One Deathless Hour (David Mallin Detective series Book 16)

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘What does he mean?’ asked Bella weakly.

  ‘She’s oversexed,’ I explained. ‘They all are. I think it’s the school milk … ’

  ‘Well ain’t that nice!’ he sneered. ‘Oversexed! Man, she’s wild. You get her goin’ and there’s no doin’ a thing with her. Makes with the nails and the teeth … I got her really goin’ the other night. Then, the bitch, she flashes them teeth at me and gets ’em fixed on me ear an’ just when I couldn’t do nothin’ but hold on … an’ she had the whole tip off, laughin’ at me, that bloody red tongue of hers … ’

  Bella gave a little scream and I said: ‘Well, thanks a lot.’

  ‘I’m wastin’ my soddin’ time.’

  ‘She’s about as passionate as a bedful of ferrets,’ I said with scorn.

  He snorted and turned away, then he slapped the doorjamb with his palm and paused. His eyes peered at me. ‘Could prove it,’ he said. ‘Could fix you up, if you like, grandpa. Then you try dodgin’ them teeth.’

  His laugh was a gurgling insult. His boots made harsh sounds in the hall. Then the front door slammed.

  Bella shuddered. ‘What a disgusting couple!’

  ‘No. It’s show-off. It’s the fashion to parade their sexual prowess in public.’

  ‘But to talk about it!’

  ‘Like all myth, it becomes stretched. And he had to explain the ear.’

  She sat rather abruptly on the settee. Her mouth was compressed. ‘But to offer … his own girl!’

  ‘He knew I wouldn’t take him up.’

  ‘Because you’d be afraid to?’ She was teasing me a little.

  ‘I didn’t mean that — quite.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’ She thought about it. ‘Haven’t they got any pride?’

  ‘Plenty of that.’ I was reaching for my pipe, being casual, wondering whether we were still talking about Len and Natasha.

  “You’d have thought,’ she whispered, ‘that he’d be jealous. I mean, even of his own offer.’

  ‘Oh, he would be. But not so much jealous as possessive. No, that’s not quite it. You see, they’ve got so little. Oh, their fancy bikes and their clothes and things. The material objects, but nothing to cling to except each other. That’s all those two have got. D’you know why marriage is going out of favour? It’s because they’ve got to have a bond that’s stronger than a bit of paper. To marry would be to accept that they need a written contract. No, it’s there, a cord, and, by heavens, just let anybody try to break it … No, possessive wasn’t the right word. They’re simply dependent on each other.’

  It was a long speech for me and a serious one.

  ‘You’re on their side.’ It was a gentle accusation. She was avoiding my eyes.

  ‘I try to understand. That’s what my job is.’

  She stood. She looked past me at the clock. ‘Victor’s late. What do you say to a cup of tea?’

  I nodded, smiling. ‘He’s busy blasting holes in that end wall.’

  ‘The poor dear. It’s become an obsession with him.’

  I followed her out of the room. She was talking over her shoulder. ‘The shooting has?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Beating Charles Colmore — just once. He … they go all over the country to their shoot-outs, or whatever they’re called, and always Charles beats him. Always.’ She stopped abruptly and I almost knocked her over. Then she put her hand confidentially on my arm. ‘Mr Mallin, I do really think Victor hates him.’

  It was the sort of kitchen that gets itself spread over the pages of Home magazines. She moved into it with a complete lack of awareness. It meant nothing to her. She’d have been equally at home, and as unrepsonsive, with a farm sink and a paraffin-stove.

  ‘They compete,’ I said. ‘It’s not a fight.’

  She was putting out crockery. ‘They have fought. He thinks I don’t know. But he came back with a bruise on his cheek.’

  ‘Back?’

  She turned from me with the teapot, reaching for the caddy. ‘From Bentley Hall. Oh, this was two … maybe three years ago. He’d had time to forgive her, you see, three years. The pain had all gone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘But I assumed he’d told you.’

  ‘Why,’ I asked, ‘should your husband tell me about a place called Bentley Hall and a man called Charles Colmore?’

