by J F Straker
‘I would rather not say,’ she answered primly. ‘William’s death is no reason to betray a confidence. The lady in question still has to be considered.’
He brushed her objection aside. ‘Was it Mrs Colling?’
Miss Justin made a little sweeping motion with her broom, as though she too were brushing something away. But as the name had been spoken there was no point in further prevarication, and she nodded stiffly.
‘And when you discussed the matter with Bright, was Mrs Colling’s name actually mentioned?’
‘No,’ she said, after a pause for thought. ‘No, I don’t believe it was. But of course we both knew to whom we were referring.’
She wondered at the brief smile that invaded his face.
‘Did you tell anyone, other than Miss Mytton, that Bright was visiting Mr Mace at his office yesterday?’ he asked.
She told him what she had already told Emily earlier that morning. But he did not appear to take much interest in her answer, and almost immediately switched to her own movements on the previous day.
‘Let’s start from where Colonel Gresham dropped you in Tanbury,’ he suggested. ‘Incidentally, where and when was that?’
‘In Wetherby Lane,’ she said. ‘The Colonel often parks his car there. A lot of people do; it’s quiet, and near the shops. And quite near the Royal George too; that’s where he was meeting his friend, you know. When? Well, I can’t say exactly, but I suppose it was about a quarter to five. Perhaps just a little earlier.’
‘And the shops close at five-thirty,’ he pointed out. ‘That didn’t give you much time for shopping, did it?’
‘No, it didn’t. The Colonel called for me later than I’d expected. But it didn’t matter, you see, because I’d only gone in to collect my car. I did some shopping, naturally, because it seemed a pity to waste a visit, and there were one or two things I wanted.’ She smiled at him. ‘There always are, aren’t there?’
He did not answer. Memory had suddenly placed a name that had seemed vaguely familiar.
‘Wetherby Lane. Aren’t Mr Mace’s offices in Wetherby Lane?’
‘Yes, they are. I suppose that’s another reason why the Colonel parked there. He was calling on Mr Mace, you know, before visiting his friend.’
The inspector did know. He said, ‘Ah, yes. And so did you, eh?’ He watched the faint flush creep up her sallow cheeks. ‘But not until after six-thirty, well past the time at which his office normally closes. Why was that?’
He almost barked the question at her. Miss Justin clutched the broom more tightly.
‘I — I don’t quite see what you’re driving at, Inspector,’ she said nervously.
‘I’m sorry. I just want to know why you waited a full hour after the shops had closed before visiting Mr Mace’s office. Particularly as you must have known he would probably have left by then.’
‘I — I had my reasons.’
‘I’m sure you had. May I know what they were?’
She hesitated so long that he thought she intended not to answer. But eventually she said, her voice almost a whisper, ‘William was going to be there at six o’clock, and I wanted to wait until after he’d gone. I hoped Mr Mace might tell me what he’d said.’
Pitt nodded. At another time her nervousness might have amused him; she was so obviously expecting him to frown on her inquisitiveness. But Authority was not pleased with him that morning; a telephone conversation with the Chief Constable had left him in no doubt about that. Nor had it left him in a mood to be easily amused.
‘So you parked your car outside the office and waited for Bright to leave,’ he said. ‘Is that it?’
‘Not right outside,’ she said, recovering some of her composure when it seemed that no censure was forthcoming. ‘I didn’t want William to see me. He might have thought I was spying on him.’
And such a thought, of course, was never further from your mind, reflected the inspector. ‘But you did see him?’ he asked. And, when she nodded, ‘What did he do when he came out?’
‘He didn’t do anything. I mean, he didn’t do anything unexpected. He just got on his bicycle and rode off.’
‘In which direction?’
‘Towards Castle Square. He’d have to go through the Square, you see, whichever way he was coming home.’
And that, thought Pitt savagely, leaves me where I started.
He stood for so long in silence that Miss Justin began to fidget. His eyes were fixed on her shoes, and she looked down at them too, wondering what was wrong. But they looked all right to her, and she shifted her grip on the broom and said nervously, ‘Is there anything else, Inspector?’
