Beside her she heard Brigitta’s voice rambling on.
“I am Brigitta, my sister was Thea. We came to this country to improve our English. Thea came to Deerham Hills. I am with a good family in Hampstead.’’
“They’ll be looking for you,’’ said Chris, not taking her eyes from the road ahead.
“Thea stopped writing. I wrote but she never answered.’’ Brigitta went on talking, ignoring Chris.
“I came here to the house where she stayed. I call and call, and no one answers. A neighbour tells me that the housewife is away.’’ Her English was degenerating under stress. “Anyway, I can tell no housework is being done in that house.’’ Even in her desperation, her scorn at inefficiency came through.
“Stop her talking,’’ advised Ralph Smith. He sounded anxious. Charmian thought he had cause to be.
“She wants to talk,’’ she said. Behind them they had left the local constable guarding their excavation and Charmian’s car and the wooden box and its grisly contents. Ahead of them, alerted already, were their colleagues at Deerham Hills police station. Charmian had telephoned to Pratt. His reaction to the heads had been cautious. “ We don’t know yet that they have anything to do with us,’’ he had said. “Smith’s been coming down daily to look at where they were buried,’’ Charmian had retorted. “Of course it has something to do with us.’’
“You should have come straight to the police,’’ said Charmian, turning now to Brigitta. “ We would have helped you to find your sister.’’
“Like now, for instance,’’ said Ralph Smith. “ You’ve helped her a lot, haven’t you?’’
“I wanted to come to the police,’’ said Brigitta. “But he told me you would not help. He said you did not look for girls.’’
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’’ asked Ralph Smith. “ You wouldn’t have done much looking, would you?’’
Charmian was silent.
“Told you,’’ he said. He knew he had scored a point.
“You shouldn’t let me get away with saying things like that,’’ he said. “It might let me get confidence. You might find I didn’t start telling you the things you want when you start asking me.’’
“Will we be asking him?’’ called Chris from the front. She had taken an instant dislike to Ralph Smith; arrogance and anger showed in her voice.
“Oh, you’ll be asking me. You’ve got me lined up, haven’t you? I’m a killer all right. I mean, you’re not even going to wait for me to confess, are you? Actions speak louder than words: that’s written on every cop’s heart.’’
“Lot of truth in it,’’ shouted Chris.
“Oh, you love me, don’t you? I know your sort. And I know a lot about you. Don’t think you’ve passed unnoticed.’’
Charmian laughed, a short, hard sound.
“And you too,’’ he said swivelling round to look at her. “ Now, about you … I know you …’’
“You can’t tell me anything about me I don’t know,’’ said Charmian calmly. She could see there was a black car far down the road behind them. “Go on talking, Brigitta. Tell me about your sister. Take your time.’’
“She’s doing that,’’ said Smith. “My time and yours.’’
“Yes, I will tell you,’’ said Brigitta, ignoring him and talking straight at Charmian. “Later, I will tell you everything, but now I have to try to make myself calm.’’
“Go on about what happened.’’
“I went looking for my sister. At the house like I said. This was where I see him. Outside.’’
“Outside the house where your sister worked?’’
“Yes.’’
“And this house was the house of Mrs. John Customer?’’
“That is right. He told me lies. He told me he was looking for his sister.’’
“You knew about John Customer being my brother-in-law,’’ said Ralph Smith. “ Lot of good it did me.’’
“Yes. I knew.’’
“All he wanted me for was to wash down his car. Correction. His cars. My rich brother-in-law.’’
“It gave you a chance to know the girl who worked there,’’ said Charmian.
Ralph Smith started to laugh. For the second time a sharp, personal anger bit into Charmian. She wanted to hit his face.
Keep calm, she told herself, he may be a murderer, but there’s no need to hate him too much.
All the facts that they had patiently collected about the killer fitted in with what she could see of Ralph Smith. She had thought of the killer as a ‘comedian’, a man with a grudge, a tragic-comic figure, and that was what Ralph Smith was. She had said, “Look for a boy,’’ when she saw the clothes hidden in the coffin, and now they looked like being Ralph Smith’s clothes. They would be a good fit.
But the identity of the body in the coffin at Deerham Hills was still far from clear. They had a girl’s head, and a provisional name for the girl. Probably the body was hers. But then whose was the second head and where had it come from? Somewhere there was another body waiting to be found.
And Ralph Smith knew about it. Charmian was suddenly convinced of this. He knew. Perhaps they would only find and identify the second body through the killer.
Charmian looked at Ralph Smith and measured it all up against him for size. In her eyes it all fitted.
“You lead me and I’ll follow,’’ she murmured to herself. She wasn’t quite sure where he was going to lead her, but she saw him as the key. As he was.
The body of Thea Brunner had come back to Deerham Hills because it belonged there. It had come back because it had to. The coffin, which had already been labelled once before, had the name Deerham Hills dug into its wood. Coffins aren’t normally used twice, but they can be if they are used by the pathology department of a hospital like Deerham Hills and then left lying around. Charmian knew she must check this and find out if it were possible. But it must be, because it had happened.
