‘Of course, of course,’ Kendon said hurriedly. He sipped his coffee, set the cup down and sat back with an air of compliant readiness. ‘How can I help you, Inspector?’
‘I believe you knew Julie Holmes,’ Thanet said. He caught the flash of real pain in Kendon’s eyes before the man’s features assembled themselves into an appropriate expression of solemnity.
‘Yes, I did know her once, quite well, as a matter of fact. I read about her … her death in the papers, of course.’ He sipped at his coffee again. ‘A terrible business.’
Thanet merely nodded, saying nothing. He frequently found silence a more effective weapon than questions. Few people could tolerate it for long. Kendon proved no exception. He took a further sip of coffee, put his cup down and looked uneasily at Thanet. Then he took out a cigarette case, offered it to the inspector and, when he refused, took a cigarette himself and lit up.
Thanet continued to sip his coffee and wait.
Kendon gesticulated with his cigarette, scattering ash into his coffee. He swore. ‘What did you want to see me about?’
‘I’m just waiting for you to tell me about Julie Holmes.’
‘What d’you mean, tell you about her? Look here, Inspector, if you think I had anything to do with her murder …’
‘Did I say that?’ Thanet said mildly. ‘Just tell me about her. About your relationship with her.’ He was satisfied, now, that Kendon was sufficiently on the defensive to be vulnerable. It seemed, however, that he had underestimated his man.
Kendon leaned forward. ‘OK Inspector, I’ll level with you. There’s no point in doing anything else, I suppose. She was a drag. Wouldn’t leave me alone. Even after she was married, even after she moved down to Kent.’
Thanet hid his astonishment at this unexpectedly mirror-image version of the relationship between Kendon and Julie as he had envisaged it. ‘Go on,’ he said.
Kendon stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I thought I’d finally shaken her off when she married John – I introduced them, you know. I was always introducing her to men I hoped might get her off my back. And this time it seemed to work – for a while. For a couple of months I heard nothing from her and then it all started again. Letters, phone-calls … it drove me mad. But I felt sorry for her, in a way, and I used to meet her from time to time, to keep her happy.’
‘Even to the extent of going down to Kent once a week to see her?’
‘Sure, why not?’
‘Why, Mr Kendon?’
Kendon shrugged. ‘I told you. I felt sorry for her. I had a soft spot for her. There was something, well, a bit pathetic about her. I was always afraid she might, well, you know, do something drastic.’
‘Commit suicide, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’
‘If you didn’t see her?’
‘Right. Look Inspector, my job has, well, a certain glamour about it. Girls like that, they go for it. Julie was no different from any of the others.’
‘And you put yourself out for all these lovesick maidens to the extent of sacrificing one evening a week to keep them happy?’
‘Of course not. But I told you, I had a soft spot for Julie.’
‘Go on.’
‘With what?’
‘Well, let’s take last Tuesday for a start, shall we? The night she died.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Kendon ran his tongue over his lower lip, ‘that was all a bit … I suppose the people in the pub remembered us?’
‘They did.’
‘Not surprising, the way she took off. It was like this. I’d decided this was the last time I was trailing all the way down there to see her and told her so. She didn’t like it, she begged, pleaded with me, but I told her I’d finally had enough and that was that. In the end she got very upset and ran off.’
None of this fitted in with the way the barmaid had described the quarrel but Thanet was ready to let this pass. It was the next bit that really interested him. ‘Go on.’
Kendon leaned back in his chair, lifted his hands in a gesture of finality.
‘That’s it.’
Thanet looked at him in silence for a moment, considering which line would be most likely to produce the truth. Kendon’s story was obviously going to be that after the quarrel he made his way back to the station and caught a train back to London. The question was, if he were allowed to produce this story, how would he react to being accused of lying? Would he cave in, or would he dig his heels in? Probably the latter, Thanet thought. Kendon’s opinion of himself was such that he would always find it difficult to climb down. It would be better to make sure that the man did not find himself in that position.
