One Deathless Hour (David Mallin Detective series Book 16)

by Roger Ormerod

  SEVEN

  DAVID MALLIN

  There comes a time when to leave is diplomatic. George had told me nothing with which I felt I ought to tax Abbott and as Bella seemed to be more calm I simply drove away.

  In any event, nobody was going to give me Miller’s address over the phone.

  At the station I encountered a different station sergeant. My interest in the matter of Colmore’s death had to be explained and made no impact on him at all. A mention of Miller’s sister did.

  ‘Tasha? He’s going to have trouble with that girl.’

  ‘He’s having it.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘I want to tell him that my partner’s bringing her home.’

  He eyed me with speculation. ‘Well, in that case … you know what time it is?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  He sniffed. He gave me the address.

  Miller lived in a semi with his mother and sister. There was no garage and his Escort sat out on the twelve feet of narrow drive. No house lights were on. I found the knocker and rapped with a rhythm he’d recognize. A light sprang on upstairs, then in the hall. Holding a dressing-gown together, he stood in the doorway.

  ‘It’s you.’ He wasn’t impressed.

  ‘My partner phoned,’ I said. ‘He’s found your sister and he’s bringing her back.’

  ‘She’s all right?’

  ‘He’ll maybe have tanned her hide a bit.’

  ‘Do her good. Wait till I get my hands on her.’

  ‘I’ve got my car.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘George doesn’t know this address. He’ll take her to Abbott’s place. You can belt the daylights out of her there.’

  A woman’s voice came from the top of the stairs. ‘What is it, Paul?’

  ‘They’ve found Tasha. I’ll have to go out.’ He turned back to me. ‘You’d better come in.’

  I waited in the hall. A black cat came to see what I wanted, or what he could get. I got a decent purr out of him by the time Miller ran down the stairs, pulling on a leather jacket.

  ‘I’ll take my car. I’ll need it to bring her back.’

  ‘Got your cuffs?’ I laughed. ‘You’d probably need ’em. No, don’t worry. One of us’ll run you home.’

  This was because I wanted a few friendly words together, if only to extract the information George had requested. Though what good that was likely to do I couldn’t guess.

  The Porsche started with a healthy bubble of exhaust.

  ‘Nice car.’ He was being polite, but vague.

  ‘Done a few miles, though,’ I said modestly, on its behalf. Then I set out to show it’d got plenty more to do yet.

  ‘Find the Lancia?’ I asked casually. The Watling police would have been informed that Marilyn Trask’s car was missing.

  ‘Oh … sure. It was farther up the lane, past the clubhouse. Nobody ever goes up there, usually.’

  So, if there’d still been even a modicum of doubt, it was now certain that Colmore had transported himself to Watling. There he’d ditched the car in a hidden place and waited for Abbott. Waited for him? No. Abbott had been there at eight. Waited outside for him, then got tired of standing so went and sat in Abbott’s car, where, at nine … Then my mind refused to go on.

  ‘Find the shell-case?’ I asked.

  ‘What? Heh, she corners a real treat.’

  ‘If Abbott shot him, it would’ve been with an automatic pistol. So there would have been an ejected shell-case. Did you find it?’

  He laughed. ‘Nothing in the car, but on the ground … There were dozens! Is she all right? I mean — has there been trouble?’

  ‘I told you, she’s fine. And no trouble. George says he’s been shot in the arm, but no trouble.’

  ‘I’ll kill her!’

  ‘Better, perhaps, to keep an eye open for Len — and deal with him.’ He snorted. ‘She’ll be frightened, Paul. Subdued and refusing to let you see it. So … defiant. Remember that.’

  He was silent. I let it build up, then:

  ‘You said dozens — of cartridge-cases.’

  ‘Oh … yeah. These chaps … the floor inside’s littered with cases. They collect ’em up and take ’em home and reload them. Saves money, I’m told. They fill their pockets with them and scatter ’em everywhere. On the ground outside — it’s inlaid.’

  ‘Oh, that’s helpful.’

  The house was now only a few minutes away. Miller was quiet. Suddenly he thumped his knee angrily. ‘What the hell’s the matter with her, Mallin? I can’t get through!’

