'That was it, really. I lashed out with my left and caught him on the chin. He went staggering backwards, then, recovering himself, started to run towards the pub, shouting over his shoulder that I was mad. There's not a proper access there, not much more than a gap in the hedge, but the grass was flattened, so it must be fairly well used.
'I went after him, because I was still determined to get compensation. I caught up with him just as he reached the gap and grabbed his arm, swinging him round, but he shook me off, laughing in my face.
'"God, the way you're carrying on, anyone would think you fancied her yourself! Is that what's eating you? Did I spoil a cosy little arrangement you had with your nympho sister?"'
Knowles broke off and leant forward, his head in his hands. The detectives didn't hurry him. Finally he looked up, his eyes bleary and inward-looking.
'I just – lost it. I'd forgotten I was still holding the torch, but suddenly I was bringing it down on his head with all the strength I could muster. And, not surprisingly, he went down.'
Knowles was breathing laboriously, as though reliving his attack on Philpott. 'I waited for a minute to see if he'd get up, but he didn't. I couldn't leave him where he was, blocking the entrance, so I pulled him further into the car park, between two of the cars. I think I thought someone would find him before long, and give him any help he needed. I was damned if I was going to help him myself, but I swear to God it never occurred to me I'd killed him. I didn't find that out until the news broke the next day.'
He gave a short, bitter laugh. 'By merciful providence, I'd been wearing gloves; not for any sinister purpose, but simply because it was a bloody cold evening. Mind you, no one so much as approached me during the inquiry. Why should they? Philpott's public reputation worked against him, and his death was depicted, at least in the press, as a motiveless crime – an innocent man lured to his death, and not even robbed. Which, I need hardly say, suited me just fine.'
He reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a long drink. Webb didn't blame him. It was close in the small room, despite the high, open window, and the first rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Webb shifted on his seat. 'How did you feel when Judd's death was linked with Philpott's?'
Knowles shrugged. 'The similarity was a bit unnerving, and naturally I wasn't happy about the revival of interest in Philpott. Still, since I'd had nothing whatever to do with Judd, I reasoned I wasn't in any more danger than I'd been before.'
'Until Mr Mace began airing his theories?' Webb asked, remembering Harry Good.
'That, I admit, put the fear of God into me. He'd really got his teeth into the case and he's an astute old so-and-so. I knew if he came up with anything, the police would take notice. They'd go back to Philpott's firm and start digging deeper.'
'So you tried to stop him?'
Knowles wasn't meeting his eye. 'I wasn't really thinking straight, but it seemed if I could just get hold of his notes, I'd have a clearer idea where I stood. But the desk drawer was locked and I couldn't break it, and I didn't dare hang around any longer.'
'So you waited outside till he walked his dog?' Webb persisted.
'I knew he took it out at nine-thirty every evening.'
Ferris leaned forward. 'How did you know?'
Knowles flushed. 'His daughter mentioned it once.'
Webb wondered at the heightened colour, but didn't comment on it. 'Did she also mention the route?'
'Yes, she said whenever she took Goldie out, he wanted to go the way her father took him, down to the canal and home round the block.'
'So you were friendly with Mr Mace's daughter, but had no compunction about attempting to murder her father?'
This time, colour flooded his face. 'All right, Chief Inspector, you can't despise me any more than I do myself. I've no regrets about Philpott, but I'd give anything to take back what happened to old Frederick. Thank God he survived.
'In my defence, though you mightn't believe me, it was my mother and sister I was most worried about. My mother's dying and I couldn't let her find out everything right at the end like this.'
He looked up, beseechingly. 'Is there any way of keeping it quiet, just for a day or two?'
'I'm afraid not, sir, but if your mother's as ill as you say, it should be easy enough to keep it from her.'
'But I have to see her. I've been going in twice a day, and if I don't –'
'It's out of our hands, I'm afraid.'
And that, Webb thought, whatever sentence the court might impose, would be Knowles's real punishment.
