The Saint Valentine’s Day Murders

by Ruth Dudley Edwards

  ‘What can I say, Robert?’ began Milton.

  ‘Nothing, Jim. Have you found out yet where she is, Sammy?’

  Pike told him. ‘She’s having an operation, Robert. We won’t know for a while if she’s going to be all right. But they’ve promised to ring here as soon as they’ve got anything to tell us.’

  Amiss sat on the edge of Milton’s desk. ‘Thank you, Sammy.’ He suddenly realized that Pike had called him by his Christian name and found that somehow consoling.

  ‘Right,’ he said, hoping he was as much in charge of himself as he sounded, ‘I am now not thinking about Rachel. I’m thinking about her attacker. Have you done what I asked about Bill?’

  ‘I have. But purely on a basis of simple trust. Please fill me in.’

  ‘Is Pooley around?’

  ‘Yes. I expect so. He always stays late these days.’

  ‘I think he should be here. We’re probably going to need him.’

  Pike looked enquiringly at Milton, who nodded. Pike left and returned within a minute with Pooley, who was looking distressed. Milton made the introductions. ‘Ellis,’ he added, ‘you should know that Robert has been fully in touch with the progress we’ve made up to now.’

  Pike and Pooley sat down in their usual chairs. Amiss stayed on his perch, and began to speak, emphasizing the occasional point by kicking Milton’s desk viciously.

  ‘I might have saved us all a lot of trouble…And indeed, I might have saved Rachel’s life…or, to try to be optimistic, saved her from serious injury, had I remembered before now that I thought I saw Bill Thomas at Heathrow last December.’

  ‘Don’t start the masochistic stuff,’ Milton warned. ‘Just tell us about this.’

  Amiss got a grip on himself. ‘One Friday in December I went to Paris—as I often did—to see Rachel. I saw someone I thought was Bill Thomas. I then realized it couldn’t be him, because he always said he never travelled, so I dismissed it as a chance resemblance.’

  ‘As one does on these occasions,’ interjected Pooley.

  ‘Thank you for that, Ellis. I appreciate it. I suppose one does. I am merely expressing the view that it was something I might have remembered when I heard you were plugging the idea of the foreign strychnine source. As it was, it took the shock of hearing about Rachel and trying to imagine what had happened to bring the memory back.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand,’ said Pike. ‘Are you saying that Bill Thomas tried to kill her this evening because she saw him at the airport?’

  ‘I see no other explanation.’

  ‘It could have been one of the others, Robert,’ pointed out Milton. ‘The December episode could really have been a non-event. She might have seen someone else tonight…Christ! What am I doing sitting here?’

  He jumped up. ‘Sammy, you and I are going to see Thomas now. Ellis and Robert, stay here. You’ll be able to get news of Rachel as well as act as co-ordinators. Ellis, get a check made on whether any of the suspects has been out tonight. You’ve got Thomas’s phone number. Ring me there when you’ve got something to tell me. And I want you both to think hard about his character, his possible motives, and anything remotely relevant that might be useful to me when I talk to him.’

  As Pike closed the door behind them and they started to stride down the corridor, he said, ‘Just one thing, sir. If Miss Simon survives she’ll be able to identify her assailant, if this theory is correct.’

  ‘Yes, Sammy. But we don’t know yet if she’s going to survive.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Milton thanked the local police and explained that he no longer required their services. He and Pike sat in the armchairs of Bill’s three-piece suite, and looked at the mild little man on the sofa.

  ‘You were just out for a walk?’

  ‘That’s right, superintendent. I went out for a little exercise about half past seven, and when I came back all these policemen were waiting for me. I don’t know what’s going on. I really don’t.’

  Milton felt his faith in Amiss’s theory begin to crumble. He steeled himself. ‘Rachel Simon has been stabbed at Heathrow Airport. You will understand that we have to assume there is a connection between that event and the PD murders.’

  ‘Is that that nice girlfriend of Robert’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, that’s dreadful. Poor Robert. Is she all right?’

  Milton looked at him intently. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s going to be fine.’

