A New Kind of Killer, and Old Kind of Death

by Jennie Melville

  Charmian finished her own lunch, then she got up to go.

  While she had been sitting there talking to Emily and laughing, two people had been trying to get through to her by telephone. One was Shirley Jackson, the other was Ann Hooks.

  Shirley was the first one to succeed in reaching Charmian.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ve heard it’s murder,’’ said Shirley, without preamble. “ Eve tried to telephone you, but I couldn’t get you. I came over here on the chance. I tried the Coffee Shop. You weren’t there, so I tried your room.’’

  “And I am here.’’ She opened the door of her room wider and let Shirley pass ahead of her. She had been quietly at work when Shirley knocked. “And what’s that about murder? How did you hear?’’ Once again she was surprised by the speed at which news travelled.

  “Secretaries type letters and hear telephone calls and have friends,’’ said Shirley with a shrug. “ You know better than to ask. So it is murder.’’

  Like all rumours the story had been given a harder and firmer shape than it had started out with. But the shape consorted with Charmian’s own ideas.

  “I think so,’’ said Charmian.

  “That means others don’t,’’ said Shirley.

  Charmian was silent.

  “And that silence means you’re determined to press your point,’’ went on Shirley. “ Come to think of it, you always have been determined.’’

  Charmian was still silent.

  “Well, say something,’’ said Shirley. “I know all about not talking to the Press, but say something.’’

  “I’m not regarding you as the Press at this moment,’’ said Charmian. “ Not now. Only as a friend of Alda’s. And I think you can help. I said that before.’’

  “No, I’m the Press all right,’’ said Shirley ironically. “ Don’t trust me. Remember I said it.’’

  “I want to get down to finding out who killed Alda.’’

  “Leave it to the local police, Charmian, why don’t you?—You’re off duty.’’

  “But I knew Alda. I might know things they don’t.’’

  Shirley looked as if this was what was worrying her.

  “And so did you,’’ said Charmian, rounding on her.

  “I don’t see you as an avenging figure,’’ said Shirley. “Me yes, you no. You’re a copper, remember? You don’t get mixed in.’’

  Charmian looked at her with hostility: there was a clash between them.

  “I’m going ahead and I want your help,’’ said Charmian.

  “And I’m advising you not. I see trouble.’’

  “I shall do what I can about discovering who killed Alda,’’ said Charmian, turning aside to look out of the window. She saw very well the irony of her situation. She was emotionally involved in just the way she warned her young policewomen cadets against becoming. “You can help or not. I think you will.’’

  “And all I came in for was to look for news,’’ said Shirley with a groan.

  “Yes, and that’s the other thing,’’ said Charmian, turning away from the window. “If you help, you won’t print anything. And if we’re talking plain talk, don’t you pretend to me either. You didn’t come here just for news. I can read you better than that. You wanted to know about Alda.’’

  “You are a clever girl,’’ said Shirley coolly.

  “Yes, I am. Also trained at my job.’’

  “Go on.’’

  “I believe Alda was murdered. I’m even coming to believe she thought she might be.’’ Charmian paused. “No, that’s too strong. I believe she was puzzled at something that happened. She told me she thought someone was watching her. She could have been imagining that.’’

  “I seem to have been in this conversation before,’’ said Shirley.

  “You said, correct me if I’m wrong, that Alda blundered into a situation and as a result became a victim.’’

  “Well, I’ve changed my ground. I’ve gone on a little. I think she saw someone she knew and that person killed her. I think she recognised someone with a secret.’’

  “You have gone on ahead,’’ said Shirley.

  “I’m going further. I say that she tried to tell me about it before she died.’’

  Charmian frowned. There’s a discrepancy, she thought, between the blow, violent and lethal, and the peaceful way Alda had died. That was puzzling. She looked up to see Shirley studying her.

  “She wasn’t a happy person,’’ said Shirley slowly.

  “And you say she drank.’’

  “Just sometimes. When the pressures were great, you know.’’

