by J F Straker
Watson shook his head.
‘I’ve no doubt it’s mine,’ he said, a new hoarseness in his voice. ‘I’ve drawn several like it. I must have given this to someone who doesn’t know the place. A driver, most likely.’
‘But you couldn’t say who?’
‘No.’
Since Herrod did not believe him, he did not press the point.
‘It was found beside the body of Catherine Wilkes,’ he said quietly. And, as Watson jumped to his feet, ‘Perhaps I should also tell you that Miss Wilkes was killed by a bullet from the same gun as that used to murder Geoffrey Taylor. So now you see the connection.’
Watson swayed on his feet, both hands resting on the table. He looked as though he needed its support.
‘But I don’t know the girl,’ he almost shouted. ‘I’d never even heard of her until I read her name in the papers. And I don’t own a gun; never even used one. You’re not trying to make out that I killed her, are you?’
Herrod shrugged.
‘Can you explain how that piece of paper came to be where we found it?’ he asked.
Watson poured himself a stiff brandy, added soda, and sat down. He sipped steadily, his brows furrowed in thought.
‘I’ve no idea at all,’ he said presently. ‘What’s more, I’m not answering any more questions until I’ve seen my solicitor. I didn’t kill the girl, and I didn’t kill Taylor; but maybe, when I’ve had time to think it over, I’ll be able to let you in on one or two things that might help. Provided, of course, that my solicitor approves. I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
Herrod thought he could, and urged him to telephone his solicitor at once. Time was precious. Watson, outwardly anxious to co-operate, picked up the receiver.
‘No luck,’ he said eventually. ‘He’s not in his office. But I’ll get in touch with him later.’
Herrod grunted, fuming at the delay. He produced a document from his pocket.
‘This is a warrant, Mr Watson, empowering us to search your premises in Cardiff Street. Do you wish to be present?’
The other shook his head.
‘You don’t need a warrant, Superintendent; I’ve got nothing to hide. The Lord knows what you expect to find there, but go ahead and search if you want to. I’ll send Harry with you. No.’ He produced a bunch of keys from his pocket, removed one from the ring, and threw it on the table. ‘There you are — that’s the key. Give me a receipt for it, and let me have it back when you’ve finished. I don’t want your chaps forcing the lock.’
He led the way into the hall. His voice had recovered its smooth geniality, and as he opened the front door for them, with Harry lurking nervously in the background, he said, ‘There’s something damned queer about all this, Superintendent. The girl was murdered last week, wasn’t she? If you found that map near her body, how come you bloodhounds haven’t been to see me before this?’
It was a reasonable question, but one which Herrod had no intention of answering. ‘You’d better put a tail on that gentleman,’ he said to Dainsford as they walked down the drive. ‘I don’t think he’ll bolt, and I don’t think he’ll lead us anywhere he doesn’t want us to go. He must know we’ll be keeping an eye on him. But I’m taking no chances.’
Crossetta and Toby were still waiting. The girl was in high good humour, and had apparently lost her former dread of the police. She led them along the route over which she had followed Watson and Taylor on the Monday evening, and pointed out the traffic lights at which she had lost them.
‘Could they have gone this way to the station?’ Herrod asked the Inspector.
‘They could. Or to Peacehaven.’
There was a further wait at Brighton police station while Herrod collected the two police officers he had arranged to meet there. With the officers was a local firearms expert.
Then they went on to Cardiff Street.
As Watson had said, No. 17 was empty. And not only empty; it had recently been cleaned and swept, so that no traces of its former use or contents remained. ‘The antics of Vanne and his girlfriend must have put him on his guard,’ Herrod said to Wood. ‘I don’t imagine their investigations were very discreetly conducted. Watson couldn’t be sure they would confide in us; but it’d be the logical conclusion, and no doubt he couldn’t afford to take chances. Let’s hope the West Sussex chaps have better luck out at Edburton.’
