Death At Willows End

by A. B. King

“I see, well, thank you for being so frank with me. To answer Miss Fortescue's question, do I think she drank too much wine, climbed into a bath and cut her wrists? No, I don't think so.”

  “You don't?” I echoed in surprise. I wouldn't have believed for a moment that a hard-headed policeman would have listened to my ramblings for a moment.

  “She certainly drank too much,” he conceded, “and she was certainly in the bath. A Stanley knife was on the floor beside the bath, and her wrists were cut. But no, I don't think her intention was suicide.”

  “May I ask why?” I said after a few moments.

  “Because there was virtually no blood to speak of in the water. A newly dead body does not bleed to any appreciable extent, Mr Hammond, as any good detective manual will tell you if you ever bother to read one, whereas if you intend committing suicide that way, the body tends to bleed quite a lot until the heart finally gives up the unequal struggle. I hope to have the results of the post-mortem tomorrow, or perhaps I should say, later today, which I think will show that she was drowned, and that her wrists were cut afterwards to make it appear like suicide.”

  “Drowned?” Danny echoed “In a bath?”

  I immediately recalled Danny citing the case of the Brides in the Bath to me not so long back, and I think the police officer must have read my mind!

  “A good many years ago an unsavoury gentleman by the name of George Joseph Smith made a business of marrying women with money, and drowning them in the bath. It was a very simple technique that he employed to gain his ends, you simply grasp the feet of the person in the bath and pull, the torso slides down the bath, the head disappears under the water, and that and shock will finish the average person off very quickly. My suspicions were alerted when I discovered that the corpse bore signs of recent and past beatings. She had been severely beaten with something like a cane before she had that bath, and she didn't chastise herself.”

  “And the cane from the study is missing,” I pointed out with satisfaction, but I wasn't too impressed when I suddenly recalled that Danny had accused me earlier or actually resembling the infamous George Joseph Smith!

  “And the cane is at the forensic laboratory,” he corrected.

  I might have known the police wouldn't miss something as obvious as that. I admit that I felt uncomfortable having my suspicions about Julia's unfortunate demise confirmed, and it made me even more dubious with continuing with my feeble attempts at investigation.

  “May I ask a question?” I ventured.

  “Please do,” he responded.

  “Why were you waiting here tonight? I mean, it isn't very likely that somebody who has committed a deliberate murder is likely to come sneaking back is it, and in any case, if this is officially a crime scene, don't you usually have it cordoned off with a few police officers on general duty outside?”

  “In the general course of events I would say that you were broadly correct,” he agreed in his deceptively equable manner, “but as it happens, all the forensic checks were carried out earlier today. However, I had a 'hunch', as our American cousins say, that one of you two might come here tonight, and it seems I was right.”

  “You actually expected either Mr Hammond or me to come here tonight?” Danny asked in genuine surprise.

  “Well, if not tonight, I felt fairly certain that one of you would come in the next night or so.”

  “Now why on earth would you expect either of us to do that?” I asked in genuine curiosity.

  “It was when you told me that you were out with a Miss Fortescue at the time that Mrs Johnson died,” the police officer said. “The name rang a bell, and later I recalled that as a recently promoted sergeant I had been present at the enquiry following the death of Miss Fortescue's sister. I must confess that at the time I had my suspicions about Mrs Johnson, or Julia Gordon as she then was. Unfortunately my superiors did not agree with me, so nothing came of the matter, and I soon forgot all about it. Still, when the name Fortescue was mentioned as an alibi I started to remember the event. Perhaps it was sheer co-incidence, perhaps it wasn't, yet my instincts suggested that there was a link. There being no hint that your 'case' was closed, I felt that there was just a chance that one of you might return now that Julia was no longer here, just to rifle through her effects looking for whatever it was you thought might help you? So, now I will ask you a question; did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I'm afraid not,” Danny admitted.

  “And may I ask just what you thought you might find?”

  “We thought there was the slight chance that Mrs Johnson might have scribbled down the phone number of the man who was with her on the bridge,” I said before Danny could start inventing stories that would only get us into even deeper trouble. “I admit it was a forlorn hope; we reasoned that she would not have had contact with the man for many years, and would need to find his number from somewhere.”

  “As you say, a forlorn hope,” he agreed. “Perhaps you would care to know that forensics have been able to tell me in their preliminary report that there have been two men here recently. One of them has left ample fingerprint evidence, and that man is probably you from your earlier visit. The second man appears to have worn surgical gloves. Several pages have been removed from the pad by the telephone, so it is likely that he reasoned along much the same lines as you did. He not only took the page with the number, it would seem that he also removed several blank pages from beneath it in case somebody tried to read the number from the imprint.”

  “In other words, I have committed burglary for nothing?” I said resignedly. “Oh well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “You might have done better looking for her diary?” he suggested dryly.