  ‘Find her something useful to do,’ I suggested. ‘Find her a place. Ever suggested the force?’

  ‘What! She’d laugh in my face. Calls me a pig.’

  ‘Something masculine. A motorcycle cop. And how many WPC dog-handlers are there in this county?’ I glanced at him. The light of battle lit his eyes as he sighted a fresh, unscathed battlefield. ‘She could subdue an Alsatian with one poke of those eyelashes.’

  He was laughing when we turned in at Abbott’s drive. The house was ablaze with light; even the carriage lamp outside was on. Into the resulting concentration Abbott had pushed the Dolomite. In slacks and shirt, sleeves rolled up, he was swabbing it out at a little after midnight. No matter what he did to it, he wasn’t going to drive it to work in the morning, but it was something which Bella could not face, a routine to link him with the continuing stability of their existence together. So he was doing it. Bella would be waiting patiently inside. It was going to be a long road back into her confidence and Abbott, with stubborn, quiet persistence, was treading it.

  I drew up alongside and shouted through the window. ‘Nice night for it.’

  He lifted his head, gave a bleak smile and went on with it.

  I parked round the corner behind the Morris Minor. Miller and I got out and stood each side of the Porsche.

  ‘How long d’you think he’ll be?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Knowing George, a little wound’s not going to delay him.’ I thought about it. ‘She might.’

  When we got back to watch Abbott, Bella was standing out in the porch in dark slacks and a cardigan. Her face was in shadow.

  ‘Are you going to be much longer, Victor?’

  ‘A few minutes. Go to bed, Bella, if you’re tired.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ she said in an exhausted voice. She turned and dragged herself indoors.

  Abbott looked at me beseechingly. ‘It’s really set her back.’

  I nodded. ‘But it’s not finished, is it?’

  He looked beaten, stared at the soiled sponge in his hand, then threw it angrily into the bucket.

  ‘How long’s he going to be?’ fidgeted Miller.

  Up there you could see lights a mile away. ‘That’ll be him now.’ Headlights were shooting up the slope, coming on fast. I recognized the engine note. ‘It’s George’s car.’

  It rocked into the drive. My God, I thought, he can’t hold it. But the car held a steady line along the sweep of the drive, in no way slowing. When it came within the orbit of the house lights, I saw that the girl was driving. She could not resist a challenge and was aiming for one long, screaming skid, to halt behind the Dolomite.

  Then, like an avenging angel, Miller stepped forward onto the drive and held up his arms. She got the brakes on. The car swung in a wild skid and bounced onto the grass. It ploughed its way in a curving slide, clods flying, and came to a halt. The door flew open and Tasha sprang out.

  ‘Bastard!’ she screamed at her brother, possibly because he’d ruined her dramatic arrival. She ran across the grass towards the gate and Miller was after her in a gallop, me close behind.

  He got her in a tackle and I jerked her to her feet. She was a writhing ball of muscle. He got his arms round one leg, twisting round so that he was facing upwards.

  ‘Subdued!’ he snarled.

  Then she stood on his face. He howled and let go, but I’d got part of a half-nelson on her. She chopped back with he
r elbow as Miller clambered to his feet. Blood was running from his nose.

  ‘Get her into the house,’ I gasped.

  She flailed at him and he caught her arm. We now had one each. We dragged her past the Sceptre.

  George was standing beside it, looking rough. ‘She was quiet enough,’ he commented, ‘coming here.’

  I explained. ‘She nearly ran over her beloved brother. It’s the shock.’

  She used a filthy word. Her feet were mainly free of the ground and now she was shouting abuse without break. Bella came running to meet us, her fingers interlaced. ‘Oh, the poor dear. It’s the drugs, you know.’

  ‘Keep that bitch away from me!’ screamed Tasha.

  ‘It ruins their minds,’ Bella explained, peering up into my sweating face. ‘Come along. In here, in here.’

  At least it had taken her mind from herself.

  We got Tasha into the same room as before. She’d recall the settee — if we could get her to it. It might have been the rack, the howls that were going up.

  ‘Withdrawal symptoms!’ cried Bella.

  ‘Will you keep the cow quiet!’ Tasha bellowed, but she was running out of breath. Her struggles were easing. She stood, her hair a mess, head forward and down, glaring defiance. I stepped back. Miller could handle it. He stood facing her.

