The Key to the Case

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘Certainly.’ I made soothing gestures. ‘Ronnie Cope and Geoff Tomkins worked together for a while. Tomkins is the sort of burglar who smashes his way in and grabs what’s nearest, and Ronnie taught him the finer points. But they were mates, until Ruby, who was Geoff’s woman, suddenly became Ronnie’s woman. Ronnie and Geoff, Ronnie and Geoff. It runs through it all. Geoff knew Ronnie was intending to enter Milo’s place, Aces High, on the night of the 16th of November. Ronnie innocently gave him that information. At that time, Ruby had been dead for a month, but Geoff’s not the kind to forget old wrongs. He still wanted to get back at Ronnie in some way. So, on the same evening, he broke into Major Farrington’s house, and tried to make it look like one of Ronnie’s jobs, knowing Ronnie would have an alibi that he wouldn’t dare to use. All right so far?’

  Ken gestured. ‘We’re listening. Don’t wrap it up in too many words, Richard.’

  ‘But words are important,’ I protested.

  ‘Then use them sparingly.’

  It was a rather weak attempt on Ken’s part to ease the tension. He even looked from Durrell to Rawston for approval, but Durrell was simmering away to himself and Rawston was examining his fingernails.

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘You’ve got Geoff Tomkins for the Farrington job, and you’ve got him for criminal assault on Ronnie. I’ll be a witness for you in that, Ken, when you need me. How is he, by the way? Geoff, I mean.’

  Rawston put in, ‘He’s in hospital.’

  ‘But all we did was dislocate his elbow.’

  ‘We?’ Rawston stared at me. ‘It was you had hold of his arm.’

  ‘If you hadn’t dived in and swept him off his feet, I’d have restrained him without too much pain. Never mind that. They’ll have put his elbow back in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘You haven’t heard, then?’ Ken asked.

  ‘What’s this?’ I looked round from face to face.

  Rawston spread his hands. ‘We were so busy fussing over the Inspector’s little cut...’ Durrell growled at him, but Rawston carried on, ‘...that we didn’t notice Tomkins was hurt. When we got him back here we had to call an ambulance. That glass he dived through—a great big sliver had gone into the inside of his thigh, and there’s a vein or an artery—anyway, he’d lost a lot of blood. Made a hell of a mess in my car,’ he complained. ‘He’s still in hospital, on a drip.’

  I looked at Amelia, who was frowning. She bit her lip and shook her head. I would hear more about it later, no doubt.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You’ve still got him for the Farrington job and the criminal assault—and Ronnie...well, I’m sorry to tell you you’ve got nothing on him at all.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Durrell in triumph. ‘We’ve got the creepy bugger for the job at Milo Dettinger’s. We can put him away for that.’

  ‘What job?’ I asked.

  ‘Breaking in...you said so. He was doing Dettinger’s place on the same evening. That was what you said.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s his alibi. If you come to think about it, I’ve really finished all I was asked to do. Ronnie asked me to find him an alibi, and that’s what I’ve done. He was doing a job at Aces High. And Milo asked me to prove that his son was murdered, and didn’t commit suicide. I can do that, too, if it comes to it.’

  Ken held up his hands, as there was a sudden clamour. The Inspector and the sergeant were both protesting.

  ‘Be quiet!’ he shouted. ‘Now Richard...’ He dragged a hand over his face. ‘Are you saying one break-in was an alibi for the other one? What damned good does that do Ronnie? It’s still a break-in.’

  ‘Legally it isn’t. He entered Aces High at the request of the owner, in order to recover items belonging to that person—which he did. I have them. They’re in my car in a suitcase. I can’t see a crime in that.’

  I expected a further outcry of anger. All I got was icy silence. Ken broke it.

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Never more. I’d say the solicitor’s office will tell you there’s no case against Ronnie Cope. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Simple?’ Ken stared at me as though I’d gone mad.

  ‘Richard’s quite correct,’ put in Amelia. ‘You ought to be able to see that.’

  Durrell was now sitting well forward on his chair, leaning towards me with eagerness—or with challenge. ‘So what’s this about proving Bryan Dettinger was killed?’

  This would affect him intimately. He wouldn’t want to hear it. As far as Durrell was concerned, a murdering rapist had died by his own hand. It was a good riddance, and as it should be.

