Lonely Road Murder

by Fearn, John Russell

  “Tea and toast?” He laughed. “The diet round here is rather monotonous but as you insist…”

  I tried to curb my curiosity as to what he was planning to do with his free time, but it was too much for me. Pouring him out a cup of tea and rising to fetch another cup for myself, I asked casually: “Going somewhere special?”

  Bob shook his head and sat silently gazing at the table then apparently making up his mind he answered: “We’re all in a devil of a situation. As far as I can see the police haven’t got a thing to go on. They thought John killed Mary, and now that he’s been killed too, they’re stuck with the case. Something’s got to be done, and quickly.”

  “Well, you can’t do anything,” I interposed rudely.

  “Perhaps not, but I’m going to have a try!”

  “What do you mean — a try?”

  “I got on to Inspector Nevil this morning and told him some cock-a-hoop story about leaving a book I needed in John’s room. He said it would be O.K. for me to fetch it. The constable gave me the padlock key — apparently he’s going. They’ve finished in there now, so I can go ahead.”

  “But what’s the point of it all?”

  “I’m going to search the place myself.

  “I’ve tried to remember everything John said the night he slept in my flat. That could be a help, anyway. I might stumble on something they’ve overlooked.”

  He lit a cigarette and gazed rather defiantly at me. The more I thought about his plan, the more it appealed to me. Detective stories have always been my weakness, and here we were, living out a real life thriller. I grabbed my chance and said eagerly. “Oh Bob, let me come with you. I’m sure I could help. After all, I was the last one to talk to them both.”

  He shook his head decisively. “No, you keep out of this. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now, I might have known you’d start interfering and getting wild ideas.”

  “I’m not keeping out, and it’s no use you trying to make me. I’m coming, and if you say “No” again, I’ll phone the inspector and tell him what you’re up to!”

  We argued back and forth for the next half hour, but my continual browbeating, and threats finally wore him down, and very reluctantly he agreed to let me help. The point was, I hung over the banisters, reported that the policeman was not in sight, and proposed we commence operations at once.

  We went quietly downstairs. My heart was pounding with excitement as I watched Bob insert the key, and the padlock clicked open. He put them both in his pocket, and we slipped into the room, shutting the door and wedging it with a chair. Thus secured, against surprise, we looked at each other rather helplessly, at a loss where to begin. Bob settled the matter. “You take the kitchen Rosie, and I’ll look around here to start with.”

  The kitchen had a very innocent appearance, there seemed nothing capable of being construed as the smallest clue. The larder was as good a place to begin as anywhere, so I opened it cautiously, and peered inside. It was well stocked, with tins and packet foods, but there was obviously nothing of any value to our search. I closed it, and turned my attention to the rest of the furniture. A cream painted rubbish bin caught my eye. It stood under the sink, and pulling it out, I poked at the contents. A few empty tins, some stale bread, and vegetable peelings wrapped in paper. Again a blank. I was just going to push it back, when I noticed two buttons lying at the side of one of the tins. Excitedly I picked them out and called for Bob. “Look,” I said proudly. “A man’s coat buttons. Do you think they belong to the murderer? Perhaps Mary pulled them off in the struggle.”

  He was sceptical. “I can’t see any self-respecting murderer carefully putting his buttons in the rubbish bin, my pet. They’re probably John’s thrown away for some reason.”

  He went back into the living room and I slipped the buttons absently into my pocket and continued to search. No clues appeared and I was just gazing disconsolately into the larder again, when a shout from Bob sent me tearing eagerly into the other room.

  “What is it? What is it? Have you got something?”

  “I think I have!” He held up a half smoked cigar stub. “Look at the band.”

  I took it from him gingerly, and examined the band. It was gold embossed with the letters “B.C.” in blue.

  “Blue Cellar”! The name of the club where they worked, and John never smoked a cigar in his life, he hated the things!”

  I gazed back at him joyfully. “Where did you find it?”

  “Under the waste paper basket. They must have missed it last night.”