  Bill smiled with apparent delight. ‘I’m so pleased,’ he said. ‘It would have been dreadful if she had been seriously injured.’

  ‘She is however unconscious and therefore cannot yet tell us the identity of her attacker, so we are making enquiries independently.’ He wondered what reaction he would have got had he said: ‘She is alive and says you were the attacker.’ Sometimes he wished he suffered from fewer ethical hang-ups.

  ‘Oh, I quite understand, superintendent. I know you’re only doing your job. But, as I say, I just went out for a walk for about half an hour.’

  ‘Can you tell us your movements since you left work?’

  ‘I left the office at five, as usual, and caught my normal train at ten to six from Victoria. I got to the local station about twenty-five past and was home fifteen minutes later. Then I had something to eat and went out at half past seven.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm this? Did you meet anyone on the train, for instance? Or did anyone ring you?’

  ‘No, superintendent. But I did wave at Miss Kipling at seven when I drew my curtains. She was just coming home with her dog.’

  Shit, shit, shit, thought Milton. ‘She lives opposite, does she?’

  ‘Yes. At number fifteen.’

  ‘Sammy, would you just pop across and have a quick word with her?’

  During Pike’s absence, Milton attempted to make polite conversation, but his mind was racing. It would be just his bloody luck if it turned out that every bugger had an alibi. But coincidences like that just couldn’t happen. Could they?

  Pike came in looking solemn. ‘Miss Kipling confirms Mr Thomas’s statement, sir.’

  ‘Very well. Mr Thomas, I don’t need to trouble you any more. But I should be very grateful if you would permit me to make a reverse-charges call to my office.’

  ‘Of course, superintendent. The phone is on that table in the corner. I’ll just pop out to the kitchen and leave you to have your conversation in private.’

  ‘That is most considerate of you, sir.’

  As Milton went to the phone, he and Pike exchanged expressive looks. While he waited for the operator to put him through, he tapped his foot impatiently. He was desperate for news of Rachel. He spared a fleeting thought for Amiss, who would be deeply disappointed that his idea had proved to be a non-starter.

  ‘Hello, Ellis. Anything from the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir. Just come in. She’s going to be fine. He missed all the vital bits, if only by a fraction. All pretty superficial, but she won’t be out from under the anaesthetic for a couple of hours.’

  ‘That’s marvellous. Hang on.’ He put his hand over the mouth-piece and passed the good news on to Pike. ‘Ellis. Have any witnesses been found?’

  ‘Afraid not, sir. Everyone who was in the vicinity was absorbed in reading, looking at magazine pictures, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I expected that. It must have been the best spot in the whole departure area. Now, Bill Thomas has an alibi, so I need to know about the others. Have you made contact with them?’

  ‘Just a moment, sir. I’ll tell Robert.’

  He came back on the line. ‘He wants to know what the alibi is.’

  Robert is being stubborn, thought Milton impatiently, but he gave Pooley the brief facts. Pooley came back again. ‘He’s thinking.’

  ‘Good, good, good. Let him think away. Maybe Miss Kipling is Bill’s secret lover. Now will you answer my question?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. You can rule out Farson. He’s defin
itely been at home all evening. Graham Illingworth wasn’t there. His mother-in-law answered the phone and said that he and his wife have gone away for the weekend. She’s looking after Gail.’

  Milton allowed himself a moment for self-congratulation. He might well have a future as a marriage guidance counsellor. ‘They haven’t gone abroad by any chance?’

  ‘No. They’ve gone to a hotel in Bognor.’

  ‘Sounds like a suitable place for him. And the others?’

  ‘There’s no answer from Crump or Short. But we’ve got a car outside both their houses. Crump isn’t with his family and Short isn’t at the rugby club. But we’ll keep trying.’

  ‘I’d better come back to the office, then. There’s no point in dashing off to sit outside deserted houses.’

  ‘Just a moment, sir. Robert wants a word.’

  ‘Jim. There’s a question you must ask Bill.’

  ‘Miss Kipling, Robert.’

  ‘Screw Miss Kipling. She might have dreamed it. Ask him to show you his briefcase.’

