Arthurs' Night (Detective Johnny Inch series Book 6)

by J F Straker

  Connor rubbed his shoulder. ‘What do you intend to do?’ he demanded.

  ‘I thought we might have a little chat,’ Northropp said cheerfully. ‘Clear up a few misunderstandings. But I must put the Rover out of sight first. We don’t want any nosey parkers butting in. I’d like to move yours too; it’s a bit conspicuous where it is. I suppose you wouldn’t care to push the key under the door?’

  ‘Go to hell!’ Connor said.

  ‘No? Well, I shan’t be long. Don’t go away.’

  Plaster crackled underfoot as he left.

  Connor made no further attempt to force the door; not because he feared the house might collapse but because his bruised shoulder bore evidence to its solidity. It was hot in the cupboard and the air was foul, and he loosened his collar and got down on his knees and explored his prison with his hands. There were empty cardboard boxes and bundles of magazines, a pair of boots and a broken chair. The latter came easily to pieces, and with a wooden stay in his grasp he felt more secure. No matter what Northropp had in mind, sooner or later he must open the door; and unless he possessed a gun — an unlikely contingency — it would be man against man. The stay, Connor hoped, might give him the edge.

  Northropp was soon back. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he said. ‘We can talk without fear of disturbance. Are you all right in there? There’s a chair, isn’t there?’

  ‘It’s broken,’ Connor said.

  ‘Too bad. Still, this won’t take long. Mustn’t be late for the baby wetting.’

  ‘And what happens to me?’

  ‘We’ll come to that later,’ Northropp said. ‘Now, where do we start?’

  ‘Why not the beginning?’ Connor said. Despite his anger — fear, even — he welcomed the prospect of a verbal showdown. That was why he had come, although he had envisaged it under less threatening conditions. ‘I take it you don’t deny killing those two?’

  ‘Between ourselves, Connor — no, I don’t. Although I’m damned if I can see how you managed to pick me out.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Connor said. ‘Not at first. I thought it was George Fitt. All I had on you was that you had bribed him to get building contracts. When I discovered that McGuppy had got wise to this and was blackmailing him —’

  ‘Hold hard!’ Northropp said. ‘Discovered? How do you mean, discovered?’

  Connor explained. ‘I suppose McGuppy was blackmailing you too? Making a double killing.’

  ‘He was. George was too damned soft to do anything about it. I wasn’t.’

  ‘So you killed him. Just like that.’

  ‘Just like that,’ Northropp said. ‘Dammit, man, there was no alternative! He’d have milked us both dry.’ There was a pause. Standing close to the door, Connor heard the flick of a lighter, smelled cigar smoke. ‘McGuppy had the reputation of being a quiet, unassuming sort of chap who kept himself to himself. But that wasn’t him at all. He was a surly, vindictive bastard who had a built-in animosity towards anyone better off than himself. He probably got as much pleasure from the blackmail as he did from the money.’

  ‘That doesn’t excuse murder,’ Connor said.

  ‘Who’s excusing? I’m giving you the facts.’

  That was probably true, Connor thought. Northropp wasn’t the type to excuse his actions or even to apologise for them.

  ‘Your sister — Mrs. Evans — thought it was Fitt who got the tickets for that evening and asked for Mrs. McGuppy to be included in the party.’

  ‘That’s what I told her,’ Northropp said. ‘Actually, I fixed it.’

  ‘Did Fitt know what you were up to?’

  ‘Not at the time. I told him later. Had to.’ Northropp laughed. ‘One might say George was my third victim. The knowledge drove him to drink, and drink was responsible for his accident.’

  ‘I thought he took to drink when he discovered you were having it off with his wife.’

  ‘Maybe. It still makes him a victim, doesn’t it?’

  Connor shuddered. Northropp’s callousness appalled him. It also frightened him; with three deaths on his conscience Northropp would not jib at a fourth if he considered it necessary. Yet if his intention were to kill, why lock his victim in a cupboard? Why the delay? Was his curiosity really that keen?

  ‘Tell me about Becky,’ Connor said. He had Northropp’s confession and that was all he really needed. But dread of what was to come prompted him to keep talking.