  Greatly elated, we decided to retire with our prize and talk over the next move upstairs. Back in my flat, Bob put the evidence in an envelope, and carefully sealed and pocketed it. Then we got down to business. There was no doubt in either of our minds as to the ownership of that cigar butt. It was Les Roberts. The man John and Mary had quarrelled over. Bob stated the facts one by one, and I couldn’t help thinking, how like Inspector Nevil he sounded.

  “Let’s just suppose that Mary was involved with this man. Perhaps the quarrel she mentioned was really because John had found out. We can imagine his state of mind, and that evening, if our supposition is correct, he would certainly have tackled Les Roberts about it. These bandleaders get plenty of rests between numbers. They never play right through the evening, non-stop. Roberts could have slipped away, to see Mary and discuss things. Women are funny. Perhaps she’d changed her mind and didn’t want anything more to do with him. They quarrelled and he lost control and killed her. Right. He’d hurry back, probably no one had even missed him, and carry on as if nothing had happened. When the police questioned him he got frightened, and in an effort to put the blame on John he drugged and gassed him. He wouldn’t think of an autopsy giving him away.”

  He paused for breath, leaving me quite awestruck at his reasoning. It all fitted, every little item dovetailed neatly into place. The Inspector’s words drifted across my mind: “Anything, however trivial — get in touch with me”. Hesitantly, I murmured. “Shouldn’t we tell the police, Bob?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. We’ve got to have more to go on. We can’t go charging into the Police Station, and accuse someone on the strength of a half smoked cigar. No, I think I’ll take a look at this Mr. Roberts tonight.”

  “You mean you’re going to the “Blue Cellar”? I’m coming too, Bob! I’m not being left out of it now!”

  “I don’t suppose it’s of any use trying to stop you, and it will seem more natural if we go together. They’ll think we’re just another couple out for the evening.”

  He glanced at the clock. “I’d better be on my way to the office. See you tonight, then. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.” He wheeled round abruptly in the doorway. “And Rosie, don’t discuss this with outsiders. We can’t be too careful.”

  In the afternoon the rain cleared up. I had to do something to take my mind off the coming evening so I went shopping. Too excited to bother about cooking food, I had a combined lunch and tea at the corner cafe and hung around willing the time to pass Finally, my patience gave out and I hurried home.

  Needless to say, I was ready long before eight. I read a novel, smoked endless cigarettes, and could settle to nothing. Bob must have been equally worked up, because he arrived a quarter of an hour early and made no comment on the fact that I too, was ahead of schedule.

  We hailed a taxi and directed it to the Blue Cellar. I grasped Bob’s arm in a convulsive attempt to steady myself, and even his voice was a little strained as he said: “For heaven’s sake control yourself Rosie, or you’ll give the game away in the first five minutes.”

  “No, I won’t. I’m as cool as a cucumber really.” He gave me a sceptical glance, and I rushed on: “Have you ever been there before?”

  “No but I can imagine what it will be like.”

  “What?”

  “Shockingly expensive!” He grinned comically and before I could reply, the taxi pulled up with a grinding of brakes.

  “Here we are Sir. T
he Blue Cellar,” the driver announced. I don’t know what his thoughts were, but he leered at me in a particularly suggestive way. I returned the leer with an expression of haughty disdain, and climbed out in my most dignified manner.

  I left Bob and put my coat in the cloakroom. Normally, I would have spent time on my appearance, but tonight I gave my nose a brief powdering and left it at that. He was waiting by the door and a few minutes later, we were seated in a little “trough” affair at the side of the floor facing the band. I glanced around me curiously. It was a very small place. Oblong in shape, with about twenty tables jutting out from the walls, each hidden from the other by a low partition. The lighting was provided by imitation candles set in amber coloured bottles on the tables, and discreetly shaded sidelights. The walls were pale blue merging into a deep midnight ceiling, dotted with silver stars. It was uncommonly like a cellar but the effect was rather bizarre.