  ‘What’d I tell you!’ I said proudly. ‘Damn it, she could clear an unruly house of drunks in two minutes flat. WPC Miller!’

  ‘What you sayin’?’ she demanded. ‘A bleedin’, stinkin’ Pig!’

  Furiously Miller drew back his right hand, gathered it into a fist, and she stuck out her lower lip at him. George spoke casually, catching the fist in mid-air.

  ‘No. Allow me.’

  He raised his right palm, like a chunk of rump, and she kicked him smartly on the shin. Then she was diving for the door. Miller tackled, then I was after her, and we all went down and were still.

  Len was standing in the same doorway as before, but this time with an automatic pistol clasped in his hand.

  ‘What kept you, kid?’ he asked.

  If she hadn’t, stretched out there on the floor, thrown one glance of appeal over her shoulder I’d have been prepared to let it go at that. I’d seen enough of her. Patience, indeed! How could I ever have considered inflicting this fireball on the criminal element of the district?

  She was getting to her feet slowly. There was no wild welcome.

  ‘Got the wheels outside,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s split.’

  He backed away. I was on hands and knees, tense. Len had his helmet on, the visor raised. Awkward to attack. The gun jerked at me and I was very still. Miller released her ankle and she moved towards her feller.

  Bella spoke. ‘Aren’t you going to do anything, Victor?’

  The remark gave the lad ideas. It would clearly be unwise to allow any of us out of his sight until he had a fair start. He gestured with the pistol. ‘Outside, all of yer.’ Then he backed us into the hall, standing well clear, not giving us a smell of a chance. Silently we trooped out onto the porch.

  The young fool had made a mistake. He had left his bike beside the Dolomite, the wrong place for a quick getaway. Not only that — and I think he realized it too — but he would, astride the twinseat, have to put away the weapon to start the engine. Mind you, these big four-cylinder job, weighing half a ton, I’d think, have self-starters. Even so, there’d come a time when he’d need both feet straddled on the ground and both hands on the grips. A flash of uncertainty crossed his eyes. He saw that I was edging towards the lawn and the waiting Sceptre. He jerked the gun at me and raised his head.

  ‘Get the bike, kid.’

  She threw him a startled look. Her own bike had been lighter, possibly only a 450 twin. But she was not a lass to be daunted. She went over to it, leaning there on its side stand. The trick is to get your leg over, both feet on the ground, and lever it upright. Then you start it. She got her leg over and heaved. It didn’t move. He snarled. She glared at him. He gestured with the gun.

  ‘One o’ you bastards go and help her.’

  We stared at him without enthusiasm. He took a step forward and a bullet cracked into the wall above my head.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Abbott, anxious to get rid of them both.

  And Bella spoke quietly. ‘No.’

  The girl looked at us in appeal. Maybe she was tired from the struggle. She grimaced and made a valiant effort. The bike lifted very nearly upright. At that point the side stand, operated by its spring, snapped up into riding position as she slipped and tapped it with her heel. She gasped, scrambled with the lurching weight and dropped his bike on its side.

  He howled in agony, took a step forward and stopped. His expression was murderous. He drew several deep breaths.

  ‘I am going,’ he stated, ‘to pick you off one by one, until somebody goes and lifts up that bike.’

  I laughed. ‘Who’s strong enough, except George, and you’ve already picked him off.’

  This could well have developed into an interesting debate, but just then another car came through the drive entrance. A police car, even a plain saloon, always has something portentous about it. This was an official visit. I didn’t find it welcome.

  The car swept on steadily, with a short rasp on its horn. Len pivoted in anger, then obligingly stepped sideways onto the lawn. The car rolled on, aiming to halt beside the Dolomite. This it did, accurately enough, though its front offside wheel lifted itself gently, to rest on the bike’s front wheel. The driver sat back, complacent. Out of the back stepped Messingham and a man I immediately recognized, from George’s description, as Rogerson.

  Len had run round the car. He surveyed his bike. He was close to tears of frustration. The gun in his hand was now no more than an extension of his finger and he gestured with it.

  ‘Get your bleedin’ car off my bike!’