  Milton considered this statement for a moment. ‘Of course. You mean he might have a bloodstained knife in it.’

  ‘He might have his pyjamas. His passport. Anything.’

  ‘Ok, I take your point. Hold on.’

  He went into the kitchen, where Bill was washing a shirt. ‘Excuse me, Mr Thomas.’ He felt distinctly embarrassed. ‘Just one small thing. Could I have a look at the contents of your briefcase?’

  If Bill was disconcerted, he showed no signs of it. He began carefully to wring out his shirt and said, ‘I’m afraid you can’t, superintendent. I lost it on the way home tonight.’

  ‘I see. On the train?’

  ‘Yes indeed. I hope British Rail will be able to find it for me. It has a few personal effects in it that I’d be sorry to lose. Of course, it may have been stolen. There are some dishonest people around these days, you know.’

  ‘I see. I’ll get someone to chase it up for you.’

  ‘You are very kind, superintendent.’ As Milton left the room, Bill placed his shirt on a hanger and hung it carefully on a hook over the sink.

  ***

  Milton wondered if he should get a search warrant. No. Better to wait until British Rail confirmed or denied their possession of that damn briefcase. Anyhow, he’d have difficulty in getting a warrant. Unless someone came up with some dirt on Miss Kipling, Bill was in the clear. And on requestioning, she had been adamant about the curtain-drawing episode.

  He sat, as he had been sitting for the past hour, staring into space in Bill’s sitting room. When no further conversation seemed possible and Milton had indicated that he and Pike would be staying with him for an indefinite period, Bill had politely asked permission to read his gardening catalogues. He sat under the light of his reading lamp, apparently engrossed. Milton was tempted to ask him searching questions about his relationship with his mother and the pin-up episode, but he thought that for the moment he’d better hold them in reserve. He couldn’t quarrel with Amiss’s thesis that Bill shouldn’t be left to his own devices lest he dispose of something incriminating around the house. But the whole evening was becoming ridiculous. It was already 10:15. He couldn’t stay socializing with Bill all night. Sooner or later he would have to come to a decision. If either Henry or Tiny couldn’t prove an alibi, he’d quit on Bill. If both could, he’d follow through.

  Bill’s voice interrupted his unhappy thoughts. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, but would either of you care for a cup of cocoa? I usually have one at about this time. Or, if you would prefer, I could make you tea or coffee.’

  Both Milton and Pike declined. Bill got up and walked towards the door. The telephone rang. ‘You might like to answer it, superintendent. I can’t imagine that anyone would ring for me at this hour.’

  It was Pooley again. Milton nodded affirmatively at Bill, who left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. ‘I think I’ve got it, sir. Can’t think why it didn’t occur to me earlier. I’ve been concentrating too much on why Miss Kipling might have lied.’

  ‘Well, get on with it, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Electrically operated curtains, with a time switch.’

  Milton put the phone down and went over to take a look behind the sofa that had its back to the curtains. It took him less than a minute to prove Pooley right.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘Miss Kipling?’ said Milton after he had talked to Pooley for another couple of minutes and passed on the gist to Pike.

  ‘I’ll see her now, sir. Then I’ll probably need to try an experiment with the curtain for her benefit.’

  ‘Carry on. I’ll give Thomas no advance warning.’

  Bill came in carrying his cocoa mug just after Pike had left. ‘Was there any news of my briefcase?’

  ‘Yes. The train has been thoroughly searched and there is no sign of it.’

  ‘What a pity. I hope the BCC won’t mind giving me another one. Now, superintendent, I don’t want to be inhospitable, but are you likely to be staying much longer? I’m a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, you know. I like my beauty sleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disrupt your evening. We will be off as soon as our business is concluded. There are a couple more things I’d like to ask you, but, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait until my colleague returns. He’s just gone across the street.’

  Bill evinced no curiosity, and began to drink his cocoa. When Pike came in, he smiled at him welcomingly. Pike walked over and stood beside him. ‘Would you mind getting up for a moment, sir?’

