A Gun to Play With

by J F Straker

  ‘Ah, yes. I’m sorry about that, Superintendent. My wife had got it wrong. I was at Lord’s, not the Oval.’

  Herrod’s eyebrows shot up; his prominent ears wiggled slightly.

  ‘Really? What were you doing there?’

  Waide rushed headlong to disaster. ‘Watching the cricket, of course. What else should I be doing?’

  ‘There was no cricket at Lord’s yesterday, Mr Waide.’

  ‘Oh!’ Waide’s little eyes seemed to shrink still farther into their sockets. He lifted and stuck out his chin as though his collar had suddenly become too tight. ‘Well, well! Fancy that!’

  ‘Suppose you tell me where you really were?’ Herrod suggested.

  ‘No.’ And then, becoming annoyed at the other’s unwinking stare, ‘Why the hell should I? What concern is it of yours how I choose to spend a Saturday afternoon?’

  ‘None,’ Herrod said.

  He began to write. Occasionally he looked up, studied the round face opposite him intently, and then bent again to his writing. The only sounds in the room were the faint murmur of his pen and the laboured breathing of the uneasy Waide. Detective-Sergeant Wood sat impassively in the background.

  The silence got on Waide’s nerves. He began to wriggle on his seat. Eventually he burst out irritably, ‘Some of you fellows seem to think you’re God Almighty, the way you expect us to unburden ourselves at your slightest behest. But I suppose I may as well tell you. I wasn’t breaking the law, damn it, I was meeting a girlfriend.’

  Herrod nodded, wondering what sort of a girl could stomach Waide.

  ‘I gave the wife the usual reason,’ the other went on, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. No doubt he was recalling the previous night. ‘Cricket in the summer and football in the winter. But, to tell you the truth, Superintendent’ — and he leaned forward in a confidential manner ‘I’ve never watched either since I was a kid. I’m not interested in sport.’

  That I can well believe, thought Herrod. Not outdoor sports, anyway. He stifled a slight sensation of nausea and said, ‘Thank you, sir. We shall, of course, respect your confidence.’

  ‘I should damn well hope so,’ said Waide. Now, how about my car? Do I get it or don’t I?’

  Herrod watched him, toying with his pen.

  ‘There’s a slight hitch, I’m afraid. You are quite certain that the car was stolen from outside the Crown here between one-fifteen and two-fifteen on Friday afternoon?’

  ‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? While I was at lunch.’

  Again there was silence. Herrod wondered what thoughts, what fears, might be in the other’s mind. ‘A young woman was murdered near here early on Friday morning,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes, I know. I read about it in the papers. But how does that concern me?’

  ‘That’s what I hope to discover, Mr Waide,’ Herrod said, never taking his eyes off the man’s face. ‘Impressions of her fingerprints were found on your car, you see.’

  Waide’s whole body seemed to sag, and he clutched the edges of his chair with both hands. ‘But — but that’s impossible!’ His voice was hoarse and cracked, and he cleared his throat noisily. ‘Unless, of course, she was in the car after it was stolen.’

  The Superintendent shook his head.

  ‘You forget, Mr Waide — or perhaps you didn’t know — that she was murdered before your car was stolen. Twelve hours before.’ He waited for the other to speak, but Waide said nothing. ‘Would you care to reconsider your previous statement?’

  Still Waide was silent. Eventually he said, ‘I’d like to speak to my solicitor first. Can that be arranged? He has an office in Lewes. I could phone him.’

  His solicitor was an elegant, rather superior young man by the name of Quigley. ‘I have advised Mr Waide to give you the full facts, Superintendent,’ he said, after consultation with his client. ‘He has behaved foolishly, perhaps, but not criminally. He has nothing to fear from the truth.’

  The truth — if it was the truth — made a sordid tale. As Herrod listened to it he realised, with some satisfaction, that his judgment of the man had been accurate enough.