  Some detective I was! The idea that Julie might have kept a diary simply hadn't occurred to me; well, it was a bit late to think of it now.

  “Not that you would have had a great deal more success there,” he added almost as an afterthought. “We took that away on our first visit. There is no phone number in it leading to a mysterious man. Such numbers as it contains have been checked out, and all perfectly satisfactory I'm afraid. Still, the diary at least confirmed part of your assumptions; your visit is mentioned briefly, detailing the fact that she thought of you as a strong dominant sort of chap. Seems she was thinking that perhaps she might invite you back on some pretext, and then 'confess' to something in the hope that she might encourage you to get, shall we say, physical with her. On the face of it the diary does confirm a strong and long-standing masochistic nature.”

  The idea that Julia had actually looked on me in that light gave me a cold shiver. Don't get me wrong; I like women, but all this kinky stuff gives me the willies.

  “Why are you telling us all this,” Danny asked. “Surely it is not common practice for senior police officers to discuss what appears to be a major crime with a couple amateur burglars?”

  “I quite agree; I am telling you how it is because I think that you may be able to help me.”

  He looked at the pair of us with that same bland deceptive expression, and I wondered what was coming.

  “You see, my theory about this whole business,” he resumed, “is broadly similar to your own. I always thought that there was something odd about the death of Dian Fortescue, and now the death of Mrs Johnson tends to support that view. I would quite like to catch the man who killed her, because I suspect that if not actually guilty of two murders, he was at least complicit in covering up Mrs Johnson's part in the earlier tragedy. Now, if we theorise that this unknown man has killed Mrs Johnson to ensure her silence, there is one other person who still presents a threat to his freedom.”

  He looked squarely at Danny.

  “But I still don't remember anything,” she exclaimed. “That is why I hired Mr Hammond; I wanted to know what happened. I just had this one brief flash of memory; of seeing my sister being plucked away from me with a terrified expression on her face. I don't remember anyone doing anything, so how can
I be a threat?”

  “You are a threat simply because you were there and must have witnessed whatever occurred. Our unknown man must now suspect that after all these years your memory is starting to return. Now, if I am correct, he is quite likely to make an attempt on your life as well.”

  The way he said it in such a calm matter-of-fact tone sent cold shivers down my spine. It is one thing to watch thrillers on TV where heroes and heroines face the most fantastic threats with apparent equanimity, it is quite another to suddenly realise that there is someone you don't even know who is looking for a chance to murder someone very close to you, and maybe even include you in the deed free of charge!

  “You are asking me to be the bait so that you can catch who-ever is responsible for Julia's death?” Danny queried in an astonishingly calm tone of voice.

  “Did I say that?” he asked as he glanced round at the silent figure of the police sergeant standing by the door.

  “Not that I heard, sir,” the sergeant said without a moment's hesitation.

  “Have you seen anyone here tonight, sergeant?”

  “Not a soul, sir,” was the stolid reply. “Waste of time us being here, if you ask me.”

  “I'm inclined to agree with you sergeant,” the senior officer said, standing up and stretching. “I shouldn't think that 'chummy' is coming now. We will just ensure that the place is secure, and then we can be off.”

  “Very good, sir,” he responded woodenly, “I'll check the premises now.”

  As the sergeant vanished the detective inspector looked down at us thoughtfully.

  “Not having seen you here,” he remarked conversationally, “I would take it as a favour if you both will call in to see me at the station at, say, eleven o'clock tomorrow morning to make a voluntary statement. Perhaps you would care to bring all your notes on this business with you Mr Hammond?” He glanced briefly at Danny, and added; “If you are disinclined to assist me in resolving this matter, perhaps you will let me know when you call?”

  “Er, yes, certainly, we'll do that,” I agreed, still bewildered that I wasn't about to be whisked away in a Black Maria, or whatever it is the police use for transporting desperate criminals in this modern day and age. “We'll be there at eleven.”

  “Good, now if you and Miss Fortescue would care to leave the way you came in, I will most likely forget that I have seen you. Please do not make a sound as you go, or my sergeant will have no choice but to detain you. Goodnight to you both.”

  We took the hint and departed exactly as he suggested. Personally, I could scarcely credit that we were still free. I had had my doubts about the wisdom of such an insane venture from the outset, and once the police had appeared I thought that that was it. And now suddenly we were no longer the hunters but quite possibly the hunted! Frankly, I'm no hero, and I didn't like the situation one bit. Danny, on the other hand, and judging purely from her expression, was quite enjoying the fact. I didn't trust myself to say anything until we were back in the car.

  “Danny,” I said with emphasis as we drove quietly away, “if it wasn't for the fact that I cannot stand people who say, 'I told you so'. I'd say, 'I told you so'! Do you not understand that we are extremely lucky not be 'banged-up' in some noisome dungeon at the central police station right now?”