  ‘If that is what you want, sergeant.’ It was clear that Bill was happy to humour his visitors.

  Pike pulled the sofa a few feet forward, walked behind it, and switched the controls to manual. Standing well away from the window, he pressed the button. The curtains opened smoothly. He pressed the button again to draw them. He repeated the sequence a couple of times, and then, leaving the curtains closed, he pushed the sofa back and said, ‘Perhaps you would care to sit here again now, sir? I’ll be back shortly.’

  My God, he’s an inscrutable little sod, thought Milton, vainly looking for any reaction in the face opposite. Bill took another sip from his mug. They waited silently.

  Pike returned within five minutes. He smiled broadly at Milton. ‘She assured me that she had seen me doing what I said I intended to do—that is, waving at her before drawing the curtains.’

  Milton adopted his most formal tone. ‘Thank you, Pike. That is most helpful. Mr Thomas, do you think you could lend us a torch?’

  Bill hesitated.

  ‘I would hate to have to bother Miss Kipling again. It would really be very convenient if you could find one for us.’

  Bill got up without a word, left and returned with a torch which he handed over.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Milton, passing it to Pike. ‘Now, if you’ll just bear with us for another couple of minutes, Mr Thomas. My colleague would like to have another look at your lovely garden.’

  Bill looked as if he were about to speak. Then he shrugged and sat down again. His nerve is good, thought Milton apprehensively. They sat together and waited.

  When Pike returned he carried a clock radio in his arms. He shook his head at Bill. ‘Really, Mr Thomas. I’m surprised at you leaving this out in the garden at night. Even if you did have it covered against the rain, I’m sure it can’t be good for it.’

  ***

  It was 11:30 and the tension was getting to Amiss and Pooley. The former was lying well back in Milton’s chair, with his feet on the desk. His habit of changing his position every two minutes was taxing his companion’s nerves. Pooley himself was pacing up and down, as he had been for the previous twenty minutes. That was beginning to make Amiss want to scream.

  When the telephone rang, Pooley’s ‘Yes’ was almost a squeak.

  ‘It’s Sammy. He’s admitted it.’

  Pooley turned round to Amiss and held out his hand. As Amiss shook it he felt the tears well up—some tears for Rachel,
but most for Charlie. Pooley waved him to the extension on Pike’s desk.

  ‘I know the super would want me to congratulate you both.’

  ‘Thanks, Sammy. But please get on with it.’

  Pike ran quickly over the explosion of the alibi. ‘And then we were able to wreck his weekend alibis as well. Just like you’d said, he’d got his radio in the garden, timed to go off at ten in the morning. As long as he was back early on Sunday the lady next door would swear he’d never been away.’

  ‘Did he admit it at once?’ asked Pooley.

  ‘Not him. That’s not his style. It was only when the super told him we’d track down all missing passengers and then look into the passport question that he saw he was done for. He was booked on a flight to Hamburg, on a false passport in the name of Jones.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’ broke in Amiss.

  ‘Well, he’s still telling the super about it all in the kitchen. He says it was out of the kindness of his heart. Claims that he knew from the office how unhappy all these blokes’ marriages were and he wanted them to be free like him. And then, when he met the wives he thought they seemed so discontented that they’d be better off out of it anyway. He said it was really mercy killing. He got the strychnine in Hamburg a few months ago.’

  ‘Good God,’ said Pooley. ‘He must be mad.’

  ‘Of course he’s mad. You’d almost be sorry for him. He seemed bewildered that the super didn’t think his motive a good one.’

  Amiss spoke through clenched teech. ‘I don’t quite see that trying to kill Rachel was a form of euthanasia.’

  ‘He does say he’s ashamed of that. He just panicked when he saw her looking at him.’

  ‘Has he produced the briefcase?’

  ‘No. He says it’s in a left-luggage locker at Victoria. The weapon’s in there all right. He was afraid that the police might get to him before he had time to dispose of that and the passport.’

  ‘Is that it, then?’

  ‘Except that he says it’s all his mother’s fault. Says she led his dad a dog’s life and nagged him rotten. Admits that probably turned him funny.’