by John Creasey
“That you, sir? … Oh, yes.” He came over at the double. “I’ve just got back. What’s on?”
“Just going to find out,” said Roger. “Stop running, we’ve got time. What did this surgeon say? Give me more detail, will you?”
“He said that there’s a possibility that Grannett was killed after the scrap, sir. Says that there are injuries at the back of the head which aren’t consistent with a heavy fall or with being punched. More like a kick or a blow. I didn’t want to say too much over the telephone.”
“You were quite right. What’s the surgeon like?”
“Mr Cartwright, sir? He seems to know his onions.”
“I’ve asked the hospital to let a Home Office pathologist have a look at the body,” Roger said. “Did he know that?”
“Oh, yes, and I understand that Dr Legg’s on the way already, they were preparing for him in the hospital laboratory. No doubt everyone’s getting a move on.”
“Too much of a move on, in some ways,” Roger said, and chuckled. “Forget that! And thanks. Stand by until I tell you what to do. Coombs has already got cracking, I fancy. Now we can get a move on.” He broke into a run, which brought them to the little group of men and the cars. Suddenly, lights in the office building were switched on, so that they could see everyone clearly – and there was Charley Coombs, on one knee, peering at something on the ground.
“Like to borrow a magnifying glass, Charley?” Roger asked.
Coombs grunted.
“So you don’t sleep all the time.”
“What’s on?”
“They tried to murder Malcolm Munro, that’s what’s on.”
“Badly hurt?” Roger’s voice became sharp.
“Knocked out, and a cut and a bruise or two. That—er, his secretary happened to see it out of the window, and her screams brought help. The attack was pretty well planned,” Coombs went on, standing up. “There were a dozen or so of the young brutes with scouts on either side. As soon as help was on the way, the scouts whistled and the attackers ran off. Didn’t see one of them clearly.”
“What’ve you done?” asked Roger.
“Sent for you, and found one or two broomsticks they dropped, you ought to get some dabs on them.”
“Had the gates locked? The fence guarded?”
Coombs gulped. “Gawd, no, I forgot.”
“Who’s in charge here?” Roger asked, and looked round at the assembled Divisional policemen. No one answered. “Do a job for me, quick, will you?” he asked generally. “Two men go to the main gatehouse, and ask the gatekeeper to lock it and take the name of every man who wants to get through – hold anyone who insists, ask the others to wait. Two more go to the loading platforms and do the same thing. Then get permission to have a watch on the fence surrounding the factory. We want to try to catch some of the chaps who did it. All set?”
There was a moment’s hesitation before a man said: “Come on, Bill.”
“Like me at the gatehouse, sir?” Sheppard asked.
“Good idea. See if the gatekeeper can name everyone who’s been out in the last twenty minutes or so. Get a list of them.” Roger stopped and watched the men hurrying off, all glad to have something specific to do; then he became aware of the fact that Coombs was grinning.
“What’s funny, Charley?”
“Did me good to hear you on the job,” declared Coombs. “If you aren’t Commander one of these days, I’ll eat my hat. Anything you’d like me to do?”
“Yes. Phone the Division, then have this spot cordoned off and searched for anything the thugs might have dropped,” Roger said crisply. “We’ll want a thorough search all over the grounds, as soon as there’s enough daylight. If they get away with an attack like this, they’ll probably have another crack before we can turn round. What’s this about the girl, Tessa Lee? See her yourself?”
“I happened to be coming up with Mr Amory, in his car,” Coombs explained. “He’d been home for half an hour, he lives only a couple of miles away, and I’d been having a word with the gatekeeper. We were the first on the scene. I rounded some chaps up while Amory went to the girl and Malcolm M. I stayed long enough to hear the way she went on. She’s so much in love with him, the thought that he might be hurt terrified her.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the office First Aid Room. Each building’s got First Aid quarters, and the hospital itself is at the back of this office block. Amory’s gone with her and two or three others.”
“Anyone see the attack?”
“Not at close quarters, as far as I can make out,” Coombs said. “The night-duty commissionaire was having a cup of tea, instead of being on the job.”
“Was he, then,” remarked Roger. “Could he have been dropped a pound to turn a blind eye?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“We’ll check,” Roger said, and went on with hardly a pause: “Seen Mike Grannett lately?”
“No.”
“Job to do there,” said Roger, and looked towards the gatehouse, going on almost regretfully, “I shouldn’t have let Sheppard go. I want to find out where Grannett’s been, whether he was back in the grounds, whether he could have organised this job. You say there were a dozen men?”
“At least,” Coombs asserted. “The Division will do all that’s necessary with Grannett, Handsome. Why don’t you call ’em from the office? “
“I will,” said Roger.
He went towards the steps, where now a uniformed commissionaire stood in an attitude that was almost bellicose, and demanded to see his pass. Roger showed his card, and the man almost quivered in apology.
“Where’s Miss Lee, do you know?
“In the First Aid Room, sir. Mr Amory’s there with her, and Night Sister’s come down from the hospital. I had to nip off duty for five minutes, sir, but if I’d known what was coming, I wouldn’t have moved an inch.”
