“Good evening,” Roy greeted him with a faintly ironic bow. Arthur ignored the greeting and turned his back on him. Quite unruffled, Roy flashed his carefully rehearsed smile at Sue before addressing Olive.
“Is Mr. Mason about, Olive?”
“Yes. He’s in his office.”
“Tell him I’d like a word with him.” He pointed to a table in one of the alcoves at the back of the lounge. “I’ll be over there. And bring me a large scotch, there’s a sweetie.”
Arthur waited till he had gone, as if his presence polluted the atmosphere too much for reasonable conversation to be possible.
“Are you going back to Guildfleet?” he asked Sue, when Roy was well out of earshot. He had finished his drink and clearly wanted to get away.
“No, I’m calling at the cottage. It’s only ten minutes from here.”
“You’re keeping the cottage now, I imagine?”
“Yes, we are.”
Sue was only half way through her drink. She studiously ignored Arthur’s restlessness.
“It’s very attractive. I’ve always liked it. I’ll drop you there, Sue, if you like. It’s on my way home.”
“Thank you,” she said and turned to look at Andy Mason, who had just come out of his office.
“Mr. Norton wants a word with you,” Olive informed him. “He’s over there.”
“Yes,” Andy said, betraying no surprise as he raised a hand to show Roy that he had seen him. He looked towards Sue and she was not quick enough to avoid meeting his eyes for an instant. Andy went to the shelf at the back of the bar and served himself with a double whisky. He drank it quickly, then just stood there. Toying with her glass, Sue knew that he was staring at her in the mirror.
Sue felt very bereft as she watched Arthur Eastwood turn his car and drive back down the lane away from the cottage. Martin had not arrived yet. If he had, his car would have been parked outside the gate or on the short drive leading up to the garage. She pushed open the gate and walked slowly up the path through the front garden. The closed and locked windows of the house stared out at her. It was strange that a place where one had once lived happily could appear so menacing, but she still had not shaken off the nightmare memory of that murderous attack.
She stooped to pull a particularly impudent weed out of the path and as she straightened she thought she saw a movement at one of the windows. Her heart had already started to race before she realised that it was her own reflection. This was one of those very still evenings when sounds even from far away carry quite clearly and those nearer are magnified. A startled blackbird fled down the hedge, shrieking its hysterical alarm call. High in the trees of the nearby copse half a dozen rooks were squabbling in raucous tones. She could see their black shapes fluttering.
Why had Martin chosen this place to meet her and why was he keeping her waiting like this? She knew that she had been instrumental in baiting a trap, though she did not really understand what Martin had in mind. The sense of menace and danger was very strong. She could not forget that look in Andy’s eyes. Just for a moment, back there in The Grapevine, she had felt a little like a bird that cannot turn away from the coiled cobra.
As she moved round the side of the cottage past the dining-room window, a rabbit scuttled through the hedge into the field. He had been feeding on the bolting lettuces she had planted months ago. Now the weeds had virtually taken over the whole vegetable garden.
The sound of the car coming fast along the lane reached her plainly. She kept out of sight, some instinct warning her not to reveal her presence till she knew who it was. It braked sharply and stopped. She heard a door slamming, feet running and the click of the front gate. Then a voice called: “Sue!”
Suddenly all her fears seemed ridiculous. She answered: “I’m here,” and almost ran round the side of the house. Martin was taken by surprise when she flung herself into his arms.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you. I was beginning to get so frightened.”
He held her away from him to study her face with concern. “I’m sorry, I got delayed. How long have you been here?” “About five minutes, I suppose, but it seemed ages. Mr. Eastwood dropped me.”
“How did it go?” Martin asked anxiously.
“Very well. At least, I think so. Anyway, I did exactly what you wanted.”
“Thank you, Sue. I’m very grateful.”
“I’m sure he heard us, Martin. When he came out of the office he could hardly keep his eyes off me.”