  Although we were early, there was quite a few couples dancing, and the air was already thick with smoke. A waiter glided up for our order and Bob said. “Let’s dance to this one, then we can get a good look at the band.”

  It was a slow foxtrot and I was pleasantly surprised to find Bob an excellent partner. We drifted gently to the music for a bit and then began to move in the direction of a raised platform at the end of the room, where Les Roberts and his band beat out the rhythm.

  He was a tall man, with black hair, thickly oiled and a small moustache. He laughed and joked with his “boys” and occasionally called out a greeting to someone he recognized on the dance floor. A very attractive man, with an easy smooth charm. I began to understand John’s jealousy. Quiet and retiring, he would have been no match for match for such vitality.

  The music stopped with a prolonged roll on the drums and we went back to our table. “Well? What do you think of him?” I queried, accepting a cigarette.

  Bob shrugged. “Bit of a dago. Not much good I should say.”

  “Are you going to talk to him?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I don’t see how I can yet. Perhaps there’ll be a chance later on. Oh, good. Here comes our soup.”

  The evening wore on. The air got thicker and thicker, and the music louder, and more insistent. We danced a lot, and after a few drinks, the tension went and I relaxed and quite enjoyed myself.

  We were sitting smoking and talking in low tones, when a waiter suddenly appeared at Bob’s elbow and murmured something. I saw Bob’s eyes flicker and he said: “Certainly. Tell him to come over and have a drink with us.”

  “Who?” I hissed. “Who’s coming over?” He was excited. “Les Roberts just asked if we’d mind if he joined us for a few minutes!”

  CHAPTER VI

  DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS

  Raising my eyes, I saw the figure of the bandleader coming towards us. I gripped my hands together tightly beneath the table and waited.

  Bob stood up as he approached, and motioned him to a seat. “This is an unexpected pleasure Mr. Roberts. Will you have a drink?” He signalled to the waiter.

  Les Roberts’ face was very white. “Forgive me if I’m intruding,” he said stiffly, “but I recognized you as friends of Mrs. Francis. I’ve seen you both at the flats from time to time.”

  This was news to me, but I said nothing. He went on speaking. “I’m glad you came. I want to hear everything. Mr. and Mrs. Francis were old friends of mine. I can hardly realize that they’re both dead — so cruelly dead. If there’s anything I can do, any help I can give, please tell me.” Bob had listened quietly to this, but he made no comment. There was a strained pause and Roberts continued: “What I mean is, you’ve both seen the police since John’s death. You know how things are going, whom they suspect…” His voice trailed off.

  Bob answered very levelly. “We know nothing Mr. Roberts. The police aren’t exactly communicative, and I suppose in a way, everyone connected with the case is suspect.”

  The waiter brought along the drinks then. Les Roberts drained his glass at a gulp and sat playing nervously with the glass. “I believe they think I did it,” he burst out suddenly.

  I felt a sudden pity for him. “You mustn’t think that. We all feel that the police are concentrating on us personally.”

  He smiled faintly. “But not everyone had my motive.” Bob and I stiffened slightly, and he smiled again, half mockingly. “Oh yes, I had a motive. I was in love with Mary. Been in love with her for years.” He fumbled for a cigarette and I saw how his hands shook.

  Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he went on sombrely: “She knew it of course, so did John. I might have stood a chance, but for him. She liked me, I’m sure of that. The boys used to tease him about us. It was common knowledge — ”

  Bob shifted uncomfortably, but his voice was kind. “That’s no reason for killing them both. Besides, you’ve got a fool-proof alibi. You were here all the time, in full view of about fifty people. I shouldn’t worry.”

  “I went back to my flat that night, to get one of the numbers. I was only twenty minutes but long enough. So there goes my alibi.”

  “What did the police say to that?”

  “I haven’t told them yet. Don’t know why I’m telling you. I must get over to the band. Here’s my phone number. I’d appreciate it, if you’d let me know how things are going. I hope you have a pleasant evening. Goodnight.”

  Bob whistled softly under his breath as we watched Les Roberts walk away. “Well, what do you make of that, Rosie?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He seemed to be telling the truth, didn’t he?”