  “Well, I want to know what the pressures were. Somewhere in her life is the person who killed her. He’s there, stuck like a fly in amber. He can’t get away. That’s what the past is like: you’re stuck with it forever.’’

  “Alda’s job was to meet people,’’ protested Shirley. “In both her jobs she was meeting people all the time.’’

  “I’m going through them with a toothcomb if I have to. Anyway, I’m one ahead. I think this person is called Eddie. And I think that he dates back in Alda’s life, perhaps to when she was a policewoman. So their paths have crossed again. X marks the spot. I’m looking for X.’’

  “What makes you think you’ll know it when you see it?’’

  “Because it’ll stand out, that’s why,’’ said Charmian. “It may he a great big hole in the ground or it may be a bloody big mountain, but I’ll see it.’’ Her voice was rising, and she didn’t usually swear. Not right out loud like that. Only alone and inside herself.

  Shirley was quiet. Then she murmured, “There was a man in Alda’s life. You know that?’’

  “I guessed it.’’

  “Could be him,’’ said Shirley, still in that low voice, as if she didn’t like to accuse anyone, even a man.

  “Know who he was?’’

  Shirley shook her head.

  “But Alda talked to you,’’ said Charmian impatiently.

  “In her cups, you mean? Yes, but not about him.’’

  “I shall turn him up,’’ said Charmian. “But I doubt he’s Eddie. Because Eddie came back. That’s what she said. She recognised him; and she made it sound as if I would too. I ought to know him, only I don’t. Not yet. I will, though. Eddie and I are going to meet face to face.’’

  “And I’ll tell you how my thoughts are moving. As a policewoman, Alda’s job took her among young people. The unlucky ones. Now she’s been working with young ones again. This time the lucky young ones. And lo and behold, here’s Eddie.’’

  “You think Eddie’s a student?’’

  “I think he could be,’’ said Charmian. “I’m working on that thought.’’

  “I’ll be interested to know how you go from there,’’ said Shirley sceptically.

  “And I’ll tell you my way forward. Alda was a great one for making lists. I’m sure she had a list of students that one way or another she had had difficulties with. I’m going to start with that.’’

  “And where is that list?’’

  “It’ll be in her office or in her flat. I’ll find it. Come back in a couple of hours and I’ll have it.’’

  Shirley looked at her and saw she meant it.

  In those next two hours, when Charmian was once more beyond the reach of a telephone call and Shirley had gone back to work, Ann Hooks tried again to contact Charmian. She didn’t try a third time. She was back on her own and must manage how she could and that was that. She had to act. The other person in the drama was certainly acting.

  “Well, did you get the list?’’ said Shirley two hours later. She had taken Charmian literally at her word, as Charmian had intended she should.

  “In Alda’s desk. I told you I should. I found it in ten minutes, then I came back here and worked.’’

  “Who’s doing Alda’s job?’’

  “She had a typist; she’s carrying on with the work as best she can. They’ve already advertised for someone to take Ald
a’s place. Life’s quick, isn’t it?’’

  “Yes,’’ said Shirley. “ Too quick.’’

  Charmian and Shirley went to Alda’s funeral. “A good place to start our investigations,’’ she said to Shirley. There were a fair number of people present, including a few students, but not as many as she had expected. For instance, she couldn’t see Ann Hooks or her friend, although she looked out for them. From the corner of her eye she saw another funeral quietly commencing in the great municipal cemetery. At this funeral no mourners seemed to be present.

  A wind blew and the mourners who had accompanied Alda’s coffin shuffled and murmured and refused to meet each other’s eyes. “The quick and the dead,’’ thought Charmian sourly. Perhaps to go without any mourners was the best way after all. She looked across to the other funeral again.

  “I’ll just walk across there and leave some of these flowers I have for Alda,’’ said Shirley. “It seems too awful for there to be no one.’’

  Charmian nodded, surprised. She did not watch.

  Shirley returned a few minutes later. “That was kind of you,’’ said Charmian.