“Good! You’ve done splendidly.” He drew her close again and gave her a kiss. “Now, let’s go back to the flat.”
He was holding the gate open for her when she stopped, shaking her head in perplexity.
“What is it, Sue?”
“Andy Mason. I just can’t believe it.”
“I’ll say one thing for you, Sue, you certainly know how to make coffee. That’s the first decent breakfast I’ve had in weeks.”
“I can’t say my own breakfasts have been anything to write home about. That’s the trouble about living alone. It just doesn’t seem worth bothering when there’s only yourself.”
The sitting-room of Martin’s flat was already very much tidier. The records and books had been put into some sort of order, the dust had been removed from the upper surfaces of the furniture and Sue had set up a table close to the window where it caught the morning sunshine. Martin was fully dressed except for his jacket, which was hanging over the back of his chair. The large patch of sticking plaster had been replaced by a small, neat one. Sue was wearing his silk dressing-gown.
She reached across the table to pour him a fresh cup of coffee. “Martin, tell me. What do you think will happen?”
“You mean — Andy Mason?”
It was almost the first time the case had been mentioned since the previous evening. They had been too involved in each other, making plans for the future, deciding just what to do to make things work better this time.
“It’s difficult to say. I’m hoping, after overhearing your conversation last night, that he’ll panic and contact Pike again. That was the point of the operation. In which case, of course, we’ll pick them both up.”
“But how will that help you?”
“Well, obviously, if Pike talks our troubles are over.” he talks.”
“He’ll talk, make no mistake about that!”
“But supposing Andy Mason doesn’t contact Pike and makes a dash for it?”
“Then we’ll simply have to arrest him and take a chance with the evidence we’ve already got.”
“I see.” Sue rearranged the dressing-gown which had slipped off her knee. “Martin, when did you first realise that he was involved in all this?”
“When the camera was found in Judy Clayton’s bedroom,” Martin said, buttering another piece of toast. “At first, I must admit, I tried to work out all sorts of complicated explanations as to how Judy got hold of the camera. And then suddenly, one morning, it dawned on me there might be a perfectly simple explanation after all.”
“Like Andy Mason being a friend of Judy’s and simply giving it to her?”
“Yes. Or alternatively, bribing Mrs. Bodley to plant it in her room.”
“Either way, of course, meant that Andy never did lose the camera . . .”
“Correct.”
“And that right from the beginning he intended to murder Judy Clayton and then throw suspicion on to his brother-in-law.”
“That’s right. But don’t forget we only heard the story about the camera being stolen from Andy and his sister — no one else.”
“But why should he want to incriminate David Walker? I always got the impression he was fond of him.”
“That’s the impression he gave everyone.” Martin put the last bit of toast into his mouth and after helping it down with a drink of coffee, pushed back his chair. “I’ll tell you what I think is the most likely way things happened. Andy Mason had been having an affair with Judy Clayton for some time. In those circumstances m
en are apt to tell women a good deal more than they mean to. Judy may have over-played her hand and tried to cut herself in on one of Andy’s little rackets. That was not in itself a sufficient reason for murdering her, but it was good enough for Andy to seize a chance when it was presented to him on a plate.”
Martin stood up and put his coat on, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet, notebook and pencil.
“But how did he know that Judy Clayton was going to be left alone in David Walker’s Bentley?”
“Because he’d planned it. Or rather it was his plan that Judy should be on that crossroads outside The Golden Swan when David went past. He knew that David had caught Evelyn with Roy Norton and hoped to get him on the rebound. Judy was a very attractive girl, you know.”
“Yes. So I gather,” Sue remarked drily. She removed her hand from the dressing-gown and it slipped away from her knee. She saw Martin’s glance and smiled to herself.