Toby and Crossetta were fetched from the car, taken round to the back, and asked to re-enact their movements on the night they first visited the building together. Afterwards Toby stood on the balcony and watched the detectives examine the heavy wooden beam that supported the guttering.
Crossetta remained by the gate.
It was one of the Brighton police who found the bullet. He dug it out of the wood and handed it to the expert.
The latter examined it. ‘Almost certainly a .25,’ he said.
Sergeant Wood’s eyes gleamed.
‘Looks like I was right about Watson, Mr Herrod. He killed Taylor and the girl, and took a shot at Vanne when he found him snooping up here. If we searched his house we might find the gun.’
Herrod shook his head.
‘If he ever had it he’ll have got rid of it by now. He knows he’s in a tight spot.’ He peered at the hole in the woodwork, and then down at the ground. ‘Must have been fired almost vertically.’
They had forgotten Toby and the girl. Crossetta was too far away to hear their conversation. But Toby heard.
‘The guy was down there at the foot of the steps,’ he said, pointing. ‘I saw the flash as he fired. Er — do we have to go on with this playacting, Superintendent? In the next scene I jump down on to the roof of that shed, and it comes a bit hard on the ankles. Couldn’t we leave it out?’
Herrod said he thought they could. He was now anxious to be rid of the two young people. The death of Geoffrey Taylor had weakened his taste for theory, but it had not killed it. Already a new and even more fantastic theory was forming in his fertile brain.
But there was one more piece of information to be got from them first.
‘How dark was it that night?’ he asked, frowning. ‘Could you see the gate from up here?’
‘I could see through the entrance,’ Toby said, remembering. ‘I mean, I could see the road, because of the street lamp on the corner. But inside the yard itself it was pitch-dark. I couldn’t even see Mrs Tait; she was in the shadow of the wall. It was only when she called out to warn me that I knew she was still there.’
The frown deepened.
‘You didn’t see the man who fired at you? If he was at the foot of the steps he would be considerably nearer than the gate.’
‘I didn’t see a darned thing. Only the flash as he fired.’
‘But if he came through that gateway you’d have seen him then, wouldn’t you? He’d have been silhouetted against the light in the street.’
Toby shook his head. ‘He could only have slipped into the yard while Mrs Tait was on the steps,’ he said. ‘And at that time I was inside the building.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Herrod said thoughtfully. ‘So you were.’
Inspector Dainsford took Toby and the girl back to Hove police station, where Crossetta signed the statement she had previously made. An elderly woman, short and plump and with greying hair, was talking to a uniformed Inspector as they went in. She eyed them curiously.
The woman was still there when they came out. Inspector Dainsford dispatched them to their hotel in a police car, and then hurried back into the building.
‘Well?’ he asked, mindful of what Herrod had told him.
Inspector Bostrell shook his head.
‘This is Mrs Moss,’ he said, indicating the elderly woman. ‘She lives next door to the Taylors. She says the girl who left with you just now is a complete stranger to her.’
‘Never set eyes on her before,’ Mrs Moss declared.
*
The West Sussex Constabulary had better luck than Herrod. Their men arrived at the barn near Ed
burton just as a lorry laden with cigarettes — the final load, according to the driver — was leaving for a destination in the Midlands. The cigarettes had certainly been stolen — although not, the police thought, from local firms. Probably the barn was used as a store for a fairly widespread organization.
But so far there was nothing to connect this organization with Watson — a connection which to Herrod had seemed all-important. Apart from the missing Landor, Watson appeared to be the only certain link between the murders of Taylor and the girl. Although he had denied complicity, he had hinted at knowledge. The difficulty was to get him to talk. The murders might be linked with his other criminal activities, so that to discuss one would be to disclose the other; and if he was a crook he’d most likely have a crook lawyer, who would advise him to keep his mouth shut. Herrod had hoped that by charging him with being in possession of stolen property the necessity to keep his mouth shut would be eliminated. Provided, of course, that he was not directly implicated in the murders.