  “Not kind,’’ said Shirley hastily. “ More like superstitious. Call it that.’’

  “It could never be like that for you,’’ said Charmian.

  Shirley laughed. “How can one ever tell? And as if it mattered. I’d be the last one to care then.’’

  They walked away together. Charmian took one final look back in farewell to Alda. The other new grave lay to the right hand and Charmian went over to look at it.

  “There were some flowers on it,’’ she said to Shirley. “A great bunch of white flowers.’’

  “White violets,’’ said Shirley. “Yes, I saw them.’’

  “Expensive,’’ said Charmian, surprised.

  “Yes, I thought so too.’’

  “Did you see who it was?’’ asked Charmian, driven by an unexplained curiosity.

  “A man,’’ said Shirley. “ Forty-two. It was on the coffin. Frederic Martin.’’

  So now the man’s name was out in the open. It had been said aloud. He had been summoned, like a Jinn from the bottle, and he would never go back now.

  “Where do we go first?’’ said Shirley.

  “I’ll tell you,’’ said Charmian, consulting her list. “I’ve starred four names and addresses.’’

  “And they’re all important?’’

  “They’re lodging addresses where Alda called more than twice. Sometimes four or five times. That meant trouble. She didn’t give details, just dates. I can’t tell if the trouble concerned the student or the landlady or the house itself. But if she could go there so many times, we can go once.’’

  “And you think that’s going to work?’’

  “Something’s going to work,’’ said Charmian grimly.

  “You frighten me,’’ said Shirley, with truth.

  “The first address is: Arnson, Great Castle Street.’’

  “And who’s Arnson?’’

  “Arnson’s a first year student. Engineering. He’s been in industry, so he’s a bit old for his year.’’

  “How do you know all this about him?’’

  “I’ve met Arnson.’’ Charmian didn’t feel obliged to say that she’d checked up on all the older students. To do so was part of her job. She’d slipped up on Emily Carter. Emily had sneaked in without Charmian knowing she was there. And this had been because Emily was taking a diploma in education and fell into a different category of student. Still, it had been a lapse. There might be others like Emily. And amongst them might be someone dangerous.

  “Great Castle Street is here to the right,’’ said Charmian, consulting a map. They crossed the main road, which was heavy with traffic. A fire engine passed them.

  “I do know the way without a map,’’ observed Shirley. “I work here, remember? It’s my job to know places.’’

  “Do you actually live in Midport?’’

  “I’ve got a house out towards the Midlock Hills. I’m not much of a householder.’’

  “You’re not married then?’’

  “No.’’

  They walked on in silence. Then Shirley said: “I’m only a bird of passage really. I haven’t been in Midport so long. I shan’t stay.’’

  “Where next?’’

  “London, I think.’’

  “I suppose journalists move around.’’

  “Yes, they have to. As a matter of fact, I heard today that I’d been awarded this year’s prize for the best series of articles by a woman journalist working out of London. It’s not official yet, I was told on the quiet, but it’s true.’’

  “Oh, congratulations,’’ said Charmian sincerely. “You know I followed that series and it was good.’’

  “The money prize is nothing, but it carries with it the chance of a contract with London T. V. as well as a newspaper offer. I get an interview and do a pilot script.’’

  “I don’t know how you can be so calm.’’

  “I’m not calm inside. Inside I’m screaming with excitement. I never thought anything like this would come my way. I hope I can do it, that’s all.’’

  “Why not?’’

  “I’ll do it all right,’’ said Shirley with decision.

  “Among that series you wrote one article on an anonymous letter writer, didn’t you?’’

  Shirley nodded. “ I put in quite a lot of work on anonymous letter writers. Difficult birds to interview, naturally. I only got one who’d really talk.’’

  “What satisfaction did the writers get? That’s what I want to know. Did they get any?’’

  “The letters were effective,’’ said Shirley. “ I was surprised how effective. I studied seven cases, and in five the letters did what the writer wanted: they frightened the victim and blocked some course of action. Yes, I’d call them satisfying to write.’’