‘Not quite, I think, Mr Kendon. I must be frank and tell you that not only were you seen to follow Mrs Holmes when you left the pub, but that two independent witnesses saw you very close to Gladstone Road around twenty to nine.’
The man was cool, Thanet thought, watching him. He did not so much as blink, but merely gave a little shrug of submission, a wry grin.
‘Ah well, it was worth a try … All right, Inspector, I’ll tell you the rest of it. As I said, I was absolutely fed up with the situation. I wanted Julie to understand that I had really meant what I said, that I didn’t want her pestering me any more and that this was the last time I’d trail all the way down to Kent to calm her down. The way she left … well, nothing had been resolved. She’d just run away from the situation, refused to face up to it and I could see it all going on exactly as it had before. So I finished my drink, gave her a few minutes to cool down, then followed her. Well, I say I followed her, but in fact she was out of sight all the way. There are a lot of turnings, in a very short distance, between that pub and where she lived. But I was sure she’d have gone home, so when I got to Gladstone Road I just marched up the path and knocked on the front door. She came to the bay window in the front room to see who it was – I just caught a glimpse of her before she disappeared. Anyway, she didn’t come to the door straight away, so I knocked again.’
For the first time, now, Kendon’s composure showed signs of slipping. ‘I heard her steps in the hall and thought she was coming to let me in, but suddenly she shouted – well, screamed, really, – “Look through the letter box, Kenny.” So I did.’ Kendon leaned forward and his eyes flickered from side to side as if he were making sure that there was nobody within earshot, then he said softly, intensely, ‘She was standing there holding a bloody great carving knife, Inspector! “Go away!” she was screaming, “Go away, or I’ll stick this in you!” And she shook the thing at me!’
Kendon leaned sideways to extract a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and mopped at the sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
‘And then?’ said Thanet.
Kendon hesitated, ran his tongue over his lips. Clearly, he realised that this was the crucial point. Then he shrugged, leaned back, seemed to relax a little, as if he’d decided how to handle it. ‘Oh come on, Inspector. Put yourself in my position. I’d played along with her for years, trailed down to Kent to see her regularly. It was a drag, I can tell you. And what happens when I finally decide I’ve got to make the break? She threatens me with a bloody great knife, for God’s sake! When I saw her standing there like that I thought, that’s it. I’ve bloody well had enough.’
‘You were angry,’ Thanet said softly.
‘I bloody well was!’ Kendon suddenly realised what he was saying and leaned forward earnestly in his chair. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Inspector. I wasn’t angry enough to kill her. Why should I risk my neck for her? No, like I said, I just thought she could go to hell as far as I was concerned. So I just walked away. I’d only got as far as the gate when I heard the front door open behind me. She was still waving the knife. “Don’t ever come back,” she was screaming. And, believe me, I didn’t intend to.’
‘So what did you do then?’
‘Went to the station and caught a train home.’
‘Which train did you catch?’
‘The eight fifty-four.’
>
And Manson had said that it took six minutes to walk to the station from Holmes’s house.
‘Did you have to wait long, on the station?’
‘Only a minute or two.’
Thanet was silent for a moment, thinking over what he had heard. ‘Is there anyone who can corroborate what you have told me?’
The answer was a surprise. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ Kendon lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled deeply before going on. His self-possession had returned and there was even a hint of malicious satisfaction in his eyes. ‘When Julie opened the front door and shouted at me I started off down the road towards the footpath, and there was this girl ahead of me, near the swing gate. I think she must have come along that footpath beside the wire fence, the one that links the ends of all those cul-de-sacs. Anyway, she obviously heard Julie because she stopped and glanced up the road towards us. Then she went on, through the swing gate and along the footpath. I caught her up and passed her just before we reached the station. She caught the same train as me. So you see, Inspector, I’m in the clear. Find that girl and she’ll tell you that Julie was alive when I left her, and that I had no chance to slip back and kill her afterwards.’
