‘Fractured her skull in falling, from the look of it,’ the former said. ‘Twelve hours ago, at a rough guess.’
Inspector Cook grunted. ‘I’d better ring for the usual support, I suppose. There was a phone in that office place, wasn’t there?’ The call made, he sat on for a few moments, frowning. A combined accidental death and robbery in a rum set-up like this looked like a lot of work. He wished he had joined the Ramsden Literary and Scientific and been along to some gardening talks. People said they were quite good; and he would have got the hang of the building. Visited by an idea he returned to Dr Masterman in the library.
‘You a member of this outfit, Doc?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘You might put me in the picture, then. I’ve never been inside the door till now.’
Dr Masterman obliged with a succinct account of the function, layout and current employees of the Athenaeum.
‘Thanks, that’s better. So, if she didn’t hide up in here at closing time last night, she must either have slipped through the flat upstairs or got hold of a key, either to the library door or to the one behind those fake bookshelves.’
‘That’s the boiler house door, and Habgood says it’s bolted on the inside as well as being kept locked.’
Inspector Cook advanced upon the trompe-l’oeil and looked at it disapprovingly. Fancy touches in a case were the end, he thought.
‘Hang on a minute, Doc, will you?’ he said. ‘I’ll just go round and give the outside of that door the once over.’
Regardless of the rain, which was still quite heavy, he subjected the yard to close scrutiny. It ran the full length of the Athenaeum and was only overlooked by the side windows of the flat. At the far end and on the side opposite these windows it was surrounded by a high brick wall. It was clear that the only access was through the double doors and by way of the boiler house. Inspector Cook briefly inspected the prefabricated garage which housed the Habgoods’ Austin 1100, and the Mini parked in the open, but found nothing of interest. The contents of the two dustbins were equally unhelpful. A keen gardener, he glanced disapprovingly at the cat ladder from the bathroom window, then ran hurriedly down the yard to the door of the boiler house. Having satisfied himself that the rain would long ago have washed off any prints, he opened the door without difficulty and peered inside.
Of course, she’d have had to get hold of the key, he thought. Easy enough to slip back the bolt some time on Wednesday when she was working in the library...
He shut the door again, and retraced his steps, slamming the double doors behind him and testing them to make sure that the Yale lock held. As he did so, two cars containing his support drew up.
Events began to move fast. Dr Masterman conferred with the police surgeon and departed. Annabel Lucas’s body was photographed from numerous angles, then removed to a waiting mortuary van. The police surgeon left to arrange for a post-mortem. Inspector Cook briefed his technicians, instructing them to concentrate in the first instance on the boiler house, the book cupboard and the spiral staircase. He then sent a polite message to the Habgoods to the effect that he would be glad to see them both in the office.
They impressed him favourably. Although obviously shaken, they gave him all the information he asked for, clearly and concisely. He learned that Annabel Lucas and her husband had come to Ramsden about two years ago, and opened a small antique shop.
‘In Moneypenny Street,’ Laura told him. ‘It’s more of a good class junk shop, really.’ Inspector Cook, who knew his Ramsden, placed it at once and nodded.
It appeared that the couple had parted company and that Annabel had continued to run the shop, taking part-time jobs in the afternoons. She had been working as librarian’s assistant at the Athenaeum for over a year. The Habgoods did not know if there had been a separation or a divorce.
‘She was cagey about her past history,’ Alastair said. ‘On the defensive, we always thought. One gathered that she felt she’d been badly let down by the husband.’
‘If there was no legal arrangement, he’s her next of kin,’ Inspector Cook commented. ‘We’ll have to get on to it at once. I’ll ring the station and have someone sent round to the shop to look for any letters or addresses.’
This done, he began to ask the Habgoods about the previous evening.
‘So you didn’t actually see Mrs Lucas leave the premises, then?’ he asked Laura.
‘No. I ran upstairs to answer the telephone, and when I came down she had gone — or so I thought. But one of the members was leaving at the same moment, so she might be able to tell you. A Miss Escott: we can look up her address for you in the membership file.’