“Too bad,” Roger said. It wasn’t his job to dress this man down, or to act as if he were to blame. Yet. “Where is the First Aid Room?”
“Through those doors and second on the left, sir.”
“Thanks.” Roger stood aside as the man rushed to open the swing doors which led to the main office entrance, and then turned left along a wide, brightly lit passage. The second door was painted white, with a large red cross on it, and the words first aid painted in black. He opened the door and went in, without knocking. There were two rooms, this outer or ante-room, where two nurses were standing, and a second one, the door of which was wide open and which seemed to be much larger.
“Excuse me, sir—” a nurse began.
Roger gave his most pleasant smile. “Police,” he said, and went into the big room.
Chapter Six
Bad Mistake
The only one who noticed Roger was Amory, who glanced up, nodded, then looked back at the couch where Malcolm Munro lay with his eyes open. Another nurse, probably the Night Sister, was dabbing at his nose, which was badly grazed on one side; his lips were swollen, and so was his right ear, but his colour wasn’t bad, and there was nothing to suggest that he was badly hurt.
By his side, standing up, was a girl whom Roger hadn’t seen before.
The Lee girl, of course.
She had less colour than young Munro, and her eyes looked too bright; glassy, as if with pain or shock. Apart from that, she was really something to see, a brunette with wavy hair which clustered about a round head, framing a strikingly attractive face. One of the classic types. She wore a summer-weight grey coat, which hung open and showed her black skirt and white blouse. Some reddish brown smears on the blouse, close to the neck and the right breast, looked like blood: that would be where she had cradled Malcolm in her arms. Quite a girl; quite a figure. She was very much on edge, and once or twice glanced at Amory, who seemed intent only on what the Night Sister was doing. Then Malcolm Munro looked towards Roger, and his eyes asked the obvious question.
“This is Chief Inspector West,” Amory said, �
�but I’m sure Mr West won’t insist on questioning you tonight.”
“Don’t see why not.” Munro spoke thickly, and only one side of his mouth moved; the other, swollen, was almost certainly cut on the inside, and must be very painful. “I’m all right, no need to fuss. Sorry I kept you waiting, Chief Inspector.” Well, that showed spirit. “Finished with me, Sister?”
He wasn’t exactly arrogant, but wasn’t far from it. His eyes glinted as if he wanted to grin, and Roger’s first feeling was one of admiration, for Munro must have had a hell of a time.
“You really must rest, Mr Munro.” The Sister was anxious.
“You’re very good,” said Munro, “but I assure you that it’s possible for a man to walk ten miles with a hole in his side big enough to take my fist, and have a chat with the C.O. at the end of it. What I would like is a drink. Lend me a hand, Tessa.” He put his large, brown hand towards the Lee girl, and she took it eagerly, but shot a glance at Amory, who watched without any sign of approval or disapproval. “I assure you that if I feel like collapsing, Sister, I’ll come back and admit that you were right,” Munro added, and stood up.
He didn’t sway. That probably cost quite an effort
“We’ll go along to the waiting-room, I’ve arranged for everything we need to be there,” Amory said. “Will you go ahead and make sure everything’s all right, Miss Lee?”
“Yes, of course.” The girl let Munro’s hand go, and hurried towards the door; she moved well. Munro watched and, even when she had gone out of sight, looked as if he could still see her. Then he gave a twisted grin at Amory and said: “I think I’d better tackle one kind of trouble at a time, Bob. I take it that you wanted Tessa out of the way while the Chief Inspector puts me through the hoop.”
“It seemed wise,” said Amory dryly.
Roger said quietly: “What I want, Mr Munro, is a straightforward factual account of what happened from the time you reached the gatehouse in your car this afternoon. After that I may have one or two specific questions to ask.”
There was a pause, while Munro watched Roger as if he was making up his mind what to say. To lie? He almost certainly realised his own danger: that if it could be proved that he had started the fight, he would be charged with manslaughter. As a director of Munro Motors, he would probably be finished for life.
“Straightforward and factual,” he echoed at last. “All right. I was a damned fool, and—”
“Stop that, Malcolm.” Amory’s voice could be sharp and incisive.
Munro flashed a glance at him.
“Oh, not an actionable fool. Just a straightforward red one. I …”
He had an exceptional aptitude for summarising facts, and if Roger had to set down the story he had heard from several sources, it would be almost word for word with Munro’s statement.
“Thank you,” Roger said when it was done. “How well did you know Roy Grannett, Mr Munro?”
“I didn’t know him at all.”
“Hadn’t you seen him about the works?”
“Possibly. I didn’t recognise him, although I did recognise young Woods.”
“Did you know Woods?”
“Yes, as an errand boy during the week or two I spent in the Assembly Shop. He was the chief tea-maker. I was not on terms of any kind of friendship with any of the youths, or any of the men in the factory. It might have been better if I had got to know some of them.”
“Chief Inspector, I think I must insist that you stop questioning Mr Munro now,” Amory intervened quietly. “He looks very pale, and undoubtedly is suffering from severe shock. I want to send him home to bed.”