He lifted his eyes then.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I’m afraid I was day-dreaming. No, there’s nothing else, thank you. Unless — you didn’t happen to notice whether the Colonel’s car was still there when Bright left the office?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘But it had gone, of course, by the time I left. And it would, wouldn’t it? I mean, we know he was ahead of me on the way home. It was the Colonel who found poor William. Or had you forgotten that?’
‘No,’ he said, raising his hat as he turned to leave. ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’
*
George Colling sucked hard on his pipe. He was an infrequent and a wet pipe smoker, and it gurgled unpleasantly in protest.
‘If you’re so sure one of us killed Cluster, then why don’t you arrest us?’ he said, adopting a belligerent tone to conceal his nervousness.
Pitt sighed. ‘I’m not arresting you, Mr Colling, because I doubt if either you or your wife did kill him,’ he said patiently. ‘I thought I’d made that clear.’
‘But you said—’
‘I said the evidence was against you as it most certainly is. And as a police officer it’s my duty to act on evidence.’
George laid the pipe down on the mantelshelf. He had had enough of it.
‘All right, then. Why don’t you? That’s what I said.’
Pitt sighed again. ‘We’re going round in circles, aren’t we? I’m merely trying to give you one more opportunity to tell the truth. If you don’t wish to avail yourselves of it—’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you must take the consequences.’
‘And what does that mean?’ asked Gwen. ‘That you’re going to arrest us both?’
‘Perhaps. You’ve asked for it, haven’t you? If you’ve done nothing else you’ve certainly been as obstructive as you could be. And that’s a crime in itself. A serious one in this case.’
‘So what?’ George said. ‘You put yourself in our place, Inspector, with a charge of murder hanging over you. Suppose you knew something which would make the case against you even blacker if it came out. Would you tell the police?’
‘Not if I were guilty,’ Pitt said. ‘I would if I were innocent, or only casually involved. I hope I’d have the sense to realize that the more the police knew of the matter the better chance they’d have of finding the real culprit. It’d be in my own interest to help them. And that, it seems to me, is the position you and Mrs Colling are in now.’
They looked at each other, mistrust in their eyes. They could appreciate the force of his argument, but neither dared to succumb to it. Nor would they urge the other to do so. They were too uncertain, too far apart.
Pitt tried again, sensing their indecision.
‘Nothing you tell me now can be used in evidence. There are no witnesses and no record. If you want to deny it all later there’s nothing to stop you.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ George said. ‘But I’m damned sure you’d make use of it somehow.’
‘Of course I’d use it. But only as a basis for further investigation. And you know best how far that is likely to take me.’
Again there was silence. Then Gwen made up her mind.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I expect I’m a fool, but I’ll trust you.’ She eyed her husband scornfully. ‘It’ll be a relief to tell someone. I’m tired of keeping it to
myself.’
She waited for her husband’s protest. But George was silent. If Gwen wanted to talk that was her affair. She could not harm him, since he had told her nothing; nor would he have cared greatly if she could. He was too sick, too tired, to worry about himself. He had kept his stubborn silence to the police mainly because to break it would be to involve Gwen. Now she was about to involve herself.
He turned away and looked out of the window, afraid to watch her as she spoke. Yet he knew that what she had to say would affect them both. Their future together could depend on it.
‘Cluster and me were — were friends,’ she said. ‘My husband didn’t approve of our friendship, so we had to meet in secret. That wasn’t easy in a small village like this. But last week — I can’t remember which day it was — Missemily telephoned to say she’d want the car to take her to the station Sunday and fetch her back Monday morning; she’d be spending Sunday night in Town, she said.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I happened to mention this to Cluster, and he said why didn’t we borrow her cottage for the evening? It’d be easy enough to break in, he said. He’d fix that.