  ‘No,’ Northropp said. ‘You’re the detective. You tell me.’

  ‘I told you,’ Connor said. ‘Thursday night.’

  ‘You told me about Becky’s diary, and why you thought the man she called — what was the letter she used?’

  ‘B.’

  ‘Why you thought he had killed her. Why B, incidentally?’

  ‘I imagine it stood for beaver.’ Connor remembered that Susan had described her husband as an ‘eager beaver’. ‘It seems to fit you.’

  ‘Is that a compliment or an insult?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Connor said. ‘Physically there’s a resemblance. Thickset — short strong legs — thick head on a sturdy neck. And hairy, of course. That’s the beaver. I looked it up.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the thick head bit.’

  ‘No? According to the book, beavers are unparalleled in the animal kingdom as builders and demolition experts.’

  ‘Ah! Then it’s a compliment,’ Northropp said cheerfully. ‘So what kept you? If I fitted so neatly, why pick on poor old George?’

  ‘I told you. He was the obvious person to have killed McGuppy, and I was sure the two deaths were connected. And according to your wife they didn’t go to the Arthurs’ Night dinner. She went to bed, he went off somewhere in the car.’ Standing there in the darkness, with not even a chink of light showing round the edge of the door, Connor was beginning to feel claustrophobic. ‘That left him minus an alibi. You had one. Or I thought you had. The local rag listed a Mr. and Mrs. Northropp as being present at the dinner.’

  ‘My brother Andrew,’ Northropp said. ‘He’s a chemist. Anyway, it couldn’t have been me. I wasn’t married.’

  ‘No. But I thought you were.’

  ‘Because you’d seen Susan in my flat?’ Northropp laughed. ‘How naïve can you get? Was that why you asked just now if she was my first?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Connor mopped his forehead. In an old house there should have been draughts, but the air was still and oppressive and seemed to be getting warmer. Northropp claimed to have taken precautions. Had the precautions included sealing the cupboard so that his prisoner must eventually lose consciousness, perhaps even suffocate? The prospect induced still heavier perspiration.

  ‘Still there, are you?’ Northropp called. ‘You know damned well I’m still here,’ Connor said angrily.

  Northropp chuckled. That was something else about him that surprised Connor. Hitherto he had seen Northropp as a rather dour man, not given to joking. The fact that he could find amusement in the present situation suggested that he had a sense of humour, albeit an extremely warped one.

  ‘Just checking,’ Northropp said.

  He began to talk about Becky. He had been out with her a few times in the past, he said, but had dropped her when he and Susan became lovers. She had borne him no ill will for that, he thought — he had been only one of many — and the blackmail was entirely mercenary. Yet it had seemed to him that he had escaped the frying pan only to fall into the fire; and although he had paid up for the first few weeks he had known from the start that she would have to go. That knowledge had crystallised when she had doubled her demands. ‘She also hinted that the figure was likely to go higher yet,’ Northropp said. ‘I wasn’t standing for that. She could have ruined me.’

  ‘Very depressing,’ Connor said. ‘But you were a mug to let her see you leave McGuppy’s house. Did you park the car outside?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’ Northropp sounded indignant. ‘It was several streets away. And she didn’t see me. At least, she saw me. But sh
e didn’t recognise me.’

  ‘Did you see her?’

  ‘No. Apparently she hid in a doorway until I was well down the street. She’d been having it off with a married man while his wife was out and didn’t want to compromise him. Or that’s what she said.’

  Typical of Becky, Connor thought. It went with her care to refer to her lovers only by nicknames. A tart, certainly. But a tart with a code.

  ‘So what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘She followed me — not intentionally our routes just happened to coincide — and saw me get into the car.’ Northropp paused. ‘I was just damned unlucky.’

  ‘So was she,’ Connor said. ‘Tell me about the night you killed her. Incidentally, why Arthurs’ Night? Any particular reason?’