  “You,” she replied with equal emphasis, “are an old worry-guts!”

  “Maybe I am, but in this instance you can't deny that I'm fully justified. Going to Julia's home was a really bad idea, and we are more than lucky not to be undergoing the third degree right now! I still can't understand why Grayson didn't just clap us in irons and have done with it.”

  “I guess he liked the look of my legs?”

  “I don't think he looked at your legs once,” I retorted scornfully.

  “Well, maybe he did, or maybe he didn't. Personally, I think he is after a bigger fish to fry. In his book we are simply a couple of undersized minnows. I bet he has had the pair of us checked out pretty thoroughly and knows that we are not worth anything to him inside, but potentially worth quite a bit on the loose.”

  “Being 'on the loose', as you so quaintly put it, means that you are being used as bait. Can't you get it through your head that somewhere out there is a man who has probably killed at least once, possibly even twice, and may well be desirous of going for a hat-trick?”

  “Yes, isn't it exciting?”

  “You,” I said with total conviction, “are mad!”

  “Being a genius and being mad are two sides of the same coin,” she philosophised, “I've been accused of both before now. Personally, 'Mr X' does not frighten me. If he thinks I'm another Julia he has a big surprise coming.”

  I shook my head sadly, and presently we reached my home again just as the skies were greying.

  “May I ask you a favour?” she asked as we pulled up.

  “Of course,” I responded, wondering what fresh outlandish idea she was about to come up with.

  “I can't be bothered with driving on home and then having to return in time for our appointment tomorrow. Can I hang about here again for what is left of the night?”

  As I may have mentioned before; Danny, and loss of wind in my sails?

  “If you wish,” I said, with visions of bedrooms finally being put to good use flashing though my head once again. To be fair, it also crossed my mind that if she was with me, there was less chance of the unknown 'Mr X' making an attempt on her.

  “Oh good,” she exclaimed cheerfully as she exited the car, “because I'm famished; I would think that we should be just in time for an early breakfast!”

  Chapter Twenty One.

  The enchanting concept of a nice comfortable bed, even without the benefit of a nubile companion, faded as quickly as it had come. Once inside the flat Danny started busying herself with organising bacon, eggs, beans, fried bread and God-knows-what else! Frankly, now that I was home, everything was starting to catch up with me, and I was feeling unutterably weary. It had been a night such as I have never experienced before, and frankly was none too keen on ever experiencing again. (Apart from the few hours of heaven on my old settee that is) More to waken myself up than anything else I wandered off to have a shower, and by the time I returned she had the meal ready and was serving it out.

  “You know,” she said, speaking in a most unladylike manner with her mouth full, “I really think we are getting somewhere at last.”

  “It's the 'where' bit that bothers me,” I remarked gloomily.

  “Oh, come on, Neil, where's your sense of adventure?”

  “I left that behind in boyhood along with my toy soldiers.”

  “But don't you see? Any time now we are going to crack this case wide open!”

  “If we don't get cracked wide open first. Danny, can't you get it through your head that this isn't a game, it isn't a TV thriller, its real life? In case you've forgotten; somebody out there has just cold bloodedly killed someone you know, and the chances are that this same person may well now have it in for the pair of us.”

  “Don't be such a pessimist; we are going to outwit 'Mr X' and bring him to justice.”

  “And while you are at it, you can train some pigs I'm acquainted with how to fly!” I snorted.

  “That is not what I would term a positive attitude,” she said reprovingly.

  “It wasn't meant to be,” I responded with conviction. “It's all very easy just sitting at a table to claim that we are going to entrap a man who we think is a murderer when we don't have a ghost of a clue who he is or how we will go about it.”

  “Ah, but I have a plan!”

  “I don't know that I much like the sound of this,” I sighed with a sudden feeling of impending doom.

  “Will you just shut up and listen?”

  I shut up and listened.

  “Now, as I see it,” she continued, “the police obviously think that I am likely to be a target, and in matters like this I imagine they are usually right. Our man will obviously wish to ensure my silence, b
ut in such a way as to draw as little attention to himself as possible, therefore we need to present him with an opportunity he will find difficult to resist.”

  “You could always cut your own throat and save him the effort,” I muttered, but she quelled my misgivings with a steely glance.

  “So, if I let it be generally known that things are finally stirring in my brain,” she continued remorselessly, “yet need to return to the scene of the crime on a certain date, so-to-speak, in an effort to finally jog things back into place, he is bound to turn up.”

  “'Turning up' as you so quaintly put it, would be the last thing on his mind,” I sneered in a vain attempt to dampen her enthusiasm, “he would have to be mad to try and dispose of you in the midst of a blaze of publicity.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed happily.