It was dusk and the gas lamps shed only a very patchy light. As she walked along the pavement, she saw an old man in a pair of dark glasses coming towards her, tapping away with a white stick. His head and face were virtually invisible under his hat. Maisie was about to walk past him when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist. Before she could protest, she was dragged into a doorway.
‘Hello, Maisie,’ said Hubbard.
She blinked in amazement. ‘Is that you, Wally?’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Set the coppers on to me.’
‘I did nothing of the kind,’ she protested.
‘Then how did they know where I was? I heard a car draw up outside the house. When I peeped out, there was Sergeant Keedy.’
‘Well, I didn’t tell him where you were. I’m shocked that you even thought that it could be me. Have you forgotten what happened last night and the one before?’
‘No,’ he said, releasing her wrist. ‘I haven’t. It meant everything to me.’
‘I was going to come back again tonight,’ she said, making her decision there and then. ‘Why should I warn the coppers?’
He embraced her. ‘In my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t you, Maisie.’
‘What happened?’
‘I scarpered.’
Embellishing the story, he told her how he’d gone from garden to garden before going down the side entry of a house and waiting until Keedy ran past. Having been shocked at his accusation, she was now laughing. When he removed the dark glasses, she saw the question in his eyes.
‘It must have been Felix,’ she concluded.
‘I trusted that bastard.’
‘So did I, Wally, but only so far. He always puts himself first. He told me that he’d only help you from a distance. Felix didn’t want to see you himself.’
‘What sort of a friend is that?’
‘Don’t rely on him too much.’
He nodded. ‘From now on, I won’t rely on him at all.’
Veronica Croft was surprised and troubled when the detectives arrived at the house. She hustled them into the front room, then told her mother that two friends had just popped in for a moment. After a day at the factory, she’d changed into a dress and wore a thick cardigan. She was palpably anxious to make their visit a short one. They had other ideas. Marmion led the questioning.
‘Have you had any unexpected visitors lately?’ he asked.
‘Nobody – apart from Sergeant Keedy, that is.’
‘Think again, Mrs Croft.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ve overlooked the visit of Wally Hubbard.’ She blanched. ‘It’s no good denying it. Thanks to help given by you, Hubbard went to see a Mrs Graydon and asked if she knew where your husband might be. I’ve spoken to her. She wondered how he could possibly have got hold of her name.’
‘You gave it to him, didn’t you?’ asked Keedy.
‘No, no … I didn’t,’ she said, weakly.
‘Don’t waste our time, Mrs Croft,’ said Marmion, quietly, ‘or you’ll be charged with aiding and abetting an escaped prisoner.’
Looking from one to the other, she saw that further evasion was unwise. Only complete honesty would satisfy them. She blurted the truth out.
‘I had no choice, Inspector. He scared me.’
‘How did he do that?’
‘It was the way he looked at me. He was so determined.’
‘We are equally determined,’ said Marmion. ‘Now why don’t you tell us when he came, how long he was here and what he actually said to you. Oh,’ he added, ‘and you might care to explain why you didn’t alert us immediately.’
‘I was going to,’ she whispered, ‘but he … threatened me and my mother.’
‘I can imagine him doing that,’ said Keedy.
‘Mr Hubbard said that he’d know if I turned to you.’
Veronica was unnerved. She was in deep trouble. In giving Hubbard the name of Helen Graydon, she’d not only been helping a wanted man, she’d tacitly supported someone bent on the murder of her husband. Only now that she was being called to account for her actions did she realise their serious implications. Hitherto, she’d blocked all thought of consequences from her mind. Now she had to face up to them. She remembered the exact time when Hubbard had called on her and reported most of what he’d said verbatim. Hubbard’s visit had clearly made a big impression on her. Veronica had been desperate to get him out of the house. As it was, she’d had to tell a pack of lies to her mother about the stranger. When she recalled what he’d been wearing, Keedy took down the details in his notebook. Hubbard’s appearance and attire matched exactly the description given to Marmion by Helen Graydon.
When she finished what had been a searing confession for her, Marmion took the briefcase from the larger bag in which he’d carried it. He offered it to her.
‘Have you ever seen this before, Mrs Croft?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ she replied.
‘Have a closer look.’
She took the briefcase and examined it briefly before shaking her head.
‘No, Inspector, I’m sorry. It’s not Ben’s. He had a briefcase but it was in much better condition than this.’
‘Open it,’ said Marmion.
‘Why?’
‘There’s something inside.’
She did as she was told and took out the contents of the briefcase. Her eyes widened in recognition.
‘You’ve obviously seen those before,’ he observed.
‘They belong to my husband.’
‘So they are genuine?’
‘I think so. Where did you get them?’
‘The briefcase belonged to a man who was murdered at a Salvation Army hostel in Stepney.’
Her face creased in dismay. ‘How on earth did they get there?’
‘We thought that the briefcase might have been stolen from Mr Croft,’ said Keedy. ‘Apparently, it contained other items when it was first brought into the hostel but they disappeared when the crime took place. All that was left behind is what you can see.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, plainly confused. ‘Ben took great care of his things. He’d never let anything as important as this go astray. I’m starting to get very worried about him.’