‘Well, I didn’t like it, but Cluster persuaded me.’ (Why, wondered George, does she always refer to the man by his surname? Did she call him ‘Cluster’ when they were together? Did she still think of him that way?) ‘So then I said there wasn’t any need to break in, as I knew where the key would be hidden. My husband had told me months back. But he mustn’t count on my coming, I said. It would depend on what George was doing that evening.’
‘Didn’t you know your husband was going to Market Lacing?’ Pitt asked.
‘Not then.’
The interruption seemed to disturb her train of thought. She sat at the table, leaning forward, staring unhappily at her clasped hands. Pitt waited patiently. She would go on when she was ready.
‘We’d arranged to meet at Missemily’s at half-past nine,’ she said presently, still staring at her hands. ‘But George didn’t leave until later than I’d expected, and it was after a quarter to ten by the time I reached the gates. And I hadn’t gone more than a few yards up the drive when the lights of a car were suddenly switched on at the far end, and began to swing round towards me.’
She hunched her shoulders and shivered at the memory.
‘I was scared. I just ducked into the bushes and hid there. Even after the car had passed I was too frightened to move for a while. I no longer wanted to go to the cottage, I wanted to get back here as fast as I could. But whoever it was in the car it wasn’t Cluster; he didn’t own a car. I knew he’d still be at the cottage; and if he’d had a few drinks, and I didn’t turn up, as like as not he’d come on here to see what was keeping me. And I didn’t want that.
‘So I went on up the drive, wondering if Cluster had been seen by whoever was in the car — and if so, what had happened. The cottage was in darkness, as I’d expected; but the front door was open and the key in the lock. Cluster must have opened the door, but I wondered why the visitor hadn’t closed it. It seemed odd, leaving it open. Perhaps he was coming back, I thought; and that scared me good and proper. It was quite a while before I could force myself to go into the cottage. I was afraid of being caught there with Cluster.
‘We’d fixed to meet upstairs, in Missemily’s bedroom. Cluster hated Missemily, and he said it would make him feel good to sit on her bed and think how wild she’d be if she knew. I’d never been in the cottage before, but I didn’t switch on any lights for fear someone might see them. I used my torch.
‘Cluster was lying on the bed, an eiderdown over him and his back towards me. The room stank of whisky, and I guessed he’d had a skinful and fallen asleep waiting for me. But I didn’t want to hang about; the sooner I was away from the cottage the better I’d like it. I pulled the eiderdown off to wake him and — and there was the knife.’ She unclasped her hands and put them over her eyes, as though trying to shut out the memory. ‘I could see the handle sticking out of his back and — and the blood.’
Pitt said nothing. George turned to look at her, and winced at the sight of her misery. He put out a hand to touch her bowed head, and then withdrew it. She was out of his reach, both physically and metaphorically.
Gwen took her hands away from her face and looked beseechingly at the inspector. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears.
‘That’s how it was,’ she said hoarsely, and gulped. ‘It wasn’t me who killed him, he was dead when I got there. But I know no one would believe me. Why should they? Do you?’
Pitt did not answer that. He said. ‘Did you tell your husband?’
‘No. He wouldn’t have believed me either.’
George opened his mouth to deny this, and then shut it without speaking. Would he have believed her? Pitt said, ‘What did you do then?’
‘I came home. I didn’t touch anything and I didn’t see anyone. A car passed me in Tithe Lane, but that was all. I was here when my husband got home.’
‘At half-past ten,’ the inspector said thoughtfully. He turned to the man. ‘Anything to say, Mr Colling? I take it we can now forget the library book. Since your wife had gone out to meet Cluster, obviously she wouldn’t have asked you to return it. So what were you up to?’
‘I was looking for my wife.’
‘And you didn’t find her, eh?’
‘No, I didn’t. Not until I got home. I didn’t see Cluster, either.’
‘You told me before that you came down Tithe Lane. Did you see anyone there?’
‘No. Oh, yes. A chap named Stolpe. He works for Missemily.’
‘Whereabouts in Tithe Lane?’
‘Just this side of the Hall gates. He was probably going home.’