Ralph Smith had worked at the hospital and also for his brother-in-law John Customer, who also had contacts at the hospital.
Ralph Smith had worked on the railways and the railways had been used to transport the body. He had probably faked the break-in at the railway station and deliberately destroyed the records to hide the fact that there were no records for this transaction. Ralph Smith, the ex-railway worker, had known how to start his box on the journey without filling in a form or buying a ticket. No doubt he had used one of John Customer’s vans to transport it to the station.
Ralph Smith had worked in the hospital and he had used the hospital; he had worked on the railway and he had used the railway; he had worked for his rich brother-in-law and he had used him. For that matter, he had worked at the plastics factory and he had used that too. He had blazed a trail wide and clear. He had practically signed his name to it.
Open your eyes wide and Ralph Smith walked right into your picture.
“There’s a black car following us,’’ said Chris suddenly from the front.
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen it. I don’t think it’s following us, though.’’
Chris grunted.
“You’re just jumpy,’’ said Charmian.
“You’re all bloody jumpy,’’ said Ralph Smith, with a sort of triumphant crow. He had accurately observed them: they were all jumpy. “What do you think I’m going to do?’’
Charmian shifted uneasily in her seat between him and the girl. This car they were travelling in was their small world and in this world anything might happen.
“For that matter what do you think I’ve been doing? You’re trying hard, aren’t you, but you can’t really make a picture.’’
“I’m not doing too badly,’’ said Charmian grimly. But what about the way he was shooting off those paint-pellets? Why was he doing that? Where does that fit in? She had to ask herself these questions.
Ralph Smith leaned forward. “ I never spoke a word to that girl Thea in my life,’’ he said softly. “I didn’t and you can’t prove I did.’’
What motive did he have for killing the girl? Charmian asked herself. Did he need a motive? Did he do the killing?
Keep calm, she told herself, no need to help him too much.
“Go on,’’ he urged. “Use your brain. Like I’ve been doing. There’s someone who makes it a much better picture than I do. I’m only background.’’
All the things you could use as circumstantial evidence against Ralph Smith you could also use against William Burton.
He too knew all about the railway and could have faked his own break-in.
He often despatched goods to the hospital and certainly knew all about the arrangements up there.
He was a vigorous man who found women attractive. It wouldn’t be difficult to imagine a relationship between him and Thea, and from this a motive for murder.
He could easily have stolen the knife from the Spinola Coffee Bar.
At the time when the car was being driven back towards Deerham Hills, William Burton and his wife were alone together in their house.
Willie was smoking and his wife was reading. She was deeply absorbed and yet managing to keep an eye on Willie too.
She had a new subject now: the death of kings. Last week she had read about Agamemnon, tonight it was Tutankhamen. She had a good many more names on her reading list.
“It’s so interesting,’’ she said to Willie, her eyes bright. “ I’m quite excited. The detail is so interesting. Do you know we even have the flower necklaces the funeral attendants wore at the Pharaoh’s funeral?’’
“No. I didn’t know.’’
“We know what they ate at the funeral breakfast. We don’t know what he died of, though.’’
“Pity.’’
“But then, what do we ever really know about what people die of?’’ asked his wife.
“I’ve got something to tell you, my dear,’’ said her husband, taking her hand. “I’ve thought of it over a long time and now we must talk about it.’’
“Oh, no,’’ she said, drawing her hand away and looking frightened.
“Yes.’’
“Is it about someone I know? Someone I’m fond of?’’ Her eyes were shocked and black-looking.
“Yes, very fond,’’ he answered sadly. “It starts with me.’’
“He’s in my background,’’ said Ralph Smith. “Take a look and you see the big boy striding across the scene.’’
The car swerved so that the three of them jammed together in the back seat fell against each other.
As she straightened herself, Charmian suddenly remembered that William Burton couldn’t, or said he could not drive a car. It was essential that the murderer could drive a car, because the coffin had arrived at the Junction, on the first stage of its journey, in a van.
“Charmian,’’ called Chris softly from the front of the car. “ There’s something very wrong with the steering of this car. The brakes, too,’’ she added fearfully, as they slithered down a slope.
“It’s an old crock,’’ agreed Ralph Smith indifferently. “I always knew it would go. Something came adrift on the way here.’’
“You fool!’’ said Charmian savagely. “You’ll get us all killed.’’
She knew the danger of the road here, and knew that at the foot of the hill was a sharp curve. They could all be a few moments away from death. Perhaps this was what Ralph Smith had been hoping for? Perhaps this was why he had kept them talking?
He looked like getting his way, she thought, as the car slithered and rushed. Ralph Smith would be satisfied.
And she would die, with all her sins upon her, not knowing whether her husband loved her or why Tony Foss had coaxed all the girls away.
“You’re doing very well,’’ she called, seeing Chris’s shoulders hunched and tense.
Carefully Chris steered the car into the side of the road, and stopped. She took a deep breath, and admitted to herself that her hands trembled.