‘I see. Could you give us a description of this girl, to help us trace her?’
Kendon leaned back in his chair, narrowed his eyes in recollection. ‘Mid-twenties, I should think. I’m afraid I didn’t really notice her face, so she must have been pretty nondescript. After all, I didn’t know I was going to need her, did I, or I’d have taken down her name and address, so to speak! Hair dark, I think. Yes, dark, straight, shoulder-length.’
‘How tall?’
‘Oh, medium. About five five, I should think.’
‘What was she wearing?’
Kendon frowned in concentration. ‘Nothing very striking, that’s for sure. Something dark – yes, a dark coat, brown, I think. She was just as ordinary sort of girl.’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘Unfor … oh, yes, I see.’ Kendon looked anxious. ‘You think she’ll be difficult to trace?’
Thanet shrugged. ‘Who knows? We’ll have to wait and see.’
‘And hope,’ Kendon said drily.
‘Yes, and hope. Did anyone else catch the train, by the way?’
‘There were one or two other people on the platform, yes. But I honestly can’t remember anything about them. To be frank, I was still very upset, after the scene with Julie. I kept on remembering how she looked, through that letter box … Honestly, Inspector, she looked demented. Really demented. I couldn’t seem to think of much else all the way back on the train … Do you think I shouldn’t have left her in that state?’ he asked abruptly.
So the man was feeling guilty, asking for reassurance, Thanet thought. As well he might be. For his, after all, had been the hand which had given Julie the final push that sent her over the edge. On the other hand he had not been responsible for the forces which had gathered to drive her there. ‘In a situation like that it’s difficult to know what should be done for the best,’ he said non-committally.
‘Oh come on, Inspector,’ Kendon burst out. ‘What would you have done, tell me that?’
It was a cry from the heart and for the first time Thanet felt a twinge of genuine compassion for Kendon. Faced with the man and his smooth recital of his story Thanet had almost forgotten that if what he had previously learnt was true, Kendon had been in love with Julie for years. Now he had dropped his defences. Whatever Thanet thought of the man it would be inhuman to refuse to take his question seriously. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Called a doctor, perhaps?’
Kendon sat back. ‘I feel so bloody guilty about it. If only I hadn’t just left her like that, perhaps she’d still be alive … There’s something I haven’t told you,’ he added abruptly. ‘I’m still not sure about it, you see. If I had been, I’d have contacted you before now, myself.’
So it could be important. Thanet thought. He made an encouraging noise. Kendon hesitated a moment longer before saying. ‘It’s just that when I reached the swing gate I turned back to glance at the house, see if Julie was still there.’ He stopped.
‘And was she?’
‘No, but in the instant when I turned away again. I have the impression of movement, at the corner of the street …’
Thanet experienced a sudden lurch of excitement in the pit of his stomach. It was as if he had just glimpsed the murderer, out of the corner of his eye. ‘At the far end of Gladstone Road, you mean?’
‘Yes. It was just an impression, as I say, but looking back I’m pretty certain that someone was just turning into Gladstone Road.
‘A man or a woman?’
Kendon shook his head. ‘It’s no use. I’ve thought and thought and I still don’t know. It really was no more than a flicker of movement on the very edge of my vision, before I turned away.’
‘Well if you do remember, give me a ring at once, will you?’ Thanet scribbled both his home and office numbers on a piece of paper, handed it over and stood up. ‘I think that’s about all for the moment, Mr Kendon.’
Kendon followed suit. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more helpful.’
He seemed to mean it and Thanet found that the last few minutes of their conversation had somewhat altered his feelings towards the man. They chatted amiably enough as they made their way back out on to the street. Kendon turned right and made his way off down Regent Street. Hands in pockets and head down, he looked thoroughly despondent. An act? Thanet wondered, as he watched him out of sight. He rather thought not.