  I was toying with my pipe in my fingers. It would have been better to fill it and light it, thus giving myself more time to think. But I’d had enough time.

  ‘Milo asked me to prove it to his satisfaction. He didn’t want to accept that any son of his would commit suicide. It was something of a reflection on Milo’s manly image. I told him right at the beginning, when I’d had the set-up explained to me, that only one person could’ve killed Bryan. That was himself. He wasn’t pleased, you can imagine. He tried to strike me.’

  ‘Richard,’ said Ken, with heavy patience, ‘I’m sure we can understand what he felt.’ He looked round for approval. Only Amelia smiled.

  ‘But it’s all been expanded since then,’ I went on. ‘I can prove murder by somebody else, therefore to his satisfaction, though it wouldn’t satisfy a jury. Certainly not a judge. The trouble is, there’s a coincidence cropping up. I don’t like coincidences. I mean, there was the original one of Ronnie doing the job at Milo’s at the same time as Geoff was doing one at Major Farrington’s. But that one turned out to be no coincidence at all, because Geoff had planned it like that. Now we’ve got an even bigger one—that Bryan died on the same night that Ronnie was entering the house on his errand of mercy—to recover Mrs Dettinger’s bits and pieces. Her treasures, she calls ’em.’ I shrugged, blew through my pipe, and decided it was time to fill it. I looked up. Nobody was saying anything. ‘Another coincidence. I don’t like them. Not at all. But if it’s not to be one—then there’s only one explanation. Which would produce another possible murderer of Bryan for you.’

  Durrell was breathing heavily. Ken looked down at his desk. Rawston lifted his fist and stared at it.

  ‘And who,’ asked Ken at last, ‘is this other murderer?’

  ‘I’m not sure Mr Durrell would like to hear this,’ I said.

  ‘Heh?’ Durrell was leaning so far forward that he nearly fell off his chair.

  ‘It was just that I thought you wouldn’t want to go out and arrest the murderer of a rapist,’ I explained.

  Durrell glared at me. ‘Would you?’

  ‘I hope you’ve had a word...’

  ‘He has,’ Ken interrupted. ‘He knows how you stand on it, so let’s have no more of this. Who is this other suspect, Richard?’

  I nodded to him. ‘Put it like this. There was one other person who might have known that Ronnie was intending to enter Aces High illegally...or legally, he would claim...in order to remove certain specific items, and that would be the person who asked him to. The legal owner of that property—Mrs Dettinger. Bryan’s mother.’

  I looked round at their three faces, possibly Durrell’s was the most shocked. Of all people he would wish least to arrest as the killer of a rapist would be that person’s mother.

  ‘You’re off your flamin’ head!’ he suddenly burst out, an explosion of sound.

  ‘Am I? Think about it. Who is the only person who could enter that locked-up house on invitation? Bryan’s mother—and she only if Milo wasn’t there. But she would have great difficulty leaving it so that it was still securely locked—as would be necessary if suicide was to be the appearance of it. If she knew, though, that Ronnie was going to do that little job for her at around midnight on that specific day, she could do what she’d come for before he arrived, and slip out while he was in the house, knowing that Ronnie would leave it neatly locked behind him. It would mean, of cour
se, that she wasn’t really interested in those items she asked Ronnie to steal—it was all a ploy to fake a suicide.’

  There was silence, blank and complete silence.

  ‘I’m not having this,’ said Ken at last, unable to meet my eye. ‘You’re going way over the top, Richard. Have you got anything at all to support this...this wild and unpleasant idea?’

  ‘Oh yes. There’s Ronnie. I’ve had a talk with him, and with a bit of persuasion he told me his part in it. Listen...he got into the house by way of the back door, using his magic pliers.’ I produced them and waved them in the air. ‘I’ve used ’em, and they work. You grab the stem of the key from the outside of the lock—’

  ‘Where have you used them?’ Ken cut in grimly.

  ‘The same back door. I wanted to scout around inside...’

  ‘Yoff!’ cried Durrell. It was his version of a laugh. ‘That’s great! He calmly thinks he can go around breaking the law—’

  ‘And you don’t?’ I shot back at him.

  ‘What? What’s that you say?’

  ‘Leave it.’ I’d made a mistake. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh yes it bloody does!’ he shouted.