  He had intended spending Thursday night in Folkestone, Waide said, calling on customers in the coastal towns on his way home the next day; but, finding himself ahead of schedule, he had pushed on, hoping to reach home late on the Thursday. By half-past six that evening he had completed his business, and was having a drink in the Queen’s at Eastbourne before setting off for Haywards Heath, when he was accosted by an old friend. They had a few drinks together, then moved on to the Albion, and from there the meeting developed into a pub-crawl. At about ten o’clock he found himself alone in a pub — whether his friend had passed out or gone home he didn’t know — and was picked up by two women. At closing-time the elder of the women suggested he was in no state to drive to Haywards Heath, and that he had better spend the night with her. The three of them got into the Austin, drove some distance from the centre of the town, and he then parked the car on some waste land and spent the night in the woman’s flat.

  ‘What about the other woman?’ asked Herrod. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think she cleared off after we parked the car, but it’s all rather hazy. I was pretty full, you know.’

  ‘She didn’t go to the flat?’

  ‘No. I didn’t see her there, anyway.’

  ‘All right. Go on,’ Herrod said.

  ‘Well, at about seven o’clock the next morning I woke up, feeling like nothing on earth, and wondering where I was and what the devil I’d been up to. Then I saw the woman and remembered. I couldn’t face her at that hour, so I got up and dressed without waking her, and cleared off. I’d be home to a late breakfast, I thought. And then I found that the car had gone.’

  ‘You’re sure you went to the right place?’

  ‘I thought so. But to make quite certain I wandered round the district for a while. After that, having had no luck with the car, I decided to go back to the woman’s flat and get her to help me. Then I realised that I didn’t know the name of the street or the number of her house. I didn’t even know her name — except that she was called Anna. I was properly stumped.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’

  Waide shook his head.

  ‘You’re not a married man, Superintendent, or you wouldn’t ask a question like that. I’d have had to give details, you see. And if the car was recovered and the thief caught all those details would have come out in court. I couldn’t face that. My wife would have found out what I’d been up to, and our marriage would have been finished. Mrs Waide is a very jealous woman.’

  From his opinion of the man Herrod would not have expected a broken marriage to upset George Waide. But he knew that often the most promiscuous of husbands hold their homes dear.

  He refrained from comment.

  ‘After a lot of thought I decided my best plan would be to alter the time and place of the theft when I reported it,’ Waide said. ‘And that’s what I did. I had breakfast, caught a train to Lewes, filled in a bit of time, and went to the Crown for lunch. And then I came round here.’ He leaned as far forward as his stomach would permit. ‘And that’s the gospel truth, Superintendent. I know absolutely nothing about the girl or her murder.’

  ‘You will, of course, wish to verify the truth of my client’s statement,’ said Quigley. ‘There should be no difficulty about that. He tells me he can supply you with the name and address of the friend he met at the Queen’s, and he thinks he could find the café where he had breakfast. They might remember him there. So might the booking clerk at Eastbourne Station. Or, for that matter, the ticket collector at Lewes.’

  Herrod shook his head.

  ‘You’re a lawyer, Mr Quigley, so I don’t have to tell you that what Mr Waide needs is an alibi for the time of the murder. What he did the previous evening or the next morning is by the way. Can he produce the woman he calls Anna? She seems to be the essential witness.’

  I
t was Waide who answered.

  ‘You know I can’t.’ He was almost tearful. ‘I told you, I don’t know her name and I don’t know where she lives. How can I produce her? Even ‘Anna’ may be wrong. It’s what she told me to call her, but it may not be her real name.’

  ‘If she’s a regular she may be known to the Eastbourne police,’ Quigley suggested.

  The Superintendent nodded. ‘She may. Would you recognize her if you saw her again, Mr Waide?’

  ‘I might. I’m not sure.’

  ‘Well, let’s concentrate on the little you can tell us. What about the pub where you met these women? Any help there?’

  Waide shook his head. He looked a chastened and unhappy man. A frightened man, too. All the bounce had long since disappeared.

  ‘I might be able to find it,’ he said. ‘It all depends.’

  ‘H’m. Well, how about the women? You say you were tight when you met them; but you weren’t tight the next morning, and presumably you had a look at this Anna before you left the flat. What does she look like?’