  The driver looked through him. A constable’s loyalty is to his own inspector and Rogerson was a foreigner. The driver was looking like a man trying not to laugh. He hadn’t noticed Len.

  Rogerson was staring at the Dolomite. He stood like a vibrating volcano, then raised his head and bellowed: ‘He’s bloody well washed it!’

  Messingham looked mildly regretful. ‘You can have full access to the photos, Super, all the … ’

  ‘Washed it clean!’

  ‘ … prints and blood samples. I told you that.’

  ‘But he’s got no right!’

  ‘It was the clock you came to see, my dear chap. And look, he’s got every speck of blood off it.’

  ‘And moved the soddin’ hands!’ Rogerson screeched.

  At that point Len poked at him with the gun. ‘Heh you! Tell this stupid pig here to back the car.’

  Rogerson paused and stared down at him with surprise. ‘Go away, sonny.’

  Len gave a sharp exclamation of intent and stood back. ‘Either you tell him to shift, or I’ll blow … ’

  ‘Can’t you handle the rubbish on your own patch?’ Rogerson asked sourly, frowning at Messingham.

  This put the inspector in difficulties. To attempt to take official action against Len, and possibly inflame the situation, would be embarrassing. Then he saw Miller circling menacingly and anyway it was Miller’s personal problem. Messingham decided to ignore it. He shrugged. ‘If you’ll look, you’ll see that the hands can’t have been moved,’ he said mildly.

  Rogerson had the Dolomite’s front door open. ‘Ain’t anybody got a torch?’

  The police constable got out smartly, a torch in his hand.

  ‘Heh you!’ Len shouted. ‘Get back behind that wheel.’

  The constable obliged by opening the Dolomite’s rear door. His head disappeared inside, the torch focused on the clock. Rogerson bent inside the front door. It was not a target I would have cared to offer the young lunatic in his particular mood.

  But perhaps Messingham and Rogerson knew best how to handle people like Len. They crave attention. By ignoring him completel
y, they took the fire from him. At least that was the theory.

  He backed away, snarling, aware of Miller and keeping his distance. Then he took up a station behind the Dolomite and in the centre of the drive. I couldn’t see how he was going to make his getaway now. There were too many available targets. I turned back to Rogerson and the inspector.

  It appeared to me that Messingham had been holding his end up quite well so far, against the heavier guns of his nominal superior. I listened with interest.

  We all listened. Nobody could ever walk away from Rogerson in full flow.

  ‘Well … that clinches it.’ His head emerged and he straightened his shoulders. ‘There was just a chance the clock’d been rigged, then we could’ve bagged one murderer for both. But you can see … any fool can see … that nobody could’ve fiddled that clock.’

  ‘As I told you,’ said Messingham gently.

  Rogerson ploughed on. ‘Time of murder, my end, eight minutes to nine. Time of murder this end, one minute to. Who’s gonna tell me that’s coincidence?’ He surveyed us all severely, his colleagues, our tight little group on the porch, Tasha back on the lawn, Miller crouched, edging his way towards Len. I couldn’t see George. No one spoke. Rogerson lifted his chin. ‘Nah! Not with the same gun, or as near as dammit, and with the same calibre bullets. It’s too much. I ain’t havin’ it. This thing was planned. Every petty crook in the country treats us as simple-minded. A bit of a trick and they think they can get away with it. But they ain’t foolin’ me. It was just plain, unadulterated collusion.’

  I wished he’d go away. Maybe he had the details in his head, but he was skipping the awkward parts. I heard Bella draw deep, shuddering breath behind me. I glanced round. She stood with her hand reaching, fending off the suggestion.

  ‘Now hold on.’ I stepped forward.

  ‘Who’s this?’ demanded Rogerson.

  ‘His name’s … ’

  ‘Oh, get him from under my feet. You know what you came for, so get on with it.’

  ‘But I’ve still to be convinced.’

  I stepped back. The inspector had it in hand.

  ‘Oh, come on, Inspector!’ Rogerson thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Done to confuse the issue. Two obviously connected murders and done so close in time. They must’ve been deliberately timed by two people, using similar guns. And ain’t we got a lot of twenty-twos to choose from!’