But that hope did not now look like being realised. In addition to the lorry driver and his mate the police had arrested the caretaker, who lived in an adjacent farmhouse (probably Vanne’s friend, thought Herrod). The three men had denied all knowledge of the goods they were handling (the cigarettes had been transferred from their cartons into stout wooden boxes), and seemed indignant at having been imposed on. They had talked willingly, but to little purpose.
The men on the lorry were employed by a transport firm in the Midlands; it was their first visit to the barn, they said. The caretaker had insisted that he did not know the name of his actual employer, but said he was instructed and paid by a man called Sparks. He had no idea where Sparks lived, but had given the police a description of the man.
The Superintendent pursed his lips. The description was vague, but as far as it went it fitted Watson’s friend Harry. Well, that was a possible channel to be explored. But not by him; the men on the spot could handle that. He had a still more urgent investigation to make — one which, if his new-born theory were right, made Watson’s probable evidence (and he had a shrewd idea of what that might be) of secondary importance.
To his surprise the Chief Constable agreed with him.
‘It’s a long shot, Superintendent, but it may be a winner. What help do you need from me?’
‘Quite a lot, sir. We’ll have to comb the whole area between Upper Dicker and Jevington. Well, not all of it, perhaps; your fellows will know the more likely places. And if we’re not successful there it means searching the Downs between Jevington and Eastbourne.’
The Chief Constable whistled softly.
‘That’s a tall order. It’ll take a lot of men and a lot of time. Well, I’ll manage the men — but there’s only a few hours of daylight left. Wouldn’t it be wiser to make the arrest now, and hope for the evidence tomorrow?’
Herrod shook his head.
‘I’ve been wrong twice on this case. I may be wrong now.’
‘I was thinking of Vanne,’ said the other. ‘That accident —’
‘I know. I was thinking of Vanne too. But, if we’ve achieved nothing else today, at least we have ensured his safety. For the time being, anyway. His death is no longer essential, the way I see it. Unless he sticks his neck out again.’
The Chief Constable got briskly to his feet. Once a decision had been taken he liked the action to follow swiftly. Bostrell’s the chap,’ he said. ‘He knows the district well. I’ll take what men I can from here, and tell the Bexhill division to send out every man they can spare.’
‘Are you going yourself, sir?’
‘Of course,’ said the other, surprised. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘No. I’m going to Polegate first. I want to have a look inside Taylor’s house; I’ve got his keys. I’m not expecting to find direct evidence — there can’t be any there — but I may be able to prove that we’re on the right track.’
‘Do you want me to hold up the search?’
‘No. Even if I’m wrong the search isn’t. We should have organized it before.’
‘What about Wilkes?’
‘Yes,’ Herrod said. ‘It would be too bad if Mr Wilkes disappeared before we were ready for him. But I don’t think he will; Sergeant Wood is keeping an eye on him.’ He frowned. ‘Unless Wilkes got away before Wood could pick him up. No reason why he should, though.’
‘If you’re right there is every reason why he shouldn’t,’ the other said cheerfully. ‘He hasn’t accomplished what he came for.’
‘We hope!’ Herrod said fervently.
The Taylors’ villa at Polegate still appeared to be deserted, but the Superintendent waited a few moments before trying the keys in the lock. The Chief Constable’s ready cooperation had bolstered up his sagging belief in himself, but he could not quieten the small voice inside him which kept insisting on how far-fetched was his present notion. Another knock ... and feet might come hurrying, the door might open ... and bang would go yet another theory.
The feet came hurrying, but not from inside the house. Up the path trotted Mrs Moss, a startling black and yellow hat perched on top of her grey hair.
‘I’ve only this minute got back,’ she said, wheezing a little. And then, noting the keys, ‘Are you going in?’
Herrod nodded.
‘Oh! Well, she hasn’t been back since you was here Tuesday. No one’s been near the place.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, although there was none to overhear. ‘That girl in the police station at Hove. That wasn’t her.’
‘So I understand. I’m sorry we had to trouble you.’
He began to try the keys in the lock.