  None, Northropp said. He had needed to act quickly, and Arthurs’ Night was the first opportunity that offered. So after Adam Grant had dropped him off at his flat he had driven out to Woodside Cottage, parked his car up the farm track on the far side of the lane, and was waiting in the wood when she and Connor arrived. As she came down the track he had jumped her. There had been no screams, no struggle; she had died easily, he thought. He had expected Connor to drive off immediately; but Connor had stayed, and he had had to wait by the body until the coast was clear. Then he had dumped her in the ditch, knowing that when found the police would see Connor as the obvious suspect.

  ‘Thoughtful of you,’ Connor said.

  ‘I believe in looking after Number One,’ Northropp said. ‘Been doing it all my life. And you asked for it, didn’t you? Still, I was glad they made it manslaughter. I’d have been sorry if they’d given you life. Not that your conviction troubled my conscience. I had forgotten you existed until I saw you lunching with Woolmer.’

  ‘You recognised me?’

  ‘I did. Which is why I asked Ferris to find out where you were staying. I’d no idea why you were here, but it seemed wise to keep tabs on you.’

  ‘And had my room searched later, eh?’

  ‘One of the waiters at the hotel obliged. I’d heard of the diary — Harry’s a great gossip — and I decided it would be safer in my possession. I lost out there, though which is why I arranged that little fracas in the churchyard.’ Northropp gave another chuckle. ‘Joe and Mick, the two lads who did you over — they can be very persuasive. They’ve done jobs for me in the past. No form, you see. Very useful.’

  ‘They didn’t persuade me,’ Connor said.

  ‘No. It might have been better for you if they had.’

  ‘Because of now, you mean?’

  ‘Because of now.’ There was a pause. ‘What’s it like in there?’

  ‘Warm,’ Connor said. ‘And stuffy. When do I get out?’

  ‘Ah! That’s the sixty-four dollar question, isn’t it? And the answer is that you don’t. As I told you, these houses are coming down early tomorrow. If you’re still alive by then — I sealed the cupboard as best I could in the time, but I doubt if it’s completely airtight — a three-storey house collapsing around you should do the trick. We blow them up with gelignite. Very thorough.’

  Connor shuddered, and was glad that Northropp did not have the satisfaction of witnessing his fear. ‘I’ll be alive, damn you — and that’s a promise,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll kick up such a racket that your men are bound to hear me.’

  ‘Think so? Well, naturally we search the premises before firing — tramps and hippies tend to doss down in them — but I’ll search this lot myself when I lay the charges. Nothing unusual in that; I’ve done it before. So if you still have the lungs to create a racket you can be sure the men won’t hear you. I certainly won’t.’ Northropp’s heavy sigh was clearly meant to be heard. ‘When your remains are later found in the rubble I’ll probably get a rocket for not having conducted a more thorough search. Still, every exercise has its flaws.’

  ‘You’ll get over it,’ Connor said.

  ‘Of course. I mean, who’d expect anyone to doss down in a cupboard? How could he possibly get in? There’s no handle. There was, of course, but I removed it.’

  ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’

  ‘I try to,’ Northropp said modestly.

  ‘But not this time,’ Connor told him. ‘You should have searched me before pushing me in here. You see, I too took precautions. I’m carrying a microphone and tape recorder, and the whole of our conversation has been recorded. I may be dead when they find me, but the tape will still convict you.’

  ‘H’m! That makes it tricky,’ Northropp said.

  ‘I’ll do a deal,’ Connor told him. To accept defeat when victory had been so near was abhorrent. But life was more important than victory. ‘The tape in exchange for my freedom.’

  ‘No deal,’ Northropp said, after a pause for thought. ‘Too risky. Besides, it’s unnecessary. I can find the remains myself, can’t I?’ Connor did not answer. ‘How’s the air coming along?’

  ‘It’ll last.’

  ‘If I were you I wouldn’t bank on it.’

  It was the sound of the front door shutting that told Connor he had gone. For a few moments he stood absolutely still, heart and pulse racing. A hammer seemed to be pounding in his head. Then he let out a bellow of fear and rage and began to assault the door with hands and feet, drawing back occasionally to hurl himself against it. The door did not budge, and presently exhaustion made him desist and he put his back to it and slid to a sitting position, coughing and spluttering from the dust his exertions had raised. Sweat poured from him, but his mind was too confused to care.