“Andy wanted Judy to worm her way into David’s confidence for reasons which I’ve not yet been able to fathom. My guess is that he followed the Bentley to make sure what road David took, then passed him somewhere before Kingswood so that she could be waiting on the corner. No doubt he followed at a discreet distance to make sure David really was taking her up North with him. You can imagine how he felt when the Bentley ran out of petrol and Judy was left alone in it. It was an opportunity such as he had never hoped for. When he’d strangled her and hidden her body in the ditch he hit on the idea of leaving that note —”
“Making it look as if she’d written it with her own lipstick,” Sue cut in, to prove that she was keeping up with him. “Whose lipstick was it? If he hadn’t planned to murder her then how did he come to have a different lipstick on him?”
“He went and bought it from a chemist in the nearest village, choosing the same kind as Evelyn Walker used. All he had to do was go back and throw it into the ditch. He knew damn well we’d find out that the message had not been written with Judy’s lipstick, and from that moment onwards —”
“Never believe a word David Walker said.”
“Right. But he realised that in spite of the planted evidence I still was not convinced. That’s why he faked the suicide and planted the note. There was a double advantage in that. It also made sure his sister inherited David’s share in Cavalier Toys.”
“But what about the Cavalier key-ring, and the reference in the diary to her having an appointment with someone?”
“Well, obviously she’d had the key-ring for some time. I expect Andy had given it to her. I gather from what you’ve told me there’s dozens of them floating around.” Sue nodded confirmation. “As for the diary mentioning the appointment at 10.30, Andy probably made the entry the murder was committed. It was not a very good imitation of her writing, but I’m afraid I did not tell David Walker that.”
“You said just now,” Sue stood up and began to pile the breakfast things on the tray, “if Andy makes a dash for it you’ll have to take a chance on the evidence you’ve got.”
“Yes, and it’s not all that strong, I’m afraid. I think the chemist will probably identify him as the man who bought the lipstick. And there’s no doubt in my mind — because of the after-shave lotion — that he attacked you at the cottage and murdered Mrs. Bodley.”
“I still don’t understand why Mrs. Bodley was murdered.”
“It’s my bet she was being blackmailed and got scared. She suddenly made up her mind to make a statement to me about it. You remember the story she told me about David Walker — about seeing him in town with Judy Clayton?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think that story was true. I think she was acting under instructions.”
“Instructions — from whom?”
“From the man who was blackmailing her.”
“And you think that was Andy Mason, that it was he who attacked me at the cottage and then killed her.”
“I’m sure of it.”
Sue had picked up the tray and was heading for the kitchen when a long and urgent peal on the door bell echoed through the flat. She cast an alarmed glance towards the hall, very conscious that Martin’s silk dressing-gown did very little to hide her figure.
“Are you expecting anyone?’
“No.” Martin automatically glanced at his watch. “It’s probably the postman.”
“Well, give me time to get out of sight just in case it isn’t.”
She hurried into the kitchen as Martin went through the hall to open the door. Harry Kennedy was standing on the mat, his finger raised to prod the bell-push again. He was dog-tired and had not even had a chance to shave.
“Come in, Harry!” Martin held the door wide. “You’re just in time for a cup of coffee. We’ve only just —”
He stopped when he realised that the Sergeant was distressed and shocked.
“What is it, Harry?”
Kennedy came in and closed the door behind him before he broke his news.
“Mason’s dead.”
“Dead?” Martin echoed incredulously. cryes.,,
“Well — what happened? What the hell happened?”
“He crashed his car. You know he bought a new Ford Capri about a month ago, one with an automatic gear, and according to all accounts —”
He broke off as he saw Sue coming through the sitting-room. She had recognised his voice and picked up the tension in Martin’s question.
“Hello, Sue.”
“Hello, Harry. What’s happened, Martin?”
“Andy Mason’s dead — he’s been killed in a car accident.” He took Harry by the arm and steered him into the sitting-room. His manner was tense. “Go on, Harry. Tell me how it happened.”
“He packed his car up with luggage and left The Grapevine just before midnight. Two of our chaps — Wentworth and Bourne — followed him as far as Henley and then . . .whether he got wind of what was happening or not I don’t know . . .”