  Bob agreed. “Funny to trust complete strangers like that. If he wanted to keep it from the police you’d think he’d be more careful.”

  We sat talking, and as the band struck up a waltz, Bob said: “Come on pet, one more dance, and we’ll get out of this place, eh?” They had lowered the lights and we drifted slowly round to the music. I thought of Stephen. How gaily he and I had danced, that Saturday night, never dreaming of the terrible events to come.

  We passed the music dais, where a young girl was crooning softly down the mike and I thought of Mary. How lovely she must have looked up there, singing. And smiling her slanting smile.

  The music stopped with the inevitable drum-roll, and I came out of my reverie as Bob piloted me back to the table. We were both weary of the Blue Cellar, and I retired to the cloakroom to collect my things. When I came back, I found Bob talking to a man around his own age.

  “This is Michael Gerrard,” Bob introduced, as I came up and the man glanced at me. “We once did the same College course — quite a few years ago, now.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said guardedly.

  “We haven’t seen each other since College days,” Bob said.

  “Thought I saw you here last week, old man,” Michael Gerrard observed. “Only I wasn’t quite sure then, so didn’t introduce myself.”

  “Me? Lord, no. I’ve never been here before tonight.”

  “Must have made a mistake.” Thereafter conversation languished, and we exchanged farewells and left.

  *

  As we returned to the flats and climbed the stairs, Elly’s door opened and she called out: “Oh, there you are at last. That wretched Inspector Nevil has been here and I’ve had all the questions to myself!”

  She had some coffee waiting, but Bob wouldn’t stop long; he said he had some writing or something to do. So I thanked him for a pleasant evening and said goodnight.

  The Inspector had reported nothing new. He had just dropped in to see if all was well. I giggled at Elly. “I’ll bet he came round for some of that home cooking you were telling him about.”

  She chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He certainly did full justice to my curry.”

  “There — what did I tell you?”

  She looked pleased and stirred her coffee. “I’m glad to see you’re taking my advice, Rosemary.”

  “What advice?”

  “About Bob.”

  �
��Bob? Oh, you old matchmaker! There’s nothing like that about it. We were doing a bit of sleuthing!” I told her all about our search that morning, and the cigar with the blue band. “So we decided to investigate and see Les Roberts for ourselves,” I finished.

  Elly was very interested. “What was he like?”

  I thought for a moment. “I can’t quite make my mind up about him. He admitted being in love with Mary. He hinted that with John out of the way he’d have stood a chance. He even told us that he’d lied to the police about leaving the club that night she was murdered, yet somehow I liked him. I felt sorry for him in a way.”

  Elly pursed her lips. “Why should he tell you all that? He might know you’d have to tell the police if they questioned you about him.”

  Again I was stumped. “I think he needed to tell someone,” I said rather lamely.

  “Hmph. He sounds a very suspicious character to me. You ought to be more careful. The Inspector was very insistent on that point, and he warned us all,” she said.

  “I know. I said that to Bob, but he wouldn’t let me phone this morning. He thought we’d look a couple of fools if we went down to the station with nothing more than a cigar butt as evidence.”

  “Well, I shall speak to Bob. If he wants to get killed off I don’t, and I’m sure to get drawn into it, one way or another.” She sighed and I smiled to myself. It was so true. Poor Elly got involved in everything without lifting a finger.

  We began to clear up. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “I nearly forgot, child. Your young man phoned up this evening.”

  “Stephen! You didn’t tell him where I was?”

  “How could I? I didn’t know myself. I simply said you were out and would he call tomorrow or leave a message.”

  I breathed again. “Did he leave any message?”

  She eyed me archly. “Just his love. Isn’t that enough?”

  I hugged her, nearly dropping the sugar basin, and gulped: “Quite enough, thank you, Elly darling.”

  Elly teased me a lot after that, and when we had finished the washing up, said it was high time I was in bed. She stood in her open doorway and watched me safely inside.