Death in Albert Park

by Bruce, Leo

  Albert Park had neither the honest rowdiness of Lewisham nor the still faintly eighteenth century gentility of Blackheath. Its houses were grim, built on basements to teach servants their place, ponderous without being grand, and the streets between them, labelled with important-sounding names, were almost deserted. There had been Spring in the air as he drove up from Newminster, but here there was not the faintest promise ofSpring and it seemed that there never would be.

  He went first to Salisbury Gardens, a long row of double-fronted houses from behind whose lace curtains he could imagine leprous faces peering. He did not look out at Number 31, the Pressley home, or the house opposite, but turned his car at the top and made for Crabtree Avenue. It was nearly 5 o’clock and he thought if he reached St. Olave’s Ladies College when the girls were leaving it, he might have a chance of seeing Miss Cratchley. He knew that tomorrow was the school’s Breaking-Up day.

  His car seemed to attract some attention as he drove it in the school gates and made for a square of asphalt on which two cars were already standing. He had barely switched off his engine when a middle aged man in overalls approached him.

  “No cars allowed in here,” he said, but dubiously. “What are you, a parent?”

  “No. I want to see Miss Cratchley.”

  “Oh, Press,” said the man understandingly. “Well, I wonder how you’ll get on. She’s had most of them out before they’ve had time to turn round.”

  “Are you the caretaker?”

  “S’right. Well, night watchman would be more like it, specially since we’ve had all this with the murders. Oh, thank you very much, Sir. Only don’t let her see your car here or you’ll get me the sack. She’s hot on cars coming in.”

  “Where will I find Miss Cratchley?”

  “I could show you where her study is but don’t go and tell her I done it.”

  “You seem rather scared of the headmistress.”

  “Wait till you see her. That’s all. It’s not the job I worry about, specially now the missus daren’t put her face outside the gates for fear of the Stabber. But I hate trouble of any sort. Easy come, easy go. That’s me. Come on, this way. I’ll just show you which door it is then I shall have to hop it. She’s usually there at this time in case there’s anything to clear up. That’s her car, see? Now, down that corridor, round to the left and the first on your left. And good luck.”

  Carolus knocked boldly.

  “In,” replied a quick voice.

  He found himself facing a handsome grey-haired woman, not sitting like a business magnate at her desk but upright in an armchair with a tea-tray beside her. She showed no surprise but said “Who are you?” steadily as she scrutinized him.

  Carolus decided to take a chance.

  “Shake you if I said I was the Stabber, wouldn’t it?” he said fatuously.

  “Not in the least.What do you want?”

  “One or two details about Hester Starkey.”

  “I thought I’d finished with the Press weeks ago.” She rose and moved to ring a bell.

  “I’m not Press.”

  “Well, you’re not Police, are you? I’ve finished with them, too.”

  “No. I’m a schoolmaster.”

  “Good gracious. What on earth can a schoolmaster want with details about poor Starkey. Did you know her?”

  Carolus shook his head.

  “It’s worse than that. Worse than if I wanted to sell you a vacuum-cleaner. I’m a private investigator.”

  A frosty smile appeared for a moment.

  “I see. And you think you’re going to discover this murderer, do you?”

  “I can try.”

  “What makes you suppose you might?”

  Carolus answered that with a question.

  “Have you lost many girls through this?”

  “Surprisingly few, so far. We take them out in a crocodile in the afternoon, and send them down Cromarty Avenue. The police have been very helpful and put two men on when the girls are coming in or going out. But I fear our numbers will be down next term unless this is cleared up. Sit down Mr….”

  “Deene. Carolus Deene. May I ask you my questions?”

  “If they’re not too ridiculous. It’s no good poking about in poor Starkey’s private life. That will tell you nothing about the murderer.”

  “Yet that’s just what I’m going to do. Investigate each of these murders separately as though they were unconnected.”

  “But they were not unconnected. A child could see that.”

  “Perhaps not. But that’s my line of approach. And it might work.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything you care to tell me about her.”

  Miss Cratchley smiled.

  “Tall order. She wasn’t a bitter woman, if that’s what you think. So many people imagine that this profession makes women bitter. She was alive and interested in many things. Pictures, books. She edited the school magazine.”

  “Was she popular?”

  “With the girls? She was respected. She did not encourage girls to lose their heads over her. She taught well and was a good disciplinarian. I miss her a great deal.”

  “Did you like her, Miss Cratchley?”

  “What a very odd question. No, I don’t think I did, particularly. I valued her help.”

  “Had she any money beyond her salary?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. There was a rich relative somewhere, I believe.”

  “Had she many friends?”

  “Outside the school I know of none. But then I wouldn’t. I leave my staff severely alone in their own time. In the school she had two—of a sort. I suppose her friend, perhaps her only real friend, was another mistress here, Gerda Munshall. But there was also, in a way, the games mistress Grace Buller.”

  “In a way?”

  “Oh, Grace is a big sentimental woman who loves everyone and can’t bear it when someone doesn’t love her. Gerda MunshalPs a very different type. Highly intelligent. Perhaps a little too much emotion—repressed and otherwise. She, I think, was devoted to Hester Starkey.”