“Nothing more I need worry him or you about at the moment, sir,” Roger said, and flashed his smile. Be reasonable, always be reasonable. “Thank you for being so helpful.” He turned towards the door.
“May I ask what you’re going to do next?” Amory asked.
Roger said: “Look for the bad men – the hooligans who attacked Mr Munro.”
“I hope you don’t lay hands on them,” said Munro. “They’ve probably cried their vengeance. If any of them are caught, this could grow into a kind of vendetta. That wouldn’t be likely to help anyone.”
Roger’s smile faded, and he made himself look severe.
“A crime has been committed, Mr Munro, and my job is to find whoever committed it. I hope you feel much better in the morning. Good night.” He went out, passed the two nurses, who stared as if he was a freak, and walked along the passage to the front of the building.
He was now even more anxious to see Cartwright and the Home Office pathologist, who was probably in the middle of his job at the hospital. If the pathologist agreed with the surgeon that one of the wounds on young Grannett’s head had not been caused by his fall, there was going to be a lot more to do than look for the assailants of Malcolm Munro.
He had taken to Munro, but likes and dislikes were irrelevant. What mattered was to find out how young Grannett had died, and whether there was any likelihood of murder.
It didn’t surprise Roger to see a police car standing outside the office block’s main entrance, with the commissionaire staring at the four tall, massive-looking men who had just got out. One was advancing, and when he saw Roger, he drew up.
“Just coming for you, Mr West. I’m Green, of the Division. I’ve had a word with Charley Coombs and your sergeant, so we know more or less what you want. Any special instructions?”
“We want one of the gang who attacked Munro – just one will do,” Roger said mildly. “Something might have come out of the gatekeeper by now.”
“Nothing doing,” Green said. “These beggars climbed the fence, I doubt if anyone recognised them.”
“Well, check, will you? And have the youth Woods checked, too, and all his friends, and the friends and workmates of young Grannett.”
“Yes, can do.” So the local man had already been well briefed.
“There’s a night commissionaire on duty who might give us a lead. He slipped off just before the attack.”
“I know the chap,” said Green. “We’ll watch him, and ask him a few questions just when he’s not expecting it.”
“Thanks.” It was good to work with a man who didn’t waste words. “Now I’m going across to my office for ten minutes, then I’m going into Elling Hospital,” Roger said.
He was gone twenty minutes, and in that time managed to get a sandwich and a cup of coffee sent in from the Assembly Shop Canteen – he was famished. The last job he did was to check that the pathologist was in fact working at the hospital, with Cartwright, the local surgeon. Then he went out to his car, at a side entrance to the Assembly Shop. The quiet of the night seemed blessed after the metallic clamour inside, and Roger strolled slowly to his car, breathing in the cold night air deeply. It was not only colder but brighter; he could see most of the stars. This might mean a change in the weather, which had been poor and depressing of late. He got into the car, and drove towards the office block so as to reach the gatehouse. Malcolm Munro was coming down the steps, with Tessa Lee by his side. No one else was with them. By the foot of the steps stood a small car, the make of which Roger couldn’t discern.
He heard Munro say: “If I’m not allowed to drive myself home, I’d rather be driven by you than anybody.” They reached the little car. “Remind me to sell my automobile and give the proceeds to charity.” He gave a little laugh, which sounded bitter. The girl didn’t speak. Roger thought that in this half-light she looked even lovelier.
The commissionaire opened the door of the little car.
Roger drove ahead, was checked by two men at the gate, heard from Sheppard that so far none of the youths had been named, and then drove towards Elling. He had forgotten to ask for directions to the hospital, but that shouldn’t be difficult to find. He could go back and ask the gatekeeper, or stop Munro and the girl, or inquire when he reached the main part of the suburb; the trouble was that he might have to double back on his tracks, and he didn’t want to waste time.
He decided to ask the couple.
He actually slowed down, and was going to wave to them, when he realised a danger that he had completely overlooked. “Lunatic,” he said to himself, quickened his speed, then took a turning to the left. The small car passed. He swung out of the turning quickly and followed it, keeping fairly close. He had no idea where Munro lived, and it was possible that they would go to the girl’s home first; whether they did or not, any danger which lurked was most likely to be at Munro’s home.
He should have arranged to have it watched.
He flicked on his radio, and heard a buzzing and a medley of voices, then the Information Room at the Yard.
“Chief Inspector West calling Information,” he said. “Chief Inspector West calling Information.”
“Information answering, Mr West. Over.”
“Thank you. Request Division to have home of Mr Malcolm Munro watched immediately because of the possibility of an attack on him.”
“I’ll repeat that, sir …”
When he’d heard the repeat, Roger switched off. The other car was about fifty yards ahead, and there was no other traffic on the road, but the reddish glow in the sky above Elling showed that Elling was very near, and there would be more traffic about. He drew closer, and was only twenty yards behind when the left-side indicator glowed red.
He slowed down.
They were in wide streets with large, self-contained houses on either side, obviously a residential district, as obviously one where Munro was more likely to live than the girl. Roger wondered if she had noticed that he was following, and whether she had said anything to Munro. It didn’t matter. Left, right, second left; then the car slowed down again, and turned into the drive of a large house.