  ‘Not,’ I said flatly, ‘at the moment. I did nothing illegal except gaining entry. Nothing inside. I took nothing out of there.’ If one omitted to mention a bundle of old and rotten rope. ‘I didn’t in any way tamper with evidence. That’s something I’ve never done.’

  ‘That’s a damned lie. What about...’ He glanced at Amelia.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ I snapped. ‘I tampered with nothing more than the interpretation of the facts. D’you want to take that up, Durrell?’

  ‘No!’ snapped Ken, slamming his palm down hard on the desk surface. ‘Drop it, Inspector. Drop it, man.’

  They stared at each other. Durrell growled in his throat. There was a stretched silence, the air tingling. Then Amelia spoke quietly.

  ‘If you’d like me to leave the room...’

  From somewhere Ken retrieved a grimace that was intended as a smile. ‘Only if you wish.’

  ‘I don’t wish.’

  ‘Then sit there and listen love,’ I said, turning to her. I managed a genuine smile before returning my attention to the others. ‘She can be my witness.’ I didn’t say to what. ‘Now, where were we? Ronnie entering Aces High. Right. He scouted around the ground floor for what he’d come for, found a suitcase to hold it all in a cupboard under the stairs—and, incidentally, a length of rope to tie up the case, because the hasps...’

  ‘Are we coming to the point?’ Ken demanded sourly.

  ‘Now we get to it. Ronnie decided to have a look round upstairs. Up on the landing he saw a line of light round the bathroom door. Until that very moment he’d assumed he was alone in the house. He had the idea that Bryan had gone to stay with his mother. But...a line of light—and silence. He put a finger to the door, and it was bolted inside. At that time it was bolted. There, now!’

  I sat back...and waited.

  ‘At that time,’ Ken sighed at last. ‘And?’

  ‘And at that moment, or thereabouts, Milo arrived home in a panic. Ronnie did a quick bunk, locking the back door behind him with his pliers, and Milo—his own words—smashed in his own front door in a panic, had a nasty feeling, and ran up to the landing. Then he crashed in through that bathroom door. And—his own words again—found his son dead, hanging by a length of rope.’

  ‘So?’ Ken growled.

  ‘That was why I paid a short illegal visit. That bathroom door bolt was unharmed, and certainly isn’t a new one. Therefore...’ I shrugged. ‘Does that mean that Bryan was alive at that time, and unbolted it himself? Or had there been somebody in there with him when Ronnie tried the door, somebody who afterwards slipped out and hid in the dark, until they...she...could nip down and out of the front door? It would be all that was left for her to do, if that person was Francine Dettinger. If she was still in that bathroom when Ronnie arrived at the house, then her timing had gone wrong. Perhaps she was delayed. It could have taken longer than she had allowed for her to kill her own son. I’ve spoken to her. She would have been capable of it—theoretically, in her mind. But it would have taken more than intention to carry it out. Ronnie might have arrived before she was ready, and he locked the back door when he left. So she would have lost her planned line of retreat.’

  There was a silence as they looked at each other, not really daring to catch each other’s eyes. Ken cleared his throat.

  ‘Are you sure of your facts, Richard?’ he asked heavily, seeming tired. ‘Or is this no more than vague theory?’

  ‘I’m telling it as I’ve discovered it to be.’

  ‘And what do you make of it?’ He glanced at the other two, a warning glance—do not interfere, let the idiot say it. Because Ken, I was certain, believed I’d gone completely wrong.

  ‘I believe that either Milo or his wife killed their son. Milo, if it was a live son he discovered in the bathroom, or Francine if she’d got there first. From that stage, it isn’t for me. You’ll know what to do.’

  He nodded solemnly. I realized, then, that he was humouring me. He turned to Inspector Durrell. ‘Les, have you got anything to say?’

  Durrell caught the mood. ‘I can understand what Mr Patton means,’ he growled. ‘But it’s flimsy. It all rests on one tiny, soddin’ bolt. I’ll need persuading.’

  Ken nodded. ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Mr Patton gets results,’ Rawston conceded. ‘But as the Inspector says, it all rests on one little bathroom bolt. You can’t arrest somebody—’

  ‘Interrogation,’ I said impatiently. ‘Confessions.’