  “Do you mind if I talk to these two?”

  “Wait till after tomorrow, will you? They’ll be on holiday then, after this very difficult term. I’ll give you their addresses. I don’t know why I feel a certain confidence in you, Mr. Deene, but I do.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it must have been a trying time for you.”

  “Trying? You’re a schoolmaster, you tell me. Try to imagine what it’s like to have a murder in a school. A sensational murder such as this. I must say the parents have acted splendidly, most of them. I immediately called a parents meeting and addressed it. I’m pleased to say I seem to have their confidence. But it’s a grave responsibility, Mr. Deene. That’s why I catch at any straw.”

  “Even me”

  “Just so. Leave me your address in case I need to get in touch with you again.”

  “I’m in rather a difficulty there. I usually stay in the town when I’m investigating. But somehow, Albert Park …”

  “Exactly. I quite understand. Have you a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then stay at the Golden Cockerel Guest House. Ten miles out in quite pleasant country. It’s good. Professionally run. Comfortable. You’ll like it. I shall phone you there if I want to see you.”

  His life for the next week or two thus ordered by Miss Cratchley, with no chance of forming any preferences of his own, Carolus rose to take his leave.

  “I have to see the Detective Superintendent in charge of the case,” observed Miss Cratchley. “He’s coming here at six o’clock. I’m afraid I don’t expect any good news. Perhaps you’ll be able to bring me some soon. Good night.”

  Waiting about outside was the man in overalls.

  “You’ve done it,” he said. “The others was out on their ears in no time. She’s a terror, isn’t she? Tell you what you wanted to know, did she?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “There’s one of the
m that’s had her picture in the papers still here if you want to catch her before she goes. Miss Buller, it is. The games mistress. She’s down in the bike shed trying to start her motor-scooter, as usual. Want a word with her? This way then.”

  Grace Buller was perspiring.

  “Oh Titchcock,” she said to the caretaker. “Can you start my engine? You did the other night.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. There’s a gentleman here from the newspapers wants a word with you.”

  “Oh! Hullo! I’m afraid I’m in rather a state. Are you from the Daily Post?”

  “No. I’m not a pressman. But I do want to ask you a few questions about Hester Starkey.”

  “You do? What for? You’re not the police.”

  “I’ve just seen Miss Cratchley. I’m trying to be of some assistance. Did you have the same trouble with your engine on the night Hester Starkey was murdered?”

  “Yes. That’s the awful thing. If it had started at once I might have been there to save her. I still can’t bear to think of it. And we’d quarrelled, you know.”

  “Yes. What about?”

  “Nothing, really. That’s what makes it all so dreadful. It was just that during the Break that morning … well, she always had a chat with me in the Break. I wanted to tell her something rather funny one of the girls had said. I went to the staff common-room as usual and poured out her coffee as I always do and took it over to the two chairs in the corner where we sit. Our chairs I always called them. And she never came in. I waited the whole half hour. Afterwards I heard she’d been up in … one of the classrooms.”

  “Which one?”

  “Gerda MunshalPs, as a matter of fact. She’s the French mistress.”

  “A great friend of Hester’s?”

  “I suppose she was, sometimes. They had terrible quarrels though. Hester used to tell me about them. She liked to confide in me. It’s dreadful to think she’s … she’s …”

  “Yes, but it’s rather foolish to blame yourself, Miss Buller.”

  “I know. But how can I help it? She was a wonderful person.”

  “Tell me about that evening. How long did it take you to get your engine started?”

  “It seemed a long time. I told the police it was twenty minutes, but it may have been more.”

  “And when you came out at last there was no one in the avenue?”

  “Not a soul. I can swear to that. I’ve been over it in my mind a thousand times. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Yes,” said Carolus calmly.

  “You mean, I mightn’t have?”

  “You had no reason to, that night.”

  “But looking back I should have. Knowing what I did then.”

  “Will you just think again, Miss Buller? Anything you might have noticed. For instance, did you pass a policeman?”

  “A policeman? I should have noticed, wouldn’t I?”

  “Not necessarily. He would be part of the street, like Chesterton’s postman.”

  “I’m sure I didn’t. I’d have noticed. I always think I’m doing something wrong on the scooter. I haven’t had it very long, you see. I’d have been wondering if he was going to stop me. No I’m sure I didn’t. There wasn’t anybody. I saw Mr. Slatter, of course …”

  “Mr. Who?”

  “Slatter. He’s the park-keeper. He lives in the little lodge in the park. I see him almost every night as I go home.”

  “Have you just remembered this?”

  “No, certainly not. I’m not a fool.”

  “You told the police?”

  “About Mr. Slatter? Of course not. He’s the park-keeper. Everyone knows him.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Just going to his lodge, I suppose. Along Inverness Road. He’d probably been to the Mitre on the corner.”

  “But he could have been in Crabtree Avenue?”

  “Mr. Slatter? Whatever for? He’s a dear old man. Well not old, really. Anything else you want to know?”