  They turned the next corner. “ Ever been in Great Castle Street before?’’ asked Charmian, looking around her at the terrace of tall stone-fronted houses.

  “Yes. Once.’’ Shirley stared upwards at the tall facades. “ They had fraud and embezzlement here about eighteen months ago. Bigamist as well, he was. In fact he was a double character on all possible fronts. Nice chap he was too, I liked him. We all did.’’ She nodded. “It was one of those houses further down.’’

  “What happened to him?’’

  “He hanged himself,’’ said Shirley sadly. “I suppose he was right. There was no future for him.’’

  They stopped, “This is where Len Arnson lodges,’’ said Charmian. “Nice neat place, isn’t it?’’

  “Yes, too neat for my tastes.’’ Shirley studied the carefully adjusted lace curtains, the highly polished window.

  Charmian pressed the door bell, which rang with a clear hard sound in keeping with the house.

  After a long pause the door opened a fraction. An eye was visible.

  “Good morning,’’ said Charmian hastily to the eye.

  “It’s afternoon.’’

  “Oh yes, so it is. I’m from the University. Can I speak to you?’’

  “What, again?’’ The woman opened the door wide. “Another of you? You aren’t the same one as before. But the answer’s what it was: Mr. Arnson can stay if he keeps my rules.’’

  “Oh, what’s been the trouble then?’’

  “Trouble? No trouble. He’s doing what I say. I don’t allow trouble.’’

  “Can we come in?’’

  They were allowed into a small neat room much decorated with photographs.

  “I don’t know what you’ve come for. Mr. Arnson is following all my rules. Home at 10 p.m. No girl friends.’’

  “And he accepts that?’’ said Charmian.

  “Oh well, Miss Fearon kept arguing …’’

  “So that’s why she kept coming.’’

  “She only came three times. Third time, Mr. Arnson said he was glad to keep my rules.’’

  “Oh well, thanks.
Sorry if I’ve bothered you. A misunderstanding. That your daughter?’’ said Charmian, glancing towards a photograph.

  “Yes,’’ said the landlady.

  They passed Arnson on the stairs. He nodded to them politely. “Met you at the University, haven’t I?’’ he asked. “Looking for a room? There’s one going now, I believe.’’

  “I don’t think it’s quite what I want,’’ said Charmian vaguely. Let him think it’s a room I’m investigating, she thought.

  “Suits me. Down to the ground,’’ he said with a grin and hurried on. “Bye.’’

  “Did you see the photograph of the daughter?’’ Charmian asked Shirley.

  “No.’’

  “She’s a beauty. That’s why he’s staying. The girl friend and the 10 p.m. rule don’t worry him. He’s got his at home.’’

  “Anyway, now we know what Alda’s worry was, and it wasn’t anything lethal.’’

  “Yes,’’ Charmian made a note in her book. “ I’ll give him a provisional clearance.’’

  “Only provisional.’’

  “I never clear anyone completely,’’ said Charmian, “until the end.’’

  “Oh, so there is an end?’’

  “Not always. Not every time. Life’s not like that.’’

  They moved on to the next address on Charmian’s list. The address was no. 9 Applemount Street and the student’s name B. Everard.

  “Alda put two stars against Everard’s name,’’ said Charmian. “I don’t know what that meant.’’

  “Red or black stars?’’ asked Shirley.

  “Red.’’

  “Sounds like a love affair.’’

  Charmian laughed. They arrived at the front door and walked upstairs together.

  “No locked front doors here,’’ said Shirley. “In fact, no laws.’’

  There was a smell of incense on the bottom floor and a smell of frying food on the second. On the third a stream of cool air blew through the opened window. To the right was an open door.

  “Come in, come in,’’ called a young and cheerful voice. “I heard you on the stairs. Sneaking, weren’t you?’’

  “Shut up, Betha,’’ growled a masculine voice.

  At the door Charmian and Shirley paused.