Pitt turned to the woman. ‘The car that passed you in the drive, Mrs Colling. Could you describe it?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d turned my face away. I thought the bushes mightn’t be thick enough to hide me.’
‘Did it turn right or left out of the gates?’
She tried hard to remember. But from the moment the lights had swept past her she had not given the car another thought. She had been concerned only with Cluster and the cottage.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Pitt stared at her. He doesn’t believe me, she thought despairingly. I should have kept my mouth shut.
For a while there was silence in the room. George turned from the window and, after a quick look at his wife, began to drum nervously on the table with his fingers. After a few seconds Gwen said sharply, ‘Stop it, George, for Heaven’s sake!’
Pitt said smoothly, ‘Let’s turn to Wednesday now, shall we? William Bright was killed between six-thirty and seven-twenty that evening. Where were you during that time, Mr Colling?’
‘I was out on a job. But I didn’t use that road and I didn’t see Bright. What’s more, I—’
He stopped. Both he and Pitt had heard the sudden gasp from the woman. One hand to her mouth, she was staring wide-eyed at the inspector.
‘Bright!’ She whispered the name. ‘Bright was there that evening. I’d forgotten.’
‘At the cottage?’
She shook her head. ‘In the drive. I passed him as I was coming home.’
‘Did he speak to you?’
‘Just good-evening, or something like that. I was in such a panic I didn’t pay any attention. But afterwards—’
‘Afterwards,’ said Pitt, as she paused, ‘you began to wonder if he’d killed Cluster; or, if he hadn’t, whether he’d tell the police that you were there. Is that it?’
Yes, she said, that was it. And it was the second of the alternatives that frightened her the more. All that night and the next day she had waited in fear for something to happen, not knowing what it might be but sure that it would threaten danger in some form. And then, on the Monday evening, Bright had come to see her. He hadn’t killed Cluster, he said, and wasn’t particularly interested in who had; all that concerned him was to keep his name out of it. He thought she
probably had the same idea, in which case they could do a deal.
‘To which you willingly agreed, eh?’ Pitt said. ‘Did you believe him when he said he hadn’t killed Cluster?’
‘I think so,’ she said hesitantly. ‘He seemed very sure of himself. Not at all upset, as I’d have expected him to be.’
Pitt did not stay long after that. George went down with him to the garage; when he came back Gwen was still sitting at the table. He limped across to the window, and, with his back to the room, said, ‘There was nothing between you and Bright, then?’
‘I told you before there wasn’t.’ She dragged herself wearily from the chair and went to peer at her face in the mirror above the fireplace, grimacing at what she saw there. ‘If it hadn’t been for Missemily you’d never have thought there was. It’s time that old woman took to minding her own business.’
‘I suppose in a way it is her own business,’ he said.
Some of the hardness had gone from his voice. It was a relief to know that Bright at least had been an unnecessary torment in his mind. Only Cluster remained. And Cluster had been there quite a while.
He went to stand behind her, watching in the mirror as she applied lipstick and powder. ‘Just how far did this affair with Cluster go?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Now we’ve started we may as well finish.’
She did not resent the question. It was something that had to be settled, and after the unhappiness and fear and suspicion of the past week she welcomed the opportunity to ease the tension that had arisen between them. He might not like what she had to say, but if they were to have a future together she had to say it. Despite her selfishness, she knew that it would be useless to build on a lie.
‘Not far,’ she said, snapping her compact shut. ‘Not in the way you mean. But further than you’d have liked, I suppose.’
‘That wouldn’t be difficult.’ He wondered if she could hear his heart thumping. ‘But go on.’
‘He was good-looking, of course,’ she said, plucking at her skirt so that the pleats fell more evenly. ‘And he knew how to make a woman feel like a woman. But I didn’t really like him. I certainly didn’t love him; half the time I was scared stiff of him. But that was what made it exciting; that, and slipping out to meet him in secret. It helped to relieve the monotony.’ She half turned, and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes to see how he was taking it. His face was drawn, but expressionless. ‘And it is monotonous here, George. You must admit that.’