“They lost him!”
“Yes — he suddenly started to drive like a madman. Went completely berserk! We had a call from Windsor about — oh, I should say a quarter to six. Apparently the car went off the road about six miles this side of Reading. It hit a telegraph pole and must have caught fire instantly. Mason was trapped in the car. Several lorry drivers stopped and got their fire extinguishers to work, but he was incinerated before anyone could get near the car. Bourne’s a pretty tough customer, but even he was shaken. He said he’s never seen a body so disfigured.”
“Was he alone, Harry?” Martin was already putting on his coat and searching for his hat.
“Yes.”
“What about his baggage and personal effects? Was anything salvaged?”
“It’s at Reading. They’re holding it. The fire and the extinguishers have made a pretty good mess of it.”
“Does Mrs. Walker know about her brother?”
“Yes. She’d like to see you. She wants to make a statement.”
Sue had found Martin’s hat. He took it from her with a perfunctory nod, then followed Kennedy who was already crossing the hall. At the door he checked, then came back, put his arm round Sue’s waist and kissed her.
“You see?” he said, as he reluctantly released her. “I really meant it when I told you things would be different from now on.”
The Inspector’s impatience was only thinly disguised. Bellinger, standing near the door, exchanged a quick glance with the uniformed clerk who was taking notes. Martin was sitting behind his desk facing Evelyn Walker. She was trying rather unsuccessfully to look attractive and at the same time grief-stricken at the death of her brother. Martin’s uncompromising attitude had unnerved her. She could not know that it was only partly due to her reluctance to come to the point. He was also impatient to get down to Windsor and see the detectives who had dealt with Andy Mason’s car crash. When that had been done he could write ‘case closed’ on the file and at last have some time to devote to his own and Sue’s affairs.
“It’s so
unlike Andy to crash his car.” She made a brave effort to hold back tears. “He had a pilot’s licence as well and he really prided himself on his driving.”
“But you still haven’t told me what your brother said to Judy Clayton. He must have given a reason for wanting her to get friendly with your husband.”
Evelyn carefully recrossed her legs. “He told her he was a shareholder in Cavalier Toys and pretended that he wanted her to get certain information out of David. The trip up north was to be only the beginning of their association. But you know what happened. The car ran out of petrol and Andy . . . changed his plans.”
“Was your brother a big shareholder in Cavalier Toys?”
“No, but between us we had quite a substantial holding, especially after David was killed.” She paused for a moment.
“Andy was ambitious, he wanted to become a director of the company but neither my husband or his partner would hear of it. When Andy heard a rumour about a possible take-over bid he made a point of getting to know Jack Stenhouse. Later he . . .introduced me to him.”
“And Mr. Norton? Was it your idea to use Roy Norton as a stooge — or decoy, if you like — so that Arthur Eastwood would think that he was a potential trouble-maker, and not your brother?”
“No, it was Andy’s idea. Actually I was against it.”
Martin’s eyebrows went up. She would have had to be very insensitive to think that he believed her. “You appear to have been against quite a few things, Mrs. Walker. Now tell me what happened the night your husband was murdered.”
“Andy telephoned David at his hotel and told him I wanted to see him, urgently. This wasn’t true, of course. When I got home, after having dinner with Roy Norton, I didn’t even know David was in the house — I swear I didn’t! It was only when I saw his cigarette case that I realised . . .” Her voice had begun to falter quite convincingly as she recalled that evening when she had come into the empty house alone. She fumbled for a handkerchief in her handbag. “He must have been actually filling his case when . . .Andy appeared . . .” Her head bowed. She touched her eyes with the handkerchief, apparently unable to continue.
Martin contemplated the performance for a few moments, wondering whether a sharp question would make her snap out of it. Then he changed his mind, pushed his chair back and stood up.
The Passenger Page 15