‘We can do without any hypocrisy, Mrs Croft,’ said Marmion, levelly. ‘The fact remains that you gave help to a man whose sole aim in life is to murder your husband. A show of sympathy for Mr Croft comes a little late in the day.’
‘What’s going on?’ she bleated, handing the papers and briefcase back to Marmion. ‘Who had these things?’
‘It was a man who called himself David.’
‘What was his surname?’
‘He refused to tell them.’
‘But we did notice a coincidence,’ said Keedy. ‘We saw that your husband’s middle name was David – Benjamin David Croft.’
‘That wasn’t the name he was christened, Sergeant.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘David was Ben’s own choice. He hated his middle name so he changed it before we were married. The other children used to poke fun at him in school because he had an unusual name. You know how cruel children can be.’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Marmion, ‘they can be merciless. So what was Mr Croft’s name before he changed it to David?’
‘Dieter.’
‘That is unusual.’
‘Why was he called Dieter?’ asked Keedy.
‘He was named after his grandfather,’ she replied. ‘They were a German family from Freiburg. My husband used to stay with them when he was much younger. Things have changed since then, of course. Given the way things have turned out, Ben was very glad that he didn’t have a German name any more.’
Ellen had to wait for hours before she could confront her son. In the interim, her anger and sense of humiliation simmered away. It was bad enough for her Paul to sneer at Sally Redwood in the privacy of his bedroom. To do so in publi
c was disgraceful. The temptation to ring her husband was very powerful but Ellen fought it off. Since he was in charge of two major investigations, it would be quite wrong to pester him at Scotland Yard with a domestic matter. If she did so – and the superintendent got to hear of it – there would be unpleasant repercussions for Marmion. Ellen had to handle the situation on her own.
Pacing up and down the living room, she recalled the bruising meeting with Patricia Redwood. She’d been defenceless. Ellen could neither deny nor excuse her son’s behaviour. It had cost her the friendship of a woman with whom she had worked happily at the sewing circles since the start of the war. If Paul went unchecked, it could cost his mother a lot more.
When he eventually returned, he let himself into the house and shut the door behind him. Ellen shot out of the living room to bar his way.
‘Mrs Redwood called here earlier,’ she said with asperity.
‘Then I’m glad I wasn’t at home.’
‘She told me what you did, Paul.’
He shrugged. ‘What did I do?’
‘You turned up at Newsome’s and pulled faces at Sally.’
‘I wanted to make her laugh, that’s all.’
‘You went there on purpose to upset her,’ she said, ‘because you’ve decided to persecute the girl for some reason. What got into you? Mrs Redwood was breathing fire when she came here. The next time anything like this happens, her husband will come looking for you.’
‘Let him,’ said Paul, casually.
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Well, you might start with an apology.’
‘Why? I’ve got nothing to say sorry for.’
‘On her first day in a new job,’ she said, ‘you caused Sally a lot of anxiety and embarrassment. Why didn’t you leave her alone?’
‘I just happened to be passing the shop and saw her in the window.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Paul. You watched and waited for the right moment.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I’m beginning to see the way your mind works,’ she went on. ‘It wasn’t enough for you to draw a picture of Sally and throw darts at it. You had to spoil a very special day for her. I’m ashamed of you, Paul, thoroughly ashamed. And on top of all that, I find that dreadful portrait of Sally in your bedroom. I was so revolted that I tore it to shreds.’
‘You shouldn’t have been in my room,’ he said, angrily.
‘This is our house, Paul,’ she yelled at him. ‘We’re entitled to know what goes on under this roof. Your father will be outraged when I tell him the kind of monster you’re turning into. Are you proud of hurting an innocent girl?’
The sheer force of her fury stunned him for a moment. Paul stood there without quite knowing what to do or say. Ellen continued to berate him, pointing out that he used to be so much more considerate towards other people. She demanded to know what it was about Sally Redwood that prompted him to hound her.
‘Why have you decided to pick on her?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘I just enjoy doing it.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Felix Browne knew the importance of maintaining contacts in the business world. To that end, he dined at his club at least twice a week so that he could mix with friends and associates and pick up the current gossip. Since there were also rivals of his there, he could enjoy boasting to them about the success of his company. After an excellent meal with some cronies, he left with the feeling of being an important figure in the local business community. Though he’d drunk heavily, he felt well able to drive properly. He walked unsteadily around the corner to the side street in which his vehicle was parked.
As he got into the car, someone hopped nimbly into the passenger seat.
‘Get out!’ snapped Browne.
‘Don’t you recognise an old friend, Felix?’
‘Get out of my car or I’ll call the police.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Browne peered at him. ‘It can’t be …’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Hubbard.
‘Where did you come from?’
‘I got evicted from that house of yours because you put the coppers on to me.’
‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Browne. ‘I helped you, Wally.’