  “Did you know Hester’s brother?”

  “No. She never asked me to her home. I believe Gerda Munshall has been. You’d better ask her.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “I don’t know when you’re going to see her, though. She’ll be off to the Continent as soon as term’s over tomorrow. At least she always was, with Hester. She has private money, you see, and could afford to invite Hester. Well, not invite her exactly but I’m sure she paid more than half of everything. They wouldn’t tell me that, of course.”

  “I think the caretaker has got your scooter started.”

  “Thank heavens. Now I shall be able to get home.”

  “Where’s that, Miss Buller?”

  “Greenwich. It takes me nearly an hour sometimes when the traffic’s bad.”

  “What time did you get home on the night of…”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t notice. Late, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Miss Buller.”

  Carolus found the Golden Cockerel Guest House, a large Georgian place standing in the remains of its own ground, pleasantly situated and promising. He was shown a large room and told the terms, which were high. He had a bath and went down to the discreet little bar set in a corner of the lounge. No one was behind it but a bell-push was marked “Please Ring for Service” and brought a smart young waiter from the dining-room who gave him his whisky-and-soda. It all seemed well-organized and, as Miss Cratchley had said, professional.

  While Carolus sat at the bar, a large man entered and walked purposefully across to him.

  “Your name Deene?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Superintendent Dyke. What the devil do you mean by questioning Miss Cratchley?”

  “You’d better calm down a little,” said Carolus amicably. “Have a drink?”

  “It’s a damned impertinence. I gather you’re some kind of private investigator. You’d better understand that I won’t have that kind of thing in a case of mine. What other police officers may have put up with I don’t know, but I won’t have it. You’d better get out of this place at once.”

  Carolus watched the man’s puffy face and keen intelligent eyes, but did not answer.

  “Haven’t I enough to do keeping the blasted Press away? This isn’t a case for amateur dabblers. It’s a serious matter and I’ve got a heavy responsibility. I should have thought you might have the intelligence to see that.”

  “I do think you should have a drink,” said Carolus.

  “You’ll leave this case alone, you understand? If I catch you hanging round or interfering with any of my witnesses I’ll run you in for impeding the police in the execution of their duty. You’re up against the wrong man this time, I can tell you. What d’you think you’re up to, anyway? What’s your object?”

  “I? Oh, I’m just interested,” said Carolus mildly but infuriatingly.

  “Just interested, are you? Well, you’d better find something else for your interest. There’s nothing for you in this.”

  “Well, now you’ve got that off your chest, may I repeat my invitation?”

  “I don’t want to drink with you. I’ve had amateur messers round a case before and they’ve never done anything but make difficulties.”

  “I’ve every sympathy. But just now and again, you know, one does hit on some little thing that’s helpful. And I don’t quite see how you can prevent me staying in this hotel and mooching round Albert Park during my school holidays.”

  “Maybe I can’t. But let me catch you, just once, doing something that gives me a chance to run you in, and you’ve had it.”

  “Right. Now on that understanding?”

  “I’ll have a Scotch,” said Dyke.

  Carolus ‘rang for service’ and replenished his own glass while ordering Dyke a double.

  “I only arrived today,” said Carolus blandly. “But quite by chance a little thing did happen to fall into my lap, this evening. You probably know all about it from some other source.”

  It w
as Dyke’s turn to say nothing but now his sharp hostile eyes watched Carolus.

  “I had a talk to that games mistress,” said Carolus and stopped, determined that the other should show some interest.

  “Well?” said Dyke grudgingly.

  “She did see someone that evening. Someone so much a part of the landscape that she never thought of mentioning him to you.”

  “In Crabtree Avenue?”

  “Just round in Inverness Road I gather.”

  “Who was that?”

  “So you don’t know? Well, well. I don’t suppose it has the least significance. It was the park-keeper, Slatter.”

  Carolus watched, and was rewarded. Dyke could not quite control his plump poker face.

  “Slatter,” he said, with something like a gasp, in that sound revealing that consciously or sub-consciously some suspicion had already entered his mind connected with Slatter.

  “He was probably only going to the Mitre for a pint,” Carolus pointed out.

  Dyke pulled himself together.

  “He probably was. And in any case, Deene, don’t think for a moment that piece of information gives you the slightest status in this thing. I warn you again. Keep away from it or you’ll find yourself in trouble. Serious trouble. I’m not a man to fool about. I mean what I say.”

  “Cheerio,” said Carolus raising his glass, and Dyke gave a grunt.

  Five

  IT was with some relief that Carolus had learned from Miss Cratchley that Gerda Munshall lived in London. He was beginning to feel the atmosphere of Albert Park seep into him like a damp mist and although this was part of his object in remaining there, or nearby, to feel that grim respectable suburb and know some of its people, he welcomed the chance to leave it for an evening.

  He telephoned Gerda Munshall after dinner on that first night at the Golden Cockerel and she at once asked him to call on her next day.

  “I shall be home soon after six and shan’t go out again,” said a sugary voice. “Tomorrow is our Break-ing-Up day and I shall be dead beat. What time would you like to come?”