‘Wait a bit ... Escott, did you say? A lady of that name was knocked down and had her handbag snatched yesterday evening. Funny coincidence, if it’s the same one.’
‘One, Alma Cottages, Alexandra Road,’ Alastair told him, looking up from a card index file.
‘That’s it. I happened to be in the station when the patrol car reported.’
The Habgoods exclaimed in dismay.
‘I must ring her and ask how she is,’ Laura said. ‘What a wretched thing to happen.’
‘Not just for the next hour or two, please, Mrs Habgood. I’d rather she heard about Mrs Lucas’s accident from me. Now, I’d like to know a bit more about your security arrangements here. I understand the door from the hall into the library is locked when you close at half-past five, and not opened again until the cleaning woman comes at half-past seven next morning? Right? What about the way through from the boiler house?’
‘The boiler house door into the yard is permanently locked, except when the boiler’s being serviced, and it’s bolted on the inside as well.’
‘Then how do you account for the fact that we found it unlocked and unbolted this morning?’
Inspector Cook watched the Habgoods closely as he asked this question. They stared at him in blank astonishment, Laura stifling an exclamation of amazement.
‘I can’t account for it. It’s quite incomprehensible,’ Alastair said. ‘To the best of my knowledge it hasn’t been opened since September. We always have the boiler serviced then, before the central heating season starts.’
‘Who would be responsible for locking up after the servicing?’
‘I am,’ Laura said. ‘And I remember perfectly well doing it. The bolt seemed to have got a bit stiff and I had to work it along.’
‘Where are the keys of these doors kept?’ Inspector Cook asked abruptly.
‘On a board in our bedroom with all the other house keys,’ Alastair replied, looking worried. ‘That’s been the arrangement ever since we came here. I suggested it myself to the House Committee and they approved.’ Feeling that his inquiries were shaping nicely, and pointing to the obvious conclusion about Annabel Lucas’s presence in the library, Inspector Cook asked about the door from the gallery into the Habgoods’ flat. At this point it struck him that they were reacting rather differently, Alastair appearing decidedly unhappy, while his wife seemed to be taking the bit between her teeth.
‘Let’s face it,’ she said categorically. ‘We do forget to lock it, sometimes, when we’re both going to be out of the flat. We did on your free afternoon last week. I remember saying that, since there have been so many robberies in the town, we really ought to be more careful. Anyone could walk straight in from the library.’
There was a pause.
‘Let’s face something else,’ suggested Inspector Cook. ‘Have you ever both been out of the building altogether while Mrs Lucas was on duty in the library?’
‘Yes,’ Laura replied briefly. ‘Last week, for instance.’
Alastair moved uneasily in his chair.
‘I must come in here, Inspector. Mrs Lucas is dead and can’t defend herself. I can only say that I’ve never questioned her honesty. Besides, other people are around when we have functions. Last Tuesday night at the centenary party the flat was open for anybody who wanted to look at the ceilings.’
Laura’s quick glance at her husband made Inspector Cook wonder briefly if it could have been the old story of the wife and the secretary. Unlikely, he thought, glancing in turn at Alastair. But would a scholar chap like him have been up to fiddles and whatever?
He inquired further into arrangements for access to the flat during the centenary party.
‘Can’t say I’d relish strangers wandering around my place,’ he commented. ‘Ever had anything pinched?’
‘Never,’ Alastair replied. ‘It isn’t exactly a case of strangers, you know. They’d all be RLSS members and their guests. Anyway, we lock up our modest valuables and any cash, just as a precaution.’
Inspector Cook considered. ‘Would you have noticed if the boiler house key had been “borrowed”, shall we call it, at any time? Say last Tuesday night?’
Both Habgoods were emphatic that they would. ‘I was last in on Tuesday night,’ Alastair told him. ‘I locked the front door and took the key upstairs. I’m positive that I should have noticed if the boiler house key hadn’t been on the board. The front door key hangs next to it.’