‘That’s what it felt like at first. You gave me some money and a place to lay my head. Next minute, I look out of the bedroom window and see Sergeant Keedy coming to get me.’
‘Yes, I know about that.’
‘Of course, you do. You’re the two-faced bastard who ratted on me.’
Hubbard grabbed him by the tie and pulled him close. Browne spluttered.
‘I counted on you, Felix.’
‘I know … and I did my best.’
‘That’s not how it looks to me, I can tell you.’
‘You’re strangling me,’ gasped Browne. ‘Let me go and I’ll explain.’
Hubbard released him. ‘If you dare to lie to me,’ he warned, ‘I’ll kick seven barrels of shit out of your lousy carcass.’
‘And you’d be right to do so, Wally. I’d never betray you like that.’ He straightened his tie. ‘The first I heard about it was when Keedy stormed into my office and accused me of providing you with a hiding place. He’s a clever so-and-so. When he suspected that I might have helped you, he made a note of all the empty properties I own and went around them in turn. That’s how he turned up at West Terrace.’
Hubbard curled a lip. ‘Expect me to believe that nonsense?’
‘How many coppers showed up?’
‘Well …’
‘It was just Keedy and his driver, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Hubbard, recalling the event, ‘I suppose it was.’
‘There’s your answer, then. If I’d told them where you were, they’d have rolled up in numbers and surrounded the whole block. You’d never have got away.’
‘That’s true.’
‘The coppers have been following me by car. When I shook them off easily, Keedy came to the office to lean on me but I gave nothing away. How was I to know he’d look at the window display and make a list of available properties?’
‘You weren’t,’ conceded Hubbard. ‘Sorry if I gave you a fright.’
‘You’re the one who had the fright, Wally. Your eyes must have popped out of your head when you saw Keedy bearing down on the house.’
‘I’ve never run so fast in my life.’
‘I’m glad you gave him the slip,’ said Browne. ‘Keedy tried to arrest me but I swore that you must have broken into the property.’ He offered a hand. ‘Are we still friends?’
‘Yes,’ replied Hubbard, shaking hands with him. ‘I need somewhere else where I can lie low now.’
‘I know just the place. I’ll drive you there.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How is the search going?’
‘I’ve got no leads at all, so far.’
‘What about his girlfriends? One of them should know.’
‘I tried the last one but she was no help at all. She’s looking for Croft herself. He just walked out of her life without a word.’
‘So where is he?’
‘I don’t know but I’ll find him eventually.’
‘What if he’s dead?’
‘I’ll dig up his corpse and hang it from the nearest lamp post,’ said Hubbard, harshly. ‘Even in his grave, Ben Croft is not safe from me.’
Between them, they had a great deal to report and, to his credit, Claude Chatfield listened to it all without interruption. Marmion went first, describing the visit from an unnamed woman – he didn’t identify Helen Graydon – who’d revealed that she’d been approached by Hubbard. It was Keedy’s turn next and he elicited a smile of approval from the superintendent when he explained how he’d made a note of empty properties belonging to Felix Browne and visited each one. Ultimately, he’d found Hubbard. What really excited Chatfield, however, wa
s the information they’d picked up from Veronica Croft.
‘So Ben Croft is of German extraction, is he?’
‘His mother was from Freiburg, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘She came to England to stay with relatives who owned a shop here. That was how she met Croft’s father. They settled down in London and had one child – Ben Croft.’
‘What did the father do?’
‘He worked in the Civil Service. His daughter-in-law told us that he had quite an important job. Anyway,’ said Marmion, ‘Croft was brought up speaking English to his father and German to his mother. Both parents died last year.’
‘Did you arrest Croft’s wife?’
‘No, sir.’
‘We thought it was best to wait,’ explained Keedy.
Chatfield was puzzled. ‘But the woman helped an escaped prisoner, then failed to report the fact that he’d been to see her. Those are criminal acts, Sergeant.’
‘They’re not ones wilfully committed, sir. She gave information to Hubbard under duress. That doesn’t absolve her entirely of blame, of course. However, we felt we should leave her alone for a while.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Hubbard may come back,’ said Marmion. ‘He got no help from one of Croft’s mistresses so he may well pay another visit to the man’s wife. This time, she told us, we’ll be informed straight away.’
‘I hope she honours that promise.’
‘She will, sir. There’s no question about that.’
‘What about this … other woman?’
‘She’ll report any contact made by Hubbard.’
‘This is such a tawdry business, Inspector,’ said Chatfield with distaste. ‘I hate the notion of having to rely on an estranged wife and an adulteress for information. Neither of them seems to realise that marriage is a lifetime commitment. Their behaviour is deplorable. It’s an affront to the vows they took before the altar.’
Marmion and Keedy rarely contradicted the superintendent when he drifted into homiletic mode. As a strict Roman Catholic, he followed the church’s teaching in every detail. He viewed any departure from that as an act of gross debauchery. They were grateful that neither Veronica Croft nor Helen Graydon had been exposed in person to Chatfield’s censure. Faced with his finger-wagging scorn, they’d have been far less inclined to cooperate with the police.
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