  Gradually sanity returned. No doubt the house had been well built. But it was old, and although Northropp claimed to have sealed the cupboard there must still be cracks through which air could penetrate. Exploring the door with his fingers he found that the sides and the top fitted tightly against the jamb; but there was a narrow gap along the bottom, and he lay on his stomach and looked for light. None showed. But that could be because night had come. He found a cardboard box, tore off a side, and slid it under the door. It came up against something that at first appeared to be solid but which gave under further pressure. A rubber draught excluder, he thought, and tore the cardboard into strips and pushed them at intervals under the whole width of the door, hoping that the seal would be broken in the gaps between the strips.

  The fact that he had done something, no matter how trifling, to render his position less hopeless, bolstered his courage. Hope revived. He told himself that Northropp could not be absolutely sure that none of the demolition gang would approach near enough to hear a cry for help. And Northropp must be aware of this; why else would he have bothered to seal the cupboard? It followed that Northropp was banking on the fact that there would be no cry, that by the time he and the men arrived Connor would be either dead or unconscious.

  So I stay alive, Connor thought grimly. And awake.

  Aware that movement would make extra demands on the available air, he settled down to wait.

  Chapter 9

  Brummit was tired. An unusually busy day had culminated in what the Chief Constable chose to describe as ‘an informal get-together’ at his home, but which had developed into a wearisome homily by the host on the increasing crime rate and the apparent inability of the Force to combat it. Vaisey had also been among those present; but he was younger than Brummit and more resilient, and because the homily had been directed mainly at the more senior officers he had been less actively involved. Yet he too was tired, and neither man had much to say on the journey back to Felborough. It was days like this, Brummit thought wearily, that made his impending retirement particularly attractive. Occasionally he belched; he had had time only to snatch a sandwich before leaving for the meeting, and the Chief Constable’s home-brewed beer had given him the wind. Vaisey dozed, replete after a good dinner and more than his share of the beer. He was a man who needed plenty of sleep and could catnap whenever the opportunity offered.

  He woke as the car pulled up in the station yard. ‘Bloody waste of an evenin
g,’ he grumbled, stretching and yawning. ‘We all know the figures are poor, he doesn’t have to tell us. We all know why, too. And that awful beer! It tasted flat to me.’

  ‘It didn’t seem to affect your consumption,’ Brummit said.

  Vaisey looked at his watch. ‘Christ! It’s after midnight. Alice will slay me. Did I tell you my old man is staying with us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He drives her up the wall,’ Vaisey said. ‘Never stops talking.’

  The duty sergeant stood to attention at their entrance, and relaxed at a nod from Brummit. ‘Nice party, sir?’ he asked. The grin on his bearded face suggested he knew the answer. He had heard the inspector’s views on previous such gatherings.

  Brummit ignored both the grin and the question. ‘All quiet?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing for C.I.D., sir. But there’s been a nasty accident at the junction of Northropp Way and East Street. Happened about two hours ago. Drunken driver. Traffic are dealing with it.’

  ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘The drunk was killed outright. The other driver — Mr. Northropp, sir, the builder — he was luckier. He’s in hospital with head injuries and multiple cuts and bruising. Apparently the drunk hit the backside of his Rover as he was turning out of Northropp Way.’

  ‘Has Mrs. Northropp been told?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s at the hospital.’

  ‘Good. Well, goodnight, Sergeant.’

  They were halfway to the door when the sergeant stopped them. ‘There’s something here that might interest the Inspector, sir.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Vaisey said.

  ‘It’s about Mr. Mallorie, sir. The gentleman who came in on Saturday to look at the mugshots.’

  Both men turned quickly. ‘What about him?’ Brummit said.

  Constable Hewett, the sergeant said, one of the officers attending the accident, had noticed a car parked off the road a short distance up Northropp Way. On investigation he had recognised it as the Cortina Mallorie had hired from Godman’s Garage. The car was locked and unoccupied. There was no sign of Mallorie.