No one spoke.
“I suppose we could all get out and walk,’’ said Chris finally.
“Oh, go on. My car’s not a killer,’’ said Ralph Smith. “ You’re losing your nerve.’’
“Shut up,’’ said Chris.
“I reckon you’re a bad driver, that’s what it is.’’ He was taunting her. “You’d better watch yourself.’’
Chris said nothing. Perhaps she had better watch herself. She wasn’t sure of herself as she had been. Either her character was altering or she was seeing herself differently. “I’m not all that good a driver,’’ she muttered. “ I never said I was.’’
At this moment, of all moments, she was remembering a conversation she had had with Grizel the day before.
“I’ve found out he’s married,’’ she had said.
“But I thought you always knew he was married,’’ Grizel had replied.
“I don’t know how you know all about it.’’
“That’s the sort of thing Grizel always knows all about,’’ Charmian had put in. “ She does it by reading the omens.’’
Grizel had laughed. “And you don’t know what it is to live in a town like Deerham Hills,’’ she said to Chris. “Doesn’t take much to make talk in the town. And don’t think they get the details wrong. Detail is what they are good on.’’
“Details are what I’m not good on,’’ Chris now thought glumly to herself. “ Details like what I really mind about, what I really want from life. I’m going to have to do better in future. If I have a future.’’
“If you’re still alive tomorrow what will you be doing?’’ she called across to Charmian.
“Asking Tony Foss, my delinquent Pied Piper, what he’s been up to,’’ Charmian answered in a decided voice.
Ralph Smith interrupted.
“I know a road back that’s safer. No slope. The car knows it too.’’
“That’s the route I need,’’ said Chris.
“I’ll direct,’’ said Ralph. He leaned forward. Incredibly, he sounded at ease.
The black car was still behind them. Charmian suddenly saw it again. This time she could see quite clearly who was in it.
Willie Burton was comforting his wife.
“I blame myself,’’ he said. “I should have seen what was coming. I shouldn’t have let you in for all this.’’
“No, no.’’ She was crying. “I won’t let you take all the blame.’’
“I should have protected you,’’ said William sadly.
“You can’t protect a fool.’’
“Hush.’’ He patted her hand.
“He was making me a wooden frame, helping me to walk again. That was a good act, William.’’
“Of course it was.’’
“He helped me, he loved me. He loved Leonora too.’’
“I know that,’’ said Willie, almost in tears himself. “He can’t help loving women.’’
He went over to a table and took out a letter.
“Here, this is for you. Read it.’’
“The steering’s much better now.’’ Chris relaxed a little.
“I told you the car knew the way,’’ said Ralph Smith in a placid voice. “ Left here, and then right. Recognise the way?’’
“Yes,’’ said Charmian, shortly.
Behind them the black car came closer and closer.
“I won’t say I planned this. But it’s turned out better than I expected.’’
“I bet it has,’’ said Charmian.
“Right again. You could stop at the third house on the left.’’
Chris looked round at Charmian, who nodded.
The black car was close behind and stopped as soon as they did.
John Customer was out on the pavement before them.
“No, don’t bother to go in,’’ he said. “ I can tell you what you will find inside.’’
“I know already,’’ said Charmian.
“Yes. A dead woman. My wife. I killed her and I killed the girl because she saw me.’’
“Course you did.’�
�� said Ralph Smith. “I’ve thought so all along. I told my Mum. I put the red on you with my gun. And I brought the police to you in the end.’’
All the things you could say against Ralph Smith, and against William Burton, you could also say against John Customer.
“I loved Leonora,’’ said Ralph Smith.
“I loved her too,’’ said John Customer. He took a key from his pocket and gave it to Charmian. “She’s in there. She’s been there all the time. Just her and me together.’’
“He kept her here all the time?’’ muttered Chris. She sounded just faintly hysterical. Charmian thought she was going to have to watch Chris. She wasn’t as tough as she had seemed.
Charmian opened the door of John Customer’s house and they went in together.
He led her up the stairs. There was a faint, strange, sickly smell approaching them. At the top of the stairs he stopped.
“I don’t know how you are going to feel about seeing her,’’ he said, in a polite, careful voice. “For me, of course, she’s still my wife, still Leonora. But for you, well, she’s been dead a long time, perhaps you won’t like to look.’’
“I can bear it,’’ said Charmian in a hard voice.
“If you’re sure.’’ He walked forward to the end of the corridor and opened a door.
Charmian stopped short at the threshold. The room beyond, which somehow she had expected to see dark, was ablaze with lights and crowded with flowers. He had the curtains tightly drawn, so that the room was hidden from the world. Between her and the bed was a great bank of flowers. There were masses of roses and jars of white lilies. On the bed, coming where the head would have been, was a huge bowl of flowers. She could just see the shape of a pair of hands folded beneath it. The smell of the flowers joined with but could not mask the other smell in the room. Charmian felt sick.
A Different Kind of Summer Page 14