  ‘He’s keeping it from me.’ She laughed gently at the possibility. ‘But I can see right through him. He believes, or knows, that the dead man in his car is Charles Colmore. But he’s keeping it from me. He thinks I’ll be hurt … ’

  ‘Hurt?’ That wasn’t how he’d put it.

  ‘Terrified, then. But I’m not. I’m a very quiet person, Mr Mallin. And not stupid. I realize he’s told you that he thinks it’s Colmore and so I assume he’s told you about his ex-wife.’

  ‘He mentioned her.’

  ‘It’s more than he ever does to me. Milk and sugar?’

  ‘One please. He never mentions her?’

  ‘He thinks I’d be jealous.’

  ‘And you’re not, Mrs Abbott? You’re just a quiet, self-contained woman who’s got her own life to lead.’

  ‘And my own husband,’ she said, nodding. She lifted her cup and poised it with both hands in front of her lips. ‘No, I’m not jealous. He never sees her now. Only that once. I didn’t object to that. She was out of his thoughts by then. They were divorced — that was her fault, you know, having that affair with Charles, though I gather she’s always been a bit like that — after the men.’

  ‘You gather? But you said he never speaks about her.’

  ‘Not now. But at first it poured from him. The pain, you understand. He came to me for comfort, after what Dulcie had done to him. I listened. It was all I could do and it seemed it was all he wanted. He was Principal at Bentley Hall, you know, my Victor. A very clever man — an excellent degree in modern languages. Anyway, that all went when he left there. You’re going to say that she should have left, but Victor said it was all ruined, that he couldn’t stay there. I’m not explaining this very well … ’

  ‘But you are.’

  ‘So he came to live in this district, a complete break, he called it, and went into something completely new to him — engineering. Personnel manager. So ridiculous … what does he know of people?’

  ‘I don’t think anybody does. You were going to say … about the time he came back bruised.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Her eyes clouded. ‘She was Principal then, taking over his place … ’

  ‘Perhaps she too had a good degree,’ I suggested.

  She didn’t rise to it, merely smiled. ‘I believe so. But she couldn’t be very intelligent. I mean, fancy inviting Victor there for a week-end, to lecture on Spanish Conversation.’

  ‘You should have gone with him.’

  ‘And show I didn’t trust him!’

  ‘So you didn’t?’

  She chided me, tapping my sleeve. ‘To show it would be a sure way of losing him. You don’t understand your own sex, it seems to me. No, I persuaded him to go alone. The poor dear, you could see he was just dying to give a lecture again. I do believe it’s all he misses now. But you see, I hadn’t been considering Charles Colmore at all. I’d forgotten Dulcie had married him and that she’s shameless when it comes to men. Oh, it was fated to be a disaster — but I never gave that aspect a thought.’

  Only Dulcie, Dulcie, I realized. Always she’d been a threat, and Bella had seen it eating away at him and she wanted his happiness, so she’d risked everything on that one throw, praying that he’d discover his feelings had changed and return with a settled mind.

  ‘I take it he didn’t take his guns,’ I murmured.

  ‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’

  ‘You said he hated Colmore. Was there more to it than guns?’

  ‘Oh my dear man, you don’t know half of it. That Charles Colmore is the most hypocritical man I’ve ever heard about.’

  ‘You’v
e met him?’

  ‘No. But Victor told me.’

  So he hadn’t wasted his time at Bentley Hall! ‘I suppose that was in explanation of the incident?’

  ‘Yes. Do let me go on. He’ll be home in a minute. Colmore’s a womanizer.’ I smiled at the old-fashioned word. She went on sharply: ‘Anything in skirts — or slacks, I suppose, these days. And at the same time any man who so much as smiles at Dulcie … ’

  ‘So Victor smiled at her?’

  ‘I assume so. He has a very easy smile. Or more likely Colmore heard them discussing him. This was in the music-room, I understand. She plays … ditties … and sings bawdy songs.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Victor’s words. Anyway, Colmore knocked Victor down and there was a great scuffle and Victor came home on the Saturday night. Very late.’

  She stopped. I waited. Then I said: ‘That’s it?’

  She nodded, tipped the pot over my cup and found it empty, and pouted.