‘And I should have noticed when I took the front door key down on Wednesday morning, when I let the cleaner in,’ added Laura.
‘Fair enough,’ Inspector Cook agreed. ‘Well, we’ve covered some useful ground, and thank you both for your help. We’ll have to keep the place closed until we’ve finished going over the library, I’m afraid. Let me see, it’s Mr Westlake who’s head of things here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, he’s my Chairman,’ Alastair replied. ‘He’s gone to London for the day, unfortunately, and I can’t get at him.’
‘If the woman who found the body’s calmed down, I’d better have a word with her before she goes home.’
‘She’s up in the flat having cups of tea,’ Laura said. ‘Shall I fetch her?’
‘I’ll come up, if it’s convenient, and take a look at the gallery door and the board for the keys.’
He saw that the flat was shut off by a door at the top of the staircase, which had a Chubb lock.
‘We remember to lock this one if the flat is going to be empty,’ Alastair said, reading his thoughts. ‘It’s our private front door. Not the sort of thing one overlooks, like the gallery door. The key board’s in here. You can’t see it behind the door and we prop all the doors wide open when people are coming round.’
Having satisfied himself on this point, Inspector Cook borrowed the boiler house key to be tested for traces of an impression having been taken, and had a brief interview with a subdued Flo Dibble. He then went downstairs, reasonably satisfied with his progress to date.
Lucas, all right, he thought. Easy as pie for her to get at the boiler house key. She could have taken an impression and got a duplicate cut earlier on, or unlocked the door days ago: the chances were a hundred to one against anyone spotting it. And she could have slipped back the bolt any time on Wednesday when nobody was in the library... All this laid on to cover up pinching books. Suppose she thought nobody would connect the theft with her, seeing she could help herself at any time... The job now is finding out what made her pitch down that spiral staircase contraption...
He went into the library. Detective-Constable Neale, a keen young fingerprint expert, was examining the spiral staircase with the aid of a powerful electric lamp. He hastily descended the pair of steps strategically placed beside it, and hurried forward with the expression of a fox terrier on a promising scent.
‘Quite a party in here last night, sir,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Three lots of dabs on the inside handle of the boiler house door. One lot under deceased’s, and one on top.’ Inspector Cook had the sensation of being pulled up with a sharp and unexpected jerk.
‘The bottom lot’ll be Mrs Habgood’s,’ he said prosaically. ‘She says she shut the place up after the boiler was serviced.’
Constable Neale’s expression changed to that of a conjuror about to produce a rabbit from a hat.
‘I wouldn’t know about that, sir, but they’re the same ones that are on the cupboard. Chap wearing rubber gloves, I’d say. Deceased’s aren’t on the cupboard at all. Only on some of the books tumbled out of it, as if she’d looked ’em over.’
Inspector Cook did not reply immediately, his mind being occupied with the door from the flat on to the gallery, and the change in Laura Habgood’s attitude that had struck him.
‘What about the top lot of dabs?’ he asked, returning to the immediate present.
‘Gloved ones again, sir. Knitted ones, from the look of ’em, and smudged, as if they were damp. Wet patches on the boiler house floor, too, and a pool o’ water, as if an umbrella’d been stood up against the wall.’
Without comment, Inspector Cook strode towards the trompe-l’oeil.
Half an hour later he left the Athenaeum, gloomily recognizing the fact that the circumstances of Annabel Lucas’s death were going to take the hell of a lot of investigating.
‘One, Alma Cottages, Alexandra Road,’ he told his driver, after consulting his notebook, deciding to get this loose end tidied up before returning to report to his Superintendent.
The woman who opened the door to him went so white that he thought that she was going to faint.
‘Miss Escott, madam? I’m sorry if I startled you. It’s Inspector Cook. I’m afraid I haven’t come with any news of your handbag yet, but to ask if you can give me a bit of help over an inquiry I’m making.’
Expectancy drained out of her face. He thought that she looked apprehensive.