‘You think he was telling the truth?’ Lineham asked when they had negotiated their way through the worst of the traffic and Thanet had given him an account of the interview.
‘In his version of his relationship with Julie, no, I don’t. It just doesn’t fit in with what her husband and Mrs Thorpe told us. Or with the barmaid’s account of their quarrel, for that matter. And I would say he just isn’t the type to put himself out to that degree for a former girlfriend. No, I would guess he was just saving face, making it sound as if she was the one who was doing the chasing. But in the important thing, in his account of what actually happened on Tuesday night, then yes, I think perhaps I do, I’m inclined to, anyway. We’ll have to do some checking – see if we can trace that girl he claims to have followed to the station. We’ll put out an appeal, see what turns up. Or perhaps the ticket collector will be able to help us. If there weren’t many people on that train it’s just possible he might have some recollection of her, Kendon might have invented her, of course, and the same could be said of this mysterious person he claims to have seen turning into Gladstone Road. But if there really was somebody …’
‘It could be our murderer.’
‘It’s possible. I think we’d better go over all those house-to-house reports again and re-question everybody who was not stuck in front of The Pacemakers. What about you? How did you get on with Mrs Lawton?’
‘Fine. I think I got everything we needed.’
Julie and her mother had apparently moved to London from Kent when Julie was three, after her father’s accident, buying a small terraced house in one of the respectable but less wealthy areas of Wimbledon. Julie had lived there until her marriage, her mother until her death a year ago.
For some time after the move from Kent Julie had suffered from nightmares but Mrs Lawton had no idea of their content and had at the time thought of them as normal under the circumstances, Julie having lost her father so suddenly. Julie had not been involved in the accident that killed him, Mrs Lawson had been positive about that, and Julie’s mother had told her friend that she had moved because she wanted to get right away from the place which had so many associations with her husband. She had never remarried.
‘Where did they live in Kent?’ Thanet asked, when Lineham had finished.
‘Little Sutton.’
‘Little Sutton,’ Thanet repeated slowly. He knew the village, of course, it wasn’t far from where Sylvia, J
oan’s friend, lived. But in this particular context it struck some kind of chord. What was it? He frowned out of the window, trying to put his finger on it. He couldn’t, and after a while he gave up. The feeling remained, however, and all the way home it remained lodged at the back of his mind, as uncomfortable as a grain of sand under an eyelid.
As soon as they got back to the office, Thanet sent for the file on the accident in which Julie’s father had been killed while Lineham drafted the appeal for the witness Kendon claimed could clear him. It was still only half past two and with any luck they should catch the evening editions of the national newspapers.
They then worked together through the house-to-house reports, deciding which people should be interviewed again. At Lineham’s suggestion one man would be detailed to knock on every door in the three streets with instructions to find out the names of all women between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five living there and their movements on the night of the murder. It was possible, of course that the woman Kendon claimed to have seen came from quite another area but, as Lineham pointed out, only someone with local knowledge would have known about that footpath. It was worth checking.
By now the file had arrived and while Lineham went off to make arrangements Thanet settled down to study it. He wasn’t quite sure why he was doing this; on the face of it, the accident could have no relevance to the present enquiry. He simply felt that he should and experience had taught him that such feelings should be indulged. They were frequently based on connections made by his subconscious, connections which seemed obvious on looking back but which at the time seemed irrational or non-existent.
David Leonard Parr of Jasmine Cottage, The Green, Little Sutton, Kent, had died on November 18, 1960 in Sturrenden General Hospital at eight pm, five hours after his car had been in collision with a lorry in dense fog on the main Sturrenden to Maidstone road. The lorry driver had been unhurt and had later been cleared of any responsibility for the crash; Parr had been on the wrong side of the road and had skidded after going too fast into a bend which he had presumably been unable to see because of the fog. He had been twenty-nine years old and had been alone in the car.
The Night She Died Page 9