'So it wasn't the assistant, after all?' Crombie commented, some days later.
'No; he had simply slipped and fallen, as his landlady said. What's more, it was just outside the cinema, so there were plenty of witnesses, including,' Webb added meaningfully, 'a young lady who'd been to the cinema with him.'
'Ah-hah!'
'Quite so; he's not gay at all. That was simply uninformed gossip about a reserved young man who kept himself to himself.'
'Just goes to show,' said Crombie enigmatically.
If anything, Gillian was more concerned about Alex than Sonia. The latter was proving surprisingly strong; Mrs Knowles had died the day of Patrick's arrest, and Sonia had been left to deal with everything, including her distraught sister-in-law.
'Now that I know what was wrong with her, it's much easier to handle,' Sonia told her. 'Would you believe, neither Patrick nor Sybil had dared mention it to her in all this time? If I can get her to talk about it. I'm sure she'll be much better, and of course I can stress she's not the first or the last to have gone through this.
'Another thing, she's never worked since, just moped around the house all day being pampered by her mother, which gave her far too much time to think, and feel sorry for herself. I'm determined to ease her back into a job.'
Sonia'd smiled. 'This may all sound very altruistic, but I admit to an ulterior motive. I want her to have sufficient confidence to stay on in the cottage. It's not far away, after all, and when Patrick comes out of prison, I want to have him all to myself.'
Gillian suspected that this positive attitude came from the fact that Patrick was leaning on his wife so heavily, needing her now as he'd shown little sign of doing before.
Informed opinion was that his sentence on the murder charge might not be too severe, taking into account provocation and lack of premeditation – always providing his story was accepted. How he'd be dealt with regarding the attempted murder, Gillian didn't know, but she herself could never forgive him. It said a lot for the strength of her friendship with Sonia that it was surviving under such adverse conditions.
Alex, though, was another matter. Consumed as she was with guilt and horror, there was little Gillian could say to help her.
'And to think he tried to kill Pop, of all people – and that I unwittingly helped him! If I hadn't mentioned about Goldie –'
'- he'd simply have waited till Pop came out,' Gillian said firmly. 'It's no use torturing yourself like this, Alex. Anyway, thank God he's as good as new again.'
She studied her sister's downcast face. 'How do you explain all this heart-searching and remorse to Roy? He must have noticed it.'
'He's being very considerate,' Alex said quietly. 'I don't know how much he suspects; do you think I should tell him?'
'Not yet, and certainly not just to salve your conscience; that would do more harm than good. For all we know, the possibility of an affair might never have entered his head, and it would be pointless to hurt him unnecessarily.'
'I know you think I've been a fool,' Alex said, 'and you're right. But I'll make it up to him, I promise I will. I've learned my lesson.'
Which, Gillian acknowledged to herself, was at least something.
'Chief Inspector!' Edwina looked at Webb in surprise.
He smiled wryly. 'I suppose you thought you'd seen the last of me. This isn't an official visit, though.'
'It's nice to see you. Come t
hrough; we're in the garden.'
He followed her through the hall and large, homely kitchen and out of the back door. Frederick Mace, resplendent in a Panama hat, was seated in a deck chair under an apple tree.
'Good to see you home again, sir,' Webb greeted him, taking the hand the old man held out.
'Thank you. Sit down, sit down – Edwina's bringing out some lemonade. Yes, I had a lucky escape. It's hard to believe Sonia's chap was behind it. I never really took to him – didn't think he was good enough for her – but I never suspected he was a killer.’ Mace shook his head sadly.
'So even you aren't infallible!' Webb commented.
The old man smiled. ‘Touché. Chief Inspector.' He paused, shooting Webb a calculating look from his keen grey eyes. 'Am I right in thinking you had your sights set on Paul Blake?'
'So much for my subtle approach! Only in passing, really, but I noticed you seemed surprised to hear he'd lived in Oxbury.'