‘Oh, I didn’t mind. It was a nice ride, and the young man was ever so pleasant.’ She hesitated. ‘I saw about Geoff Taylor in the papers. That was him, wasn’t it? At Peacehaven?’
He nodded. A key turned in the lock. ‘Would you mind coming round with me?’ he asked her. ‘Just to ensure I don’t pinch the silver.’
She accepted eagerly.
He went quickly through the rooms on the ground floor, with Mrs Moss in close attendance. Everything was as it had been when he had peered through the windows on his previous visit. There was a little more dust; that was the only difference. But he did not see what he was seeking, and he went upstairs and into the main bedroom, with Mrs Moss chattering doggedly at his heels. The bed was unmade, male clothing was piled untidily on a chair, a newspaper lay on the floor. On the mantelpiece numerous photographs, unframed and unmounted, stood propped among the ornaments.
Herrod picked one up.
‘That was taken just after their wedding,’ said Mrs Moss. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’
*
Inspector Bostrell considered the problem and the map. The map was for the benefit of the Chief Constable and the Inspector from Bexhill; he himself knew the area too well to need its aid. He preferred to visualize it, lane by lane and track by track, with his mind’s eye.
‘I’d try Hailsham Common first, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s plenty of cover there, both north and south of the road. And here’ — he pointed to the map, tracing a line with his pencil — ‘that’s a wire fence enclosing the wood. It reaches the Wilmington road a few hundred yards south of the road junction. About there. A chap could lie hid inside that wood for months.’
Outside the police station the road was lined with cars, each car laden with policemen. On the opposite pavement the people of Hailsham were gathering, curious and a little awed at this unusual police activity. A Southdown bus went by, its occupants craning their necks at the crowd and the cars.
The Chief Constable frowned.
‘Not inside the wire,’ he said. ‘Too difficult. It should be easily get-at-able by car, I think. No — we’ll try the common.’
He strode impatiently from the Inspector’s inner sanctum, the others following. It had taken longer than he had expected to assemble the necessary men, and all too soon it would be dark. ‘We’ll discuss the next move if and whe
n this one fails,’ he threw at them over his shoulder.
As they stepped out into the shadowed street a car came swiftly towards them from the south. It pulled up against the opposite kerb, and Superintendent Herrod leapt nimbly out, almost running across the road in his eagerness.
The Chief Constable went to meet him. Triumphantly, his blue eyes sparkling, Herrod handed him a photograph. ‘I think that clinches it,’ he said gaily. ‘There can’t be any doubt now. Look, sir. The third from the left.’
For a brief moment the Chief Constable studied the photograph. Then he looked up and smiled. The Superintendent’s exuberance was infectious.
‘No doubt at all, Mr Herrod,’ he agreed. There was relief in his voice, a new vitality. ‘Congratulations. And now let’s get cracking. We’ve been led by the nose long enough; it’ll be a pleasant change to do a bit of leading ourselves. You may be wrong about Landor, but I’m damned sure you’re right about the rest.’
‘I’m right about Landor too,’ Herrod said. ‘I know it.’
He said it with such absolute conviction that the Chief Constable was startled. Then he grinned.
‘Fey, eh? Well, let’s go and see what the fairies can find in the woods.’
‘I must phone Dainsford first,’ Herrod said. ‘I want him to pick up those two young people and take them into custody.’
‘What both of them? On what charge?’
‘The charge doesn’t matter. ‘Obstructing the police’ will be sufficient. The main thing is to get them safely under lock and key.’
They drove through Hailsham and over the railway bridge. They crossed the main Eastbourne road, heading west. The common spread away on either side of them, but Inspector Bostrell did not stop. ‘The other end would be the most likely, sir,’ he said. ‘If they came from Upper Dicker they’d go south, not east.’
They turned on to the Wilmington road, and stopped when they came to the wire. As the men left the cars and began to line up the Superintendent said doubtfully, ‘We’re a bit thin on the ground, aren’t we? It’s a wide stretch to sweep, and heavy going in places by the look of it.’