  ‘Why,’ I asked, ‘have you gone out of your way to paint a brightly coloured picture of your husband’s motive for murder, when you’re convinced the dead man is Colmore?’

  ‘Because the police are going to discover who he is and they’ll find out all I’ve just told you. And then what chance will Victor have? They’d take him away from me, Mr Mallin.’ Her knuckles were white, still gripping the empty pot, her eyes bleakly on the appalling possibility. ‘And I couldn’t stand that,’ she whispered. ‘I’d die if they took him from me.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘He’s very vulnerable.’

  ‘You didn’t believe that foul-mouthed young monster!’ she burst out. ‘As though anybody could feel … could so far lose control … No, I’m not going to think about it! You must find him again, Mr Mallin, you and your friend, and do … do whatever is necessary to make him tell the truth.’

  ‘And have them take away Victor for criminal assault?’

  ‘They couldn’t! It was self-defence.’

  There’s no arguing. They would and I knew it.

  ‘I’ll find him.’

  ‘And do … ’

  ‘Whatever is necessary,’ I agreed, an empty feeling in my stomach, and shortly after that I left. There seemed no point in waiting for Abbott to return, because I was certain he wouldn’t approve of what I had in mind.

  I’d decided on a little blackmail. That’s what women do to me, drive me to these lengths.

  It was a different copper in the underground car-park. I drove confidently, to park next to where he was standing. Abbott’s Dolomite was only a few feet to my left, but I didn’t glance at it as I got out.

  ‘Keep an eye on it for me, Constable,’ I said, looking him over professionally.

  It worked. ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘I’ll be with Mr Messingham.’ I frowned impatiently. ‘If you’ll kindly direct me.’

  ‘Oh, sorry sir. Certainly. The far corner. Up the steps and to your right. But don’t …’

  ‘All right!’ I snapped. ‘I’ll find it.’

  But I had no intention of finding Messingham’s office, even if he was likely to be there on a Sunday afternoon. Get inside, that was the first consideration. Then decide.

  There was a long corridor that I recalled and a sign that I also remembered, indicating that the canteen was down a short spur on the left. I took it. Even if Miller wasn’t there, I’d maybe ferret out his address.

  But he was, a lone and sad figure in pale blue denim at a corner table, attacking a currant bun and a cup of tea. I collected another cup for myself at the counter, the bored woman at once disappearing into the rear and her own affairs.

  ‘Wanted a word,’ I said, sitting opposite him.

  He grunted. ‘Your foot OK?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ I examined his features with more attention to detail than previously. Most were as I recalled. ‘I’m having trouble with my client.’

  ‘Not surprised. He did it, you can bet. Of course you’ll have trouble.’

  ‘If your inspector was so certain, he’d have arrested him. What’s the snag, Miller?’

  He gave me a lop-sided grin. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’

  ‘Well … in the meantime … my client’s getting a bit stroppy that I can’t produce his alibi.’ His eyebrows were raised politely. I went on in a pleasant tone. ‘You saw who I’m talking about, in the bowling-alley. You dropped that thing on my toe to stop me getting at him.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘But I did get at him — only he turns out to be a little reluctant.’

  ‘Would be.’ A philosophical shrug.

  ‘So I thought we ought to draw him out by getting him into Court.’

  ‘Court? What’s he done?’

  ‘Abbott wants to lay information on a charge of assault.’

  ‘What sort of assault? He must be crazy, this Abbott guy’

  ‘It appears that he threatened Mr Abbott with a pistol, in an attempt to rob him … ’

  ‘He what!’

  ‘ … and as this took place at the time of the murder it would be very useful to prove it in Court.’

  ‘Now you’re rambling!’ he said angrily.

  ‘But at the moment I can’t locate him.’

  Miller sat back with a coarse laugh. ‘Then how the hell … ’

  ‘I thought we’d get you to serve the summons.’

  He was comfortable, leaning back, one elbow hooked over the top of his chair. A crumb was perched in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Go on,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But he’s got this defence,’ I admitted. ‘He’ll swear he wasn’t there. I’ve met him and I know he’ll swear anything, but Abbott’s got an answer to that. He can prove the young horror was there, because Abbott took a shot at him with a target pistol — in self-defence of course. And nicked his ear-lobe. You can see the nick. I’ve seen it.’

