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that, sir. I see these men for what they are. I just have to make sure I don’t see them as worse than they are.’

  Moffat tapped his obese finger again if less energetically but, though some of the tension may have been raged out of him, he still showed concern.

  ‘How many women are there in that household?’

  ‘Three. There were four, but Margaret Falconer has gone to live with her sister. She’ll need support at a time like this and, in any case, she’s arthritic. She needs care. The three servants are still living in the house. That’s Janet the housekeeper, Katy the kitchen maid and Mary the chambermaid.’

  ‘There’s still a murderer at large there. You’ll need to provide protection. I know it will mean taking men off inquiries, but we can’t have any more women murdered.’

  ‘As you say, sir.’

  ‘And what is the course of the rest of your inquiries?’

  ‘With reports still coming in, there is a lot to follow up and confirm. And men are assigned to ask around for witnesses. We’ve also put out another press statement. More witnesses may come forward. The crime scene is still being searched for evidence.’

  ‘Cover every angle on this. I don’t want hit and miss policing, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  It was the end of the day and Blades had planned to go home by now but could not stop himself pacing about the grounds of Elmwood Hall, and Peacock had stayed with him. The body had been taken away but there was still a constable guarding the crime scene. There was also a constable at both the back and front of the house so that, if the killer returned, there was protection for the servants, but Blades still turned over possibilities in his mind. Would it be possible to gain entrance to the house unseen from anywhere? The windows had been checked and they were securely fastened. He had walked about and checked till he had even annoyed himself with this, though Peacock remained customarily restrained. Blades stopped his striding beside the centre bed where Charlie Falconer had met his end.

  ‘If Charlie saw something on the night of the murder, where would he have seen it from?’ Blades asked, continuing to sweep his eyes around him.

  ‘Charlie said he finished work at about half five, so it wouldn’t have been from the grounds.’

  ‘Unless he went out for some reason?’

  ‘Which his wife says he didn’t.’

  ‘Which she was unaware of. If he’d seen something from a window, he might have gone out to investigate. Otherwise, what is visible from the cottage windows?’

  Blades and Peacock walked over to the cottage, then turned and looked back towards the house.

  ‘Those trees and that hedge block any view of the road,’ Blades said. ‘They also block any sight of the drive up to the house but not the area directly in front of the main door or the servants’ entrance, so that he could have spotted someone entering or leaving.’

  ‘If that’s what happened why did he keep quiet about it?’

  ‘Someone he knew and felt loyalty to? One of the other servants?’ Blades said.

  ‘It could have been,’ Peacock agreed, ‘though he’d only been here a year, which is not long to build up quite that much loyalty.’ Then Peacock frowned. ‘Or not.’

  ‘This is the first indication it could have been someone in the house.’

  ‘Though it might not be something he saw. He might have heard someone say something,’ Peacock said. ‘It might have been someone who had some hold over him, which is why he didn’t speak to us about it. He might have been in debt or someone might have known something about him.’

  ‘Or perhaps he secretly disliked Miss Wright and was glad?’

  ‘That’s not how he came across when we interviewed him.’

  Blades and Peacock stared at the house, each now deep in his own thoughts. Then Blades spoke. ‘You were out at the Front. What was it like?’

  ‘The war? Why do you want to know about that, sir?’

  ‘Everybody who didn’t go has questions about it.’

  ‘Believe me, you were better off here. And you were doing an essential job. There would have been anarchy if no one had stayed behind to do any policing.’

  ‘How did you get through it?’

  ‘Get through it? That’s a good question. I didn’t expect to with all those bullets and shells flying around. I was lucky.’

  ‘A bullet hits you or it doesn’t. I know. But how did you will yourself to go on?’

  Peacock looked in Blades’ direction. ‘There wasn’t any choice.’

  ‘I suppose that would be right. All the same, I find you difficult in some ways.’

  ‘You do, sir? I’m sorry about that. I do my best with my work.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. You’re difficult to understand. You’re self-contained. You get on with your job no matter what, just do it competently without letting anything upset you, yet we deal with genuinely difficult things. Things always upset me.’

  ‘Things get to me too, sir. I just don’t see the point in moaning about them or letting myself be beaten. You asked me what it was like at the Front. It was hell, but you got on with the situation in hand. You didn’t let yourself dwell on emotional things. It didn’t help.’

  ‘I often wonder how I’d have managed out there.’

  ‘You’d have done all right, sir. You get on with things too.’

  ‘I wonder. This case is getting to me.’

  ‘We’ll solve it, sir. We’ll get him.’

  ‘You don’t every time. We’ve no glass to see into men’s souls and tell us who did the murder and who did not. Those Ridges murders got to me. I haven’t recovered from them, and here we are with another brutal murderer and no idea of who he is this time either.’

  ‘We’ll get him, sir. Just believe it. Then we might.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jean was staring at Blades as she waited for a reply. It was comfortable in their sitting room, their seats angled towards each other in front of the Victorian tile fireplace with its dark woo
d mantle. It was after their evening meal and, with their son Alex out at his scout movement, there was time to talk. Blades sipped tea from a china cup as his brows furrowed in thought. Jean had just asked him again if he would consider her father’s offer.

  This was familiar territory to Blades: how to react to the earnest importuning of Jean. He knew she had probably saved his life before by persuading him not to join up, or rescued him from permanent injury, both of which had been the lot of so many men at the Front, though, if it had been his duty to accept either fate, he did not think he would have minded. He did have to convince himself he had no regrets about yielding to Jean. At the time, she and her mother had been devastated by the death of Jean’s brother at the Somme; such had been Jean’s distress she’d been unable to concentrate on anything, and he’d been worried about her. Jean’s father, wanting to look out for his daughter, had put in his arguments too.

  Policing had been valuable work during the war and he hadn’t regretted playing his part in it. With so many men away, there were fewer to protect people’s homes and there had been the usual level of crime. Someone had to deal with it and provide an impression that there was something there to be feared if the law was broken, the police, the courts, and the prison system. Normal life had to continue despite the chaos on the continent. He had done his duty but part of him had yearned to be at the Front with the others. He knew how much men were needed out there.

  Now Jean was trying to persuade him to do something else he did not want to do: accept her father’s offer. Blades realised that it was a good one. He wanted his son-in-law to take on the management of one of his stores, of which he had four, all of which were prosperous, and it was work Blades might relish. There was another factor too. Jean’s brother Tom had been the only son, and both Jean and her father thought it would be good to keep the business in the family, which Blades could understand, but again it felt like he was being asked to take the coward’s way out.

  It was Jean who broke the silence. ‘I’m tired of seeing you worn down by that job. You work so hard and I’m sure you do well, but I don’t like to see you suffer the way you do.’