'So I was, till I thought about it, but there'd really been no reason to mention it. He left before the murder, and in any case we never discussed his personal life. That, at least, has been rectified to some extent.'
Oh?'
Mace ignored the implied question. 'Was that your only reason for suspecting him, apart from the size of his feet?'
Webb hesitated. 'Not quite, sir. I suspected – quite wrongly, as it turned out – that he might have been gay.'
Frederick Mace leant back in his chair. 'Now that is interesting. Why was that?'
'Just an off-the-cuff remark by his parents' next-door neighbour.' Webb paused. 'Why is it interesting?'
Mrs Mace had rejoined them, and her husband waited while she passed round the glasses of lemonade and seated herself. Then he settled back in his chair.
'You know, of course, that along with Philpott's womanizing, I passed on the information that he had strong prejudices against homosexuals?'
Webb nodded.
'Well, I didn't put too much emphasis on it at the time; I was too busy congratulating myself that my suspicions of his being a ladies' man had been confirmed. However, when we left the Bradburns and I decided to go straight on to Oxbury, Paul did his best to dissuade me. I thought it was the long drive he was objecting to, but the following week he visited me in hospital, and when I suggested he went back there, he refused point-blank – said he couldn't fit it in, or some such excuse.
'I was astonished; he'd always agreed to my requests before, and I didn't know what to make of it. We parted, I'm afraid, on rather strained terms. To my relief, though, he returned later that day, saying he wanted to set the matter straight, but before he could do so, you arrived on the scene.'
'And waded in with my size elevens,' Webb said ruefully.
'Which, of course, ruffled him even more, but when you'd gone, I got the full story. It seems that although Paul was never homosexual, one of his friends was. This Charles had been at school with him, where he'd repeatedly stuck up for Paul when he was bullied, and the friendship – totally platonic, of course – had continued afterwards.
'What really is amazing, though, is that it was Paul and Charles whom Philpott insulted that evening at the cricket club. Paul says he was completely poleaxed when Mrs Bradburn mentioned it. He'd forgotten the incident – he was used to that kind of thing when he was out with Charles and had trained himself to ignore it. But what totally stunned him was that he'd had no idea until then that the man involved had been Trevor Philpott.
'It knocked him sideways, and he nearly blurted the whole thing out to me over lunch afterwards. God knows why he didn't, but during the next few days he got in more and more of a panic, realizing he now had what might appear to be a personal grudge against Philpott. So he decided to keep as far away from previous haunts as possible.
'He told me that after the visit to Mrs Bradburn he'd had another look at Philpott's picture, but even then he couldn't recognize him. It had been dark in the clubhouse, and as soon as Philpott started abusing them, Paul had turned away, refusing to meet his eye.
'So there you are. Chief Inspector. Although you were wrong in your suspicions, there was a grain of truth buried there.'
Webb nodded, glad of the explanation. In view of his innocence, Blake's behaviour at the hospital had continued to puzzle him, and he didn't like to leave loose ends.
'Thank you very much for telling me, sir. So that's that, then. I must say, when this book of yours comes out, I'll be first in line to buy it. As a matter of interest, will you still include the Feathers case?'
'Most certainly I shall; you don't imagine I'd let all that work, not to mention a cracked head, go for nothing?'
'And the relevant Commandment, I suppose, was adultery?'
'Of course; Philpott was married, even if the girl wasn't. He'd been consistently unfaithful, and it finally caught up with him.'
'It'll make interesting reading. In the meantime' – Webb retrieved the paper bag from the grass beside him – 'I wonder if you'd be kind enough to autograph The Muddied Pool? I found it fascinating.'
'How kind. I'd be delighted.'
Webb watched as he wrote a short dedication in his neat hand, and signed it with a flourish.
'Thank you. Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you, sir, and I wish your books every success. All the same, it might be safer not to include any unsolved crimes in future.'
'Don't worry, Chief Inspector,' Edwina assured him, 'I shall personally see to that.'
The Ten Commandments Page 19