‘Won’t you come in?’ she said almost inaudibly.
He followed her into a diminutive sitting room, and took the chair she indicated.
‘I won’t keep you more than a minute or two,’ he told her, trying to sound friendly and encouraging. ‘I’d like you to cast your mind back to yesterday evening, round about half-past five. I understand you were leaving the Athenaeum in Abbot’s Green at that time. Right?’
She nodded without speaking.
‘Were you alone?’
‘No.’ She hesitated a moment, then went on, ‘I left with the librarian’s assistant, Mrs Lucas.’
‘Did you go far together?’
‘Oh, no. She went to get her car. I haven’t one.’
‘Did you notice if she went back into the building?’
‘I’m quite sure she didn’t. I heard her drive away towards the town.’
‘And you didn’t see her again yesterday evening?’
‘No. I came straight home, here.’
‘And on the way you had that nasty experience of being knocked down and having your bag snatched,’ Inspector Cook said sympathetically. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some unpleasant news for you, too.’
As he told her that Annabel Lucas’s body had been found in the library, she slipped quietly to the floor, in the faint that he had half expected when he arrived.
Delayed shock, I suppose, he thought, administering first aid.
To his relief, Evelyn Escott came round quickly. ‘I’m sorry I was so stupid,’ she apologized tremulously. ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘Not to be wondered at,’ he replied. ‘And now this is another shock on top of the first one, but you were bound to hear about Mrs Lucas sooner or later, weren’t you? Now, when you parted last night, did you notice anything unusual about her? Did she seemed worried or excited, for instance?’ Evelyn Escott shook her head. ‘But I didn’t know her at all well,’ she said. ‘It was just chance that we left the Athenaeum together.’
‘In that case I needn’t bother you any more,’ he said. ‘It’s possible you may be wanted at the inquest, but don’t worry about that now. I’d take the day quietly if I were you. Miss Escott.’
Shortly afterwards he left for his headquarters, dismissing her from his mind as he assembled facts for his report to Superintendent Daly. It took some time to deliver it, and the two men decided that little further progress could be made until more information had come in.
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‘The P-M report won’t be ready till late this afternoon,’ Superintendent Daly said, ‘and we’ll be darned lucky if we get anything on the dabs from the Yard by then. Meanwhile, Mills is round at the shop, trying to pick up what he can, and I suppose Neale may get something from the staircase. Say nine o’clock tonight then. I’ll get on to the CC right away.’
The news that there had been a fatal accident at the Athenaeum leaked out in the course of the morning. On emerging from Superintendent Daly’s room, Inspector Cook learned that a reporter from the Ramsden Recorder was waiting to see him. With some skill, he managed to imply indirectly that there was nothing unusual in Annabel Lucas’s working late in the library, nor in the fact that her body had not been found until the next morning, owing to the disruption caused by Alastair Habgood’s being out of action. He decided to make no reference at the moment to the stolen books and the mystery of the unlocked and unbolted boiler house door.
Members of the Ramsden Literary and Scientific Society who found themselves being turned away from the Athenaeum by the police constable on duty were less easily fobbed off. Their familiarity with the library routine led to mounting speculation, which spread like wildfire. After several telephone calls, Alastair Habgood decided that the correct course of action in the absence of the Chairman would be to inform the other Trustees of what had happened. He rang Colin Escott at his office, only to learn that he was out inspecting a country property, was lunching at home, and was not expected to come in until two o’clock. Accordingly, at quarter to one Alastair rang the Escott home. Daphne Escott answered the telephone.
‘Mr Habgood?’ she queried, sounding baffled. ‘My husband’s not in yet. I could ask him to ring you when he’s had some lunch.’
‘It’s an urgent matter, Mrs Escott,’ Alastair replied, suppressing his nervous impatience. ‘Will you ask him to ring as soon as he comes in, please?’
Daphne began to make difficulties but broke off suddenly to say that she could hear the car coming in. ‘You’d better hold on,’ she said ungraciously.
Step in the Dark Page 4