  ‘She’s in the early forties, I should say. Plump, short — about five foot two and a natural blonde. At least, I remember thinking it was natural.’

  ‘How was she dressed the previous evening?’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Waide struggled desperately with his memory. ‘A blouse and skirt, I think, with a thin, dark blue coat over it.’

  ‘And the other girl?’

  There were beads of perspiration on Waide’s face. He pulled out his handkerchief with a shaking hand and wiped them away.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he said miserably. ‘I don’t remember. She was younger than Anna, and dark. Good-looking, too. But I don’t know what she was wearing, or anything else about her. I didn’t sit next to her; I didn’t talk to her. She was just a rather shadowy figure in the background.’

  ‘The girl who was murdered was young and pretty and dark,’ Herrod said. ‘I want you to have a look at her, Mr Waide.’ Waide grimaced. But he was obviously glad to be done with questions.

  ‘It won’t be any use,’ he said, ‘but I’ll look if you want me to.’

  The visit to the mortuary did not take long. Herrod watched Waide closely as he gazed down at the dead girl, but the man gave no sign of recognition. A sickly green pallor began to spread over his face, and the Superintendent, recognizing the symptoms, hurried him out of the building.

  He was too late. Waide retched and was sick.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said after. ‘My tummy hasn’t been behaving itself lately. And all this excitement, and then ...’ He gulped. ‘Sorry.’

  When he had recovered Herrod said, ‘Well? Did you recognize her?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Waide. ‘It might be her, and I’m not saying it isn’t. But I told you, I didn’t take much notice of her that evening. It was Anna sat next to me in the pub and did all the talking. And me being more or less blotto ...’

  He shrugged.

  Herrod concealed his disappointment. ‘Did you lock the car when you parked it?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so. No — Anna locked it for me. I remember her giving me back the keys.’ He put a hand in his pocket. ‘There they are.’

  The Superintendent examined them. ‘There’s no ignition key here,’ he said, handing them back.

  ‘No. I usually leave that in the car.’

  They were back in the police station now. Herrod said, ‘You and I, Mr Waide, had better spend an afternoon by the sea. At Eastbourne.’

  They drove down after lunch. Superintendent Farrar, of the Borough police, was an old acquaintance of Herrod’s. They had worked together before, and the detective knew the other’s value. But with so little to go on he was not hopeful of success.

  Superintendent Farrar thought otherwise.

  ‘We had a similar case only last month,’ he said. ‘The man, a visitor to the town, picked up a woman when he was drunk and spent the night at her flat. And his car was missing the next morning. But he wasn’t quite as drunk as your chap seems to have been. He was able to show us where he parked the car — and from what you tell me it could be the same place as where Waide left his. If that is so …’

  He paused significantly.

  ‘A racket, eh?’ Herrod said. ‘The woman picks up a drunk, sees that he parks his car in a prearranged spot, and takes him home for the night. That ensures her accomplice of at least eight hours clear before the theft is discovered. A handy start, eh?’

  ‘Very. And it seems that in both cases the woman took the man’s keys, ostensibly to lock the car for him. I’ve no doubt she took damned good care to leave it unlocked.’

  ‘How about the woman, then?’ Herrod asked. ‘Did you find out anything about her?’

  ‘No. She was never traced. It was just an isolated instance, and there was no reason to suspect her. She certainly couldn’t have pinched the car which, incidentally, has not yet been recovered.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at this parking lot, then,’ Herrod said. ‘If we can make a start from there it’ll be something.’

  ‘Right. I’ll send Newman with you. He was in charge of the previous job.’

  Waide recognized the parking place at once. ‘Yes, this is it,’ he cried delightedly, rubbing his podgy hands together. ‘I left the car over there, and we walked ...’ His face clouded as he gazed in turn down the four streets. ‘I think we went that way and turned off somewhere. But I can’t swear to it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Can you say roughly how far you walked?’ asked Detective-Inspector Newman.

  No, he could not. They drove slowly down the streets he indicated, hoping he might recognize the house. But Waide was lost. ‘They all look alike, don’t they?’ he said, perplexed. ‘And when I left in the morning it never occurred to me to take note of where I was. My one idea was to pick up the car and get cracking.’ He looked coyly at the Superintendent. ‘I don’t make a habit of that sort of thing, you know. First time it’s happened in years. Wouldn’t have happened then if I hadn’t been plastered.’