  ‘By God, Mallin, you’d better be serious.’

  ‘I was never more so. I’ve been weighing this, because I understand this lad — his name’s Len by the way — this lad’s got himself a nice little explanation for his ear. He’s going to say he’s got a very hot girlfriend, who lets herself go in the throes of their sexual encounters and isn’t above fastening her pretty little teeth in any flesh that comes within reach — in this instance his left ear-lobe. But you can see what’d happen next. We’d demand her evidence and these youngsters … amongst their friends, and to shock their parents, they’ll say these things. But, in a cold court and in front of a sour magistrate, is she going to go into details about her strange perversions? I wouldn’t want to hear that. Not if she was my sister, I wouldn’t. And the newspapers’d make a field day out of it.’

  He was leaning forward now, low over the table, the empty cup clenched in his fist.

  ‘What do you want?’ It nearly choked him.

  ‘I held her head in my arm, looking down into her eyes — are you twins, by any chance?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want Len. I want him to come to me, primed to tell the truth, even if a bit bruised.’

  ‘Cut it out!’

  ‘And you can fix that.’

  ‘She’s four years younger than me, Mallin,’ he told me, his voice an icy trickle. ‘Our father’s been dead years. She’s going to be all right — if people like you’ll only leave her alone.’

  ‘She’ll do fine,’ I murmured.

  He thrust his chair back and got to his feet. Politely I stood. He promptly knocked me down again.

  I got to my knees and shouted after him. ‘I’m at the Mid-M.’

  ‘D’you think I don’t know!’ he snarled, ploughing his way through flying chairs.

  I went back to the motel to nurse my wounds. The physical ones were a swollen lip and a loose tooth. The psychological ones were deeper and more painful. I waited for Len.

  But George arrived first. We had a double room. He was bursting and flowing with the joy of living.

  ‘Cor strik
e!’ he said. ‘You been lying here all day?’

  ‘On Sundays,’ I said severely, ‘nothing ever happens.’

  FOUR

  GEORGE COE

  They came in the morning, Supt Rogerson and his sergeant, but not early enough to save me from the lecture. The truth was that I was becoming seduced by the idea.

  Dulcie and I went down to breakfast together and to hell with how it looked. She, at any rate, had no regard for appearances, and I … well, I’m old enough to take a certain pride. At breakfast there was none of the communal intensity, the whole thing being casual and scattered. We sat together in a corner, she laughing, I managing a smile.

  ‘The first session’s by one of our authors, George. I’ll slip you in afterwards. Half an hour, more if you like. What’ll you say?’

  ‘I’ll waffle on about the sordidness of it and about dead mistresses in flats.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Sorry, my sense of humour.’

  ‘I’m a bit touchy. Forgive me, George.’

  ‘My fault.’ I squeezed her hand.

  I was becoming soft, that was the trouble. I wanted never to leave the embracing relaxation of that place. But there was work to do elsewhere, the heavy stuff that life’s all about.

  As a token of this I phoned the Mid-M Motel, but Dave wasn’t in. So I left a message and in half an hour I’d be lecturing. If Rogerson didn’t get there first. But he didn’t and Dave’s call came just before I was due to take my call, so to speak. And by God I enjoyed myself. My small audience was eager; my memory was relaxed. It poured from me and it was amusing … well, they’d come for the fun of it, not to hear a stubborn old idiot talk of his past triumphs.

  Dulcie said I’d done well. ‘They loved your accent.’

  ‘Accent? I haven’t …’

  ‘Brummie. It went down a treat.’

  I beamed and we went for coffee. ‘Don’t forget the gong,’ I reminded her.

  She smiled, but it was thin. Some of her boisterousness had faded. ‘I can’t forget that the police will be coming,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t keep laughing, George.’

  ‘You’ll be all right. Just tell them the truth, what you know, not what you suspect — which is that he’s dead in Watling.’ It was my suspicion, not hers, but the shadow of the case crept over me. I went on: ‘Let me confirm it first. There’s no need for you to come down there.’