  Durrell leaned forward. His colour was high, his eyes wide and a little wild. ‘Now look here—if you think I’m going to pull in a couple of parents to question them on the death of their rotten little queer of a son—’

  ‘I’m not the one to do the expecting, Durrell,’ I said coldly. ‘I’ve handed you the facts—’

  ‘Facts!’ he cut in savagely. ‘You and your bloody wild theories! The fact is that he committed suicide. And that’s that.’

  ‘Bolts or not?’ I asked.

  ‘That piddling little bolt!’

  ‘You’re not listening. I said: bolts. Plural. Top and bottom. I’m talking about the back door, Durrell. Those bolts. They’re the most important thing in all this.’

  ‘What? What!’ Durrell was on his feet.

  I leaned back and stared at him. Now out of my line of sight, Ken said sharply, ‘Sit down, Les.’ I didn’t take my eyes from Durrell. He towered above me, furious and almost incoherent.

  ‘Bolts, bolts!’ he shouted. ‘You and your blasted nit-picking. What does it matter? I’ve had enough of you, Patton. Get out of here—’

  ‘Sit down!’ Ken shouted. ‘Durrell, for God’s sake control yourself.’

  Grumbling, treating me to a last furious glance, Durrell retreated to his seat. But he would not be silent. ‘And all this, for some lousy little swine who raped—’

  ‘We know what he did,’ I said, trying desperately to remain calm. ‘And what he didn’t. What he didn’t do—and I’m sure you won’t argue about this—is unbolt the bathroom door after he’d hanged himself. Ronnie found it bolted. It was not bolted two or three minutes later when Milo barged through it. So...who unbolted it? You’ve got a murder, whichever way you look at it. And you’ve therefore got a back door that was locked, but couldn’t have been bolted. So tell me, Mr Durrell...tell us all...who bolted that blasted back door?’

  He made a whumping noise, as though I’d punched him in the guts. Outrage almost strangled him. ‘Don’t you dare...don’t you come here...’ He was unable to go on. Then he managed, almost in a whisper to himself, to add, ‘I’ve heard about these fancy ideas. Heard. I didn’t believe it.’ He raised his eyes and turned to Ken. ‘Have I got to sit here and listen—’

  ‘Sit there,’ Ken told him, no tone in his voice. He seemed at last to be remembering that he’d always
been able to trust me. ‘Listen. And behave yourself, you damned fool.’

  ‘I’m not having him—’

  ‘Be quiet!’ It was a flat, resounding shout. Ken wiped both hands over his hair, then he turned to me. ‘Say it, Richard. Let’s have an end to this.’

  I nodded. ‘All right. Just questions, Durrell. Who was it who went to Aces High and was only too eager to accept Bryan’s death as suicide? Who was it who went to find the stopcock and spotted that the lower bolt was inches from his hand, and unfastened? And who was it who decided it would be a good idea to bolt both of them in case anybody might suggest that an intruder could have got in?’ I raised my voice, pressing on with it in spite of his rising anger. ‘You knew it was possible to turn the key from the outside. Possible—just. But impossible to enter or leave by way of that door with the bolts thrown home. I’m not making this any form of a criticism, because I think I might have done the same thing myself.’

  He was clearly fighting for control, knowing he dared not lose it. ‘It was not me—if it was done.’ His voice was tight, quiet. ‘I think you’re mad. Plain mad.’

  ‘It’ll stay in this room, whatever you care to say.’

  I knew it could not; we all knew that. It would be tampering with evidence, and the facts I’d already revealed would probably demand a reopening of the file. He was shaking his head, though, I thought in despair. Then he lifted his face and his eyes met mine. I thought he was about to speak, but he lowered his head again and stared at his feet.

  I sighed. It was the only sound in the room. ‘Very well. Let’s look at it from another angle. All I’ve been saying is based on one simple assumption—that Ronnie was telling me the truth. But I have a suitcase full of items he took from Aces High. This confirms he did break into there. He was there—but was it on that specific evening? There’s that possibility. But his story was too full of confirmable detail for it to be denied. He was there. If we assume, then, that it was on that night, then we have to assume he left by the back door, locking it after him. So—how could it have become bolted before you arrived there, Mr Durrell? Who could have bolted it? And why? Purely and simply, there’s a valid case against one of the Dettingers, but only if that back door wasn’t bolted.’