  Herrod nodded, disbelieving but unconcerned. The man’s morals were not his business. ‘Let’s try the pubs,’ he said to Newman. ‘Even if he was too drunk to recognize the barman, the barman may recognize him.’

  They made for the centre of the town first, since Waide was certain that after leaving the Albion he and his friend had gone on to the Clifton, and that he had not returned to the front. And here they were more fortunate. At the third pub they stopped at Waide nodded eagerly. Yes, he said, that was it. He was almost sure that was it.

  It was. The bar was closed, but the barman was the licensee’s nephew and lived on the premises. As soon as Herrod had explained their business and the man had taken a good look at Waide he grinned.

  ‘Sure I recognize him,’ he said. ‘Proper plastered he was. But no trouble.’ He turned to Waide. ‘Let me see now. Wednesday — no, Thursday night, wasn’t it? You went off with them two floozies, didn’t you?’

  Waide was about to speak, but Herrod stopped him. ‘Do you know the women?’ he asked the man.

  ‘Me?’ The barman stared at him wide-eyed. ‘No fear. The blonde’s been in once or twice before, but I never seen the other.’

  ‘Would you recognize the other if you saw her again?’

  ‘I might,’ he said doubtfully. ‘But they sat over in that corner, and it was blondie come up for the drinks. I never had a proper squint at her friend.’

  Herrod had had a photograph taken of the dead girl. When he showed it to the man the latter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘’Struth! A stiff, eh?’ He glanced over his shoulder at Waide, and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Was it him done her in?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out who killed her,’ Herrod said. ‘That’s why I’m here. Is that the girl who was with the blonde?’

  ‘Could be,’ the other said. ‘It’s like her. But — well, a stiffs a stiff and a girl’s a girl, if you get me. They don’t look the same, see? But —’ He took another look
at the photograph. ‘Yes, it could be her.’

  ‘But you’re not certain, eh?’

  ‘No. A stiff — ’

  ‘All right.’ Herrod didn’t want to hear any more about stiffs. ‘How often does the blonde come in?’

  ‘Two or three times a week. But not reg’lar.’

  ‘Was she in last night?’

  ‘No. Nor Friday. Probably be in tonight, though.’

  ‘We may as well see this through now we’re here,’ Herrod said, as they left the pub. ‘If she doesn’t turn up tonight we’ll have to keep a watch on the place until she does. Looks like a nice job for someone.’

  They returned to the police station. At half-past six Sergeant Wood and Inspector Newman left for their vigil at the pub, with instructions to persuade the woman to accompany them to the station for questioning. ‘If she refuses we’ll bring Waide over,’ Herrod said. ‘But we don’t want to do it that way if it can be helped.’

  Again their luck was in. They had to wait some hours, but at eight-thirty the two detectives were back with the woman. ‘The Inspector handled her a treat,’ Wood said. ‘I didn’t think we’d budge her, but — well, she’s here. A bit truculent, but I think that’s for show. If you ask me I’d say she’s scared.’

  She was much as Waide had described her. Herrod greeted her politely, forestalling her protest. ‘I’m sorry to inconvenience you, madam,’ he said. ‘We shan’t keep you long, but we hope you may be able to identify some one for us. May I have your name, please?’

  ‘Anna Kermode.’ Her voice was shrill and brittle. ‘And really, Inspector, I don’t like —’

  ‘Superintendent,’ he murmured. ‘Superintendent Herrod. And your address, Mrs Kermode? Or is it Miss?’

  ‘Mrs,’ she snapped. ‘I’m a widow. And the address is 48 Union Street. And will you please tell me —’

  She stopped. Herrod had nodded to the Sergeant to admit Waide, and the latter, his fat face beaming, was gazing in happy recognition at the woman. But Mrs Kermode was far from happy. She backed away from him, fear writ large on her painted face, both hands twisting the strap of her large, shiny handbag.